//------------------------------// // Chapter One // Story: I'm Not Her // by Marcibel //------------------------------// Manehattan was a rather peculiar city compared to its brethren throughout Equestria, creating itself the notable capitol of the country’s business and aspiration. Unlike the Crystal Empire to the north, it had no time for grand emotions, nor did it have the level of vanity of Canterlot. The street of Bridleway cleaved the city while providing an outlet for the citizens to have some enjoyment in life. It was a city where the ambitious went to make their dreams come true, their names a household utterance, and where ponies were too busy with their career to light a fire in their hearts or too busy trying to forget the embers still smoldering. For a mare like Octavia to let such a flame wither, a Manehattan apartment was perfect. It was spacious enough for a sofa against a wall, and a Stradimareus cello in the corner.  The coffee table was cluttered with music paper, crumpled or stained with tea. The same three measures were written on each page, followed by notes with half-drawn heads and phantom stems and flags. Octavia laid across the sofa, her head cradled by the arm, and hums mixed with grunts poured from her mouth in patterns—do-fa-so-ti, do-fa-so-mi. Her eyes were squeezed shut as the gnawed pencil in her mouth sliced through the air to draw invisible notes, alternating with her humming. Octavia replayed the new bar in her head and groaned when the sound felt flat and   boring. Octavia spit out the pencil, which rolled off and onto the floor, and covered her eyes with her hooves. Three years alone in the city, and the ability to write music seemed to have stayed in Ponyville. A knock on her door stirred the mare from her work. She rose from the couch, walked through her kitchen, and reared up to peer into the spyhole. A single golden iris covered the entire view, zipping around as the mare behind it searched curiously. Letting out a sigh, Octavia pulled away to slide the door chain off and open the door. “Hello, Lyra,” Octavia said, barely suppressing a yawn. Lyra's horn gleamed softly with her magic, levitating a small white sack. Lyra threw a foreleg around the back of Octavia's neck. “Hey, Tavi,” she greeted, giving a small nuzzle to the little curtain of soot-colored mane. A small smile morphed into place on Octavia's face, and she gave Lyra a gentle squeeze in return. The two parted, and Octavia gave a quick glance behind Lyra while resting a hoof on the door. “Where's Bon Bon?” “Still in Ponyville,” Lyra replied. “She's helping Pinkie cater a wedding tomorrow night, per request by the bride. She did give me this,” Lyra shook the bag, and the sound was sweet to Octavia's ears, “for you.” The bag wafted over to Octavia, who cocked an eye. “Apology taffy?” “You bet!” Octavia swiped the bag out of the air with her mouth and threw the door shut. The aroma of the taffy bled through the wax paper bag, jiggling slightly as Octavia trotted back over the sofa. Lyra had already taken a seat on the far end, reclining in her unique manner, with her back hooves propped on the coffee table. Octavia made a shooing motion at the offending hooves until they were placed onto the floor, and she plopped down, dropping the sack into her hooves. “So,” Octavia began before popping a blue piece of taffy into her mouth, “who's getting married? Anypony I know?” Lyra gave a small laugh, “No, but oddly enough it's the couple that's renting your old place—a mare and a stallion from here in Manehattan.” “Oh, really?” Octavia gave a smack of her lips. “But are they as good of neighbors as I was?” “They're fine. They keep to themselves most of the time. We were honestly surprised when they asked Bonnie to help cater for them. Also, it's the first heterosexual marriage we've had in years.” Octavia tilted her head. “Really? All of them have been—“ “Ooooh yeah. Don't get me wrong, I love those kinds of weddings, you know I do. But it's nice to get a little bit of...variety.” Lyra's eyes fell to Octavia's hooves unwrapping a cherry-flavored piece. “Shame you two didn't have a ceremony.” “You can blame Vinyl for that. It was upon her insistence that we didn’t get married.” “I kind of get her thoughts behind it. No ceremony equals no money needed.” “And no marriage means no divorce lawyers.” Octavia punctuated her remark by tossing the taffy into her mouth, and Lyra simply frowned and focused her attention on the little white balls on the table. “Still trying to write music?” Octavia gave a nod and a resentful eye to the papers. “Trying, mostly failing. Every time I put down something, it feels...hollow.” “Almost like there's been something missing for three years?” Lyra replied sharply, earning a glare from her friend. She threw her hooves up, “All right, enough with the stink-eye. We should head out anyway—we still need to get our dresses for tomorrow night.” Lyra leaned forward and fell onto her hooves, barely able to wedge herself in between the sofa and coffee table. “I still do not understand why I need a dress,” Octavia stated as she stood up, tossing the taffy onto her coffee table and trotting into her bedroom on the far side of the room. “A simple collar-and-bow-tie has been plenty in the past, even for the Grand Galloping Gala, of all places.” “Black tie is what Prim Hemline apparently desires, even for staff and musical performers. Fancy clothes pony likes fancy clothes. I suppose you could go in just a black tie, but I don't know how far that will get you.” “I don’t even have a black tie. I do have one dress, but I am not performing at Prim’s fundraiser ball wearing the bridesmaid gown from your wedding.” Lyra let out a snort. “You still have that old thing? It's nine years old!” Octavia exited the bedroom, a satchel of bits hanging from her neck. “Hey, that is a very beautiful and very expensive gown. Rarity wields her thread and needle as well as we do our bow and strings. And she is just as inexpensive.” “Speaking of, want to check out Rarity's boutique here in Manehattan? I've heard good things and haven't been there myself.” Octavia gave a shrug. “Sure, I haven't been there myself. I always just get my bow-ties at The Checkered Neckerchief, so it should prove to be an interesting adventure.” “All right then, we have our destination set,” Lyra declared as her horn lit up and turned the doorknob to the front door. “Now let's hope we can get a cab quickly enough.” *            *            * Finding a cab only took five minutes, something Lyra claimed to be a miracle compared to finding one at the train station. Up West 42nd, passing by Bridleway, and a couple of left turns, an hour-and-a-half walk turned into a twenty-minute taxi ride. The cab slowed beside the curb outside the boutique, and Octavia, being the passenger closest to the building, went slack-jawed as she saw what building they were pulling to. It was a modest three-story building, and the only life was the little dress shop on the bottom floor. But Octavia was fixated on the third-floor; drawn curtains covered the windows, with no sound coming from inside. Lyra paid the fare before turning to her rigid friend staring at the building. She tapped Octavia on the shoulder. “Tavi, are you...oh....” Her words died within her as she saw what building they had ridden up to. “Vinyl's old apartment-turned-dance-club.” “Think she still lives there?” “Doubt it. If Vinyl was there, we would be able to hear it,” Lyra replied, giving Octavia another tap and a nod to signify that they should climb out of the cab. The mares hit the sidewalk concrete, warm from bathing in the August sun, and trotted to the door to the boutique on the left. A yellow unicorn mare opened the door with a cerulean glow and passed by with three bagged dresses hovering just above her. Lyra lit up her horn, caught the door, gave a wave of her hoof to gesture Octavia in and followed inside. A gust of cool, spearmint-scented air swept by them, and the door closed with the ring of a bell. Light cascaded from the canisters hanging from the ceiling, shining bright in contrast to the deep purple wallpaper and display stands filled with clothed mannequins and purses sitting upright. Five ponies were about, browsing the racks, and a beige-colored earth mare whispered to a nearby customer and trotted toward the newcomers. “Hello, my name is Coco Pommel,” the mare greeted with a small voice, “Is there anything I can help you with today?” “Yes, we're looking for a couple of formal dresses for Prim Hemline's ball tomorrow,” Lyra stated. “Oh! You're also attending Ms. Hemline's event tomorrow night?” asked the mare looking over her new customers, especially eyeing the little silk tie around Octavia's neck. “Er, more or less,” Octavia replied, “We're part of the music ensemble hired to play and while not part of the dress code, we are being asked to appear in something courtly.” “Oh, I see...” Coco drifted off, focusing on Octavia's bow-tie again, “That's a gorgeous bow-tie. May I take a look?” Octavia gave a quick glance to her bow-tie. “Oh, uh, sure.” Lyra tilted her head as Coco pushed aside the left loop of the tie, forcing Octavia to angle her head upward. As Coco's eyes fell upon an embroidered “S.P.”—the signature of it’s crafter—hidden on the collar behind the bow-tie, the gentle smile faded into a solemn frown. “The Checkered Neckerchief, huh? “Um, yes, I like their bow-ties,” Octavia replied softly, noting the shift in Miss Pommel's mood. “Is something the matter?” Coco lingered on the golden letters for a second longer before looking into Octavia's eyes. “No, nothing at all. Sur—The Checkered Neckerchief has quality items, especially their neckwear.” Coco stepped back, letting the loop fall back into place. “Ahem, how about we get you those dresses?” A professional smile recaptured her features. “Do you both know your measurements?” “I do,” Lyra declared. “I do not,” Octavia muttered. Coco's grin grew a little wider. “Well, I can help you with that, Mrs....” “Miss Octavia Melody.” “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t.... The measuring tape is over at the check-out counter, so if you'll follow me...” Coco's voice faded as she trotted toward the counter, with Octavia right behind her. The little bell dinged as the door swung open, whacking Lyra in the flank. A thin-faced scarlet mare scowled at her, and Lyra stepped aside to let her through. She let out a sigh, “Well then, guess I'll just help myself.” Coco swung open the gate on the side of the counter and ducked down to rummage through the shelves below. Octavia stopped short of the gate with the view of a beige back and a light cyan tail swishing about behind it. Coco's head popped out, a measuring tape in her teeth, and the mare walked out from behind check-out. Octavia stood straight as the feel of the plastic tape was rolled out across her spine with a velvety hoof smoothing it out from between her withers to the base of her tail. “So you're a musician? What instrument do you play?” asked the sales associate as she moved the tape down to Octavia's right foreleg. “Violin?” Octavia chucked. “No, no, I play cello most of the time. Although, I can play violin when needed. I simply don't own one.” “Do you ever get stage-fright?” The tape and hooves glided to Octavia's midsection, wrapping the tape around her barrel. “Oh, heavens no! I only had stage-fright at my first recital as a filly, and that was nearly two decades ago. It helps when you can get lost in the notes like I do.” “I have terrible stage fright.” Coco draped the tape over her neck and walked around to her customer's front side. “I was once mistakenly listed as the leading mare’s standby for Manespray on Bridleway, and I didn't know about it until the actress was sick on opening night.” Octavia cringed. “Oh, dear!” Coco closed her eyes and nodded. “It only took three words before I threw up on-stage. And to this day, the producer refuses to hire me again.” “Hire you?” “Yes, I'm a costume designer on Bridleway. Been working as one for a couple of years now.” Octavia arched a brow at the mare. “And you still work here?” “Mhm,” Coco hummed. “It keeps me busy, and Rarity certainly needs the help. The boutique have a tendency to always be in a constant state of almost burning to the ground when she's not present. Of course, I'd have some help right now if Blue Bobbin and the raccoons weren't sick.” She giggled at Octavia's expression twisting as it became more perplexed. “Yeah, we get that a lot. Anyhow, shall we find a dress for you for tomorrow night?” Octavia followed Coco over to a row of dresses hanging on a rack. Coco checked a tag dangling from the hanger and pulled off a vibrant cobalt dress, the satin shimmering in the light. “How's this one?” Coco asked, holding up the dress' profile across her hooves. A quick “I hate blue,” came out in return. “Oh, um, okay.” Coco tucked the dress back onto the rack. Her hooves shuffled through the dresses, occasionally finding a suitable gown only to find it too big or too small. Coco took a glance at Octavia, flashing a sheepish grin, as she pulled off another dress. “How about this one? It should fit perfectly.” she held up a simple mulberry evening gown with the flank wrapped in a jet satin ribbon and tied into a bow on the backside. “It would go great with your bow-tie,” her eyes cast to the dress in her hooves as she muttered, “and I think it matches your eyes.” “Oh?” Octavia trotted up and brushed her hoof against the fabric. “My, that's soft, and the color's gorgeous. I think will take it.” “Great!” Coco laid the gown over her back. “Is there anything else you need? Shoes, a hat...?” “No, thank you. The gown is all.” “All right, let's go ring up the gown.” Lyra, with half-lidded eyes and her mouth a bored crease, was leaning against the check-out counter and had a hoof propping up her head. Behind her was a line of ponies gathering with apparel floating in auras or draped over backs. “Go ahead and join your friend, and I'll ring you both up together.” Octavia went ahead and stood beside Lyra, who glanced back at Coco and smirked. Coco trailed behind her a little ways, rounding the counter and placing the gown next to Lyra's dress, a voluminous pile of layered golden fabric. She plucked the tags free, setting them into a small canister underneath the register, and told Lyra and Octavia their due payments. As they dumped the exact amounts onto the counter, Coco wrote a receipt for each and pulled a pair of perfumed plastic bags over the gowns. “Here you go,” Coco said as she pushed the gowns forward, and Lyra levitated them into the air, “good luck at the ball tomorrow night. If I can, I'll try to make it to listen to you play.” “Oh, you're attending it as well?” Octavia asked. “Mhm, in Rarity's stead. She couldn't make it because of a wedding in Ponyville tomorrow evening, so I'm being sent to rub knees with the big ponies.” Octavia and Lyra exchanged looks, and Lyra said, “We'll be playing for most of the night, so I don't think you'll have any problems.” Coco beamed, her aquamarine eyes lingering in Octavia's direction. “Great! I'll see you then!” Octavia's ears swiveled to hear a tiny chuckle coming from Lyra, and she nodded. Coco turned to serve the next pony in line, an elderly mare complaining about the lack of timely service. Coco's profuse apologies were the last thing Lyra and Octavia heard before the ding of the bell on their way out. “Well, it seems like somepony has a new admirer.” Octavia rolled her eyes. “She was just being friendly.” Lyra held out a hoof to hail an oncoming taxicab. “Tavi, you're talking to a Heartstrings. We know when somepony wants it. And she needs it badly.” “All right, I’ll humor you. Explain what makes you say that.” “Oh please, she couldn't stop looking at you on the way out, she let you cut in front of everypony else, and her hooves were all over you when she was measuring you.” Lyra put down her hoof when the taxicab pulled up next to the curb in front of them. “I'm surprised you didn't get a happy ending after getting your sizes,” she quipped, climbing into the cab. “Of course she was, she's an earth pony. How else is she supposed to hold the tape?” Octavia retorted as she followed into the cab. “Corner of 42nd and 6th, please,” she directed to the driver and turned her head to Lyra, lurching back a bit as the driver pulled onto the street. “How do you know she's even interested in mares?” “She was gawking at your butt when you walked up to the counter. She tried to be inconspicuous about it, but didn't do very well—she doesn't have the experience at covertly looking at your butt like I do.” “What?!” “What?” Octavia felt her tail instinctively tighten around her backside. “You stare at my butt?!” “Tavi, it's me. I stare at everypony's butts. Besides, can you hardly blame me? It's a really nice butt, all curvy and everything. I've caught Bonnie stealing a glimpse every once and while.” “Okay! I don't need this conversation right now!” Octavia declared in a sing-song tone. “Let's get back to your delusion of that mare being attracted to me!” “Oh, come on.” Lyra sized Octavia up, and a bit of white flashed in the corner of her mouth. “You like her too, don't you?” “She's...nice.” “'Nice' as in 'throw her over a sewing table and ruin a spool of silk together'?” “Lyra,” Octavia sighed, “I’m not looking for a relationship right now.” “Nopony ‘looks’ for a relationship; their head typically just falls into your lap.” Lyra’s comment was met with a glare, and she threw back her head. “It's been three years, Tavi. I'm not saying you have to get over Vinyl and everything, but you really should move on.” Octavia shook her head, opening her mouth with an answer, but Lyra placed a hoof across her shoulders. “At least promise me this: if you see her tomorrow night, try to ask her out to dinner. Just give it one date and see where things can go from there. If I'm somehow wrong and she rejects you, or if it doesn't work out, I won't bother you again over it. Deal?” The hoof shifted to life again, reaching out in front of Octavia. She turned her head to outside of the cab, which had stopped at an intersection. In a large pane of glass, polished to a shine, a goldish-gray pony with a side-swept coal-black mane and a slightly crooked carnation pink bow-tie stared back her. Once a romantic, now a heart-aching cynic, she had burned it all long ago. Old perspectives of love, of ponies, of herself—all of it diminished into little black flakes. And yet, among the ashes, she felt an ember of something breathing, glowing brighter. The curious thing popped, and Octavia swung her right hoof and gripped her friend's. “Deal.”