Octavia looked disdainfully down at her coffee and let out a heavy sigh. It wasn't a great brand to begin with, just a bag of mid-quality beans bought down at Marebucks, and had lost all redeeming qualities once it cooled off. She'd made a pot far too big to drink herself, especially with Vinyl out of town.
She reached for the mug and tasted a mouthful of the blackish swill within. It promptly sent a shudder down her spine and made her face scrunch up. Disgusting. But it was better this way, or better than the alternatives. The house she lived in had a small yet potent supply of various alcoholic drinks, but Octavia wouldn't stoop to that level. The sun had risen but an hour ago, and was far too early to be drinking.
Octavia drove the thoughts from her head with another long sip of the coffee, stomach scrunching in protest. Goddess, she hated its foul flavor, hated the way it felt going down, hated how she needed it. Everything about it from the smell to the way it looked rubbed her coat the wrong way. She'd nagged Vinyl ceaselessly about it just the other day. Honestly, she didn't know why her marefriend kept buying the stuff.
But now it was the only thing that left Octavia hang on. Vinyl was out of town on business and wouldn't be back for days yet, which left Octavia with herself to look to for comfort and security. She picked up the crimson mug yet again, and gave a pained grimace. Or distraction. The taste of this horrid coffee did wonders to keep her mind off of certain matters, such as the shattered cello sitting next to her on the table.
A discordant chord of lightning screamed through the otherwise sorrowful strings section that was Octavia's soul, and the grieving musician flinched as though slapped.
That cello had been a graduation gift from Professor Mezzo Vibrato, tutor and longtime friend, when she was still attending university. It was a beautifully crafted instrument that Octavia had cherished ever since, taking near-obsessive care of it day-in and day-out. Its strings were changed every week without fail, and there wasn't a scratch nor ding on the rosewood body which she polished each morning and night.
At least, until this morning. More coffee. Need more coffee. Octavia chased grief down her throat with another shot of liquid revulsion.
Octavia had woken in the middle of the night, unusually hungry, incapable of returning to sleep. Now, her cello was kept on a bedside stand, and given Octavia's predilection to caution and precision, she had never considered that she might knock it over. A falsely placed hoof changed all that, and as she'd stumbled out of her bed to the floor, she felt something strike one of her legs as.
That something was also a leg, but belonging to her cello's stand rather than to a pony. In a state of drowsy disbelief Octavia watched the stand crash over, her cello fly through the air, and with a sickening snap and a crunch, it was over. To Octavia's caffeine-addled mind, her bruised and smarting knee was the least of her worries. She stared at the remains of her beloved instrument, mouth opening and closing repeatedly, almost incapable of understanding what had happened.
The neck had fractured. A small, hairline crack along the side, subtle and ugly in all of its catastrophe.
That was yesterday morning. The last day had been spent numbly poking the fracture, dumbly praying that it would go away if she hoped hard enough. You will find another instrument, Octavia thought, imaginary words coming out shakily even to herself. You will keep playing, you will be fine. You will not be reduced by this.
The tears had not yet come. Despite the pain and crippling sense of loss, it was pride that kept Octavia's eyes dry, emotions under control, and her isolation secured. Bringing herself to go outside into the world - especially without Vinyl - wasn't something she was ready to do. So that was why Octavia had been sitting at the kitchen table for almost a full day, her signature pink bow-tie drooped, normally cold eyes betraying her cool composure.
Maybe it's just me, Octavia thought, recovering from the effects of downing another mug, But this coffee is getting better and better the worse I feel. She leaned away from the table and squinted hard at her mug. It was her normal, everyday mug, deep red and shiny smooth. It had been a gift from Vinyl, and she took coffee - actual coffee mind you, not this swill - every morning with it.
Octavia stretched out a hoof, and cautiously poked it.
Ding-dong!
For a few moments full of adrenaline and shock, Octavia stared wide-eyed at the crimson mug before her. It took a long moment to gather her bearings, and realize that the sound had come, not from her mug, from the doorbell.
"Hello? Is anypony there?"
Octavia sighed, and scooted her chair away from the table. Although she wanted nothing more than to continue her caffeine-fueled vigil over her cello, two decades of proper Canterlot raising and manners had her walking listlessly to the door.
Octavia cracked the door slightly, only to find her eyes watering against the garish light. How could anything be so bright while her livelihood, her most precious possession, lay broken? Voice cracking from disuse, she managed a simple "Hello?"
"Um...Ms. Philharmonica?" The voice belonged to a certain gray pegasus, standing sheepishly on Octavia's doorstep. "Hi. Um. I have a package for you." Ditzy Doo was obviously nervous about something, but nevertheless, she held out a clipboard for Octavia to sign.
With the attached pencil, Octavia scribbled her name on the line. It wasn't until Ditzy had flown off that she scooted the box inside the doorway, and thereupon faced a dilemma. She could leave the box here until later and go back to her coffee - the thought made Octavia shudder - or she could open it now. She regarded the box suspiciously. It was a rectangular thing, almost the same size as she was. Could it be from Vinyl? Her parents?
In the end, Octavia found herself peeling the tape off of the box. She was looking for distractions, after all, and this had to be a better way to kill time than the black sludge in the kitchen. With the box now opened, Octavia picked up a small card. It read "Read Me," and a dumbstruck Octavia opened, and read the card. When she'd finished, she flipped it over, and stared at the dozens of names signed on the back.
There was a clumsy, yet matching, set of signatures from Ditzy and Dinky Doo, the florid writing of Rarity, and Applejack's simple copperplate. Twilight Sparkle and the dragon Spike had signed in one corner, Lyra Heartstrings' and Bon Bon's joint-signature in another, and Doctor Whooves' chaotic signature nestled in a third.
The first tear, hot and salty, fell onto the body of her gift. It was the first to come, and Octavia sat quivering as the rest came, overwhelming her self-control. Her gift was an old thing, obviously second or third-hand. The strings looked old, and there were scratches and dings up and down the body.
To Our Dear Friend, Octavia
We hope you feel better soon, Octavia. We've missed you playing in the park, and your neighbors have commented on how quiet it's been. We know you must be upset, and this gift can't replace the one that you lost, but we hope you know that we care.
With Love, From
Ponyville
Author's Note
Y'know, I wrote this piece for The Writer's Group - June Group Challenge, which had a length specification of 550 words or less. It wasn't until just recently that I realized that the challenge is supposed to be a humorous one, and it was just then that I realized that I really, really like this story. So, I decided to expand on the word-cap and publish it.
The inspiration during the writing came from from this song and this website. They gave me a strong feel for Octavia's sense of loss.
I hope you guys enjoyed reading this story, because I had a great time reading it. See you around!
