//------------------------------// // Chapter 2: Thorn in My Side // Story: Room 213 // by Whirring Gears //------------------------------// You can’t believe how lucky you are. Waking up hungover in a hotel room with a mare is usually bad. However, somehow the stars aligned for the situation to end with you sober and back in bed with the mare of your dreams snuggled up in your forelegs, nearly spooning. You were supposed to be sleeping off the rest of your hangover, but you couldn’t sleep. This was too perfect. You couldn’t let this just slip by. Octavia’s head is against your chest. You could faintly feel her slow breathing through her nose blowing the hairs of your fur. Your muzzle was in her dark mane. It has a faint, kind of bitter, but not unpleasant smell; almost like a fine cup of coffee. You are not exactly sure what now was. Perhaps now would be best described as a moment of exploration, a chance to push into new territory past just being friends. Taking chances, doing things you wouldn’t otherwise to show how much more she means to you. Moving into the gray area, your hoof slowly trails down until it is slowly rubbing her soft stomach which had a little bit of a playful pudge to it, where you dare not go lower. Octavia was not overweight by any means, but she had some substance to her form that shows she eats well and it gives her body a delightful bit of squeeze when you held her, like a luxurious teddy bear. You like this little testing, seeing what you could get away with. Taking one last content sigh, you press your lips against the top of Octavia’s head. You could detect a little taste of something, hard to describe. Within the waves of her mane was a sort of a hint of walnut with a small accent of sweat. Probably be better if she had the chance to shower, but you couldn’t really complain for now. The act earns you a satisfying ‘Mmmmh...’ from the mare against you. You feel the warmth of her head leave your chest. Opening your eyes to see her looking up at you like moments before, only this time with a dreamy smile. Rolling her body, she lays herself on top of you, making you sink further into the warm mattress under the fluffy blankets. Putting her head over your shoulder, she returns your little peck with one of her own against your neck. You wrap a hoof around her middle while beginning to stroke her mane with the other. You could stay here forever, under Octavia’s warmth with her calm breathing and occasional nuzzles. Running your hoof under her mane, you begin to stroke up her back. Higher and higher, tracing you hoof through her fur, lightly scratching the surface beneath. You bring it up around the back her neck, where you feel... something. “Sssshh!” Octavia suddenly hisses as your hoof travels over the spot. Her head leans up and her eyes shoot open. You take your hoof back, wondering what was wrong. Her own hoof travels back, trying to find where the spot was. She seems to be lightly touching it, seeing if she can tell for herself what it is. You see her wince a couple times during this process. “What’s... on my neck?” she asks. “Let me see,” you say with concern. She slides off of you, holding her hair out of the way as you sit up to look. The fur around the spot looks a little crusty, like something had dried in it. Upon closer inspection reveals it to be a cut down the length of her neck. While not large, it was still decent size. “Looks like something scratched you on your neck,” you say. “You sure we didn’t do anything last night?” you add with a tease. You stop when you see Octavia’s expression. It’s like she’s trying to keep herself from having a panic attack. “Octavia, are you oka-” “Is there blood?” she asks, somewhat urgently. You take another look. “Uh, there seems to be some around the opening-” Octavia visibly flinches. “Please don’t describe it like that.” “Okay...” you look at her wound again, worrying about Octavia’s sudden change in behavior. “There’s some dried blood around the, um... the spot here.” “Thank you,” she says before getting up. She goes into the bathroom and you can hear the sound of running water almost immediately upon her entrance. “Are you okay, Octavia?” you ask while following her, stopping in the doorway. “Y-yes, it’s just that...” she stammers, wetting a small hooftowel under the faucet. She takes a deep breath before putting the towel on the back of her neck, she sharply gasps as it makes contact. Either the towel is cold or it really hurts. “I’m... not really comfortable with blood.” She shivers as she lets the towel soak the area a bit. “I just can’t stand the idea of it on me.” “Ah,” you say while nodding. You don’t really know what to say next. “Sorry to, um... hear that.” “It’s fine,” she replies, rubbing the towel around. She takes it off and looks at it. She has a slight grimace at the little specks of red. “You okay now?” you ask. “Uh... I think so...” She closes her eyes before looking to you. “Could you... make sure it’s all clean? I can’t see it.” It was a bit surprising to see Octavia like this. She seems quite terrified of something as simple as blood, and such a little amount of it as well. You would chuckle about it had she didn't look so genuinely scared. And then it dawns on you. Right now, she needs you. It may be small and seem somewhat silly, but she really needs you. Would you dare you let her down? “Sure,” you say, walking over and reaching for the wet hooftowel. As you expect, the water is quite cold. You take it and fold it over once, hiding the blood, to Octavia’s somewhat relief. Closing her eyes, she hangs her head down where you can brush aside her mane and easily see the injury. She had gotten most of it with her impromptu scrub, but there were still a little bit that would, unfortunately, take a little scrubbing in the sensitive area. “Let me know if I’m pressing too hard, okay?” you ask. She gives a little nod in response. You lay the hooftowel across her neck again, rubbing slowly back and forth one hoof and putting the other on her shoulder. You’re making sure to take extra caution with the amount of pressure you were using. Octavia’s breathing rose sharply when you pass over it the first couple of times, but steadies as you continue. Time passes slowly as you work. Octavia seems to shift a little, but before you can ask if something is wrong, you feel a hoof lay on top of the one you have on your shoulder. She starts to give it a gentle rub as you take the towel off her neck. “I-Is it all gone?” she asks. Unfortunately, you still see a couple of stubborn dried flakes in her fur. “I’m afraid not. Sorry, but I’ll have to press a bit harder to get it completely,” you say. Octavia gives your hoof a little pat. “That’s fine.” You could tell this situation was really uncomfortable for her. You would try to work quickly, but carefully. You tried to think of something that could ease the tension a bit. “So, I don’t remember, but just in case I didn’t say it before, you played really well at last night’s garden party,” you say, readying a moist corner of the towel. Octavia gives a little chuckle. “Thanks. Although I seem to remember a comment about my improvisation.” “Is that a quip at me or yourself?” you ask, getting back into the playful back and forth your conversations sometimes have. “Oh, both really. I could make excuses, but I doubt that would really... well, excuse it.” She seems to be getting less tense. “I’m listening,” you say with half a sing-song, mostly to goad her into defending herself. You know she takes her performances very seriously. “Well, it was a bit of an awkward key change just the previous bar. I’d like to see anypony keep up with a crescendo when they suddenly have four new flats to worry about.” You nod as you continue, even though she can’t see it. Octavia is more at ease, making your little scrubbing with the corner of the towel easier. “Just... anything past E flat major has always been tricky. But, oh, you know Frederic?” “Your piano player?” you ask. “He loves A flat. Keeps trying to push for music in A flat, but we mostly tell him no unless we all agree on it.” Octavia lets out a sigh while you give a chuckle. She gives your hoof a little squeeze in response. “He just doesn’t think about the other non-piano players in the ensemble. How much all those complicated keys can just be...” she trails off, lightly shaking her head. “A problem?” you suggest. “Hmm... maybe it’s more just a bother,” she replies. “An inconvenience.” “An annoyance.” She smiles as you begin to take turns, listing appropriate phrases. “A humbug,” you say, putting a rough edge to the word, causing Octavia to giggle. “A hassle.” “An irritation.” “A pain in the neck.” “Ooh, getting fancy now?” you say, finishing up. “A disturbance in the force.” “HA!” she exclaims before catching herself, but not without a big smile. However, what she said just kind of tickles something in the back of your mind. You don’t know what. You shrug it off. There are more important things to worry about right now. She taps her chin with a hoof. “Okay... a thorn in my side.” You chuckle as you begin to think of another phrase that means annoying, but then something begins to click. “What was that?” you ask. Something so familiar was close. She looks at you with a little confusion. “A thorn in my... side...” she trails off again, and you could see her mind working with something. Thorn in my side. Thorn in my... Thorn. Thorn... ~~~~~~ Octavia chuckles before finishing the last of the wine in her glass. You were in the middle of telling her some humorous stories about what things went horribly wrong tonight and every pony on hoof were scrambling to make sure the attendees didn’t notice. Still, once the wine was done, the two of you usually went your separate ways. You were a little sad that your time with Octavia was coming to an end. “Well, it seems you’re finished, so I should let you get going,” you say, offering a hoof to take her empty glass. “Oh, but I want to hear what happened,” Octavia happily replies with a smile. You would never tire of that smile of hers. “I seldom hear of such things behind the scenes of these gatherings.” A slight nervous look flashes across her face as she gives you her glass. “Unless, that is, you have somewhere else you need to be.” You were surprised by her offer to continue chatting. “No, I don’t have anything else to do tonight. I’ll just take these glasses back first.” She nods and you give a quick couple of flaps, propelling you over to one of the buscolts cleaning the tables. You give a quick word of thanks for taking a couple extra glasses. Going back to the gray mare, she’s lifting her cello case up onto her back. When it’s in a comfortable position, she nods at you. “Walk and talk?” she asks. “I’m afraid I would rather get home soon.” “Okay, sure,” you say. The two of you begin walking towards the gate. You wonder how she can walk with her instrument like it was nothing. You follow a little behind her since it was your place you were going to drop her off at. “So then. Apéritif had knocked over a few trays, then what?” she asks. “Not just a few. Quite a few more than a few. And that is when the real fun started,” you say shaking your head, but with a smile. “Protocol demands that all of our equipment be absolutely clean before we serve it.” “Okay,” she replies, confirming she’s listening. The two of you had walked out the gate and were now going down a familiar street. “One way to quickly dirty up something is to drop it on the ground. If that happens it needs to be washed again. No exceptions.” “Even if it simply landed on the underside?” Octavia asks as you both round a corner. “No exceptions,” you repeat. “Wow. But... you had plenty of other trays to work with, right?” she asks, looking to you hopefully. You just shake your head. “That one stack was half of our trays for the evening. Yes, in one stack; we don’t have a lot of room in the kitchen,” you explain. “Not to mention some of them were dented, bent, and other things that made them unsuitable for the evening.” “Come on,” Octavia protests. “Surely you can get away with a tray that’s a little short of pristine.” You shake your head again. “They are very captious about their presentation. Anything damaged, no matter how slight, simply will not do.” That Word-of-the-Day calendar was a good investment. “It’s all simply over our heads. Complaints about trivial things in the past drive us to such high standards.” “Oh...” Octavia looks both ways down the road before she gives you an apologetic look as you cross the street. You smile and shake your head in an effort to communicate she shouldn’t feel bad. “Well, I’d like to imagine if these standards were not simply the rules, we’d have them anyway,” you explain with a bit of pride. “It’s just who we are. Nopony gets business in Canterlot for anything less than exceptional. Not even in catering.” She gets a grin because of your explanation. “Very commendable,” she says. “And very true.” “Didn’t help our tray situation,” you abruptly mention, getting a giggle from Octavia. “So, what happened?” she asks. “Well, we had a few sort through the pile and see what could be salvageable and then give it to the dishwashers to wash quickly,” you begin to explain. “However, because we no longer had a real sort of buffer, we had to have those trays washed as soon as possible, as well as the ones that came back.” You shake your head with a chuckle as you turn another corner. “All open hooves were washing. Any waiters not immediately serving were washing. Any chefs not immediately cooking were washing.” “Wow,” she says again, this time sounding a lot more impressed. “You all just seemed as calm as always tonight; I never would have guessed.” “Exactly,” you say, a bit more pride showing. “Well, here we are,” Octavia says. You turn and are immediately surprised. Your gaze travels along the dark red brickwork to the windows that were blocked on the inside by white curtains. Looking up at the black shingled roof, you see the chimney made from the same brick. “Octavia, I never knew you lived in such a lovely place!” you say. “I mean... a house in Canterlot? How can you afford it?” Housing in Canterlot was a big deal. You personally live in a small rented apartment on the other side of town. It wasn’t much, but it was the closest you could get to your job. No other pony you knew in the staff had their own place. They either stayed in apartments as well or were housed in the palace’s servant’s quarters. “Well, to be fair, it’s rented,” she explains. “And I actually have a friend who knows a friend in the housing market. They put in a good word for me and I was moved in three months later.” “How long have you lived here?” you ask. Octavia puts a hoof to her chin in thought. “It hasn’t been that long... I think it’s about 15 months this week.” “More than year?” “Yep.” “Wow.” A tree in the far side of the yard catches your attention. The trunk split into three thick solid arms going up into a dense and wide foliage. “What kind of tree is that?” you ask, pointing a hoof. “Oh, that’s a wild plum tree. Last pony who lived here planted it against the landlord’s permission. However, by the time they knew about it, it had grown large enough to be rather risky and expensive to remove. It’s actually the real reason I got this house” She slides the cello case off of her back and leans it next to the door. She begins walking towards the tree and waves a hoof for you to follow. You trot up to her and continue towards the tree where, now closer, you can now spot some fruit on its branches. “They were going to try and remove it, mind you, but that was before it was going to be put on the market. My friend asked me if I was against it and I said no. So they let me rent with the tree as long as I keep it in good shape.” She gives a little chuckle as the two of you stop in front of it. “And I do. Because this tree gave me a taste for something I never knew was so delectable.” “What would that be?” you ask. Octavia is silent for a moment. “Pancakes,” she finally replies. “Wha-?” you begin before your hoof connects with your forehead. “...Plums, right?” you ask weakly and sarcastically. Octavia nods with an amused smirk. “Have you ever had fresh plums before?” “I’ve had regular plums before when I was little. They were...” You shrug. “Okay.” “Well then, may I invite you to try one of these?” she asks, ducking under the low hanging leaves. “You sure?” you ask. “You bring me food all the time. It’s only fair,” she says. “Besides, I am more than happy to share.” You smile at her generosity. Beginning to take a closer look at the tree itself, you notice something about its thin branches. Taking one carefully with your hoof, you bring it up for a closer look. “Why are there these little spots on the branches?” you ask. “Because,” Octavia begins. “That’s where they used to have thorns.” “Thorns?” “Yep. One of the thing I do to take care of the tree is clip them off. Or at least the ones that can get you,” she explains. “Is that really taking care of the tree? Is it good for it?” you ask. “Well... I don’t know.” Her voice strains a little again before you hear another snap sound and the rustle of leaves. “But it doesn’t seem to have hurt it so far. And I’m kind of uneasy about the thorns anyway.” You nod, taking another close look at the branch while you hear Octavia pick two more fruits. “But these plums... make it worth while,” she says as she walks out from under the branches towards you, a foreleg holding a few plums against her chest. You drop the branch you were holding. Unfortunately, it was being held at an angle, so it flings around and drops down Octavia’s neck. ...Where she then makes a loud grunting hissing noise. “Octavia...?” you ask with concern, unknown to what would have suddenly provoked such a reaction from her out of nowhere. She’s silent as she falls to her haunches and brings a hoof around to her neck. You move around yourself to see. As she slowly lifts her hoof, you see something deep red under it. You don’t think she got all of the thorns off of that tree. “I-I’m sorry... Are... are you okay...?” you ask as she brings her hoof in front of her. Her eyes go wide at the sight of the red slightly splattered on her hoof. Her breathing becomes heavier and heavier before it sounds like hyperventilation. “Octavia!?” you ask with a little panic. “I’m sorry, Octavia, are you-” You are cut off by a sickly noise coming from the gray mare in front of you. Her breathing has given way to what sound like dry heaves as she drops the plums in front of her. Before you can say another word, she stumbles forward at a running pace towards her front door. You call after her as she charges inside, leaving her cello case by the porch. You stand outside in a moment of panic, unsure of what you should do. Your body, as if moving by itself, ventures forward and grabs the cello case, just long enough to bring it inside. You close the door behind you and leave the instrument propped up against the wall beside it. Looking around Octavia’s house, you don’t get time to take anything in before you hear the sound of rushing water coming from down the hall. “Octavia?” you call out again as you follow the noise. “I’m really sorry! Are you-” Stopping in the bathroom doorway, you see Octavia pouring water from the faucet under the mirror onto a big towel which she then whips around and presses against her own neck. Your waiter training gives you no tips on what to do with a cellist going crazy in her own bathroom. You try to think of anything you could do to help the situation. “Are... Are you allergic? Is there swelling or-... Leave it! Or apply pressure? Stop, drop, and roll-” “What the HELL are you talking about!?” she shrieks at you. “Get in here and help me!” You immediately rush to Octavia’s side, unsure what she wants you to do. All you could see was her scrubbing furiously at her neck with the wet towel. She was going to rub her neck raw at the rate. “Octavia!” you call out to her. “OCTAVIA!” You grab her shoulders with your hooves and she slows down a bit. She looks to you again, heavily breathing in and out of her clenched teeth. You both take a moment to calm down as she completely stops rubbing the towel against her neck. “Give me the towel. I’ll fix it.” She slowly nods and shakily holds out the towel for you. You take it and notice thin lines of blood on it. At the sight of it, Octavia immediately turns away. Folding it so the blood was out of sight, you move her hair aside and take a look at her neck. The thorn on the tree had gotten her pretty good. The cut was deep enough to bleed, but nowhere near deep enough for any immediate alarm. Well, at least for you. You take a moist corner and put it over the wound. “I’m going to push on it. That should help stop the bleeding,” you explain. Octavia winces as you apply pressure. “Am I pushing too hard?” you ask. Octavia shakes her head. “Okay...” you say. You would hate to cause her any more discomfort. “Do you have any bandages? Perhaps some disinfectant?” She points her hoof over to a wooden cabinet to the left of the mirror above the porcelain sink. Keeping a hoof on the towel, you reach over and open it. The disinfectant is right up in front which you set down on the counter. A convenient gel in a tube; generic store brand, the same kind you use. At least you know it won’t sting. However, there doesn’t appear to be any bandages. Taking the tube between your hooves, you gently squeeze out a small amount and then use the tip to spread it over the length of the cut. You dab the moist towel over it a couple times to pick up any excess that would leave Octavia’s grey fur uncomfortably greasy. After that, you carefully apply more pressure with the towel, trying to stop the bleeding so the bandage wouldn’t be necessary. You hold it for some time, the only sounds in the room being your and Octavia’s breathing. Her’s has slown down, but you still detect the discomfort in it. Carefully checking under the towel, you see that the cut was no longer bleeding. “That should do it,” you say. Looking at her face, you notice her eyes were closed. Probably been that way the entire time. “Thanks...” she says as she slowly opens them to look at you. “I... I’m sorry about my little...” She waves a hoof around, searching for the right word. “...’episode’. I kind of don’t do well with blood, as you might have guessed.” The final part of her sentence has a hint of sarcasm as she sees your raised eyebrow. “It’s fine,” you say with a shrug. “Just glad to see you’re okay.” She smiles at this. Standing up, she flicks her head around to reposition her mane back to its usual place. “Now then,” she begins, getting back the rest of her disposition. “While you’re here... where were we in our conversation?” ~~~~~~ You let out a little sigh through your nose as the memory stops playing through your head. Blinking a couple times and coming back to the real world, you see Octavia coming out of some kind of trance as well. Looking down, it seems the two of you have snuggled closer together. Her back was completely against your chest and her head was resting back on your shoulder. You had your hoof still on her shoulder with her own hoof on top of it, but your other foreleg seems to have traveled down and wrapped around her midsection, where the length of her own foreleg has joined it. Despite the somewhat awkward moment, you enjoy the warmth of her as you offer a smile, albeit with a little nervousness behind it. “Sorry...” you say, weakly. With a content sigh and another pat on your hoof, she smiles back genuinely. You feel the guilt lift right off of your shoulders. The moment is ruined by a loud growling sound. It seems to be coming from her stomach. You and Octavia both look down at the noisy disturber. As much as you’d like to stay, you feel Octavia lean forward away from you. “I think it’s time for breakfast. Alright?” She stands up onto her hooves. “Sure,” you reply, standing up as well. “Breakfast here any good?” “Their omelets are... a little bland,” she explains with a shrug. “I typically get some waffles, prepared fresh, along with some plums.” “That won’t be a problem today, will it?” you tease. “Drop and roll,” she replies, her voice heavy with sarcasm. You chuckle and give her a little nuzzle to her neck that makes her lovely smile come back in an instant. Walking past, you hold the door open. “Shall we?” you ask. She gives you a courteous nod as she exits the room. Pulling the door closed, you follow her down the hall.