Act 2
“The only detail that troubled me was the method on how I would go about doing it.” said Frederic, shifting in his wheelchair. “How does one do that, father? How does somepony actually kill another? In calculating, cold blood no less.” The pony priest shuddered, much to the macabre amusement of Horseshoepin.
“Yes, indeed.” He continued. “I began having very…violent thoughts.” At this the old gelding started to cough horribly as he wheezed and gasped for air. The priest stood up to try and assist. Horseshoepin eventually recovered and waved him away.
“I’m fine!” He gagged. “Just a bit short of breath. If you want to assist, just help me lie down on the bed over there.” The priest lifted the old pony out of his wheelchair and placed his frail body on the small hospital cot in the corner of the room. Frederic pulled the comforter over himself and let out a final cough before clearing his throat once more.
“Pity.” He whispered through a wheeze. “I’m too weak to even sit up now. I hope I’ll get to play a Nocturne one last time…” he trailed off looking at the spinet on the other side of the room. “But where was I? Ah yes, that’s right. How was I to carry out the task of destroying Octavia?”
With a drawn out sigh of exhaustion, he finally gathered his thoughts to continue.
***
At first, I had no intention of even laying a hoof on her. When Celestia suggested that she be admitted to teach her nephew, I only aimed to make sure that I would never have to lay eyes on that mare again. I would do everything in my power to make sure she didn’t get that position. By and by, the committee consisting of me and a few other miscellaneous ministers and prominent musicians put out the word for an opportunity to teach royalty. I could just as easily have had myself recommended to the post; however that would be a bit self-serving and underhanded. I also didn’t envy the poor soul who would have to be patient enough to teach Blueblood, no matter how well the job paid. Eventually, I chanced to see Octavia’s application resting on my desk. The only part of it that caught my eye was the difference in hoofwriting. I saw Octavia’s beautiful, formal penmanship when I taught her how to write scores of music. It contrasted sharply with the sloppy chicken scratch etched hurriedly on the form, it was embarrassing to have such a document resting with the others. Nevertheless, I didn’t look twice at it for weeks until one day, I received an unexpected visitor.
That morning, I had been practicing a waltz that I was composing when I heard my servant knock on my chamber door. The matter must have been serious since he knew well not to interrupt me when I practiced.
“Come in.” I hollered. He cracked open the door timidly.
“Begging your pardon, Monsieur, but there is a lady outside who wants to speak with you. I told her you were busy but she says it’s urgent.” I clicked my tongue.
“Did she say what her name was?” The meek lad shifted uncomfortably on his hooves.
“Sh-she gave no name, Monsieur. She only said that she needs to speak with you.” I sighed, rather annoyed at the intrusion in my morning routine. I thanked my servant and sent him back to his chores. Trotting into the living room, I half-expected Octavia to be standing there, but who I found standing in my doorway was almost as bad.
“Hi there, Mr. Horseshoepin. I don’t think we’ve met before. My name is Vinyl Scratch.” I didn’t need to be reminded. That horrible scene of that DJ kissing my beloved Octavia flashed before my eyes, all too fresh in my consciousness. Her purple shades seemed to hit me like a wall, sending me back into the abyss of my nightmare in a dark purple haze. I forced the corners of my mouth to turn up to put on a friendly air.
“Why, what a pleasant surprise!” I exclaimed artificially. “I remember you. You’re Octavia’s friend, right?” She nodded her head quickly.
“Yes, sir.” She said earnestly. “I was wondering if you had a moment to spare.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t a moment to myself this morning, my dear. Soon I have to review more applications for the royal position.” She looked about with concern, like she had been followed or as if somepony was watching her. Either way, it was clear from her expression that she knew she didn’t have much time. She wasn’t supposed to be here. However, she pressed further.
“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, sir. Did you by any chance see an application from her?” I was becoming slightly annoyed at this point.
“Yes, I saw it. I look forward to reviewing it. If I like what I see, I’ll report it to the Princess.” I said, turning to head back into my chamber. She held up an insistent hoof.
“But that’s just it!” She called urgently. “Could you please do it soon though?”
“But I must review her application like the others all the same.” She moved closer with a pleading look on her face.
“Please. She really needs this position. But… the thing is… I don’t think she wants it. You see, she wasn’t the one who turned hers in. I did it.” The chicken scratch made sense then. This was all her doing.
“Then Octavia didn’t send you?”
“No sir. In fact, she would be frantic if she found out I was here.” My interest was piqued. How could such a budding musician such as Octavia not want a position as illustrious as this one? I had no intention of giving it to her, but I felt my curiosity tug further all the same.
“Go on, my dear.” I said slowly. “Why would you do all this behind her back? Doesn’t your friend want students?” She sighed like a mother sighs worriedly over her child. Despite the resentment I held against her, to see how much she cared for Octavia warmed my heart.
“That’s the problem, sir. She never wants students. She never wants to do anything that will bring in some money.”
“Is she not working?”
“Oh no! She works all day long at her desk. Sheets and sheets of music keep piling up.” She giggled a bit at the thought of her Tavi buried under a mountain of musical scores with just her quill sticking from the summit. However, just as soon as she smiled, a grave look returned to her face.
The waltz still rang in my mind.
“It’s just… I’m really worried about her.” Her voice began to crack and she started to sniffle. “She writes and writes but never acknowledges me. She’s just not the same Tavi I know.” This was a bit too much for the DJ pony who had tears leaking out from behind her shades as she buried her face in her shoulder. I truly felt sorry for her. But I had to know more of what was going on. I knelt down and put a hoof on her shoulder.
“There there now. Come dry your eyes and tell me what’s wrong.” She took off her sunglasses revealing her irises of striking red that branched out into her bloodshot eyes. Poor thing must have been heartbroken and sick with worry.
“She’s slipping from reality!” She cried through a sob. “Money just slips through her hooves and I already had to sell a lot of my equipment, and Celestia knows she would never sell her cello. I can’t reason with her! She even made me sell my bass cannon! She’s been drinking more and more and I can’t stop her.” She blew her nose and tried to stop the waterworks with the same tissue. Her look of despair turned into a grave scowl.
“And you know what I think?” She continued. “I think it’s all this attention gone to her head. I never thought she would let it all, but…” she trailed off and continued to cry.
“But what can I do to help?” I asked dubiously. She looked up with impossibly wide eyes moist with tears and beseeched me.
“Please, I’m begging you, Mr. Horseshoepin. Let her have the position! I thought that maybe if Tavi had a real job it would calm her down a bit. It would get her back on track. Please!” She broke off.
What in Equestria was Celestia up to? She brings up Octavia, the voice of heaven, to a name of fame and thus tears down the lives of those around her? First me, then Vinyl. Who was to be next? I figured that for the good of others, it would be best to swallow my own heartbreak and consider letting Octavia have the position. But first, I needed to see if Celestia was, indeed, a fair being. Surely now that I was willing to consent and let that fillyfooler have the damn position, by Celestia’s works, Octavia would want the job after all. It’s not as though she wanted to destroy those around her. I prayed for the influence of Celestia over her consciousness to make the right decision. Otherwise, it would become clear that my enemy was not only Octavia, but somepony else. Namely, a certain manipulative, cruel princess of Equestria. That is, unless she would fix it all: Get Octavia’s life back in order with the job, and keep up her end of our deal to keep my name famous in all of Equestria, for the thought still haunted me that Canterlot would one day simply stop caring for my music.
“Go home.” I said softly. “And tell Octavia that I’m ready to give her the position.” She leaped up in the air for joy and embraced me in sheer gratitude. I felt horrible.
“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Frederic! I don’t even know what to say. I’ll head home and-”
“But first, you must ask her if she wants it. Get her to place her signature, her real signature, on this application.” I said giving her back the sheet of paper with the forged penmanship scribbled on the lines. Vinyl looked worried.
“But sir, what if she doesn’t want to sign it? Can’t you just accept her anyway?”
“Princess Celestia must have her proper signature for legal purposes.” I lied. Vinyl gingerly took the paper in her hoof and slipped it into her saddlebag. But she remained frozen.
“But, what if this doesn’t work out still?”
In the name of Justice, it had better. I thought to myself. I will always regret the words I uttered next, but I still had to have some way of knowing if Octavia refused. I needed a way to convince Vinyl to come back. Though, believe me, I never wanted to hurt the poor girl. It was the only way.
“Then come back again tonight.” I said quietly. She looked puzzled.
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“Come again tonight.” I repeated. “If she refused to sign the application, then I’m sure I can get around the rules. For a price…” I cooed while stroking her shoulder. “Come tonight. Alone.” She looked very uncomfortable as she understood what I was asking her.
“I-I’m faithful to Octavia, sir!”
“I know. You obviously care for her well-being very much. If you do so, and if she has not signed the document, then come again tonight.” I said growing stern. “And to be blunt, that is the price for a job in Canterlot.” I left her on the floor of my living room as I walked back into my chamber and shut the door. I glared at the bust of the sun goddess on my piano resting on its pedestal in the afternoon sunshine, though many thick, grey, menacingly dark clouds were moving across the horizon. A storm was brewing.
“Your choice.” I said to the wooden goddess menacingly.
***
Vinyl found the door to their apartment slightly ajar. From the crack she could see Octavia perched at her desk continuing to scribble away at a score of music with her cello propped up awkwardly against her chest. Every few seconds she would put down the quill to take up her bow and play through a progression of notes before switching utensils once more to record what she had played. Outside the windows came a pitter patter of rain pouring forth from the evening sky. Small flashes of light in the distance with faint intermittent booms indicated that the storm was quickly approaching. Vinyl opened the door more to take in the full view, which wasn’t a pretty one. Collections of sheet music littered the floor of a room that had started to become bare and stripped of its furniture to pay the bills. Where their two couches sat was now the floor bare of all but a mixed multitude of symphonic scores in A minor. Where their table stood was now the space littered with empty bottles of hard liquor and more sheet music. The discolored wall that once held Octavia’s pictures that had been passed down for generations was now riddled with unsightly cracks revealing drywall and plaster. The bookcase that once contained Octavia’s books and Vinyl’s favorite records now only held a misplaced mass of more bottles of cheap gin and collection notices that were months overdue. Such a sight saddened Vinyl once more who still couldn’t believe that this ended up happening, for she noticed the most heart-wrenching absence of all.
At Octavia’s desk used to sit the happy, charming mare who would scold her, flirt with her, fight with her, and love her. Now sitting there was an empty shell with Octavia’s charcoal hair disheveled, and Octavia’s cello madly scratching out a descending harmonic minor scale. That thing sitting in Octavia’s chair reeked of whisky and frequently cursed under her breath. She had been pale as a ghost for the past few months, coming down with some sort of sickness due to fatigue and no doubt, the amount of alcohol she consumed on a daily basis that couldn’t have been helping matters. Vinyl almost sobbed again as she stared at what she was convinced was her lover possessed by some demon that shut her off. However, she stifled her fear and tried to remain firm as she cleared her throat.
“Tavi?” she said rather meekly. Octavia grunted and turned around, not letting go of her quill.
“Yes?” she inquired, rather annoyed at the interruption.
“I assume you’ve heard that their offering a job at the castle to teach the prince music.”
“I’ve heard.” she said, clearly uninterested in what Vinyl was saying. She turned back to scribbling on the sheet of paper resting on the desk before her.
“Well, I think that you would be very good for the job, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Sure. Not that I really give a buck, that is.” Vinyl despaired, but tried to press further.
“And why not?” she snapped, trying her best to put on a confident air. “What do you want us to do about money, hmm?
How are we supposed to live? Why are you so resistant about having students? That’s all I want to know!” Octavia wheeled around, growing more impatient with each passing second.
“I told you, pupils get in the way. I won’t have enough time for composing my music.”
“But how do you expect to make money off of those if you never publish them?!” Octavia rolled her eyes in disgust.
“I can’t find a decent publisher in this bucking town who appreciates good music!”
“What are you talking about?” cried Vinyl, “They all wanted to publish your beautiful work!”
“But none of them would cut me any more than 5 percent of the profits! That’s highway robbery! I expect no less than 15 percent.” Vinyl tried not to scream in frustration over Octavia’s ridiculous arrogance and self-appraisal. Indeed, she was right. The fame that had gone to Tavi’s head gave her a silly notion that she could get away with a ludicrous cut of the profits of published music at the mercy of the publishing companies. How ironic it was that Octavia was now famous with thousands willing to purchase her music, but she refused to let anypony publish it. Vinyl tried in vain to drill the idea into Octavia’s skull.
“What good is your music to anypony if you won’t publish them? How can you expect patrons to come eating out of the flat of your hoof if you don’t give them a taste first?” Octavia chuckled like she thought her lover to be charmingly naïve.
“They love me here. They’ll come anyway.” Vinyl only scowled still at her foolishness.
A clap of thunder sent a rattling tremor through the room.
“No they won’t. I thought you of all ponies knew how things work here in this town.” Octavia grew increasingly incensed.
“And what are you, a bucking talent agent?” She snapped. Vinyl drew back a few steps, visibly hurt. After a brief moment of defeated silence she tried stepping back in and putting a comforting shoulder on her lover who ignored her, constantly scribbling a measure of eighth notes for every bar of a syncopated rising scale.
“I just want things to be the way they were.” She pleaded softly. Octavia only stared at her composition in frustration over a miscalculation in the beat. “Can’t you see that you’re not the same mare I fell in love with?” Vinyl begged further. Octavia only snorted in apathy. It became too much for Vinyl who snatched the application out of her saddlebag and slammed it down on the desk.
“Look.” she stated firmly. “Here is the application I turned in for you. Mr. Horseshoepin -you still have some respect for him don’t you? -is willing to let you have this well-paying job that other musicians would kill for, Tavi. Do you understand? Kill for! Please tell me that you’ll sign it and put your life back in order!” Vinyl pleaded on the verge of tears.
“Nag, Nag, Nag, Nag, Nag, Nag, NAG!” yelled Octavia. “I don’t need your advice on how to live my life, thank you very much! I think I know what I’m doing. I’m composing the greatest music ever to exist in Equestria. My fame will know no bounds and we’ll be rich beyond our wildest dreams! I don’t need to waste my time trying to teach a spoiled prince my art form! Now leave me to my work! I don’t need him, I don’t need Horseshoepin, and I don’t need you! I DON’T NEED ANYPONY!” A clap of thunder shook the shutters, breaking a moment of deadly silence.
“I can’t believe I thought you were made of better stuff than that, Octavia! I thought you were modest! I thought you cared about us!” Octavia slammed her hoof down on the desk, upsetting the inkwell which spilled its contents on her chest.
“Go to bed!” bellowed the cellist who ignored the dark stain running across her heart. Vinyl only became indignant.
“Not until you sign it!”
“No!”
“Sign it!”
“No!” exclaimed Octavia in a perfect scream. Vinyl paused, and then gathered her voice once more as she prepared to deliver the coup de grâce.
“Either you sign it, Tavi, or I’m leaving you, plain and simple.” Her lover rose in a fit of anger and stared her down with a fire of rage burning in her deep, purple eyes enveloped in an inferno.
“How dare you talk to me like that.” She said quietly, her voice simmering through gritted teeth. An instant later, she reared onto her hind legs and bellowed for all she was worth.
“You don’t talk to me like that, you slut!” she yelled as she brought her cello bow down across Vinyl’s face with a mighty Thwack! Snap! As the bow connected with Vinyl’s cheek, sending her now broken purple shades flying across the room with the shattered lenses falling to the floor in a space of time that appeared to be in slow motion, the wood of the bow broke. Vinyl stumbled backwards and nearly fell over. She reached her hoof up to her face and felt the splinters lodged in her wounds that drew blood running down across her left eye mixed with tears. All that followed was a moment frozen in time where the bleeding Vinyl could only stare up at her infuriated roommate who continued to seethe. But gradually, Octavia’s shock and guilt over what she had done began to sober her up as she came to realize what had come over her. She glanced at the two pieces of wood in her hoof that dangled together by the strings of horsehair, then at her bleeding lover in horror. Octavia opened her mouth weakly to try and apologize, but words failed her as Vinyl slowly managed to stand up and make her way to the door with Octavia’s application replaced in the saddlebag. Octavia stuttered.
“I…”
“No.” interrupted Vinyl. “Don’t say anything. This isn’t you. I know this isn’t you.” She swiftly turned to head out the door. Octavia quickly held up a hoof in protest.
“Wait!” she cried. “You’re not… leaving me are you? Please don’t leave me alone.” Vinyl stood taller and tried to maintain her composure.
“Of course I’m not leaving you. I’ll always be here for you. I’m just going to make things right, that’s all. I wish you would do the same.” And without another word, she left for Frederic’s apartment. Octavia felt herself go cold; looking at the state her life had come to with an empty flat, and a broken bow. She had all but collapsed to her knees, growing faint and wincing as she felt a lump in her throat that soon manifested itself as a stream of tears.
“I’m so sorry Vinyl.”
***
For the longest time in my life that night did I sit in my music room and not play even one note. I sat there at my piano for an eternity wondering whether or not she would return. I only stared out my window and tried to stare beyond the blackness of the storm. The only sound to be heard was the constant pounding of raindrops on the roof accompanied by the occasional earthshattering thunderclap that made the whole building tremor, it must have been the center of the storm. Try as I might, I hadn’t the heart nor the patience to try and practice any piece, whether it had been a Scherzo, Mazurka, Sonata, or Ballade. I was far too anxious with the sight of the wooden bust of Celestia staring down at me. I could have sworn that piece of wood even developed a sick, twisted smile aimed my way as it smirked sinisterly. I became utterly frightened and desperately tried to convince myself in all righteous fidelity that this was simply my imagination, and that I must not lose faith yet in the Princess. I decided to pray once more:
Celestia, I whispered, I’ve done all I can now. I have dedicated my life to music in your cause. Now, I have shown my humility. Please let that DJ pony walk into my apartment with a signed application. I swear on all I hold dear that I will give Octavia the royal position. Just please let my name live on in fame as you promised. Don’t let my service to you be all for naught. Let me still know that you love me and cherish my work. Give Octavia the strength to overcome her pride for the sake of those who love her, and give me the strength to forgive her. Please, so that I know you are good, O goddess. Please.
Silence: The sound that drives a musician mad was all I heard. The bust never responded.
Please…
Then, so suddenly, there came a sharp knocking at my chamber door that startled me into a cold sweat. Just then, my servant again timidly poked his head through the crack.
“Umm… Monsieur? The lady from this afternoon is here again.” After hearing those words I could practically hear my heart pounding out of my chest as I felt my stomach twist into a vile knot. I cleared my throat and tried to regain my composure.
“Thank you, my boy. That will be all.” I said straightening my bow-tie. As he closed the door again I felt stuck in that moment of dread and angst in time like a Precambrian mosquito trapped in a bulbous conglomeration of tree sap for all eternity. I edged toward the door to the living room hoping and praying to the gods for all I was worth that Vinyl had returned with the signed document. While creeping over to the entranceway, I swear that I seemed to be moving slower than molasses in January, perhaps because I almost couldn’t bear to take another step, or because time had lost its meaning and flow in that instant. Finally though, I managed to ease the door open to find Vinyl standing across the room without those trademark shades she must have been known for. She looked up with a deep smile and a soothing look about her face that made my heart leap for joy.
Could it have meant that Octavia had signed it?
“Hello, Mr. Horseshoepin.” She said in a tone as smooth as silk, which unnerved me a bit. I could understand if she was happy, but why was she talking like that? She edged closer while peering into my eyes, and I couldn’t help but gaze back at those fiery disks of startling red that seemed to call me lovingly.
“You know, it didn’t occur to me that trying to get that silly filly friend of mine to sign a piece of paper was going to be so hard.” She dropped her saddlebag on the floor and edged closer. “But like you said, there are other ways of doing things around here.” My heart sank once more as I caught on to what was happening and why she greeted me like a sophisticated prostitute for “gentlecolt” callers. “So why don’t you say we… make a little arrangement between us?” She had me pressed against the side of the coffee table and leaned in ever closer to try and kiss me. I could feel the unbearable heat of anxiety that brought out beads of nervous sweat pouring down across my temple. She leaned in yet closer still to try and get on top of me to force my body onto the coffee table. She closed her eyes and brought her lips to mine that were trembling with shock mixed with a lingering feeling of lowly lust that only appreciated what a beauty Vinyl was. I had the feeling of arousal but I was soon disgusted at myself under the circumstances of why she wanted to give herself over to me.
So that was it. My goddess was dead.
I reached frantically behind me for the bell to call in my servant and rang it violently. He came in promptly and recoiled in shock at what he was witnessing as Vinyl drew back in surprise. I remained calm as ever.
“Show this lady out, if you please.” And without another word, I returned to my chamber and shut the door. Not long after, I heard some heavy object strike the door behind me and a muffled shout from the infuriated mare that I left standing there without a friend in the world.
“You Bastard!” I heard her scream.
Indeed. I wasn’t going to argue with her. I knew it was all true. But like her, I had no one now. And what was that lesson that we all learned from the adventures of those famous six mares of Ponyville? That Friendship is one of the most priceless treasures one can have in this world?
What was life without friends? I turned a hateful glare toward the bust of Princess Celestia resting on my piano who still seemed to smirk at me.
“Why don’t you tell me, Princess?” I growled, and still the monster was silent. I eyed the fire hatchet that rested on a hook by the reinforced window in case of an emergency. I hefted it and let it swing menacingly as I approached the wooden statue again, slowly letting the axe fall back and forth like a pendulum. As I caught it in both hooves, I stared her down like the jury and the judge stare down the convicted when they hand him over to the executioner, except I found myself to be acting as all three. Was it just? It mattered little to me, seeing as Justice is dead in this world.
“Merci Votre Majesté.” I muttered darkly.
I brought down the hatchet with a mighty Thwack! The blade first connected with her flank sending the statue toppling off the piano onto the floor with a resounding crack that split a fissure in the bust going up from the impact sight all the way down across her tail. For a while I only continued to glower at the image that seemed far less imposing and grand as it rested on the floor wounded and still like a defenseless animal. Looking back, I admit it is a bit frightening to recall that bitter, sinister chuckle I cackled while I lifted the axe and brought it down again into her mane, her head, her neck, and then her smooth figure that now lay exposed and worried into a sickening pile of ugly scrapings. It became hard to believe that a sight so evil as that wicked jagged mass of wood was once something so beautiful and so admired by me, I hardly recognized it at all. Then again, I hardly recognized anypony in this world to be my friend anymore. Soon I could feel beads of sweat starting to gather on my back from the exertion of hacking at Celestia again, and again, and again, and again, for a satisfying time that only went too quickly. Splinters went flying across the room as the bust began to disintegrate into a wicked crag of the raw wood that lay underneath the finish. By the time I was running out of steam and frustration to continue destroying the image, it was simply a pathetic pile of organic debris that littered my music room floor under a cloud of harsh saw dust and miniscule splinters that hung in the air and occasionally stung my eyes. I felt a lump in my throat.
All my life I had loved Celestia as mother and as a friend. She was my idol, my goddess! I looked upon her with such respect as the ruler that made me great only to tear me down now! All this time, I viewed her as I did that accursed statue she so pretentiously gave me long ago with such admiration for what I saw on the outside. I was her adversary on earth now. I would never again love a goddess so cruel, unkind, and unfair. But now I see the funny side of it all. I was cutting her up and turning her to sawdust as I truly saw her for what she was on the inside. It drove me mad that I had been fooled into believing in the mare behind statue with its smooth, elegant figure and craftsmanship and its delightful glossy finish. I chopped it to pieces.
And on the inside it was only wood.
***
Months passed.
From that point on, things only got worse for Octavia and me.
Ever since that fateful night, I began to watch my name disappear from the streets and mouths of Canterlot. No longer did music stores rush to put out my latest compositions out on the front shelf that would sell like hot-cakes. I frequently passed by my favorite music outlet and looked in the window to see what used to be where my formerly famous collections of waltzes and scherzi were proudly displayed, now replaced with cello bows and strings. Above them hung a copy on display of the only Symphony that Octavia had ever agreed to publish at the time. Even so, I kept hearing rumors that whatever money Octavia had made from the commission was spent on her insatiable and reckless penchant for whisky and cider. I walked in to see two conductors of some of Canterlot’s minor orchestras practically trading blows over who got the last copy. I left them to it, noticing that a stack of my compositions resting on the shelf under them. The black, embossed lettering of HORSESHOEPIN’S GREATEST on the front cover had become grey with a layer of dust. For the rest of my life, I lived in tortured obscurity compared to what I had been! Though, I don’t complain that I became impoverished. I suppose I should be thankful that money was one concern that never plagued me. Even after I stopped raking piles of bits from ponies playing my pieces I was fortunate enough to still be a useful musician to play at many high society, high paying occasions in the city. But what joy could come of just being another dime-a-dozen pianist who wound up playing the Pony Pokey at the Grand Galloping Gala?
I lamented the outlook of the remainder of my days and cursed Celestia. But one night at the theater, fate dealt the final blow.
***
I will admit that I loved nothing more than to hear the wonderful music of Octavia. Though I still resented what she had done to me years ago, I held no grudge against whatever she put on paper. Perhaps I shut my ears to her violin when she rendered my heart asunder only because I was in a state of total shock and horror. And believe me, my memories of her are nothing but a bitter reminiscence of love and loss. Though I didn’t consider either of our musical abilities to be superior to one or the other, the roaring applause of audiences lauding her tunes while mine fell silent made me tear out my mane in points of madness and rage against Celestia for breaking her sacred promise with me that I upheld with my whole heart.
I only wanted happiness for the both of us, Octavia and me. And yet I still hated her, or at least I thought I did.
At the theater, the Canterlot Symphony Orchestra was giving a well-received performance of Octavia’s sole published orchestration of her glorious “Ode to the Heavenly Sisters.” As I sat up in my opera box loving the melody (and begrudgingly acknowledging that Octavia was a very talented musician and composer) I noticed that the cellist herself was conducting the orchestra. I felt like folding my arms and pouting about it until I took a closer look at her.
She looked like somepony lying on their deathbed.
Her hair was a disheveled mess and her eyes were glazed and bloodshot. Her face was deathly white as chalk and matted with sweat as she appeared to be dizzy trying to sway her arms back and forth trying to keep the time. Every few seconds she would stumble clumsily and have to support herself before trying in vain to stand up tall again. I watched with a mix of vengeful satisfaction uncomfortably mixed with sincere pity, for it was only a matter of time, it seemed, before she would pass out. When the movement ended, Octavia couldn’t hold out any longer as she simply collapsed to the floor resulting in a ubiquitous gasp uttered by everypony in the audience in response. I decided to take action and head downstairs where a few bystanders were already uselessly crowding around her trying to figure out what the problem was. I shoved past them and lifted her frail form onto my shoulders, calling for a taxi to take us to her apartment. As I stumbled down he theater steps with Octavia on my back, I couldn’t help but wonder out of concern what would happen to her as I climbed into the stagecoach waiting for us that sped off to the address I gave the runners. When the carriage stopped in front of the apartment, I took Octavia out again on my shoulders to the sight of Cliffside Boulevard at a dreary time of night.
The air was humid and heavy with the moisture from a day’s rainfall that obscured visibility and shortened it to no more than one hundred feet. The heavy fog gave the illusion of the city being suspended within one huge foreboding cloud that shrouded the citadel. Looking off the railing that stopped before the steep drop down the mountainside that only pegasi dared venture near, the fog turned an otherwise glorious view of Equestria into an evil, black abyss that terrified one at the thought of a powerful wind coming along and sweeping him off into the darkness and down the cliff. I frightfully turned away and brought the unconscious mare upstairs to her flat. I was greeted with the rather saddening confirmation that she and Vinyl had been living in near poverty as I saw that most of their material belongings had either been sold or repossessed. The walls were discolored and bare with wicked, taunting smear lines outlining where bookshelves, desks, a coal fireplace, and other furniture had once been. On top of that, I had guessed that any money made recently had been squandered on all the empty bottles of gin I was constantly tripping over. It didn’t take long to figure out why she was so sick. However, what astounded me was her huge collection of original music resting by her cello that, somehow, she still managed to keep pristine and in good shape.
The only decent piece of furniture that Octavia and Vinyl seemed to own was their bed. Octavia awoke with a start as soon as I placed her down and turned on the lights.
“Is it over?” she asked, breathing heavily.
“Yes.” I assured. She still seemed to be in a confused haze.
“Where am I?” she said with darting, nervous glances.
“You’re home!” I said quickly trying to calm her down. It seemed to work as Octavia reluctantly lowered her head to the pillow.
“Why’d you bring me home? What happened?”
“You fell unconscious at the end, so I decided to take you home where you could get some rest. You seem to be quite ill.” Octavia let out a dry snicker.
“Yes, doctors told me something’s wrong with my liver. All that liquor probably didn’t help much, did it?” she said with a bashful smile. I only stared blankly in an awkward moment with the mare I hated, yet for some reason I found the virtue within my empty self to help her.
“But where’s Vinyl? I would think that she would at least have been there to carry you home. Where is she?” Octavia’s expression turned dark as her face fell toward her lap with a frown.
“She… She left me, Frederic.”
“Goodness, why? What happened?”
“One night a while ago, she tried to get me to apply for some job that I didn’t have the time or the patience for. I snapped, hit her, and then she left. I haven’t seen her since.”
“I see.” I said quietly. Her eyes turned glassy with a buildup of tears as the cellist sat there feeling sorry for herself.
“I would give everything I once had just for a chance to say I’m sorry.” She sighed and sat there dejectedly in deep contemplation until she looked up again. “Haven’t you ever loved somepony, Mr. Horseshoepin?” I froze.
“Excuse me?”
“I lost Vinyl because I lost sight of myself. I thought I was on top of the world and now look at me. She won’t even come back when she said she would never leave me. I suppose it’s really all my fault for losing her. Have you ever had the torture of losing somepony you love, Frederic?” I nodded slowly.
“Oh yes…” I affirmed somberly.
“What happened?”
“I like to think she left me, but I was a fool. Since then, I… haven’t really given love another chance.”
“But why? Love is something we all have to fight for Frederic.”
“Trust me, It would only pain me more to keep chasing her. Besides, I’ve only been hurt trying to love somepony. Tell me… What good comes of love that only hurts?” I asked not daring to look her in the face.
“Oh Frederic…” she sighed with her voice full of pity. “You really mustn’t feel that way. You can always hope for another to come along. I’m sure there has to be some mare out there that’s right for you.”
“I know there is.” I said quietly.
“You see? That’s a better way of looking at things already. We can only hope for the best at times like these. I truly hope that Vinyl can forgive me for what I’ve done, and I know she will. She’s that good hearted, I suppose.”
“She is?”
“I know it!” She restated with a strong conviction. “We all have the power to forgive, don’t we? Despite some of the things that happen in this world, call me crazy for saying this, but I do still believe that ponies are really good at heart. I just… hope that Vinyl can once again see the goodness that I blocked out.”
“Don’t worry,” I said putting a hoof on her shoulder, “I’m sure she’ll come back sooner or later. She must be worried sick.”
“I hope she does.” She whispered. I smiled and tried to cheer up the poor soul.
“And when she does, maybe things will get better! At least you should get some more money now. That performance was spectacular! Just don’t go spending it on any more gin.” She smiled back with a scowl the way ponies do when they sense an innocent white lie being told.
“You mean you actually went to my performance?”
“Of course!” I said like reassuring an old friend. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!” Octavia gave a small laugh in response as she was too weak to do otherwise. She lay there in bed for a long moment of silence.
“I’m so ashamed.” She finally said with a smile still plastered onto her countenance. “I thought for a while that you never cared much for my music or me. But you made me the pony I am today…” I grimaced without her noticing. She continued,
“…you come to my performances, you carry me home when I fall ill!” She let out a sad, small laugh. “I had such potential that you cultivated it, and I threw it all away. I really never deserved you, did I?” I stood up and backed away with a frown.
“No… You didn’t. Trust me, you deserve better. If you really knew who I was, you would think twice about that.” Octavia glanced up and scowled at me.
“We all make mistakes, Frederic. That’s why it’s important that we all forgive each other. Though I’m afraid I’m being rather selfish. Looking at all I’ve done, it appears I’M the one who needs forgiveness more than anypony.” At this point, I all but forgot the pain she had caused me before. Even if it were still fresh in my mind it would matter little. Seeing the piteous, cathartic situation that Octavia was in, it would be truly evil to wish more ill will on her. I no longer saw the hateful angel of heartbreak. That image long since disintegrated when I learned of her true character. It only pained me now to see a lonely young mare lamenting over the life she could have lived, had it not been shortened by her realized shortcomings, that now hung by a thread.
“In that case,” I said with a smile, finally breaking the silence, “I forgive you for whatever you may have done. I haven’t met anypony like you with the honest strength to say, ‘I did wrong.’ And I haven’t been honest myself.” I confessed slowly while taking her hoof in mine. “I was always very fond of you, Octavia. If you can still say that you have faith in the ones you love, you're a better pony than I am.” Octavia returned the smile.
“Then I must say that I really admired you more than I let on, Frederic. Do you think you could find the pity to stay with me while I rest until morning when I can go see a doctor?” I tightened the grip I had on her hoof with the both of mine sandwiching hers protectively.
“I’m not leaving you.” I said firmly.
“You’re too good to forgive a mare like me. Celestia bless you, Frederic, for everything.” Without another word, Octavia all but instantly fell asleep. True to my word, I stayed by a window on the far side of the room sleeping on the floor. I occasionally woke to make sure she was alright. However, one thing bothered me like a steadfast whim of guilt that latches into one’s stomach and weighs it down uncomfortably. It kept me awake to think that I had forgiven Octavia, but she hadn’t an inkling of what I had done. Hell, if it weren’t for me, she probably wouldn’t have her life ruined now the way it was.
I was unforgiven.
Dawn soon approached as a few rays of sunlight shone from the window across the hardwood floor. I was just about to wake the sleeping mare up to take her to the hospital when all of a sudden came a noise like somepony entered the apartment. I tensed as the sound of hoofsteps approaching the bedroom door became closer.
The door opened to reveal none other than a distressed Vinyl Scratch, who took one look at me and froze with a deadly glare.
“What are you doing here?” she glowered quietly. As embarrassed and mortified as I felt, I managed to stand up and stammer a response.
“I... Well… You see… Octavia was giving a performance and she… fainted. So I brought her home.” She only stared angrily at me for a time until she stepped aside from the door and motioned me toward it.
“Then thank you, Mr. Horseshoepin, you can leave now.”
“No.” I said. “I need her.”
“Excuse me?” she inquired, baring her teeth. She approached me menacingly, her temper boiling into a rage as I had no choice but to take it all in shame. “I think you’ve ruined our lives quite enough! We don’t need you to speed up the process. Now leave!”
“Then where were you when Octavia collapsed?” I asked sharply. Vinyl took it to heart and retreated to the bedside and whispered in a sleeping Octavia’s ear.
“I’m so sorry, Octavia.” She sobbed aloud. “I knew I said that I wouldn’t leave, but I couldn’t come back knowing I’d failed. I couldn’t take it anymore to see you like this. I was selfish, but now we can make it better right? Please just tell me you’ll try to help me, Tavi. I still love you.” Octavia only responded with continuous heavy breathing as she slept. I couldn’t stand there in the corner feeling helpless anymore. I spoke up nervously.
“Allow me to assist. She told me that there are complications with her liver. I know some very good doctors who can help her. Let me take her to the hospital.” Vinyl only gave me a tired stare.
“Just leave us be, Mr. Horseshoepin. If you would write down the names of the doctors for us to contact them ourselves, it would be much appreciated. It’s the least you could do. But just let us be.”
“Please.” I begged. “I only need to ask her one thing. Then I’ll be gone, and you shall never have to lay eyes upon me again.”
Vinyl gave me an annoyed, hateful glance that could sour milk, but then consented and tried to wake Octavia up.
“Tavi?” She said. No response. Octavia’s eyes hung open and glazed over, showing no signs of life. Her breathing had also ceased.
“Tavi?” She said again, her voice tinged with fear and disbelief. I stood there, feeling as helpless as a wounded animal.
“Tavi!” She exclaimed in pure terror. She had begun to violently shake Octavia’s corpse, refusing to believe what had now come to pass as the poison that had destroyed her friend’s liver had passed to her heart.
Octavia was gone.
“TAVI!”
***
I never cried once about her since then.
I stood in the back row of the huge church of Canterlot that was now almost completely empty except for a priest conducting the funeral service, the pallbearers, and Vinyl dressed in black who hunched quietly over Octavia’s coffin. They crowded around the simple Maplewood casket that stood under the sunlight that shone through the stained glass windows of the church that depicted the saintly Celestia raising the sun and smiling gently down. The priest recited hymns while the choir in the upper tiers of the cathedral accompanied him. The somber choir all stood around the rounded balcony that rested under the circumference of the gilded cupola that stood in the center of the church ceiling. The ponies of the choir ceremoniously stood upright with their songbooks poised in their hooves. The pegasi in front resembled angels with their outstretched wings protruding from their pure, snow white robes. It all seemed so funny to me at the time as the words of, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” echoed throughout the cavernous sanctuary.
This was her ultimate fate then? To be cut down so tragically in her prime? And most importantly, why wasn’t it me in that casket? I certainly deserved it more, did I not? I am the one who destroyed the life of a mare who certainly deserved to live and be happy more than me! I am the one who blasphemed the name of Equestria’s fair goddess. But so it was, I stood there with the brim of my hat shamefully tucked over my eyes watching the consequences of what I had done. I deserved to die sooner than Octavia, but why didn’t I? I resolved, all along that the gods were seeing to it that I was being punished, and I took it all in stride on the outside in this grim finale. But on the inside, I questioned whether I dare think to call myself a stallion anymore. To this day, I still wish it had been me that perished while Octavia went to live a happy life with the mare she loved while I just die in shame and leave the life I destroyed behind. But no, my heart beat with all health as I was forced to watch a life that I had destroyed be left behind.
It was Celestia’s last stab at me. She made me see just how empty I really have become after so full a life. Now two ponies were dead, but only one had the mercy of being buried.
Before I knew it, Octavia’s casket was being carted out to the hearse for the small procession toward the graveyard. However, only the priest and the stallions pulling the hearse continued past the city walls as Octavia was not to receive a private plot of land for her final resting place. I could only watch in silence as the cart carrying its macabre cargo trailed off, disappearing into the fog past the city limits of Canterlot. When those attending the funeral were sure they had seen her for truly the last time, it was Vinyl who finally broke down completely and leaned on a fellow musician’s shoulder who knew her before finally trudging back home. I however, decided to clandestinely follow the hearse to witness where Octavia would be buried.
After a while, the cart had come to a stop as I watched the priest dismount the cart and call the gravediggers for yet another burial today. They took the coffin off the hearse and dragged it to the edge of a mass grave already filled with the bodies of dozens of ponies who couldn’t afford their own plot of land to rest for all eternity. I watched in disgust as the gravediggers removed Octavia’s shrouded corpse from the casket and simply flung it into the grave as the priest routinely recited the prayers:
“Requiem æternam dona eis, Celestiae,
Absolve, Celestiae
animas omnium fidelium defunctorum
ab omni vinculo delictorum
et gratia tua illis succurente
mereantur evadere iudicium ultionis,
et lucis æternae beatitudine perfrui.
Requiem æternam dona eis, Celestiae.”
“Amen.” Said the gravediggers in response. They then each took up a shovel and proceeded to cover the newly added body with a generous helping of powered lye to aid in the decomposition in the interest of sanitation. Before I knew it, they had gone back to the mortuary, leaving me alone by the graveside peering down into the pit of dead ponies, young and old. However well I knew her, I still couldn’t tell which body was which. After a few minutes of helplessly guessing, I turned and left the graveyard.
And so, under the rain and dirt and cleaning lye rotted the shrouded corpse of Heaven's Angel on Earth for all eternity dead:
My dearest Octavia.
The End