Same Song, Second Verse

by Revenant Wings

Chapter 5 - Chance Encounter

Two weeks later, Octavia had at least somewhat gotten herself into a routine.

The slower pace life of Ponyville was almost maddening. Octavia was always doing something back in Canterlot, from meetings to practice sessions to going through shops to meeting with friends, and avoiding Vinyl Scratch became yet another hassle on top of the others once the relationship started going downhill. But in Ponyville she had to work just to make it where she was doing something at all times.

The first three days were okay. Octavia spent most of her time unpacking boxes and setting things up in the new house. It wasn’t long before the place was sparsely furnished and she had obtained everything from the local stores. The post finally got her address and mail figured out and she was obtaining the newspaper and any flyer for local events, in addition to a notice about opening a P.O. box.

But afterwards was horrible. Without anything to do, Octavia spent most of the fourth day irritable and restless. She almost longed for Canterlot’s vibrant atmosphere and crowded streets. Over tea and a quiet dinner alone, she looked out over the landscape of Ponyville and began to wonder.

…why did I do this? she thought. Why didn’t I just move into an apartment? I’m sure Frederic wouldn’t mind me staying with him and Noteworthy a few days while I found a new place. Or Arpeggio. Instead I move off somewhere and hardly know anyone here.

So she resolved to make herself go out the next day, and so established a routine she kept for the next two weeks. She slept until eight in the morning, got up, and went for a walk around the entire edge of Ponyville before jumping into the shower. By nine-thirty, Octavia was out of the shower and tending to her mane and coat. She dried, brushed, and perfumed herself and finished by ten. She went to the kitchen and began to cook breakfast, usually consisting of coffee, toast, eggs, hay bacon, and fruit. Breakfast was done by ten forty-five, and Octavia would check the mail before moving to the sunroom where she would begin to practice.

For almost two hours, Octavia would play in the sunroom, practicing old pieces and any new ones that Arpeggio had decreed for the next set. Already on her fourth day a new piece came in the mail, neatly written folded under Arpeggio’s steady hoof and quill and placed in an envelope, as well as a set for the next concert to take place a few months from then.

And then, at one o’clock, she would travel down to the Station Café, the place she had gone on her first time coming with Welcome Abode, for lunch. She found herself going there most days and always preferred a spot on the open air patio where she could watch the ponies travelling by in their daily activities. The warmer air felt good on her coat and the occasional breeze made it comfortable but not too extreme.

And, for some reason or another, she would always meet other ponies she was beginning to grow familiar with. Care Package the mail pony came there on lunch break, and so would Welcome Abode if she ever got a break from paperwork. Promontory often came in, sat at the small bar, and ordered a drink and possibly an appetizer before going back to work managing the trains that came through.

It was pleasant, light conversation that greeted her ears and the reminder of her life in Canterlot that made her return many times during the week. The owner, a rather portly mare named Comfort Food with a cutie mark obscured by a large blue dress, welcomed her warmly and treated her well. Conversations were light and quick before Octavia would be led to an open table on the patio and a free drink brought for her.

She had found the café a welcoming place to work on her new piece. Octavia would take pencils and erasers and paper she made up into music paper – she’d yet to buy any official sheet music – and come by. Comfort Food would set her up with a table and her drink and a waitress would come by with a menu, but she was never pressured into ordering anything and could sit there as long as she wanted.

Ponyville had indeed inspired her muse, and had slowly been working on a new piece over the last two weeks. Once it was finished, she wanted to show it to Arpeggio to see if he could add it in to the set listing; her last piece had been met with acclaim, and Arpeggio was now sending her money from royalties from other orchestras who wished to play it. Small amounts, but she still hoped she could do it again. She was at the Café again today, finding the bustle of life to be a welcome and inspiring sound.

And it was through the café that Octavia managed to slowly integrate herself into Ponyville life. And how much it reminded her of Canterlot! “How strange that things are so different yet so much the same," she said to herself. "Even here the café becomes a meeting place like in Canterlot.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“I mean,” Octavia went on to herself, “I’ve already met four ponies here since moving in. I almost feel myself becoming acquaintances with them, and even friends, even though most of our conversations have taken place here in the rather generous siesta Ponyville has.”

“No one likes the heat.”

“It’s casual, slower paced,” Octavia continued. “Not like Canterlot. Even the stores are on rather generous time limits. Late starts, late completions, and flexible on both. Like they know that ponies here start slow and go long. Canterlot… things were so rigid there. Everything moved like clockwork.”

“Not like your bow.”

Octavia’s ears perked, finally registering the fact that someone was replying.

“It sounds to me like you move with grace and fluidity. I’ve heard it, on days where you have the windows open.”

Octavia turned around and looked over at the next table. The light blue unicorn from what seemed like ages ago on moving day was sitting in his chair and turned his whole body to face her.

“A fellow artist at work, I see.” He moved out of the way and showed his own sheets of music paper – real, actual music sheets, unlike the mockups that Octavia had – on the table in front of him.

Octavia tensed slightly. “…how long were you listening?” she asked defensively.

“You talk as though you can’t hear yourself think.”

Octavia cleared her throat. “I’m not used to it.” She decided to skip the actual details. “Coming from Canterlot, I’m not used to the slower pace.”

The unicorn lifted up a drink of his own – possibly a cream soda like hers, Octavia thought, by the light caramel color and the froth that reminded her of beer – and sipped it. “It’s rather easy to adjust to, so long as you don’t mind changing your schedule about an hour or two after Canterlot time.” He gave a light laugh. “Ponyville time is well known across Equestria.”

Octavia shrugged, ignoring his comment. “You were saying you heard me play?”

“Quite well,” he said. “That is, you play quite well. Being neighbors, it’s easy to hear through the windows, but it’s not disturbing at all.”

“Well, that’s a change. I’ve seen lights flashing from your house but hear nothing. Would have thought you’d be as loud as other DJs.”

“I wear earplugs.” But his ears perked before he could explain further. “Wait… you asked me about what a ‘DJ’ was that one evening. You actually knew about it?”

“I knew about it, yes. I just didn’t know the proper term. So, do you have a handle or anything?”

“Nope. Just Neon Lights. I’ve been told I don’t need one. Ha… and you know what a ‘handle’ is in that context. Complicated bag of tricks for a Canterlot cellist.”

“So I’ve been told. A… a friend of mine back in Canterlot was a DJ. I picked up a few things from her.”

“Ah… doesn’t sound like a friend to me. You spat that out.”

“I always thought she produced nothing more than raucous noise.”

Neon fell into a relaxed slouch and put his head on a hoof. “Do explain.”

“Bass heavy, ‘songs’ that sounded like a mixture of train wheels and chalk grating, and never kept the same tune or beat for very long.”

Neon chuckled. “Wubstep, then.”

Octavia threw up her hooves. “If that’s what it’s called. She never told me what it was.”

“Well, it’s the common name for it, then. And frankly, I find myself disinterested with it as well.”

“Really?” Octavia blinked. It certainly wasn't what she was expecting to hear. “I would have thought that’s all you ponies produce. It’s all I heard in the clubs I went to.”

“And you’ve been to clubs?”

“For a few months. I’ve picked up some of it, but never really got full explanations. All I talked about was about music, not really any of the culture that went with it.”

Neon smiled. “I hope I don’t bore you.”

“No. I like talking about music. My cutie mark is a treble clef, after all. It’s just I’d like it to be more than that sometimes.”

“Well, what do you like besides music?”

“Well, I like going to museums, particularly those of natural history and Renaissance or modern art. I also like discussing books, or old movies.” Octavia sighed. “Kind of why I’m not friends with that one DJ anymore. All we talked about was music.”

“Bored you?”

“Kept repeating the same things over and over again.”

“Well, that’s not worth it, is it?”

A waitress came around and set down a bill in front of Neon. The unicorn picked up a napkin and dabbed his face with it before giving it a short wipe. “Well, the normal siesta time is two hours, but my lunch break is only one. I have to pay and get back to work." As though to make his point, he pulled out a few bits and deposited them on the bill. "You should come around to the shop to visit sometime. I'll show you the recording studio next door, too."

“Thank you for the offer, but I’ll be fine for the time being.” It seemed just a little strange to her that Neon would be so willing to show her his work so soon when she barely knew him. Especially with the recording studio, something she had always heard of and imagined as being a rather personal and intimate business.

Neon shrugged. “I’m just putting it out there.” He cheerfully got up, gave her a small wave as the waitress picked up his bill and tip, and left.

Octavia looked at a nearby clock on the wall. It was one forty; most of the regulars were ordering pastries and coffee, a perfect end to the midday meal before heading back home for a nap. Octavia never ordered the pastry or the coffee and never slept. It mystified her how they could drink coffee and be able to sleep afterwards.

On that particular day, though, the heat grew as Octavia headed home from lunch and the air around her house became heavy with perfume from flowers in the orchard and wildflowers in the fields nearby. It lent a drowsy atmosphere to the new house, whose airy halls and wide open rooms gave only more space to let the scent in.

Octavia went to her room and lay down on the bed. It was warm and soft and inviting, and for a moment she closed her eyes and wondered if she ever had moments like this in Canterlot. A light breeze came through the windows, and she could hear birds chirping. There was the drone of a bee outside her window, the soft hum slowly getting into her mind.

How long had it been, since she had such a quiet time to herself? How long since she had even been able to hear herself think? At least seven months, if not a full year, she reckoned. Or perhaps she hadn’t ever been able to. Neon thought her loud when she spoke even though she spoke softly and with an extra refined touch. Had she really been shouting, unable to really hear herself with so many ponies around?

Octavia felt her thoughts slowly drift back to Neon Lights. He was a strange one. He seemed to know the classical musicians, disliked the “music” that Octavia had heard from Vinyl and found herself disliking, and had stated he’d enjoyed her playing from what he heard. And yet he had the sort of laid-back look and nearly a devil-may-care attitude that she had come to associate with DJs, and even that was more refined than Vinyl had been.

For the second time that day, Vinyl Scratch had entered Octavia’s thoughts without really any need for her to. For a few moments she wondered how the unicorn was getting along without her. She wondered if there was someone there to make dinner, or clean the bathroom and kitchen, or take care of the bills and made sure they were sent in on time. She wondered if Vinyl still hated her, or if she was already missing her.

When Octavia opened her eyes, she saw from a clock on the wall it was shortly after three. Had she dozed off? It was entirely possible, but already the heat was beginning to settle and the breeze was more prominent and it was losing its soporific hold on her. She got up, stretched, and walked to the kitchen.

The little black phone hung on the wall at the entrance to the large main room. Octavia picked up the receiver and punched the buttons. There were four rings and an answering machine picked up.

“Hey, this is Vinyl. I either can’t hear you or am out right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can remember.”

There was a beep, and then silence.

And more silence.

Octavia put back the phone without saying a word. She sniffed a little bit, but interpreted it as coming from the dust being blown through the window though none was in sight. She felt better when she washed her face, but her eyes were still red when she looked in the mirror afterwards.

* * *

The rest of the day went a little smoother. Octavia had found a tennis court in Ponyville and started taking lessons from the trainer there two days a week at four. By the day of the meeting with Neon at the Station Café, Octavia was going in for her third lesson. There followed a full hour of sprinting, various leg exercises, and learning how to grip and properly hold a tennis racket with a hoof. She felt she was slow to learn, but figured it helped if she had something to spend the idle hours with; her teacher said she was grasping it quick for an earth pony, though, so there was something.

The hour of tennis had wiped the thoughts of Vinyl or Neon out of Octavia’s mind; by five o’clock, she wanted nothing more than to sit with a glass of tea or a large ice water and enjoy the late afternoon before making dinner. She was back home at quarter after five, had herself a large glass of water, and sat looking out over Ponyville for a while and watching as the blue sky began to slowly turn yellow and orange before making dinner.

House and Home had graciously supplied her with a cookbook, and she had gotten used to making herself dinner. Tonight she made grilled eggplants on a green salad with rice pilaf mixed in and a light balsamic vinaigrette dressing drizzled over the top. She was eating at her dining room table and staring out into the Whitetail Woods when she there was a knock at the door.

Octavia got up and walked to the door. Answering it, she found Care Package in full uniform with a much emptier bag than he normally had. Unlike last time, he was rather relaxed and his movements were looser and unhurried.

"Good evening, Miss Octavia. I'm sorry if I've interrupted anything."

"Not at all. What brings you by here?"

“I have another letter for you, and a question to ask about later tonight."

Care Package reached into his bags and pulled out another letter. It was neatly addressed from Arpeggio yet again, perhaps another piece of music she might not have. "Give me one second before the question; I want to set this down."

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead."

Octavia walked back to the sunroom and placed the letter on her desk; she would open it later tonight after dinner. She returned to the door and found Care Package waiting patiently for her. "Now, what did you want to ask me?"

"My coltfriend and I were thinking of going to the Ponyville Players’ jazz concert tonight. Seeing as you were a musician, I was just wondering if you wanted to join us and check them out.”

Octavia thought about it. What would she do tonight? If she didn’t go, her normal was to curl up with a good book and a cup of hot cocoa and a record spinning. She decided not much else, and it was easy enough to push back her schedule for a short while. “Sure. What time does it start?”

“We’d probably be heading over to your house about six forty or so. Theater opens at seven, doors open at seven thirty.”

“Okay. I’ll get ready to go. I’ll see you at six forty.”

Care Package lazily flapped his wings and Octavia watched him glide effortlessly back into town. She closed the door feeling quite happy. It had been a while since she had gone out, and she rather liked Care Package from meeting him and occasionally seeing and lunching with him at Station Café. She'd met his coltfriend once before - he had been with him at the first time they had lunch, joining them - and had no problem with him.

And so Octavia finished her dinner in much higher spirits and went to clean off the sweat from the tennis lesson almost as soon as she had finished. So, when six forty came around, she had cleaned herself off, placed a neat little bow around her neck, and had brushed her mane and tail for a nice evening out.

Comments

[mid endian]

still wondering if you'll switch to Vinyl and how she's currently doing, but no worries if this is mainly an Octavia centered story.

[Mother3Forever]

Just finished rereading this, because fimfiction messed up and didn't tell me it updated 3 more times. Also, is Neon Lights, This guy?

[Revenant Wings]

6635793
Yes.