Obligatory Epilogue
Octavia twirls her bow unconsciously, rotating it methodically, mechanically. It’s a nervous habit that she’s done for as long as you’ve known her, and probably before, and it’s one of the little things that she does that you find simply irresistible. Taking advantage of her distraction, you sneak up behind her and quickly plant a kiss on her cheek, earning yourself a playful jab in the ribs. You’re surprised that you got that close to the cellist without her hearing you, but then again, you have been working on finding ways around her extremely sensitive ears. “Hey!” you say indignantly.
“Hey, yourself, Keys. That was unwarranted.” Octavia takes a false swing at your head with her bow, and yet you flinch anyway, causing Octavia to laugh softly. You suck up your loss and nuzzle your head against hers, and this time, she doesn’t shy away.
“How are you feeling?” you inquire, speaking into her thick mane.
“I’m fine.” But Octavia doesn’t meet your eyes.
“If Symphony were here, she’d be on your case for that.” It had become a running joke among those in the orchestra that Symphony hated the word “fine”, and therefore they all made a special effort to use it around her. Foalish, perhaps, but the musicians needed a little outlet from their stressful lives.
“In all seriousness though . . .” Octavia starts.
“Why do you have to start it that way? It only makes this seem all the more intense.”
Octavia shoves you away from her. “Then what would you have me say?” she challenges.
“Just say what you’re thinking. There’s no need to make a big production of it.”
“But I enjoy using long sentences,” the cellist protests, pouting adorably.
“Believe me, I do too. But how are you doing?”
“I’m . . . phantasmagorical.”
“You’re cute when you use long words.”
Octavia punches your foreleg, a gesture that she likely picked up from Vinyl Scratch. Despite her tame outer appearance, her blows pack a considerable amount of pain, and it takes all the willpower you possess not to cringe. “Do you have any idea what I just said?” she says exasperatedly.
“Phantasmagorical. Excellent. Phenomenal. Particularly romantic. I’ve been brushing up on my vocabulary since I’m going to be around you and your fancy expressions more.”
Royal Riff presents himself from seemingly out of nowhere, suddenly at your shoulders. Apparently he’s been taking lessons in sudden appearances from Vinyl as well. “How are you two faring?”
“Funny you should ask . . .” you mutter.
“We’re doing just fine, Royal Riff.” Octavia gives one of the tuning pegs on her cello a miniscule twist, making an imperceptible change in tune. She avoids your eyes, which you’ve noticed that she tends to do when you aren’t alone. Your proposition is that she still isn’t comfortable coming out and admitting that she is going out with the pianist, and you have to tease her for it.
“Nervous?” Royal Riff asks. He slides a hoof across the keyboard as he passes, creating an ascending flurry of music with no discernible melody. Despite the lack of professionalism, the sound of a swept keyboard has always been one of your favorite sounds to coax out of a piano.
“Yes,” you reply honestly, at the same time as Octavia says “No”.
“Why so, Symphonic Keys?” Royal Riff smirks. “What makes this particular event so stressful? It bears nowhere near the magnitude of a concert—this is a much smaller scale.”
“I don’t know, Riffs.” You examine the interior workings of the piano. Not that you detect any imperfections, but you need to give your eyes something productive to do. “Something about it just makes me a little uneasy.”
“It is not as though you’re performing for an overly-critical audience. Let me see . . .” Royal Riff sticks his head into the piano as well. “Your listeners compose of Vinyl, Symphony . . .” The violinist taps the sound board once for every name. “Lyra, Noteworthy, Beauty, and myself.”
You had set up a makeshift stage in the back corner of a secluded café that Octavia has always been a regular patron for. And ever since you’d openly admitted to be going out with her, you’ve found yourself enjoying a coffee or pastry here more and more often. Something about the quiet, serene atmosphere gives the shop a homely feeling, making the time that you spend with Octavia at a table for two the highlight of your day.
Octavia finishes her tuning. She taps the strings briskly with her bow, setting an upbeat rhythm. The beat is brisk, feverish even. Despite her assurances that she’s doing just fine, her body language suggests inner tension. “Since when has Beauty Brass been ‘Beauty’?”
“Does that mean that you’re ready to admit your open adoration for the tuba player?” you add, withdrawing your head from the piano and sitting down at the bench. Your horn gains possession of the instrument and you pump out a quick flurry of fluttering notes.
Royal Riff’s head pops out of the instrument’s inner workings, cringing at the sudden noise. His ears flatten against his head in an involuntary attempt to protect his eardrums. “Thank you for that, Keys,” he says through gritted teeth. “As for Beauty . . . yes, I am extremely enamored by her. Does that make you happy?”
“Exorbitantly.”
A faint tinkling sounds from across the café; the bell affixed on the door is disturbed, and it sends out its distress call. The wooden door swings open, and Lyra and Noteworthy enter the establishment, the stallion with his foreleg around the lyrist-turned-conductor. They appear to be deep in conversation. A change that you’ve noticed in Noteworthy since he’s started seeing Lyra is that he’s been much more talkative, as opposed to his naturally quiet self, back in Ponyville.
“Hello, Symphonic! Octavia!” Lyra calls cheerily. “What have you got planned for us?” The turquoise unicorn pulls you into a friendly hug.
Royal Riff blinks. “Am I invisible?” He holds a hoof up to his face and waves vigorously as if to check if he is actually impercievable.
“And you, Riffs!” Noteworthy extricates himself from his partner to trot over to the violinist and playfully slug him on the shoulder. Royal Riff winces, not accustomed to the more casual greetings that some of the more . . . informal . . . ponies utilize. “What’s up, bro?”
“Nothing . . . much . . .” Royal Riff answers hesitantly. Because of the influx of casually-speaking ponies, he had recently taken it upon himself to master the slang that would be expected in Ponyville, or one of Vinyl’s clubs. His attempts have proven futile, though; his speech still verges on cavalier. He turns to you expectantly. “Am I doing this right?”
“You’ll get there.” The violinist hasn’t yet gotten the hang of transitioning between styles of speech as you have. You are practically two different ponies, depending on who you’re talking to. Possibly even three.
Behind the couple, the door crashes open again. Vinyl seems intent upon practically kicking it down. The DJ stands in the doorway, triumphantly backlit with her wild mane thrown into a frenzy by the rush of outside air. “Vinyl Scratch, everypony, is in the house!”
Royal Riff kneads his eyes. “I feel as though I’ve just released a manticore in a china shop.”
“Perhaps,” admits Octavia. “Let’s just hope that she can remain sufficiently occupied so that she doesn’t start destroying the place, shall we?”
“Hey, Tavi. Keys . . . Riffs,” the DJ adds as an afterthought. “What’s up, all?”
“Hello, Vinyl.”
“So, how late am I?” Vinyl wonders.
“Right on time, actually.” You check your watch, which you had finally gotten around to purchasing, with Octavia’s comprehensive input on which model you should buy. “We’re only waiting on Symphony and Beauty Brass.”
“Now that’s just not cool,” Vinyl laments. “As DJ-Pon3, it is Rule Number One in my books to always show up fashionably late, no matter the event. I’m afraid that I’ll have to come back later. See you!”
Before the DJ could make her exit, Octavia snags her tail between her teeth, bringing Vinyl’s retreat to an abrupt halt. “Sit down, Vinyl,” the cellist spits around the mess of cobalt hairs in her mouth. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“What’s going on here?” inquires Symphony, who had just appeared in the doorway, which was still open from Vinyl’s dramatic entrance, accompanied by an intimidated-looking Beauty Brass.
“Aggressive negotiations,” you reply simply, watching in amusement as Octavia spits out the tail and frantically begins to swipe hairs off of her tongue.
“I see.”
Royal Riff stiffens next to you at the sight of Beauty Brass, and you nudge him, smirking. The violinist shoots you an annoyed look, but doesn’t say anything. “Shall we?” you suggest.
“We shall.” Octavia smiles as she finishes the diction. The phrase had become a trademark between you two, and you make an effort to utilize it whenever the situation called for it.
Feeling no need to issue any instructions for the assembled ponies, you simply turn your attention back to the piano. Never having let it go, the keyboard still glows with the silvery light from your magical reserves. Octavia positions her cello, her bow poised once again. “Any requests?” you offer.
Lyra perks up. “I’ve been working on a piece for the orchestra, but it’s still in the concept phase. Otherwise I’d love to hear it live.”
The question that had been resting contentedly in the back of your mind, that you hadn’t gotten the chance to ask, surfaces. “So how are you liking the conducting situation?”
The former lyrist beams. “It’s wonderful. It’s been so great working with all of them . . . and you.” She gestures at the assembled orchestra members. “It’s been a lot more hoofs-on than I expected, but all the better!” she finishes cheerfully.
Noteworthy places his hoof back around Lyra’s neck. “Speaking of conductors, what happened to the old one? Lyrica? Has she been banished to the moon yet?”
“From what I know, she’s still in the Canterlot Caverns. Probably never to be heard from again,” supplies Symphony. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up about lunar banishment.”
“I’ve got a suggestion!” announces Vinyl, bringing everypony back to the present.
“Yes?” Octavia prompts. In response, the DJ mounts the stage and leans in to whisper in the cellist’s ear. Octavia’s eyes widen and her face breaks into a gleeful grin. “We could do that . . .” As you look at her questioningly, she waves you off. “But we’re going to need a little vocal help. Riffs?”
“What?” yelps Royal Riff, alarmed.
“Could you please sing for us?”
“No,” the violinist says irresolutely.
“Please, Royal? Would you do that?” Beauty Brass snuggles up to her partner, widening her eyes and sticking her lip out in a slight pout. The look paints Royal Riff into a corner—his willpower crumbles at the thought of impressing the mare in his embrace, coupled with the undeniably persuasive look she aims in his direction. The inner turmoil shows on his face as the battle between his logical outer shell and romantic core rages.
“Fine.”
Vinyl whistles impressively. “That was way too easy.”
Royal Riff advances on the stage. “What exactly will I be singing?”
“Yes . . . what will he be singing?” you ask. “Since, you know, I have to play what he’s singing.”
“The only thing that we know Royal Riff knows how to sing, of course. The one that he did during The Lunar Princess’s karaoke night.” Octavia looks down at the violinist, confidently sporting a knowing smile.
Royal Riff’s face goes from its regular grey to a bright tone of pink. “You were there?” he squeaks unbecomingly.
“Ah, yes!” you recall triumphantly. “An excellent decision, Vinyl. Riffs, would you kindly take your position?” A wide grin breaks across your face—this is going to be extremely entertaining. The glow bathed across the pearly white keys intensifies as you turn your attention back to it.
“Uh, Symphonic?” Octavia questions. You look, to find that her cello has been enveloped in a cloud of grey light to match the one around the keyboard. The instrument slowly drifts out of her grasp, hovering near the ceiling. The cello begins to fade, becoming more and more transparent as the seconds pass. “Would you kindly give my instrument back?”
Now that your consciousness has realized that you had taken control of the cello, the ascent is stopped abruptly. The instrument becomes solid once more, the edges being fleshed out with the auburn wood. “Sorry. It seems like my mind has some sort of symbiotic relationship with your cello.”
“As in the time when you stole it from my apartment and teleported it to the concert hall?”
“Yeah.” Ever since that instance, your mind has developed an attraction toward Octavia’s instrument—when your focus slips, a magical field tends to reach out for the cello, and if you don’t catch yourself in time, your magic tosses it around whatever room you happen to be in. Not always gently.
Royal Riff clears his throat. He taps the vintage microphone that had been placed in front of him by Noteworthy, sending out a spurt of interference. “I don’t mean to hurry you, but can we get started?”
“By all means, Riffs.”
Your audience had made themselves comfortable, seating themselves around the various tables scattered around the café. Noteworthy and Lyra were intertwined in a single seat, and you notice that Lyra had made an effort to sit normally. Symphony and Beauty Brass sat across from each other at the table closest to your improvised stage. The tuba player wears a look of dreamy admiration, aimed at the nervous-looking Royal Riff.
Vinyl is in the midst of ordering breakfast from the café’s sole waitress. The DJ has the menu pressed up against her face, her back legs crossed on top of her table. The waitress gazes at her disdainfully, but doesn’t make a complaint.
Ignoring Vinyl, Royal Riff looks to you for the okay, and you nod. You play a short intro, followed by the introduction of Octavia’s part. The cue is hit, and Royal Riff leans into the microphone and begins to sing.
You have perfect confidence—if the violinist hadn’t won Beauty Brass over before, he certainly has now.
****
Canterlot has always been a peaceful city.
Despite being the nation’s capital, inhabited by thousands of ponies, there has always been a sense of security among its inhabitants. Many knew each other by name, and were friendly on the streets, if in a rather uppity manner.
Canterlot had never seen warfare. Even the legendary conflict between Princess Celestia and Nightmare Moon was contained mostly in the Everfree Forrest. So the Canterlot ponies were not accustomed to the concept of military conflict. Despite the heavy force of royal guards that patrolled the streets regularly, the citizens have never seen reason to fear.
So when the blast of the cannon rang out across the city, there was much confusion, then panic. The echo of the fantastic sound rang for a full minute. A minute in which the ponies huddled together under their wide-brimmed flowery hats and parasols.
Shortly after the cannonade, a faint cry could be barely made out from the palace.
“To the moooooooooooooooon!”
Stats
Page generated in 0.046 seconds
Total duration
887 users online
704,176 hits today, 2,571,732 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Because of my (clearly) flawless organizational methods, I neglected structure the finale to fill several plotholes (hehe) that I'd forgotten about. So hear's an epilogue that will (hopefully) address most of my negligence.
I intentionally did not mention Octavia's relationship with Frederic. But hear me out-- I am currently working on a short . . . something . . . that takes place in the same universe as Melodious Desideratum, and I'll try to address the issue in that.
Thank you all for reading! Cheers!
~ Desideratium
(Note: This epilogue is not to be taken seriously. Love ya!)
Well now
that mare has been banished
lol
Banished via cannon? Why isn't this an actual thing?
Words cannot express my love towards this story.
I can't find my "send it to the moon" gif
1365840 There is a video on it
Singing? In THIS story?
HERESY! (but a quite enjoyable addition to a beautiful series)
Now that's a war I've spent a lifetime waging.
1366862
Oh, but haven't we all? Especially folk of our caliber? Some more than others, of course.
1366960
In the context of such weaponry, I think of myself as being small-caliber and/or immense bore.
Thank you for introducing me to The Piano Guys.
Oh, and I guess the story was alright too.
Every time I read "to the moon" I can't help but think of this video. Makes me laugh, ever, single, time.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h0l28Qmj9MY&feature=related
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA "TO THE MOOOOOOONN" I love it
Your story is as epic as this:
static.fjcdn.com/pictures/Jedi_a1fa9f_340895.jpg
1370953
Uh? Come again?
Did I not make myself clear? Your story is equal to Chuck Norris.
1370974
I see no Chuck Norris in the vicinity, but I'd gladly accept the compliment. If you had some form of media in your comment, it didn't show up. dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/shrug_Rainbow_Dash.png
1370974
1370996
What ever if Chuck Norris was so damn awesome he would come into my home and slam my face into the keybogvtyuxhjuknhujnj6unhkbhnbiknj
1371152
i almost died laughing once i read
"To the mooooooooooooooooooooon!"
1371167
Sequel
1383034
Maybe. But it won't be for a while, and no guarantees that Symphonic will be our dashing protagonist. It might focus a bit more on Vinyl or Royal Riff. Honestly, I haven't given it much thought. dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/shrug_Rainbow_Dash.png
1395161
Life with Octavia? / Vinyl and riff go on an adventure ... Meh
so its finally over.
it was a great story.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1z7k2zY2KIs
no words.
1395161
I vote for Vinyl.
on an unrelated note,
2.bp.blogspot.com/-LO4qcGPBLbs/Twyx68HezFI/AAAAAAAAak0/_o7mHmjgaiU/s1600/110087+-+artist+zlack3r+artist+zlacker+book+crying+filly+sad+twilight_sparkle.png
1446628
D'awwwwwwwww
Thanks for catching my little oopsies! Glad you enjoyed!
No prob I like helping people
“Vinyl Scratch, everypony, is in the house!”
I think you mean "everypony, Vinyle Scratch, is on the house"
Ahh I keep doing it I'm sorry.
Yes! Took me six hours of reading slightly below my normal pace, but it's 5:20am, I have to be up in 25 minutes, and I could not be more happy that I finally got around to reading this fic. Amazing job man, this will remain one of my all time favorites.
On a more unrelated note, the reason I chose to begin reading reading this at 11pm the previous day was due to a distinct lack of updates in the last five or six days and a realization that it had been far too long since I last read anything with Vinyl and Octavia in it.
Read it all in a night, and I have one thing to say. Great job! I was extremely well written, and made my day a lot better.
I learned how to play the piano at six.then because of my little pony's Octavia I learned the cello.surprisingly after one year of playing the cello I was better at playing that then the piano that I have used for 18 years.then when I read your story and got to the part about the double bass I was about to through my cello out of my house saying"it was all lies!!!!".but before I did I realize it was just a story.thats how good your story was
1679009
Thanks much for the support! I'm glad that something I've written can carry over into this dark, scary world we live in, bursting forth from being just literature.
Thanks for reading! Cheers!
The cannon and subsequent, 'to the moon!' Made me think of whatever fic portrays the EQD office, and their... less than conventional methods of getting rid of terrible fanfics. Anywho, glad I got around to reading this finally. You have earned a like and fave from me. As well as a follow whenever I get back to my laptop. (Damn not being able to follow people from iPods.)
What a great story.
Fedora's off to you sir.