//------------------------------// // Oh, Octavia! (Prologue) // Story: Oh, Octavia! // by Bubblegum //------------------------------// Prologue By ScoopDaily (hereby adopting the pen name "Bubblegum") It was a bright and beautiful day in Canterlot. The weather ponies had cleared the skies of clouds and taken the rest of the day off, allowing Celestia’s sun to bathe Equestria in its light. Golden beams shone down on the marble and cobblestone streets, brightening the entire city by several lumen. No structure in Canterlot, however, was accentuated more by the sun’s rays than the Equestrian Ministry of Music. The stunning columns of stone forming its outdoor atrium reached skyward, ascending so high they appeared to bend inwards as they climbed. Stunning statues of famous musical ponyalities decorated every alcove and open space in the stunning courtyard. Fountains filled with glittering water cast wavering light effects wherever the sun’s rays had struck them and bounced off. Curved marble steps ascended from the courtyard to a row of polished wooden doors set deep in the side of the main building. Above the doors was an impressive, golden coat of arms emblazoned with Celestia’s crest. Beneath the sign, carved into the stone, was the Ministry’s motto: “Music is Magic”. Scoop took all of this in with a glance as he approached from the street. The Ministry was truly an impressive building, crowned on top by a shining glass cupola. He would have enjoyed taking in his surroundings for awhile longer, but Scoop had more important things on his mind. He clopped up the steps and pushed open one set of doors marked “Unlocked”. Scoop found himself in a dimly-lit anteroom. Left and right were the other entry doors, but these ones were heavily barred from the inside. On busier days, every door would be propped open to allow the masses to enter; today, however, only a few ponies were either visiting the ministry or studying the various musical arts. Mahogany furniture and accents adorned his surroundings, and luxurious velvet upholstery cushioned every chair, couch, and stool in the room. The walls were a deep scarlet speckled here and there with gold images. The predominant theme was, of course, music; the images were of instruments, musical notes and symbols, and other musical fanfare. Scoop took a seat in the nearest chair and began to wait; he could hear the hustle and bustle of the street below through the three arched windows on the west side of the room. Light filtered down and accented the deep burgundy of the plush carpet, turning it to a burnished bronze. Rich, flowery odours permeated the room. Scoop found it somewhat hard to bear the overpowering smell, but he had an incredible sense of smell. Other ponies may have found the aroma intoxicating. Time passed very slowly as Scoop ticked off the minutes. He had arrived promptly at 1:50 p.m., and it was now well past 2:30. Had the illustrious musical minister forgotten their appointment? As Scoop wondered this, a soft hissing sound signaled the opening of the large, mahogany door opposite Scoop’s chosen alcove. A mousy pony in a pinstriped business suit shuffled through the door, scuffing his hooves on the carpet. “P-pardon me, Mr. Daily,” he began. “Crescendo will see you now.” Scoop took a deep breath and exhaled an exasperated sigh. “About time,” he mumbled under his breath. Scoop’s facade seemed to impress the mousy pony, but in reality, Scoop was quite nervous; this would be the first interview anypony had ever had with Equestria’s most famous musical prodigy. Scoop followed the mousy pony through the doors and into a corridor lined with the same rich tapestries and brass fixtures with which the room behind had been decorated. They walked for what seemed like miles before reaching a rather ornate set of doors inlaid with stained glass. A plaque above the door summarized the Ministry’s message: “Music is the Page Upon Which the Text of Life is Written.” Indeed, thought Scoop. Music is Equestria’s forte, it’s soul; without music, this fair kingdom will be plunged into a night far blacker than that brought on by Nightmare Moon. This night would be a night unending; an eternally soundless void where no rescue would arrive and no hope of escape could be harboured. But, thanks to her... Scoop shook off this momentary lapse in his ordinarily rigid objectivity. Can’t let my personal feelings get in the way of being a good reporter. As the mousy pony heaved open one of the massive doors, another wave of aromatic perfume washed over Scoop; this time, however, the perfume had a light, rosy odor mixed with the scent of musty paper. The large room was a cylinder of sorts, and seemed to bore straight up through the building like a massive drill; the winding staircase in the center of the room simply added to this comparison. Scoop remembered seeing the large, glass dome at the very peak of the Ministry of Music's roof. Scoop had come all the way from Manehattan to meet Equestria’s resident Mistress of Music. Sadly, her busy schedule had kept him from seeing her dozens of times before. Scoop was a good reporter; all of Equestria had read his articles on the events of Nightmare Moon, the Parasprite Invasion, and of course the hostile takeover of the Grand Galloping Gala by six misfit ponies from a little town called Ponyville. Even so, the Ministry had refused him an audience for months, even going so far as to send an emissary to reject him in person. Discouraged, Scoop had sent out one last letter, swearing to give up should this one not yield a success. Almost one year to the day after Scoop had begun his attempts, an official-looking letter arrived. It was not the letter, however, that captured Scoop’s attention; it was the seal of Crescendo Rigoberto, the Ministry’s president. Scoop tore the letter open eagerly, almost ripping it in his excitement. Shaking with anticipation, Scoop had begun to read: “Dear Mister Daily, “We here at the Ministry of Music strive hard to protect our acolytes from the prodding ears, eyes, and worst of all pens off the press. It is no secret that great musical talent breeds publicity, and some ponies just can’t handle being in the public eye. “However, the particular pony you are interested in happens to be our pride and joy, a pony without equal. We have recognized her talent from a very young age and, therefore, have taken a special interest in preparing her for a life in the spotlight. Although we are loathe to allow any press within the guarded confines of our walls, we have been very impressed with your articles on the recent events and happenings in Equestria. We believe that you have done a fair job of staying objective and seeing both sides of any issue and have, therefore, decided to acquiesce to your requests for an interview. “Please be at the Ministry of Music Main Hall by 2 o’clock p.m., Equestrian Standard Time. You will be escorted into a private room where you will be given an audience with Miss Pie for exactly 2 hours. Please think about what you would like to say beforehand, as she is quite a busy pony. We feel we are being more than generous. “Regards, “Crescendo Rigoberto, President of the Equestrian Ministry of Music” Scoop had cheered when he read that they were actually giving him an interview. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that other famed reporters, some far more accomplished and well respected than himself, had tried to obtain a similar interview and had failed. Most had given up after a few tries, but not Scoop Daily! Still, his reporters spark had kicked in, and he had quickly penned out a list of the most important experiences he could thing of. Over the next week, this list had been revised, replanned, and finally rewritten as he thought of the amazing article he would write. I just can’t believe it, he thought to himself. How could I get so lucky? Now, here he was, standing in the Ministry’s inner sanctum. At the apex of the massive cylinder was a glass dome, held together by burnished bronze struts. The glass was curved over these struts to give it a bubble-like feeling, and yet it was graceful, sophisticated, even antique. All of this caught Scoop’s attention as he now stood beneath the dome, bright light filtering down through the struts, criss-crossing the room with a web of shadow. The room was a large circle with a central staircase. Stretching out from this central staircase like the spokes of a wagon wheel were shelf upon shelf of tomes which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be orchestral works. The entire room was, quite literally, filled with music. Bookcases lined every wall, guard rail, and even the coffee tables in the reading areas were covered with musical works and books of musical theory. Soft chairs were arranged here and there to create reading areas where any interested pony could satisfy his love for music, learn a new piece, or even practice. Scoop noticed that several music and instrument stands had been arranged in these reading areas. Not only was practice allowed in the library, it was encouraged. This is truly a Mecca to fine music, Scoop mused. A pony can find their calling here. The mousy pony appeared beside him and pointed towards the staircase. “Climb the stairs all the way to the top. There are four levels; this level and the next two levels are the library levels. Once you reach the top of the staircase, have a seat in the waiting area next to the doors; someone will be there to escort you shortly.” Great, Scoop thought. More waiting. Scoop began the long climb up the staircase, feeling the warmth of the sun against his coat. The sounds of pages turning and a few softly-played instrumental pieces were the only sounds in the library. Ponies from all walks of life sat about with their instruments, probing the endless musical library for undiscovered secrets; a few were writing music as they went, which would no doubt be added to the library’s extensive collection. Finally reaching the top of the staircase, Scoop realized it was devoid of the musical students that had populated the lower levels; indeed, it was devoid of anypony at all. The walls were a deep, burnished oak. It was an atrium of the higher echelon; no tables, no lamps, nothing to ruin the perfect aesthetic beauty of the circle. Directly ahead was a set of twin doors, these ones far simpler than the ones downstairs had been. Yet, they were much larger and were fitted firmly into the wall. Scoop would hazard a guess that these doors made no sound when opened, so perfectly were they set upon their hinges. Scoop sat down in one of the hard-backed chairs in the small waiting area. Apparently, those who made it to this level of the building had to want it bad; if he didn’t know any better, Scoop would guess that nopony had been up here for years. A thin layer of dust floated through the shafts of sunlight, and Scoop felt the sudden urge to sneeze. Scoop heard a click as the handle on the massive door turned and both doors swung inward. Two white Pegasi in tuxedos walked out and flanked the door on either side. An elderly pony in a burgundy suit, his mane slicked back with copious amounts of hair product, walked forward and stuck out his hoof. “Mr. Daily,” the pony said, just as nice as you please. Scoop thought he detected a note of sarcasm under the pony’s pleasant demeanor. “We corresponded by letter. I am Crescendo, President of the Ministry. Welcome.” Scoop shook the pony’s hoof. Crescendo hung on for just a second too long, clutching Scoop’s hoof tightly before letting go. “I hope I was very clear in the letter; the interview was to begin promptly at 2 and is still to end at 4. Mrs. Pie’s schedule is very strict, and I won’t have a reporter taking any of her valuable time.” Crescendo had put a little too much emphasis on the word reporter, tipping Scoop off to the fact that he didn’t think to highly of Scoop’s profession. “Please, follow me.” Crescendo lead Scoop down a dark hall lined with lanterns. In stark contrast to the old-yet-modern stylings of the atrium and solarium, this hall felt like a medieval castle. Soft flame flickered from the walls illuminating the gold weave in the carpet beneath his feet. Burgundy tapestries hung in the space between torches, and a pervading odor of musk and cinnamon filled the air. Crescendo hummed softly to himself and swished his tail back and forth. Scoop had to slow down to avoid stepping on it. Reaching the end of the corridor, they came to another set of oak doors. This set was darker than the first with aged bronze accents and fittings. Crescendo rapped on the door with his hoof and a jingle from the other side signaled the use of keys to unlock the door. Crescendo looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “We keep our prized possessions under lock and key, Mr. Daily. My apologies; it’s just a matter of security.” Scoop scowled back at the pompous earth pony, who stepped back as the massive doors swung inward. A rush of cool air and beams of light shot from within, and Crescendo motioned him past. “She’ll be waiting for you. Please, remember your time constraints. She’s a very busy pony, Mr. Daily.” Walking through the set of doors, another pair of Pegasi latched them closed and locked it. There was an air of finality in the way the twin Pegasi moved, and Scoop found himself feeling nervous once again. His nervousness quickly dissipated, however, when he took in his surroundings. This room was much more inviting than the rest, and with the glory of the solarium, that was saying something. Soft, plush carpeting padded his footfalls as he moved towards the center of the room. Simple yet sophisticated oak furniture, upholstered in soft purples and whites, adorned every corner and the center of the room. He could smell incense and a rich perfume wafting from somewhere in the room, but looking around yielded nothing. It was the sound, more than the sights and smells, that invited Scoop. A low, moaning sound reverberated off the walls, changing in pitch and tune ever few seconds. Suddenly, the notes sped up, creating a faster harmony, crescendoing to a final, high-pitched finish. Scoop found himself applauding in obvious wonder. He wiped tears from his eyes with both hooves. “Please, please, hold your applause until the interview is over,” said a voice in front of him. Scoop looked into a darkened corner of the room...and there she was. She was short. This didn’t surprise Scoop, as he had seen many pictures of her and had noticed her small size. What surprised Scoop was the size of her instrument. Cellos are, by nature, very large. Coupled with the fact that this particular Cello was the largest in all of Equestria, and was famed for being so, it made poor Octavia look even shorter. Octavia laid her bow on a stand next to the instrument and dropped to all fours. She padded forward, her footfalls muffled by the plush carpeting. Her lavender eyes sparkled with a hidden mischief, and yet she carried herself gracefully, almost as if she were making sure each foot were absolutely stable on the ground before taking another step. “Miss Octavia,” said Scoop, rubbing the back of his neck with a hoof. “I, unfortunately, am unable to hold my impartial edge in the presence of such a great artist. Journalists are supposed to keep an objective view of things, you know.” Octavia laughed daintily. “Well, Mr. Daily, music in itself is impartial. Does music pick or choose who hears it? Does it become offended when you choose one side of its personality over another? Does it try to guard itself when you begin to dig into it for a deeper meaning? I would say, Mr. Daily, that music, in itself, breeds impartiality.” Scoop was awestruck by Octavia’s intellect; ordinarily, famous musicians were good for one thing and one thing only: music. Outside of the hallowed concert halls, amphitheatres, rock venues, etcetera, they were as useless as newborn babies. He found himself at a lack for words. Sensing his apprehension, Octavia saved him the trouble: “I hear you’re a very special reporter, Mr. Daily. Many people say there’s magic in your articles that they can find nowhere else. Yet, you are obviously not a unicorn; what type of magic could you possibly hold?” Scoop found his voice. “Miss, I’ve been given a very special gift: the gift of good journalism. I had that gift long before I was given any others. I can pull out any notepad in my vault of such notepads and recreate the article exactly as I did years back. This isn’t to say that more ‘recently acquired’ gifts aren’t useful as well, but all magic has to start somewhere; usually, it’s with raw ability.” “Humble little thing, aren’t you?” Octavia chided. Scoop blushed, and Octavia giggled. “Oh, please don’t be embarrassed, Mr. Daily; I was only having a little fun at your expense. Don’t take offense to it; you see, since I’m quite isolated here, I have to ‘get my licks in’, as it were, however I can.” Scoop nodded. “Well, then, now that the introductions have been made; you know who I am, I know who you are, etcetera, why don’t we get down to brass tacks?” Now it was Octavia’s turn to nod. “Alright, but remember, we’re on a schedule. I myself could stand to be interviewed for hours by a reporter such as yourself, but Crescendo sees my life as a possession of the Ministry. My time is his time, and he will not have his time wasted. He defines what waste is, as well.” “Okay...now, if you’ll just have a seat here, we can get started,” said Scoop, motioning to one of the velvet chairs in the center of the room. Octavia settled in, daintily crossing her forehooves and tossing her hair over her shoulder. Scoop pulled another chair directly in front of Octavia’s. “Now,” said Scoop. “I am the only reporter in the whole of Equestria who has to ask this question regularly: Do you mind if I violate your personal space for the sake of this interview?” Octavia smiled knowingly and shook her head. “I had heard,” she began, “That your power required some kind of touch...I had prepared myself for this. At first I was apprehensive, but when I learned that you would not only be seeing through my eyes, but feeling and thinking through me as well...I was sure this had to be the only way an unbiased account of my life could be given. You will see it as I saw it, won’t you?” Scoop nodded quickly. “Yes indeed, Miss, and that leads us to question two: Are there any parts of my life you would like me to skip over? I mean, for the sake of this interview I would prefer not to, but you will be reliving your past as I relive it. Some memories are painful, and I’m not a monster; I will be sensitive to that. If something starts to feel particularly uncomfortable, just pull away from me. We’ll wait a second for you to recover, and continue at the next available memory.” Octavia sighed. “I suppose there are a couple things that may be uncomfortable for me, but the past is the key to the future, as they say. Perhaps a second look at my life will shed some new light on things I regret. In addition, I’ll have a second opinion as well. You may see things differently...help me sort out some details, you know.” “Yes,” said Scoop. “So, are we ready to begin?” Octavia looked about ready to give her assent when a look of curiosity spread across her face. “I must say, I am wondering where you GAINED this ability. Are you perhaps at liberty to tell me?” Scoop smiled. “Let’s just say that I have friends in very high places; those friends owed me a favor at one point, and this is what I asked for.” “You simply must tell me all about it some time,” said Octavia. “How such a marvelous gift could be garnished is no doubt a story worth hearing.” “I’m a reporter, Miss Octavia,” said Scoop. “I listen to other peoples stories. Maybe one day I’ll tell my own, but for now, I’m satisfied learning others’.” “Then let’s begin,” said Octavia. Scoop sat in the chair in front of Octavia and placed his hooves on the sides of Octavia’s head. “Now, to make this easier,” Scoop began, “Think back as far as you can remember. Take me as close to the beginning as we can go.” Octavia exhaled deeply and closed her eyes. Her breathing slowed as Scoop whispered soothing encouragement to her. “That’s it,” he said. “Imagine a time machine...let’s go back as far as you can remember..."