//------------------------------//
// The Celebratory Event Involving the Colour Red 
// Story: Woundsalt, Mother Bucker. 
// by OneUppington 
//------------------------------//

I breathe.

Yeah, I know it doesn’t sound impressive, but seriously, what can I do at this point? All these strangers are looking at me for an answer they probably won’t believe, the only pony I recognise and kind of like is upset and my biggest secret is there for all to see. What can I do at this point that’ll not make this situation worse? The only thing I now that’ll prolong my life no matter what. Breathe. Don’t talk, don’t move and don’t even think. Breathe.

I feel the two fillies coming in behind me. I turn to my left, seeing the blue Pinkie Pie assess the situation. “Oh, this is bad. This is very, very bad.” She utters. “Okay, okay. I can fix this. Vinyl, try to calm Octavia down. I’m going to go round and tell ponies the truth.”
“You...?” Vinyl attempts to ask, clearly hesitating due to the fact everypony’s watching us. “You're going to tell the truth? I mean, can't we say you mixed the two names together by mistake or something?”
“And lie to them? Are you crazy?” Rhetorically asks the party animal. “And besides, everypony knows I put in way too much planning into Cute Mitzvah Cakes to accidentally mix two names together. They’ll know something’s up!”
Both fillies wince. They both know Pinkamena is right. I would wince along, but that would mean doing something that is not breathing.

“Hey.” Vinyl whispers to me. “We'll handle it in here. You head outside. If your CMC is like my aunt's, highly stressful situations like this usually start surges.”
... I decided it was time to do another thing that is not breathing and do what she says. 





I sit on the pink steps of the Sugarcube Corner, rubbing my throat now sore from the predicted outburst. Nothing too fancy, but one I needed. It's good for releasing stress. Shame it makes ponies think you're crazy. I hope nobody was walking by during that.

...

I look back at the door of the party place for a split second, only to look back toward the street at break-neck speed. I think this is safe to say what the fuck is going to happen soon. I've seen some rom-coms. I know precisely what's going to happen and I don't like it. I don't like it one bit. She's going to storm out here, mad as Tartarus. She's going to come to me and demand the truth from me, even though Vinyl probably already told her. I then will attempt to tell her the truth and that I got adopted by her and she will again not believe it. She's... She's going to remind me of last night when she asked if Twilight and I are an item and I said no. Then ask why the hell we have the same surname. I try to tell her the truth again but then she'll interrupt me and shout out her conclusion she came to after her point of view of her events, something in the lines of 'BECAUSE YOU'RE MARRIED TO HER YOU BASTARD!'. I'll deny it. She'll ignore me and go on a rant about how such and action is totally against what she thought of me. She'll call me a fraud, a sellout and a horrible excuse of a stallion and... and...

...And then she'll say goodbye.

No...

NO!

I don't want her to say goodbye! I want her here! I need her here! I need her! I saw her for the first time after wishing so for eighteen fucking years, I don't want her to go away!

“Woundsalt...”
It's her voice. She is behind me. No... No... Fate, don't do this to me. I know I've been a dick to you, but please don't do this to me! Not this! Anything but this! I'll take Page as my brother, I'll lose my rights to my poems to some other billionaire, I'll even take any other bullshit plot twist you have up your sleeve; just don't make Octavia hate - Urk!

...
I'm sorry, master. But I find you emotionally incapable, right now.
I turn my master's body around to the cellist. “I'm afraid he's in a bit of a state right now, Octavia," I explain calmly. “I have taken over for the time being.”
She stands in the doorway. She is distressed as my master predicted, but not in the hyperbolic way he was fearing. She seems to be more worried more than angry.
“But aren't you hurt him by possessing him?” She asks. A fair question.
”Unfortunately so.” I reply. “I estimate I can only be in possession for as long as fifteen minutes before any serious damage occurs. Hopefully by then he would have calmed down.”
 She closes the door and sits next to us, sighing before looking in our direction again. “Woundsalt's magic...” she soon says.“Is there a name he calls you or something?”
 “He hasn't created one for me as of yet. Just call me Magic for now.”
“Okay... Magic. I want you to tell me the truth.” she states. “Will you be honest to me?”
I nod.
“What is the relation of Twilight Sparkle and Woundsalt?”
Ah. So she is asking me if what her roommate must have told her is true. I shall confirm this.
“Due to an error caused by the orphanage's receptionist, Woundsalt is officially the son of the princess.”
“And you are not just saying that to protect him in any way?” She justifiably accuses.
“No madam. I am not.” I reassure. “If you need any evidence, the certificate is in the library and the receptionist as we speak is getting interviewed by a reporter from the newspaper called Wordsworth Daily. It will be revealed for the entire public tomorrow morning.”
”And you know this because...?”
“I am picking up the notepad the interviewer is writing down on.” I explain. “And the receptionist has just admitted doing this on purpose to rub Woundsalt the wrong way.”
The cellist smiles. “I'm guessing she's not a fan, then?”
“Most definitely not. Especially since my master was blackmailing her for drinks after he caught her having coitus during work hours.”
She giggles. Do you see, master? She can listen to reason. There was no point believing that she will be frothing at the mouth when she sees you like some rabid bear. If I have the permission to speak on the matter, this belief of you being stuck in some sappy soap opera is not doing well on your mind. This is reality, for goddess' sake.

“I'm... I'm happy that this is the case, to be honest.” She mumbles. “Not like what I was thinking. Goddess, what was I thinking? Of course the two aren't married! Why would Woundsalt go completely against his Unalicorn way, even when he believed none of his fans existed? Why would he even take her surname than vice versa? And why was no mention of a wedding? Isn't something like a royal wedding considered a public holiday? It was stupid to even think of such a thing!”
“Then what caused you to think such a thing?”
“... Emotion got the better of me, I assume.”
“It happens.” I say back. “My master was crying over a mannequin at Miss Rarity's boutique while he was getting his suit yesterday.”
”Really? Why?” She quizzes.
 “It looked like a horned version of himself and he stopped to ponder what his life is like if he was...” I raise my master's front hooves to symbolise quote marks. “...Normal.”
“A hard thought to have, I imagine.”
“Indeed. Thank Cadence he didn't get any ink on any of the clothes, I don't think Miss Rarity would' liked that.”

...

Octavia sighs. “Magic...Do you mind if I ask you another silly question?”
“Well, I wouldn't call the last one silly, but I will answer you. What is your query?” I ask, tilting master Woundsalt's head.
 “Well... I have pondered something about Woundsalt. Something that I find peculiar.” She utters. “Why did he agree to come down here and get assisted by the Elements?”
 Hmm... I could have sworn my master filled her in on this last night.
“A few factors, really. Him leaving the orphanage being the major one, followed by the fact he knew he was as society would call a 'loner', and finally because if he didn't agree to Princess Twilight's plan he would succumb to a spell that was going to be very experimental and could have been severely damaging to him.”
She winces. “Well, that's my issue. I don't see why he...”
She stops to think on what she was planning to say. She starts again.
“Okay, I understand that this is my personal opinion of Woundsalt and it's probably just me. Perhaps it is merely a fan-filly's opinion of the young colt she idolised for her entire life, who has read his poems enough to recite them backwards and wrote letters to him on a daily basis... and maybe a fanfic...”
“A very good fanfic if you don't mind me saying.” I say to her quickly. “I really like your OC. A very interesting character.”
“You mean he...?”
“No, he didn't. I have. He still hasn't read a single fan-fiction of himself. I'll make him read it one day, perhaps.”
“I would like that.” She says, slightly blushing. “Anyway, there was a thought that haunted me since this morning. A thought that may have led me to assuming the worst in there... What I'm trying to say is...

... He's not the Woundsalt I thought he was.”

I tilt his head the other way. “How so?”
“Well... Look, this morning after some practice with the cello and bass, I thought I do some light reading from the book. Just my favourites: ‘When Whitey Raises the Moon’, ‘The Revolution Will Not be Rated TV-Y’  ‘I Bucking Hate the Bucking Princess’, you know. The best ones. No offence to the others, of course...”
I make him nod. Those are commonly considered as the cream of the crop to many ponies interviewed on the subject.
“... It was then, I realised something.” She says to try to get back on track. “For all my life I thought Woundsalt was this pony who does everything his way. An independent soul that doesn't need any crutch; especially one that is a princess or her assortment of friends. One who would've left the orphanage by himself and found a place to go before he even met her. One who would keep up his personal opinions and refuse to make any deal with royalty, no matter how dangerous the circumstance. Maybe even yell at her for even daring to change his lifestyle. What I am trying to say, Magic, is either that Woundsalt never did exist or... something made him change.”

 I look away, for I know which one of those conclusions is true.
“Magic... What happened to him after the Canterlot Horn closed?”
 My gaze away from her must have tipped he off to the right conclusion. I'm sorry, master, but I must tell her.

“Do you recall, Dear mare, that Woundsalt was going to say something to you last night?”
“Yes.” She nods. “He never did tell me.”
“It was because he was going to thank you for giving him that contract.”
This news makes her blink for a few seconds. “But... Why? The contract was terrible, wasn't it?”
“Incredibly so. However, by you giving him that contract you also gave him something else. Purpose.”
“Purpose?” She repeats with a questioning tone.
“Yes. He, like you back then, believed that the contract meant a great deal. That it was an opportunity of a lifetime. The moment they have said you have given him this opportunity, he thought of it as a selfless act that was a major sacrifice on your behalf. As if you ripped your heart out to give it to him. So he, believing that a great sacrifice was made, did the same. He ripped his heart out for the Canterlot Horn, in honour of the pony who ripped her heart out of for him. Even during the days where he felt his work conditions were terrible and the pay not worth it and the realisation of how terrible the contract was looming in his head, he looked towards the ceiling and in his mind he tells himself that he isn't suffering for him, for the sake of art or for anyone else. It's for the one who ripped her heart out for him. Then he takes out the paper and quill, rips out his heart and the suffering seems to cease.”
“A little... disgusting. But wonderfully sweet.”She peeps, smiling briefly... until realising that this isn't the end of the tale. “But when... When the Canterlot Horn closed down, what happened to his heart then?”
I look back into her eyes to say one word.

“Exactly.”

She looks away with the look of sorrow. She can feel that the next portion of my tale will be of a sad nature. However, I feel she must know, so I continue regardless.
 “In the next five years, he did nothing but drink, swear at a statue and ask the same hoof-full of questions to himself. Did I do enough? Did she even see me rip my heart out? How am I supposed to even know? And before I depress you even further, might I say that he is happy that those questions have been answered last...”

Silence. That does not bode well.

“Lady Octavia?”

The silence stops when she asks me another question.

“How... how many times...?”

“I'm... I'm sorry?”

“How many times... did... did… he ask these questions?”
“Every night.”

She turns back towards me. She is in tears. In even more tears. Oh master, forgive me. I may have upset her too much. She must have felt responsible for the way we are. I am so sorry, master Woundsalt! I thought I was helping the matter, I swear!
“I... I better go...” She says turning away to leave.
“No, Please!” I quickly shout. “He wants you here!”
“I know... but... but... I need to go.” She says as she starts to gallop away.

I close my master's eyes...
To save me from seeing her go.