• Published 26th Jul 2015
  • 10,653 Views, 4,220 Comments

The Things Tavi Says - shortskirtsandexplosions

Let me tell you a few things about my roommate, Octavia. After all, she saved my life.

  • ...

PreviousChapters Next
Nocturnal Things

Author's Note:

The Castle of Friendship towers above me... above all of us.

There was a time when it... bothered me...

When it got under my skin.

Lately, with each passing day, I find a strange... meditative comfort with it. And with being in it. It's more than the blank, black canvas that the harmonic walls of crystal afford me. There's something about its opaque surfaces that bring solace to me. Especially when I stand alone in the ballroom—as I've retreated to as of late—to compose music... sometimes music that's never even there.

The Castle of Friendship hides me from the rest of the world. I'm pretty sure that such was... never the structure's true intent. But when is Friendship ever something we mean it to be?

It's late at night. It's always late at night. I'm walking for the tenth... twelfth... maybe fifteenth lap around the base of the Castle in cold starlight. The guards minding the upper bastions of the palace would think something was amiss—if they weren't so used to me engaging in this cyclical habit these past few evenings. Perhaps they believe it's how a royal minstrel like myself chooses to think... to contemplate all of the symphonic masterpieces she's working on.

I wonder if they'd be alarmed to find the same blank canvas on the inside as there is on the outside.

I sigh, strafing left and right in my stroll. The Friendship Gala is only a few days away now, and the area immediately surrounding the castle is covered in tents, supply shacks, and stacks upon stacks of crates. Everything is only partially unloaded, and I know that in just a day or two this entire place will carry with it an epic spectacle worthy of outshining Canterlot or Manehattan. Everypony in Ponyville is excited about it—or at least I can assume so. I've turned nocturnal over the past week. It's a potentially catastrophic thing—considering that I need to be fully awake to perform my musical sessions for the Gala proper when it transpires. Maybe I can binge through some Dr. Pony a few hours previous. Yeesh, as if I don't use the royal lavatory enough...

Part of me looks forward to the event. Another part of me is afraid of it—only because I'm not entirely sure what lies behind it. It's been a long while since I planned for anything beyond a month in advance. Even when I was touring, I left all of the gruntwork to Beau.

But now—after this Friendship Gala has come and gone—I'm not entirely sure where to take my talents. Certainly any place in Equestria would be happy to have DJ-P0N3 host an event. But I'm feeling more and more distant from her, almost as if the black edges of this sharp castle have sliced the layers off of me, peeling loose a wispy ghost underneath. That phantom seeks a body to return to, but we both know she's gone. The shredded bits of a record cover were the only remaining effigy. Now all is emptiness and starlight, and these wayward hooves, circling... shuffling... but going nowhere.

My teeth grit and I feel my breaths coming out in magenta shudders. I barely have anything for the Gala's musical session. At this point, I may be forced to improv most of my materials into a digestible mix. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem for someone like DJ-P0N3. But things have been far from normal lately.

I shuffle to a stop somewhere near the Castle's entrance. It suddenly occurs to me that I've been wearing headphones throughout the entirety of this midnight stroll... but no music's been playing. The last track I had selected ended countless minutes ago, and I've been just listening to the muddled echoes of my own heartbeat in my ears ever since.

A sigh escapes my lips. I look skyward, my shaded eyes traveling up the black summits of harmonic spires.

What died first?


Or the desire to be inspired?

The contemplation is jarring enough to end my walk. I shuffle back through the gates to engage in yet another fruitless session...


Do we ever die as artists?

...or perish multiple times in a single life as our own audience?

Join our Patreon to remove these adverts!
PreviousChapters Next
Join our Patreon to remove these adverts!