Stroll

by re- Yamsmos

Stumbling

Being cold wasn't a new concept to Octavia. In fact, being cold was a more practiced situation than being warm. It was no secret that Octavia spent more than most of her days playing at a concert, and with stuck-up ponies in fashionably layered clothing there came complaints about heat, and then, following it, would be employees cracking open windows and letting in horrifying drafts from the outside air. And, with Octavia's luck, every concert kept her safe from a cold wind until said opening of windows, and then she would find herself clutching her double bass even closer to her body to gain the most warmth possible. Teeth quietly chattering, Octavia would have to mare up and continue playing, lest she forgo her own sanity lent to her from her best friend Mr. Double Bass.

Even outside of concerts, Octavia would find herself chilled to the bone. The carriages her Symphony would take to their hotels and concerts and banquets and parties never had warmth, but they sure as hay had windows lining their exteriors that were meant as viewing ports but acted more like gates to Tartarus. Octavia wasn't exactly alone in these regards, if the quiet complaints and rubbing of hooves usually taking place in the seats was any indication. At least her hotel room and house were pleasant. If it weren't for those she'd most likely have died of hypothermia years ago.

This was no exception. Though her eyes currently burned from her proximity to the makeshift campfire, and the fuzzy, Griffon-gifted blanket nestled around her began to feel heavy, Octavia still found herself shaking violently. Her ears laid back, her purple eyes looked around her surroundings, blaming it on her current location. The Smokey Mountains Valley had proved to be quite a challenge, and, lo and behold, an intimidating smoke cloud and the promise of a dangerous landslide outside had caused them to seek shelter in a cave. A cave with, as far as she knew, only one way out. She didn't want to dare a look deeper into the cavern—mostly out of fear of looking at the admittedly menacing looking darkness—but she could tell that trying to go down it would only spell more trouble.

She had read enough fantasy books to know how excursions into dank, dark caves usually went.

She moved her left foreleg slightly, finding it in an uncomfortable position, and immediately recoiled at the puddle of water that had formed where she placed it. She grumbled, feeling an unmistakable drop land on her uncovered head. She flinched, raising her leg up to dry her mane off. Octavia glared at nothing, her attention now focused on the crackling fire that wasn't doing its job properly. The light yellow Griffon sitting to her far right, a little away from their circle, gave a smack of her beak, her brown eyes staring up at the collection of imposing stalactites hanging above their heads. Her golden claws rested on her armored stomach, most likely in that position to keep the contents where they needed to stay. According to W, L always got a bit... gross... after their meal of scones. Unfortunately, Octavia had missed their doing so, and was not able to eat one before they were out.

The now bare apple core next to Octavia was the result of their sympathy, which she had finished in a matter of minutes.

V, illuminated by the flame of the fire and sitting directly across from the mare, continued to eat her sandwich, the contents of which grossed Octavia out to no end. As messily as a five-year old filly, the Griffon devoured her apparent "Pony, Beaver, and Jellyfish" sandwich with quite possibly the most disgusting noises Octavia had ever heard. The "Pony" part of the sandwich, a delicate looking meat drenched in some kind of brown sauce, spattered against the Griffon's armor like a Jackson Bollock painting. Octavia looked to her left swiftly, not wanting to continue observing the female Griffon's pastime.

The black Griffon, T, silently turned the page on his book. He didn't even give Octavia a glance as she craned her neck to look at its title. Straining her eyes through the light from the fire, Octavia glared, not able to see it thanks to the large navy coal claw grasping the book's spine. His innermost claw, by the powers that were, was the only thing clutching the cover, just in the right position to block any way of discovering the book's title. Octavia sighed. She had hoped that maybe she could bond with him over some book knowledge, and he would fork over what he was reading. He could at the very least have talked about it. Instead, he flipped his pages and hummed to himself.

W caught her attention. She looked to her right, feeling a few muscles strain from the sudden motion. Rubbing her neck with a grimace, she watched as the Griffon continued to wipe his Magicarm with a snow white rag. He smiled to himself as he grabbed the weapon, sticking its butt end into the dirt beneath him and pushing a few rocks out of the way. Beginning to run the rag along its long barrel, Octavia's eyes widened as she finally got a good look at his gun.

Octavia had seen pictures of Magicarms before, and all had bore the same design: a large fishbowl sitting a few inches above the trigger that housed the spells fired from the barrel of the projectile weapon. Instead, the Magicarm in W's claws had what appeared to be a cylinder and a small lever behind it, lacking a crank. Pressing something on his side of the gun, the cylinder swiveled out, and Octavia realized that it also spun as well. She raised a brow, curious as to how different it was compared to what she assumed to be the traditional design.

"Like what you see, Octavia?"

She choked on something, instinctively raising a hoof to her heart as she looked up at him. Mouth moving wildly in an attempt to find words, she dug a hole the size of Canterlot and retrieved what she needed. "Uh, I–I wasn't staring."

W chuckled, grabbing his Magicarm by the front and taking a more comfortable position on the floor. Raising his right claw, he spoke with a hint of pride in his voice. "She's a beauty, isn't she? Top-of-the-line from the gunsmiths of Griffonstone Kingdom. Old friend of mine was an apprentice to a legendary Griffon called Gun Gordon, helped make this ol' girl for me." He looked at Octavia with a raised brow. "You're wondering how it works, aren't you? It's a fair bit more complicated than what I hear the ponies have in theirs."

Octavia tilted her head, pointing a hoof at the cylinder. To be honest, she was a bit curious. "What is that part's purpose? The ones in Equestria use a crank to power their spells."

"Ah, the crank," W said fondly, sighing into the crisp air, "from the first prototypes." He looked down at Octavia, subconsciously rubbing his Magicarm in a way that caused the mare to suddenly question if he was okay in the mental department. It struck her in the same way it usually did whenever one of the First Violinists did that if he was asked about his supposedly "wondrous" instrument. Octavia scoffed. What a barmy idiot. Tensing up as W cleared his throat almost quizzically, she realized she had made it audible. She opened her mouth and waved a hoof around but to no avail, as W simply laughed it off.

"Yeah... Candidate here and I have been through a helluva lot."

She tilted her head. "Candidate?"

W motioned his head toward his gun. Octavia now seriously questioned his current state of mind. All things considered, like loneliness and isolation, who in their right mind would name something they hurt ponies with? "Why do you call it that?" She fluttered her eyes at him as she placed her forehooves under her chin. "Why not give it your mother's name, or perhaps your first pet?" If she had to, she'd most certainly do the latter.

W raised a black claw.

"Oh Sputnik, don't get him started Octavia," L called up from the floor. Octavia turned her head to find the Griffon shaking her head to the ceiling, a claw pinching her beak as if she were smelling something ghastly. Her eyes shut tightly, she added, "You keep doing what you're doing, and you're gonna get your ear talked off by the old bird..."

W gasped, presumably mockingly, "L, I'm only forty-two–"

"Which is old."

"–which is not." He clutched his weapon close, holding the end of the barrel like a mare would her child. Seeing as how W appeared to now stroke it and speak sweet nothings to it, Octavia decided that the simile was just enough to remain. "Besides, the story behind Candidate here is good enough to be told." He rested the gun lengthwise in front of him as he sat up, staring at L in anticipation for her next remark that was sure to follow.

Sure as day, L replied, "It's boring, lackluster, and honestly makes me wanna," she pointed a claw at her chest and lifted it up from the end, "blow my gizzard out every time you tell it, which, if I recall, is about once every few days." Slowly rising from her position on the floor, she rotated her armored body toward Octavia and placed a stretched claw against the side of her mouth. "He's done this so many times, I'm ashamed to admit I've memorized it."

"That doesn't sound so bad–"

"Every. Last. Enunciation, Octavia."

The mare, her ears now pressed against the sides of her head, looked up at W.

W looked back at her. "I'm sure L would love to hear it again."

Said Griffon threw both claws into her face, eliciting a delicate slap Octavia previously only thought possible with hooves. Blinking, she caught the sight of V rolling her eyes from the confines of her sandwich. T hummed, not looking up from his book. Octavia pressed her lips into her cheeks, adjusting her position on the floor and flinching at the stone floor she met by her hooves. Grumbling, she slid to her left and brought the bottom of the blanket to her right side, letting the slack end fall back over her in a comfortable, warm, taco. Gods this blanket was really warm.

If W would allow it, she really hoped she could take it back to Ponyville. It would surely help her in the future when she returned to her concerts and her banquets. She paused for a very brief second, then gave her undivided attention to W as he looked down at his weapon longingly. She snickered.

"Well," W began, "it's a long story, but I think you'll–"

A noise, loud enough to startle even the hardened V, met their ears from outside. Swiftly turning toward the entrance of their cave system, they caught a split second view of a massive boulder slamming down onto the trail directly past their exit, its form completely obliterated as it hit the ground. Its rubble, composed of large black rock, covered up about half of the smoke-covered daylight leaking into their makeshift hideout. As Octavia found herself breathing heavily, she looked around to find that she was the only one showing any sign of freaking out.

What the hell was wrong with these Griffons?!

"Don't worry, Octavia," W called, rousing her from her fright, "that kind of stuff's normal. If we stay put in here, we should be okay. Once the weather clears up, we'll just have to climb over that new hill. No big deal."

Another sound, and another boulder.

They could only watch as the daylight waned, then disappeared, as the rubble from their new visitor blocked their way out.

Octavia would have shoved everything in W's face if it weren't for her—their—now dire predicament.

Comments

[DoContra]

Ponifying a Violin? Ugh. Ponifying a weapon? What a bunch of Barbarians!
...
I know, right? I'm so glad you agree Mr. Double Bass, I'm lucky to have somebody who really understands me. Come give mama a hug .