Chapter One: The Painting
Octavia's Painting
A Story by FireRain
*** *** ***
It was another chilly and crisp early spring morning in the town of Ponyville, and already awake, most of the townsponies were busy setting up shop in the middle of town, business as usual. They gingerly set up their stands and placed their goods on the display stands of their stalls or wagons, making their wares presentable to the public in order to peak their interest to lure them in.
From inside of her shared home with the local DJ, Vinyl Scratch, Octavia Melody was entering the kitchen with a yawn, her drowsy eyes adjusting to the morning light as she slowly came back to life.
The kitchen of the home she shared with Vinyl was medium-sized and quite spacious, but, as always, it was always very empty. She had Vinyl to thank for that one.
It consisted of nothing more than your average, standard-issue electric oven with a black-glass hob and a generously-aged oak table with a couple of chairs, big enough for a couple to share a morning quibble, and it was very ornate. After all, Octavia was the one that decided to purchase the dining table set, and she, like her housemate, had certain standards to live up to, even if her friend's tastes were more...ruffian.
Heading towards one of the kitchen worktops by the stove, one of Octavia's well-groomed grey hooves aimlessly felt around for her coffee pot, still under the influence of sleep. Finding it after a couple of moments, she began to heat up the coffee on the hotplate that it was housed in.
After it was heated and she found herself a mug, or, at least, the cleanest one that she could find, Octavia poured herself a generous helping of coffee, filling her mug to about half-full before she sat with it at the dining table, holding it between her hooves gently but firmly.
She smiled slightly to herself at the bitter-burned smell of coffee, highlighted by the fruity undertones, allowing it to waft up and circle around in her nostrils like a massage. Octavia wasn't exactly a lover of coffee, and she didn't care much for the taste, but, as usual, she hadn't been able to get herself out to the shops in order to buy some of her favourite tea from the local brewer. Again, she had Vinyl to thank for that.
''I can't even ask that pony to do the meekest of tasks,'' Octavia muttered to herself before taking a small sip of the beverage. It wasn't too hot to the point where it singed her lips, but rather at a temperature that warmed up her insides as it trickled down the back of her throat and entered into her stomach like a warm pool of brown-coloured elegance.
Speaking of Vinyl Scratch, Octavia was left on her own at the moment, her friend having been gone for a month on a tour around Equestria. She had recently gained some attention after her record producer, Neon Lights, had put out one of her latest tracks, and she eagerly and optimistically signed a contract with no hesitation. And so, she was off on her grand tour around the globe to wow crowds and rambunctious teens with her gigs and jives. It made Octavia feel a tad jealous, even if she knew it was a terrible way to feel over her friend's success.
Octavia, herself, had played in a number of concerts around Canterlot, of which she soon built a name and a reputation for herself and her orchestra. She would perform inside of the Royal Concert Hall for the hoity-toity public that resided with the area of Canterlot, the higher-ups, the one's in charge, the one's with the dough and the big bucks. Although she couldn't say she agreed with the snootiness of some of the ponies in Canterlot that trot up and about with their nose upturned to the sky like a shark's fin sticking out of the water, she didn't mind if they wanted to pay big money to see her perform.
Her family may have wanted her to remain in the city, to keep their daughter in the spotlight of the public and to keep their family name healthy and up and running, Octavia saw nothing healthy about it. Like her, her parents were both in an orchestra, both long-since retired today, but the crowds were not fully up to her tastes, if she was being honest. She can't recall a single time when she performed that 'the high and mighty' have turned their noses up at her like she was some kind of parasite to them, so below them that she was but a mere nanite.
To get to where she is today, her instrument of choice, a cello, ancient strings, an instrument of beauty and passion, it hurt her deep inside at the comments she had received every so often when she performed in the deep end with the sharks. And so, Octavia figured that her talents would be better appreciated in a small town such as Ponyville.
It was quiet and away from those parasitic higher-ups that saw the unwealthy as unworthy and disgusting. The ponies in Ponyville were the polar opposite to the Canterlot public, all down-to-earth and friendly. They smiled and saw each other as equal and in the same ball park. They were much easier to warm up to, and they even came to enjoy the sophisticated mare's talents, and she would perform more frequently around town whenever there was a special event taking place, and she only rarely came back to her home city of Canterlot to perform in formal concerts and traditional plays, such as the Hearth's Warming Eve Pageant.
''Everyone's a critic,'' Octavia said to herself, feeling the caffeine begin to restart her system with a slow, pleasant coaxing. She took a sip and tried to forget about the bitter memories circling in her mind, replacing them once again with the thought of Vinyl being out of town.
It was nice to wake up in the morning without having her ears deafened by the blare of one of Vinyl's turntables and subwoofers, something that she had become accustomed to every morning in the place of a bird singing. Half the time, she practically startled out of bed as if she had been prodded with an electric baton below the ribs, but to be able to wake up to the gentle and tender kiss of the morning sun and the long-missed song of a hummingbird was much more tranquil and soothing.
Looking around, Octavia's light purple eyes directed themselves towards the fridge and the cabinets around the kitchen, feeling herself to be a little peckish. Getting up from her seat at the table, she headed over towards the fridge and pulled at the handle, swinging the door open to see what was inside.
Octavia's lips tugged into a frown as she realised that the fridge was entirely empty. All three shelves inside of the fridge were completely void of anything edible, and the sight made Octavia's stomach grumble slightly. All that she could see was a couple tubs of natural and hay-flavoured yoghurt, both empty and laying on their sides, their lids half-popped off, a haytart, half-eaten and old-looking, as evidenced by the thin layer of light green mould growing on top of it, and a daffodil sandwich.
''Oh!'' Octavia's eyes brightened a little upon spotting the sandwich sitting on a plate on the middle shelf. She reached in and pulled it out, half-closing the fridge door as she brought the sandwich to the kitchen counter beside the fridge. She picked on of the sandwich halves up and gave it a whiff, smelling the vibrant, yellow-leafed flowers between the bread, only to recoil from the stench they gave off. ''Oh.''
They smelled like rot and decay, and as she peeled back the bread, she noticed that the flowers inside were wilted and paled in colour, and now that she could see them clearly, she also noticed that there was some kind of red-coloured sauce covering them. She didn't have to think to know what it was.
''Very funny, Vinyl,'' Octavia muttered, knowing full-well what that sauce was. It was hot sauce: Hayracha. She hadn't forgotten the first time when Vinyl had gotten her with that prank, laughing her flanks off at her as she tried in vain to cool her steaming hot tongue, trying first with the switched-off water supply to the faucet in the sink. She had ended up sticking her face into one of Applejack's juicy apple pies to cool her tongue off, and it did the trick, but she could still feel her tongue tingling violently from the heat the sauce conjured.
Octavia kicked the fridge door shut in anger as she gave a huff, the entire appliance jingling as it slammed shut. So, it looked as if she was going to be the one doing the shopping. Again. It was always Octavia's turn, and Vinyl always came prepared with an excuse.
''I've got a song to record!''
''I've got to clean my records and turntables!''
''Oh, I'd love to, Octavia, but I have to play a gig in an hour. Looks like it's your turn!''
That last one had caused a spark within Octavia's gut. She knew it wasn't true. Like Vinyl knew about her, Octavia knew when she had a concert or a gig to attend, and it became necessary for them to swap schedules per month or per year, just to keep themselves prepared for their daily duties as home owners. Somepony had to pay the bills and keep the house tidy and do all of the shopping around here, but it always ends up being Octavia. It was never Vinyl's turn to do any of the chores. All that her housemate did was bring in some of the rent money from her record sales and gigs, but she saw that as enough of a commitment. Sometimes, Octavia hated to say it, but it was true: Vinyl Scratch was a professional slacker.
However, she had to admit that she was a pretty decent DJ and artist. That was the only thing that she seemed to be great at.
''Well, I suppose I better get myself into the market while it's early,'' Octavia said to herself, glancing out towards the window through an open archway that lead into the main area of the house, where both her own and Vinyl's musical instruments were kept.
They had both agreed that they would have half of the house to themselves, tailored to fit their personality and tastes. Ponies who knew them thought that it was rather comical and queer that 'sophisticated' and 'reckless' could live together under one roof. Two exact opposites coming together to create something wonderful is how Octavia saw it, a sort of 'Ying-Yang' type of deal.
Orchestral and electronic dubstep beats may seem odd to some, but when both Octavia and Vinyl but their mind to something and they really work together, the results are always quite surprising. Their styles were quite significantly spaced apart, but even sophisticated types such as Octavia knew that a little experimentation every now and again could be quite beneficial for one's career and open doors to new possibilities that wouldn't otherwise be known if a pony didn't knock to see what was there.
Octavia smiled to herself as she recalled the wedding reception for Crankey Doodle Donkey and his mistress, Matilda. A wedding jam consisting of the deep, reverberating groans of her cello's thick strings that were remixed and 'Scratchified' to generate a lively, ecstatic and headbanging beat. She was very proud of the result, to say the least.
At the moment, on the left side of the main area of the house where Vinyl's turntables were usually placed, all that was there was an empty space, along with a couple of other empty spaces where her speakers and soundboards were once resting. Where they were once stood, there was only a bare, hardwood floor with outlines of squares and rectangles. They had been carted off with Vinyl for her Equestrian tour, and seeing the empty areas made Octavia feel a little alone herself.
What was a little sophistication worth without the reckless part to keep her on her hooves?
She didn't mind the quiet, but she had gotten very used to having the electric blue-maned unicorn around to spice things up, and the silence that came with her departure upset the balance a little. As loud as they were, Octavia found herself to be missing those thunderous booms of her partner's subwoofer and the caboom of her speakers in the middle of the afternoon.
''She'll only be gone for the rest of the month, Octavia,'' She told herself. ''She'll be back shortly. For now, just try not to think about it and enjoy the time to yourself,'' She said, taking in a deep breath to recompose herself before exhaling. She felt herself relax and her mind set itself at ease from her distracting thoughts.
Feeling refreshed, her system now fully awake, Octavia grabbed her signature lilac-coloured bow tie, taking her time to ensure that it was straight and uncreased, and then she grabbed her saddlebags. Her saddlebags were nothing too fancy, but they were a gift from Vinyl for their 'one-year-of-being-housemates-anniversary', she, like most everything else, having destroyed her previous pair.
Her new saddlebags were of decent quality and they were professionally-stitched with purple threads and charcoal-coloured fabric, the straps to hold the flaps in place in the shape of her cutie mark. As annoyed as she might have been about her previous saddlebag, a gift from her parents for her fifteenth birthday, Octavia accepted the gift with a smile and thanked Vinyl for the thought.
Finally seeing herself as fit enough to enter the market to start her first round of shopping, Octavia headed out of the front door of her house and headed towards her first destination: The tea shop.
*** *** ***
The golden bell above the cherry red door rang out as Octavia stepped through it and shut it behind her, alerting the owner of her arrival.
The aroma of the multiple varieties of teas instantly wafted and tickled at Octavia's nostrils as soon as she entered the shop. All along the walls, there were shelves upon shelves stacked neatly with colourful boxes of both herbal and fruity teas, herbal being on the left and fruity on the right.
At the far left corner of the room, there was a small table set up with a small tea pot on top of it, along with a couple of white tea cups with floral designs placed neatly on top of matching saucers, and from previous visits, Octavia knew that it was for testing the tea before purchase to see if it was up to a pony's standards.
Next to the table, right at the very bottom of the small shop, there was a long counter with a glass front, stocked up with small tea infusers, brewers and general tea-making utensils, such as filters and specialised spoons. Of course, due to their high quality and rarity, they were quite expensive, but well worth it for the lifetime guarantee. Behind the counter, there was an even bigger wooden series of shelves displaying high-end boxes of tea and special orders that are used for special occasions.
One of said high-end teas was a golden-yellow box of Summer Sun Tea, an expertly-blended concoction of summer berries to represent the warm sun, lavender to represent the night and a dash of molasses to deepen the flavour.
Another one of the special order teas was a red box of Chinsing and Merry Berry Tea, which was essentially just ordinary Chinsing with a mix of dark fruits that were laced with aniseed for a unique taste. It wasn't necessarily a special occasion brew, but it was normally sold around the winter season as a traditional beverage to enjoy around an open fire, and Octavia had found that she had developed a taste for the tea since the first time she took a sip.
Approaching the counter, the owner of the shop, Tea Tree, was a deep purple-coated mare with a vibrant, cherry-coloured mane with magenta eyes. She turned around from where she was rearranging the shelves to face the charcoal mare with a smile, recognising her.
''Octavia!'' She said in a chipper voice, her eyes brightening at the appearance of one of her best and loyal customers. ''How is everything? Back again for some more of your usual brew?'' She asked, motioning with a hoof towards the special selection of tea behind her on the shelves. Octavia waved a hoof.
''Quite, if you have any of it in stock, of course,'' Octavia said, to which Tea Tree nodded and hovered a hoof over the bottom shelf behind her, searching for the box of tea which her client came to retrieve on a regular basis. After a moment, she found the grey-coloured box, pulling it out and placing it on the counter in front of Octavia.
It was a grey-coloured box with a blackened front, a clip-art-style figure of a pony wearing a top hat printed in a glistening silver. Below the figure of the pony's head were the words, 'Pearl Grey'.
Tea Tree began to head on over to the opposite end of the counter to ring up the price of the tea, and while she was busy doing that, Octavia counted out the correct amount of bits from her saddlebags, having bought this variety of tea multiple times in the past. It was her favourite, of course.
''That'll be five bits, please, Octavia,'' Tea Tree said, gladly taking the bits from her regular customer. However, before she did, she glanced down to see the golden bits laid out on the table, and she gave Octavia a confused look. There were ten bits rather than five. ''Did you want another box?'' She asked, raising a brow at the grey mare. ''That's double than what I normally ask for.'' Octavia only smiled.
''Oh, I know, Tea Tree, but I figured that since your tea is always so delicious, I'd give you a bit of a tip this time,'' Octavia said, and the purple on Tea Tree's cheeks became rosy.
''Oh, you don't need to do that,'' She said modestly. ''You've been one of my best customers for years, next to Fluttershy,'' She said, and she only collected five of the bits for the tea. However, before she could sweep the money across to her, Octavia's hoof stopped her and she gave her a confused look, looking up to view the smile on the sophisticated mare's lips.
''Please, Tea Tree,'' She said. ''I insist.''
''Are you sure? I mean, I don't feel right taking more than what you owe,'' She began, but that smile held on Octavia's lips.
''It's quite alright,'' She said, sliding the remaining five bits over to Tea Tree's side of the counter. ''Take them.''
Reluctantly, Tea Tree took the bits and sweeped them into her hoof before dropping them into the cash register, but she smiled anyway. She never did feel right about accepting tips, even from regular customers that she considered as her friends, and Octavia was no exception.
''So, anyway, how's things, Octavia? Your orchestra treating you well?'' Tea Tree asked, and Octavia smiled politely. She would do this every time. She would always ask her how her life was going, and Octavia would ask her the same.
''Alas, it's been a little slower than I would like, but I can't complain. The more that we practice, the better we perform, and a good orchestra is always prepared to dazzle a crowd, wouldn't you say?'' She asked, her English accent singing. Tea Tree nodded. ''So, how about yourself? Is business steady as usual?''
''Well, business has been a little slow, but I still get customers every so often, normally yourself and Fluttershy, but I haven't seen much of Stencil Palette recently. He was my most frequent customer until about a week ago,'' She said concernedly. ''I hope nothing's happened to him.'' Octavia blinked.
''Stencil Palette? The artist?''
''Yes, that's the one.''
''Hmm, that's strange. I normally see him in the market selling some of his artwork,'' Octavia thought to herself, thinking for a moment before an idea came to mind. ''Tell you what, Tea Tree, when I head into the market to do my daily shopping, would it make you feel better if I paid him a visit at his stand and ask him if he's doing alright?''
''I think that's a wonderful idea, Octavia,'' Tea Tree said, smiling in appreciation. ''It would really put my mind at ease to know if he's doing alright.''
''It's no problem,'' Octavia said. ''Anything for an old friend,'' She said, picking up her box of Earl Grey and placing it gently into one of her saddlebags before saying her goodbye's to Tea Tree, on-route to her next destination: Ponyville Market.
*** *** ***
It was the early afternoon by the time Octavia had reached the market, and by this time, it was bustling with activity.
Entering the middle of town, like any other day, ponies were up and about, getting their daily goods from the local salesponies that were selling their wares. As usual, Berry Punch was at her station selling her locally-distilled fruity wine, Carrot Top was selling her vibrant orange carrots and celery, Bon Bon was stood behind her sweet wagon with buckets containing varieties of bonbons and Applejack was busy manning her apple cart.
So, it was business as usual. Octavia wasn't that bothered by it, having grown up in the city of Canterlot, where the shops and streets were always busy and crammed with ponies both left and right. The only difference was that Ponyville's community weren't as pompous or as toity about their shopping. Back in Canterlot, all ponies cared about was the latest fashion in elegant top hats and formal wear, and those that weren't up-to-date with the elegant lifestyle were singled out. It was always so tiring and gear-grinding to Octavia. She hated it.
As she walked down the streets of Ponyville, the idle chatter of friends and ponies in the middle of a transaction filling her ears, Octavia made her first stop at Applejack's apple cart, where there were a number of freshly-baked, juicy apple pies sitting neatly on a tray beside the apple buckets. They looked as good as always.
''Well, howdy, Octavia,'' Applejack said warmly as she noticed the mare approach her stand. Octavia held a smile at the farmer pony. ''Good ta see you again. What'll it be this time?''
''Good afternoon, Applejack,'' Octavia began smoothly, her eyes scanning over the apples on her cart. ''A bushel of apples, if you'd please,'' Octavia said. Applejack tilted her hat while Octavia opened up her saddlebag.
''Comin' right up,'' Applejack said. She grabbed a brown bag from underneath her cart where there was a small holder for them and she began to fill it with a variety of green and red apples. She proceeded to place the bag in the saddlebag that Octavia had opened before closing it. ''That'll be ten bits, please,'' Applejack requested.
Octavia counted out the correct amount of bits and paid Applejack, thanking her before moving off to her next stand. She only needed to make a few stops take have enough supplies to last her for a while. If it was only her living in the house for the time being, then there wasn't any sense in buying lots of goods, was there?
Octavia made a stop at Carrot Top's stand for a bunch of carrots and celery, then she moved over to Berry Punch's stand to get some of her special order wine. She didn't drink too much, but it was a luxury that she liked to partake in every once in a while. Because she was going to be on her own for a while, it seemed as good a time as any to indulge herself in some of Berry Punch's fruity red wine.
Lastly, Octavia made her way towards Lyra Heartstrings’ shop, which was situated next to BonBon's workplace. While she was shopping, she might as well make the time to visit Lyra to see if she's got any cello strings in-stock.
Lyra's shop was a medium-sized property that was seafoam green on the outside with white borders. There was a large window out front that viewed into a small display area that was full of stringed instruments. Some of them included harps, violins, lyres, and, of course, cellos.
Lyra was the only pony in town that Octavia could source new strings from. Not that many ponies in Equestria have an interest in stringed instruments from times of old, but those few that did dedicated their lives to keeping the sound of old music alive and well. In fact, the only ponies that Octavia knew that played stringed instruments was herself, Lyra, her orchestra and a few wealthy ponies back in Canterlot, such as her parents.
Entering her shop, Octavia looked around, seeing that it appeared to be empty. The walls were all lined neatly with well-preserved violins and cellos, all varying in age. Some of them were new modern-type cellos and violins, their bodies hollow and constructed from a specialised carbon fiber material, making them both highly portable and lightweight.
Walking forward towards the end of the shop where the counter was positioned, Octavia saw Lyra sat with her rear hooves propped up against a wooden crate as she was sat on a performance stool, a lean in her back as she held her lyre in her mint-green hooves. She was plucking the strings of her signature instrument with tender precision, playing a slow, romantic-sounding tune that one might hear on Hearts and Hooves Day.
Approaching the counter, Octavia didn't interrupt her. Instead, she stood and watched, listening to the tune the white and teal-maned unicorn was playing, seeing how long it would take for her to notice her.
For a brief moment, as Lyra continued to pluck at her strings, momentarily shifted her gaze from her instrument to face Octavia, then back down to her instrument. The second time her eyes glanced to see her, Lyra's hooves froze and she jumped a little, realising that she had a customer waiting for her.
''Oh!'' She gasped in surprise. ''Octavia, I didn't see you there!'' She said, getting up from her seat in a clumsy manner with a blush, resting her instrument off to the side as she stood professionally behind the counter. Well, as professionally as she could. She wasn't exactly a master at the trade.
''It's alright, Lyra, I was only walked through the door about a minute ago,'' Octavia said, a hint of amusement in her voice. By now, she was more than used to the mare's quirky attitude. ''I see that you've found something to keep you occupied,'' She said, motioning towards the wooden lyre behind the mint-coloured mare.
''I was only trying to pass the time!'' Lyra said defensively, a childishness in her voice that never ceased to amuse Octavia. ''So, what's up? Are you here to get some new strings or maybe a new instrument this time?'' Lyra asked, raising her brow and her lips tugged into a hopeful smile as she said that last part.
''No, I'm afraid that I'm quite happy with the cello that I have already, thank you,'' Octavia said politely, giving the mare in front of her a dismissive wave of her hoof. ''Actually, I'm here because I'd like to see if you've got any cello strings in stock, if you wouldn't mind,'' Octavia said, to which Lyra's face brightened.
''Sure thing!'' She said, and she was off like a rocket towards the very back of the shop which was used for storage and instrument maintenance. Her shop always smelled of wood oil and varnish, a type of oak and pine-like smell that Octavia had grown to love. It was sweet and strong as it drifted in the air, but it wasn't overwhelmingly pungent. It was nectar to any stringed instrument player.
Lyra even sold preserving oils and varnishes to brush on the wood of an instrument to give it either an aged or a glossy look, and it would guarantee a well-kept finish and lifetime durability.
Within mere moments, the sound of rummaging in the back room of Lyra's shop came to an end and she re-entered the room and placed a set of fresh strings on the counter. Octavia gladly took them and placed some bits on the glass surface of the counter, having done this deal many times in the past since her moving to Ponyville, and Lyra gladly accepted the money.
''Much appreciated, Lyra,'' Octavia said gratefully, to which the mint mare nodded. ''Lyra, would you mind if I asked you something?''
''Sure! Go ahead,'' Lyra said, leaning slightly on the counter.
''You didn't happen to see a pony named Stencil Palette around town in the past week, did you? The owner of the tea shop, Tea Tree, said that she hasn't seen him for a while and she was wondering if he's doing alright.'' Lyra's face went blank.
''Stencil Palette?'' She asked, trying to recall the name as she tapped a hoof to her chin. ''You mean the artist?'' Octavia nodded.
''That's the one.''
''Nope, haven't seen him,'' Lyra said with a shake of her head. Octavia felt herself deflate a little at the news.
''Oh, well, nevermind, then,'' She said. ''Thanks anyway,'' And then Octavia took her leave, heading towards the exit of the shop to head back into the market.
Heading into the market and shutting the door to Lyra's music shop behind her, Octavia continued to go along on her shopping routine around Ponyville's town square, buying household essentials and necessities.
Octavia continued shopping for up to an hour sourcing food and general goods until her saddlebags were just about full. She didn't need a lot, so she figured it would be best to end her routine. However, before she could, she remembered her promise to Tea Tree to see where Stencil Palette was.
Octavia has only met him a couple of times and mingled with him at a few events around Canterlot, and she found him to be...a tad strange. He was nice, but there was still something off about him that Octavia couldn't place.
Stencil was a middle-aged stallion with a dark coat and a black mane striped with silver and dark red highlights, always in a deranged mess, the silver matching his steely eyes. There was something about his eyes that stirred something within Octavia's stomach. They always seemed fully alert and observant, glassy and somewhat cold in temperature. Again, she had no idea what was lingering within the pony's eyes to make them so cold and almost lifeless, but it made her uneasy whenever she spent an extended period of time in his presence.
He was always wearing a white shirt, splotched with long-since dried paint of multiple hues, and on top of them was a fresh layer of splattered paint. It was on his thin grey-lined black trousers, too, the paint. He was, much what his name suggested, a very artistic and creative pony, and his talents didn't go unnoticed by the general public and well-known art critics. He was even featured in the Equestrian Artwork Hall of Fame.
Stencil Palette, regardless of what many may think of him on first glance from his manic and disheveled appearance, wasn't insane or a mad pony. In Octavia's opinion, he was nice to talk to and he had a great knowledge of artwork and famous painters. He knew which colours worked best together and which didn't, how to make a painting stand out from the rest and he had an abundance of abstract ideas. If anything, he labelled himself as a surrealist artist, and it definitely showed in his paintings.
The one that he became known for, 'The Silence in us All', was the very same one that made him an enrollee at the Equestria Art Hall of Fame, and when it was put on display for the very first time, it got ponies talking amongst themselves. Some thought that it was original and rather interesting in terms of the use of colours, mostly dark, while others said that it was an eyesore.
Octavia, on the other hand, didn't know what to think. Since she was playing that night in the Hall of Fame with her orchestra during his induction, she decided to take a gander herself before the actual initiation began.
The painting was, as others described it, strange. It depicted of an hourglass standing on a beaten mahogany table, dripping with miniature ponies rather than sand, their faces contorted into screams of tortured agony as they sank to the bottom, and it had a depressed-looking stallion with a haggard expression watching them fall with tired, icy-blue eyes. Beside the stallion with the distressed, emotionless expression, there was a window that peered into a street outside, the moon shining brightly. Standing in the window was a hooded figure with their elongated, abnormally large frame completely obscured by their cloak, and it soon became apparent to Octavia that the cloaked figure resembled none other than Death.
The dark, oily colours blended together with a haunting type of beauty that came together so naturally that it made the entire scene in the painting come to life, almost as if it were a scene on a stage in a theatre. The matted black hair on the dead-blue coat of the stallion looked so realistic that Octavia swore that it was actually a real pony with sweat matting their unkempt mane to their coat, and as she looked into the stallion's frosted-over eyes, she felt a shiver tingle up her spine.
So, looking around the market for Stencil Palette, Octavia ended up running across a stand that she wasn't so sure that she'd seen before. It was a kiosk rather than a stand, actually. It was a wooden kiosk that was much like the ones the Flower Ponies used, such as Roseluck, and it had a bright green tarp covering the top of it to protect the goods from the elements.
Approaching the stand, Octavia came to see that it was an art stand, full of creative material, ranging from simple hoof-drawn portraits to etchings to paintings. As she got closer, Octavia saw that it ranged from all different types and varieties of creative work, from self-portraits of famous ponies, such as Starswirl the Bearded, spiritual paintings depicting images of life and death, colourful and lush landscapes of fields and mountain ranges and famous cities, such as Canterlot and Manehatten.
There was a young pony occupying the kiosk, setting up some of the paintings and readjusting them to ensure that they were secure and in no danger of falling over. He was exceptionally young, likely only a few years younger than Octavia, if that, and he had a khaki coat and a long, silky-looking platinum blonde mane that hung around his ears and dangled above his shoulders slightly. He was wearing a similar set of clothing to Stencil, but he was wearing an expensive-looking double-breasted blazer made out of crushed burgundy velvet over his white shirt, of which the collar was only just visible.
His back was turned to her, but as she approached the art kiosk out of curiosity, the young stallion seemed to sense her presence and he turned on the spot after standing a painting upright, and he offered her a smile.
''Well, hello, Ma'am,'' He said, his accent tinged with a bit of Germane heritage, faint, but there. ''Come to browse some of my fine art?'' He asked, his tone hopeful for a positive response. Octavia stopped slightly in front of him and spoke,
''I'm actually looking for Stencil Palette, if you might know where I can find him?'' Octavia asked, and as soon as that name left her lips, the young stallion's face drooped and his light blue eyes dimmed, his ears wilting.
''Oh, I see...'' He said lowly, and Octavia tilted her head, giving him a concerned look.
''Is something the matter?''
The stallion looked up and he readjusted his collar, clearing his throat before speaking again.
''Well, you see, Stencil Palette is my uncle,'' He said. ''Well, he was,'' He added glumly, and Octavia's eyes became worried.
''Wait, he was? What do you mean by that?'' She asked.
The young stallion simply looked towards some of the paintings hung up inside of the kiosk, each with 'for sale!' stickers placed on them, all of them pricey and only affordable by those with deep pockets. His tan hoof moved up to motion towards one of his paintings, and Octavia's purple eyes rolled up to view it.
The painting that her eyes landed on was beautiful and cheery. It was a cavalcade of lush, bright greens and canary yellows, depicting of a landscape of a field in the afternoon sun during the middle of summer. The sky was a perfect shade of clear, open blue, so smooth and delicately brushed that it looked very real, as if one could feel the warmth in the air if their hoof were to touch upon it.
''That, right there, is one of my earliest works, Ma'am,'' He said, and his hoof then pointed down to a signature on the bottom in thin, black-painted cursive. It was the initials 'C' and 'P'. ''Name's Colour Palette,'' He introduced himself. ''Being a member of Stencil's family, once he passed away a week ago, he left me most of his artwork in his will along with some of his personal diaries. Not read them, but I don't reckon that I'll get around to it anytime soon,'' He said, and Octavia's face was surprised and sympathetic.
''Oh, my, that's dreadful!'' She said. Colour Palette nodded.
''Indeed it is. He always inspired me, you know? He's the reason that I got into painting in the first place. See it as carrying on where he left off, making his legacy live on, if you will,'' He said, and Octavia smiled warmly, touched by the sentiment.
''I'm certain that you'll do him proud. Stencil was a brilliant artist whom I've met a number of times, but I wouldn't say that we were friends, but rather good acquaintances,'' She said, and Colour smiled, too.
''Tell you what, seeing as you knew my uncle, I think I might have something here that you may like,'' Colour said, an idea forming on his face as he turned around to rummage through some of the paintings that were still inside of the shipping crate that they were brought to the stand in. They were all stacked together with sheets of thick but protectively soft linen separating them.
''That won't be necessary,'' Octavia began, but before she could object any further, Colour Palette had already taken out one of the paintings and he held it in front of her. The very sight of it caused her skin to crawl and she took a step back from it, her purple eyes becoming cold.
The painting was medium-sized and it was, much like the rest of Stencil Palette's work, only consistent of dark colours. This one had a pony's grey-blue coloured head taking up the majority of the canvas that it was painted on, the areas around the large head a charcoal black that lined around the head and it transformed into a grey-white colour as it spread out to the edges and corners of the canvas. The head itself looked distorted and horrific, like a demonic entity or malevolent spirit trying to break through the barrier between the Land of the Living and the Land of the Dead.
Where the mouth and eyes were expected to be, there was only three large, gaping and leaking black pools that seemed to pierce straight through Octavia's soul, like it was watching her. It made her feel numb. It was hard for her to say, but the black in the eyes and mouth looked like they were specked with something like a deep, dark red, like splattered cranberries had been used to enhance the colour and depth of the figure. Octavia could have sworn that the impossibly wide, O-shaped contortion of the pony's lips, as if howling in tremendous agony, a scream that was silent but full of pain, was moving discreetly, trying to be heard.
''W-What is that?'' Octavia asked cautiously, inching away from it.
''This, dear-''
''Octavia,'' Octavia interrupted, feeling embarrassed for not having told Colour Palette her name earlier.
''Right,'' He said, starting again. ''This, Octavia, was the very last and final piece of art ever produced by Stencil Palette. He spent days and nights working on this piece, and whenever he was busy with it, he'd remain locked in his art studio until he was done. Sometimes, me nor anypony else close to him saw him for days,'' He explained, his voice low, almost like a pony reciting an old folk legend or ghost story to captivate his audience.
''Stencil finished this painting about a week or so ago up until his death.''
That last part made Octavia's ear twitch.
''Um, I beg your pardon...?'' She asked, uncertain if she really did hear that right. ''You said that he finished this around a week ago?''
''I believe I did,'' Colour Palette said with a nod.
''That's...strange, actually,'' Octavia said, a mental puzzle forming within her muddled mind. This caused Colour to lower the painting and raise his brow at the grey mare, confused at what she was getting at.
''Strange? How so?''
''Well, you see, Colour Palette, I was looking for Stencil for a friend of mine that runs the local tea shop, and, well, she told me that it was around a week since he last visited her shop to buy some of his favourite tea,'' She explained, and she gave Colour a calculating expression. ''Doesn't that strike you as a bit coincidental, perhaps?''
''Nope, not really,'' He said, apparently not seeing the pattern. ''Miss Octavia, ponies die all the time, so I highly doubt that there's anything coincidental about it,'' He said, and his tone held traces of mild annoyance and impatience.
''I'm dreadfully sorry if I offended you, Mr. Palette,'' Octavia said apologetically.
''None taken,'' He said, suddenly shifting his attitude back into gear, as if nothing ever happened, his eyes once again becoming bright. ''Now, this painting was the very last thing that my uncle worked upon, and, well, as you can see for yourself, I'm more than stocked up,'' He said, motioning to the abundance of paintings, portraits and etchings hung up and displayed around his kiosk. ''So, I'm going to propose something, if you'd like to hear me out,'' He asked, and Octavia smiled.
''Very well. What's on your mind?'' She asked, curious as to what his proposal might entail.
''Well, Octavia, seeing as I'm likely going to be stuck with some of these paintings and artwork that belonged to my late uncle, I was wondering if you'd maybe like to do me a favour and help lighten my load a little,'' He said, smiling all the while.
''What are you...?''
''I want you to take this painting,'' He said, motioning to the portrait of the screaming pony portrait in his hooves. ''And, if you'd like, I'd be willing to let a few other paintings slip your way,'' He said, a hoof pointing to the kiosk behind him. ''Some of Stencil's earlier stuff, insignificant little pieces and the like. What do you say?'' He asked, waiting eagerly and hopefully for Octavia's response.
Octavia looked between Colour Palette and the creepy painting, hoping for certain that he wasn't being serious. She looked between him and the painting numerous times as her brain was doing cartwheels, thinking of a polite way to turn his offer down.
Octavia couldn't really do this, could she? Could she really separate a pony from a recently-deceased relative's possessions left in his will, even if it was offered to her? She didn't feel right about the whole situation that she found herself in, but, looking into those hopeful and dreamy blue eyes of Colour Palette, she could sense the desperation within them, as if he was eager for the assistance. She wanted to help him out, but would she be able to live with herself without tainting her conscience?
''Mr. Palette, I do appreciate the offer, and I would like to help you out, but I simply do not have that much space for some of these paintings, as wonderful as they are,'' She said, cringing internally at her light use on the word 'wonderful'. She also felt a twinge in her heart. She did have sufficient space for the paintings at home, but, if it would get her out of it, she was willing to lie.
''Oh, come now, you'd be doing me a favour, Miss Octavia,'' Colour Palette said, giving her a charming smile that probed at Octavia's slowly-building guilt. She had to force herself to remain strong in her malleable state of mind. Her brain felt like a warm wad of putty, and he was deep inside of it, massaging it and creasing it as he saw fit. That smile and the charisma that shined through his eyes infected her.
''I...I don't wish to keep you from what is rightfully yours, Mr. Palette, and I'm sure you can understand that?'' She said, looking between him and the painting yet again.
''Of course I understand!'' He persisted. ''Now, if you'd like, I can help you cart some of these paintings off to your residence, if that'd be preferable to you?'' He offered, motioning to the heavy-looking saddlebags laid across Octavia's back.
It was true that the weight bearing down on her from the saddlebags was getting a little straining on her spine, but she didn't let that break through her barrier of confidence. She didn't want him to help her with such things, and that goes double if it meant that she didn't end up with the painting, or anything else.
''Thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid that I have to decline,'' Octavia said, and she was about to turn away to walk, but then Colour Palette said to her,
''Miss Octavia? Are you sure that there's no other way that you'd reconsider my offer?'' He asked, his eyes becoming disappointed and dull again. Octavia gave a sigh.
''I'm sorry, but I wouldn't feel right about it if I took it from you,'' She told him. ''It's yours, Mr. Palette, not mine, so I can't accept the painting,'' She said, feeling a little bad on the inside.
''I see,'' He said slowly, and his eyes became glassy as he looked down and furrowed his brow, as if thinking. He looked back up again after a couple of seconds. ''Well, if you won't do it for me, would you maybe do it for Stencil Palette?'' He asked. ''If you said you met him and you liked him enough, then maybe you could take it off my hooves as a sort of keepsake. A memorial of his talents, if you will,'' He said, and Octavia thought deeply about this.
It would be nice to have something that belonged to one of Equestria's famous artists, let alone, one that she knew and had engaged in a few rounds of conversation with, but it was still something she wasn't sure about. She didn't necessarily view Stencil as a friend of hers, but she couldn't deny that he had a very artistic talent when it came to expressionism through the medium of painting.
''Mr. Palette, are you sure that you'll be okay with this?'' Octavia asked slowly, and Colour Palette nodded and gave a 'Mmm-hmm'. ''Well, then I suppose, if it's alright with you, I might be able to take one or two paintings back home with me to remember Stencil by,'' She said, feeling guilty for having agreed to his offer, but she blocked out her thoughts.
''Splendid!'' He said, clomping his hooves together as he smiled brightly, apparently very glad to be relieved of the creepy painting. ''My offer still stands if you'd like for me to transport it to your home! I'll even throw in a couple other small paintings if you'd like!''
''Oh, um, that's alright, Mr. Palette,'' Octavia began slowly, but Colour Palette didn't seem to be listening. He was loading up a couple of other paintings with the creepy painting that he had offered to her in a wooden, pony-pulled wagon that had clearly seen better days. Not surprisingly, the wagon had a fair share of multi-coloured paint specked over it and staining the wood.
''So, should we get moving? The kiosk will be fine in my absence, so you needn't worry,'' Colour Palette said, able to read Octavia's mind before she could speak. She shut her mouth and ceased any further conversation, her mind rolling in regret for accepting the painting.
As it was being pulled along in the cart as Colour Palette trotted slowly beside her with the harness to the wagon around his body, Octavia felt a tingle sliver down her spine as she sensed somepony (or something) staring at her all the while.
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No offense, but didn't this used to be longer
? What happened?
9557715
Check my most recent blog, all of the answers are there.
9557822
Oh! Now I see. I suppose that makes sense.