The sweet smell of flowers fluttered through the air on the wind that had been on and off throughout the day. Octavia couldn’t smell it. She stood, her face whiter than it had been the day before, staring at the entrance of the flower garden. She wore a simple black dress, the one she performed in. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to wear in this situation, so she had decided to go with something simple, and yet just a bit elegant. Both overdressing and underdressing were a concern here. She stood, fussing a bit and with the ground beneath her hoof.
Why had she signed up for this? She questioned herself. A blind date? Really? She sighed and shuddered. She wasn’t a huge fan of dates in the first place, and a blind one...set up by some anonymous company? She must have lost her oats. She recalled the booth in Canterlot, the stack of papers, the box that accepted the sign-up sheets, and the pony charismatically asking other ponies on the street to sign up. She’d gone up to the booth and, for some reason, despite the large “Blind Date!” banners, she grabbed a paper and filled it out. Name? Octavia. Location? Canterlot. Gender? Mare. Preference?
She paused. She stared at the last set of boxes. It seemed to ask her again. Preference? Her mind was a blank. It was a simple question, really. Stallion? Mare? Both? She bit her lip and hovered the pen over the boxes. Check Stallion, she told herself. Check stallion. Check stallion. Check stallion. Check...
Both. She had checked both. She didn’t know why she had checked both, she just did. It’s not as if she discriminated or anything, but she’d always seen herself as quite straight. Worse, she’d only been told where to go. She didn’t know anything about the pony she’d been set up with, not even the gender. She wondered if it was common practice with a blind date, but her thoughts were broken by a stallion walking past and laughing.
“Hahah, on a date?” He chuckled, “With her?” He laughed louder, but it wasn’t an unkind laugh. “I’m actually a little jealous. You’re pretty lucky.” He patted her shoulder, and walked on. “Good luck!”
Well, THAT didn’t help. She groaned and sat down, rubbing her hooves into her forehead with a disgruntled groan. It was narrowed down, she’d been set up with a mare. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could just leave, she told herself. Turn around, take the next train away, and never speak of this again. Another sigh. No, she couldn’t. That would just be cruel to the other pony. She bit her lip, perhaps a bit harder than she needed to. She stomped her leg down to steady it and closed her eyes.
Slowly, softly, she imagined a soft rising of strings, then woodwinds twittering softly, brass keeping a low profile, just loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to be obstructive. One more deep breath in, and one more release and she’d calmed down. It was her favorite trick to calm herself down. Playing some of her favorite music in her head could change her mood or relax her. Her internal record player, she called it.
The walk into the flower garden was the longest walk she’d ever taken. Each step was a small adventure, and when her hoofsteps went from clopping on cobblestones to the soft crunching of a pebble walkway she turned up her internal phonograph. The hedges were high, but it didn’t seem to be a maze of any sort. Instead, there were two directions that could be taken. Left and right. She had been told to go right, and they were to meet up by a fountain. Sure enough, to the right and around a corner, she emerged into a courtyard, surrounded on all sides by different kinds of flowers, with even more flowers beds creating pathways weaving and crossing around. It was really quite exquisitely set. Whoever owned this place was an expert, and it seemed like they’d gone all out for this event. What was it called again? “The Gardens of Rose, Lily, and Daisy.”
And then there, in the center, was the fountain. It was large and perfectly ornate, with flowers and vines weaving around base and up the center, from where water gushed and poured into the center pool. After taking a moment to examine the scene, she spotted her. The cellist blinked. Surely, she was mistaken. The pony who stood there was possibly the last pony she’d have expected. Her back was turned, but her mane was unmistakable. She’d seen it so many times before, she’d almost lost count.
And then there was what she was wearing. There really wasn’t a question anymore, despite how impossible Octavia thought this was.
Somehow, the only thing she could think was ‘At least I feel like I dressed properly.’ She kicked her mental record player in order to get it working again. It kicked up louder , then quieted down as she adjusted the volume. Again, the soft chords relaxed her mind. She didn’t know what to say, and her date hadn’t seen her yet. Instead, she very subtly cleared her throat. It worked, and the mare turned around. “Oh!” she exclaimed, then beamed. “Hello!”
“Y-you...” Octavia stammered. “You’re...” She looked over the mare’s face, blinking. She squinted as if it would help her see past the eye-blocking goggles.
The other mare sighed, but smiled kindly. “Yeah, I am. Go ahead and say it. You’ll feel better once you do.” She chuckled, placing a hoof over her mouth and waiting patiently. Perhaps it was Octavia’s imagination, she thought, but she saw the hoof shaking just a bit.
She searched her throat, trying to find the words, to place the name that she knew so well. Somehow it was harder than it should have been. Of all ponies, she’d been set up on a date with...with...”Fleetfoot!”
