Well, at least the cake was clean. Moonlight was just beginning to prevail over the dimming sun, shining a strange veil of purple through the white shades. Again, it was quiet, and Octavia found time to relax again. The cake was gone, and Lyra had settled down. After a good dinner of strange take-out hay soup from the local bistro—though it was quite delicious—Lyra had left Octavia for means of a shower.
She could hear the splashing water from upstairs. The drone was nice, bringing a smile to her lips. Content with the newfound relaxation, she stood with ease, stretching without soreness. The house was cozy, she thought again, lit by dim candles and warmed by a hearth behind the couch.
“Mmm, perhaps a shower would do me well too,” she mumbled, her voice morphing into a yawn. Lyra had said something about some wine tonight, so a shower would give them both some time to themselves. “And I do not smell like rosin.”
A rasp came from the door, kicking a jump through Octavia’s heart. She swallowed dryly, glaring at the door, scowling, berating it for ruining her relaxation. The knock came again, a bit louder now. Tentatively she moved towards the door. Should she answer it? Possibly, yes—it would be rude to let those outside sit there with no answer while a candle lit the house. And, she mused, if they wanted Lyra, she could just explain the situation.
Reaching out, she slipped her hoof through the handle and pulled the door ajar to greet the cold air. “Yes?”
She had to squint to see, but soon she found herself face to face with a mare of stark white, with a red-pink mane and light green eyes that reflected the candlelight. “Um, hi. Is Lyra…”
“Oh yes, she’s in the shower right now,” Octavia said, offering a smile. “Might I take a message for her?”
This mare shifted on her hooves, and for the first time, Octavia noticed a parcel on her back. “Yes, you see, she ordered something the other day. Just here to deliver.” She chuckled weakly. “So, um, should I just come back later?”
“What? Nonesense.” Octavia outstretched a hoof. “I’ll deliver it and send your regards, miss…?”
“Rose. Roseluck.”
Octavia blinked. “Rose Roseluck? That’s a rather interesting name.”
Chuckling again, Roseluck chiseled a smile. “N-no, just Roseluck. And I’ll just come back later, if that’s alright.”
“But why bother?” Octavia asked, cocking her head. “I’ll just give her the package, and I’ll not open it, you have my solemn vow.”
A silence was shared as they locked eyes.
Then, Roseluck reached behind her and carefully, slowly, cautiously handed off the parcel. “Tell her it’s an… extra lovely batch, won’t you?”
“Absolutely, Miss Roseluck,” she said with a wink. “Have a lovely night.”
Roseluck seemed to stifle a cough. “W-will do.”
She then turned to leave, and Octavia shut the door. Now in her hoof was a little brown parcel, gently wrapped and soft. Eyeing it over, she set it on the coffee table. It smelled like… roses. Which made sense, of course; what else would somepony order from a mare named Roseluck? Coffee?
She chuckled at her own witticism; a mare of her caliber could be a comedian, if she weren’t so dignified.
“Hey Tavi,” Lyra said as she descended down the stairs with a towel wrapped tightly around her mane. “Who was that?”
Octavia looked up at her. She’d not heard the water die, and the sudden burst sent another jump to her heart. “Oh my Lyra,” she said, sitting down and rubbing her chest. “Gave me a scare. This was something delivered by somepony named Roseluck. Though why she would deliver at such an ungodly hour is beyond me.”
Lyra stepped forward, cocked her head, and inspected the package.
“She wanted me to tell you that it is an extra lovely batch, though I’m not sure what it even is,” she continued, standing again.
It took only seconds of prodding before Lyra snatched it up with her magic. “I-it’s nothing. You know, um… stuff.”
“Well I’m sure it is stuff,” Octavia said with an arched brow. “But what kind of stuff could a mare conceive would be important enough to deliver at a time normally reserved for sleep? Honestly, what is in this, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Lyra shrugged and gave a wide smile. “Stuffy stuff. Yep. I’ll just go put it in my stuff drawer. Y’know. In the stuff room. For stuff.”
“You have a ‘stuff’ room?”
“Yep! It’s where I keep my stuff!” Smiling still—perhaps too broadly—Lyra spun and cantered into the kitchen.
Octavia outstretched a hoof. “Um, Lyra, wait! Might I use your shower?”
“Sure!” she called back. “Just stay outta my stuff room please!”
Two stuff rooms? Strange, considering that Lyra only had enough stuff for one, or hardly that, when her houses’ simplicity was brought into question. Though maybe she—
Stuff rooms? Octavia shook her head. What in Equestria was a stuff room? It was a room for… stuff, obviously, but Lyra didn’t even have a ‘stuff room’. She had two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, and two bathrooms.
That all fit into Octavia’s wardrobe.
It was… Lyra. Lyra being Lyra, that’s what it was. She sighed and turned to the stairs, dragging herself towards them, up them, and then to the shower.
Finally dry, and more to the point, at ease, Octavia stepped out of the bathroom with a smile on her face. Down Lyra’s hall she went, down the stairs, and into the kitchen, where the cool tile felt fine on her hooves. She greeted Lyra with a smile, who was just across an island in the center of the room. Lyra returned the smile as she yanked out another bottle of amber liquid from a rack, then shook her head and put it back.
“Wine?”
“Yep,” Lyra said, “A special kind. I think you’ll like it. It’s pretty sweet.”
“Hmm, well dry is normally my wont, but I’ll give it a taste. Tell me, where will I be sleeping?”
Lyra paused. “With me, duh. It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”
“Um, well true, but Lyra—“
“Viola!” she shrieked. A small bottle slipped down from the highest shelf, and she quickly cracked it open and began pouring it.
They filled quickly, and were split between the two mares. Lyra was watching her, grinning, with a strange twinkle in her eye. Octavia eyed her over, but took the wine nonetheless. Lyra only smiled again.
Tentatively Octavia took a sip, and when she did, a burst of colorful flavor erupted on her tongue. She hummed in delight, sighing out slowly as she sipped the drink. Her eyes drifted shut and her hoof tilted the glass just a little bit higher. As she finished her sip, she said, “Mmm, Lyra, this is delicious. I love it, where did it come from?”
No response.
“Lyra?”
She peeked an eye open. Lyra was still there, but with rolled up eyes and a quivering lip. A deep hum resonated in her throat, soft, melodic, and very, very creepy. Octavia stared with wide eyes and kicked the glass away. “What did you do to it?”
Lyra snapped back into reality. “Do to what?”
“My drink, you pervert! What did you do?”
She looked around. “Me? I’m not a perv.”
“Yes you are!” Octavia thrust her hoof over the island. “I took a sip of my drink and you’re over there having some sort of weird… ick!”
Lyra gasped. “Hey! I am not having an ick! I haven’t had an ick since, like, third grade or something.”
There was a pause, in which Octavia glared into Lyra’s soul.
“I’m not sleeping with you.”
Lyra looked stricken. “What? No! You have to, it’ll be like a sleep over, and we can do fun things, except not pervy things because I just said I’m not a perv, except for the one time—“
“Then why were you over there jiggling in your hooves?”
A pause stilled Lyra. “Uh, because…”
Octavia squinted. “Because why?”
“I’m… tired. Very tired.” Lyra cantered around the island, to Octavia, and draped her foreleg over the cellist’s neck. Feigning a yawn, she said, “Yep, and you look tired too. Like, really tired. You should get to bed. My bed. You know, because that’s where we’re sleeping, and stuff.”
“Just sleeping,” Octavia quipped. “Not, ‘and stuff.’”
“Right, that comes later.”
“What? Lyra, no—“
“Onward!” She tugged Octavia out of the kitchen and to the stairs.
“But what about the wine?”
“Pfft, I’ll make more. Besides, you spilled it and called me a perv. You owe me now.” She pushed Octavia up the stairs and down the hall. When Octavia had finally been pushed into the threshold of Lyra’s bedroom, Lyra shut the door and grinned.
“Lyra,” Octavia fumed. Her face was red enough to glow through the dark. “Hooves. Off. The haunches.”
She snorted and grinned, waving a hoof. “That’s what they all say. Okay! So, that’s my bed, and those are my nightstands, and my drawers are there, to the side, see? And I have a chest here at the end of my bed, but you can’t open it. Over there is the window, and—“
“Bed, please?” Octavia asked, stopping Lyra’s rant. The mare looked at her, then to the double bed that was the room’s centerpiece.
“Huh? Sure, yep, just climb on in. It’s really warm and soft, you’ll definitely sleep well on it.”
Octavia nodded idly and sauntered over to the bed. She crept in, pulled the surprisingly soft sheets over her, and rested her head on the pillow. Just as her mane hit the pillow, and just as she felt Lyra sit down much too close to her, another knock came from below. Octavia’s eyes popped open and she glared to the door.
Lyra, on the other hoof, stood and trotted over to it. “You know, I ought to go, um, clean the wine. Don’t want it staining my counters, or something. I’m sure you agree, right? You’re fancy and stuff.”
Eyeing her down, Octavia said, “But what about the pony at the door?”
“W-what door? I don’t have a door.” She pushed her lips into a smile. The knock came again. “Well, that wine is sure staining quickly! Um, just give me a sec, I’ll be right back.” Then, she rushed out of the room.
Now, alone, Octavia felt her stomach churn. Lyra really did put something in that wine… she grimaced and rolled onto her hooves. “Well Lyra, secret meetings after toying with my drink? We’ll see about that.”
Her gaze drifted about the room, until it landed on the lone window, facing out to the town. With a snort, Octavia trotted to it and peered down below. There was just enough light from the moon for her to make out a shape standing in the doorway, waiting for the light of inside to reveal her.
Who was it, Octavia mused. Somepony with another secret package? Probably to deliver more of whatever was slipped into the wine while she was in the shower. And, if that were true, then Octavia should count her minutes. Then, the door opened, spilling light into the streets and illuminating the figure.
It was that Roseluck pony again, white and red in the candlelight. Lyra poked her head out and looked up and down the street, then up to the sky. It was quick, but Octavia managed to duck back before being spotted. After a few seconds passed, she pressed her nose to the window again.
She couldn’t hear them, but she could certainly see Lyra making wild hoof movements, and Roseluck standing abashed with a crimson blush on her cheeks.
What was this? A lover’s quarrel? It certainly seemed that way. Octavia rubbed her chin and watched, that little spark of inherited Canterlot gossip shooting butterflies through her stomach. It certainly seemed like it was a quarrel; it would make sense, too.
The package was obviously Roseluck returning Lyra’s things.
Lyra was obviously lost in thought when the wine was served.
Most importantly, Lyra was excited to have Octavia over because she was lonely. Octavia nodded sympathetically; poor Lyra, suffering as Octavia was. Well, if it could be called suffering.
What was suffering, she wondered. Staying with Lyra, or the dissolution of her relationship with Vinyl? Though, with the new information, Octavia couldn’t quite frown at the minty unicorn down below as her muffled words panged against the glass. It definitely sounded like an argument. Definitely.
Soon enough, the words died down, and the door shut, cloaking Roseluck in the dark again. Octavia stared for a second, idly stuck in her own thoughts, when the sound of creaking stairs echoed beneath the door. She jerked, rushing to the bed and leaping in. Butterflies were still soaring in her belly, and a smile crept onto her lips. Now there was common ground between the two mares. Perhaps things would go smoother once this was brought to light.
But Lyra was still the oddest mare. Ever. Without a doubt.
Soon the same mare herself stepped into the room and silently shut the door. She and Octavia locked eyes but did not exchange words; in the dark Octavia swore she could see a frown on her face. A frown on Lyra.
Celestia’s plot was now a cube of ice.
Lyra sauntered in and slipped into bed, rolling around a bit, then lying still for a good while. Octavia, however, still wandered in the realms of thought.
She’d bring this up tomorrow. From then, perhaps Lyra could keep her hooves off of Octavia’s… everything.
Maybe.
The sun shone fairly bright this morning, Octavia noted as she ran a brush through her tail. Her ears flicked, stretching slightly as she sat on Lyra’s bed. The mare was nowhere to be found; Octavia’d awoken to an empty bed, at eight in the morning. “Sleeping in already,” she muttered.
She set the brush down and stood with a yawn, listening to the silence of the house. It wouldn’t surprise her if Lyra wasn’t even home at all. Shrugging, she looked to the corner of the bedroom, where her suitcase was nestled. She made quick work of its straps, pulling it open and retrieving a little pink bowtie and white collar from the case, and slipping them on her neck.
Then she started down the stairs, through the living room, and into the kitchen to appease her howling stomach. Lo and behold, there was no Lyra here. Only a small sheet of paper on the island, sitting lonely in the sunlight. There was only it, and the smell of something decaying after millions of years of rotting. Octavia had a suspicion that the paper would explain enough.
She slipped it onto her hoof and brought it close to her face, scanning its words.
To Do List:
1. Bake a new cake.
2. Visit Roseluck
3. Buy new cake
4. Take Octavia out on the town
5. Don’t forget to-do list at home
Octavia rolled her eyes and set it down again. A quick glance to the trashcan revealed the—and somehow it was burnt—cake. And, of course, it smelled rotten as Tartarus. If either of them would be the cook, it would be Octavia, no questions about it.
But there was this Roseluck pony again. Once more butterflies took hold in her belly. This was definitely a deep issue. Poor Lyra, it wasn’t her fault she was eccentric! And a poor cook, too. Dear Celestia that cake smelled just like it looked! She couldn’t even look at the burnt icing and inflated dough; it reminded her of Vinyl’s ego.
Scrunchy faced and breath held, Octavia evacuated the kitchen into the living room, where again, something new caught her eye. It was a bundle of newspapers, stacked neatly in the corner and tied with a string of twine. Octavia, head cocked and brow arched, trotted over to them. Lyra never read the news. It was surprising she could read at all.
The top paper was the Equestrian Enquirer, with a picture of the Canterlot market street in tatters, swarmed with little spots of black that buzzed through the sky. Octavia bent down to examine the photo; it was familiar. Goop was stuck across the walls of businesses. Ponies were running through the streets. The royal guards were charging forward.
“Tavi! You’re awake!” Lyra cheered from behind her. Octavia snapped up and whipped around.
“Yes, I am. Woke up about an hour ago.” She looked down at the papers. “Why the papers?”
Lyra craned her neck to see behind Octavia. “Well, I just enjoy the news, reading it, and, you know. Besides, I was there for the invasion, so I read up on the after effects. And stuff. Y’know. But hey, speaking of papers!” She looked behind her and pulled a rolled up paper out of her saddlebags. “You’re in them. Like, all of them.”
She spat the paper onto the table, and Octavia instantly realized it to be the same one she’d bought from the stallion at the train station. “Yes, I know,” she groaned.
“You know, you still haven’t told me why you and she broke up. You have to tell me.”
Octavia bit her lip as she felt her cheeks light up with a burn. “Well, it’s a long story—“
“Tell me over breakfast, you look hungry! C’mon, there’s food out there, somewhere, I think. We’ll find something. Somewhere.” She gripped Octavia’s hoof and yanked her out from the house, into the morning, and on to the day.