Octavia pushed open the ears of the Grand Ball to enter into its entrance. It has an overhang, gold of course, and a red walkway. Octavia walked past none of these things, instead deciding to lean against the wall of the building. This was to the left of the overhang, allowing her to gaze upon the structure she entered and exited.
The Ball was one of the main places in Canterlot. It was exceptionally famous, second only to the castle. Usually it offered expensive dinners that tourists would gobble up and rave about. Octavia looked back at the doors. A hall led from it to the ballroom.
The sound of running hooves took Octavias gaze off the doors and into the street ahead of her. There she saw a white coated mare sprinting through the roads. Octavia shrugged, reached into the nap sack that hung over her back, and pulled out a cigarette packet. She pulled out a single cigarette, materialized a lighter from the same place, and lit it. She took one long smoke, and her tense muscles were alleviated.
Octavia looked up to see the pony more clearly. She had a violently blue mane, a white coat, a record player cutie mark, and large red glasses. She was a mess. She wore clothing, which didn’t shock Octavia in the slightest. Her mane was ruffled, looking as if she literally threw a comb at it. The mare ran up the steps, and Octavia assumed that she would run right past her to the ball.
However, she was shocked to see that the mare in fact did not run past her, instead stopping right in front of her, panting so hard it would seem she would take all the oxygen out of the sky.
Octavia leaned forward off the wall, and raised an eyebrow as the mare seemed to try and speak.
“Oh, oh, alright, um -whoo boy- um hi-shit-there should be a reservation under...hold on.” She took in another inhale. “Um, something under Vinyl Scratch.”
Octavia tilted her head. “Ma’am, are you sure you're in the right place?” Her eyes stared at large beads of sweat that began to run down the pony’s back.
She nodded her head. “Yeah, The Grand Ball’s Fine Dining, right?”
“Well, yes.”
“Ok, perfect! Then um, I should be written down there. Vinyl Scratch.” She smiled. Her teeth looked as though they were brushed 20 times in the last ten minutes, and that was more than double the times in the past month. Octavia cocked an eyebrow again.
“Ma’am-”
“Call me Vinyl.”
“Ma’am-”
“Oh, ok.”
Octavias teeth gritted. “Ma’am, I’m not the receptionist.” She wiggled her cigarette, indicating that she was just enjoying her smoke break.
Vinyls' eyes glanced at tht roll of tobacco, and then looked back up at Octavia. “Oooh, smoking is bad for you.”
Octavia rolled her eyes. “So I’ve been told.”
Vinyl looked closer at this strange pony. She was dressed exquisitely. She was proud of that word. She wore a suit, black tuxedo, white undershirt, that ran along her back, giving her a fancy look. She wore a campy pink bow tie as well, that threw Vinyl off.
“Ya know, it can cause cancer.”
“I’m very careful.”
“I mean, you can die.”
“Yes. I know.”
“Well, then its kinda dumb.”
“Well ma’am, I’m sorry my habits disturb you, but there’s not much to do at this point.”
Vinyl tilted her head, her spikey blue mane sweeping to the other side. “Why do you talk funny?”
“What do you mean?”
Her royal accent came through in that sentence, as if on que.
“Wow, that accent is, like, intoxicating.”
For what seemed like the hundredth time, Octavia rolled her eyes.
“I appreciate it.”
Vinyl poked a hoof at Octavia. “Are you Royal?”
Ahh what the hell.
Octavia shrugged. “Yeah, my mom and dad play in the royal choir.”
Vinyl's eyes showed her being genuinely impressed, which surprised the gray pony. She didn’t seem like one who would be impressed by something like that. Most ponies weren’t. Even the musical gurus she knew from party’s she would go to. Everyone always nodded, commenting how much of a respectable job that was, good paying. It was af if the other royals were not impressed due to them having it better. She supposed they did. They always did. Her family plays violins for a living, and yet they have a multi million gold business. They always had real relations with the Princess, they always had servants and money and ideas and money and friends and dates and money and-
“Hey. Rip Van Twinkle. What happened, you fell into the Moonlight Zone?”
Octavia shook her head awake. “No, sorry, just thinking. That’s all.”
Vinyl smiled. “So how did you get this receptionist gig?”
“...I didn't.”
Vinyl's smile faded away. “Oh, right, shoot.” Then, in a sudden instant, her eyes exploded with realization. “OH SHIT, I’M LATE!” She galloped quickly away, sprinting inside the ball. Octavia simply glared, smirking.
She had trouble defining what just happened. It was perhaps because she did not know the nature of what occurred. She shrugged. Didn’t matter to her.
She had a new warmth inside of her, one she had difficulty expressing. It felt like a warm fireplace, gently nipping heat at her body. Its ashes would be small, weak. It would never grow into a raging embler, but it wouldn’t die like a diminished flame. It just burned brightly, content with how it was at that moment.
She took another puff of her cigarette. She made to throw it on the floor, stopping halfway. Instead, she found a trash can on the other side of the wall. She shook the flame out, and flicked the butt in. She stared for a moment, and then turned around, hearing the door fling open.
A second later, she saw Vinyl walking out, her eyes wide, stressfully pulling her mane back. She was halfway past the walkway when Octavia called out to her.
“Hey! Everything is alright?”
She whipped around, and her blue electric mane jiggled in place. “Oh uh yeah!” She said out of breath. “My uh, date just apparently left, like i just missed her. I’m trying to see if I can see her.”
Octavia raised an eyebrow. “If she just left, wouldn’t you have seen her when you were talking with me?”
Vinyl's face became puzzled. “So that means-“
“-she’s been gone.” Octavia finished.
Vinyls laughed, one that was overwhelmingly sad. She put her hoof over her face, trying to hide her smile. “Damn it, I did it again.”
Octavia smiled, trying to help. “You can just contact her later, no?”
Vinyl waved a hoof in dismissal. “Nah, no point. Ya know, it was a random date, picked it up. I dunno, ain’t no point in contacting her back.”
“Well, you should most likely go in and cancel your reservation.”
“Yeah…”
She looked at the ground for a while. Octavias eyes were fixated upon her. Eventually, after flashing a brief smile, she made her way back into the hotel. Octavia stared at the door as Viny’s figure went through. A deep breath. She didn’t know what to think. She made her way toward the street. She had to go home. But at the moment, she wasn’t sure where that was.
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“Elbows up. You're not a slouch, stop acting like it.”
“Yes mother.”
“And you keep missing a note.”
“Which one mother?”
“I don’t know, somewhere in the middle.”
The living room was huge. Velvet carpets, brown walls, beautiful art. Octavia felt the heat behind her. Sweat dripped down her back. It was in the afternoon, it made little sense for the fireplace to be lit. Yet it was. It always was. In front of her sat mother, a scowl on her face. Disappointed. Her light brown fur wrinkled. She sat on the velvet couch judging. Octavia looked past her mother at the dining room that was open to her. A large table. It was convenient to eat and then make your way into the living room. It-
“Hey, Octavia, what are you staring at?”
Octavia hugged the cello closer to her body. “I don’t kn-”
“Stand up straight, and for pete sake, bend your elbows!” Octavia nodded, and adjusted herself. With one hoof, she straightened the bow tie around her neck. She then bent down, and picked up the dropped bow.
“Better.” Her mother raised a hoof, and Octavia slightly flinched, despite the distance between the two. The mother didn’t notice. “Haydric Chopin, Nocturne No. 2.”
Octavia nodded, and began to play. 1,2,3,4,1,2,3,4,1,2,3,4. Keep the tempo o=up. She felt her hooves graze the delicate strings, her bow moved gracefully. The sound was beautiful. Pure. Her hood moved again, her head bobbing with the music. Up, down, up, down. Perfect timing. Take a deep breath. She moved the bow at perfect speed, neither going too fast or slow. She began to tap her foot, closing her eyes. This one was perfect. It was phenomenal. She could feel it. Mother must be smiling, must be in awe. Perhaps not smiling, her jaw agape. Her dad would come home soon, and hear about the marvel of her daughter. Eleven years old, plays beautifully. Maybe, just maybe, she can no longer be homeschooled. Maybe she could even play outside. Maybe they would listen. Maybe they would smile, hug her for a moment, and say we love you. And hug her and love her and say that-
“BEND THOSE ELBOWS!”
The music stopped short. Octavias eyes flared open, and before she knew what was happening, she opened her mouth. “WHY DOES IT MATTER?”
A look of shock entered her mothers face for only a second. She got up swiftly, striding over to her daughter. With one motion, her hoof came down upon Octavias face. The eyes that once held anger now only held tears. It stung, and as Octavia looked back up to her mother, she looked defeated. That quickly.
“Young lady, I don’t know who you think you are speaking to me in such a tone. Your father should hear about this.”
“No…”
“No?” Her mother’s eyes looked amused. “Maybe you should have thought differently before you spoke to me in such ways. A mare always thinks, and is always mature. That, Octavia, was just the opposite. We never raised you this way.”
Octavia looked at the ground, tears falling down her face. “But mother, I’m a filly.”
Her mother scoffed, and grabbed at Octavias chin. She forced her to look into her eyes. “A filly? And that’s what you want to be? You wish to be ignorant, to be stupid, to be childish? You want to ruin everything because you are a filly? Nopony respects fillies dear. They are nothing. They are worthless equines who cannot think for themselves. You are different because we made you different. Do you want to do something in your life?” Octavia said nothing. “Hmm? Do you?” Forced, Octavia nodded her head. The mothers hoof left her chin. She smiled. “Perhaps your father does not need to hear about this. As long as you play exceptionally well this time.” Octavia nodded yes. Her mother trotted back to the couch, sitting down. She pointed toward her daughter, who’s tears continually streamed down her face. She showed disgust. “Please, wip your tears away. Nobody wants to see a mare cry like that.” Octavia did so. Her mother waited a moment.
Octavia stared back up at her matriarch. She tried desperately to find an ounce of love in her cold dark stare. It couldn’t have been this bad, was it? It wasn’t like this at all, it was better. Sure it was hard, but never like this! They loved her, she knew that. They were always there for her, at every meal. Every meal cooked by a chef. And they stood by her education. As in staring at the room in which her and her tutor were. They cared, right? It was more than just her name. Melody. She was more than that. They cared.
“From the top.” Little Octavia nodded, and began again. It still stung.
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“Thank you for keeping my cello here Clarence. It really helped me out.”
A yellow unicorn nodded his head. He had on a tuxedo. A small black bow tie. “Of course Octy. Thanks for agreeing to do the morning service here too!’ She nodded. He smiled, his teeth whiter than they should have been, and then he made his way behind her, past the stage into the kitchen.
She looked out from the stage. Rich ponies were eating eggs benedict on a Manehattan Muffin. Chowing down. Barley listening to her. It was usually the same at these gigs. She was the background for the ponies stories. A soundtrack.
She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She looked out into the crowd, and saw a past-vacant seat now filled. A white unicorn with an electric blue man sat with a bunch of other ponies. They laughed and talked as if she wasn’t there, perhaps because she wasn’t. But it didn’t matter. She seemed to say, play whatever you want! Surprise me! Take a chance!
She didn’t know why it was her, but Octy smiled. Her own song. She could do that. She smiled, picked up her bow, and glanced at the sheet of music in front of her.
Whatever she wanted…
Octavia began to play Nocturne No. 2