- I -
Octavia's Overture
For a professional cellist, there are many symphonies, overtures, and anthems to learn to play. Tchaitrotsky. Beethoofen. Mozart. Each with their own style, pacing, and requisite skill level. The good cellist, and good musicians in general, know many of these beautiful compositions by heart. To be able to play an entire song, beginning to end, from memory alone is considered the mark of a master. But this only comes from practice - the ritual of repetition.
Ah, in many respects, being devoted to one's music is not that different from a life of pious devotion in the service of a deity or religious order. Both have their rituals. Both have standards, a set of laws that govern a life. But as a pilgrim worships their god, a musician worships music - tone, rhythm, pitch. In place of gods, musicians have these.
In the course of a musician's life, there are also milestones. That first recital that ignites something in a young cellist's soul. That first standing ovation at the Ponyville theatre. Playing in an orchestra for the first time. Playing at the Grand Galloping Gala. These are signs that such individuals are really getting somewhere. That they're not just spinning their wheels on a thick layer of ice. That their endeavors have traction. That their lives have meaning. That's what everypony wants, right?
To mean something. To be worth more than just the sum of biology and magic.
The stage is the nexus of a musician's life. It's where everything they want to be collides with everything standing in their way. Doubt, fear, anxiety are all enemies to these intrepid performers. For on that stage, their minds must be 100% focused on the task at hand. If they let their focus or concentration drift, if they worry about anything else except their music, they make mistakes. Their rhythm slips. They betray their god.
One fateful night, Octavia Philharmonica betrayed her god. But she wouldn't do it consciously, of course. She is a master cellist, after all. Only an external force would make her commit such a massively damning musical sin. But what force could make her do such a thing? What unnatural abomination could possibly make her commit that level of hubris?
Well, all evidence points to a certain pink, party-loving earth pony.
*****
"Sod it! Sod it! Sod it!"
Each pounding of the hoof was a sour note. A set of flat, disharmonious chords to punctuate the disastrous aftermath of the worst night ever. Purple eyes that once held such majestic beauty and an unquenchable thirst for life now only held tears.
Around her lay echoes of her life. Fragments of her illustrious career and all that brief time spent in the spotlight. A framed picture here. A news clipping there. A present sent by an adoring fan there. For some reason, one of her fans gave her a false moustache, of all things! Miss Philharmonica allowed herself a brief, yet almost forced giggle as she remembered that nice young stallion.
Regardless of how silly the bushy applique may have been, like every other item clustered around her crumpled form, it was a memory. Something that she could cling to in this moment - that might serve as an anchor and keep her from deciding to find the highest roof in Canterlot and leap off towards the ground below in a last act of defiance.
In the months following the 1000th Annual Grand Galloping Gala, many things changed for the gray, elegant musician. Even though she didn't precipitate the madness of that night, and regardless of the fact that she was really just another victim of the six crazies from Ponyville, an innocent bystander that fell prey to the machinations of the Elements of Harmony, the fault still fell to her. See, the upper-class twits here in Canterlot, noses stuck up so high in the air that you'd think they'd always be walking into walls, all but disbarred her from performing. They didn't dare provoke the ire of the sovereign in her castle by publicly bad-mouthing the six friends, but they still needed a scapegoat. Somepony to pin the entire fiasco on to cover their own flanks. To protect their image in the eyes of the numerous delegates and their subjects from all over Equestria that attended the Gala.
Octavia, being a so-called 'commoner' originally from Ponyville, drew their condescending gaze. The details as to exactly what they did are largely meaningless. It really doesn't matter now, anyway; the damage to the cellist's career and life is done. The royals are quite happy with themselves, really. Their image remains untarnished, so what does a commoner's unrefined life matter? Especially that of a 'dirt pony' musician?
That poor musician was now trapped. Pinned in between high-class drama and political intrigue, and had no way out. The shadowy predator of destitution bore down on her. The bits she had saved up rapidly dwindled as she raced to find one engagement. One influx of money was the difference between poverty and staying afloat. Street performing, as it was, could only delay the inevitable. She sold jewelry, she sold furniture. She would even sell her own best friend, the one and only Vinyl Scratch, if she didn't love that head-bobbing mare like a sister.
Vinyl Scratch would have dropped what she was doing in heartbeat and come to the grey Earth Pony's aid had she known, but Octavia was simply too proud to ask for help.
As she wallowed in what ponies were most certainly supposed to wallow in, her mind was a scattered amalgamation of regret, pain, and fear. Questions flew about what little shreds of consciousness remained.
Why is fate so cruel?
Why can't I just swallow my bloody pride and ask Vinyl if she can front me some bits?
Why do these royals hate me?
Why? Why? WHY?!
She had so many questions, but so few answers.
Deciding to take on these conundrums tomorrow, Octavia buried her snout into the posh floorboards. Her charcoal-colored mane, uncharacteristically messy, followed the rest of her head as she drifted into the realm of dreams, leaving her depressing reality behind, surrounded by the shattered remnants of a wonderful life that'd been thoroughly squashed by the ambitions of a few corrupt royals.
An exhausted sigh served as a farewell, signifying that last bitter mote of consciousness departing for the evening. A restless sleep followed. After all, how could a mare sleep... when she's being evicted from her flat in the morning?
*****
"Please, just a few more day-" Octavia stammered out, almost pleading.
"Octavia... Stop. Just... stop." The orange-coated unicorn stallion stared into Octavia's distinct indigo eyes.
"P- Please. You have to do... something. Please."
"I'm truly... very sorry. It's just that you've had all the deferments the law allows."
Her landlord, Duplex, sighed sadly. While he recognized that Octavia's situation was brutal and of no fault of herself... Well, he had a business to run.
"Don't you have anywhere you can stay tomorrow?"
Octavia looked off to the side, tears streaming down her face.
"Ah... I... I see. So no-"
"Ponyville. I have... family there." She interrupted.
"... I know it's not much, Octavia... but I can cover your train ticket there."
Octavia's eyes lightened a touch at this.
"I... Thank you, sir. That's very kind."
"Well..." Duplex smiled slightly.
"You always were a good tenant."
*****
Truthfully, she had no place to stay. All her family was long gone... But Ponyville was where she grew up. Maybe somepony could take her in.
A few articles of clothing and about 100 bits in a coin purse.
That was all she had left. Everything else was either long since sold or left behind.
A new life awaited Octavia Philharmonica. Whether it will be a high-stakes adventure, a heart-wrenching romance, or a depressing tragedy was up to her.
Fate can only get a mare so far. Their choices take them the rest of the way.