"The nation of Puptopia is a peaceful one, and I will not tolerate such... s-s-such heresy as that you have so blasphemously proclaimed!" Octavia leaned forward in her seat—which wasn't so much of a seat as it was a fully decked-out throne complete with purple fuzz lining, pink fuzzy dice, fuzzy Labs sleeping by its sides, and a nice glass of wine teetering helplessly on one of its arms—and knitted her brow to glare daggers at the two figures standing before her on the long purple carpet leading up to her throne. The one on the right, glasses propped atop his muzzle, coughed into a furry paw, paused to lick at it furiously, stared at it oddly, continued to lick it, and then looked back up at Octavia, determination on his face.
"Meow!"
She stomped a hoof, an absolutely deafening bout of thunderous lightning... stuff echoing across the massive throne room. Her guards, clad in purple bandanas and shiny spaghetti strainers at either side of the entryway door, about jumped out of their skin at the motion. The felines, however, in all their disgustingly suited, hairball-spewing, whisker-sprouting, milk-gorging, everywhere-pissing glory, stared back up at her with steely reserve. The one with dumb glasses adjusted his grip on the dumb little clipboard in his paws, which was most likely filled with nonsense about "Feline Furlow" and "Catty Customers" and other such bloody nonsense.
He and his disgustingly Siamese companion were diplomats from the next land over, the rather minuscule nation of Furball Republic with its incessantly vomiting folk and honestly worrying number of obesity ratings. Hatred of pasta dishes and the citizens of her own country was rife in Furball Republic, a sign that she most certainly shouldn't bother interacting with any claiming to hail from the area. Unfortunately for her, public relations between the two neighboring countries was, as she has admitted, rather troubled, and there was only one real way to fix it and prevent the war that she definitely wouldn't want to partake in.
The other cat raised a paw to speak, like some kind of child who was too afraid to tell the teacher that she had piddled herself.
"Not another word, Mr. Spaghetti!" Octavia shouted, taking a second to press her back against her throne, "I've had enough of your back talk during our sessions with the UAN, and I absolutely refuse to put up with it for any longer."
"Meow! Meow!"
She threw a hoof up to her mouth and gasped, then jabbed it forward and hollered, "You dare spread such... grade school rumors within the confinements of my walls?!" Octavia puffed out her fuzzy-coated chest, straightened her posture, and lifted her chin as regally as she had seen the Queen of the East do so many times on TV. Gods, that mare was so damn cool. "Puppenstein!"
In an instant, the sound of scurrying claws against tile thumped into her eardrums, and with a smile on her face, she watched as the black Lab came rushing into the throne room with a little puppy wobble and an issuance of a resounding, "Aroo!" Plopping his dumb butt on the carpet next to Octavia's throne, he looked up at her, cocked his head to the left, then to the right, and let his tongue flop out the side of his mouth. He barked, causing the two cats still standing in close proximity to flinch and desperately scoot a bare inch away in involuntary fright.
"Puppenstein!" She pointed a hoof into the pup's brown eyes, and then quickly fanned the appendage around to stick it toward the two delegates. "Escort these two the... bloody hell out of my castle..." She watched as the three went, then remembered a recurring problem of theirs and placed a hoof by the side of her mouth to add, "...and make sure they get not an ounce of milk at the train station! Wouldn't want them drunk now, would we?" Puppenstein simply spun around to salute her once more, before joining the two felines as they exited the room. When the sounds of purring and meowing died out, Octavia threw her head back against her throne, then winced and rubbed at her skull when she realized what she had just done.
"Blasted backrest..." Shaking her head, she gritted her teeth, sucked in a breath of choked air, and looked to her right to find her assistant sleeping on the job. As life-threateningly—specifically to her heart, possibly her brain too—cute as he looked, he wasn't getting his dog treats for not writing things down. She delicately rapped a hoof on the arm of her throne and watched as the Corgi immediately awoke. Through dreary eyes and a pair of dumb glasses, he stared at her in silence before softly whining and staring down at the ground. Octavia, leaning over, gave the pup a pat on the head. "No need to feel sorrowful about it, my dear Ein. Everyone makes mistakes."
Ein sniffled a little puppy sniffle—almost ceasing every currently active function of Octavia's beating heart—and perked up, his expertly crocheted purple sweater sliding around his body like the dial on a loose pepper shaker. The mare, playfully rolling her eyes, adjusted the Corgi's article of clothing, smirked at his responsive bark, and pressed a hoof into her cheek as she asked, "What, do tell, is the progress on the recovery of the Treasure Of Charles Bark-ley?"
Octavia watched as the Corgi, now breathing at a mile a second, slammed a orange paw on his blanketed basket, then jammed it on his sheets.
The mare gasped. "She made it back already? Why, I only sent her out on that crusade a bare two days ago!" Octavia watched Ein's gentle panting, then threw her hooves to the ceiling and shouted, "Well?! What are you waiting for?! Send her in!"
Ein saluted her, then turned to his right and waved at the Puppyguards standing... guard by the sides of the door. Sucking in a breath, they brought out each a single foreleg and slowly cracked the large oak doors open. The blinding yellow sunlight, peeking in through the countless layers of clouds hanging high above in the sky, shone down on a single figure standing in the doorway and cast a long black shadow reminiscent of its smoky fur across the steps.
Octavia cleared her throat with a hoof to her lips, then spoke, "Mishka! I see that you have returned, and in much less time than I had prior accounted for!" The Keeshond, dressed in her thick brown winter jacket, raised a paw up to slide her goggles off her eyes then barked her acknowledgment. "No matter!" Octavia continued, flailing a hoof about. "We will simply have to... move the Welcome Home party a few months earlier! Anyhow, do you have it?"
Mishka simply nodded, then craned her neck to her left side and pulled out a large box, which thumped loudly on the floor of the steps leading up to the throne room. Turning to face it, Mishka pawed at its wooden side, then stepped back as a long, slightly wobbly, solid gold stick rattled out of the bits of hay from inside. The effect was instant, as the Puppyguards, Ein, and even Octavia gasped in awe. The last in question was the first to eventually come to.
"By the Gods, the Treasure Of Charles Bark-ley! You found it!" Octavia ascended her gaze, finding the black Keeshond brandishing a tongue-lulling smile. "You're a nationwide hero!" Mishka shuffled on the floor for a bit before barking into the air. "Well?!" Octavia shouted, beckoning the pup with a gray hoof, "Bring it here!"
With a bark and a woof, Mishka bent down to pick the stick up, seemingly realized that she bore no real, possible way to carry it, and quickly clenched it in her strong teeth. Climbing the staircase, the Keeshond sprinted toward the throne room, Treasure in her jaw. Just a split second from crossing the threshold, the pup suddenly connected with either side of the door frame, the stick in her mouth too long to fit through the entryway. Octavia blinked in a stupor as Mishka attempted to walk into the throne room once more, yielding the same results that ended with a resounding thunk and a misunderstanding whine.
The mare leaned forward and rubbed her face with both hooves, the still continuing sounds of Mishka's genuine attempts thumping through the hall. Running the appendages down either side of her muzzle, Octavia sighed heavily and threw one of them outward in a sharp point. "Mishka, left, then right!"
The dog—clearly hearing her under all of her fluffy black fur—took an acknowledging step back, craned her neck to the right, and stuck the first end of Charles Bark-ley's Treasure into the interior of the throne room, which she quickly followed with the other side. Finally walking toward the mare of the land, Mishka's tail wagged at a mile a minute, a display of utter excitement so horrifyingly infectious that Octavia herself barely realized that her smile was threatening to escape her cheeks. The Keeshond's gentle puppy plodding suddenly shifted to a rambunctious full-on sprint as she gave it her all to give the supposedly long-lost fabled artifact to her country's benevolent leader.
Mishka's paws, resonating across the hall, grew louder and louder as she approached Octavia... and continued to grow louder and louder even as the pup stopped, lulled her tongue out, and barked sweet, legitimate nothings into the crisp summer air. Octavia raised a brow, then sat up in her seat as Mishka continued to hoot and holler at her in silence. It hit her with the force of the train she had rode in on.
She knew what this meant. She knew what this sudden drowning out of nature meant; she'd seen it, heard it, and gone through it countless times before in the past. Her purple eyes grew wide, and she raised her head to scream at the heavens that she wasn't done yet, that her adorable puppies still needed her, but suddenly found herself violently flinging upward with dreadful sweat upon her brow and fabulous mane locks sticking out this way and that that came with the realization that she was stirring awake.
"Godsdammit!"
With her heart beating out of her chest, her blood rushing loudly through the entirety of her gray head, and her labored breathing more worrying than she'd ever heard in all those days testing in college, the unmistakable sound of shattered glass made its way over to Octavia, followed almost instantly by a genuinely angry sounding shout.
"Shit!"
The long known stillness of a hotel room slowly caught up to Octavia, who blinked away her crusted eyelids and wiped her face with a dreary hoof. If she wasn't mistaken, that voice that had just cursed belonged to Valkyrie, meaning that the eternally angsty griffon was up at...
Octavia turned her head to the right, silently muttering at the pain in her neck, to find the clock.
...about ten o' clock in the morning, which, if the mare was correct in her perceivings of Valkyrie's character, was something the bird hadn't done since the day she was born on this earth. Octavia reached a hoof up and threw the delightfully green blanket off her body, intending on hitting the shower to rinse all the dirt, mud, and other such gathered atrocities off her fur in an understandable interest in cleanliness. After that, maybe she could get a batch of coffee going and pray to the Gods that vanilla creamer wasn't too far away. If she wasn't miles and miles away from home, she'd have already been awake for about four hours by now, with her polished bow in hoof and her ficus already thoroughly insulted. She found it mildly uncomfortable that she was comforted by this revelation. With a crooked smile on her lips, Octavia had to silently hum at the warmth that came with sleeping in late.
A pair of footsteps stomped across the carpet, which—if Octavia's current prodding of it assured her of anything—needed a desperate cleaning. Turning her head to the source, she found Valkyrie with a claw to her hip, a small frown on her beak, and her unblinking form holding what remained of the coffee pot. The bottom half, prior consisting of glass and not air, was shattered in thousands of pieces, its sharp cousins presumably lying in wait on the floor. Octavia shut her eyes and let out a sigh. There goes that promise.
Valkyrie lifted the pot up slightly, then rattled it as if Octavia somehow had gone blind in her sleep and was hard of seeing at the moment.
"Thanks Octavia."
Octavia reached a foreleg back and rubbed at her spine. At least the griffon wasn't insulting her. She really didn't need such rudeness this early.
"Scared you, did I?"
Valkyrie shrugged with a sigh. "Gonna admit, didn't see it coming." She brought the coffee pot up to the side of her head, looked at it, and pressed her frown into her cheeks. She clucked her tongue, like the red crested folk of farmhouses. "No coffee's gonna suck ass."
"Well," Octavia spoke, falling to the floor and beginning to walk over to the griffon, "for what it's worth, I apologize." Trotting toward the bathroom door in the corner of the hotel room, Octavia found herself the victim of nothing but utter silence. An odd look plastered on her face, she stopped at the foot of the door and turned her head to find Valkyrie leaning against the countertop, her talon still clutching the shattered appliance. "Awfully quiet this morning, are we?"
Valkyrie ran a claw through her head feathers. "It's hard to hate you without any coffee."
Octavia groaned, eyes to the ceiling. "Alright, I get it." She turned back, to the only remaining promise of hot water and suds. Gods, her mane really needed to be clean.
"What are you doing?"
The mare spun around again. She blinked once, and then, after receiving no answer, did it again. She spoke slowly now, as if each word could very well be her last. Considering the individual currently standing in front of her, they very well could be. "I'm... going to go take a shower...?" Hopefully, this statement wouldn't... awaken something inside Valkyrie. The idea of her feathered face pressed against the swirly glass of the shower sliding door with a wild grin and equally wide eyes staring at the mare as she bathed wasn't something she really hoped for.
Valkyrie sucked on her teeth. "Wouldn't do that."
Octavia opened her mouth to protest. Surely whatever the griffon had up her sleeves would turn out to just be simple poppycock–
"Lavi clogged up the drain earlier this morning."
Octavia shut her mouth, thought for a second, then raised a hoof and asked cautiously, "Clogged with what?"
It was Valkyrie's turn to frown and say something utterly ridiculous, but she instead opted on a sly smirk and a snorty chuckle. "I wouldn't ask if I were you."
Purple eyes narrowed. What could she be implying...
Octavia didn't even realize she was clearing her throat with a hoof until something suddenly threatened to climb out of it. Oh Gods that was absolutely vile. She finished, albeit with her lips screwed about and a bemused expression on her face. She turned her head to the right and stared at Valkyrie out of the corner of her eyes. "It isn't... rancid, is it?"
The griffon chuckled. "Oh yeah."
Octavia sucked in a breath, then extended it as she pined for oxygen in her system. A curse threatened to escape her lips, but she stowed it down and silently let it out behind clenched teeth. Great. No shower for a few hours, at the most. The cleaning mare usually came in around mid-day, so her cleanliness wasn't too far away, at least. She blinked for awhile, then brought a hoof up and rubbed vigorously at one of her eyes. "Where's Sesame?"
"Went out t' smoke," Valkyrie replied, crossing her forelegs, "W told him he'd rather not die of secondhand smoke before finishing our job. He hates smoking. Thinks it's stupid and all that."
Octavia, planting her rump on the ground, began fidgeting with her mane to try shaping it into its usual form. "Well," she said, "that makes two of us." As she continued her task—which proved rather difficult considering the lack of any nearby mirrors—Valkyrie shook her head dismissively and spoke.
"That Sesame guy is weird as hell." Octavia paused what she was doing at that, and looked up at Valkyrie before resuming once more, ears perked up in attention that she hoped the griffon would interpret right. "I think he spent the whole night smoking instead of sleeping. Didn't see him come back up after we came in even once." She turned to Octavia and shook again with her eyes to the ceiling. "You ponies are nuts."
"Well, I guess I can–"
"Oh!" Valkyrie stepped forward, snapping a pair of talons together—eliciting a rather suspect sound eerily reminiscent of sharpening steels—and shutting the mare up. "That reminds me, we gotta go downstairs if you wanna go get some food. The others are waiting in the lobby."
"After Breezie's, dear Valkyrie," Octavia spoke, finally satisfied with her smoky mane and silently praying that it looked nice, "I don't think going out for fast food is too much of a wondrous idea."
Valkyrie scoffed, walking toward the mare with an amused look, "Oh please, there's no greasy ass burger places around here." She flashed a toothy grin. "Only grilled or smoked! It's like the best thing about Baltimare."
Octavia raised a brow. She hadn't really paid any close attention to the presence of fast food restaurants in the city. Canterlot was a different story, however. "Not even a McDuckle's?"
Valkyrie shook her feathered white head. "Hell no, mare." She stalked past Octavia and reached for the door knob, then twisted it and swung the white entryway open with a beckoning claw, "Now c'mon, you need some meat on those bones of yours."
The mare pouted out her bottom lip with a soft glare, then raised a foreleg and stared at it, incredibly mindful of its meat-to-bone ratio. It looked plain and simple to her, just like any other Earth Pony out there. In fact, she had to assume that it was a tad stronger, thanks to years of holding up her bass and clutching a bow. Then again, the appearance of pony composition was most certainly a different subject in a griffon's mind. She swallowed a lump. That wasn't a great thing to think on. As Valkyrie walked away, seemingly realizing that waiting for Octavia Philharmonica was a bit of a chore in and of itself, the mare grumbled under her breath. "Ass."
She followed the griffon shortly thereafter, but not before making sure that the room was clean enough for the maid who would surely be arriving soon after their departure. The two beds were only mildly messy, their blankets and sheets scattered about atop them; the countertops and shelves were completely barren; the curtains and other furniture only bore small prints of griffon claws across their figures. The only thing that Octavia really had to feel sorry for was the bathroom. She shuddered, hoping that whatever lay inside wouldn't scar the unfortunate pony who stepped hoof across its threshold.
Spinning about, mostly in reaction to her grumbling stomach that achingly called for any form of sustenance presented to them, Octavia quietly shut their door, made absolutely sure that it was closed, and started a simple trot toward the pair of elevators at the end of the stylishly carpeted corridor. Her purple eyes wandered the walls around her as she went, her brain admiring the antique lamps and fascinating paintings that lined them. Such sights were definite far cries from Tall Tale's; that was certainly for sure.
Her admiration was short-lived, however, as the elevator's position directly across from her suite made itself more known to the mare. Valkyrie, holding the door open with a claw, groaned, "Sputnik, hurry up already. I'm starving." Octavia, deciding that prolonging the griffon's hunger was no intelligent idea, quickened her pace just a tad to show that she had heard her, and hurried into the elevator just as Valkyrie relinquished her steely hold on the metallic door. Taking her place next to the griffon, Octavia stood in silence and waited for her to press the button to go down.
She waited.
And stood.
Octavia turned to her left, blinking at Valkyrie.
The griffons shrugged. "What? You're closer to the door. They're made for ponies, aren't they?"
Octavia glared quietly, but swiveled back around and delicately pressed the in button boldly marked 1. As the sounds of the now moving, creaky elevator cords echoed through the miniature coffin, Octavia stared straight ahead and hoped that Valkyrie wouldn't try to make any small talk. It was always like that with random strangers in elevators. She had to admit that, yes, it was a bit awkward to stand in an elevator with a group and not speak to them as you descended or ascended to your preferred floor, but it didn't mean that you had to go through with it. Octavia had slaved through many, many things that were way worse than the stillness of elevator shafts.
"Do you really wear that bowtie to bed all the time?"
Octavia cleared her throat a lot less violently than she had wanted. Without even moving from her spot, she reached a hoof up and adjusted said accessory, then mentally decided that it looked presentable enough. "Yes." The steady beeping of the floor indicator as it counted down began happily, seemingly unfazed by the outright uncomfortable atmosphere nestled inside its own walls. Octavia blinked, her nostrils bringing in bird-encrusted air that would surely choke her out before they arrived at the first floor.
Valkyrie piped up from next to her.
"Is playing the bass, like, hard?"
Octavia nipped loudly, the remnants of slumber still cooking in her system. "Not once you're proficient enough at it, no."
The indicator dinged 2, a hellish reminder that it wasn't over yet.
Octavia watched as Valkyrie teetered to and fro on all four of her legs, beak humming some low tune Octavia was too preoccupied to decipher. The mare half wished she would collapse onto the floor and clunk her head on something. Maybe then she would stop being so uncharacteristically okay to her.
"Really like that hat, don't ya?"
The mare's eyes widened. Raising a hoof, she lightly tapped the top of her head and realized that she had put W's baseball cap (now hers, she guessed) on without her even noticing. She was without words—something that really didn't make an ounce of sense considering her extensive vocabulary—but tried moving her lips to formulate some anyway.
Octavia paused for awhile, clucked her tongue, and simply replied, "Yes." She took a breath through her nostrils and slowly let it back out. Ahh, the lovely aroma of claustrophobia. Not that Octavia was claustrophobic mind her, no. Had she mentioned Roseluck already?
The indicator dinged 1, and it took all of Octavia's well-preserved reserve to not take a full-on marathon-esque sprint and dive out of the claustrophobic elevator in an attempted escape that would have bewildered any convict in ten centuries' time. Clearing her throat, straightening her posture, puffing out her chest, and delicately trotting out the door, she looked to her left and found W, Lavi, and T patiently waiting by the front door, their beaks and talons waving around as they spoke amongst one another. Narrowing her eyes and blurring the sides of her peripherals, she could barely make out Sesame confirmingly smoking a cigarette right outside, the vapors of his baccy wisping into the hot summer sky.
Trotting over to the trio, Octavia gave a soft smile and called, "Good morning."
They each turned in kind, repeating the nice gesture to her as well. Looking up to her right with an expectant pair of hovering eyebrows, Octavia stared at Valkyrie, who shut her eyes, opened them, stared at the ceiling fans spinning above, and groaned a very obviously annoyed, "Good morning, Octavia." Satisfied, the mare smirked to herself, felt her heart surge, and looked up at W.
"Did you have any place in mind?"
He scratched the back of his head. "Not really." He jabbed Lavi in the side. "Lavi said she's feeling like a nice bowl of ramen, though."
Oh.
That was going to be a problem. Octavia sucked on her bottom lip, slightly wondering in the back of her mind if it was a good idea to tell the others why she had something of a restraining order in effect on one in particular. "If I recall, I don't believe there are any good ramen places around here," she lied incredibly, feeling a tad horrible at Lavi's deflated response. "I do remember there being a rather amazing bakery just a few blocks down the way."
W turned to the others and asked, "What do you guys think?"
Lavi shrugged. "Eh, always wanted t' try crumpets, I guess." Beginning to walk outside, she threw a talon out and shoved the glass front door of the hotel ajar. It creaked and creaked in a dying plead for oil, but stayed its position and started its torrent of letting in hot outdoor air.
"And tea," Valkyrie added with a bassy chuckle, eyeing Octavia the whole way as she followed Lavi outside. Watching as she went in a mildly curious and observant fashion, Octavia saw Lavi approach Sesame, bring a sharp thumb up, and point it back toward where she, T, and W now stood alone. Sesame, turning his head, stared at Octavia with his burning cigarette sticking limply out his mouth. The flame protruding from its end was worryingly large, she noticed. With his shaggy black mane, he might catch fire.
She sucked on her bottom lip and looked up at W again. Just like her house, probably. She bet that that damned ficus would be the only thing to survive in her room. No matter how many times she cursed at it, threw it, and threatened to toss it into the rubbish bin, it always seemed to be content with its miserable form of existence. She pursed her lips and grumbled from somewhere deep and horrid down in her throat somewhere. That ficus really needed some water by now. Hopefully, her roommate was taking care of that.
...
Hopefully her roommate was actually home, and not at her coltfriend's house for a two week-long "stay" consisting of more than just drinking, spinning records, and potentially being complete idiots while ruining her reputation in the already small town of Ponyville.
Scrunching up an eye and bunching up one cheek in a frown, Octavia shrugged an honest shrug. Truthfully, she hadn't really been to Red's at all since the last time she had been here, and the last time she had been here had been... dare she say a year or two ago. She wasn't even fully sure that it was still open at all. As Sesame gave her a flat smile and turned back to Lavi and Valkyrie, Octavia dipped her head and flattened her ears. That Red had always been so unbelievably nice to her; she genuinely hoped that nothing had gone wrong.
W laughed, his gravely voice rousing her from her musings. "Well? Lead on."
Octavia screwed up her face.
The griffon snorted. "What, you think I know where everything here is? We only came here to search the library."
Octavia grinned. "Well, if I'm correct, the library is on the way, so I suppose we'll be knocking two birds with one stone–" She stopped in an instant, a cold shiver running down her spine. Oh hell. Had she really just said that? She shifted her sights to look at W and T, finding them surprisingly calm for such a—as she assumed—distastefully racist comment. The former, bunching up his brow, gave her a crooked grin. The latter simply stared at her, almost tired in a way. The differing reactions she was being presented with did absolutely nothing to aid her in wondering whether she was about to be lynched and stoned. "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry. I don't think a little rock is going to take me out," W said, winking at the mare. "Now c'mon. I'm getting pretty hungry, and I don't think I'm alone on that fact."
"Wouldn't want to see Valkyrie get hungry, would we," Octavia bluntly spoke, more an answer to an unspoken question than a... question. She had a bit of an idea what the griffon was like while hungry, and seeing as how she had also skipped out on her apparent daily ritual of morning coffee, those terrifying claws could be at anybody's neck in an instant. That reminded Octavia: she had also skipped out on her morning coffee. She found it absolutely astounding that she was even currently conscious. Tossing her mane and about-facing on a dime, Octavia led the way toward the blinding sun that was surely out to get her for umpteenth day in a row.
Her hooves clip-clopping along the few steps down toward the sidewalk, Octavia was greeted with a sight all too familiar to her all across the street. Pony-drawn carriages, carrying love-drawn ponies, rolled past on the lined pavement in thunderous rounds of clicks and clacks, kicking up small clouds of dust as they went. As far as the eye could see, Unicorns, Pegasi, and Earth Ponies trotted to and fro on the sides of the street, bags of groceries, food, clothes, or all three hanging from their mouths, sides, or saddlebags. Idle chit chat, drowned out by the wooden and steel wheels but continuing unfazed, would prove tough to manage through as always. The skies above, pretty and blue with a few patches of white here and there, were a sharp and very noticeable contrast to the largely tan, black, and brown buildings below it in the bustling city of coastal Baltimare.
Oh hell.
The fish market had to be open by now, in all their ware-flinging glory. Hopefully, the others wouldn't want to go sightseeing for ponies getting clunked upside the head by rainbow trouts. She was glad they had stopped doing it with swordfish after the events of Hole-y Night two months ago. She may not have been in the city when that had occurred, but the news headlines in the papers were a lot more descriptive than she—and her stomach—would have liked.
She shook her head, then looked at the others to make sure they were all there. If she knew anything about places like these, it was that getting lost in the crowd was as easy as the thought of breathing. "So, have we agreed upon the bakery?"
W's head fanned around as he searched for any motion or verbal reply that would show doubt. Finding none, he nodded at Octavia. "Looks like we're all good. Maybe after we're done we can figure out getting a ticket for your ride back home."
Octavia gave a wild smile. "That sounds wonderful, W."
She raised a hoof and turned to begin the walk down to the bakery that she hoped was still active, but instantly collided with somepony's body. Though she was incredibly happy that it was somepony instead of somebody, Octavia still turned about to apologize to her victim as per both common sense and general politeness. As the crowd of ponies continued on their way around them, Octavia cleared her throat and opened her mouth.
"Apologies, sir..." Her voice trailed off. Her eyes grew wide, and the hoof she had raised to continue walking began to tremble like a leaf. Standing in front of her was a yellow Unicorn, his black mane short and his blue eyes almost dwarfing hers. She tried to breathe, but found herself almost going blue after many quick, desperate attempts.
A trio of ponies slowly trotted up to the stallion's side, prompting Octavia to drop her jaw on the floor.
Even without their black stocking masks, she knew who they were.
"Banana Peel," Red Vines spoke up from the Unicorn's side, "you alright back here?"
Who she assumed to be Lionheart stepped forward, seemingly to apologize to her as well for his companion's mishap, but took a step back as he realized just who it was.
It was Lock Jaw who finally approached her, lightly brushing past Banana Peel with a scowl on his lips and caution in his eyes.
"Well well well, who do we have 'ere?"