Echoes from the Past (Part 1)
"Octavia Philharmonia, you treblesome, er, troublesome child, how do you know you hate it if you won't even try?"
"I don't know, mother, I haven't tried being set on fire yet either, and I strongly suspect I would be rather disinclined to pursue that proclivity."
"Octavia, please," the older grey unicorn was practically pleading with her daughter at this point. "If you'd spent as much time reading sheet music as you did the saurus you'd be..." Her mother seemed at a loss for words, a rare blessing.
"Wait, the saurus? You mean the thesaurus right?" Octavia asked skeptically.
"Don't stutter, dear, it's unbecoming of a lady." The mare tossed her shock of a snow-white mane, the only truly distinguishable difference between herself and her daughter beside her cutie mark, a songbird in flight.
Octavia failed to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Honestly, though, she wasn't trying very hard, not really.
"I keep telling you, I'm not a unicorn. I'm not like you, Mother!"
"Now, dear, you know we don't love you any less for not being a unicorn like your father and I," it was a well rehearsed lie, one that Octavia almost believed this time – Her mother's eye barely even twitched, and she'd almost completely covered up the tic at the corner of her mouth – but still a lie that Octavia constantly lived in the shadow of.
"Mother, dearest," Octavia sighed, "How many earth ponies can even learn to play woodwind instruments?
"Are you saying," her mother put the words delicately, as delicately as her satin-smooth voice could carry the words, "that you'd have rather something in the brass family?"
"No, mother," little Octavia pinched the bridge of her nose with a hoof.
"Strings, then?" hopefully asked with overtones of pleading, seasoned to distaste.
"Mother," Octavia snapped, forcing the shocked older unicorn back a step, "that's even more inconceivable for an Earth pony to play." Ah, there was the eye twitch again.
Octavia grinned sadistically.
"Earth-" Eye twitch, "Pony," Mouth tic, "Earth," Eye twitch with a vibrating inflection, "Pony." Mouth tic with an eyebrow furrow kicker.
"Dear," the distraught pony half-shouted before recomposing herself, breathing deeply, "it's not in good taste, and in a rather vulgar display of bad manners, to break your mother like that." she chastised.
Octavia nearly apologized, very nearly, but as the oboe twitched in her hooves the bitter taste of bile rolled across her tongue, overwhelming the desire for a sweet apology.
"Maybe-" She had a devious look in her eyes, "Maybe I should try..."
"Yes?" Her mother asked hopefully. Oh, maybe she'll try compositional work! Or conducting! Or-
"Percussion." Octavia declared with an air of finality.
"P-percussion" her mother gasped, falling to her haunches in shock, "you can't honestly mean that Octavia?!"
"Oh, but mother dearest, wouldn't I look ever so dapper banging my hooves upon a glockenspiel?" she emphasized the dreaded Germane accent, a language that in Equestria would only ever be associated with a silly group that wore comical clothing and drank too much cider, "Or perhaps," Octavia couldn't help but feel some genuine giddiness at the thought of her next words, "I could take up the xylophone"
Her mother clutched a hoof to her heart.
"Or the drums!"
The older mare's eyes crossed, she looked like she was going to be visibly ill.
"Or the triangle! Perhaps the gong? Very exotic! Oh, speaking of exotic, if you're so desperate for me to play a wind instrument, maybe I should play the Earth pony's wind instrument!"
Each new suggestion had struck her mother like a physical blow, reeling her, sending her into a horrified retreat... But she still had the presence of mind to process just what her daughter was suggesting.
"No!" she gasped, "Play the triangle, if you must, play rock music on drums!" she spat the bitter words out, "But please, Octavia, please, for my sake, don't suggest-"
"Mother, why don't I take up the bagpipes?"
Octavia watched, with no small amount of satisfaction, as he mother promptly uttered a heart-wrenching wail and fainted.
"Well," the filly muttered, "that was far more amusing than it had any right to be."
She fumbled the oboe in her hooves with a smirk.
'How could she possibly expect me to play this accursed, glorified rod?!'
Out of sheer spite the grey filly raised the oboe to her lips and gripped two of the levers, blowing into it.
It would be completely unrealistic to say that natural talent allowed Octavia to play a perfect E note on her first attempt. Through sheer luck, however, not only had her hooves picked the correct levers by chance but her spite-filled raspberry into the instrument emulated the proper technique.
It would be completely and utterly unbelievable to say that Octavia managed to play her first note perfectly. If Octavia hadn't been there when it happened, she wouldn't have believed it herself.
She was so enamoured with that one smooth, long note, the crisp sound, the thought that she had made this, she had created this beautiful trill that emanated from the mere rod in her hands, she was so enamoured by it that she spent the next ten minutes trying to replicate the happy accident.
Ten minutes later, satisfied with the result, she pulled the music booklet from her mother's limp arms and studied the hoof position she'd need to raise an octave.
Each new note took progressively less and less time to learn. Each note came closer and closer to that first happy accident.
Forty minutes after passing out Octavia's mother came around to see the filly struggling through her first scale. Her daughter's grin was infectious. Though the simple scale was hardly an orchestral composition, well, it was still the first time she had ever felt truly proud of her daughter.
After a few minutes of contented silence she wordlessly stood up, much to Octavia's shock, and walked up to the booklet. Still uttering no words, her face an expressionless mask, she flipped the thin booklet to a simple song, a nursery rhyme she had sung to her daughter whilst she was very young, one of the few roles she hadn't fobbed off to the nannies.
Octavia smiled gratefully at her mother, struggling to play the simple rhyme and reading the unfamiliar notes. Despite all the trial and error, and her storied history in the musical arts, it was still one of the sweetest things her mother would ever hear... Her baby girl's first love for music.
The filly blinked gratefully at her wordlessly smiling mother who sat with her, softly turning the pages when Octavia finished them, so as not to interrupt.
She wondered how long it would take Octavia to notice her new cutie mark... She didn't want to spoil the moment, though, not yet.
"Go on, dear, the Princess is waiting."
"Is that... Mother, are you crying right now?" Octavia blinked incredulously.
"No, no, of course not, I just have a little pride in my eye, that's all." Tremolo Pizzicato smiled at her daughter warmly. "I'm just so proud of you, my little filly, growing up so fast."
"Mother, I am still just a teenager" Octavia stated evenly, "Thus, I reserve the right to remind you of this fact next time you suspect I'm associating with degenerates."
"Oh, dear, it's not the degenerates I'm afraid of," Tremolo sighed, "Degenerates hold no sway over you. I can ignore ponies that you have better judgement than to be influenced by." This caused her daughter to blink furiously. It wasn't like her mother to compliment her, or admit any modicum of trust, at least not out loud. "It's just that Vinyl filly I'm afraid of."
"Did..." Octavia was shocked, utterly, by the implications of this simple statement, "Did you just accuse Vinyl Scratch of not being a degenerate? I'm sure if she were here she'd be insulted, in a rather vociferous manner I might add."
"Of course she would, dear. It'd be too bad for her reputation," she rolled the word around in her mouth distastefully, "if anypony were to suspect just what sort of head that mare has on her shoulders, when it is sober of course. Thinking like hers is a very dangerous pastime my dear, and I don't want to see you as collateral damage."
Her mother dropped to a low, scandalous whisper. "Besides, we all know she's a filly fooler, who knows what she sees in you?!"
'Ah. That old chestnut. Should I tell her?'
Octavia couldn't help but sigh in defeat. Another time, another place? But just before one of the most deciding recitals she would ever perform in her hopefully illustrious life?
'No. No, I most definitely should not.'
"Dear, you're muttering, it's most unbecoming of a filly about to have a performance before royalty."
"Ta very much, mother."
"That's a good girl. Now go on, your father might even be in the audience, ooh, wouldn't that be lovely."
'Now, that's a very good question. Or, rather, is it possible at this point for me to be disappointed once more by him not showing up again?'
"Why'd you have to tell me that?" Octavia seethed.
"Tell you what dear? Your father-"
"Now I'll know he meant to be here!" Octavia quietly shouted, her muted volume more than compensated by the power of the emotion behind the voice, drawing eyes upon her by the other members of her quartet, "And when he doesn't show up I'll be disappointed, again! And then I'll hate myself for allowing myself to be disappointed, again!"
Her mother stared at her in shock, before drawing her daughter into a tight hug. Octavia burst into racking sobs into her mother's shoulder, the usually cold and distant parent, though far closer than Octavia's father, giving what little warmth she could.
"If the Princess herself could set time aside for your performance," she whispered into her daughter's ear, "then I don't think you have anything to worry about."
The crew dispersed around them, a few shouts and barked orders from stage hands and the conductor letting the performers know that, if they needed to have an emotional breakdown, to do it now, because the curtains would lift in a scant minute.
Tremolo gave her daughter a quick nod and bolted offstage.
Octavia steeled herself, preparing for her first real performance that would matter, the result of this set determining whether or not she'd be able to learn at the Royal Conservatory, and perhaps eventually a spot in the Orchestra upon graduation from the prestigious school.
Alternatively now could be the exact moment she'd pinpoint later in her life where everything went wrong, when her parents disowned her, when she turned to alcohol to dull the pain of a lifetime dedicated to failure, a booze soaked busker in the gutter with oh buggery sod, the curtain's lifting!
The quartet stared in wide-eyed horror as they realized no matter how much time they were allowed for preparation nothing can prepare you for a calmly smiling Princess Celestia in the front row of the audience. If she had been neutral, or unreadable, she would have simply been a critic, and thus easy to ignore, they'd practiced that. If she'd been frowning, or bored, they could have been filled with the urge to prove her wrong. Instead, with that genuine warm smile and those wise and patient eyes, the only direction they truly had to go was down.
You don't look at that face and not think "Oh, bollocks, I'm going to invent three new and unique ways to disappoint her just by opening my mouth, aren't I?"
None of them did. One of the stallions of the quartet, Allonso, plonked the first thrumming chord on the piano, the opening for the piece, snapping the other three out of their reverie. Octavia fell back into reality, following pure muscle memory whilst her higher thought processes were otherwise occupied or incapacitated.
.
The others seemed to be doing the same on their own instruments. It didn't take long for Octavia to find her groove on the bassoon, having long ago taken a preference to the deeper instruments, the underappreciated flow that gave the more melodic instruments their tone. Without the bass's timbre the more easily discernable instruments would sound hollow.
Octavia found her Nirvana, her Zone, losing herself in the rehearsed music and letting nothing else invade her senses. This is mostly why she was surprised to learn, later, that she hadn't even noticed the harpist fling herself offstage babbling and weeping incoherently.
Whilst Celestia had shown amused concern the other judges, of which there were about a dozen, had scored the poor mare down for that.
It was about this time, though, as the adrenaline wore off, Octavia realized that her father was not in the audience.
"Fortissimo Crescendo had booked attendance, ma'am," the steward politely informed the seething mare, "but he was not in the audience, no."
Another steward, this one a powder-blue pegasus resplendent in his uniform red vest with gold trim, hurried in a flurry of feathers to the first steward. He whispered something to the first, much to Octavia's bemusement, that caused him to stand up straighter, as if he were worried he was being watched by an overbearing matron. But the only pony that would fit that description-
"Princess Celestia requests a private audience with you, miss Octavia."
"Right, well, this is still a salvageable situation," Octavia stated pleasantly, much to the stewards' surprise, "Can you tell me whether it's good news or bad?"
"Err... The note doesn't say, ma'am."
"Oh." Octavia deflated. "I was hoping I'd have a chance to run, but it would be most embarassing were I to flee good news."
The steward nodded dumbly.
She turned to the second steward, "On the other hand, I may be showing up to have my name dragged through the mud."
The pegasus nodded dumbly too.
The grey mare hefted her bassoon and glanced back and forth between the two, mentally weighing up her chances. She then realized that she'd be attempting to run from a nigh-omnipotent ruler of the sun with an army of bored soldiers under her command. Whilst this made the primal part of her brain more convinced, it made the conscious part of her brain more determined to suck it up and face her fears.
Unfortunately the primal part reacted faster.
Octavia finally managed to reach the small study Celestia had sequestered for herself by tricking her body to flee towards it.
This wasn't as difficult as it may sound at first. The reason the hind-brain acts faster is because it simply doesn't think and is thus a metaphorically unarmed opponent in the battle of wits.
As Octavia opened the walnut-wood door and saw Celestia, bespectacled and poring over a mountain of paperwork, hindbrain and forebrain unanimously agreed that if this went sour that Octavia would be required to drink as much liquor as equinely possible to make sure that forebrain couldn't do anything this stupid again.
"H-hello?" Octavia stammered, "Your Majesty? You requested me? I mean, I know you requested me, I don't doubt that one as powerful as yourself would simply forget such a thing," Octavia seemed to have her hoot lodged in her mouth, it seemed, and was hoping that some part of the verbal cascade would dislodge despite all current evidence to the contrary, "The questioning tone was referring to a lack of information on my part, not the presumed forgetfulness of yours, unless you did forget, in which case I just unintentionally severely insulted you, which I cannot stress enough I didn't mean to-"
"You may breathe now, my little pony." Celestia smiled, still not looking up from her paperwork.
Octavia gasped, her face returning to its natural colour – albeit slightly paler than usual – and realized just how close she had come to passing out.
"Your panic is most common amongst our subjects," the princess continued her warm indulgent smile towards the menial work, "frankly I'm not sure where they get such notions from."
Octavia continued to hold her breath in, lest her voice betray her again.
"I mean, I don't bite," Celestia chuckled, finally glancing up at Octavia for the first time since the musician had entered the room, "Unless, of course, you ask me very nicely."
The grey mare had turned bright red, though whether this was from a blush or the fact that she still hadn't dared breathe again was anypony's guess.
"I suppose it would be cruel to let you suffer in, admirably literal, silence anymore Octavia." Celestia stated plainly.
Octavia noted the lengthy pause.
'Oh now that is just mean.'
"Well, I've had my fun, as I am wont to do." Celestia chuckled warmly again, "I've summoned you here, Octavia Philharmonia, for an official acceptance. Of sorts of course."
"Of sorts?"
"Oh, it's more of an acceptance and a conditional promotion of said. You see, my little pony, my faithful student has recently made some rather large strides in the field of bardic magic. This is particularly notable for a rather curious reason." Octavia blinked as this settled in.
"I suppose that reason is why you need me, Princess?" Octavia blinked again, just to make certain.
'Oh dear her did I just presume the princess needed me?!'
"Why, yes, Octavia, that's precisely the reason." Celestia's eyes twinkled from behind the gold-framed spectacles, "You see, she has made some several leaps and bounds in a field of magic she has absolutely no experience in. Though her wonderful singing voice, if I do say so myself, has gotten her this far and proven her understanding of musical theory-"
"You need a musician to help her progress. So, I'd be her tutor then?"
"Oh, good heavens no," Celestia laughed, genuinely laughed, "If anything Twilight will be teaching you. My student is many things, most of which are wonderful, but this form of patience is a virtue that somehow eludes her, making learning an instrument an exercise in futility..." Celestia sighed.
"So, you need a musician to..." Octavia trailed off helplessly.
"Dear me, I'm doing a terrible job at explaining this aren't I?" Celestia raised a hoof, "Don't deny it. Ponies have a habit of filling in the blanks themselves based on what they assume. That never ends well for anypony involved." She sighed.
Octavia just nodded dumbly, suddenly feeling great empathy with the stewards from before.
"Well, to actually test some of her conclusions she needs a capable musician. For her own benefit I was hoping to acquire the services of someone her own age, someone I deemed worthy of wielding the new magics she will inevitably test with you." Another sigh. “It has been dreadfully hard to find a pony that either of us could deem as her equal in their respected field, much less one that I could trust.”
"If I may ask, your majesty, why is that a problem?"
"Because my faithful student has an awful habit of asking 'can' I do it, and not 'should' I do it. It seems with great power comes great irresponsibility for some reason, though I fear she's far too humble to appreciate just how powerful she is." she blinked thoughtfully at the wide-eyed Octavia, "Don't worry, I doubt she'll put you in any, echem, much danger. Honestly, Miss Philharmonia, I wouldn't have her any other way."
The look of pure, unbridled pride did not escape Octavia's notice. This is a particularly notable achievement because Octavia was currently staring rather pointedly at the ceiling.
"I'm sure you'll be very pleased to meet her. If you choose to accept my offer you will be rewarded fairly, if such a unique opportunity isn't award enough, as you may soon discover. She'll be waiting for you here, in this office, tomorrow morning at nine in the morning, sharp. I cannot emphasise this enough, though, Octavia; Do not be late."
"And what happens if I am?" Octavia murmured, unconsciously admitting she'd already accepted the offer, a fact that dawned on her almost immediately after she finished saying it.
"Octavia, you have nothing to fear from me, I understand perfectly that life has a habit of getting in one's way at the best of times." Celestia counted...
One...
Two...
'Ah' she mused appreciatively, 'the apex of the relieved sigh.'
"Twilight Sparkle, on the other hand?"
Octavia's throat tensed at the worst possible moment, eliciting a gagged splutter. For some reason the princess found this highly amusing.
As Octavia quietly left the office, offering a wan smile as way of parting, Celestia signalled their visit was at a close by politely glancing back at her paperwork and nodding at the guest.
Octavia couldn't help but think about her new 'colleague' tomorrow...
It had been a long day, very much so, for Octavia, and the adrenaline was finally wearing off. She was overcome by a wave of emotions, kept back until now by a rigid barrier of shock and awe, surging through her. A giddy grin split her face as she rushed to the now-familiar green room, knowing her mother would be waiting for her there.
She had to be very careful not to rip the door off its hinges from sheer excitement.
The room was filled with nervous tension and excitement of its own, a sign of ongoing rehearsals and performances sure to be taking place, but a muted palette amidst a sea of bustling pastel colours clearly identified her mother from the crowd, if not her demeanour. In that she blended right in, looking almost overwhelmed by the anxiety!
'Surely it must be a trick of the light,' Octavia smirked, 'or else it appears dear old mother has been weeping from the stress. I shan't make her wait any longer, hmm?'
Octavia practically bounded over to her, for all the world like a puppy that had retrieved a particularly large thrown stick, embracing her with a small 'oompf' of collision.
“So!” She exclaimed, “Mother, I know it is highly improper for such displays of affection in public!” Octavia somehow managed to babble primly, “But the news is even better than I could have imagined in my wildest fantasies!”
'Well, maybe not quite as wild as the one with the sentient bowstring and the, ecchem, well, yes, this is my mother...”
“Octavia...” Her mother whispered, “Your father he-”
Octavia growled a little.. A million thoughts flashed through her mind;
“He didn't show up, but he still loves you” or “I'm sure something just held him up on the way here” or “He may still not show you the love he assures you he feels, but he's still your father.” or some variation of the above.
A million possibilities swirled and eddied in her mind, complemented by the rabble and frantic energy of the ponies around her.
“He's... With Celestia now.” was not one of them.
Another, far off voice called over the din, obviously a producer or director of some kind judging from the sharp, authoritative tone; “This is the call for those in the next time slot, Stage One, will performers of “A Stallion In Denial!” please report, I repeat, Stage One, Denial!”
Octavia couldn't help but laugh, hearty chuckles into her mother's shoulder, unable to read her mother's expression because of their embrace.
“No, mother, I can assure you, I just met with Celestia and he wasn't there!”
Her mother wilted further still into the hug, feeling less like a pony and more like an oddly shaped sack of sand.
“He's dead, Octavia.”
“Oh come now,” Octavia leaned out of the hug with a wry grin, “That's just far too cliché, isn't it? I mean, really-”
“Stage Two,” the distant voice echoed, loud enough to cut through the din but falling deaf upon two mares ears at that moment, “Stage Two, 'Bargaining with Griffons'. This is a call for Stage 2, Bargaining, hurry those flanks there a ponies waiting!”
“-This has to be some sort of sick joke!” she justified, “I mean, faking your own death is a bit much for avoiding your daughter's recital but, I mean, if he didn't want to go he should have just said!”
“Dear,” the newly widowed Ms. Pizzicato choked out, “He loved your music more than you'll ever truly know...”
Octavia's eyes flared.
“Well, maybe he should have shown me sometime, he could have shown up, just this once, just this one time, and maybe I'd believe that, but you're telling me-”
“Stage Three,” a different frantic voice interrupted, cutting through the conversations with a magical megaphone, emphasis on the 'mega', “Alright, there's been a bit of an unexpected change, Those performing 'Slow Start's' Alla- Hmm, Ael? No, that's not right... All-egg-rezz-a,” here there was a muttering away from the mouthpiece, but still loud enough that Octavia could readily identify the immortal words 'close enough', “will be moved to make room for Rage!'s rehearsal. We are dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience! Stage three, 'Rage!'”
There was the shattering of several hurled glass bottles, the splat of fruit, in the speaker's general direction.
Octavia rammed a hoof into a dainty throw pillow, causing it to erupt in a dainty white, though somewhat anti climactic, explosion of fluff.
“You're telling me, mother,” the other hoof crashed into the throw pillow, bleeding it of what little fluffy interior it had left, “that it would literally kill him to show up?!”
For as much damage as she'd inflicted on the limp pillow, whose remains hung limply from one of her front hooves, the words seemed to have struck her mother far more, cut far deeper, than what her paltry physical blows ever could.
“That he couldn't even- If I was so important to him- Why couldn't he have just been there for me?!” Octavia shrieked into her mother's shoulder, absorbed in a tight embrace she'd been too preoccupied to notice coming, “How? How did he-”
“He was out drinking, apparently,” her mother whispered, stroking her grieving daughter's mane, “a shock in and of itself. Stiff, stoic old Forte, getting liquored up like a commoner, hrrm?” Her daughter scoffed, choking back a racking sob of her own, “Turns out he was celebrating with some friends of his, probably all just as stuck up as your father, not a drinker the one of them, all celebrating his little girl's big break. He was so sure you'd do well, dear, so sure, that as far as he was concerned you already had the part.”
Well, now that was a surprise. Octavia leaned out of the hug, staring into her mother's watery eyes, looking for any sign of deception, of sugar-coating the truth, of something, something she couldn't quite describe but evidently wasn't there, no matter how hard she looked.
“Well, this much I knew, dear, but I didn't think he'd get so caught up in it all. It appears, however, a rather large and violent stallion challenged your father, stupid, silly Fortissimo being the prideful, stupid stallion that he is agreed. Apparently the whole thing started out over him saying his daughter would get the part. You may have seen her, she ran off the stage halfway through the performance?” Even now, even in the darkest of moments, her mother still seemed to be able to wear that tight, smug grin of hers.
“So... What, Father just-” Octavia gulped, the image of her dad lying bleeding in the gutter far, far too vivid in her mind's eye. In the brief respite she managed to overhear a stagehand again, this one calling out some Fancy words, The Misery if her old school lessons were of any use.
“Oh, oh no, good gracious no,” her mother hugged her tighter, chuckling bitterly, “no, Forty was far too gentlemanly, to let such a disagreement go that far. No, apparently your father was just so sloshed, when he asked the stallion to take it outside, and the bloody fool agreed, it was dark and he just walked right over the edge. Small blessings, he probably never realized what happened.”
“So, you're... He got sloshed and walked off the side of a mountain?!” Octavia asked incredulously. Her spine ramrod straight she once more peered into her mother's eyes. Still no deception and only the slightest traces of humour.
No, no this was it, wasn't it?
“He was so proud of you, my little girl, he really, truly was.” Her mother held her once more in the firm, tearful embrace, “And I'm sure I speak for the both of us when I say I'm truly sorry he never got to express that.”
The words rang hollow, but the sentiment was appreciated.
“Stage Five! Now calling for Stage Five! Poly Vinyl Puppet Show!”
Octavia growled and, for reasons she didn't quite fully understand, growled at the stagehand across the busy room.
“Acceptance! It should be Acceptance, shouldn't it?”
“Err, no ma'am, I'm afraid that's been pushed back to time indeterminable.”
“Figures.”
No justice in the world.
It was at that bitter revelation that Octavia laughed, really, truly laughed, tears streaming down her eyes. She was vaguely aware of her mother's cooing, of a delicate hoof stroking her hair lovingly, as Octavia's body finally gave out as the last of the emotions left her battered and drained body.
Still, through the haze of the depression, she always felt this nagging at the back of her mind that she had an appointment tomorrow.
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With the highest of highs, come the lowest of lows.
Also really that's an embarrassing as hell way to go.
Forgot I even had this faved...
Now I recall WHY I did...
Very nice, the backstory was different. Ish.
~Skeeter The Lurker
Y'know, I love this story. I really do. And this? This was good. Funniest "my daddy is dead" chapter I've ever read in my entire life...
But... It's been three months, man, and the first chapter we get is backstory?
Literary... blue... balls...
Maaaaaaaan, I was hoping they would meet this chapter. Now I have to wait even longer... AND OF COURSE YOU'D LEAVE OFF ON THAT NOTE YA PRICK
Just...just keep up the good work,...
Hahaha, oh that was hilarious. Sad.. I think... but hilarious.
damn it all why are the awesomest storys always bloody incomplete. now im left to wait you nine sided whore!
ahem. uh. great story i got umm quite involved in it. so have an upvote and a favorite.
and an apology. i get worked up by great writeing.
hoof
Well, that last bit was new.
Poor girl.
Who the hay builds a bar right next to a cliff?? //dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/misc_Lyra_ooh.png
I have no idea what's going on
I do know what's going on in the chapter I just have forgotten what's going on in the story and I just need to go back and reread the other chapters.
2792552
I feel I should ask how this chapter is where things got weird. I mean, I've set a pretty lofty benchmark of "Nope".
I also must decide whether I see this as an issue or as a personal challenge I've accidentally set for myself.
Wow, Octavia's family is... I get the feeling there's some upper-class inbreeding not too far removed from her branch of the family tree.
oh god i need MOAR, love this fic, love this chapter, love the writing, i just need more. plz?
The only issue I am having with this chapter is that I am having difficulty placing a timeline on it. That is a bit unclear. Some clarification? Please?
I have never laughed at a 'he's dead' scene before.
"Shouldn't it be acceptance?" Why was that so funny I don't even know.
Is it bad I want to see that puppet show?
Anyway, I'm glad this updated and I'm wondering how the in formation here is going to tie into what we already know. It seem s to imply that Octy knew of twilight before this chance meet up, yet why wouldn't she recognize her at the Gala? Or the party that she and the mane six crashed?
Though I must say I'm loving the backstory, and the idea of her cutiemark seeming to encompass more then just one instrument but rather an under appreciated part of music itself.
2792629
1) "...on the other hand?" : Uh......Not that it's bad, or anything, but its just I've head "on the other hoof" for so long that its actually somewhat jarring now.
2) Heh. Allegrezza. Not sure how I would butcher it, either.
Yes, fix it quickly
25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lghnmkBCRm1qgpgfio1_250.gif
That was a funny chapter serious but funny
That is a very embarrassing way to go 
I can't wait to see how Twilight and Octavia first met at the office 
I WANT MOAR SOON 
If that is alright with you 
YAY UPDATE!
yes you need to fix it... though i dont think your out of practice... but you do need to write more
love this little back story you have going on here!
i guess she missed the chance to see Twi a long long time ago
I <3 this story!
I had to reread all the other chapters to remember where I was, but oh god it was worth it. I can't wait for you to update more of this :D
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I see you read that comic too~
I've enjoyed every chapter of this story so much, and this one every bit as much (except that it's too short ;). I loved your masterful use of the 5 stages of grief! Not to mention a nice capture of Trollestia, and a somewhat ominous setup for a meeting with Twilight. I can't wait to see how that plays out.
I don't know why I'm always surprised at how good this story is, how well-written it is; this is still one of my very favorites for it's style and complexity of character and humor, and one of the stories I hope to achieve myself in quality, some day.
So thanks for this, and please don't let it go so long if you can help it.
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Did I ever tell you about the time my buddy Keith choked on a balloon? We was all drunk and doing mouse impressions with a helium tank, and Keith figured 'Why we gotta only get a little bit o' gas through the tank? Why not just get a bunch at once?'. So, Keith filled up a balloon to the brim with helium, and...
emanated from the mere rod in her hands, she was so
Error, error, dose not compute. HANDS? HANDS? This is not possible.
I like the back story and can you remind me if this was always had a comedic spin on it or is it this chapter.
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One of my friends choked on a "balloon".
Huh... Minor confusion here. If this is all a flashback, why didn't she recognize Twilight Sparkle at the concert? Or did she not make her appointment, after all, despite still having it nag at her rather than be forgotten at the end here?
This fic is not dead!
I'm glad you updated as I liked this idea. I have to agree that this chapter is a bit confusing if it is a flashback or merely after the events of the last chapter.
Elsewise, keep up the good work and please update soon.
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Yes, flashback, and hey, all will be explained in time.
Hopefully... Not... As much...
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It was a special "balloon" that was flavoured...
Ah Mr Numbers!
I was so pleased to see that you had updated Sonnets and I hope it means you are finally on the mend!
Yes, you are a little rusty and there are some obvious glaring errors but overall this chapter doesn't disappoint.
I liked hearing a little of Octavia's back story and it gave me a glimpse of the pony she was before and maybe the reasons why she has become so bitter and twisted.
Whilst this chapter covers a obviously painful episode of Octavia's life, there is that touch of well written humor that is evident throughout the whole story.
I hope you are able to update regularly from now on but if not I will wait with bated breath.
the stage calling gag. .... you are a horrible horrible pony and you should feel bad.
Yay an update!
Oh Flashbacks, I feel so conflicted about you.
On one hand, you flesh out a story and characters like few other plot devices can.
On the other hand
You usually leave me on a cliffhanger
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Spoiler alert: Octavia's dreams are crushed and she never becomes a musician.
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This
I only got this today, but I just realised the stagehand is calling out the 5 stages of grief: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and Poly Vinyl. Wait, what?
Well played, author, well played.
Third time I read this chapter, and this is the first time I notice the five stages.
The timing in this chapter and the next seems really weird. Between past Octy and past Twi, I got a bit jumbled.
Nice ploy with the stages in the background.
Trollestia is also just wonderful every time she shows up. That was just evil.
I suppose you just pick that up after having ruled a country solo for a thousand years. That or you get bored.