//------------------------------// // Chapter Three // Story: I'm Not Her // by Marcibel //------------------------------// For the first time in a number of years, Octavia felt three things as Thursday evening trudged closer: nervousness sloshed in the pit of her stomach; excitement pumped from within her chest; and conviction in her heart rekindled. A significant amount of time had passed since her last romantic outing with somepony, let alone somepony that she didn’t know inside and out for over half a decade. And because of that, only dinner could be planned, and much of the night would have to be played by ear. Not that Octavia minded—she could commendably play by ear, after all. Lyra took the 4:15 to Ponyville Monday afternoon. As much as she wanted, Lyra knew she would not be allowed to see how her little deal would play out. And even if she could, she was not sure how much longer she could sleep alone on a couch when she could be in a queen-sized bed, muzzle-deep into a puddle of caramel-scented blue and pink hair. Thursday came rather soon, with the pitter-patter of a morning rainstorm, and while it felt like a rather unceremonious day, the twinge of anticipation Octavia felt rolling out of bed determined it was anything but. Her clock crawled from minute to minute, teasing the mare excessively checking the time, until she turned on the hot water in the shower at 5:00 in the evening. Dressed in her usual attire and with her trusty pouch of bits, Octavia arrived twenty-two minutes past six, rolling up to the boutique with its shutters drawn over the display windows and a sign reading “Sorry, darling, we are CLOSED” in calligraphy hung on the door’s window, turned outward. The lights were still on inside, even though the setting sun made it hard to tell. On the top floor was a lone lamp shining through the window at the far left, something that made Octavia raise a brow and sweat a little. Octavia peeked into the thin crack of light coming from underneath the door’s window curtain. The boutique was eerily empty, and, after raising a hoof, she disturbed the stillness by pounding on the door, the flat part of the hoof making a sound akin to a hammer striking wood. A few seconds pass before the curtain was brushed aside, revealing a pair of bright sky-blue eyes and a crimson hairpin. The mares shared a smile before Coco disappeared back into the store, coming back just as quickly with a ring of keys in her mouth. There was a jingle of the brass and steel, then a click, and the door swung open. “Evening, Octavia. Come on in, I’ll be ready in a minute,” Coco said around the key in her mouth, pushing close the door and locking it behind the mare. She made a detour to the counter to deposit the key ring onto a shelf. “I just need to finish organizing Rarity’s autumn and winter collection. It’s being released Saturday, so I have to check and make sure everything has arrived.” She trotted into the storage room, yellowish-orange light polluting the white glow of the shop’s main room, and the sound of boxes shifting came from within. “A winter collection in the middle of July?” “The autumn-winter fashion season starts in July. It's like Hearth’s Warming decorations on the first of November—gotta be ahead of the season, so everypony can prepare for it.” “I suppose that makes...a minimal amount of sense.” Coco stepped out, closing the storage room door behind her. “I don't decide when the fashion seasons begin and end. I just work here, stocking the racks with clothes, selling the clothes, paying the employees that also sell the clothes when they actually show up to work, keeping track of the store’s financials, paying the bills, taking inventory when necessary, and putting out any random fires that appear.” Octavia let out a tiny yelp in surprise as a plume of fire popped up on a stack of hats on a display, and Coco sighed as she dragged her hooves over to the counter, pulling out a fire extinguisher and leveling it at the offending flame. With a pull of the trigger, the orange flower wilted under the assault of the snow-white smoke, the ruined hats tumbling off the display and onto the floor. “Well, at least it did us a favor,” Coco stated, looking upon the hats as if they had come to life and attempted to eat her. “Now we have a reason to toss out the sun hats from last summer. Those things were on clearance for ninety-percent-off and still wouldn’t sell.” She tucked the fire extinguisher back underneath the counter and dug her hooves into the top shelf. “I don’t know the etiquette for this, but,” a white square box, barely larger than a hoof, with a violet ribbon was produced from beneath and set atop the counter, “this is for you.” Octavia shook her head. “Oh, Coco, you don’t—” “But I did anyway,” Coco interrupted, letting a tiny smirk onto her face. “Please, open it.” Octavia approached the box, taking the ribbon into her mouth to yank it undone. Sitting on the floor, she gripped the lid in both hooves, and lifted it up. Lying in a bed of white tissue paper was an indigo clip-on bow-tie made from...some kind of fabric. It shimmered like satin, looked as soft as cotton, and seemed like it could stretch like polyester. Growing from the knot was a white strap that ended in a metal hook. “Oh my...it’s magnificent,” Octavia cooed, gliding a hoof along the left loop. It was exceedingly cushy. Coco’s smirk widened into a fully formed grin. “I’m pleased to hear that. Want to try it on?” “Absolutely.” Octavia raised her hooves to shed the plain pink tie she wore. It fell to the floor as the hook was unfastened, and the indigo tie followed in it’s place. Octavia looked off to the side to search for a mirror and saw one in an open dressing room. The tie looked befitting on her. “Thank you, Coco. It’s lovely, to say the absolute least.” A stray hoof could not help itself in not obsessively rubbing some part of it. Coco giggled, idly pawing at the red dangling from her neck. “Something told me you would like it.” Octavia cocked a brow. “Does it have something to do with being a fellow sister in neckwear?” Coco gave a noncommittal bob of her head. “Well, your intuition was spot-on. I’ll even wear it for the rest of the night.” “What about the one you wore here?” Octavia glanced at her sides, naked of a pair of saddlebags. “Erm, mind if I leave it here and pick it up after dinner?” “Sure thing,” Coco replied, “I live just upstairs, so we can just—” Octavia interrupted, “Wait, you live upstairs?” Coco blinked. “Yeah, why?” Octavia could feel the tension in her heart unwind some, but an eerie feeling crept into the hairs on her back—her date was living in the same space as her former lover had been. “I used to know somepony who lived there.” “Oh, who?” “It—” Octavia paused, realizing her current company, and thought better to mention her. “It was nopony special. So, how about we head onward to dinner?” Octavia spun around and headed for the door, missing Coco donning a perplexed expression. *            *            * “Wow....” Coco breathed out as the taxicab pulled up along the curb in front of a red-brick building. Candlelight flowed though aquamarine curtains, sparkling like gold at the bottom of a shallow sea. “The Blue Cheese Lagoon? I’ve heard it’s difficult to get a reservation here.” “It helps when the owner is your uncle,” Octavia replied matter-of-factly, pushing a few bits into the metal box for the fair. “Your uncle? Oh yeah, I think you mentioned that briefly Saturday.” “Yeah, he’s the black sheep of the family—became a chef instead of a musician, wanting to appeal to the taste buds of ponies instead of their ears.” Octavia jumped down from the coach and held up a hoof to help. Coco took it and let out a grunt when her hooves hit the pavement, uttering a word of gratitude. “I don’t know much about dating, but it seems a little early to be meeting family, isn’t it?” Octavia laughed, “I suppose it is. Although, Uncle Pep is the kind of pony who treats everypony like family.” She opened the door to the restaurant, gesturing for Coco to go ahead in, and followed behind her. The scent of a dozen different cheeses permeated the restaurant’s cool air, almost to the point the lactose intolerant would feel their stomach lurch upon a single inhale. The entire place was an ocean of blues, from the carpet to the wait staff’s outfits, with the whites and yellows of cheeses swimming around like fish along the walls in paintings and photographs. Soft piano music played in the background, and looking past the hostess’ booth, nearly every table was filled with ponies. The hostess, a pegasus the color of cheddar, smiled as the mares approached the booth. “Good evening, Miss Melody and Miss Pommel. Welcome to The Blue Cheese Lagoon,” she greeted as she took a couple menus under her wing. “Right this way, please.” As the hostess cornered around the panes of glass behind the booth, Octavia shot a wink to Coco, who had taken a quizzical expression when she was unexpectedly addressed by name. The hostess brought them to a table by the middle of the right wall, underneath a painting of a whimsical cheese wheel roaming the middle of the Neightalian countryside. Two licks of fire flickered on freshly lit candles, and the mares took a seat on the royal purple cushions on the floor. The hostess laid the menus before them and returned to her own post at the front door. Her eyes catching the final glimpse of the hostess, Coco stuttered out, “W-What, uh—” “Yeah, sorry, Uncle Pep insisted putting both of our names on the reservation,” Octavia said, placing a hoof on the menu in front of her and pulling it toward her. “I think it’s his way of covertly getting to know who I’m coming with.” “Seems like a weird way to go about it,” muttered Coco. She lifted the menu in her hooves and scanned through it. As expected, nearly every item was based on the wondrous ingredient of cheese. “My, everything sounds delicious....” A stone-faced waitress appeared next to the table with a notepad levitating next to her. “Hello, what can I get for you tonight?” she asked mirthlessly. Octavia gave her order first. “Personal pizza—supreme with extra peppers, please.” The waitress scribbled it lazily into the notepad and looked expectantly at Coco. “Um, fettuccine alfredo, please.” More scribbling. “And to drink?” Octavia looked to Coco. “Wine?” Coco shook her head. “Just water is fine.” “Just water,” Octavia repeated. The waitress wrote a couple more things and lifted the menus with a green haze and left. Octavia turned her head to Coco, who was fidgeting with a spoon. “Not a wine pony?” Coco gave a single short shake of her head. “I’m not an alcohol pony, period. I don’t like the stuff.” “Is it the taste?” Her eyes fell and she frowned. “No, it’s, well...it’s a family matter.” “Oh...father?” “Mother.” Coco sighed. “And brother.” “Sorry,” Octavia muttered, “I didn’t mean to—” “It’s all right. I know I asked you a rather difficult question Saturday. It’s only fair that you do, too.” The waitress returned with their drinks, wordlessly placing two glasses of ice water on the table. Coco took hers into her hooves and took a healthy drink from it. Octavia could not help but to stare in amazement. “Wow, you must have been quite thirsty.” The glass was placed back onto the table, less than half remaining, and the mare gave a sigh. “I haven't had anything to drink since lunch—too busy with the boutique.” “Couldn't you have taken a break?” “When you're every kind of manager possible, you often don't have time for those pleasantries.” Coco stopped to take a more conservative drink this time. “I stayed up for forty-eight hours last year dealing with the boutique's grand re-opening after the fire and making the costumes for a show.” “Sounds like you need a vacation. I know you said you were a busy-body, but that's way too much, Coco.” “I suppose...although, that's why I'm here, among other reasons.” Coco offered a smile. “To get out and relax with somepony I...like.” Octavia returned the smile and raised her glass for a drink, nearly blowing it through her nose when her name was shouted from the way to the kitchen, where a stout stallion with a salt-and-pepper mane stood. He hastily approached the mares’ table, and Octavia set aside her glass and hopped up from her seat. “Uncle Pep!” They threw a hoof around each other, and Octavia just as quickly held a hoof in her date’s direction. “Uncle Pep, this is Coco Pommel.” “Hey, I recognize you,” Uncle Pep said, taking one of Coco’s hooves into his own. His voice was gravelly. “I saw you on-stage for Manespray’s opening night. You were the actress that repainted the set green and got the show canceled for the night.” Coco’s pupils grew to eclipse her irises, and her ears flattened and jaw clenched. Octavia cleared her throat. “Uncle Pep, she’s not a Bridleway actress. She’s a costume designer. That was a mistake on behalf of casting.” “Oh! Apologies, dear, I had no idea. If it's any sort of consolation, the costumes were amazing for the ten minutes I saw them.” His eyes lowered to the tie around Coco's neck. “And I see you have a much better sense of fashion than your predecessor.” “Uncle! Don't start with that again!” Uncle Pep looked at his niece incredulously. “Oh please, you know those colored glasses of hers always looked horrendous, and she wore them everywhere, even inside. That's not polite.” “And it's not polite to talk about her with a certain somepony present,” Octavia growled lowly through her teeth. “Fine, fine. All right, I have to get back to the kitchen. You kids enjoy yourselves, and—” Uncle Pep took Coco's hoof again with one of his own “—it was a pleasure to meet you, Coco Pommel. I hope you come back with Octavia in the near future.” The stallion gave them a bow and spun around to return to the bustling kitchen, followed by yelling at the sous-chef. Octavia returned to her seat and faced Coco with a fragile smile. “Sorry about Uncle Pep. He’s not very good at thinking before speaking.” “By ‘predecessor’ did he mean...?” A nodding of Octavia’s head was all that she needed, and her ears flattened. “Oh. I suppose I do have quite the...act to follow, don’t I?” Octavia gave a dismissive wave of her hoof. “I can assure you, you shouldn’t worry—that was a lifetime ago as far as I’m concerned. Besides, you’re doing splendidly so far.” “I hope so...” The table fell to silence, broken sporadically with short-lived conversations and remarks, until their meals arrived. Coco dove into her fettuccine alfredo with great gusto, narrowly minding her manners and apologizing, and accused her light lunch and busy work for the outburst. The food proved to liven things up, as Octavia recounted some misadventures she and Lyra had back in college in Fillydelphia. But as enjoyable as the food was, it only lasted so long. Their waitress stopped by to exchange the dirty dishes for the check, which Octavia only regarded the check with a glance. “I suppose you didn't want dessert, did you?” Coco shook her head, and Octavia scrunched up her face in consideration. “How about tea at my place then?” Coco giggled to herself and remarked, “Just tea?” “Well, the evening is still young,” replied Octavia with a grin. After sharing a laugh, Octavia clarified that it would just be tea and talking. “Sure, it sounds lovely. Although, we should stop by the boutique to pick up your bow-tie.” Octavia's eyes widened at the idea as she dumped the bits for dinner onto the table. “Yes, we should. I had forgotten about it, admittedly.” She stood and beckoned with a hoof. "Shall we?" Coco nodded her head and wiped her mouth with her napkin before joining Octavia’s side, and they headed out together. Outside, a change in shifts for the Princesses was evident: dim, silvery light poured down and the moths danced around the lit street lamps. Down the street, the lights of a sole oncoming taxi shone. The mares stepped underneath a streetlamp, and Octavia held out a hoof for the taxicab. “Thank you for dinner, by the way,” Coco said. “You're welcome. It was a worthy trade for your company, and it's the least I could do for the exquisite tie.” Octavia stressed the last statement with a pat to the bow-tie. As the cab neared, it slowed, and the hoof was put down. The cab pulled up along the curb, and the mares jumped inside. “Evening, ladies,” greeted the driver. “Good evening,” the mares said concurrently, and stifled a laugh and an urge to call jinx. “Rarity for You, please,” came, again, from both mares and the laughter could not be contained any longer. *            *            * The front door to Octavia’s apartment swung open, and Coco and Octavia entered, giggling to a joke the former shared on the way. The box with Octavia’s old bow-tie teetered on her back and was taken into the bedroom. “Go ahead and have a seat,” was called from the bedroom. Coco wandered into the living room, looking around the whirlwind of crumpled and ripped papers. Octavia trotted up to the coffee table. “Sorry about the mess.” She grabbed a nearby trash bin and swept the papers into it. “That’s just work stuff.” Coco knit her brow as she sat on the sofa. “Work? For your ensemble?” “More or less,” Octavia said dismissively, heading into the kitchen. “I like to write music, sometimes for the ensemble, sometimes for other reasons.” She brought out a polished metal kettle, filling it with water and setting it on the stove. “When did you write your last piece?” Octavia grimaced to herself. “When I was helping write for Vinyl’s album...” she muttered nearly inaudibly, and said, “Er, a long, long time ago.” “That’s some writer’s block.” Coco’s ears drooped. “The worst I’ve had with designing was a week, but I suppose that was a bit different since it’s actually my career.” Octavia emerged from the kitchen and took a seat beside Coco. “It’s bizarre, frankly. I’m exceptional at playing by ear with other musicians and instruments, but for some reason, when I’m all alone, that talent just disappears.” “Have you tried playing with the other musicians from your ensemble?” asked Coco. Octavia shook her head. “No, and it wouldn’t work. Everypony lives in different places throughout Equestria, and we only ever get together to play someplace.” Coco tilted her head. “Then how did you write back then?” “I had some help,” Octavia replied. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, which did not go unnoticed. “Your ex, I assume.” She looked at Octavia frowned when her gaze was refused to be met. “Pardon my asking, but why you seem reluctant to talk about her all of a sudden, let alone mention her name or anything?” “It’s normally considered inappropriate to mention former special-someponies to your current—to somepony with whom you’re on a date.” “But why do you not want to mention her?” “Because I miss her!” bursted out of Octavia’s mouth, her eyes staring as if watching memories play on the empty wall across from the sofa. “Or at least, I miss the former version of her, before our relationship was thrown into the pits of Tartarus, when she was sweet and thoughtful, if occasionally clumsy. I miss when blue was my favorite color in the world, and I was the luckiest mare in the world to wake up to a head-full of it each morning.” She finally turned to Coco, whose ears were somehow lower than before and eyes had a dull look. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—” “No, it’s alright.” Coco opened her mouth, thought better than whatever she wanted to say, and stood. “Perhaps I should go.” “No! Please stay. Forget I mentioned her.” “That’s not the problem, Octavia—it’s the exact opposite.” Coco swallowed a lump in her throat. “I-I want you to be able to talk about everything with me, to feel comfortable enough, even if it’s something to do with your ex. If it’s because I might feel threatened or jealous, I can guarantee that won’t be a problem. I know what sort of baggage comes from such a long-term relationship, and I know I’m not her.” “Of course not. You never accosted anypony for simply looking at us.” A reassuring smile appeared on the mare’s face, and a tentative hoof touched Octavia’s shoulder. “And that’s exactly it: I’m not her. I’m a simple mare who likes to work hard, sew, and read a cheesy romance novel from time-to-time. I already have my dream job of designing costumes for Bridleway shows, so I don’t have that many ambitions or desires. But I do currently have one: to find a special somepony, who can trust me with anything that bothers them, and I the same for her. You seem to be in need of somepony capable of lending an ear, which I can be if you so choose.” Octavia was chewing her lip, and when the offer was served, there was no hesitation for an affirming nod. She felt that, if at least seven years younger, she could cry, but matters of the heart shouldn’t bother a mare on the brink of middle-age, especially one with a heart as gnarled as hers. “I’m sorry, Coco. I swear I didn’t—” a tired sigh interrupted, “—I didn’t mean for this to happen tonight.” “And I’m sorry for lecturing. I don’t typically do that.” Octavia let out a laugh. “I do suppose I deserved it. And as painful as it is, I can bear with sharing a few of those memories.” She looked at Coco and smiled. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with making new ones.” Octavia was about to say something, but the kettle whistled. Coco removed her hoof from Octavia’s shoulder as the latter hurried into the kitchen, left to quietly examine the apartment. Coco had the horrible feeling of wanting to say something when nothing could be mustered. Her eyes drifted over to the cello, in its case, leaning against the sofa’s right side. A clatter made an ear swivel, and Coco turned to see Octavia carrying a copper-colored salver with a pair steaming coffee mugs, spoons, and a small jar of sugar. Coco took her tea unsweetened, blowing on hers before taking a sip. “I hope it’s not impolite to ask, but would you play your cello and what you have written so far for your piece? I’m curious about it.” Octavia gave her a look that said that the request was unexpected (what costume designer would have an interest in her music?) but welcomed nonetheless. “Of course, just let me—” she took a quick sip of her tea, nearly scalding her tongue in her urgency, and hurried to her cello. The case’s clasps were thrown open, and Octavia first fished out her bow, holding it with her teeth by the grained wood. A pestered glare was directed at the coffee table, which was immediately pushed out of the way, and the mare and her instrument took its place. With an astonishing combination of finesse and strength that only an earth pony, as well as a seasoned cellist, can manage, Octavia hoisted the cello upright while standing on her back hooves. “Wow, it’s a show watching you get ready to play,” Coco said. Octavia took the bow out of her mouth, gripping it in the crook of her right forehoof. “My grandmother used to say that unicorn magic was a curse rather than a blessing, since it made ponies lazy and incapable of doing it the good, old-fashioned way.” She returned the bow to her mouth, and worked quickly to tune the cello. When she was satisfied with the sound, she retook the bow into her hoof, closed her eyes, and inhaled as she readied the bow against the strings. “Something wrong?” Coco asked when a few seconds passed and the bow didn’t move. “Sorry, it’s just...the last time I did this kind of thing was for Vinyl—my ex—so I’m feeling a bit nervous.” “I thought you said you didn’t get stage-fright.” “I don’t with big, impersonal crowds, but when it’s an intimate performance with a...special somepony, I do tend to feel some butterflies in the pit of my stomach.” “If it’s going to be trouble—” “Tut-tut, you asked, so you shall receive.” Octavia closed her eyes, hummed a few starting notes to herself, and the bow moved. As she played, her hoof slid up and down the strings, periodically quaking, to create a wild string of notes and sounds. An image of the mare in the audience was conjured in her mind: grinning cutely, sky-blue eyes shimmering in imaginary light, and smooth cyan hair with the red pin peeking out like the sun at dawn. Gliding along her curve of her face and from under her collar, imaginary notes poured forth, as would water from a garden hose, guiding Octavia’s progression past the point she had firmly written. Performing a one-mare show for a one-mare audience, privately where the ears for which she played perked sweetly to listen and whose eyes had the glaze of wonder and admiration, was something she had been she had missed for all these years, Octavia realized. A muse, a catalyst for a spark of inspiration. Inside her, the little embers erupted into a blaze, and the only thing Octavia desired was to put on the best damn cello performance Coco Pommel will ever see in her life. It was peculiar for Octavia—this hadn't happened when she wrote music and played for Vinyl, but then again, that mare was rarely anything but a composer, never capable to sit by and just listen. It was greatly appreciated to have somepony to sit back and let Octavia play. With a flourish, the bow pitched a final high note and was pulled away as its master gave a small bow. An eye fluttered open to see Coco beaming and clapping and bouncing in her seat. Coco was nearly laughing. “That was astounding! I know you said it wasn’t finished, but it sounds perfect to me!” “Thank you, I...honestly don’t know how or what happened. It just came to me as I was playing.” Octavia pulled her cello over to its case and laid both it and the bow inside. “Well, that was refreshing,” she commented, sitting next to Coco on the sofa and attempting to sip her tea, which had become disgustingly lukewarm. “Thank you,” she heard Coco say to her, turning to meet a grinning face. “That was very sweet of you to do that for me, especially after what happened.” “It’s fine, Coco. I think you deserved the honor.” On the wall, the clock chimed to indicate the hour, and Coco let out a surprised yelp at the lateness. “I’m sorry, Octavia,” said Coco as she stood from the sofa, “but I do have to go. I need to get up early to get the boutique ready for tomorrow.” Octavia gave her a nod and followed her to the door. “Tonight was the most fun I’ve had in years,” she added. “Same.” Octavia unlatched and opened the door, and with Coco in the middle of the doorway, both mares looked at each other expectantly. “How about lunch tomorrow?” Coco asked. “I know of a good little café around the corner from the boutique.” “Sounds great. I’ll stop by around noon then.” “Great.” Coco turned around and stopped, as if she didn’t want to leave. Before Octavia could respond, the mare suddenly whipped around and pressed her lips firmly against Octavia’s right cheek, muttered a “Good night,” and fled down the hallway. Octavia simply stayed in the doorway, stunned at what happened, but the stunned expression melted as she started chuckling to herself at the displays the usually meek mare shared. Octavia trotted into the living room, dumping the cold tea and closing the lid on her cello’s case. The lights were turned off on her way to bed—the evening had left her more exhausted than she anticipated. She didn’t even dare to properly set aside her new bow-tie, simply undoing the clip and letting it land onto the floor, where just out of view the letters “C.P.” were stitched in platinum thread. Before falling asleep, Coco Pommel appeared once again in Octavia’s mind’s eye, for once last glance at the cyan mane and cerulean eyes. “Maybe blue is starting to grow on me again.”