Oh, Octavia!

by Bubblegum

Oh, Octavia! (Act III)

Oh, Octavia!

Act III: Octavia’s Song

By: ScoopDaily (the human, not the pony)

Octavia and Scoop trotted behind Arlet’s wagon, growing tired of their long trek through the featureless countryside. Octavia was having noticeably more trouble than Scoop.

“How can walking around in a memory be so positively tiring?” she complained, plopping down onto her haunches. “It does not make any sense! We are not actually walking, so why would I be tired?”

Scoop nodded, sweat beads streaking his coat. “It’s the amount of time that we’ve been under. Memory invasion is, let’s face it, tiring. More so for me than you, I’ll have you know, but it is very tiring. I think we need to come up for a break.”

“I do not understand why you insisted on following Uncle Apple’s wagon in the first place!” Octavia said, stamping a hoof on the ground. “What a waste of time!”

“Do you get crabby when you’re tired, Mrs. Pie? Besides, it was your idea to follow Arlet’s wagon, not mine.”

Octavia scowled in Scoop’s direction.

“Alright. All we need to do is destroy the construct.”

Octavia sighed. “And how in Celestia’s name are we going to do that?”

“Easy,” Scoop said. “Through my death.”

Octavia blinked incredulously. “Wh-what?” she stuttered.

“Kill me. My mind is supporting the construct.”

“Wouldn’t you... die?”

“Not in real life, no. The only negative connotation would be the actual pain death in this construct would cause. Still, this wouldn’t be the first time it has happened.”

“There simply has to be a better way.”

“There is; we wait for Crescendo to shake me loose. If he can interrupt the link between our minds, both of us will awake. Usually, I have a third pony handy to pull me up every fifteen minutes, but my fortitude at memory-diving has increased by leaps and bounds in the last few months. I thought that I’d be able to handle a couple hours.”

Octavia huffed. “Well, if we are down to either me killing you or us waiting for Crescendo to interrupt our interview, I believe I shall choose the second option!”

“It isn’t that simple,” Scoop explained. “If we aren’t awakened soon, we’ll get more and more tired. Soon enough, sleep will overtake both of us. You don’t want to fall asleep in somepony else’s mind; dreams cannot be controlled.”

“Falling asleep is dangerous?”

Scoop nodded. “I’ve only made the mistake twice. Once while practicing on a friend, and again during a more... personal interview. It’s not pleasant; dreams can be haunting and confusing. We need to be out of the construct before sleep overtakes either of us.”

Octavia looked panicked. “What are we going to do? I cannot possibly kill you! Wouldn’t my hooves pass right through you even if I tried?” Octavia waved a hoof through Scoop to prove her point. Scoop’s image wavered and shuddered, then re-stabilized.

“Well, there is a chance that I would be able to kill myself,” Scoop said. “If we can find... a ledge, or get up onto a high building, I may be able to jump off and hit the ground hard enough to kill myself. If you hit the ground in a dream, you wake up. It’s a lot like that.”

Octavia shook her head. “You have already hit the ground hard twice since we started this interview. In both cases, you simply lost consciousness within the memory. Neither time did you awaken in the real world.”

“I’ve done it before.”

Octavia balked. “You have killed yourself in somepony’s memory more than once?”

“Of course. I mentioned that you don’t want to fall asleep while inside of somepony else’s mind, right? I wasn’t kidding. You really want to avoid that at all costs.”

“Can it really be so bad?”

Scoop sighed. He stopped following the wagon and slumped back onto his haunches. Octavia trotted over and sat beside him. “I mentioned earlier that I fell asleep while practicing on a friend. That friend’s name was Silver Mane. She was... somepony very special to me. My mate. When I gained my abilities, she was one of the first to know. She found it exhilarating and amazing, being inside my mind, and I loved learning more and more about her. We would spend lots of time in each other’s memories, just kind of hanging out.

“I had an assistant who would awaken us if we were under for too long. He was a good colt; he would just sit there and watch us until our fifteen, thirty, forty-five minutes were up. Then, he would just gently shake us awake. He was diligent. I liked him a lot.

“His mare had a filly, and he had to quit. I gave him a large monetary gift to get him started, and then I hired a new assistant. Another good colt, but... he was a little scatterbrained. I should have paid more attention and scolded him, but I was getting better and better at memory diving and... well, I got overconfident.

“One day, I enlisted my assistant’s help while Silver and I were memory diving. He was supposed to bring us up every twenty minutes to make sure we didn’t fall asleep. Time goes way slower in memories, you see; hours in here could be seconds out there. My assistant wandered off at some point, forgetting his duty. Silver and I were under for 45 minutes.”

Scoop didn’t continue; he simply stared off into space as if the story had ended there. Octavia didn’t want to prod; the pain in Scoop’s voice and eyes were evidence that this was a hurtful topic. She waited, and Scoop mustered enough strength to persevere.

“We fell asleep around the 26 minute mark, I think. When you fall asleep, the construct is warped and twisted. It becomes something fluid and changing; in the construct, you have four solid walls and the memory plays out in between those walls. In a dream construct, there is no defined shape or reason. Time travels as fast or as slow as it wants to. Worse yet, you can be split up. I was lucky; I spent two days with her family in Torontrot. She... relived four minutes of my life thirty-one thousand, three hundred twenty-six times.”

“How dull. Was she angry enough to leave you upon awakening?” Octavia taunted. She had not been looking at Scoop when she said so. She heard Scoop’s sharp intake of breath as he attempted not to sob. Turning to look at his face, Octavia noticed tears running down his cheeks. “Scoop?” she asked, her voice tainted with worry.

Octavia’s words hat cut scoop like a hot knife, but he needed to tell his story; it had been on his chest for way too long. “I... I... my powers were given to me for defeating a great darkness,” Scoop explained, choking on his own words. “That darkness was horrifying... a nightmare from a world beyond our own. Alm... the darkness and I fought, and she attempted to defeat me by scaring me, quite literally, to death.

“Silver relived the four most harrowing minutes of my life; the minutes where the darkness overwhelmed me and tore into my mind. I was in sheer terror for those four minutes as... the darkness enveloped my mind and tricked me into believing I was surrounded by creatures more fearsome than any in the Everfree Forest. It...” Scoop’s voice broke and he sobbed.

“What happened?”

“It killed her. She went into Cardiac arrest during the memory. I awakened just in time to watch her hit the floor. I held her as she died in my arms... screaming. She spent the last minutes of her life living my nightmare, not even able to feel my forelegs around her... I can’t...”

Scoop choked on the last sentence, trying to keep from further weeping. Octavia reached a hoof to touch Scoop’s shoulder, conflicted; was it too personal to comfort the reporter?

Saving her from having to make a choice, Scoop swallowed the lump in his throat and wiped the tears from his eyes with a foreleg. “I’m not worried about me being trapped in your memories. I’m worried about you being trapped in mine.”

“We have to...” Octavia began, but at that moment the memory began to waver. The wavering gave way to shuddering as a voice cut through the silence left by Arlet’s passing in the wagon.

“...Daily! Your time is up! Snap out of it!”

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Scoop awakened to Crescendo shaking him, as expected. Apparently, nopony had come up with a better method of waking a sleeping pony in the thousands of years ponies who could sleep had existed. Go figure.

Octavia sat before him in a trance, her eyes wide open and unblinking. Scoop reached out to touch her forehead. “Time to wake up, Mrs. Pie.”

Crescendo batted Scoop’s hoof away. “Do not deign to lay a hoof on her, Mister Daily! Especially when she is in such a position; why, I ought to have you reported for trying to take advantage of her in such a way!”

“Cress, it’s fine,” Octavia had said. Crescendo’s shouting had been the trigger needed to awaken her from her stupor. “He has to touch me; it is the only way to access my memories.”

“Access your... what in the name of Luna’s hindquarters are you talking about? He managed to invade your memories?”

Scoop blushed. “Crescendo, were you not aware when you offered me this interview that I am able to access a pony’s memories through physical contact? It’s not a secret; I mention it in most of my articles.”

Crescendo blustered for a moment.

“You’ve never actually read one of my articles, have you? All that stuff you said about my talent as a reporter was just... falsehood!”

“Yes, well... I as well as anyone know of your rep-u-tation, Mr. Daily, and it is a positive one! After this scandalous behaviour, however, my disdain for reporters has been affirmed! Never again shall anypony be allowed to interview Missus Octavia, and it’s all your doing, Mr...”

At this moment, he was cut off by a slap to the face from Octavia. Fire burned in her eyes. “Missus Pie... this type of behaviour does not become you! Why... ?”

“How dare you! You do not own me! The Ministry does not own me! What right do you have to say who interviews me? If anyone should be reported it is you, Crescendo, and that is just what I am going to do! The tale of your actions shall undoubtedly find its way before the Council of Ministries before week’s end! As for our business relationship, it is through!”

With that, Octavia grabbed Scoop’s hoof and dragged him into the hall. Outside the imposing doors, she immediately broke into a grin and tried to suppress a giggle. “I’ve always wanted to do that! Come on! Let’s get out of here!”

“Wait...” began Scoop. “Where are we...?”

“To my home, Mr. Daily! To la maison d’Octavie Pie!”

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Having been dragged through the streets for nearly an hour by Octavia, who had declined a ride from a royal transport waiting outside the Ministry, Scoop was now completely disoriented.

“Where is your home exactly, Mrs. Pie?”

“Octavia, Mr. Daily, just Octavia! I’m sick of all this respectful speak. You’ve been inside my mind for Celestia’s sake! There’s really no call to be formal anymore!”

Scoop smiled. “Alright, Octavia, but under two conditions: one, you let go of my hoof, and two, you call me Scoop.”

“Deal and deal!” she laughed, releasing his hoof and darting into an alley to the left. Scoop had to brake hard and skidded on the cobblestone street before regaining traction and following her into the alley. She ran straight to a brick wall at the back. The wall seemed blank, but Octavia pressed a small brick in the middle of the wall and a section slid away to reveal an impressive metal door. In the center of this door was a keypad; Octavia pressed a series of numbers and the door swung inward.

She turned and smirked at Scoop. “Security! Don’t want all the fans knowing where I live!” She faced into the dark doorway and stepped inside; Scoop followed.

“Scratchy, I’m hoooome!” she called. Scoop nearly squeed in delight.

“Vinyl’s here?”

“She lives here, silly!” Octavia giggled. “Wow, I feel good!” she said, to no one in particular.

“Do you really?” said Vinyl, appearing from out of nowhere and tackling Octavia to the ground. She pressed her hooves into Octavia’s shoulders, effectively pinning her. “Well, how about I make you feel great?”

“Wait, Vinyl, we...” she was cut off as Vinyl smothered her with a passionate kiss. Octavia’s eyes grew wide and then slid closed as she lost herself in the moment of intimacy.

Scoop was immediately struck with the awkwardness of the situation and tried to back out the door; to his chagrin, it had closed behind him. The sound of his hooves on the tile floor of the entryway alerted Vinyl Scratch to his presence. She broke the kiss and turned to look at him, blushing a bright red; her irises seemed to disappear as her coat became more brilliantly cherry-colored than her eyes.

“Oh, um... I’m sorry! I didn’t... uh... hi, Scoop!”

Encouraged by Vinyl’s own awkwardness, Scoop chuckled. “Hi, Scratch! Good to see you again!”

“Um, yeah!” Vinyl said, climbing off of Octavia, who lay on the ground panting for a moment. “What... um, brings you here?”

“He was following me, stupid!” Octavia said teasingly, rolling onto her belly and pressing herself up off the floor. “We need to continue our interview, and Cress had another fit.”

Vinyl made a pfft sound. “That schmuck? I told you, babe, you need to get a new manager. Someone cool, collected, not some old classical-music junkie who doesn’t even know what a record is!”

Octavia laughed. “Can I have your manager?”

“What, Platinum? Yeah, he’s all yours. I don’t need that tool anyways; my music wants to be free!”

With that, Scratch hopped onto a small stage where a set of turntables waited and began turning dials and flipping switches. “Octy, you gotta hear this new song I made! It’s totally the bomb! I should open at your next concert! Ooo, or we could do a duet! We could make a single! Hell, a whole record: Octavia Scratch: Classic Pop Rock Grunge Cello Explosion!”

Octavia hopped up beside Scratch and planted a second kiss on her lips. “Not on your life, Scratchy! I’ll listen to it later; right now, me and Scoop over there have some ‘business’ to take care of!”

Vinyl leveled her piercing red gaze at Scoop. “You keep your hooves offa my mare, capice?”

Scoop blushed, and the two mares collapsed in a fit of giggles.

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After hours of Octavia’s weird home-life antics, she and Scoop were finally seated on a leather sofa. Scratch was sprawled across the coffee table in a drunken stupor, having emptied the liquor cabinet and thrown “the biggest party ever” (entailing herself, Octavia, and an awkward-looking Scoop downing glass after glass of various alcoholic concoctions). Octavia reached over and poked Vinyl in the ribs with the edge of her hoof. Vinyl stirred and moaned.

“Scratch, you have to stay awake while S-scoop and... hic... I go under. If you don’t, I might just die of a heart attack. You understand, babe?”

Vinyl rolled onto her side. Her bloodshot eyes looked even more red than usual. “Can’t we just skip the memory-diving for tonight, Tav? I’m tired. Scoop can stay in the gueshtroom, can’t he? It’ll be a regular shlumber party!”

Octavia clopped her hooves. “Oh, joy! Won’t that be fun? Scoop, you wanna spend the night, don’tcha?”

Ordinarily, Scoop was a reserved pony who followed a strict code of business ethics. Sure, he would cut loose and have some fun when with his friends, but on the job he was as serious as a heart attack. Sadly, after being tempted into binge drinking and cavorting with Octavia and her mate, he had lost a goodly portion of his better judgement.

“Sh-shure, Octavia... and while you and Vinyl are meshin around in bed, I can getsh me some mush needed shleep!”

Octavia and Scratch both collapsed in giggles again. Octavia rose from her seat and attempted to lift Scratch off the table; she only succeeded in stumbling over the debris on the floor and crashing on top of Vinyl.

Scoop rose from the couch and stumbled across the room. “Whish room ish mine?” he asked. Through her laughing, Octavia managed to point to a door on the other side of the room.

Stumbling up to the door and placing a hoof on the knob, Octavia gave a strangled screech. He turned and saw that Vinyl’s head was nestled between Octavia’s legs. He blushed, turned, and slammed the door behind him.

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Scoop was awakened by a crack of thunder... or, so he thought. The thunder was followed by a neon light show outside the window of the bedroom. A multi-hued corona of light slid across the sky lead by a streak of rainbow-colored light.

“When does she sleep?” Scoop wondered, pulling the covers up over his head. What was Rainbow Dash doing up in the middle of the night anyway?

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The next morning, Scoop awakened to the sounds of shuffling outside his door. Whispers and barely-suppressed giggles signaled him that Octavia and Scratch were already awake and were cleaning up the mess in the living area from the night before. Scoop rubbed his temples; he had a headache to beat the band, and even the soft giggles from the other room were enough to set his ears ringing.

“Celestia, what was I thinking?” he queried, rolling out of bed and landing on the floor with a soft whumpf! He pressed himself off the floor and plodded to the door. He turned the knob and stumbled into the living area.

“Well, good morning, sunshine!” said a too-enthusiastic Vinyl Scratch. “How are we feeling this glorious Celestia-given new day?”

Scoop scowled at her and mouthed “f-you” to her. Vinyl simply smirked.

Octavia approached him holding a glass of some brown, syrupy liquid. When he asked what it was, she explained that maple syrup mixed with bourbon would help take the razor edge off of his hangover. He downed the glass in one gulp.

“Ok, I think we should get to work,” he said. “After last night’s unprofessional actions, I need to do some extra hoofwork to make up for my indiscretion.”

Octavia looked crestfallen, but she understood Scoop’s code of ethics. She motioned for him to follow her. “Scratch, you okay cleaning up by yourself?”

“Hell yeah!” said Vinyl. “You don’t get to be a party pony without learning to clean up after yourself!”

Octavia shot her a grateful smile and opened the door into a quiet anteroom. Two chairs faced each other opposite a music stand weighted with too many texts. “Sorry about the mess,” she said. “A genius is always disorganized.”

Scoop snickered. “Whatever you say. Where should we start today?”

“Hmmm,” said Octavia, putting a hoof to her chin. “What if we skip the wagon-following and just start at the opening ceremony for the Earth Pony School of Music? That’s the next important date I can think of.”

“Okay,” Scoop nickered, taking a seat in one of the chairs. Octavia took the one opposite him, and Scoop placed a hoof on her brow. “Now, relax.”

After several minutes, Octavia had drifted off and Scoop enacted his magic. The warp-like feeling of being sucked from his body pervaded for a few moments, and then he was inside Octavia's memory selection chamber. Strangely, Octavia herself had yet to appear.

Without Octavia to guide him, Scoop wandered down the cylindrical corridor surrounded by images of people and places from Octavia's past. One in particular drew his attention.

Scoop stepped in front of the moving image; this memory had already been activated. He took a moment to observe and then stepped through.

On the other side was a large, semicircular auditorium filled with ponies both young and old. Ages range from colts and fillies barely old enough to speak all the way up to elderly, gray teachers, most in wheeled contraptions allowing them to walk using only their front legs.

Amidst the crowd he picked out several familiar faces: a young Strings, clutching his trademark violin; the now-deceased Allegrazza Treble, a great modern composer whom Scoop had the pleasure of interviewing before his death; and, most prominently, a very excited, young Octavia just stepping through the auditorium doors. She was flanked by Arlet on one side, and an older version of herself on the other.

Scoop pressed his way through the crowd of ponies (literally walking through a couple of them) and made his way towards the trio. It was then that Scoop heard the thumping of a hoof against a microphone. “Alright, my little ponies, please find your seats. The opening ceremony has begun!”

He turned to look at the speaker; it was a middle-aged, rather portly mare with her mane pulled back into a bun. She was wearing a suit coat over a white, lacy blouse which was obviously two sizes to small for her. Her Cutie Mark was a nondescript green music note... two quarter notes joined by a bar.

“Welcome, fillies and gentlecolts, to another wonderful year at the Earth Pony Academy of Music! I see a lot of new faces in the audience, and I would like to welcome you! We are an all-ages academy focused on the discovery and cultivation of all earth pony musical talent! Every year, we have a grand opening celebration with Her Majesty the Princess as guest of honor!”

The crowd exploded into thunderous applause, and the portly mare on the stage raised a hoof to silence them. “Sadly, her majesty couldn’t make it this year. She has recently taken a personal student, a Unicorn whose magical abilities are unrivaled in the world... or, so I’m told. Nevertheless, our opening celebration will be better than ever this year!”

Half-hearted applause and groans of disappointment mixed in the audience. Scoop finally found the young Octavia seated in the audience and found himself wishing he could comfort her; the look of disappointment on her face was enough to melt even the stoniest of hearts.

“So, without further ado, I would like to call to the stage a pony we all know and love! He is in his eleventh year in this Academy and will be graduating at the end of this school year! Please give a warm welcome to Harmony Strings!”

The familiar brown colt sauntered onto the stage, his head low to the floor. His violin poked out of his saddlebags. The portly announcer moved away from the microphone and Strings took his position. As he drew his bow across the strings, all shyness melted away. He poured his soul into his music, his eyes closed and a smile curling up at the corners of his mouth.

As the song moved through it’s faster and slower movements, Scoop kept one eye on the young Octavia. Her eyes glittered as she watched Strings deftly work his instrument, coaxing the most beautiful medley of notes she had ever heard into being. He could tell she was finding it hard not to move to the sound of the music.

“One day,” he whispered, leaning over to her. “You’ll play like this. In fact, you’ll be better.”

The moment and the piece over, Strings took a deep bow. When he rose, his face was beet red; he was back to his old, shy self again. The portly pony moved back into the spotlight and Strings hustled off the stage.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it? This is what we strive for here at the Academy; the union of a pony with his or her instrument. This intertwining doesn’t happen to all of us, but with dedication, hard work, and a lot of practice, you can do great things whether you are the most talented of earth ponies or the most confused of pegasi!”

Several snickers in the audience caught Scoop’s attention. He noticed a single gray pony wearing a dark gray trench coat crouched low in his seat. Several ponies around him were pointing and motioning in his direction; Scoop noticed why. Beneath the trench coat on either side of the pony’s body were two swollen lumps. The pony was obviously a pegasus in disguise.

Octavia leaned over to him, speaking barely above a whisper even though no one in the audience could hear them. “That’s Cloudy Notes. He was kicked out of Junior Speedsters Flight Camp for smuggling in contraband; in his case, a flute. What the Junior Speedsters and most of the pegasi elite call a distraction, the musical community called a gift. When he applied for acceptance into the academy, he was initially turned down; after further investigation and several more tries, however, he was allowed to attend. This is the beginning of his first year here. Just like me.”

“How old is he?” Scoop asked.

“Now or then?”

“Then.”

“In this memory, he’s probably about 12. He became famous about the same time that I did. He’s not... as well known as me, but in some circles, he’s quite revered. He’s one of only three pegasi ever to make a career out of an instrument.”

“Who were the other two?”

“Believe it or not, Cloud Kicker started out as a musician. She ended up in Ponyville on weather patrol after an injury robbed her of her abilities, but she used to be the lead guitarist in a band called Pony’s Head.”

“That death metal band from the 80’s?”

“Yeah!”

“That’s really cool. Who’s the other pegasus?”

“Her name is Satin Song. I just met her the other day. She came here with that band of refugees from... well, I forget what their homeland is called, but she can play the mandolin!”

It was at this point in the discussion that a pony dressed in black fatigues and wearing sunglasses hushed the ponies giggling at Cloudy Notes, and the matron on the stage proceeded.

“I believe I have spent enough time up here; after all, this school is about YOU, not about me. So, have a wonderful year, and once again, welcome!” The crowd applauded as the mare strolled off the stage, and the young Octavia bounced out of her seat.

“Now Octavia, honey, ya know where yer first classes are, dontcha?” Arlet said, smiling down at the little pony.

“Yes sir, Uncle Apple! I have Music Theory first, and then Music History, and then it’s free time! I have to find which instrument I’m going to play!”

“Okay then. You stay safe, now. Don’t be afraid to write us iffen things go wrong. We’ll be happy to come on out here and getcha as quick as we can.”

“Thanks, Uncle Apple! Tell Applejack hi for me!”

Arlet nodded his head, then joined the large line of ponies streaming towards the exit. The young Octavia looked about her, pulled a map out of one of her saddlebags, and scurried off in another direction. Scoop and the older Octavia followed her.

She took a left out one of the auditorium’s rear exits and followed a narrow brick walkway to a door marked “Thought Garden”. She pressed through the door and found herself in a beautiful arboretum surrounded by flowering trees, leafy trees, and various fruit bearing trees. The smell of the place was enough to make anypony hungry; lush plants and foliage lined every corner of the area. Posted on a tree as a joke (or not) was a sign that read “Please Do Not Eat the Foliage”. Situated about the area were benches only long enough for one pony; apparently, thought was a solo process at the academy.

Octavia followed a winding dirt path through the area. The open sky above their heads shone down between the brick walls. The arboretum appeared to be some kind of inner courtyard, open on one side but blocked there by a tall iron fence with no gate. The only way in our out of the orchard was through one of the three doors built into each of the walls lining the courtyard. Octavia walked straight ahead into the door opposite the one they had exited and pushed it open.

Scoop and the older Octavia continued to follow her as she entered the main school building. The arboretum had been surprisingly empty; the halls, however, were crammed with ponies streaming to their first classes. Doors to either side of the hall were clearly marked with class names and numbers. Octavia hadn’t looked up once since entering the building; she focused intensely ahead of herself down the hall.

Finally, the reached a door at the end, having passed several corridors that lead deeper into the school. The ponies in the hall had thinned considerably and were now populated by a few late-comers and miscreants, most of whom were galloping to get to their classes before the bell rang. Octavia studied the door marked with an ornate plaque reading “Private Auditorium”. She shouldered the door open and stepped inside.

The large room sloped gently downwards towards a stage. It wasn’t as large as the main auditorium and would have been considered a “small venue” by anypony seasoned enough in the musical arts to have played at more than one concert. The stage was cramped; it was only about 8 feet wide and 4 feet deep. There was no curtain; the stage backed against a solid concrete wall, giving it an environment more conducive to stand up comedy than music making. Situated in the middle of the small stage was a bulbous instrument.

The instrument’s hourglass body curved out and down from where the neck joined it. These curves reached their apex and gently sloped in again. They then took a sharp turn downwards and began to curve in again, if only slightly; it gave the instrument the appearance that somepony had taken a bite out of either side. The bottom curved out from the “bite marks” in much the same way that the top curved out from the neck. At the bottom of the instrument was a large metal rod holding it off the ground. The head of the instrument was carved into ornate loops and whorls; knobs stuck out on either side. Strings stretched from these knobs down the neck of the instrument to a small chunk of wood, as thin as a wedge, jammed under the strings; it appeared the wedge was held to the instrument solely by the tension of said strings. They were anchored close to the bottom by several metal pins. The front panel was shiny and smooth, with small f-shaped holes carved on either side of the strings.

The older Octavia inhaled sharply. “I... had forgotten this moment. This was, of course, the first time I had seen a cello outside of pictures in storybooks. I remember looking at it now; I felt a deep connection in my soul, as if a puzzle piece had clicked into place.”

Scoop nodded. “Destiny.”

The younger Octavia hurried down the middle aisle and up onto the stage. Scoop’s face registered surprise. “What are you...”

“I don’t know,” the older Octavia admitted. “I don’t even think I knew then. Like I said, it was a magical feeling; I just wanted to touch it.”

The young Octavia place one hoof on the neck of the instrument and one hoof at the base near where the wedge held the strings off the face. She slid a hoof across the strings, miming how one would play a guitar; a growling sound filled the room. Scoop swiveled his ears and folded them back against his head. “Ugh! Why would you do that?”

Octavia blushed. “I... didn’t know how it was played. I figured it out soon enough.”

Scoop and Octavia sat as the filly onstage fiddled with the strings and the knobs. Naturally, she discovered a bow lying on a music stand near the cello and looked at it inquisitively. At first she tried holding it as one would a longbow or hunting bow, but after several failed attempts to elicit any reaction from the instrument, she grabbed it by one end and drew it across the strings.

The cello hummed a menacing, low mixture of notes; they didn’t sound half bad. Apparently, Octavia was a natural with the instrument; or, so they thought. In the next moment she had totally destroyed the pleasant sounding hum with a wailing screech as she drew the bow back and forth, filling the air with the sound of hooves-on-chalkboard horror. The door to the auditorium burst open... and a young Bass Wind walked through the door.

“Holy buck, is that Bass Wind?” Scoop said, sitting forward in his seat. Octavia grinned from ear to ear knowingly.

“Yep! I bet you, like most ponies, had no idea that my personal cello instructor, mentor, and friend was none other than Princess Celestia’s private chamber musician... though, not at this point of course. He doesn’t become her servant until about 6 years forward of this moment.”

Bass trotted up to the stage and stared down at a frightened-looking Octavia, who was cowering in the cello’s shadow. Bass didn’t say a word; he simply scooped up the bow from where Octavia had dropped it, grabbed the neck of the cello, placed the bow against the strings and a hoof near the pegs... and coaxed the most beautiful sounds Octavia had ever heard from the instrument.

Her young, inquisitive eyes glittered and a smile as wide as the sky brightened her face. She clopped her hooves at the climax and finish of the piece, respectively, and Bass gave a slight bow; he then shoved the bow back into Octavia’s hoof, pulled a stool out of nowhere, picked her up, and slammed her down on top of it. She looked frightened, but he offered her a reassuring smile. He tilted the cello toward her and grabbed her hoof, placing it on the neck.

“‘Old it like zis, Madame,” he said, his strong accent sharpening his words to a point. “Don’t force ze bow across ze strings; move it light and smooth, jou know?” He held Octavia’s bow hoof in one hoof and drew it gently back and forth across the strings, making much lighter and less screechy notes. “Now, use ze other hoof to prezz down on ze stringz, yez?” He moved Octavia’s hoof where it needed to go, and a simple melody wafted from the cello’s reverberating bulk.

“Zee? It iz easy, onze you get ze hang of it, no? Perhapz I can teach you a zing or to, yes?” The young Octavia nodded fervently, and Bass clopped his hooves together with a grin. “Exzellent. First, however, we muzt find you a more appropriately zized instrument.”

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Octavia stood on a stool beside Bass, clutching the neck of a smaller cello. It had been roughly a week in Scoop’s memory, and only a few minutes had passed outside. The week had been wholly satisfying; Octavia’s many firsts served to keep Scoop sated and Octavia interested.

“Now zen,” Bass began. “You muzt feel ze muzic wizzin you! Let it flow down your armz and into ze bow, zen through ze bow and into ze inztrument!”

The young Octavia took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She moved her hoof on the strings near the head and gently slid the bow across the same strings near the wedge. A soft, deep, melodious tone filled the air.

“You zee? Very goot, Octavia! You will be an exzpert in no time, ya?”

Octavia beamed at the praise. She closed her eyes and started to play. More notes hummed through the air, harmonizing and mixing with the notes played beforehoof. Soon it sounded like the room was filled with liquid music flowing too and fro like the waves of the ocean. Octavia was the moon, directing her gravity towards and away from the notes to bring them crescendoing higher and lower, softer and louder, deep and high. The concert of notes came to an end, and the young Octavia took a dramatic bow.

“Zat iz very good! Very goot indeed! Now ve must find some suitable muzic for you to play! Or, zhould I teach you to play firzt?”

Octavia nodded enthusiastically.

“You already sound very goot! You simply need to string ze notes togezzer! In a pattern! Oh, ve must teach you how to read muzic!”

As Bass launched into a complex description of notes and bars that, by some miracle, didn’t seem to go over Octavia’s head, Scoop’s mind began to wander. Recalling Octavia’s strange reaction to the Pinkie Pie memory, he studied her as she watched Bass pointing out different clefs and bars. She was watching intently as if this were her first time learning this information. He detected a trace of sadness in her features.

He looked down at the floor, half wishing he hadn’t spent the night with her and Scratch. Although things hadn’t been awkward, he had compromised his professionalism and proven himself a foal. Octavia hadn’t said a thing about it, and he wondered if her opinion of him had been compromised in any way.

Finally rousting his courage, Scoop turned to her. “I think we need to talk about your reaction to the Pinkie Pie memory, Octavia. It’s not like you to overreact. You’ve proven that by your discretion over my unprofessional actions with you and Scratch. Reporters aren’t supposed to drink with their subjects and are not supposed to spend the evening with their interviewees! If my paper found out... but, I’m getting off subject.

“You overreacted to that memory. There was no sadness in that memory. Sad memories are tainted by gloom... rain that didn’t happen in real life, darkness, gray skied. Sad memories seem sad. That memory was a happy one, and yet you left it in a gale of tears. What gives?”

Octavia sighed and hung her head. “My discretion is assured... if not because it was my fault that you compromised your professionalism, than because you saw Scratch... well, when she had me in an uncomfortable position. I’m not the kind of pony who would ever tell your paper. Your reputation is safe as long as mine is.”

Scoop nodded his thanks.

“As for the memory... I’ll be honest. It has to do with the birth itself, not with the memory.”

“The birth?” Scoop inquired, a perplexed look playing across his solid features.

“Foals. I... want foals. It would be easy if I were a Unicorn. Scratch and I, we could...”

Scoop nodded again, this time in understanding. “Magically-Induced Reproduction.”

“R-right. But I’m not. I’m an Earth Pony. I’m unable to procreate with my wife. It’s put her and I somewhat at odds. Now, every time I think about... foals, or birth, or... or anything to do with the two of them...”

Tears rolled down Octavia’s cheeks, leaving glistening streaks behind. Her soft gray coat sparkled where the tears left their trail. She rubbed a foreleg across her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Scoop. I seem to... cry so much lately. I’m not... ordinarily this emotionally unstable. But, even you must admit, I’ve been through a lot lately. All these memories, and my troubles at home, and Cress... I just can’t handle it all at once.”

Scoop, once again compromising his objectivity, placed a foreleg around Octavia’s thin shoulders, pulling her close in a compassionate hug. “Tav, there are other ways to have foals. There are colts and fillies out there without parents who would... love you, just as your own foals would. And have you thought of IF?”

Octavia nodded. “I don’t want... I want, if not to adopt, then to have a foal with Scratch. I don’t want some unknown stallion’s seed getting in the way!”

“Is that how Scratch feels?” Scoop asked.

“I-I don’t know. I should ask her. Maybe, if Scratch isn’t bothered by it...”

Scoop thought for a moment, and then a light bulb blinked on above his head. “Hey! Here’s an idea! Why not ask the Princesses?”

“C-Celestia and Luna? What c-could they possibly do for me... for us?”

“They’re Goddesses! They can do anything, as far as we know! Perhaps they could... come up with some way to give you a foal that’s yours and Scratch’s alone!”

“Mmm...” Octavia said, wiping the last of the tears from her eyes. “It... couldn’t hurt, to just ask, could it?”

“That’s the spirit!”

Comments

[Fury of the Tempest]

... I feel like half of the story has been cut out, or that this is a sequel to a story that has not been mentioned yet I have not read.
What is the darkness that Scoop faced? How does he know Vinyl?
I also don't like how you said 'A young Bass Wind' and expected people to know about him...
One thing that is purely a question though, Octavia stressed private when talking about Bass Wind being Celestia's private chamber musician... is that supposed to imply that he could be more then simply a musician?