//------------------------------// // Present Tense and Past Accents! Lyra and Octavia Share a Moment! // Story: The Adventures of Derpy, Lyra, and Octavia // by IsabellaAmoreSirenix //------------------------------// Click click. Octavia shifted in her sleep. Click click. A sleepy mumble came from under the sheets: "No, Mum, five more min 'till the aliens take my brain. Yeah, Ah packed muh backpack. Yeah, Ah'm sure the aliens will wanna see my cel..." Click. Silence. Click. With a loud groan, Octavia turned in her bed and pressed a pillow to her ears. "Ugh, what in tarnation's goin' on?" The musician's bleary eyes opened to the wavering orange light of a candle still burning defiantly upon the nightstand despite the late hour. No, not late, Octavia corrected as she squinted to make out Derpy's Bye Bye Puppy clock above the door. It was so late it was early. But apparently that wasn't any excuse for her roommate. Because sure enough, Lyra was still awake, eyes bloodshot as they raced to keep up with her hooves flying across the typewriter. "Oh, fer the love of mah viola, what do ya think you're doing up at this time of night?" Octavia asked, her words slurred by sleep. Then Octavia laid quietly in bed, pricked up her ears, and waited. Any second now, there would come some kind of lewd pun or antagonizing sarcasm or crazy conspiracy theory that would send her flying into a slew of scathing retorts. But the only thing flying in the air that night was silence bouncing off empty walls. And a stray fly, too. But who cares about that. After about two minutes, Lyra's head turned about a centimeter in Octavia's direction as her words were finally processed in Lyra's mind. "Must... write..." came the words, pried from her mouth like a mummy from its sarcophagus. "Bless ya, Derpy," Octavia whispered as the pegasus coughed in her sleep. Then she turned her attention back to the unicorn. "Writing what?" she demanded. "Yer final will and testament? Can I help?" The click-clack of the keys only picked up in intensity. "My story," she mumbled, eyes glued to the paper. "I only have 2,000 more words to go." Octavia did the mental calculations as quickly as her tired brain would allow. "That's... that's... a lot." "Uh-huh." "And you can't type any quieter, can ya?" "Nu-uh." "Well that's just perfect." Octavia collapsed in bed and pressed both her pillows to her ears in the hopes of blocking out the sound. But like the tick of a clock during final exams, the click-clack droned on. "Trying to suffocate yourself?" Lyra asked absentmindedly as she typed. "Can I help?" "Oh, but I wouldn't wanna distract ya from yer writing, now would I?" Octavia asked with a voice of pure sugar. "Procrastination's a bitch when it comes back to bite you, isn't it?" "I could think of a few things to bite in return," Lyra growled. "Oh please, you're just setting yerself up now," Octavia teased. Lyra finally pushed the typewriter away and sighed. "You're really weird when you're tired." "Think about how I feel around you all the time." "Look," Lyra said, "can you please just shut up? I have work to do." "Please?" Octavia commented. "Oh wow, someone's being polite today! Well, because you asked nicely... still no." "I swear, you were put on this earth with the purpose to bring ponies misery." "Just doing mah job then." Octavia rolled onto her side so the candlelight created a rim of gold around her amethyst eyes. "Though you know, it's your own fault. You should have gotten it done a lot earlier." "You can't rush inspiration," Lyra said. "I woke up tonight and was filled with absolute genius. Well, more than usual, anyway. I knew I had to write, late night be damned. It's the beautiful life of a writer, and it's worth all those sleepless nights just to produce a masterpiece of literature." All that could be heard was the buzzing of the fly. "That is the biggest load of garbage I've ever heard," Octavia said. "For the love of Celestia, Octavia, I'll say anything when I'm tired." But Octavia wasn't. Suddenly, she felt wide awake, like her blood was a criss-cross of waterfalls racing through her veins. She stood up and tiptoed over Derpy to get to the corner of the room by the foot of her bed. "What do you think you're doing?" Lyra hissed. "You'll see," Octavia said, kneeling down to flip open her violin case. "So, while we're up, what's your oh so compelling story about?" Lyra stared at her the way one would stare at a demon alien changeling: with suspicion, terror, and in Lyra's case, a strange and unexplainable excitement. "You're kidding, right? You really want to know?" "Well, with that kind of reaction, I'm not hanging on by the edge of mah seat," Octavia said while she applied rosin to her bow, "but Ah am curious." For once, Lyra was stunned into speechlessness. "My story? Well, it's about... it's about... Well, you see, it's a bit hard to describe..." "Are you kidding me?" Octavia asked. "Ya stay up at two in the morning for the sake of a story you don't know anything about?" "Hey, I didn't say I didn't know anything!" Lyra said defensively. "I just have trouble putting it into words." "Thank Celestia you're working toward a writing major," Octavia deadpanned. "And shush, don't wake Derpy up!" "I know, it's just... oh, forget it. You of all ponies wouldn't understand." And on most occasions, Octavia wouldn't. And in fact, she probably didn't then. After all, there was no logical explanation other than fatigue as to why Octavia would set down her bow, turn her eyes to Lyra, and say with absolutely sincerity, "I can try." Lyra shrugged her shoulders. "It's about a lot of things," she said quietly, "and not just juvenile things like fairies and Breezie sprites and hum--" "Can ya speak up a bit?" Octavia asked as she yawned. "I'm on the other side of the room, you know." Lyra rolled her eyes. "Do you want to hear what it's about or not?" Octavia sucked in a deep breath, which probably would have been employed to deliver a withering blow to Lyra's ego. Instead, she maintained a patient silence. "It's about this magical land," she began. "Oh, how original," Octavia commented with a pointed look at Lyra's horn. "It's extra magical, okay? Anyway, everypony is under a terrible curse that takes away all the laughter there is. And it's up to this one little girl, born in a new generation that doesn't even remember what laughter is, to break the spell. It's a story about love and fidelity, about growing up and falling, about betrayal and trust and friendship and finding beauty in little things." Silence. "...And this is why I don't tell anypony about these things." "You know, if I had a heart," Octavia said, "I might find that actually endearing. Is that how you feel about your life right now, Lyra?" Much to Octavia's surprise, Lyra broke out into laughter. "This? Absolutely not! No, this is because Bon Bon dared me to write about the cheesiest setup I could think of." Lyra paused and stared into the candle burning low. "But I still want to do well. After all, it is a story, no matter how it came into the world. It is important." "It's important in the gradebook too," Octavia added pointedly. "Pft, I'm not worried about grades," Lyra said with a dismissive wave of her hoof. "All I need is to submit 4,000 words of something, and so far I have..." Octavia rolled her eyes. "You're going to cry now, aren't you?" Lyra nodded, rubbing her eyes. "My baby!" she cried. "I can't rush and write down whatever first comes to mind! It takes thought, time, effort, and... what are you doing?" Octavia walked up to Lyra with her bow and violin in hoof. Then wordlessly, she began to play. It was a soft, quiet melody that gradually built into long, beautiful legatos. The notes flowed gracefully from Octavia's hooves to sing in the nighttime air. Notes that spiraled higher and higher suddenly dropped to unheard of low pitches, then back again to nearly screeching heights. Octavia swayed ever so slightly with the music, though her expression remained stoic. Then, with a flourish of her bow, the last note rose on tiny wings to dissolve into the air. The little fly dropped dead. Lyra sat for a moment in silence. "That was... quite honestly, the worst classical piece I've ever heard." Octavia made a slight wretching noise. "Of course it was, you idiot," she said. "I'm playing bad on purpose so you'll hurry up and write, and I can go to sleep!" Lyra needed no further prodding, and she returned to her typewriter once again, this time with a panicked fervor as clashes like a dying parrot echoed in the dorm room. "Honestly, the things Ah do fer ponies," Octavia grumbled. Lyra suddenly paused in her typing to look up at Octavia. "Say that again," requested Lyra, tilting her head to the side in confusion. "Say what?" Octavia demanded. "Are ya mad fer real?" "There it is!" Lyra said, pointing her hoof in Octavia's face. "You have a country accent!" Octavia was always grateful for any kind of darkness, but the darkness of that night held her special appreciation of being able to mask her reddened cheeks. "I was not!" she protested, indignant. "How dare you suggest such a thing!" "So I was right today at the library!" Lyra continued. "It must have taken a very emotional experience to make you change speech like that! Haha, take that, Bon Bon!" "I was talking differently because I'm tired, you idiot," Octavia said. "Now would you please write your silly story so we can both go to bed?" Lyra waggled her eyebrows. "I'm sure you'd like that very much." "Oh, but I have something you'll like too," Octavia said. "I was talking to Bon Bon about the details of your assignment yesterday, and do you know what?" The last thing Lyra saw before the candle flickered out was Octavia's villainous sneer. "You've forgotten to write in the present tense."