Filling the Gap

by Ponysopher

Restriction

Octavia walked into her dark hotel room, toting her burdensome cello, and flipped on the light switch. Sufficient light illuminated her allotted room so that she could make her way to the den. It was cozy enough; comprised of four rooms: the kitchen, the den, the bathroom, and her bedroom. It was not as spacious or luxurious as she was used to, yet she was called to Manehatten on such late notice that her manager did not have much time to secure her such an inn. Tired as she was, she was able to reach the den and set her instrument down carefully. She didn’t feel she had enough energy to make it to the bedroom so she simply fell onto the couch in front of her.

She was exhausted from all the events of the day. At four that morning, she was awoken by a call from her manager who said that she had in to be on a train in an hour. When she told him she could never make that, he told her that she was being called to play at some fancy ball in the place of another cellist who had bailed at the last moment. This would be too much for her to pass up as the pay would be enormous. So reluctantly, she dragged herself out of bed, hastily packed up her things, and took time to groom herself. Then she checked out of her hotel in Fillydelphia and took a taxi to the train station.

When she hoped that she could catch some sleep on the train, her manager caught up to her and handed her a complicated score of sheet music which she would have to memorize before her arrival. She would then have to grace the guests of the ball with music along with other musicians throughout the day. Though she was a grown-up mare, being fully mature and conducting herself in a matching manner, the filly inside of her wanted to pout and go back to sleep. She didn’t even like the music. It was far too base for her tastes. Yet she reminded herself that she was an artist, and art takes no prisoners and shows no mercy. She had a duty to perform that had to be done. So she labored during her journey to ready herself for her job. The rest of the day was not easy, but it was simple. All she had to do was drown out all the meaningless chatter of the ball guests and concentrate on the sound of the instruments.

Rain began to fall as Octavia was on her way to the hotel. By the time she lay on the couch, it had become a storm. Periodically, the faint sound of thunder could be heard in the distance, but the black sky was without even the faintest glimpse of bright lightning. The rain tattered against the glass window of the den continuously and consistently. This sound went on in the background as she pondered the events of the day.

As sleepy as she was, sleep evaded her. Her mind was too filled with a cacophony of emotion and thought. She disapproved very much of how she had been treated that day. It was not how she believed a mare of her talent should be treated. It wasn’t so much that she lost sleep. She had become used to that. Nor was she terribly agitated over her accommodations. In truth, what really vexed her was that she had no say in the matter. She was told to play at a ball and she could not argue about it.

She had not become a musician to play for people’s enjoyment. She had become a musician to express herself. Her mind had been filled with such pent up emotion just begging to be released in some form for as long as she could remember. It built up in her and continued to increase in mass, but her mind was only so big. She couldn't hold it in forever. Then she found music. Then she found the cello. She heard its sound in the newly built music hall of her small country town in Germaney. Its sound captivated her at the first of its notes. When she heard the cellist play, she didn’t just hear noise. She heard emotion being poured out in understandable form. It was from that first hearing that she knew that she had to become a mistress of that instrument. If she was able to do that, she would surely be able to release the emotion which had been threatening to burst from her.

For a time, she was able to do that. Yet she soon found that expressing her emotion would not be enough to sustain herself financially. So she took a job as a musician for hire, and gained a deal of stability. Her life had suddenly become incredibly predetermined. She was told where she would perform and what music she would play. She was also told she that could abide by those rules or she could go find a new job. That was that.

By taking a job, she had gained order for herself. She did not hate this order. Order kept things safe. It made it so she didn’t have to worry about when she would have her next meal. Yet she was finding that as order increases, freedom decreases, and her heart was crying out for freedom. That is what she had been seeking all along. Those emotions she fostered were not uncaused. She had a reason for them. When she was sad, it was because she had been denied a privilege that she heard the rich had. When she was happy, it was because she had something that the upper classes did not. And when she was motivated, it was because she desired to attain the same rights as a noble mare.

She had fallen in love with the cello at first because it helped her to convey those thoughts. But as she became older, she tried all the harder to master it so that she could be recognized for her efforts. If she was recognized, maybe she would be respected and placed on the level of the nobles; not to be looked down upon as some poor country filly. Though as time passed, she realized that the power of music would not alone be enough to break the chains of social class, and she fell into a period of deep depression.

It was in that time though, that she was reminded of her true love, music. She was reminded that music was the gate that released the despair building up in her heart. So she composed several instrumental pieces to express her feelings. In the process of composing that music, she found something beautiful. Music in itself was freedom. Through the sound of music, she could manipulate the way she saw the world around her. The notes of her music were like the words of a story. The stories that she wrote completely immersed her in a reality that was amazing. It was in the heat of composition that she was placing the stars in the sky of her world, and it was in the euphoria of playing the music she had written that the sun shined its light onto her world; illuminating everything in it.

Though as wonderful as that freedom was, it was only an escape. Her reality was only imagination for everypony else who heard her music. Moreover, she had not had time in many years to compose her own music. She had been living in the cruel, demanding world outside. In this world, she was trapped in a cage and paraded around Equestria like a trained monkey; performing perfunctory music that had no meaning or substance. In music she had found freedom, but in the world outside of music, she had only found restriction. Now she was not permitted to play the music she desired to play before anypony.

As these thoughts chaotically cycled through her head, her vexation soon turned to sadness; the sadness that only comes from the acceptance of defeat. She was caged in where she was by the demands of her flesh, and there was no escape for her. For an hour, she wrestled with this agony; trying to opt for the comfort of sleep. Finally, when she realized that she could not prevail over sleeplessness, she sat up. Placing her hooves on her face, she gave into the onslaught of her misery; coming to the brink of tears.

But then she remembered her cello. She recalled the instrument of music and release. It had not left from her. Tenderly, she took it out of its case and held it up. Without any effort, she forced the pandemonium within her to conform to tangibility. Very soon, she began to play. With her heart, she weaved a beautiful world, which drowned out all of the darkness of the old one. With her mind, she created music so that anyone who heard it could comprehend without failure the deep emotion that was pent up inside her. And with her body, she played that music so that the world within her became more than a concept. Being released through the action of playing the music, it was then a reality. For an indiscernible period of time, she composed and played the beautiful song. She heard the piano which accompanied her lovely instrument within the halls of her soul. And the music brought the agony which was so violently disturbing her to a resolution.

Thus doing this, she replaced the instrument back in its case, and was able to find deep, restful sleep. It was quite sad though, for the feeling was fleeting. Music could provide a release, but ultimately she was going to fall back into her despair.

Comments

[Lapison]

Beautifully written. Plus, OctaScratch. Please, continue.

One point: Some authors use Mecklenburg in place of Germaney. Of course, this is your story, but I wish to point that out. It does not detract from the writing at all.

[Subtle Wing]

Eagerly awaiting the rest.

[Wubsy]

I usually hate these things, but it was expertly written, so you got me.

img.ponibooru.org/_images/12da086420e120b8eec15c83e87aee08/6058%20-%20fear_and_loathing_in_las_vegas%20hunter_s_thompson%20johnny_depp%20macro%20meme%20parody%20photoshop%20rainbow_dash%20sunglasses%20twilight_sparkle.jpg

[DaMagiks]

You got me instantly hooked with this. I want more

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-Xm7s9eGxU
Play this with the rain.

[Ponysopher]

I'm honestly surprised that this claimed so many views so quickly. I would have thought the VinylxOctavia romance field had been long since supersaturated so that no one would want to read this. Oh, well. guess I'm moving this up on the list of priorities.

Oh, and I've been hearing suggestions about adding spaces between paragraphs. If anyone thinks that's a good idea, let me know and I'll change this chapter's format. I'm going to do that for the next one.

[kladdos]

woah! I want moar! beautiful!
keep up the good work! (why is there no octavia smile in here? )

[TheRealShadowFoot]

A lovely read...I wish I could find more fics like this. And the link you provided for the rain is one of the best things I could have found. It's my absolute favorite form of natural noise.

[Canterlot Landfill]

[Link] That's a review, BTW.

[Tenderheart]

I can already see where this is going and I can't wait to see how you spin it.

[Fury of the Tempest]

Hmmmm, interesting. Setting up the stage not with Vinyl Scratch, but Octavia's emotional problems. Not only does this mean the reader has to read more for the adventure to start, but it sets up an emotional backdrop for one of the two main characters. Not sure if I would of done it this way myself, and its a bit more 'tell' than 'show', but it was told extremely well and rather poetically as well.

[Skeeter The Lurker]

Sweet merciful crap. Why have I not see this one till now?

~Skeeter The Lurker