The fundraiser, located at a ballroom re-purposed from a theater on the eastern side of Manehattan, started at seven in the evening and stretched to midnight. The hired musicians were scheduled to perform for all but an hour. A cab pulled around to the front of a large red-brick building, with the old shining brightly with a dull white. Ponies were flooding in ten minutes early, and Octavia had to watch out as she landed onto the sidewalk concrete so to not bump into anypony with her cello strapped around her back. The mulberry dress was a perfect fit, snugly clinging to her body. She turned around to see Lyra hopping out, grunting when she felt the gown constrict around her barrel upon impact.
Octavia chuckled, “Ah, the curse of being married to a candy-mare.”
Lyra’s horn lit up to grasp the golden tie around her neck to tighten it. “You and I have differing connotations of 'curse' then.”
“Should've had your sizes taken.”
Lyra shook her head. “And have your new marefriend rub her hooves all over me? No, thank you, I slept on the couch once this week already.”
A drawn-out sigh flowed out from the bottom of Octavia's throat. “Why must you be like this?”
“I'm not going to stop until you do it. We had a deal after all,” Lyra called out as she trotted inside. Octavia caught up with her in the building's foyer.
“I'm going to do it during our intermission at 9:30, if I can find her. I will also be needing a drink before then.”
From the ballroom, a dapper toffee-colored stallion dressed in a white tie tuxedo approached the mares. A stack of thick booklets floated behind him in an indigo aura, and Lyra leveled a glare at the stallion.
“Hello, Fredrick,” Octavia greeted.
“Good evening, Ms. Meloldy,” the stallion gave a little bow, followed by snorting, “Heartstrings,” in the other mare's direction. Lyra narrowed her eyes.
“Fried Dick,” she growled.
Fredrick let out an unamused grunt. “Still as foalish as ever, I see. We are on in fifteen.” He levitated a booklet to each of the mares. “Here is the sheet music for the first half of the performance, and remember that we're skipping pages eighteen through twenty-five.” Fredrick's head craned over the crowd. “You haven't seen Ms. Saddlehorns, have you?”
“Did you check the side exit for her pre-show smoke?” Octavia suggested.
“That's where I had been. Perhaps she is just late. Come now, we still have to get set up and tune our instruments.” Fredrick started to walk away, before stopping and adding, “And try not to pass out in the middle of the performance again, Ms. Heartstrings, or I'll have the pleasure of finding another harpist.” He disappeared into the ballroom, leaving behind a seething and sputtering mare who magically grabbed a nearby vase and raised it over her head.
“How about we find a new pianist instead?”
“Lyra, no!” Octavia threw her sheet music to the ground, reared up, and took the vase into her hooves. “You are not assaulting our boss.”
“Oh, I wasn't going to stop at assault.”
“No!” Octavia reaffirmed, taking the vase into a single hoof and trotting over to place it back on its pedestal.
Lyra huffed, “Bonnie would've let me....”
“Bonnie also didn't get you this job, and I would rather not get called to testify against my best friend.”
“A real best friend would've let me see how many hits with a pre-monarch vase it would take to get to the center of a pretentious pianist's head,” Lyra retorted.
“Good to know I'm not a 'real best friend,'” Octavia commented, vanishing just beyond the entrance to the ballroom, “I will remember that the next time a 'Bonnie Situation' pops up!”
“Hey, hey, hey, wait now, you've been wrapped up in those situations too!” Lyra shouted back.
Octavia's head poked out into the middle of the doorway. “Yes, but I'm not married to her,” and a wink punctuated the remark before she headed back into the ballroom. Lyra narrowed her eyes and uttered a growl.
The musicians present—which was everypony save for Sissy Saddlehorns, the odd pack-a-day smoker and Prench horn player—gathered to set up music stands and tune instruments. Ms. Saddlehorns arrived two minutes before the performance's beginning and barely made getting set up before five minutes after seven, when the first few keys of Fredrick's piano echoed in the ballroom.
Octavia's eyes were shut, playing her chords with perfect timing nonetheless; it was her special talent, more or less, to be play by ear, memory, or ink, depending on what the circumstances called for. It helped a lot in the old days when she was able to write her own music—when she had somepony else able to help find the melodies through the thicket within her.
Octavia opened her eyes at the latter half of the third song, a minuet, to peep at the ballroom floor. Several couples were dancing in the middle of the floor, but the majority of attendees were stood at the room's perimeter where the fog of murmurs was at its densest. Scanning through them, she noticed nopony she knew personally, just the usual big-shots: Fancy Pants and Fleur Di Lis from Canterlot, Photo Finish, and the creator of the fundraiser ball herself, Prim Hemline. Octavia closed her eyes again, sinking back into the depths of her cello and the ensemble for the remaining hour.
At half-past nine, Fredrick scooted off the piano bench. Standing straight, his accented baritone voice carried the announcement of the thirty-minute intermission to the ponies in the room and urged them to head upstairs to the silent auction. Mostly everypony shuffled off-stage.
“So...” Lyra started, leaning on Octavia’ s music stand.
“Yes, Lyra, I haven’t forgotten.” Octavia cradled her cello and bow into their case. “I haven’t been able to forget after being reminded about it at every hour today.”
“You are known to be forgetful. Remember Bonnie’s 24th birthday?”
“The thing that happened six years ago?”
“But that means you’re older and, therefore, more forgetful.”
Octavia shook her head. “So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Lyra shrugged, “I think I might check out the silent auction. Heard A.K. Yearling donated some artifacts from her personal collection to be sold for charity.”
“Probably too rich for our blood. Anyway, I’m going to find Miss Pommel. I’ll come find you upstairs after I’m done,” Octavia said as she started down the stage steps, with Lyra following behind her.
“And if you don’t by the end of the half-hour, I’ll start searching the closets for you both.”
Octavia turned and cocked her head, and Lyra’s eyebrows bounced up and down as her tongue flailed crudely between her teeth. Octavia’s expression melted as her mouth hung open slightly and her eyes shut. She turned and headed into the dense crowd of ponies standing by the stage after a self-satisfied laugh came from Lyra.
Octavia wiggled through the ponies, heading for the foyer in the hopes that Coco would be in a place that was quieter than the ballroom. Upon entering, she noted only three ponies: the twin tuba and trombone players from her ensemble and a pegasus stallion who looks like he had a bit too much to drink. Octavia trotted outside—perhaps she went to get some fresh air? But the sidewalk provided nothing, save for Ms. Saddlehorns taking a rather long drag from her cigarette and moaning as the silver-blue smoke drifted into the humid nighttime air. Octavia spun around and headed back inside.
“Nothing. Hmm...perhaps the auction?” Octavia muttered to herself. Moving across the foyer, she passed through the open doorway to the stairs. She stopped dead in her tracks, before placing a hoof on a single step, when “Octavia!” in a familiar voice echoed in the stairway. Above her was Coco, looking over the railing and descending the higher set of stairs. A scarlet gown, rather voluminous with the many layers of varied fabrics, bent and curved around her form, with matching shoes. The necktie and collar were absent, replaced by a string of glinting pearls. The hairpin, however, was still stuck in her mane, beautifully complimenting the gown.
“Miss Pommel, hello!” Octavia called, watching the mare turn to descend the lower stairs.
“Please, just ‘Coco.’ I’ve been called ‘Miss Pommel’ enough tonight already.” Coco giggled, “And just as I thought, you look fantastic in the gown. How does it fit?”
“Fits perfectly. Wish I could say the same about my friend’s. Hers is a little small around the barrel.”
Coco shook her head. “She should’ve had her sizes taken. Speaking of your friend, I met her upstairs, and she said you wanted to see me.”
“Uh, yes, can we talk somewhere in private, perhaps outside?” Octavia pulled on the bow-tie’s strap around her neck. “It’s getting quite warm in here.”
“Sure, I could use some fresh air,” Coco replied, moving past Octavia as the mare spun around, “The auction room was stuffier than the ballroom.”
“Well, it does make sense. The exuberant tend to breathe nothing but hot air.”
Coco gave Octavia a peculiar look. “...At a silent auction?”
“Point taken.” As the two stepped outside, a breeze from the north rushed past them, feeling refreshing when it hit the light sweat they had. “By the bye, you look wonderful in that gown.”
“Oh, thank you,” Coco smiled as they walked down the sidewalk and turned into the alleyway next to the building, “Rarity made it for my birthday last year, and it’s my first time wearing it somewhere.” Tittering at the unbelieving look from Octavia, she continued, “I don’t go out much. I’m either working for Rarity or designing and sewing costumes for shows.”
“Must make for a terrible love-life.”
“That would imply that I ever had one.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Coco waved her hoof while tucking her dress in as she sat on the step by the side exit. “It’s okay. Staying busy helps keep my mind off things.”
“But you must get rather lonely?” Octavia asked, sitting beside her.
“I have co-workers...when they actually show up for work.” A glance at Octavia said that the question was still unanswered, and Coco sighed. “I do. Most of my friends reside outside the city. I write to them sometimes, but I rarely actually get to see them.”
“I can relate,” Octavia responded, “Lyra and her wife are the closest friends I have, and they live all the way in Ponyville. I used to live next door to them before I moved to Manehattan, but now I only see them on holidays and whenever Lyra and I have somewhere to play. Only pony I know in town is an uncle.”
“You’re from Ponyville? I honestly would’ve pegged you as a Canterlot pony.”
Octavia chuckled. “I was born and raised in Canterlot, actually. Lived in Fillydelphia during my uni days, moved to Ponyville a little bit after that, then I moved here.”
“How long have you been living in Manehattan?”
“It has been three years next month.”
“Moved due to work?”
Octavia shifted in her seat with a grimace on her face and a sunken feeling her in chest. “Moved due to a break-up.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Octavia shook her head dismissively. “No, it’s all right. You didn’t know, it’s ancient history, and I’ve been told that it’s time to move on.” One of Octavia’s hooves moved, and the sound of gravel scrapping along the ground punctured the pause that followed. “Fame changes a pony, for better or worse. And for her, it was definitely for the worse.”
“How long were you together, if you don’t me asking?”
“Eight years,” Octavia replied, directing a lamenting gaze toward the road. “We met at a wedding: she was the D.J. for the reception, and I was a bridesmaid. Out of the blue, she asked me out, and I was apprehensive at first. I mean, she looked and acted like somepony that would pull a knife on me in a dark alley. But a mutual friend put in a good word, and I was pleasantly surprised. Two years later, we’re in love and living together in Ponyville.”
A whisper of a smile appeared on Coco’s features. “Sounds like it was lovely.” The other mare nodded. “I wish I had something like that.”
“I still find it hard to believe you haven’t. You’re an adorable mare.”
Coco raised her hooves to cover her cheeks, and the smile grew. “O-Oh, thank you. You’re pretty gorgeous yourself, with a wonderful talent with your cello.” Octavia tilted her head at the remark. “I saw you playing when I first arrived. It sounded delightful.”
“Well, thank you. It’s one of the few things I have going for me.” Octavia pulled in a breath of air. “Listen, I know you said you don’t go out much, but I was wondering, could you perhaps find time in your busy, busy schedule to have dinner with me?” A blank stare was given in return for the question. “On a date.”
“Oh. Oh! Um, I close the boutique every day for the next week, and we stay open until nine.” Coco brushed her mane with a hoof. “But we close three hours earlier on Thursday. Is that okay with you?”
Octavia nodded, the thin line across her muzzle curling slightly. “It’s perfect. Where should I meet you?”
“Just stop by the boutique at 6:30. I’ll be ready by then.”
“All right.” The thin curl widened and spread apart to show a bit of white. “I’m looking forward to it.” Octavia stood up, stretching out a small cramp she had in her legs. “I think we, or at least I, need to head back inside. I’m sure it’s getting close for the end of intermission.”
Coco offered a nod before getting up and dusting off a bit of dust from the backside of her dress. Walking back inside the foyer, which had become a bit more crowded as ponies moved large antique paintings and slabs upstairs to the auction. A large grandfather clock displayed ten minutes until ten.
“Seems I still have a few minutes—”
“Hey, girls, how’s it going?!”
Before either mare knew it, a mint-green hoof was thrown around them, and the smell of expensive wine and cheap perfume pushed them apart like a wedge.
“Oh Celestia, Lyra, how much have you had to drink?” Octavia said, seeing Coco falter a little under Lyra’s weight and standing sturdier to support more of it.
“What? I had just one!”
Octavia nodded, “Uh huh, and how many ‘just ones’ did you have?”
“...Five....”
“I swear you’re worse than Berry Punch sometimes. At least she takes more to get there.”
“Oh, trust me, I take a lot more to get there too, if you know what I’m saying,” Lyra said, barely managing to finish her sentence before cackling madly. Octavia felt the urge to face-hoof but restrained herself for fear of toppling over from Lyra’s weight.
“Lyra, I always know what you’re saying, and I hate that I do.”
Coco started wiggling out from underneath Lyra’s foreleg. “I, uh, need to use the restroom to freshen up.” She popped free, and she gave Octavia a last smile and a wink. “If I don’t catch you beforehoof, I’ll see you Thursday, Octavia.”
Octavia was able to offer only a wave before the full weight of a drunken unicorn fell upon her.
“Bye, Coco!” Lyra shouted across the foyer, drawing a few glares toward her and Octavia’s direction. “Wow, you are a lucky mare to nail that piece of tail, Tavi. If I wasn’t married, I’d throw that meek little cutey-patootey over the sink and change her oil.”
“Not only does that make no sense, but it also sounds vile. How about we get something other than wine into your stomach?” Octavia put a hoof over the one across her shoulders, and led Lyra into the ballroom.
“Tavi, I made a horrible mistake.”
“Yes, I know. I’m afraid if Sissy flicks her lighter while you’re near her, they’re gonna need your dental records to identify the corpse.”
“No, no, not the wine. That is a necessity. I...I may have bought something from the auction....”
Octavia stopped dead in her tracks, causing Lyra to swing around to her front.
“How much did you bid?”
“Hu-Hundred-thousand.”
“A hundred-thousand?!” Octavia squeaked out. “For what did you bid a hundred-thousand bits?”
“A really old tea cup. The wine told me Bonnie would like it.” Lyra’s eyes fell to the floor. “Tavi, I don’t have a hundred-thousand bits.”
Octavia started rubbing a hoof against her temple. “Just tell them you can’t settle, and you made a mistake.”
Lyra puffed up her bottom lip. “Will you come with me please?”
“Yes, your mommy will be there with you,” Octavia rolled her eyes.
“You know, you saying that makes that one night in college really weird.”
“Ms. Heartstrings! Ms. Melody!” shouted a voice from within the crowd in the ballroom and soon Fredrick emerged from within. “We are on in three minutes! Hurry to your—good heavens, are you drunk again, Ms. Heartstrings?”
“No. Maybe. A little.”
“I swear, Ms. Heartstrings, if you—”
“She’s well enough to play, Fredrick,” Octavia interjected. “Just give me a second to shove something into her mouth.” Lyra snickered next to her. “Oh, sod off.”
“Very well. I’ll leave her in your hooves to deal with, Ms. Melody. Just be ready on time.” Fredrick turned and headed back to the stage. Octavia, as quickly as a single hoof could manage, escorted Lyra over to the refreshments table and practically force-fed her pastries and little sandwiches. While Lyra was still chewing, Octavia led her along the perimeter of the ballroom, up the stage’s left stairs, and plopped Lyra in the seat by the harp. Octavia barely had enough time to get to her cello and have it out before her ears heard Fredrick touch the ivories.