//------------------------------// // Chapter 3: The Mare Who Hath No Music // Story: Wreck of the Bridleway Limited // by Locomotion //------------------------------// Perspective: Octavia Ninety minutes in, and all seemed to be going quite well. After settling into our compartments and taking our first meal of the journey in the dining car, we were now relaxing in the bar lounge, each of us accompanied by a glass of the finest wines, spirits and cocktails that the railway company had to offer. Harpo had temporarily excused himself from the group, ostensibly to ensure that his instrument was properly tuned; although one does wonder whether he might have been taking an opportunity to brood without being criticised. Beauty Brass certainly seemed to think so. “Anypony would think he wanted nothing whatsoever to do with the theatre,” she quipped. “It's understandable, I suppose,” I conceded, taking a dainty sip of my sherry. “Sitting through an entire pantomime every year can't have done his overall opinion a great deal of justice.” “Rather a shame, I feel,” mused Frederick. “Most stage shows are nowhere near as juvenile as the likes of 'The Little Seapony' and 'The Prince and the Pauper'. If only Harpo could understand that, it would make things a lot easier for the rest of us.” “True, but then we all know what Harpo's like,” said Beauty Brass. “No sense of humour whatsoever – or taste, for that matter.” That certainly was true, I thought with a slight smile. While I'm not exactly an aficionado on comedy myself, I do at least acknowledge that even the wisest and most cultured of ponies can benefit from the odd bit of humour; whereas Harpo would merely turn up his nose at the very thought of it. Furthermore, should he ever find what he believes to be fault with something new, he almost always becomes bent on washing his hooves of it, and it therefore takes a lot to change his tune, excusing the expression. But there was no way I would be letting Harpo's attitude put the blinkers on our part in the musical – indeed, such was my assurance that I readily raised a toast to the potential success of the performance, and to the role we were to play in it. Unsurprisingly, Harpo was gone rather a long time. After about ten minutes, Frederick was beginning to worry again. “Harpo's sure taking his time,” he remarked. “Reckon he's alright?” Beauty Brass snorted and waved a dismissive hoof. “He's fine, Frederick,” she stated in a nonchalant tone. “Same old Harpo, you know – always sulking over what suits him and what doesn't.” “Well...probably,” said Frederick uncertainly. “I just hope he's not trying to abandon ship as we speak.” “What, while the train's still in motion? He'd be lucky to survive at this kind of speed!” laughed Beauty Brass derisively. “I know, but...” Frederick was promptly silenced as Concerto rested a hoof on his and gave him a small, reassuring smile. He didn't say much unto Frederick – merely a calm, soothing, “He'll be alright, Fred,” that seemed to ease his concern at the drop of a bass note. This was just one of those times when I rather wondered about the dynamic between those two stallions; but for the most part, I simply ignored it and told myself that it was nothing out of the ordinary. Concerto does have a slightly camp side to his character, after all. In any event, he was quite right; for even Harpo knows better than to jump off a moving train just for the sake of preserving his dignity. He certainly didn't appear to be having an easy time achieving the latter, I realised, for he returned only two minutes later looking somewhat disgruntled. When Frederick asked what the matter was, Harpo explained (with fairly bad grace) that a teenaged mare, distracted by the tune she and a friend of hers were listening to on her Trotmare, had walked right into him in the middle of the corridor and knocked him right off his hooves – quite by accident, I suspected, knowing Harpo's tendency to exaggerate. “Did they really?” quipped Beauty Brass dryly. “I knew those two were attractive, but I never thought you took that kind of fancy to teenagers.” Harpo glared at her, thoroughly unamused. “Why should I ever wish to associate myself with such inconsiderate young hoodlums?!” he spat. “There's absolutely nothing to admire about some self-absorbed foal who won't stop listening to that ghastly racket they call music! Honestly, I don't know whose bright idea it was to invent all this...'pop music' flapdoodle, but I'm surprised they haven't been thrown into an asylum!” If she had been with us right now, Harpo's harsh words would almost certainly have struck a raw nerve with her. They certainly proved to be the stray bullet which grazed the flesh on my own chest; they didn't exactly penetrate straight into my heart, but I still felt the sting as I gave him a disapproving frown of my own. “That's not the way to speak about modern vogues, Harpo,” I chided. “If you don't like contemporary music, that's fine; but there's no call for you to start heckling others just for taking an interest in such media.” “And why not?!” Harpo ranted on. “These modern music styles are a perfect disgrace to the likes of us real musicians! Why, in Parish Nandermane's Equestria, all such music would be banned and anypony caught playing such drivel would be made an example of in public!” “Well, that's your hard bun,” retorted Beauty Brass. “Other ponies are perfectly entitled to their own opinions and interests – and besides, what of our old friend Linsey Woolsey?” But this only added further lumps of coal to Harpo's fire. “What, that uncouth blank-flank tearaway?! There is no way in Tartarus I would ever consider her a friend!” he sneered rudely. “Good riddance, that's what I say.” The graze on my chest turned into a general ache all over my person as he uttered those cold, unfeeling words. Harpo and Beauty Brass continued to quarrel, and I think I must have heard the latter use that homophobic word again at some point, but I felt far too hurt to even think of correcting them or changing the subject of our conversation. Without stopping to finish my drink, I left them to their petty squabble and wearily retired to my compartment, ignoring the looks of concern from Frederick, Symphony and Concerto as they watched me leave. Even when I turned in for the night, those terrible bells that represented Harpo's acidic words continued to ring in my head. It was no secret among the group that he had taken a real dislike to her in our youth, but he still never fails to hurt my feelings just by speaking out against her, even if he doesn't mean to – although given the events of that evening, I did start to wonder. To add salt to my innumerable wounds, the sight of her cute magenta eyes, the brash but fond smile on her face, and that stunning two-tone blue mane of hers kept appearing and disappearing in my mind's eye, battling for my attention against an irate Harpo and a disturbed Beauty Brass. For several hours, I lay restless in my bed, seeking sleep in vain; and when dawn finally broke, I awoke feeling as weary as if I'd been awake for three days in a row. Why did I let her go? Why didn't I at least go with her? And why did Harpo have to be so negative towards that mare as to openly defame her in front of me? Those questions echoed through the canyons of my mind as I heaved myself out of bed and went about my daily needs. Not often do I let such issues get the better of me, but at that very moment, they felt like a rogue rainfall that not even the strongest and most diligent of Pegasi could control. In fact, I felt so lost that I couldn't even bring myself to join my companions, instead opting to return to my compartment and indulge in a spot of light reading in a bid to clear my aching head. A knock at the door eventually broke my concentration, and I looked up from the romantic novel I was reading to see a worried Frederick entering the compartment. “You alright, Octavia?” he asked of me. “We missed you at breakfast.” I looked down at my book with a rueful sigh. Frederick has always been the brother I never had, and as such, I was always grateful for his concern in times of emotional struggle especially; but I also felt a little ashamed of myself for having troubled him so. “I'm okay, I suppose,” I answered as nonchalantly as I could manage. “I just didn't feel hungry, that's all.” But Frederick didn't seem convinced. For all his faults, and even Harpo would readily admit that there are very few, he always seems to know if something is troubling me, and there was no denying that now was one of those times. After a while, I felt his hoof on my shoulder as he gently pressed further, “Was it to do with what Harpo had been saying about her?” “Among other factors, yes,” I said simply, trying to hold back the droplets of sorrow I could feel building up in my eyes as that same sting from last night returned to my heart. I didn't even need to question whom Frederick was referring to – having confided to him about my feelings shortly before she had left, it stood to reason that he should have been perceptive enough to make such a connection so easily. Even though I wasn't looking at him, I could feel the solemn half-smile on his face as he gazed upon me with subdued sympathy. “You really do miss her, don't you?” he murmured. “More than you could ever imagine,” I lamented, staring out of the window into the heavens. I could still feel the warmth of her lips against mine from that fateful final night we had spent together before she left. “If only she didn't feel like she had to run away like that.” Frederick stooped down so that he was at eye level with me. “I can see how painful this is for you, Octavia,” he said, clearly trying to soothe my broken heart. “She was a good friend to all of us, even if Harpo may have been more than a little antagonistic towards her, and we're all sorry she had to leave you so soon. But then again, it was probably for the best that she did – if she had remained in Canterlot, her parents would probably have found some way of crushing her ambitions...eventually. You wouldn't want that to happen, would you?” “By no means, Frederick,” I affirmed. If anything, however, such a philosophical sentiment served only to renew the disapproval I felt towards Scarlett Corduroy and Baldachin for having driven her to it in the first place. “I just can't understand how she had to have such heartless parents. She could have been the crème-de-la-crème of every nightclub in Canterlot, and instead they chose to bully her just because she's not the one to inherit their factory! It just isn't fair.” “Tell me about it!” Rarely does Frederick ever exhibit hatred or impatience, but the tone of his voice clearly told me how annoyed he was with those two ponies. And rightly so, for whenever they attended a concert or a party in which we were playing, they always had something to say about us being a bad influence on her. “The way those two windbags talk, it's as if they have no appreciation of entertainment whatsoever. The mare who hath no music in her is worthy only of treasons, stratagems and spoils, that's what I say.” And well he might, I thought wryly. It's one thing to open fire upon one small borough just for differing from the remainder of a specific town, but mowing down the entire population is quite another, especially when it affects the ones we hold so dear to our hearts. My only consolation was that the bullet fired by her parents had ricocheted right back in their direction, for when word spread that they had disowned their own daughter, many high-society ponies stopped talking to them – although her musical taste, again, might have had something to do with it as well. It's just a wonder it didn't tarnish their reputation altogether; but that said, even that would have done little to make things easier for me. “Frederick,” I ventured after a while, “is it wrong of me to be feeling so strongly for a mare of all ponies?” I already knew the answer to my own query, but I still felt the need to hear somepony say it to me out loud, at least for reassurance. “Not at all,” replied Frederick kindly. “It's not up to us to decide which way your door swings – you're the one who makes the music, so you call the tune. If you really feel that way for Linsey, then what right have any of us to judge?” Exactly what I keep telling myself time and again, I thought with a small smile; although part of me did wonder whether Frederick might have been talking from experience just then. But at that very moment, my attention was directed rather abruptly towards the open door – and that was when I realised, to my utter dismay, that Beauty Brass was staring upon me with a look of utter shock, her face as pale as an iceberg. It would appear that she had been eavesdropping on our conversation all the while. The silence that hung over the three of us was so awkward that even the rumble of the train's wheels seemed but a gentle breeze across an empty field, and I began to wish that a hole would open up under my hooves and enable a swift escape. Frederick kept staring between the both of us, quite likely wondering how to try and diffuse the situation, while Beauty Brass remained stock still, her mouth agape as if she wanted to say something but was struggling to form the words. Barely had I begun to try to explain myself when she finally found her voice, choking out a barely audible “B-brandy – bar car!” before backing slowly and stiffly into the corridor, closing the door behind her. Frederick shot me an anxious look before scrambling to his hooves and bolting out of the compartment in pursuit, but I barely took any notice. Even now, I cannot put into words how humiliated and embarrassed I felt from that unfortunate turn of events. Not only had I let slip of my own emotions to Beauty Brass, one of the last ponies with whom I would ever wish to discuss such a sensitive topic, but I regret to say that a certain other pair of ponies must have overheard the conversation as well, because I heard their voices grumbling disdainfully about fillyfoolers as they passed my compartment. Far from having the weight lift itself from my shoulders, I now felt it pressing hard against my entire body, the emotional nutcracker threatening to crush the delicate little almond that I represented; and all I wanted was to curl myself into a ball and let the angels set my spirit free. How in Equestria was I going to live this down? Perspective: Vinyl Entry 3710 March 24th, 10:20am Well, so far so good. Just boarded the train, and we're now leaving the station – but boy, am I gonna have a tough journey or what? The guard tells me this thing ain't actually going to Rainbow Falls, but is gonna stop at a place called Horse Junction so that I can catch another train from there, and even when I actually get there, I'm gonna have to lug my stuff halfway across town the village in order to reach the venue. It's times like these that I wish I'd invested in a cart in which to carry this lot, but then they probably wouldn't let me take it in the “break coach” or whatever Loco calls it. So here's the game plan – this train reaches Horse Junction at about half-eleven, the Rainbow Falls train leaves at twenty to twelve, gets into Rainbow Falls at about half-past, and then it's a ten-minute trot from there to the community centre. That leaves me more than two hours to set up my DJ booth and grab myself a bit of lunch. The ceremony takes place at about three, and then when they've finished, they're coming straight through to the dance hall for the reception party, which is gonna be going on until about half-seven when the flying chariot comes to take them away for their honeymoon. Once that's over and done with, I'll be taking the train back to Horse Junction at about twenty-five after eight, and should be in good time to catch the 9.52 from there. All going well, I'll be getting into Ponyville at about eleven. It's gonna be a pretty long day, I ain't gonna lie, but I think I can manage it – just about. Entry 3710 and a bit 12:45pm Sheesh, that was a tough journey. Got into Horse Junction okay, but you wouldn't believe what a faff it was getting my equipment onto the Rainbow Falls train. For starters, I had to drag it all the way over a footbridge to the other platform, and then I find there's not a lot of luggage space to put it, so I'm gonna have to carry some of it with me in the passenger compartment. I kinda got the stink-eye from one or two passengers as well, probably because I stole their seat or something stupid. Or maybe it's to do with me being a DJ or whatever. Stupid villagers! The trek from station to centre wasn't much better either. I was kinda hoping that there would be a carter service that I could use for my DJ stuff, but no – I had to drag the whole lot across the village all by myself, and not so much as a kiddies' truck to carry it in either! I mean, yeah, I'll probably be okay once I've eaten, but it's a miracle I still have the energy even to crawl over to the nearest food outlet after all that, let alone play music. Still, no pain, no gain – for all it's worth! I swear, sometimes I feel like the whole world's out to get me. First I emerge into the world to find I've got a pair of bossy stuck-up no-good morons for parents, then I have to quit school and run away from home because they hate me for being who I am, and when I get to where I wanna go, they don't take my music seriously until I finally get a gig through sheer dumb luck! And now I'm having to wear myself to the bone just so that a happy couple can have a good time! I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm like real happy for them and all, but I shouldn't have to practically murder myself trying to get from A to B just because I'm not allowed to take a cart with me. At this rate, I'm gonna be dead by the time I get to my front door. If only Octavia could be here for me right now... Perspective: Octavia The remainder of the journey – or what little there was of it, with the benefit of hindsight – was somewhat less than bearable for me, to put it plainly. The general atmosphere among the group was tepid at best, and where the skies of my subconscious had been reassuringly clear towards the start of our voyage, a dark cloud now blocked most of the sunlight I needed to keep my spirits up. Beauty Brass never said anything, but even with the best will in the world, the discomfort she felt from learning of my feelings was as plain as the snout on her face. Harpo, on the other hoof, didn't even try. How he found out about my leanings towards a disc jockey of all ponies, I shall probably never know – although I wouldn't be surprised if he had heard it from Beauty Brass. She has never been good at keeping secrets, after all. Whatever the circumstances, he remained coldly quiet for most of the day, and even Concerto seemed far more talkative than him by all accounts. As for Jet Set and Upper Crust, their opinion of me seemed to have dropped like a stone into a deep chasm. Whenever I crossed paths with them, which was far more frequent than I felt comfortable with, either they would stare upon me as if I were the wretched of the earth, or they would simply hold their noses up high as if they were of far greater importance even than the princesses. It made me feel sick to the stomach with shame, but also a little irritated with their inconsiderate attitudes. It was at dinner that my bomb finally detonated. After all the hardships I had endured, I was hoping for a nice quiet meal to end an otherwise difficult day; but unfortunately, it wasn't to be. Harpo had descended into a bad mood, and was grumbling unceasingly about the play. “I can't understand it,” he said petulantly. “I join this group for the good of the upper classes, and now I find that I'm to partake in some juvenile sing-along session in Manehattan.” “Well, hang on, Harpo, let's be fair,” Frederick tried to reason. “We're only exploring new avenues, after all – and in our defence, you did agree to come along in the first place.” But Harpo refused to be swayed. “I must have been out of my mind. Musicals indeed! Surely we as a group can do better than this theatrical abomination, can't we?” By this time, I was growing rather weary of Harpo's antagonism, but I also knew that it wasn't the musical he was upset about. He was just being difficult because I had gotten closer to her than he thought I should have done, and was probably just trying to get his own back. “There's nothing abominable about musical performances, Harpo,” I told him sternly. “You're setting your standards far too high.” “At least I actually have standards unlike certain other ponies I could mention,” replied Harpo belligerently. “I ask you, what kind of classical musician associates herself so closely with a raver?!” “And one who's of her own gender, for that matter,” put in Beauty Brass with an uneasy frown. “I never had you pegged as a fillyfooler, Octavia.” It may only have been a passing comment, but it still offended me so deeply that how I managed to avoid leaning over our table and clipping her around the ears is beyond me. “Well, be that as it may,” I stated firmly, “but that doesn't give you the right to insult me for it.” “What? No, I didn't mean anything of the sort!” blustered Beauty Brass, trying desperately to backpedal a little. “I was only trying to say I...” “Then don't,” I interrupted, perhaps a little more harshly than I should have done. “I've had to put up with your intolerance all day long, and I just want to be able to let it go and carry on with my life. Does that not seem fair to you?” Beauty Brass nodded and returned to her meal without another word; but Harpo continued to make an exhibition of himself. “And I'll tell you another thing,” he went on, “whoever cooked this ratatouille has added far too many cashew nuts.” As expected, this sparked off yet another argument between him and Beauty Brass. “You're just looking for something to complain about!” she admonished him crossly. “Well, wouldn't you if your group leader had stooped to the level of the gutter?!” retorted Harpo defensively. “It's bad enough that I had to endure that hoodlum Linsey Woolsey, but now I find Octavia has a thing for her?” My patience had already worn thin by then, and I had half a mind to take Harpo out of the dining car and have some severe words with him about his attitude – but there was worse to come. Only a few tables away, I could hear Jet Set and Upper Crust talking among each other in an obnoxious manner. “You know,” Jet Set was saying, “if I'd known that a lowly fillyfooler was going to be taking part in this performance, I would never have opted for either of us to go to Manehattan in the first place.” “Nor I,” agreed Upper Crust indignantly. “Imagine the leader of a prominent music group fooling about with ponies of her own sex. It's a perfect disgrace, make no mistake about that!” “And with one of the noisiest and most uncouth natural disasters ever to set hoof in Equestria to boot! I've seen more than my fair share of sinful alliances and unnatural attractions, but this is absolutely improper!” That was when the thin, frayed thread that represented my temper finally snapped. I could feel the blood pumping noisily through my ears, and both my front hooves were clenched tightly with fury until at last, without another moment's thought for anypony else in the carriage, I slammed said hooves on the table, stood up on my hind legs and screamed out loud, “And what's so proper about you windbags deriding ponies you don't even know personally?!” And without even bothering to wait for a reply, I forcefully pushed my plate aside and stormed out of the dining car back to my compartment. Still trembling with anger and distress, I flung myself unceremoniously onto my bed and buried my face in the soft pillows as I finally broke down into uncontrollable sobbing fits, white-hot tears flowing thick and fast from my eyes. I felt violated, and by my own clientele no less. How dare they speak so horrendously of me after how long my group and I had been playing for them? They didn't even know what it was like to be so helplessly in love with somepony and not have your feelings returned, even though said pony was still alive and well – and all because of a cruel twist of fate. How I wished more than ever that she could still be with me at that very moment... But who was I fooling, I thought bitterly? I had lost the pony most dear to my heart, we were never going to cross paths ever again, and I only had myself to blame. But then again, that was probably going a little hard on myself – no, if anything, it was more the fault of those uncaring parents of hers for treating her as if she were little more than a puppet. They had blasted a huge crater in both our lives, all for the selfish reason that they wanted to keep their business going, and it would surely take a miracle to repair the immeasurable bomb damage that I had incurred. Why, oh why did so many ponies in this cruel, miserable world have to be so heartless as to do this to their own foals? And how could I ever forgive those two for ruining our lives the way they did? I must have been in that state for quite some time, because when I finally managed to compose myself, I discovered that the sun had almost completely receded below the horizon, creating a beautiful blaze of coppery orange streaks through the late evening sky. That was when I heard the door being gently opened and felt the presence of a further two ponies quietly slipping into my compartment, one of them sitting herself down next to my bed. I looked up dejectedly, but didn't say anything, even when I saw who said pony happened to be. “Are you alright, Octavia?” whispered Symphony unto me, her eyes full of concern. The only response I could manage was to hang my head with shame and sorrow, my eyes closed in an attempt to hold back any further tears. Clearly Symphony must have sensed the pain in my heart, because the next thing I knew, she was resting a gentle hoof on my shoulder as if to ease away the burden they were carrying. “I'm sorry about what happened in the dining car earlier,” she said solemnly. “We never realised you and Linsey were so close.” Her observation took me completely by surprise, and I could only stare in disbelief as she frowned sympathetically upon me. “How......how did you know?” “Frederick told us everything after your outburst,” explained Concerto, breaking his usual laconic façade for what almost felt like one of the few times in his life. “He was more than a little cross with Jet Set and Upper Crust for bear-baiting you the way they did – after you left, he marched straight up to them and berated them for being so selfish as to defame you for your leanings alone.” “You should have seen the look on his face when he was dealing with those two,” put in Symphony with a wry smile. “I don't think any of us have known Frederick to be so scathing. Never once did he let them get a word in edgeways, and it's lucky for all of us that Fancypants happened to be on the train too, especially when one takes into account how he stood up for you back there. He sends his apologies, by the way.” But grateful though I was for Fancypants' fortuitous intervention and subsequent apology, it did little to rid me of the pain inflicted not just by those two aristocrats, but by members of my own ensemble to boot. “They had every right to judge me,” I lamented gloomily. “What kind of high-class musician would dare to retaliate against their own clientele in such an unbecoming manner?” For one of the few times in her life, Symphony took on a mask of pure disdain. “Well, it wasn't as if they didn't deserve it in the first place,” she said feelingly. “True, each is entitled to one's own opinion, but when somepony openly calls another out on superficial details such as, er...your 'preferences', so to speak...that is wholly unacceptable. Your actions were perfectly justified in comparison with theirs, and I'd readily say that to Harpo's face if he ever durst speak out against you ever again.” “As would I,” put in Concerto gravely. “His behaviour tonight has been nothing short of despicable – heaven knows Frederick has even been considering we part ways with him as soon as the tour is over. At least Beauty Brass had the sense to apologise for offending you so.” That actually made me feel a little safer inside, knowing that Beauty Brass actually regretted what she had said of me, though it still left a solitary question mark smouldering quietly away in the embers of my melancholia. “I still don't understand, though – how is it that you two are standing up for me as if you know exactly what I'm going through right now?” “Because we've actually been there – in a manner of speaking,” explained Symphony. A short pause ensued before she let loose an awkward chuckle and added, “Well, one of us has, anyway,” directing a knowing glance towards her brother, who unashamedly spoke up; “Yes, and that somepony just so happens to be standing right where I am right now. You see...” He looked over his shoulder, cautiously scanning his surroundings for any unseen eyes that might be peering at us from behind every wall of the compartment. “...I actually have similar leanings to yours – as does Frederick, for that matter. You know how he and I had been best friends since high school?” I acknowledged his rhetorical question with a simple nod, my curiosity piqued. “Well, by the time we graduated and moved onto university, I had started seeing him in a different light. I couldn't understand what it was at first, but within the space of the first semester, I realised that I had a liking for stallions rather than mares, and Frederick was the stallion of my affections. I was rather afraid of telling him at first, for fear of what he would think of me; and believe you me, I lost an awful lot of sleep because of it. If not for Symphony, I'd still be at a loss as to how to address my feelings.” “He had been pacing back and forth outside the dormitory one night, and ended up disturbing my sleep,” continued Symphony. “I went outside and asked him what was the matter, and he just let it all out in one fell swoop. It's a miracle he managed to keep his voice down low enough not to wake any of the others! Anyway, I managed to calm him down eventually, and after getting him to tell me again – clearly and slowly – I gave it to him straight and said that the only way he could get to grips with his feelings was to tell Frederick. If he didn't, I said to him, he would suffer the same fate as you did, and would likely never recover from it.” Once again, I was thrown for a loop. Never in all my life had I known Concerto to be anything but calm; and yet the way Symphony told the story, it was as if he was in a real panic on the inside. He must have done an outstanding job of hiding it, I thought. “So...just let me clarify – you had been enamoured of Frederick since university?” “Yes indeed,” affirmed Concerto without the slightest hesitation. “And more to the point, it turned out that he was in the same boat as I had been all along. He had been struggling with his feelings even before I realised mine, and was afraid that I wouldn't want to speak to him again if I found out. I can remember the day he and I owned up to our feelings for each other as clearly as if it were yesterday.” “And how did he react?” I questioned. “Well, truth be told, he was the one to make the first move,” answered Concerto. “It rather slipped out during lunch hour, so a lot of other students ended up overhearing my confession. Some of them started whispering behind our backs, and one even had the nerve to announce that ponies of my calibre should be restricted to our own colonies.” A small frown briefly crossed his face at the memory. “But that was when that strapping stallion from the year above us, the really popular one who played the ukulele, stood up and openly defended homosexual creatures all over the world. He revealed that he too was into stallions just like us, so if anypony had anything homophobic to say, then they would have him to answer to. I'll never forget that as long as I live. Frederick was still a little uneasy after that altercation, but we managed to work it out in the end.” I was awestruck, to say the least. Frederick had always been extraordinarily supportive of the bond I shared with her, and now I knew why – and not only that, but in the space of those precious few minutes, I had gained a new respect for Concerto. “So you and Frederick have been dating for nearly seven years straight and...and you never told me?” I asked, still trying to assimilate his story. “You never asked us,” Concerto clarified simply. “Not that any of us can blame you,” added Symphony. “They were so subtle about it that even I didn't realise they were an item until three months before we earned our music qualifications. That said, I was probably too focussed on my studies to really take any notice.” “That's alright, Symphony,” soothed Concerto, patting her shoulder. “At least you were there for me when I first realised my feelings. The important thing is, Octavia, we may not have been where you are now, but we still understand how difficult it must be for you. All I can say is, don't give up on her, no matter what your peers think. Keep believing, and someday you will see her again; and hopefully then will you be able to tell her exactly how you feel.” The wisdom of his words soothed my aching heart, and despite it being dark outside, a thin shaft of light had begun to illuminate the void of my earlier sorrow. Concerto was right, I decided – she and I may have been but a pair of lone schooners, miles apart in the midst of a vast ocean, but as long as there was still a chance that both of us would put into the same port one day, I would continue to sail for as long as there was a breeze to guide me. “Thank you, Concerto,” I whispered. “I guess I needed that.” “That's quite alright, Octavia.” Concerto wrapped an arm around my withers and drew me into a comforting embrace, which I heartily returned. “After all, what good is a friend who doesn't at least try to understand you? And don't you worry about the musical – by the time we're finished, even the most high-and-mighty members of our audience will be glad they came to hear you perform.” I promised them both that I would never let my woes bar me from throwing my all into “Legend of the Night”; and after thanking them one more time for coming and talking to me, Symphony and Concerto tactfully left me to wind down for the night. Once they had exited the compartment, I gazed wistfully out of the window again, wondering where she must be and wishing that she could be there to see me perform in Manehattan that weekend. In retrospect, it was probably just as well that she wasn't...