As the curtain fell with the final note, Octavia took a breath as she relaxed the muscles in her back and legs after standing for what felt like the entire week. Feeling the rush of blood circulating through her body made her close her eyes and embrace the sensation. Perhaps she was out of practice, and form, from not having any shows since The Grand Galloping Gala last year.
Octavia felt a shudder run through her body, reliving the feeling of Pinkie Pie manhandling herself and members of her former quartet.
That show being a complete and utter disaster thanks to a certain group of ponies. It was a nightmare finding another ensemble to join after such a fiasco. When the conductor approached Octavia only a few months back, she thought she finally had her big break after the Gala incident.
“Oh Octavia dear!” A rather shrill voice called out, causing her to open her eyes in surprise.
But when she saw the conductor heading her way with a few ponies with a rather proud look on his face, she finally saw the real reason he was so adamant about having her meet them.
“Oh Octavia, it has been so long darling.” With a mane tied into a high tower of orange folding trusses and quite possible a few beams for structural integrity hidden from the public, was the rather famous Mangirine. Orange. “I never knew you joined Royal Orchestra, it is a wonderful coincidence that I passed along such a riveting request to the theater to invite such a prestigious company to perform.”
In her mind, Octavia took a deep breathe to calm down before she addressed the one pony she wished to avoid while in Manehattan.
“I know darling, but that simply cannot be helped. With a career such as my own, one can hardly visit with the constant trips throughout the country.” The words rolled on Octavia’s tongue like a piece of bubble-gum. No joy, no taste, just simple routine to the situation as Octavia continued to “chew” words with the noble belle. “It has been so long since I have seen my good friend, The Lady of Manehatten, but you know how it is with being wanted everywhere, but there is only so much one mare can do.”
Lady Orange gave a small chuckle, “Quite right my dear, quite right.” A tiny glint shimmered in her cyan eyes. “Speaking of being wanted, I heard that you had a falling out with your quartet after the Gala last year.” While those were the words that Mrs. Orange said, what Octavia heard, “So you got kicked out of the quartet after you couldn’t perform before the Princess herself.”
“Then again,” Orange whispered over to her compatriots but clearly loud enough for Octavia to hear, “You are your mother’s daughter.” The statement was said in such a satiric tone, that a few of the older mares stifled a chuckle.
Octavia eyes narrowed, but she did not say anything in response. She took a quick breath before pulling up the façade that had become second nature in this social circle.
Octavia smiled, “It simply could not be helped, but wasn’t your niece one of the special guests of Celestia?” Octavia taps her chin in false thought, letting a false smile dance across her face. “Applejack was her name, I believe?”
Before Lady Orange could do a delightful rebuttal, her friends were already whispering amongst themselves.
“Oh my, the farmer who was selling her quaint little treats right on the lawn of Canterlot Castle?”
“That’s right! Isn’t she personal friends with Princess Celestia’s personal protégé?”
Margarine Orange was soon bombarded with questions from her entourage. With the attention finally off her, Octavia stayed close to the wall until the mindless chatter from the mares barely echoed behind the stage.
The burden of carrying her cello became all the more lighter without the suffocating presence of the upper-class ponies. She maneuvered her way past the various lights and sets before she finally pushed through the stage entrance and into the blissfully silent evening.Ponyville may be the quiet town my father always wanted to live in, but I think he never was able to understand the rare few peaceful moments of Manehattan.
Pieces of trash and paper danced through the alley at the whim of the wind. The crisp breeze was felt refreshing against Octavia’s face.
She took a deep breath, letting the cold night air reach down into the core of her being.
Clip
Clop
Clip
Clop
Octavia’s hooves echoed through the alley with every step.
Clip
Clop
Clip...Clip
Her ears flinched back, before her body kicked in gear. Octavia hit the ground hard, and avoided a dumpster that flew through the air where her head once was. Jumping back to her hooves, Octavia twirled around, holding her case before her like a shield. Her eyes scanned the back of the alley.
“Whose there?” Her voice was levelled. Calm. Octavia did not want to give her enemy any satisfaction from the surprise attack.
“Octavia Melody…” Her name came with a heavy wheeze. A cloaked pony walked forward.
Knowing her name was not a surprise, not with all the posters plastered across the country. But something was definitely off about this pony. “I don’t know who you are, but I don’t want any trouble.”
Her words seemed to have no effect on the stranger. He continued toward her, the small rays of light in the alleyway illuminated more of the cloaked pony. No horn on his head, or wings on his back.
So no surprises then.
“Octavia Melody. Octavia Melody.” He kept repeating her name over and over, the tone. As if it was the only thing that mattered.
He stumbled forward, but caught himself. But not his hood. It fell back, revealing his face. Red across the muzzle with red eyes. His coat shifted from red to blue, yet the eyes remained the same.
Trick of the light? Octavia questioned herself, though her instincts were screaming at her to be alert. For it was no trick of the night.
His ears shrunk and grew, his eyes shifted in size before her very eyes. Finally freckles appeared on his face, only to tear right off his
coat revealing specks of black skin beneath them.
But it was something far worse. Soon more of his coat followed as slowly started to burn its way off his body, like ashes off a dying flame, revealing the blackened shell underneath it all.
A changeling.
Normal ponies would have gasped and fled. To listen to the deepest part of their natural instincts as a creature of prey and run as far as they could for as long as they could. Octavia had learned long ago to lock up such things deep down, away from the surface.
She needed to make a stand. Dozens of his fellows couldn’t stop her in Canterlot, what chance does this one have by himself?
Octavia watched her approaching opponent warily as she laid her cello against the wall. A pair of distant red eyes stared back. She pulled herself onto her hind legs, waiting for the first strike.
Then he lunged forward, his horn pointing downward attempting to gourd Octavia then there. Pivoting to the side and striking her hoof into his back. Much to her own surprise, her hoof broke through his carapace with relative ease. The way it crumbled from her attack, shocked Octavia. It took a lot more than when she fought them before.
The changeling continued forward, the broken shell on its back did nothing to slow him down, let alone cause him any pain. With an abrupt turn, he skidded to a stop his eyes still focused completely on Octavia.
“Octavia Melody. Octavia Melody.” The haunting resonance in his voice only added to the chill in the air as he continued to chant her name. Octavia watched him crouch low to the ground, only for him spring toward her.
Seeing him flying through the air toward her Octavia moved to one side knowing he couldn’t change his trajectory quick enough-
She could not finish the thought as all the air in her lungs was forced out of her body from heavy blow to her stomach.
As Octavia crumbled to ground gasping for air, the changeling was already back into the shadows of the alley, steadily making his way toward her yet again.
While her lungs fought for air, Octavia’s mind was racing. How did he move that fast? Even fliers can’t change direction that quickly.
Her eyes were soon blocked by a black hoof descending towards her head at a deadly speed. She rolled to the side, avoiding the death blow. The hoof cracked down on the pavement, shards of carapace falling off his leg. The only sign of the pain even registering in his mind was the way he moaned her name loudly into the dark.
Octavia cringed, her barrel was in agony, and the roll did not help. She pushed past the pain and jumped back to her hooves.
She needed to end this now.
Her foe was strong, but while his face was blank, his body was barely functioning; both of his right legs were buckling under his weight, probably broken from just the amount of force he was using.
Octavia went on the offensive, and ran straight toward him hoping her weight could give her an advantage to pin her enemy and put an end to this before she ran out of time.
She collided into the cloaked changeling like a runaway train. Both bodies smashed into the wall and tumbled ground. Octavia raised her hoof to bludgeon the changeling into submission, but halted her foreleg.
He was out cold.
She slowly removed herself from his body, but underneath his cloak she could feel parts of him…pulsating.
Refusing to be caught off guard again she carefully removed his clothing. What lied under it made her taste bile, she covered her mouth
to stop any of the night’s food from making reappearance.
Chunks of his carapace were missing, revealing the grey flesh that pulsed with every shallow breath. Veins visible through the mass of flesh. Except for his face, his entire shell was covered in spider web cracks and chips missing everywhere she looked. His barrel was practically deflated. His stomach possibly shriveled, the green membrane was concave on his body.
There were only two ways he could go when he awoke in his terrible condition. Down the alleyway, surrounded by walls that loomed ever taller the closer a pony got to them. The suffocating dark was only held at bay by the small light above, the bulb flickering as it grew closer to death. When it finally snuffs itself out, no one will notice, no one will care.
Yet the other way was brighter. Street lights shone brightly, bathing the road in a constant light. FF they were to ever to flicker, they would be fixed within a blink of an eye, ponies are efficient that way. Yet, when most ponies find a problem, they take it upon themselves to solve it. They would poke and prod, and when that fails the courageous few would want to pry it open to look inside.
Regardless of the danger.
Two ways to go. One, alone in the dark with Death knocking upon his door. The other, in light to be found by others, but could such a creature be pacified? Lifting her head away from the unconscious changeling beneath her hooves, Octavia saw the hundreds of windows that looked down onto the very sidewalk she stood. So many eyes can appear at any moment.
Octavia took a deep breathe, and sighed.
Click.
--------
Pain.
Vinyl sealed her eyes shut. A valiant attempt to keep Celestia’s shining grace from delivering more of its unholy light into the confines of her muddled head. Vinyl wished she died last night in a happy bliss instead of this painful awakening.
That is the last time I go to a Pinkie-Berry Mixer Blender.
Pulling herself up from her would-be coffin, Vinyl shambled to the kitchen to make the only thing that could bring her back up to a full trot.
Coffee and toast. Lots of toast.
Using the wall to keep herself from falling flat on her face, Vinyl dragged herself down the hall one hoof in front of the other. She stopped in front of door before she proceeded to pound the living daylights out of it. “Taaavvviii…I’m making toast and coffee, want some? You probably had a rough night taking the last train home.”
Hearing nothing from inside the room, Vinyl took that as an invitation to go and check on her friend. Her horn lights up, the door slowly opens.
Wait a sec.
Vinyl shuts the door. She scans it up and down, squinting through the mental haze.
No music note. Treble cleft I think it’s called? That would’ve been embarrassing barging into an empty room screaming for her.
With a wobbly turn, the door in question was now right in front of her.
Big ol’ music note. Check!
Without further ado, Vinyl pushed the door open and with a complete disregard of personal space, waltzed right into the room. “Morning…” She looked at the bed. “Tavi?” Vinyl finished.
Unable to process the scene that laid before her without proper food and drink, Vinyl made a decision.
With an abrupt turn that had both grace and subtlety that Vinyl never knew she was capable even when sober, she walked out of
the room and with utmost consideration, she lightly closed the door.
Wide-eyed, she resumed her trek to the kitchen, hoping some food and some strong brown mud would help her make sense of what she just saw in Octavia’s room.
In the kitchen was Octavia grilling a few eggs on a pan. Using the spatula between her teeth to flip them over.
Neither said a word as Vinyl took a seat at the table and Octavia placed a plate of toast and a cup of black coffee in front.
“Octavia.” Vinyl said, “Why is there a changeling strapped to your bed?”