//------------------------------// // Chapter 4: I Am Octavia // Story: Between Bassdrops and Bowstrings // by Quillian Inkheart //------------------------------// Chapter 4: I Am Octavia [v] Eyes closed, Octavia swayed as the bowstring glided over her cello. The crowd before her was silent as her music trickled through the air, the symphony filling the void in more than one heart or mind, like an empty glass filled to overflowing. Slowly opening her eyes, she gazed out over the gathered ponies, each of them soaking in rapture, trapped in her song with barely contained awe. She felt a sting of pride, knowing she moved people to such adoration. But then, her eyes fell on the lone, empty seat in the dead center of the front row. It was Vinyl’s seat, a reminder Octavia kept for herself: never forget. For a moment, a somber note slipped into her music, but she returned her vigor into her playing instantly. She wouldn’t let her tears show in her music, not ever. She was Octavia Melody, the greatest cellist in all of Canterlot, and she would never let the world see her cry. The final measure drew to a haunting close and Octavia gingerly lowered her bow. The crowd burst into a politely measured applause and Octavia bowed before exiting the stage. Slowly, a frown creased her lips. Her performance for the day finished, Octavia hurried back towards home, where she could finally relax. In her own space, she could be herself again, not the crème-de-la-crème of Canterlot music she was forced to be around others. While she had been raised with class, she felt smothered by this place now. Growing up in Ponyville, she had been around more free-minded ponies; not the judgmental, bigoted ponies that surrounded her here. In Canterlot, everything was turned on its head. With time, the glitter and glamour of Canterlot had been replaced with stiffness like glue. Ever since the Gala, the obtrusiveness had crashed down on her shoulders, leaving her changed, and Octavia wasn’t sure if it was for the better or not. “What are you letting fame do to you, Octavia?” She whispered to herself, walking towards the stoop of her complex. She passed another poster of Vinyl – a new one, announcing her latest CD – and walked by her friend’s image without pause. However, once she reached the steps to her home, she glimpsed back, like looking into the past and seeing the world anew. With a resigned sigh, she crossed the street. Hoof-Spun-Records was a small little store for varying musical tastes. It boasted CDs, cassettes, and records of many genres and held none of the single-minded bigotry that permeated the rest of Canterlot. Octavia had come to respect the owner, Charles Hoofspin, and his desire to respect music in all its forms, even if it meant being frowned upon for thinking differently. Charles – who was also her landlord – knew Octavia on sight, but she had no desire to stop and chat. She was there with a purpose, the first purpose she’d had in a long, long time. Finding Vinyl’s CDs, she purchased each and every one. Despite her best efforts, Charles started chatting with her at the register. “Octavia Melody, buying DJ-Pon3? Now I’ve seen everything.” The shopkeeper gave a laugh, smiling. “Not that I’m complaining. I like seeing you Canterlot types expand your horizons. Not being so stuffy about music, you know?” Octavia knew if she let him continue, she would be here all night. “Thank you, Charles. I heard from an associate of mine that Vinyl Scratch was a rather unique musician. I wanted to see if that was true. I'm eager to get home and listen to them.” She placed the bits onto the counter, hoping she’d ended the conversation. She’d hoped in vain. “Unique? An understatement, if you ask me. DJ-Pon3 is a revolutionary, is what she is. She’s so much like her father, it’s almost like seeing double. The entire world is in for a musical revolution, just you watch.” Octavia knew that all too well. She smiled and said her thanks, not replying to his words, fearing that it would spark another topic. She retreated back across the street to the serenity of her small abode, putting Canterlot and all its troubles out of her mind. She hurried up the stairs like greased lightning, shutting the door behind her quickly. Once the stillness of her room enveloped and calmed her, Octavia deposited her cello on its stand beside her bed. She took a seat on the cloud-soft mattress, depositing the small stack of CDs down beside her. She was astounded at how many tracks Vinyl had produced in just under a year. Opening the first one, – Wubpocalypse, it was called – Octavia placed the disk onto her player and started up the first song. Right away, the music screamed ‘Vinyl Scratch’ in every way. It was loud and obnoxious, but strangely addictive. It made Octavia want to charge through the streets at full tilt and shout, not caring who was watching. It made her want to dance; jump up and down like nothing else mattered. Octavia found herself bobbing her head to the beat more than once and felt her blood boil through the whole album. She could easily imagine Vinyl producing music like this. “It’s so… her.” Octavia whispered to herself as the last song ended. She felt something warm on her face, wiping away the tear she’d shed as she plucked out the disk, putting in the next. This one, called The Leaving, was vastly different. The music was still in the same style, boisterous and loud, with a flair for loud kicks of sound. It still made Octavia think of Vinyl, that hadn’t changed one bit, but there was a shift in tone that only a keen musical ear – attached to somepony who knew Vinyl well – would be able to catch. The music was slower, with low rumbling bass and chaotic, uncontrolled drops. It gave Octavia the mental image of somepony moving through a dark forest or fighting a swarm of monsters by herself. The music gave Octavia the chills. It was good music, that she wouldn’t and couldn’t deny, but what many ponies didn’t catch was the subtle leaking of the creator’s emotions into the song. To many, music was just that: music. It was fun to listen to and the best songs could make you dance, but to Vinyl and Octavia, it was more. It was expressionism; art and spirit and beauty and passion. Vinyl was lonely, and this fact caused Octavia both immense heartache and a small degree of guilty pleasure. She hoped against hope that it wasn’t just her imagination. A flicker of desire she hadn’t felt in months burned in her chest, making her feel sick at herself for feeling it. Maybe Vinyl will accept me again. Maybe we could be friends again, she thought, even as self-loathing boiled in her chest. She closed her eyes, losing herself in Vinyl’s music again, imagining a time when the two of them could play together. Yes, there was guilt in feeling joy at her friend’s misery, but that misery was a chance. She remembered Vinyl’s uproarious laughter, warming her heart when she was sad. She thought of a future where true passion would flow through her music again, not this masquerade – this mockery of feeling. She wasn’t honest with anypony in Canterlot, not even herself. She wasn’t really all that happy here, was she? She dreamed and played and dreamed and played, and when the songs ended, so did the dreams. However, she had duties here she had to fulfill. Noteworthy was holding another audition to expand his orchestra tomorrow. With his growing fame, he could afford a larger crew. He had asked the rest of the ensemble to sit in on the auditions this time, at Octavia’s suggestion. An idea struck Octavia, a revelation that was an immense relief in it's simplicity. She would ask Noteworthy for a vacation at some point during the auditions. She swore it to herself, as she switched to the next CD. She had to return to Ponyville, there was no avoiding it anymore. Octavia didn’t sleep till late that night, listening to all of Vinyl’s songs, one after another. While she had to admit that dub-trot wasn’t fitting to her tastes, the raw energy Vinyl put into each note of every song bled through to Octavia and warmed her senses. It was like having Vinyl right there by her side again. The feeling was not unwelcome. When the final track on the final CD drew to a close, the weariness the music had been masking struck her all at once. Hugging a pillow close, Octavia drifted to sleep, dreaming of long-ago sleepovers and music sessions filled with smiles and hopes. She dreamed of her first symphony in Ponyville square, Vinyl urging her on with her father’s turntables. Lastly, she dreamed of leaving it all behind, returning to Ponyville and rushing to hug Vinyl; for a hug she’d craved for over a year now. When she woke up, she was as well rested as she’d ever been, as well as more determined. The auditorium was silent, except for the muttering of Octavia and her ensemble. Thanks to their growing fame, this audition was packed to the brim with possibilities. Octavia shifted uneasily in her seat, eager. She had decided to speak to Noteworthy after the audition, when he was in a good mood with the prospect of new talent. Now, all she wanted was for things to hurry up and get underway. Her desire to go home had only gotten stronger after she’d woken up properly. It was all she could think about. She even had all of her bags packed back at her apartment, waiting to head out. “Philip Hoofsworth.” Noteworthy called out the first name, ushering the pony in question onto the stage. He brought with him a cello of fine make. It was up to Octavia to judge if he was fit to play on the cello section of the orchestra, under her. As the auditions rolled by, Octavia lost herself in the musicians. She could tell some of them were less passionate than others, a fact that Noteworthy seemed to catch as well. He shooed those she silently marked as indifferent or dispassionate off the stage with a less than satisfied expression; once their symphonies were complete, of course. He never openly scorned any of them, just muttered to himself how they were insufficient for his orchestra. In truth, none of them were poor quality, but Noteworthy would only have the best of the best. Minutes dragged and Octavia grew more patient as music filled her. She became excited to hear the next pony – to soak in their heart and soul, regardless of the level of their passion. It all reminded her of her first night in Canterlot, when Noteworthy had taken her in and given her this new life. Back then, it had all been so simple; come to Canterlot and become famous. There were no complex problems like maintaining her fame through constant public exposure to spreading word of her talents through her performances. In the end, it was all very lonely work. “Violina.” Noteworthy’s voice broke Octavia from her reverie. She felt herself sigh in joy. A violinist was just what she wanted to hear right now. As the pony took the stage, Octavia noticed a slight err to her step, a sign of a pony new to this style of dressing. Her hooves caught on her dress every few steps and she’d recover quickly, muttering to herself under her breath. That aside, she looked beautiful, if oddly familiar. She had a light olive yellow coat, finely brushed, hidden under a cobalt dress that matched her braided and adorned mane. Her arctic-blue eyes were what made Octavia shiver the most, flashing in her mind’s eye. She saw a different face smiling back than the one she saw now. “No way…” She leaned forward, but the pony pushed herself up to play before Octavia had a chance to speak. Gentle tones flowed from the violin, searing the air with sorrow. It made Octavia want to weep; the song was so sad and so filled with loneliness. It reminded her of that night, over a year ago, when she'd made a grave mistake. To those other than Octavia, the melody wasn’t as enthralling as the ones before it. It was obviously an amateur’s hoof playing the song, even if the song was powerful. Octavia closed her eyes, heaving a conflicted sigh. “What are you doing here…? Why are you here, Fiddlesticks?”