//------------------------------// // Orchestral Things // Story: The Things Tavi Says // by shortskirtsandexplosions //------------------------------// It's a very good concert. The Canterlot Royal Symphony started with an immaculate sampling of Stallionvinski's works, and right now they're about halfway through the slowly ascending masterpiece that is Mareice Ravel's Bolero. The audience is stupefied with appreciation and awe. I can scarcely pay attention. I pace and pace, my mind assaulted with the surmounting crimson salvos of the booming percussion section. The sound bleeds through the walls where my fellow Deejays and I wait. It's a virtual echo chamber inside this room—a black coffin of reverberation. My skull aches, and I build up a sweat by trotting in circles and circles. If Rarity could see me now, she'd likely have a conniption fit—perhaps in more fear for the dress than for me. I feel a hoof pressed gently to my shoulder, followed by a gently shushing voice. Burgundy breaths. Capricorn stands in front of me. With a cloth, she dabs my forehead, then gives me a reassuring smile. I take deep breaths. The magenta rolls in and out of me... like an ocean shore. I'm not even the least bit dizzy. That more than anything is reinforcement enough. I reawaken to the strength inside of me. I can see it in Capricorn's eyes; a proud little glint. She smiles, then motions behind me. I slowly turn around. The images of Harmonicide and Simon streak by in a blur. I spot Beau beside the door. It's cracked open, allowing the full noise of the orchestra to bleed through the frame with full clarity. He motions to me, and I daintly trot over to join him. Gazing through the door, I see the backs of many heads. Middle-aged stallions in tightly pressed suits and graceful mares in flowing dresses sit on a raised stage, facing the audience. I know that there are hundreds of ponies in attendance, but I can scarcely see them from all of the lights focused on the orchestra. It's a hauntingly familiar thing, something I haven't observed since the days that Cyan Sings performed on stage. Fitting. Roadie whispers something. I can't hear him over the Bolero's booming movements, or see his stripes beyond the impenetrable crimson waves of the rising volume. He taps my shoulder, then points out with the strange fetlock. My eyes follow it, and I focus past the waving forelimbs of the conductor. Beyond the stage—in the hazy thickness of the crowd—about two seats from the front... A pale figure sits. I recognize Rarity in an instant. She looks as fabulous as a harvest moon, and twice as shimmery. She smiles, her eyes trained on the conductor's hoof movements. I watch as she murmurs something, leaning her head towards a pony seated next to her. And I see... Violet eyes. A full mane... flowing... smokey and gray... A violet dress with indigo accents. Something dangles from the sides of her head. Earrings? Pearls? Shooting stars? It doesn't matter. I heard her moments before the concert started. But now that I see her... feel her presence... I can't help but smile. I almost can't stand. Beau hugs me from the side, giving me a gentle squeeze. He's saying something. I can't tell what it is from the sounds and colors, but I know it's reassuring. Loving. I'm lucky. Celestia, I'm so lucky. How could I have ever lost track of that? It's so simple... so clear... ...now it's time I shared that clarity with somepony else. And before I know it, the Bolero ends, bombastic and jubilant. There's a single pause for a single heartbeat. And then the ballroom erupts in applause. Ponies stand from their seats—Octavia and Rarity included. The audience is full of glinting smiles and bright eyes. One by one, the members of the orchestra stand tall and proud. They wait for the conductor to bow, and then they each take turns basking in the praise. The lights shift. I sense Harmonicide shuffling behind the scenes. Murmurs are rolling back and forth. Simon Neighs and Capricorn get up from where they're seated. From far across the hall, Rarity's eyes wander towards the general vicinity of our cracked door. Unbeknownst to Octavia, she smiles... then provides an elegant wink. Beau looks at me. I look at Beau. "Well, girl?" He takes a deep breath. Stripes. Smiles. "This is it."