One year later . . .
Octavia gently placed an opaque red orb on a low-hanging branch of the small, evergreen tree that rested in the corner of the room. She daintily unhooked her teeth from the hook, not relishing the metal-tasting residue it left in her mouth. Her tongue was now heavily coated in the metallic sensation, but she resisted the urge to go into the kitchen to get a glass of water to wash her mouth out with. Instead, she bent down once more, rooting around in the cardboard box at her hooves for another ornament.
From the room over, Octavia heard the sound of a soft piano melody, played by an obvious expert. The music wafted through the open door, emanating the entire home with a feeling of serenity and contentedness. Octavia allowed her eyes to close, the ornament in her mouth falling slack.
Symphonic Keys’s strain reached a crescendo, the notes fluttering higher and higher on the keyboard. The lead part then faltered, a few low chords sounded, balancing the triumphant overtone nicely. In a moment of rest, Octavia heard the pianist draw a deep breath, and then the melody continued.
Sighing in peaceful joy, Octavia resumed her task, hanging the multicolored, prismatic spheres on all the branches she could reach; she would have had to leave the higher ones for Symphonic, and his magic. However, she wouldn’t imagine interrupting his recital, his absolute focus, for such a mundane task—if her companion could do it, she might as well try. Looking around, Octavia spotted a stepladder that she had set out for just this purpose. Smiling, she positioned it in front of the tree and clambered on top of it, clasping a blue ornament in her teeth.
Across the room, lying lazily on the couch, the no-longer-kitten Crescendo looked up blearily. His spotted coat was immaculate—Octavia had insisted that he would be taken to be groomed. The feline hadn’t been overly keen on the prospect of some unknown pony prodding and brushing him for about an hour, but the end result was clearly worth the uncertainties; Crescendo looked like a lion, proudly regarding his territory. Upon seeing Octavia perched much higher than she normally would be, he mewed, wondering the cause for such a change in perspective.
Gently, carefully, Octavia placed the ornament on one of the thinner branches. Mentally, she heaved a sigh of relief—she was afraid that she would overbalance and send herself into the prickly arms of the tree. Smiling to herself, she turned to dismount the stepladder.
Octavia’s triumph was short-lived, however. When she turned, her back legs inadvertently tangled with each other, sending her reeling backward. Time slowed down as she looked behind her, watching the green needles advance on her in a multiheaded host. She closed her eyes, and at the same time opening her mouth in a silent scream. She waited for impact, tensing her muscles to brace for the pain that was sure to follow.
Impact never happened.
Octavia hesitantly opened her eyes. Not two inches away from her nose, a particularly long branch threatened to shove itself up her nostril. She went cross-eyed, focusing on the protruding object.
A grey blanket of warm, pleasingly-scented magic had enveloped her body, bringing her to a halt in midair.
Symphonic Keys stood in the doorway, giggling to himself. Crescendo stood on his back, bristling in surprise. The unicorn’s horn was glowing softly. Sheepishly, Octavia smiled back at him.
“Think you could get the high ones by yourself?” Symphonic intoned. The layer of grey around his horn pulsed, and the forcefield that had caught Octavia slowly lowered to the ground, allowing her to step out of it.
“Perhaps,” Octavia replied. “I didn’t want to disturb your reverie, so I took the task upon myself.”
“You couldn’t have waited for another minute?”
“Apparently not. Thank you, by the way, for saving me from that prickly fate. I am once again indebted to you.”
“I should start cashing these favors in. They’re starting to mount up.” Symphonic winked, a habit that he had just recently picked up. At first, Octavia had been annoyed to no end by the gesture, but she now accepted it as just another one of her husband’s strange quirks.
“Keep it tame, Keys.”
“I wouldn’t dare try anything otherwise.”
“The consequences would be severe.”
“I do not doubt that in the slightest.” Symphonic’s magic moved from the body of the cellist to the box of ornaments. From it, he withdrew half a dozen orbs. Magicking them carefully, he placed the remaining spheres on the higher branches.
“I wonder,” Octavia mused. “Why didn’t I enlist you to do this task from the start? It would have saved me an unfathomable amount of manual labor.”
Symphonic collapsed on the couch, Crescendo hopping daintily off his back and curling up by his side. The cat nuzzled the stallion’s neck, purring steadily. “Well, Octavia. I consider this a bit of a character-building experience.”
“Don’t you lecture me on the nature of my character.” Octavia lowered herself onto the couch next to him, careful not to sit on Crescendo. She pressed the side of her head against Symphonic’s.
“Or lack thereof,” Symphonic added, smiling to let her know that he was only messing around. He could never be too careful around Octavia; his sarcasm had led him into many a sticky situation when the fiery cellist was involved.
“You’re a downright comedian.”
“Thanks. I try.”
Across the house, the doorbell rang. Crescendo immediately leaped to his feet, darting in a feline blur out of the room and down the hall. Neither ponies made a move to get up to answer the door—the cat would take care of it for them.
“Vinyl?” Symphonic wondered.
“Most likely.”
“Heyo, Crescendo!” shouted a new voice. The exclamation was followed by a sharp meow from Crescendo, as if he had just been squeezed like a ragdoll. The voice belonged to the eccentric DJ, Vinyl Scratch.
“Come in, Vinyl,” Octavia called. “We’re in the sitting room.”
Vinyl Scratch appeared in the doorway, Crescendo following a safe distance behind. He eyed the DJ reproachfully. Vinyl’s horn was aglow, levitating a glass dish along above her head. Her trademark glasses reflected the firelight, throwing a ghostly glow across her grinning face. “Whassup, my main digs?”
“Hey, Vinyl,” Symphonic said, standing. “What’s that?” he inquired, gesturing to the hovering dish.
“You wanted pie, right? Well, I delivered!”
“All by yourself?” Octavia smirked knowingly.
“Nah. You know I can’t bake worth anything. Neon Lights came over and we tag-teamed on it. Among other things,” Vinyl added suggestively. She may have winked—her head jerked slightly to the side—but the shades made it impossible to tell.
Octavia moved closer to Vinyl, squinting. “You’ve got something at the corner of your mouth.” She mimed the gesture on her own face to convey her meaning.
Vinyl mimicked her, wiping away something white and sticky. She held it close to her face, examining it. Cautiously, she poked her tongue out to taste test the substance. Octavia recoiled, gasping reproachfully and reddening.
“Vinyl Scratch! Is that . . .” Octavia left the sentence hanging, not willing to finish her thought.
Vinyl looked up, regarding the cellist exasperatedly. “This is whipped cream, you idiot.” Her tongue darted out to snag the rest of the morsel and extract it into her mouth. “Get yo’ mind out of the gutter, darlin’.”
Symphonic laughed jovially, infectiously. Vinyl joined in, adding her prominent, booming chuckle to the strain. Even Octavia, the still-pink humiliated party, cracked a grin at her own expense.
“So!” Vinyl said, clapping two hooves together. “Who else are we waiting on?”
“Lyra and Notes are the only others,” Symphonic replied. “Riffs and Beauty couldn’t make the trip from Canterlot, and Symphony missed her train.”
Vinyl, neglecting to ask for an invitation, plopped down on the second couch, across from the snuggling couple. Crescendo retook his position at Symphonic’s side, never taking his eyes off of Vinyl. “I tell you, mate. It’s different, now that you’ve moved back to Ponyville. I mean, I can’t just come on over whenever it tickles my fancy. You guys are a little too unreachable for my liking.”
“Ever considered relocating yourself here as well, Vinyl?” Octavia asked.
“Nah, man. I’m a city girl through and through. I don’t go for the homey rural town folk, ya dig? I’m happy for you, an all, but I can’t be expected to make that kind of commitment.”
The doorbell rang again. Twice in quick succession, followed by a brief pause, than another chime. Symphonic looked down at Crescendo. “You want to get that, buddy?” Unsurprisingly, the cat didn’t respond—he stood, stretching widely, luxuriously, then dropped lightly to the floor and broke into a sprint.
Seconds later, the muffled voices of Noteworthy and Lyra Heartstrings could be heard from the entrance, speaking in the crooning, singsong tone that was generally used around foals and animals.
“Come in!” Octavia repeated her greeting for the couple.
Lyra poked her turquoise head around the door, grinning from ear to ear. “Surprise!” Noteworthy, the massive blue stallion, followed, bearing a tray of delicate desserts on his back. He smiled weakly, burdened under his load.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” Symphonic said, gesturing around himself widely. “Now that we’re all here, we might as well get started.”
Hours later, after everypony had eaten their fill, drunk enough eggnog to kill a small animal, and sang loud enough to rupture a lung or two, they gathered around the fire, watching the flickering light throw writhing convolutions on the walls and floor. A contented silence had fallen, a welcome change from the festivity that had since been occurring.
Vinyl, for what seemed like the first time in her life, had removed her violet glasses. Underneath, her irises shone magenta in the firelight, unmoving, fixed on the blaze. Across from her, entwined in the same chair, Lyra and Noteworthy both had closed eyes and steady breath. They weren’t asleep—their muscles weren’t relaxed enough to imitate slumber, as perceived by Octavia.
Octavia was enveloped in Symphonic Keys’s embrace, nuzzling herself as close as she possibly could. The stallion smelled of wood smoke and pine, and Octavia made an effort to absorb as much of the scent as she could.
Symphonic’s voice broke the silence, a quiet line of song:
“The fire of friendship lives in our hearts . . .”
Octavia joined in, adding her own melodious voice to the song. “As long as it burns we cannot drift apart.”
“Though quarrels arise, their numbers are few,” sang Lyra quietly.
“Laughter and singing will see us through,” added Noteworthy.
“We are a circle of pony friends,” Vinyl contributed, perking up.
“A circle of friends we'll be to the very end.” The last line was in harmony—five voices united in the words of the Heart Carol.
Octavia nestled against Symphonic once more.
To the very end.