Saturday: Hospital Visits Pt. 2
“That’ll be fifty dollars.”
“I-I beg your pardon?”
“Fifty dollars. Now are you gonna pay me or what?”
The cellist reached into a cheap purse she found and scavenged for whatever loose bits she still had to her name to pay for her taxi ride to the Canterlot Medical Center. She pulled out the entire content of the purse, two ten dollar bits.
“That’s all you got?”
“I’m terribly sorry sir, but I’m afraid it is.”
The rumpled stallion sighed then set his eyes on the horrendously configured imitation bag. “That’s a nice bag you got there. Would really look good on my wife. How’s ‘bout you give that and your money to me?”
“Uh, sure. Take it.”
The taxi driver snatched the purse away from the befuddled mare and sped off down the illuminated parking lot of the hospital.
“Dear Celestia,” she muttered, staring down at her now empty hoof. “What a rip off.”
Octavia walked into the hospital and stopped on the padded blue mat. A long, sweeping survey of the inside revealed a bombardment of sights toppling over each other for her attention, including a multicolored tile floor, equally decorated walls, a front desk surrounded by flyers of all sizes, and towering palm trees whose fronds nearly greeted every walking patron with a brush across the cheek. The waiting hall was completely empty, save for a few cushioned chairs, accompanying tables, and monthly subscriptions scattered by ponies with more pressing matters to attend to. The bedazzled mare shook her head and made her way to the front desk.
“Hello, may I help you?” asked a cheerful young unicorn wearing bright red glasses.
“Yes, I would like to visit a friend this evening. Her name is Apple Bloom. Would you do me the favor of locating her room?”
“One moment.” The unicorn swiveled her chair to face a computer and began typing quickly. “What was that name again?”
“Apple Bloom,” Octavia responded.
“Okay, just gimme a minute here,” she mumbled as she searched for the name on the registry. “Is she a relative or a friend of yours?”
“Actually, she’s the little sister of a friend.”
“Oh really? What happened?”
“Well,” Octavia began. “Apparently she was diagnosed with a stomach complication. Pelvic fracture impaction or something along those lines.”
“Oh, you mean pelvic flexure impaction?” she asked, touching the rim of her spectacles.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“So she had surgery and everything?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, poor baby!” The young mare ran a hoof over the bright screen that reflected off her lenses and stopped about midway. “Aha! Apple Bloom. She is on…the third floor, room three fifteen.”
“I see. Well, thank you very much.”
“No problem! Say hi to Apple Bloom for me! Hope she gets better!”
The cellist turned to grin at the request before continuing her way to the elevators. After passing a quiet cafeteria and several yellow signs warning of a slippery floor, the mare turned a corner and found herself in a small pocket of the hospital where the elevators stood. She pressed a button and waited patiently for whichever elevator arrived first. She looked up at an analog wall clock, the only wall with no elevator on it, and read nine thirty.
“I hope I’m not arriving at too late an hour,” she whispered to herself.
The cellist turned back to the elevator in front of her when out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a colt of about nine with a Mohawk-styled mane sitting in a wheelchair in front of the elevator next to hers. He wore a cast on his right back leg which was suspended by a mechanism particular to the wheelchair’s model, but the mare made nothing of it.
“Hey,” the colt said to the mare.
She slowly turned to face him and raised her eyebrows inquisitively.
“Which one do you think is gonna get here first?”
The cellist smiled. “Honestly, I don’t particularly care so long as one gets here.”
“I think it’s gonna be this one,” he said, ignoring her comment and pointing a healthy hoof to the elevator in front of him.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“Because this one always comes first.”
“Any specific reason why, you think?”
“It’s because,” he said. “Whenever I come here and push that button, this one always gets here first.”
The intrigued mare smirked at his response. “That’s interesting. You know, it could be different this time. Another elevator could arrive sooner.”
“No,” he said with a smile. “I know this one will come first.”
“Well,” she said, grinning. “I think mine will get here first!”
“Nope! Mine will.”
“Really? Care to wager?”
The colt turned serious. “You mean like a bet?”
“You’re a smart colt.”
“My mom says that betting is a sin.”
The cellist could hardly hide her laugh. “Well, you have a very smart mother!” She thought for a second. “Tell you what. How about if your elevator wins, I buy you whatever you want from the cafeteria later?”
“Okay!” The little colt squirmed with excitement in his seat at the prospect of getting whatever he wanted from the poor, stupid mare.
“And if I win,” she continued.
“What?” he asked looking up.
“You have to give me a kiss on the cheek.”
“Gross! Are you a cradle rocker or something?”
The cellist let out another hearty laugh, which was cut off prematurely by the arrival of an elevator that, at her disadvantage, opened in front of the young colt sitting in the wheelchair.
“I win!” he squealed. “You owe me whatever I want from the cafeteria!”
Octavia smiled. “Okay, okay. You win.”
The young colt turned on a wheel in his chair and zoomed out into the white halls.
“Hey,” she called out. “You’re going to miss the ride up!”
“But you owe me something from cafeteria, remember?” he yelled back.
“I said later, you impatient patient!”
“But I want it now! Please?”
The mare looked back up at the clock and sighed. I suppose Apple Bloom can wait a few more minutes.
“Alright, I’m on my way.”
“Yay!” He scooted away.
“Hey, wait for me!”
The elevator opened up to the third floor, and from within its glossy titanium walls came the cellist and her new found friend, happily smacking his lips.
“I can’t believe this time it was MY elevator that got there first,” she said audibly so the colt could hear. “Why couldn’t it have been that way before?”
The young colt giggled as he took one last taste of his prized treat before disposing the remains into a waste bin.
“I take it you enjoyed the extra-large non-fat yogurt, hmm?”
All she heard in response was a very sticky “mm-hmm.”
“Good,” she chuckled. “Well, I suppose this is good bye, um…”
“Crash,” he said, filling in the blank.
“Oh, that’s…interesting,” she said, biting her lower lip.
“That’s okay. I know my name makes a lot of sense. I’m kind of a daredevil and I’m always getting hurt. Like this leg here? Scooter off two flights of stairs right into a wall. Snap!”
The mild mannered mare shuddered at the sound of his clop proving his point. I wonder how your mother sleeps at night.
“In fact,” he began with an air of pride. “When I grow up, I’m gonna be a stunt pony!”
“That sounds lovely, I guess.”
“What’s love got to do with it?”
The cellist stifled a giggle over the obvious reference.
Crash just frowned. “Well, I gotta get back to my room. My mom’s probably going crazy since I haven’t been back for a couple hours now.”
“As she should be,” she exclaimed. “What on earth is a young colt like you doing out and about on your own in a place like this?”
“Come on, it’s not like we’re in a dark alley or something. Besides, when you’ve been here as long as I have, you know where everything’s at. You even know some things you never wanted to know.”
“Really,” she said, feigning interest. “Like what?”
“Well,” he said, waving her in. “You see that laundry room over there?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s always locked and a doctor and a nurse are always seen going in.”
“That’s strange,” she said, no longer faking her curiosity.
“You know why around here it’s known as the ‘dirty sheets’ room?”
The mare smirked “Isn’t that where they wash used linens?”
“Well duh! But you know how the ‘sheets’ get ‘dirty’ with a doctor and a nurse in there together?” he asked, nudging her.
The mare in a bow tie took a second to think about her little friend’s cryptic clues. Soon enough, like bread baking inside a sweltering oven, her face grew into a shocked smile.
“My word,” she said, hitting the colt on the shoulder. “How on earth do you know these things?”
“Hey, word gets around here! And calm yourself!”
“I think somepony needs to have their television taken away from their room at nights!”
“Never,” he said, grinning deviously. He grabbed the large wheels of his chair and started his way down the hall. “Well, I gotta go. See ya later, babe.”
“Alright, have a good night, Crash.” The music pony walked in the opposite direction towards a small waiting room when a sudden realization stopped her once again.
Did he just call me babe?
She turned around to find a long hallway minus one pleasantly defiant colt in a wheel chair.
Dear Celestia!
She walked for what seemed like hours.
Do these white walls ever stop? It’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven.
An excruciating moan from one of the open rooms halted her cautious steps for a moment.
Or maybe hell.
She continued walking until she reached the end of the long hallway. Two hallways stretched on either side of her, but the cellist kept her weary eyes peeled on the sign in front of her. Two arrows pointed the way, the left leading to rooms five hundred to five hundred forty-nine, the right up to five hundred ninety nine.
Let’s see. What was the number again?
Five fifteen? Five fifty?
Five fifty. That sounds right.
She turned right. The large pale door marked with the deep blue numerals appeared immediately to her right.
The door was closed.
...
She put a hoof on the knob and breathed in a long sigh.
Okay. Here we go.
She opened the door and poked her head inside. The room was completely dark save a single light coming from a lone lamp sitting crookedly behind the curtain that separated the two beds. The bed closest to the entrance was bare and so was the entire room. Octavia stepped inside, careful not to create too much disturbance for the motionless figure that lied on the veiled bed. She stepped on something smooth and cylindrical, like a pen, and nearly lost her step.
“Oh,” she squeaked.
The shadow behind the curtain jerked its head to the unexpected visitor. “Hey! Who goes there?”
“Huh?”
“You heard me,” said the patient rather brashly. “Who are you and why are you here?”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” replied Octavia, realizing the voice sounded nothing like a small filly with a stomach problem. “I must have the wrong room. I’ll be on my way then.”
“Hey.” The mysterious voice straightened up and flung the curtain aside to address Octavia directly. “Can you refill my water really quick?”
“What?” The musician looked up to find a familiar looking mane of many colors rustle over a pair of fervent magenta eyes. No way. That’s not…
“Oh my bad,” said Rainbow Dash, falling back into bed. “I thought you were a nurse or something.”
“No, I’m just visiting somepony.” Octavia straightened her mane and looked at the injured pegasus with interest. “Rainbow Dash?”
“Yeah? What’s it to you?” she replied, paying no attention to her and electing instead to read a book in her hooves.
“Well, don’t you remember me?”
She didn’t look up. “Yeah. You’re that one pony from the bus asking me all those weird questions.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling a little ashamed from the response. “Well, what happened to you?”
Rainbow Dash closed her book and sighed. “Isn’t it obvious? I had surgery on my wing.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No.” She reopened her book. “So, isn’t there somepony else you need to bother with your stupid questions?”
“W-Well, I…”
“Door’s behind ya, sweetheart.”
The concerned mare felt a rush of embarrassment come over her. She thought about leaving, she even pictured it. But she also pictured another scenario. A different one. A bold one.
I think I’ll put her in her proper place.
“I don’t know ,” she replied, a grin appearing on her face. “If I can find another pony stupid enough to answer my questions.”
The cyan pony put her book down and glared at the grey mare. “Whaddya mean by that, egghead?”
“Come on Rainbow Dash,” she said, gaining confidence. “You and I both know you love answering questions about yourself. You’re probably in love with that pesky little rasp in your voice that annoys the hell out of just about everypony.”
“Hey,” she piped, her voice cracking. “I’ve got fans all over the place just from my voice alone!”
“Of course you do.” The bluffing cellist brushed her hoof on her bow tie and shot a proud look at the upset flyer. Am I selling it enough?
“How much you wanna bet?” Rainbow threw the covers off her body and stuck her flaming face into Octavia’s cool countenance. “We’ll march right down the hall and I’ll have every cripple in this damn hospital crawling just to hear me talk.”
Yes.
“Really? Then calling for help out of your inept flying accident shouldn’t have taken so long, am I right?”
“W-What?”
She had her.
“Please, Rainbow Dash. Your voice is like an ambulance siren: it causes ponies everywhere to stop reluctantly just so you can rush into another accident.”
“B-But…”
“In fact, they should just rip your head off and stick it on every single ambulance. Nopony would miss that spectacle on the road. I mean, you already know what it’s like to have something ripped from your body, no?”
Ouch. Was that too much?
Who cares? It felt good.
The cellist could not help a sly grin from emerging on her hot face. The flyer, meanwhile, let her flank fall on the mattress and a look of utter shock extended from her crunched brow down to her wobbling chin. She didn’t speak for several moments, of which the cellist was glad for since the emotions that bubbled inside her was a mixture of pleasant relief and expectant nervousness.
I cannot believe I pulled this off so easily! How will she react?
“Damn,” Rainbow Dash finally said. “That was…harsh.” A small smile emerged from the former wasteland that the initial shock left behind on her face. “It was kinda awesome too.”
The refined mare hid the urge to squeal behind a proud huff.
“I never pictured you as the trash talking type,” said Rainbow, now fully relaxed and putting up her front legs behind her head.
“I’ve been told I had a way with words.”
“Yeah, but what you just said. I mean, the whole ambulance and rip-off-my-head thing was beastly!”
Octavia polished an invisible apple. “Well, I do have a competitive spirit flowing through my body. It’s rather dormant most of the time, but it does rear its feisty head every once in a while.”
“Competitive? You?” At this the athlete laughed and laughed nearly to the point of tears. She looked up to find a mildly upset mare with a hoof on her hip. “Oh come on, don’t take it that way. I mean, you’re like a musician or something, right? Isn’t everything you do all artsy-fartsy stuff?”
“You would be surprised, Ms. Rainbow Dash.”
The sudden turn to seriousness caught the laidback flyer off guard.
“I wake up every morning at five. One hour of scales. One minute of breakfast. Another two hours of scales. If I’m feeling generous, I’ll throw in a minute break or two. Then it’s off to the bus stop to practice with the boys from the group for six hours. Come home, another round of scales until I play myself to sleep.”
Rainbow didn’t say a word.
“Dinner is optional.”
“Geez. Do you ever go to the bathroom?”
“Didn’t I mention I take a minute break?”
“Do you do anything else with your life? Like have a hobby or take naps?”
“Why bother?”
“Are you ever satisfied with a day’s work?”
“Nothing satisfies the musician,” she responded walking towards the window. “Not even their own work. At least, the ones that are worth their salt will find something to improve upon. It is very easy to be content with mediocrity in the world of music. Just turn on your radio and you’ll find it in almost every single production that filters through your speakers.”
“So, you’re saying they’re not trying hard enough?”
“No. I’m saying they aren’t good period. And they will never be good without that fervent spirit of competition driving them to become better than anyone else. Music, Rainbow Dash, is like anything else. You can be happy with what you have, or you can become the best through hard work and determination.”
The cellist sat on the edge of the bed while her listener scooted closer.
“Unfortunately, the world of music is rife with so-so performances doused with a gold coating by greedy ponies and bought by the ton by the general public. It would be like a politician making empty promises to better their standing with the voters, or a stock broker fudging numbers in his favor to make a sale.”
“Or an athlete who uses steroids to gain an advantage during the competition, even though it’s totally bogus,” added Rainbow Dash. “Boy, do I hate that!”
“Precisely,” said Octavia with a smile.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” said a nurse holding a pitcher of water. “I don’t mean to interrupt but would you like me to exchange you pitchers?”
“Yeah, go for it,” answered Rainbow, waving her off.
The elderly nurse switched the pitchers and excused herself.
“So it’s you against the world, eh?” she asked, stretching out far for the water. “I c-can relate.”
Octavia obliged to serve the thirsty patient a glass of water and hoof it to her. “Not exactly.”
The pegasus took a quick sip and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Music to a musician like me is like a drug. Some ponies get hooked. Other don’t. The ones that don’t find it to be an unnecessary conglomeration of harmonized noises that is useless from a practical standpoint. But for the ones that do, it is life itself. And it is very dangerous to avoid the addiction that can unravel your life of pleasant curiosity and morph it into an endless struggle for that wonderful high that first song gave you. You look for it anywhere. In disorganized shelves. In shady stores. In ponies you never met before. You make deals that would be suspicious to anyone else with a sane mind. But to you, it is a passport to the land you once knew. And like many addictions, it wears your body down until you can’t even rise from your own bed. The dealers breathe down your neck every second for their dues, and there you are trying to work something out. It’s fruitless really, because they own everything that you have and everything that you are. They created you. Music has become not an experiment, but manufacturing. It has lost its savor and originality and has been given a DNA easily replicated. It doesn’t matter to them though. The dealers will make their money, the public will get their tasteless music, and all that you’re left with is an insatiable hunger that will never go away.”
Octavia paused for a moment to watch the ice cube swirl endlessly in her plastic cup. The mare lying next to her hadn’t picked up her own cup of refreshment for the entire talk, and her eyes locked squarely on the musician seated next to her.
“You could say,” she continued. “That all of my battles for perfection, for fulfillment, for peace, are against me.”
“I think I know where you’re coming from now,” said Rainbow, straightening up. “It’s kinda like what I go through with my flight training. I know I can be the best. I can feel it. It’s this amazing high that nothing else can bring to me. The chance of being the greatest flyer in the world is what keeps me pushing harder than the rest.”
Have you ever discovered something that was bigger than life, even bigger than you? It feels like a flood of uncertainty rushing over you, leaving you no room to rest. No room to breathe. No room to live. The only thing that matters is to survive. And the only way to survive is to keep pushing.
She looked at her repaired wing and ran a gentle hoof over it. “And this is what happens when you push for that feeling too far.” She sighed. “I probably need help.” The pegasus felt a soft hoof perch on her shoulder and looking up, found a pair of purple eyes embracing her fallen face with empathy.
“No. You just need to reevaluate.”
“I guess. But my friends probably think I’m a jerk now.”
“In an effort to sound as non-cliché as possible, I will say that true friendship is unconditional.”
Rainbow chuckled. “Yeah, I gotcha.”
The cellist looked up at the wall clock. Ten fifteen.
“Well, I will leave you to rest. I need to go back down and ask where my friend is staying since I misunderstood the first time.”
“What’s your friend’s name? I might know since she seems to be pretty close to where I’m staying.”
Octavia thought for a moment. “Her name’s Apple Bloom.”
“Oh, Applejack’s sister? She’s in three fifteen down the hall.”
Octavia let out a laugh. “Of course! Three fifteen, not three fifty! How did you know she was Applejack’s sister?”
“Applejack’s a really close friend of mine.”
“I see.” Octavia walked towards the exit.
“Hey!” A grin appeared on the Rainbow Dash’s face. “You know for a musician, you have really bad hearing.”
Octavia stared at the pegasus’s wrapped wing and sneered. “Do you really want to go there?”
Rainbow chuckled a second time. “Guess not. Thanks”
The grey mare smiled then walked out of the room in pursuit of room three fifteen.
“Papa, am I going to die?”
“What?” Octavia blurted.
The sweet, still voice froze the mare in her steps, but she didn’t dare disturb the heart wrenching scene unraveling to her right with her curiosity. She could feel the gazes from the family inside burning like a sweltering camp fire. Her initial reaction was to look at her hoof as if searching for the time, but of course she didn’t own a watch, making the scene even more unbearable. She walked away slowly from the open door and stopped right next to it out of sight, eager to hear the rest of this seemingly normal hospital conversation.
“What kind of stupid question is that?” asked a gruff bass voice. “Of course you will not die, you foolish filly.”
“Honey, please,” said a softer, more feminine voice.
“I’m scared, mama.”
“You have no reason to be scared,” boomed the tough-guy stallion. “You should be ashamed for doing what you did.”
“I-I’m sorry, Papa.”
Octavia mustered the courage to peek her purple eyes inside. She could see a small filly in a greenish gown and yellow hair tie huddled with a fair looking mare with bright blue eyes. The filly’s father, sporting a fiery red mane, took his time to answer, brushing off a few hairs on his wrinkled jacket.
“Sorry’s not enough. You have put your entire career in jeopardy. This is going to require double skating training to make up for the time you lost.”
“Firestorm, please,” the filly’s mother pleaded, brushing strands of loose blonde mane off her eyes. “She’s only a little girl. Don’t make her worry so much over a petty thing as training.”
“Shut up, mare!” The sudden burst in volume shook even the grey pony incognito. “You do not understand the magnitude of this incompetent filly’s actions! She will never be able to compete like before. She is now useless in the heat of competition. She will never turn professional when she grows up. And she will never have any sympathy from any judge in this whole world because she only has three legs!”
“Papa! I said I was sorry!”
“I don’t need your apologies or your tears!” he shouted, straightening the ends of his sleeves. “You’ve really done it this time. You just couldn’t follow a few simple rules. And now, you’ve thrown away your entire future. You are worthless to me.”
“Papa, wait! Don’t go!”
“Let him leave, Summer Breeze,” said her mother, smoothing her crying daughter’s bow tied mane. “He doesn’t love you the way I do.”
My god, no! Why did you say that?
“Hey!”
The bellowing voice caught Octavia by surprise. “W-What?”
His face crumpled just like his jacket. “Were you spying on me?”
“I was just, well I mean, you see…” The cellist began walking backwards creating some much needed space between her and her accuser. Then, like a sudden shock of electricity, an eruptive urge assailed her stomach reaching to the bottom of her throat. She placed a hoof over her mouth and charged past the stallion, leaving him confused and cursing to the air.
The lights in the restroom flickered without end. Scribbles of black and blue crawled all over the flimsy walls surrounding her. She gripped the crusted sides of the porcelain seat and held her head in impending suspension over the septic water. The cold, hard tile floor bruised her knees, but she waited patiently, tensely for the incoming release.
Another pony walked into the restroom and Octavia could hear the rhythmic bumps of a bucket rolling across the uneven floor and the water mixed with a cleaning agent sloshing against its sides. She could see the pony park the bucket on the far side of the wall and begin mopping the floor with long strides, left and right. Left and right. The pony got to the middle of the bathroom before retreating to dunk the mop into the bucket and continue where she left off.
Octavia faced the toilet again and shut her eyes. She looked deep in prayer.
Come on. Out with it, then.
She rattled the seat and clenched her teeth. The digestive juices made their movements known, loud and clear, but nothing came out. The warm saliva continued to fill the pockets of her mouth, but they were behaving like nothing more than a tease of real relief. She thought about gagging herself, but quickly scratched that idea.
How embarrassing would it be to alert the janitor of my presence like that?
Convinced that it was a losing battle, the cellist stood to her hooves and turned to leave the stall.
“Hey, you okay in there?” she was asked to her face.
“Er, yes. Thank you.”
Octavia tip hoofed away from the curious janitor and picked up the pace noticeably out the door. The stabilized lights of the hallway blanketed the troubled mare with a sense of restored order. The feelings to vomit subsided little by little as she made her way across the hall in the direction of Apple Bloom’s room.
Three fifteen. Not fifty.
Three twenty.
Three nineteen.
Three eighteen.
Laundry Room. Dear Celestia, that colt.
Three seventeen.
Three sixteen.
“I highly doubt that will happen Fluttershy. Rainbow Dash is the Element of Loyalty, remember?”
She stopped at the door.
Was that Twilight Sparkle?
She took a quick peek.
It is! Does she know Rainbow Dash? If she knows Rainbow Dash, she must know Apple Bloom and Applejack as well.
She poked her head inside, remaining hidden from plain sight.
Element of Loyalty?
“Ponies can change you know, Twilight. And after something as traumatic as having your wing nearly ripped off and making a weeklong trip on hoof on your own, I can’t imagine Rainbow ever being the same again.”
Fluttershy. Dear sweet Fluttershy.
Admittedly, I agree with you there.
“But how can you be sure that Rainbow will change so dramatically?”
That voice. It rings a bell. Well, perhaps more like yanks the rope so ferociously it deafens the ears of every pony within ten miles. Where did I hear her from?
Wait a minute. The pony from outside the studio. The one who teleported all the way from Ponyville. Could it be her?
She knows the Apple family too? And Twilight Sparkle and Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash? Is she another one of the Elements of Harmony?
Octavia withheld her thoughts when she realized a heavy silence fell over room three fifteen. She shuffled closer just enough to see everypony inside while still keeping herself hidden.
Twilight Sparkle.
Fluttershy.
The white unicorn.
Applejack and Pinkie Pie.
Sweetie Belle.
“Oh.” The cellist laid a hoof over her heart when she spotted the filly she had only heard heart wrenching tales about. She was fast asleep, her chest rising and falling to the beeps of the monitor from which spread dozens of threatening-looking wires.
A hospital is no place for a child. But at least she has much love and support in her family and friends.
Love and support.
Not like the other little filly. That poor filly.
Love and support.
“Maybe Rainbow Dash doesn’t want our support anymore.”
I disagree with you there, my dear Fluttershy.
The cellist came out of her hiding place and stood in the doorway of room three fifteen.
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Damn... rough night for Octavia...
I found Octavia's assessment of music quite accurate.
I like music, but it's not my life. I listen to songs fairly often. I might buy an album or two every once in a while. But I don't have a dedicated sound system or anything. Hell, my only pair of headphones has been experiencing cord problems for two months now. And I listen to all of my music off of my computer, which uses its onboard sound card.
Moderation in all things.
(Of course, audiophiles would probably tell me that no, chiptunes and video game music don't count as legit music, but screw you I do what I want.)
Great chapter!! I like the talk between RD and octavia. If I haven't said before, I'm a trumpet player and writer. Been playing for almost 7 years, been performing constantly too. What they said is true. I've gone up against groups that were very rich and buy all these super fancy props and costumes and what not. They win alot of times too, which does anger me. But when my group come out on top above all those groups, it feels good. It feels like a true victory, well earned. So what Octavia said is actually true.
You either allow the big bosses to control you...
... or you KILL THEM ALL AND TAKE OVER!!!
Hey, it's the most practical solution!
I am truly glad I gave this fic a read way back when, its truly beautiful.
How did she buy Crash an ice cream? She was out of bits when she arrived.
This is a story! This is what a story should be! Your story is so impaling, i can't find words to express myself.. Gosh i just love the way you combine real world problems with My Little Pony characters and fan-based characters.... Have i mentioned that i don't know what to say???
781265
A secret to be revealed in the next chapter, my good friend!
(AKA, the author done goofed and is making excuses to hide his laziness and incompetence
)
I'm confused, though it may be just the fact it's 11.
Was this chapter a flash-back? Why was Octavia vomiting, and DEAR SWET CELESTIA that dad was a... Series of NSFW words.
Wow, you've really captured the melancholy journey that is the hospital hallway
This is just one of those stories that will be remembered for all time due to sheer epicness. Your story is awesome and you should feel awesome.
Well... this is NOT something you would expect from the summary
784979
Dood, I can tell you this story came out a LOT different than what I imagined it initially, but such is the way things go sometimes!
Wow, this kept me up until 1 am. Amazing story so far.
Why does Octavia want a kiss from a minor? Italicize "clop". "Of course you will not die, you foolish filly"<----Reword this with a contraction.
Otherwise, interesting dialogue this chapter. I hope you end the story with a final journal entry. 
786284
Somehow, that doesn't surprise me.
789990
From what I remember the "Tragedy" tag is new.
I think...
wow this is really good
Events are tying in, much to my relief. Good to have Octavia's viewpoint again, along with your fantastic writing voice that I've forgotten about during my month long absence from this fic. Interesting to show the same time period twice. I can't remember the last time I've read a story that builds up to the same climax twice. Leaving the very last line from the previous chapter out was a great touch, too.
I found the whole scene with Crash a little confusing. I don't really get his relevance, but maybe that's just me. Also, I like the callback to Octavia's random vomiting problem. I'd almost forgotten about that
Otherwise, awesome and depressing as ever
782470
Octavia walked over to the cafeteria. "What do you want?" she asked the colt beside her.
"Yogurt!"
"Alright, alright. We'll have a yogurt, please."
The cafeteria pony nodded and scooped out a small cup of the stuff and hoofed it over. "That'll be 5 bits please."
Octavia nodded and dropped the currency into his outstretched hoof.
"Thanks, ma'am. Have a good day," he replied. He watched the pair walk out of the room. He then looked at the coins in his hand, which slowly turned blackish. From a pocket, he pulled out a pen and crossed them out. Then he slid out a loose brick in the fourth wall and left.
Edit: Damn, I should've read ahead.