//------------------------------// // Chapter 7 - Questions // Story: Pretence // by Kapuchu //------------------------------// The rest of the day came and went. Octavia and Harpo enjoyed a pleasant meal with friendly conversation about everything and nothing, the latter of the two ponies couldn’t contain himself when it came to the prospect of the training he and Octavia were to do the next day. More than once his excitement gave birth to a smile on Octavia’s lips, the likes of which one would see on a parent watching their child’s foalish antics. Their early dinner had been followed by walking around the city for an indeterminable amount of time, the minutes and hours ticking away faster than the two ponies realised. A brief stop to Harpo’s had given him the saddlebags he needed to not walk around with his paper bag between his teeth, allowing his mouth to run its course much to Octavia’s amused chagrin. Unbidden though the thoughts had come, she couldn’t quite shake what Harpo had asked her earlier. She wasn’t quite sure what, or even who, her thoughts were focused on, but recently she had noticed her mind currently seemed to have a lack of direction. But even then it was much closer to what he had insinuated rather than what he had said. Having mulled over it during several of the long stretches of silence the two had had in that evening, she came to the conclusion that he might think she was lonely. She would gladly admit that friends were not the thing she had the most of in her life, but she wouldn’t exactly call herself lonely. And even then, who did she see on a regular basis that weren’t Harpo and her agent? Not even her parents or her sister got many visits from her, aside from perhaps once a month, and the occasionally exchanged letters. Harpo was, as one would call it, an enigma. He rarely spoke outright what he thought, nor made his intentions perfectly clear, and despite his sometimes goofy nature, Octavia had spotted glimpses of an incredible intellect behind the jolly exterior. One could never be entirely sure what he thought or what his goals were, but he always seemed to want to help. Octavia had rubbed her temple with a hoof and scolded herself for reading too much into things, and it was getting her nowhere. Harpo was a pony she didn’t understand, albeit considered a friend. Sure she had seen that so-called intelligence in him, but who is to say that wasn’t just fool’s luck? The day after their evening in the city had come and gone as quickly as the former. She had woken up and brushed her teeth, eaten a half a cabbage for breakfast—she hadn’t felt like making anything for herself, so she took the easy way out—brushed her mane, packed her cello and headed for where she and Harpo had agreed to meet. The two hours they spent training just the basics of hung gar had left Harpo a heaving mess, barely capable of breathing normally. Earth pony though he may be, his fitness was lacking, so much so that even the unicorns who trained there lasted longer than he did. He hadn’t found that very amusing, but Octavia had. The rest of that day had been spent practicing her cello, and Harpo practicing his harp, the two of them polishing their skills and going over whatever pieces she still felt she hadn’t mastered, Harpo following her lead even during his insistence that she was good enough. That, however, had only spurred her on to practice for another hour to make sure that even those she knew front and back came as natural to her as breathing. That day had ended with a very tired earth pony trudging home, cello notes ringing in his ears from hours upon hours of practice, or so he had claimed. Then the next day then came, the day Octavia had been looking forward to. She was currently on her way toward the theatre where the concert would be held—with a good hour before the show would start—where she would finally see whether or not Vinyl had been telling the truth about her and Melodia not being the same pony. Truth be told she was starting to doubt herself. Had she been too quick to assume? Too quick to come up with an idea and refuse to back down when told she was wrong? The possibility was very much there, but was now a time to back down? Her self consciousness be damned, she had a curiosity to sate and backing down now and admitting to be wrong would be… What would it even be? Would she be seen as indecisive? Afraid? Or just too stubborn for her own good? It was true that she had been quite adamant on the idea that Vinyl and Melodia had something in common, be it them being the same pony or just being related in some way. And now she was on her way to see what was true. Her lips pursed slightly, a contemplative frown crossing her otherwise gentle face. I suppose it’s time I let go of my silly ideas, isn’t it? A small chuckle escaped her. I’d say it is. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath, letting it out slowly as she opened her eyes again. Looking back and forth to either side of the intersection she had arrived at, she thought, Left or right… Ah. There it is. She turned left down the road, the domed roof of the theatre beckoning her from a distance. She found herself within only a score metres of the large, ornate double doors which lead to the theatre proper after only a few minutes. The dark brown of the wood made her feel warmer already, as if she was already seated amongst those new friends of hers, listening to the music being played on the stage. The door was pushed open for her by one of the two doormen, a large earth pony stallion whom she gave a nod in acknowledgement and thanks before heading in. She came into a medium sized lobby, twin pillars on each side of a small walkway towards a secondary set of doors and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a ticket booth. A chandelier hanging from the ceiling provided ample light, revealing a set of stairs on either side of the walkway, separated from it only by a chest-high rail of bronze coloured metal. The walkway had an air of class and sophistication, but not so much as to be smothering, like the marble and gold-covered halls of the more arrogant nobles of Canterlot. She let her eyes sweep over it all before she continued onwards, heading towards the second set of doors. A mint green aura covered the door when she neared, opening itself to reveal Lyra and Vinyl standing behind it, a smile on each of their faces. Lyra looked up at the dapper stallion in the ticket booth—which had come into view now that the door was open; located between the doors on the other side of the wall—and nodded at him. “This is our friend, and here’s her ticket.” Lyra levitated a ticket up to him which he gladly accepted. “Sorry for the inconvenience.” She blushed, grinning sheepishly at the pony in the ticketbooth who simply shook his head with a small smile and admitted Octavia entry. “You could have just waited for me outside,” she told them and walked up to them. “I know, but Lyra here—” Vinyl nudged the mint unicorn in the ribs “—forgot all about you until we were already past the doors. But even then we’re pretty early. The doors don’t officially open until fifteen minutes, so that’s why there’s no one here. And, well, Lyra is Melodia’s pianist from time to time so she got us in earlier.” Octavia hummed lightly, casting a sly glance at Lyra, a teasing smile on her lips. “So you get special treatment, do you?” “Maybe just a little bit,” she replied, leading them through a set of doors to a massive theatre room; red curtains covering the stage, and rows upon rows of velvety chairs spreading out in front of them. The room was big, bigger than Octavia was used to. At the very least it was bigger than anything she had performed in, if one discounted what small competitions she had been in when she was younger. But perhaps those had only seemed as big, or bigger, because of the audience. It always does look bigger when the seats are filled, she thought, following after Lyra and Vinyl when they made their way down the aisle. “Where are our seats, Lyra?” It was Vinyl who asked, breaking Octavia out of her own thoughts and brought her attention back to the two unicorns. “Here,” Lyra replied, nodding at a row somewhere between the back and the middle. “Even if I’m allowed a fair few things as Melodia’s part-time pianist, I can only get so much. Our seats are all the way over by the other wall.” She gave them an apologetic smile. “I hope that’s okay with you.” Octavia waved it off with a shake of her head, hoof held in the air to put an end to the apologies. “Really, Lyra. You’re giving us these tickets for free. We can’t very well expect front row seats.” She glanced at Vinyl who was already on her way down to their seats. “And I’m sure she’s thankful as well,” she added. “She doesn’t show it because she’s ‘too cool’ for it,” Lyra chuckled, following after Vinyl. “But she’s already said her thanks, in case you’re wondering.” She sat down on the seat besides Vinyl who had sat down on the outermost seat, motioning for Octavia to take the one beside her. “But it’s good to know that you like it.” Vinyl leaned forward then, bespeckled gaze shifting between the two others before settling on the one closest to her. “Hey, Lyra?” She grinned. “Thanks, by the way. It was great that you could get the tickets.” She then leaned in for a quick hug before returning to her seat. Lyra just rolled her eyes, giving Octavia a smirk. “Monkey see, monkey do. At least you’re a good influence on her. Maybe you’ll end up dating before your estimated time.” The last bit was thrown in Vinyl’s direction who seemed to seize up and gulp as if some deep dark, and most certainly embarrassing, secret from her foalhood had been revealed. “I never said anything like that!” She retorted. “I just… Eeh…” “Just go to the toilet while there’s still time,” Lyra interrupted. “You still haven’t gotten rid of the habit of leaving a performance to go to the bathroom. So let’s try to beat it to the punch this time. Now shoo. Potty break for Miss Vinyl.” Vinyl grumbled something nigh unintelligible which suspiciously sounded like “only once…” and wandered off, heading through the door conveniently labelled with a minimalistic figure of a mare and a stallion. Octavia was about to just lean back and simply wait for Vinyl’s return when Lyra suddenly leaned towards her, hooves on the armrest and face too close for comfort to Octavia’s. The unicorn smiled cheekily, as if she was aware of something that she thought was a secret. “So,” she said, that knowing smile widening further, “when are you and Vinyl going to hook up?” Octavia balked, mouth half open and ears erect, which then laid down against her head. Her eyes rolled almost of their own accord. “Again. Of course.” She rubbed her temple to pre-emptively battle whatever fictional headache was to come. “Why does everypony seem to think that we are going to be dating? I mean… I know I told you about my… orientation—” she moved her hoof in circles in the air “—but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to date her, even if she is plenty attractive.” She let out an exasperated sigh, and leaned back in the chair. She had only been asked the question twice, but it was not a thought she liked to entertain all that much. The prospect of dating Vinyl Scratch was not a terrible one, if one were to judge by first impressions and appearance. She was a nice pony, no doubt, and easy on the eyes, but there was no basis for a relationship. Barely a friendship. But evidently Lyra was not satisfied with simply letting Octavia battle her imagined headaches. She poked her right between the ribs with the tip of her hoof, right where it hurt, which resulted in one grey cellist flying up from her seat in a manner similar to that of a pegasus taking flight. The glower aimed at the unicorn could have melted steel. “Why’d you do that?” She asked, rubbing her sore side. “That hurt.” “I should probably get them filed, soon, yeah” Lyra murmured, nodding in agreement to what Octavia had said, all the while she turned her hoof this way and that way, inspecting it like some sort of fashion model who had just had it filed and polished to perfection. She set it down on the cushioned seat again and looked to Octavia, that smile back in full force. “You sure about that? You look cute together, you know.” Octavia found herself on the receiving end of another poke from Lyra. “Be that as it may,” Octavia retorted, halfheartedly batting the offending hoof away, “I have no intentions of dating her yet. I don’t know what the future brings, but I don’t think of her like that at the moment.” She looked towards the scene then, stubbornly refusing to meet Lyra’s golden eyes. She didn’t know where the question had come from—aside from the mare’s overactive imagination—and if she had to be honest it was starting to get annoying. While she expected Harpo to ask questions like those, Lyra’s had come as a surprise. The next few minutes were spent in silence, with the cellist being the one who enforced it by not paying any attention to the other. But Lyra had other plans. She lightly prodded Octavia in the side—although not in the ribs so as to not annoy her any more—and gave her an easy smile coupled with a knowing look in her eyes. “That’s what it feels like,” she told Octavia. Despite her insistence on being silent until Vinyl returned she couldn’t quite keep herself from voicing her confusion. She reluctantly tore her gaze from the stage and looked towards Lyra. “What?” Vinyl twisted the knob to turn off the water, a few pieces of tissue wrapped in blue floated towards her, allowing her to dry her hooves. She looked up from the sink and her hooves, inspecting herself in the mirror. Nothing really seemed out of place, yet she still seemed to pay special attention to, well, everything. She stepped back from the sink, still looking in the mirror, when a voice sounded from her right. “My, you really do look an awful lot like me.” Vinyl turned towards the source of the voice, finding a mare bearing a coat as white as hers, clear blue eyes, and a long mane of cyan blue framing her face. She wore a pretty dress that seemed to accentuate her curves without making her appear sultry or suggestive. It was, no doubt, a work of art. Four layers of alternating colours of blue formed the skirt which fell down her back, covering up her cutie mark and most of her tail. It hugged her body from the hips and upwards, this part a much paler blue than the others, almost white, ending in a torc-like necklace. Melodia Allegrezza stood by the door leading to the backstage area, an empty glass held in her magic. She eyed the other mare with a curious gaze, almost as if evaluating her before turning to the tap to fill her glass with water. Vinyl didn’t meet her gaze at first, but did look her way when the other turned to the sink, head cocked to the side. She didn’t say anything, barely moved. Only Melodia seemed to have something to say once she had filled her glass. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Vinyl. We really do look quite a bit alike.” She smiled and dipped her head, then retreated out of the room, glass in tow. “The questions. The insistence of people who think that Melodia and Vinyl are the same, twins, or something like that.” Lyra’s smile disappeared in favour of a more serious look. “I get that you’re just curious and all, but Vinyl has been answering the exact same questions for years. Yes, she does look a lot like Melodia Allegrezza, but she is not her! It annoys her just as much—or even more, I’d wager—than it does you. I think she’s been a DJ for something like four or five years by now. During those times you have no idea how many journalists and curious ponies asked her the very same question.” A shadow fell over Octavia’s face at the words, and the following realisation that she had done nothing but annoy Vinyl. She had been aware that her questions and borderline insistence were probably annoying, but that it was so much? She uncrossed her forelegs and gave Lyra a defeated look, ears limp across her mane. “Sorry,” she finally said. “I guess I was too stubborn to realise.” She let out a dry chuckle and leaned back, letting her head rest on top of the backrest. “Do you think she’ll forgive me?” Now it was Lyra’s turn to chuckle, only this one was with far more humour, and soon became full on laughter. “Hah! Don’t you worry about that, Tavi. Vinyl is as forgiving as any pony I know. So long as you don’t keep doing it for days on end I’m sure she’ll forgive and forget quickly.” She reached over to pat Octavia’s shoulder. Octavia turned her head to meet the gaze of those golden eyes again. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sight of Vinyl walking out of the door to the bathroom. She raised a hoof to return to wave Vinyl sent their way, alerting Lyra to her approaching as well. “What took you so long?” Lyra asked. “You were gone for like ten minutes.” Vinyl grinned at her as she sat down on her seat. “When you gotta go you gotta go,” she explained as bluntly as one would imagine. “So when is it gonna start?” The question was directed towards Lyra who, at the moment, had her eyes fixed on the doors which had now officially opened and allowed the first of the other guests in. “In about fifteen minutes, I think.” She gestured towards where the first few of the coming audience would stream in from. “The first early birds are here.” “I don’t know about you,” Octavia said, following the direction of Lyra’s hoof, “but I don’t much fancy playing a worm.” A chill then suddenly went down her spine causing her to look back to the two unicorns. The looks she was met with almost made her cower, so dead were the stares. “What?” “Tavi.” Lyra held her head between her hooves, muzzled scrunched up in distaste. “That is, without a doubt, one of the worst jokes I’ve ever heard. Please… leave the jokes to Vinyl.” “Oh come on. It wasn’t that bad,” Octavia said and then, upon noticing the cocky grin plastered across Vinyl’s face, added, “Oh you just shut up.”