The Dancer

by Yip

IX - Finale

FINALE

The train ride home. Not much to say about it, not much to care about. I looked out the window more times than I’d like to admit, hoping that she was there. Just as I had expected, just as I had already known, she wasn’t. But I’m not upset. I know she’s gone, so there’s no need to feel attachment to her like I did before. I’m free.

I wonder how Alto would feel about this if he was still alive. Would the hall he had spent so much time in be something he missed? ...He’s dead. And he’ll probably disappear for good when I play next.

Vinyl. I spent a little bit of time around Ponyville after I saw the destroyed hall. Couldn’t feel anything while I walked though. Vinyl was elated to see me, kept trying to tell me stories, all of that nonsense. I just couldn’t pay attention—I don’t feel bothered by all of this inside my mind, but on the outside, I feel so... lifeless. Vinyl seemed content enough when I caught the train, so I covered my bases there.

Vivace. She seems a little shellshocked after my reveal. I thought she’d be the one to try and bring me down to earth, but it hasn’t happened yet. Surprisingly, she’s barely said a word since I got back. Maybe she thinks I’m crazy? Maybe she’s not sure what to think of her best friend having seen ghosts for a while now and never telling anyone?

Sleep. Wake up. Concert. Alto isn’t there. The group is trying to look into my eyes after a concert, begging for a chance to talk. Gazer keeps interrupting the awkward silences, my saving grace.

Sleep. Wake up. Concert. The group stops looking into my eyes.

The performances seem to be a hit. Play. Applause. Curtains. You know the rest, Octavia. It’s like riding a bike—you never forget how to entertain, how to make others happy.

Next night, it’s the same. Play. Applause. Curtains. No Alleg—er, no Alto.

Applause, sleep, play... wake up... no, that order is all wrong. Concert, sleep, applause, no—

‘Octavia.’

Octavia teared her eyes away from the kitchen window. She turned and saw Vivace, staring back at her with wide, bloodshot eyes.

‘Octavia,’ Vivace repeated, blinking slowly. ‘I can’t deal with this anymore. We need to talk.’

‘About what, Viv?’ Octavia replied innocently, her eyes drooping low. She took a quick peek out the window, saw darkness, and wondered what she had been staring at. Vivace took a quick peek out the window herself as if asking the same question.

‘About the... thing.’ Vivace shook her head. ‘No, it doesn’t even need to be about the thing. I just want to hear you talk.’

‘I’m talking now, aren’t I?’

‘...’

Vivace closed her eyes. ‘Something happened when you left the amphitheatre. Whether you got upset by our reaction to what you said, or something happened before you came back home, I don’t know. But before anything else happens, you should tell me what happened. Keeping your emotions bottled behind this, this... wall you’ve set up between you and everyone else is unhealthy.’

Octavia said nothing.

‘Please, Octavia. I don’t think you’re crazy. I’m being honest.’

Octavia drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. She looked back out the window.

‘It’s more that I think I’m crazy,’ Octavia began. ‘I talked to Staccato about this before, and he tried warning me about this. I’m afraid that letting my emotions run free would drive me even more insane than I already am.’

‘Octy?’

Octavia raised a hoof. Vivace stayed quiet. ‘I went to Ponyville,’ Octavia continued. ‘I was planning on seeing the first pony I saw, before the one that I talked about here in Manehattan. Try and find out if I could do anything to reunite them, since they were old lovers way back before our time. I found the hall we used to play in was just a pile of sticks...’

~|D|~

Octavia stared at the rubble in front of her. Everything around her was motionless, as though the entire world had stopped for her in that moment. She tried to read the wooden sign in front of the pile, but tears forming in her eyes blurred the words too much.

‘I think you should stay away from there,’ a distant, male voice said. ‘A bunch of splintered wood is dangerous and uninteresting.’

Octavia turned around and saw the old hall keeper walking—rather slowly—towards her.

‘Wait,’ the keeper said, ‘you’re miss Octavia, aren’t you? What brings you back here to humble Ponyville?’

Octavia looked to the ground and closed her eyes.

‘I see. Some folk were pretty sad to see the place go. I mean, I kind of lost my job now that it’s a heap of garbage—not that I really need a job at my age, but it kept me occupied all the while. I had actually come to see if the work had begun on it yet... for some reason, the laws of Ponyville forbid anyone from building on plots of land not dictated by some document. This is the only place that can be worked on.’

Octavia turned back to the rubble. She read the sign: “Future Site of the Renovated Ponyville Music Hall”.

‘The owner of the place was already having a tough time even with you guys playing there and filling up the seats, but it was probably going to go down within the month even if you all did stay. Someone from another city... Fillydelphia, was it? I’m not sure who it was, but they bought the place out and asked the town what they want from the building now that the plot of land belonged to him. Ponies liked the hall, so he decided to scrap the decrepit one and make a much more, uh, hospitable place.’

Octavia walked over to the rubble. Lying beneath several boards of wood was a shard of painted glass.

‘Cleared the place right out. I’d be careful if I were you, though, since there could be sharp edges in there. There was glass in the hall, if you remember.’

Octavia turned to the keeper once more. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘Please, I need a moment.’

The keeper nodded his head. ‘Alright. Please, take a piece of the rubble as a reminder of the old place. I’m sure it would be a worthwhile memento, if you have any cherished memory of the place.

The keeper turned and left Octavia to the rubble. If there was anyone else nearby, she didn’t know—everything was still, and everything was quiet.

It’s gone.

She couldn’t just take a piece from the rubble. It was all junk, now.

She’s gone.

‘...and then I kinda just walked around. I guess I’m not really getting emotional about the whole thing since it’s left me too emotionally exhausted to feel anything.’

Vivace placed a hoof on Octavia’s shoulder. ‘It’s a bummer that the hall went down, but we’ve made progress here. You aren’t crazy. If those ponies really did exist long ago and you described them perfectly, then there’s no way you could have imagined them without meeting them in person.’ Vivace smiled. Octavia still looked out the window, but she could see the smile through a the glass’s faint reflection. ‘I never stopped trusting you. I just didn’t trust myself to say the right thing to help you out.’

Octavia closed her eyes and smiled. ‘Thank you, Vivace,’ she whispered, almost so quietly that Vivace could barely hear. Her gratitude was met with a warm embrace.

‘You always have a friend in me.’

Octavia, eyes still closed, could feel a tear forming in her left eye. Vivace’s embraces loosened up.

‘You’ve got a week until our next concert. Letting loose your emotions now is the healthiest thing you can do.’

As Vivace patted Octavia’s back, the wall in her mind began to crack. The emotions poured out through tears, but they were not from sorrow. Then, the wall was no more.

It wasn’t enough, though. In the place of the wall, the obsession returned. But at least Octavia was back.

~|D|~

The smell of frying bacon wafted through the apartment. There were hints of something sweet, and hints of something fruity, but neither could mask the overwhelming smell of meat. Octavia’s mouth watered, her nose perked up and her eyes opened quickly, but the rest of her body would not allow her to get up out of bed.

‘Bacon...’

The bedroom’s lights flickered on, revealing Vivace smiling brightly at the doorframe.

‘Smell that?’ Vivace said, raising a confident brow. ‘Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of forcing you out of bed for breakfast, at least not in your situation.’

‘Wh... what situation?’ Octavia replied slowly. She frowned. ‘And why can’t I re... *yawn* ...remember last night?’

Vivace giggled. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m back with breakfast.’

Octavia raised her hoof, and Vivace stopped at the doorframe. Octavia drew in a deep breath, then pushed herself out of bed and, sloppily, onto the ground.

‘Hangover,’ Octavia groaned. ‘I think I’m getting a feeling about what happened last night.’

‘I wanted to go drinking tonight. If you had listened to me, then you wouldn’t be in this situation.’

Octavia rolled her eyes. ‘Then I’d have a hangover tomorrow. Before a concert.’

Vivace stuck out her tongue and turned to the kitchen. Octavia followed suit.

‘So you made breakfast yourself?’ Octavia questioned, frowning ever so slightly. ‘I can’t, uh, wait to try it.’

‘Hey now, I think I did a pretty great job.’ Vivace walked over to the stove, scooping out some bacon and placing them on two plates along with strawberries and golden-brown pancakes. ‘...ah, I suppose I should mention that I just had these delivered from the restaurant a few buildings down and fried up a little bit of bacon. I know I’m a pretty terrible cook.’

‘You aren’t that bad,’ Octavia said, smiling. ‘You were able to fry up the bacon, that’s a step up from before.’

Vivace raised a brow as she lifted the plates, stacked on top of each other in one hoof, and walked over to the table. ‘Guess you got me there. If you want a drink, then you’ll have to get it yourself—I’m sure if I’m so bad in the kitchen then I’d find a way to burn the water.’

‘That’s pretty impressive, you know. Stacking those plates on one hoof like that and all... you’d be a pretty good waitress.’

Vivace rolled her eyes. ‘Funny. I’m amazed you can smile in the morning with a hangover, let alone crack some jokes. It is good to see you smile, though.’

Octavia’s smile widened.

‘Quit it, you goof. You know, you look pretty funny with your messed-up morning hair and that toothy smile, I wish I had a camera on me.’ Vivace’s face perked up. ‘Oh, you got some mail in today. I left it at the front door.’

‘Who sent it?’

Vivace shrugged and took a bite of her pancake. ‘Not sure,’ she said, muffled by the pancake, ‘I didn’t really take a good look at it. I care more about this delicious pancake.’

Octavia took a bite from the pancake, and she nodded her head as she chewed.

‘So you’re finally going to get to wear your dress,’ Vivace said brightly. ‘Tomorrow’s concert is going to be really special. I’ve wanted to wear our things for ages, but Staccato keeps insisting that when we, uh, “don” them that it has to make an artistic statement at the right time.’

‘The black one? I completely forgot about that thing.’

‘Yeah, Staccato mentioned a month ago that we’d be wearing them today. I guess it wasn’t important enough for there to be a reminder when we play.’

‘Good memory, Viv.’ Octavia paused for a moment. ‘The dress was cute, kind of a bummer I haven’t gotten to put it on yet.’

‘I think they’re at the amphitheatre,’ Vivace said. She looked up from the table and into Octavia’s eyes. ‘Speaking of amphitheatre... do you know what you’re going to say to the group once we get to rehearsal?’

‘Viv, you really don’t need to worry. I can handle things, and this time I’m being completely sincere. Talking to them is probably easier to deal with than your cooking, anyway.’

Vivace narrowed her eyes. ‘You haven’t cooked anything more advanced than eggs in the past month, you probably aren’t any better.’

Once finished with the last bite of her pancake, Vivace rose from the table and stretched her hooves.

‘I’m gonna go get some groceries,’ Vivace said. ‘Normally I’d suggest you go drink some more water, but you seem to have a superpower when it comes to hangovers. See you in a bit.’

Vivace walked to the front door, waved Octavia farewell and went out of sight, leaving the door wide open. As Octavia watched her leave, a small white envelope caught her eye, sitting on the floor right at the door. Raising a brow, she left her half-eaten breakfast behind for this new mystery.

At the top of the envelope, a word stood out immediately to Octavia, who promptly gasped and ripped the envelope open in seconds.

Ponyville.

Once the envelope had opened and its letter removed, a small splinter of wood fell out and onto the floor. Octavia read:

‘“Dear Octavia, I noticed you didn’t want to pick anything up from the pile of sticks back here in Ponyville. It took me a little while to find a proper address, but I’m sure by know you regret your decision to keep a memento. Enclosed is a splinter of wood, light brown as I’m sure you noticed, that came from the stage. You can trust that it came from there since the rest of the building was built with a much deeper shade of brown. I’ve spent a lot of time there.”’ Octavia looked up to the ceiling, mouth agape, as a tear formed in her eye. She fought back tears as she looked back down to the page. ‘“I hope you enjoy the gift. I know a little more than I let on sometimes, even if I’m a bit senile in my old age. I’m sure you know what to do with it. Signed, a crazy old man.”’

Octavia looked away from the letter and stared, in silence, at the splinter on the floor. Something strange was in the air. A feeling she hadn’t felt in quite some time—cold, but very familiar.

‘Allegrezza...’

Octavia’s eyes rose from the splinter and to the open door in front of her. Vivace, staring blankly at her through the doorframe, quivered.

‘Octavia, I he... I heard the letter. Please... please don’t—’

Octavia raised a hoof. ‘I need time to think.’

The cellist, stone-faced, picked the splinter up and retreated to the bedroom. She was not heard from all day, not for meals, not for chat, nothing.

Vivace and Octavia, in complete silence, walked down the street the following morning. Vivace kicked up some dust, and Octavia’s head and eyes were stuck to the clouds. The amphitheatre was still a little ways away.

Unprovoked, Octavia stopped, smiled, and turned her head to Vivace.

‘Thank you, Viv.’

Before Vivace had time to reply, Octavia wrapped her hooves around her friend in a close embrace. Vivace stopped for a moment to take it all in.

‘I’m not even going to question this,’ Vivace said, returning the embrace.

Octavia giggled. ‘I was about to cry, but that was just too funny. Even if you didn’t intend it. You’re just... such a pleasant pony to be around. I really hope you don’t think I was trying to shut you out completely last night, I just—’

‘Nah, you don’t need to keep explaining everything to me,’ Vivace said, smiling. ‘She’s in that splinter you have wedged in your neck bow, isn’t she?’

Octavia withdrew from the embrace and raised a hoof to her own neck. She nodded.

‘I wouldn’t want to intrude on a friendly reunion, would I?’ Vivace shrugged. ‘Or intrude on your meditation about what’s going on. If it were anything else, I would’ve been knocking on your door all day and all last night.’

The two ponies continued to walk, smiling brightly along the way. They didn’t see it, but the clouds in the sky started to disperse.

‘Listen, Vivace...’

‘Yeah?’

Octavia drew in a deep breath, then let it all out. ‘Do you still trust me?’

‘You asked me that question already.’

‘I know. I need to hear it again.’

‘Is Staccato a loser?’ Vivace snickered. ‘Yes. There is your serious, one hundred percent true, reply. You’d never lose my trust, Octy.’

Octavia looked once more to the sky. ‘I’m glad. Like yesterday, like last week, like always... thank you for being there for me, Viv. Today, everything is going to get better.’

Both ponies soon found themselves standing in front of the Manehattan Amphitheatre. It was only rehearsal, but it was the start of something new for a talented, troubled cellist.

‘I certainly hope so, Octy.’

ENCORE

‘Today’s the day we stop being just musicians, my friends,’ Staccato said, flashing a toothy smile. ‘With our music, our outfits, and our sound, we become artists. Everything we play today, I’m sure we’ll get a chance to try recording it and such.’

The rest of the Ponyville Players set up their instruments, as Staccato—his piano sitting alone at the back of the stage—looked out to the rows upon rows of empty seats inside the amphitheatre. He inhaled deeply through his nose, then let it all out slowly through his mouth.

‘Smells like success, darlings. Your clothes are sitting in the back room, but I don’t want to get them all sweaty before the concert. We’ll leave them for the rehearsal.’ Staccato walked over to the piano. ‘Give me a minute, just making sure my piano is tuned.’

Octavia’s cello stood upright next to her, held by one hand and her bow in the other. She breathed in, then out, then in again before Vivace came over and put a hoof on her shoulder. Octavia turned to her, and Vivace nodded her head.

‘Hey, uh... guys?’ Octavia said, looking one by one at her fellow musicians. All of them stopped what they were doing. ‘You don’t need to be giving me those pitiful looks anymore. Not in a bad way or anything, I just... I think I had a little bit too much stress lately, and finding out that the Ponyville Music Hall was sold and demolished was the straw that broke the camel’s back—’

‘Wait,’ Sonata said, raising a brow. ‘So your silence and that breakdown before you left the building was because of the hall being destroyed?’

‘Well, um—’

‘Octavia, there’s nothing that we need to forgive you for.’ Sonata gave Octavia a careful smile. Waltz, Treble and Clef all did the same. ‘We all found out about it too. In fact, if we had known that’s what you were upset about, why you were so delusional that you saw ghosts, then we would’ve grieved with you too. It was pretty special for all of us.’

Octavia blinked. She looked to Staccato, begging for answers, but he stared back from behind his piano, eyes piercing through her soul. Vivace shook her head.

‘It’s not important,’ Sonata continued. ‘What happened, happened. Let’s get to it—Staccato, cue us in?’

Staccato fought back a frown. He cleared his throat. ‘Very well. Let’s start with Temperate so we can get all of our instruments going, shall we? Remember to keep things mild here.’

Sonata approached the microphone, and as Waltz hit his snare, she sang.

‘The heat—oh! The stress—no! The old procession cries for a time, a time when all was quiet and peaceful...’

Octavia’s notes were quiet and calm, but she wasn’t into her music. She wasn’t even all that concerned about Sonata, Treble & Clef, and Waltz. They could be informed about the truth of the matter later, once the big concert is only a memory.

That look Staccato gave her...

~|D|~

‘I hear people chatting out there, Clef.’

‘So do I, Treble. This is so exciting... your look is also pretty exciting.’

Treble, donning a grey, spaghetti-strap dress with a black sash going down from her neck and around her waist, twirled. Clef watched with excitement, her own grey dress sporting a sash that went around her neck like a scarf and draped down to her hooves when she stood on her hindlegs. The tail end of the sash curled up to her knee.

‘My goodness,’ Treble said excitedly. ‘Look at us when we’re together, and we become...’

Clef hugged Treble. ‘We become a perfect treble clef. Isn’t that awesome?’

Sonata giggled. She sported a very large, poofy orange dress with a large bottom half almost akin to a wedding dress. ‘Nice, that’s pretty clever.’

Staccato, blushing, had on a blue marching band coat with thick extensions broadening his shoulders. ‘Sonata,’ he began, ‘Y-you brought that dress with you all this time? I haven’t seen you wear that, since, well—’

‘I know, Staccato. I know.’ Sonata sighed. ‘Vivace loved the rose one I bought, so I gave it to her instead.’

Waltz was in the corner of the room, twirling his drumsticks with a simple striped shirt.

‘Did the second best drummer of all time really wear just that?’ Vivace said, wearing the rose-coloured dress from the store, still untouched and never worn. ‘That doesn’t seem very special to me.’

‘Best drummer, Vivace.’ Waltz rolled his eyes. ‘Keith Loon is the best. Not even The Animal could top him.’

‘If you say so,’ Vivace said, sticking out her tongue.

Octavia, outside and away from the action, paced herself. She had on her minimalist black dress, which didn’t seem to shine as much in the evening light as it did when she first got it. Her thoughts were interrupted by the slow creak of the back door, to which the band leader himself emerged.

Staccato looked away for a moment. ‘I once had an entire week where I shut myself out completely, you know. I mean, I ruined things with Sonata for a lot longer than that, and I certainly wasn’t open to everything outside of that week. But I never left the hall during that time. She was so clear, so visible to me, that it almost felt like she was completely real.’ He reached out into the air. ‘And then she came to me again at the end of the week, a little bit less clear than normal. She was fading from my life.

‘Not to be deterred, I shaped up and apologized to Sonata for everything I had done. We were still friends and musicians at that point, even if she had grown tired of me romantically. The next time we played together at the hall, I did something crazy. I saw glimpses of... her, and I played something completely different from what I was supposed to, trying to make her come to me at full force. She disappeared, Sonata was appalled, and everything was ruined. To this day, she still doesn’t know why this all happened, even if she had some hints... well, maybe she did, but I never told her anything.’

Staccato lowered his hoof from the sky and looked to the ground. Silence for an entire minute.

‘I never saw Allegrezza after that.’

Silence once more.

‘Allegrezza...’

Silence. After another moment of waiting, Staccato lifted his head and looked directly into Octavia’s eyes. He began walking towards her as he spoke, inching slower and slower with every word.

‘When I became so disheartened and obsessed, I went into a near-exile. When you were sad about the hall collapsing, you did the same.’ Another step. ‘Where I was set to play at the hall, you’re currently set to play at one of the biggest, if not the single biggest, concert of you life.’ The gravel at his feet crunched as he took another step. Octavia didn’t know what to do, and her forehead began sweating profusely. ‘Everything I, we... no, not even we at this point. We’ve all worked hard, but I’ve been waiting my entire life to be remembered as more than just a simple musician or a member of a pretty cool band.’

Staccato stopped inches from Octavia. His eyes narrowed. ‘This is where our image is made. When I played my music at the hall, I ruined everything. If you follow history and ruin everything, then you won’t have just ruined Waltz’s, Treble’s, Clef’s, Vivace’s, your own... all of your lives, but you will have crushed Sonata and I for the second time. Too much time wasted for us.’

Staccato put a hoof to his mouth and relaxed his body. ‘I don’t like getting intense, but if we make an artistic statement tonight, then anything we screw up on will be on our artistic footprint forever. Our own songs, our own attire, none of those were factors when we just played to be faceless entertainers.’ He turned and walked over to the back door. Before he went through, he stopped, looked over his shoulder and gave Octavia a stern look. ‘I know you don’t like me, and you sure as hell don’t listen to me. But for the good of us all, just play what you were meant to play. If you don’t want to be around us anymore, I’ll figure something out later on. This isn’t the time for it.’

Octavia stared blankly to Staccato.

‘Viva la dancer, my dear Octavia. If Gazer was here, I’m sure he’d tell you to knock ‘em dead.’

Staccato walked through the door.

Finale. Staccato’s little speech can’t stop me.

Octavia closed her eyes and entered the world of her song. For some inexplicable reason, she did so on a dime, and without any music around her. Her walk into the back room was silent; she could not hear Vivace’s excitement over her dress, or the concert, or feel Staccato’s glare at his piano as she walked over to her cello.

Armed with her bow, the spotlight beamed down. She could feel the thumping of heartbeats around her like a percussion crew. The applause was the opening snare drum. The curtains opening was the string section as they slid along the top of the stage. The ensuing silence from the applause fading—no, there wasn’t silence. The faint wind in the air were the woodwind instruments.

Where there were seven Ponyville Players physically present, an orchestra of seventy made their way into her world.

‘Now, from the Ponyville Players, Temperate,’ a voice coming from speakers around the amphitheatre proclaimed.

Octavia played on tune, carefully keeping her notes quiet and calm as the song dictated. Something seemed to poke her hoof, the one that held her bow, but nothing was in the way. The splinter from Ponyville was taped in the middle of the wooden section of the bow, as if the notes she played was the splinter calling out to her.

Octavia shook out of her trance. The world of her music was no more; just peaceful music.

‘And now, Bring it Back,’ the announcer called out as the applause faded. Treble and Clef laid down their flutes and rose on their hindlegs. As the rest of the Ponyville Players played, once again quite calmly, the twins danced. Something poked Octavia’s hoof once more.

‘Get it Together is up next.’ Treble and Clef picked up their flutes once more, and the group played a fast-paced, jazz-inspired piece. Octavia’s mind relaxed.

On the songs went, four more pieces of various tempos and variety of instruments. Soon, the amphitheatre went dark. The applause sounded from the last song, heralding in the next piece.

‘Now for a solo act by miss Octavia, the rising cellist. Here is Solemn Vow.’

A single spotlight shone over Octavia, capturing the attention of everyone in the amphitheatre. In the darkness behind her were her idle friends, watching intently as Octavia picked up her bow once more. She could not see, but Staccato’s forehead was glistening with sweat.

Octavia exhaled. Her mind left the world of the amphitheatre, and her bow seemed to instinctively move on its own, playing the same tune she had played all of those nights ago. In her world, an apparition of Alto appeared in front of her. However, she was not phased in the slightest.

‘My world is not the real one,’ Octavia whispered, so quietly she could not hear the words herself. The notes were not quick, they were not filled with incredible energy, but now was not the time for such things, she thought.

A few more moments and she opened her eyes, and a shimmer appeared at the front of the stage. Applause rang through the building as thunderous as Waltz’s eventual snare drum, which heralded in the next tune. In this one, Sonata walked over to the piano as the rest of the Players stood in darkness, the spotlight moving to the bench where Sonata soon sat next to Staccato.

Octavia gave herself a chance to look over to Vivace, who seemed to have a smile brimming from one corner of her face to the other as she watched the two play a piano duet. Sonata was belting lyrics from her heart, every word more powerful than anything Octavia had ever heard her sing.

Were she not so distracted by the male figure faintly appearing at the front of the stage, she would surely feel something strong from this powerhouse of a song.

As Sonata and Staccato finished singing and playing the last verse together, ending things off with a deep piano hit, the building roared with even more applause than before. The two rose, took a bow, and the building faded to blackness. The curtains closed, and Octavia’s sightline on the figure closed. He didn’t disappear.

‘I can’t believe we’re almost finished, Sonata said, grinning as beads of sweat ran down her neck. ‘I haven’t felt that incredible in a long time, Staccato.’

Staccato grinned in turn. ‘Yeah, that was far better than anything we’ve done in rehearsals.’ He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked to Octavia. ‘Everything seemed to work even better than we had planned, huh?’

Octavia smiled back. Staccato straightened his expression and looked to the entire group.

‘It’s not over though, everyone. Not by a long shot. I trust you two will be able to handle our finale’s intro, right Treble and Clef?’

The two girls nodded gleefully. Clef even jumped, flute still held firmly in her hoof.

‘Don’t break that now.’ Staccato took in a deep breath. ‘I suggest everyone else take a deep breath, because we’ve never played this song outside of rehearsals. The energy a song of this length takes from you is beyond anything you’ve probably experienced to this point, considering the audience’s effect makes things much worse than a bunch of empty seats.’

‘And now,’ the announcer began, ‘Flute Loop, by Treble and Clef.’

Treble and Clef walked out of the curtains and into the small, flutes ready. As they played, the rest of the Players waited behind the curtains at their instruments, steel-faced and giddy.

‘This is it,’ Staccato whispered. ‘Let’s give it all we got.’

Octavia turned to the group. ‘I’ll cue you guys.’

‘Wha—’

Before Staccato could say anything, the curtains opened.

‘And now, the finale, Caravan.’

In the calm before the storm, Octavia could feel her friends’ hearts beating once more. One of them was beating so quickly, so erratically, that it was unmistakeable which piano-loving player was beyond flustered at his instrument. It didn’t matter. Octavia was already back in her world of sound, of nothing beyond the beats that surrounded her and the glimmer of Alto.

Snare. Cymbal. Waltz started to bang wildly on his drum kit, opening for Octavia to play long, quiet notes for another several seconds. Staccato’s piano soon followed, and for a moment, Octavia could tell his notes were a bit off for a second or two. Once he regained his footing on the music, Vivace’s trumpet joined the tune.

As soon as the flutes joined in, the entire group rose in tempo and volume until a final, blaring cymbal crash quieted them all down. For the next few minutes, the trumpet blared, the piano rocked, and the song continued down its normal pace. Time went on and Alto’s figure became clearer and clearer, until soon he was dancing along with the music, mostly transparent but very much real to Octavia.

Then, the music rose in tempo and volume once more, but this time the buildup was much stronger, and the length of the notes even longer than before. Everything continued until the trumpet, flutes and piano played their highest-pitched note, Octavia had her bow lowered, and Waltz was hitting everything on his kit at full force.

A final cymbal crash, the music stopped, and the room went dark. Then, as Octavia looked back into the darkness, she could faintly see Staccato shaking his head vigorously.

Nevertheless, she played. She played without a care in the world, as everything in the world suddenly disappeared. Her foreleg frantically churned out a solo the likes of which she hadn’t seen since long ago. The spotlight shone on her, and although her body could feel the glares of her bandmates behind her, her mind was nowhere near them. It just listened to the music being played.

As she single-handedly filled the room with intense, passionate music, the figure at the front of the stage looked back, surprised. Alto became translucent.

Octavia’s eyes widened, but she kept playing. Alto walked over to her, slowly, inching forward every few seconds.

Only a few feet from Octavia, Alto stopped. He looked at her bow, raised a hoof to the splinter, and gasped. Through all of the music, through everything going on, Octavia could hear the stallion gasping at the sight on her instrument.

And then, as if to stop Octavia’s heart, Alto smiled. Octavia smiled back, and her playing slowed down. She turned to her fellow musicians, and she nodded towards Vivace. Vivace nodded back.

Soon, a trumpet joined the declining solo. Vivace’s eyes moved to the front of the stage, where her eyes widened in surprise.

She sees.

Octavia, continuing to play, nodded to Waltz, who nodded back and played a backing snare beat.

Octavia, continuing to play, nodded to Treble and Clef, who both nodded back and played the same whole, low note over and over again.

Octavia, continuing to play, nodded to Sonata, who walked over to the piano and began to hit the same key over and over again, also low in tone.

Octavia, continuing to play, nodded to Staccato. Time seemed to stop as she did—Staccato’s eyes were closed and his head was hung, defeated, in the darkness that surrounded the rest of the stage. Octavia’s heart sank.

Then, Sonata’s free hoof rested on Staccato’s shoulder. Staccato opened his eyes and looked to the other pianist, both locking eyes in this split second where everything was still.

Staccato blinked, then turned to Octavia, smiled, and nodded.

Octavia looked back at the crowd, then stopped playing. Her bow hoof rose into the air, and everyone else stopped playing. For a moment, everything was still once more.

Then, when her hoof was lowered, the stillness was gone. Everyone played the loudest, highest note they could all at once while Waltz pounded away at his kit once more with even more fervour than he had done before. Cymbal crash. Lights faded.

Curtains. But not before the rest of the Ponyville Players looked to the front of the stage and saw something magical, something beyond anything they could have ever imagined. Alto, as visible as anyone else in the amphitheatre, was dancing alone, smiling all the while.

~|D|~

‘That...’

Star Gazer sat down on the bench in the amphitheatre back room, gasping for breath.

‘I’ve never been that into a song in my entire life. I can’t even believe that just happened.’

‘We can barely believe it either, my friend,’ Staccato said, sitting down next to him. ‘I think it’s a fitting end for our band.’

Star Gazer’s eyes widened. ‘Uh... huh?’

‘Please, can we have a moment to talk amongst ourselves?’

‘B-but wait, you’re leaving?’

‘Please, my friend.’

Star Gazer blinked several times, and as he walked out the back door, he murmured endlessly to himself, confused.

Staccato closed his eyes and sighed. ‘So we all saw him, huh?’

The group nodded.

‘I don’t really have much to say about that, since I’m sure we’re reeling in shock right now. We’re all exhausted physically from the concert, and emotionally from that sight. A... Alto.’

Nods around the room again.

‘If anyone needs any questions answered on that figure, I’d suggest talking to Octavia or I about it. That being said, this has given me some... some things, as it were, to think about.’ Staccato sighed. ‘I can’t do this. Don’t try and convince me otherwise, but I think I need to go play on my own. I can’t explain why.’

Sonata rested a hoof on Staccato’s shoulder. ‘Staccato, I—’

‘Sonata, I said don’t try and—’

‘I was going to say, before you interrupted me, that we need you. That chemistry we shared, it’s something that I haven’t seen since we were kids.’ Sonata blushed as she spoke. ‘You know what I mean. As a group, we can get through things together.’

‘Yeah, make that two, Staccy,’ Vivace cheered.

‘Three’s company,’ Treble said.

‘Four’s a crowd, but a crowd that can make some awesome music,’ Clef said.

Waltz shrugged. ‘Now that I’m out of my shell, I don’t really care what happens. I just bang on the drums and make sounds come out.’

The group giggled.

‘I suppose we have time to talk about this later,’ Staccato said, ‘but really, thanks you guys. I know I’ve been a bit of a grouch lately, but things will change.’ Staccato looked to Octavia. ‘What about you, Octavia? You seem... disjointed.’

Octavia looked to the ceiling. ‘I don’t think I want to stay,’ she said with a straight face. ‘This isn't my home. It's a home forced on me, and I don't want to get trapped in an endless loop of depressing nights. I miss Vinyl, I miss my home in Ponyville, and I miss playing for a smaller group.’ Octavia smiled. ‘I hope you all understand. I don’t want there to be any sorrowful goodbyes, so

‘But we can get through things together,’ Vivace said sadly. A tear began forming in her eye. ‘Please, Octavia.’

‘I don’t want to be unhappy anymore,’ Octavia said, wiping away Vivace’s tear. ‘Besides, it’s not very hard to visit me. If you’re upset about seeing me, then that’s definitely not a problem.’

Vivace tried to get a grasp on what to say, but she could not. ‘I... I’ll come visit, and I’ll write to you every day. Promise me you’ll write back.’

‘I promise.’

‘And promise me you’ll come watch our shows.’

‘I promise.’

‘And promise me... and, and...’

Staccato coughed. ‘I think we should calm down for just a moment. Octavia, do what you need to do.’

Octavia nodded. In turn, she hugged Vivace, who fought back tears, then to Treble, then Clef, then Sonata.

‘Thank you,’ Sonata said, wiping her eye. ‘Damn, looks like I can’t stop it either.’

Octavia’s mind could not come up with enough sadness to cry, as there were too many images of Alto and Allegrezza taking up space. With a final wave, she walked out the back door.

I guess I could’ve milked out a longer goodbye, or a party, or something like that. Damn, I hate goodbyes.

‘Octavia,’ Staccato’s voice called out from behind the back door. Soon, he emerged just as he did before, this time with a smile on his face. ‘Just a moment, please.’

Octavia stopped and turned to face him.

‘I know I was a huge jerk, but I think everything I was doing was out of insanity for what was going through my head about Allegrezza. Seems like after all of these years, she still plagues me to this day... but when I saw Alto, that changed. In that moment I saw him, I felt incredible, but I also felt horrible for making you endure all that you did on my behalf.’

Octavia nodded. ‘I understand. Everything worked out well in the end, didn’t it?’

Staccato chuckled. ‘I guess it did. Although the one thing, and I might know the answer to this, that has been bugging me for a few minutes, is still on my mind. Are you going back... for her?’

Octavia looked back at her dress, which now had a side pocket sheath for her bow. Inside the sheath, she could see a glimmer of the splinter taped on.

‘Yeah. It's about time the Dancer can come home, too.’

~|D|~

Author's Note:

Check out this blog for a more detailed author's notes. If you were curious, Staccato's attire was inspired by Paul McCartney's blue marching band suit, and obviously Waltz's shirt was inspired by Keith Moon. The Animal he refers to is, of course, John Bonham (who is the true greatest drummer of all time). Thank you so much for following along all this time, and I implore you, read the final chapter and check out the blog post I made for this chapter. I'm pretty much at a loss for words right now.

Comments

[71M073J]

This story... it is not even action, yet it literally made my heart tremble. I don't have words to express my feelings here... but congratulations. For everything.

[pahnazd]

Wow. That... that was an amazing chapter.
Sad to see Octavia leaving the band there... but there's truth in what she's saying - home should not be forced on you, and you won't be happy if it is.

Alto's ghost is happy now, and he can be at peace. Time to do the same for Allegrezza.

[Soge]

Was that a reference to Whiplash? If so, congratulations, since the endings of both managed to inspire very similar feelings on me.