Silence and Motion

by LysanderasD

[Side B] Octavia Melody: Four Thirty-Three

Side B: Four Thirty-Three

Octavia Melody, as she always did, woke with the Sun.

She was, very briefly, confused as she sat up, carefully rubbing the sleep from her eyes with a fetlock. She took a deep breath, blinked a few times, and then remembered why she was in her guest bed instead of her own. Vinyl.

Her lips thinned. Oh, Vinyl. She thought about checking on the unicorn, but… there was no way she was awake yet. Not after the state she’d been in last night. No; Octavia had time to observe her usual rituals. The DJ would be fine for a little while longer.

She stretched, then went about making the bed, returning it to an acceptably pristine state. She pondered if she should wash the sheets as she was straightening the comforter, but decided against it, at least for now. With one last tug, she pulled the comforter into place, and then nudged the pillow slightly, before she gave a satisfied nod and turned to enter the hallway.

There was another brief sense of disorientation. Octavia Melody was a pony of habit, and while she knew, logically, that this was still her Canterlot apartment, and that the bathroom was the second door on the right, the fact that she was emerging here rather than from her own room threw her briefly for a loop. She lightly clicked her tongue, then crossed to the bathroom to get her bedmane under control and her bowtie on.

Once she finally felt more like herself, she went to check on Vinyl. The door to her bedroom was shut, and she’d made sure to shut the blinds tight last night, so despite the fact that the windows faced Sunward, there was only the barest hint of light coming from beneath the door. Very carefully and quietly, she opened the door and looked in.

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she took stock of her situation.

One, the room honestly didn’t smell that bad. There was a slight reek of stale alcohol, and Vinyl hadn’t bathed last night, so while Octavia would not call the scent pleasant by any stretch, she was gently relieved that it was not worse.

Two, Vinyl had, predictably, made something of a mess of her bed. She was a very animated sleeper at the best of times, but last night had apparently included a greater-than-usual variety of twists and turns, and the unicorn had gotten herself slightly tangled. The only part of her that remained totally covered was her face.

Three… Octavia’s ears perked forward, listening. But all there was to hear was Vinyl’s calm breathing, gently raspy, not quite a snore, slow and rhythmic and calm. She sounded like she was genuinely, deeply asleep. That, at least, was a relief.

The earth pony hesitated at the door, deliberating for a moment, before quietly stepping in onto the carpeted floor. Vinyl’s exposed back leg kicked once, and Octavia froze, but when nothing more came of it she resumed her slow, careful walk forward, grabbing some of the tangled comforter in her mouth and doing her best to straighten it out, covering the unicorn back up as best she could. The only response from Vinyl was a very soft hum, but it made Octavia smile nonetheless.

Quietly, she crept back out of the room and closed the door. Then she grimaced, sticking out her tongue, and headed back to the bathroom for mouthwash. These ones were getting washed today.

But only eventually. There was a proper order to these things. First, breakfast.

The day had ended so pristinely.

Most of the windows in her apartment faced eastward, toward the rising Sun. It was a traditional Canterlot design principle, stemming back to the earliest days of the Princesses dwelling in the town; the windows in almost all non-business buildings faced exclusively east or west, the idea being that the citizenry would wake with the rising of Princess Celestia’s Sun, and likewise go to bed as it disappeared over the curve of the mountain. That particular idea hadn’t held up to the increasing number of night owls dwelling in the mountain capital, and, especially since Princess Luna’s return, there had been an increasingly vocal dissatisfaction with the old principle among city-dwellers.

Octavia preferred it this way. There was an order to things, and she was in no hurry to change it.

The only lights in her apartment now were coming from the kitchen and the small table lamp next to her couch, upon which she was sitting, a mug of tea in hoof and enjoying the quiet. Her cello sat secure on its stand, polished, well-loved, but currently untouched. A little while ago, it had sung its slow, mournful songs under Octavia’s expert touch, but now its performance was over, and it was content to sit in silence. Likewise, the sound system, hooked up to a custom order phonograph (originally a gift from her parents, but customized under Vinyl’s exacting arcane know-how), sat quietly, waiting patiently. But there would be no more music tonight.

Octavia took a deep breath and sipped at her tea.

One eye opened and wandered toward her window. Eventually she turned her head and opened the other eye. Through the gap in the curtains, windows lit up the cityscape, little glowing spots of amber in defiance of the night sky above. Further, toward the upper town and city center, the lights were brighter, tinted more colors, as the more lively ponies of the night gathered to celebrate throughout the darkness. Overhead, the stars twinkled gently, still unhidden despite the radiance of the city below.

Vinyl was out there tonight, she knew. With a sudden jolt of shame, Octavia realized that she couldn’t remember where. Vinyl knew how much Octavia prized predictability, and she’d made sure Octavia knew where she’d be and when for her performances, on the off chance that the earth pony felt like coming along. No burden of expectation, no pressure for attendance, just an open invitation. But now she couldn’t remember where.

For one moment, and it was a fleeting moment indeed, Octavia hoped that Vinyl was alright. Which was a silly thing to worry about; she was a responsible, full-grown mare, despite her, hmm, foalish reputation. She would be okay. But Octavia really needed to check in on her all the same. It had been too long.

Octavia opened the door, and this time she knew that Vinyl was awake. The unicorn was still totally hidden under the comforter, and she had somehow, in the intervening time, managed to perfectly work part of herself—her head, possibly—underneath the pillow. There was the smallest of gasps as Octavia stepped into the room, plate balanced on one hoof as she made her way to the end table. The slow, steady breathing was gone, and Octavia’s finely-tuned ears gleaned the particular strained sound of a pony trying to breathe as little as possible underneath the heavy weight of the blanket.

She set the plate down on the end table as gently as she could, but even that earned another gasp and a shudder from the lumpen shape beneath the comforter. She gave the unicorn a moment to gather herself, then lightly leaned over and poked approximately where she figured Vinyl’s shoulder ought to be. The lump let out a low, pained grunt from somewhere beneath the weighty fabric, and the area about where she guessed Vinyl’s head was rose and fell weakly as though the unicorn were shaking her head.

Octavia poked her again, gently, but insistently.

Normally, this would have worked; Vinyl Scratch was not a hard mare to motivate, despite her laissez-faire public face. The bundle wriggled for a moment, and Octavia withdrew her hoof. But the only thing that emerged from the bundle afterward was a quiet, pained whimper.

Octavia waited patiently, then gave a sigh she hoped did not sound too exasperated. She looked up, made sure the blinds were still drawn tightly shut, then moved to pull the comforter off of the unicorn, leaning up to put her weight on the bed and… eugh… grabbing the blanket in her mouth again, pulling it over Vinyl and leaving her bare save for her face, which from her nose up remained hidden underneath the pillow. She lay on her side, facing Octavia, and did not move except for her shallow breathing.

As Octavia had feared, the unicorn’s legs were drawn tight, and even in the dim light Octavia could see how clenched taut she was. Vinyl let out another quiet whimper as the earth pony looked her over, lips quirking down in a grimace. This was going to hurt. But… first things first.

She grabbed the pillow and pulled it off, letting it slide to the floor as she took her weight off the bed. Vinyl seemed to flinch, and one foreleg made a half-hearted attempt to shield her eyes, even from what little light there was, though it didn’t get very far before the cramps stopped it short. Eventually, one of the unicorn’s eyes slowly peeked open, looking about blindly for a moment before settling on Octavia.

She flinched again when she recognized the earth pony, though whether from pain or shame Octavia couldn’t tell. Even so, a little, only half-guilty grin managed to work its way onto Vinyl’s pale, sweat-stricken face. Octavia tried not to sigh again, shaking her head slightly as she raised a forehoof and leaned her weight on the bed one more time, reaching forward to wrap her fetlock around Vinyl’s left foreleg.

The half-amused, half-anxious look in Vinyl’s eye gave way to something like fear as her ears pinned back, and Octavia hesitated. But this had to be done—at the very least, it was better than letting Vinyl lay there with cramped legs. She hoped the apology on her face was enough as she began to pull.

She could have been gentler, she knew. She’d had more chances than most earth ponies to learn to regulate her strength, and Vinyl was more fragile than she looked. It was her turn to pin her ears back as Vinyl swore loudly and repeatedly, using language Octavia had never even imagined.

Somepony was at her door.

She sat up, immediately alert and sliding out of bed. It was still dark outside, and she glanced briefly at her clock to confirm that, yes, it was some infernal hour in the morning. She moved to her bedroom door and paused, listening, wondering for a moment if she’d only imagined it.

They weren’t trying to break in, at least. It sounded more like… Her ears flicked and she tilted her head to listen better. It sounded like they were fishing for the key.

She brought her lips together and furrowed her brow. She was on the corner of the building; the unit across from her was empty, and her next-door neighbor was an elderly stallion who really did go down with the Sun. No one would mistake her apartment for their own. Unless…

She opened her bedroom door and stepped out in time to see her own front door open, and Vinyl Scratch tumbled through it, crying quietly.

For a moment, Octavia was speechless, and, apart from the click of the door swinging shut, the only sound in the room was the sad, scratchy sound of the unicorn’s despair.

Vinyl was trying not to sulk as Octavia turned to the omelette on the end table, taking the fork and starting to cut it up into bites. There were tears in the unicorn’s eyes and her breathing was still shallow, but she continued to stretch her legs per Octavia’s instructions, and even from the corner of her eye, Octavia could see that Vinyl was doing her best to put her usual cocky, unflappable face back on and having a hard time of it.

When Octavia shifted the fork and lifted a piece of omelette onto it, offering it to the unicorn, she saw the flurry of feelings in the unicorn’s expressive eyes. She had already recognized that Octavia had made the omelette with a particular guilty pleasure of hers—pink rose petals, a secret which Vinyl had admonished her never to reveal to another soul—and for a moment there was unhidden desire; then her expression shifted, eyebrows lowering slightly and lips quirking into a frown as she looked between the fork and Octavia.

She held the fork for a moment, waiting for Vinyl to get over her skepticism and accept the help, but it seemed that in this particular case, Vinyl’s pride was too big to move out of the way. Octavia rolled her eyes, pulling back and setting the fork on the plate, then nudging the whole thing in Vinyl’s direction. The unicorn’s deep magenta eyes narrowed just slightly, shifting back and forth between Octavia and the prospective meal.

Octavia suspected that Vinyl was too hungover to properly use her horn, and her suspicion proved correct when Vinyl instead tried to raise her head, adjusting her weight slightly, and opening her mouth to try and reach for the plate herself, one foreleg sliding up to join in the effort before her condition seemed to catch up to her and she let out a whimper, eyes tearing up despite her best efforts as her head fell back to the bed.

Octavia frowned, brow furrowing; for a moment, she could almost imagine the splitting pain coursing through her head. Vinyl’s expression had turned piteous again, and the request for help shone unabashed for the first time since she’d woken up. Octavia shook her head and grabbed the fork again, offering it to the unicorn with only the barest of eye rolls.

This time, Vinyl Scratch was much more cooperative.

The silence was what Octavia Melody lived for.

Some musicians lived for the act of playing. Some expressed their talent through the creation of the sound, whether through voice or instrument; they thrived in singing and playing, losing themselves in the thing itself. Others, she knew, played for the accolades that awaited on the far end. Such musicians looked out to the audience and found their worth in the stomping and the smiling and the applause. Nor were either of these wrong, for it was nopony’s place to judge another for the expression of their talent.

Vinyl, she knew, dwelled on the far side of that line; she thrived in the booth and the table but lived for the uproar of the crowd…. or the smile of somepony close.

But very few lived for what dwelled between the end of the song and the beginning of the thunderous response. A moment, just a moment, where the last note fades from the air and, even with the resolution of the final chord, there is an energy, an expectation in the air, and then—silence. The piece is over; it has left the player’s heart and entered the listener’s, and everypony is just that little bit closer. There, in that instant, there is a connection, a beautiful and brief link. And a question, because the silence asks the player and the listener both to ponder what will be next.

That was where Octavia Melody thrived. Some musicians drove themselves mad in search of the melody that truly explored their straining heart; others ran themselves ragged in the eternal but ephemeral quest for more applause. There was beauty in the music, and gratitude in the response, but there was life in the silence.

This was why, at the end of the day, every day, she sat, quiet and apart, and waited until she knew her answer to the question.

She gave Vinyl her space after the meal. The unicorn had nestled into a quiet, slightly guilty, but grateful silence as Octavia lifted the plate and returned to the kitchen. She filled the sink, got the dishes soaking, then turned to her living room, critically eyeing the carpet. Looking at it now, it didn’t seem that bad; Vinyl hadn’t actually made that much of a mess. But… ah, and there it was, the scent. She would need to work to get the acrid beer smell out of the carpet. But she had time.

Before she started, she properly opened the curtains. There was, after all, a proper order to these things. The Sun was well and truly risen now, and she gave a content nod to the active city street below as she turned, knelt, and took the beer smell to task for daring to linger in her apartment.

More time than she thought. She was actually most of the way through drying the dishes when she finally heard movement behind her. She turned.

Vinyl was standing just past the kitchen doorway, legs locked, trying to stifle a yawn. When she saw Octavia, a blush danced across her cheek and she hurriedly looked away, back over her shoulder and toward the open window… or, more likely, toward the carpet. Her ears pinned back.

For a moment, Octavia was speechless, and, apart from the click of the door swinging shut, the only sound in the room was the sad, scratchy sound of the unicorn’s despair. Then Vinyl took a few unsteady steps forward before collapsing into an uncoordinated mess in the middle of her living room floor.

Her sunglasses were tilted askew by the motion, and in the one visible, bleary eye, awash with tears, Octavia saw first confusion, then fear, and then a moment of crushing realization, and Vinyl’s scratchy crying turned into full-on sobbing, bringing her hooves up over her head and clutching at her messy mane.

Octavia was already moving, even as the unicorn’s inelegant bawling was interjected with vague mumbling, her voice laced with acid and self-hatred. By the time the earth pony reached her, Vinyl had collapsed fully, face pressed against the carpet, wailing and ranting, one hoof pounding weakly at the floor as her self-loathing reached a fever pitch. Octavia stood over her for a moment, shoulders squared and brow furrowed.

Then she knelt, and, as gently as she could, she pulled Vinyl up and into a hug. She got the unicorn’s forelegs up and around her shoulders, then let her own forelegs wrap around Vinyl’s thin, slightly bony barrel, rubbing soothingly at her back and giving a firm, warm, and gentle squeeze.

For a moment, she wondered if Vinyl had even noticed. The unicorn continued to sob, even as Octavia adjusted so she could get the slightly smaller pony’s head to properly rest on her shoulder. Then, after the barest of pauses, she felt Vinyl begin to return the hug.

She tried to pull back to ask Vinyl what was wrong. The moment she began to draw back, the unicorn’s hug went from grateful to desperate, and so Octavia remained where she was and asked the question regardless.

It was difficult to make out the response, but what Octavia gleaned was this: that Vinyl’s show had gone terribly; that she wondered if she was losing her edge; that she couldn’t feel the crowd’s energy any more. And what would she be now? What could she do now? What worth was a DJ who couldn’t even excite the crowd? And—

Octavia gave another squeeze, and the unicorn’s rambling explanation ground to a shaky halt as she took another shuddering gasp, trying not to break out into sobs again. Despite herself, Octavia found herself tearing up as well. She brought her hoof up to try and rub soothingly at Vinyl’s mane, but before long both ponies found themselves shaking, crying, held tight in a mutual despair that, eventually, slowly, gave way to a mutual catharsis. And every time Vinyl tried to put herself down after that, Octavia was ready.

No, Vinyl, you aren’t losing your touch, no, you’re just in a funk, you’ll get out of it, you always do. I’ve been where you are. I’ve been where you are.

Sometimes the best musicians just need a little silence.

Now come on, Vinyl, you need your rest. You’ll feel better in the morning. Once you get over the beer, anyway.

Octavia saw Vinyl open her mouth, and she stepped forward, setting the dish towel aside and raising a hoof to close Vinyl’s mouth before she could utter the apology that had to be coming. Then she laid her neck across the DJ’s.

The hug took her by surprise. Octavia closed her eyes and stayed where she was, and after only a second, she felt the pale mare return it, laying her neck across Octavia’s shoulder and raising a foreleg to rest on her back. They stood like that for a few seconds, in complete silence.

Eventually, since she knew Vinyl would never break the hug on her own, Octavia slowly pulled back. She took a deep breath and offered a smile to Vinyl, who returned it, squinting slightly in the bright light coming from behind her and bouncing off of the kitchen tile. And Octavia realized that she had forgotten something. She gently pushed past Vinyl, who leaned lightly on the doorframe, and moved over to the couch, adjusting the pillows slightly as she looked about for… ah.

She returned to the unicorn, who turned when she heard the earth pony approach. She raised a hoof to cover her eyes, squinting at the shape Octavia was carrying in her mouth. The grey mare gently moved that hoof aside and leaned up to carefully rest the sunglasses on Vinyl’s face. The deep magenta of her eyes vanished behind the violet lenses.

And for the first time, Vinyl visibly relaxed. She didn’t seem totally better, but there was an ease to her that had been missing until now. A half-smile quirked the unicorn's lips and Octavia saw one forehoof tap slightly to some unheard rhythm before Vinyl sighed, a long, slow exhale that seemed to put her at something much closer to ease. Octavia gave a smile of her own and moved to the couch. It had warmed nicely under the attention of the rising Sun, and, when Vinyl joined her, she decided that she was quite comfy like this.

What followed was silence. An expectant silence, which asked both of them what they thought should come next. But neither felt a particular need to answer that question yet.

Today was quiet.

That was just fine with her. She probably needed it.

Author's Note:

The title is derived from the name of an experimental music piece by composer John Cage, wherein the entire piece is composed of rests, i.e., silence.

This is something I've wanted to do for a while, both just to say that I did and because I wanted to gauge how, if at all, I had changed as a writer since publishing the first piece (so I say, and then deliberately line up the text to be the same or similar in several spots).

I have expanded upon my thoughts, on this piece in particular and on myself in general, in a blog post, which you may find here.

EDIT: 11/20: Fixed a few extraneous typos.

Comments

[NumberFifth]

I came across this story after someone submitted it to list of suggested stories for Avonder's Equestrian Stories Vol. 2 print collection. It was one of the least viewed suggestions, so it never made it to the first round of voting, but someone out there liked this enough to want see it printed - and I have to say I can't blame them. It's a seriously lovely piece - there's something kind of beautiful about coming back to submit an alternate POV a near decade on. It's slow, evocative, and says everything it needs to.

I read the accompanying blog post as well. It gives a great perspective into all the thought you poured into this. I can relate to character driven pieces/character studies being the most satisfying kind of story to read. I may not be as adept at putting my literary emotions into words as you are, but I too want to work a little more on interacting directly with this site and its stories, so, yeah. Wanted to say something at least, especially with it being rather empty down here already. It's a really gorgeous piece and I'm glad to have written it. Thank you for submitting it.

On to the sequel.