//------------------------------// // Chapter 5: Escape // Story: Room 213 // by Whirring Gears //------------------------------// You lay on the bed, the fabric of the blanket partially wrapping around your form as your weight causes the mattress to lightly give and dip down. Staring up at the ceiling with a lot less worry than this morning, you simply listen to the hissing sounds of the water, the tiny thumping of drops hitting linoleum, and the light humming of a beautiful mare that you can only pick up every now and again. Octavia had decided that she put off showering for long enough and went to freshen up for the day. You had contemplated joining her, but had decided against asking for fear of pushing things too fast. Although, after how things went today, it may be a silly thing to be scared of, but you still don’t want to risk it. The soothing white noise and the full stomach you still have from breakfast makes the mattress under you feel all the more softer. Part of you is tempted to fall back to sleep, but you don’t want to miss any of this amazing day with her. Even just listening to her shower in the other room is an incredible experience. Eventually, the water stops with a slight squeak as Octavia’s humming comes to an end. You hear a small series of clacking followed by a brief shuffling. Probably the curtain and the towel. You turn your gaze toward the door, expecting her to come out at any moment. Smile growing, you imagine her still wet with her mane weighed down with water. The black hair flowing like ebony satin, glistening in the midmorning light through the window. She would catch you staring at her, curiosity over her features at first before a grin begins to form on her muzzle. Eyes becoming half-lidded as she would slowly walk towards you with a little extra swing in her flank. Coming straight up to you, her head leaning towards yours as her eyes slowly close, and then- You are immediately forced out of your fantasy by the unmistakable whooshing sound of a blow dryer. Sighing in disappointment, you realize that Octavia probably isn’t one to simply towel off and then let her mane air dry. Still, once you’re over the initial shock of the unexpected noise, you’re finding the noise a bit more soothing than the shower. The rising and falling of the noise as you hear it travel along the mare using it, its warm air blowing once again makes the bed feel softer and the food in your stomach sit a little more heavily. Breathing out a sigh, you close your eyes to relax and just listen again. Suddenly, you feel something soft and warm press against the side of your cheek. Lingering a bit before pulling away, the warmth stays as you open your eyes again to the cellist standing over you with a smirk. You can only figure that you had missed the point at which she shut off the dryer and walked out of the room. Somehow, you had actually dozed off in that time. You’re kind of amazed at how tired you feel again just by those few moments. Instinct kicking in, you bring a hoof up to your eye to rub out any crust that may have formed followed by a yawn. Octavia giggles as she gets up and travels around the bed. “The shower is free,” she says. You stretch against the mattress, straining out a hard ‘thank you’ while doing so. With that now comes the hardest part of getting up: getting up. While simply a matter of willpower, a comfortable enough bed can sap it right out of you. It can break even the toughest colt. The most highly trained operatives in Equestria’s army may even give away valuable secrets to the enemy for just five more minutes. Still, if your day with Octavia is to progress, then you must try. Grunting as you attempt to get yourself upright, it’s only a couple tries before you’re able to lift yourself into a good sitting position at the end of the bed. Victory is within your grasp! All you have to do is to get all four hooves on the floor to get to the bathroom. You start with a slight rocking back and forth to prepare yourself for the final leap. However, a playful gray hoof nudges you on the way back, causing your center of gravity to shift just enough for your weight and momentum to start working against you. Bending forward in a last-ditch effort to save yourself, it does no good as everything you had worked for thus far comes crumbling back down and the ceiling returns to the focus of your view. You let out a low groan in defeat. Octavia sadistically chuckles at your downfall. You’re able to open your eyes enough to see that malicious grin on her face as she sits next to you. “Having trouble?” she asks. You murmur to the affirmative. Another giggle escapes her lips. Starting to get yourself pumped in your mind, you psyche yourself up for another shot at getting upright. All it takes is one good push. Taking in a deep breath, you begin a mental countdown from five. Four. Three. However, a shift in weight interrupts your thoughts as you see Octavia laying down beside you. Her hoof hovers over and lays lightly on your chest, but for however light it is, it might as well be a ton of bricks for how much it keeps you from getting up. Her warmth seemingly surrounding you again like this morning, she begins scooting closer until you almost feel her against your side. “The bed is quite comfy, isn’t it?” she whispers into your ear. Closing your eyes with a smile, you concede in the battle against gravity and enjoy the feeling of Octavia’s warm body and her hoof, dragging itself around your chest slowly. Through your fur, it goes up and lightly scratches under your chin which you breathe out a small sigh of satisfaction. Completely at her mercy, you’re content to simply let her trace all over you as she guides her hoof to your chest again. Then your stomach. Then down to your side... “Gootchy gootchy goo!” Octavia suddenly presses her two hooves into your side, tickling sensations like lighting shooting throughout your body. A once lone calm sigh hanging in the air is shattered by frantic laughter as you struggle to move your convulsing body away from the assaulting hooves. Rolling does nothing as Octavia always find a new vulnerable place, following you as you try to escape. Eventually, you roll enough that you have run out of room on the bed. Falling onto the floor, you scramble under your own legs until you are upright and still moving away from the crazy tickling fiend. Momentum is once again against you as your scrambling throws you against the far wall with a resounding THUMP. Sliding down to the floor, all you can hear is Octavia’s amused giggling over your own sporadic breathing. You look up to the little gray devil who is smirking at you from the bed. “What the hay was that!?” you nearly scream. “A little motivation,” Octavia replies simply. “Now come on. Get showered up and then we’ll be leaving.” “Leaving...?” you ask, curiosity from her statement overriding any ire from her trick. “Well, I was thinking in the shower,” she begins to explain, “Did you know that in my travels, I never really got to see too much of the places I got to play in?” “No?” you ask. She shakes her head. “It’s always been simply from the hotel to the performance, back to the hotel. Maybe a store or two if I was lucky.” “What do you do in a hotel before a show normally?” you ask. “Oh, we’d just...” Octavia pauses, her mood seeming to drop a bit. “Practice. Non-stop until the performance. Just making sure we were perfect.” Just as suddenly as it left, her bright mood returns. “But my ensemble isn’t here, so there goes that. Besides, we don’t really want to spend all day cooped up in this hotel room, do we?” Your heart sinks a little. That’s what you thought, or at least hoped the plan was, spending the day alone with each other. However, a little part of what she said made you curious. “Are you going to skip practicing today because your bandmates aren’t here?” you ask. “Well, no. I really should have some rehearsal before they get here,” she says a little sullenly, just like when she mentioned practicing before. “We have time, though. So let’s go out and do something. See the city a bit.” Well, it does sound like fun to explore a bit, seeing as you are unfamiliar with the city. However, as you think of possibilities, you remember a tiny troubling detail. “Uh...” you vocalize. Octavia raises an eyebrow. “Is there a problem with the idea of going out?” “No, not really, except...” You take a breath, expecting her response. “I don’t have any money on me, remember?” “Well, I do, remember?” she asks with a smile. You shake your head. “Octavia, you’ve already paid for so much for me. I’d feel really bad asking you to pay more. I mean, I’m going to pay you back for all of, wait- no, unless, uh...” the sentence degenerates into confused garbles as you mix up how to properly say you’ll repay her for her kindness. “Oh, I suppose that’s fair,” she says, interrupting your rambling. “But I’m sure we can find something. Even if it’s just walking around the city. That would be pretty fun, wouldn’t it?” “I suppose so,” you say, feeling a bit of relief when you hear that this day won’t be putting more strain on Octavia’s wallet. “But first things first, you may want to clean up a bit,” she comments. “I don’t mean to offend you, but your mane is rather greasy.” Running a hoof through your mane confirms her statement, an unnatural thickness in your hair that leaves an unsavory feeling. With a sigh, you pick yourself up off the floor and make your way across the room. “And don’t worry,” Octavia calls out behind you. “I know you’ll pay me back for this trip. One way or another.” She turns away to look out the window before you can read her emotion. You notice her shoulders are tensed up a bit that seems to follow down to her hooves that are not moving, almost as if being willfully kept in place. Although, even with all these tells, you doubt you really needed them to guess that Octavia is right now grinning from ear to ear. Entering into the bathroom, you let her words drop from your mind. After the surprise tickle attack, you’re determined not to let her leave you flustered again. At least for now. ====== You squint your eyes and focus intensely on the art in front of you. The brush strokes were quite impressive. The slow, thick blues running almost parallel to the yellows against it with nary a hint of green between them. Speaking of the yellows, the speckled colors within bring out a rolling texture that seeming grows towards the observer. Above, quick white wisps of the brush dance with each other over the whole scene, lightly blending with the casual and free oranges around them. The pony who painted this was very skilled indeed. The two of you ventured out for a while, simply enjoying the sights and sounds of the city. Very little words were exchanged as you simply looked around with awe. Along the way, a flier had gotten Octavia’s attention. A fine arts gallery was open to the public today, featuring a new exhibit. You were not really for or against art, but the fact that Octavia pointed it out was enough to know that she wanted to visit. And why not let her choose? She is the reason you’re here. “You seem very interested in this piece,” Octavia says, her calm voice breaking you out of you trance. “What do you think?” You nod your head. “Very good. I enjoy the contrast between the shades of blue and orange, along with the swirls within the yellow.” Octavia is silent for a moment. “Alright,” she says as you turn towards her. “Could you answer me something?” “What’s that?” “What do you see in this painting?” You give her a confused look before turning back to the portrait. “I see faint and free flowing colors within yellows, fine deliberate blues against warm and careful fading oranges with the almost carefree wisps of white,” you say. “What do you see?” you ask her. “I see a painting of a beach,” she answers simply, causing you to give a little chuckle. “Do you see a beach?” she asks, without any change in emotion. “Well, yeah. Of course,” you answer. “But that’s not what you said you saw,” she replies. “Yeah, but... but...” you try to reply, but are interrupted by the feeling of something wrapping around your foreleg. It’s Octavia’s hoof as she scoots herself closer towards you. “Look back up at the painting,” she says calmly, a small smile on her lips. Feeling the warmth of her touch causes you to grin as you focus your gaze back on the art on the wall. You look it over again, inspecting the colors and brush strokes; seeing how they move. “I see your eyes darting around,” she says. “Don’t put all your attention on one detail. Look at the whole picture and take it all in. Let your vision unfocus a bit if you need to.” Her voice slows your gaze from rushing back and forth. Taking a deep breath, you stare at the exact center of the piece, trying to take in everything you can from your peripheral vision. The thick blue and some of the textured yellows are still apparent, but you can’t make out too much of the white’s strokes like this. “Just relax,” she says, a bit more warmly. You feel her shoulder slowly press into your own, her silken fur mixing with yours. The hairs tenderly brushing against each other. “Just let the colors blend together...” You keep your eyes on the painting. Slowly, the individual brush strokes escape your view, leaving only the different shades and hues of the pigments against the canvas. Although your focus on them had dropped, the colors now seem to pop out even more, almost as if you are moving towards the depicted scene. In fact... you could almost swear that the water was moving. The sun’s rays sparkling over the ocean and accentuating the fluffy clouds in such a way that you could almost feel the heat coming off of it. Somewhere in your mind, you could hear the waves calmly spilling up onto the shore and you nearly feel your own hooves sinking into the very sand. You dare not move to disturb this beautiful scene as you could feel a light rush of wind off the salty sea through your mane as your nose picks up a trace of the soothing, oceanic scent. You simply sit still and enjoy it, here with Octavia. “Wow...” you breathe out. “See it?” she asks. “Yeah...” “And?” You begin to nod your head, but unfortunately the slight motion is enough to bring you out of the painting. Still, you couldn’t believe how far you saw into it. “It’s incredible,” you eventually reply, turning back to her. The size of her smile grows as she leans her head towards you, giving you a gentle nuzzle against your cheek. You enjoy her soft embrace for a moment before adding, “I guess I was looking at art wrong all these years.” Octavia suddenly pulls away. “Oh! No...” she says with a little shake of her head. “I didn’t mean to give you the impression that you were looking at it incorrectly. There are many ways to appreciate fine art.” Her eyes go to the painting again for a moment before coming back to you. “In fact, I want you to teach me.” “Teach you?” “Teach me how to see it like you do,” she says. Her entire foreleg rises up from where her hoof was holding yours to wrap around and hold tightly as she scoots even closer. The edges of the fur down your sides just brushing the tips of each other, enough to just feel her body heat underneath. The two of you exchange grins as you turn back towards the painting. “Look very closely,” you say. “Break it down into parts. Put all of your attention on the blue of the ocean. Don’t look at it as color, but just as paint.” Looking over, you see Octavia’s eyes squinting as she concentrates. “Okay...?” she says lightly with a hint of curiosity. “Now break it down further. See if you can find which way the strokes go,” you say. She squints a little harder before giving a little tug to your foreleg, signaling that she wants to move closer. Lifting up off your haunches for a moment, you both take a couple steps before sitting back down. This time, she’s completely up against you, pressing from shoulder all the way down to what is acceptable in public. The warmth you feel spreads through your body and a little goes up into your cheeks. “Alright,” she says. “Now, break it down even further. See if you can see the individual strokes.” You feel Octavia against you lean forward a bit. Her lips make a cute little pout as she focuses. Looking up to the painting again, you see what you want to share with her. Each stroke on top of each other, piling on and on almost like a jigsaw puzzle where none of the pieces fit; beautiful in its unified chaos. But there was still one more level deeper to go. Turning back to Octavia, you see her eyes are open a bit wider. Her mouth slightly open in wonder. “See it?” you ask. “Mm-hmm,” she mumbles lightly, trying to keep sight of what she’s seeing. “Now... break it down further again.” “Again?” she asks, uncertainty lining her voice. “Yep. See if you can see each and every strand of paint. Where every bristle of the brush had passed over.” She seems a little doubtful as you talk. “Think of it like... thread,” you explain to help her. “Little strings weaving up and across, over and under each other.” “Little strings...” she repeats under her breath, leaning ever so slightly further forward and putting a small squeeze on your foreleg. You bring your other hoof over and rest it on Octavia’s as encouragement. Moments pass by as you enjoy watching her look into the painting with the challenge you’ve given her. Her heads gives a tilt every now and again, causing her mane to sweep over and brush against your side teasingly. The ticklish sensation almost makes you gasp, but you keep silent, suppressing even a shiver to make sure that you do not break Octavia’s concentration. Eventually, you see her eyes unsquint, and even start moving around the art. Her lips turn upward into a smile as she breathes out a light chuckle. Feeling a sense of pride, you look back to the painting yourself, seeing in between each and every wavering line of paint; having introduced Octavia to another world inside the same piece of art. “The blue is really thick,” she comments. “Yep,” is all you respond with. You both turn back to each other, eyes meeting. Pausing for a moment, you just look into those beautiful amethyst eyes. However, after a few moments, you notice her eyes travelling again. Down to your shoulder, then your forearm, then your back; her eyelids lowering and her smile gaining a slight sultry edge to it. Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, you wonder what she’s doing. Then you realize that she’s using the technique you just taught her to check you out. You feel a bit of blush returning to your face as you let her eyes run all over you. A little part of you reminds you that you’re in a public place and out of the corner of your eye, you notice a few ponies passing glances. “Octavia...” “Hmm?” she hums innocently with a raising of her eyebrows. “Ponies are beginning to stare,” you say. She gives a little sigh of annoyance as the two of you stand up. “Well, let’s see if we can find some more paintings to share each other’s view with, okay?” you ask. “Absolutely,” she says. You turn and begin taking a step before looking back. Noticing Octavia’s eyes have travelled back to certain parts of your body, you give her a smirk before waving a hoof in front of you. “Ladies first.” The tiny pout returns to her lips as she walks past you. You suppress the urge to snicker as the two of you walk to the next painting. The next one is a bit more abstract. Blocks of colors obscure the unmistakable shape of a certain stringed instrument in the background as waves of random hues take the form of musical notes and dance around the negative space. “This one seems a bit more to your tastes,” you joke. Octavia only rolls her eyes at you. Before taking apart the painting, as per usual, you close your eyes with a small breath before looking up to the art to experience it in the way Octavia had just shown you. Focusing on nothing in particular, the colors start to fade and glow on their own. The dancing notes seem to float around as you can almost hear them. In your mind, you allow yourself to imagine somepony behind the cello; the very somepony at your side- “Coming?” you suddenly hear a distance away. Looking over, you see that Octavia had already moved on to the next displayed painting. “What about this?” you ask, pointing back to the cello picture. “I’m kind of curious as to what we could find in this one.” “It’s something I see every single day,” she says in a flat monotone. “I want to see some different things today.” After a small pause, you shrug and conclude that Octavia’s reasoning is fair. Joining her at the next painting, an overhead view of a town at sunset, the two of you continue to figuratively take apart and throw yourselves into the artwork presented. ====== You and Octavia walk down the steps of the museum entrance in the middle of a round of giggles. The final painting they had on display was one of a mare and a colt that left very little to the imagination. Although you would normally think the two of you above such crass humor, there were a couple jokes made by both parties about delving into the painting. The two of you turn down the street and begin to make your way back towards the hotel, if only to keep from wandering too far. However, not even a full block down the road, you begin to hear something that sounds like music. “Do you hear that?” you ask, looking to Octavia. She just nods with a contemplative expression, showing she hears it to. Beginning to walk in the direction of the music, you turn around the corner to see a small gathering along the sidewalk. From this distance, you could see ponies smiling and laughing. You start to hear the true melody and rhythm of the music, a sort of freeform jazz version of a well known winter song, despite the fact that the colder months were still a little ways off. As you get closer, you two look past the crowd to see the performers. A brown colt at a portable piano is manically playing notes up and down the octave. A blue pegasus with a brass horn attempts to follow along but cannot keep up. Drums and cymbals crash together seemingly at random at the hooves of one yellow unicorn. Underneath it all, a white pegasus strumming a cello attempts to come in here and there, but quickly backs off again not knowing where in the song they are. Notes are played sharp or flat and parts are played or held for too long or repeated too much. The whole result is, in short, hilarious. As the song awkwardly ends, ponies around clap and cheer for them either out of pity or for the entertainment of the sheer musical atrocity. Looking to Octavia, you see her features scrunched in such a way as you could see her trying to hold herself back from doing or saying something. Her left eye and right ear are twitching while you notice a shaking in her right foreleg; her predominant hoof. “How about we go?” you ask, wanting to save her from any more of this cacophony. She doesn’t even respond. She immediately turns the other way and begins walking in a hurried pace. Jogging a bit to catch up with her, you trot alongside her. “Well, I think they could use a bit more practice,” you say casually as you walk. “Definitely not the best I’ve heard,” you conclude with a little chuckle, looking down to Octavia. Still not looking up, you figure that she’s determined to get out of earshot of the butchers for Hearth’s Warming classics. Thankfully, their playing didn’t carry too far as you pass back in front of the gallery you were just visiting. Just a little ways down the road, another building catches Octavia’s attention as she reads the name off of the awning. Looking into the window, it seems to be a coffee house. She walks up to the door and putting a hoof on it, she turns towards you with a curious glance, testing for interest. “I thought you said we wouldn’t be spending anything today,” you say, considering her silent question. “Oh, hush up. It’s my money. Besides, I’ve never visited a real coffee house before.” Without awaiting your approval, she turns back and enters the door. You follow her inside and look around as the dark, bold scent of the establishment’s namesake wafts in the air. The place felt rather cozy with hardwood floors. Stylized lamps hang down from the ceiling over tables throughout. A few couches with end tables can be seen here and there. Some more modern paintings were featured on the walls that were painted a light and warm shade of orangish brown. An area in the corner by the front window shows sound equipment in front of a microphone where musicians would play. The front counter is wood as well where a dark blue coated barista is waiting. She gives a single enthusiastic nod that shakes her shaggy black mane around with a smile on her pierced lips. “Hello there!” she greets, brown eyes sparkling through thick rimmed glasses. “What can I get for you today?” You and Octavia look up at the menu. This place seems more than just a normal coffee house. They have a section for the food they served (seems they serve lunch and breakfast no matter the hour), a kids menu, and extra dessert items as well as their drink selection. The two of you look it up and down. “I would like a...” Octavia begins, not quite sure of her order, yet. After a brief pause, she eventually finishes her statement with, “a caramel mocha, please.” “What size?” the barista asks. “Just a small, please.” The barista, still smiling, taps the cash register, button clicking down as she punches in the order. “And for you, sir?” she asks, turning to you. “I... I think I’m alright-” you begin to say, but receive a rather hard nudge from Octavia. “Order something. Don’t worry about payment,” she says in a way that would sound like teasing to the casual overhearing pony, but you could sense the underlying stern tone that indicates that this was not up for debate. Well, you were craving for a good coffee this morning. You had neglected to get any for breakfast due to your near overwhelming hunger. “Just a small Equestriano then,” you say. It was simple and you didn’t feel as bad seeing that it was cheaper than Octavia’s drink. Finishing putting the order into the cash register, she pushes the last button that causes the money tray to open with a ding! “That’ll be five bits, please,” she says. Octavia reaches a hoof into her bowtie and pulls out the necessary money. You wonder if her carrying her money like that was at all uncomfortable. “Thank you!” she says, taking the bits and giving Octavia a piece of paper. “Your order is number 87.” Looking down at the receipt, you see only the last two numbers on the order were 87 and that it had a couple more numbers in front of it. You imagine this place had been rather busy earlier. Octavia gives a thanks as the two of you trot to the side to let other ponies order. Sitting on your haunches, you look behind the counter where you can see and hear the hissing and bubbling of the machines, brewing the coffee for the tired and thirsty customers. “So, you’ve really never been in a coffeehouse?” you ask Octavia in an attempt to make conversation. Personally, you had been to a coffeehouse once or twice. The kinds of coffee they could make definitely beats what one can prepare at home, but there was always the matter of quality versus salary and your job would be hard-pressed to fund such an extravagance on a daily basis. “Nope,” she says with a shake of her head. A content smile on her face as she takes in the atmosphere around her. “Always only had coffee from the store prepared at home.” “Have you just never wanted to try it back in Canterlot?” you ask. It wasn’t hard to find such establishments in a city known for a school for advanced academia. Octavia’s smile falls into something more contemplative. “Well, sometimes,” she admits. “But... I just had more important things to do.” “Ah,” you say, nodding with understanding. “Like practicing the cello or something?” You see a hard swallow travel down Octavia’s throat. “Yes. Something like that,” she says. “I haven’t had much experience with coffeehouses myself,” you admit. “But I think you’d like them. They make better coffee, that’s for sure.” “Oh really?” “Yep. And sometimes they even have some events, I’ve heard.” “Events?” Octavia asks. “Poetry reading for ponies and such. And some places even get some ponies to play music live.” Your gaze travels back to the sound equipment in the corner. “In fact, I bet you could play in a place like this. Ever think about playing at different venues than just dinner parties?” Octavia doesn’t respond. “You could bring it up with your ensemble. I bet it’d make a humorous topic of conversa-” You immediately stop when you hear a very frustrated sigh from Octavia. She’s staring towards the floor and her hooves are gripped very tightly in front of her. Something is definitely wrong here. “Octavia, are-” you begin, but are cut off by a shout. “Order 87!” yells the barista who had taken your order, now with two green mugs of coffee in front of her, one plain and the other topped with whipped cream. “Ooorder 87!” You both walk back up to the counter. “That’s us,” Octavia explains, hiding all traces of her previous emotions. “I’m terribly sorry, but could we get those to go, please?” “Oh, uh... sure!” the barista says, her smile disappearing for just a moment before taking the drinks aside. Grabbing two paper cups, she carefully pours your simple order into one of them. Popping a lid on the top, she reaches down a grabs a flat metal scoop. She uses it to carefully take the whipped cream off the top of Octavia’s drink before pouring the mug’s contents into the second paper cup. Instead of using the whipped cream she had just taking from the drink, she walks back with the paper mug and discards the creamy scoop by the sink and uses a new one to give a fresh dollop of whipped topping onto the hot beverage. Coming back, she puts a lid on it as well and slides them both over to you. “Thank you,” Octavia says, a little embarrassed that she had to ask for such an extra thing. “No problem!” the barista replies, just as cheerful as ever. “Have a great day!” With one last thanks, you leave the coffeehouse and begin walking down the road again. The hustle and bustle of the streets seems to have picked up a bit since the two of you first left the hotel. “Octavia?” you ask, trying to get her attention without having to shout over the commotion of the public around you. She doesn’t respond. “Octavia, are you okay?” you ask, this time a little louder. She glances in your direction for a moment before turning back to facing front. At this point, you know you’ve gotten her attention, but you don’t want to pry for an answer if she doesn’t want to give it. Something about mentioning practice caused her to lose her good mood. You try to puzzle it together, but before you get much time, Octavia turns to the side. Just past the cart parking for the coffeehouse is a raised section of bricks that holds a garden. Octavia sits on the edge of it. Looking further into her body language, you see a small slouch in her posture showing her exasperation. She brings the paper cup to her lips as you join her in sitting on the edge of the brickwork, thinking of something to say. “I’m sorry,” you decide on. She brings the cup away from her lips, breathing a steady stream of air out through her nose. “It’s fine.” The two of you sit with no more words as you nurse your drinks, the hot and bitter liquid pouring down your throat. The strong blend of your coffee along with the heat does wonders on a day like today. Just barely warm enough to not need a jacket, but some passing winds make you feel a chill every now and again. In front of you, the town continues on. Ponies passing by without giving you two so much as a second glance. You could almost laugh at the two of you right now. Canterlot dinner parties to sipping coffee on the sidewalk of a city. As much as you would admit that it’s nice to get out and see a new place and how much you were enjoying your company, it was all still just a bit silly. Time went slowly on. The weather had cooled the coffee enough to be able to take longer drinks without risk of burning your mouth. However, the small size could do very little to survive against such intake, so the cup is quickly drained of its contents. Setting the cup aside, you think of something you can do to break the silence between the two of you. “That was pretty good coffee,” you say, feeling bits of the flavor travel off your breath as you speak. “How is yours?” Octavia gives you a sideways glance as she takes another drink. When she’s done, she sets the cup aside like you did. You wonder if she’s just done with it or if she had actually finished it all. “A little sweet for my tastes,” she says. You allow yourself a tiny feeling of relief as she gives her answer. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” she says as well. “That’s okay,” you say with a shrug, not knowing how else to answer. With another sigh, she looks upward towards the sky, a sheet of light gray clouds covering the city. “Listen...” she starts. “I know I need to practice at some point today, but I’d rather not be reminded of it,” she says. You wonder where that came from as you remember what you said before she let out her massive sigh. As you recall that, you remember the conversation earlier along with the painting at the museum and the performer on the street. Debating on whether or not to ask, eventually your curiosity once again triumphs in your mind. “Why’s that?” you ask. You quickly add, “If you don’t mind my asking, that is.” “It’s complicated,” she says, continuing to watch the sky. “I just...” she begins, but sighs and drops her head down towards the ground. You wait silently, not wanting to push her to explain if she isn’t comfortable. “Do you ever just get to a point in your life where you’re just... sick of what you’re doing?” she asks. The question sets off some internal alarm bells. “Octavia, are you thinking of-” “No, I’m not going to quit playing music,” she answers with a half grumble. “But for a while now, and this may sound strange, but I no longer feel as though I am the one in control of my music anymore.” “What do you mean?” you ask. “Well first, let me clarify. Not the music that I play. I mean my career. It feels like it’s just, I don’t know, consumed every aspect of my life.” Octavia shakes her head, the motion causing her mane to flow in a similar manner. “It’s always about what the next show is. What do we play next. And just practice, practice, practice to get it right, filling every possible nook and cranny in my mind.” She gives off another frustrated sigh. “Every single moment I’m not playing, I feel like I should be. A nagging voice that just keeps saying I should be playing every minute of the day.” “Well, it’s normal if you want to become better, right?” you ask with a shrug. “This is beyond just getting better!” she exclaims. “That’s not a reason I think of at all! I get all this fear and anxiety about failure. You know that group we saw earlier?” she asks, waving a hoof in the general direction. “I have nightmares about that. Like that’s how I could end up if I’m not constantly practicing. My hooves begin to itch, I start sweating, I get a headache, and the nagging voice just gets louder and louder.” “How...” you begin, but hesitate for a moment, “...bad does it get?” Her shoulders droop as she looks up with you with great sadness in her eyes. “Some nights, it’s so bad that I can’t sleep.” She licks her lips before her gaze travels down to the ground. “I actually feel the urge to get out of bed, unpack my cello, and play in the middle of the night. And sometimes, that’s just what I have to do, or...” she trails off. “Or what?” you ask. Was there something Octavia could do to stifle these insane urges? “You’re not going to like this...” she moans. “It’s okay,” you say, patting her on the shoulder. She shrinks down even more before mumbling something you can’t hear. “What?” “I...” she pauses for a moment, “...pour myself a little drink.” “...Oh.” “Yeah,” she admits. ”But... I thought you said you only drink socially,” you say. “I do. What do you- Oh! No, no, no.” She waves a hoof while she chuckles. Although the nature of the conversation is a little bit unsettling, it’s always nice to hear her laugh. “No, not when I get up at night. That’s not what I meant. I just meant it’s a solution for the urges.” “So you get the urges around your friends?” you ask. “Yes, I do,” she says with another sigh, draining the previous amusement out of her voice. “In fact, around them is when the urges are the worst. It’s like the only reason I should ever see them is to play. And whenever we’re together but not playing, I feel so... angry at them.” “And that’s why all of your aftershow celebrations have alcohol?” you ask, but already know the answer. She only nods at this. Another cool breeze blows past the two of you as silence comes in. It may not sound like she drinks as often as she could be, but it still worries you that she feels the need to solve her problems like that. You slowly rub the shoulder of hers that you are holding with your hoof in hopes that it would offer some comfort. But then a thought rises up in your mind. “Is that why...?” you start. The beginning of your question causes Octavia to look up at you. “...you felt the need to drink around me last night?” Octavia’s eyes go wide as her mouth opens and closes again. She shakes her head, looking for an answer. “Or why you need to drink around me at all?” you continue. “Octavia, do I make you feel like when you’re around your friends-” “NO!” Octavia finally blurts out. “Absolutely not! Around you I feel...” Her eyes shift back toward the ground as she trails off. “Feel like, I don’t know.” “You don’t know?” “I can’t describe it,” she says. “But it’s like all of the anxiety I feel, the fear, the urges; they just... stop. And something new is there.” “Is that a good thing?” you ask. “K-Kind of?” she stutters. “It felt really weird at first, just everything I’ve grown used to feeling just disappearing like that, replaced by something else. I thought it was, more or less, a new kind of anxiety...” She gives another little chuckle. “So I treated it just the same. But we just started talking and suddenly music wasn’t the first thing on my mind anymore. Still, I was feeling something I didn’t know. However, when we would go our separate ways, I would slowly begin to feel the old anxiety build again.” She brings a hoof up to the one you’re rubbing her shoulder with. “What I felt with you made me nervous as well. However, compared to what I felt normally, I began to want more of it.” Looking up to you with a smile, she says, “I learned to appreciate the feeling you gave me. Eventually, talking to you just turned into an escape. A way to get away from everything.” Her smile grows even wider. “And today... Today has been just absolutely amazing for me. I’ve never been to an art gallery other than to play a show before. Or go to a place and have coffee with a friend. Or just decide to leave and visit the first place that catches our fancy.” She picks your hoof up off her shoulder and brings her other hoof around to hold it. “And with you here, I actually don’t want to play the cello. I want to do things with you. I want to try new things and I...” She reaches up and takes your foreleg, wrapping both of her hooves around it, making sure it doesn’t get away. Laying her head down onto your shoulder, you feel her ebony mane spill down your back. She gives a quick nuzzle into the crook of your neck, before setting against you. “...I’ve never been so happy. I don’t want today to end.” Her words warm your heart, much more than the coffee earlier, and replaces the dread you were feeling moments ago with a sense of pride. Your smile begins to grow as well. Reaching across with your free hoof, you use it to bring Octavia into a half-hug as you let your head rest on top of hers. As you breathe in the scent of her mane, you notice a distinct vanilla flavor, probably from the free shampoo and conditioner in the hotel room. Still, her own scent pokes through; the bitter coffee-like aroma with the new flavor. “You know what, Octavia?” you ask. “Just because today ends doesn’t mean we won’t have another day like this.” You give her a little nuzzle yourself. “In fact, you and I are going to have many many more days like this. Even back in Canterlot.” Just like this morning, you press your lips down in a kiss through her hair. “If there’s anything you haven’t done in Canterlot, we’ll do it. Any place you haven’t been, we’ll visit.” Giving her a little pat on the shoulder, you say, “We’ll do so much when we get back.” Her grip around your foreleg seems to tighten as she leans her entire body into you. “I can’t wait,” she says in a light voice. The two of you simply sit together like this on the edge on a sidewalk, the rest of the city, or in fact the entire world, passing by you. Looking around, you see many different ponies walking down the street. Young and old, all kinds of colors, going on about their lives under the bright afternoon sun. All with places to be, but not you. You’re both right where you want to be. Some would glance at you and the mare against you. Some smile at you. Some nod at you. Another happy couple of a gray colt and blue mare see you and the mare snuggles up to the colt herself. However, most don’t really pay you a second look and that’s okay. Somehow, the ones that do nothing to notice you are the ones that make you the happiest. It’s as if nothing is wrong here. It’s all natural. You and Octavia together seemingly as normal as the birds chirping and the wind blowing, as it should be. Speaking of which, a particularly chilly breeze passes by. Octavia shivers a tiny bit and you feel her fur mixing with yours. Wrapping a wing around, you shield her from the blustery weather. You know that what you said was only half true. When you get back to Canterlot, she will have to continue playing music. You both will have your schedules to follow, but you would find time to keep your promise. Pulling her a little closer, you hold her as you let her be free from her regular life, away from the stress and the anxiety, at least for a while longer.