Paradiso

by Syvvak

Chapter 2

        The sounds of the roaring crowd drifted away, leaving silence to occupy Octavia’s mind. I... I... I lost. She didn’t know what had come over her. She was like a filly with stage fright: shaky, missing notes. She couldn’t remember a time in her life, after becoming proficient with her instrument, when she had played like that bad.
        She slowly turned her head to the right to look upon the face of her bane. The mare was smiling, pumping her hoof in the air and shouting to her crowd, though the cellist didn’t hear it. Octavia turned away, tears forming in her eyes, and started to pack up her cello. She gathered herself as she closed the case, slinging it over her back and walking off the stage.
        She walked past Fleur who tried to initiate conversation, probably telling her that was the worst performance she had ever seen and she was dropping her as a client. She saw Beauty Brass standing with her jaw slackened, probably wondering how she had ever been friends with such a talentless hack. She passed elites staring in disbelief as she walked to the door. She knew they were talking about her, but she didn’t hear them. She saw their lips moving, but she heard no sounds.
        “Octy!” The voice somehow broke through her deafness, catching her off-guard. She looked around before realizing she had already walked out the door and into the hallway. She continued walking, hoping the other pony would just leave.
        “Octy, wait up!” She didn’t slow, so the persistent pony jogged to catch up with her. She turned to see who thought it necessary to bother her, hoping she was wrong. She saw a white face dominated by purple glasses, blue hair plastered to the top with sweat. A mare can dream, she thought, releasing a sigh and facing forward again.
        “Go away Vinyl,” Octavia hissed crossly.
        “Uh... you did good out there,” Vinyl said, unsure what to say.
        Octavia continued to walk, not even turning toward Vinyl. "’Good’... Do you not understand the state of affairs? Do you not know what this will do to me?”
        “So you didn’t play at your fullest tonight, so what. It’s not a big deal.”
        Octavia stopped. “‘Not a big deal’? I lost to a low-class DJ, and you think it is ‘not a big deal’?” Vinyl opened her mouth to respond, affronted at being called low-class, but was cut off as Octavia continued, turning toward the DJ. “I will become a pariah in classical music. Nopony will want to hire a washout like me after this faux pas. Or, in words riffraff such as yourself would understand, a royal buck-up.”
        Vinyl’s brow furrowed, her scowl hidden by her glasses. “Look, I was just tryin’ to be a good sport. There ain’t no need to go gettin’ all sniffy. I don’t see what yer problem is.”
        Octavia started to seethe. “You want to know what my problem is? You. You caused me to become the laughing stock of the music industry. You took the thing I cherished most in this world. You couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, had to ruin me for good.” Octavia had advanced with every sentence, backing Vinyl into the wall. “Well, guess what? It worked. I’m ruined. You did it again. Are you happy now?”
        Octavia turned away as tears started to form in her eyes and headed for the door, leaving Vinyl to gawk at her retreating form from her seat against the wall.
        “What was that all about?” Vinyl looked toward the voice to the stage to see ponies standing there, having been watching for some time. Not too far away from her, Beauty Brass and Fleur de Lis approached her, both wearing looks of concern. Beauty Brass looked at Vinyl and reiterated, “What happened?”
        Vinyl sighed. “I... I don’t know,” she said, throwing one last look at the doors through which the cellist had receded. Letting out a wistful sigh, she got up and headed for the stage to begin packing her gear.

        The door opened slowly as a grey mare passed over the threshold into her house. Head hung low, Octavia softly kicked the door shut and deposited her cello, the friend she had failed, against a small table not too far away. Walking into the parlor, she made for her favorite couch. The dark purple loveseat had a silky feel to it that was like the soft caress of a lover. As the despondent mare collapsed upon the seat, she felt the cozy cushions hug her, soothing her sore muscles.
        Sighing, Octavia thought back to the events of the past two hours. She was so sure she was gonna win, so confident in her abilities. Then, she finds out that her agent didn’t set it up. Shook her a bit, some unknown pony telling her she has to play, but she could have pushed that aside. Even the imposing structure of her opponent’s gear she would have been able to brush aside, years of performing having taught her how to push visual vexations from her mind. She was not, however, able to expel the unease brought upon her by the mare who called herself ‘DJ P0N-3’.
        Octavia had been through her fair share of hardships, but nothing could have prepared her for the emotional bomb she received upon seeing her opponent. The sight of the white unicorn had broken any form of emotional barriers she had in place; all the nervousness brought on in the minutes since arriving had been overshadowed by righteous indignation. She had been rendered unable to play; her mind not able to focus on her cello, only the past and the other mare occupying the stage.
        “It is all her fault!” Octavia yelled, repeatedly slamming her hoof into the couch. After mauling the defenseless couch, she raised a hoof to rub the blurriness from her eyes. When she pulled it back she saw it was wet with tears. She didn’t know how long she had been crying; she didn’t even know how long she had been lying there.
        She got off the couch and stretched her sore muscles. Satisfied with the simple relief it brought her, she walked into the kitchen intent on finding something to help her relax. Opening one of the cabinets, Octavia scanned the labels of the bottles. She had a wide variety of wines, but she needed something harder. Moving some bottles around, she found a bottle of rum.
        “Where did this come from?” she asked herself. She didn’t even like rum. “Beauty must have got it for me at some point.”
Assuming that was where it had come from, she closed the cabinet and headed for the bathroom. Since she didn’t have anything worth drinking in the house, she would have to go to a bar. She couldn’t go out in public covered in sweat and tears, so she decided upon a nice, relaxing shower before heading out.

The door to the house opened again, this time with no regard for the wall behind it. Octavia stomped through the opened portal, slamming it shut with her hind leg. She stormed through the parlor and into the kitchen. Swinging open the same cabinet she had earlier, she pulled out the only bottle with amber liquid and slammed the door closed.
Upon arriving at her usual bar, Octavia found the barmare locking it up for the night. When Octavia had asked why she was closing up, the mare told her they always closed at eleven. She then told her that there was a club just up the road and that they were throwing a big party for some DJ who had just won a big competition. When she turned to offer an apologetic smile to Octavia, she took a step back, afraid that the grey mare was going to attack her. Octavia glared at her for a few moments before heading back home, refusing to suffer the indignity of walking into a club. Especially if it was hosting the mare who just ruined her life.
As she sat down on the loveseat again, Octavia looked at the picture on the bottle: a stallion dressed in a red privateer suit, with his front hoof on a barrel lying on its side. Realizing she forgot to grab a glass and some ice, Octavia swore under her breath and got off the couch. Setting the bottle on a small table in front of her, she headed to the kitchen. She took a bowl and filled it with ice, grabbing a whiskey tumbler from a cabinet before heading back to the couch.
“Well ‘Captain’, we shall be well acquainted before the night is through,” Octavia said as she picked the bottle back up. Filling the glass with ice, she proceeded to pour the amber liquid from its confinement.
“To broken dreams,” she said, raising the glass and knocking it back. As she removed the glass from her lips, she began coughing. “Stupid rum.” Despite her distaste for the drink, she filled the glass back up. She held it before her eye, swirling it about. Sighing, she put the glass to her muzzle and tilted her head back, the liquid burning its way down her throat.
“Why did I have to agree to that stupid contest?” she said as she once again filled up the tumbler. “Why did it have to be Vinyl?” She downed the drink and filled it back up. “Why did she have to ruin my life?”
Octavia set the glass down on the table, opting for the bottle instead. She put it to her lips and took four deep swallows. Pulling the container from her mouth, she gasped for air. She sat the bottle on the table as she struggled to find her breath, not even worrying about the lid. As her breathing finally steadied, the room started to spin. She closed her eyes and tried to relax.
She didn’t know how long she had lain there, but she eventually opened her eyes. While she was looking for sleep, or at least darkness, all she found was Vinyl; her white coat and two-toned blue mane shining in the ambient lighting, her purple sunglasses twinkling.
“Why can’t she jus’ leaf me ‘lone?” Octavia slurred, ambling off the couch toward her bedroom.
Why don’t you just ask her? You have a phone, ya know.
Octavia looked around for who said that, her eyes eventually resting on the speaker. She stumbled back over to the table in front of the couch, locking eyes with the other pony. “Zee pirate-pony, I toldja we’d be good frenz before danight waz over. I may keep ya ‘roun, Cappin.”
Octavia headed over to her cello case, usually keeping her cell phone in one of the pockets. She clumsily opened it up and looked through all the pockets but didn’t find it. She looked down at the cello, its finish making it shine even in the dimly lit room.
“I’d smash you right nao if you weren’t so shiny,” she growled at the cello, glaring. Leaving the case open, she turned around and headed up the stairs and into her bedroom. Remembering that she had decided against taking it with her to the duel, her cell phone was sitting on the nightstand. Picking it up, she looked through her contacts in search of the blue-maned menace. After finally selecting, she put the phone on speaker and lay on her bed.
The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Octavia growled as she waited for the pre-recorded message to end so she could give the stupid unicorn her what for. Finally, the talking stopped and there was a sharp beep.
“You just couldin’ let it ‘lone, couldja? Jus’ hadta finish with breakin’ meh, huh? Well, ya done know it worked, so dere, ya winned. You ken stand ‘bove yer stupid fanz wid yer stupid glasses an’ yer stupid, sof’ blue mane, an’ yer smooth white fur... an’... horn...  I jus’ don’ get... I jus’ wanknow... why?” Octavia’s words seemed to come easier. “Why did you have to do this to me? Why did you have to do it last time? Did I say something wrong? Was it because I was embarrassed by you? I’m sorry. I... just... I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me anymore. I miss staying up late and watching senseless television with you. I miss you being there when it storms. I miss arguing about how our own music was superior to the others. I miss... I miss the way you would tease me about everything. I miss having a friend by my side who I could tell anything... I miss... you. I don’t really hate you. I tell everypony I do, but I don’t. You were my best friend. Even after what you did. Please don’t hate me... I... stilllll...”
Octavia’s body relaxed, finally falling asleep. Her breathing slowed as she drifted deeper into unconsciousness. Her body was finally able to rest after her stressful day. No more moving. No more talking. She could finally relax. But she couldn’t stop crying.

“Always with the knocking,” Octavia grumbled, stepping out of the bathtub. Having woken up hungover, she decided to take a warm, relaxing shower. It was brought to an abrupt end after half an hour by a pony who was trying to murder her door with their hoof.
Grabbing a towel, Octavia dried herself off as the pony at her door continued to maul it. Make me get out of the shower, I’ll make you wait, she thought, exasperated. Throwing the wet towel in a basket, she made her way to the steps, her face set in a scowl. The pony at the door was bringing her headache back.
Finally reaching the door, she flung it open, ceasing the pony's incessant pounding. Her scowl didn’t change when she saw Fleur de Lis standing in the doorway. Octavia gave a short grunt and turned around, heading for the kitchen. Fleur stepped inside and closed the door, shifting uncomfortably. She walked over to a black chair, sitting down before speaking.
“We need to talk,” she said bluntly, trying to get the very uncomfortable subject into the air.
Octavia turned around to look at the other mare and saw the bottle of rum sitting on the table, open. She gave a small blush and focused back on the kitchen to find something to eat.
“I had a few drinks last night because I had a bad day. It is not like I have a problem.”
“Not that.” Fleur pulled out her phone and started hitting buttons. Octavia walked into the parlor carrying a try with toast and orange juice for the two of them. The sounds that started to come out of the phone caused Octavia to drop the tray.
“-ta finish with breakin’ meh, huh?”
Oh, fuck.