• Published 26th Jul 2015
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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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Rhetorical Things

Author's Note:

The only thing more anxious than Octavia's indigo strings are her eyes. She stares longingly out the window of our home—no difficult feat, considering the fact that she's positioned her cello so that she's directly facing out onto the front lawn. I know there's more to it than that. Every pony in town can attest to the fact that our home has a nearly uninterrupted view of the towering spires of Twilight's tree castle to the north.

"Do you suppose it gets lonesome, in there?" Tavi muses. She's not really playing music. She's just toying with her strings and summoning melancholic sounds from the ether. "I know that sounds a tad bit silly—what, with the most esteemed Twilight Sparkle being the Princess of Friendship and all. But it is an awfully large castle. From the inside, at least... even if I've only been inside once. Well... twice, if you count the moments directly after the defeat of that most dreadful Tirek."

I shuffle across the kitchen with a yawn. A tuxedo feline rubs up against me, filling the air with an orange purr. Using careful telekinesis, I prepare to fill his food dish, and the air gets even oranger.

Octavia's indigo melody slices through it. "I wonder if that's why she's hiring so many ponies to fill it up," she murmurs. "Because she's lonesome. I mean, when friendship becomes your job, then it must be terribly hard to divide what's leisurely from that which is habitual. Does that make any sense?" She rips and tears at the strings, then continues: "Take our talents, for instance. From a very young age, I was taught to practice the craft of music... without being told to follow the muse itself. My gift had been funneled down an avenue of necessity. What I did defined me, rather than myself defining the art. It's a very delicate balance, of course, but one can understand how it places a rather thick veil over the flame of inspiration."

I look up from pouring the cat food, eyebrow arched. Sometimes, I swear, Octavia sounds just as verbose as I probably would if I could speak. It's an amusing thing, but I dare not smile. Not at the moment. Not when Octavia is being... a philosopony.

"I mean, when was the last time you ever performed your music just for fun, Vine?"

I stand up. With her eyes on me, I march across the kitchen and slap my hoof over the calendar—specifically yesterday's date.

She rolls her purple eyes, smiling slightly. "Yes, but of course. You're always the joyous prodigy."

I bite my lip hard.

"I like to think that I'm a master of my craft. But that doesn't mean much on its own. Look at Twilight. The Princess has been awarded for her humble deeds with a castle, a tiara, and a royal title in her name! She's essentially achieved all she could ever hope to achieve, but has she given up? Has she packed up her things and called it a living? No! I'd say she's been emboldened to do more than ever before! And as such, she's an inspiration to us all. I mean... if only we could be so thoughtful and considerate when we've reached the top... or at least in such a manner that could rival her achievements."

I pour Scribbler a bowl of water and place it down by the dish where she's already munching away. Squatting low, I reach a hoof out and pet the scruff on the back of the feline's fluffy neck.

"Vinyl, love...?"

I turn to look at her.

Octavia's gazing out the window at the spires of the castle again. Her ears are drooping. Her mane and tail are silken thunderclouds. As always, my roommate looks like a living gray pillow, just begging to be cuddled, though she knows not by what.

"Do..." She gulps, practically hugging the cello to her fuzzy chest. "...do you think I'm far too obsessed with success?"

I blink, adjusting my shades. She's not looking my way, and I don't expect her to. I've long gotten used to being a second set of ears for Tavi's rhetorical statements. I'm not sure even she knows she's voicing them half the time.

"Assuming I... we get to the top, like Twilight has, will we find joy there? Or just lonesomeness?"

I bite my lip, shuffling where I stand.

She looks my way. Within a breath, her voice turns from indigo to purple—almost reaching a violet peak. "Ah... who am I kidding...?" Her smile is a lazy one, and it relaxes the room into cello sighs as she resumes her fiddling. "It's hard to imagine you or I as ever being lonesome."

Whether she's right or not, I don't give her any reason to doubt. I only give her a smile.

"Though I wouldn't terribly mind an opportunity to perform for Princess Celestia one day," Octavia muses. "That would do much to fill the confines of an invisible bucket, somewhere..."

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