//------------------------------// // Chapter 11 — Repudiate // Story: Modulation // by ProBrony //------------------------------// — Chapter 11 : Repudiate — The music died as they set their instruments down. For a few moments, Lyra and Octavia simply smiled and basked in the afterglow of their duet. Lyra looked over and let out a small chuckle. The wide smile on Octavia’s face seemed out of place, uncharacteristically content for the professional pony. As the moment passed, her smile faded, but her high spirits remained. Lyra was the first to speak. “So Octavia, knock out show last night.” Octavia’s head turned a few inches, looking away reflexively. It was slight, but Lyra caught it. “You saw it?” she asked, almost curtly. “Yeah, I loved it. I actually caught it by accident, completely by chance. Of course, your playing was magnificent. You do so much with your instrument,” said Lyra. Octavia turned her head back. Her face was inquisitive. Lyra’s voice softened. “Your performance really said something to me. It said that everything would turn out alright, here in Canterlot. Oh, and I enjoyed the small improvisation you did. You’ve got quick hooves.” Octavia’s slowly blooming smile flipped. “You heard that nonsense?” Her eyes darted away. “It was garbage, without substance. I apologize. I prepared as much as I could, but I can’t be here all day, and home isn’t the best place to practice, for reasons outside my control.” “Hey, take it easy, okay? You did great, Octavia. Don’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise.” “I guess you’re right,” Octavia said. She still held a grimace, but Lyra was sure it was meant to be a smile. However, she noticed how tired and defeated Octavia looked in this moment, and Lyra wasn’t convinced. “I am right,” said Lyra, but decided not to push the issue any longer. Octavia rubbed her hooves together, a gesture Lyra was surprised to see from the a mare so self-assured. “H-How is your job search going, Lyra?” The question caught her off guard, but Lyra’s response was near-instant and rehearsed. “Well, I’ve applied to a hoof-ful of places, and a couple have actually written back to me. Of course, they were rejection letters, but I’m ever hopeful. I have to be. I even have an interview today.” She smiled wide, but was sure Octavia would see through her ruse. She didn’t respond immediately, letting Lyra’s words hang in the air. Octavia worked her face up, as if she was considering something great. She waited until the unicorn became visually uncomfortable. Octavia stood from her chair. “If any more jobs contact you, ignore them. I’ve gotten us a most special audience; lunch with Gentle Chimes.” Lyra’s mouth flung open in awe. Octavia continued. “He is the stallion who approves my accompanists, and he will be offering you a chance to accompany me on my word, provided you leave a good impression.” “No way.” It was all Lyra could do to keep her voice even. Octavia paced in front of Lyra. “You’d be like an understudy. Your lyre is a perfectly serviceable instrument, however I’ll be teaching you everything I know, starting with cello and piano. If you’re good enough— and show dedication— with time you could even play with the entire CPO.” She turned sharply to look at Lyra. “Emphasis on ‘with time’, but it is a start. Speaking of time, him and I will arrive at the eatery at 12:23, at the westernmost table out front. It’s a peculiar time I know, but if you remember Gentle Chimes you know that’s just how he is. How does all that sound?” Lyra’s only response was to widen her mouth further. Octavia rubbed one foreleg against another. “Do you remember? How I was surprised I didn’t know you? Now you can probably figure out why. I’ve known Gentle Chimes for some time now. He’s brilliant.“ Lyra remained frozen, still mouth agape, with a look of pure joy on her face. “Are you going to say anyth—” Before she could finish, a squeal creeped out from Lyra’s lips. She quickly crossed the distance between them and gave Octavia a hug as tight as she could manage, raining yes’ and thank-you’s on the pony, before dancing with Octavia in her arms. Octavia dealt with it as long as she could, then eased herself out of Lyra’s grasp. “That’s quite enough, dear, but yes, this is something to be excited about.” Lyra jumping in place. “Of COURSE it is!” “Be sure to wear something presentable. A simple dress, maybe.” Lyra almost lost her smile. It certainly dropped. “Seriously?” “Seriously,” said Octavia. “This is an important meeting, and you must look your best. I’m surprised you haven’t taken to clothes since you’ve been back in the city.” Lyra flopped back into her chair. “Come on, I know the maestro, we go way back! Can’t I simply wear a collar and tie like you?” Octavia raised her nose in the air. “No you can’t.” Lyra thumped a cushion with a hoof. “Well, why not?” Octavia gave Lyra a vacant look, distant and cold. “Because you simply aren’t Octavia.” Lyra stared at Octavia expectantly , but her face slowly drifted to confusion and annoyance as Octavia refused to elaborate. Her eyes narrowed. Seconds passed before Lyra noticed the edges of Octavia’s mouth curling upwards. That was all she needed, and she let out a good laugh, half from the joke and half from Octavia’s attempt to tell one in the first place. Octavia’s lip spread into a smile. Still flat, and mostly impassive as always, but clearly a smile to Lyra. “I wasn’t sure if you’d find that funny.” “Sorry, I just needed a second to see past—” she gestured at Octavia “—you,” Lyra said through giggles. It took a minute until she was done. Octavia never joined in, but Lyra could see the subtle pleasure on her face, even if she was trying to mask it. “Oh, today was good fun,” said Octavia. She turned to the huge window that looked out over the art district. Outside the Lunaris, the sun hung in the middle of its downward arc. “I think it’s about time to wrap things up.” Lyra packed up her lyre and headed for the door. Octavia remained behind, looking out of the huge glass window. Lyra looked back expectantly, but quickly knew the answer to her question. Octavia wanted to be alone. “You know,” began Lyra. “I really did like your concert. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished instead of scrutinizing your greatness.” “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lyra”. Her voice was warm. She didn’t look away from the window. “Seeya, Octavia.” Lyra turned to the door and opened it. She wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have said anything about the show. It’s sometimes it was hard to tell with Octavia. She walked through the doorway. Just before the door closed behind her, she heard it meet resistance. “Lyra,” Octavia said behind her. Lyra turned to see Octavia hanging out the door. “Make sure you are exactly on time, not a minute early or later— You remember how Gentle Chimes is. And seriously, wear something nice. No ties. Don’t cramp my style.” And Lyra was laughing all over again. “Cramp my style? Ha! Where’d this comedian come from? Two in one day, you must be in a great mood!” It wasn’t something she expected out of this upstanding pony’s mouth. She waved goodbye, descending the long staircase of the theater, and walking into her day with the highest spirits she had since she left Ponyville. Still, as good as a mood she was in, she decided to walk home, to save her bits in case she needed them. Of course, there never was an interview. *** During her walk home, Lyra passed through the business district, trotting right through Caelum Square where she had resurfaced into Canterlot. It was late afternoon, between the lull of traffic that occurs after work and before dinner, leaving it notably empty compared to her arrival. Ponies who stayed late at work were walking home, and a couple of cabbies hung around, but mostly the street was hushed compared to normal. She looked towards the center of the square, to look at the mouth to Canterlot’s Grand Stable. It had only been three days since she arrived, emerging from those steps over yonder with a timid yet determined spirit, but it felt like it had been weeks already. A combination of all the ponies and trouble she’s met since she arrived had made each day’s adventure seem longer than reality. Lyra couldn’t help but smile to herself, as she didn’t expect to be this happy this shortly after leaving Ponyville. A memory flashed behind her eyes. Reflexively she stepped into the street, walking across the square, retracing her steps from days before. Her hooves took her in front of the post office of destiny, or so she felt it should be called. Lyra had to be honest with herself; she had been incredibly fortunate to be spotted by the Octavia, to go to this post office, to have seen that rainbow. She glanced up. The sky was a murky color, the sun shining behind cloud cover. There was no rainbow. She looked back at the post office. Didn’t she already write her a letter? She should have responded by now, right? She would if she really cared about her… Right? Her mood shifted, from its normally bright demeanour to just like the sun above, hidden behind a veil. Her bits stayed in her pocket, and Lyra continued home. *** Lyra found her parents upstairs. She hung in the long hallway outside, peering in at them. In a wide, carpeted room with warm light, Granite sat in his luxurious armchair in front of a tall mahogany bookcase filled with business tomes and business trophies, reading a paper or some building plans, Lyra didn’t care to know. He reached down and scratched his cutie mark, which he claimed was a dimension stone. Lyra knew it was just a rock. Across the room, Aria played the piano, a baby grand of polished black, accompanying a gentle melody she hummed, swaying her hips in the air to the three-fourths count, rocking her songbird cutie mark back and forth. The tune shifted, as if Aria found new gusto, and a quick key change later she had launched into another song. Lyra’s lip trembled, and her heart tightened. It was a tune her mother used to hum to her as a child, back before she could pick up an instrument. Her mother playing that particular song, as she came to share her good news, seemed like another omen that finally things were going right. She wondered if her father knew how important the song was to her, or if it was merely one of the many tunes Aria plays that illicit a response akin to ‘that’s nice dear’ from him. Lyra quickly composed herself and stepped into the room, crossing the plush sand-colored carpet silently. Despite reaching the middle of the room, her parents still hadn’t noticed her, both locked in their routine. She stood like this for a little longer, enjoying the moment and building resolve. It wasn’t often all three of them could share a room and it remained this calm. She smiled to herself, and resolved to make this announcement as fun as possible for the family. She was sure they’d be overjoyed. The melody devolved into light improvisation on the theme, and eventually came to its rambling end, and Aria retreated from the piano back onto all four hooves. She smiled, pleased, content, and turned. Spotting lyra, she jumped. “Lyra!” she said, “you gave me a scare. How long were you standing there? How was your day? Any good fortune in your quest?” Lyra’s smiled faltered. There was good news, but she still hated being asked. They didn’t get the new-friend pass on politeness Octavia did. To be honest, she still didn’t like Octavia asking about it either. However, she stood on her hind legs, and gestured wildly. “Yes, in the three short days I’ve been home, I was able to get gainfully employed. Your daughter has ascended unto steady paycheck status!” “That’s great news, dear,” said Aria. “As expected,” said Granite. His head snapped up. “Good job,” he quickly added, then returned to reading. Lyra returned to four legs, and simmered. She wanted more accolades than this. Her parents completely missed her sarcasm, souring it further. “Actually, I didn’t get a job.” Audible sighs of disappointment came from her parents. “That’s unfortunate, dear,” said Aria. “That’s not funny, that’s what it is,” said Granite. He resumed reading and uttered words that conveyed ‘typical’ and ‘disappointment’ to Lyra’s ears. Lyra wrinkled her nose. You don’t ever find anything funny. She was hoping for giddy excitement, not dismissal. Lyra stuffed down her ire and pressed on. She dropped her ploy, and gave it to them straight. “Fine. I don’t have a job, but Octavia— Yes, that one, father— scheduled me to meet with Gentle Chimes tomorrow for lunch. I’m sure you remember him, mother. It’s not just a meal, though, she presented it like an interview and this is my first step into the CPO.” The effect was immediate. They moved faster than Lyra thought possible of ponies the age of her parents. First Aria embraced her, then Granite, and Lyra felt like she was being tugged apart. “Oh my goodness, Lyra, you’ve done it!” “That’s the daughter I know!” Lyra vaguely wondered if she was the daughter he actually knew, or if he spoke of the daughter he wanted. “You’re your own mare now! And Gentle Chimes? Oh, it’s been so long!” “There’s greatness for you yet, my girl.” Try as she might, Lyra couldn’t enjoy their praise. The realization would’ve troubled her, but she was too focused on the conversation at hand. Granite drew back, still looking proud. “So, let’s celebrate!” Aria look at at Granie with surprise, but immediately moved back to the piano, taking his uncharacteristic cheer in stride. “Yes, how about a song, Lyra? Here, go grab your lyre.” Lyra remained stationary. “Actually,” she said quietly, “I think I’d like to just go to my room and lay down. It’s been a long day. Don’t worry,” she added as her parent’s faces fell, “I’m sure we can celebrate later, such an occasion ought to have dancing at least. Just now, I’m tired. Trust me, we’ll celebrate.” Her mother nodded not in approval but understanding, and her father merely grunted and mumbled, but it wasn’t a disappointed gruff, and went back to his paper. As she left the room, she could hear the piano start up again. Her heart stopped. This time, her mother wasn’t just humming her song; she was singing the words to it, for her little Lyra, for the first time in years. Lyra had almost forgotten what they were. She stood rigid until the song ended, unable to tear herself away. Greetings little Lyra It’s time that you were welcomed to This world you parents built for you It’s beautiful Morning little Lyra You cant ignore your tonic fate You’ll harmonize to something great It’s magical Little silly filly, who would believe You’d be here, outside our dreams I’m so lucky that you deemed Me to be your new mommy Little silly filly, who would believe You fill our lives with smiles gleaming You fill our lives with love that’s seeping Out your heart into our being I’ll tell you A thousand times One day you’ll be The star of our lives *** In her room, Lyra walked past her desk, and flopped in her four-poster bed. It was a long day, and she laid there awhile, letting it all sink in. Her eyes scanned the room. She spent as little time in here as she could, both up until her departure and since she returned, but today she needed this, a place to feel what’s happened. Her room was largely untouched. It was the smallest bedroom in the house, originally being a guest bedroom until Lyra wanted something simpler. Despite that, it neared the entire living space above Sweetie Drops. She had a large desk, normally covered with stacks of staff paper and quills, now covered with just a couple of envelopes. In front of it was an open-backed bench, the only sitting furniture in the room. It was a sly suggestion that her parents didn’t approve of her posture. The walls were decorated in ornate musical theme that used to annoy Lyra due to the incorrect notation of the painted notes. It was likely done by some clueless painter, but Lyra never had the patience to correct it, especially since growing up she hardly spent any time in her room. Most of the floorspace was just that, space, empty, with a corner of the room filled with the rejected toy instruments from her childhood. Her closet was a walk in, definitely larger than her bedroom in Ponyville, and filled with garments Lyra only wore once, for whatever occasion her mother had bought them for. The room didn’t represent her from at point of her life, but the solace it brought was all hers. She rolled over to look out her window. Out past their vast yard, and over rooftops, and out into the huge abyss and all the way down was a dim light in the dark she wanted to believe was Ponyville. She pulled her legs in close, and shuddered. She wasn’t sure she was allowed to feel this happy this far away from home. She was sure she’d be back there soon, however, which made her only happier. The years of struggle, the ups and down of her life, the daily frustration of living with her parents had taken a toll on her and left her with a gaping hole in her heart. Granite only loved her when she was consumed with work, toiling away at homework or practice, or anything that would one day either increase her worth to the world or their family’s wealth. Aria only loved her when she had a song on her lips or her lyre in her hooves, in the grips of creativity or performance. It was as if without the crescendo of music, Lyra was just a multimeasure rest in her sonata. But with how everything had been falling into place, Lyra felt swept up in destiny. Had Ponyville had only been a diversion to where her actions originally steered her, a life of music in Canterlot? It— no, she— had turned her away, as if Lyra didn’t deserve the simple life, as if she knew all along Lyra didn’t belong. Maybe Lyra didn’t need to return to Ponyville so soon. Or did she see it in her, and simply gave Lyra the push she needed to succeed? Lyra jumped out of bed and scrambled to her desk. With a swipe of her hoof, the open envelopes that were strewn across it were on the floor. She was already pulling a quill to her as she sat on her bench. Lyra dipped the pen in ink, wrote the letter ‘B’, then stared at the page. She thought again about how she hadn’t written her back. She thought of the harsh last words exchanged between them. She thought of the lonely trip up the mountain. She thought of the rainbowless sky. She swallowed, wiped an eye she didn’t know was wet, then put pen to paper. B My Chocolate Sweet, Progress. Would you believe I got a gig? And I did it by being a slack-off musician, just like that foolish mare you know. Literally played lyre a couple of afternoons and boom, interview tomorrow. Okay, it’s not that simple, but you can appreciate the irony. My parents are insufferable, Canterlot is a drag, but I am getting my life together, just as you commanded. As soon as I have enough, I’m out of this place and back in your forelegs, as it is your embrace I wish to reside in forever, even if the pony attached to it can be insufferable and inconsiderate sometimes. I know you hate poetics, but I couldn’t help myself. I know you haven’t written back, and maybe you’re still sore at me— though I should be the one livid, to be honest— but please write me back, even if it’s just to say you read my letter and you're still mad. Because while the old nag and the city filly may be angry, I know you’ve gotta feel something other than ire by now. That would be enough to keep me going in this city of forgotten pain. There I go, poetics again. With patient, tepid affection, Lyra paused. She was about to sign with “humorous mare”, but decide that was too much of a mouthful. Wanting to do something new, but keep the implication, she settled on a contraction of the two. Your Humare. It made her chuckle as she went to stuff the letter in an envelope, but found she had none. She looked down at the ones on the floor, but was surprised to find them all opened and damaged. Lyra didn’t recall opening them, but she was on a mission, so she kept searching. She rose from the desk, floating the letter above her head, and went to the door. She took one step into the hall and stopped. Lyra had no idea where the envelopes were kept in the house. She had never written a letter while home. Until she left, she had no one to write to all her friends lived nearby, and after she was gone, anyone she’d care to write to was either in Ponyville within walking distance, or visited often enough. Lyra entered the hall, using the glow from her horn to light her way while she ventured into the house. Lyra checked several rooms, upstairs and downstairs, but finding an envelope was proving difficult. The house now felt foreign to her, the little familiarity she had disappearing in the months she was away. However, her search did come to an end. As she passed the doorway to it, the location of where to get an envelope became obvious. She didn’t think to go there first, because she never entered the room before. Lyra stepped into her father’s office, a room she had been forbidden from entering ever since she toppled a display case as a foal, a memory she couldn’t recall but didn’t care enough to dispute. She sniggered at the decoration, exactly what she’d expect for a business pony like him. The room’s walls were lined with more bookshelves, and the desk was a huge slab of rock, which explained why her father settled for an office on the first floor; the rock rose from the floor, from the bedrock of Canterlot itself. Lyra had always wondered why her uppity father’s office was on the first floo. Her father was definitely an earth pony. She fished around the desk, which hid smooth marble drawers flush against its rear surface. It wasn’t long before she found her envelope. She snagged it and a stamp and left the office. She stepped out, intending to return to her room After a few steps, a deep unpleasant feeling invaded her mind, and reminded her she had slept through dinner. Lyra briefly considered dealing with it till morning, but remembered that being home meant that her fridge was probably loaded with extra food. She turned around and headed to the kitchen to satiate her hunger pains. Once there, she popped open the massive refrigerator and saw a treasure trove of little snacks. Well, at least there’s one good thing about being home; there’s always food here. Lyra resisted the urge to grab everything in sight, and settled on a particularly voluptuous apple. She shut the fridge behind her and sat at the breakfast table. She took pleasure in eating there, as her folks would insist the breakfast table is only for breakfast and she should be in the dining room. She sat down the letter, envelope, and apple, and wrote an address: Sweetie Drops Confectionery Lyra took a large bite of the apple. Her eyes widened in surprise. She was sure this was a Sweet Apple Acres apple just by the taste of it. Her stomach instantly responded, asking for more. She obliged, finishing the apple in only a few more bites. With the apple devoured, she rose and searched for whichever corner of the multi-sectioned kitchen the trash can now resided. Everything in their house was pointlessly large, and the excess bothered Lyra even more after her time in Ponyville. Finally finding a bin, she bit into the apple one last time, eating the last little bit of fruit still on it before throwing away the core. It made her think of home, the one she really belonged to. She was upstairs and asleep in minutes. The letter lay forgotten on the kitchen counter. *** Lyra woke up well after breakfast. She stretched her limbs in all directions, ruffled her mane with her hoof and yawned deeply. Her sleep had easily been the best she’d had since returning to Canterlot. Actually, even before then. Ponyville had been leaving her with restless nights full of worry leading up to her departure. The sun’s light glowed under her blinds, and her room looked as if it was in half-shadows. She looked at her clock. It was 10:00 AM. Instinctively she threw her blanket over herself. “I’ve got enough time,” she mumbled as she drifted back to sleep. She shut her eyes for a moment, and re opened to them. 10:54. Lyra crawled to the edge of her bed to the corner where her saddle bag rested on the floor. Rummaging through the contents, she counted her bits. “Sweet, enough for cab fare.” She quickly did some math, accounted for time to find a taxi, and the average speed of a taxi in lunch hour traffic. “Great, so I should have about thirty more minutes.” Lyra rolled back over. There’s enough time, I’ll just have to skip breakfast, but I’ll be eating lunch soon anyways. She shut her eyes for what felt like just one more moment before opening them. She stretched and yawned, satisfied with the rest she got, feeling like a million bits. As her yawn subsided, she glanced at the clock. It just turned to 11:50 PM. Lyra sprang out of bed. She hurried out her room, and quickly made for the steps, before remembering her saddlebags. She did a heel-turn and trotted back into the room. She threw them over her shoulder, and ran out the door. She made it to the steps again before remembering what else she needed. “Ugh, I need a dress,” said Lyra. She immediately cringed and sincerely hoped she’d never have to say something so disgustingly dull again. Thankfully she already had one in mind. The dress she used to wear for her recitals growing up would do just fine. Hopefully. Those weren’t that long ago, right? She should still be able to fit them, or at least wear them, and she already knew Gentle Chimes’ reaction to it. Barely favorable, but it would do. Lyra opened her closet, and tore through garments. Dress after dress were tossed over her shoulder, and during Lyra’s frantic trip down memory lane she realized just how ugly all of them were. After everything that once hung was now on the floor, she slumped in a defeated squat. Her dress wasn’t there. Her heart beat a little faster, and she checked her clock. It wasn’t good. “Okay, maybe I was being a bit dramatic before, but if I’m was going to make it I’m going to have to find a decent dress somewhere.” She had an inkling of where to go. She threw her saddlebags back on, leapt to the hall, and dashed down the hallways of her house. Despite being behind the clock, she was enjoying the rush of running around the huge house. She never was allowed to run as a child. Now, she cared not for her parent’s rules, and used the long hallways to build up momentum, turning her gait into bounding leaps as she topped off her speed. Her bags hit one of the pedestals that lined the halls. The trophy that adorned it rattled dangerously close to the edge, however Lyra never looked back. She did note the lack of a crash, and only ran harder down the hall. It was only a hop, skip, and a jump until she come the huge double doors she was looking for. She pushed them open, and found herself in the one place that would solve everything, but only for today. Otherwise, Lyra would never voluntarily take a step into the shrine. She smiled as she trotted into her mother’s beauty room, which doubled as her second closet. It quickly flipped when she realized her mother was in it. Lyra didn’t hesitate, She spoke first, to make this encounter as swift and painless as possible. “Mother. Dress. Now.” To her surprise, her mother replied with only a sly look, and went right into her closet. “You know,” she called from inside, “I had a feeling you’d come see me before you left. There’s no way Gentle Chimes would have an audience with you without the proper attire. However, I expected you a lot sooner. Aren’t you a bit late?” Lyra eyed the clock in the room, but didn’t acknowledge the remark, too anxious to trust her words to her mother at this time, and too concerned with getting out of there. Aria returned almost immediately following her sentence, and floating in the glow of her horn was— “Mom,” Lyra said quietly. “You didn’t!” Aria only smiled as she floated over Lyra’s old recital dress to her. It was barely recognizable. Lyra had picked it out because it was the most basic, plain, practical, and passive dress she could find. It even came with pockets, and Aria was horrified, but after Lyra finally agreed to a dress Aria was ready to move on with her life. However, the dress that floated before Lyra was now fabulous. It was a soft maroon, and it flowed more elegantly than she remembered. The shoulders were stylish, but not the goofy puffballs like she’d expect on a dress of this quality. It had just enough lace to appear regal without looking like a fairytale princess garment. Most importantly, the skirt had been shortened, letting Lyra keep most of her mobility, an aspect she hated about it’s old design. Lyra secretly lamented the loss of its pockets, but she was a grown mare now. She had saddlebags. Lyra grabbed the dress with her own magic, and Aria turned to her dresser. “When your mother was starting out, I had to make my own dresses y’know. Good thing I already got my cutie mark, because I was good, and could easily have been making dresses for all my life.” Without another word, Lyra set down her bags and tried the dress on. It felt the same way on her skin, and on her body, but there was happy newness all around. Lyra loved it as much as she could ever love a dress. Aria stepped up behind her in the mirror, looking pleased. It wasn’t long before the look faded. “And now, how about that scruff of hair on your head. You know, just because you live in the boonies, dear, doesn’t mean you have to suffer a tragic mane.” “Tragic!” Lyra protested pulling away, “You should know I like the way I look! You said you liked it a few days ago!” Aria was already shushing her, taking clippers and manespray out of the drawers with her magic. She even reached out and shut the double doors with magic, preventing Lyra’s escape before tugging her back to her using her tail. “I do. The problem with the way you look is it isn’t the way a pony looks who going to have lunch with Gentle Chimes. Or, more importantly, play for the Canterlot Philharmonic.” Despite her words, she paused, her scissors millimeters from chomping down the middle of a clump of hair she had grabbed with her magic. “Mother I do not have time for this. I’m going to be late!” Lyra hissed, ignoring the pain of her snatched hair. She then paused, as was tradition, to allow her mother to say something back, but all she could hear was the faint shimmering of Aria’s magic. “Mother?” “You’re really doing it. You got a second chance.” Lyra’s focus snapped to her mother. Her mother’s voice was meek, tiny, foal-like. Lyra responded as gently as she could. “It’s more because I can, than because I want to.” Aria was silent. “You’re right, you are a grown mare I guess.” She released the tangle of hair. Lyra stepped away, but Aria set a hoof on her shoulder. “Do you really want to keep this… Garish display of hair? Fine. I can still do something for you, at least. This has been such a long time coming. I’ll not have you messing up my opportunity.” Lyra shot her a dirty look, but again kept her mouth close for the sake of time. “Trust your mother, Lyra. You’ll still be you, but you’ll be gorgeous.” She turned Lyra back to the mirror. Lyra protested, but Aria popped her on the flank and said to quit worrying. She began to snip, here and there, and as it went along Lyra realized she had nothing to worry about. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Aria wasn’t just giving her a trim, she was bringing out the hairstyle Lyra always wanted. While Aria took care of her mane, Lyra really took a look at herself in the mirror. Her mane had grown long. It did have split ends. Aria took care of all her hair’s problem with finesse. Just when Lyra thought her mother was done, Aria started combing down her mane around her ears. When she was done, Lyra’s random tufts of hair that stuck up were combed down and sprayed, and she did look the part. “Yes, I get it, child,” she said as she worked. “It’s just an interview. But I know how that scene works. I know the way Octavia has commanded respect, and we both know how Gentle Chimes favored you. You are trotting into a job offer. You have to look like you already own it.” Lyra looked at herself, her expression tight. Her mother never let her be her own mare, and in a way she hadn’t still, but the inches Aria have given today still spoke volumes to her. She stood there, in her galant dress, her hair done well. Her heart trembled. Aria stood next to her like a timid foal, as if she was the child there. In some ways, she always was; she was the one who never let go of her dream. “Mother…” Lyra had to stop. Her voice was betraying her. However, Aria waited in silence. She gave a knowing nod at Lyra, trying not to rush her. “Mom, I’ve got to go.” Aria gave a soft laugh of disappointment, but was beaming nonetheless. A tear fell from her face, then another. “Sorry I made you late. I’ll see you when you come home, sweetie. Before you leave, go show your father how great you are.” Lyra threw her forelegs around her mother mother, and stood there for a long time. She eventually lowered them, and nuzzled her a few good times before finally stepping back. She took one last look in the mirror. For a second, she felt s if she could step out onto the stage of the Lunaris, and actually belong there, somewhere, for once. She stared stared into Aria’s eyes. “Thank you, Mom.” Without anymore fanfare, Lyra left her mother's room and made a beeline for the front door, straight to the steps, and straight across the foyer. She had made up her mind before stepping out the studio that she would not be seeing her father. She glanced a clock on the wall, and saw it was 12:01 PM, barely enough time to ride a cab over. As she approached the door, reaching out to open it, she remembered the last thing she needed to get before leaving. Her letter. Lyra set her saddlebags by the door, and ran to her room. Shortly after entering most of her belongings were scattered on the ground, but her letter was still missing. She sprinted to her father’s study, knowing if Granite were to walk in on her rummaging through his stuff, it would be tough cookies. She had to find that letter. With no sign of it in his office, she was back in the hallway, panting deeply and wracking her brain for where the letter could be. It’s location escaped her, and she was already pushing the clock. With a hung head, she started back to the entrance. She wracked her brain, retracing her steps from the day before. She could have sworn all she did was announce the interview, sleep, then wrote the letter. She sat on her desk and wrote it, got a letter from the study, and that was it. On the way to the front door, she remembered. “The kitchen!” As soon as she stepped in, Lyra went straight for the table she knew she left the letter on. As she approached, she frowned. It still wasn’t there. She glanced around, and still couldn't find it. “Oh come on!” she shouted. She was out of time, she needed to leave right then. She moved to exit the kitchen, but before leaving however, she checked the dining room on a whim. She walked out of the kitchen into the adjoining room. It was huge, with an incredibly long dining table and ample room to host guests. Immediately she noticed the letter on the table. Except now, the letter was open, its creases smoothed out. She could have sworn she sealed it last night, right? She moved to grab it, but she noticed the pony sitting next to it and her hooves faltered. Her father looked up from the paper he was reading. The connection was made. Lyra stood still, waiting for her father to make the first move. She knew this wasn’t going to be fun, not in the slightest. “You look nice, Lyra,” he said. He didn’t lookup from his paper. Lyra hesitated. It wasn’t a compliment her father paid her often, if at all. “Thanks dad,” she uttered, then went for the note. As she neared, she realized it was open. “Don’t worry, it was you who forgot to seal it,” said Granite without looking up again. “Ah, well, I’m just going to grab it any head leave for my lunch.” “It’s such a shame, though,” continued Granite, “that all this effort, and all this… this time, is going to balled up and thrown away. Completely wasted.” Lyra looked from the opened note, to her father. “What do you mean?” Her gut began to tighten as she realized where he was going with his speech. . Granite laid his paper on the table. “I won’t mince words with you. I know you don’t plan on staying with the orchestra. I know you plan on running back to that hovel called Ponyville. I do not approve.” The comment caught Lyra completely off guard. She held her breath, struggling for words. In her silence, Granite attacked. “I should have seen it coming. When have you ever held onto a real dream? Substituting the CPO with the academy. Substituting the academy with some ‘mentor’ in Ponyville. Funny what that turned out to be. When will your quest for mediocrity end?” Lyra finally collected her wits. She swallowed hard to try and keep her voice even. “You don’t know me, you’ve got it wrong.” “But I do, Lyra,” he continued, colder than usual. “I know you’re a loser. Every success you’ve had, it’s been because you were lucky. If it wasn’t for your parents, you would be nothing, because you can’t pull yourself together long enough to accomplish anything. I know you’ve received nothing but rejection letters since you’ve returned.” Lyra’s eyes were reddening. Granite words sounded like he was speaking to a business associate, which made them worse. “I guess I am thankful this is another chance,” said Granite, eyeing the letter. “Ponyville is beneath you. I came from that. I came from nothing, with a dream beyond my reach, but I worked hard and made it real. Those ponies down there live in the mud. I’m not like them anymore, and you never were.” Her eyes widened at her father’s words. “How can you say that? Do you know who lives there? Twilight Sparkle—” “—Your old friend?” Granite interrupted. "That wunderkind couldn’t find her way out of a book, so I doubt she’s independent down there. If I had to guess, she’s receiving all sorts of favors and support from our Princess. And besides, at least she remembers her family at least; didn’t you say you went to her brother’s wedding? The gala? At least she knows who her family is, and will make time for them.” Lyra wasn’t ready for her father to break down her example so thoroughly. She didn’t believe he knew all his points were true, but that wouldn’t change anything in his mind. “I know you know the Cakes. Their baking is renowned through all of Equestria.” “You’re right, who doesn’t? Their baked goods are divine, however it’s easy to have a business like that in a village, with space for the huge ovens they need. It’s not like they are trying to be a part of an orchestra. Does Ponyville have an orchestra?” “No,” Lyra growled. Every pony she mentioned was thrown back in her face. She shook her head in frustration, switching the subject. He was smiling to himself, aggravating Lyra further. “I’m not lucky, I earned this chance. Octavia saw me and thought I was worth something.” “Are you worth something, Lyra? Because I know you’re a quitter. What do you have going for you? You abandoned the CPO for Canterlot Academy. That wasn’t so bad as it would only have improved your worth to the orchestra in the long run, but then you left Canterlot Academy, despite sliding your way into a full ride— which you only got that because your mentor Gentle Chimes took pity on you— you never applied yourself in class. You told us you left the academy for more training with some private instructor we’ve never heard of, and you didn’t even tell us until after you were gone. You didn’t even say where.” He tapped the envelope. “Only it wasn’t an instructor.” Lyra looked down. He was right. When she finally got the guts to inform her parents she had skipped town, she couldn’t bring herself to explain why, and concocted the lie. Their response never convinced her they completely believed it, especially considering how readily they accepted her not mentioning any instruction upon her arrival. Back then they never pushed the issue though, and never mailed her back. Lyra was eager to return the favor. “You’ve only ever done just enough to make sure you made it, and never all you were capable of. That’s why I know Octavia was a lucky break. You probably were being lazy, busking in the street, and Octavia happened to walk by and happened to be in a good mood. I bet you’ve been hanging with your friends most of the time.” “You’re wrong!” She wiped her damp eyes. Granite couldn’t help but smile, knowing his daughter had nothing left to say. It burned Lyra up to see him pleased at her sadness, that she still fit inside the box of disappointment he kept her in. That’s not how it was supposed to be between a father and his daughter. Her anger shook her, but Lyra knew the truth was too close to Granite’s idea of it to change how he felt. Granite closed his eyes like a woefully apologetic politician. “But It’s okay Lyra, I’m not perfect either.” Her entire life, her father had built the image that he was literally a stone, an unmovable and unfailing thing that only earned success. To hear him, now, talking about a time when he was anything but, caught Lyar off guard and immediately softened her fury. It was still there, but it was quiet, waiting for an explanation. “It’s an age old business trick to never put all your capital into one investment. It’s one of the first rules. It’s a mistake I once made as a young businessman, before your mother and I had you. It almost destroyed all I had worked for, but I slaved for years and finally bounced back, replacing every bit I lost and then some. Thanks to doubling down, you never knew struggle. But here I am, having made the same mistake again, with you.” Her thoughts were getting noisy with panic. She did not like the implication. Despite the unease, she took a firm step towards her father. “What do you mean?” Her voice was filled with warning. “In simpler terms, we shouldn’t have let you be an only child.” “Are you serious?” Lyra slammed her hooves on the table. “I’m not a bucking business investment, father! In case you’ve forgotten I’m your daughter!” “But you should have been my legacy. Children are our immortality, and you’re carelessly destroyed everything we set out to do for you.” “You destroyed your own legacy! I make my choices because I’m the pony you raised! If you’re so concerned about this legacy, how about I disappear? I’ll fade out in anonymity.” “You’d only prove me right. You would prove that you are lazy, you are a coward, and you can’t make any of your desires real.” Lyra’s thoughts was scratching around to find footing. She was caught in her feelings, all other responsibilities muted in the whirlwind. Granite looked over the letter again. “I didn’t expect you to be tenacious, being born with your mouth in a silver feeder. I admittedly wasn’t doing anything special either when I was young. I didn’t know what was out there. I thought laying stones was the extent of my talent, my fate. I didn’t accept that, though. However, when I left home, I realized I was better than that. Where you fell, I rose to the challenge. If my family was still alive I know they’d be proud of me.” Lyra’s sneer curled. “Unfortunately for me, my family is still around to tell me how disappointed they are.” The strike on the table was incredibly loud in the empty room. The sound made Lyra flinch. Granite was on his feet, his anger spilling out unrestrained for a flash.“If you ever suggest something like that again, you won’t have a family to worry about, filly.” “Bon Bon is more family than you’ve ever been,” Lyra shot back. “She’s been better to me than you ever.” Granite could only laugh. When he spoke again, his volume had subsided. “And there it is. That’s who this letter is for, isn’t it? I doubt she’s given you a house this grand. An education that good. A life devoid of hardship. You know, It’s been hard to be good to you Lyra when you’ve squandered every last thing we gave you. You aren’t considerate at all. Do you know how distraught your mother was during your absence? And not just that, but all the dangerous situations you’ve been in? It’s ridiculous! Frankly, you were never good to us either.” Lyra’s teeth were clenched so tightly, she had for force her next words out. “You started this whole thing. Everything used to be fine.” “When have things ever been remotely fine with you, Lyra?” She glared at him, trying to hold her fierce gaze, but eventually she faltered. Lyra shrunk into herself. “You don’t remember? When I needed you, when I needed you two to be my parents the most, you dropped the ball.” “What are you even talking about?” Granites face placid with doubt. At first she didn’t respond. She shut her eyes tight, but after collecting herself she spoke with none of the flame she had moments ago. “When I first had trouble— When I first learned about struggle— I know you remember. I had to play the lyre with magic for school. You know I hate that. I prefer my hooves, to feel the strings myself. I resisted for so long, but when I realized late into the year I was bound to fail, I crumpled. I worked my flank off to change that.” Granite tilted his head but offered no comment. Lyra continued. “I practiced. I go for so long you would peek in and tell me to knock it off. You should remember how how hard I worked. And when it was said and done, I barely passed, but I did it nonetheless.” Lyra paused, swallowing. “I was so proud of myself,” Lyra said. She could help but form a small smile. “To have been that close to failure, and then to really experience for the first time hard work, abiding by your oft-repeated mantra. I was elated that I came out of the other side. You really did teach me right. You always said, ‘Try your best and everything will be okay. Try your best and your mother and I will be proud.’” Granite nodded in agreement. The nod disgusted Lyra. She closed her eyes and sniffed loudly. Her voice softened. Her smile faded away. She opened her eyes and tears fell out, surprising her. Lyra found that she couldn’t look at her father anymore as she continued the story. “And then you saw my grades. Everything came crashing down. It didn’t matter that I passed anymore, that I did my best; those marks weren’t worthy of me, and weren’t good enough for your golden child.” Her voice began to break. “You yelled at me. I backed away until you had me leaning against a wall, no where else to go. I felt completely ashamed. Then you shoved me, hard. I fell down, and I don’t know what hurt more, my pain or your actions. You said things that destroyed me, that’ll haunt me for years to come. Things you should never say to a filly, that I can’t bring myself to remind you of, even now. It’s the only time you ever struck out against me, but I hated you for it.” She let the sentence sit in Granite’s mind before asking quietly “When was the last time I hugged you? I initiated contact? Haven’t you noticed? It’s always your or mom. If you can’t tell, you’re about to lose your daughter.” A moment of silence passed between the pair, then Granite solemnly looking over his daughter. His face had softened as she told her tale, giving her the strength to go on. Finally, he gave a response. “That was a whole load of manure.” His flippant tone felt like a strike to face. “That never happened. You’ve always been this way Lyra, it’s always been a struggle since we got you into that school. I can’t remember a time when you didn’t disappoint me in some way, and this tall tale is nothing short of a lie.” Lyra gasped for air, gritting her teeth. She had been wrong. His denial had hurt more than anything else he had ever done to her. It felt like a punch to the stomach. “This is what I’m talking about,” she said through tight breaths. “This is why I belong in Ponyville, and not here.” “Why, because you can’t face your own past? Because that stupid candy mare indulges in your victim fantasy? Because she babies you? She's a candy maker. She's a laborer. She can't create as we can.” All form of control was gone from Lyra’s voice. “You don’t even know her!” “Watch yourself, filly. I know she’s a thoughtless mare, competing in a business she has no business in, with a talent that's not worth recognition, not even a cutie mark. The only good thing she’s done is realize you don’t belong in Ponyville. And the mare herself— why a her? Your mother wants grandfoals. I want our legacy to continue, for everything I've done to last. To mean something when we are long gone, for I have worked too hard for to be limited to one generation. You should have ended up with with a stallion; this is a disgrace.” “You should have worked harder at being a father!” “I’ll pretend you didn’t just say that. Does this matter?” he pointed at the envelope. “ Does that country mare really matter?” “ You’ve never met her!” Lyra was past losing her cool. Yellow shimmered into existence around her horn, and when she next spoke, her voice was louder than anything she could’ve said herself. “She’s better than you!” “Don’t you DARE raise your voice to me, child!” Granite slammed a hoof on the table, making it jump an inch. His voice dwarfed hers, even without the aid of magic. “Don’t you get it? I don’t care about your art. At this point I don’t care you’ve got another chance. Please, for once in what has been your pitiful life, don’t be a disappointment!” Lyra stomped hard, but couldn’t find anything else to say. She screamed in frustration, a garble of the loathing her father made her feel. As she caught her breath, she said, “Just— Just give me a letter! Give me my letter, dammit!” Granite’s hoof snapped down hard on the letter, and he pulled it to him. “So you can walk out on this chance? You have another shot! If I give you this, you’re not just mailing it, you are giving up any chance you will commit to this. You’ll just be waiting for a response, doing just enough to stay in the orchestra, and the reply will give you another reason to abandon your dream.” “It’s your dream!” “Don’t choose to be useless!” “Give it to me!” “No!” Lyra crouched low, then lunged at the letter across the table, shouting all the while. Her father turned his shoulder against her, and she crumpled into his side. Lyra landed between him and the table, painfully. Granite put a hoof on the letter, and slid it down to the end of the table. Finding her footing, Lyra stood and charged. Their shuffling hoofsteps echoed around the empty dining hall. Reaching the end of the table, Granite knew he was caught. He turned to face Lyra, one hoof still on the letter. Lyra hit him with all her weight. Granite merely huffed, taking a single step back, but Lyra fell at his feet again with a yelp. She felt some of the fabric of her dress give way, but she didn’t care. She hopped to her hooves, then jumped at Granite again. He turned his shoulder and she bounced off his body, but this time she caught herself, and prepared for another lunge. Granite raised his free foreleg, catching Lyra’s chest. Lyra screamed and swiped her forehooves uselessly at Granite, who kept her letter behind him, still under his hoof. They stood like this, balancing on their hind legs. “How dare you strike out against your father!” his voice boomed. Granite’s fury would have quelled Lyra into submission any other day, but she was not going to back down on this one. Lyra was nearly snarling at this point. “Why do I only matter when I follow your dreams and not my own?” Granite shook his head, his voice even and low, but boiling with anger. “It’s time your grow up, Lyra.” “It’s time you acted like a father!” Lyra blinked away her tears. Her hinds leg quivered from the stress, and Granite immediately surged forward to shove her away. A quick shuffle later, and Lyra braced against him again, regaining her footing. Granite snorted. “Does this really matter that much to you? Does that country mare really matter over—” Lyra screamed. Her horn shimmered with gold. From her shoulder, a lump of milky gold spouted, growing first into what looked like a branch, then bending in the center. The tip split, then one of the segments split itself, and the tendrils hooked viciously. This happened in moments, before Granite could even shift his eyes to react. Just as he registered his daughter’s spell, the outreached golden arm came down on the table. The ancient wood broke in half. Granite, still with one hoof pinning the letter to the table, lost his balance and began falling into the splintered wood. Lyra slammed the claw of her magical arm into the ground. She leapt after her father, and used the arm to propel herself through the air, faster she could with leg strength alone. They connected in mid-air. The claw’s grip slackened, and Lyra and her father flew several yards into one of the chairs around the now destroyed table. It broke under their combined weight, and they went sprawling. Winded, Lyra rolled away to her feet. She stood quickly, panting hard. Ignoring her father, she sifted through the debris to find the letter. The magical arm hung low by her side, twitching, as if begging for more action. The assault caught Granite off guard, but he was still the stronger pony by far. He was hardly breathless. Slowly he rose, unscathed and annoyed more than anything. Lyra spied her stationary beneath him. Granite followed her eyes, and quickly stepped onto the paper. As he did, Lyra shouted again. The arm grabbed what used to be one of the table’s legs and hurled it at her father. The she missed, and the leg flew into a display case and shattered some of her mother’s treasured china. Granite didn’t flinch at all. Lyra walked towards her father, one stomp at a time. All the while, the arm would grab debris fling them at him. Most of the projectiles missed, and the few that hit Granite didn’t phase him. When she was in striking distance, the arm came down again on her father. He was ready, and stood firm, all four limbs bent slightly, muscles taught, his back straight. The blow rang true, but Granite didn’t even blink. Lyra drew back in the shock, before swinging the arm around again and striking him in the face. Granite twitched an eye, but otherwise was motionless. Lyra cried out, and struck him repeatedly, each hit causing the arm to fade till finally it phased through him, merely being an illusion at this point. She got in his face and hit him with her hooves, but he refused to budge, and Lyra, close enough to see her rampage was having no effect, finally gave in. She sank to her knees in sobbing. She felt something drip onto her outstretched forelegs, and looked up to see her father glaring at her, his scowl twisted in with pleasure and disgust for his daughter’s suffering. There was thin cut along where she struck his face, but he paid no attention to the blood. He merely gestured his head behind Lyra, who turned to see the hands of the great clock show 12:18 PM. Lyra staggered, the weight of her mistake and the pain from her tantrum hitting her all at once. She was sure her father would be ultimately unscathed from the episode, but she could already tell she would be sore for days. It didn’t hurt as much as seeing she’d be unquestionably late. That didn’t hurt as much as her father's pleasure in her mistake. A cruel laugh came from Granite. He slid the paper across the floor, tearing it even more. It flipped over and came to a rest next to Lyra. It was tarnished and nigh unreadable. She became aware at herself, and looked down at her dress. It was ruined, with scratches and stretches all over the front of it. Every tear on both the paper and the dress felt like an open wound to Lyra. “Go ahead, send the letter. Obviously Ponyville holds your new family, since you seek to destroy this one. You have been relieved of your kin. When you step out that door, be sure to never come back.“ Lyra’s head snapped around. She gazed at her father with what she reluctantly realized was fear, her eyes wide and her blood pounding. She wiped her face indignantly. “F-father?” “Not anymore. It seems I’ve lost my daughter.” He turned, and walked to the end of the room. He took one look back at the room, surveyed the damage, shook his head. “You know, I’d bill you if I knew you’d be able to pay for it, but I’ll save both of us the time.” Granite walked through the double doors and, as best he could, out of Lyra’s life. Lyra chased after him and stumbled, gasping at just how sore she felt. As she ran, she glanced at the damage she had caused. Not only was the table in splinters, there were pockmarks in the walls, and even a leg stuck in place near the exit. The room was destroyed, and she knew it would take more money than The Sweetie Drop made in a year to fix everything, and much more to replace the priceless possessions destroyed in the collateral. She pushed the thought from her mind, unable to worry about it in her tirade. She turned and ran out the dining room and down the hall to the foyer, and stopped. She saw her father standing in the distance by the door, but right outside her mother leaned up against the wall, crying. As Lyra neared, she looked up. The face of her mother wore was twisted in pain, and she was crying. Lyra had to look away. “I heard…” began Aria, but she couldn’t finish her sentence. Lyra shut her eyes in shame. Aria didn’t say anything more, and didn’t make a noise outside of idle sniffling. Lyra walked passed, her head down, to the foyer. As she entered Granite opened the door, but remained at the threshold. She glanced back, and saw Aria staring after her. Her mother lifted a shaky hoof. Her lips parted in a soundless word, before turning and walking further into the house, out of view. Lyra crossed the foyer without looking back. Her horned shimmered as she pulled her saddle bags to her and, without looking at her father, stepped outside. The door slammed behind her. It locked, but Lyra knew she’d never try opening it again. She stood for a few seconds, letting herself feel the hopelessness engulf her for moment. Once it had passed, she pulled herself together and dashed to the gate, down the sidewalk, and into the heart of Canterlot. Her mother’s last words had been her name. *** With no carriages in sight, Lyra was running flat out through the streets of Canterlot. She didn’t have time to wait for one. The run across town was the hardest in her life. After too many minutes of running, she arrived at the square from the west, at the worst possible time. “Oh dear Luna…” The square was full of ponies. She stood frozen observing the obstacle, then dove into the crowd. Lyra fought her way through the rush, and the mass of ponies pushed back in annoyance, occasionally putting her on her rear. Pleasantries were cast aside, the only thing that mattered was meeting Octavia— she glanced at the clocktower and her thoughts backtracked and swore under her breath— reaching Octavia before she left. It took minutes the cross the entire square, each one putting her into a debt she couldn’t pay back. Near the edge of the square the crowds thinned and Lyra spotted an opening. She grabbed purchase with her hooves and was galloping down the street, full speed, no reservations. She ran until everything burned. Finally, in the distance, she saw the storefront of the restaurant. Squinting, Lyra was able to make out two shapes at the furthest front-most table, and her heart nearly exploded from relief. She began to slow her trot, her legs flopping around like a dolls as she tried to remain upright. She came to a full stop, and took a break to bend down and simply breath. Being able to think clearly again, raised her head to begin walking again. She hesitated, panic gripping her. The two ponies seated at table weren’t Gentle Chimes and Octavia. Ponies she had never seen before stared at her, along with the rest of the guests who were curious about the ruckus Lyra had caused with her arrival. Maybe they couldn’t get their spot? Lyra knew the answer before she walked into the restaurant. She marched to the doorway, looking over at the small, boutique eatery. She didn’t see a single familiar face. She stepped back onto the pad, walked up to every table, looking into the face of every sitting pony just to make sure. Patrons expressed their disapproval and called for her ejection, but Lyra didn’t care. Face after face was someone else. Lyra felt sick. “Excuse me, ma’am, do you have a reservation?” Lyra looked over to see a waitress trying to corral her to a seat or out of the establishment. Lyra tried to reply, but found she was still panting, still out of breath. Her face was hot, and her mane was sticky along her neck. Lyra swallowed hard, shook her head, and walked into the street. The waitress followed, but stepped back quickly. “Ma’am, your dress… Are you okay?” Lyra stood frozen in the middle of the thoroughfare. Shad missed them, and her opportunity. Lyra looked behind her across the street, at all the happy ponies enjoying their lunch, a lunch she would probably never be able to afford, with happiness she felt like she’d never have again. She wondered what Octavia would say the next time they spoke, imagining the pony’s disappointment. She sat on her haunches, and shut her eyes, and tried to shut out the world. She heard ponies shout at her, telling her to move, to get out of the way, but it hurt too much. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to go home. She wanted a home. The voice she heard was quiet, and delicate. “Lyra Heartstrings.” Her eyes snapped open. The voice possessed the half accented elegance she was growing familiar with all week. She looked up, and found Octavia standing over her. Lyra opened her mouth— “—Do not speak. I do not want to hear your words.” Octavia’s speech suddenly had edge. Lyra shut her mouth back, and kept looking straight. She could manage her father's ire, but Octavia was shaking in anger; it frightened her. “I should’ve cast you aside as soon as you stated your intent to return to Ponyville. I should have known from your laissez faire attitude that I could never sway you otherwise, that you’d never take this opportunity seriously. I’m angry at myself for that. But despite my own shortcomings, you don’t ever disrespect my master like that, and you never disrespect me like that. I want you to take a guess how many ponies I’ve stuck my neck out for in this town.” Her question was met with silence. “Guess!” she barked. Lyra tried to utter something intelligible, to convey just a fraction of her guilt and regret. She didn’t dare look her in her face. “Octavia, I—” “—Not ONE!” she hissed. “I already have to deal with my roommate; do you think I’ll be insulted by some… some slacker, dreamless nopony?” Octavia stopped to collect her breath. Lyra noticed there was an audience now. Ponies whispered. She was sure some of them knew the angry grey pony, if not personally then who she was. On top of that, she could tell Octavia was doing her best to keep it together. This wasn’t just anger, she was hurt. She was sad. “You will not call for me in any way, until I to you first, if I ever deign to do so again. Continue your quest for employment elsewhere. Go mock someone else’s charity.” And finally, her rage broke. Her next words were barely above a whisper. “How could someone like you, an irresponsible rich unicorn brat, be given a chance at the CPO when I had to work so hard.” Lyra turned and stared at Octavia, surprised to find her in tears. With how fierce the pony had been since they’ve met, the sight of her vulnerable made Lyra’s stomach dropped. Octavia whispered again, her voice starved and rotten. “How could you, while I’ve slaved!” She slammed a hoof down into the cobbled street, completely shattering the stone beneath. Lyra felt the blow in her hooves, her heart stopping from the force that Octavia commanded. Octavia backed away. Her face was drawn more than ever, twitching in pain, one moment on the verge of baring her teeth, and eyes full and shimmering the next. Lyra only watched out of the corner of her eye, unable to face the mare. By now, ponies were definitely looking at them. Several ponies had stopped in the street, and the patrons of the restaurant were looking over at them, and a murmur erupted as they bore witness to the display. Octavia didn’t care. “I have slaved, Lyra Heartstrings!” she shouted about the noise. Lyra open and closed her mouth, unable to say anything. She fell to her knees. Finally finding the resolve to look up, she only saw her grey coat and black tail swishing away into the crowd as quickly as Octavia could manage. Slowly, the ponies around her returned to their day. Those in the know whispered about the green unicorn that brought so much pain to the enigmatic Octavia to illicit the most emotion she’s ever shown in public. She wanted time to stop. She didn’t have the will to face the next agonizing moment of failure, and remained on the ground. She didn’t know how long she laid there. After some time, Lyra heard the thunderous clock tower bell strike once. She finally stood up, and walked groggily into the thick of Canterlot, disappearing into the lunch rush with nowhere to go.