//------------------------------//
// 3. Fear and Failure 
// Story: Getting Complicated 
// by Ivory Piano 
//------------------------------//

	The air of Sweet Apple Acres was far too tense for the notes of Octavia’s cello to ring clearly and beautifully, and the unwanted accompaniment of Applejack’s grinding teeth was out of tune. In it’s own way, Octavia supposed, not saying anything was it’s own form of lying, and perhaps, like a twisted face, grinding teeth was simply Applejack’s tell.
Tell or not, the conclusion was the same. After a full week of trying, Octavia could not practice in the Apple family homestead. And so, one morning after waking up at half past noon, Octavia encased her cello and bow, slung the case across her back, and headed to the front door without a word to anyone. Not to Applejack, and not to Macintosh.
“Where you headed?” Granny Smith asked as Octavia tried to move past her.
“Canterlot,” Octavia said.
Granny Smith’s eyes met Octavia’s and then went up to the cello case. She turned to look into the living room where Applejack currently busied herself with a list of chores she had to do that day. Sometimes, Granny Smith seemed distracted and senile, other times, like right now, she seemed to understand things in easy seconds.
“Family’s tough,” she said. “Yer stuck with ‘em no matter what, for better or worse.”
“I’m not a part of this family,” Octavia said.
Granny Smith chuckled. “You’re more a part of this family than you know. Welp, be seein’ ya then.” She left Octavia alone and went to the living room to sit on her recliner. Octavia considered Granny’s words for a moment, but ultimately shrugged them off and left the farm.
Octavia practiced her cello in the only place she felt welcomed: her soon-to-be-sold apartment in Canterlot. Practicing here, among her own possessions, why, it almost felt like nothing had changed. She was still the princess of the concert halls, the absolute master of the strings, still the best, or, at the very least, still ignorantly believing she was the best.
The notes flowed smoothly from her cello, and slowly Octavia felt the familiar pride well up in her chest. Her hooves became lighter, the bow became an extension of her foreleg, and soon the music felt exactly the same as always. The beams of sunlight traveled across the room as the day waned on, and Octavia was at peace.
“You’re wasting your time.”
Octavia’s grip tightened on her bow, popping a few strands of hair. She jerked her head up to glare at the trespasser. Oh of course, who else but Dulcet Tones would be standing there beneath the door jam? Octavia cursed at herself for forgetting to lock the door. 
Dulcet strutted into the apartment and grabbed an apple from a bowl set atop a coffee table. Octavia gritted her teeth, placed her cello back on its stand, and snatched the apple from Dulcet’s hoof. Octavia bit into it, and set it down on the table. 
“Your execution is already perfect,” Dulcet continued. “But your style lacks emotion. It’s not something you can practice. You've spent years grinding your style down to nothing but the fundamentals, haven't you?"
“What are you doing here?” Octavia snapped.
Dulcet smiled. “Why, I’ve come to warn you. Tonight you will be haunted by three spirits. Without their visits you cannot hope to shun the path I have tread." She walked past Octavia and gazed around the apartment. "And to take a look around the apartment, of course, I have permission from the building manager."
“I don't care if you got permission from bloody Celestia. I swear if you don’t leave right now I’ll–”
"Is that any way to talk to your savior?" Dulcet interrupted.
"I hesitate to know your idea of salvation."
"I've looked at the public records. This apartment as well as a few on the eighth floor of this building are under your name, correct? I'd like to take them off your hooves at a price I think you'll find quite agreeable."
Octavia narrowed her eyes. "What's the catch?"
Dulcet smiled. "The catch? Why, that I'll make more money off of this real estate than you will, of course. Make no mistake, I'm not doing this for charity. I'm doing it because I see an opportunity. Does that make it a bad deal for you? Not necessarily. I did my research, I know how much you owe. Surely the thought of all that debt going away is a tantalizing one."
Octavia grit her teeth. "Listen here, I would rather go destitute and rot in a medieval debtor's prison than accept any offer from you. So if you're done gorging on my misery, you blood-sucking maggot, you can crawl as far away from this place as your pus-bloated body can take you."
Dulcet shrugged. "Well, since you asked so nicely, I'll make my leave." Halfway through the door, Dulcet stopped and looked over her shoulder to deliver her final piece. "You plan on becoming better, don't you? To make a glorious comeback and make everypony regret ever shunning you. But you've already made it impossible. You've been blacklisted. Cast out. From here to Manehattan to Fillydelphia. You'll never play professionally no matter how great you become. You don't even have the charisma to be a rebel or a controversial outsider."
With an unceremonious push, Octavia propelled Dulcet out of her apartment and slammed the door on her flanks. With a deep breath, she tried to calm down. The last thing she needed was a chipped tooth from clenching her jaw so hard for so long. She grabbed the apple. She threw it. It smashed into a pulp against the wall. Her scowl softened as she stared at the pulverized apple. What a waste.
It took a quick couple of minutes to clean up the mess. Octavia stared at her cello, then at the bowl of apples on the table. She couldn't practice here anymore, not right now at least. Dulcet's visit and their conversation tainted the air. It would take a few days to clear out. With her cello in its case and slung over her shoulder, she waited another half hour before leaving. Less chance of running into Dulcet Tones that way, or any pony for that matter.
Before she got the chance to leave, however, another unwelcome pony swung the door open. The glare Octavia gave the tan-brown stallion would usually be enough to make any pony immediately turn the other way. However, this stallion–the stallion with a white mane and tail that he stubbornly described as 'platinum', the stallion that completely stole her iconic bowtie, the stallion that she hated almost as much as Dulcet Tones–only flicked his mane at her scowl.
"Frederick, I see you've finally come to take me up on my offer," Octavia said.
"Not yet, my little grand staff, I'm afraid I'm still very much attached to breathing." Octavia's ex sauntered in as if he owned the place, though, to be fair, he did once several years ago. "I came on the request of Miss Dulcet Tones. Now normally I wouldn't think of setting foot here again, but she caught me in a nostalgic mood. Don't you ever feel like that, Tavi? A desire to visit the past?"
"If you've come for a pity rut, I already have a stallion in my collection."
"What a coincidence, so do I," Frederick replied with a laugh. "No, I came to have a look at the old place." He looked up at the staircase leading to the tenth floor. "Dulcet told me it was up for sale. In fact, I had planned to meet her, but I'm sure you already chased her away." He whistled as he looked up at the floor above. "I heard that you bought all the condos on the tenth and ninth floor and renovated them together, but I didn't think it was actually true." Running a hoof through his mane, Frederick shook his head and laughed a grim chuckle. "For the love of Celestia, Tavi. I know you're you, but I would never had thought you would take it this far."
"Why are you here, Frederick?" Octavia growled. "Certainly not because Dulcet asked or because of some ill-conceived desire for the past, and certainly not because you're seriously considering buying the place."
Frederick took a deep breath, and all the usual playfulness drained from his voice. "Despite how things ended between us, I still care about you. You were always on edge, and when I heard what you did to Dulcet I thought you might be spinning into a spiral of self-destruction. I came to see if you were all right."
"Oh don't pretend you care," Octavia snapped. "You've made your feelings quite clear years ago."
"Tavi, please, I know toward the end of it our relationship was a bit strained, but–"
"A bit strained?" Octavia came up to him and gripped his stupid bowtie to bring his face as close to hers as her gag reflex would allow. "Make no mistake, Frederick, despite your attempts to remain amicable, I despise you. Absolutely hate you. I wish I meant it as an insult, but if anything my disgust only shows how much I truly cared for you once. And you don't even have the decency to hate me back. I wish you were dead, with my whole heart I do, because seeing you alive only reminds me of how even the most reckless, passionate love can decay into flaccid apathy, and how I'll surely experience that rot again with a stallion that is greater than you in every single trait, quality, and characteristic. And when he does become tired of me, just as you did, the pain will be shattering."
"Are you...crying?"
Octavia pushed Frederick away and turned her back to him. "Leave."
Frederick straightened his bowtie and heaved a heavy sigh. "I didn't get tired of you. You just...became too much for me. All the things I loved about you became your biggest faults. Your brutal honesty became lack of tact. You're dogged determination became obsessiveness. So I started avoiding you. Instead of confronting you about it, I just pretended that everything was okay and nothing had changed. That wasn't fair to you, and I know that now, but..." Frederick trailed off, but Octavia stood still and silent.
Frederick shook his head and headed for the door. "You're such an angry pony, Octavia, and you won't let anypony help you, so you end up unhappy. You're worried about how things will end up with your new relationship, well, I would be too. How do you expect things to change if you won't?" He left, and Octavia released a breath she didn't know she was holding. She was a little proud of herself for not devolving into violence, though she wasn't sure that was something to really be proud of.
Several deep breaths couldn't help her regain calm. Her heart still beat furiously, and her weak knees forced Octavia to prop herself on the kitchen island. The world spun. She gripped the island edge and grit her teeth as she tried to force herself steady. She felt apart from herself, apart from her body, thoughts, and emotions. She felt tired. So damn tired.
Slowly, quietly, her shattered facets came back together. The strength came back to her legs, her heart slowed, and her head stopped swimming in nothing. She gripped the strap of her cello case, still across her chest, and glared at the front door. Only after several minutes of no interruptions, did Octavia feel confident enough to leave. Hopefully, that was enough conversation for one day.
It was not, for Octavia ran into yet another pony in the sunset-drenched streets of Canterlot mere feet from her front door. Rarity, in a thick winter coat, waved at Octavia seconds after the latter exited the apartment building. Octavia held back a sigh. Well, of all the ponies in Canterlot she could have run into, Rarity by far was the least unsavory. In fact, on a very good day (a very, very good day), Octavia might even call her a friend.
"Octavia! What a delightful surprise." Rarity actually sounded sincere.
"Yes, a surprise," Octavia replied. Caution would be necessary here. Octavia hadn't seen Rarity since before this entire mess started. Octavia didn't know how much that furnished dandy knew about Octavia's situation other than her new residence at Sweet Apple Acres.
"Are you hungry? Let's go somewhere to eat and catch up," Rarity said with a smile.
"I only brought enough bits for a train ticket home."
"Nonsense, it'll be my treat," Rarity beamed. "Come, I know the perfect place."
Rarity lead the way and Octavia followed. Even she wasn't heartless enough to refuse a free meal. As they walked beside each other, Rarity dominated the conversation. She gossiped about how Blueblood was in hot water with his aunt, Princess Celestia. Apparently he had treated a dear friend of the Princess, one A.K. Yearling, with a bit less sophistication than Celestia would have liked. 
Rumor had it that Yearling, in retaliation, casted a thinly veiled surrogate of the prince in her latest story, and the few ponies that managed to get their hooves on an advanced reader copy noted that the portrayal was not flattering. So incredibly unflattering, in fact, that Blueblood was now the laughingstock of high society even before the book's release. Octavia ate up the news like holy nectar, reveling in the schadenfreude, her only pleasure to indulge in all day besides her earlier practice.
They stopped at a little bistro not far from the Canterlot Theatre. The hostess greeted them and sat them inside. Rarity unzipped her coat and hung it on the back of her chair before taking a seat. Octavia set her cello beside the table, took her seat across from Rarity, and opened up the menu. Surprisingly, the menu featured quite a few apple dishes. Waldorf salad, apple fritters, baked apples, and even apple cider mimosas.
"Octavia," Rarity said, and her downcast tone made Octavia look up from the menu. "Applejack told me why you and Macintosh are living in Sweet Apple Acres, but I found her explanation conveniently lacking. Of course, I'm current with all the gossip in Canterlot, so I know exactly what happened. I don't quite agree with hiding the whole truth from Applejack, but she also told me what happened between you and her and, well, maybe for now it's for the best. No need to give Applejack more reasons to dislike you."
"We'll agree to disagree," Octavia said as the waiter came to take their order. "I'll have one of every dish and drink that features apples, thank you, and bring it all at once."
"I'll have the salad, please," Rarity said. The waiter scribbled down the order and hurried away, allowing Rarity to continue their conversation. "Don't you think it would be best to make amends with Applejack quickly? Family is important to Macintosh, after all. It must be hard for him to have his sister and his marefriend at odds with each other."
"Hard for him? It's been hard for me," Octavia replied. "And if it's been difficult for him then he hasn't said a word about it." She thought for a moment, a hard frown curving her mouth. Octavia didn't like this turn in conversation; a too intimate topic with a not so intimate pony. "What business brought you to Canterlot today?" Octavia didn't really care, but turning attention to Rarity was the easiest way to change the subject.
"Oh the usual: meeting with clients, and searching..." Rarity continued on, and Octavia only half-listened as she thought of Dulcet's offer, or rather the reasoning behind it. 
Just what was Dulcet up to? Obviously she had her eyes on making a profit, but how, and how could Octavia take it instead? The most likely answer was that she intended to rent out the apartments, but could the potential rent really surpass the mortgage payment? Even if it could, Octavia cringed at the thought of becoming a landlord. She bought two floors to be rid of having to deal with annoying ponies.
The waiter's entrance interrupted Rarity's talk and Octavia's thoughts. He hovered two massive platters beside the table and set down the smaller plates of entrees in front of the two mares. Octavia didn't even wait for him to finish bringing her every plate before she stuck her fork into a chunk of apple in her Waldorf salad. She took her first bite and savored it, but the flavor fell flat on her tongue. It tasted...sweet, just sweet. It lacked the underlying tartness, the juiciness, the crunch that Octavia had grown so accustomed to over the past few months. Plus, the salad was overdressed.
The same experience echoed out through every dish. Sure, the apple fritter was crispy, the baked apple nicely spiced, the apple liquor refreshing, but they lacked something. But Octavia was no cook, and so she couldn't put it into words. It didn't taste as good as Macintosh's cooking, that was the best way to put it. Even so, she took another bite. It wasn't as if the food was terrible. Still, it was enough to get Octavia reminiscing.
When was the last time she and Macintosh enjoyed a meal alone together? Far too long. At that moment, Octavia wanted nothing more than a lovely little dinner, just the two of them, in a home of their own, without any annoying family or the prospect of debt looming over their heads.
Of course, that could happen if she took Dulcet Tones' offer. All that debt would be wiped away. They could find a small, affordable place in Ponyville supported by Big Macintosh's royal stipend. Octavia could find a traditional job, perhaps Pinkie Pie would be kind enough to let her work part-time at Sugarcube Corner. At least until Macintosh finished building his own farmstead and they moved in together there. She could live secluded yet still close to the city she knew, perhaps become a housewife...maybe a mother.
But would she be happy with that? No, of course not. She would never be happy until all of her naysayers were crushed sweetly under hoof. Until her talent and status were acknowledged as maximum. And yet, she feared the little part of her heart and mind that would gladly settle for a normal life with Macintosh. The part of her that knew with uncomfortable certainty how much she had come to rely on him for food, companionship, and support for these past few months. The part of her that wanted to heed Frederick's warning.
"What's wrong, Octavia? Usually, you're halfway done with your meal by now," Rarity said before taking a bite of salad.
Octavia gave a wistful sigh. "You know, I never thought the time would come when I had to choose between a stallion and my ambition, but perhaps it's a decision everypony has to face at some point in their life."
Rarity quirked an eyebrow. "My goodness, I didn't know you were the type to choose between the two. After all, there's no doubt in my mind that both you and Macintosh would want you to have both. I hear from Fancy Pants that Macintosh has been nothing but supportive of you, even pleading your case."
"That's true, but Macintosh silently suffers gladly, and he's happy to care for the ponies he loves." Octavia chuckled low. "I wouldn't be surprised if we one day find ourselves in a codependent cycle where he enables and encourages my self-destructive behavior in order to tend to my emotional and mental wounds. And what if we have nothing to show for it but an endless, tiring fight against the course of our own lives."
"That's enough of such talk," Rarity scolded. "I'm quite tired of this new Octavia who speaks in nothing but roundabout hypotheticals and gloomy 'if's. So if it's all the same to you, I would like for you to return to your coarse and blunt way of speaking, even if that means you must call me an uncouth name or two. You can start by telling me what's going on."
The corner of Octavia's mouth pulled up slightly, and she looked up from her food to really appraise Rarity. My goodness but she was pretty in the dim light of the bistro, her deep blue eyes shimmering in the evening sun. Macintosh certainly had good taste in mares. Good taste, but poor judgement. If only he had had the sense to pick Rarity instead, his life would have been so much more pleasant.
"Dulcet Tones put in an offer for my apartment, one that would completely erase my debt."
Rarity's eyes widened. "What a surprise."
"I insulted her and rejected the offer."
"What a surprise," Rarity repeated, much more sarcastically.
"I've changed my mind," Octavia continued, and though her heart sank, a burden had lifted from her back. "There's no sense in letting my pride get in the way of my comfortable living. Besides, Macintosh has suffered enough because of me. He would follow me to Tartarus and back without a second thought, and neither of us want to break it off. So rather than lead him into hell, it would be best if I...took a more traditional route."
"Well, imagine I would live to see the mighty Octavia think of another pony that wasn't her reflection," Rarity said with a smirk. "But honestly, If you think that's what is best for you and Macintosh, then I'm sure everything will turn out alright. You know your relationship best, after all. But is that really all that's bothering you? I would imagine it would take more than that to perturb you so."
Octavia sighed, unsure of how much she wanted to share. "I was visited by...a prior acquaintance."
"Oh, an ex," Rarity said with a knowing nod. "Now there's something that would cause any pony to think too much." Rarity stared at her salad for a few moments before looking up at Octavia. "I'm sorry for my curiousity, Octavia, and feel free not to answer, but...did you...that is, was it a serious relationship?"
"I loved him," Octavia said flatly, she crossed her hooves on the table and hunched over, her snout tickled by the bubbles of her mimosa. "I really did. He made me feel like I could do no wrong. He made me feel as if...only a deeply flawed world could ever deny me. He made me feel that way up to the very moment he told me to get out of his apartment and never return."
"Are you scared the same thing will happen with you and Macintosh?" Rarity asked in almost a whisper.
Octavia stood, slinging her cello across her back yet again. "Thank you for the meal, but I need to get back to Sweet Apple Acres."
Rarity quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure? You hardly touched your food."
"I'm sorry, but I'm not that hungry."
And it was the truth.


-*-


The entire way to Sweet Apple Acres, Octavia's thoughts of her conversations throughout the day occupied the cellist.
Rarity was right, ultimately Octavia knew her relationship best, thus only she could decide what the best course of action to take. This time, just this one time, her decision was one comprised of the utmost consideration for Macintosh. However, she couldn't possibly let him know that. He was the self-sacrificing sort and put Octavia's desires over his own. He always did. Whenever she asked him what he wanted to eat, he would always say minestrone soup, mushroom stroganoff, and apple pie simply because that was Octavia's favorite meal.
No, she had to be convincing. She had to make him believe that this was truly what she wanted. Easy enough, it was already partly true. What she wanted was for Macintosh to get what he wanted. She paused for a moment. Okay, so what did Macintosh want?
As Octavia continued her walk, she couldn't give a definite answer. She didn't know what kind of life Macintosh wanted, whether he wanted an easy, idyllic life or a tumultuous and adventurous one, but Octavia knew one thing for certain. Big Macintosh wanted his farm in Canterlot. It was why he made a bet with Luna for the land, and it was where he devoted much of his time and labor, all of his own free will. The best action, then, would be whatever allowed Macintosh to get back to working on his farm.
Then it was decided. She would tell him of the offer, but she would spin the story around to make it look like Octavia's expert haggling skills had gotten the better of Dulcet, thus making it sound as if this was something Octavia had strived for, had worked toward.
A pang of guilt clenched her stomach. She didn't want to lie to Macintosh. She had done so before, of course, but always from a place of playful teasing or embarrassment. This...this was a deliberate lie meant to misinform him. No, no it wasn't. This wasn't really a lie. Dulcet did make the offer. Octavia would simply present the facts in a different sort of light, and what was wrong with that?
Octavia nodded to herself in order to steel her resolve as she climbed the steps of the Apple family farmstead. Knowing Macintosh and the time of day, Octavia headed to the kitchen where Macintosh busied himself with making dinner. She didn't announce her presence immediately, choosing instead to lean against the doorway and watch Macintosh tend to soups and sauces bubbling on the stove, his back to her. The earthy, savory scent of roasting mushrooms filled the air, and Octavia knew instantly that Macintosh was preparing her favorite.
Just like that, all her planned cleverness and and all her justifications crumbled, replaced instead by the overwhelming desire to provide and care for Macintosh, no matter what it took. After starting a feud with his sister, leaving them destitute, and taking him away from his farm, she owed him that much.
"Dulcet Tones put in an offer for the apartment. It's enough to wipe out the debt."
Macintosh said nothing for several seconds until he turned off the stove. He turned to her, his face unreadable. "What are you going to do?"
Octavia stepped up to him. "I'm going to take Dulcet's bits, so that we can start from a clean slate. It's not as if another pony will ever make the same offer."
Macintosh approached her and gave her a kiss, one that Octavia gladly fell into. It ended much too soon for her liking. "If that's what you want then I'm behind ya." Turning back to the stove, he added, "Now go wash up, dinner's gonna be ready soon."
"I've had an exhausting day," Octavia said as she headed out of the kitchen. "I'm going to take a nap. Would you save me a plate for later, please?"
"Eeyup."
Octavia climbed up the stairs and went to their bedroom without another word. When she entered the moonlit room, she swung her cello off her and stood it up against the wall. She opened it, and even in the dim night the cello still managed to gleam like the finest crystal. Octavia trailed a hoof down the scroll and neck and sighed.
Did she want to continue playing? She kept changing her mind, but this time things were different. Her reputation tarnished, her apartment gone, her talent nonexistent. And yet the world hadn't ended. Things became inconvenient, sure. Living with Macintosh's family, having to swallow her pride, neither of these were ideal, but at least she still had a somewhat comfortable living. Good food, good sex, good banter. Maybe that really was all she needed.
Octavia shut the case and stuffed it into the back of the closet. She never thought she would be the type of mare to choose a stallion over her ambition. So what? She wasn't the first, she wouldn't be the last. Besides, she wasn't even sure how to fulfill her ambition. If what Dulcet said was true (and even Octavia had to admit that was very likely the case) then it didn't matter how much she practiced. When it came to the cello, there might be no way to make others bow to her anymore.
She supposed she could marry into a royal title. It would have to be a mare, though, she already had a stallion. Was Luna single? That over inflated blowhard certainly needed a prick. Octavia would have to find out tomorrow when she went to pay Dulcet a visit.


-*-


Octavia glared at the great white of Dulcet's apartment building. It really was a nice place, though it would be nicer if it were hers. Surprisingly, Octavia's name was on the doormare's list. Dulcet was expecting her. Octavia didn't know whether to be flattered or angry, so she decided on neither. Best to keep a straight face coming into a negotiation. After a long elevator ride, Octavia ambled down the hall and knocked on Dulcet's door. It eased open.
"Octavia," Dulcet Tones greeted her with a smile. "How expected. Come in, and have a seat. We have much to talk about I imagine."
Octavia stepped into the apartment and wasted no time in telling Dulcet her intentions. "I've come to accept your offer." After closing the door behind them, Dulcet turned to smile wider at Octavia, a wicked little smile that Octavia would be far more comfortable if it were on her own face.
"You know," Dulcet began as she went to a file cabinet tucked in the corner of the room, "I have such torn feelings toward you." She gave a small chuckle as she rummaged through the files and papers. "A part of me wants to help you and keep you from making the same mistakes I have, and yet, another part, perhaps the part most like you, wants to crush you. I'm sure there's a psychological mechanism behind it. Anger at my past-self projected onto you, or something like that."
"You talk too much," Octavia said with a glare. She sat on Dulcet's comfiest recliner, right in front of an ornate mahogany coffee table. "Is this your way of telling me you're rescinding your offer?"
"No, my offer is the same," Dulcet said. She pulled out the file she sought, and went over to the coffee table. She pulled out two piles of papers and set them in front of Octavia. "To be cruel or to be kind. I couldn't decide in the end, so I'm leaving the choice up to you. It's like a little game."
"Somepony ought to give you a board game if you're this desperate for entertainment." Octavia sneered.
"My birthday is next week if you're feeling generous. Speaking of which, the contract on your right is not only for my apartment, but for you to come to my birthday party and apologize to me in front of all present. And trust me when I say that everypony will be present."
Octavia hardened her jaw. "And the one on the left?"
"The one on the left stipulates that you will never play a cello publicly again."
Octavia allowed the scowl on her face to remain for a few seconds more. Little did Dulcet know Octavia had already decided to do just that, but she needed to keep it close to her chest. She needed to make Dulcet think this was a difficult decision for her, otherwise she might think of something else inane.
"Must I decide now?" Octavia asked.
"I'll give you three days to read over them and decide. Those are your copies so feel free to take them," Dulcet answered. "Though I already know which one you're going to pick."
"Then we have nothing more to discuss." Octavia leapt off the chair and grabbed the contracts, but before she could head out the door, a thought popped into her head. "By the way," Octavia said, "do you happen to know if Princess Luna is single?"
"Uh..." For the first time since Octavia met her, Dulcet had to think before speaking. "I'm...not sure. Rumor has it that Princess Luna never hesitated to keep a lover before her banishment, but if she has one now then it is quite possibly the best kept secret in Equestria."
Octavia clicked her tongue. "I'll have to get it straight from the pony's mouth then."
Octavia left, glad to finally have the last word. The meeting had gone better than she expected, lasting only minutes with nothing of significance lost. Her return home also went smoothly, no unexpected meetings with unwanted ponies, and best of all she was the only one in her train car. No, she took that back. The best, best part was that the Apple family farmstead would be empty of everyone but Octavia and Macintosh. Today seemed to be the polar opposite of yesterday, and she intended to take full advantage of it.
Arriving at the farmstead, the sound of water running through the pipes clued Octavia to Macintosh's whereabouts. Perfect, while he showered she would hurry upstairs and make sure he got quite the eyeful when he entered their bedroom. She climbed to the second story and went into the bedroom, dropping the contracts onto the desk. 
She stopped to stare at them for a moment. Well, no point in putting it off. She took a pen from the desk and signed the contract that prohibited her cello playing. A little pang of regret traced her heart as she signed, but her certainty quickly squashed it. This was the right thing to do. No point in questioning that now.
The bedroom door opened, and only now did Octavia realize that the sound of rushing water had stopped. Octavia turned to face a freshly showered Macintosh, his coat still slightly damp, the scent of apples mixing with that of soap. He smiled at her, and Octavia smiled back.
"How was your trip, sugar?" Macintosh asked as he came up to her.
"It was a good trip, I'll tell you all about it after." Octavia hopped onto the desk and leaned back, making sure to give Macintosh a full view. 
Macintosh tilted his head and feigned ignorance. "After what?" he asked.
"After you take this mare for a ride," Octavia said with a smirk.
Macintosh chuckled and raised himself up so his front hooves were on either side of her on the desk. He leaned in for a kiss, but the sound of crinkling paper stopped him. Tilting his head, he looked at Octavia's right flank where his hoof disturbed the freshly signed contract.
"What's this?" Macintosh asked, picking up the papers to read them.
"Macintosh, I hate when you keep me waiting." Octavia wrapped her forelegs around him and leaned forward to bite his neck in an attempt to bring his attention back to what really mattered.
Macintosh, however, remained undeterred. He skimmed the page. "Oh, it's the contract for selling the apartment," he observed.
"Yes, exactly, now can you please rut me already?"
Despite Octavia's prodding, Macintosh continued reading. He furrowed his brow. "Why does it say you gotta stop playing the cello?" He lowered himself off the desk and flipped through the contract. "And you already signed it?" His head jerked up and scanned the room. "Where's your cello?"
"It's in the closet," Octavia said with a sigh. "Macintosh, there's nothing to be concerned about. I–"
"Nothing to be concerned about?" Macintosh repeated, taken aback. "I thought you were working on getting better. I thought you were gonna fight your way back to the top. What happened?"
Octavia ran a hoof through her mane and leapt off the desk. "Macintosh, this is for the best."
"For who? Octavia, you love playing the cello, and you hate having other ponies tell you what to do. You tellin' me you're fine with this?"
"I won't lie and say this is easy for me," Octavia admitted. "But this is for the best...for you."
"What do you mean?"
"I can sell the apartment, erase the debt, and get a job. That'll leave you with enough time and money to continue working on your farm. I wanted to be considerate of you for a change."
"I liked it better when you just thought of yourself," Macintosh said, and Octavia tensed.
"Funnily enough, Rarity said something similar yesterday," Octavia said, her voice soft. "You're both wrong, however. Soon enough the two of you will come to resent me. It's happened before. If I don't change then–"
"What do you mean it's happened before?" Macintosh interrupted. "With who?"
"With...my ex...Frederick."
"So?"
"So?" Octavia growled. "Macintosh, our relationship right now is exactly like my relationship with Frederick in the beginning. He was just like you: kind, supportive, with the silly mindset that I could do no wrong. But soon the rose-tinted glasses faded, and all my loveable qualities became flaws. I'm sure the same will happen to you, so I want to...change."
Macintosh glared at her for a few moments. He clicked his tongue, and it had the same impact on Octavia as a clock striking the hour of her execution. "You think I'm stupid or something?"
"What?" Octavia quirked an eyebrow.
"I hate to break it to ya, sugar, but I already know you're an ass," Macintosh continued. "You're rude, you're vindictive, you're two-faced. You threw me out of the apartment for a week, you insulted and started a feud with my sister, you slugged an old woman across the face. You slugged an old woman across the face, and you refused to apologize. But I'm still here, ain't I? And it ain't because I'm too dumb or too in love to realize how obnoxious you are."
"Then why are you with me?" Octavia snapped. "If I'm so terrible then why do you stay?"
"Because you're also kind, and loyal, and you don't take crap from anypony," Macintosh said. "You're driven to a fault, you're confident and self-assured, and you don't let the stupid things ponies say about you get to you. At least, you didn't before. But aside from all that the one thing that keeps me by your side is that I believe with my whole damn heart that you're a good pony. A pony that makes plenty of stupid mistakes, sure, but still a good one." 
Octavia clenched her jaw and stared at the ground. Macintosh approached her and tilted up her chin, their noses almost touching. "Octavia, my darlin', you're only you when you bite and spit for what you want. So what do you want? What'll make you happy? I'll be fine so long as you follow your gut."
"You'll resent me for it one of these days."
"Wanna bet?" Macintosh said with a smirk. "Gotta warn ya, I got a pretty good track record."
Octavia buried her head in Macintosh's chest. "To be honest, Macintosh, all I want right now is for you to treat me like one of your fields."
Macintosh chuckled. "Never heard that one before."


-*-


Octavia threw open the fridge in search of something to eat. Luckily, she found the plate of food that Macintosh had put aside for her. She didn’t bother to heat it up, and simply sat at the dining table to eat. Her conversation with Macintosh had left her more confused than ever. She didn’t have the faintest idea what to do. Deep in her gut she wanted to fight, if not as a cellist then as something else, and Macintosh gladly gave his blessing, but she still hesitated.
A silhouette caught the corner of her eye, and she leapt back from the surprise visitor. The other pony came closer, and Octavia made out a hint of green and white along with a wrinkled mouth.
“Granny Smith?” Octavia asked.
“Yup,” Granny Smith replied.
“What are you doing up this late?”
“What’re ya doin’ up this early,” Granny Smith countered. “S’already five in the mornin’. Gettin’ an early snack?”
Octavia nodded as Granny Smith took an apple from the basket on the table. She sat across from Octavia and took a bite. “We don’t get a lotta chances to talk you ‘n me. How’re things?”
Octavia shrugged. “Confusing,” she admitted. It was easy to talk to Granny Smith. She always treated Octavia with kindness and respect, even after the fallout with Applejack. Granny Smith didn’t say anything in response, and only considered Octavia with a piercing look. Feeling an awkward silence start to develop, Octavia decided to continue.
“Have you ever...wanted to fight for something, but doing so would be troublesome to the ponies you cared about?”
Granny Smith chuckled. “Have Ah ever told ya that you remind me of my late husband, Cedar?”
“Once or twice,” Octavia said.
“He used to say he was born from the dirt without a bit to his name. Fought his entire life to make other ponies see his worth.” Granny Smith’s eyes glazed over as she looked past Octavia, past the kitchen, and past the present. “He wanted to make Sweet Apple Acres the biggest, grandest, most profitable farm in Equestria.”
Granny Smith took a few more bites to finish her apple and chewed slowly. When she finished, she spoke again. “He died at the head of a plow.” Granny Smith yawned and raised a hoof to cover her mouth. She moved to get up, her chair squeaking against the floor as she pushed it back. “If that ain’t troublesome, Ah don’t know what is.”
“Wait,” Octavia raised a hoof to keep Granny Smith around for a minute longer. “Did he ever prove his worth?”
Granny Smith shrugged. “Depends on who ya ask. You ask me, he did. You ask somepony in Canterlot, they probably wouldn’t even know who he was. You ask Cedar, well, Ah ain’t gotta clue.” Granny Smith headed for the front door. “It ain’t what you wanna prove that’s important, ya hear? Everypony’s got somethin’ like that. It’s who ya wanna prove it to that matters. Ah don’t know who ol’ Cedar wanted to prove his worth to. You ask him, he woulda said everypony, but between you an’ me, Ah think he wanted to prove it to himself. You understand?”
Octavia nodded. “I understand.”
Granny Smith left without another word, leaving Octavia with a little bit of wisdom, but not a shred of advice.
Ah, so that was it then. All this time Octavia didn’t strive to prove her abilities, her worth, to the upper echelon of Canterlot, but to herself. If that were the case, then it was surely impossible. She would never be content with her own accomplishments, she would never prove her worth to herself, for in the deepest reaches of her heart her greatest fear was her own worthlessness. She craved the praise and admiration of other ponies as the proof to combat that fear.
Was that Octavia’s fate then? To work tirelessly toward an unattainable goal only to die behind her cello? Before she met Macintosh she would have gladly done just that, but things were different now that her professional life was in shambles. And what of Macintosh? His faith in her, his belief that she was a good pony and that she should continue to fight, was naive. While she pretended to be an unequaled cellist, while she strived to be acknowledged, the ponies around her suffered beneath the weight of her ego.
She couldn’t do that to Macintosh, even though he gladly volunteered. She was no good, simply a broken mare, and she would only make the ponies around her unhappy. Things would be better for everyone if she were alone again.
Octavia finished her food and headed upstairs. Macintosh still slept soundly on the bed, his mane a mess and his breathing soft and calm. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight. She went to the desk where the slightly-wrinkled contract still lay, the signed contract that prohibited her cello playing, and pushed it aside. She grabbed a blank sheet of paper and a pen and started her letter.

Macintosh,

I release you. Don’t try to find me.

Octavia

Octavia clenched her jaw. She couldn’t write any more than that for fear of becoming too sentimental. If she left one speck of regret, any indication at all of love or affection, he would come find her no matter where she went. It was for the best. If she ran, and he found her, she wouldn’t be strong enough to reject him. It was for the best. He actually had a promising future, and she would only be deadweight. It was for the best.
She left the letter and took the contract. Despite her best judgement, she went to the bed to get one last look at Macintosh. Impulse brought her lips against his for one final kiss. He shifted, but didn’t wake up, and Octavia had to fight to urge to do it again.
She snuck out through the backdoor and ran as fast she could away from Sweet Apple Acres. A place she never loved but would sorely miss.