//------------------------------// // III - The Dancer // Story: The Dancer // by Yip //------------------------------// ‘What in Celestia’s name was that?’ Staccato thundered, frustratedly waving his hooves about. ‘Do you have any idea what this could have cost us? What the public might think of us now?’ Octavia stood with her cello by her side in the Ponyville Music Hall’s back room, hanging her head down to the floor. No tears flowed from her eyes, but nevertheless her shoulders sagged and her hooves shuffled. ‘Staccato,’ Sonata said, standing amongst the remaining musicians to the side, ‘the audience didn’t look disgusted. I don’t think this will have a lasting imp—’ ‘Did you not hear the murmurs?’ Staccato snapped. ‘We’re finally being given a chance to make it to the big stage and we get murmurs instead of applause. That simply won’t do. No, it won’t do at all...’ He paced himself around the room for several moments. ‘I-I think I need some time to cool off. No practice tomorrow, Ponyville Players.’ ‘I... I think I might...’ Octavia mumbled, raising her eyes to meet Staccato’s. ‘What was that?’ ‘I think I might come to practice on my own tomorrow. I can’t allow what happened out there to happen again.’ Staccato raised both of his eyebrows. ‘Oh... well! We will discuss this at a later date, but for now—now we should all get some rest before the next practice. Goodness knows I need some right now.’ With his parting words, he departed through the back door, several of his fellow players leaving by his side. Sonata and Vivace looked back expectantly. ‘Don’t worry about me, girls,’ Octavia insisted. ‘I just need to check up on something.’ The mares nodded their heads and followed Staccato out into the night. Octavia heard a voice. Her cello was leaned up against a wall, then quickly forgotten. Every step the cellist took, the voice came closer and closer. When she found herself on-stage, the voice said one clearly audible word—Octavia swore she heard a sniffle afterwards. Play... There was nothing on the stage. Octavia drew in a deep breath and sighed. Imagination, she thought. This is getting ridiculous. She walked over to the edge of the stage and sat down, hanging her rear hooves over the side. Her body leaned back, and she could see the top of the theatre. It looked like a rotting, wooden roof at first; after a good, hard look, however, Octavia could make out the outlines of an earth pony next to another of its ilk—In an embrace. A stallion... and a mare. Octavia sighed once more. I need to get my head straightened out...  Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier—within seconds, she was asleep. ~|D|~ ‘Moss orava? Air yew areeght?’ A mumbling woke Octavia’s mind from her rest—most of her senses did not follow suit. ‘Miss Octavia? Are you alright?’ the voice repeated feebly. ‘Do you need some water? Dearest me, this is not at all what I expected...’ ‘I... I’m sorry?’ Octavia replied. She opened her eyes, and found herself looking up to the same rooftop she had been the night before. As she lifted herself up—her back ached as she did so—her surroundings also bore familiarity. ‘Who’s there?’ ‘Ah, you’re awake!’ the feeble voice replied behind Octavia. She got up on all fours and turned to see the voice’s owner—a grey, elderly stallion with a darker shade of grey colouring his mane. He was standing on his two rear hooves and leaning against a soaking-wet mop he held with the other two. ‘Was beginning to think you were dead!’ Octavia recoiled a touch at the comment—until he smiled a warm grin, a significant lack of teeth notwithstanding. ‘H-Hello?’ she said. ‘Why am I at the Hall?’ ‘I’d imagine you were here all night—it’s early morning!’ The aged stallion gave a throaty chuckle. ‘What brought you here last night, miss Octavia?’ ‘How do you know my name?’ Octavia questioned, rubbing her sore back. ‘I’ve seen you play oodles of times! Have to clean up after your whole group, too... one of your friends really likes to make a mess of herself, but I only know your name from your entire group. Miss Scratch told me lots about you!’ ‘...Scratch?’ Octavia’s eyes widened. ‘How do you kn—’ ‘Yes, I’ve seen you play. Wonderful young prodigy! Indeed, you and your group will go very far before all is said and done.’ ‘Yes, thanks, but how do you—’ ‘My father was a cleaner too. Loved this place since the day he was born til' the day he died! Celestia bless his kind soul.’ Octavia rolled her eyes as the stallion spoke. ‘You know, I found it quite interesting when you were sleeping while looking up at the building’s roof. Did you catch the artwork up there?’ Octavia nodded her head, judging that it was better not to speak lest she be interrupted again. ‘Sad that it’s in such rough shape now!’ The cleaner staggered over beside Octavia and looked up. ‘You know, there was once a stallion that did the same thing that you’re doing. He was rambling on and on about a dancer or some other nonsense right around where we’re standing—’ ‘A dancer?’ Octavia lit up. ‘Did you say... dancer?’ The cleaner harrumphed and looked to Octavia gravely. ‘Goodness! When I was a kid, we never interrupted our elders!’ Octavia smiled sheepishly. ‘I-I’m sorry, do go on, mister...’ ‘Mister,’ the stallion replied. ‘Most ponies just call me Mister, so that’s mostly what I take to now!’ ‘Ah, yes... Mister.’ Octavia sighed. ‘Do go on.’ ‘Where was I... yes! Dancing—my father told me all about the two ponies who built this place with their own two hooves. A mare and a stallion—my father was very young when they did so, only a young colt—were famous dancers in Manehattan. With the funds they had amassed for several years, they built a theatre in Ponyville with little outside help. Just their blood, sweat and tears... and their love, I guess, kept them going.’ ‘What happened to them?’ Octavia wondered out loud. ‘They died!’ ‘No... I mean after they built the theatre. Is it this one?’ ‘Yes. Now, I hadn’t been born when the theatre was done, but I was pretty close. My father was appointed as the cleaner, and no one else was hired to work at the theatre--not sure why, really. Past that, I wouldn’t know. No one ever told me what happened to them after they made this old place. ‘But I do know that they were the best at what they did. Prodigies, those kids! A shame that they’re no longer with us... I might not have much left in my old bones either, maybe I’ll join them soon!’ Mister guffawed. Octavia pondered for a moment. ‘You mentioned something about a stallion with the mare? I feel like I've heard about this mare before.’ ‘A stallion? Oh, yes... the one who did what you're doing. He would come in every week and started playing music for no reason. Piano, specifically.’ Octavia did not interrupt, but when the cleaner wasn’t looking, she allowed herself another eye roll. ‘A strange one, he was. Would come in and play music, mumbling something about a mare... and wouldn’t you know it, he looked just like your pianist over there!’ ‘Over where?’ Octavia looked around the theatre--towards the entrance, the other six members of her septet were walking towards the stage, most of them clutching jet-black instrument cases. She turned back to the aged stallion. ‘He... he was mumbling about a mare?’ ‘I believe so. Unless my memory is acting up again—no! Why are you all messing up the theatre?’ Mister grudgingly—with great effort and Octavia’s helping hoof—lowered himself off of the stage and towards the faint splotches of muck that lay in the musicians’ wake. ‘Staccato?’ Octavia said. ‘What’s going on?’ Staccato dodged the incoming cleaner as he sped—relatively speaking--by. ‘My dear, you haven’t been here all night, have you?’ Octavia nodded, and Staccato looked to her, aghast. ‘My goodness! I had spoken with the rest of our troupe, and we wanted to surprise you by coming here early—are you still up for it? We can put some effort to rehearsing our "rock", too.’ Staccato, taking the staircase stage-left—Crazy old man forgot the stairs, Octavia thought idly—came up next to her and looked to her eagerly. "Mumbling something about a mare"... did he really mean Staccato? The pianist smiled at her. I... ‘Sure, just let me go get my instrument. And Staccato,’ she said as an aside to the pianist, ‘could I have a quick word after we finish?’ ‘If it’s quick, can we not just have it right now?’ he replied. ‘I’m in no rush—I might just forget to talk about it later anyway.’ Octavia opened her mouth to speak—something held her back. Staccato raised an eyebrow as Octavia stood in front of him, staring, slack-jawed. ‘What is it, Octavia?’ ‘I—’ Octavia stumbled for words. ‘—I think... I think I felt stage fright or something last night.’ Staccato raised both of his eyebrows—before he could speak, an eavesdropping Vivace barged in and put her hoof on Octavia's shoulder. ‘Oh no!’ she exclaimed, giving Octavia a slight shake. ‘You’ve never had a problem with that before! Did you hit your head or something?’ ‘I’m fine, honestly.’ Octavia lightly pushed Vivace’s hoof off of her shoulder and looked to both her and Staccato. ‘Don’t worry about me. What happened last night won’t happen again.’ Vivace and several other ponies cheered happily at the news—Staccato, however, remained unconvinced. Nevertheless, he walked over to his piano, still lying stage-left, and removed the cover without a word. His fellow musicians did the same with their instrument cases. ‘I’ll just be a moment,’ Octavia said, retreating backstage. ‘My cello is in the back room.’ ‘Yes, yes...’ Staccato laid down his piano cover and walked over to Octavia, away from the rest of the group. ‘Octavia, you know very well that we consider you family, right? We were very concerned for you last night... I wasn’t trying to sound vicious or anything on the stage. I just wanted things to work out quickly before the whole thing turned even worse than it already was.’ ‘I understand, Staccato.’ Octavia smiled. ‘I was only thinking of my blunder, not at all about some silly grudge against you.’ ‘No no, don’t think of yourself like that. You didn’t make a terrible mistake. It was a mistake, sure—’ Staccato smiled sheepishly. ‘—but don’t beat yourself up over it. We’ve moved past it, and so should you.’ ‘Thanks, Staccato.’ Octavia turned away. ‘Oh, and Octavia?’ ‘Yes, Staccato?’ ‘Another thing about families, you know’—Staccato narrowed his eyes—’is that they don’t lie to each other. An incident we can get past, but dishonesty is a terrible mistake and should be regarded as such. You keep that in mind.’ Staccato broke off from the conversation to return to his piano, leaving Octavia breathless where she stood. He saw right through me, she thought. Her stomach felt queasy and her legs shook. She practiced, but she wasn’t truly there. Something about the day had gotten to her, but she wasn’t sure which part was the worst of it. ~|D|~ Octavia walked up to her home in the noon-day sun—no one had been walking with her. Her body reeked of sweat and her stomach roared; all forgotten, however, when she saw a note on the door, addressed only to herself. octavia, hey, its vinyl. i was planning on mentioning this to you before, but i wont be in town for a few days... ive got some stuff i need to do in a different place. tried to make this look like a letter... thought youd appreciate me having a sincerely thing at the end, looks formal like that. Octavia chuckled. so yeah, sorry for leaving all of a sudden... didnt think you would be staying overnight on your day off or anything. hooray for you, your social life is slightly better than it was before. Octavia chuckled again. dont party too hard without me. sincerely vinyl Octavia took the letter inside with her and left it sitting on her living room’s window sill, quickly forgotten. The room still reeked of uncleanliness, and the floor was still littered with this-and-thats from before. She didn’t care, though—she crashed on the couch, the nearest place of rest, for the third day in a row. But for the first time in those days, her mind was at ease. Her thoughts were not to Vinyl, nor to the cleaner. Someone else had seen the dancer before—she exists, she thought, and that was amazing. ~|D|~ ‘Alto, will you stay with me forever?’ A mare and a stallion looked up at their creation—a wooden building, with the words “Music Hall” engraved at the front on fresh hardwood with a smell of a mid-summer’s day wafting in the air ‘Yes, Allegrezza. Nothing will keep me apart from you.’ Alto pulled Allegrezza closer to him. The two walked into the building together, never keeping more than a few inches apart. Past the double doors, a brand new auditorium filled their senses with wonder. The smell of newly-rolled carpet excited their nostrils and crimson red walls brightened up the room. The pair slowly walked up the aisle towards the stage, savouring every moment they shared. ‘Oh, Alto... let’s dance forever!’ Allegrezza closed her eyes and rested her head on Alto’s shoulders. ‘Nothing would please me more, my dear.’