//------------------------------//
// Songs 
// Story: A Lower Octave 
// by Inkyarn 
//------------------------------//

	Passions rode about her as she trotted slowly down the street. A cold Manehattan alley, as desolate and grey as the filly who walked it. Her mane hung heavily from her head, streaming in the rain. Her soft grey fur was matted and soaked, exposing her thin frame. Not that she was underfed, quite the opposite in fact. She was just small and thin. Small for her age. She prodded on, ignoring the rain, ignoring the city. Swept up in a rage of emotions that stormed in her mind, despite the thunder overhead. 

Her course changed, automatically and she opened a door before she even knew she had climbed the steps. A quick glance around told the filly of her loneliness; which she was grateful for. A small bell chimed overhead, something she had hung there long ago. 

The building was closed but not abandoned. Fillies and colts of varying ages gathered in the mostly empty room. Many of them sprawled out on the floor, either sleeping or sick, while a few of them wandered about or romped or sat merely passing time. All of them had short, skinny forms. A few of them malnourished and it was this few that the filly approached first. She unclasped a saddle bag from her side and dropped it to the ground, spilling a collection of apples and other fruits across the floor. The ponies looked up hungrily and began scrambling forward but a single look from her deep violet eyes stopped them in their tracks. She left a few apples with the foals in the corner and collected the rest, rationing them out to the others. Once everypony had at least some food, she took a single apple slice from the bag and took a small bite, watching as her heart rose just a little at the sight of everypony, fed and happy. Chewing, she trotted toward one of the sicker colts and pulled out a bottle and a spoon. 

She lifted his sweat-matted head into her lap and poured a measured amount of thick amber liquid onto the spoon. "Open wide," She cooed softly, and brought the spoon to his lips. He gagged at the taste but thankfully drank from it. Once he was taken care of, with a new bundle of cloth for a pillow beneath his head, she moved on to the next sick patient; and then the next. Just as she was finishing, a small voice spoke up through a mouthful of carrots, "Miss Octavia?" She glanced down at a little brown and white colt named Spotter. "Will you make a song for us?" He turned and gestured to something she had completely overlooked. Her breath caught and she stepped gingerly toward it, purple eyes growing wide with wonder and awe. 

It was a piano. A beautiful instrument, with thick black boards, sleek and shining. Its keys were pristine, glistening in the overhead candlelight. The lid was lifted to reveal the brass notes inside, the shining metal gleaming and glorious. The filly approached it, running a hoof across its side. The bench was old and worn; in fact, the whole piano was aged, but at the moment it was the most beautiful sight she had ever laid eyes upon.

A filly named Snip trotted toward her, a gentle smile on her dull pink face. She produced a bow, deep purple like Octavia's tear-filled eyes. She tied it around her friend and stepped back. Octavia could not hold it in. She looked down at the delicate thing, now hanging firmly around her neck like a statement, a bold contrast to her dismal grey fur. 

"Now you can be a musician," Snip choked, emotion filling her voice.

"You can be anything you want to be," Spotter chimed. A chorus of agreement rose up from the crowd.

Octavia felt her heart tug. She had no words but words were not was she needed. She needed music and she knew they needed it too. She slipped onto the bench and set her hooves on the old, strong instrument before her. She trembled at it's magnitude and her hoof kicked, pressing a key and sending out one sharp, clear note. A small laugh sprang up from within her and she pressed another, then another. Short keys drawled into long, steady notes. She let her hoof waver and the note lilted. It rose like a great voice and sang through the air, filling everypony's ears with its gentle tone. 

Then the single notes became a melody, twisting and turning like yarn being woven into a strong fabric. It flowed like silk and seemed to shimmer in the air. Then a wondrous thing happened. Octavia sank into the seat and her hooves melded with the keys. Her eyes closed and her soul took over, spreading out along the instrument so that she could feel every tick, every movement, every resonating sound coming from within. The notes complicated in a way the waking world could never understand. They intertwined and connected. She could see it, she could see it all. The way the keys fit together and made a completely new sound. It thrilled her and frightened her and made her heart leap. Her hooves worked faster, pulling art and beauty from the machine. She could feel its powerful voice resonate within her. She could feel the vibrations in the air and the ground and the bench beneath her.

The ponies around her stood in awe of her magic, though they could never truly understand. They closed their eyes, their very bodies humming with the music. Too soon, the song was over. Its voice wavered and fell away, leaving only a mournful echo of farewell. Everypony opened their eyes slowly, Octavia last of all. She stared down at the instrument, half a smile failing to express the build up in her chest that made her want to burst. She carefully rose from her seat and looked down to the bow affixed to her neck. She gazed around at her friends, the fillies and colts she cared for most in the world. Her heart beat in her throat. She wanted so desperately to say something, anything. No words could amass to the emotions welling up within her. 

Snips could see it in her violaceous eyes. She stepped forward and embraced her monochromatic friend. The two held each other passionately, with Spotter overcoming himself and joining the hug. Then along came a white and blue filly named Frosting, towing her sister Blueberry behind. Twinkle and Star joined them until Octavia was squished beneath a massive pile of bodies. They fell to the floor in laughter, ensnared within each other.





Octavia took a deep breath. The Manehattan air was foul and sharp, burning her nose so that she almost coughed; but she was a refined filly. Eight now, and she was used to dealing with the polluted city air. She choked back the impulse and continued down the street. Her mauve colored eyes scanned about suspiciously as she skirted a familiar corner. The air became almost imperceptibly lighter and she breathed easier. A bell tingled overhead as she stepped over a worn threshold. 

Ponies were gathered about a young brown stallion. He lay on the floor, face drenched in sweat. She frowned as she slipped her saddlebags from her small frame. The ponies all looked up with concern as she dug through them and brought an amber colored bottle and spoon toward them. They gave her space to walk and she approached gravely.

Time lay gasping on the floor. As she pulled his head into her lap, she could feel the fever radiating from him. His sweat soon drenched her thighs but it hardly mattered to her. She cooed softly in his ear as she measured a dose of harsh medicine. 

Critter came forward, her small tan muzzle stretched into a frown. "Is he gonna be okay?" She squeaked. 

Octavia bit her lower lip as she removed the empty spoon from the foal's brother. Her own sweat broke across her brow. "He'll be fine, sweetie." She replaced his head back on the makeshift pillow. "He needs a doctor, though." The ponies gasped and her attention was drawn up. Everypony gathered about as one around their sick comrade. Deeply moved by this site, she stood slowly. Passion hit her and she gently nuzzled Time's ear before moving away. "How about a song?" A dozen little eyes followed her across the room. She slid onto the bench and put a smile on her face. "A song for you, Time." 

She began to work the keys and her body ticked. A note sounded out in a deep bass. Then another, just slightly higher. Together, they melded into a note that swung rhythmically about the room. The fillies and colts around her relaxed. They gathered around their friend and settled to listen to the calming song. It took them through the small room, stroking the walls as though they could pass right through them. The floor hummed in tune and the ceiling buzzed with passion. Then there was Octavia, her bow shimmering in the light. She seemed to fill with color, with life. Her monochromatic coat shone brilliantly, a radiance nopony had quite noticed. Yet they saw her now, her eyes closed blissfully as she spun her thread. The notes, too, seemed to shine above them. 

Time's breathing evened. He opened an eye and smiled in quiet content. Though Octavia did not catch his eye, he could feel her acknowledgement. He sighed deeply and his eyes fluttered shut.





Octavia held the quill between her teeth. She scratched away a whole line from the sheet spread out before her. Her brow furrowed in concentration, sweat clinging to her brow. She looked up across the elegantly decorated bedroom and leapt forward to a piano resting at the flowery wall behind her. She struck a few notes and returned to her sheet, scribbling them down quickly. Her complicated expression broke into a wide grin and she gathered all the sheets together, stacking them in meticulous order. At the foremost page, she paused. "Soothing Time" was written at its head. She snatched the papers and ran across the dining hall.

Carpeted floors became marble as she entered a long hallway. Statues made of onyx and crystal broke the taspestried walls only occasionally, staring down at her with stony indifference. She effectively ignored them as the floor beneath her became kitchen tile. The room was large enough to cook and banquet and thrice that size. Against a strangely bland cream wall, a formidable standing fridge loomed. She sifted through its contents and filled her saddlebag, stuffing the papers in lastly. 

After her venture in the kitchen, she stepped across plush carpets and then through a twisted purple and off-white colored marble. Pillars of some kind of pearly stone rose up to guard a tall white oak front door. She glanced around carefully before easing it open and stepping into the brisk morning air.

The garden was meticulously kept on either side of the walkway. Hedges carefully shaped into figures glared at her as she darted past, jeering her away from the house. She happily left them, swerving onto a street and galloping for the inner city. 

She kept her breath even until she met an alleyway. Her pace slowed and her movements became routine. She trotted through another path and a separate back alley until she bounced up a short flight of stairs. A welcoming wooden door chimed merrily as she opened it. A gathering of young fillies and colts met her eyes and she broke into a warm smile. With hardly a brush, she fixed her bow and stepped within. The air was different here, open in the small space. It welcomed her happily, taking her into its midst and setting simple, charming details before her. A barren room, not broken or crumbling but simple instead. Plain wooden walls, a few mirrors hung on the walls and nothing more. A flat carpeted floor that was soft underhoof. Warm, inviting. Then there was the majesty in the center of the room. A glossy black piano. Not by far as new as the one at home but it held a certain class and wisdom. Ancient scratches in its surface bore of a long, hard life. This piano had experience. It had personality. It was true beauty.

Octavia trotted toward the gathered ponies and retrieved the sheets from her bag. She brandished them, brimming with excitement. "I have a song for Time," She cheered around the papers.

A certain tan filly glanced up. Her ears were flat, her green eyes misting. "Time's not here," She sighed. Octavia stopped mid-step.

"Where is he?"

Snip came forward and wrapped a foreleg around her friend. "He took your advice."

Spotter was next to sidle closer. "He went to see a doctor."

Octavia could feel the weight of that statement. Her unasked question hung heavily in the air, its answer weighing heavier. Everypony bowed their heads in mournful silence. 

Octavia stared at the ground. This was a fear she never truly contemplated before now. Every one of her charges, her friends, lived with it throughout their lives. She had a home to return to. They had only themselves. She had her mother to watch out for. They had every adult in Manehattan. Were anypony to discover their state, "help" would surely be swift. Adults thought they were helping but nothing could be further from this. Everypony knew the cruel truth of Equestria's foster system. Not every filly or colt made it safely to freedom, take that as one may.

These ponies surrounding Octavia, they were close. They were family. When one of them disappeared into the custody of foal protective services... There was no way to know if a comrade had survived. Octavia now felt the true weight of this decision of Time's. They would never know what had become of him. The fear moved them all so that every eye focused on Octavia. She lifted her chin with a kind of sorrowful determination. She stepped into the very center of the circle and spread her hooves. 

With a rush, the ponies dove forward into her embrace and they sat huddling together; every one of them replaying a song meant for Time. 





Octavia stepped lightly over the threshold. She brushed back her bangs and gave a warm smile at the ponies within. They greeted her with the same glow as ever and she moved about them, passing out food. She quickly settled disputes and abruptly ended confrontations that arose with some of the younger foals. She retained an air of grace as she chatted with her friends and distributed the food. She was ten now, with a dignified aura to match. Her mane and tail were elegantly tamed and perfectly kept. Her coat remained as plush and soft as a foal's. Each hoofstep carried her gracefully across the room, each bat of her eyes, each twitch of her ears like some masterfully constructed symphony. Though her movements were nothing compared to her harmony on the piano. She played every day, mastering the instrument until it took little more effort than to slide onto the seat.

An orchid colored filly trotted beside Octavia and led her to a corner of the room, where a few more waited in front of a large, dirty canvas. Octavia's head cocked to the side ever so carefully as she gazed up at the massive thing before her. "What's this?" She prompted when nopony came forth with explanation.

The orchid pegasus scuffed a hoof. "Well, seeing as how you mastered the piano..." 

An older unicorn broke in, "We scoured every alley and trash bin in the city!"

"We took it to Oaken's and he fixed it up."

"Oh, oh, I got the bow!"

The corner broke down into an indiscernible blabbering mess. Octavia's light laughter broke off the bickering and she flashed them a white-toothed smile. "Can I see this lovely thing?" She prodded gently. The ponies gave a start and one hopped onto a tattered barstool, reaching forward. He gave some small quip that elicited another giggle from the charcoal maned filly before yanking the canvas away.

Standing before Octavia, glistening brilliantly in the warm light from above, was a tall cello. 

Its surface was actually rather dull, littered with small scratches that only seemed to add to its splendor. Like the piano, it was old and worn but it shone brighter than any instrument she had ever seen. Despite all its flaws. The scroll was especially scuffed, an entire half inch appearing to have been desperately sanded away. One of the pegs below it had been hastily replaced with a small desk knob, as had a fine tuner at the base. The end stopper usually below each cello was missing and the bridge was nothing more than a bit of thick plastic garnered from a broken telly set. Despite all this, it was gorgeous. Easily the most beautiful thing she had ever laid eyes upon. She touched a hoof to her mouth and stepped forward, running it along the body of the cello. Her cello. Their cello. This beautiful, amazing thing.

Ink handed her a bow and stepped back as she climbed atop the stool. She took the thing in her gentle grasp and notes began to spill forth. High lilting whispers that soon became thunderous booms. They wavered away and sprang back up, singing high and loud. The melodies quickly intertwined, quickening in pace as she sped the bow across the strings. Notes twisted in the air and greeted one another, dancing around the room in a way the piano's song had not. It was entirely new and fresh, in a low melody that seemed to raise itself into a lighter tone before dropping octaves and tugging at the ponies. It took them all into a new place where time stood still just for them and their song. 

Time seemed to lapse quickly. Octavia entered a building she never had before, almost a week later. She glanced around confused, Spotter standing beside her. The two frowned.

"I don't understand," Spotter mumbled beneath his breath. He walked into the empty room and sat, frowning. "Oaken was here just a week ago." Octavia placed a comforting hoof on her brown and white friend. "He can't have just left."

She pursed his lips and trotted back to the door. With a flourish, she held a paper and a quill in her mouth and wrote swiftly. Spotter slowly stood and joined her just as she was posting a letter to the door. "Thank you so much for the instruments ~Octavia." She smiled at her neat script and pulled the colt behind her, gently easing the door closed after them. "In case he comes back."

Her charcoal mane whipped about in the wind, escaping the soft blue hat atop her head. Howling wind and snow beat down on her as she trudged toward the shop. Still on the door was a crisp, yellowing paper. The ink had smeared in some rain long ago but the paper remained. A new one soon took its place and the pony was off again. She removed her boots and clothes in a familiar pony-filled room. Not long afterward, her hoof dragged a bow across expertly singing strings. Beside her stool, papers began to pile. Soon they were restacked, at the top of which was the title, "Oaken Instrument."





She smeared ink across the paper, dashing it to the ground. With it went the quill. A terrible clutter echoed in the empty dining hall. The sounds rebounded with no remorse, echoing in her ears. Her mind continued to hold onto the image of a young orchid filly. The way the pegasus had smiled, had followed her about, had seemed so content. Nopony had seen her in weeks. Now, memory of her was little more than smeared ink on a page and a low and heavy song hanging in the air. Octavia felt her heart hang and she somberly dragged the papers to her once again. She dipped the quill once more. "Smeared Ink" came to rest neatly at the page's head.

A flash of charcoal mane blurred in the window and Octavia entered the cool room from the sweltering heat. She came upon a circle of ponies that all glanced up at her with furrowed brows. She dropped her saddlebags and trotted to them, nuzzling colts and hugging fillies. One little foal she did not get to hug was a certain tan and orange earth pony.

Piano keys strung together, twisting in a simple and cheerful tone Critter would have loved. 

Springtime hit Manehattan and an accident befell the alleyway. Octavia bowed her head and worked on a new song.

Fall came with nipping winds and crisp leaves, as well as a song for Snip. Winter heard another soft melody of string. A song for Twitter and Lace. 

When summer came again, Octavia sat at her cello. She closed her eyes and let herself go to the melody. It filled the silent air about her and ended almost in a question. She glanced up at the pony standing in the doorway. Her eyes flicked down to the floor and she collected herself, tightening her bow. She set the bow gently on the ground before startling slowly outside. The adult looming overhead marched her down the street. Octavia gave one last glance behind her as she left the abandoned building forever.





The school headmaster sat in the theater. Auditions took place before him, multiple young talents showcasing themselves. Many candy-colored fillies and colts came and went and he jotted each talent, or lack thereof, carefully on the clipboard floating at his hoof. He looked up, face an impassible mask of stone. "Next."

A monochromatic young mare trotted onto the stage. Her charcoal mane flicked back as she sat herself at a piano. Then, she began to weave. Subtle notes filled the theater. They built up until a melody was singing to the headmaster. He put the clipboard aside and watched as the mare seemed to carefully craft her piece right there before him. He could merely watch in awe as the sounds resonated about the walls, merely gaze upon this completely grey pony.

Octavia could not hold it in. She felt tears sting her eyes and she moved. Her ears pinned and her head bowed as she mastered the piano set before her. Its overly polished surface sent her own mournful gaze back at her. She could see the colorless mass of grey that was her face and two lighter dots in the image that were her eyes, colorless in the reflection. Despite the realization, her hooves did not once break. They continued to play at the keys as she turned her head away. A flash of purple caught her eye and she stared down at a faint magenta symbol at her flank. She was entirely grey, but just a splash of color.

And that was Octavia, she realized. So prim, so seemingly dignified and strict; but that was not all she was. She held a splash, even just the smallest splash, of color.

So this was her: her passion, her soul. Just a lower octave.