//------------------------------// // A Fellow Grief, A Cello Thief // Story: My Sweet Eleanor // by TheDorkside99 //------------------------------// “Three cheers for Octavia, the greatest cellist in all of Equestria!” The tavern filled with rousing cheers from the orchestral quartet that had just played for its largest audience to date. Four mugs filled with quality ale clinked in the air and instantly vanished down the grainy throats of ponies well-seasoned in musical travels. Octavia slammed her mug on the wooden table and raised a hoof in the air. “Compatriots, permit me to verbalize my gratitude for one of the greatest performances that has ever graced my ears…and as for you three, tis not a single difference would be noted had your places been taken by a trio of trinket music boxes!” “Aw, come on Octavia,” said the harpist, Strings McGee. “At least we hit the notes, right?” “Precisely, my hollow headed harpist!” “Heh, ya walked right into that one, eh McGee?” joked Sousie Tuba, the sousaphone player. “But don’ take it tah heart. Ol’ Octy’s just a bag of tricks, ain’t that right Octy?” Octavia took a bow. “These snippets of truthful jest are droplets of love overflowing from the depths of my heart.” “Then it appears we may have a drought on our hooves,” commented the pianist Frederic Horseshoepin, giving the cellist a slightly smug smirk. Oohs spilled from the mouths of the two other musicians. Octavia crossed her hooves then gripped Frederic’s neck in a playful lock. “Oh Frederic, must I remind you of our brief courtship from long ago. You weren’t complaining about droughts. In fact, you could say it rained every night. And you were more than willing to stick your tongue out in the rain.” Frederic’s face went red which brought laughter upon laughter at the table. “I-I’m going to get more ale. E-Excuse me.” Octavia sighed. “Ah, the perks of walking on the other side of the street.” “Well, now that we’re on the subject,” said McGee. “How’s my little sister doing?” “Like the honey bee of spring, Eleanor is nestled sweetly in the full bloom of my love. And she stings my patience with her incessant buzzing.” McGee smiled. “So it’s going good, right? I mean bees and spring are good things, right?” “Well, ah, I don’t know, see? Spring’s warm and all and, ah, bees make…honey?” chimed Sousie. Octavia facehoofed. “Oh, you duo of denseness. Are you ever good for anything other than pulling strings and blowing horns?” Sousie broke into laughter. “Oy, we both walked into that one! Ya got us good, Octy. Very good.” “Oh yes, let us all laugh and praise Octavia because she’s so delightfully funny and can rub strings together,” said Frederic in a wavy voice. Octavia gave the pianist a simple glance then chuckled. “Well, tis more pleasing to rub than to pound, as I always say. Right you two?” Sousie burst into laughter and even the dim witted McGee pounded the table. “Pleasing to rub than pound. I get it. I actually get it!” yelled McGee between guffaws. Frederic drank a sip of his ale before returning serve. “Hmm! Well, it was a delightful day in ponydom the moment you turned gay!” Octavia leapt onto the wooden table gaining the attention of every eye and ear. “Well, I would say the same thing, but that day just so happens to coincide with the day I met you!” This time the entire tavern erupted into a burst of laughter and cheers. Chairs were knocked over and the ponies that sat in them with them. Even the burly bartender who rarely acknowledged anypony cracked a pleased grin. “Oh my gawsh! My sides!” screamed Sousie. “You can’t buy entertainment this good!” “Boy, she got you good, huh Freddy? I mean, she got you good, right?” said McGee. Frederic pulled at his collar and marched up onto the table with Octavia. “Very well, Miss Octavia. If you think you’re so great, then I challenge you to improvise a song!” Octavia smirked and hopped off the table. “You do realize you’re writing your own death certificate, Frederic? However, if this tames the tumultuous tot, then allow me to retrieve my cello from the entrance.” “Nuh-uh-uh, my little pony,” said Frederic as he pulled out his leg across Octavia’s chest and pointed a hoof to a corner of the tavern. “I want to hear your musical genius on the piano.” Octavia pushed away the unwelcomed gesture and made her way to the old grand. Every eye once again watched as she took her seat on the short bench and picked out several notes before assuming the proper position. “This, my friends, is an original composition by yours truly, and for Frederic unruly.” Octavia cracked her hooves, flipped her sleek black mane off her eyes, and began to play and sing: Frederic he went to town Riding on a pony She was so unsatisfied She left him to his moaning. Frederic, you keep it up You’ll be soft as taffy And the mares you so oft scare Acquire the taste of filly! There was not a single dry eye in the tavern as thunderous applause masked the laughter the improv song generated. Frederic slid back into his chair and stared into his empty mug of ale. Octavia walked over to the bartender and placed an elbow on the counter. “I believe that bit of performance deserved another round, what say you old man?” The bartender obliged and poured Octavia a complimentary drink from the tap. As the last drop slithered through the foamy top, the bartender hoofed the refreshment to her. Immediately his eyes lit up. “Ay pony, I’se thinkin’ yer cello’s a gettin’ aways from ya.” “Nonsense, my good stallion. Though I excel in all instruments, I shan’t leave my most fond weapon of choice.” The bartender shook his head. “Nah. I’se really means it. Look.” He pointed a hoof toward the entrance. Octavia turned with the mug on her lips and spat what ale she had left in her mouth as she spotted a cloaked pony sneaking outside the tavern with her cello in hoof. “You there! Unhoof my cello this instant!” The cloaked pony chomped the cello by the handle and broke out the swinging doors. “Hey get back here, you fiend!” Octavia burst through the doors and ran hot on the robber’s hooves into the moonlit streets of Canterlot. The cello proved to be cumbersome for the scrawny pony and the weight caused a loss of balance. The cello broke free of its case and the momentum caused the strings to rip and twist as it scratched on the cobblestone. Octavia reached her prized instrument and mumbled softly under her breath as she ran her hooves up and down the spindling strings. “You stupid, rotten, no-good, filthy criminal scum! What in the name of Celestia were you thinking?” “I-I’m sorry, ma’am,” replied the stunned stallion. “I was just lookin’ for a way to make money to feed my poor family. I was gonna give I back, I swear. Please don’t hurt me.” “So the demon inside your head told you to steal the cello from the world’s greatest cellist who ever lived? Your family deserves to starve, you bucking bastard.” The trembling stallion struggled to his hooves and bolted from the scene. Strings McGee and Sousie Tuba caught up with the gray pony still hurling insults at the fleeing father. “Cursed be your wife and children! May they all have their eyes gouged, their orifices shredded by the grimiest stallion, and have their flesh rotted and eaten by plumpish maggots!” “Gee, that don’t look so hot, right?” Octavia brought her breathing down to a normal rate and gave a sigh. “No, McGee, it doesn’t. And it has left my heart cold and hard.” “So hold on a sec. How are ya gonna play tomorrah?” asked Sousie. Octavia raised her voice anew. “Does my cello look in any condition to play, you blind buffoon? Cancel the next week of performances. I must take it to the only place that knows how to properly fine tune a cello.” Octavia grabbed her cello and locked it back in its leather black case in a huff. She began to make her way towards her apartment leaving the two group members in a daze. “And where’s that, Octy?” asked Sousie. Octavia turned around and scowled at the sousaphonist. “Manehatten.”