Moving to Manehattan was a favorable venture for Octavia, even if the feeling of loneliness or returning resentment of the past crept up, but things change when she and, by extention, a meek costume designer are wrapped up in a deal made with Lyra.
Octavia never thought love as a fickle creature, but then again, she also thought her life would be lived out in Ponyville, with a special somepony by her side. Instead she ended up moving to Manehattan, alone with growing resentment to the past.
Until one afternoon, Octavia meets a young mare named Coco Pommel, and a deal is struck to give it one more go and see if something is left.
Manehattan was a rather peculiar city compared to its brethren throughout Equestria, creating itself the notable capitol of the country’s business and aspiration. Unlike the Crystal Empire to the north, it had no time for grand emotions, nor did it have the level of vanity of Canterlot. The street of Bridleway cleaved the city while providing an outlet for the citizens to have some enjoyment in life. It was a city where the ambitious went to make their dreams come true, their names a household utterance, and where ponies were too busy with their career to light a fire in their hearts or too busy trying to forget the embers still smoldering.
For a mare like Octavia to let such a flame wither, a Manehattan apartment was perfect. It was spacious enough for a sofa against a wall, and a Stradimareus cello in the corner. The coffee table was cluttered with music paper, crumpled or stained with tea. The same three measures were written on each page, followed by notes with half-drawn heads and phantom stems and flags.
Octavia laid across the sofa, her head cradled by the arm, and hums mixed with grunts poured from her mouth in patterns—do-fa-so-ti, do-fa-so-mi. Her eyes were squeezed shut as the gnawed pencil in her mouth sliced through the air to draw invisible notes, alternating with her humming. Octavia replayed the new bar in her head and groaned when the sound felt flat and boring.
Octavia spit out the pencil, which rolled off and onto the floor, and covered her eyes with her hooves. Three years alone in the city, and the ability to write music seemed to have stayed in Ponyville.
A knock on her door stirred the mare from her work. She rose from the couch, walked through her kitchen, and reared up to peer into the spyhole. A single golden iris covered the entire view, zipping around as the mare behind it searched curiously. Letting out a sigh, Octavia pulled away to slide the door chain off and open the door.
“Hello, Lyra,” Octavia said, barely suppressing a yawn. Lyra's horn gleamed softly with her magic, levitating a small white sack.
Lyra threw a foreleg around the back of Octavia's neck.
“Hey, Tavi,” she greeted, giving a small nuzzle to the little curtain of soot-colored mane. A small smile morphed into place on Octavia's face, and she gave Lyra a gentle squeeze in return. The two parted, and Octavia gave a quick glance behind Lyra while resting a hoof on the door.
“Where's Bon Bon?”
“Still in Ponyville,” Lyra replied. “She's helping Pinkie cater a wedding tomorrow night, per request by the bride. She did give me this,” Lyra shook the bag, and the sound was sweet to Octavia's ears, “for you.”
The bag wafted over to Octavia, who cocked an eye. “Apology taffy?”
“You bet!”
Octavia swiped the bag out of the air with her mouth and threw the door shut. The aroma of the taffy bled through the wax paper bag, jiggling slightly as Octavia trotted back over the sofa. Lyra had already taken a seat on the far end, reclining in her unique manner, with her back hooves propped on the coffee table. Octavia made a shooing motion at the offending hooves until they were placed onto the floor, and she plopped down, dropping the sack into her hooves.
“So,” Octavia began before popping a blue piece of taffy into her mouth, “who's getting married? Anypony I know?”
Lyra gave a small laugh, “No, but oddly enough it's the couple that's renting your old place—a mare and a stallion from here in Manehattan.”
“Oh, really?” Octavia gave a smack of her lips. “But are they as good of neighbors as I was?”
“They're fine. They keep to themselves most of the time. We were honestly surprised when they asked Bonnie to help cater for them. Also, it's the first heterosexual marriage we've had in years.”
Octavia tilted her head. “Really? All of them have been—“
“Ooooh yeah. Don't get me wrong, I love those kinds of weddings, you know I do. But it's nice to get a little bit of...variety.” Lyra's eyes fell to Octavia's hooves unwrapping a cherry-flavored piece. “Shame you two didn't have a ceremony.”
“You can blame Vinyl for that. It was upon her insistence that we didn’t get married.”
“I kind of get her thoughts behind it. No ceremony equals no money needed.”
“And no marriage means no divorce lawyers.” Octavia punctuated her remark by tossing the taffy into her mouth, and Lyra simply frowned and focused her attention on the little white balls on the table.
“Still trying to write music?”
Octavia gave a nod and a resentful eye to the papers. “Trying, mostly failing. Every time I put down something, it feels...hollow.”
“Almost like there's been something missing for three years?” Lyra replied sharply, earning a glare from her friend. She threw her hooves up, “All right, enough with the stink-eye. We should head out anyway—we still need to get our dresses for tomorrow night.” Lyra leaned forward and fell onto her hooves, barely able to wedge herself in between the sofa and coffee table.
“I still do not understand why I need a dress,” Octavia stated as she stood up, tossing the taffy onto her coffee table and trotting into her bedroom on the far side of the room. “A simple collar-and-bow-tie has been plenty in the past, even for the Grand Galloping Gala, of all places.”
“Black tie is what Prim Hemline apparently desires, even for staff and musical performers. Fancy clothes pony likes fancy clothes. I suppose you could go in just a black tie, but I don't know how far that will get you.”
“I don’t even have a black tie. I do have one dress, but I am not performing at Prim’s fundraiser ball wearing the bridesmaid gown from your wedding.”
Lyra let out a snort. “You still have that old thing? It's nine years old!”
Octavia exited the bedroom, a satchel of bits hanging from her neck. “Hey, that is a very beautiful and very expensive gown. Rarity wields her thread and needle as well as we do our bow and strings. And she is just as inexpensive.”
“Speaking of, want to check out Rarity's boutique here in Manehattan? I've heard good things and haven't been there myself.”
Octavia gave a shrug. “Sure, I haven't been there myself. I always just get my bow-ties at The Checkered Neckerchief, so it should prove to be an interesting adventure.”
“All right then, we have our destination set,” Lyra declared as her horn lit up and turned the doorknob to the front door. “Now let's hope we can get a cab quickly enough.”
* * *
Finding a cab only took five minutes, something Lyra claimed to be a miracle compared to finding one at the train station. Up West 42nd, passing by Bridleway, and a couple of left turns, an hour-and-a-half walk turned into a twenty-minute taxi ride.
The cab slowed beside the curb outside the boutique, and Octavia, being the passenger closest to the building, went slack-jawed as she saw what building they were pulling to. It was a modest three-story building, and the only life was the little dress shop on the bottom floor. But Octavia was fixated on the third-floor; drawn curtains covered the windows, with no sound coming from inside.
Lyra paid the fare before turning to her rigid friend staring at the building. She tapped Octavia on the shoulder. “Tavi, are you...oh....” Her words died within her as she saw what building they had ridden up to. “Vinyl's old apartment-turned-dance-club.”
“Think she still lives there?”
“Doubt it. If Vinyl was there, we would be able to hear it,” Lyra replied, giving Octavia another tap and a nod to signify that they should climb out of the cab. The mares hit the sidewalk concrete, warm from bathing in the August sun, and trotted to the door to the boutique on the left.
A yellow unicorn mare opened the door with a cerulean glow and passed by with three bagged dresses hovering just above her. Lyra lit up her horn, caught the door, gave a wave of her hoof to gesture Octavia in and followed inside. A gust of cool, spearmint-scented air swept by them, and the door closed with the ring of a bell. Light cascaded from the canisters hanging from the ceiling, shining bright in contrast to the deep purple wallpaper and display stands filled with clothed mannequins and purses sitting upright. Five ponies were about, browsing the racks, and a beige-colored earth mare whispered to a nearby customer and trotted toward the newcomers.
“Hello, my name is Coco Pommel,” the mare greeted with a small voice, “Is there anything I can help you with today?”
“Yes, we're looking for a couple of formal dresses for Prim Hemline's ball tomorrow,” Lyra stated.
“Oh! You're also attending Ms. Hemline's event tomorrow night?” asked the mare looking over her new customers, especially eyeing the little silk tie around Octavia's neck.
“Er, more or less,” Octavia replied, “We're part of the music ensemble hired to play and while not part of the dress code, we are being asked to appear in something courtly.”
“Oh, I see...” Coco drifted off, focusing on Octavia's bow-tie again, “That's a gorgeous bow-tie. May I take a look?”
Octavia gave a quick glance to her bow-tie. “Oh, uh, sure.”
Lyra tilted her head as Coco pushed aside the left loop of the tie, forcing Octavia to angle her head upward. As Coco's eyes fell upon an embroidered “S.P.”—the signature of it’s crafter—hidden on the collar behind the bow-tie, the gentle smile faded into a solemn frown.
“The Checkered Neckerchief, huh?
“Um, yes, I like their bow-ties,” Octavia replied softly, noting the shift in Miss Pommel's mood. “Is something the matter?”
Coco lingered on the golden letters for a second longer before looking into Octavia's eyes. “No, nothing at all. Sur—The Checkered Neckerchief has quality items, especially their neckwear.” Coco stepped back, letting the loop fall back into place. “Ahem, how about we get you those dresses?” A professional smile recaptured her features. “Do you both know your measurements?”
“I do,” Lyra declared.
“I do not,” Octavia muttered.
Coco's grin grew a little wider. “Well, I can help you with that, Mrs....”
“Miss Octavia Melody.”
“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t.... The measuring tape is over at the check-out counter, so if you'll follow me...” Coco's voice faded as she trotted toward the counter, with Octavia right behind her.
The little bell dinged as the door swung open, whacking Lyra in the flank. A thin-faced scarlet mare scowled at her, and Lyra stepped aside to let her through. She let out a sigh, “Well then, guess I'll just help myself.”
Coco swung open the gate on the side of the counter and ducked down to rummage through the shelves below. Octavia stopped short of the gate with the view of a beige back and a light cyan tail swishing about behind it. Coco's head popped out, a measuring tape in her teeth, and the mare walked out from behind check-out.
Octavia stood straight as the feel of the plastic tape was rolled out across her spine with a velvety hoof smoothing it out from between her withers to the base of her tail.
“So you're a musician? What instrument do you play?” asked the sales associate as she moved the tape down to Octavia's right foreleg. “Violin?”
Octavia chucked. “No, no, I play cello most of the time. Although, I can play violin when needed. I simply don't own one.”
“Do you ever get stage-fright?” The tape and hooves glided to Octavia's midsection, wrapping the tape around her barrel.
“Oh, heavens no! I only had stage-fright at my first recital as a filly, and that was nearly two decades ago. It helps when you can get lost in the notes like I do.”
“I have terrible stage fright.” Coco draped the tape over her neck and walked around to her customer's front side. “I was once mistakenly listed as the leading mare’s standby for Manespray on Bridleway, and I didn't know about it until the actress was sick on opening night.”
Octavia cringed. “Oh, dear!”
Coco closed her eyes and nodded. “It only took three words before I threw up on-stage. And to this day, the producer refuses to hire me again.”
“Hire you?”
“Yes, I'm a costume designer on Bridleway. Been working as one for a couple of years now.”
Octavia arched a brow at the mare. “And you still work here?”
“Mhm,” Coco hummed. “It keeps me busy, and Rarity certainly needs the help. The boutique have a tendency to always be in a constant state of almost burning to the ground when she's not present. Of course, I'd have some help right now if Blue Bobbin and the raccoons weren't sick.” She giggled at Octavia's expression twisting as it became more perplexed. “Yeah, we get that a lot. Anyhow, shall we find a dress for you for tomorrow night?”
Octavia followed Coco over to a row of dresses hanging on a rack. Coco checked a tag dangling from the hanger and pulled off a vibrant cobalt dress, the satin shimmering in the light.
“How's this one?” Coco asked, holding up the dress' profile across her hooves.
A quick “I hate blue,” came out in return.
“Oh, um, okay.” Coco tucked the dress back onto the rack. Her hooves shuffled through the dresses, occasionally finding a suitable gown only to find it too big or too small. Coco took a glance at Octavia, flashing a sheepish grin, as she pulled off another dress.
“How about this one? It should fit perfectly.” she held up a simple mulberry evening gown with the flank wrapped in a jet satin ribbon and tied into a bow on the backside. “It would go great with your bow-tie,” her eyes cast to the dress in her hooves as she muttered, “and I think it matches your eyes.”
“Oh?” Octavia trotted up and brushed her hoof against the fabric. “My, that's soft, and the color's gorgeous. I think will take it.”
“Great!” Coco laid the gown over her back. “Is there anything else you need? Shoes, a hat...?”
“No, thank you. The gown is all.”
“All right, let's go ring up the gown.”
Lyra, with half-lidded eyes and her mouth a bored crease, was leaning against the check-out counter and had a hoof propping up her head. Behind her was a line of ponies gathering with apparel floating in auras or draped over backs.
“Go ahead and join your friend, and I'll ring you both up together.” Octavia went ahead and stood beside Lyra, who glanced back at Coco and smirked. Coco trailed behind her a little ways, rounding the counter and placing the gown next to Lyra's dress, a voluminous pile of layered golden fabric. She plucked the tags free, setting them into a small canister underneath the register, and told Lyra and Octavia their due payments. As they dumped the exact amounts onto the counter, Coco wrote a receipt for each and pulled a pair of perfumed plastic bags over the gowns.
“Here you go,” Coco said as she pushed the gowns forward, and Lyra levitated them into the air, “good luck at the ball tomorrow night. If I can, I'll try to make it to listen to you play.”
“Oh, you're attending it as well?” Octavia asked.
“Mhm, in Rarity's stead. She couldn't make it because of a wedding in Ponyville tomorrow evening, so I'm being sent to rub knees with the big ponies.”
Octavia and Lyra exchanged looks, and Lyra said, “We'll be playing for most of the night, so I don't think you'll have any problems.”
Coco beamed, her aquamarine eyes lingering in Octavia's direction. “Great! I'll see you then!”
Octavia's ears swiveled to hear a tiny chuckle coming from Lyra, and she nodded. Coco turned to serve the next pony in line, an elderly mare complaining about the lack of timely service. Coco's profuse apologies were the last thing Lyra and Octavia heard before the ding of the bell on their way out.
“Well, it seems like somepony has a new admirer.”
Octavia rolled her eyes. “She was just being friendly.”
Lyra held out a hoof to hail an oncoming taxicab. “Tavi, you're talking to a Heartstrings. We know when somepony wants it. And she needs it badly.”
“All right, I’ll humor you. Explain what makes you say that.”
“Oh please, she couldn't stop looking at you on the way out, she let you cut in front of everypony else, and her hooves were all over you when she was measuring you.” Lyra put down her hoof when the taxicab pulled up next to the curb in front of them. “I'm surprised you didn't get a happy ending after getting your sizes,” she quipped, climbing into the cab.
“Of course she was, she's an earth pony. How else is she supposed to hold the tape?” Octavia retorted as she followed into the cab. “Corner of 42nd and 6th, please,” she directed to the driver and turned her head to Lyra, lurching back a bit as the driver pulled onto the street. “How do you know she's even interested in mares?”
“She was gawking at your butt when you walked up to the counter. She tried to be inconspicuous about it, but didn't do very well—she doesn't have the experience at covertly looking at your butt like I do.”
“What?!”
“What?”
Octavia felt her tail instinctively tighten around her backside. “You stare at my butt?!”
“Tavi, it's me. I stare at everypony's butts. Besides, can you hardly blame me? It's a really nice butt, all curvy and everything. I've caught Bonnie stealing a glimpse every once and while.”
“Okay! I don't need this conversation right now!” Octavia declared in a sing-song tone. “Let's get back to your delusion of that mare being attracted to me!”
“Oh, come on.” Lyra sized Octavia up, and a bit of white flashed in the corner of her mouth. “You like her too, don't you?”
“She's...nice.”
“'Nice' as in 'throw her over a sewing table and ruin a spool of silk together'?”
“Lyra,” Octavia sighed, “I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”
“Nopony ‘looks’ for a relationship; their head typically just falls into your lap.” Lyra’s comment was met with a glare, and she threw back her head. “It's been three years, Tavi. I'm not saying you have to get over Vinyl and everything, but you really should move on.” Octavia shook her head, opening her mouth with an answer, but Lyra placed a hoof across her shoulders. “At least promise me this: if you see her tomorrow night, try to ask her out to dinner. Just give it one date and see where things can go from there. If I'm somehow wrong and she rejects you, or if it doesn't work out, I won't bother you again over it. Deal?”
The hoof shifted to life again, reaching out in front of Octavia. She turned her head to outside of the cab, which had stopped at an intersection. In a large pane of glass, polished to a shine, a goldish-gray pony with a side-swept coal-black mane and a slightly crooked carnation pink bow-tie stared back her. Once a romantic, now a heart-aching cynic, she had burned it all long ago. Old perspectives of love, of ponies, of herself—all of it diminished into little black flakes.
And yet, among the ashes, she felt an ember of something breathing, glowing brighter. The curious thing popped, and Octavia swung her right hoof and gripped her friend's.
The fundraiser, located at a ballroom re-purposed from a theater on the eastern side of Manehattan, started at seven in the evening and stretched to midnight. The hired musicians were scheduled to perform for all but an hour. A cab pulled around to the front of a large red-brick building, with the old shining brightly with a dull white. Ponies were flooding in ten minutes early, and Octavia had to watch out as she landed onto the sidewalk concrete so to not bump into anypony with her cello strapped around her back. The mulberry dress was a perfect fit, snugly clinging to her body. She turned around to see Lyra hopping out, grunting when she felt the gown constrict around her barrel upon impact.
Octavia chuckled, “Ah, the curse of being married to a candy-mare.”
Lyra’s horn lit up to grasp the golden tie around her neck to tighten it. “You and I have differing connotations of 'curse' then.”
“Should've had your sizes taken.”
Lyra shook her head. “And have your new marefriend rub her hooves all over me? No, thank you, I slept on the couch once this week already.”
A drawn-out sigh flowed out from the bottom of Octavia's throat. “Why must you be like this?”
“I'm not going to stop until you do it. We had a deal after all,” Lyra called out as she trotted inside. Octavia caught up with her in the building's foyer.
“I'm going to do it during our intermission at 9:30, if I can find her. I will also be needing a drink before then.”
From the ballroom, a dapper toffee-colored stallion dressed in a white tie tuxedo approached the mares. A stack of thick booklets floated behind him in an indigo aura, and Lyra leveled a glare at the stallion.
“Hello, Fredrick,” Octavia greeted.
“Good evening, Ms. Meloldy,” the stallion gave a little bow, followed by snorting, “Heartstrings,” in the other mare's direction. Lyra narrowed her eyes.
“Fried Dick,” she growled.
Fredrick let out an unamused grunt. “Still as foalish as ever, I see. We are on in fifteen.” He levitated a booklet to each of the mares. “Here is the sheet music for the first half of the performance, and remember that we're skipping pages eighteen through twenty-five.” Fredrick's head craned over the crowd. “You haven't seen Ms. Saddlehorns, have you?”
“Did you check the side exit for her pre-show smoke?” Octavia suggested.
“That's where I had been. Perhaps she is just late. Come now, we still have to get set up and tune our instruments.” Fredrick started to walk away, before stopping and adding, “And try not to pass out in the middle of the performance again, Ms. Heartstrings, or I'll have the pleasure of finding another harpist.” He disappeared into the ballroom, leaving behind a seething and sputtering mare who magically grabbed a nearby vase and raised it over her head.
“How about we find a new pianist instead?”
“Lyra, no!” Octavia threw her sheet music to the ground, reared up, and took the vase into her hooves. “You are not assaulting our boss.”
“Oh, I wasn't going to stop at assault.”
“No!” Octavia reaffirmed, taking the vase into a single hoof and trotting over to place it back on its pedestal.
Lyra huffed, “Bonnie would've let me....”
“Bonnie also didn't get you this job, and I would rather not get called to testify against my best friend.”
“A real best friend would've let me see how many hits with a pre-monarch vase it would take to get to the center of a pretentious pianist's head,” Lyra retorted.
“Good to know I'm not a 'real best friend,'” Octavia commented, vanishing just beyond the entrance to the ballroom, “I will remember that the next time a 'Bonnie Situation' pops up!”
“Hey, hey, hey, wait now, you've been wrapped up in those situations too!” Lyra shouted back.
Octavia's head poked out into the middle of the doorway. “Yes, but I'm not married to her,” and a wink punctuated the remark before she headed back into the ballroom. Lyra narrowed her eyes and uttered a growl.
The musicians present—which was everypony save for Sissy Saddlehorns, the odd pack-a-day smoker and Prench horn player—gathered to set up music stands and tune instruments. Ms. Saddlehorns arrived two minutes before the performance's beginning and barely made getting set up before five minutes after seven, when the first few keys of Fredrick's piano echoed in the ballroom.
Octavia's eyes were shut, playing her chords with perfect timing nonetheless; it was her special talent, more or less, to be play by ear, memory, or ink, depending on what the circumstances called for. It helped a lot in the old days when she was able to write her own music—when she had somepony else able to help find the melodies through the thicket within her.
Octavia opened her eyes at the latter half of the third song, a minuet, to peep at the ballroom floor. Several couples were dancing in the middle of the floor, but the majority of attendees were stood at the room's perimeter where the fog of murmurs was at its densest. Scanning through them, she noticed nopony she knew personally, just the usual big-shots: Fancy Pants and Fleur Di Lis from Canterlot, Photo Finish, and the creator of the fundraiser ball herself, Prim Hemline. Octavia closed her eyes again, sinking back into the depths of her cello and the ensemble for the remaining hour.
At half-past nine, Fredrick scooted off the piano bench. Standing straight, his accented baritone voice carried the announcement of the thirty-minute intermission to the ponies in the room and urged them to head upstairs to the silent auction. Mostly everypony shuffled off-stage.
“So...” Lyra started, leaning on Octavia’ s music stand.
“Yes, Lyra, I haven’t forgotten.” Octavia cradled her cello and bow into their case. “I haven’t been able to forget after being reminded about it at every hour today.”
“You are known to be forgetful. Remember Bonnie’s 24th birthday?”
“The thing that happened six years ago?”
“But that means you’re older and, therefore, more forgetful.”
Octavia shook her head. “So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Lyra shrugged, “I think I might check out the silent auction. Heard A.K. Yearling donated some artifacts from her personal collection to be sold for charity.”
“Probably too rich for our blood. Anyway, I’m going to find Miss Pommel. I’ll come find you upstairs after I’m done,” Octavia said as she started down the stage steps, with Lyra following behind her.
“And if you don’t by the end of the half-hour, I’ll start searching the closets for you both.”
Octavia turned and cocked her head, and Lyra’s eyebrows bounced up and down as her tongue flailed crudely between her teeth. Octavia’s expression melted as her mouth hung open slightly and her eyes shut. She turned and headed into the dense crowd of ponies standing by the stage after a self-satisfied laugh came from Lyra.
Octavia wiggled through the ponies, heading for the foyer in the hopes that Coco would be in a place that was quieter than the ballroom. Upon entering, she noted only three ponies: the twin tuba and trombone players from her ensemble and a pegasus stallion who looks like he had a bit too much to drink. Octavia trotted outside—perhaps she went to get some fresh air? But the sidewalk provided nothing, save for Ms. Saddlehorns taking a rather long drag from her cigarette and moaning as the silver-blue smoke drifted into the humid nighttime air. Octavia spun around and headed back inside.
“Nothing. Hmm...perhaps the auction?” Octavia muttered to herself. Moving across the foyer, she passed through the open doorway to the stairs. She stopped dead in her tracks, before placing a hoof on a single step, when “Octavia!” in a familiar voice echoed in the stairway. Above her was Coco, looking over the railing and descending the higher set of stairs. A scarlet gown, rather voluminous with the many layers of varied fabrics, bent and curved around her form, with matching shoes. The necktie and collar were absent, replaced by a string of glinting pearls. The hairpin, however, was still stuck in her mane, beautifully complimenting the gown.
“Miss Pommel, hello!” Octavia called, watching the mare turn to descend the lower stairs.
“Please, just ‘Coco.’ I’ve been called ‘Miss Pommel’ enough tonight already.” Coco giggled, “And just as I thought, you look fantastic in the gown. How does it fit?”
“Fits perfectly. Wish I could say the same about my friend’s. Hers is a little small around the barrel.”
Coco shook her head. “She should’ve had her sizes taken. Speaking of your friend, I met her upstairs, and she said you wanted to see me.”
“Uh, yes, can we talk somewhere in private, perhaps outside?” Octavia pulled on the bow-tie’s strap around her neck. “It’s getting quite warm in here.”
“Sure, I could use some fresh air,” Coco replied, moving past Octavia as the mare spun around, “The auction room was stuffier than the ballroom.”
“Well, it does make sense. The exuberant tend to breathe nothing but hot air.”
Coco gave Octavia a peculiar look. “...At a silent auction?”
“Point taken.” As the two stepped outside, a breeze from the north rushed past them, feeling refreshing when it hit the light sweat they had. “By the bye, you look wonderful in that gown.”
“Oh, thank you,” Coco smiled as they walked down the sidewalk and turned into the alleyway next to the building, “Rarity made it for my birthday last year, and it’s my first time wearing it somewhere.” Tittering at the unbelieving look from Octavia, she continued, “I don’t go out much. I’m either working for Rarity or designing and sewing costumes for shows.”
“Must make for a terrible love-life.”
“That would imply that I ever had one.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Coco waved her hoof while tucking her dress in as she sat on the step by the side exit. “It’s okay. Staying busy helps keep my mind off things.”
“But you must get rather lonely?” Octavia asked, sitting beside her.
“I have co-workers...when they actually show up for work.” A glance at Octavia said that the question was still unanswered, and Coco sighed. “I do. Most of my friends reside outside the city. I write to them sometimes, but I rarely actually get to see them.”
“I can relate,” Octavia responded, “Lyra and her wife are the closest friends I have, and they live all the way in Ponyville. I used to live next door to them before I moved to Manehattan, but now I only see them on holidays and whenever Lyra and I have somewhere to play. Only pony I know in town is an uncle.”
“You’re from Ponyville? I honestly would’ve pegged you as a Canterlot pony.”
Octavia chuckled. “I was born and raised in Canterlot, actually. Lived in Fillydelphia during my uni days, moved to Ponyville a little bit after that, then I moved here.”
“How long have you been living in Manehattan?”
“It has been three years next month.”
“Moved due to work?”
Octavia shifted in her seat with a grimace on her face and a sunken feeling her in chest. “Moved due to a break-up.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Octavia shook her head dismissively. “No, it’s all right. You didn’t know, it’s ancient history, and I’ve been told that it’s time to move on.” One of Octavia’s hooves moved, and the sound of gravel scrapping along the ground punctured the pause that followed. “Fame changes a pony, for better or worse. And for her, it was definitely for the worse.”
“How long were you together, if you don’t me asking?”
“Eight years,” Octavia replied, directing a lamenting gaze toward the road. “We met at a wedding: she was the D.J. for the reception, and I was a bridesmaid. Out of the blue, she asked me out, and I was apprehensive at first. I mean, she looked and acted like somepony that would pull a knife on me in a dark alley. But a mutual friend put in a good word, and I was pleasantly surprised. Two years later, we’re in love and living together in Ponyville.”
A whisper of a smile appeared on Coco’s features. “Sounds like it was lovely.” The other mare nodded. “I wish I had something like that.”
“I still find it hard to believe you haven’t. You’re an adorable mare.”
Coco raised her hooves to cover her cheeks, and the smile grew. “O-Oh, thank you. You’re pretty gorgeous yourself, with a wonderful talent with your cello.” Octavia tilted her head at the remark. “I saw you playing when I first arrived. It sounded delightful.”
“Well, thank you. It’s one of the few things I have going for me.” Octavia pulled in a breath of air. “Listen, I know you said you don’t go out much, but I was wondering, could you perhaps find time in your busy, busy schedule to have dinner with me?” A blank stare was given in return for the question. “On a date.”
“Oh. Oh! Um, I close the boutique every day for the next week, and we stay open until nine.” Coco brushed her mane with a hoof. “But we close three hours earlier on Thursday. Is that okay with you?”
Octavia nodded, the thin line across her muzzle curling slightly. “It’s perfect. Where should I meet you?”
“Just stop by the boutique at 6:30. I’ll be ready by then.”
“All right.” The thin curl widened and spread apart to show a bit of white. “I’m looking forward to it.” Octavia stood up, stretching out a small cramp she had in her legs. “I think we, or at least I, need to head back inside. I’m sure it’s getting close for the end of intermission.”
Coco offered a nod before getting up and dusting off a bit of dust from the backside of her dress. Walking back inside the foyer, which had become a bit more crowded as ponies moved large antique paintings and slabs upstairs to the auction. A large grandfather clock displayed ten minutes until ten.
“Seems I still have a few minutes—”
“Hey, girls, how’s it going?!”
Before either mare knew it, a mint-green hoof was thrown around them, and the smell of expensive wine and cheap perfume pushed them apart like a wedge.
“Oh Celestia, Lyra, how much have you had to drink?” Octavia said, seeing Coco falter a little under Lyra’s weight and standing sturdier to support more of it.
“What? I had just one!”
Octavia nodded, “Uh huh, and how many ‘just ones’ did you have?”
“...Five....”
“I swear you’re worse than Berry Punch sometimes. At least she takes more to get there.”
“Oh, trust me, I take a lot more to get there too, if you know what I’m saying,” Lyra said, barely managing to finish her sentence before cackling madly. Octavia felt the urge to face-hoof but restrained herself for fear of toppling over from Lyra’s weight.
“Lyra, I always know what you’re saying, and I hate that I do.”
Coco started wiggling out from underneath Lyra’s foreleg. “I, uh, need to use the restroom to freshen up.” She popped free, and she gave Octavia a last smile and a wink. “If I don’t catch you beforehoof, I’ll see you Thursday, Octavia.”
Octavia was able to offer only a wave before the full weight of a drunken unicorn fell upon her.
“Bye, Coco!” Lyra shouted across the foyer, drawing a few glares toward her and Octavia’s direction. “Wow, you are a lucky mare to nail that piece of tail, Tavi. If I wasn’t married, I’d throw that meek little cutey-patootey over the sink and change her oil.”
“Not only does that make no sense, but it also sounds vile. How about we get something other than wine into your stomach?” Octavia put a hoof over the one across her shoulders, and led Lyra into the ballroom.
“Tavi, I made a horrible mistake.”
“Yes, I know. I’m afraid if Sissy flicks her lighter while you’re near her, they’re gonna need your dental records to identify the corpse.”
“No, no, not the wine. That is a necessity. I...I may have bought something from the auction....”
Octavia stopped dead in her tracks, causing Lyra to swing around to her front.
“How much did you bid?”
“Hu-Hundred-thousand.”
“A hundred-thousand?!” Octavia squeaked out. “For what did you bid a hundred-thousand bits?”
“A really old tea cup. The wine told me Bonnie would like it.” Lyra’s eyes fell to the floor. “Tavi, I don’t have a hundred-thousand bits.”
Octavia started rubbing a hoof against her temple. “Just tell them you can’t settle, and you made a mistake.”
Lyra puffed up her bottom lip. “Will you come with me please?”
“Yes, your mommy will be there with you,” Octavia rolled her eyes.
“You know, you saying that makes that one night in college really weird.”
“Ms. Heartstrings! Ms. Melody!” shouted a voice from within the crowd in the ballroom and soon Fredrick emerged from within. “We are on in three minutes! Hurry to your—good heavens, are you drunk again, Ms. Heartstrings?”
“No. Maybe. A little.”
“I swear, Ms. Heartstrings, if you—”
“She’s well enough to play, Fredrick,” Octavia interjected. “Just give me a second to shove something into her mouth.” Lyra snickered next to her. “Oh, sod off.”
“Very well. I’ll leave her in your hooves to deal with, Ms. Melody. Just be ready on time.” Fredrick turned and headed back to the stage. Octavia, as quickly as a single hoof could manage, escorted Lyra over to the refreshments table and practically force-fed her pastries and little sandwiches. While Lyra was still chewing, Octavia led her along the perimeter of the ballroom, up the stage’s left stairs, and plopped Lyra in the seat by the harp. Octavia barely had enough time to get to her cello and have it out before her ears heard Fredrick touch the ivories.
For the first time in a number of years, Octavia felt three things as Thursday evening trudged closer: nervousness sloshed in the pit of her stomach; excitement pumped from within her chest; and conviction in her heart rekindled. A significant amount of time had passed since her last romantic outing with somepony, let alone somepony that she didn’t know inside and out for over half a decade. And because of that, only dinner could be planned, and much of the night would have to be played by ear.
Not that Octavia minded—she could commendably play by ear, after all.
Lyra took the 4:15 to Ponyville Monday afternoon. As much as she wanted, Lyra knew she would not be allowed to see how her little deal would play out. And even if she could, she was not sure how much longer she could sleep alone on a couch when she could be in a queen-sized bed, muzzle-deep into a puddle of caramel-scented blue and pink hair.
Thursday came rather soon, with the pitter-patter of a morning rainstorm, and while it felt like a rather unceremonious day, the twinge of anticipation Octavia felt rolling out of bed determined it was anything but. Her clock crawled from minute to minute, teasing the mare excessively checking the time, until she turned on the hot water in the shower at 5:00 in the evening.
Dressed in her usual attire and with her trusty pouch of bits, Octavia arrived twenty-two minutes past six, rolling up to the boutique with its shutters drawn over the display windows and a sign reading “Sorry, darling, we are CLOSED” in calligraphy hung on the door’s window, turned outward. The lights were still on inside, even though the setting sun made it hard to tell. On the top floor was a lone lamp shining through the window at the far left, something that made Octavia raise a brow and sweat a little.
Octavia peeked into the thin crack of light coming from underneath the door’s window curtain. The boutique was eerily empty, and, after raising a hoof, she disturbed the stillness by pounding on the door, the flat part of the hoof making a sound akin to a hammer striking wood. A few seconds pass before the curtain was brushed aside, revealing a pair of bright sky-blue eyes and a crimson hairpin. The mares shared a smile before Coco disappeared back into the store, coming back just as quickly with a ring of keys in her mouth. There was a jingle of the brass and steel, then a click, and the door swung open.
“Evening, Octavia. Come on in, I’ll be ready in a minute,” Coco said around the key in her mouth, pushing close the door and locking it behind the mare. She made a detour to the counter to deposit the key ring onto a shelf. “I just need to finish organizing Rarity’s autumn and winter collection. It’s being released Saturday, so I have to check and make sure everything has arrived.” She trotted into the storage room, yellowish-orange light polluting the white glow of the shop’s main room, and the sound of boxes shifting came from within.
“A winter collection in the middle of July?”
“The autumn-winter fashion season starts in July. It's like Hearth’s Warming decorations on the first of November—gotta be ahead of the season, so everypony can prepare for it.”
“I suppose that makes...a minimal amount of sense.”
Coco stepped out, closing the storage room door behind her. “I don't decide when the fashion seasons begin and end. I just work here, stocking the racks with clothes, selling the clothes, paying the employees that also sell the clothes when they actually show up to work, keeping track of the store’s financials, paying the bills, taking inventory when necessary, and putting out any random fires that appear.”
Octavia let out a tiny yelp in surprise as a plume of fire popped up on a stack of hats on a display, and Coco sighed as she dragged her hooves over to the counter, pulling out a fire extinguisher and leveling it at the offending flame. With a pull of the trigger, the orange flower wilted under the assault of the snow-white smoke, the ruined hats tumbling off the display and onto the floor.
“Well, at least it did us a favor,” Coco stated, looking upon the hats as if they had come to life and attempted to eat her. “Now we have a reason to toss out the sun hats from last summer. Those things were on clearance for ninety-percent-off and still wouldn’t sell.” She tucked the fire extinguisher back underneath the counter and dug her hooves into the top shelf.
“I don’t know the etiquette for this, but,” a white square box, barely larger than a hoof, with a violet ribbon was produced from beneath and set atop the counter, “this is for you.”
Octavia shook her head. “Oh, Coco, you don’t—”
“But I did anyway,” Coco interrupted, letting a tiny smirk onto her face. “Please, open it.”
Octavia approached the box, taking the ribbon into her mouth to yank it undone. Sitting on the floor, she gripped the lid in both hooves, and lifted it up. Lying in a bed of white tissue paper was an indigo clip-on bow-tie made from...some kind of fabric. It shimmered like satin, looked as soft as cotton, and seemed like it could stretch like polyester. Growing from the knot was a white strap that ended in a metal hook.
“Oh my...it’s magnificent,” Octavia cooed, gliding a hoof along the left loop. It was exceedingly cushy.
Coco’s smirk widened into a fully formed grin. “I’m pleased to hear that. Want to try it on?”
“Absolutely.” Octavia raised her hooves to shed the plain pink tie she wore. It fell to the floor as the hook was unfastened, and the indigo tie followed in it’s place. Octavia looked off to the side to search for a mirror and saw one in an open dressing room. The tie looked befitting on her. “Thank you, Coco. It’s lovely, to say the absolute least.” A stray hoof could not help itself in not obsessively rubbing some part of it.
Coco giggled, idly pawing at the red dangling from her neck. “Something told me you would like it.”
Octavia cocked a brow. “Does it have something to do with being a fellow sister in neckwear?” Coco gave a noncommittal bob of her head. “Well, your intuition was spot-on. I’ll even wear it for the rest of the night.”
“What about the one you wore here?”
Octavia glanced at her sides, naked of a pair of saddlebags. “Erm, mind if I leave it here and pick it up after dinner?”
“Sure thing,” Coco replied, “I live just upstairs, so we can just—”
Octavia interrupted, “Wait, you live upstairs?”
Coco blinked. “Yeah, why?”
Octavia could feel the tension in her heart unwind some, but an eerie feeling crept into the hairs on her back—her date was living in the same space as her former lover had been. “I used to know somepony who lived there.”
“Oh, who?”
“It—” Octavia paused, realizing her current company, and thought better to mention her. “It was nopony special. So, how about we head onward to dinner?”
Octavia spun around and headed for the door, missing Coco donning a perplexed expression.
* * *
“Wow....” Coco breathed out as the taxicab pulled up along the curb in front of a red-brick building. Candlelight flowed though aquamarine curtains, sparkling like gold at the bottom of a shallow sea. “The Blue Cheese Lagoon? I’ve heard it’s difficult to get a reservation here.”
“It helps when the owner is your uncle,” Octavia replied matter-of-factly, pushing a few bits into the metal box for the fair.
“Your uncle? Oh yeah, I think you mentioned that briefly Saturday.”
“Yeah, he’s the black sheep of the family—became a chef instead of a musician, wanting to appeal to the taste buds of ponies instead of their ears.” Octavia jumped down from the coach and held up a hoof to help. Coco took it and let out a grunt when her hooves hit the pavement, uttering a word of gratitude.
“I don’t know much about dating, but it seems a little early to be meeting family, isn’t it?”
Octavia laughed, “I suppose it is. Although, Uncle Pep is the kind of pony who treats everypony like family.” She opened the door to the restaurant, gesturing for Coco to go ahead in, and followed behind her.
The scent of a dozen different cheeses permeated the restaurant’s cool air, almost to the point the lactose intolerant would feel their stomach lurch upon a single inhale. The entire place was an ocean of blues, from the carpet to the wait staff’s outfits, with the whites and yellows of cheeses swimming around like fish along the walls in paintings and photographs. Soft piano music played in the background, and looking past the hostess’ booth, nearly every table was filled with ponies.
The hostess, a pegasus the color of cheddar, smiled as the mares approached the booth.
“Good evening, Miss Melody and Miss Pommel. Welcome to The Blue Cheese Lagoon,” she greeted as she took a couple menus under her wing. “Right this way, please.” As the hostess cornered around the panes of glass behind the booth, Octavia shot a wink to Coco, who had taken a quizzical expression when she was unexpectedly addressed by name.
The hostess brought them to a table by the middle of the right wall, underneath a painting of a whimsical cheese wheel roaming the middle of the Neightalian countryside. Two licks of fire flickered on freshly lit candles, and the mares took a seat on the royal purple cushions on the floor. The hostess laid the menus before them and returned to her own post at the front door.
Her eyes catching the final glimpse of the hostess, Coco stuttered out, “W-What, uh—”
“Yeah, sorry, Uncle Pep insisted putting both of our names on the reservation,” Octavia said, placing a hoof on the menu in front of her and pulling it toward her. “I think it’s his way of covertly getting to know who I’m coming with.”
“Seems like a weird way to go about it,” muttered Coco. She lifted the menu in her hooves and scanned through it. As expected, nearly every item was based on the wondrous ingredient of cheese. “My, everything sounds delicious....”
A stone-faced waitress appeared next to the table with a notepad levitating next to her.
“Hello, what can I get for you tonight?” she asked mirthlessly.
Octavia gave her order first. “Personal pizza—supreme with extra peppers, please.”
The waitress scribbled it lazily into the notepad and looked expectantly at Coco.
“Um, fettuccine alfredo, please.”
More scribbling. “And to drink?”
Octavia looked to Coco. “Wine?”
Coco shook her head. “Just water is fine.”
“Just water,” Octavia repeated. The waitress wrote a couple more things and lifted the menus with a green haze and left. Octavia turned her head to Coco, who was fidgeting with a spoon. “Not a wine pony?”
Coco gave a single short shake of her head. “I’m not an alcohol pony, period. I don’t like the stuff.”
“Is it the taste?”
Her eyes fell and she frowned. “No, it’s, well...it’s a family matter.”
“Oh...father?”
“Mother.” Coco sighed. “And brother.”
“Sorry,” Octavia muttered, “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right. I know I asked you a rather difficult question Saturday. It’s only fair that you do, too.”
The waitress returned with their drinks, wordlessly placing two glasses of ice water on the table. Coco took hers into her hooves and took a healthy drink from it.
Octavia could not help but to stare in amazement. “Wow, you must have been quite thirsty.”
The glass was placed back onto the table, less than half remaining, and the mare gave a sigh. “I haven't had anything to drink since lunch—too busy with the boutique.”
“Couldn't you have taken a break?”
“When you're every kind of manager possible, you often don't have time for those pleasantries.” Coco stopped to take a more conservative drink this time. “I stayed up for forty-eight hours last year dealing with the boutique's grand re-opening after the fire and making the costumes for a show.”
“Sounds like you need a vacation. I know you said you were a busy-body, but that's way too much, Coco.”
“I suppose...although, that's why I'm here, among other reasons.” Coco offered a smile. “To get out and relax with somepony I...like.”
Octavia returned the smile and raised her glass for a drink, nearly blowing it through her nose when her name was shouted from the way to the kitchen, where a stout stallion with a salt-and-pepper mane stood. He hastily approached the mares’ table, and Octavia set aside her glass and hopped up from her seat.
“Uncle Pep!” They threw a hoof around each other, and Octavia just as quickly held a hoof in her date’s direction. “Uncle Pep, this is Coco Pommel.”
“Hey, I recognize you,” Uncle Pep said, taking one of Coco’s hooves into his own. His voice was gravelly. “I saw you on-stage for Manespray’s opening night. You were the actress that repainted the set green and got the show canceled for the night.”
Coco’s pupils grew to eclipse her irises, and her ears flattened and jaw clenched.
Octavia cleared her throat. “Uncle Pep, she’s not a Bridleway actress. She’s a costume designer. That was a mistake on behalf of casting.”
“Oh! Apologies, dear, I had no idea. If it's any sort of consolation, the costumes were amazing for the ten minutes I saw them.” His eyes lowered to the tie around Coco's neck. “And I see you have a much better sense of fashion than your predecessor.”
“Uncle! Don't start with that again!”
Uncle Pep looked at his niece incredulously. “Oh please, you know those colored glasses of hers always looked horrendous, and she wore them everywhere, even inside. That's not polite.”
“And it's not polite to talk about her with a certain somepony present,” Octavia growled lowly through her teeth.
“Fine, fine. All right, I have to get back to the kitchen. You kids enjoy yourselves, and—” Uncle Pep took Coco's hoof again with one of his own “—it was a pleasure to meet you, Coco Pommel. I hope you come back with Octavia in the near future.” The stallion gave them a bow and spun around to return to the bustling kitchen, followed by yelling at the sous-chef.
Octavia returned to her seat and faced Coco with a fragile smile. “Sorry about Uncle Pep. He’s not very good at thinking before speaking.”
“By ‘predecessor’ did he mean...?” A nodding of Octavia’s head was all that she needed, and her ears flattened. “Oh. I suppose I do have quite the...act to follow, don’t I?”
Octavia gave a dismissive wave of her hoof. “I can assure you, you shouldn’t worry—that was a lifetime ago as far as I’m concerned. Besides, you’re doing splendidly so far.”
“I hope so...”
The table fell to silence, broken sporadically with short-lived conversations and remarks, until their meals arrived. Coco dove into her fettuccine alfredo with great gusto, narrowly minding her manners and apologizing, and accused her light lunch and busy work for the outburst. The food proved to liven things up, as Octavia recounted some misadventures she and Lyra had back in college in Fillydelphia. But as enjoyable as the food was, it only lasted so long.
Their waitress stopped by to exchange the dirty dishes for the check, which Octavia only regarded the check with a glance. “I suppose you didn't want dessert, did you?” Coco shook her head, and Octavia scrunched up her face in consideration. “How about tea at my place then?”
Coco giggled to herself and remarked, “Just tea?”
“Well, the evening is still young,” replied Octavia with a grin. After sharing a laugh, Octavia clarified that it would just be tea and talking.
“Sure, it sounds lovely. Although, we should stop by the boutique to pick up your bow-tie.”
Octavia's eyes widened at the idea as she dumped the bits for dinner onto the table. “Yes, we should. I had forgotten about it, admittedly.” She stood and beckoned with a hoof. "Shall we?" Coco nodded her head and wiped her mouth with her napkin before joining Octavia’s side, and they headed out together.
Outside, a change in shifts for the Princesses was evident: dim, silvery light poured down and the moths danced around the lit street lamps. Down the street, the lights of a sole oncoming taxi shone. The mares stepped underneath a streetlamp, and Octavia held out a hoof for the taxicab.
“Thank you for dinner, by the way,” Coco said.
“You're welcome. It was a worthy trade for your company, and it's the least I could do for the exquisite tie.” Octavia stressed the last statement with a pat to the bow-tie. As the cab neared, it slowed, and the hoof was put down. The cab pulled up along the curb, and the mares jumped inside.
“Evening, ladies,” greeted the driver.
“Good evening,” the mares said concurrently, and stifled a laugh and an urge to call jinx. “Rarity for You, please,” came, again, from both mares and the laughter could not be contained any longer.
* * *
The front door to Octavia’s apartment swung open, and Coco and Octavia entered, giggling to a joke the former shared on the way. The box with Octavia’s old bow-tie teetered on her back and was taken into the bedroom.
“Go ahead and have a seat,” was called from the bedroom. Coco wandered into the living room, looking around the whirlwind of crumpled and ripped papers. Octavia trotted up to the coffee table.
“Sorry about the mess.” She grabbed a nearby trash bin and swept the papers into it. “That’s just work stuff.”
Coco knit her brow as she sat on the sofa. “Work? For your ensemble?”
“More or less,” Octavia said dismissively, heading into the kitchen. “I like to write music, sometimes for the ensemble, sometimes for other reasons.” She brought out a polished metal kettle, filling it with water and setting it on the stove.
“When did you write your last piece?”
Octavia grimaced to herself. “When I was helping write for Vinyl’s album...” she muttered nearly inaudibly, and said, “Er, a long, long time ago.”
“That’s some writer’s block.” Coco’s ears drooped. “The worst I’ve had with designing was a week, but I suppose that was a bit different since it’s actually my career.”
Octavia emerged from the kitchen and took a seat beside Coco. “It’s bizarre, frankly. I’m exceptional at playing by ear with other musicians and instruments, but for some reason, when I’m all alone, that talent just disappears.”
“Have you tried playing with the other musicians from your ensemble?” asked Coco.
Octavia shook her head. “No, and it wouldn’t work. Everypony lives in different places throughout Equestria, and we only ever get together to play someplace.”
Coco tilted her head. “Then how did you write back then?”
“I had some help,” Octavia replied. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, which did not go unnoticed.
“Your ex, I assume.” She looked at Octavia frowned when her gaze was refused to be met. “Pardon my asking, but why you seem reluctant to talk about her all of a sudden, let alone mention her name or anything?”
“It’s normally considered inappropriate to mention former special-someponies to your current—to somepony with whom you’re on a date.”
“But why do you not want to mention her?”
“Because I miss her!” bursted out of Octavia’s mouth, her eyes staring as if watching memories play on the empty wall across from the sofa. “Or at least, I miss the former version of her, before our relationship was thrown into the pits of Tartarus, when she was sweet and thoughtful, if occasionally clumsy. I miss when blue was my favorite color in the world, and I was the luckiest mare in the world to wake up to a head-full of it each morning.” She finally turned to Coco, whose ears were somehow lower than before and eyes had a dull look. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“No, it’s alright.” Coco opened her mouth, thought better than whatever she wanted to say, and stood. “Perhaps I should go.”
“No! Please stay. Forget I mentioned her.”
“That’s not the problem, Octavia—it’s the exact opposite.” Coco swallowed a lump in her throat. “I-I want you to be able to talk about everything with me, to feel comfortable enough, even if it’s something to do with your ex. If it’s because I might feel threatened or jealous, I can guarantee that won’t be a problem. I know what sort of baggage comes from such a long-term relationship, and I know I’m not her.”
“Of course not. You never accosted anypony for simply looking at us.”
A reassuring smile appeared on the mare’s face, and a tentative hoof touched Octavia’s shoulder. “And that’s exactly it: I’m not her. I’m a simple mare who likes to work hard, sew, and read a cheesy romance novel from time-to-time. I already have my dream job of designing costumes for Bridleway shows, so I don’t have that many ambitions or desires. But I do currently have one: to find a special somepony, who can trust me with anything that bothers them, and I the same for her. You seem to be in need of somepony capable of lending an ear, which I can be if you so choose.”
Octavia was chewing her lip, and when the offer was served, there was no hesitation for an affirming nod. She felt that, if at least seven years younger, she could cry, but matters of the heart shouldn’t bother a mare on the brink of middle-age, especially one with a heart as gnarled as hers.
“I’m sorry, Coco. I swear I didn’t—” a tired sigh interrupted, “—I didn’t mean for this to happen tonight.”
“And I’m sorry for lecturing. I don’t typically do that.”
Octavia let out a laugh. “I do suppose I deserved it. And as painful as it is, I can bear with sharing a few of those memories.” She looked at Coco and smiled. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with making new ones.”
Octavia was about to say something, but the kettle whistled. Coco removed her hoof from Octavia’s shoulder as the latter hurried into the kitchen, left to quietly examine the apartment. Coco had the horrible feeling of wanting to say something when nothing could be mustered. Her eyes drifted over to the cello, in its case, leaning against the sofa’s right side.
A clatter made an ear swivel, and Coco turned to see Octavia carrying a copper-colored salver with a pair steaming coffee mugs, spoons, and a small jar of sugar. Coco took her tea unsweetened, blowing on hers before taking a sip.
“I hope it’s not impolite to ask, but would you play your cello and what you have written so far for your piece? I’m curious about it.”
Octavia gave her a look that said that the request was unexpected (what costume designer would have an interest in her music?) but welcomed nonetheless.
“Of course, just let me—” she took a quick sip of her tea, nearly scalding her tongue in her urgency, and hurried to her cello. The case’s clasps were thrown open, and Octavia first fished out her bow, holding it with her teeth by the grained wood. A pestered glare was directed at the coffee table, which was immediately pushed out of the way, and the mare and her instrument took its place. With an astonishing combination of finesse and strength that only an earth pony, as well as a seasoned cellist, can manage, Octavia hoisted the cello upright while standing on her back hooves.
“Wow, it’s a show watching you get ready to play,” Coco said.
Octavia took the bow out of her mouth, gripping it in the crook of her right forehoof. “My grandmother used to say that unicorn magic was a curse rather than a blessing, since it made ponies lazy and incapable of doing it the good, old-fashioned way.” She returned the bow to her mouth, and worked quickly to tune the cello. When she was satisfied with the sound, she retook the bow into her hoof, closed her eyes, and inhaled as she readied the bow against the strings.
“Something wrong?” Coco asked when a few seconds passed and the bow didn’t move.
“Sorry, it’s just...the last time I did this kind of thing was for Vinyl—my ex—so I’m feeling a bit nervous.”
“I thought you said you didn’t get stage-fright.”
“I don’t with big, impersonal crowds, but when it’s an intimate performance with a...special somepony, I do tend to feel some butterflies in the pit of my stomach.”
“If it’s going to be trouble—”
“Tut-tut, you asked, so you shall receive.” Octavia closed her eyes, hummed a few starting notes to herself, and the bow moved. As she played, her hoof slid up and down the strings, periodically quaking, to create a wild string of notes and sounds.
An image of the mare in the audience was conjured in her mind: grinning cutely, sky-blue eyes shimmering in imaginary light, and smooth cyan hair with the red pin peeking out like the sun at dawn. Gliding along her curve of her face and from under her collar, imaginary notes poured forth, as would water from a garden hose, guiding Octavia’s progression past the point she had firmly written.
Performing a one-mare show for a one-mare audience, privately where the ears for which she played perked sweetly to listen and whose eyes had the glaze of wonder and admiration, was something she had been she had missed for all these years, Octavia realized. A muse, a catalyst for a spark of inspiration. Inside her, the little embers erupted into a blaze, and the only thing Octavia desired was to put on the best damn cello performance Coco Pommel will ever see in her life.
It was peculiar for Octavia—this hadn't happened when she wrote music and played for Vinyl, but then again, that mare was rarely anything but a composer, never capable to sit by and just listen. It was greatly appreciated to have somepony to sit back and let Octavia play.
With a flourish, the bow pitched a final high note and was pulled away as its master gave a small bow. An eye fluttered open to see Coco beaming and clapping and bouncing in her seat.
Coco was nearly laughing. “That was astounding! I know you said it wasn’t finished, but it sounds perfect to me!”
“Thank you, I...honestly don’t know how or what happened. It just came to me as I was playing.” Octavia pulled her cello over to its case and laid both it and the bow inside. “Well, that was refreshing,” she commented, sitting next to Coco on the sofa and attempting to sip her tea, which had become disgustingly lukewarm.
“Thank you,” she heard Coco say to her, turning to meet a grinning face. “That was very sweet of you to do that for me, especially after what happened.”
“It’s fine, Coco. I think you deserved the honor.”
On the wall, the clock chimed to indicate the hour, and Coco let out a surprised yelp at the lateness.
“I’m sorry, Octavia,” said Coco as she stood from the sofa, “but I do have to go. I need to get up early to get the boutique ready for tomorrow.” Octavia gave her a nod and followed her to the door. “Tonight was the most fun I’ve had in years,” she added.
“Same.” Octavia unlatched and opened the door, and with Coco in the middle of the doorway, both mares looked at each other expectantly.
“How about lunch tomorrow?” Coco asked. “I know of a good little café around the corner from the boutique.”
“Sounds great. I’ll stop by around noon then.”
“Great.” Coco turned around and stopped, as if she didn’t want to leave. Before Octavia could respond, the mare suddenly whipped around and pressed her lips firmly against Octavia’s right cheek, muttered a “Good night,” and fled down the hallway.
Octavia simply stayed in the doorway, stunned at what happened, but the stunned expression melted as she started chuckling to herself at the displays the usually meek mare shared. Octavia trotted into the living room, dumping the cold tea and closing the lid on her cello’s case. The lights were turned off on her way to bed—the evening had left her more exhausted than she anticipated. She didn’t even dare to properly set aside her new bow-tie, simply undoing the clip and letting it land onto the floor, where just out of view the letters “C.P.” were stitched in platinum thread.
Before falling asleep, Coco Pommel appeared once again in Octavia’s mind’s eye, for once last glance at the cyan mane and cerulean eyes.
