• Published 26th Sep 2013
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Dysphoria, Arc 0: Octavia - thedarkprep



An earth pony from Ponyville is accepted to a prestigious Canterlot school. Life follows.

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5. The Performance

5. The Performance

If a cello is played and no one is around to hear it, does it make it a sound?

This was the question that flittered through Octavia’s thoughts as she played her newest melody into the night. Her stance was perfect, her strokes passionate, and her music serene. After all, a lack of ponies did not always equal a lack of audience.

Looking up she saw the moon peeking from behind the clouds, a shy spectator tempted by the midnight concert but wary of drawing close or attracting attention, a problem not shared by the wind, its gentle voice cheering and vocalizing in a dialect of breeze and gust. The wind, after all, was not afraid to tug on her scarf or sing along, a fan of the loveliest kind entranced by the cellist under starlight spotlights.

That night’s performance was a solo, one that Octavia had been slaving over for more than a week, an ode she had titled “Snapshot of Winter.” It began with a smooth melody that jumped haphazardly through octaves, swaying between strings as if it were the falling snow. The arpeggios ran through a medley of Hearth’s Warming carols, but they never lingered long, as fickle as the season they represented. Critics would comment on the strange variations on the minor key or the way her shivers interrupted her rhythm ever so slightly, but they were not her audience at the moment, and tonight she had the best audience in the world.

“Are you seriously going to play that?”

Octavia stopped, but not before hitting a dissonant note and letting out a startled yelp, breaking the spell. The wind hushed down to that murmur, the moon set its sights elsewhere, and the cellist found herself with a severe lack of tranquility.

“So much for no one being around to hear me,” she thought, before addressing the new arrival. “Yes, I am, why?”

“No reason,” Slant said, shrugging. “Just know that I’m not bailing you out when they get you for mass murder.”

“What?”

“Mass murder,” he repeated. “You’re going to bore them to death, and as packed as that concert hall is going to be, they’re going to lock you away for a long time.”

“Thanks for the forewarning,” Octavia deadpanned. “I think if the worst you can say is that it’s boring, I’m doing quite fine.”

“Don’t underestimate the danger of boring,” Slant warned. “Awful performances are at least remembered. There’s nothing worse than being forgotten.”

Octavia rolled her eyes while Slant made himself comfortable in a corner of the room, fixing his earmuffs and jacket as he did so.

“I guess you’re staying for the rest of my practice?” she asked.

“Yeah, guess I am,” he responded. “I’m here and I’ve got nothing better to do anyway.”

“Sleep?”

“As I said, nothing better to do.”

Octavia smiled as she readied herself to play the piece again, letting muscle memory dictate the notes more so than any actual thought. After all, her mind was preoccupied with musings about her current company. Slant for his part, watched silently as Octavia continued her performance, studying the pony more so than the music she played.

“Something on your mind?” he asked as she finished the piece and readied herself for another repetition.

“What do you mean?”

“You were distracted that time,” he said. “That and you kept looking at me. What were you thinking about?”

“Why don’t you ever hang out with anypony else?”

A blush of embarrassment appeared on Octavia’s cheeks as she frantically tried to pull the words back, words she wondered but did not mean to speak. Slant cocked his head to one side, unsure of whether to laugh or be offended.

“You do know that if you want me to go away, all you have to do is tell me that you enjoy my company, right?”

“Well, he’s not offended. That’s something at least,” Octavia thought to herself. Part of her felt relieved that the question was out there, since it had been something she had been wondering for a while. And yet, despite her curiosity, another part of her urged her to close that conversation as soon as possible. The first part, for better or worse, was louder.

“I’ve seen you all year, Slant. You never hang out with anypony except me, and even that’s rare,” she said. “Part of me thought that you were just really anti-social and that you don’t want to talk to anypony ever, but that doesn’t really make sense now that I’ve known you for longer because you’re… um… It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Because I’m what?” Slant asked, picking up on her hesitation.

“Lonely.”

Slant’s eyes widened. He made to reply but took too long. Octavia seized on that pause.

“I know you’re going to say you’re not, but you are, Slant,” she said. “Ponies that are anti-social would not come out past midnight to come hear me practice. And yet, here you are! So if you’re lonely, why don’t you hang out with any of the other ponies in the school?”

“Oh yes,” he replied. “I’m here because I’m lonely. It couldn’t possibly be that I’m here because I enjoy listening to your music.”

Octavia gave a devious smile.

“So now your choices are admitting that you like my music, or admitting you’re lonely,” she said. “Which one will it be?”

Octavia giggled as she saw Slant opening and closing his mouth, searching for a reply. She could almost see the gears turning in his mind, his expression changing from defiance to defeat as he became fully aware of the corner he backed himself into. He sighed.

“…Fine, I’m lonely,” he said.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Octavia said, giving a winning nod. Slant gave her a glare that cut short any other comments she was about to say, opting instead to sate her curiosity. “So why don’t you hang out with any of the other ponies?”

“It’s uncomfortable for me,” he said, letting his gaze drop. “You know what it’s like feeling like you don’t fit in. Well it’s kind of like that. I’d like to say I’m more refined, but I’m just not interested in most of the things the other colts are. I always stick out as being odd and I only let myself feel awkward a few times before I remove myself from the situation. Suffice it to say, that happened a while ago.”

Octavia sat closer to him, nodding in understanding.

“So yeah, I don’t hang out with colts, and then when I hung out with the fillies I…” Slant began, his voice trailing off. For a moment Octavia noticed his expression change into a glare, one that she could not place but that she was sure he had given her before they started talking. A shiver ran down her spine. “It’s just uncomfortable, ok? And it’s not even just about the interests and me being ‘strange’ or anything like that. My status gets in the way, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was surprised that you didn’t know who I was when you talked to me before classes started,” Slant said. “Everyone here knows who I am. They know about me, my family, and my ancestry. That means that every minor noble or commoner with an ounce of ambition is constantly trying to get on my good side to improve their own status. All they need is to be seen with me, which leads to a lot of fake ‘friendships’, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“And the families like yours?” she asked. “The ones that don’t need your fame?”

“The old families are usually on bad terms with each other,” he explained. “It’s all kind of a contest to see which old family matters the most, which ends with pretty much all of the old nobles hating each other. It’s a shame, too, because I much prefer genuine dislike to false respect. Take the Scales, for example: Major Scale had absolutely no problem threatening me today. He said what he meant and didn’t hold back because of my title. I respect that, or I would if he weren’t such a self-entitled prat. And that’s the other thing; don’t get me started on how stupid most of the nobility- hey, are you ok?”

He looked at Octavia confused by her open mouth, wide eyes, and shocked expression.

“He threatened you?” she yelled. “Why?”

“Oh that,” Slant responded, thankful for the slight protection his earmuffs granted him. “He has it in his head that we’re friends and that I would involve my parents on your behalf if he and his sister were to make a move against you before tomorrow’s concert.”

“What did you say back?”

“That I don’t know what he’s talking about, I’m not involving my parents on anyone’s behalf, and that whatever problem they have with you does not involve me in the slightest.”

Octavia’s eye twitched. She took a few deep breaths trying to restrain the feeling that had begun growing in her ever since Slant had started talking, but it was to no avail. Something inside her snapped.

“So he pretty much told you that he’s planning something for tomorrow before the concert, he threatened you to keep out of it, and you did not consider this something important enough to bring to my attention?”

“I’ve already told you to keep an eye out for them and what I think they’re capable of,” he said, irritated at her icy tone. “I didn’t think you needed me to repeat myself; I guess that’s on me for giving you too much credit, but I didn’t see any point in bringing it up.”

“Except it would have been the decent thing to do, Slant!” she shouted. “As one pony to another, as a friend!”

Slant never vocalized his response. He didn’t have to. Everything Octavia needed to know was there in his eyes. The arrogance, the distance, the isolation, everything fighting against the claim that Octavia had just made. It was a declaration of exactly where the two ponies stood as far as Slant was concerned, and it was received loud and clear.

“Fine, have it your way,” she yelled while picking up her stuff. “I’m tired of trying to be your friend. You obviously don’t want to be mine, so what’s the point. From now on I don’t want to make eye contact with you. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want you showing up when I practice at night, and you’d better not even think of showing up tomorrow!”

The pegasus said nothing as he watched the cellist cry and walk away.


Octavia did not normally lock her door, and in reality, it almost never made much sense for her to do so.

For starters, she had nothing worth stealing or destroying. Modest amounts of clothing filled her closet and drawers, rags when compared with what ponies in Canterlot were used to wearing. All she owned of any real worth was her cello, and even that wouldn’t seem too interesting to the common thief. With its dents and its age, there were certainly more valuable exploits to be found elsewhere. At least until that day.

After a few minutes of struggling with the keys she managed to open her door, thankful to see her cello in the same spot she had left it in.

“Can’t have you go missing on me today, can I?” Octavia muttered, dropping off her notebooks. As quickly as she could, she put on a black formal dress, the most elegant thing she owned, briefly checking her appearance and placing the cello on her back. She made one final check to make sure she had everything needed for her performance before picking up her bag and cello. Finally, she opened the door, checking to make sure no one was waiting for her outside, before stepping out and towards the auditorium. “Good. The sooner I get out, the sooner this blasted day will be over.”

To be fair, her day could have been far worse than it had proved, which was the most concerning part of all. When she had awoken that morning, she had been filled with a sense of dread that had so far gone unjustified. She had worried about the Scale siblings, for example, and was constantly keeping at an eye out for them and anypony that might help them with their plan of sabotage. Due to their influence, that meant that Octavia’s heart rate increased whenever any pony at all came near to her while in the hallways. Everypony was a suspect. She had also kept an eye out for Slant Rhyme, finding herself just as anxious about running into him after their argument.

And yet, every pony had kept their distance, the siblings had failed to make a move, and Slant was nowhere to be found, even missing class where Octavia had been sure she’d have to face him. Part of her knew to be glad about his absence, but the rest just felt empty, his absence a reminder that their relationship, minimal as it was, existed no more. Her dread survived above it all.

The sound of ponies entering the auditorium reached her long before she rounded the corner, which allowed her to see a large group entering the Concert Hall. Taking a deep breath, she walked to the left of the hallway, to where the backstage entrance was located. The sound of the crowd followed her until she walked into the Concert Hall’s Green Room, at which point the sound of the outside world seized to exist.

“I’ll never get used to soundproofing spells,” Octavia thought to herself.

“Oh good, that’s everyone,” Professor Mode exclaimed, noticing her arrival. Inside the room the rest of her class was assembled and ready by their instruments. “Better late than never, I suppose.”

“Sorry Professor, I had to go back to my dormitory to collect my cello; I didn’t want to take it with me to class,” she responded. “Besides, I’m not too late, am I?”

“No, you’re actually just in time,” he said. “Just don’t take long setting up.”

Octavia nodded, looking around as she took her cello out of its case and began tuning it. Much like she expected, her dress was noticeably cheaper than the clothing of the rest of her class, who seemed to spare no expense for the occasion. Some, she noticed, had brand new instruments, causing her to question whether they had been bought specifically for this concert, or if the ones they brought to class were spares to avoid wearing down their more expensive equipment. Considering the latter was the more practical answer, she had to assume the former.

Among those with new instruments was Minor Scale, who sat staring at the wall in front of her. Something about her appearance seemed off to Octavia. She was looking as regal as one would expect her to, her mane styled and her dress garnished with small crystals that seemed to glow of their own accord, but the attitude wasn’t there. If Octavia had to choose a word to describe her, it would have been broken.

Minor Scale noticed her fellow cellist looking at her, doing her best to glare before turning to face in a different direction. There was no malice there, however. No anger, no ire, no threat. All Octavia saw in Minor’s eyes was a sense of defeat.

An ounce of pity formed in Octavia’s mind, causing her to step forward towards her classmate.

“Okay, I think they’re ready for us,” Professor Mode said, stopping Octavia in her tracks. “Now I want everyone to go into the three formations: Group A stage right, Group B center stage, Group C stage left. Also, I want you to at least act interested when you’re not performing. After the six songs are over we will leave stage left as a group and come back here. Then you will be dismissed.”

The class nodded collectively, filing in to the side of the stage entrance. Following their professor’s instruction they walked onto the stage and set up their instruments to polite applause. Professor Mode introduced himself and the class, explaining the set up and the pieces they would perform, just like rehearsed. Octavia, however, could not hear anything over her own heartbeat. Her eyes scanned the crowd for a familiar face, but none was there to be found.

“Right, they couldn’t come up. I knew that,” she thought to herself bitterly. “No Mom, no Vinyl… No Slant.”

Her eyes scanned the room again, but the pegasus was indeed not present. She felt satisfied. She felt lonely. She felt unsure.

She felt alone.

Group A’s performance gave Octavia enough time to compose herself. Then her own performance came and went without much incident, leaving Group C’s performance through which she had more time to think.

“I really have improved this semester,” she thought herself, analyzing her performance. She noted she was still not as precise as her unicorn counterparts, but she also noted that the difference went from veritable miles to that of inches. She knew that she hadn’t been perfect, and so would her classmates, but shrouded in the mix of instruments she was indistinguishable. She smiled.

Group C finished their performance to polite applause, at which point the whole first year took a bow. Professor Mode said a few words of thanks to those in attendance before leading the class backstage. And just like that, it was over, for everyone else at least.

“Good job everyone,” Professor Mode said as soon as they reached the green room, muting the sounds of the second years setting up. “I will go ahead and say that you all passed, though specific critiques should be ready for each of you in class when you come back from the breaks. With that said, you’re free to go and have a great Hearth’s Warming break.”

A varied chorus of responses rang out while the students packed up their instruments before leaving the room.

“You’re free to stay here and practice, by the way,” Professor Mode said, turning to face Octavia. “The second years have a few performances, and then we’ll get started with the solos. The third years won’t be needing this room until halfway through the second year solos, so it’s all yours. I’ll come and get you when it’s time for you to go on again.”

“Very well,” Octavia said, nodding. “Thank you.”

Professor Mode nodded back, before exiting the room, leaving Octavia alone.

She wasted no time in setting up her cello and going through her “Snapshot of Winter”, taking care to pay attention to the more complicated arpeggios. Her anxiety was still alive and well, and she had half-expected to find herself unable to remember her solo piece at all, but her practice served her well. With a triumphant air, she finished the solo, letting the final note ring out.

And then she heard clapping.

“Very good, Octavia. Very different,” a unicorn said, stepping out of the shadows. “And it IS Octavia right? I would hate to inconvenience the wrong pony.”

“When did you come in here?”

“Just a little while ago actually,” he said, stepping even closer. “You’ll find that pretty much every musician in this school knows some basic sound dampening, helps with practicing at night. Not you though, right? No magic?”

Octavia took a step backwards holding onto her cello protectively.

“What do you want?”

“Well, it seems like you have upset my sister, and I can’t have that,” he said. “And as it turns out, you are very well-protected when it comes to the ponies that run this school. Which is a shame, really; what we had in mind was a lot less unsavory.”

“So I take it you’re Major?” Octavia asked, taking note of the stallion in front of her. He was a tan unicorn with a dark brown mane, but what struck her most was the look contempt on his face.

“You see, we just wanted the solo to go to the right pony, but they wouldn’t budge,” he continued, ignoring her. “They made it quite clear that under no terms would Minor get that solo, but that wasn’t the issue anymore. No one says ‘no’ to us, especially on behalf of some mud pony ‘musician.’ So now you’re going to hand over your cello nice and easy. Solos are reserved for real artists anyway.”

“Real artists? I can get behind that idea. Any idea where we could find some, though? The only ones around here are lousy.”

Recognition registered on Major’s face, before it was replaced by a mix of anger and annoyance. Turning to face the door, Octavia saw Slant with a bemused look on his face.

“Slant, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“You told me not to come,” he answered shrugging. “By the way, as weird as walking into a soundproofing spell is, it’s even worse when there are two active.”

“What did I tell you about interfering?” Major shouted at the pegasus.

“You told me not to get my parents involved,” he answered. “They’re not here.”

Major made to say something else.

Slant charged.

Octavia could only look on as Slant reached Major. The unicorn took a swing at him, but Slant was too fast. The pegasus easily dodged underneath Major’s hoof, delivering a series of kicks. Major tried to stomp down on his foe, but Slant was once away a step ahead, rolling out of the way. He then used his wings to get a boost, bouncing of a wall and landing a kick on Major’s back. The unicorn turned to attack, but Slant was once again no longer there.

And yet something was wrong.

As Octavia watched, she noticed that despite all the solid hits that Slant was making, they were proving no more than an inconvenience to the unicorn. While Slant was tiring himself out, Major was only growing more enraged.

“Enough!” Major yelled. His horn glowed bright, enveloping Slant in his telekinetic grip.

The pegasus gulped.

With as much energy as he could muster, Major slammed Slant against the stone wall of the room. Slant cried out in pain. Major smiled.

Octavia watched mortified as Slant was thrown against the wall, furniture, and the floor, transfixed by the repulsive spectacle. She heard what sounded like bones breaking, just covered by the sound of Slant’s cries, both barely discernible beneath Major’s laughter. She begged herself to move, to yell, to do something, but she couldn’t. All she could do was stare, frozen, until Major saw fit to end Slant’s torture.

With one final yell Major slammed Slant against the back wall, where the pegasus crumpled on the floor. Silent and unmoving, except for a few raspy breaths and a few agonizing tears. Octavia walked closer.

Major Scale’s pants filled the room as he picked up the cello, throwing it against a corner of the room where it crashed against some assorted chairs. The sound of snapping strings was loud and clear.

But Octavia could not hear it.

All that existed in her world, all that really mattered, was the bloody and broken pegasus in front of her, that and her rage.

Slowly, Octavia stood up, walking up to the unicorn. Her eyes never left the floor.

“Well, without your cello my job here is done, so-“

Octavia turned around and delivered a powerful kick, slamming Major against the wall.

“What are you-“

Another blow, this time go his stomach, silenced him. Major gasped for air as Octavia’s hoof found its way up to his throat, pinning him.

“You will regret what you have done.”

That was all the warning she gave. Before Major could so much as take another breath, Octavia began to pummel him with a never-ending onslaught of punches. Tears fell down Octavia’s cheeks as tears and bruises appeared on Major’s body. After a while, Major blacked out due to the agony, and yet the cellist continued to strike. Her muscles burned, her prey was unconscious, but she continued until she could not anymore.

And then she stopped, her fury spent. Major’s body toppled to the floor.

Octavia spent a minute studying her work, unsure whether to be proud or terrified. And yet, that was a decision to be made some other time. He was breathing, that was good enough for now. Stepping away from Major, she turned walked back towards Slant.

“Slant, are you ok?”

The pegasus tried to move, his body jerking as he cried out in pain. He then began to laugh.

“You’ve got to love dramatic irony,” he said, gasping between each line. Octavia could not help to laugh along with him.

“You idiot, you could have gotten yourself killed.”

“I… I didn’t know that at the time, ok?”

“Octavia, you’re on next, so you should…”

Professor Mode went quiet after entering the room, blinking a few times at the scene before him. When he finally seemed collected enough to accept what he was seeing as real, he spoke only two words.

“What happened?”

Octavia looked between the unconscious unicorn and the semi-conscious pegasus, finding no other explanation but the truth. Then she felt a hoof touch hers.

“I did it,” Slant said, using Octavia to prop himself into a sitting position, wincing as he did so. “Him and me.”

“How and why?”

“He didn’t like that his sister got ‘her solo’ taken away. He wanted to make sure that a ‘mud pony’ didn’t play it in her stead. Something about it being only for ‘real artists,’ or something like that,” Slant explained. “He wrecked her cello and tried to attack her. I protected her.”

“Are you admitting that you and Major Scale fought on school property?”

“Yes,” Slant declared. “He was going to try to pin it on Octavia because he said I was too much of a coward to tell the truth. But I’m not, and when he wakes up, make sure he knows that.”

Professor Mode looked between the three ponies, thinking of how to proceed.

“Okay, first things first, I have to get you two to the infirmary,” he said, gently picking up Major with his telekinetic grip. “Then I’m calling both your families and we’re going to have a little chat about what is and isn’t proper conflict resolution. There will be consequences. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“As for you,” Professor Mode said, turning to look at Octavia. “Are you ready? He mentioned something about your cello.”

“I’m not sure, it’s right over there.”

Professor Mode turned to where she was pointing, examining the instrument.

“Well the cello itself is fine, barely,” he commented. “But all your strings have snapped except for one. I guess you’ll have to go get your spare cello, but you’ll really need to hurry.”

“I… I don’t have a spare cello,” she mumbled. “Or spare strings…”

The unicorn looked at her with a confused expression before looking back at the cello, understanding that not all of the dents had been a result of this latest incident.

“All the other cellists have gone,” he said. “Meaning that there’s no one’s instrument that you could borrow. Maybe one of the second years will let you, but we can’t really force them. We might have to cancel the first year solo in light of-”

“What string is still there?” Slant asked, interrupting.

“The D-String,” Professor Mode answered, after a pause. “Why?”

“You should have told her that first,” Slant laughed. “I’ve been watching her practice and her solo was played using only the D-String as a way to show off. Good thing Major didn’t get that one, huh Octavia?”

The cellist nodded involuntarily, curious to see where Slant was going with his lie.

“Very unusual, but not unheard of,” Professor Mode mumbled. “Definitely unorthodox, but that’s what we had been discussing anyway. You’re a very lucky filly indeed, Ms. Octavia. Go ahead and check to make sure that string is tuned, as I doubt it will be after a hit like the one it took, and report to the stage side. They’ll call for you when it’s your turn. I have to go get these two to the infirmary.”

Octavia nodded, watching as Professor Mode carried the two students out of the room. She re-tuned the string as instructed, and reported to the side of the stage before her mind caught up with her.

“I can’t do this.”

She fought back tears as she stared in terror to the current performer, knowing that when her turn came up she’d be walking willingly to the wolves.

“I need sponsors. My cello, my strings, my career… And I’m about to throw it away,” she thought. “I’m going to go out there with one string and no song to play. No. There’s still time, I can still back out.”

Octavia began to turn away from the stage, but an image of Slant flashed through her mind.

“He was here,” she thought. “After all he said, after the way he acted, he still planned to make sure I was ok. He always planned to get involved.”

She thought back to the first time she had performed here, a time very similar to this one. In both cases she felt lost, fearful, and out of her depth. In both cases her entire future hinged on one performance. In both cases Slant had gotten involved.

“He knew what he was talking about then,” she mused. “And he just proved he wouldn’t push me to do something I wasn’t capable of, at least not alone.”

“And now for our first solo of the night, first year student Ms. Octavia Philharmonica.”

Her named had been called and a choice had to be made. With as much fake confidence as she could muster, she stood up straight and walked onto the stage.

The time while she got on the proper spot and set up her cello and bow seemed to drag on longer than normal, allowing her enough time to hear the whispering amongst the gathered crowd. It seemed like her lack of strings had not gone unnoticed, nor the fact that they had not been missing the last time she was onstage. Curiosity piqued the conversations, maintaining them at a constant barely audible level. Barely audible was still audible, however.

Octavia raised her bow, feeling awkward and oddly vulnerable without the extra strings. The crowd waited, wondering what this filly would produce. She took a deep breath.

“Well, just like last time,” she thought. “If I’m going out, I might as well go out with style.”

She ran her bow across the string, letting the open note ring out into the air as memories of what she’d just gone through flashed through her mind. Her nervousness was gone, replaced by the dread she had carried with her through the day.

Using her hoof, she began to play a minor scale down the cello’s neck. It was a slow march, meticulously slow, like the calm before a storm. In her mind she saw Major Scale stalking up to her, malice in his eyes. He was stalking his prey. Her rhythm shifted slightly, becoming more frantic, more poignant.

And then Slant charged. Her rhythm sped up again, always slightly before or after the beat. Each note rang with vibrato, never long on the correct pitch. Her playing became desperate and pleading. Suddenly her playing changed again, her notes becoming panicked in their delivery. Her bow struck the string in frantic trills set to a polyrhythm of her own making. The key remained the same, but her melody was chaos.

Octavia began striking at her cello as hard as she could, lost in her anger as the memory of Major Scale pinned against a wall enveloped her.

Then finally, she stopped, letting a second of silence punctuate the piece before striking the open string again, leaving the final note to slowly die out.

The silence that followed weighed heavily upon Octavia as she stood there, waiting for her audience’s judgment. Thankfully, it was brief. The audience soon erupted in applause. The cellist smiled, taking a bow before walking offstage.

Had she stayed she would have heard the audience discussing her performance. Reading the title on the program, many would speak about the way her piece had perfectly captured the season. She would have heard them mention its slow start like the scattered snow, the way it grew in intensity and fervor like a growing blizzard, or the way it all ended and thawed much like the budding spring. She would have also heard sponsors making claims to invest in her future, hatching plans and ideas, competing with each other on who would have the fortune to employ her in the future.

And yet, she heard none of this, as she currently had somewhere more important to be.


The missing sound of beeping machinery stroke Octavia as both odd and ominous immediately upon her arrival. After all, while she had only gone to a doctor’s once, she had assumed that certain medical equipment was standard amongst all health facilities. However, as she walked through the door she was greeted not by IVs or heart monitors, but a room with a couch, a desk, and a bedridden pony looking directly at her.

“Hey, how did it go?”

Octavia walked closer, cringing at the sight of the bandages holding Slant together, almost yelling as the pegasus attempted to sit up.

“You shouldn’t be doing that!” she exclaimed, rushing to his bedside.

“Relax,” he responded, waving her off. “If I weren’t ok they would have moved me to the hospital a few blocks away like your new best friend. So tell me, how did it go?”

“It went great, actually,” Octavia said. “It’s a shame you couldn’t be there to hear it.”

“That’s ok,” he said shrugging. “It was probably mediocre at best. At least here I had the doctors to keep me entertained.”

Octavia smiled, sitting down, unsure of how to phrase her question.

“Why did you take the blame, Slant?”

Slant seemed to give the question a bit of thought before answering.

“I guess because out of the two of us, only one could’ve gotten kicked out of school for fighting, and it certainly wouldn’t have been me,” he explained. “I haven’t talked to my parents yet, since we’re waiting for Major to wake up and contribute to the conversation, but I’m pretty sure they won’t even be mad at me for this. They’re always telling me that ‘I need to be tougher’ and stick up for myself. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not really a fighter.”

“I noticed,” Octavia said, stifling a giggle. “I’m curious as to why you tried to fight him if you knew you weren’t good at it, though.”

“I knew you needed help and I didn’t realize at the time that you’re better at fighting than I am,” he said. “About time being an earth pony was useful, right?”

“Quite,” she responded. “Thank you for your help. If not for you, I might have stood there in shock instead of giving Major what he deserved.”

“No problem.”

A moment of silence passed between the two, interrupted occasionally by a sharp breath from Slant or the winter wind knocking against the window.

“I’m sorry, but I need to know,” Octavia began. “Are we friends?”

Slant took a deep breath before setting his unblinking stare upon Octavia’s eyes.

“You beat the snot out of Major Scale and let me take all the credit,” he said. “Of course we’re friends.”

Author's Note:

And this concludes the first Mini Arc in Arc 0 (it's how I organize these things in my head), meaning that we're 1/3 into the first year of Arc 0. The second third begins with the next chapter.

I hope you're ready,
-thedarkprep