For a Few Octaves More
For a Few Octaves More
By: Muppetz
You got this. No problem. You said, trying to psyche yourself up, while on your way to practice. This, however, wasn’t any ordinary practice. This particular practice would decide who won the prestigious position of first chair, and even better, a chance to play the Grand Galloping Gala. Lugging a cello on your back that was almost as big as you were, you slowly made progress toward the enormous theater.
Canterlot was an easy city to get lost in, but having grown up here, you navigated the winding streets and back alley short cuts with ease. It wasn’t a long walk to from your apartment to the theater, which was one of the things that allured you to that particular building. But today the walk seemed to last forever. It probably didn’t help that you stopped every ten feet to open up you cello case and check to make sure it was still there, along with your bow and sheet music. …wait. Sheet music.
WHERE IS MY SHEET MUSIC?!?!...oh wait…its right here. Crisis averted. Now that that little fiasco had been dealt with you were free to walk another few steps before repeating the process with other various items.
You eventually arrived in front of the theater building. It was a massive structure. It was the largest fine arts institution in Equestria. Art galleries, Operas, theater, and virtually any artistic venue you could imagine, all under one roof. After climbing the large set of white marble steps to the massive front doors, you had to stop a second to catch your breath. I hate stairs. You complain to yourself. You continued on inside, noting the curious absence of any other ponies. You pushed it out of your mind though and made your way to the west wing of the building where the practice theater was located.
You pushed open the double doors that led to the theater itself. It was an impressive room filled with rows and rows of seats at a downward sloping angle towards a large stage which was housed by a half dome which faced the audience. The dome perfectly designed to direct the music toward the crowd. But there was something wrong. Not a single soul was in sight. The entire theater was completely empty.
This can’t be good. Where is everypony? “Hellooo?” Your own voice echoing back was the only reply you received. You ducked back out the double doors and checked the clock on the wall. You were a bit confused. This clock said practice wouldn’t start for another three hours.
"I really need to buy a watch. But I guess its better early than late." You thought as you resigned yourself to wait. You walked back into the cool theater.
It was dark save for the walkway lights and a few dim stage lights. You decided to take advantage of the extra time. You made your way up and on to the stage, the soft clop your hooves eerily echoing back to you, making it sound as if somepony were walking a few feet behind you.
You climbed up onto the stage and set down your cello case. You clicked open the latches and gently set it upright. You spent all last night cleaning and tuning and doing everything possible to ensure the instrument was in perfect playing condition for today’s performance. You pulled out a soft white cloth and ran it over the dark polished surface of the cello. You could even see your face in the reflection. Perfect. You pulled out your bow and ran it smoothly over the strings, which produced a deep note that reverberated in your chest.
As the sound of the note dies down you begin to realize how tired you were. You quite literally didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. The atmosphere of the theater didn’t help much either. It was cool and dark and quite. You carefully placed the cello back into it’s case along with the bow. You jump down from the stage and find a seat in the center of the room and take in the audience’s view. You tried to imagine watching yourself playing on stage. You daydream of crowds throwing roses and screaming for an encore.
You awoke to the sound of a gruff voice and a slight pain in your side. You opened your eyes to find a brown colt poking you with a broomstick. “Look buddy, I don’t care where you go but you can’t sleep here.” He said, still jabbing you in the side with his broom.
“What?” You asked still half asleep. The older colt let out a tired sigh and said.
“There a homeless shelter across town. I suggest you go there.”
“What?! I’m not homeless! I’m just waiting for the rest of the orchestra to get here!”
“You’re waiting for the orchestra to get here?” He asked with a hint of sarcastic disbelief.
“Yes!”
“Two hours early?”
“…yes.”
“Whatever, I don’t have time to deal with you right now. Stay if you want I don’t really care.” He said while walking back out the doors pushing a cart of cleaning supplies.
You got up and found the restrooms and inspected yourself in the mirror. You did look a bit rough. Your mane was
disheveled and out of place and your collar was inside out and missing it’s tie.
I do look like a hobo. You wet your hooves and ran them through your mane trying to smooth it into place. You took off your collar and reversed it. Once you decided you looked presentable. You made your way back to the theater. You walked back through the double doors.
This time you weren’t alone. Trotting back to down to the stage to retrieve your cello case, you see a figure pop out
from behind a row of seats in the dark as you walk past.
“HOLY CELESTIA!” You shout, your heart began to race at the unexpected surprise. The mysterious figure emerged from the dark. As they stepped into the light your heart began to race for an entirely new reason. The ash grey filly slowly worked her way out of the dark. You weren’t sure if she was purposefully walking so gracefully or if time had actually slowed down to emphasize the beauty of this glorious creature. Either way you had to actively try to keep your jaw from hitting the floor. She was simply captivating. You find it impossible to take your eyes from her. Her charcoal colored hair was bound elegantly behind her back. Her eyes were lidded halfway in an aloof manner as she inspected you, her expression that of one performing some unpleasant task.
She trotted up toward you. "Sorry about that,” you begin with a small chuckle “I kind of thought I was alone here. You scared the hay out of me.”
She doesn’t respond. She merely maintains her disenchanted visage. She circles you once, scrutinizing you. You can’t help but feel her cold gaze piercing you. She goes to make another pass around you but you begin to rotate with her. At this she stops circling and her expression become that of annoyance. She finally spoke.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing here?” Her voice seemed almost angry.
“Applying for the first chair cello position.” You answer, slightly confused.
“You should go home.” She said dismissively as she turned her back to you and began to trot toward the stage.
“What?”
“Go home. You won’t win.”
“And why, pray tell, is that” You said hotly, now on the defensive. She didn’t answer right away she merely made her
way back to her seat and hefted a cello case, very similar to your own.
“Because I’M taking the first chair.” She said with an evil smile.
Mental note: Change relationship status from “potential girlfriend” to “arch rival”
“Is that so?”
“Yes it is.” She said matter of factly, “So do yourself a favor and...” She waved a hoof in the general direction of the
door.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” You say.
“I didn’t give one.” She retorted. You were getting fed up with this chick. You followed her up onto the stage where she
had hefted her cello case which was easily bigger than she was. Doing your best not to focus on the alluring flank swaying a few paces in front of you, you follow her on stage, but as hard as you tried you couldn’t help but be floored by her every movement. Every step she took was graceful and she carried herself with such class. She was proud, haughty, and completely irresistible.
Stop it! You mentally berated yourself. She’s the bad guy here. Well if she wants to play games, let’s play.
You walked past her, making sure she saw your studied in-attention. She moves to open the golden latches on her polished black case. You begin to circle her as she did to you only a few minutes ago.
“You know,” You begin to say adopting a sly smile. “I think you’re afraid.”
At this she sounded almost like she choked and began to cough up some sort of sarcastic laugh.
“Afraid?! HA! Please, I’m trying to do you a favor and save you the embarrassment but if you really want to stay I’ll be
more than happy to wipe the floor with you.” She said standing up to face you and matching your confident smile. You widen your grin as a new thought popped into your head. With a flick of your tail you turn and trot over to your cello case and open it. Her eyes follow you with an air of curiosity. You pull out the tall polished instrument and set up a playing pose. You motion with a hoof for her to do the same. Her eyes twinkle as she finally comprehends what you’re playing at and she readies herself as well.
There you were, both poised and ready to play, like two duelists awaiting the opportunity to strike.
“Ladies first.” You say as you wave your foreleg out to your side in a sarcastic bow. Her brow furrows and she begins to saw out a slow melody, hitting each note perfectly. As you watch, you stare at her expertly eliciting these notes from her instrument and begin to wonder how she does so without any opposable digits. You look down at the bow in your own hooves and realize that for the continuity of the story it is probably best if you just don’t ask questions. You draw the bow across the strings of your cello and begin to mimic her melody albeit much faster and garnished with a few additional notes.
Her tempo picks up and she plays even faster and much more elaborate melodies which you match and expand upon.
You couldn’t accurately recall how long this went on, all you could remember was the sound and how it resonated in your very bones, and the goddess across from you and how her body moved while manipulating the large instrument in her hooves. You played until your muscles burned, and sweat beaded your forehead. Your focus either on the golden strings at your hoof tips or the filly across from you, and nothing else.
Nothing existed outside this place. There was only perfect action and reaction, the loss of oneself in the music, and the girl who ventured with you into this brave new world. You shifted you gaze from the strings which you knew better than the back of your own hoof to the mare. She was sawing vigorously on her own instrument. Her charcoal, almost black, mane swinging wildly about her head as she swung her head with the sounds that echoed and resonated through out the room.
She bit her lower lip and breathed heavily, her eyes closed and she manipulated the cello, bending it to her will. It was a feeling you recognized and understood better than most. To be truly lost in one’s playing to feel the music flow through you and the knowledge that it was your hooves that were giving it life.
Her eyes shot open and locked with yours. They were like indigo diamonds, sharp, and perfectly crystalline. They seemed to cut into you like razors. You stared at them and could see the fire. You imagined you could actually feel the heat from the blazing purple inferno that raged behind her eyes.
The playing continued, eyes never leaving each other’s. Watching each other like two wolves meeting for the first time.
The tempo picked up faster and faster and eventually neither of you were really playing any recognizable melody, but the noise was primal and beautiful and there was a basic method to the madness that only the two of you could have ever understood.
The noise came to a dangerously fast level. To the point where you were both playing fast enough to where you thought you started to see smoke coming from the resin on her bow. You never broke eye contact. She was openly panting and she bit her lip whether in pain or pleasure you couldn't tell. Until the music finally reached a climax and she threw down her bow and let the cello fall to the ground and she began almost running toward you.
You dropped your bow at your hooves and allowed your cello to hit the stage floor as well. You stepped over it and closed the gap, meeting her center stage. She wrapped her forelegs around your head and shoved your mouth into hers.
Her tongue forced its way into your mouth and yours was more than happy to fight back just as vigorously. Your arms wrapped around her much smaller form and pushed her into you, just as she was doing to you. She kissed you so hard it hurt, but you didn’t dream of pulling away. She eventually broke the kiss to suck in a breath before pressing her lips back
against yours, not as forcefully but just as passionate and seductive.
You could almost taste the fire inside this filly. Your arms ran all over her frame, tracing the treble clef on her flank, which elicited a sharp moan and caused her to bite down on your lip. You began to move away and back towards the small of her back until her tail reaches up and wraps around your hoof and brings it back town to her flank. You can feel her smile devilishly into your kiss. You continue to caress her curves and reach up and unclasp the collar and pink bowtie and she has wrapped around her neck and it falls to the floor.
You begin to kiss down her neck. Her breathing increased and she pulled you down to the stage floor, legs still wrapped around one another. You lay down on top of her, but she quickly rolls the two of you over and winds up on top. You try to push back up but she places a hoof under your chin and brings you back up to face her.
She stares into your eyes for a split second before pushing you into another kiss. She traps you head between the ground and her face, as if she were still competing with you to demonstrate who the dominate one would be. You fight the temptation to merely give in to her and let her win, instead you force the kiss back into her and wrap your forelegs around her waist and bring it down close to yours.
You begin to kiss and nip down her neck and down her chest, her hooves wrapped around your head and pressing your face into her stomach, where you lingered once you realized it was apparently very sensitive. You continue to nuzzle and kiss her underbelly enjoying the fact the action caused the previously dominate filly to melt before your eyes. Her rear legs wrap around your waist and she flips you so the she is once again on top. You look into her face and are pretty sure you can see flames behind her eyes. Her evil grin widens and she moves her hips down toward your own. You try futilely to re-assert your position but she pins your shoulders against the floor.
“You don’t know when to give up do you?” She said amusedly.
“I’m a slow learner.” You fired back and she laughed before kissing you again and lowering her hips towards your…
“Oh my God will you two just do it already!?!” A third voice cried out from somewhere in the audience. Both your eyes snap open and you freeze. You both look into the seats and see that at least sixteen ponies were sitting in the chairs enjoying the show, with a few more walking through the doors and down the aisle. At this point there are only two things on your mind. 1) How long have they been there? And 2) Why does your author always write some buzz-killer into the story right before things get really good?!
You both untangle yourselves and stand up. You look over at the filly and she looks back at you, then at the crowd.
She then rears back a hoof and slugs you right in the jaw. Your vision flashes and you fall over but you pop back up dazed and in a severe amount of pain. You see her walk over pick up your cello put it back in its case and click it shut before shoving it into your hooves. She goes over and retrieves her own cello and walks to the edge of the stage, jumps down and begins to walk up the aisle towards the door.
“YOU PUNCH LIKE A FLAUTIST!” You shout after her. She acts as if she didn’t hear anything and continued up and out the door. You spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor.
And I never even got her name.
The walk home was filled with confusion, anger, a very sore jaw. You collapse into your apartment. You toss your cello case on the floor and its pops open and spills its contents, but you barely notice. You make your way into the bathroom and find a bottle of iodine. You stare at the bottle wondering how to best go about doing this.
Fuck it. You say to yourself and take a swig of the dark brown liquid and swish it around your mouth.
OH GOD BAD IDEA!!! BAD IDEA!!! You spit out the horrible brown fluid, the cuts in your mouth burning and stinging. Well today turned out pretty terrible.
You walk back out of the bathroom and stare at you overturned cello case. You notice a folded piece of paper stuck in the strings of the instrument and curious, you pick it out and read it. There was just one word;
Octavia
followed by an apartment address along with a key.
Today might just yet be salvageable.