//------------------------------//
// Moving 
// Story: Stroll 
// by re- Yamsmos 
//------------------------------//

	Camping. Now that was something Octavia could get into. Just the thought of it was enough to make her squeal in delight, rivaling the ones she would utter when confronted with a dog, her bass, or helping other deserving ponies. Amidst all of her childhood adventuring, ranging from scouting out the rest of the woods from a fifty mile high tree to escaping the terrible wrath of Roller the Bridge Troll by blowing stale chip dust in his eyes, there was always that time at the end of the day where the sun began to set and the chill of night began its horrible torrent against young Octavia and her friends. So with dirt on their hooves and waning excitement flooding their systems, they would tirelessly search for a tall enough grouping of trees just big enough to not be in danger of their usual pyromania-influenced campfires that soon rivaled the roaring bonfires of a group of better ponies with nothing else to do in their lives.

Though there was school, there were cute puppies, and there was her lovely double bass, there was absolutely nothing that beat sitting around a campfire, singing songs with her friends and roasting stolen marshmallows on moss-covered spears they would later use in absolutely intense games of Hide And Seek. With the warm fire kissing her skin and the still night sky meeting her wandering, bright purple eyes, Octavia loved nearly everything about camping and the campfires that accompanied them, the only negative complaint being that of leaving said campsite the next day to either return home for school or their worried parents.

"So, Octavia Philharmonica, huh?" A voice suddenly called to her, rousing her from her thoughts. Her muzzle withdrawing from the can of beans currently nestling in between her two outstretched forelegs, Octavia turned to her right from her position on the soothingly warm grass and found the brown Griffon looking at her with a pair of raised eyebrows and a single smile on his black beak. Lifting her chin up ever so slightly, the classy mare reached for the brown napkin by her side—as she had insisted they collect them from the nearby cabin before eating—and dabbed it at her mouth. Clearing her throat, she lowered the now-smothered piece of paper onto the top of the can in front of her.

It was an oddly long time before she answered, "That is correct." She hadn't any idea why.

She suppressed the urge to shrug to herself as W adjusted his position on the floor, finding better refuge and finally sticking his claws out toward the fire. Letting them sit for awhile, he brought them back to the front of his armored chest, rubbed them vigorously, then replaced them in their prior position. "Well," he began, letting out a quick breath that wisped into the night sky, "can't say I've really heard of you then." He repeated his action, now looking at Octavia, "Seein' as how you're still wearing that bowtie after all this, I'm to assume you either play in some high-profile band somewhere," he stuck a claw at her accessory, "or it's somehow melded to your throat."

Octavia's hoof ran along the pink bowtie to make sure it was still presentable. It was.

"You are from somewhere in Canterlot, aren't you?" Another voice suddenly spoke up, this one sounding raspy but simultaneously strong. Octavia leaned to her left, finding the light yellow Griffon known as—L, was it?— looking at her from her seat atop a fallen oak log. She waved a claw. "You don't look like Ponyville material. Your mane's too nice."

Octavia wasn't sure whether to blush at the compliment or raise a brow at the insult.

"I overheard your little argument with that bandit pony while you were trapped in that net two days ago," W proclaimed, confirming Octavia's debate about the amount of time that had passed, "you said you were some daughter of some bigwig banker." Octavia sunk in her seat. She knew what else he was going to bring up. He cocked his head. Oh here we go, she thought. "Then again, at that time, you were also claiming your name was both Chell and Melody if I recall."

"Is that right?" Another voice. This one was distinctly female, and distinctly harsh. V leaned forward, her dark green armor gaining a new source of illumination in the loudly sizzling campfire sitting in the middle of them. The circle of cans sitting atop it continued to cook. She laughed, her likewise sage eyes disappearing behind a pair of white eyelids as she slapped her leg. "Oh that's rich! You tried scamming a bandit?!"

Octavia frowned, an eyebrow to the sky as she silently nodded.

A loud, short squeal erupted into the night, the admittedly rude source now clutching her armored stomach tightly with a pair of golden claws. Her roll of amusement came out much louder and much more uproarious than it had before, now drowning out the popping cooking fire that bore their food. Octavia's brow knitted as her frown deepened. She saw W turn to V as well, a scowl on his beak as he showed obvious lack of impression for the guffawing member of his kind.

V gave out a long sigh, reclining in her seat from the ground and rustling the bushes behind her with her holstered Magicarm. She raised a claw, dabbing at her eyes as she let out small chokes of giggles still leftover from her outburst. The anger on Octavia's face didn't falter one bit. She secretly wondered how she could get revenge on V, and then questioned which form she would take to exact it. She flinched slightly as V's voice came to her again. "You basically..." she laughed again, "you basically tried heckling a heckler." Returning to a normal sitting position—or as normal as a heavily armored Griffon could manage—V finally looked at her, her eyes mirroring the color of her armor. "Y'see, bandit ponies aren't stupid."

Octavia's mind went back about a few hours or so to the first stallion she had accidentally slapped once she had escaped the janitor's closet, then to the diving mare she had dodged by bending over to look at the prior stallion, and then to the quiet mare who had tried sneaking up on her only to receive a pummeling kick to their poor poor stomach. She thought back to the pony who had rushed in from outside, tripping over her broom, then to the pony who had, stupidly, reloaded his crossbow when his target was both still alive and moving about ten inches away from him, and finally to Desert Fruit, who hadn't noticed T's shadow despite being directly in the doorway, and who had dropped his keys in front of Octavia's cell in the first place. She stopped. There was another one, she was sure. She counted.

Three by cell. Three at door. That was six.

Octavia's purple eyes narrowed, thankfully out of sight of the Griffons who were now locked into what momentarily sounded like a wonderful sharing of stories. She reached a hoof up to her head, scratching her dark gray mane as she hummed thoughtfully.

Wh– oh no.

"...but I have to admit, she did a great job in there. Wish I coulda seen it," W said, his head turning toward Octavia. She, with a frown, slowly looked at him as well, her eyes growing wider and her pupils dilating as she realized who she was missing in her headcount. The two locked eyes for a brief moment in time, one Octavia swore lasted hours, and then the mare swiftly scrambled to her hooves, kicking up dirt and grass into the air as she did so. About-facing, she sprinted back toward the cabin at a heart-quickening pace. Stumbling up the staircase—and making a rather boisterous bit of noise in the process—Octavia threw open the front door and fled into the building without a moment's hesitation.

Her hooves were a raging thunderstorm along the hardwood floor as she ran down the hallway, immediately looking to her right at the door with the beautifully-crafted dresser propped in front of it. Cantering toward it, she placed her front hooves on top of the furniture and pressed the left side of her head against the door, her ear flapping upward to assist her in listening for any sounds coming from the other end. She bit her bottom lip, hearing nothing. Stepping off the dresser, Octavia turned her head, hearing the sound of the front door swinging open from behind her. W walked in slowly, a look of confusion on his face.

Octavia looked at the barricaded door, then back to W. "Can you help me move the dresser?" She asked with a tone of urgency in her voice, "I need to get inside that room, and I don't believe I would have an easy time doing so by myself." W, chuckling, stepped toward her, his claws and paws scratching up the carpet sitting idly in the main lobby. As she stepped out of his way and began to walk over to assist him, she felt her jaw fall slightly as W simply grabbed one end of the dresser by himself, dragging it out of the way of the door with nothing but a low grunt of effort.

Looking back at her, he nodded his head toward the room. Octavia shook her head, trotting over to him quickly. Planting her rump on the left side of the doorframe, Octavia looked confusedly up at W, who reached for his Magicarm and grasped it in two claws. Pressing his armored back against the door—and eliciting a humorous thud as he did so—W took one look at Octavia, who tilted her head as he did so, and stepped in front of the room, bending backwards as he raised a paw and kicked the door open. Standing in front of the now-open area, W swept his Magicarm's sights left and right, prompting Octavia to rise from her seat on the floor to join him.

Peeking in through an opening in W's arms, Octavia's eyes grew wide. Lightly placing a hoof on his side, she squeezed through and whimpered at what she saw at the other end of the room.

Bringing in a chilling summer night breeze was the sole window in the room, its lower sash raised up to the sky.

A few leaves rolled across the floor.

W spoke gruffly, "You come into here to get a cold or somethin'?"

Octavia shook her head silently.

"You might wanna close that then so the whole house doesn't get chilly."

She did.