> What the Future Holds
>  by OmniscientTurtle
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Soul of the Musician
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Octavia, could you please bring me that box?”

The young musician complied with her mother’s demand, trudging over to the box she was pointing at without speaking a word. She had been having a high old time just sitting on the sofa, taking in the light from the skylight of the ceiling, not doing any physical labor. Besides, wasn’t that what the burly stallions walking in the front door every second were for?

She gently nudged the box once to get a feel for its weight, which didn’t turn out to be much. She set the top of her head on the side of the mystery box and slowly pushed it over to her mother.

“Thank you dear,” she said looking down from the tall kitchen table. Octavia could see she had been writing something, most likely a check to the workers she’d paid so she wouldn’t have to get her hooves dirty. She’d always been like that, always prim and proper.

Her mother set her quill down before reaching down to get the box. As she bent over, her long blood red mane cascaded over her face, obscuring her vision. She let out a soft swear before flipping it back to its rightful place before proceeding to pick up the box and set it gently on the table.

Being the curious filly she was, Octavia strained her neck upward so she could see what it was her mother needed the box for. Under the illumination of the dim chandelier, her mother reached into the box with one of her hooves and returned with an ink bottle. She continued intently on her writing spree, completely forgetting about her daughter.

Octavia didn’t say a word. She wasn’t about to go and interrupt her mother while she was focused. Many past experiences had proven that doing so was not to anypony’s best interest. While her thanks had sounded nice enough, there was no doubt she had a headache stemming from the amount of paperwork she was going through. Octavia didn’t blame her. She was also feeling the aftereffects of such a life-changing matter. These were stressful times, for her and her family.

“There you are! How’s my little Beethooven doing?”

And no matter how joyful her father sounded, she knew that it was merely a mask he was using to conceal his true emotions.

“I’m doing fine, father. How is the inspection coming along?” she replied.

He looked around the room, scratching his dark stubble. “Eh, it could be going better. I haven’t found anything wrong with the house yet, per se, but the heat is on high and I’m still getting chills.”

“You’ve been here a week and you hadn’t noticed the heating was broken?” her mother retorted from the other room.

“The heating’s fine, it’s just taking a while to warm up is all. And I was staying in a hotel most of the time.” He paused. “Also, just to let you know, the official tour will be underway in an hour or two.”

Both Octavia and her mother groaned, making sure he heard it.

“Oh come one now, I’m not asking for much. You’ll love it, I’m sure!”

She wasn’t so sure about that. The house wasn’t exactly small and she knew he would make it a point to make sure his wife and filly knew everything about every last detail of the house.

Octavia trotted over to the sofa, not sure of anything else to do until the dreaded time of the tour. Like the kitchen chairs, the sofa was slightly out of her reach at her current height. With a short jump she heaved herself onto the couch, stumbling when the cushion sank from the new weight. She adjusted herself before promptly shoving her back into the backboard, slouching her shoulders and letting her legs dangle over the edge like this one mint-green unicorn filly she saw one time in her homeland.

Letting her head fall back on the pillowy backboard, she stared into the skylight of the living room. All other sounds soon fell silent, her parents talking, the workers grunting, everything. It was a technique she had picked up through her short music career. At such a young age, music had taken up almost half her life; acquiring one’s cutie mark so early was almost unheard of. Her parents had been praised, they’d been reprimanded; some ponies thought they had drilled music into her, when in reality she had merely picked up her talent from passively listening to her father.

This technique had proven useful for when she felt like relaxing and contemplating the intricacies of everything around her. With a long breath, she began to think about something to think about, something that would give her something to think about in her spare time.

Time. That was an interesting concept. What could she measure in time? The move! That would work. How long had it been since the move? A week? A week seemed about right. She could care less about figuring out the exact amount of time that had passed; she wasn’t that bored. Time was going to keep moving forward, despite any efforts at slowing it. Why bother keeping track of the past? To Octavia, the only thing that mattered was the present. And now, that meant settling in to her new house. Nothing was going to bring her home country back.

At that moment she glanced towards the front door. The skylight she’d been staring at was starting to hurt her eyes. Looking outside, she caught a glimmer of black among the gray light. A large stallion was carrying the mystery item, a case of some sort. It wasn’t quite his height, but he had no trouble in lifting it. Out of boredom, she decided to follow this worker with her eyes. Everything that these workers were bringing in was theirs, but this item seemed particularly familiar to her.

He entered through the doorway and Octavia’s apathetic eyes lit up with enthusiasm. Dodging one of his compadres he located a vacant spot that wasn’t covered in luggage. Almost like a test to show how rude and callous he could be, he released the handle, letting gravity drag the case to the floor with a thud.

Octavia winced. Couldn’t they treat her cello, as well as their other belongings, with a little more respect? She didn’t care how buff they were, there was still a small amount of respect that anypony should possess, no matter how much of a simpleminded brute they were.

He returned to his mundane task, grudgingly walking back to the truck for another load. Manehattan certainly wasn’t making a good first impression. The combination of gray skies and unsociable citizens made her long for her home country. She scowled at his back as he left, too apathetic to reprimand him to his face. He didn’t seem to notice her; or rather, he was probably just ignoring her. The owners of the house weren’t paying attention either. Her father had ignored the taboo of starting an argument with her mother while she had a headache.

Her gaze quickly returned to what the rude worker had carried in. Her cello case laid flat on the floor, in the midst of a multitude of cardboard boxes. Despite her reluctance in scolding the worker, she had more than enough energy to walk over to see if her instrument was all right. Flipping the safety latches on the case up, she lifted the case open.

To her relief, nothing had been damaged, at least nothing on the exterior. The bow still rested in its velvet bed aside the massive instrument, while the instrument itself looked as grandiose as it always had, though it might’ve needed a quick dusting. Her violet eyes rested upon the polished wood, and for the first time that day, a smile returned to her face.

Her cello had and always would be her one true friend, the one that would never leave her no matter what happened. Others thought it alien, thought it unnatural that a young filly would spend more time with a piece of wood then with other ponies. It wasn’t somepony she could play with, and it wasn’t somepony she could talk to.

Nopony could understand: why?

The answer to that was quite simple.

-------  

Octavia wrapped her foreleg around the neck of her instrument, lifting it at a sideways angle. Leaning it against herself, she grabbed her bow before taking both back to the couch. While she preferred harder surfaces to sit on while playing her instrument, she didn’t feel like going back to the kitchen, even though it was only a few meters away.

She jumped back up onto the sofa. Feeling the weight of the instrument once more, she was glad to again be holding it in her hooves; that past week, she’d felt like a part of her had been missing. She extended the long spike that would hold up the cello before sinking it half an inch into the carpet. The instrument had been set: now all that was needed was the fine-tuning.

Snapping herself out of her trance had made her apparent of the noises the outside world. The movers dropped the family’s belongings on the rug without a single word of apology. They weren’t necessarily doing it on purpose; rather they had zero motivation to do any work that was beyond what was necessary, and dropping didn’t take nearly as much effort as setting everything down gently. Get the stuff in, get paid, and get out.

But perhaps even more disheartening were the two yelling at each other in the kitchen, not quite out of the earshot of their daughter or the movers. She’d caught them in the middle of their latest argument. Their voices were much too loud; she couldn’t help but overhear everything they were saying.

“What I’m saying is why the hay am I filling out all this damn paperwork right now?  We were all fine in Germaney. Just because you were out of a job doesn’t mean that I was!” her mother yelled.

Like many times before, she ignored them. Participating in or even thinking about their argument would cloud both her judgment and playing skills. After a minute of debating, she’d chosen her piece for that dreary afternoon: Symphonie concertante in E♭ major by Flankz Danzi. She’d always been partial to his works; he had been a cellist, just like her.

“Look, we all decided that moving was necessary, so I don’t see why you’re complaining!”

She scrutinized over the length of the bow, making sure none of the fine hairs had frayed.

“Oh don’t give me that, this entire move was your idea! You didn’t even tell us until two weeks ago!”

Adjusted the tuning knobs to their usual positions.

“What the buck else was I supposed to do? You know full well there wasn’t a single musical job nearby! We couldn’t have gotten too far on just your salary.”

Positioned her left foreleg around the neck of the cello, only a few hooves worth away from the pegbox.

“Well then you should have gone with one of those travelling orchestras! Certainly would’ve been easier than moving here.”

Did a quick mental run-through of the hoof positions.

“How could you say that? Would you really prefer that I’m never able to see you?”

Closed her eyes once more.

“I never said that! My god, you are such a-“

And with elegant motion, pulled the bow along the face of the cello.

---  

From that motion, a wondrous new creation found itself brought to life by the hooves of a master craftspony. Everything, even time itself, stood still before the beauty. Deep, rich sounds resounded through the walls of the gray home, echoing and crescendoing while she brought the symphonic masterpiece into existence. The reverberations had originally caught everypony off guard, but it was this same sound that found its way into their ears and into their hearts. Her parent’s acrimonious voices quieted; the workers had ceased in their duties merely to immerse themselves in the splendor.

Shortly after she began, the effects began to materialize further. Her parents sat calmly in the kitchen, too deeply engrossed in the music to continue their pointless argument. Not a single worker who walked in returned to the cart to get another box; they all sat their flanks down around the couch, forming a semicircle of city stallion around the musician. And all the while, Octavia never knew an audience had formed.

For three glorious minutes, only peace existed.

---

“Thank you all so much. We really appreciate it all.”

Octavia’s mother smiled at the head worker as the last of the movers made their way out the front door. After the concert they’d kicked into overdrive, unloading the remainder of the cart in record time. Octavia was greatly impressed; not only had they picked up the speed, but also the amount of care they used in handling their belongings. She knew that it must’ve been hard for them to do that – after all, they were paid by the hour. At the same time she had a feeling the enormous tip her mother had given them would make up for it.

“It’s no problem ma’am. Sorry if we were a bit rough with some of your stuff.”

“Oh don’t worry about that. I’m sure you didn’t damage anything.”

“Alrighty then ma’am. Have a nice day.” He tipped his hat to the mare, before turning towards the door.

Octavia, now in a much better mood, had decided to stand by the door and say goodbye to the workers through simply her smile as they left. Her adorable expression softened their hearts, possibly more than the music had. But it was the music that earned her the pleasant remarks and praises as they vacated the household one by one.

The boss slowed his trot as he approached the filly. She had just received adulation from the last worker and was now staring up at the head honcho. He was the biggest out of all of them by far, with shoulders wider than Octavia’s entire length. His entire demeanor screamed ‘don’t mess with me’, which made the smile on his face seem that much more out of place. As he towered over Octavia, he lifted his hoof into the air and brought it down softly onto Octavia’s head, patting her a few times.

“Ya did good, kid.”

Without another word, he continued out the door to the cart. Octavia watched the large vehicle go off down the empty street, pulled by two of the workers. She almost wished they’d stayed longer; they hadn’t turned out to be as rude as she originally expected.

So there they were, a family standing amongst a sea of opened cardboard boxes. The last traces of the mover’s presence had dissipated; all that remained were three Germane ponies in a new city.

Octavia was still looking out the doorframe when she felt a warm presence wrap itself around her. Turning her head to the side, her father looking at her with his large green content-filled eyes, his foreleg wrapped around her like a shawl over her shoulders. She lightly nuzzled his cheek and returned the embrace with both forelegs.

“So how is my little Beethooven doing now?” he asked.

“Wonderful.”

---

“I think that’s everything. Any questions?”

Neither Octavia nor her mother dared ask any questions. Contrary to their enjoyment, they know both knew everything one could possibly know about the inner workings of a house and then some. The young filly wasn’t sure if her mind could remember anything that he’d said; she still didn’t know what a hydronic heating system was. She had been too late to stop the new Equestrian homeowner mindset from taking over her father.

Back in the living room, Octavia threw herself into the sofa, bouncing a bit from the elasticity of the cushions. That darn skylight, why did it have to be above the sofa? Her bed was upstairs, but that was much too far for the tired filly to trek.

Her mother trotted back over to the kitchen, copying her daughter’s example and slouching back in one of the chairs. “No dear, we got everything, thanks.” She grabbed the coffee she’d made earlier and took a swig, wincing when it turned out to no longer be warm.

He let out a chuckle. “Well alright then,” he said as he walked through the multitude of cardboard boxes.

In an instant his head and ears perked up, his eyes widening as a certain memory came to his mind. “That’s right!” His sudden change had attracted the attention of his family, who stared at him in confusion with their languor filled eyes.

“What is it father?” his daughter asked.

Instead of answering, he instead scanned the room, turning his head from side to side. Octavia was just as confused as she had been during the tour. He did occasionally ignore her, but not when they’d just been talking. What was it that had piqued his interest so?

He finally found the item he was looking for, a box that wasn’t any different from its companions. Picking it up in his foreleg, he transported the box over to the sofa where his daughter lay. He set it down before pulling the flaps of the box open. Inside, multicolored slabs laid neatly next to each other, each covered in what was obviously writing of some sort.

“What are these?”

“Take a closer look,” he said with a grin.

Upon closer inspection, she realized the writing had been done in Equestrian, which was still slightly alien to her. She wasn’t anywhere near as proficient at reading and writing in Equestrian as she was speaking it, but it still made pretty decent sense.

“Equestrian? Science? Mathematik?” She quickly caught herself as realized she’d used the Germane word, not what was written on the book. It happened on occasion when she tried to read Equestrian words that were cognates for Germane ones; after all, Equestrian had originated from her home language.

But then it clicked as to what these books were. Schoolbooks; one for every conceivable subject.

“W-what? Why are these-“

“SURPRISE!” her father yelled, enough to give Octavia a small heart attack and make her to sit straight up in the sofa. A ridiculously cheesy smile plastered itself on his face, like he was trying way too hard to get across the fact that he was happy. “These are your new schoolbooks!”

“Schoolboo… father, what do you mean schoolbooks? I don’t need these books for a musician’s school!”

Her father’s grin disappeared for a moment, soon being replaced by an innocent grin when he realized what she meant. He looked at his wife sitting in the kitchen. She’d been listening in and was now wearing a grin of her own.

“I’m sorry Octavia,” she spoke up, not willing to relinquish her spot. Despite the fact that she was apologizing, she seemed awfully cheerful about it. “We completely forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“That the rules have changed a bit,” her father continued. “The school system in Equestria is different from the one in Germaney.”

“What? What do you mean by ‘different’?” she squeaked.

“You’re not going to be happy about it, but we had to tell you sooner or later.” He took a quick breath before continuing. “Here in Equestria, you don’t get the choice of going to a school based on your talent. It doesn’t matter if you have your cutie mark or not. All foals here get the same kind and level of education.”

Octavia’s heart sank into the depths of sadness, letting out a soft gasp at this sudden change in events. Nothing could’ve shocked her more, even if the Princess herself had walked in.

“But… but I…I-wha, n-no, but… but…” she stammered.

“I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

"But I..."

"Octavia," her mother said with increased emphasis.

“… alright.” Her eyes dropped to fix themselves on the floor.

Her father sat down beside his daughter, who was still staring in disbelief at the books, and put her foreleg around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, your school has an orchestra you can join.”

These words of relief alleviated Octavia’s agitation, but failed to completely erase it. She had already made plans for what she’d assumed was going to be a musician’s only school, which mostly revolved around practicing her heart out and learning new techniques to help improve her playing. She had no interest in learning algebra or Equestrian history, just like how her mother really had no interest in learning about the new airflow unit. Besides, why should she have to take these classes again if she already had? The only difference would be that they would be taught in a different language, one that she spoke perfectly. And it wasn’t like she didn’t understand the material; heck, she was probably 20 times smarter than any of the foals already there. The whole thing seemed so unfair.

“So when do I begin attending this school?” she asked solemnly, still trying to just accept the fact there was no way to convince her parents otherwise.

“You begin in a week, next Monday to be exact.” Her father spoke into her ear.  “There’s no work before-hoof, so you can get acquainted with the house in that time and help with unpacking. You’ll be fine dear, no reason to worry.”

She certainly hoped so.

“And I’m sure you’ll make some new friends too.”

Yep, nothing to worry about.

> The Night Before
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week didn’t take as long as Octavia had imagined. It wasn't like she was excited to go to her new school; unpacking and practice simply used up more time then even she expected.  Luckily for her, this new school hadn’t required any pre-requisite work, so she didn’t have to worry about studying just yet. Soon enough though she knew she’d be studying just as much as she would be practicing.

Octavia hopped up into the seat of their new Bitsubishi, relishing the beautiful sight of the morning dawn through the open carriage. It had been said that the greatest musical composers received influence from nature, and a sight like this would be perfect for that. Unfortunately, she was on a busy schedule now, and had someplace she had to be in a few minutes, so she couldn’t absorb as much inspiration from it as she’d have liked.

Her mother strapped herself into the yolk as the driver of the shiny black cart. She flicked her long mane out of her eyes once more; Octavia didn’t understand why she didn’t just go to a barber. She pulled the cart out of the driveway onto the black macadam of the street.

Octavia barely managed to keep her eyes open. She’d gotten used to sleeping late this past week; suddenly having to get up early threw her mind and body all out of whack, and she still hadn’t slept off the jet lag.

But all of that paled in comparison to the disturbances that plagued her attempts at sleep the previous night. 

---------------------------

Almost perfectly in time with when she had pulled up the covers to drift off to sleep, the invasion had begun. Loud pounding bass, seemingly from nowhere, had shaken her entire room, to the point where a few music sheets fluttered off her music stand. No amount of pillow cover could block the sound, despite multiple attempts. She couldn’t even silently practice her way through the aural garbage; all her delicate runs were instantly drowned out by the excessive amount of wub-wub. With no other ideas, she decided to take a walk, not so silently creeping down the hallway. She figured that if her parents could sleep through the noise, they wouldn’t mind the cushioned footsteps of a filly. She swore, anypony could be robbing their home right now and her parents wouldn’t even know. How they managed to sleep through this was unthinkable to her. 

She had just rounded the turn to head down the stairs, when another noise had made itself prevalent amongst the bass, something little Octavia didn’t think possible. It wasn’t quite like the deep beats; those at least kept a steady tempo. This new one seemed uncontrolled and less than constant, mixing different noises that clashed with each other at every possible instance. And through it all, she could ascertain that some of the sounds had been generated by a pony’s vocal cords, all coming from the kitchen. She had a talent for picking up sounds, though sometimes she considered it more of a curse, like right now. She went against what reason told her and stealthily traversed down the steps, careful not to let whatever was down there catch her before she obtained a proper inspection. 

Truth be told, she was scared. Scared right out of her little mind. She had no idea what waited for her in her new kitchen. Were her initial suspicions correct, and they were in fact being robbed? It would be the opportune time to strike; all their belongings were in the same room, more or less. And if they were being robbed, there was a good chance the thief had weapon of some sort. One that could easily kill or horribly injure a young filly, who had just as much fighting experience as… well she actually didn’t have any for that matter. The only ponies she’d ever battled were in musical competitions, in which she was usually the victor. 

Every thought she had at that point told her to turn away. There were exactly 20 reasons she should turn back, and zero reasons she should keep going. However, one of Octavia’s most prominent aspects was her curiosity, which easily overpowered her sense of reason and forced her to continue towards her goal. On the last step, she hesitated one last time before pushing herself forward with all the courage she could muster. Carefully tiphoofing through the darkness was harder than she expected, but it was necessary. The last thing she wanted to do was alert the intruder prematurely, which would only end badly. 

Now having a view of the kitchen, she could see that the assailant had turned on a light for himself, to aid in his thievery. Was he so confident he thought he could just help himself to whatever they had whenever he wanted, without any fear of the owners of the house catching him in the act? 

But then she noticed something else odd about the situation. The door of their fridge had turned on its hinges and was now standing wide open, concealing the identity of the intruder. Would a burglar really desire a snack, and at such late an hour? Nothing was making sense.

She suddenly felt a surge of confidence, compelling her to venture forward to figure out once and for all who it was. Her previously hesitant movements regained their normal spring, while still being careful of her darkened surroundings. It became easier as she neared the archway to the kitchen with the light from the fridge being the only source of illumination. It cast an eerie silhouette of the figure standing engulfed in its mouth against the opposite wall, mirroring its every move. 

The filly now stood a good two meters away from her target, refusing to get any closer for what small amount of fear still existed within her. The shadow wasn’t quite what her overactive mind had pictured a burglar to be, if it even was one. A small amount of extra strain on her eyes had allowed her to ascertain that the figure was not in fact wearing all black like she’d imagined. It shifted ever so slightly from side to side in its search for the perfect food item. 

A minute of watching passed and nothing interesting happened. Being honest with herself, she was slightly disappointed that she hadn’t had to scream because an intruder was stealing their valuables.  She was getting so bored; she actually considered trying her luck at sleep again. Unfortunately for her, she lacked any motivation to move from her current position, essentially sealing her movements like quicksand. Sleeping standing up was always something she’d pondered, and her mind agreed with her whole-heartedly on giving it a test run right then and there.

Just as the lids of her eyes began their descent, the movements of the figure in the fridge became more and more complex, transforming from simple fidgets to a few full swings of forelegs. With one last look into the cold storage, it slammed the door before turning around to trek back to where it came. 

Without the guiding light, the stallion previously stationed at the fridge stumbled into the first object he came in contact with. It might’ve been a misjudgment of his own ability to see in the dark, or maybe it was the fact that something existed there that previously hadn’t, but neither changed the haphazard result. 

Octavia’s face was instantly smothered with the tuft of hair that was a stallion’s chest. Both reacted to the other with opposite effects, the larger losing his balance and stumbling backwards while the smaller dropped to floor with a soft thud. Unable to maintain balance, the fridge raider also dropped to the floor, with a sound that wasn’t quite as soft.

“Aggh, what the?!” the disembodied voice yelled out in surprise.

The figure scrambled to its hooves, then quickly flailed one of its forelegs towards the closest wall. In less than a moment the overhead lights flickered on, as all was revealed to the two opposing ponies. 

“Octavia?!” Her father yelled, controlling his volume so as not to cause any more of a commotion in their household. “My lord, you nearly scared me to death!”

“I’m sorry father. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” He looked down to the now illuminated tile floor. “Though I can’t say the same for my sandwich.”

Octavia traced his gaze to the floor, where the various components of what was once a delicious egg salad sandwich lay scattered. 

“I’m so sorry. I’ll… I’ll…” she stammered.

“No no, it’s ok. More importantly, what are you doing up so late?”

Still shaken but completely awake now, Octavia tried to prepare her story the best she could.

“Well, I…I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d walk around a little. Th-then I heard you down here, and I thought you were a burglar, so I came down to investigate.”

“A burglar? Oh Octavia, come here.” He wrapped his forelegs around his daughter in a warm embrace. “I’m sorry. I thought you were already asleep.”

“It’s alright father. I’m just glad it wasn’t a burglar,” she said enveloped in his embrace.

“As am I.” He let out a small laugh, which simultaneously lifted Octavia’s shaken spirit. He slowly let his forelegs fall off of his daughter to the floor. “Seeing as we’re both up, may I interest you in a glass of milk?”

“That would be lovely father.”

The fridge door swung open for the second time that night, and the beige stallion reached his maw into its supply and returned with a half-filled gallon of Equestria’s finest milk. He gently set it on the only part of the table that wasn’t covered with open cardboard boxes. Octavia had figured that, since that particular table wasn’t available, that they’d move their little nighttime date to the living room, which at the time possessed the only cleared table in the entire house.

“Now, where did they put the box with the glassware? I swear those city ponies have no idea how to organize.” Muttering the phrase seemed to have keened his senses for detecting glass, for a moment later he reached down into a nearby box and returned with two glasses. After gently setting them upright on the table, he proceeded to pick up the gallon and pour the white liquid out of its container, trying to make the amount in each as equal as he could. Only a moment after he’d finished pouring the second glass, Octavia reared up on her hind legs to grab her glass, succeeding easily despite her short stature. 

The light from the kitchen illuminating their path, they trotted over to the sofa in the living room. Her father needed only plant himself on it; Octavia had to manage a short jump to reach the couch. Sitting her flank on the cushion greatly calmed her nerves. She’d been so uptight since the wub-wub invasion; it felt nice to just sink back and enjoy a glass of milk with her father. 

The thuds of bass had softened since its initial attack; now it existed only as a soft background noise, like a choir of electronic crickets, though it was still enough to annoy the sleep-deprived Octavia. She looked into her father’s dimly lit eyes, staring into the darkness of their living room, viewing it in a perspective he’d never seen before.

“So how’s my little filly doing?” he asked out of the darkness. 

“Father, I told you not to call me that. I’m not a filly anymore,” she answered.

“Ah that’s right, I forgot,” he mumbled.

“But to answer your question, I’m a bit agitated.”

“And why’s that?”

“That music coming from next door. I can’t fall asleep with that noise.”

“Ah, that? That’s what got me up in the first place as well. Some ponies can be so inconsiderate, don’t you think?” His gaze became more intense. “But that’s not all, is it Octavia?”

“Huh?”

“There’s more to it than just that music. I’m your father, I can tell. What’s troubling you?”

She was surprised at how quickly he’d infiltrated her inner thoughts, like some sort of psychic pony. “Well, i-it’s nothing, really.” 

“It’s not nothing Octavia. Ever since we told you about the new school, you’ve been more withdrawn than I’ve ever seen you. I don’t like seeing my daughter depressed like that.”

She gave in. There was no way to stop this until she spilled the beans.

“I… I don't want to go to school tomorrow. No, I don't want to go to school ever.”

“So that’s it.” Being the calculating stallion that he was, he already knew that was the reason; he just needed her to admit it before they could make any progress.

“I don’t like how I have to go to this new school with all those other less educated foals. It’s not fair for me to have to do that. I’m better than they are.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “Well that’s a bit egotistical, if I may say so.”

“But it’s true father! I’ve already taken those classes; I even remember the pictures on the covers. And they were easy! Why can’t I go to a music school like back in Germaney?”

“It’s just the law honey, I can’t do anything about it.”

“Why do Equestrian laws have to be so difficult? It’s not fair!”

Her father let out a short sigh. “Octavia, you can’t go along in life on just music alone. You might get bored with some of the material, but I think you’ll like school here. The ponies here are certainly friendlier than the ones back in Germaney. You’ll make friends before you know it.”

“That’s nice, but I don’t plan on making friends anytime soon.”

He understood she was nervous about starting school, but he was genuinely surprised at this. “Now what on earth do you mean by that?” 

“You know what I mean. You’re a musician. We can’t make any friends, especially if we’re always travelling to new places like you do.”

“Now don’t be ridiculous. Friends are the best things a pony could ever have. I pity the one who has to go through life without them. Musicians don't, that’s for sure.”

“I meant lasting friends, not somepony you just met for the first time and happened to be a little extra friendly with.”

“Octavia, you make it sound like I’ve never had a friend in my entire life. You make it sound like you haven’t either.”

“But I haven’t.”

“What about all those fillies back in Germaney?”

“They weren’t my friends. I just knew them. I honestly don't plan on contacting them ever again, especially if its going to take away time from my practicing. ”

“Is that so?” 

“I can’t make any friends, I know I can’t. If I’m going to be a talented musician like you, then I can’t waste time with something like friends. If I’m going to be the best I can possibly be, then I…” 

He brought his hoof to meet his daughter’s mouth, insisting that she let him speak his thoughts. “Listen Octavia. In the music business, it’s a tough life. You’re always travelling and practicing with other ponies you don’t know. And it’s true; after every recital you’ll probably never see most of them ever again. But that doesn’t mean you can’t make friends. Our lives are difficult, and without anypony to help us through them, it makes it that much more difficult. Don’t isolate yourself Octavia. Give the ponies here a chance.”

Octavia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. For a moment, she questioned if she heard her father correctly. What he was saying went against everything she’d assumed about the art of music, at least in the realm of acquaintance making. She pondered for a few seconds, then hung her head down in realization.

No. It clashed too much with what she had clung so closely to her entire life. After all, what gave him the right to say such things? She knew all too well; her father never had any friends that he had over, no fellow stallions he ever hung out with. How could she listen to his words, and even try putting them into practice, when her entire life she’d been told the exact opposite? How could HE, of all ponies, say these things? She blew it off as just the fatigue talking. 

Besides, what the hay could friends possibly do for you?

However, in a less than moment new thoughts bombarded her psyche like a mental meteor shower, smashing against her ideas. This was her father that had said that, and while that supported the idea that it was false, it also supported the idea of it being true. He’d never let her down before. All his advice, all his musings, everything he said, she kept with her and was regarded as the truth. She didn’t go so far as to write down everything he said; that would just be plain silly. But how could she not listen to him now, of all times, when she could tell he truly cared about her well being?

So many conflicting thoughts battled within her mind. She couldn’t stand to try to think about this now; she was already tired enough as it was, and doing so would only add to her exhaustion. She threw her head back on the backboard of the sofa, putting the off the thoughts till another day. 

She reached back to the table to pick up her glass of milk; periodic sips had left it half-full. The liquid cascaded down her throat, washing away what was left of her worries. 

Her father’s gaze shifted from her back to the darkness of the living room. For the longest while they sat completely silent before he renewed the conversation.

“Octavia, what do you think?”

She hadn’t expected him to restart the conversation so abruptly. She was having a great time just looking into his eyes. “Well, I like the style. It’s very modern, it’s spacious, has…”

“I didn’t mean the house. I meant about the move.”

“What do you mean by that, father?”

He downed a quick swig of milk, wiping his lips before answering.

“I want to know your opinion on the matter. I know it wasn’t fair of me for just making my decision without your or your mother’s consent, and I’ve been constantly regretting that. I know you hate me for it. You just said yourself how you’d prefer a Germane school.”

“Don’t worry about that father, I understand. You did it for us, I know you did.”

“Well, that might not be true.”

“Huh?”

“You already know that I will now be the second violin of the Equestrian Orchestra, right?”

“Right.”

He hesitated for a moment, before forcing himself to continue. “The truth is, there was actually another position that was offered to me. By the Germane National Orchestra. They offered me the first seat, and the pay was much better. But I chose the position here.”

Octavia had no idea her eyes could widen as much as they did in that moment. “Wh-why on earth would you?”

His gaze intensified. “I hated Germaney. It was selfish of me, but I couldn’t stand to live there another day. Everypony there was so rude, so snobby. I didn’t want to raise you in a dreary place like that.  I really just wanted to make you as happy as you can be.” His gaze fell to the carpet floor. “But just now, you made me realize that was just my opinion. I didn’t even ask you your thoughts, or your mother’s; I basically forced you both to go along with it, using the excuse that we were hurting for money. I had no idea that you’d be so upset because of it. It’s pointless to do it now, but I have to get this out of my system. It’s been killing me Octavia. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’m not upset father. To be honest, I really didn’t like it there either.”

He looked at his daughter in disbelief. “Really?”

“Yes. The school system there was the only thing I liked about it. I completely agree, it was too dreary there for my liking.”

She gently nuzzled his face, reassuring the brooding stallion of his decision. His grin returned once more for the first time that night. In return for his words of wisdom, her simple reassurance seemed trifling in comparison, at least to her. But the look on his face attested otherwise.

“Thank you. You don’t know much of a relief that is.” Under cover of perpetual night, he gave her a peck on the cheek. “I love you Octavia.”

“I love you too father.”

She was going to sleep well tonight.


> We Don't Need No Education
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

And she did sleep very well. At least for the four hours she had left before she had to wake up again for school. 

Their talk had been enough to immediately put her back to sleep. No official conclusion had been made as to how she was going to go about the rest of her career, or how she would interpret the advice he’d so graciously given her, but for the present time it had at least changed her outlook on school. 

As interesting as her talk with her father had been, it had deprived her of the one necessary component for anypony’s first day at a new school – a good, LONG night’s sleep. The majority of the blame for this was still the fault of the electronic music that had originally woken her, but as much as she hated to admit it she had to thank whoever it was for blasting it. If it hadn’t been for that, she would never have been able to vent her frustration, and in turn be wouldn’t have been exposed to the side of her father she never knew existed. 

This was, however, purely fortunate timing, and the next time she heard that god-forsaken trash she would personally track down the pony playing it and give them the longest lecture about contemporary music she could imagine.

The school was located within a walking distance from her new home. She could have easily done just that; she wasn’t afraid of the cold, considering her homeland had some of the fiercest winters in the world. To her chagrin her mother had insisted on taking her the first day, so that she could ‘help’ her daughter get acquainted with her new surroundings. If there was one thing Octavia hated more than her father treating her like a filly, it was when her mother did the same. But the decision did come with an upside; a free ride, which she desperately needed. 

In what wasn’t long enough a time for Octavia to take a decent nap, they’d arrived at the school. Under the newborn daylight the gargantuan structure prominently displayed its walls of red brick and iron shingles, light refracting off the various windows that lined its front. A short cement pathway led from where they’d stopped to the front door, perfect levelness interrupted by the tallest flagpole Octavia had ever seen. A huge clock adorned the apex of the front most wall. 

Waiting for the cart to come to a complete stop, Octavia sluggishly stepped out, setting her hooves onto the chilly walkway.  Even with her drowsy eyes and even drowsier mind she could tell something was off about the school. Not so much the school itself, but the number of foals presently walking through the front courtyard.

Which was to say absolutely none. 

Luckily for her her go-to walking encyclopedia of pretty much everything had decided to tag along. 

“Mother, where’s everypony else?” she grumbled.

Walking to her daughter’s side, her mother trotted along just as slothfully. Her job didn’t call for her to get up so early, so this sensation was completely alien to her. She knew she’d offered to take her along, but she regretted it every step of the way.

Her mouth opened wide, bellowing a much-needed drawn-out yawn before answering. “Well, ya see Octavia, we’re actually a little late. They said it would be ok if we came in late, there’d be somepony to help us around.”

They were LATE? THIS was late? She wasn’t so perturbed at the fact that she was tardy on her first day of school so much as she was annoyed that being late still felt five hours too early.

“Well let’s get this over with. I think I hear my bed calling,” her mother spoke groggily.

-----------------------------------------------------

There were just as many young foals inside as there were outside. Judging from her mother’s statement, she guessed they were already in their classes, learning things that weren’t music. She pitied them, for they would never know the joy of memorizing Beethooven’s 9th through four straight hours of practice. 

The two stood at the crossroad of three long hallways, lined with lockers for use as miniature storage units. It puzzled Octavia how anypony was to fit their belongings in such small slots. The size of the building was imposing, for sure, but she wasn’t concerned. Oh no, she wasn’t worried about getting lost or anything. 

“Ah, you must be Miss Adagio.”

Octavia slowly turned her head to the source of the voice calling her name. Trotting towards them from the hallway on the right was a rather tall, sky-blue unicorn, dressed in what appeared to be a buttoned purple sweater. Glasses only half the size of her large green eyes were perched towards the end of her snout. Her mane was a drab magenta, not quite the same color as Octavia’s own eyes. The smile beaming across her face seemed impossible to possess at such an early time.

“Yes, that is me.”

“It’s such a pleasure. I’ve been waiting for you all morning.”

“How long has she been here?” Octaiva thought to herself. 

“I’m Miss Caralot. I’m your homeroom teacher for this year. I will also be doubling as your math teacher.” 

Perfect, JUST perfect. Her least favorite out of all the unworthy subjects, and SHE was the one going to be teaching her? She couldn’t take this level of liveliness first thing in the morning. Keeping her father’s advice in her mind, she restrained herself from letting out a groan. She forced herself to return the smile as best she could, trying to make a good first impression. Maybe if she played her cards right, she wouldn’t be given as much work.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” Octavia squeaked.

“I must say, your Equestrian is quite exemplary. I haven’t met anypony from another country who can speak it as well as you can.”

“Thank you.”

“I trust my daughter will be in capable hands?” her mother questioned.

“You don’t need to worry at all Mrs. Adagio. Here at Manehattan Primary, we strive to give only the best education to all the young foals who come here. I’m sure your daughter will love this school.”

“That’s good to know. Is there anything else I need to stay for?”

“There is not miss. I will help your daughter around the school for the next few days until she gets acquainted.”

“I really appreciate that, thanks.” She nuzzled her filly one last time before her departure. “You’ll do fine dear, don’t worry. I have the utmost confidence in you. I can’t wait to hear all about your first day when you get home.”

“Goodbye, mother.” She waved her off as her mother turned and exited out the same door she’d entered. Octavia followed her mother’s path all the way until she’d once again strapped herself into the cart and headed off.

“Well then Miss Adagio, are you ready to go to homeroom?”

She started walking back down the hallway she’d materialized from with Octavia following at her side.

“It’s alright miss, you may call me Octavia.”

“Octavia. It’s such a beautiful name. Your parents chose well.”

“You think so? I never really liked it. I think it sounds too… rough.”

“Oh, nonsense. Octavia is a beautiful name, and it fits you perfectly.”

Her medium pitched voice calmed any leftover fears Octavia had about school. She was very nice, but as countless movies and TV shows had taught her, it was the nice ones you had to watch out for.

“We’re here.”

Much sooner than she’d expected, Octavia was now staring at the door to her new homeroom, arguably the second most important class of the day. The dark oak door lined with the cracks and crevices of time stood stalwart between her and her future. She could hear the jumbled voices of countless foals coming from the inside, most likely discussing subject matters of trivial importance. Before long, she felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of her flustered face. She wasn’t nervous, certainly not the headstrong Octavia. So why was she sweating? Disregarding it merely as a malfunction of the school’s heating system, she wiped it off her brow without another thought. Miss Caralot gently nudged the door open with an extended foreleg. She entered into the unknown territory, with Octavia following right behind.

The class was a nice size, with foals of both genders adding up to a little over a dozen total. A large window made up one wall of the room, sun shining brightly onto the faces of the entire class. In the front there was a large chalkboard, riddled with assignments for the young ponies and math problems Octavia instantly knew the answers to. 

“Quiet down class,” Miss Caralot beamed out ever so cheerfully. “Today we have a new student joining us, all the way from Germaney. I want you all to give a warm welcome to Octavia!”

Their voices went instantly silent. Whatever they’d been discussing with each other paled in comparison to the new attraction at the vanguard of the room.

“Go on Octavia, introduce yourself.”

She hadn’t planned on talking at all, let alone give a formal introduction. “Ummm, hello. My name is Octavia. As you already know, I’m from Germaney. I hope you’ll accept me into your class.” This was so embarrassing.

She gave a slight bow, more of a head nod actually, at her new classmates. Their beady little eyes scanned the new intruder like some sort of painting for everypony to just stare at. Most of them had never seen a foreign filly before.

This reaction would be odd to any other young pony, but it was all too familiar to her. Even though she’d never once transferred schools before, she knew it well. It was similar, no, exactly like the looks she received when she’d performed Buck’s Symphony in E Minor flawlessly in front of an audience of adults, who couldn’t believe that the little filly was the source of the amazing sounds they were hearing.

But something was off about the attention she was receiving. Something wrong, out of place among should have been a complete show of awe. One pair of eyes stood out among the rest. It wasn’t a gaze of awe or fear.

It was a gaze of sheer joy.

Octavia turned her own to meet this gaze, while continuing the façade of making it look like she was addressing the entire class. She was met with one of the most interesting sights she’d ever seen.

In the far corner, a white unicorn filly was smiling back at her. Her mane was long and spiky; the style reminded Octavia of those modern artists that she’d heard about. Rich vibrant hues of blue soared out of her scalp, adding color to her pure white coat. But the most extraordinary aspect about her was her eyes. Crimson red baubles sat perched in this filly’s head, staring directly at her. They seemed too perfect to be eyes; they reminded Octavia too much of precious rubies, glimmering in the sunlight.

It was spectacular. She never thought a pony could be so artistic in form, so beautifully colored. It wasn’t any sort of, dare she think it, romantic attraction; she compared it more to that of the first time she’d laid eyes upon her first cello, and how she’d gazed upon its luster wood for hours on end. Without her realizing it she’d been drawn into this filly’s gaze, who kept her smile all the while.

“Octavia, are you alright?”

Her teacher’s words sprung her out of her trance. The looks on her classmates’ faces had all turned into smirks, making her wonder what exactly it was they were so intrigued about. Then it hit her. She must’ve looked like a complete foal ogling that other filly like that. Who was she, her dad? Her face turned red from embarrassment. 

“Well, ok then. You can take your seat right there.”

Happy to get out of the spotlight, she quickly obliged, following her teacher’s extended hoof towards the only empty seat, right aside of the window.

And right in front of the mystery filly.

She sat her flank down into the hard desk. As Miss Caralot began her morning speech, Octavia decided to listen to what the blue mare had to say, listening closely for any mention of the word ‘orchestra’. 

Her latest screw-up vanished as quickly as it happened. The foals had obediently gone back to listening to their teacher. She might’ve been an attraction at first, but now that she wasn’t up on stage, they could care less about her. Good. The last thing she needed now was everypony crowding around her and asking her about her personal life. She learned to deal with the feeling of embarrassment early on; now it never lasted for more than a minute at most.

The only feeling she was concerned about at the current moment was the one jabbing itself into her shoulder over and over again. Like a parasprite begging to be fed it refused to desist, only increasing the force used with every jab. It was quite distracting, especially when she was putting her all into just listening to the teacher’s early morning oration. She wasn’t missing anything important, but that did not change the fact that it was annoying. All attempts to ignore it proved futile as such, and she was left with only the option to confront it in a quick and timely manner.

She quickly turned around to face her assailant, who ceased the incessant jabbing as soon as her demand was met. Octavia was met with the largest red eyes she’d ever seen. From a distance they already seemed large enough, but within inches of her face they seemed downright gargantuan. The face that held the eyes drew a grin.

“Hey, Octavia was it?” she asked excitedly.

“Yes. And who might you be?”

“The name’s Vinyl Scratch. Nice to meetcha!”



> Getting a Feel
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Vinyl Scratch, huh?” Octavia whispered.

“Yup!”

Octavia sighed. Guess it was too idealistic to think she could go an entire day without somepony asking any questions. Miss Caralot hadn’t said anything yet that interested Octavia, which she interpreted as meaning she wasn’t going to say anything that interested her at all. She wasn't normally one to ignore others, but at this point she was limited to paying attention to either the teacher or the filly, and frankly the one sitting behind her seemed much more interesting.

“Nice… to meet you as well.”

Vinyl’s eyes closed in an excited beam. “Oh man, this is so exciting! The new filly, sitting right in front of me. This is SO AWESOME!”

Octavia countered her exuberant grin with a scowl. “I’ll have you know I am NOT a filly.”

“Oh, ok then!” Vinyl said, completely forgetting about what she said in a matter of moments. “Hey, do you mind if I call you Tavi?”

“What th… why would you call me such a name?”

“Octavia’s too long. Besides, Tavi’s cute, dontcha think?”

Octavia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. In her entire life, nopony had every given her a nickname, much less one that to her sounded like some kind of confectionary.

“N-No, I do not think it’s cute, now if you would...” she stuttered, not exactly sure why she was stammering.

“Aww come on, please?” she pleaded as she hit Octavia with the most compelling puppy dog eyes she had ever seen, enhanced that much more because of the red pigment.

It was true that she didn’t like her name a whole lot, but there was a certain amount of dignity she felt was lost when some random filly decided to give you a new name. But those red eyes, staring into her very soul, were much too compelling.

“Fine…”

With little warning, the white unicorn wrapped her arms around Octavia’s midriff, stretching her own body to do so. The sudden feeling of pressure around her body was very much alien to Octavia, and she instinctively wrestled herself out of the embrace, causing Vinyl to do a faceplant onto her own desk.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Octavia questioned in anger, doing her best to wipe off the nonexistent germs that were transferred in the embrace.

“Ah’m giffing yu yur uffishel wercum,” she said, her answer muffled by the desk.

“What was that?”

Vinyl wrenched her head back up to give a clearer, less constricted answer. “I’m giving you your official welcome.”

“Oh. Is this something ponies in Equestria do as a greeting? Can I expect more of these, ‘welcomes’?” She was generally scared of that thought, a horde of ponies trying to wrap their filthy little legs around her.

“Nah, it’s just somethin I do sometimes.”

“Oh, I see,” Octavia grumbled.

“Well?” Vinyl asked.

“Well what?”

“Do you feel welcomed?”

“Erm… I suppose so.”

Vinyl squealed in delight

A sharp ringing cut through their conversation and synced perfectly with the end of Miss Caralot’s speech, something she was internally pleased about. The noise seemed to compel the other foals, who were previously listening to her speech half-heartedly, to get up out of their desks and walk out of the classroom.

“That’s the bell for first period,” Vinyl said. The confused look that was present on Octavia’s face told Vinyl all she needed to know. “Do ya need help getting around the school?”

“No thanks, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” she asked for good measure.

“Yes, I’ll be quite alright. I’ll have you know I’m a master at navigating new territory.”

“That’s so cute!” she said as she slid off the chair of her desk. “I can’t wait to hang out some more, Tavi.” Without another word, she started off towards the door.

The mention of her new name sickened Octavia, almost to the point of actually being sick. She hadn’t expected her initial welcome to be so… interesting. At the same time, she couldn’t help but feel that the upcoming year at least was going to be very long. As Vinyl trotted through the rows of desks, the grey filly took some more time to marvel in her coloring. How such a body could house such an unruly spirit was unfathomable to her.

One thing was certain; this one was different.

“Well Miss Adagio, you seem to have taken a liking to Miss Scratch.”

Octavia’s trance shattered. She looked up to see her homeroom teacher standing a few feet from her desk, sunlight gleaming off her glasses.

“I, uh…”

“So much of a liking, it seems, to completely blow off my announcements,” she said with an austere look, foreshadowing a severe rebuke.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I… she just…” Tears began to well up in the filly’s eyes in apprehension of the suggested scolding.

In a sudden about face of emotion, the cheerful smile that had been present when they’d first met returned. “No no, it’s quite alright. I’m glad to see you’re making friends so soon. Though next time… save it until after homeroom, alright?”

Still reluctant to admit it was her fault, she lowered her head in a nod.

“Thank you. Now then, I have your schedule here.” She wrapped a green aura around an object within one of the pockets of her sweater. Levitating it out, it was revealed to be a paper, covered in neatly organized writing. “According to this, you have Mr. Francen for science next. I’ll show you how to get to his room. At the end of class, just ask him how to get your next room. I’ll leave you with this.”

She gently levitated the paper within inches of Octavia face. Octavia took the hint and just as gently gripped it between her jaws. Holding her schedule there in front of her face, the words written upon it resonated through her head in less than perfect harmony. The names were easy enough, but there was so much small, indiscernible type and random markings to the point where it was actually painful for her to try to decipher it. She figured it would be an adequate representation of what her year was actually going to be like. Crazy, confusing, and boring.

However, there existed a single glimmer of hope at the very bottom of the paper; her musical instincts led Octavia’s eyes to focus on that one word, the word that would help her throughout these hard times.

Orchestra.

---------------------------------------------------------

Introducing herself once to a group of foals had been bad enough; doing it four more times, plus three more after lunch, was tantamount to indignation. She wasn’t sure why, but by the time she sat down with the school’s daily special, which to her looked more like yesteryear’s leftovers, her head was literally throbbing in pain. She hardly had any motivation or strength to try to eat whatever it was that was in front of her.

Why did orchestra have to be at the end of the day? The saying ‘save the best for last’ flashed through her mind, though it hardly seemed appropriate when all her classes so far were exactly as she’d imagined them to be. Ninth period seemed miles away; even though she was already finished with half her classes, three more may as well have been three hundred.

She’d learned in the past that lunch was another very important period to her day. It allowed her a reprieve for her to crash and basically do whatever the hay she wanted. Being alone for thirty minutes was often enough for a quick nap, or a chance to finish some homework that needed completing.

Today, it would be used for the former.

Slowly letting her eyelids fall, she propped her forelegs underneath her head in a criss-cross pattern as a makeshift pillow. The bell had proven itself loud enough to jar her from whatever deep sleep she fell into, so she wasn’t worried about oversleeping.

As her eyelids began their descent, a particular color was making itself known amongst the gray coloring of the cafeteria’s marble. Illuminated by the skylight overhead, she could see it was one of her classmates, a unicorn. Whoever it was had taken the easy way out, and was levitating their tray directly in front of their vision.

Octavia envied unicorns with their ever so convenient magical abilities. She believed whole-heartedly that unicorns were in fact taking over the world of music. All the famous musical artists nowadays were unicorns, who used their magic to manipulate instruments in ways earth ponies couldn’t hope to achieve.

But that hadn’t stopped Octavia, or her father. They were members of a dying breed, no doubt, but that had only encouraged both of them to push through and become better than those stuck-up unicorns. Her father’s performances had always been as much of a light show as they were concerts. Being one of the only non-unicorns among his various orchestras, he would always be the center of his audience’s attention, forcing him to work extra hard to prove his worth.

And she was certain her future would be similar.

CRACK!

The noise bolted Octavia out of her half slumber, sending her flying back into her seat in a comical attempt to show she was still awake. She rubbed her eyes once before looking across the table. A second tray existed there, covered in the same garbage the school had the nerve to declare edible. The blue aura that enveloped it gradually dissipated as its manipulator let gravity take over.

“Oh man, I’m starvin!”

Vinyl licked her lips as she eyed her food with the ferocity of a predator cat. So that’s why the foal had caught her attention. Of course it had to be Vinyl, of all ponies.

“H-Hey, who said you could sit here?”

Vinyl set down a blob of green gelatin she was about to devour. “You expectin guests or something?”

Tension built up in Octavia’s mind as she realized Vinyl was absolutely right. She was in no position to tell her where she couldn’t sit; she was the new filly, the one with no friends, or even acquaintances for that matter. She inaudibly cursed this fact with a scowl, sorely giving in with no fight.

“N-no…”

“Ok, so there’s no problem with me sitting here?”

“I guess…”

“Yay!” She reached across the table for another ‘welcome’, which Octavia promptly denied with an interesting-looking kung-fu stance.

“Ah, one is enough then?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Alrighty then!” She proceeded to pick up where she’d left off in the consumption of the gelatin. Chewing with her mouth wide open, Octavia could see the innards of this filly, which were much less pleasant than her exterior.

There was no chance of a nap now. So she couldn’t be held responsible for any extra crankiness she exhibited.

“So, Miss Scratch…”

“Call me Vinyl!”

She restarted with a little more emphasis. “So, VINYL, could you help me figure out this schedule?”

She reached to the vacant seat aside of her with her foreleg, returning with the slip of paper that had been her guide so far. Vinyl reluctantly set down a chip to aid in the filly’s understanding.

“Hmmm, so Miss Caralot didn’t offer?” Vinyl asked.

“Well, no, but I didn’t really ask either.”

“I see,” she said while scanning the pamphlet. Glancing over a particular passage, her crimson eyes grew to new widths, her mouth doing the same in a smile. “Next period you have math! With me!”

Octavia brought her head onto the wooden table with a loud bang. Vinyl jumped back.

“You ok, Tavi?” she asked while tilting her head.

She wasn’t about to say the real reason she’d unintentionally made her headache worse. She could be blunt, but that would throw a wrench in their conversation, and it risked losing her helper. Luckily, quick thinking one of her fortes.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just really tired is all,” she said as she sleepily raised her head. It wasn’t even a lie; she WAS going to take a nap, before somepony else had felt the need to sit them self down across the table.

“Ah, ok. Seeing as we have the same class next period, why don’t I walk you there, show you the ropes?”

Octavia tilted her head, raising one eyebrow. “Show me… the ropes?”

“Yeah, show ya the ropes.”

She tilted her head to the other side, mirroring her previous show of confusion. “Are these ropes so interesting, you have to show them to me?”

“Yeah… wait, wut?”

“These ropes. You really want to show me… rope.”

“Now whaddya mean by…” She stopped herself in instant comprehension of what was transpiring. “OH!!! I forgot, you’re from Germaney.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Well Tavi, here in Manehattan, we have certain lingo that we use. It might not make much sense in a literal definition, but trust me, it means something.”

Octavia had tried to prepare herself for new phrases, just like her mother had suggested, but only now did she realize just how difficult that was going to be. Having no guess as to what this new phrase might mean, she gave up.

“So… what does ‘show me the ropes’ mean?”

“It basically means give you a tour and getcha acquainted.”

“I see. I already told you, I’ll be fine. I don’t need any help.”

“Don’t’ be so stubborn Tavi,” she said with a grin. “We’re going to the same class, I might as well. Think of it as your ‘other’ official welcome.”

Octavia shuddered. She was by no means a huggy pony. “Erm, that’s ok, I don’t…”

At that moment she saw Vinyl prepare herself for her trump card, the technique used against only the most stubborn of ponies. “OK! OK! Just, don’t use those eyes.”

“Heh heh, I know your weakness Tavi.”

“Shut up,” Octavia grumbled.

“Now now, no need for those kinda words,” Vinyl suggested while pointing a hoof at Octavia. She casually brought her eyes back to the paper, curious about this filly’s other classes. She looked at the very bottom, and grinned her jubilant grin. “Ooh, ooh! And here you have orchestra!”

“Yes, I had figured that one…”

“With me!”

Slamming her head back onto the table was the first course of action that popped into Octavia’s mind, but making the one she already had worse wouldn’t really have been the best, seeing as she’d have to carry it with her for the rest of the already long enough day. Taking it in stride, she held herself back as she tried to continue keeping the conversation as normal as it could possibly be, sighing loudly to replace the urge.

“You sure you’re ok Tavi?”

Removing herself from the table, Octavia reared her sleep-deprived head. “Yes, I’m just tired is all. Really.”

“Allllllright…” she said with a bit more doubt in her voice.

Silence took over the table for only a minute, before Vinyl broke it again.  “Say Tavi, I’ve been meanin ta ask.”

“Yes, Vinyl?”

“You play the cello. And that’s a bass clef instrument, right?”

“Yes, that is correct.” She was surprised at this filly’s sudden display of musical knowledge, even if it was a bit basic.

“So why is your cutie mark a treble clef?”

Octavia showed a confident smirk. “Well, I don’t mean to brag, but I can actually play many more stringed instruments. The cello just happens to be the one I’m best at.”

“Oooooooooohhhhhhh, ok!”

Octavia was still reveling in her own glory when reason kicked in something fierce: she never told Vinyl she played the cello.

“W-wait, how did you know that?”

“Know wub?” she asked with a cookie half shoved in her mouth.

“That I play the cello. I never told you that.”

Vinyl glanced up at the ceiling like she expected it to tell her the answer. After a moment of rubbing her chin with her hoof, the answer came to her from nowhere.

“Oh yeah, that’s right. I saw you unpackin last week.”

A look of watered down horror appeared on Octavia’s face, though she’d meant it to just be of surprise.

“You did? Where were you?”

“Next door. Driveway. I was waving to you, but you were so intent on gettin into your new house that ya didn’t see me.”

“Oh, I see.” She was still very surprised, but there was another question that needed answering right now. “So what were you doing next door?”

“I live next to you, dummy.”

“WHAT?!” Octavia screamed as she threw herself up into an aggressive stance, keeping her astonished eyes locked on Vinyl. There were only micrometers between them, before Vinyl added to that distance with a simple foreleg push. Octavia compliantly fell back into her seat, realizing she’d just made a fool of both herself and Vinyl.

“I-I’m sorry, I was just a bit surprised was all.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Guess you’re not tired anymore, are you?”

Hot blood rushed into Octavia’s cheeks, coloring them a dark red. Her arms and legs fidgeted under the table, still reacting to the leftover traces of her outburst. Her eyes glanced nervously around, trying to avoid the stares of both Vinyl and those who might’ve seen her.

“In any case, you seem to know a bit when it comes to music.”

Vinyl giggled. “I should hope so. I play the xylophone.”

“Ah, I was going to ask what you played,” a complete lie if there ever was one.

“I’ll show you later. Did you bring your cello today?”

“No. I thought I’d just get myself acquainted with the school before I brought that in.”

“Makes sense. You’re going to love Noteworthy, he’s the best teacher ever!”

“That’s a big relief,” Octavia said with a miniscule grin.

The hammer struck the bell, signaling the change of classes. All around her foals vacated their seats and trotted off towards wherever their next class was, until only she and Vinyl were left.

“Well, guess that means we gotta get going. You gonna eat that?”

Octavia shook her head.

“Awesome!” She poured energy into her horn, grabbing what existed on Octavia’s tray with an aura of magic. Levitating what she had directly above her head, she pointed her mouth skyward, opening it as wide as she possibly could. All at once the food items fell from the air as gravity took over again. With chipmunk like cheeks she slowly digested the conglomerate of tasty items that Octavia had bought for who knew why.

All the while with Octavia looking at her with utter disgust.

“Oh god, that… Uggghh, in the name of Celestia, what are you even…”


> Challenge Accepted!
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vinyl’s interpretation of the school hadn’t been quite what Octavia had expected. She’d only anticipated some simple descriptions of the matrix of hallways and maybe some hints as to some shortcuts. What she had received had been a full examination of every minute detail a school could possibly offer, and then some. Everything from the school’s history, to which hallways she should avoid at certain times so she wouldn’t get stuck in traffic, to exactly how many books she could fit inside one of the lockers. 

Since they’d taken the scenic route, which Vinyl had insisted upon to further educate Octavia, they had been a single minute late for math, which was more than enough for Miss Caralot to give them a scolding. Her threats fell on deaf ears, for despite her giving them what was clearly a scolding, the calmness in her voice clashed with the words she was actually speaking. 

Octavia had transferred just in time for their unit on basic algebra, which for her was dreadfully easy, just like she expected. She hadn’t felt any need to volunteer her answers; after all, what purpose would that serve? Vinyl on the other hoof had absolutely no problem with showing off her knowledge, answering almost every question the teacher posed. To her annoyance a good portion of her answers were completely wrong, to which many of the other foals in the class giggled at.

Octavia loathed that. Had they been laughing at her, she would’ve guaranteed a harsh rebuke, if not a hoof to the face; in fact, she almost felt like doing it anyway. They didn’t have any right to laugh at Vinyl’s mistakes; at least she was trying.  

Yet, all the white unicorn did was smile. Not even a hint of red existed anywhere on her face but her eyes. Instead of punching them, she laughed with them, occasionally making a remark even Octavia had to laugh at before going right up to bat for the next question. Every time she answered, right or wrong, her smile seemed to become a little bit wider.


-----


After math, the two had gone their separate ways, Vinyl making a promise to Octavia that they’d meet up at two sharp before they went into orchestra together. She’d performed some weird ritual she called a Pinkie Promise, something that both intrigued and kind of scared Octavia. Apparently it meant that she wasn’t allowed to break it should Celestia smite her, but Octavia could tell from Vinyl’s carefree tone that it was all in good fun, and no ponies would in fact be hurt in the making or breaking of a Pinkie Promise.

Last period arrived all too late for Octavia’s liking. Standing outside the double doors to the room for all things musical, she was both excited and worried. Vinyl had assured her that she’d be fine, and that Noteworthy was an understanding teacher, but she still couldn’t quite shake off the worry.  The clock chimed two. She scanned the area around the entrance again, seeing no signs of the white unicorn. 

“Where the hay is she,” she thought. 

After only a few seconds of worrying, she shook her head. This wasn’t like her; she didn’t need somepony to hold her hoof through every class. Why should she care about the on-timeness of a unicorn she just met today? With new confidence, she charged through the pair of wooden doors.

It was such a relieving sight, compared to all of the cramped schoolrooms she’d been stuck in previously. Arcing rows of seats filled with aspiring musicians, ranging from the smallest violins to the largest tubas fanned out before the conductor, the rumored Noteworthy. All around the room enormous black lockers stood against the curved white walls, white labels dictating their contents. The smell of steel and wood filled the air, the sounds of foals putting their instruments together giving a sharp contrast to the wondrous melodies that she imagined would soon follow. She approved of the way the conductor had arranged the instruments, with the higher-pitched sopranos being conscripted to the front and the lower basses being stationed to the far rear.

Noteworthy himself had the appearance of the toughest stallions. His dark blue coat was accented by an even darker blue mane. His yellow eyes overlooked his class, watching ever so intently for any sign of misconduct. He sat behind the master music stand on a black swivel stool, exposing his cutie mark of a trio of double eighth notes.

A quick turn of his eyes, and his attention was now locked on Octavia. Cupping the air with his hoof, he gestured for her to come closer. At his beck, she trotted around the giant fan of metal folding chairs, gently tip-hoofing around cases that had been left open on the floor. Standing before the podium, Noteworthy looked down upon her from his high perch. A delighted grin came across his face.

“Miss Adagio, I presume?” he asked in a thick voice, reminiscent of many judges Octavia had faced in her past.

“Y-Yessir.”

He extended his hoof towards her. “It’s such an honor to have you here.”

Her cheeks turned a light red. Praise from a math teacher didn’t have much value to her; praise from a music teacher was something she always longed for.

She met his hoof with her own as it was gently moved up and down. “Thank you, sir.”

“No need for the formalities. You can just call me Mr. Noteworthy.”

“O-Ok,” she squeaked.

“Is there anything you prefer to be called?”

She had to admit, she did like the sound of Miss Adagio, but it was too formal for conversations. “You may call me Octavia.”

“Alright, Octavia,” he repeated. “I don’t suppose you brought your cello today, did you?”

“No si…” She cut herself short as she remembered what he’d just said. “No, Mr. Noteworthy, I didn’t. I figured that I would get myself acquainted with the school before I began practicing with the rest of the ensemble.”

“That makes sense. Well for the time being, I will give you the music, and you can listen along and go through your part.” He hoofed her the material, a thick stack of musical print. “You will be sitting over there, right in front of…”

He pointed his hoof towards the far right edge of the ensemble. The xylophone that rested behind the empty spot reserved for Octavia lay vacant, much to his apparent annoyance.

He sighed. “Well, you would be sitting in front of Miss Scratch, if she were...”

“Sorry I’m late!!!”

Everypony in the room turned to face the source of the sound emanating from the entrance in the back left corner. Standing there was the form of Vinyl Scratch, mounted with her hooves farther than shoulder width apart. She heaved large breaths while sweat rolled down her white body, her belly expanding and retracting past what Octavia thought a normal filly’s could.

“Vinyl, why are you so late?!” Noteworthy yelled. “This is the third time this month!” 

“I’m sorry teach… I just had something… I needed… to take care of,” she answered through her gasps for air.

“I hope it was important. Get to your xylophone, before I mark you as absent!”

As Vinyl trudged along the outer rim of the classroom, Octavia noticed something off about her spunky acquaintance. She had assumed that she was out of breath because she’d been running to get to orchestra on time, but she noticed now that her step was slightly off. After every three normal steps, on the fourth she would bend her head down, as if in pain. When she finally reached her instrument, the line of sight to her was finally un-obscured by instruments, revealing the problem to the watchful eyes of Octavia.

A disgusting blue mark on her right shoulder.

Noteworthy turned his head to Octavia. “Well, you’ll be sitting in front of her, for now.” 

He swiveled his seat to face the rest of the ensemble, leaving Octavia to find her way. “Well now that everypony is here, let’s begin. We’ll start with tuning. Basses!”


-----


It was the longest she’d seen Vinyl so quiet. Through the entire forty minutes of practice, she never once tried to speak to the filly in front of her. Octavia was actually worried about her, wondering what on Celestia’s green earth could’ve caused such a stillness in the normally rambunctious filly.

However, during the course of the practice it became more and more apparent as to the true reason. From Octavia’s position, every note that Vinyl produced flew past Octavia as it blended in harmony with the sounds of the other instruments. With every hit, it became clear that the reason was much more simple than Octavia had imagined. Through the melodies of a variety of pieces, ranging from mystical to heroic, she found herself perfectly content in relaxing and listening to the melodies the xylophone brought to life. For a filly who didn’t yet have a cutie mark in music, Octavia believed fully that she deserved one.

Practice ended with a march by John Fillyip Sousa, The Gallop Seventh. Out of all the music that they played, it was her least favorite. Octavia never liked marches much; their tempos were much too fast and repetitive to a pony who preferred eliciting as much emotion as she could out of the music she played. With the teacher’s dismissal, young ponies got up and walked to their cases, carrying their instruments with either magic or strength. 

It was the perfect chance for them to catch a better sight of the new filly. They were smart enough to try to be discreet, but they failed horribly; the increasing number of ponies just “happening” to pass by her, despite the lack of any music lockers near her seat. 

When some of them passed Octavia, who was still sitting, they would look at her strangely before turning to their friends and whispering in their ears, causing them to giggle the most annoying laughs. Octavia growled; she knew exactly what they were saying, even though she couldn’t hear them. 

Deciding it was about time to leave before any of those snobbish fillies actually verbalized their concerns, she straightened her posture as she planned the course she would take to rendezvous with Vinyl. As she was about to push herself off of the chair, she felt a hoof tap her on the shoulder. She turned her head to the right. A young colt was sitting next to her, no older than she was, sporting a cream coat and two green eyes that almost seemed a tad too big for his head. His short, wavy mane was bicolored; half pitch black, half a radiant gold. 

Octavia only learned this after a few moments of staring at the other object of her attention; the sight of the instrument he held had instantly caught her eyes. With a single foreleg, he grasped an enormous golden saxophone against him, supported in part by a strap that went around his neck and connected to a small hook on the saxophone. It must have been at least a baritone, possibly even a bass, an instrument she’d only ever seen in music catalogs. She wondered how she had not heard such a bombastic instrument, especially since it had been played right next to her.

“Hey. You’re Octavia, right?” he asked in a tenor voice, a bit deeper than Octavia had expected of a colt his age, but befitting of his choice of instrument.

She looked at him, not sure what he had in store to say to her. She answered nervously, giving only a nod of her head.

“My name’s Clef. I just wanted to welcome you to Manehattan, and to our orchestra.”

Octavia smiled. This welcome was much more reasonable and considerate compared to the hug Vinyl had forced upon her earlier.

“Thank you.”

He reached behind his seat with his free hoof to grab the equally monstrous case his instrument would be stored in and pulled it toward him. “So, Octavia, what instrument do you play?”

She straightened her back as she resumed the posture she’d been in previously. “I play the cello.”

“Oh, thank you,” he said. “We are in desperate need of a good cello player. Our last one just moved away before the year began.”

“You don’t say…” she said nervously. “But, I-I’m not really that good.” She didn’t know why she’d just said that; normally that would be the time when she’d tell the colt how right he was. Then again, how could she boast about her prowess when he hadn’t even heard her wondrous talent yet? Her eyes drifted downward for a moment, catching a sight of his unmarked flank as they made the trip back up.

He began to disassemble his saxophone, breaking eye contact. “The way you were looking at your music the entire time says otherwise,” he continued. “I can tell you take it very seriously, which is more than I can say about a lot of the others in here.”

She looked at him curiously. “I don’t know how you can say that when I haven’t even played yet.”

“I don’t really know, to be honest. I can just tell.” With every piece where it needed to be he closed the lid of the case, flipping the safety latches to secure his instrument between the velvet-covered enclosures. “Sorry if that sounded a bit weird.”

“No no. It’s fine. Thank you.” She glanced around the room. “I, uh... I should get going.”

“Ok. Seeya tomorrow Octavia!”

With a wave, she headed off towards the door of the orchestra room, swinging a left around the now-abandoned xylophone Vinyl had been playing. Through the gaps of the rear-stationed percussion instruments, she peeked through into the back row of the ensemble as she sauntered along more slowly, catching a quick glance of the cream colt as he was organizing his music. 

After what she considered too long a time for staring at another, a colt no less, she shook herself free, snapping her attention back to the hallway she was in. All of the ponies who’d been stationed there had already left, including the one who’d come in late. At the end of the narrow corridor, she could make out the form of her acquaintance from behind the flow of ponies heading out. With her right front leg over its adjacent twin, Octavia could see the unicorn was cackling softly to herself, clearly directed at her.

“What is so funny?” she asked, knowing it couldn’t have been anything good.

Vinyl grinned a devilish grin, made even more devious by her eye color. “I saw you were talkin to Clef just now.”

“Yes, I was, what’s your point?”

The unicorn uncrossed her legs as she turned one of her hooves around, resting its back against her temple as her eyes rolled in their sockets.

“Tavi and Clef, sittin in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” she sang in falsetto, putting extra emphasis on the colt’s name to make it fit into her song.

Octavia scowled as she realized what she was insinuating. “Shut up! Stop acting like a 4th grader, you foal! I’m not…”

Ignoring what her friend said, Vinyl continued. “Gotta hand it to ya, Tavi, you’re a charmer, that’s for sure. Getting a colt on the first day. Man, you Germane folk must have such low standards.”

“I said shut up!” She jabbed her hoof into Vinyl’s blemished shoulder. Even though she hadn’t meant to put much force behind it, the impact caused Vinyl to grab her shoulder as she winced in pain.

Octavia gasped. “I’m sorry, Vinyl. I didn’t…”

“Nah, it’s alright. I deserved that one anyway,” she said while setting her hoof gently back on the ground. 

She turned her gaze back into the almost empty orchestra room. A few stragglers still sat scattered throughout the mass of seats, laughing and grinning whilst conversing with each other. Octavia followed her eyes, making the point of the unicorn’s attention her own as well.

The target had just gotten up, lugging his enormous saxophone case behind him to put it in a locker. His backside was on display, his bicolor tail swishing happily from side to side as he carefully put his instrument back into its respective slot.

“I didn’t mean anything derogatory by what I said. Besides, Clef’s a nice kid. He’s a bit of a loner, but everypony likes him all the same.” Her eyes rolled over to the grey filly, whose focus hadn’t yet changed. “But I’d wait a bit before you start going out with anypony, with you being new here and all.” She moved her mouth closer to Octavia’s ear, reducing her volume. “Ya might come off as a bit desperate.” 

Octavia’s head rotated to face Vinyl. “Go out with? You mean date?”

Vinyl raised an eyebrow, lowering it only after she gave what Octavia had said a second thought. “Yeah, pretty much. I guess the phrase “go out with” is more literal in Germane. But yeah, I meant date.”

Octavia thrust her snout into the air. “I am not like that,” she scoffed. “I don’t have any plans on dating anypony now. Such a notion is stupid if you ask me.”

“What? Ya mean your gonna go through school without any kind of romance?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Geez, Tavi, you’re boring.”

“Would you like me to punch you again?” she threatened, slightly intensifying her gaze.

Vinyl waved a hoof in front of her, warding off the wrath of Octavia. “No thanks. Once is enough for me.”  Shoving off the wall with a transient grunt, she pivoted to face the door, to the annoyance of the grey filly who now had a tuft of a blue tail tickle her nose.

“Well, let’s get going. You can come with me to my locker, seeing you don’t have one of your own yet.”

They started out the double doors, turning left once in the hallway. Vinyl’s locker was conveniently close to the orchestra room, only requiring a short trip to the end of the hallway.  She grabbed the lock with her magic, spinning the dial around in both directions before it slid off. The thin door swung open, revealing a crevice filled with candy wrappers, half torn books, CDs, a pair of headphones, and what Octavia swore was a horseshoe.

“Great job waiting for me before orchestra, Tavi,” Vinyl said with her face half buried in her locker. Octavia sensed a hint of irritation in her voice, a slight drop in key giving it away.

“You’re the one who was late,” she countered. “I was not about to be tardy to another class. Just because you’re fine with that doesn’t mean I am. You would do well to do the same.” 

“Yeah yeah, ok, mom.” 

“Are you really alright with not making it to classes on time?” Octavia asked, scanning Vinyl’s form as if looking for some sort of explanation. “Don’t you have any sense of self responsibility?”

“I just don’t see a point to it,” her voice echoed from within the locker. “I think that if we’re forced to come here, then we might as well be allowed to pick and choose when we wanna go to class. I just wanna have fun, ya know?”

Her words seemed logical enough (at least in application to somepony like Vinyl) but right now, they didn’t filter into Octavia’s mind as well as she would’ve liked. She was calculating, more than anything. A pony like Vinyl didn’t become irritated at such a trivial thing as another’s reluctance to be late. 

She looked at the white unicorn’s shoulder, now revealed to have equally ugly shades of red and grey among the blue. “So, where did that come from?”

“That?” Vinyl wrenched her head out of her locker to look at the mark. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Vinyl. It looks pretty bad. You didn’t have that earlier today.”

Vinyl did not let her eyes meet Octavia’s, instead keeping her gaze trained on the interior of her personal storage space. 

Octavia took the hint. “You’re not going to tell me?”

She brought her gaze down to her hooves with a sigh. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t any of your business.”

“Vinyl, I know I just met you today, but if there’s something troubling you, then....” 

“Octavia, I said no!” she said with rising inflection.

Octavia stepped back. The mere mention of her real name sent an unnatural shiver down her spine. Ever since she’d given Octavia that god-awful nickname, she’d stuck to it; all three periods since homeroom that they’d had together, Octavia could never escape the sounds of “Tavi this” and “Tavi that”. It seemed alien to be referred to by her real name at this point, which just added to her doubts of Vinyl’s so-called “nothing”.

However, she reasoned that leaving it at that was the best course of action. Whatever irked her was none of her business. She’d already made it clear she didn’t want any help; if she didn’t want to talk about it, she didn’t want to talk about it.

The conversation came to an awkward halt. Many seconds passed without a sound from either of them, something Octavia hadn’t thought possible with Vinyl. The unicorn in question refused to look at her; instead, her red eyes now glared menacingly at her books as she gathered the last of the materials she needed for her homework. 

Thinking quickly, Octavia attempted to renew the conversation. “Say, Vinyl, you live next door to me, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You didn’t happen to hear somepony in the neighborhood blasting some music last night, did you?”

“Yeah I did,” she answered, keeping her focus on a couple of books she magically levitated into her unmarked saddlebag.

Octavia smiled, delighted to find somepony with whom she could share her thoughts. “How annoying was that? I mean really, at such a late hour, the least they could do was turn it down so the rest of us could get some sleep. And to play such trash, the nerve…”

Vinyl’s head snapped up, cutting off Octavia mid-sentence. “Trash? What the hay do you mean trash? That’s my music you’re insulting there!”

My music. My music. The pair of words echoed within Octavia’s mind like they’d been played in a great orchestra hall. In an instant, her brain was flooded with thoughts, too many to process at once, leaving her with an expression of sheer bewilderment on her face. She took a few moments to process the information, before bursting out the first thing that came to her.

“You were the one playing that trash?!” 

“For the last time, it’s not trash!” Vinyl barked. “And yeah, I was the one playing it. It’s the best kind of music there is!”

Octavia held back an involuntary laugh. “I don't mean to be rude, but it most certainly is not.” 

Vinyl shoved her forehead into Octavia’s, turning her already large eyes into enormous spheres of rage. “Well then, miss know-it-all, what’s your poison?”

“Poison?” Octavia asked while backing away from the sudden intrusion. “Why on earth would I want poison? That’s deadly.”

Vinyl’s raised a hoof before ramming her face into said hoof. “Ugggh, not an actual poison! It’s a saying. It means ‘what’s your favorite’.” She mumbled something else under her breath, most likely something insensitive against foreigners and their ignorance of slang.

“Oh. What an... interesting saying,” she said for lack of a better word. “To answer your question, though, I enjoy the dark and emotive works of Beethooven the most.”

Upon hearing the name, Vinyl’s menacing glare instantly shot blank; she stared Octavia dead in the eyes without a shred of her previous vigor, like there was something on Octavia's face that was of much bigger importance. The grey musician wasn’t entirely sure how to react in this situation; she wasn’t even sure what she’d said to cause such an impedance, especially considering the unicorn’s attitude until this point.

Without warning, Vinyl exploded into what couldn’t have been a healthy amount of laughter. She flung her head back, eyes closed merely to take in the absurdness of what Octavia had said. If the saying laughter is the best medicine was true, right now, Vinyl was the healthiest pony in the world.

Octavia’s mouth hung open a little, not sure if she should be sharing in the merriment or worried. She’d heard of mood swings, sure, but this was ridiculous. Even her father, who she considered to be one of the loudest ponies she knew when it came to humor, paled in comparison to the guffaws of Vinyl Scratch.

“HAHAHAHAHA! And you said MY music was trash?!” she bellowed.

The energy her excessive laughter required siphoned it from her calf muscles, dropping her to the floor while she clenched her stomach in a fruitless attempt for air. After a series of very quick hearty laughs, her laughter softened into brisk coughs of humor with long breaths between.

Naturally her show had drawn a crowd of her peers, who were now gathering around the two like moths to a flame. Despite the target of their attention being the one on the floor, Octavia couldn’t help but feebly attempt to hide her blushing as they gathered in a sparse semi-circle around the two.

From the spot where she was wallowing in her laughter, Vinyl finally acquired rest, belly expanding and contracting with the breaths she’d finally managed to catch. Ever so carefully she staggered back to her hooves. 

“Oooh… Oooh… Tavi, you, are, SO funny! Pffft-HAHAHA!!!”

The last couple of laughs threatened to destroy her newfound balance, but quickly propping her right leg a little farther to the right solved the dilemma.

“Wha… What on earth?” Octavia demanded. “What was that about?” 

Vinyl heaved a few more gasps before answering. “Tavi, I dunno if you’re serious or not, but really. I don’t know what age you’re from, but nowadays, nopony listens to that kinda stuff.”

Octavia gawked. “What do you mean by nopony? Millions of ponies attend classical concerts, you know. That’s hardly nopony.”

“Tavi, I hate to break it to ya, but it’s the modern age. Those guys are from the past. New music is definitely the way to go.”

“So what if they’re from the past? At least they put thought and consideration into their work, which is much more than I can say for that repetetive, boring, and eardrum melting electronic music you listen to! At least my music is interesting!”

“I’m not denying that at all,” she said finally managing to control herself to some degree. “There’s even some kind of orchestral rock that I really like. But Beethooven… Tavi, my grandma didn’t even like that kinda music, Celestia rest her soul.”

“Are you saying I don’t have good taste in music?!”

“Maybe if you lived a few hundred years ago,” she said with a smirk.

“That’s it!” Octavia slammed her hoof into the floor. “I’ll show you! I’ll prove to you just how wrong you are!”

Vinyl’s smirk softened into a devious grin, eyeing Octavia from the side. “How do you plan to do that?”

“I… I…” She scratched her head, realizing her sudden outburst might not have been as well thought out as she’d imagined. “I don’t know.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I do. C’mere.” She walked over to the nearest wall, motioning for Octavia to follow. The foals that had gathered to listen to their argument cleared a path for the two. Vinyl pointed at the center of the wall, where a large colorful poster was hanging.

“The Manehattan Primary Talent Show. Only the best of the school’s talent shows up there. We’ll see whose music is better with this!”

Octavia scanned the poster. Under the horribly indiscernible piece of trash somepony had the nerve to call art, the date was listed: Friday, November 20th, 6--9 pm. 

“So, we both have little more than a week to prepare our piece?” she asked. “Seems a bit rushed.”

“Hey, I’m ready to go anytime!” Vinyl said confidently. 

“That’s because your music is pre-recorded,” she countered. “All you have to do is hit a button, and it plays for you. No skill required.”

“Eh, that’s a bit misguided, but I don’t think now’s the time to educate you…” With the swiftness and surprise of a predator cat, she spun herself around Octavia, securing her head in her left foreleg as its twin proceeded to drill into Octavia’s once perfectly combed mane. “…about the other complexities that are involved with DJ-ing!”

Any call of opposition Octavia tried to make was lost to a garbled mess of what she actually emitted, but no less attracting the attention of her fellow schoolmates. Feeling adrenaline kick in, she tore off Vinyl’s hold on her, forcing the leg off like she’d once forced off a sweater her grandmother had once given her. 

She settled down into a wide, defensive stance. Her once perfect mane now hung in a tattered mess all around her head, obscuring her vision. She flipped it out of her face back to where it belonged, revealing a face demons would find hard to stomach.

“I thought I already made it clear that I do not like to be assaulted like that!” she screamed in Vinyl’s face. “And let me make one thing clear. I am not going to stoop to your level and accept this petty challenge. You know why? Because I know that I’m better than you, and that I always will be! I don’t need to prove myself to you!”

She did a less-than-perfect about face, storming towards the door while gritting her teeth The other foals in the hallway sensed her burning fury, giving her all the space she’d ever need as she headed towards the front door.

“Scared?”

That word cut through the air like a throwing knife, finding its way to its target and burying itself in her psyche. The sheer volume of that one word was more than anypony watching would ever truly understand. It was enough to stop the filly in her tracks, freezing her upright. The hallway became eerily still.

“What… did you say?” the grey filly muttered softly.

“Let’s see if all that hot air is actually worth something,” Vinyl harassed, unafraid of any consequences. “Or did you make all that up about you being an excellent musician?”

What rational part of her remained told her to keep walking, to go home, maybe have a nice, relaxing cup of tea, and to ignore that foolish foal’s detriments and be content with the thought that she’d been the victor that afternoon. This path, though she knew was right, was instantly silenced by an overbearing, much more appealing idea. She knew giving in to Vinyl’s ruse was exactly what the cunning filly wanted, but she had no choice.

Her ability had been insulted. There was no turning back now

She charged back to where she once stood, her fiery temper leading her. She hadn’t even bothered decelerating; using Vinyl’s forehead as a roadblock seemed much more fun. Vinyl stood the force of the colliding forehead, her villainous smile becoming even wider.

“NEXT FRIDAY! THE TALENT SHOW!” Octavia screamed with less than an inch between their faces. “And you’d better be there, so that when I win, I’ll get to see the sweet look of defeat on your face!”

At that moment, she felt something on her own face. Not the sweat caused by anger, not a stray hair tickling her cheek. No, it was much more than that, almost unnerving. She wanted to keep scowling, but had no control as the corners of her mouth rose.

Was she… smiling?

“Whatever you say,” Vinyl said. “Just don’t start crying when I completely dominate you, kay?” she mocked.

Octavia stuck out her right hoof. With a smug grin on her face, Vinyl swung her own right hoof out in an unnecessary motion before bringing it back to interlock with Octavia’s.

“May the best pony win!” Octavia declared.

“Heheh, damn straight the best pony’s gonna win!” Vinyl agreed.

Their gazes never left the other. They couldn’t risk letting even the smallest amount of wavering show. Invisible sparks flared between their eyes as the hungry predators stared each other down.

In that moment Octavia felt something she’d never felt before; the feeling of invigoration. Never before had she felt so compelled to metaphorically grind another pony into dust and teach them the error of their ways. It felt so unfamiliar, her blood boiling from the fire of competition and contest. For the first time in her life, she felt that another filly was on the same level as her, even if all she’d heard was just hot air. For once, she felt that her reign as top musician had been threatened.

And she loved it.

There would be constant practicing after school from the both of them for the next week, of that there was no doubt. The lights would dim, the curtains would draw, and the battle of the century would reign. The two fillies, competing against the other, defending the pride of the music they loved.

There would be no mercy.

> Preparation is Key
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Please, I need that.”

Her eyes didn’t bother to follow the sheet of paper that fluttered past her nose, instead focusing on an invisible point straight ahead. She sat on a wooden stool in the small alcove of her room where all of her music related activities took place. Her bare music stand stood in her front, her cello leaned against her side, and, to her annoyance, somepony stood behind her, making childish cooing noises.

“Listen, I really don’t have time for this.”

The paper, riddled with musical markings, fluttered past her from the other direction. Though she wore a stoic expression, her insides felt more or less like a volcano waiting to erupt.

A few tension filled moments passed, and she did just that. 

“Father!”

On the paper’s third flyby she snatched it out of the air before shoving it into the stand with much more force than was necessary. The figure behind her retreated his hoof, a quaint smirk on his face.

“My, my, Octavia, you can be quite a little fireball,” her father remarked.

She peered over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to interfere with my practice.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He walked beside her seat, eyes settling on the paper previously in his possession. “It’s just that you’ve been practicing so intently for this past week, you’ve barely ever talked to your mother or myself.” 

Octavia’s expression softened, the fact piercing her like an arrow. She hadn’t spent any time with her parents since the beginning of her and Vinyl’s grudge match; and while she wanted to say it was for a good reason, the fact still remained that she’d shoved aside both her parents for a filly she’d just met.

“I’m very sorry, father.”

“Oh no no. I’m proud to see you get so involved in your music.” He puffed up his chest. “You’re becoming just like your old stallion!”

Octavia groaned at her father’s attempted use of Equestrian slang, even if he was technically praising her.

“So tell me,” he continued. “You’ve never participated in a talent show in any of your old schools. What made you decide to enter one now?”

Octavia froze. She hadn’t told either of her parents of the challenge, nor of the filly who could practically yell from her window to talk to Octavia; in hindsight, she was surprised Vinyl hadn’t tried that yet. In any case, she didn’t have any plans on telling them of the reason she’d abandoned them their first week in a new country.

She began adjusting one of the already-tuned knobs of her cello, an excuse to turn her gaze away from her father. “I just thought it would be a way to… project myself into the new culture, I suppose,” she said with a nervous smile. She hated lying, partially because it was wrong, but mostly because she was bad at it.

“That’s great. I’m happy you’re so eager to get into the culture.” He wrapped a foreleg around her shoulder, with her glancing at his hoof in discomfort. “Even the greatest musicians need their rest, though. Can you promise me that you’ll get some sleep tonight?”

She eagerly nodded. He smiled and planted a quick peck on his daughter’s head. “I’m sure you’ll do great tomorrow.”

He let his hoof slide off her shoulder as he sauntered back into the hallway, closing the door behind him. She had just begun to readjust herself when she heard her father’s voice from the hallway.

“By the way, if you ever meet whoever it is who’s playing that music every night, could you ask them to stop? Maybe it’s a cultural thing, but I’m finding it very hard to fall asleep with all of that noise.”

In the back of her mind, she wanted to burst out in laughter. “I will, don’t worry,” she lied for the second time that night.

His faint hoofsteps decresendoed as he walked farther away, until they faded into silence. She drew in a deep sigh of relief, before bringing her attention back to the paper on her stand, scooping up her bow, and readjusting her body so she was in the playing position. 

This would be the last runthrough until tomorrow, meaning there was absolutely no room for errors. Breathing deeply, she put her entire focus into the sheet of music, and with a movement of her foreleg began the flow of melodic sonance. 

Immediately, an excellent quality of sound was produced. The piece flowed smoothly through the movements, just like she had hoped it would. Eventually the final note was reached, and she did a quick examination of her work that evening. Perfect, simply perfect. 

A satisfied smile adorning her face, she began to pack her cello into its home, where it would rest until its next performance. This last runthrough had caught her attention. All of her others had been the same; to a point, it had felt like they’d been machine-produced, merely for the sake of memorization and perfection. 

This time, however, she had been particularly pleased with her results. The satisfaction she’d felt; it was like nothing she’d experienced with not only her other runthroughs, but even some of her live performances. She knew, fully, that this was the true perfection, the one that she would use to prove to Vinyl Scratch once and for all that her music was superior.

Vinyl Scratch. She was only meters away, yet secluded in her own world. Octavia wondered what she was doing. There was no doubt that this was as important to that unicorn as it was to her. The smile that she’d shown that past week had proved it. Now, Octavia wore a smile of her own, knowing that come tomorrow, that unicorn’s trademark smirk would take on a more surprised semblance.

Octavia walked over to her mirror. She looked at her charcoal mane, grey coat, and violet eyes. No doubt the image of a sophisticated mare, one who took pride in what she did.

“You have this in the bag, as Vinyl would say.” She couldn’t hold back a slight giggle, impressed with her ever-growing knowledge of Equestrian slang. 

At that moment, a light shimmering in the mirror caught her eye. It was small, yet glittered like a pearl in the moonlight. Coming from her eye, it slowly began a descent down her cheek, the light it reflected dancing in her reflection. Octavia looked at it curiously, and slowly realized what it was. 

“A… tear?”

She reached a hoof to the spot. Expecting to feel a tinge of wetness, she instead felt nothing. After taking her hoof away, she looked at her face in the mirror. There was nothing that could have proved the presence of a tear

She rolled her eyes. “It was probably just my eyes playing tricks on me. It is getting past my curfew after all.” Her eyes drifted up to the clock that hung above her doorframe. “Ah, it’s ten. It should be starting any time now.” 

As if on cue, the same noise that had awoken her on the first night materialized out of the abyss. The heavy driving bass had seemed to soften since her first encounter, though she found it to be more the result of her becoming used to the nightly attacks. The first night, Octavia had been furious; now, she just grinned.

“Good to see she’s practicing. It would be such a waste to play without a challenge.”

With a small hop she was in her bed. She nestled herself into the covers, grabbing a pair of small orange nubs from under her pillow. 

“Good night, Vinyl. You won’t be sleeping the next few.”

She put in her pair of earplugs and fell soundly asleep.


-----


En route to her destination, Octavia couldn’t help swaying her hindquarters a little as she strutted along the concrete outside her new home. Admittedly, this was more than a little difficult with an enormous cello case on her back, but tonight, it felt as light as a feather.

The sun had just begun to crest over the horizon. The heavens above were painted with dancing hues of orange and pink, the gossamer clouds looking like ghosts. The land below had become enshrouded in twilight, while an evening breeze rolled through the Manehattan suburb. 

That evening she had taken the opportunity to spruce herself up, something she never did without occasion. Her mane was straightened, as was her tail, and her coat smelled of her mother’s pungent perfume. All this was topped off with the piece de resistance; her bowtie, a treasure she only ever wore for public performances, loosely hugged her neck.

All for Vinyl, of course. Even though she’d spent a considerable amount of time making sure both she and her instrument were flawless, she had a feeling Vinyl would not do the same. Nonetheless, it was her style; Octavia wasn’t about to go correcting others on cleanliness or how their mane looked.

The more she thought about that night, the wider her smile grew. She hadn’t been this excited over a single performance in her entire life, not even when she’d been invited to play at the Musikverein in Neighenna. To her, it had just been another hall, with ponies that just happened to be a little fancier than the rest. Then again, those ponies happened to understand the fine intricacies of classical music, and while that was good, it was boring. 

She had only traveled a few meters when a sight on her left caught her eye. It was a house, very similar to hers in appearance, but utterly failing in structural integrity. Much of the paint had begun to chip off, vines had begun to crawl up the sides, and the door looked more like a relic of war than an entryway.

Vinyl’s house. She’d passed it every day on the way to school, but only now did she truly look at it. In a way, it was fitting of the resident filly; rowdy, falling apart in a few places. Oddly welcoming….

She quickly shook the thoughts from her head. Turning back towards the street in front of her, she quickened her pace to make up for the time she’d spent admiring the house. 

Within minutes she’d arrived at her destination. The entrance to the school was bustling with ponies of every color and size. A large banner hung over the doors, covered in the same artistic trash as the smaller posters. While it lacked the debonair feel of a theater, it did have a certain appeal; either that or she’d just gotten tired of seeing the same Victorian-era buildings over and over again.

At the front doors the concentration of equines grew much larger, and she found it difficult to weave her way through them, eventually managing to burst through to the lobby. The crowd had dispersed slightly. Some chatted with friends, some immediately entered the auditorium on the left, while many had taken to visiting the snack stand. 

“Hey, Octavia!”

It was loud, even amongst the collective buzzing the crowd emitted. Turning her head towards the center hall, she spotted a familiar face, made easier to spot by his black and gold mane. He made his way over to her, dodging others as he did. 

“Hello, Clef. How are you this evening?”

“Great,” the cream colt answered. “And yourself?”

“I’m doing wonderful, thank you.” She was glad to run into him of all ponies, though in hindsight she really didn’t have many others she could really run into. 

“So, I can see you’re all ready to perform tonight,” he noted while doing a quick scan of her form. “I can’t wait to hear you. I know it’s going to sound amazing. And I’ve actually heard you play, so I can say that now.”

“Thank you,” she said with a light chuckle. “I forgot to ask, are you going to be performing tonight as well?”

“Me? Nah, I figured I’d sit this one out.” 

“Really? That’s a shame. I’m sure you’d do great.” 

“That’s a big compliment, coming from you,” he said, when his features popped slightly in realization. “Oh, here, I got you something.”

He reached into his backside and returned with a small pamphlet, the words “Manehattan Primary Talent Show” emblazoned on the header. “There are twenty-two ponies performing. You’re on first, and Vinyl is on last.”

She took the pamphlet from him. “Thanks. By the way, have you seen Vinyl?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Haven’t seen her.” 

She scrunched her face in a scowl, dejecting her gaze to the side. “Oh, I see.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll show.”

“She’d better,” Octavia gritted her teeth. “She better not have fallen through.”

“Vinyl? Fall through on a promise? That’s crazy,” he reassured. “She always keeps her promises.”

“You seem to know her pretty well,” she noted, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Eh, preschool and stuff like that.” He scratched the back of his head. “She’s kinda been around me my whole life. Can’t seem to get rid of her.”

“I can relate,” she thought while rolling her eyes.

He looked up at the clock that hung above the doors of the auditorium. “Well, I better go get my spot. Good luck tonight.”

He walked off towards the auditorium, waving to her as he disappeared into the sea of ponies. 

As she waved him off, a worry crept into her mind, distorting her smile. It was only a premature one, not proven by any facts, but it was there. What if Vinyl actually had fallen through on their promise? What if she never arrived? What if she’d…

“No, that’s crazy,” she thought, forcing herself to giggle at her hasty judgment. “She’s probably late, no big deal.”

She dodged more and more ponies on the way to the changing room. However, while the school called it a “changing room”, that name couldn’t have been farther from the truth.


-----


For a middle school, she ‘d expect no less than to have all the performers prepare in the same room. All of the chairs had been cleared out of the orchestra room and had been replaced by young ponies, filling every inch of the room with their items and commodities. Octavia recognized a few from orchestra, brandishing their instruments and whatever simple piece they’d chosen, though most would probably disagree with her on her idea of simple. 

She located an uninhabited corner, not far from her actual seat. She weaved through a plethora of ponies and paraphernalia as she converged on her corner, finally setting down her case once she arrived. Within moments, she was brandishing an instrument of her own. 

Finding herself ready much earlier than anticipated, Octavia realized that she hadn’t accounted for being prepared this early. Perhaps one more runthrough could help, but with all of the noise filling the room, she doubted she would be able to correctly measure the finality of her piece. 

The idea born out of boredom, Octavia quietly decided to leave her instrument and stand watch by the front door for when Vinyl arrived, figuring they’d be able to exchange some pre-competition remarks before the show started. She sauntered back towards the entrance, finding it much easier to weave in between her classmates without a twenty-pound instrument on her back. 

At the entrance the crowd of ponies had grown even larger, almost to the point where the little filly could only see back into the courtyard through small gaps in the legs of the crowd. Realizing trying to find a stationary one was pointless, she made her way into a less inhabited area where she could see every pony that entered the school. According to a nearby clock, Vinyl had exactly ten minutes before the show officially started. Focusing on the crowd, Octavia silently stood guard.

Ten minutes passed, and the only pony close to Vinyl had been one that had had a particularly gothic appearance to her. Now that the time limit had been reached, the previously repressed fears began to resurface. She glared at the clock.

“Where in Equestria is she?!” 

At that moment, the doors to the auditorium were shut by two of the janitors, a signal that she needed to hurry back. Time ever ticking away she rushed back to the orchestra room and then to her corner, cello right where she had left it. 

Vinyl’s absence had certainly “thrown a wrench” into her plans, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t overcome. Working quickly, she made some last minute adjustments to her appearance. From the door leading to the stage, the faint sound of the principal giving his opening speech to the crowd filtered into the room.

She picked up her cello. Her eyes scrutinized over the polished wood, accounting for all the adjustments she’d made prior to that night. Tuning, however, was something that still needed to be done; humidity and temperature easily affected the pitch of any instrument. Resting the instrument on her side, she turned her eyes to her case.

The sight before her contorted a confused expression on her face. The velvet bed where the bow normally resided was empty. 

“That’s odd. I’m sure I left it here. Did it fall on the floor?”

She looked down, scanning the area around the case; nothing. She turned her case around; still nothing. A bead of sweat formed on her brow, followed by many more as her internal metronome began to quicken its tempo. Her movements hastened as she checked in, around, and under her case, finding naught but dust.

“Oh no.” Her head dashed left and right. “This can’t be happening…. This can’t be happening!” Her eyes widened as she quickly dropped to the ground, scavenging for her missing bow like a dog would for a missing bone.

For whatever it worth, she quickly moved on to other locations. She checked her music locker; nothing. In Noteworthy’s office; nothing. True panic began to settle in, as she tried desperately to think of more places where her bow could be. 

After a moment of thinking, her attention turned to her classmates. They were completely oblivious to the panic attack she was experiencing; most of them were probably too worried about their own nerves to care about those of another. Her eyes moved from pony to pony, checking if one might have picked it up by accident. 

“Has anypony seen my bow?” she yelled above the voice of the crowd.

A few turned their heads at her question, but answered only with shrugs or shakes of the head. From the auditorium, she could hear the principal giving his closing remarks.

“No, no, not yet. Give me more time!”

Had some unicorn accidentally teleported it away? Had a dog gotten in and mistook it for a bone? These thoughts unfortunately didn’t help at all, and only succeeded in making her panic worse. Out of the dark corners of her mind, one appalling thought stood out from the rest.

Somepony had taken it on purpose.

The idea sounded crazy, but it was the only explanation. She would’ve continued to question why had her mind not completely ceased to function as Noteworthy entered the room. The teacher she normally looked at with reverence and respect had turned into an object of fear.

“Alright everypony, show time! First off is our newest member, Octavia.” He looked across the room for her. “Octavia, are you ready?”

As all of the eyes in that room locked on her, she attempted to meet them with the best professional smile she could muster, which only added to how bad she looked. “Umm, it’s alright, somepony else can go before me.”

Noteworthy gave her a questioning look. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes, it’s fine, really.”

His eyes fell back down to his list. “In that case, next on the list is Summer Flare.” He looked around for the one who matched the name. “Are you ready?”

A particularly excitable orange colt burst out of the crowd, bringing with him a wagon full of pyrotechnics for Celestia knew what reason. As he went through the door that connected the room to the auditorium, the other nineteen resumed their last minute preparations.

The navy-blue stallion walked through his students to her. “Is something wrong, Octavia? Bit of stage fright?”

“No, it’s not that,” she mumbled, looking up at him with filmed eyes. “I can’t find my bow.”

“Oh my,” he responded, looking only partially shocked. “That does sound like a problem.

“I left it here when I went back out to look for Vinyl, but when I came back it was gone. I looked everywhere. I tried asking the other students if they saw it, but none of them said anything. I even checked your office,” she spoke in rapid succession. “Have you seen it?”

“No, I can’t say I have.” He scratched the base of his neck, breaking eye contact. “I’m really not sure what to say. It’s your only one?”

“Yes.” Her volume had dropped to the point where it was barely audible.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll try to push off your performance as long as I can to give you more time to look for it.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. Noteworthy turned and trotted off, leaving her in her corner. 

Her eyes sank to the floor, knowing the futility of his offer. If her bow really had been stolen on purpose, then there was no way she’d get it back. Out of both options and time the filly’s mind finally shut down. Her hind legs gave out first as she slowly sank into a laying position, burying her head in her forelegs.

“How could this happen?” she whispered, if only for her own ears. “How could this happen?”

Any other pony might laugh at her for this show of seemingly unnecessary depression. It was merely a bow, after all, a cheap tool that could easily be replaced. All string players went through plenty in their respective lifetimes. Those ponies were unaware of this particular bow’s history. If judged only by appearance, it was nothing special, a simple wood-stained bow. To her, it was everything.


-----


“Mommy, daddy, where are we going?”

The seven-year-old filly asked the question from what she assumed was the back seat of her parents cart. The true whereabouts of her location was uncertain, thanks to a piece of black cloth that had been wrapped tightly around her head.

“Just be patient, dear,” her mother’s voice reassured. “We’ll be there soon.”

She had no idea where ‘there’ was, nor of what they would do once they got ‘there’. It was a bit scary, being exposed to only darkness in the middle of the day. But she knew there would be something good if she waited. There always was in situations like these.

That day was the one-week anniversary of the obtainment of her cutie mark. A shiny violet treble clef now painted her flank, something she had been very excited about. Partially because she was the only pony in her grade that had one, but mostly because of the opportunities getting it had laid out before her. No longer was she confined to watching out for what interested her, and no longer did she need to worry about growing up to be a blank flank. The world was hers for the taking.

Specifically, the musical aspects of the world were hers for the taking. The symbol on her flank represented a talent for the creation of music. She had her father to thank for that. Had he not taken her to that music shop, she would never have been able to try that cello, and she wouldn’t have been able to leave them in awe when she’d been able to produce clear quality tones on her first try.

She’d almost left her father in tears. It was the first time she’d seen him do that, though according to her mother he’d also done it when she had been born. Parents were so silly.

It was this silliness that made her wonder even more why they’d decided to pick her up from school that day, waiting for her with a blindfold. She couldn’t even admire the Germane countryside as they traveled along, with all its rolling green hills and bright blue skies. The thought was inspiring. Maybe she could write a song about it when she became more knowledgeable of music.

The back seat of the cart shook as it moved, until the shaking came to a stop. She heard her parents exit the vehicle, as one came over and opened her door. 

“Don’t be nervous, I have you. I won’t let you fall.”

Her father’s voice had always been very soothing, and in moments she found herself on the ground, her one hoof in her father’s. Birds chirped in the warmth of the summer day, with the wet dirt under her hooves sending a tingling sensation through her legs with every step. 

“There are some steps now. Take your time.” 

As she tentatively made her way up stone steps, her body shook as apprehension built in her body like steam in a kettle. After a few moments of flat ground, she felt a new soft sensation, the carpet of a house. 

“Ok, you can take it off now.”

She pulled the blindfold off her head. Her pupils dilated, bringing in the scene before her. Immediately she knew where she was. It was her house. Why they’d decided to blindfold her to bring her here of all places was answered by what stood two meters before her.

With roundish curves, a reddish piece of polished wood stood shimmering in the light from the outside, the only object visible in the darkened house. Intricate designs were etched into the cello’s body, and a black neck stuck out the top, strung with thin wires. 

Octavia stared at it, blank expression frozen on her face.

“Is it… mine?” she asked, voice trembling at the sight.

“It’s all yours,” her father answered.

Rocket ships would have a hard time matching the uplift she felt at that moment. She danced around, bouncing into the air as her high-pitched laughed filled the house. Her eyes shut, trying to contain the excitement.

“Yay! I love it I love it I love it!” She whipped her head around, showcasing her joy to her parents. “Thank you so much! I promise I’ll clean it after every time I play it!”

Her parents glanced lovingly at each other, joyful at their daughter’s happiness. They watched as she inspected her new possession with rapid eyes, eager to know it inside and out.

After a while of marveling at the gargantuan piece of art, a sight aside of it caught her attention. Next to the cello laid a long sword-like piece of wood, strung with white pony hair. The wooden part shared the same color as the instrument.

She picked up the bow, rolling it around in her hoof until it felt comfortable. It was magnificent, and perfectly suited to her size. It felt as if it were a part of her, an extension of her musical abilities. This was what she would use to write a hundred, no, a thousand symphonies. This was what she would use to put on the most spectacular performances in every famous concert hall on earth. What she held in her hooves was just as special to her as the cello itself.

This was her partner.


-----


Thinking back, Octavia remembered the pure ecstasy she’d experienced. No words could be used to describe it. They’d bonded instantly; it had just felt perfect. She couldn’t explain it, the special connection between a musician and their instrument. Like the connection between best friends, it was one that she would never forget, no matter where life took her. 

It was the same bow she had planned on using tonight. It was hers, one of the few things that she could truly call her own. It was her memories, everything she’d ever done and everything she would ever accomplish. And it was gone.

Slowly, the night that couldn’t have gone wrong crumbled away before her. She curled up, wishing she could just disappear. Her body shook as she began to heave short sobs, water trickling into the comfort of her forelegs.

“It isn’t like a filly like you to be crying over a lost bow.”

It was a young voice, light and innocent, but nonetheless ignorant of her condition. “Shut up, whoever you are. You don’t know how much that bow meant to me.” She pushed her head farther into her forelegs. “That was my bow. My parents *sniff* got me that when I was seven. I’ve used it my whole life. Now…*sniff*… now it’s gone.”

“But in the end, it’s just an object, right?”

The filly slowly opened her eyes and looked up, revealing a face now stained with tears. The first thing she saw was a pair of brilliant golden eyes. They belonged to a unicorn who stood over her, roughly the same age as her. She was covered in a soft aquamarine coat, with a short white and light blue mane cascading out of her scalp. 

“The bow isn’t what creates the beautiful music, and neither is the cello,” she continued, her kind voice like a soothing breeze. “You are. Even if it’s missing, as long as you have the courage to keep going, you’ll get through this with no problem. The instrument doesn’t define you; you define the instrument.”

Octavia looked back down at her own hooves. “That’s all good, but I can’t physically play my instrument without a bow, courage or no courage.”

The unicorn smiled lightly. “Here. I actually have a spare cello bow. I know it’s not yours, but it can get you through tonight, right?”

She opened one of the nearby lockers and looked inside as a light beige aura enveloped her horn. Out of the locker floated a long piece of wood.

Octavia’s eyes grew wider, but not out of panic. The bow was set in front of her. It was nothing special; an average, red oak cello bow, strung with off-white pony hair. 

To Octavia, it was if she had been given a lost treasure. Her mind experienced a sort of mental whiplash, words failing to find form as she stared slack-jawed at this seemingly miraculous occasion.

She stood up, switching her look of amazement to the unicorn. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“So, do you think you can go on now?” the unicorn asked.

For a moment, Octavia was unresponsive, until all the joy her mind had repressed rushed out. “Yes, this perfect!” Her mouth exploded into a joyous smile. “Thank you so much! I’ll be sure to return it when I’m finished playing.”

The filly shook her head. “No, keep it. I mean it.”

“What? But…”

“I have plenty of them,” she interrupted. “My family owns a music shop downtown.” 

“I’ll never forget this…” she started, realizing she couldn’t finish her own sentence. “Ummm…”

The filly shut her eyes in a smile. “Lyra. Lyra Heartstrings.”


-----


She’d been through this scenario a hundred times. Standing backstage, she would have a modicum of time to make any final preparations.  The announcer - in this case the principal - would present her name. She’d walk on the illuminated path towards center stage, where she would then proceed to perform. 

One would think that with such experience, this situation would be a cakewalk, having been through plenty of recitals much more strenuous than this. This, however, was not the case. It was simply natural; no performer of any kind could ever rid themselves of fear. The trick was using it to their advantage. Essentially, turning their fear into a driving force to perform even better; and that was a good thing, because she had been downright terrified that night.

Noteworthy had changed her position in the queue to third, generously giving her a little more time to prepare. Lyra’s gift nestled in her hooves, she peeked between the curtains, seeing the end results of the act of a filly who apparently could ride a unicycle, juggle, and spin plates on her nose simultaneously.

Looking back, she took a long deep breath, closing her eyes. This had become a part of her pre-performance routine early on, and she found that it helped calm her nerves. Considering she’d almost hadn’t been able to go on at all, this exercise had received an even more important priority.

A rumble of applause tore through the auditorium, much louder than in the orchestra room. Moments later, the filly returned from the stage, sweat and a smile on her face. Her friends patted her on the back, congratulating her on a performance most of them probably hadn’t seen.

“For our third performance, I would like to proudly welcome the newest member of our school,” the speakers echoed.

Feeling a light pressure on her shoulder, Octavia turned to see Lyra standing behind her. “Knock em dead.”

“What?” Octavia exclaimed. “That’s awful! I can’t believe…”

A raised eyebrow from Lyra made Octavia realize her mistake, her mouth turning into an embarrassed grin.

“Coming to our humble school all the way from Germaney, it is my pleasure to present miss Octavia Adagio!”

She stepped between the curtains with her instrument in tow, ready to outshine Vinyl whether she was there or not.