//------------------------------// // Op. 2, Movt 4: Barcollando // Story: Private Gig // by NavyPony //------------------------------// Private Gig by NavyPony Op. 2, Movt 4 Barcollando Octavia van Clef did not often get drunk when she was with a client. Even considering that she rarely paid for those drinks she consumed and the fact that she very much enjoyed the effects alcohol had upon her, she could count on her hooves the number of times it had happened over her career. Simply put, public drunkenness was so far from the image that she’d worked so hard to refine that her company could hardly withstand the blowback from an incident. Even in more private settings, that level of inebriation still led one towards poor decision making and thus poor decisions. The wrong action at the wrong time would give the wrong impression and the wrong ideas would get spread. Getting drunk with anypony but her close friends risked damage to her business, and Octavia took great pride in doing the right thing for her business. None of this was to say that she didn’t drink, or that she avoided alcohol in the slightest. And even if she didn’t appreciate a good drink herself (and she did), the various wines, craft beers, and cocktails in vogue was required knowledge for an entertainer of her caliber. The key was simply to keep from crossing that threshold between being tipsy and true inebriation and should that be impossible, to simply remain more sober than her company. Being both an earth pony and a mare who’d attended more open-bar functions than she could count (a rather large number), this was very rarely a problem for Octavia. Conversely, Twilight Sparkle was neither a Canterlot socialite nor an earth pony, and though she too, had attended more open-bar functions than she could count, that was for a very different reason. Namely that she couldn’t remember any, and there had been at least one. Well, there had probably been one in there. Twilight was beyond remembering any such event specifically, but it seemed likely that she’d been to one at some point. In so many words, Octavia’s client was drunk, and while she normally considered such a situation to be less than ideal, Twilight was behaving herself admirably. “And then we turn…” Twilight looked back and forth across the crossroads, wobbling slightly. “West. We turn west,” she asserted, smiling at her companions before moving in the direction she’d indicated. West, apparently. “Umm, Twilight?” The pegasus who’d joined them at the spa grimaced slightly as Twilight marched ahead. It was an expression that looked very uncomfortable for the young pony to wear. “Shouldn’t we wait for Rarity? Or something? Maybe she would want to go… west… too…” Fluttershy paused for only a short moment before she decided it’d be better to follow Twilight than wait for their friend. She zipped back up to trot beside Twilight. “Is this way west? So I can tell Rarity where we went?” “Yes, it-” Twilight declared emphatically, walking several more steps before she seemed to recall the other questions. She stopped dead in her tracks and spun around to face Fluttershy and Octavia. “Where is Rarity? Did she leave already?” The grey mare suppressed a laugh, hiding a smile behind one hoof. “Twilight, she’s still inside, she-” “Oh no! We need to wait for her!” Twilight looked legitimately distraught by the thought of leaving her friend behind. “What if she thinks we all went to the bathroom, and she spends hours loitering about while she waits for us to return? That would be-” “That would be highly unlikely,” Octavia replied, allowing herself a humored tone. “But if you’re concerned one of us could go back and-” “That won’t be necessary.” Rarity’s nose was thrust high in the air as she strode out from the spa, the little bell on the door ring-ding-dinging behind her. “Exeunt omnes, everypony.” “To the west!” ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ Fluttershy’s cottage, being by its very nature out of the way, was so far removed from the spa that nopony really thought ushering a stumbling unicorn there to be a good idea. And with freshly ponicured hooves, Rarity and Octavia – rather tersely – agreed that trekking through the fields to be less than appealing. Thus, it was decided that Twilight should be brought to her own home. So it came that, halfway through their journey, Rarity excused herself towards the nearby Carousel Boutique, waving goodbye and fuming silently while she watched the other three trot off. With a short (but dignified) huff, Rarity pressed herself through the door of the boutique and made a beeline towards the kitchen. “Please, Rarity,” mimicked the unicorn in a sing-song pitch, “allow me to escort her home. It’s one of my specialties. Especially the escorting part, because that’s what I do best.” With a flash of baby-blue telekinesis, she levitated a similarly-colored bottle from atop her refrigerator and lowered it down to eye level, nearly dislodging the long-haired cat which had been lounging besides it. “Meow,” was Opal’s short (but dignified) response. “Oh, Opal, darling, you know I wasn’t talking about you!” said Rarity as she sat down and magicked a small glass towards herself. “I would never dare impinge upon your honor like that. “Meow,” replied the cat. “It’s just this mare. You know, I have half a mind to march up to her and tell her what I really think,” said Rarity. With a little smile, she poured a measure of gin into her glass and took a sip. “More, in fact. A mind and a half. Can you have more than a mind to do something?” Opal responded with a bored flick of her tail. “I suppose not, then. And besides, can you imagine that? Me, marching out and making such a scene in the center of town?” “Meow?” chirped back the cat. “I should think not.” Rarity took another sip of her drink. “It would be positively unladylike. And besides, what would I even say?” “Meow.” “Ha!” snorted the unicorn as she poured herself another. “I couldn’t exactly walk up to her and say ‘meow’ to her, now could I? Why, imagine the response…” She resumed the sing-song chime. “I’m Octavia and I’m ever so busy toying with other ponies’ hearts and… excuse me Miss Rarity, but are you saying-” “Meow.” “Precisely!” she laughed, taking another long sip of her drink as the expression on her face slowly returned to a scowl. “But imagine how Twilight would take it. I don’t think she’s ever had her heart broken. Why she might end up completely devastated by the whole affair,” Rarity muttered with distaste, “and lock herself in the library for days on end, wallowing in…” Opal glared down at her from atop the refrigerator. She rolled her eyes. “Well, it probably wouldn’t happen precisely like that. But you must admit that Twilight can be the teensiest bit overdramatic,” she said between tastes of the sapphire gin. “And she’s not exactly… well, she’s not experienced in love by any measure. Why, the poor thing is liable to be whisked right off her hooves by the first pony to tell her she’s pretty.” “Meow,” Opal retorted playfully. “Well yes, dear, she is quite pretty,” said Rarity with a blush that was certainly just the alcohol. “But it would never work out. She’s a librarian and I’m a dressmaker, and everypony knows that librarians and dressmakers might as well be the same as Applejack and oranges.” She lifted her glass to her lips and continued, “And besides, she’s not my type. What would we even do together?” The little cat began grooming herself. “Opal! The nerve… Why, I am much too sober to allow that kind of suggestion.” Shooting a dirty look at her cat, Rarity poured another measure of the juniper flavored spirits into her glass, drank it in a swift gulp, and immediately refilled it. “But honestly darling, that Octavia is dangerous. She’s liable to drain poor Twilight dry.” The cat glanced up for just a moment before she went back to licking her fur. Rarity scoffed aloud. “Get your mind out of the gutter, dear. I meant fiscally. Money. That mare will lead our little librarian on, when in fact she’s just trying to get hired again. And again. And then Twi will run out of bits, and she’ll turn to her friends and then… oh no…” Rarity took an especially long pull from her drink. “Sweet Celestia…” “Meow,” chided Opal. “No, I meant that literally. She’ll convince Celestia to keep paying for that mare’s services. After all, the Princess has already proven she’s more than willing to provide all that money, and…” Rarity slammed her mostly empty glass on the table with a resounding thunk, which besides being an enjoyably dramatic gesture, had the added effect that Rarity was now holding a completely empty glass. “Why, I pay taxes! Imagine, having my money going to such sordid, indecent… Why, I should-” “Meow,” the cat interrupted. “Meow.” “Oh, hush. You’re a cat. You don’t know anything about the higher workings of a socio-economic system.” Rarity raised her glass to her lips, surprised to find it lacking in gin. “I have a mind to write Mayor Mare about this.” She poured herself another, even taller glass. “Besides,” she snorted condescendingly, “This mare’s not just a musician. She’s an entertainer.” “Meow,” “Yes, that’s bad. Mark my words, Opal: that mare will destroy Twilight! She’ll destroy her with… with music! Music and poetry! Music, poetry, and witty banter and eloquent turns of phrase and synonyms for ‘pretty’ that contain a truly superfluous number of syllables!” “Meow.” “Yes, Opal. Yes. A refined sense of humor as well.” ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ “Because it’s soo~ dryyy~~” Twilight explained in the dullest monotone she could manage in her state. “Get it? Dry? Hahahaha!” Twilight stumbled through the library’s door, trying (and failing) to not snort as she laughed at her own joke. “Ohahaha, it’s funny because salt is dry, and… it’s hygroscopic, which means that it absorbs the moisture of its surroundings, so…” Fluttershy and Octavia shared a glance and returned to their task of seeing Twilight safely home. Though their arrival at the Ponyville Library could have been called a ‘collective stagger’, that was really only because of the way Twilight brought down the average. Fortunately for the unicorn, Fluttershy and Octavia had maintained enough sobriety to shepherd the young mare inside, where she almost immediately collapsed on the nearest horizontal surface and continued explaining why the joke was funny. In this case, the surface happened to be the ground and the explanation did not extend much further. “Umm, thank you. A lot, actually for helping me get Twilight home. Doing this by myself would’ve been…” Fluttershy shivered. “I’m sorry, Twilight’s not normally like this, you know, but sometimes she can actually be quite a hooffull.” Octavia responded with an indifferent shrug of her shoulders. As far as such things went, Twilight was still on the better-behaved half of drunks. Maybe the better quarter, even. Sashaying over to the part of the floor where Twilight had unceremoniously thrown herself, Octavia ran a ponicured hoof through the purple and pink mane. “She seems tame enough.” “That’s because I am tame…” Twilight giggled. “Octavia, are you spending the night again? I didn’t break down the guest bed, you know, in case you wanted to stay. I make okay pancakes.” Octavia raised a hoof to cover the smile which possessed her face. “That might be the first time somepony’s tried to convince me to spend the night with an offer of ‘okay pancakes’ in the morning.” Octavia pretended not to notice Fluttershy watching her as she mulled the answer over. Well, technically she was pretending to mull the answer over – she’d decided on the answer some time ago. “Pretty please?” She’d been planning to politely refuse. She was going to refuse. There was no question. But damn, if Octavia didn’t have to turn away from the enormous watery eyes so she didn’t have to say ‘no’ to the young mare’s face. “Twilight,” she laughed artificially, but well enough that nopony could have told the difference, “my career would be ruined it somepony found out that ‘okay pancakes’ were enough to hire me for a night. Besides, I must be returning to my work at some point. Tonight is as good a time as any.” “Ugh…” Twilight moaned drunkenly. “Well, will you play one more song before you go?” How could she refuse? ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ Edherd Elgar’s eighty-fifth opus was a cello concerto, and not an especially long one. It had two adagio movements divided by a lento movement, and a moderato to finish the whole thing off, and though it was written for a full concert orchestra, it wasn’t too much work to summarize it as a solo piece. The mood of the concerto was perfect: an elegant and serene theme with slightly sorrowful tones interwoven. It was one of her traditional ‘goodbye’ songs. So when Octavia was two-thirds of the way through the third movement, it caught her slightly off-guard when somepony spoke. She’d forgotten Fluttershy had been there at all. “Umm, Miss Octavia…” Her voice was quiet and gentle, and though she pawed at the ground nervously with a hoof she maintained eye contact, however tenuous. “…May I talk with you?” “You may, while I’m still here and so long as Twilight doesn’t object for some reason.” Both of them simultaneously turned to face their host, who was sprawled out on a sofa, snoring softly. “I assume she won’t, but I think it would be most prudent to speak quietly, don’t you?” Fluttershy’s gaze lowered to the ground while Octavia continued to play through the movement, left hoof dancing across the A string as she went through an especially technical phrase. “What do you wish to talk about?” Fluttershy’s pastel mane shielded most of her face when she finally resumed speaking. “Yes, umm… I… before we left the spa, Rarity, uhh, seemed very upset with you.” That. “Rarity is very concerned about Twilight; she’s worried I might hurt her.” Octavia spared a glance at the purple mare, sleeping unabashedly with her mouth hanging open. “It is… an admirable quality, to be sure, but misplaced in this instance.” She did not say aloud that it was especially annoying, as well. “Hurting her is the last thing I want. Twilight is one of the most delightful ponies I’ve ever had the pleasure of entertaining. She’s a darling to be around and I wish I had more customers like her.” “That sounds like the kind of thing you might say about all your customers.” The next note in the concerto received a fraction more stress than Octavia usually gave it. “It is not. If I didn’t like Twilight, I wouldn’t have stayed nearly as late as I have. As things stand now…” she turned her neck to look at a clock, not missing a beat in the song as she did. “I’ll probably get chastised by my assistant for spending so much extra time in Ponyville. Not that it really matters.” She accented her answer with a fluid shrug, a very difficult gesture to manage while playing. “I’ll get a talking to no matter what I do – he has a business degree, and he thinks that gives him the right to run my business.” “Is he a musician, too?” Octavia cocked her head slightly to the side. “No. I hire him to plan my schedule and interact with clients. It gives me more time to actually do my job.” Fluttershy raised one eyebrow a fraction of an inch. “So… he wants you to go back to Canterlot… but, you don’t want to?” A sigh passed through Octavia’s lips as she shifted to the final movement of the concerto. “Ponyville was a pleasant excursion, but I must, of course, return to Canterlot. I do, after all, have engagements to keep and obligations to fulfill.” “Oh. That makes sense.” Fluttershy nodded slowly, as if sagely agreeing with the importance of keeping appointments. “So do you have another job tomorrow?” “Yes.” Octavia said coolly. “Another private gig.” “Oh,” Once again, the syllable was emphasized with a slow nod. “Is that good?” “Probably not as good as this one.” ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ Twilight turned the little piece of cardstock in her telekinesis again, trying to distract herself with it. It was a very professional-looking business card – the kind that cost more than a bit apiece to print. Octavia van Clef Entertainer Cello, Viols, Vocals, Conversation, Company, Etcetera Parties, Receptions, Evening Engagements and Private Gigs The Upper Octave Talent Company 15532 Endless Boulevard On the back of the card, hastily penciled in an elegant script, was another street address – a private residence, instead of a business. Centered beneath it were two words that should have been so distracting. They were, really. 707b black stone ct write me ~O. But it wasn’t a fraction as distracting as the smudge of lipstick somepony had left on her the night before.