• Published 8th Apr 2012
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Room 213 - Whirring Gears



[2nd POV] You wake up in a strange bed next to a certain cello player you've come to admire.

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Chapter 4: To Tartarus With Them

Simple joys. That’s all you can think about at the moment as you insert the new key from the front desk into the doorknob letting yourself and Octavia into the room. You’ve really warmed up to the place. When you first found yourself in it, you panicked. Now, you are happier than ever that you wound up here.

Giving off a sigh as you stretch your wings and feel the strangely satisfying ache that only a full stomach can provide. “That was probably the most food I’ve ever eaten in a single sitting,” you comment.

“I could say the same thing,” Octavia replies. She walks around the bed to the phone on the desk as you flop down on the mattress.

You simply lay on the bed contently as Octavia begins dialing. Folding a wing in front of yourself, you begin straightening the individual feathers that had somehow gotten messed up at some point with your muzzle. Feeling a shift in weight on the mattress, you notice her now sitting and looking down at you with a smile as she’s holding the receiver up to her ear. You return the smile as you can faintly hear a ringing from the earpiece. Suddenly, the ringing stops. A light voice you cannot make out replaces it.

“Ah, hello Harpo,” Octavia says, turning away. “I’m calling to let you know of an unfortunate mix up I had with the schedule. You see, I’m currently-”

Octavia is cut off as a sudden bout of laughter bursts through the phone.

“And what is so funny?” she asks as the laughter dies down. “What? I... what?” she asks as you hear somepony speaking on the other end of line. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Alright? ...Yeah, he’s here with me. How did you know? ...I did what?”

You look up with concern as Octavia stares blankly at the wall, listening to the voice on the phone. She eventually lets out a large sigh. “So you at least know where I am. Yes, I have my cello with me and I’ll practise.” Octavia straightens herself up a bit. “Did Beauty Brass get her part, yet? ...Okay. I’ll see you all tomorrow, then.” She gets up to hang up the phone before walking back and setting herself heavily back down on the mattress.

Unsure if you should ask, she looks over and catches your eyes again. She studies the curious look on your face.

“So, I called them last night,” she says.

“...and?” you ask.

“Quite the moment, apparently.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, sitting up.

She sighs. “They’ve been giving me a little grief recently. Last night was sort of... well, you saw me after the show.”

You cringe a little, remembering how angrily Octavia slammed her cello case shut.

“And apparently I might not have been in the right frame of mind.”

“Ah,” is all you say. Sitting quietly for a moment, you think of something else to say.

“This the first time something like this has happened?” you ask laying back down with a little laugh, already expecting an answer.

“Honestly, no. Believe it or not,” she says. The answer surprises you. “While it’s the first time it’s happened to me specifically, I’m not the first who had ended up in a situation like this.”

“Really?” you ask. “Who else in your ensemble woke up hungover in a hotel room?”

“Wasn’t a hotel room, but Beauty Brass and Harpo,” she says, a grin forming on her face.

“Wow. I didn’t know a classical orchestra quartet knew how to party,” you joke, getting a giggle out of the mare beside you. “Do you think they’ll let you hear the end of this?”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she says. “I’m afraid that I’ll no longer have reason to tease them about it after today.” She shakes her head. “But it probably won’t stop me.”

“How are you friends?” you ask.

“Celestia only knows.”

“So do they know about us already?”

“They know we’re both here,” she replies.

“I mean, do they know that we’ve... that we’re...” You’re uncertain of how Octavia might take certain ways you could end that phrase.

“That we’re officially together?” she offers. The fact that she can say it so simply and comfortably makes your heart feel like doing a victory lap around your ribcage. “They don’t, but I think it’s safe to assume that they’re assuming.”

“How do you think they’ll react to the news?” you ask, rolling onto your stomach.

She shrugs. “Well enough, I’d imagine.” She looks down to you with a smile. “And if not, then to Tartarus with them,” she says.

You both chuckle before it dies down into another moment of silence. The more and more you two talk about it, the more you realize that this is really happening. You have moved past the point of being friends and that makes you happier the more you think about it.

“So, how much do you think we drank last night?” she asks, changing the subject.

You look up. “I, um... I have no idea.” She taps her hoof on her knee a couple times.

“Well then... considering our earlier appetites, how much do you think we had to eat last night?” she asks.

“Hmm...” you put a hoof to your chin. You feel the moment of the proverbial light bulb going on over your head as you think you understand what Octavia is thinking.

“Not much, I’d imagine. We could have been drinking on empty stomachs,” you say.

“My thoughts exactly,” she responds.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, thinking about this new possibility. Drinking with little to no food in your system means it wouldn’t take much to get you both to a very inebriated state.

“But... would only the wine get us to the point we must have been last night?” you ask.

Octavia’s expression becomes vexed as she tilts her head with a shrug. “Well, what else did we have to dri-”

Her sentence is cut short as you hear a tiny clinking of glass. You see Octavia’s eyes travels down to the floor, under one of her hind hooves hanging off the side of the bed. She bends down and you can see her pushing aside a bit of blanket that spills off the mattress and partially onto the floor.

She sits back up, in her hoof a half empty bottle of Old Overcolt straight rye whiskey.

One question answered with a few more in its place. You and Octavia look to each other as you feel the deepest pits of your mind begin to churn...

~~~~~~~

The two of you finish your latest round of giggles while sipping a couple more glasses of wine. You were beginning to feel really warm, but finally a little at ease while carrying a conversation with Octavia in her own home. Still, whenever you think of the circumstance, you feel the need for another taste of the wine your host was gracious enough to provide.

“So Harpo was worried because he thought he saw the princess out of the corner of his eye standing right over his shoulder while we played,” Octavia explains. “He couldn’t understand why the princess was attending or why she had chosen such a spot to enjoy the festivities.”

“Oh dear,” you respond to let her know you’re listening.

“He was afraid to look up at her. At the end of the third song, he finally said to her, ‘Your highness, I do believe you’d enjoy the music more from a different location.’”

“And what’d she say?” you ask, bringing the glass to your lips.

“Nothing. It was a statue,” she says. The response made you almost spill some of your wine.

“A statue?” you ask between giggles.

“Part of the decoration near the stage. He hadn’t noticed it until we were up there. We were all concerned with how he was acting the entire evening.” Octavia takes another sip of her wine.

Suddenly, a clock on a cabinet across the room begins to chime. As it lets of eight soft rings, Octavia puts her wine glass down on the coffee table.

“Is it that time already?” she asks.

“What time?” you ask.

She lets out a sigh. “I’m afraid I must be getting to the train station. There’s a party I’m playing out of town.”

“What sort of party?” you ask. You reach out a hoof in an offer to take Octavia’s empty wine glass.

“Just a gathering of local business ponies. Nothing out of the ordinary, but a few big names will be there, requesting us specifically,” she says while giving you her glass.

“I see. Good to hear you’re pretty popular,” you respond.

You take two steps before realizing you’re not at a party at this moment and are not an on-the-clock waiter. You hear Octavia giggle.

“My, we seem to have fallen into a routine, haven’t we?” she asks, rather amused.

“It would seem so,” you say. “Where should I put these?” you ask with the glasses held against your chest with a foreleg.

“Just set them on the counter by the sink, if you would,” she responds. “I’m afraid I need to go get my bags.”

Walking into her kitchen, you place the glasses in the requested spot near the two metal sinks on the marble top counter. Rather, it looks like marble, but setting the glasses on it reveal it to be a fake laminate covering.

You take a step away and then hesitate, looking back at the glasses. It would be rather impolite to simply show up and dirty her dishes, wouldn’t it? A sponge sits neatly by the single middle faucet of the two sinks. Picking it up, you turn the knob and hold the sponge under the stream of water. Wetting it, you pick up a glass and begin to carefully clean around the lip of the glass.

You’ve done your fair share of dishes working in catering. Two more, not even that dirty, for a friend is nothing. You give the inside of the glass one last swishing around with water before dumping it out and begin the process again on the second glass. Clean around the lip, down in the inside, fill, swish, dump. Bare basics in Dish Cleaning 101.

You spot a little plastic rack with a few pieces of silverware in the second sink. You carefully place the glasses upright next to the little forks and knives to dry as Octavia comes in through the doorway, a couple of bags over her shoulders. A rather large black purse and a small white overnight bag.

“Did you clean those glasses for me?” she asks with a delighted tone. You simply give her a smile in return. “That was nice of you.”

The complement gives you a little giddy feeling along with the urge to smile just a bit more. Thankfully, Octavia turns away so you allow yourself to widen your grin.

“Well, I’ve got my bags so all I need is to get my cello.”

“Need any help?” you blurt out without thinking. You inwardly curse your polite waiter instincts and hope you are not being too forward with favors.

“Aren’t you the chivalrous one tonight?” Octavia says happily. “Well, if you insist, could you reach up into that cabinet and give me the first bottle of whiskey in front? I plan on sharing that around in the hotel room after the show.”

Looking up at where Octavia stores her liquor, you pull open the door and see a brown bottle, front and center, with an aged looking yellow label: “Old Overcolt”. Carefully taking the bottle with both hooves, you give it to Octavia who has partially opened one of her bags. Taking it, she tucks it into her bag before zipping it back up.

“Let me go see about how I can carry these with the rest of my things,” she says, walking back out into the living room.

Following her out of the kitchen, you take some time to look around. The decor is very simple. Hardwood flooring with a potted plant by the front door. The seats are two red easy chairs and a loveseat all surrounding a coffee table near a fireplace. A wooden cabinet with a mirror is against the wall with a couple photos, a vase, and a box.

Walking up for a better look, you see a photos of Octavia, one with family in what looks to be a graduation ceremony. The banner behind them saying ‘CONGRATULATIONS’ with her in a blue robe and holding a diploma with two other ponies, a tan mare with white mane and a brown colt with black mane. Probably her parents. The second features her and her band members in the easy chairs and loveseat by the fireplace. They’re all smiling, laughing, and having a good time.

You also see a rather ornate box. Patterns of different colors are strewn about the top of it within a border. You’re not quite sure what it is. Could be a jewelry box, but it’s not like any sort of jewelry box you’ve seen before. Not to mention Octavia doesn’t strike you as the kind of mare who would keep things like that on display rather than tucked away safely.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you step up and tip open the lid. Inside is a number of high quality Ponycristo cigars. The deep bitter smell of the tobacco wafts from the box to your nose simply upon opening the box. This is surprising as you never would have guessed Octavia partook of such a habit.

“Okay, I think I may need a little help,” she says from the other room. She says as she walks back with her bags. She stops when she sees you closing the lid to the humidor. “Please don’t touch those,” is all she says as she slides the bags off her back onto the floor.

“I, um... I never knew you smoked,” you say walking up to take a bag.

“Wha-? Oh!” she says, looking between you and the humidor. “Oh, no. No no no. Those are not actually mine.”

You raise an inquisitive eyebrow.

“They’re Harpo’s,” she explains while getting her cello case from where you left it upon entering her house. “He used to have them rather frequently, and it concerned us, being his friends. Now, he’s cut back a lot, but we have an agreement saying he’s allowed one cigar after every successful show.”

“So why are they here?” you ask, slipping on her bags to help carry.

“As the only home... renter,” she says, hesitating on the last word. “Our get togethers usually take place here, so I keep the box to make sure he doesn’t have access to them at other times.” She takes a pause to adjust the cello case on her back to get it into a comfortable position. “I make him take it out on the back porch, though. I can barely stand the odor of those things. I think the same goes for the rest of us.”

“So how do-...” You look around. “Is this really everything?” you ask, gesturing to the two small bags over your shoulder.

“I pack light. Cello is still a bit heavy,” she explains.

“I thought you said you needed help.”

“For convenience, honestly. It’s a little hard to balance everything and you did offer.”

You nod before returning to your original question. “So how do you know Harpo doesn’t just buy his own when nopony’s around?”

“Well...” she says in a rather amused voice as she opens the door. You follow her outside as a rather brisk wind blows past you, causing you to shiver slightly. It seems that the outside temperature had dropped a bit during your conversation. She uses a key tucked under her bow tie to lock up. “The smell would be rather distinct. And Beauty Brass makes sure he doesn’t have any in their apartment either,” she explains as the two of you begin down the street.

“Wait, Beauty Bra-... Their apartment-” Wheels in your head start turning. “So, wait a minute... Beauty Brass... And Harpo?” you ask.

Octavia nods with a smirk. “About a year after we all started playing together. It’s actually quite an amusing story of how they got together. I might tell you at some other point.”

“Never would have known. They don’t really show anything from I’ve seen,” you say. The train station comes into view.

“Really? Well, they are pretty strict with their public displays of affection,” she says. “Although, I find it surprising. You’re usually very good at noticing such things from what I’ve seen.”

You smile at her compliment. You are always proud of your observational skills and how useful they are in your line of work.

“And I don’t really see too much of you outside of those times,” you say, but realize your little vocal slip. “You guys, I mean.”

Octavia giggles. You think you see a little bit of blush on her cheeks, but that may be the fact that it had cooled off a bit this evening since you were chatting.

“Well, you’ve met them before. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you joined in on some of our meetings. We actually talk about you sometimes,” she says.

“Really?” you ask in a bit of genuine surprise.

“Yes, in fact. Usually when they wish somepony would bring them refreshments.”

You roll your eyes with a sigh at the joke. To be honest, thinking that you are expected to act as a waiter wherever you go is a little bit of a sore spot. Something shared by a lot of your co-workers.

“Oh, come on now,” Octavia says. “They were just kidding around.”

“I know, but still.” You shake your head. “I think it’s a little insensitive, thinking of me only of my job of all hours. I mean, what if I told you that I sometimes think ‘Oh, I could go for some music right now; I wish Octavia was here’?” you ask.

She shrugs. “I wouldn’t mind playing for you,” she says.

The answer kind of takes you by surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, in fact,” she says. “After all, you did some of my dishes. Fair’s fair.”

You both chuckle as you reach the train station. Walking in, you see white everywhere. White floors, white ceiling, white walls, white seats, and white columns. The only break from the whiteness are a few advertisement posters on the walls. You see Octavia begin looking around the waiting area.

“I... don’t see any of my friends here,” she says as she takes a seat.

“Are they running late?” you ask while joining her.

“I’m not sure... they could be. Or they could have already left.” She slides her cello case in front of her momentarily as she opens it and pulls out a train pass, good for so many rides in a certain time frame. Makes sense she’d keep it in the one thing she absolutely has to have with her.

“Without you?” you ask, surprised.

“Well, we normally don’t travel together if we can help it,” she explains. “We get enough of each other during rehearsal, shows, and after shows. Sometimes we enjoy a little space, so we just let each other get to wherever we need to go on their own.”

“And if they can’t make it for some reason?”

“That has never been a problem,” she says. “We always make it.”

“I imagine there must be at least a few complications,” you say as you walk through the station.

“We do everything we can to prevent that.”

“Really?” you ask, hoping for further explanation.

“Yep. Like, whenever we stay in a hotel. Beauty Brass usually calls in the reservations for two double rooms, but makes sure all of our names are listed so we can all get into them. Just in case anypony arrives before she does.”

“I see...” you say before a part in her last statement makes you think.

“Wait, two doubles?” you ask.

“Same as always.”

“But I thought you said Beauty Brass and Harpo were...” you trail off.

“They are,” she replies casually, reading over her train pass.

“Since a year when you started playing. That’s quite a while, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“So do they not, you know... share a bed?” you ask.

“No, they don’t,” she says. “It’s not as if they’re uncomfortable with each other. It’s just that Beauty Brass, being who she is, tends to...” Octavia begins to breathe in and out with great exaggeration.

“Snore?”

She nods. “He sleeps with earplugs, but they hardly do any good when she’s right next to him.”

“I see,” you say, trying to suppress a small snicker.

Train 2A to Whinnyapolis has now pulled in,” says over the loudspeaker.

“Well, that’s my train,” she says, looking around the waiting area and the front doors one last time. “Looks like I’m traveling alone,” she says. She looks up at you. “I do wish you could accompany me further.”

A thought begins to tick in your mind. “Well, why can’t I?” you ask.

She looks at you in surprise. “Can you?” she asks. “What about work?”

You allow yourself a grin. “It’s my weekend off, actually,” you reply, the same feeling of joy coming from saying the words as from you read it on the posted schedule. You wouldn’t mind taking some time out of it for her, though.

“But you need a ticket,” she says. “They’re rather expensive, especially last minute.”

Your smile only grows. “Let’s just go up there,” you say.

She nods, albeit uncertainly due to not knowing what you are planning. You two begin to walk up and wait in line behind a few other ponies. Their business is short and soon enough, you two are up to the counter while the colt there only glances up from his magazine.

“Ticket,” he says, while flipping the page.

Octavia slides her train pass through the opening in the glass. The colt simply takes it, marks the end and then slides it back. “Thank you, have a good trip,” he adds. At least he’s friendly. He pushes a button that lets Octavia through the turnstile. You walk up to the counter next.

“Ticket,” he says.

You reach behind you into your personal anomaly of space and time simply known as your ‘pocket’ where some ponies and other creatures are mysteriously able to keep small convenient personal belongings on themselves. No amount of study or magic has been able to explain this phenomena, but nopony is complaining about it by any means. You pull out your employment identification card and slide it over the counter.

The colt gives it a close once over, making sure the picture matches the pony carrying it, that it is not expired, and certain legal markings to confirm its authenticity. He gives a nod, sliding the ID back to you.

“Just find an open seat. Have a good trip,” he says. He pushes the button, letting you through the cold metal turnstile with a hard clk-click. Octavia waits on the other side with surprise.

“What did you show him?” she asks.

“Palace staff ID card,” you answer with a smirk. “Allows free passage on board trains to and from Canterlot under the assumption of business.”

She looks around as you both get in line to board as ponies disembark from the train. “Are you allowed to do that?” she asks with a hushed tone.

“Technically, it’s against the rules to use for personal reasons,” you admit with a shrug. “But everypony on staff does it. It makes vacations easier to plan when you don’t have to worry about cost or means of travel.”

Train 2A to Whinnyapolis is now boarding.

The line starts moving and ponies begin to file in to take their seats. “Well, that’s a bit dishonest, isn’t it?” she asks as you move along with the crowd down the aisle.

“Nopony really minds. It’s not like the train companies depend on us for their profits. And the managers don’t care what we do during or where we go on our time off as long as we report back able to work when we’re scheduled,” you say as she leads you through a door into another train car with personal seating cabins.

“Still, I knew you had your little tricks when serving me and my friends after hours, but I didn’t know you had such benefits you could take advantage of for personal reasons.” She leads you into a open cabin and closes the door as soon as you’re both inside. The cabin has two wooden benches across from each other with a small table at the end under the window.

“Is there anything wrong with that?” you ask.

“It could strike one as unscrupulous, using your position for such things,” she says as she takes off her cello case and puts it beside her as she sits down. You take a seat across from her and remove the bags from her shoulders.

“My position?” you ask. “Like the fact that I’ve taken and washed glasses from a good number successful Canterlot business owners somehow lets me go into some tailor for a free suit?”

“For all I know,” she says with a little smirk. “You could be eating free meals every night at the fanciest restaurants. The ponies there being so honored to serve the one who had served so many big names.”

“I am rather privileged to be on the high end of the hierarchy of waiters,” you say, joking along yourself. The comment gets a good laugh out of her as you feel your own grin forming.

“Oh, such contemptible behavior.” She shakes her head back and forth, softly tsking. “Just when you think you know a pony...”

The train lets out a whistle as you feel a couple bumps forward. A small high pitched grinding noise lets out from the other side of the train as it slowly starts accelerating. You look out the window to see the walls of the station begin to move and give way to the open landscape and sky. The train continues along the tracks, getting up to speed before you resume your conversation.

“Sorry, Octavia. Some ponies have a certain side to them they don’t talk about,” you say. “Although, I must say that you are also a rather misinformative mare yourself.”

Her jollity is replaced with a look of slight confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you have all those bottles that you don’t drink,” you begin. “Box of cigars, but you don’t smoke. What else could there be?”

She grins again and begins to chuckle. “Would it be a bad time to mention that this is actually a double bass?” she asks, gesturing to the instrument case in front of her.

You give out a fake gasp. “Octavia, I thought I could trust you! How much of our relationship is based on such secrets and lies?” you ask in a mockingly dramatic tone, putting a hoof to your forehead as if you are about to faint.

Octavia only smiles at your performance. A light tapping on the cabin door drags you out of your theatrical display.

“Hello?” Octavia asks. The door slides open revealing an attendant wearing a red and white striped vest holding a few sheets in plastic covers.

“Hello there. We are currently preparing refreshments for our riders. Would you like to see the menu?” he asks.

You look to Octavia curiously. Come to think of it, you hadn’t really eaten anything since before the garden party. It was definitely later than you would have normally had eaten dinner.

“We’re getting off at the first stop, so we won’t have that much time for food,” she says.

Oh well. It’s not like you have any bits on you. You hadn’t really prepared for this impromptu trip. You’ll probably have to wait until you get home for a good midnight snack or something. Not that you mind. Time with Octavia is definitely worth giving up a meal.

“However, if you could bring us two glasses of sparkling cider for us, that’d be lovely.” She digs in one of her bags, pulling out a small hoofful of bits. Handing them to the attendant, he looks at the amount then gives a nod and thanks before walking out and closing the cabin again.

“More to drink?” you ask.

She nods. “The cider on the railways is always somehow delicious in a way that cannot be replicated. A bit of a tradition, if you will.”

“Okay, so after shows, birthdays, travel... How many of your traditions involve alcohol?” you ask.

“Enough to be worrying, I admit,” she says as lightheartedly as she could with such context. “I suppose you’ll have to take one of the drinks I ordered if you’re concerned.”

“Take one of-... you ordered one for me?”

“Did I say that?” she asks with a joking tone.

You chuckle this time, with a shake of your head. “You really are too kind to me, Octavia.”

Again, although maybe it was a trick of the light, you think you see a bit of blush on her cheeks as she turns to look out of the window. A little while passes as you let the conversation go in favor of just sitting in the moment. Then, there is another knock on the door of your cabin.

“Your drinks,” says the attendant as he walks in. Two glasses on a tray are balanced on his back. Turning his head, he carefully picks up the tray and places in on the small table between you and Octavia.

“Thank you,” Octavia says, reaching for her glass.

The attendant bows before walking out, closing the door behind him. Octavia has taken the glass and already begun slowly draining its contents. You take your glass and look into it at the clearish dark yellow liquid.

“It won’t bite,” Octavia says. “Trust me. If you ever had cider before, I don’t know how or why, but it always tastes better in a moving train.”

You smile at her comment. “Do you travel by train often?” you ask.

“No,” she replies, looking into her glass. “It’s usually by caravan of some sort. The chance doesn’t come up that often, so I always order it.” Her eyes travel up to yours. “And that’s why I wanted to share it with you. Who knows when we might get this chance again?”

Your smile grows at her words. “Well, thank you very much,” you say before bringing the cup up to drink. The tart liquid has a very crisp flavor and flows smoothly down with a sweet aftertaste.

“Wow...” you say, bringing the glass away.

Octavia smirks. “It’s one of my two favorite things about traveling like this,” she says.

“What’s the other?” you ask.

“The view.” She turns and looks out the window. “Just looking out at all the land as we pass, especially from the mountain city of Canterlot. I always find it soothing.”

You decide to look out the window to see if she’s right. The view is definitely nothing short of beautiful. You could see villages and cities passing by in the distance along with the forests and plains.

“Can you believe some ponies find it necessary to bring books or other entertainment on journeys like this?” she asks.

You’ve never travelled much before, but hearing Octavia’s question along with all she has shown you, you simply shake your head.

The rest of the train ride is spent in silence, simply enjoying the view and the company you got to share it with. The moon and stars of Princess Luna are out in all of their seemingly otherworldly beauty. The tiny lights dotting various towns all the way to the horizon, almost as if trying to mirror the night sky above them. They stay in your vision off in the distance as the ground travels below you at an impressive pace. The sounds are only of the wheels rolling along the tracks, the occasional rattle of the windows, and the little sighs from the lovely mare your are currently sharing the cabin with.

As you bring the glass to your lips for the last of your cider, you still have to admit that she was right. This was some of the best cider you have ever tasted.

Your view is unfortunately cut off by some buildings, indicating the train is pulling into a station. Remembering Octavia’s remark from earlier, you realize that this is probably her destination. As the train comes to a complete stop, you slip Octavia’s bags over your shoulders. You both stand up and open the door, allowing a couple groups to pass before you follow them down the aisle into the other train car before walking out into the station.

The station, for the most part, looks just like Canterlot’s with something you can’t quite put your hoof on. You decide to worry about it later as you keep up with Octavia.

“So where’s the hotel?” you ask.

“First avenue on the north side, across the city. We’ll have to take a taxi cart,” she answers.

“We?” you ask, surprised she wants you to accompany her further. You expected to drop her off with her luggage before coming back to catch the next train home. While you try to keep some rather untoward thoughts out of your mind, and maybe it was a little of the alcohol in your system at work, but you can’t help but think of some of the ways the night could go from there.

“You’re still carrying my bags, right?” she asks.

You let out a slight snicker with a smile as you nod. However, on the inside you mentally give yourself a little kick for assumptions.

Walking from the train station out into the street, you look back and forth for something resembling a taxi. From your limited experience in cities like this, all you know is the stereotypical taxi cart design: yellow and black. If you are wrong, then at least Octavia would know what to look for.

After a few minutes, you see something that looks vaguely like what you had in mind. Raising a hoof, you prepare to wave it down.

“What are you doing?” asks Octavia.

“I’m, um... waving down that taxi?” you say, suddenly very unsure of yourself.

“That one? That already has a passenger in it?” she asks.

Looking back, you see that the taxi does, indeed, already have somepony in its cart.

“No, I mean the, um... the one I thought was behind it,” you say, putting your hoof down in an attempt to cover your mistake. You feel your cheeks grow rather warm as you look away from Octavia.

“...oh, I didn’t even see that one,” she says.

You suddenly look back down the street, believing that there is, in fact, and empty taxi sent down by Princess Celestia herself to keep you from looking like an idiot. Instead, all you see is a distinct lack of the distinct colors along with Octavia’s smirk in the corner of your vision.

“Thought you could lie to me, hmm?” she accuses playfully. You simply sigh and shake your head as it begins to lean downward in defeat.

A few more minutes pass as you keep your hooves on the ground. You decide Octavia can wave the taxi down herself if she’s so smart. Soon enough, you see her life up a hoof and let out a sharp whistle you never knew her capable of. Looking up, you see another yellow and black cart, this time devoid of a passenger and pulling over in the road towards you.

The cart stops right in front of you. The cabbie pulling the cart is wearing a black t-shirt along with a flat cap that’s a slightly darker brown than his fur over his tan mane. He reaches up and gives you both a tip of his hat.

“Good evenin’,” he says with a slight accent. “Where am I takin’ ya?”

“To the hotel at 601 First Avenue,” Octavia says, hopping up into the cart, taking off and placing her cello behind her. You climb up to join her, placing her bags beside yourself as well.

“A pegasus needin’ a taxi?” the cabbie asks.

“I’m following her,” you reply.

“Ah, right then,” he says, pulling at the strap that ties him to the cart. “Iffin’ you’ll give me a moment. Feels like I might be comin’ loose.”

“Take your time,” Octavia says as she adjusts herself in her seat.

As the cabbie adjusts himself, you take a look back at the station. It looks the same as the one in Canterlot, except... different. Different kinds of ponies lined up inside and waiting to travel. Different attire and luggage, too. And maybe a bit more yellow, perhaps? Could be the light of the city all around. Then again, maybe that’s all it takes. Although, it wasn’t fair to judge.

Wait, was this judging? Or was it simply observation? Well, remembering a bit of history, the great Starswirl the Bearded once said-

“Alright?” Octavia’s voice rouses you from your thoughts.

“Wha- yes?” you ask, a bit jarred from your internal conversation.

She giggles. “Caught in a stare?” she asks.

“A bit, yeah,” you admit.

“So, you two ready?” the cabbie asks.

“Yep,” you both reply in unison, surprising the both of you.

“Well, okay then,” he says with a sly grin. “Sit back an’ I’ll get ya’ where ya’ need to go.”

Relaxing in your seat, you look around the city as you feel the cabbie begin to pull you forward, getting a little speed before attempting to join in the traffic of other carts. Once, you are in the street, he pulls at a steady pace, the wooden cart wheels clicking and clacking against the brick road beneath.

As the blocks begin to go by, you watch the passing lights and signs with great interest. You’ve honestly have never been to a city like this before. Nowhere in Canterlot would you see these blue and pink light up ‘OPEN’ signs or groups of busy ponies out this late. You wonder if this city ever sleeps.

Perhaps this place is nocturnal,’ you think to yourself with a smirk.

“Almost awe-inspiring, isn’t it?” Octavia asks.

“I was the same way when I first came to cities such as this,” she says with a reminiscing sigh. “I still never tire of the sights and sounds.”

“I don’t think I would, either,” you reply wistfully. Like the train ride, you simply sit next to Octavia, seeing the city for all its glory. Every light catches your interest. Every pony on the street fascinates you. It was like exploring another world.

Unfortunately, the exciting sights are interrupted much earlier as the cart comes to a stop in front of one of many rather large buildings.

“Here ya’ are,” the cabbie says. “That’ll be six bits, if you please.”

“Could you give me that bag there?” she asks. Hoofing it over, she takes out and counts some bits.

“Here you are. Keep the change,” she says.

“Thank ya’, miss,” he says accepting with another tip of his hat.

She hands the bag back to you as you slip on the other over your shoulder. You hop out of the cart as she carefully adjusts the cello case on her back.

As she begins to step out, you offer a hoof to help her descend down, which she accepts with a smile. When she has her hooves on the ground, you let her hoof go as she begins to the entrance of the building.

“‘Ey, you make her carry that big thing and pay fer the trip and you act all fancy?” says the cabbie, putting the fare he had just received under his hat.

“She would never let me take it from her,” you say. “And honestly, she’s taken me a lot farther than you’d expect and I’m not exactly sure why.”

“I see,” he says as he gives a slow nod.

“Have a good evening,” you say, turning away.

“You too, buddy!” you hear him call out before dragging the cart away for more potential riders.

You walk up to Octavia who is waiting by the front door.

“What was that about?” she asks.

“Nothing,” you reply with a shrug.

She shrugs as well. “Okay then.”

You and Octavia open the doors into the lobby of the hotel. The walls are a light wooden tone. Windows inside stretch from floor to ceiling with a frantic cascade between clear and opaque. There is a finely striped yellow and orange columns inside glass boxes against each wall. Small black textured benches sit by the front doors. The floor is a rather stylistic blend of stripes in various shades of gray. The front desk seems as though it is made of mirrors with a colt sitting behind it.

You two approach the front desk. “Hello! Welcome to the Glues 601. How may I help you today?” the dark red receptionist cheerfully asks.

“Yes, I have a room reserved, under the name Octavia Philharmonica,” she says. “Or rather, the room was reserved by one Beauty Brass, but they are expecting me.”

The receptionist pulls out his log book. He flips to a page with the current date on the heading. His hoof trails down the page.

“Any particular room that you know of?” he asks.

“Um...” Octavia puts a hoof to her chin. “None that I am aware of, no.”

“Hmm...” he vocalizes as he scans the page. Soon, he flips the page over and scans that one as well.

“Well, I’m afraid there’s a problem,” he says.

“What?” Octavia asks.

“It seems that there were rooms reserved under those names, but the reservations have been cancelled and the rooms filled with other occupants. Terribly sorry.”

Octavia’s mouth hangs open in shock. The air seems to grow heavy as the sounds of the other guests fade away. A sudden urge to panic runs through you, but thankfully slows to a stop through the alcoholic warmth in your body before reaching your brain. You and her look at each other, unsure of what to do.

The first thing you figure is that you should probably move away from the front desk.

“Pardon us,” you say, putting a hoof on Octavia’s shoulder. She follows you with little resistance as you lead her aside.

“Okay...” you begin taking your hoof back. “You’ve done this more than I have. What do we do?” you ask.

“I... don’t know,” she says, still in bewilderment. “Nothing like this has happened before.”

“Let’s- okay. Let’s try and think of some options,” you say. “Can we... get back to Canterlot?”

“I-... I don’t-...” she says, shaking her head.

“Octavia!” you say, shaking her gently with a hoof to get her out of her stupor.

She takes a deep breath. “Sorry,” she says. Opening up one of her bags, she pulls out a glossy piece of paper. Wait, that wasn’t gloss, it was completely laminated. “This is the train schedule for their regular routes,” she explains. “Let’s see if we can get anywhere...”

She folds open the the sheet and looks closely. As time goes on, she looks up at the clock against the far wall, then back to the schedule, slowly shaking her head again.

“Something wrong?” you ask.

“That... was the last train back to Canterlot,” she says. “The one we got off of.”

“What? But I thought you said the train we came on wasn’t the last one here,” you say.

“The last one coming from Canterlot to here, no,” she explains. “However, the train we arrived one will be making one last trip around back to Canterlot before returning, and then shutting down for maintenance and refueling.”

“Any late night routes?” you ask.

“Not any we’re looking for,” she says.

You let out a huge sigh. “When’s the earliest train tomorrow?” you ask.

She shakes her head again. “There isn’t one. Whinnyapolis to Canterlot is Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

You suck some air in through your teeth. “What if we switched trains? Rode to certain towns and transferred between routes?”

“That could get complicated and expensive,” she says. She takes a deep breath. “Listen... how long would it take you to go ahead and get home yourself by flying?” she asks.

You think for a moment. “Let’s see... thirty minute train ride. We were going pretty fast.” You tap a hoof against your chin. “It’d take me maybe a hour or two?” you guess. “Not that bad.”

She nods. “So you can get home whenever you want. I think the simplest course for me is to stay here.”

“Stay here?” you ask.

“Yes. Rent another room, if they have one,” she explains.

“Why not somewhere cheaper? Somewhere-”

“Because I’m stressed and I’ve been drinking,” she says flatly. “I’m not in the mood for comparing room prices right now. I will pay whatever they want.”

You decide to let the comment go, understanding the fuzzy feeling first hand clouding your thoughts. “What about your other quartet members?” you ask curiously.

“Hmm...” She pauses for a moment. “You’re right. We may be getting a bit ahead of ourselves. Let’s see if they have a phone we can use. Assuming they haven’t left yet, I’ll try to call them.”

“Okay. I’ll see about a room for you, then.”

She smiles. “Thank you.”

You two walk back up to the receptionist.

“Anything I can help you with?” he asks.

“Do you have a public phone?” Octavia asks.

“Right over there,” he says, pointing over to the far wall, where a wooden shelf holds a metal payphone. “A bit for twenty minutes.”

“Thank you,” she says, walking over to the phone with her cello case.

The receptionist turns back to you. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Do you have any rooms open?” you ask.

“What kind and for how long?” he asks.

“Just a single. For tonight,” you say.

“For tonight? Our usual price for a standard single is forty bits a night.”

You try to hide the shock in your expression at the mention of such a price.

“However, considering your... circumstances,” he says as his eyes drift to the gray mare on the phone. “And the fact you’re buying out what would be an empty room, we have a policy where we might be able to give you a discount. I’ll have to get the manager to finalize, though.”

“Oh, thank you!” you say with a hint of relief that the situation just might work out fine.

The receptionist reaches under the desk and you hear a light clicking noise. You just sit and wait. He drums a hoof on the table while you subconsciously rub your foreleg. Looking over, it seems Octavia is getting rather involved in her phone call; holding the receiver in front of her face as if having the mouthpiece in the center would have whoever hear her better.

As you look back to the front desk, you see a rather large stallion with extremely dark gray fur, nearly black, along with a white mane approach the front desk. He too wore the normal hotel vest uniform, the only difference being the gold plated tag that says “MANAGER”.

“Hello there. How can I help you?” he says with a nod of his head.

“Well, my friend over there...” you say, pointing to the cellist with her head hanging low with a single hoof laying where she hung up the phone. You try not to let the worrisome sight get in the way of explaining yourself. “Had apparently reserved a room, but it’s been cancelled.”

“Oh, well...” he begins, with a little hesitance. “I’m afraid if it’s not in our books, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“They’re looking to get another room,” the receptionist behind the desk tells them.

“Really? Well then, let me see here.” He says, scooting the log book towards himself. “Most of our higher-end rooms have been rented out for an upcoming gathering, so I’m afraid I’ll have to put you in something pretty basic.”

“That’s all we need. We’ll take anything,” you reply.

“So a double for him and his friend?” he asks the receptionist.

“He asked for a single,” he replies.

“Oh, I see.”

Before you can voice an explanation, he lets out a loud “Hmm...” as his eyes scan down the page. Deciding not to bother him with the details, you let him do his job and let him have his own assumptions. He occasionally gives a tiny nod as he reads along with a little movement of his lips, as if reading along.

“Did they get 104 cleaned out?” the manager asks.

“They had to order some special cleaner, sir. Opened the windows and needs to air for about a day.”

You really don’t want or care to ask.

“I see. Well, we got room 213 open. What name will this be under?”

“Octavia Philharmonica.”

“Wait...” he says, looking up from the logbook to you. “You mean the Octavia playing at the upcoming business thing?”

“I, um... yes.”

“Didn’t they have rooms reserved?” he asks the receptionist.

“They were apparently cancelled for tonight,” he explains with a shrug.

“That’s because we had a change in schedule,” Octavia says as she walks up, cello case in tow. “If you could check for a room under the name Beauty Brass two days from now?” she asks.

The manager flips through the pages again and trails his hoof down the page. He taps a certain point and nods his head.

“Yep. Right here. Beauty Brass for two doubles, party of four, including Octavia.”

“Two days from now?” you ask Octavia.

“I...” She sighs. “Had forgotten a little complication that had occurred. It seems we had a delay for Beauty brass due to the new mouthpiece for her horn being delivered. She was complaining of the condition of her old one for some time now.”

“New mouthpiece? Can’t buy one at a regular music store?”

“Beauty could power a personal sailboat with her lung capacity,” she says with a chuckle. “I’ve seen that mare go through normal mouthpieces like tissues when we first started. We had to have multiple on hoof for any show we played. Now, she gets hers specially made.”

She turns to the receptionist and manager, obviously amused by the little anecdote. “So about a new room...” she begins.

“Yes, we were just talking about that with your friend. We have a room ready to accommodate you, but...” the manager says.

“But what?” you ask.

“I had not realized her name was already on another room,” he says.

“Is that a problem?” Octavia asks.

“Due to the upcoming festivities, we must keep our rooms as available as possible. Policy states that at this time, we cannot have a pony with more than one room with their name.”

“What!?” Octavia asks sharply. “But that doesn’t make any sense. What if a company had multiple representatives staying?”

“They would need to be under two different names,” he says, a little concerned of Octavia’s reaction. “It’s enforced by the owner who has ponies looking over the logbooks every night. I’m sorry.”

Not wanting to see any conflict between the cellist and manager, an idea pierces the warm buzz in your head. “Put it under my name, then,” you say.

The manager and Octavia look at you. “Are you not one of the ponies listed for this room two days from now?” he asks.

“Nope!” you reply, happily.

“Well then, that should be fine,” he says, a bit of relief in his voice that a solution was found.

You turn to see Octavia looking at you with one of the biggest smiles you’ve seen this evening. “So, what would be the cost for two nights?” she asks.

“All things considered, I can give you half off for tonight and standard for the night after, so would sixty bits be okay?”

“That is... absolutely more than okay,” Octavia says, happily. “Thank you so much!”

“Not a problem. Will you be needing help with your bags at all?” he asks.

“I have him for that,” she says, gesturing a hoof towards you. You smile and nod, ready to be Octavia’s packcolt for the evening. You begin gathering the bags and cello case. She was right, it’s all rather hard to balance.

You give the receptionist your information and let him sketch your cutie mark as Octavia puts the bits on the counter and gets the key. The two of you walk up the first flight of stairs and walk down the halls, counting off the number of the rooms.

“Hey,” she says, getting your attention. “Thanks for this.”

“No big deal,” you say.

“Yes, it is. I wouldn’t have been able to stay if it hadn't been for you,” she says, looking up and seeing the room number you are looking for. “And you were kind enough to take the time to keep me company for the whole trip.” She sit on her haunches and trades hooves she is holding the key in before wrapping her foreleg around your shoulder in a half-hug.

“So again, thank you,” she says.

You simply smile and enjoy her sign of affection as she clicks the lock and enters the room. You both walk in and examine the inside. There were simple pieces of furniture: desk, bed, cabinet, and nightstand. The carpet was a deep blue with some wallpaper all around with a fall theme. It probably wasn’t what she was used to, but it was definitely better than nothing.

You take her cello case and bags and carefully deposit them into the closet as Octavia walks over to the bed and sits on the edge of it, sighing happily. Walking back over to her, you see her admiring the scene outside the window. Unsure if it would be appropriate to sit with her on the bed, you simply sit on your haunches on the spot as you enjoy the scene with her, like the train ride over.

Also like the train ride over, you two simply sit in silence, only listening to the occasional outside noise. The pitter-patter of late night ponies out on the town. The rolling of wheels on taxi carts. The talking of numerous passing conversations, just faintly within hearing range.

You could never imagine living in such a busy city like this. Sure, Canterlot was big and, in its own right, busy, but it always has a tranquil air at night that nopony would want to disturb. You’ve travelled yourself every now and again, but everywhere you went was still relatively quiet at night. You can’t help but admire the ponies who would be able to function in such a place.

You also had to admire Octavia for being so open in her travels, where she would go, what kind of places she might have stayed in. The scene before you was fascinating to say the least, but you know that it would only be a matter of time before you yearn for Canterlot again. You wonder if Octavia ever feels the same...

“This your first time in a city like this?” she asks.

You nod.

“Pretty noisy, isn’t it?” she asks.

You nod again.

She giggles. “You get used to it,” she says, almost absentmindedly.

You can’t help but share her smile in that moment. Despite the noise, the lights, and everything else, you feel at peace. Perhaps you could get used to this sort of city after all.

If only,’ you think to yourself.

You look over to Octavia. You remember something earlier that you are rather curious about.

“So, how were your friends when you called?” you ask.

Her smile slowly vanishes. Her eyes travel down to her hooves. Her brow begins to furrow the slightest bit.

“They’re... fine,” she says in a somewhat strained voice.

“Octavia...?” you ask, carefully. Her mood seems to have completely changed in the time you got away from the front desk.

“Yes?” she asks, trying her best to keep her tone level.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

She looks over to you. Holding eye contact, you simply stare at her, waiting for an answer. All she does is get up and walk over to the closet where you put her bags. She opens the door and you can hear her ruffling around inside one of them.

She returns, holding the bottle of whiskey she packed earlier. Taking the top off the bottle, she looks at you.

“You want any?” she asks.

“I... thought that was the whiskey for you and your ensemble members,” you say, a bit worried by her change in behavior.

She gives a chuckle, one a bit more mirthful than any other this evening. “Well, for right now...” shes says before unceremoniously taking a swig directly from the bottle. She lets out a sigh as she moves the bottle away from her lips.

“...to Tartarus with them.”

~~~~~~~

Your eyes drift from the hazy memory up to Octavia who was still holding the half empty bottle of whiskey. Noticing the clock past her, you see that a solid forty minutes had passed while you were reminiscing. There are many questions you wanted to ask, but didn’t know if it would upset her.

“Have I told you what they were giving me trouble for? What made me so upset last night?” she asks, suddenly.

“I, um... I don’t recall,” you say.

She sets the bottle on the ground and looks up to meet your gaze. Neither of you say anything. Eventually, she begins to lean forward. Closer and closer slowly, with half lidded eyes, until the tips of your noses touch. You can feel her light breath blowing against you as her black mane falls forward, framing her face in a way that forces you to give her your undivided attention, as if she didn’t have it already.

“...You.”

Before you can voice your confusion, she closes the distance between your mouths, pressing her muzzle against yours. The soft sensation blocks out the rest of the world as you both close your eyes. She reaches up and puts her hooves on your shoulders, pulling you forward as she leans more into the kiss.

You can faintly taste a bit of her orange juice from her breakfast and feel her mane brush against your chest, tickling you with every individual strand. Almost by instinct, you reach around her and hold your hooves to her back, which gets a little moan out of her. You continue to enjoy the warmth and motion of her lips as you offer your own to the moment.

Eventually, she pulls away with a gasp. Opening your eyes, you stare into hers, as you regain your breath.

“What... do you... mean by that...?” you ask between breaths.

“As I said before, I like you.” She smiles as her breathing returns to normal. “And I’ve liked you for... quite a while,” she says with a little more red on her cheeks.

“Really?” you ask.

She nods with her smile growing. “You were always so friendly. So easy to talk to. And I noticed on more than one occasion you pulling strings for me.” You allow yourself a tiny grin as you feel a bit of blush yourself.

“So your other quartet members gave you trouble because of that?” you ask.

“They knew I liked you,” she says with a chuckle. “They had their fair bit of fun with it. We’re all friends and a little teasing is normal.” Her smile vanishes. “But... last night, I was having a bad day. Little annoyances.”

You nod as you remember her saying that.

“And then Harpo went a bit too far. Kept going after I asked him to stop. I wasn’t really in the mood for it.” She shakes her head. “He said I was afraid of you. I guess, in a way, I was...” she says with a sigh. “Didn’t help that the others agreed with him.”

You simply sit in silence.

“And then, the phone call last night,” she says. “I told Harpo everything. That you were with me. That we were drinking. I thought he was going to suffocate from his own laughter.”

“Why would he make fun of you like that?” you ask.

“It wasn’t so much making fun of me as it was just the absurdity of it all.” She looks up at the ceiling. “Me trapped in a city with the colt I’m apparently so afraid of.”

“You really didn’t seem that afraid,” you say. “You were usually pretty confident around me.”

“Well, that’s only in... You know. Small doses,” she says.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” you admit.

“I mean, I’m fine for a while. If nothing happens.” She sighs. “Honestly, you were the first good thing to happen that evening. And I was having fun talking. It’s why I invited you to walk me home that night. I thought I could handle pushing my limit a bit.”

You shrug. It was a fair explanation.

“But then, when we got home, and the plum tree...” she groans.

“Oh...” you say, remembering the incident.

“I must admit, the wine I brought out after that was for a number of different reasons,” she says. You both sigh.

“But... why were you so afraid of being around me?” you ask.

“Because I was afraid you’d notice something with that... thing you do!” she nearly exclaims. “Your borderline superpower of noticing body language! Although, I relaxed a bit when you said you didn’t catch anything between Beauty and Harpo. It made me think that perhaps you might not see anything... affectionate. But still, how do you even do that?” she asks.

“It’s... well, it’s a trained thing. I don’t do it normally in everyday life. I have to focus,” you explain. “I don’t notice every little twitch unless I’m looking for it. To be honest, I haven’t used my ‘superpower,’ as you put it...” you pause to chuckle, “since after our first glasses of wine after the concert.”

“...really?” she asks. Her postures slumps a bit, which you notice.

“Yep. And how you’re sitting just a bit more loosely showing you’re relaxed about that fact, but the continuing little rubbing of your hooves shows some doubt,” you begin explaining. “Your head tilted in curiosity as your eyebrows went up just a bit in surprise. The hoof rubbing has stopped as you sat up straighter again in a demonstration of defiance under sudden pressure. Your eyelids seem to be focusing your vision on me more, possibly out of annoyance, and the hard set in your jaw could mean a rising in temper- okay, I’ll stop now.”

Octavia holds her gaze on you for a few moments. Eventually, she smiles again and bursts into laughter which you join in soon after.

She leans forward again, this time wrapping her hooves around your shoulders, pulling you into a warm hug. You return the gesture, wrapping your hooves around her as well. The two of you hold each other closely as you continue expressing your happiness together.