An earth pony from Ponyville is accepted to a prestigious Canterlot school. Life follows.
Octavia has been accepted to Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns in order to study music which, as an earth pony from Ponyville, is quite the feat.
Now she must make friendships, endure life struggles, and contend with her peers away from everything she's ever known, something made all the more interesting by the appearance of a certain pegasus classmate.
Prequel/Sequel to Dysphoria Arcs: 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5.
Octavia chose not to respond, continuing instead to drink from the water fountain. She swore she could feel each individual droplet as it traversed down her throat, cooling her, albeit briefly, from the scorching summer heat.
“Will you answer me?” the filly asked. “It’s not like they won’t serve you drinks on the train ride; no need to drink up the station’s water supply.”
Octavia allowed herself one last gulp of water before wiping her muzzle against her hoof.
“Sorry Vinyl,” Octavia began. “It’s just this heat. The air is muggy enough as it is and the steam from the train isn’t helping things.”
“Muggy?” Vinyl repeated as the two fillies walked back towards the waiting train. “That’s a new word; you’ll be talking like those Canterlot ponies, all snobby-like, if you keep it up.”
“No Vinyl, that’s not a new word, and certainly not one only used by nobles,” Octavia replied. “Furthermore, I think that’s what you meant to say, nobles, as I doubt that every pony in Canterlot uses words that you would deem ‘snobbish.’”
“See, you did it again with ‘furthermore’ Octi,” Vinyl continued.
“I really need to get you a thesaurus,” Octavia said, shaking her head.
“Yes, yes,” Vinyl said. “You can make it my birthday present. Now will you please answer the question?”
Octavia continued walking in silence until she arrived at the actual platform, suddenly turning and enveloping her friend in a tight hug. Vinyl, though caught off-guard, allowed herself to melt into her friend’s embrace. Before long, the two began to cry.
“Of course I’m going to write, Vinyl,” Octavia said, trying hard to maintain some composure. “You have no idea how much I’m going to miss you.”
Octavia waited for a response, smiling as she heard her friend fighting to keep her sniffles in check.
“I should be going with you,” Vinyl said. “Just you watch – I’m going to apply for Spring enrollment. There’s no way they won’t let me in, and then you won’t have to be up there all alone.”
“I hope that works out Vinyl, I really do,” Octavia said, sighing.
“But?”
“But, as impressive as your ability to control sound with your magic is, you still need to find an instrument you can play to be admitted,” Octavia finished.
“And you’re supposed to be a unicorn to be admitted, but that didn’t seem to stop you, did it?” Vinyl retorted. “I’ll get in, Octi, just you wait. Then everything will be perfect.”
The two tightened their hug as the train’s whistle blew, signaling that it was time to board.
“Oh will you two calm down? It’s not like it’ll be long before you two see each other again.”
Octavia broke the hug, turning to look at the approaching figure of her mother.
“I mean seriously, it’s only five months before you come back for Hearth’s Warming break. Besides, it’s not like Ponyville is that far away.”
“Yeah, maybe you could visit sometime before then too,” Vinyl chimed in.
“Yes..” Octavia’s mother mumbled, shifting as she did so. “That is certainly a possibility as well…”
Octavia smiled at the thought, despite knowing it could not be.
“We’ll see,” she commented, sparing her mother further explanation. “It might not be possible because of my schedule once classes start, but we’ll see. At least we’ll still have letters.”
“Final call for boarding!”
Octavia turned to look at the train attendant, whose yell had rung through the station, turning back only to be picked up in her mother’s embrace.
“Please write to me as well, ok?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“All your stuff should already be in your room, don’t forget to check in as soon as you get there, and have all your papers with you at all times until you get your key.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“And I know money’s tight right now, but if you need anything do not hesitate to ask. Your dad and I will make sure you have everything you need.”
“I know, Mom, thank you.”
“Oh,” she uttered, squeezing her daughter tighter. “I’m going to miss you so much.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
The mother and daughter broke their embrace, fresh tears on both their faces. Octavia then tightened the strap on her saddlebag and walked into the train. Once inside, she found a vacant seat next to a window from which she desperately tried to find her mother and Vinyl in order to wave goodbye. And yet this would not be, as the platform was too crowded, and before long the train began to move, leaving the town of Ponyville behind.
Octavia was officially alone.
She spent little time admiring the admittedly luxurious train cart she inhabited, choosing instead to stare out the window again while slouching in her seat, shouldering the weight of isolation. Images rushed past the train, or the train rushed past them, further separating Octavia from all that she had ever known and thrusting her towards a world in which she was no one, a fact of which she was all too aware. Try as she might she could not see the countryside, just the escalating miles set to the rhythm of the engine’s chug.
“No time for that now,” she thought, wiping the moisture from her eyes. Without thinking she looked through her saddlebag, sifting through notebooks, her train ticket, and other assortments of papers until she found the two letters from the Academy, looking past her certificate of acceptance and instead pulling out their original rejection letter. This calmed her nerves. According to that letter she had not been what they were looking for, a fact they “regretted” to inform her of, and while they assured her that she would continue to be ‘under consideration’ should there be an opening, they were not able to extend an offer to her at that time.
“But here I am,” she mumbled. That letter had been the one she had expected coming out of the audition, the one she had resigned herself to accept. And yet, the second had arrived weeks later, granting her the chance once denied at what she knew to be another ‘acceptee’s’ expense. Octavia shivered as she thought the word ‘expense’, an almost mystical taboo often found in her home around the end of each month. Something that was always present and never spoken of. She had been granted this gift at another’s expense and as she nodded to herself, she decided to not muddy said favor with fear, doubt, or anything short of the gratitude it deserved.
Once everything was back in her bag, the filly made herself comfortable, deciding that the long journey would be more enjoyable sans consciousness. And so, she allowed the gentle friction of the train against the tracks to rock her to a comfortable sleep.
“Watch where you’re going!”
Octavia blushed as she picked herself off the ground, dusting off her saddlebag before addressing the unicorn.
“I’m sorry sir, I was just distracted by-“
“Sorry? Of course you’re sorry. Your lot is always sorry,” the unicorn interrupted. “The problem is not that you do not apologize; the problem is that you caused this mess to begin with. What if I had been injured? Would you have been able to pay for my medical expenses?”
“No, I guess-“
“Of course not,” he continued. “I’m guessing your ‘sorry’ would have had to suffice. I get that you don’t often get to look at a refined city, but that is no excuse for you to go galumphing around as you see fit. This is not whatever earth pony city you are visiting from, so you’d do well to act accordingly.”
“Come on, hon, you’ve made your point. Besides, we’re going to be late.”
The unicorn turned to look at the mare beside him, letting out a sigh before responding.
“I guess you’re right,” he said as he began to walk away. “It’s just infuriating. You don’t see me going to Manehattan or wherever these earth ponies are from and acting with a complete lack of class, and yet here they are, like an infestation.”
“I know, hon,” the mare said, walking alongside him. “But it’s not like you can expect better from them. For what it’s worth, it’s not like they go out of their way to create messes. It’s just in their nature.”
Octavia took a deep breath as she watched the two walk away, trying with all her might to stop herself from running after them.
“No sense in proving them right,” she thought, turning around. She could see her destination at the end of the street, barely noticeable behind the throngs of unicorns walking around, the vast buildings on either side of the road, and the grandeur of the castle, which towered over the city. With difficulty she walked onwards, unused to the brightness of the marble under the sun’s glow or the heavy traffic crowding her path. She did not, however, allow her attention to wander again until she had reached the safety of the front door. After taking a steadying breath, she walked in.
“Welcome to Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. Is there anything I–“ A unicorn behind the desk began before noticing to whom she was talking. “Oh my, a filly. Are you lost, deary?”
“No, I’m actually a student here to check in,” Octavia said, noticing at once a confusion growing on the secretary’s face, and a look of panic growing on her own. “I’m specifically joining the music program. Here is my certificate of acceptance, and-“
“Hold on, deary, take a breath,” the mare said, taking Octavia’s certificate as she did so. “I did hear about ‘this year’s special case’ and to expect you to come in. It had just completely slipped my mind before now. All I need to do is write down a few things and I can get you your key. You must have really impressed them at your audition to be able to get in here, huh?”
“Not too much, I guess. I was a second choice,” Octavia muttered. “I’m assuming that I’m only here on luck because another applicant was unable to enroll last minute. Not that I’m complaining, mind you; I just don’t think I impressed them all that much.”
“If I can be frank with you for a minute, I think you are selling yourself a bit short,” the secretary responded. “No offense, but for you as an earth pony to get into this school, you had to have done something very impressive to have been considered, even as a second choice. I cannot tell you how many applicants we get each year, but you should know that being waitlisted the way you were was an accomplishment that very few non-unicorns get to see.”
“If you say so,” Octavia said. “I’m not the only one here though, right? The only non-unicorn, I mean.”
“Um… I can’t really give out specifics on student demographics, but you’ll find out soon enough,” the mare responded, her telekinetic field enveloping a few items. “I’m sure you’ll make friends quickly enough in any case; the music department always seems like a tight knit group. Anyway, here are your keys and your welcome packet, which includes all the information you will need as well as your schedule and a map of the school. Your room is on the third floor of the residential hall of the Clover wing, 318. You don’t really get a good look at the castle from there but, if I’m not mistaken, your room will overlook the main entrance walkway and the main courtyard, so it is a remarkable view none-the-less.”
“Thank you,” Octavia said, opening her bag and allowing the secretary to place her packet and keys within it.
“Your belongings should have already arrived and been placed in your room, though you will need to unpack them,” the mare continued, reading from a list. “If you find that something is missing or if you have any more concerns, you can come back here during daytime hours or you can contact your Resident Life director at any time. You are of course welcome to any part of the school, not just the parts specifically relating to the musician program, but all of that is explained in your packet. In any case, I hope you find everything to your liking, and once again welcome to Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns.”
“Thank you very much, ma’am,” Octavia said before exiting the room and entering the main concourse of the school. As she moved she was overly aware of the extra weight of the packet in her bag and the jingling of the keys.
“My keys,” she reminded herself. “They are keys given to me for my room in this school, a room given to me as a student. Keys I have in my bag, in possession, in Canterlot, right here.”
She restrained a giggle, allowing only a small smile to grace her lips.
“I’m here,” she thought. “I made it.”
The door creaked as Octavia entered her room and laid her saddle bag delicately on the bed. She then went back to the door to retrieve her key, a feat that took slightly less effort than it had taken to unlock the door, given that the mechanisms had obviously required a unicorn’s telepathic dexterity to operate. Luckily this was a problem she was accustomed to, which was surprising given her Ponyville upbringing. Finally, as she closed the door behind herself, she took stock of her room.
The room was sparse with a modest bed, a writing desk, a closet, and a night table. True to the secretary’s word, there was a window that overlooked the school’s main archway and entrance, as well as the main courtyard on which many a pony seemed to stroll at a leisurely pace. In one corner of the room, Octavia saw that her bags and her mirror were all accounted for, stacked and ready to be unpacked. On another corner, however, Octavia saw something which held a higher level of priority.
The case, which was leaning casually against the junction of two of the walls, was banged up and covered in scratches, as it had been the day Octavia received it. With steady hooves she unclasped the side of it, allowing it to open, revealing her greatest treasure.
The cello was old, scratched and dented despite the case’s best efforts. The neck was clearly worn and the strings had long since died, begging for a replacement that would not come unless greater necessity arose. Even the wood of the cello seemed aged, rustic in its faded hue.
Octavia plucked a string, allowing the open note to ring out. A sense of calm enveloped her.
“You had to have done something very impressive to have been considered, even as a second choice.”
She smiled as the secretary’s words and the memories of her audition flooded her mind.
“They must have really liked us,” she mused, stroking a different string. The note was off, she noted, meaning she would have to retune that string later that night. For now, she was content with enjoying her victory.
“And that is truly what this is,” she thought. “A victory.”
While an earth pony musician was not a concept that was unheard of in Equestria, it was one that was certainly rare. Such ponies were usually those with enough bits to afford special lessons, the proper promotion, and the proper presentation, all of which Octavia had lacked.
And yet her cello was here, as it had always been, at her side.
She removed her bow from the case, tightening the tension until the hair, her hair, was just right. Soon her room was filled with music, a joyous melody set to a calm rhythm flowing out the window for all to hear. Outside may have been Canterlot, with its strange buildings and stranger ponies, but in here was her music, her comfort.
Her grip on the bow tightened as she quickened her pace, skipping over the un-tuned string she had yet to fix as she improvised leads and rhythms.
“It’s going to be an uphill battle for us,” she whispered to her cello. “They don’t expect us to do well; they’re all surprised that we’re here at all, but we did not come this far to prove them right.”
She began running scales, jumping through octaves at her whim.
“We’ve worked too hard to go home. We earned this, our place here, and we’ll have to keep earning it every time we play,” she continued. “But we can do it. We can be something great. What do you say?”
Her cello sang.
“Just what I like to hear.”
Octavia’s melody became frantic in its pace, each note starting before the previous one had a chance to fade. The tempo increased, leaving everything behind. Ponyville, the train, Canterlot, the locals, nothing could keep up. All that existed was her music, which ended with a deafening trill.
Then all was silent, save for the earth pony who softly whispered: “We’ve got this.”
The silence seemed to hold for a minute before the sounds of the outside world reasserted themselves upon the filly, sifting through the open window. Octavia slowly put her cello away, making a note to tune that one string before she went to bed.
The next hour was spent unpacking her bags, putting her things away, and setting up her mirror on the wall, slightly above the level of her work desk. Then she opened the packet given to her earlier that day.
“There’s my schedule, the map to the school, information about the facilities, a letter from Celestia to all incoming students, suggestions for new students about integrating to school life, food information… I’m really going to need to sit down and study this, aren’t I?” she thought to herself while reading over the contents of the packet. She then looked out the window, noting the sun beginning to set. “But I guess that can wait for tonight. I wonder if there is anything I can do for fun.”
Incoming students often find the Starswirl Wing common area a good place to make new friends, study, and relax before, between, and after classes. Whether you need a place to eat lunch with friends or a calm place to read, the multi-purpose room is sure to meet your needs, she read.
Octavia shrugged.
“Seems like as good a plan as any.”
Welcome New Students
Octavia stared at the banner draped over the awning with fading resolve before approaching the room proper, from which she could already hear a multitude of voices. As if granted temporary clairvoyance, she could already see the room silencing upon her arrival, hushed whispers and piercing glances examining the non-unicorn who dared to enter Canterlot’s prized school. And yet, when her final step rounded the corner, the sound of her hoof hitting the stone floor was not swallowed by the expected silence, but rather into a never ending abyss of noise.
She stared at all the students. None of them stared back.
A sheepish smile formed on her lips as she observed the various ponies occupying the available tables, laughing and talking with their peers. She could almost hear Vinyl’s taunting in her head.
“What, just because you made it to that fancy school you think the world is going to stop whenever you enter a room? I never pegged you as an ego… as a melo… as so full of yourself!”
“Oh, I miss you already,” Octavia mumbled in between giggles, looking around the room for ponies she could approach and befriend. Her eyes widened.
While she had not by any means expected to make friends right away, Octavia had been fairly sure that there would be a lot of ponies in her position. School was about to begin soon, after all, and she was surely far from the only new student to be found. However, as she looked around the room she could hardly feel more alone. Each student seemed to already know the others, the groups of chatting and laughing ponies well established and secure.
Ignoring her parched throat, she walked in between the tables looking for vacant seats or lulls in conversation, neither of which made themselves readily available. For the most part, the ponies did not notice her, engaged as they were in their talks and studies. Indeed, the few empty seats she found were at tables with ponies deeply engrossed in books and notes, a curious sight for Octavia considering the term had yet to begin, and while she would have been content to sit there in silence, Octavia did find it awkward to impose upon others’ study space.
“At least no one is glaring at me,” she thought, backing away from a purple unicorn deeply engrossed in one of Starswirl’s memoirs. She turned to look at the filly again, noticing her curious mane highlights, only to come to an abrupt halt.
“Will you watch where you’re going?” a voice exclaimed. Octavia quickly turned to face a powder blue filly sitting at the table she had just bumped against, noticing that a few books had been knocked onto the floor.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking forward and-“
“Save it, I do not have time for your apologies,” the filly interrupted, collecting the books in her light-pink telekinetic field and placing them on the desk. “I have much studying to do if I’m going to make a name for myself. I simply thought it best if you paid attention to what you were doing, unless you wanted to draw even more attention to yourself.”
“More attention, huh? ‘Cause of the earth pony thing?” Octavia asked, causing the unicorn to raise an eyebrow.
“Um, no. Because of the walking around like a lost puppy thing,” she responded. “The school may be for ‘unicorns’, but more is taught here than just magic. We have the historian’s track, the writing track, the ancient relic track, runes, all of which draw from the other pony races. Yes, they’re rare, but unless your track is completely unicorn-dominated, being an earth pony won’t make you stand out.”
“That’s a relief, I guess,” Octavia mumbled. “I only saw unicorns in this room and I was beginning to panic.”
“Are unicorns really that bad?”
“No! Not at all!” she exclaimed. “I’m just not used to being in the minority.”
“Well, then this will be a learning experience for you,” the unicorn added testily. “Look, I already said I have to get back to these notes, so I don’t have time for this. If it makes you feel better, I saw a pegasus sitting by himself in the back of the room. You can talk to him about Canterlot’s lack of diversity and he might care.”
Octavia turned to look in the direction the mare had glanced, spotting a black pegasus with a purple mane, wearing a light grey coat, who was indeed sitting by himself. She turned back to thank the filly, but found her already studying her notes, so Octavia decided to walk away soundlessly, lest she further incur her temper.
“At least no one cares about non-unicorns,” she thought, stepping closer towards the pegasus. “And at least I’m not the only one.”
If the pegasus noticed that a filly had drawn near, he did not show it. Instead he kept writing in his notebook, a quill effortlessly crossing the paper despite his lack of magic, held strangely enough by the colt’s hoof. Octavia waited nervously for a few seconds, hoping to gain the colt’s attention. The silence was followed by a few coughs, which the colt further ignored, prompting Octavia to be more direct with making an introduction.
“Hello,” she said.
“Can I help you?”
“Are you a writer?” she asked.
“So I’ve been told.”
“Are you any good?”
“Relatively.”
“Relative to what?”
“To books you’ve never read and ponies you’ve never heard of.”
The sound of Octavia’s grinding teeth was by no means loud enough to be perceived in such a crowded room. However, it was the sound most clearly picked up by the filly’s ears as she became painfully aware that walking to this table might not have been the best idea. And yet, she was already there.
“Are you a first year student too?”
The stallion’s quill jolted for a second, causing him to scratch out whatever word he had been writing. The paused allowed him to look at the mare for a brief second before returning to his work.
“No, I’ve been here since primary schooling.”
“Well, I’m new.”
“So I gathered…”
Another silence followed, during which Octavia took an audible breath.
“Look, I was just thinking-“
“That’s dangerous,” he interrupted.
“I was just thinking that since we’re both non-unicorns we might want to stick together,” she continued. “We can explore the city or whatever.”
“Sounds tempting, but I’m going to have to pass,” he responded, snapping his notebook shut. “And since apparently I’m not going to get any work done here, you are free to have the table.”
“Well, that’s rude,” Octavia said, watching as he gathered his belongings. “I just figured it might be nice to talk to someone else who is far from home to be in this school.”
“I was born in Canterlot,” the colt said. “I live a few blocks from here. Great job assuming I’m not a local though, kid. It’s working wonders for you.”
“Don’t call me a kid,” she protested. “I think we might be the same year.”
“And yet you’re the one that felt so insecure about being ostracized that you turned to the only non-unicorn in sight despite his very obvious lack of interest,” he responded. “Since you’re new here, I’ll give you some advice, coming from someone who’s always lived here. Some might single you out because you’re an earth pony, some might not. I don’t know what track you’re on and I honestly don’t care. Regardless, whether you have a real reason to complain about or not, you have to get over it or leave because no one, least of all me, wants to hear you whine that you feel alone.”
Octavia watched with an open jaw as the pegasus pushed his chair in and began to walk away, though regained some semblance of thought before he was out of earshot.
“Can I at least get your name?”
“Because this conversation was such a delight, right?” he sneered. “No, you can’t. I do not expect us to be talking again.”
It’s funny, isn’t it? Ever since we were little fillies I’ve been dreaming about coming here. I mean, it wasn’t always Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns; a younger me would have settled for the Manehattan School of Musical Studies. But the idea is the same: a school in which I could finally meet my potential. I’ve met some of the most talented ponies in Equestria here, ponies of renown. Every day I’m surrounded by the echoes of ponies long since passed whose legacies will outlive mine. This school is everything I could have dreamed it would be. I could be something great here.
And I guess it’s foalish of me to think it’s just about me. Everypony I guess dreams of going to a place like this, a place where anything can happen and dreams come true. It’s hard to get in, sometimes even impossible, but, once you arrive, you have everything you could desire. How could anyone be unhappy once they’re here? All anypony talks about, those who have been here, I mean, is about the opportunities, the elegance, the prestige… and as foals listening in, we think of nothing else. We want for nothing else.
No one thinks of the homesickness.
Octavia set the pencil down on her writing desk, making sure not to let it roll off the edge, slowly opening and closing her jaw to alleviate the ache from holding it between her teeth. She then made to pick up the pencil, halting before actually touching it.
The image of a pegasus writing by hoof, with a quill no less, flittered before her for an instant. Octavia collected the pencil with her hoof, holding it over the parchment on her desk. The grip was unsteady, and the motions awkward, something she had already come to expect.
“Now’s not the time to practice,” she thought to herself, placing the pencil firmly in her mouth.
And I know what you’re going to say.
“Jeez Octi, not even full month and you’re already complaining.”
I’m not trying to complain, but this is not at all like what I expected it was going to be. For example, I’m taking a lot of classes that aren’t music-based. I can understand why they’re having me take the classes – literature and history are things everypony needs to learn, especially when interacting with nobles, as I expect I will be when I graduate and start trying to network and get jobs; however, I feel I’m at such a disadvantage when compared to my peers. There’s a lot of work to do and I’m barely keeping up with it. Even taking notes takes me longer than them, and the professors all teach at what I like to call “unicorn speed.” And that’s not even counting how behind I feel in knowledge in general. If I were to guess, a lot of the ponies here were admitted as foals and spent their whole lives learning this stuff, since everything seems like a recap to them. I knew coming in that they were going to have a leg up on me in terms of education, but I read enough at home, right? You were always making fun of how much I read. I didn’t think it’d be this bad.
Hardest of all, though, are my music classes.
Octavia took a deep breath, thinking of how to best word that following section. She entertained the idea of simply crossing the last line off, but refrained.
Before I continue, I need you to know that I trust you. The reason why it’s taken me so long to write you this letter is because I want to be honest with you, and honesty requires time. I love my mom, but she worries enough as it is, and I don’t want her to be upset, meaning I’m not always the most upfront pony with her. And me trusting you is contingent (that means that it depends on) you keeping my secrets.
In my letters to mom, I told her that I was on the same level as all my unicorn classmates.
That is a lie.
In fact, if anything has hurt me the most out of my experience so far, it has been finding out how far behind I am when compared to unicorn musicians. Their control over their instruments is so fine, so precise; it feels like they’re operating with surgical scalpels and I’m using a hammer. I always assumed that the whole idea of “unicorn musicians being naturally better” was some dumb elitist stigma, like how pegasi are supposed to be better athletes, but now I’m starting to doubt myself.
I could never hope to be as precise as they are, and if I can’t be as good, should I even be here? Taking somepony else’s spot? Somepony who might have grown to be great? A unicorn?
Sorry, I know how depressing that got for a minute. Don’t worry; I’m not thinking of giving up. And I always come to my senses and realize that they don’t really have anything over me. I will be a respected musician; I’ve earned my spot here. Being an earth pony just means that it’ll be that much more satisfying when I prove I’m just as good, if not better. I just have to work hard.
The reason I bring it up is that… Well, I honestly believe that all of this would be easier if you were here with me.
For starters, it’s hard to feel inferior to unicorns when you’re hanging around. But it’s not just that. I just feel so lonely here. Having nopony to talk to is far more upsetting when you see a thousand ponies every day and you can’t make a single friend. Just someone to talk to at the end of the day would be nice. I miss you terribly.
And yes, I do think I’m funny.
A small smile appeared on Octavia’s lips as she folded the scroll, placing it into an envelope in lieu of the ribbon customarily used by the students. Rolling up the scroll would have been hard enough.
“A bit of a downer,” she thought to herself as she placed the letter in her saddlebag. “Oh Vinyl, I could really use your advice.”
Octavia stared into her mirror, trying to imagine what Vinyl would say.
“Um… I don’t know. You can’t be the only non-unicorn in the school, right? Why not make friends with one of them?”
She took a deep breath. Imagination-Vinyl wasn’t wrong, after all; she had come to find that, while sparse, non-unicorns did exist in the school, visible during lunches or walking through the halls. However, Octavia stood almost no chance of meeting them, given that her field of study was completely dominated by unicorns. Not even her common curriculum classes had helped that problem. In fact, she only had one class in which there was a non-unicorn present.
Octavia turned to look at her clock, letting out an irritated growl.
“Speaking of… er- thinking of,” she mused, grabbing her saddlebag before heading out the door. “Wouldn’t want to be late.”
“Why am I still trying to talk to him?”
Octavia huffed as she took some notes written on the blackboard, tuning in every so often to make sure that the professor had not already moved on to a different topic.
“And so we can establish the birth of poetry not as a stylistic choice for artists to employ, but rather as a pneumonic device for orators. The syllabic rhythm, internal and external rhyme, and even the structures of couplets and stanzas were a necessity to help orators remember long epics, which they would then perform in market squares or for lords and nobles.”
“And the princess as well, correct?”
Octavia’s ears perked up at the new voice, looking around to find the source. All around the room she saw unicorn colts and fillies looking at the professor, taking the time to listen and understand the information while their quills wrote down their notes without any real effort. A fleck of envy accompanied the clenching of her jaw around her pencil, which was subdued by the professor’s response.
“Not yet, Miss Clearwater,” the professor said, addressing an aquamarine filly in the second row. “You must remember that poetry existed long before Princess Celestia’s rule. The epics I’m referring to were written about the wars with the Griffons, the Diamond Dog fables, and other such ancient tales. That being said, yes, once the Discord wars ended, writers of prose and poetry did dedicate many an oration to the princesses.”
The professor continued talking but Octavia tuned him out. Her gaze wandered back over her left shoulder to Clearwater, but settled on the pegasus next to her. A slight crunch emanated from her pencil.
“No, you need to focus,” she thought to herself, unwillingly thinking back to the scene that occurred right before class.
A running gallop slowed to a nervous walk. Hurried breaths became swallowed gasps. Directionless glances hardened into confrontational glares. It would have been easy enough to walk past him and into the classroom, to cross that threshold without acknowledging his existence.
“Hey.”
He turned to face her.
“Oh, it’s you again.”
“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Look, I know we started off on the wrong hoof, but-“
“No,” he interrupted. “There was no ‘right hoof’ to start off on, and this whole trying to talk to me, staring at me when I walk by, trying as hard as you can for me to notice you thing. Just stop.”
“I’m not,” she began before being silenced by a glare.
“Yes you are,” he said. “I’ve heard about it. How you stare at me when we’re in the common area at the same time. How your gaze follows me when I walk by. Ponies keep bringing you up, so apparently everypony has seen it. I haven’t because I have better things to do than to keep an eye on some attention-starved stalker.”
Octavia meant to be annoyed. She meant to be angry. She made to yell.
Her voice cracked.
The pegasus’ eyes narrowed for a minute before closing. He took a deep breath.
“Look, I’m not sure what you may have heard about me,” he said. “I’m not that guy. I don’t ‘hang out’ with anyone. I don’t pay attention to anyone. I haven’t for a while and I’m not going to start paying attention now because you feel lonely. Got it?”
Octavia made to answer, but found herself alone. Reluctantly, she made her way into the classroom.
“So why are there poems that seem like they go out of their way to be difficult?” a colt asked, snapping Octavia from her thoughts. “Limericks and sonnets I get, but pretty much everything by Winter Frost seems to have rhythms and rhyme patterns that make them impossible to recite.”
“Well, that would come later,” the professor explained. “As I’ve stated, the original patterns to poetry were crafted as a means to remember because the stories were created and repeated orally. That means that no one actively seemed to notice the patterns as anything structured. Just like when you hear a song, you repeat the rhymes and melodies without actively mapping them out and comparing to other songs, so too did the ancient poets compose. It was not until Internal Rhyme wrote down the first tome of poetry, as per a request from Princess Celestia to document the many works the noble Rhyme family had composed to her, that somepony noticed there was in fact a frequently found pattern.”
As if controlled by a spell, most of the classroom cast a sidelong glance at the pegasus, who kept his head down, writing into his notebook.
“Once he noticed the pattern, Internal Rhyme seemed to become obsessed with defying it,” the professor continued. “He began to create his own constructs, writing within his own stipulations and schemes, expanding the world of poetry from the days of oral performance to that of written craft. Some writers, like Winter, simply took that concept of incredibly restrictive formats to its furthest point, one where only he knew what he was talking about, and that’s me being generous.”
A few students laughed, with the rest simply shaking their heads.
“Very well, time for an assignment,” the professor announced to a chorus of grumbling ponies. “Oh come now, it’s not that difficult. I just want you to write a poem showcasing some of the rhyme schemes and meters we have been discussing. If you find this overly challenging, a simple ABAB poem will suffice.”
What followed was the sound of quills scratching parchment and the rustling of papers as every student, Octavia included, began their work. After writing a modest composition, she looked around the room.
“Great, time to hear once again about how great he is,” she thought bitterly.
“Ok, that seems like enough time,” the professor called out. “Now, since we were talking about your ancestors, why don’t you start us off, Slant?”
“Because you wouldn’t have called on him otherwise, right?” Octavia thought.
The pegasus stopped writing, turning back to a previous page in his notebook and fixing his scarf before reading his work.
A moment, torrent of torment
Joyful seconds ferment
Far more than poets invent
For what is time but a borrowed concept.
Timeless aged words undeterred.
Polite clapping trailed after his reading, as did a few words of praise.
“Very good. Now let’s hear some opinions about it, critiques and thoughts and whatnot,” the professor exclaimed while Slant went back to writing into his notebook. “Inkwell, how about you? What did you think?”
“Well I thought it was genius, obviously,” the charcoal unicorn proclaimed. “The way it describes as something elusive and indescribable was fascinating, and it was told with such command for rhyme and pacing. Very striking work, not that we’d expect anything less.”
“Nice analysis, Inkwell. Now, who’s next – Octavia, you want to read your work next?” the professor said, noticing her raised hoof.
“No,” she responded. “I wanted to give my opinion on Slant’s poem.”
“Oh,” he responded. Every student turned to look at her, save for Slant, who continued to write. “Well, proceed then.”
“I didn’t think it was good at all,” she said. The room went quiet, with the exception of Slant’s quill. “Yes, the rhyme and construct were solid, but it was completely lacking in substance. Not only that, but it tried to dress up the fact that it said nothing with pretentious allusions to a meaning that wasn’t there rather than just saying something. We learnt nothing about what he thinks about time, since he made no point while writing it.”
“You just don’t get it,” Inkblot interrupted. “He was saying that time is something indescribable.”
“No,” she responded. “By the poems own words, time is a never-ceasing procession of moments, good and bad.”
“Then it said that.”
“Again, no. He’s a poet and he invented that definition. What the poem really said was ‘I don’t know what time is and I don’t really care,’ hardly something to write a poem about. If that was the point then I would have let it go, but that’s not the case. His poem depends on you creating some deep meaning because he couldn’t be bothered to come up with one before scribbling whatever lines came to his mind.”
Then there was silence.
“Okay then,” the professor said nervously. “Everyone’s entitled to their own interpretations. Now, if we could, I’d like to hear someone else read.”
Octavia took a deep breath as everyone turned their attention to the next reader. She looked down at her notebook, ready to finish copying the notes from the blackboard, when she noticed that she could no longer hear the scratching of a quill.
Looking up she saw Slant, turned in his seat, looking directly at her. There was something to his gaze, something intimidating and forceful, that made Octavia uneasy, but she made her best attempt to match his stare.
“Well, if I wanted his attention,” she thought to herself. “I’ve got it now.”
“Okay, stop everypony. Octavia, when the piece calls for staccato notes, you need to have absolute control over the duration, not just the rhythm. Your notes are lasting longer than called for before you finally mute them.”
Stifled giggles and choked laughter filled the air as Octavia’s gaze dropped.
“I’m sorry Professor Mode,” she said. “I’ll make sure to keep a better eye on my muting in the future.”
“A better hoof would be more like it, wouldn’t it?” he responded, failing to notice the snickers from the other ponies in the room. “Ah well, it seems to be about that time, doesn’t it? Okay class, this is it for today. I want everyone to go to their rooms and prepare for the test. You’ll have tomorrow to polish this piece and your solo piece, but that’s it. We’ll be holding the test in the grand auditorium so you won’t get a chance to work on your performance the day of.”
“The auditorium, sir?” a colt asked.
“Ah, yes. I didn’t mention that, did I?” he mused. “Yes, the music department has decided to make your test open to the public as a precursor to the Hearth’s Warming Concert. It’ll give you some on-stage experience and it will allow sponsors the sneak peak at the talent they’ll be scoping out come winter.”
The room became far tenser after his statement.
“But… But my sister said that we didn’t have to worry about sponsors until the Hearth’s Warming Concert!”
“Yes, and your sister is the reason we’re doing this, Mr. Neum,” Professor Mode replied. “Such a talented composer but she was an absolute wreck live. This is so you won’t fall apart when faced with an audience, or to at least make it so that if you do, we can correct it before it has a chance to matter. Do not concern yourselves with the possible sponsors yet, they know to wait till the actual concert before making decisions, and while they look at you all to keep tabs on rising talent, they’re really shopping for those nearer to graduation.”
A wave of relief passed over the students as a collective breath was let out.
“Everyone relaxed?” Professor Mode asked. “Good. Now, just because the sponsors won’t be paying attention doesn’t mean you get to slack off. Aside from your class participation grade, you only have four tests to make up the rest, and that is including the Hearth’s Warming Concert as one of them. As such, it would be a shame if any of you failed this class because you did not take this coming performance seriously enough.”
Octavia shuffled where she stood, feeling as if that last sentence had been directed at her and her alone.
“Very well, you’re all dismissed.”
The students packed up their instruments, the sound of shuffling cases mixed with the many conversations taking place. Before long, Octavia was out the door and walking in the direction of her room, as was the routine.
“Seems like that’s all I have nowadays,” she mused. “Routines.”
Eating alone, walking back by herself right after classes, working on homework and practicing by herself – these were the things that had become constant since her arrival. Even being called out as she had been by Professor Mode fit within the established norm.
She struggled through classes. She underperformed. She was alone. Nothing ever changed.
As she turned the corner she found the hallway unoccupied, save for one pegasus. He was wearing a grey vest and a purple scarf, as well as that same imposing glare he had worn for the past several weeks.
Octavia met his glare and walked by, aware that his gaze followed her until she was out of sight without having to turn around. After all, ever since that day in class, this had become part of the routine as well. Whenever they were in the same hallway or room, Octavia would often look up to find Slant Rhyme staring at her.
She still wasn’t sure what it was his look represented. Her first thought was anger, since thrashing his poems every class period had become another part of the routine, but she could not honestly make that claim. Anger would not intimidate her the way his glance normally did.
Arriving at her door, Octavia wasted no time setting up her instrument and beginning to practice, the hours rushing by as she ran through the song over and over again. As the moon began to rise, she chanced a look into the mirror, gasping at what she saw in her performance. Gone was the passion she felt for her cello. Gone was the love for music that had granted her a cutie mark. All that existed in her mind was the methodical repetition, the need for technical perfection, and it showed.
The cellist struggled against her tears as she faced her reflection.
“I played exactly how they wanted me to,” she mumbled to herself. “I played just like they played. So why do I feel so empty?”
She raised her bow, beginning to run through the song again, but she found herself unable. Instead, the melody shifted, transforming into a familiar piece she had learnt long ago – her first lullaby. Octavia smiled as she let the melody take over, seamlessly going from one note to the next, melting into the warm embrace of her music. For the first time in a long while, the cellist focused on the feelings of the music, rather than the technicality. Her notes were sloppy, her technique unrefined, but the song was alive and, for that night, that was enough.
“Okay class, that’s good enough for today. I want to see you all early before tomorrow’s test, so I hope you spend the rest of the day preparing. Octavia, if you don’t mind, could you stay after class? I want to have a word.”
Octavia sighed as she packed up her instrument, fighting the fear swelling in her gut. The rest of the class filed out of the room, some smirking as they left, others whispering in hushed tones, much like they had been doing through the entire class. Before long, the room was empty except for her and her tired-looking professor. She approached him.
“Is something the matter, Professor Mode?” she asked.
“Yes, Octavia. You could say there is,” he responded. “Your performance today; I’m sorry to say this, but it was worse than yesterday. I thought you were going to practice last night.”
“I did,” she said. “I thought my muting was a lot better this time, the staccato notes, I mean. I muted them more according to the music, didn’t I?”
“Well yes, I guess you did,” he conceded. “But the emphasis on the notes was off. You put too much force behind certain lines and not enough on others. It just seems like you’re just guessing at what sounds right rather than following the music in front of you.”
Octavia made to speak, but was cut off by a look. He still had more to say.
“I realize that, being an earth pony, you do not have as much… finesse; as the rest of the class, I mean. You have to use your hooves instead of telekinetic magic. That being said, we really need to see better work. I cannot give you special concessions just because you don’t have magic to assist you,” he stated. “Being accepted into this school, and receiving the scholarship you have received to be able to attend… these come with the understanding that you are expected to perform at the same level as the rest of the students, regardless of any outstanding circumstances. Right now, I can’t say that you are meeting this expectation.”
“But I’m not that far worse,” she pleaded. “I’m working hard, and it’s not like I’m disrupting everyone else. The mistakes are minor. I’m not missing notes or anything, playing things wrong. It’s just the details, right? And I’m working hard on them.”
Professor Mode took a deep breath.
“Playing as part of an orchestra, no, you’re not that bad,” he said. “You play the correct notes at the correct time, but being a student at this school means being better than good. You may be able to get by in a group, but playing on your own, you will be exposed. At the test tomorrow, you will have to play the entire piece by yourself. Every mistake will be easily identifiable, by me and everyone else present. The ponies watching, the future sponsors and the other ponies from the department, they know the piece you’re performing. They know how it’s meant to be played.”
“But I won’t fail,” she said. “I may not be perfect at this one, but I’ve got the Hearth’s Warming Concert and two other tests. There’s plenty of time to improve, and I’m sure that averaged out I will have a very good grade, regardless of how tomorrow goes.”
The stallion nodded sadly.
“The spot you are taking in this class, and the scholarship that keeps you in this school, well… many ponies are in need of that opportunity,” he remarked. “As I said, your stay here is contingent on your ability to meet our standards, and failing that, we can find somepony else who can. Now, the decision isn’t mine alone to make, but the other ponies who are involved in making such a decision will be present tomorrow. What I’m saying is that if you don’t perform well tomorrow, well enough to show that this school has not wasted a spot in its roster by letting you in, you might not have that spot for much longer.”
“But the Hearth’s Warming Concert is the one that matters-“
“Yes, and the school would be remiss to allow a student who is not up to par to perform, even as part of the orchestra, during such a prestigious event,” he said. “Now, if I can be honest with you, I think we both know how this is going to turn out, and I don’t believe making illusions of other outcomes is altogether healthy. However, you still have today to figure things out. I would suggest you not waste it.”
As she walked towards the door, Professor Mode called out one more time.
“No one will blame you if you don’t show up tomorrow,” he said. “It might make it easier on all of us.”
Octavia said nothing as she walked away.
Once she exited the room, she immediately noticed three of her classmates standing next to the room, sneering at her. They waited until the door to the classroom closed, at which point one of the three, a beige filly with a light brown mane, began to talk.
“So, are they kicking you out?”
“I don’t have the time for this, Minor.”
“Will you just answer the question?” Minor insisted. “I have friends that really deserve to be in this school. I want to let them know whether or not there’ll be a vacancy soon.”
“Well, I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?” Octavia asked irritably. “You were listening at the doorway, what do you think?”
“I think that it was a very noble experiment, letting you into the school and trying that whole ‘diversity’ thing,” she responded. “But I’m also glad that they’re going to leave this program to the professionals and bring in someone better to fill your spot.”
“Oh good, so you weren’t spying on me,” Octavia said. “Otherwise you’d know that all I have to do is do well at my performance tomorrow and I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, that’s all you have to do. And I’m sure that you’ve kept your musical abilities hidden on purpose, just to psyche us out, right?” Minor said. “Bluffing only works when we don’t know your hoof, Octi.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Don’t worry,” Minor said. “Soon we won’t call you anything. You’ll be back to whatever place you came from, free to play in your mud, and we’ll be performing with one less pile of dead weight to carry.”
Octavia wanted to answer. She wanted to answer more than she wanted anything in the world. And yet she continued to stand there, in silence, long after the three unicorns had taken their leave.
Moonlight shone into the deserted room as the desperate cellist practiced her craft, her music coursing through the empty corridors that surrounded her. The room had no door, no furnishings, and no light save for what the moon provided, located as it was in an abandoned corner of the castle that housed the school. There was no one to appreciate her music, no distractions, just an open space in which to practice away from the rest of the world.
“Again.”
That command was repeated a lot that night. A mistake would be made, the music would halt, she would utter the phrase, and the process would begin anew, as it had for hours. As the moon continued its arc, however, the command became more hostile, more urgent. It also became more frequent.
“Again,” she called out.
The music began again, shaky. The filly shook, the cello shook, the music shook.
Then it stopped.
“Why can’t I do this?”
The clattering of her bow striking the stone floor reverberated into the night, accompanied by the sobs of the tired and broken filly.
“Is it really too much to ask?” she cried. “That I play this piece properly? That I get to stay a bit longer?”
A sad smile formed on her lips.
“And I dared to think that I deserved to be here.”
Her ears perked up as she heard the sound of hooves striking the stone floor. The noise inched ever closer. She stared into the door-less doorway, into the darkness, squinting as she tried to make out the intruder.
“You know, I heard a rumor that they might be letting you go, and if your playing is what I’ve been hearing all night, I believe it. That was awful to sit through.”
The shape of the pegasus, wearing a suit jacket and a canvas bag, was illuminated by moonlight as he stepped into the room. He picked up the discarded bow. A small growl formed in Octavia’s throat.
“Shut up,” she yelled, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t want to deal with you right now.”
“Oh, so you get to insult my work and I can’t talk about yours? Hardly seems fair,” Slant said, getting closer. Octavia’s gaze fell to the floor, the fatigue evident in her posture.
“Please, just go,” she pleaded.
Slant looked at her for a moment. He sighed.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “Play that song in a way that isn’t horrid, and I’ll leave you alone.”
Octavia glared at him, but took the bow nonetheless, and rose into her playing position. Thoughts and memories coursed through her head: tips for playing better, things to keep in mind, critiques she had received. She lowered her bow and began to play. However, after only half a minute, Slant interrupted.
“Nope, that was horrible,” he exclaimed. “That’s the opposite of what I told you to do. Start again.”
Octavia grumbled to herself but began anew, and once again he stopped her.
“That was even worse. Try again.”
“Nope, still horrid. Again.”
“When they told me how bad you were, I didn’t honestly think it was true. Now it seems they were being kind.”
Octavia struggled against her instincts to punch him, trying hard as she could to keep a steady hoof upon her instrument. She let out three notes before she was stopped again.
“Start over.”
Fuming, Octavia ran through the song, vile insults and retorts at the forefront of her mind. Then she noticed that her anger had transferred into her playing, applying more force and stress on parts where the sheet music called for gentle strokes. She stopped her playing.
“Why’d you stop?” he asked. “You were finally sounding like you knew what you were doing.”
“Will you shut up?” she yelled. “I’ve been trying hard to learn the song as it is written on the page, something I’m having a lot of difficulty with. You are making it worse.”
“I am making it listenable.”
“For the love of Celestia, shut up!” she responded. “I am so done with this. Done with you. I’m done with all of this. I don’t know why I thought I could play as well as they can without magic, but now I know that I’ll never be able to play like them. I shouldn’t even show up tomorrow.”
“Wait, you want to play like them?”
“Yes,” she said, taken aback. “Why, what did you think I was doing?”
“Trying to be a good musician,” Slant said. “I know, kind of dumb for me to assume. You were acting like you were trying to reach some grand goal, not just become mediocre and untalented. I was going the complete opposite way with that one then.”
“What do you know about music anyway?”
“Not a lot,” Slant said, shrugging. “But I know that the better musician is the one that plays better sounding music. And I know that in competition, if you can’t copy what someone else does, your best bet is to do something different and hope it’s better than what the competition has to offer. I mean, what do you have to lose? You already said you sucked at playing like a unicorn.”
“I just want to play the piece properly,” Octavia responded. “I just want to follow directions, play the piece the way it’s written, and maybe still be a student at this school the day after tomorrow.”
Slant’s eyes narrowed, before a sneer appeared on his face.
“Well I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize that you valued being proper over being good. That was my mistake and I do apologize for it. I’ll let you keep practicing now. And yes, I do realize I said I wouldn’t leave until you played something tolerable but, at this rate, that seems like it’s just not going to happen and I have places to be. Good luck on your test and do let me know if you need help packing when you have to move back tomorrow. Not that I’d help, but you know.”
Slant turned around and walked away, leaving a teary-eyed Octavia behind, broken and alone.
A soft rumbling echoed through the mostly empty performance hall as the final violinist walked off the stage. The cello players lined up by the side of the stage, congratulating the violinist on a great performance, all the while preparing themselves mentally for what was to come.
“Minor Scale, you are up.”
Minor took a deep breath and picked up her instrument in her green telekinetic grasp before answering the summons to the center stage. By now they all knew what was expected. The piece would be performed individually by each pony, flowing seamlessly into their own composition. Professor Mode and the rest of the modest audience would refrain from reacting to each performance, and each musician would be given nothing more than a “that will be all” upon their test’s completion.
The unicorn began to play, her music filling the room with the deep tones of her cello. Octavia tried to listen, but her ears seemed deafened to everything but her own rapid heartbeat.
“That will be all.”
Minor took a bow and walked back, passing her fellow cellists. A look was exchanged between her and Octavia. There were no words, there was no sneer, but that look conveyed all that needed to be said. Then she walked away.
“Acoustic Resonance, you are up.”
The colt in front of Octavia picked his cello and walked onto the stage, wasting no time to begin his piece.
Octavia was now close enough to see the seats to the auditorium. There seemed to be thirty ponies there watching, not counting Professor Mode. He was five seats down, writing into a notebook as he watched Resonance perform.
“I can’t do this,” she thought, bile threatening to rise to her throat. “I’m not ready for this.”
“That will be all.”
Octavia snapped back from her thoughts, staring as the colt walked his way back to the sidelines.
“That can’t be right,” she thought. “That was way too short. No way that it’s my turn yet.”
As if to agree with her, the silence after Resonance’s departure seemed to last a lot longer than it should have. Octavia counted her heartbeats, waiting for the call she knew would come.
“Octavia Philharmonica, you’re up.”
Octavia walked onto the stage, carrying her cello on her back. She was aware of how her body shook from nerves, but found herself unable to control it as she fought the impulse as hard as she could while she set up her instrument. She then attempted to remove her bow from her saddlebag, only to drop it on the floor - the clattering seeming louder in the absence of all other noise. As carefully as she could, she picked up her bow, getting just the right tension on it. Finally, she looked up.
Staring at her with a disappointed look was Professor Mode, surrounded by curious-looking ponies. In the front row, Octavia could clearly see Minor and her friends, grinning as they waited for the cellist to start. A spike of anger registered in her mind, amid the worry, causing her to look upwards and take a steadying breath. That’s when she saw him.
Next to the doorway, wearing a black hoodie, was Slant, and while he made no move to communicate with Octavia, his gaze never faltered.
“Whenever you are ready,” Professor Mode called out, causing the fillies in the front row to giggle. And yet the cellist could barely hear them. In her mind, all she could hear were Slant’s words from the previous night.
“If you can’t copy what someone else does, your best bet is to do something different and hope it’s better than what the competition has to offer. I mean, what do you have to lose? You already said you sucked at playing like a unicorn.”
She positioned her bow at an angle, instead of completely horizontally as it was proper to do.
“If I’m going to be kicked out anyway, I might as well do it with style,” she thought. She turned her gaze to the fillies in the front row, her anger rising at their sight. She then began to play.
A dark quality overtook her music, tainted as it was by her emotions. Her anger fueled her performance, changing it. Professor Mode looked on in confusion as Octavia threw out everything they had talked about through the various classes and critiques. Some notes were elongated, some shortened, regardless of the music notation. Octavia added vibratos where there should not have been any, slid into notes or bent the strings in order to complete her melody rather than changing positions. The notes were right but the performance was wrong. The music sheet lay forgotten.
Octavia then sped up the song, changing its rhythm and intensity, turning the mezzo-piano into a forte. The song, usually a calm piece, became fire in her hooves, as auditory rage filled the hall. Forte became fortissimo. The crowd only looked on.
The piece ended but the cellist continued to the rhythm, seamlessly transitioning into her own composition. Her song became defiance itself, building in speed. Her notes became chords. The chords became noise. The only constants were the sharp strokes of the bow upon the strings, adding a rhythm to the chaos, keeping it in check, if only barely. And then it stopped, her signature trill echoing into the silence.
Not a single breath was taken.
And then the clapping began.
Professor Mode looked around in confusion as his colleagues and sponsors alike clapped and cheered for the “earth pony prodigy” who had just performed. He answered questions, albeit reluctantly, about Octavia and when her next performance would be. Glancing back towards the stage, he used his magic to subtly dispose of a paper he had, which Octavia supposed was his proposal for her expulsion.
Meanwhile, the filly-in-question was suddenly struck by how tired she was as she struggled to place her bow in her saddlebag and her cello upon her back. Before leaving, she looked towards the back door, but the pegasus she had been looking for was nowhere to be found.
The sound of Octavia’s hoofsteps echoed through the lone hallway, giving a fair warning of her oncoming arrival. Still, when she finally reached her destination, she found Slant Rhyme looking out a window.
“So I guess you’re not leaving after all,” he said, without turning to face her. “It’s a shame; I had actually decided that I would help you pack in order to get you out of the school faster.”
“I had a feeling you would be here,” Octavia said, ignoring his statement.
“I had a feeling you would want to talk.”
Octavia nodded, despite Slant being unable to see the gesture.
“Why did you help me?”
“When is me telling you that you’re awful at your instrument and that your goals are dumb considered ‘helping?’”
“When it helps.”
Slant took a deep breath, then turned to face Octavia.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I told you my opinion, nothing more. As to why? I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you do have a speck of talent underneath all your idiocy. Maybe it’s because you are better than all of them and it’d be a shame to see you sent home first. Maybe I was just bored and thought that helping you out would make for an amusing evening. It didn’t, by the way.”
“I thought you hated me, though,” she responded. “I’ve spent every day for the past month tearing your work apart, and you’ve been glaring at me whenever I pass by or when we’re in class together.”
“That’s not hatred,” Slant said, shaking his head. “You see, I don’t really try in class. I don’t have to. I can write absolute garbage and no one will criticize it because of my family name. So I began to write garbage on purpose. What your daily outbursts in class have gotten you is not hate, and not even my attention. It’s my respect.”
Octavia blinked, staying silent for a moment as she tried to organize her thoughts.
“So, are we friends then?”
Slant glanced at the moon, thinking for a while before answering.
“No, we’re not,” he said. “We’re not friends. I still prefer to keep to myself and I’m not really in a hurry to have more conversations with you. You do have my respect though, so we’ll see. Just don’t stop criticizing me, and we should be in good terms.”
As he walked past her and towards the door, Octavia called out to him again.
“What did you think?” she asked. “Of the song.”
“Very melodramatic,” he answered, not turning to face her. “But it was listenable. I might actually pay for a ticket to listen to you someday. Maybe. Anyway, goodnight.”
Octavia watched him walk away, waiting for a while before making her way to her own room, feeling lighter than she had in a very long time.
I was afraid that I wouldn’t see snow before I came back to Ponyville.
Yes, I know it’s a silly concern, but at the time it seemed valid. I mean, there is no real reason for there to be snow in Canterlot, or cold weather, or a change in seasons for that matter. In Ponyville, the winter season served a very important function. The snow turns into the water that would nourish the soil, readying it for future farming in spring, while simultaneously stopping our ability to plant and plow, thus giving the soil its much needed rest. Canterlot, however, with its shining marble, stone streets, and its location at the side of a mountain, has no need. And it’s not even a lack of control, either. The change from autumn to winter happened overnight, ushered in by unicorn magic. It was precise, controlled, and contained, for the sake of tradition and tradition alone, apparently.
I did not know that at the time, though, so I was scared that I would miss the snow. After a few weeks I realized what a fool I was.
I’m sorry if I’m rambling for a bit, but I’m staring out the window as I write this and I don’t have too much to talk about, given that my life did not change as drastically as the temperature.
I’m happy to report that unlike my original fears, the changes brought on by my performance a few months back were not as temporary as I thought they were going to be. So yes, I, Octavia Philharmonica, do declare that you, Vinyl Scratch, were right. Congratulations, and you’d better save this letter because I’m not saying it again. In any case, I’m still not really meshing as well as I should be with the rest of the orchestra but, at least for now, they’re still staying off my case. The professor especially seems to be giving me more leeway now, and let me tell you, classes are a lot more enjoyable when you don’t feel like you’re on the brink of being kicked out.
Right now we’re preparing for the concert I told you about. It’s a shame you and Mom can’t come, but I completely understand. Besides, I’d hate for you to have to sit through the whole performance to only hear me play two songs as part of the orchestra. Still, you would have gotten to meet Minor Scale and we could have made fun of her during her solo.
Hm… That was rather immature of me. I guess even writing letters to you gets me in that mindset.
Okay, what else?
Well, I still miss you. You would think that I would be used to eating lunch by myself and having nopony to talk to, and I guess I kind of am, which makes it even sadder. It’s just numbing, I guess, to not talk to anypony in class, as I eat, or as I practice. Did you know that your throat can hurt if you don’t talk for a day or two at all? I didn’t, but I know now. It’s less than ideal.
Though I guess that’s not all completely true, as I do get some social interaction every now and again. I still talk during pretty much every single literature class, thrashing the work of that pegasus I told you about. He acknowledges me in the hallways now, by the way, a ‘hello’ now and then, but he doesn’t really talk to me. He usually just keeps to himself, disappears after class, and is never around. I’ve been trying to lure him out by playing in the deserted sections of the school like I did before, but I’ve had no such luck.
I’m thinking about doing that more, by the way: practicing outside my room. At first it was just a necessity to avoid noise complaints, but there’s just something serene about playing in a deserted section of the school at night. Some of these sections haven’t been in use since the school was an actual castle, so it feels like it’s my own little world outside of the real one. It’s pretty amazing.
I’m sorry to hear about the violin not working out. I’m sure you’ll find an instrument you like if you keep searching, though, and I’m very proud of you for trying. Oh, and do make sure to tell me how that show goes. It’s tonight, right? Well, tonight being the night that I’m writing this letter and not the night when you receive it. I hope you enjoy it, at least; you’ve seemed so down lately and you deserve to have some fun.
I should be writing you a letter after the concert, letting you know how it went and at what time I will be arriving in Ponyville for Hearth’s Warming break. I expect you to have a list of things you want to do when I get back.
Talk to you again soon.
Octavia folded the letter and placed it inside an envelope, relaxing her jaw muscles in the process.
“Why isn’t this getting any easier,” she asked herself, stretching her mouth to release some of the tension. After putting her letter into her saddlebag, she took a brief glance at her clock. “What?”
Octavia hurriedly donned a mint-green jacket and her saddlebag, leaving the room as fast as her hooves could carry her. After all, she was late enough already.
“One would think that whatever magic they use to keep the rooms warm could be used on the hallways as well!” Octavia thought to herself, shivering. Looking forward she noticed her classmates exiting the music classroom, murmuring amongst themselves. Their voices dropped to hushed whispers as she drew near. Some avoided eye contact, others simply glared.
Octavia stared as they walked past, unnerved by the renewed hostility.
“I guess with the performance coming up, whatever was protecting me has run its course,” she mused. “That’s a shame. I was getting used to not being overtly hated.”
She stepped slowly towards the door, intent on simply looking at the roster for the concert, take note of the pieces she’d been assigned, and leave, when she heard muffled yelling coming from the other side. With caution and discreetness, she walked in.
“Are you doing this because she’s poor? Because if you are, I must inform you that her need for a sponsor should not come at the expense of better-qualified musicians. It’s a disgrace to this school and to me.”
“Minor, it’s not about wealth or lack thereof. First year students don’t get sponsors with very few exceptions. They will look at you all, yes, but mostly to find talent to keep track of for later. It’s next year when they usually start investing in the musicians they think have a future, so you don’t have to worry about that, not that you need sponsors in the first place.”
“Then why are you giving her the solo?” Minor yelled back. “She’s done nothing but hold our orchestra back, and you want to put her in the spotlight?”
“You were there during the test, first row,” Professor Mode said calmly. “She’s better suited for a solo piece than you are. That’s not to say that you’re not talented, but I need to make choices based on what will make a better showing of what the school has to offer, and with only one first-year cello solo spot, it has to be her.”
“You honestly think that the Canterlot nobility want to see some hick flounder with her cello as if she-“
“My decision is final Minor,” Professor Mode interrupted. “I will not tolerate you saying such things about a fellow student. Octavia earned her spot and you need to grow up and accept it. Next year there will be a cello duet and two cello solo spots. If you’re upset about not being given a spotlight now, then work harder and make sure you get one then.”
“Next year, next year, all you talk about is next year,” Minor said. “My family will not stand for this. I have a mind to have them come to this school and demand an explanation from the music director as to why a member of the Scale family is being overlooked for some nopony.”
“And he will tell them that it is because she has shown more potential,” he responded flatly. “I’m guessing you haven’t been told ‘no’ before, so I’m going to suggest you go talk to your brother about this so that he can explain to you how things work here. Your and your family’s influence ended with your admission. Once here, you are a student like any other and you will find that professors are not easily intimidated.”
Minor opened her mouth to argue, but refrained. Instead, she lowered her gaze, muttering under her breath.
“Now, if that’s everything, I expect you to have your pieces ready for next week and…”
Professor Mode trailed off as he noticed Octavia looking in. Minor cast a confused glance towards the professor, turning to find the object his gaze had landed on. Her eyes widened for a second before setting into a menacing scowl. Octavia made herself as small as she could without stepping backwards as Minor walked by and exited the room.
The door slamming seemed to dispel the tense silence, breaking Octavia from her trance.
“Sorry to have come in like that,” she said, facing Professor Mode. “I just wanted to look at the list to see what parts I would be performing in; I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was running late and I-“
“Octavia, it’s fine,” Professor Mode said, interrupting. “The list is over by the blackboard, but I can just go ahead and tell you. You will be performing pieces three and four from the assigned list and you have been given the first year solo piece, which I’m sure you had already deduced from the scene on which you walked in.”
“Why?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, I mean, I’m very happy to have gotten the part, very excited,” Octavia stammered. “I’m just confused; why didn’t Minor get the part? I think we all assumed she’d get it.”
“She sure did,” Professor Mode commented, taking a deep sigh. “If I’m to be honest, the safe move would have been to give it to her. Yes, your style is better suited for solos than her, but even still you lack her technical ability. If I were asked my opinion, she’s the better cellist.”
Octavia nodded.
“That being said, something happened after your performance during the test,” he continued. “Ponies are still talking about it, and by that I mean that they keep asking me when the next chance to see you perform is. While your solo was impressive, and interesting, I did not think it good enough to warrant as much attention as you’ve gotten outside the school walls. And yet, here we are. So what I’m doing is taking a risk on you.”
“A risk, sir?”
“You have an unusual style, Octavia, one that I don’t understand or particularly like, but one that is resonating with the world.” he explained. “Maybe what we’re witnessing is the birth of a new kind of performance. I think you have the ability to be a great cellist in the conventional way, potential that through hard work and study you can refine despite your lack of magic, but this isn’t about that. If you can be great outside of the norm, that would benefit the field of music as a whole. So I’m giving you a chance to make your case for your style of playing. One that I believe would open the door to more non-unicorns, and change the way unicorns study music in the future.”
“So no pressure, then?” Octavia asked.
“None, whatsoever,” Professor Mode responded. “Just make sure I don’t regret this. Even if you fail to change the world with your way of playing, I can still defend my decision. If you perform badly, however, I cannot, and I should tell you that the sponsors and nobility are not known for forgetting disastrous performances. This is not so much a gift as a challenge.”
“Very well. Thank you for the opportunity,” she responded. “I’ll make sure not to waste it.”
Professor Mode nodded as Octavia turned and exited the room. The winter cold reasserted itself as soon as she entered the hallway, causing her to tighten her coat before heading home. As she walked, however, she no longer saw the falling snow from the windows, nor the hallways in front of her. Guided by habit, she allowed herself to be lost in thoughts.
“I’m getting a solo? The solo?” she thought to herself. “I haven’t even begun writing one; I was sure I had no chance. And ponies have been asking about me? I’m being noticed?”
“What should we do about her?”
Octavia paused as she neared the corner, peering over the side instead of walking past it. From there she could see what appeared to be three ponies walking down the deserted hallway, and while they were speaking in quiet enough voices, the hallway carried and amplified the sound all through its length.
“Nothing,” said a voice Octavia recognized as Minor’s.
“What do you mean nothing? We need to go back and demand that he give you the solo instead. You've worked so hard for this.”
“No, he won’t change his mind.”
“Then your parents surely-“
“No, he made it very clear. There’s no way to get Professor Mode to change his decision, and his boss, maybe the entire board, will side with him.”
“So what do we do, Minor?”
“We do nothing. I’ll take care of it myself. If we can’t get them to remove her, we can make her drop out. I think… I can do it. I need to speak to my brother first, but I’m sure I can figure this out. There’s no way I’m letting her walk onto that stage instead of me, even if the part has to go to somepony else.”
Another pony spoke, but by this point they were too far away for Octavia to make out what was being said. She rounded the corner to follow them but stop after a few steps.
“What are you doing?” she thought to herself, sitting down on cold stone floor. “There’s no point in following them. You already heard enough. You need help. You need to talk to Slant.”
“Where is he?”
Octavia stood by the door, tapping a hoof against the floor. The once-full hallway was now empty except for her, giving the rhythm she was drumming a more noticeable presence. Still, she continued to scan the hallway, waiting as she had for the past thirty minutes.
“Will you be joining us?” the professor asked, poking his head from the classroom doorway.
“Um, yes,” Octavia said, picking her saddlebag from the floor. “I was just hoping to run into someone before class began.”
“Well maybe you’ll find them after class,” he responded, closing the door behind her. “Now if you would find your seat.”
Octavia complied, pulling out her notebook. A few students gave her weird looks, curiosity over her door-side vigil apparent on their faces. The rest, however, seemed not to notice her and continued on with their conversations. The first group slowly followed suit.
“Okay class, I’d like to begin today by having you write something. Anything you-” Professor Mode began, stopping as a pony knocked on the door, which he opened using his magic.
“Sorry I’m late,” Slant said, walking into the room. “I have a note.”
“Very well,” the professor said, taking the note as Slant walked towards his seat. “As I was saying, your warm up exercise today is a free write. You can use any genre we’ve covered, any style of writing or literature. The only catch is that it must tell a narrative story. The easy way to do this would be to choose narrative prose, but I’m hoping some of our more adventurous class members will try something creative. Well then, off you go.”
Octavia tried to catch Slant’s eye before he sat down, but failed. The pegasus had his head down, writing in the notebook as he always did.
“He’ll no doubt run out of the classroom the way he always does the second that class is over, too,” Octavia thought. “I need to get his attention now, because I am not spending a whole day searching for him again.”
She looked down at her paper and picked up her pencil. The sooner she completed the assignment, the sooner she could concentrate on making a plan. And yet, the more she tried to force herself to focus on the task at hoof, the more her mind wandered back to what she had overheard the previous day.
“It’s no use,” she mumbled, almost dropping her pencil. “He’s too far forward, he never looks up from his notebook, and the only time we get to talk in this class is…”
Her eyes widened, a small smile forming on her face. Then she began to write.
“Okay class, that should be enough time, I think,” the professor said after a few minutes. “Now I’d like to get a few volunteers.”
He looked around the room, stopping when he noticed Octavia raising her hoof.
“Now, Octavia, I can’t let you criticize Slant’s work before he’s even had a chance to read it,” he said, causing the class to break out in barely-contained snorts and laughter.
“Well that’s disappointing,” she answered with a smile. “May I read my warm up exercise instead?”
“You have the floor.”
“This is titled ‘Wolves at the Door’,” she said, noticing that Slant’s ears had perked up.
The house I’m in is empty, not that I mind, of course
A house, any house, is better than before,
Where there was no food, no light, no hope
The forest not far behind separated by a door.
But there are wolves in this forest that have traveled for so long,
Packs of snarling beasts, and I hear them coming close.
And I wish that you could tell me to choose fight or flight,
What’s wrong and right,
Cause it just might,
Save me from losing the things I’ve found
When they do break in, they way they’re bound
To.
But I haven’t seen you since that clearing, before the forest took me again.
And my search for you has been in vain.
So I’ll wait for you here for now, to hear what you’ll say,
But please hurry, the door is starting to strain.
Octavia finished speaking to the sound of polite applause.
“Very nice. Anypony want to comment?” the professor asked. No one volunteered, but Octavia noticed the way that Slant’s ears fell again and the rapid pace of his writing picked up. “Present Tense, how about you?”
“Well, the rhyme scheme was good, if not exact,” the unicorn commented. “It did tell the story of a pony stumbling across a house, escaping from wolves that chased her through the forest, and how she wishes her mentor, or family member, or friend was there to help her. With it being a poem, the narrative wasn’t all too clear, but it was there. I’d give it an eight out of ten?”
“Very good. Now who else wants to read?”
“I actually have a poem, too,” Slant said. “And now that she’s talked she doesn’t get to criticize it afterwards, so may I go?”
“You may,” the professor responded. “It will be strange to not hear Octavia ripping your work apart, but I’m sure the universe will forgive us just this once.”
A bit of laughter rang out as Slant cleared his throat.
Moonlit whisperings fill the halls, like ghosts.
Echoes from ages past, and here we are amongst
Their cries, memories faded and lost.
And yet I hear your notes.
The wind, I guess. A melody.
Something easy to ignore.
But I sit and listen and will again,
If you play your dreary song.
The class shifted uncomfortably when Slant finished his piece. It was clear that they didn’t understand the story the poem told, nor the message it held, and that was fine by Octavia. After all, the message wasn’t meant for them. To her, however, it was clear as day.
“Meet me in the abandoned room. Play your cello, and I will be there.”
The cello weighed upon Octavia’s back as she arrived upon the darkened room. It was a cloudy night, so the moonlight that coursed through the window came in infrequent slivers, dimmed and subdued. With practiced effort, she placed the cello upon the ground and readied her bow, focusing on the silence that surrounded her.
There were no hoofsteps. There were no voices. There was no sound.
She began to play.
The piece was a simple one, a fluid melody that she hoped she could fashion into her solo piece. It was unrefined but beautiful, or at least that’s what she liked to think. The wind seemed to accompany her. She shivered under the breeze, missing a note.
“No,” Octavia thought. “Not a missed note. An opportunity.”
She shifted the melody to incorporate the dissonant note, shifting keys in the process. The shift changed the rhythm, but she adjusted, subdividing the measure and lowering the tempo. Then she shifted the rhythm again, returning to the original melody. It did not sound quite right, something she would have to fix, but for the time being she continued on through. Finally she slowed the melody to a crawl, letting its final note ring out for as long as she could.
Then it too faded away.
Octavia turned to face the doorway, just in time to see the pegasus’ silhouette step into the room.
“When I said to play your sad song, I meant a song that was sad, not sad to listen to,” he said, using his wings to smooth out the wrinkles on his jacket.
“It’s a work in progress,” Octavia said. “I’m just glad that we managed to meet. You’re a hard pony to find; you’ll have to tell me where your room is sometime.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” he responded. “I’m only here because you sounded desperate. So, what’s wrong?”
“I need you to tell me everything you know about Minor Scale,” she said.
“Wait, I need to tell you what now? Why? And what makes you think I know anything about her?”
“Well, I just assumed that all the old noble families knew each other, or at least of each other,” Octavia explained. “Was I right?”
“Yes, you were,” Slant said, begrudgingly. “I’m not close to them or anything. I’ve only met the older brother, but we all have a pretty good handle on each other. Kind of the way that Canterlot works. Anyway, you still haven’t told me why.”
Octavia took a deep breath.
“I got a cello solo in the upcoming Hearth’s Warming Concert, the only first-year cello solo, in fact. This was something nopony expected and something that Minor Scale did not take lightly. I found out when she was yelling at our music professor about it, and when she left I heard her telling her friends that she would make sure that I didn’t perform, even if it meant she wouldn’t either. I need to know everything you know, to see what she’s capable of doing so I can prepare, and to know whether to be afraid or not.”
Slant’s laughter echoed down the abandoned hallways before Octavia had even finished speaking.
“I fail to see what’s so funny,” she said, as she watched Slant try to pick himself off the ground and regain his breath.
“You made yourself an enemy in this school, and you chose the Scale family?” he exclaimed. “Good job!”
“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” she snapped. “I’ve been trying to stay out of her way all year, keeping my head down and trying to just pass by. It’s not my fault I was given this part.”
“Aw, way to ruin it. I was actually impressed over here,” he protested. “What’s so important about this concert, anyway?”
“For me, it could get me a sponsor, meaning that I would be able to afford new strings, or to fix up my cello some. Maybe even get started on building a reputation so I can get a job once I graduate. For her, it’s a chance to show off,” Octavia said. “Now, will you tell me what you know?”
“Fine, I will, but only because you’re not going to like it,” he said. “The Scale family is to music what my family is to literature. If you’ve been paying attention in class, that’s all you need to know: most talented in their field, lots of money, lots of influence, blah blah blah. The point is that they have been in a position of power since Celestia and her sister defeated Discord and as such they’ve come to expect a couple of things. Everything always goes their way, no one gets to disagree with them, and they do not take dissent lightly.”
“Celestia doesn’t have a sister,” Octavia said.
“Yeah, she did,” Slant said. “My ancestors wrote poems and stories for and about the sisters and the Diarchy. Most have forgotten or have claimed that such works are simply fairytales, but I have only had one ancestor that specialized in fairytales and he mostly wrote about some creature called a changeling, whatever that is. And anyway, that’s not the part we’re talking about.”
“Oh right, sorry.”
“As I was saying, they will consider this an outrage and they will use all of their influence against you to get Minor that part,” he continued.
“So what do you think we should do?”
“There is no ‘we’,” he responded. “And actually, now that I think about it, I don’t think you should really worry that much, because this school prides itself on telling off nobles. The idea is that they treat every student equally, the only real difference being that we cannot be kicked out of school no matter what we do, short of murder. Other than that, we’re students like everyone else. The school won’t bow to her parents, meaning you’ll get to perform. If you perform well, then they won’t be able to do anything to you afterwards with their influence either, since everypony will have seen you play. But Celestia help you if you bomb the performance, because they will never let anyone forget it about it.”
“So if I mess this up I might not have a career.”
“Drop the ‘might’.”
“Right,” she said ruefully. “So, other than that, do you think I’m safe?”
“Maybe,” he said. “As I said, ponies from noble families get away with a lot of things we shouldn’t, since it’s too much of a hassle to try to kick us out. I wouldn’t put it past them to try to intimidate you or sabotage you in some way. I know the brother is a bit of a hothead, but I don’t really know the sister. Just make sure to keep an eye out and to not let them near your instrument.”
“I probably shouldn’t be practicing by myself anymore then, should I?” she asked.
“Honestly? No,” he said. “However, I think you should do it anyway. What’s the point of having two angry siblings looking to wreck your stuff if you don’t even give them a chance?”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Octavia deadpanned.
“Fine, fine; play it safe and don’t come out here until after your performance,” Slant said. “However, if you ever need another pep talk, set up here and begin to play. I might turn up.”
“Thank you,” she responded as Slant walked away. While she felt better about her situation, she couldn’t shake the nervousness she felt at the possible threat that the Scale siblings presented to her. That night she dreamt of two wolves, tearing her to shreds.
If a cello is played and no one is around to hear it, does it make it a sound?
This was the question that flittered through Octavia’s thoughts as she played her newest melody into the night. Her stance was perfect, her strokes passionate, and her music serene. After all, a lack of ponies did not always equal a lack of audience.
Looking up she saw the moon peeking from behind the clouds, a shy spectator tempted by the midnight concert but wary of drawing close or attracting attention, a problem not shared by the wind, its gentle voice cheering and vocalizing in a dialect of breeze and gust. The wind, after all, was not afraid to tug on her scarf or sing along, a fan of the loveliest kind entranced by the cellist under starlight spotlights.
That night’s performance was a solo, one that Octavia had been slaving over for more than a week, an ode she had titled “Snapshot of Winter.” It began with a smooth melody that jumped haphazardly through octaves, swaying between strings as if it were the falling snow. The arpeggios ran through a medley of Hearth’s Warming carols, but they never lingered long, as fickle as the season they represented. Critics would comment on the strange variations on the minor key or the way her shivers interrupted her rhythm ever so slightly, but they were not her audience at the moment, and tonight she had the best audience in the world.
“Are you seriously going to play that?”
Octavia stopped, but not before hitting a dissonant note and letting out a startled yelp, breaking the spell. The wind hushed down to that murmur, the moon set its sights elsewhere, and the cellist found herself with a severe lack of tranquility.
“So much for no one being around to hear me,” she thought, before addressing the new arrival. “Yes, I am, why?”
“No reason,” Slant said, shrugging. “Just know that I’m not bailing you out when they get you for mass murder.”
“What?”
“Mass murder,” he repeated. “You’re going to bore them to death, and as packed as that concert hall is going to be, they’re going to lock you away for a long time.”
“Thanks for the forewarning,” Octavia deadpanned. “I think if the worst you can say is that it’s boring, I’m doing quite fine.”
“Don’t underestimate the danger of boring,” Slant warned. “Awful performances are at least remembered. There’s nothing worse than being forgotten.”
Octavia rolled her eyes while Slant made himself comfortable in a corner of the room, fixing his earmuffs and jacket as he did so.
“I guess you’re staying for the rest of my practice?” she asked.
“Yeah, guess I am,” he responded. “I’m here and I’ve got nothing better to do anyway.”
“Sleep?”
“As I said, nothing better to do.”
Octavia smiled as she readied herself to play the piece again, letting muscle memory dictate the notes more so than any actual thought. After all, her mind was preoccupied with musings about her current company. Slant for his part, watched silently as Octavia continued her performance, studying the pony more so than the music she played.
“Something on your mind?” he asked as she finished the piece and readied herself for another repetition.
“What do you mean?”
“You were distracted that time,” he said. “That and you kept looking at me. What were you thinking about?”
“Why don’t you ever hang out with anypony else?”
A blush of embarrassment appeared on Octavia’s cheeks as she frantically tried to pull the words back, words she wondered but did not mean to speak. Slant cocked his head to one side, unsure of whether to laugh or be offended.
“You do know that if you want me to go away, all you have to do is tell me that you enjoy my company, right?”
“Well, he’s not offended. That’s something at least,” Octavia thought to herself. Part of her felt relieved that the question was out there, since it had been something she had been wondering for a while. And yet, despite her curiosity, another part of her urged her to close that conversation as soon as possible. The first part, for better or worse, was louder.
“I’ve seen you all year, Slant. You never hang out with anypony except me, and even that’s rare,” she said. “Part of me thought that you were just really anti-social and that you don’t want to talk to anypony ever, but that doesn’t really make sense now that I’ve known you for longer because you’re… um… It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Because I’m what?” Slant asked, picking up on her hesitation.
“Lonely.”
Slant’s eyes widened. He made to reply but took too long. Octavia seized on that pause.
“I know you’re going to say you’re not, but you are, Slant,” she said. “Ponies that are anti-social would not come out past midnight to come hear me practice. And yet, here you are! So if you’re lonely, why don’t you hang out with any of the other ponies in the school?”
“Oh yes,” he replied. “I’m here because I’m lonely. It couldn’t possibly be that I’m here because I enjoy listening to your music.”
Octavia gave a devious smile.
“So now your choices are admitting that you like my music, or admitting you’re lonely,” she said. “Which one will it be?”
Octavia giggled as she saw Slant opening and closing his mouth, searching for a reply. She could almost see the gears turning in his mind, his expression changing from defiance to defeat as he became fully aware of the corner he backed himself into. He sighed.
“…Fine, I’m lonely,” he said.
“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Octavia said, giving a winning nod. Slant gave her a glare that cut short any other comments she was about to say, opting instead to sate her curiosity. “So why don’t you hang out with any of the other ponies?”
“It’s uncomfortable for me,” he said, letting his gaze drop. “You know what it’s like feeling like you don’t fit in. Well it’s kind of like that. I’d like to say I’m more refined, but I’m just not interested in most of the things the other colts are. I always stick out as being odd and I only let myself feel awkward a few times before I remove myself from the situation. Suffice it to say, that happened a while ago.”
Octavia sat closer to him, nodding in understanding.
“So yeah, I don’t hang out with colts, and then when I hung out with the fillies I…” Slant began, his voice trailing off. For a moment Octavia noticed his expression change into a glare, one that she could not place but that she was sure he had given her before they started talking. A shiver ran down her spine. “It’s just uncomfortable, ok? And it’s not even just about the interests and me being ‘strange’ or anything like that. My status gets in the way, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was surprised that you didn’t know who I was when you talked to me before classes started,” Slant said. “Everyone here knows who I am. They know about me, my family, and my ancestry. That means that every minor noble or commoner with an ounce of ambition is constantly trying to get on my good side to improve their own status. All they need is to be seen with me, which leads to a lot of fake ‘friendships’, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
“And the families like yours?” she asked. “The ones that don’t need your fame?”
“The old families are usually on bad terms with each other,” he explained. “It’s all kind of a contest to see which old family matters the most, which ends with pretty much all of the old nobles hating each other. It’s a shame, too, because I much prefer genuine dislike to false respect. Take the Scales, for example: Major Scale had absolutely no problem threatening me today. He said what he meant and didn’t hold back because of my title. I respect that, or I would if he weren’t such a self-entitled prat. And that’s the other thing; don’t get me started on how stupid most of the nobility- hey, are you ok?”
He looked at Octavia confused by her open mouth, wide eyes, and shocked expression.
“He threatened you?” she yelled. “Why?”
“Oh that,” Slant responded, thankful for the slight protection his earmuffs granted him. “He has it in his head that we’re friends and that I would involve my parents on your behalf if he and his sister were to make a move against you before tomorrow’s concert.”
“What did you say back?”
“That I don’t know what he’s talking about, I’m not involving my parents on anyone’s behalf, and that whatever problem they have with you does not involve me in the slightest.”
Octavia’s eye twitched. She took a few deep breaths trying to restrain the feeling that had begun growing in her ever since Slant had started talking, but it was to no avail. Something inside her snapped.
“So he pretty much told you that he’s planning something for tomorrow before the concert, he threatened you to keep out of it, and you did not consider this something important enough to bring to my attention?”
“I’ve already told you to keep an eye out for them and what I think they’re capable of,” he said, irritated at her icy tone. “I didn’t think you needed me to repeat myself; I guess that’s on me for giving you too much credit, but I didn’t see any point in bringing it up.”
“Except it would have been the decent thing to do, Slant!” she shouted. “As one pony to another, as a friend!”
Slant never vocalized his response. He didn’t have to. Everything Octavia needed to know was there in his eyes. The arrogance, the distance, the isolation, everything fighting against the claim that Octavia had just made. It was a declaration of exactly where the two ponies stood as far as Slant was concerned, and it was received loud and clear.
“Fine, have it your way,” she yelled while picking up her stuff. “I’m tired of trying to be your friend. You obviously don’t want to be mine, so what’s the point. From now on I don’t want to make eye contact with you. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want you showing up when I practice at night, and you’d better not even think of showing up tomorrow!”
The pegasus said nothing as he watched the cellist cry and walk away.
Octavia did not normally lock her door, and in reality, it almost never made much sense for her to do so.
For starters, she had nothing worth stealing or destroying. Modest amounts of clothing filled her closet and drawers, rags when compared with what ponies in Canterlot were used to wearing. All she owned of any real worth was her cello, and even that wouldn’t seem too interesting to the common thief. With its dents and its age, there were certainly more valuable exploits to be found elsewhere. At least until that day.
After a few minutes of struggling with the keys she managed to open her door, thankful to see her cello in the same spot she had left it in.
“Can’t have you go missing on me today, can I?” Octavia muttered, dropping off her notebooks. As quickly as she could, she put on a black formal dress, the most elegant thing she owned, briefly checking her appearance and placing the cello on her back. She made one final check to make sure she had everything needed for her performance before picking up her bag and cello. Finally, she opened the door, checking to make sure no one was waiting for her outside, before stepping out and towards the auditorium. “Good. The sooner I get out, the sooner this blasted day will be over.”
To be fair, her day could have been far worse than it had proved, which was the most concerning part of all. When she had awoken that morning, she had been filled with a sense of dread that had so far gone unjustified. She had worried about the Scale siblings, for example, and was constantly keeping at an eye out for them and anypony that might help them with their plan of sabotage. Due to their influence, that meant that Octavia’s heart rate increased whenever any pony at all came near to her while in the hallways. Everypony was a suspect. She had also kept an eye out for Slant Rhyme, finding herself just as anxious about running into him after their argument.
And yet, every pony had kept their distance, the siblings had failed to make a move, and Slant was nowhere to be found, even missing class where Octavia had been sure she’d have to face him. Part of her knew to be glad about his absence, but the rest just felt empty, his absence a reminder that their relationship, minimal as it was, existed no more. Her dread survived above it all.
The sound of ponies entering the auditorium reached her long before she rounded the corner, which allowed her to see a large group entering the Concert Hall. Taking a deep breath, she walked to the left of the hallway, to where the backstage entrance was located. The sound of the crowd followed her until she walked into the Concert Hall’s Green Room, at which point the sound of the outside world seized to exist.
“I’ll never get used to soundproofing spells,” Octavia thought to herself.
“Oh good, that’s everyone,” Professor Mode exclaimed, noticing her arrival. Inside the room the rest of her class was assembled and ready by their instruments. “Better late than never, I suppose.”
“Sorry Professor, I had to go back to my dormitory to collect my cello; I didn’t want to take it with me to class,” she responded. “Besides, I’m not too late, am I?”
“No, you’re actually just in time,” he said. “Just don’t take long setting up.”
Octavia nodded, looking around as she took her cello out of its case and began tuning it. Much like she expected, her dress was noticeably cheaper than the clothing of the rest of her class, who seemed to spare no expense for the occasion. Some, she noticed, had brand new instruments, causing her to question whether they had been bought specifically for this concert, or if the ones they brought to class were spares to avoid wearing down their more expensive equipment. Considering the latter was the more practical answer, she had to assume the former.
Among those with new instruments was Minor Scale, who sat staring at the wall in front of her. Something about her appearance seemed off to Octavia. She was looking as regal as one would expect her to, her mane styled and her dress garnished with small crystals that seemed to glow of their own accord, but the attitude wasn’t there. If Octavia had to choose a word to describe her, it would have been broken.
Minor Scale noticed her fellow cellist looking at her, doing her best to glare before turning to face in a different direction. There was no malice there, however. No anger, no ire, no threat. All Octavia saw in Minor’s eyes was a sense of defeat.
An ounce of pity formed in Octavia’s mind, causing her to step forward towards her classmate.
“Okay, I think they’re ready for us,” Professor Mode said, stopping Octavia in her tracks. “Now I want everyone to go into the three formations: Group A stage right, Group B center stage, Group C stage left. Also, I want you to at least act interested when you’re not performing. After the six songs are over we will leave stage left as a group and come back here. Then you will be dismissed.”
The class nodded collectively, filing in to the side of the stage entrance. Following their professor’s instruction they walked onto the stage and set up their instruments to polite applause. Professor Mode introduced himself and the class, explaining the set up and the pieces they would perform, just like rehearsed. Octavia, however, could not hear anything over her own heartbeat. Her eyes scanned the crowd for a familiar face, but none was there to be found.
“Right, they couldn’t come up. I knew that,” she thought to herself bitterly. “No Mom, no Vinyl… No Slant.”
Her eyes scanned the room again, but the pegasus was indeed not present. She felt satisfied. She felt lonely. She felt unsure.
She felt alone.
Group A’s performance gave Octavia enough time to compose herself. Then her own performance came and went without much incident, leaving Group C’s performance through which she had more time to think.
“I really have improved this semester,” she thought herself, analyzing her performance. She noted she was still not as precise as her unicorn counterparts, but she also noted that the difference went from veritable miles to that of inches. She knew that she hadn’t been perfect, and so would her classmates, but shrouded in the mix of instruments she was indistinguishable. She smiled.
Group C finished their performance to polite applause, at which point the whole first year took a bow. Professor Mode said a few words of thanks to those in attendance before leading the class backstage. And just like that, it was over, for everyone else at least.
“Good job everyone,” Professor Mode said as soon as they reached the green room, muting the sounds of the second years setting up. “I will go ahead and say that you all passed, though specific critiques should be ready for each of you in class when you come back from the breaks. With that said, you’re free to go and have a great Hearth’s Warming break.”
A varied chorus of responses rang out while the students packed up their instruments before leaving the room.
“You’re free to stay here and practice, by the way,” Professor Mode said, turning to face Octavia. “The second years have a few performances, and then we’ll get started with the solos. The third years won’t be needing this room until halfway through the second year solos, so it’s all yours. I’ll come and get you when it’s time for you to go on again.”
“Very well,” Octavia said, nodding. “Thank you.”
Professor Mode nodded back, before exiting the room, leaving Octavia alone.
She wasted no time in setting up her cello and going through her “Snapshot of Winter”, taking care to pay attention to the more complicated arpeggios. Her anxiety was still alive and well, and she had half-expected to find herself unable to remember her solo piece at all, but her practice served her well. With a triumphant air, she finished the solo, letting the final note ring out.
And then she heard clapping.
“Very good, Octavia. Very different,” a unicorn said, stepping out of the shadows. “And it IS Octavia right? I would hate to inconvenience the wrong pony.”
“When did you come in here?”
“Just a little while ago actually,” he said, stepping even closer. “You’ll find that pretty much every musician in this school knows some basic sound dampening, helps with practicing at night. Not you though, right? No magic?”
Octavia took a step backwards holding onto her cello protectively.
“What do you want?”
“Well, it seems like you have upset my sister, and I can’t have that,” he said. “And as it turns out, you are very well-protected when it comes to the ponies that run this school. Which is a shame, really; what we had in mind was a lot less unsavory.”
“So I take it you’re Major?” Octavia asked, taking note of the stallion in front of her. He was a tan unicorn with a dark brown mane, but what struck her most was the look contempt on his face.
“You see, we just wanted the solo to go to the right pony, but they wouldn’t budge,” he continued, ignoring her. “They made it quite clear that under no terms would Minor get that solo, but that wasn’t the issue anymore. No one says ‘no’ to us, especially on behalf of some mud pony ‘musician.’ So now you’re going to hand over your cello nice and easy. Solos are reserved for real artists anyway.”
“Real artists? I can get behind that idea. Any idea where we could find some, though? The only ones around here are lousy.”
Recognition registered on Major’s face, before it was replaced by a mix of anger and annoyance. Turning to face the door, Octavia saw Slant with a bemused look on his face.
“Slant, what are you doing here?” she asked.
“You told me not to come,” he answered shrugging. “By the way, as weird as walking into a soundproofing spell is, it’s even worse when there are two active.”
“What did I tell you about interfering?” Major shouted at the pegasus.
“You told me not to get my parents involved,” he answered. “They’re not here.”
Major made to say something else.
Slant charged.
Octavia could only look on as Slant reached Major. The unicorn took a swing at him, but Slant was too fast. The pegasus easily dodged underneath Major’s hoof, delivering a series of kicks. Major tried to stomp down on his foe, but Slant was once away a step ahead, rolling out of the way. He then used his wings to get a boost, bouncing of a wall and landing a kick on Major’s back. The unicorn turned to attack, but Slant was once again no longer there.
And yet something was wrong.
As Octavia watched, she noticed that despite all the solid hits that Slant was making, they were proving no more than an inconvenience to the unicorn. While Slant was tiring himself out, Major was only growing more enraged.
“Enough!” Major yelled. His horn glowed bright, enveloping Slant in his telekinetic grip.
The pegasus gulped.
With as much energy as he could muster, Major slammed Slant against the stone wall of the room. Slant cried out in pain. Major smiled.
Octavia watched mortified as Slant was thrown against the wall, furniture, and the floor, transfixed by the repulsive spectacle. She heard what sounded like bones breaking, just covered by the sound of Slant’s cries, both barely discernible beneath Major’s laughter. She begged herself to move, to yell, to do something, but she couldn’t. All she could do was stare, frozen, until Major saw fit to end Slant’s torture.
With one final yell Major slammed Slant against the back wall, where the pegasus crumpled on the floor. Silent and unmoving, except for a few raspy breaths and a few agonizing tears. Octavia walked closer.
Major Scale’s pants filled the room as he picked up the cello, throwing it against a corner of the room where it crashed against some assorted chairs. The sound of snapping strings was loud and clear.
But Octavia could not hear it.
All that existed in her world, all that really mattered, was the bloody and broken pegasus in front of her, that and her rage.
Slowly, Octavia stood up, walking up to the unicorn. Her eyes never left the floor.
“Well, without your cello my job here is done, so-“
Octavia turned around and delivered a powerful kick, slamming Major against the wall.
“What are you-“
Another blow, this time go his stomach, silenced him. Major gasped for air as Octavia’s hoof found its way up to his throat, pinning him.
“You will regret what you have done.”
That was all the warning she gave. Before Major could so much as take another breath, Octavia began to pummel him with a never-ending onslaught of punches. Tears fell down Octavia’s cheeks as tears and bruises appeared on Major’s body. After a while, Major blacked out due to the agony, and yet the cellist continued to strike. Her muscles burned, her prey was unconscious, but she continued until she could not anymore.
And then she stopped, her fury spent. Major’s body toppled to the floor.
Octavia spent a minute studying her work, unsure whether to be proud or terrified. And yet, that was a decision to be made some other time. He was breathing, that was good enough for now. Stepping away from Major, she turned walked back towards Slant.
“Slant, are you ok?”
The pegasus tried to move, his body jerking as he cried out in pain. He then began to laugh.
“You’ve got to love dramatic irony,” he said, gasping between each line. Octavia could not help to laugh along with him.
“You idiot, you could have gotten yourself killed.”
“I… I didn’t know that at the time, ok?”
“Octavia, you’re on next, so you should…”
Professor Mode went quiet after entering the room, blinking a few times at the scene before him. When he finally seemed collected enough to accept what he was seeing as real, he spoke only two words.
“What happened?”
Octavia looked between the unconscious unicorn and the semi-conscious pegasus, finding no other explanation but the truth. Then she felt a hoof touch hers.
“I did it,” Slant said, using Octavia to prop himself into a sitting position, wincing as he did so. “Him and me.”
“How and why?”
“He didn’t like that his sister got ‘her solo’ taken away. He wanted to make sure that a ‘mud pony’ didn’t play it in her stead. Something about it being only for ‘real artists,’ or something like that,” Slant explained. “He wrecked her cello and tried to attack her. I protected her.”
“Are you admitting that you and Major Scale fought on school property?”
“Yes,” Slant declared. “He was going to try to pin it on Octavia because he said I was too much of a coward to tell the truth. But I’m not, and when he wakes up, make sure he knows that.”
Professor Mode looked between the three ponies, thinking of how to proceed.
“Okay, first things first, I have to get you two to the infirmary,” he said, gently picking up Major with his telekinetic grip. “Then I’m calling both your families and we’re going to have a little chat about what is and isn’t proper conflict resolution. There will be consequences. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“As for you,” Professor Mode said, turning to look at Octavia. “Are you ready? He mentioned something about your cello.”
“I’m not sure, it’s right over there.”
Professor Mode turned to where she was pointing, examining the instrument.
“Well the cello itself is fine, barely,” he commented. “But all your strings have snapped except for one. I guess you’ll have to go get your spare cello, but you’ll really need to hurry.”
“I… I don’t have a spare cello,” she mumbled. “Or spare strings…”
The unicorn looked at her with a confused expression before looking back at the cello, understanding that not all of the dents had been a result of this latest incident.
“All the other cellists have gone,” he said. “Meaning that there’s no one’s instrument that you could borrow. Maybe one of the second years will let you, but we can’t really force them. We might have to cancel the first year solo in light of-”
“What string is still there?” Slant asked, interrupting.
“The D-String,” Professor Mode answered, after a pause. “Why?”
“You should have told her that first,” Slant laughed. “I’ve been watching her practice and her solo was played using only the D-String as a way to show off. Good thing Major didn’t get that one, huh Octavia?”
The cellist nodded involuntarily, curious to see where Slant was going with his lie.
“Very unusual, but not unheard of,” Professor Mode mumbled. “Definitely unorthodox, but that’s what we had been discussing anyway. You’re a very lucky filly indeed, Ms. Octavia. Go ahead and check to make sure that string is tuned, as I doubt it will be after a hit like the one it took, and report to the stage side. They’ll call for you when it’s your turn. I have to go get these two to the infirmary.”
Octavia nodded, watching as Professor Mode carried the two students out of the room. She re-tuned the string as instructed, and reported to the side of the stage before her mind caught up with her.
“I can’t do this.”
She fought back tears as she stared in terror to the current performer, knowing that when her turn came up she’d be walking willingly to the wolves.
“I need sponsors. My cello, my strings, my career… And I’m about to throw it away,” she thought. “I’m going to go out there with one string and no song to play. No. There’s still time, I can still back out.”
Octavia began to turn away from the stage, but an image of Slant flashed through her mind.
“He was here,” she thought. “After all he said, after the way he acted, he still planned to make sure I was ok. He always planned to get involved.”
She thought back to the first time she had performed here, a time very similar to this one. In both cases she felt lost, fearful, and out of her depth. In both cases her entire future hinged on one performance. In both cases Slant had gotten involved.
“He knew what he was talking about then,” she mused. “And he just proved he wouldn’t push me to do something I wasn’t capable of, at least not alone.”
“And now for our first solo of the night, first year student Ms. Octavia Philharmonica.”
Her named had been called and a choice had to be made. With as much fake confidence as she could muster, she stood up straight and walked onto the stage.
The time while she got on the proper spot and set up her cello and bow seemed to drag on longer than normal, allowing her enough time to hear the whispering amongst the gathered crowd. It seemed like her lack of strings had not gone unnoticed, nor the fact that they had not been missing the last time she was onstage. Curiosity piqued the conversations, maintaining them at a constant barely audible level. Barely audible was still audible, however.
Octavia raised her bow, feeling awkward and oddly vulnerable without the extra strings. The crowd waited, wondering what this filly would produce. She took a deep breath.
“Well, just like last time,” she thought. “If I’m going out, I might as well go out with style.”
She ran her bow across the string, letting the open note ring out into the air as memories of what she’d just gone through flashed through her mind. Her nervousness was gone, replaced by the dread she had carried with her through the day.
Using her hoof, she began to play a minor scale down the cello’s neck. It was a slow march, meticulously slow, like the calm before a storm. In her mind she saw Major Scale stalking up to her, malice in his eyes. He was stalking his prey. Her rhythm shifted slightly, becoming more frantic, more poignant.
And then Slant charged. Her rhythm sped up again, always slightly before or after the beat. Each note rang with vibrato, never long on the correct pitch. Her playing became desperate and pleading. Suddenly her playing changed again, her notes becoming panicked in their delivery. Her bow struck the string in frantic trills set to a polyrhythm of her own making. The key remained the same, but her melody was chaos.
Octavia began striking at her cello as hard as she could, lost in her anger as the memory of Major Scale pinned against a wall enveloped her.
Then finally, she stopped, letting a second of silence punctuate the piece before striking the open string again, leaving the final note to slowly die out.
The silence that followed weighed heavily upon Octavia as she stood there, waiting for her audience’s judgment. Thankfully, it was brief. The audience soon erupted in applause. The cellist smiled, taking a bow before walking offstage.
Had she stayed she would have heard the audience discussing her performance. Reading the title on the program, many would speak about the way her piece had perfectly captured the season. She would have heard them mention its slow start like the scattered snow, the way it grew in intensity and fervor like a growing blizzard, or the way it all ended and thawed much like the budding spring. She would have also heard sponsors making claims to invest in her future, hatching plans and ideas, competing with each other on who would have the fortune to employ her in the future.
And yet, she heard none of this, as she currently had somewhere more important to be.
The missing sound of beeping machinery stroke Octavia as both odd and ominous immediately upon her arrival. After all, while she had only gone to a doctor’s once, she had assumed that certain medical equipment was standard amongst all health facilities. However, as she walked through the door she was greeted not by IVs or heart monitors, but a room with a couch, a desk, and a bedridden pony looking directly at her.
“Hey, how did it go?”
Octavia walked closer, cringing at the sight of the bandages holding Slant together, almost yelling as the pegasus attempted to sit up.
“You shouldn’t be doing that!” she exclaimed, rushing to his bedside.
“Relax,” he responded, waving her off. “If I weren’t ok they would have moved me to the hospital a few blocks away like your new best friend. So tell me, how did it go?”
“It went great, actually,” Octavia said. “It’s a shame you couldn’t be there to hear it.”
“That’s ok,” he said shrugging. “It was probably mediocre at best. At least here I had the doctors to keep me entertained.”
Octavia smiled, sitting down, unsure of how to phrase her question.
“Why did you take the blame, Slant?”
Slant seemed to give the question a bit of thought before answering.
“I guess because out of the two of us, only one could’ve gotten kicked out of school for fighting, and it certainly wouldn’t have been me,” he explained. “I haven’t talked to my parents yet, since we’re waiting for Major to wake up and contribute to the conversation, but I’m pretty sure they won’t even be mad at me for this. They’re always telling me that ‘I need to be tougher’ and stick up for myself. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not really a fighter.”
“I noticed,” Octavia said, stifling a giggle. “I’m curious as to why you tried to fight him if you knew you weren’t good at it, though.”
“I knew you needed help and I didn’t realize at the time that you’re better at fighting than I am,” he said. “About time being an earth pony was useful, right?”
“Quite,” she responded. “Thank you for your help. If not for you, I might have stood there in shock instead of giving Major what he deserved.”
“No problem.”
A moment of silence passed between the two, interrupted occasionally by a sharp breath from Slant or the winter wind knocking against the window.
“I’m sorry, but I need to know,” Octavia began. “Are we friends?”
Slant took a deep breath before setting his unblinking stare upon Octavia’s eyes.
“You beat the snot out of Major Scale and let me take all the credit,” he said. “Of course we’re friends.”
It is one’s responsibility as a friend to be supportive.
It is one’s responsibility as a friend to be honest.
“Friendship isn’t fair.”
Octavia shivered as a burst of wind blew through her open window, dropping the temperature of the room for a few seconds before the temperature enchantments reasserted themselves.
She could have closed the window, of course, but that would have meant sacrificing the view.
From her window Octavia could see the streets of the city of Canterlot, deserted and devoid of life, abandoned by the ponies in exchange for shelter from the cold and snow. It was a picturesque image, serene and placid, just barely noticeable behind the multitude of ponies making their way across the school’s main courtyard.
The winter weather raged on as if in defiance of the inevitable spring, which would bud and prosper in the coming months, its efforts wasted on the youthful ponies with more important matters to attend to than noticing the climate. After all, most hadn’t seen their friends since the ending of the previous semester, a fact which was remedied by a myriad of snowball fights and conversations.
Octavia watched as friends reacquainted themselves and as newly enrolled students eyed the campus and their peers with a mix of nervousness and glee at finally being allowed into Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. It was a curious feeling, one that the cellist remembered quite well, and one that she figured every new student went through as a rite of passage.
“I’m not ready to apply just yet, but come the next school year I’ll be taking classes right next to you – that is, if they don’t just give me the degree I need when they see what I can do with this lovely thing.”
The cellist groaned while covering her ears, a recently acquired reflex.
She cast another glance at the ponies outside, trying to imagine her lifelong friend walking amongst them. She found herself unable.
“I’m very glad that you liked that concert you went to as much as you did, and that you’re this passionate about this style of… music. But I don’t think this is what the school is looking for.”
“You weren’t what they were looking for either and you got the solo on that concert thing. Talent is all that matters and with this synth, I will earn my way in.”
“I’m sure you will, Vinyl.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you don’t have the talent to get in, it’s just that your choice in… music, it’s-“
“Will you please stop that?”
“Stop what?”
“Hesitating every time you’re about to say music.”
“I’m no-“
“Yes, you are. You really don’t think I can do it then?”
Honesty, or support?
“Fine, don’t answer. Your train is here anyway. Have fun in Canterlot with all your new friends who play ‘proper’ music.”
Octavia took a deep breath batting away the memories.
“And to think we almost made it through the entire Hearth’s Warming break without a fight,” she mused.
She wasn’t particularly worried; after all, a fight between the two happened often enough that it could be considered a normal occurrence. Vinyl would get over it and all would be well, as long as Octavia apologized first. With a resigned sigh, the cellist placed a sheet of paper on her desk, grasping a pencil in her mouth.
“You are not about to write something with your mouth.”
A sharp yelp filled the room as Octavia simultaneously turned and backed away from the voice, causing her to fall off her chair, after which she threw her deadliest glare at the pony perching at her window.
“And this is exactly why I love being a pegasus,” he said.
“I have a door, you know,” Octavia grumbled, picking herself off the floor. “You could use it sometime.”
“And give you fair warning?” Slant responded. “Not a chance. Besides, you don’t have a door. The school has a door, you’re just borrowing it.”
“Mental note, lock window shut,” Octavia thought to herself.
“Anyway, I thought I told you to use your hoof every chance you got,” Slant continued. “I guess that means that those letters I got were-“
“No, those were hoof written,” Octavia responded. “I’ve been doing just as you taught me, I just forgot for a minute. Speaking of the letters, why did you write so many? It was only a few weeks.”
“Why are yours always so long?” Slant said, shrugging. “Besides, you need the practice; I had to decipher your squiggles.”
“I just think it was a bit much,” Octavia pressed on. “Did you really miss me that much or did you just not have anything else to do but write letters?”
“I have two modes of interaction: either ignore, or this,” the pegasus said. “Just because you’ve bugged me enough to make the switch once does not mean I won’t switch back.”
“Fine, I’ll keep my complaints about your clinginess to a minimum,” Octavia said. “So, are you here for a reason, or just to make sure I wasn’t breaking your training regimen?”
“I was going to ask if you wanted to go eat dinner together, since we’re friends now and all,” he began. “But I’m starting to regret it.”
Octavia stared for second, eyes wide at the proposition. Slant looked away, concealing a small blush and an uncomfortable clenching of his teeth.
“You’re really not used to having friends, are you?”
“Fine, I’ll go eat on my own,” he shouted, fixing his jacket. “Not sure why I thought this was a good idea in the first place.”
“Oh, calm down,” Octavia said, suppressing a giggle. “I’m just teasing. I’d love to go have dinner with you. Just let me grab a jacket and we’ll be on our way.”
She waited for a response, but received none. Still, the pegasus visibly calmed down and made his way to Octavia’s doorway where he waited for her to get ready. After donning a comfortable jacket and running a brush through her mane a few times, Octavia glanced at herself in the mirror before leaving her room with Slant following behind.
“So, what were you about to write?” Slant asked. “It can’t have been a letter to send back home; you just got back today.”
“Actually, it was,” Octavia answered. “A friend from back home and I got into a bit of an argument right before I left. Well, she got angry at me while I said nothing, but for us it’s the same thing, really. Anyway, I just need to apologize to her for how I handled things and she’ll apologize for losing her temper.”
“Sounds rehearsed.”
“By this point it might as well be, but it works for us and I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said smiling. Octavia turned to face Slant after hearing what sounded like a gagging noise, but the pegasus showed nothing suggesting as such, except for his smirk. Deciding not to press the issue, she changed the topic. “So, how sad are you now that your punishment is over?”
“A surprising amount considering that it means nothing while I’m at school, with the lack of social functions and the like,” Slant admitted, his smile disappearing from his lips. “This was the best Hearth’s Warming break I’ve ever had.”
“It sounded like it from what you wrote about it.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Slant said. “I got to miss both the pageant and the after party. I never get to miss those two events because of ‘family expectations’ and such other nonsense, meaning I usually spend the holiday being forced to make idle chitchat with ponies who want to be me or want me dead. And I got to miss it!”
“We just have to make sure we get you grounded right before summer break then,” Octavia said, giggling. “Maybe you could assault another noble.”
“Nah,” Slant said, shaking his head. “After meeting Major they might just give me a medal next time instead of grounding me.”
“Oh, right, you did tell me the conference was going to be yesterday,” Octavia said. “How did it go?”
“Well, they didn’t expel him or anything,” Slant responded. “He’s on probation, as am I, though for him it means more seeing how he’s about to graduate. As I told you, they won’t kick us out, but they did threaten to cancel his curriculum and keep him an extra year.”
“It’d serve him right,” Octavia mumbled tersely. “So, did he bring me into it?”
“No and I’m not sure why,” Slant responded, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to tell you this because I didn’t want you to worry, but I’m not sure I could have fooled them into believing our story if he told them you beat him up, given the state I was in and the… severity of his injuries.”
“So all he had to do was say the word and I would have been thrown out?”
Slant nodded.
Octavia bit her lip in thought.
“So is there anything I should be worried about?”
“The matter has been decided, so no,” Slant responded. “He told them that I did it, so that’s what’s in the book. Any change to his story will now seem like a lie, meaning you’re in the clear without any repercussions for your actions. Well, mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Yea,” Slant said, in such a somber tone that Octavia had to remind herself to keep walking alongside him. “My parents were really curious about you since I went through so much trouble, and physical injury, to help you out. They want you to come over for dinner sometime.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“They’re going to make a big deal out of you being my first real friend, so yes,” he said. “Don’t worry, though – I’m going to make sure to postpone that sad event for as long as I can.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Octavia said with a smile. “Maybe we should go there tonight instead of eating here at school. If I recall, you live very close by.”
“For starters, we’re already here,” Slant said, rounding the corner. Immediately the sounds of chatter and ponies eating filled the room, pulling at Octavia’s attention. “Also, eat hay.”
“I wasn’t aware they served hay at this school,” the cellist responded. “I was under the impression that it was too common a food to serve at such a fine institution.”
She struggled hard against her impulse to laugh as Slant glowered at her and walked away towards one of the lunch lines.
“This semester is going to be different from the last one,” she thought to herself as she followed the pegasus. “I cannot wait.”
Analogy Assignment #5: Write about a story or saying that serves an analogy to a life experience of yours.
A good friend of mine once told me about some of the annoying things about videogames, one of which was the frustration at “figuring a game out.” She told me that with a lot of games, once you got good enough at them or you figured out the trick to passing them, they lost all replay value, and that there were few things as sad as finding out that your favorite game had lost all of its appeal because it ceased to be a challenge. Well, I might be paraphrasing, but I feel like I captured the sentiment well enough.
She also told me that a way to experience that feeling firsthoof was to pass a level at a “hard” difficulty, and then play that same level at an “easy” difficulty.
I have never been much for gaming myself, having lacked the bits or the interest for such things, but that conversation has been stuck in my mind as of late, and I do finally understand what she meant. There’s something lacking when one drops the difficulty level.
Now, don’t get me wrong. At first, it is great. The feeling of coasting through things that used to stress you out or outright stump you is exhilarating and euphoric at first. For example, learning to write by hoof, shaky as my penmanship still is, allows me to better keep up with my classes, meaning I do better with less studying. Another example is the fact that my performance at the Hearth’s Warming concert has assured that short of completely falling apart during my next examinations, I will be fine until at least the next year, letting me relax during my music classes. Even some of my money troubles have gone away, replaced by a new cello, strings, and other necessities – gifts from a few sponsors.
The feeling is indescribable, and it lasted for about three weeks.
Then it became a routine – the same routine I’ve always had, but without the challenge. It’s actually kind of funny to think about, that the stress was all that made things interesting, but I guess it’s true since that was all that ever changed. Now it’s all the same, predictable, boring.
Much like a game I keep replaying despite knowing how to beat it.
“Okay, that seems like enough time.”
Octavia looked up to face the professor as did the rest of the class, with the exception of Slant, who was, much like always, still writing away with his quill.
“Anyone want to share what they wrote?” the professor asked.
The cellist read over her entry, contemplating sharing it with the class. In the end she decided against it, finding the entry to be far too personal. With the silence growing and with the lack of volunteers, the professor turned to his main lifeline in the class.
“How about we start with you, Slant?”
A smile spread across Octavia’s face, her ears perking up in anticipation. After all, thrashing Slant’s work was still her favorite class-time activity, with Slant purposefully leaving something in each assignment for her to pick up on as both a challenge and a game. Her anticipation, however, turned to disappointment when the pegasus did not begin to read.
“I would professor,” Slant began. “But… you might want to look at the clock.”
“Oh my, is it that late already?” the professor exclaimed. “It seems I let you all write for far too long this time. No matter. We’ll just read over them first thing next class period, meaning that if you hadn’t finished writing or had yet to start, you have time to get your work done.”
A few ponies shifted uncomfortably before the professor dismissed the class.
Octavia waited for Slant at the door.
“And with that, I’m done for the day,” Octavia said readjusting her saddlebag.
“Lucky,” Slant commented. “I’ve got two more classes today, and one of them is a three-hour one.”
“I take it you won’t be at the room tonight, then?”
“No, I should be done with everything long before our usual meeting time,” he responded. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“Not really,” Octavia said. “Just want to talk to you about this thought I had during class today, about how everything just seems to fall into a routine and how boring it all gets.”
“Leave it to you to find a way to complain about a lack of stress,” Slant said, dismissively. “Fine, we’ll talk about it, but right now I need to get to class.”
Octavia waited for Slant to walk away before making her own way back home, distracted by her thoughts.
“Am I just making a mountain out of a molehill?” she thought to herself. She then turned around a corner, doing her best to ignore the rest of the students which were walking a bit too close to her liking. “I mean, there’s always that saying, ‘no news is good news’.”
“Excuse me.”
“And it’s not like being under constant distress did anything to stop me from falling into a routine last semester,” she mused. “If anything, it helped me cope with the fear of being kicked out.”
“If I could just have a moment.”
“But I can’t really be blamed for wishing that something would change every once in a whi-“ Octavia thought but stopped as she accidentally bumped into another pony. The impact was enough to break her train of thought long enough to notice that she had knocked him down.
“I am so sorry!” she began. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I was lost in thought, is all. I really did not mean to knock you over.”
Octavia helped the unicorn up, taking a good look at him for the first time. He looked to be a year or so older, with a light green coat, a dark green mane, and a brown quill cutie-mark. He also wore a sheepish smile.
For a second, Octavia forgot how to breathe.
“It’s quite alright,” he began. “I kind of put myself directly in your path, so there was no way you weren’t going to crash into me. I figured that was the best way to get your attention, seeing how everything else failed.”
The cellist stared for a moment, lost for words. Her attention shifted between trying to form a response and trying to feel her own heartbeat, which had either stopped completely or was beating at too rapid a rate for her to notice.
“You wanted my attention?” she asked finally.
“Yea,” he said. “I was at the Hearth’s Warming concert, well, most of us were, and you made such an impression that you’re still being talked about whenever the subject of music comes up. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that you were amazing and that I cannot wait for your next performance. I would have told you so sooner, but I hadn’t seen you around until just now, which is why I didn’t want to miss this chance. Oh, and I think we should hang out sometime, if you want, that is. Otherwise, that’s totally cool too.”
In her mind, Octavia had a plethora of words and phrases at her disposal. And yet, she found herself unable to use them. She was even having trouble focusing on what the unicorn was saying. All that she could focus on was the faint feeling in her gut, his eyes and his smile – both of which were waiting for an answer.
“Yes,” she responded quickly. “That sounds nice.”
“Awesome,” he said. “I have to head to class, but I look forward to hanging out with you some other time. “
“Sure thing, some other time,” Octavia said. “Oh, and thank you… for the compliment about my performance.”
“No problem,” he said. “See you around.”
Octavia watched as he walked away, unaware of those ponies walking past her in either direction, and solely focused on how lightheaded she suddenly felt.
