//------------------------------// // Culpability // Story: Stroll // by re- Yamsmos //------------------------------// Dissappointment was a wretched little thing, whenever it so came to her in her inactive hours. It reared its ugly head about a nearby corner, turning to face her with a disgusting grin and a horrible pair of narrowed eyes in a quiet, judging reminder that, yes, it was still around, and, yes, she was still wholly defined as such a thing. It would appear in the mornings; it would appear at around noon; it would appear around midnight, when her tired mind and aching body could very simply pretend that what she was imagining wasn't something she was imagining. The dark conjured up hundreds of abominable atrocities, and the very idea that she might have sour thoughts amused her more than scared her. The dark helped her lie through her teeth, as well. An awful thing. An awful, wretched little thing. When she wasn't perturbed enough to stand there and face it, she found a question at her gut that bubbled and troubled inside before dying away without even reaching her throat. What exactly was disappointment to Octavia? What, in its entire, full, complete, legitimate, honest meaning was the concept of it to her? Its definition? She was fairly certain that she knew what it meant to her parents, at the very least, and it was equally fairly easy. The bare second — the tiniest stretch of time — it took for the name, "Octavia", to be uttered from someone's muzzle, be it a family friend, or other relatives, or random passersby, or curious ponies that had decided to just go and ask about. It was something their minds concluded upon every unnecessary occasion their traitorous thoughts lingered on the outcast middle daughter that had fled their family nest in search of proper clarity all those years ago, chasing after promises and proposed destiny in a city higher than the clouds and still anchored to the dirt. Each sigh, and dipping of chins, and grumbled affirmation begrudgingly claiming, "Yes, that's our little Octavia." She certainly wouldn't applaud herself. She might drunkenly do so within the comfort of her locked doorway, every now and then. But if she were there, sitting amongst the silhouetted crowd in comfortable seats, holding a pamphlet in your hooves about all the kinds of wonderful melodies you'd be hearing for the next hour or so, and excited beyond all belief, the last thing she'd do is lean back, bring her hooves together, and clap for the gray Earth Pony standing idly on the right side of the Symphony, her bow straight and her posture straighter as her mind struggled to claim the same. Every morning, at around the same time, Octavia would shoot awake and become aware of her existence once more. She would fling off her bed sheets, yawn into the unoccupied space of her room, and calmly walk into her bathroom to freshen herself up for the day ahead. Wash her toothbrush and scrub her teeth, then brush her mane into its usual shape, then put on her makeup and turn to leave. The bathroom was always filthy to her, and so she wouldn't be able to help but scan its interior as she went to flick the lights off. There, she'd face left. She felt it every morning. Every time her gaze drew up, down, and up again to settle back onto purple in the glass above the tap. She was nothing special. Nothing to admire, or love, or gaze upon and even think positively about. She was just somepony playing an instrument too big for her with people that didn't care for her specifically, but the things she produced. The black notes on white paper. Her coach. Her guide. Its results were all they wanted. All they ever wanted. Music was a tad useless without fuel for the fire, but people only really cared about the fuel when they didn't have it on them. Didn't they? "They did. Definitely." "You're shitting me." "No, 'm serious." The chair next to her creaked in her ears, and the Captain's Quarters, lit by flickering candle light, faded back into acknowledgment. Octavia blinked. W must have been adjusting his seat, seizing the suddenly quiet opportunity as Valkyrie took a second to suck in an abnormally long breath of air and blow it back out. "Wowwww," was all she had to drone, eyes glazing over at the ceiling before her. "Now wait a second," came Andy, leaning forward and taking a simultaneous munch on his buttered bread, "that don't make a lick o' sense." He swallowed politely, then gobbled up another bite impolitely. "How in the hell didja even get by?" "Someone threw a rock a bit past their heads." Andy let out a disbelieving chuckle. "They all scrambled after it and we just..." W brought up a claw and wiggled two of his talons, "...snuck on by them." "Things were different back then, weren't they?" Lavi asked, her spoon going back into the dinner for the night and ricocheting off its metallic ribbing. "What do you mean? Border guards are tough now as they were–" "No I mean, like, you used to be fun back then," Lavi... noted(?), looking up with the most casual look on her face Octavia had ever seen. Valkyrie snickered into her glass of water. W clicked his beak, apparently ignoring the insult as well. "I'm just wondering what happened, is all." "What happened is that I had to look after three chicks fresh out of the nest who I'd rather have let jumped out the tree." Valkyrie was on it in an instant with something that didn't actually sound like an insult. "You know, I actually don't remember much from the nest." "That's because you were a test tube baby," went Lavi. "My dad actually measured you out in a beaker," came T. Valkyrie screwed up her face, turning on a dime and pointing at the black griffon. "You don't even have a dad, T. How do you even know what the word means?" "I know how to read." "Oh, so the dictionary." T frowned. Valkyrie promptly lost her shit, bringing a clenched claw down and banging the tabletop. Lavi, the deliverer of the apparent third-degree burn, sucked on her teeth and shrugged nonchalantly. "Sorry, T." "It's okay," T replied, picking up his glass and adding to the bottom of it, "I'll just put termites on your pillow before you go to sleep." Valkyrie's beak flew wide open. "Bro, that's not cool!" "Bro! It's just a prank!" Lavi shouted. "Shred the gnar, bro!" Valkyrie joined. The two griffons bit their bottom beaks and, as one single unit, leaned over to T's side of the table with anticipating, waggling brows and nasally, barely-held-back giggling fits. T rolled his eyes and stared straight ahead. Octavia's eyes did the opposite, or about as opposite as eyes could go considering they could go many different ways. If he was staring straight ahead, actually, the opposite would have been for her to roll hers back into their sockets to show blank, scarringly horrifying white to anypony who bothered to look her way. And that was pretty much impossible, unless she had some kind of a death wish. Which she might have had, actually, considering what she was currently peering down at. "I don't think it'll come alive, Octavia." Octavia snapped to attention. Lavi was talking to her for some reason. "Pardon?" Lavi's eyes danced about. Not white as snow, thankfully. She screwed her beak around her face before beaming, "Because you're, like, looking at it like it's gonna come back alive or something." Octavia raised an eyebrow. Lavi brought up her two claws and dragged them down her cheeks. The feeling of your own sharp talons against your own soft skin must've been so lovely. "I was implying that... augh my Goood..." "You're so stupid, Lavi." "Well you're–" Octavia's nose dove back down to the delightful, five-star meal in front of her, fit for righteous kings and beautiful queens and dashing dukes and kind-hearted duchesses in one whole sitting. They, just like her, expected some things to turn out certain ways, mostly in their favor for obvious reasons. This plot of land belonged to the farmers, and so it was. She could make a piece of toast for breakfast, and so it happened. The country's wealth should be shared with its people, and so it rained. She could... probably bear going to the grocery store today, and so it staggeringly occurred. But they, not like her, actually got the results they wanted whenever they wanted them. She was just a regular Earth Pony, not the leader of a sprawling country or even a single group of people. Dissapointment. There it was again. Her dinner. Ooh, they connected so... so regrettably. Octavia was finding herself surprisingly more and more slightly okay with the gauze wrapping around her bloodied hooves—it was hard to even try eating in the first place, let alone hold a wooden spoon, so she had a legitimate excuse for not "overindulging" herself on tonight's cuisine. Plus, she didn't really think, nay, she didn't really want anybody here to offer her a session of childlike spoonfeeding. Not that anyone would actually do that, mind her. "Bloody hell, I sure do love... cold... canned... ravioli..." Valkyrie crossed her arms and frowned at her. For Gods' sake, griffon, get your mind off his cock and back onto the reality of this! Andy shrugged. At least he was okay with it. He pointed a stubby talon behind him and replied, "Well, we've got a half a meatloaf leftover in the mess if you want some o' that, lass." If Octavia had enough food in her to vomit, she most certainly would have done so. And then she could leave the table. That might've been a good plan, now that she thought of it. "Not a chance." "What?" Her right ear flopped onto her skull; her left folded in on itself. She pursed her lips and regarded W next to her with a grumbly, rumbly, not-so-humbly frown. "Not a fan of a nice meatloaf?" Octavia whipped her head around and tossed the length of her mane into a hoof, kneading it as she tutted, "Please, as if such a thing could even achieve a status anywhere remotely near nice." "My mom actually makes a kickass meatloaf," Lavi claimed with a grin. "I bet she does–" Octavia began, only for her words to be eviscerated, minced, tossed in a blender, and minced. Wait shit– "These cans o' ravioli are a prize, little pony!" Andy cheered, grabbing his and jostling it in his grasp. His blue robes shimmied as he did so, sounding the large belts draped over his shoulders like a dancer trying their hardest to impress her by "moving rhythmically". Returning to his seat, he took his spoon up once more and scooped up a serving for himself. "Found 'em buried underground on a remote island a little ways south of here. Barely made out with our lives." "You might've just stumbled upon some hobo pony's stash," Sesame very reasonably... reasoned. "Yeah that's kinda screwed up, dude," Lavi admitted, claws at her armored hips. "Prob'ly his life's goals met," T joined in from the other side. Which was the not-previously-speaking side, to avoid confusion. "And you just robbed him of it," Lavi finished, tutting and shaking her head slowly like some kind of school teacher. There was a thought in Octavia's befuddled head earlier. She couldn't quite remember what it was, but it was deathly important. Something about a comparison... a comparison of some sort or another. What... wait... no, it wasn't that. She could compare his beard to anything heavenly. She wasn't sweating, was she? Oh Gods was anyone watching? She tuned back in for a second and– "–have you know my crew earned this ravioli!" "Ever heard of garlic bread?" Nope. Not an eye on her. Not even W, who was... apparently eating his cold canned ravioli politely and quietly. How nice, actually. Now... what was it? She wouldn't be able to sleep for the night if she couldn't remember. Gods, it was one of those things that got stuck on the edge of your brain and kept hot-dogging you. It was truly the worst thing– oh! That's what it was! She suppressed the wild, crazy, stupid grin on her face that would've attracted attention. That was pleasantly rewarding. She was comparing this lackluster meal to a positive ideal. Yes. This was a bit like a family dinner, if your family just so happened to consist of ruffians the likes of which might never be artfully replicated as long as the world kept spinning lazily in time. It was plain and simple, really, and the similarities were striking. W was the hardworking father who toiled away in the steel mills to come back home at dusk, one who both joined in his children's dumb exploits and put a damper on them before they strayed too far from safe... or basically intelligent. T was the bookworm of the household, pushing his taped-up glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose and shying away every night after supper, with outdated clothes that better suited Charles Cockins than the modern times he sparsely occupied. Valkyrie was the hot-headed prat who constantly got into trouble and then got upset that people got upset at her actions, the kind of willy who'd proactively beat you up and then say it was you who'd caused it all. Oh and she totally killed that one guy that one time. Lavi was the loving younger sister with shimmering stars in her eyes and genitals on her mind, possibly confused, possibly misunderstood, possibly digging herself a deeper hole whenever she spoke. She might've even reached Chineigh at some point, there. Octavia hummed. Hmm. And she turned to Sesame at W's right side. Sesame was... he was like the uncle that came by every now and then and hogged your food and smoked on the porch in a subtle invitation to everypony to come out and talk to him, but he grumbled to himself when nobody came, took a dump in your bathtub, and left without even hiding the evidence. He just kind of... left it there. Thanks, Uncle Bigote. Sesame wasn't the fun uncle. Heavens no. Andy was. He'd swing in on a rope, dressed in pirate ensemble much like the one he was wearing now, and swoop the kids up to take them to the shopping mall, where she'd buy a cute dress and a spiffy brush and feel like a million bits until she got home and he had to leave again. "–any of you." Valkyrie gasped. T choked on something in his throat. Sesame sucked in his bottom lip and looked around. W continued eating his ravioli. Lavi held her gut and burst out laughing. Andy narrowed his eyes and scanned the room. The only things that met his gaze were the magnificent sunset peering in from the windows and the darkening seas rolling beneath them. Oh, and Octavia's eyes, because she had no clue what was happening. "What about you?" Octavia touched a hoof to her chest. "Me?" "Yes, you." Sesame snorted. The room was, otherwise, horribly quiet. Even the hustling and bustling griffon crew outside seemed to have lowered their voices. "I– I don't..." "Can ya cook?" Cook? He... what? Valkyrie leaned forward in her seat, creaking it all the while. "Wait wait, you don't mean her–" "I do, lass," Andy defended, turning her way and then looking back at Octavia. "You don't like the ravioli! Why don't you be the cook?" The entire table burst out in laughter, apparently hearing some kind of joke in there. What was so funny about that? If anything, it would've felt a tad backhoofed if his smile wasn't as wide as the Western sky. Andy cracked a grin as well. "Cheers could use some help down there. He's been askin' for a sous-chef for weeks, he has." "You really don't want her cooking, Andy," Lavi told him, hiding her beak behind a clenched fist. Sesame giggled, "This whole ship would burst in flames, dude." Were they referring to– oh the bastards! How in the bloody hell were her, mind them, kicking the ass of a minotaur and accidentally flipping an oven switch in the process even connected?! The nerve of them! Bunch of muppets, this lot... ... Know what? Octavia realized herself and cleared her throat. "Actually, do you know what?" "No–" started Valkyrie. "I'd love to," Octavia finished. At that, Andy's face fell flat. "That wasn't really serious. I was tryin' ta get Lavi or someone down there with Cheers–" Octavia shook her head furiously. "I'll cook!" She minded the can next to her hooves and slid it away from her where it better belonged. "I feel like I could help this vessel go a long way in terms of vitality, anyway." Andy's beak moved up and down. "I'm going to be on my way in a sparse few days anyhow. Why not give it a go?" She asked. She was going to prove them wrong. All of them. A breakfast for five griffons and two ponies was simple enough, and she could use simple ingredients. Simple, simple, simple! Andy chuckled. "Tell ya what, Octavia." He pointed at her. "You cook up a merry breakfast for the crew in the mornin', and we'll see about you makin' us lunch." Octavia beamed. That sounded like an, "Okay," to her! She nodded, cheek bunched up and barely containing her excitement. Her smile wavered for a brief second that she didn't quite compute, then returned to full form. "Guess that's settled then," Andy confirmed, returning to his food. "Prob'ly about time ta hit the hay, anyhow." Her smile fell limp, then became a frown. She mouthed the previous conversation to herself, then found herself stuck on one word. Did he say, "crew?"