Symphony

by Tirael

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Octavia
Length: 1845

Memories of one very specific grey earth pony.

Memories of one very specific grey earth pony, who had been living her dream since childhood. Years passed, she sharpened her skills in endless rehearsals and it seems like she almost has it in her hooves. But is this really what she wanted all her life? And most importantly, is it what she wants now?
She has only five minutes to make a decision. To pull herself together and look inside of her soul. No more masks, no more pretense. Five minutes before her triumph. Five minutes to turn her world upside down.

Published 2013-06-29 17:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-06-29 17:20:01 UTC

Triumph

Silence. Stillness. Nirvana. Absolute calmness. Existance is nothing. Darkness.

Not a single thought. All confusion and excitement was left somewhere behind. The mind is way beyond that. Emptiness.

Accurate rythmical breathing could be heard from behind. Sounds disturb the peace, growing by every minute. The growing hoarse sighs. Rhythmic, loud. Heartbeat serving as an accompaniment. So booming, rapid. So close...

She opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was herself. Mirror. Huge, luxurious, decorated with carvings... Filly with ash-gray skin and a long mane of well-groomed coal color looked at her, wide-eyed. Calm, classic colors. A deep pink color of the eyes in the darkness seemed lilac. Straight easy-to-groom hair, pure smooth coat. Pale pink silk bowtie with a white collar complement her business-like, sharp image. Her jaw trembled. She was breathing deeply.

Even after hundreds of performances, you dare to show your anxiety? Pull it together.

Said a soft but stern, cold voice in her head. The voice of reason. The one to which she had listened to so often.

She stared silently ahead. In her eyes there was no fear, bitterness, sadness, surprise...

Only a shadow of thoughtfulness. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart in a desperate attempt. Stretching hooves, pony looked at a good-sized bow lying on a table in front of her. She carefully carried it along with her hoof.

Come on, Octavia, you are way too melancholic than you should be.

Once again, the same voice interrupted. Octavia helplessly arched her eyebrows and rested her head against the edge of the table.

It was damn right. Even after her dream come true, she often asked herself the same question - is that what she wanted? Even now, in a few moments, separating her and another triumph, these thoughts were creeping right after her no matter where she was. She bited her lips slightly.

Important thing is not to fall into apathy and start to recall thoughts of the childhood, the past, the recent...

That's it. As one very organized and decent mare, you should now sit and practice, check every detail of your performance, try to sharpen your skills to the level of perfection.

Have no incentive to do that. No need as well. She was gorgeous. And she knew it.

Octavia looked up and fixed her slightly tousled mane. In a dimly lit corner of the room a huge black cello case casted a shadow. Her instrument was almost her height, but that did not stop her from handling cello very skillfully and making this "overgrown fiddle", as foals from the music school named it, to make sounds softer than Celestia Choir`s singing. Not surprisingly, she preferred music way better over silly games with other foals.

Curvy light bulb that hung over the table with a mirror, wavered for a moment. Octavia looked up and saw several white moths that flew erratically around a deadly light, dancing with each other, casting trembling shadows, and then dying fully throwing themselves on a ruthless light`s mercy.

What if we all are just a dream? Illusion. What if the whole world is a fleeting nonsense, chaotic imagination of some lunatic that is immersed in an eternal sleep? What if all those years of practice, this horrifyingly huge amount of time and efforts that she dedicated to the music,what if all of it is just a simple fantasy? And all of this never happened at all? What if all her glory, her whole life is just a brief moment of someone's thoughts, that is just about to be erased and burned out with these moths? And, in that case, does it even make sense to continue to do anything? To live?

Octavia, you're crazy. Or just worried. Too worried.

No,she clearly shall not just sit here goofing around. Being distracted. After a few minutes she should light up the Concert Hall of Blueblood, and not think about such rubbish.

Parents taught her to be realistic since her early childhood. To take a sober, clear look at this world. Even if it was not so easy, especially for foals her age. Being born talanted was not enough, you also have to become a real talent. Looking at those empty, careless ponies, she decided for herself that she will never be like that. She has a purpose. A goal. She always had. Perhaps,that was the reason behind her impression on others.For ones she caused a very twisted opinion: her teachers treated her with respect; her classmates were mostly full of rejection, fear or apathy.

She absolutely refuses to call her childhood 'harsh'.

She likes to call it 'moderate' or, as she especially emphasized, a 'classic'.

There was no track of any friends. Ponies that surrounded her in life, she preferred to classify as 'colleagues'. These so-called 'colleagues', according to her humble opinion, were the weirdest of all the ponies. But no 'strange pony', even Discord himself was not able to prevent her from making, as she referred 'rather modest', dream come true.

Yeah, callingem weird, huh.Cause it is so surprising that you don`t have any friends. No one wants to deal with psychos like you.

Shut up.

Ah, really? You're talking with yourself. And now arguing also.

Octavia waved away the unpleasant fact that torment her weary head and frowned slightly, straightening the bowtie. Enough. This discussion was not worth starting. Now — work. Career. Dream.

You have to be on the maximum of your discipline, organization, accuracy, reflexes of all your being.

But do not argue with yourself about something not important.

The wooden door opened slightly with a creak. The stallion's shadow cut off a beam of light spilled from the corridor.

"Octavia, we start in ten minutes. Wh-what are you doing?" his voice quivered a bit when he saw the mare sitting in the darkness of the room. "But, um, never mind. Just be ready."

The gray mare nodded meekly.

"Spasibo, Friderick."

In the last minute she looked at her reflection one more time.

You.

Now you are no longer the insecure little filly that dragged a clumsy cello behind. Give them what they want. Your music, which was held for many years in the walls of your home, now will resound in the ears of prissy fancy nobility, tickle ears of most disgusting, pompous critics, it will spread buzz on the walls of the most posh and renowned concert hall of Equestria. A few minutes before your dreams come true.

She swallowed,blinked and wiped the treacherous tear,that accumulated at the corners of her eyes.

Her beautiful eyes with gentle violet colors flashed a strong, solid fire. The atmosphere around her instantly changed and escalated to the limit. All her muscles warmed up instantly and got ready for tireless work with the musical instrument.

Come on, Octavia.

Put on your mask. Your calm, cold face, every feature of which is full of stoicism. Your universal shield, securely storing all the weird stuff in your pretty little head. Your skeptical, misty look, capable to break hopes of any stallion and dreams of any mare in seconds. Come on, Octavia, come on.

This is all about you.

If you weren`t yourself, how could you ever achieve anything, right?

Taking a deep breath, she took a bow with a quick motion and walked into the corridor, slamming the door. Light bulb burned out and extinguished with a sharp tacks sound.

Octavia refrained from trying to cast a cursory glance at the hall.

The audience is not important.

It doesn't matter for whom it is intended — for a regular practice audience,the tops of society or just yourself. Music is equal for everypony. Music doesn't know the ranks.

Hall lights gradually darkened. All the musicians quickly took their positions.

"Good luck," said Beauty Brass rather faintly, trotting on the stage. Octavia nodded and looked at her, wishing the same.

But now she needs luck more than anyone in this room.

This is her first performance, where the cello plays the main role. This is her moment. Her music. Her colleagues now are just an accompaniment to her symphony.

Octavia pressed her bow. A huge maroon curtain slowly rose. Searchlight lit mare's silhouette and her instrument.

The soft voice of the opera house leader announced their names and the song. The audience greeted it with a reassuring rumble and applause. Everything merged into obscure post of various fuzzy sounds,just like when you faint. Soon, the sound was gone.

Loud, raspy breathing. Breaths in and out, growing loud by every minute. Rhythmic and audible. They were accompanied by the sound of her heart beating hard. Not in a hurry, but measured, responding perfectly within her with heavy bass. Her own rhythm. The rhythm of her body.

She lifted a hoof at the perfect angle, just like the first time when she was playing. But the years of practice and effort taken their toll. Her hooves were more firm. Her every movement spoke of the years of practice and absolute talent.

1... 2...

Beat.

The bow, like a hot knife slicing through butter, hit metal strings and filled the hall with a bass-like, deep sound. The performance began.

Here she is, standing under a lone shining spotlight, with a buzzing head, ready to explode at any moment, and holding her quiet concentration, worthy of any maestro.

Every note taken off from under her strong but delicate hooves as lightning coursing through her taut strings of nerves and instantly takes hold of all her body. It's safe to say that she is these notes. She is her music.

Her honed in on long-term practice, smooth movements combined with grace and strength making a huge, heavy cello to create electrically-feverish sounds, never make mistake and without a hint of insincerity.

Stormy booming tremolo goes to the very depths of her heart and again makes her feel that there is something changing. The echo reaches the most distant, like the Arctic fjords, bins of her soul that she is able to expose only while peforming. Small door that protected her from all the worries and troubles,gently opened and slightly showed her inner, hidden little world.

The dense shell of indifference and stoicism is cracked, with every husky note of her heavy instrument it is reflected in her music with new and completely different sounds.

Setting the tempo into more calm and gentle way,the music is clearly presenting something new. Not another cheesy,ordinary professional play. It has emotions. Has a soul.

Melody was over. The rest of the instruments went silent, the symphony ended with her cello`s moans. The last chords. Adrenaline. The last stringy bass tone finished the whole perfomance.

That's all. No turning back.

Raging heartbeat merged with the deafing sound of ovations and applause.

And she, delighted with her triumph,bowing down in front of the many hundreds of ponies.

Slightly flashing, a single tear felt on solid floor.

Fin.

Author's Note

"Spasibo" = "Thank you" in Russian. I love the Russian Octavia Idea as in Discorded Hooves Tumblr.