In Which Our Heroine Muses Upon Her Roots

The forbidden wing of the Canterlot Archives were usually heavily guarded. After all, one can't just let any hooligan or would-be usurper waltz in and nab some artifact of ancient and eldritch power.

Thusly, it was usually heavily guarded. Usually.

The one exception to this rule was the changing of the guard, when the number would dwindle in a staggered tapering off. Nevertheless, there were never less than two at any time. Big, strong earth ponies with enough military training to put a stallion in a choke-hold in less than five seconds. Stallions that could send one with lesser nerve running at just a glare.

These two stallions woke with a start as they quickly realized someone slipped them the metaphorical mickey.

Bursting forth into the archive, they quickly took stock of the room- it seemed undisturbed. As peaceful as any room housing unknown artifacts of horror could, at least. This cursory inspection turned sour as the distinctive sound of crunching glass came from underhoof, alerting one to the broken display case housed on top of a pedestal.

The guards shivered in fear at the emanating paperwork from their failings.

Lights flood the stage. A murmuring hush spreads across the audience. With a single draw of her bow, Octavia lets loose a note of sorrow and mourning. Long, deep, and promising a tale woe and heartbreak. The light tinkling of piano dashed through her deep melodies, challenging the status quo as Frederic Horseshoepin taunted her adagio with an allegro of fanciful fun, Harpo's strings following him in a much similar vein.

To the Canterlot elite, it was a beautiful quartet piece; to the players on stage, it was a battle of supremacy, a fight for dominance for the ages. Her horn complimenting Octavia's sorrowful cello, Beauty Brass shot back with a reckoning force. But Freddy and Harpo were undaunted, bringing forth a crushing crescendo that quickly overtook the audience, driving them to the edge of their seats.

Octavia admitted defeat with quiet dignity and grace, as she and Beauty joined in their movement. By the end of the piece, the audience was weeping tears of joy at such a magnificent display. Roses were tossed, and dignified bows were had as the curtains closed on them. Quickly, they started packing up.

"I don't think I've ever seen such a full house!" Beauty said as she clasped the case of her instrument shut. Harpo nodded enthusiastically, grinning all the while.

"It was quite a sight- I just hope we can keep up the pace." Frederic said, cracking the joints in his hooves. It was a tiring performance, but well worth it to be sure.

"I have to give you credit, Freddy," Beauty said, bouncing over to him, "I didn't think the whole 'duelling duets' thing was gonna work, but POW you knocked it out of the water!"

"Maybe next time we can let the slower movements have a chance, hmm?" Octavia taunted as she slung her cello case across her back. Frederic shrugged.

"We'll just have to wait and see."

Octavia rolled her eyes, and started heading towards the door. Beauty rushed over to her.

"Hey, Octi- you gonna stick with us for the aftershow? It's milkshakes at Donut Joe's- and Harpo's paying!"

A look of horror flashed on Harpo's face, and Frederic called out, "Beauty, stop volunteering other ponies to pay for your milkshake habit!"

Beauty giggled, "Sorry- his face is just too irresistible to pass up."

Octavia shook her head, "Sorry, I'll have to pass. Tomorrow is..."

Beauty blinked, her eyes going wide with realization, "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! I totally forgot that day was coming up!" Her hooves wrapped around her friend in a rib crushing hug.

"I-it's okay! Just needing some alone time." Octavia gasped out, before Beauty let her go and nodded.

"Take all the time you need, Octi."

Harpo saluted her, while Frederic nodded in kind, "Tell Trotson we wish him well too, would you?"

Octavia smiled, "Of course."

The night air of Canterlot was crisp and cool, befitting the mountainside city. Fall had already come, and winter was fast approaching, and Octavia watched as her breath condensed in front of her. Her mind wandered as she walked the streets, heading home. This was the first performance in a few weeks that had managed not to get interrupted by strange circumstances- first the Grand Galloping Gala ending in disaster not but three weeks ago, and then all of Canterlot being besieged by chaotic clouds of cotton candy and chocolate rain for a solid fortnight. Octavia was glad for the return to normalcy.

Fitting her key into the door, Octavia trudged into her home and softly set her instrument by the hearth. Her bed called for her, and she wasn't one to resist it's siren call. A single date was circled on her calendar, with an address marked in red: "Canterlot Memorial Cemetery".

"It'll be good to see father again," She thought, before her mind drifted off to sleep.

The cool air from the previous night persisted, as Octavia wrapped the scarf around her neck again. Standing before the tombstone, she had already placed her offering- a small bundle of honeysuckle and a bottle of the late Fetlock Hooves' favorite pipe bubble mixture.

"Hard to believe it's already been ten years, eh?" A voice spoke from behind her. Octavia barely kept her composure, before turning around to greet the mustachioed family friend.

"Doctor Trotson," She said, with a small smile and a hug. The older stallion doffed his bowler as he sat beside her, placing his own card and small bouquet.

"Looks like one of us will have to think of a different gift next time," The unicorn chuckled, noticing Octavia's one choice in flowers matching his own. Octavia smiled in kind.

"He did enjoy his beekeeping. At least, when he wasn't off adventuring with you." She remarked, and Trotson chuckled again.

"Perhaps I'll go with clover next year. Always was a fan of the honey they produced."

Silence stretched between them for a while, comfortable and familiar.

"The band wishes you well." She finally spoke up. Trotson nodded.

"Good to hear. That Horseshoepin boy isn't giving you any trouble?"

Octavia rolled her eyes, lightly ribbing the older stallion, "I'm a grown mare, uncle Trotson. You don't have to pull the 'threatening father' role for him, you know." She sniffed, "Besides, it was the one time. Things are strictly platonic between the two of us."

Trotson nodded, "Just giving you guff, dear."

Octavia sighed, "How are things at the agency?"

Trotson's own sigh was much more weary in comparison, "Rough. I was called in the middle of the night- mystery break in. Technically I'm not supposed to be talking about it with others. Merlot's on the case with me."

"Merlot?"

"He's a bit of a grizzled veteran in the field," Trotson remarked, "I've worked a few cases with him before- a bit grittier than Hooves, but a tough customer for sure."

Octavia nodded, "I'll trust your judge of character. Would you like me to accompany you for the walk?"

Nodding, Trotson stood up, "I would appreciate that. Sorry to cut the procession short, but I doubt Fetlock would approve of me dilly-dallying while the game was ahoof."

Octavia chuckled, "He would be positively turning in his grave."

The two ponies made their way out of the cemetery, side by side in the cold weather. Octavia only glanced back one time.

"I miss you, father."

Author's Note:

So yeah. Rebooting this.

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