Room 213

by Whirring Gears


Prologue

The evening’s festivities were coming to a close. The patrons of the latest Canterlot garden party had all left. The other waiters had clocked out. The band had all put up their instruments and gone... except for one. You flap your wings once and carefully glide over to the single musician still at the stage.

“Hello, Miss Octavia,” you say.

“Good evening,” she replies. The gray mare with a coal black mane continues putting her prized cello in her case.

Octavia Philharmonica. The cello player of the most renowned orchestral quartet in Equestria. Also one of the reasons you look forward to your job overseeing such garden parties like the ones she would play. Or rather, you look forward to when they conclude so you two may chat.

The other waiters who worked with you swore to never bother the band. They said that they caused somepony to lose their job by asking if he could help them. Because of this, when you first started, you were afraid of them.

However, as you gathered experience with your job, you began to see certain signs signalling that somepony was hungry or in need of a drink. One night, you saw such signs on the lovely cello player as her band concluded playing. Licking lips, occasional swallowing, all pointing to a mare who needed refreshment. You were already off the clock, but deciding to take a chance, you walked over and asked if she needed anything. She was surprisingly delighted by your offer.

The two of you had what would be the first of many chats after a formal gathering. She commented how none of the other waiters would serve them ever since the last incredibly rude one. You asked about this particular waiter and found that he had been rather insulting so they put in a complaint. He had many complaints against him already, so this was the final straw before he was fired. You tell Octavia about how the story was spun and you both laughed about it. Many gatherings from then had you and Octavia in pleasant conversation after the band had finished.

Which brings you to right now. “So, I liked that little improvisation in the third song,” you tease. You had heard enough classical music in your time waiting these types of parties to know when somepony might mess up. You caught her stumble a bit, but she picked it up beautifully so that anypony listening would have never guessed she made a mistake.

She closes her case with a little more force than normal.

“I-I’m sorry...” you stammer, seeing Octavia’s clearly not in the best of moods.

She sighs. “No... that was a little thoughtless of me.”

“Something wrong?” you ask.

“Just... little annoyances. That’s all.” She sits up, facing towards you.

“Care to share?”

“Nothing much worth talking about,” she replies.

The movement is slight, but you see it when it happens. Her tongue pokes out, just a bit, pointing up and then rolling downward before disappearing back behind her lips.

“A drink for you this evening, perhaps?” you ask.

She chuckles a bit. “That would be lovely. Is there anything left?”

“I shall see,” you say, taking off with a flap of your wings towards the refreshment table. Only a couple wine glasses remain which you take under a wing aside from the leftover hors o’dourves. However, there seems to be nothing on top of the tablecloth to fill them with since the party’s conclusion.

Fortunately for you, under the tablecloth is a different story. An open crate with half a dozen bottles of some of Canterlot’s finest are still there. Taking a bottle under your other wing, you trot happily back over to the thirsty musician.

At this point, you contemplate the same thing you contemplate every party, and quite a few times out of parties as well. 'Would you like to have some dinner with me tomorrow, Miss Octavia?' you think to yourself, trying to psyche yourself up. You had considered asking out the lovely mare many times before, but her mentions of busy schedules, rigorous musical practice, and constant traveling made the idea of vocalizing such a request difficult to the point of stilling your tongue as if made of rock while in the presence of the gray beauty. And tonight, she obviously had something else tiring on her mind, so the evening would be sure to play out like many before it.

You suppress a sigh, going back to the stage where Octavia was waiting. She meets you with a grin as you return, presenting the glasses and wine. “Alright, I saw you reach under the table for it. Are you allowed to do that?”

You shrug. “They considered this all to be gone before anypony showed up. They shouldn’t mind.” Pouring the two glasses half full, you give one to Octavia. “Maybe after this, you’ll feel like telling me what’s on your mind.”

She shakes her head with a smile. “Oh, don’t think I’ll just open up and let loose after a little wine,” she says.

“You might feel better, just getting it all out there,” you say. “Although... there’s no real hurry, I suppose. We do have all evening.”

“True,” she says.

You lift your glass and Octavia follows. Slowly, you bring them together for a tiny ‘cling’.

“Cheers,” you both say.

===

You slowly open your eyes, but the invading sunlight makes you clench them shut again. Head spinning, body aching, mostly above the neck; yep, you were certainly hungover. You feel yourself in a bed, but it’s much softer than the one you were used to. You also felt something... warm. And soft. Something warm and soft against your right side.

Taking a breath to prepare yourself, you open your eyes again, fighting the light to keep them open and get them into focus. As soon as you can make out shapes, you have a thought.

'That’s not my ceiling.'

You hear a light groan and a murmur from whatever is next to you. Knowing that you’re going to regret it, you begin to look over.

No amount of light would keep your eyes from being open in shock from what you saw. A gray mare with a coal black mane, snuggled up against you. Her breathing was slow and steady, signaling that she was still far off in slumber.

You swallow around the dry lump in your throat, heart beating faster as the reality of the situation sets in. You just woke up hungover in a strange bed next to Octavia Philharmonica.