//------------------------------// // Chapter 5: Defying Destiny // Story: Between Bassdrops and Bowstrings // by Quillian Inkheart //------------------------------// Chapter 5: Defying Destiny “But you still ain’t given me one good reason, Octavia!” Fiddlesticks stomped her hoof down as she cried out. Her voice was choked with impending tears as Octavia double-checked her saddlebags. When their mother had told her Octavia was leaving, Fiddle hadn’t believed it. It was too sudden. She'd rushed in here, determined to not let her sister leave. Not without a very good reason, at least. “Why Canterlot? You can just stay here, with us. Please don’t go.” She felt like her world was crumbling, rotting like an apple from the inside. “What about Vinyl? Does she—” Octavia cut Fiddle off by slamming her cello case shut loudly. Fiddlesticks shied back and whimpered as a few tears leaked out from her eyes. “Don’t talk about that… traitor.” Octavia spat the last word with more conviction and emotion than she’d shown in this entire conversation. Her mother had convinced Octavia to speak with her before she left. She said it would be wrong to leave without a word, but now Fiddle was wishing she’d left it at just that. For a few seconds, the room was quiet as Octavia rearranged the contents of her bags, hoping to make them easier to carry. The only sound was of Fiddle struggling – and failing – to hold back her tears. Finally, Octavia spoke again. “Please don’t cry, Fiddle. You’ll be fine. Ever since you got your cutie-mark, you’ve been the talk of the Apple family. Granny Smith told mother that you played the fiddle better than any pony she’d ever heard before. You’re not alone. You don’t need me anymore.” Fiddlesticks choked a bit as Octavia finished, punctuating the sentence by closing her saddlebags with a soft click. Her sister’s voice was hollow and empty; she was bottling her emotions, hiding how she truly felt. To a stranger, she’d seem normal, if a little bit rude, but Fiddlesticks knew her well enough to know the truth. She was hurting badly. She was alone and nothing Fiddle did would make her feel any less so. “Even if I don’t – and I do – that doesn’t mean I want you to leave. You’re my sister and I love you.” Fiddlesticks’ voice sounded desperate, even to herself, as she tried to soften her sister’s damaged emotions. She was on her last hooves now, searching for scraps to hold on to. "Come on, Octi. Break out that cello and let me hear you play again. Please?" Octavia didn’t speak. She didn’t even turn to face her sister. She just stared at her saddlebags, like they held her entire future. “Fine then," Fiddle said clearly. Steadfast, she turned back towards the door. “I’m goin’ to pack my bags. I ain’t lettin’ you do this alone, sis. I’m comin’ with you.” She started off, but Octavia stopped her. “No.” The one word was enough. Octavia’s voice was cold as ice, and as lonely as a stranded duckling. Fiddlesticks looked over her shoulder at her sister, fighting off the powerful urge to run over and hug her. She couldn’t imagine what had driven her and Vinyl apart, but Octavia had never looked so tired before. She looked like she was tired of everything. “You’re not coming.” Her voice had a harsh edge, but her eyes shimmered with sadness. “Canterlot isn’t a place for the fiddle. It’s a city of class – no offense – and you’d be eaten alive there. I wouldn’t be able to protect you, Fiddle.” With a sigh that encompassed all her solitude, Octavia slid on her saddlebags and pulled her cello onto her back. She locked eyes with her sister and tried to smile; it wasn’t very convincing. “You’ll be fine, my sister dear.” Deep down, Fiddlesticks knew she wouldn’t be, but she didn’t tell her sister. Looking down as Octavia passed, she refused to crush her sister any more than she already was. Alone in her sister’s abandoned room, Fiddlesticks cried until her body hurt, she grew weak and eventually fell asleep on her sister’s bed. The year after Octavia had left was as cold and lonely as Octavia’s words had been. Surrounded by her family, she played her fiddle to forget her sister, but every time she looked in a mirror she saw her sister’s reflection staring back. Octavia had always shared beauty tips and Fiddle couldn’t bring herself to wear her hair in any other way than how she'd showed her. She even shared a cutie-mark – her very destiny – with her sister. They were linked irrevocably. Vinyl was becoming a big name around Ponyville lately – just another reason Fiddle couldn’t forget. She could never bring herself to talk to Vinyl about that night, or even before that. She would always feel too lonely or too afraid. Besides, she was sure Vinyl was far too busy becoming a musical superstar. Without her sister, Fiddlesticks felt half-complete, like an unfinished painting or a puzzle missing pieces. Her depression started to worry those around her. Applejack would drag her along to harvest apples from time to time, forcing her to be around the rest of the family and spend time with others. She enjoyed their company, of course, but regardless of the efforts she withdrew more and more each day, missing her sister and all that she did for her. The night of the Gala came and went. Fiddlesticks only cared at all about the event because Applejack had gone. She did her best to not think about the event in Canterlot, for obvious reasons. She kept to herself every day, practicing her fiddle outside Sweet Apple Acres for Granny Smith and Big Macintosh. Fiddle was profoundly relieved when Applejack returned, feeling the pressure of her absence lift from her mind. She felt like she could always talk to Applejack with genuine happiness, though only to a point. She was a good friend and a great cousin, but she wasn’t Octavia. She wasn’t her sister, no matter what she tried. Setting her fiddle down, she rushed out to meet her cousin on the road towards the farm, tipping her hat as she approached. Applejack looked stunning in her Gala dress; Rarity had really outdone herself with her designs this time. “Well, howdy Fiddle! Ain’t you just as bright as a spring morning today?” Applejack seemed happy, but Fiddle noticed a few nips and tears in her dress. “Yer lookin' a little worse-for-wear, cousin. What happened at the Gala?” Applejack grinned at the question and began into the tale of the Grand Galloping Gala and what was possibly the worst night ever. She explained how everything started off well, but quickly spiraled downhill, going wrong in all the worst ways, leading to the catastrophic buildup. In the end, she was left laughing, explaining the end of the night with joy; of time spent with friends, regardless of what they were doing. Fiddle loved that about Applejack. She was sweet and simple, but not at all stupid. She knew what she wanted from the world and seized it. “Y'know Fiddle... I, uh, saw Octavia there,” Applejack said with a small smile, obviously hoping to cheer her cousin up. Fiddle just tensed, keeping her face as straight as possible. “She was the lead cellist. Pinkie Pie made a right mess ‘a her performance, I tell you.” Applejack chuckled to herself, trying to lull Fiddle out of her stupor. “She didn’t seem to remember us, though. It was too bad, really. I wanted to tell her how you’ve been missin’— Fiddle?” Fiddlesticks couldn’t hold it in anymore. She lowered her head and hat to hide her face from her cousin, crying all the tears she’d bottled up. At first, Applejack hesitated. Fiddle hadn't ever cried in front of her; she'd never wanted to burden her family with this pain. She tried to talk but she could only sob, so she closed her mouth and shed her tears in silence. Suddenly, she felt a hoof on her side. Applejack led Fiddle to the orchard to let her get it all out of her system. After a good, long cry, Fiddle pulled herself together. She felt much better actually, and was sure to tell Applejack that fact. She thanked her cousin for helping, even if it wasn’t in the way she’d intended, and started home. Despite her relief, she kept her face hidden under the brim of her hat. She was sure her tears would still show. Her home was silent as she entered, her parents in the kitchen, talking to one-another quietly. As she started up the stairs, she couldn’t help but overhear some of the conversation. “… Ain’t right, just up and leavin’ so suddenly.” Her father’s voice was low, but was tinged with agitation. “She’s an Apple. We Apples always stick together.” “That’s just it, dear.” Her mother’s refined voice was laced with sadness. Fiddle leaned closer, keeping hidden on the stairs. “Being an Apple is more than just keeping your family close; it's about being a good family, dear. Big Macintosh stopped by last night and told me about how Fiddlesticks is acting.” Fiddlesticks leaned closer still, curious as to why they were talking about her while they didn't think she was here. “Ponyville just hasn’t been the same for her since Octavia left," her mother continued. "She’s been very depressed and I feel like Ponyville just holds too much pain for her right now. We don’t need to leave the Apple family. I just feel like we need to go somewhere else. We could go live with the Fillydelphia Apples, with their apple cider factory. I would even consider a town like Appleloosa, if it meant making Fiddlesticks happy.” Her mother sighed, a familiar sound that Fiddle could barely hear from where she was. “I just don’t know what’s best for her anymore. I’m so worried about her.” Suddenly, Fiddlesticks was overcome. But where she had expected sympathy or sorrow, she only felt anger. How could her family want to move her away? Why hadn’t they spoken to her about it? Why be so shady and secretive? Her emotions were a mess already, but this was just too much. Overwhelmed, she made a sudden, rash decision. They wanted her to leave Ponyville? She'd leave Ponyville, all right! She would run away to be with her sister in Canterlot. Her thoughts were selfish, childish, and not a little unfair, but Fiddlesticks didn’t care. She just wanted her sister back. Sneaking up to her room, she quickly and quietly packed her saddlebags. Her parents – assuming she was still at the farm spending time with her cousin – never even imagined she would be upstairs, preparing to run away. Taking very little – her fiddle along with a few spare strings and a spare bow, as well as a spare change of clothes and her savings she earned from working at the farm and playing her fiddle at events – Fiddlesticks crept back out of her home and into the darkening streets of a Ponyville evening, silent and determined. She paid Rarity a visit at Carousel Boutique, spending a good hoof-full of her hard earned bits to dress herself up. Of course, Rarity gave her a discount, her being Applejack’s cousin and with her limited budget Fiddlesticks didn’t dare turn her down. The fashionista made her into somepony entirely new, braiding up her mane, offering her a beautiful dress to match her colors and tending to her coat in ways Fiddlesticks had never even considered. When she looked into the mirror, she was amazed at the difference in the pony staring back. The color of her eyes was drawn out by her defined eyelashes and the color of her dress. She couldn’t believe this well-dressed pony was her, looking ready to walk the streets of Canterlot. Behind her, Rarity complimented her as she double-checked her work. “Darling, you look positively marvelous! Absolutely beautiful, my dear. Who would have guessed that under all that dirt and sweat would lay a pony with such a distinct look. Well, your mother is quite a classy pony, after all. And your sister was no joke either, if I remember.” Fiddlesticks heard none of it. She didn’t mean to ignore her, but she was completely enthralled with the reflection staring back at her. Rarity was a rather loud pony when she wanted to be, but very respectful and well-mannered. She had a lot to say and a ranted a lot, but Fiddle didn’t care about that at all. What did bother her was how intrusive she tended to be, especially with her opinions on fashion. She was one of Applejack’s best friends but she knew that even her kindhearted cousin got tired of Rarity every once-in-a-while. All too suddenly, Rarity shifted topics, drawing Fiddlesticks from her reverie. “You know, dear, I don’t mean to pry, but why would an Apple like yourself want a dress like this? It’s rather unusual. Is some special event coming up?” Fiddle felt sweat bead on her neck as she rushed to think up an excuse. “I might be an Apple, Rarity, but I’m also my mom’s daughter, ain’t I?” She forced a smile, hoping it looked convincing enough. Rarity stared at her in silence, unreadable. Finally, she nodded. “A little heavier on the eye shadow…” She leaned in to finish her work. Once she was finished, Fiddle thanked Rarity and hurried out of the boutique with not a moment of hesitation. Without realizing it, she found herself comparing her sister to the pony she’d just left the company of. Octavia was a pony of class, like Rarity, and both were kindhearted, yes. Rarity was supposedly the Element of Generosity, and Fiddlesticks could see that being the case, but she found the fashionista to be a little too stuffy. Her sister had grown up beside Vinyl and knew how to loosen her bow-tie and just have good old fun. More than once, Fiddle had watched Octavia dance at an Apple get-together, just cutting loose for the thrill of it. Fiddle had never seen that in Rarity, though she admittedly didn’t spend much time around her. With a smile and a skip, she decided to give the fashion-fanatic the benefit of the doubt. If she was one of Applejack’s friends, surely she could learn to like her too, despite any faults she might have. Nopony was perfect. Waiting for the train, Fiddlesticks decided dresses and gowns were the bane of her existence; constantly getting under her hooves and snagging on this or that. She worked hard to keep the dress clean, but already it had one or two small, barely noticeable stains. Rarity would’ve had her mane for a coat if she saw them. It was nighttime now and Fiddlesticks was the only pony waiting for the train to Canterlot. Standing straighter she slipped her fiddle off her side-holder, shifting to hold it more like a violin. She would need to learn to play classical if she was going to survive in Canterlot. She'd have to impress Octavia too and prove to her that Canterlot was just as much a place for her as anyplace else. She began to practice right there at the dark train station, swaying slightly as she’d seen Octavia do all the time. It was difficult to perform the slower, more intricate, and subtle style of classical music. However, as the train pulled up, Fiddle felt like she was already getting the hang of it. Smiling, she trotted onto the train car, passing the pony at the door her ticket. She smiled to him and winked. “Canterlot 'r bust.” Daylight shined into Fiddlestick’s eyes as she woke, drawing a yawn from her. It was a warm kind of light, the kind of light you only feel on days of grand change. It was early and the train was drawing close to Canterlot. Leaning over to the window, Fiddle soaked in the sights. She gasped, seeing the massive city for the first time. She had been born in Manehattan, but this was nothing like there. The buildings were majestic, breathtaking, and best of all, beautiful. It was a drastic contrast to the concrete jungle of her far-away home. She saw why Octavia loved this place so much. Ducking through tunnels, and riding up the mountain, Canterlot drew ever closer to her. Once the train pulled into the station, Fiddle felt her heart leap. She was here, where her sister was. With so little in her possession, she did the first thing she could think of; she looked for family. There was a family of Oranges in Canterlot, Fiddlesticks knew that. Finding them wasn’t difficult either. Just asking around brought her to their door in a few hours time, a smile on her face and her heart in her throat. She shifted on her hooves – nervous but excited – and eventually knocked. She couldn’t let fear unmake all that she’d accomplished so far. She’d come too far to turn back now. After a few seconds, the door swung open. There stood a mature mare, sporting a light olive coat and a dark amber mane. Her eyes were a strong green, burrowing into Fiddlesticks. She felt like those eyes were tearing away all her illusions, exposing her as the country bumpkin she really must be. The mare raised an eyebrow as she stared, trapping Fiddle into silence under her scrutiny. “When one knocks on somepony else’s door, it’s customary to introduce oneself. To not is rather rude, don’t you think?” The words snapped some sense into Fiddlesticks, who bit the inside of her mouth. “Oh, sorry. I ain’t too good with this yet.” The mare’s eyes went wide at her southern drawl, but she continued. “Are you Valencia Orange?” The mare nodded with a disapproving look on her face. “I’m still workin’ on my manners. The name’s Fiddlesticks and you n' I are relatives. Cousins, I think. You’re my cousin’s-aunt’s-daughter or somethin', so I don’t rightly know what that makes us. I came all this way from Ponyville and I wanna start learnin’—“ “Stop. Just stop.” Valencia interrupted, shaking her head and stomping a hoof. “Your accent tells me who you are. No amount of dress-up can cover an Apple. You are – how do you bumpkin’s say it? – Apples to the core. None of you country ponies do well around ponies with class. You say we’re related, but you don’t know what it makes us? I’ll tell you – it makes us nothing. So turn around right now and leave, before you humiliate yourself.” The insults stung Fiddlesticks harshly. Family ties had always been important to her, of course; a family was where you were never judged, but accepted for who you were. But now, here was a member of her family, distant though that family was, insulting her before she even knew her. Regardless, she bit the inside of her cheek harder and tried her best to reign in her accent. “Sorry. Let me try again. I’m Fiddlesticks, a relative from Ponyville.” She spoke slowly, rolling the words carefully off her tongue. “I ran away from home ‘cause I ain’t… because I am not happy there anymore. I want to get away from the country life.” She loathed saying the words, especially since they were a lie, but she knew it was a step she’d need to take to win Valencia over. Valencia looked genuinely shocked and re-examined her with newfound respect. “Well, you do look quite nice in that dress. And while your barbaric accent makes it hard to notice, you seem a polite and genuine pony.” She stepped back a bit, giving Fiddle admission to the house. As she entered, Valencia continued. “But there are some things that simply must be changed – some, more urgent than others. For one, your clothes. You only have the one dress?” Fiddle nodded. “Then we simply must buy you more. Secondly, your name.” Fiddlestick’s heart sank. What was wrong with her name? She opened her mouth to protest, but Valencia didn’t let her speak. “If you wish to give up that bumpkin lifestyle, you need to leave you bumpkin name behind. Understand? Canterlot is not a place for fiddles.” Fiddlesticks nearly choked, hearing her sister’s words come from Valencia’s lips. She wanted to cry, but buckled down and forced back her tears. “I don’t wanna play- I don’t want to play the fiddle anymore. I want to play classical music. I want to play the violin.” This seemed to please Valencia, who nodded. “It’s for the best. Though barbaric, the fiddle should have given you the basics of the violin, at least. Well, a new name it is then. One that suits the new you. Perhaps something like Silken Strings?” She closed the door, looking to Fiddlesticks for input. Fiddle was silent for a long time, thinking hard on this. Her life wouldn’t be the same, once her name was behind her. She wanted her new name to speak from the heart. She was a simple pony and a subtle, symbolic name wasn’t really her style. Drawing in a slow breath, she looked to Valencia. “Violina. I’ll be Violina from now on.” Valencia smiled, clapping her hooves a few times and nodding. “Brilliant! Come, my husband and I have a spare guest room you can stay in. Next, we simply must do something about that accent. If you keep slipping, people are sure to find out about your… upbringing.” She spat out the last word, as if it was garbage on her tongue, making Fiddle – Violina – shiver. All this for Octavia. For her sister, she would bear all this, and more. Octavia watched as Violina – as Fiddlesticks – played a genre she had never imagined she would see her play. Her eyes watered with pride at her half-sister. While Fiddle wasn’t the greatest violinist, she was very good for somepony who was raised on folk music. She must have practiced so hard, fighting outside her comfort zone, to get even this good. Octavia felt like her heart would burst with pride, but just as she was about to address her sister, Noteworthy stood up. “Stop! Stop stop stop!” He slammed his hoof down on the floor, making Fiddlesticks jump, cutting her song off. Octavia instinctively rose to protect her sister, but Noteworthy continued without pause. “I don’t know who you think you are, but this is a formal audition for a prestigious orchestra, not a foal’s talent show! You don’t belong here, with such plebeian music. What we are looking for is far beyond the talent of the likes of you. Get out of here!” Octavia’s heart – swelling with pride just moments ago – was fit to bursting with rage now. Somewhere to her left, Beauty Brass gasped. She hated conflict like this; hated – irrationally enough – hatred. Noteworthy hadn’t interrupted any other performance, except for this one. “We already have a skilled violinist, little foal. Run along now.” Concerto said with a haughty air, wagging her hoof dismissively at the mare on stage. She lifted her head with pride, sneering at Fiddlesticks. Octavia wanted to slap the look right off her face. She turned back to her sister, only to find herself locking eyes with her, watching as tears rolled down Fiddle's face. She felt her heart split in half in her chest, her own tears finding their way into her eyes. Fiddlesticks bolted from the stage, dropping her fiddle as she went. Her sobs echoed through the auditorium as she charged for the door, bursting out into the Canterlot night with the jeers of Noteworthy and Concerto following her. “Fiddle, wait!” Octavia jumped towards her sister, but she was already gone before Octavia could react. She felt her heart freeze, then melt with the heat of fury. She spun, staring harshly at Noteworthy and Concerto, her eyes swimming with unbridled anger. Her fellow musicians had only then noticed her outburst and silence had taken over the auditorium again. Noteworthy, however, was still wrapped up in the drama. "Every rehearsal has at least one bad egg. I was starting to wonder where this one would crop up." Noteworthy muttered as he finally looked to his orchestra. He froze, noticing Octavia's glare. “Octavia?” Beauty Brass spoke, sounding worried. “Did you know that pony?” Octavia calmed slightly. Beauty was her friend and she would show her the politeness and respect she had earned. “Yes, Beauty. Her name isn’t Violina; it’s Fiddlesticks. She’s my little sister.” Beauty gasped. Concerto paled. Noteworthy couldn’t contain his shock, sputtering as he struggled to speak. “O-Octavia, I’m truly sorry. If I had known—” He began, but Octavia cut him off ruthlessly. “You would have what!?” She shouted, stomping a hoof down towards Noteworthy. “Treated her better? You wouldn’t want to do anything to upset your precious star, would you, Noteworthy?" She laced the words with as much mockery and venom as she could muster. "You’ve only ever cared about yourself and your little orchestra – anything else can buck apples! You’ll do anything, trot over anypony, to help inflate that swollen ego of yours more and more! Noteworthy, you’d still be a nopony if it weren’t for me.” Octavia’s own anger surprised her. Worn out and calming down, she spat out the last bit of venom in a powerful coup de grâce. “You sicken me, Noteworthy. You always have. You’re nothing but a filthy reprobate.” She turned, leaving the ensemble in stunned silence. Ponies from behind the curtain were peeking out or had taken to the stage to find out what was happening, but if any of them said anything, Octavia hadn’t heard it. Out in the street, she tried to find some trace of where Fiddle could have gone. “120 Mane Ave.” Octavia jumped at Beauty’s voice. Her friend walked up alongside Octavia, a solemn, but supportive presence. She was carrying a clipboard filled with the names and addresses of all the applicants. “That’s where Violina – I mean Fiddlesticks – registered herself. Are you all right, Octavia?” Octavia just nodded. “After what you said to Noteworthy, I imagine you’re leaving the ensemble, huh?” Right then, the impact of what she’d said actually reached Octavia’s brain. For several seconds, she had no idea what to say to Beauty. But eventually reality reasserted itself and Octavia found her words. “I’m fine, thank you. And no, Beauty, I won’t be leaving. I imagine working with those two will be a lot more awkward after this, but I’m not going anywhere. This is my destiny, playing beside you and the others. I’ve known that from the very first note we played together. Despite the faults, you are all my ensemble – my team.” She looked around at the buildings. “No, it’s just that I can’t stand this place; what it does to me.” Canterlot’s warm night surrounded her, filled with magnificent architecture, beautiful gardens, and the crushed dreams of hundreds of ponies. “And I can’t leave Fiddlesticks now. Something brought her here and I’ve got a pretty good idea what it is.” She looked back to Beauty Brass, finding her smile for a few seconds. “Thank you for being my friend, Beauty. You’re certainly the classiest pony, among all these simpletons.” With a smile and blush, Beauty swelled slightly. “Go see your sister, Octavia. I’ll run damage control here.” She nudged her head back towards the auditorium. “If I know Noteworthy, he’s probably bracing himself for the loss of his star, weeping dramatically into his chair and gnawing his own hoof off in worry. I’ll let him stew with that for a while before I let him know you’re staying.” Octavia chuckled. “Thank you again.” With a nod to her friend, she galloped off into the Canterlot night, thinking only of Fiddle. One-twenty Mane Avenue was a two-story building deep in the Canterlot underbelly. It was no glorious affair, considering Canterlot’s usual fair; a simple home with simple patrons. Walking up the small stoop, Octavia took a breath and knocked. After a moment of bustling, a mare opened the door. Octavia didn’t recognize her, but the lack of recognition only went one way. “Octavia Melody?!” The mare’s shock showed, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping. “At my doorstep? Please, come inside, have some tea and—“ “Sorry, but not right now. Perhaps later. Where is Fiddlesticks?” The pony in front of her raised an eyebrow, looking confused. As she opened her mouth to speak, Octavia corrected herself. “Sorry, I meant Violina.” Suddenly, recognition dawned on the mare’s face. She frowned, stepping back a little. “Up the stairs, second door on the right. She just came back, crying her heart out, the poor dear.” Octavia bowed in silent thanks her head and cleaned her hooves off as she crossed into the threshold of the house. She hurried up the stairs, not even pausing to further talk with the mare, who was staring at the floorboards, whispering something. “I only wanted to help the poor thing… Why did it go so wrong? Perhaps she wasn't cut out for Canterlot after all...” On her way up, Octavia passed the remains of a tattered, torn dress in the hallway, the one Fiddle has been wearing at the rehearsal, torn to rags in her flight from Noteworthy. Moving to the bedroom door, Octavia took a deep breath and knocked. “Go away!” Fiddle’s voice made Octavia flinch. She had never heard her sister like this; so filled with pain and misery. “I ain’t talkin’ to nopony! Just leave me alone!” “Fiddle?” Octavia placed a hoof on the door, but didn’t push. “Fiddle, it’s me. It’s Octavia.” A long silence followed where Octavia wasn’t sure if Fiddlesticks heard her. Just as she was about to speak again, she heard the click of a lock opening. She leaned off the door just as it opened slightly – just a crack – with Fiddlesticks peering out. Her mane was a mess, her makeup running from her tears. She gulped down a sob, big eyes fixed on Octavia. “How’d you find me?” Fiddle sniffed after she spoke, wiping her face with the side of her hoof, smearing her makeup further. Octavia leaned onto the door, opening it a little more. “Fiddle, you wrote your address in the logbook,” Octavia said with a small smile, as Fiddlesticks blushed despite her tears. “Oh, right…” “May I come in?” Octavia waited, letting her half-sister open the door before entering. The room was meticulous and simple, though Fiddlesticks had added her own personal touches. One such thing was her white cowboy hat, resting on a peg on the wall; the very same hat her father had given her when they moved to Ponyville. Other than that, Octavia noticed, there was nothing here from Ponyville at all. Fiddle had purchased many of Octavia’s records, a few CDs to help learn classical, and a large poster of Octavia, heralding her as the ‘Symphonic Siren,’ a title she had seen once or twice in a few reviews. It hadn’t really caught on. Fiddle was without any clothes, an unusual thing for her sister, who normally wore the green shirt and red bandanna she had purchased back home. She was disheveled and miserable and, as far as Octavia could tell, laid bare for her. Octavia walked over, putting her head against her sister’s. “Oh, Fiddle… Why did you come here?” Octavia worked to wipe her sister’s tears, only to have more fill the space. “How can you ask that, Octi? How can you not see how much you leavin’ changed things? How it changed more than your life? How it changed more than your destiny?” Fiddlesticks shied back, shaking her head. “Ponyville just wasn’t the same without you there. And after mom and dad decided to move away…” Octavia nodded. She hadn’t written her family often, but she had heard about their decision and had actually supported the idea. She had been just as worried about Fiddle as they were. “I reckon I just wasn’t happy there no more.” As Fiddle spoke, she had begun shaking. By the time she was done her whole body was trembling, her eyes were closed, and tears were running down her face. Before Octavia could even speak, Fiddle started again, faster now, as if she was spilling her heart out. “So I ran! I ran away from home and came here, to be with you, sis. Was that so wrong? I couldn’t help it, Octi. Without you, I’m as lonely as a pup without his tail. I just had to come. And I knew; I knew I couldn’t come here with my fiddle. I’d be the laughin’ stock of Canterlot. So I learned classical. So I became Violina and moved in with Valencia. I just wanted to make you proud of me.” Fiddle slumped as she spoke. “Not like it mattered. I just got laughed at anyway.” She dropped her head and started crying again, but this time Octavia rushed to support her. “Fiddle, I am proud of you. And don’t you listen to Noteworthy and Concerto. They’re nothing but selfish, stuck-up plebeians.” Fiddle couldn’t help but giggle at the word, but sniffed loudly after. Octavia smiled a little more genuinely at that small victory. “Your place is in Ponyville. Your destiny is there.” She helped Fiddle fix her mane, smoothing it out with a hoof. “Yours is too, Octi.” Fiddle sniffed once more, recovering a little better this time. “Vinyl misses you a lot, you know.” Octavia tensed, but forced herself to nod. “Vinyl…” Octavia hesitated, but forced herself to go on. “Vinyl was right all along. She captured her fame and fortune in Ponyville only a year after I left. I left everything I had behind, because I was convinced it would all just hold me back, but Vinyl proved everything I did wrong; she made me look like a selfish fool. Her fame marked the end to all my ambitions in Canterlot, even if nopony ever saw it.” She paused a moment, blinking as Fiddle moved to her side, pressing herself up against her sister for support. With a silent signal only Octavia would be able to understand, she urged her to go on. “After the Gala,” Octavia continued, “everything fell apart. But Vinyl just kept on growing. She’s the real star, not me. I’m just a usurper to the throne.” Fiddle gave her head a little shake. “That ain’t true and you know it.” Like the old days, now it was Fiddle’s turn to support her sister. She leaned a little closer, hugging her. “You’re the best pony I know, Octavia. You ain’t no ‘usurper,’ whatever that is.” Octavia chuckled a little, hugging her sister back. “You need to follow your own destiny, Fiddle. Not mine. Go back to Ponyville. If anypony knows about destiny, it would be Vinyl. She was right this whole time about her own destiny, after all.” Octavia wanted to stop there, but her tongue ran faster than her mind. “And I’m going with you.” Her lips went dry, but her heart raced with purpose. “I need to speak to Vinyl. And she understands destiny better than either of us – perhaps better than both of us combined. Canterlot isn’t what I thought it would be.” “You’re leavin’ your orchestra?” Fiddle sounded appalled, but Octavia shook her head. “No, never. Noteworthy may be an unreasonable snob, but that doesn’t change the truth of what I bring to Equestria: beautiful, glorious music. I just refuse to live here any longer. It will be a longer commute and I’ll need to stay with Beauty Brass – a friend of mine – before our concerts, but I won’t live in this accursed city one more night than I have to. Pack up your things. We’ll leave tomorrow morning.” Fiddle seemed to beam with joy. She nodded and wiped her face down – cleaning it rather than smearing it this time – and fixed her mane a little better, talking to Octavia all the while. They talked about what to pack, about one-another, and about what they wanted from now on. Gradually, Fiddle started to sound like her old self again. Valencia was there, waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She looked at Fiddlesticks with a disapproving eye for a moment, then sighed and smiled. She didn't say anything, but gave the country mare a small, formal bow. Fiddle tipped her hat, not speaking either, but Octavia felt something pass between the two; something greater than the actions they'd performed. “So, I’ll be seein’ you at the train station bright ‘n early?” Fiddle asked her, as the two approached the front door. “Yes. Ten AM, sharp. Don’t be late, Fiddle.” Octavia said, smiling to her sister and opening the door. She blinked as a piece of paper fluttered down off the door and landed on the steps. Normally, Octavia wasn’t one to look through other people’s things, but something about the paper caught her eye. She picked it up and examined it, her eyes widening. “It seems we won’t be leaving tomorrow after all, Fiddle.” Octavia shifted, showing her confused sister the paper – or rather, the poster. It read: DJ-Pon3 (Vinyl Scratch) V.S. MC-W1SH (Neon Lights)! The scratch-off of the century! Club Canterlot; Tonight! Stuck below the message, a ticket blew in the breeze. It was dated for tomorrow night.