• Published 26th Jul 2015
  • 10,650 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.

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Repeating Things

Author's Note:

Hours later...

I'm curled up on the couch.

Moonlight wafts in through the window, bouncing off my shades.

It's nighttime. The apartment is silent. My head is not.

A pair of headphones rests over my ears. How many times has this album repeated? Seven? Eight?

I gave up on taking notes several hours ago. Instead, I've just sat here with the music and... allowed the blue sound to engulf me. The pain is a numb thing now, but it's still there. It hurts to move... so I do so—if only to know I'm alive.

I stretch my limbs. The joints pop in crimson salvos. No doubt the cushions of this couch have a deep impression the shape of a mute unicorn. I think I understand now why Tavi was such a fine connoisseur of pillows. Just how many hours... days... months did she spend, reclining like this, trying to reacquaint herself with genius?

It's not easy. I doubt even she could explain it to me if she wanted to.


Where did you go... ...?

And will you be nearly as easy to find... ... ...

... ... ...as Cyan?

I rub my fuzzy cheeks. They're sore, raw and crusty from layers of dried-out tears. A magenta sigh, and I gaze over my shoulder.

DJ Capricorn sits in an easy chair.

Dead asleep.

She did not have to stay down here with me. This is my experiment. Not hers.

And yet... here she is... more or less. What does she have to gain from all this? I've practically raided her home, begged for her assistance, and robbed her of peace and tranquility.

It's a humbling existence when you discover just how many true friends fill up the dark recesses of your life.

She deserves more than this. They all do.


...Celestia dammit.

I'm not getting anywhere here. Not by standing still, at least.

So, I get up. Limbs shuffling... aching... I cross the room until I'm standing by her chair. I drape a blanket over her slumbering figure. The air fills with a soft burgundy, and she curls up tighter beneath the sheet. I wonder if she has many friends of her own... or if I'm some sort of happy accident that's stumbled upon her.

There's no time for dwelling upon that. I have a dead mare to resurrect.

So, grabbing a second pair of manacrystals, I carry my headphones and Cyan's songs out the front door...

...and I go out into the streets, undertaking.

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