Octavia glared at the bottle on her counter before taking another shot. Her week's paid leave had just started and if she could have her way, this is how she would spend all of it. That had been, bar none, the absolute worst experience of her life, and she was certain it would take more than a mere week to recover, if she ever did at all. At the very least, her reputation was ruined. Ruined, just like the finish on her cello thanks to the cake that that awful mare had thrown.
Octavia growled and poured herself another. Frankly, it was a miracle her cello had survived the night at all. What with supporting pillars that apparently were just decorations that were just asking to be knocked over--somepony surely must have been a few instruments short of an orchestra when they designed that hall--crazy cake-flinging mares and mares leading stampedes of wild animals... It was, unfortunately, a night never to be forgotten.
Octavia jumped as a knock on the door startled out of her reverie. She frowned. Whomever it was, he or she would have to wait until later. Perhaps tomorrow. Possibly never.
The knock was quickly repeated. She growled. Perhaps they would not be persuaded to leave so easily.
The knock came again within the minute. Octavia sighed, resigning herself to the inevitable. She walked over to the door, paused to straighten her bow tie (after all, there's no reason she couldn’t be civilized), and then opened it.
"Hi!"
Her eyes widened, and in an action most unlike her, she slammed the door shut. She turned and braced herself against it, breathing wildly, eyes darting from side to side.
For to her horror, the pony on the other side of the door was the pink pony with the wild mane who had started the whole fiasco.
For a few moments, Octavia panted, trying to catch her breath. Questions flew through her mind. How could this happen? How did she find her apartment? What had she done to deserve this? Had she been some mass murderer in a previous life and this was her punishment?
Then she took a step back and cleared her mind. Perhaps she had been mistaken. Perhaps it wasn't that pink terror. Maybe it had been one of her musician friends who was now wondering what had gotten into Octavia. After all, orchestras are known for having large numbers, and perhaps it was an old acquaintance whose name she had temporarily forgotten.
She forced a smile and opened the door again.
"I'm really really really really real-"
Octavia shut the door in her face. She had been right the first time, and she had no desire to even see this mare right now.
Knock knock knock.
Octavia fought the urge to facehoof. She made sure the door was bolted, and then turned and headed back towards her room.
The knocks came again.
Octavia growled in a most unladylike way, and shut the door to her bedroom.
The knocking was muffled by the doors, and Octavia pulled the covers over her head. She briefly mourned the loss of her vodka and was considering leaving the safety of her room to go and get it when there was a knock on her window.
Octavia froze. You’ve got to be kidding me... She looked up to see that mare waving at her from the window. She was still speaking.
"-ly really really really really really rea-"
Octavia was tempted to call for the Guard, but didn’t quite feel like filling out any reports, so she pulled the covers over her head and began her attempts to sleep anew.
That plan was discarded when she heard the window open. The mare stuck her head inside and continued, “-ly really real-”
Octavia sat up, breathing fire and seeing red. “Do you mind?” she spat. “You ruined my performance, ruined my night, ruined my cello, and now you’ve broken into my house and are ruining my attempts to sleep! What on Celestia’s green earth is wrong with you?”
The mare deflated, and she frowned. “I just wanted to apologize...” she said sadly as she pulled the rest of her body inside. “I know I kindof ruined the gala, or at least I started ruining it, and now you’re mad at me but I hate it when ponies are mad at me so I came to apologize and maybe get a smile?”
“Apology not accepted!” Octavia growled. “You completely ruined everything!”
The pink mare wilted ever so slightly. “Not everything everything...” she defended herself. “Blueblood’s tuxedo was Rarity’s fault.”
Octavia couldn’t hold back a tiny snicker. She had worked with the stallion before (in the loosest sense of the term), and wasn’t entirely disappointed with that part of tonight. “Well, I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it...” She shook her head, snapping herself out of the memories. She was furious with this mare, after all. “That means nothing! My night was ruined!”
The intruder frowned, straightened up indignantly and placed her hooves firmly on her hips. “You know, my night didn’t go so great, either. I just wanted to party and have fun, but you guys all acted so stuffy and stuff like a Stuffy McStuffypants Sr. and stuff and so all I was trying to do was get everypony to loosen up a bit. Why is that so wrong?”
“Why is that so-” Octavia had used the phrase ‘spitting mad’ before, but had never before actually been that angry. Now, however... “The Grand Galloping Gala is just that! Grand! Gala!”
“I know what ‘gala’ means.”
“Apparently not!”
“It’s supposed to be a festive celebration, silly filly.”
“It’s supposed to be public entertainment marking a special occasion!” Octavia corrected angrily. “It can’t be entertainment if you ruin it before it even gets started!”
“You did start. You guys had been there playing slow songs for hours and hours,” the pink mare protested.
“It was not. And we weren’t even halfway through our repertoire! I didn’t even get to play my favorite cello concerto!” Octavia frowned, legitimately hurt at this. “It was my favorite and the one piece I actually take the lead for, and it was next on our list before everything went to Tartarus in a teakettle.”
“That’s awful,” the pink mare said, without a single hint of teasing or mockery. She looked up hopefully. "Maybe you could play it for me? The way you wanted to do it at first?"
Octavia frowned again. She really had no intention of doing anything nice for this mare. Ever. At all.
But music... She could never refuse a musical offer.
She walked over to the case resting beside her couch and opened it, the latches sliding easily at her touch. She watched her hoof move, pick up her bow, and bring it up to her mouth to tighten it, but as if she were not controlling it and it belonged to somepony else. It rested on the strings. With a deep breath, Octavia closed her eyes, drew the bow across the strings, and began to play.
There is a fine line that many artists and performers must be wary of. At times, the dancer can become the dance. The musician can become the music. The painter can become the painting.
Octavia danced all across that line. She poured her life into the performance; her very essence played the music, not her bow.
Soon, too soon, the song had to end. Octavia let the string ring as long as she could, trying to get the song to continue as long as she could.
Eventually, it did end. Octavia's eyes remained closed as she felt her heart leave the music and return to her chest. She felt happy, but she felt also dirty, like she had given a sacred gift to one who wasn't worthy and who didn't care.
“I like how you added the trills in the andante section. Most performances don’t, but I think it’s nice and really adds to the majesty of spring, like the writer wanted.”
Octavia dropped her bow in surprise. Pinkie's blue eyes flicked to the fallen tool and gave Octavia a mischievous grin. "That's bad for the tip, you silly. Somepony who cares enough about her bow to use her own tail hair for it should know that."
Octavia was quite flabbergasted now, and it took a great effort to keep herself and her cello standing upright. "How did you know that I use my own hair?"
“I guessed,” she confessed. “But it seemed right. I mean, I can tell just how much you care about music. Anypony can see that. And I thought you might want to put as much of yourself into it as possible, so it just made sense to me.”
"Sense..." Octavia said slowly. That was a word she hadn't planned on using in a while.
“I never introduced myself.” The mare held out a hoof. “Pinkie Pie!” she proclaimed cheerfully.
“O- Octavia,” Octavia answered, mechanically returning the hoofbump.
“You play beautifully, Octavia,” Pinkie said. “Could you play another? For me? Please?”
Octavia didn’t need to be asked twice.
* * *
Four songs later, Octavia's foreleg was tired, but her heart was happy and she was extremely content.
Pinkie wiped a tear from her eye. "Wow... Just wow. That was beautiful. I have no words."
Octavia bowed. "Thank you."
"No, thank you. That made me happy. It made you happy too and that makes me super happy. I can't even tell you how happy that makes me, that's how happy I am. I love music. I really do."
Octavia smiled a tiny half-smile. "Most ponies just stomp politely."
Pinkie paused, thinking for a second, before cheering loudly and stomping her hooves like she was at a Wonderbolts performance.
Octavia rushed to stop her, grabbing desperately at her hooves to keep her quiet. “No! Calm down! You'll get me evicted!”
“Sorry,” Pinkie said quickly, stopping the noise instantly.
Octavia sighed, released her, and rubbed a hoof against her temple. All the peace she felt, out the window, just like that. “Very well, just... please don’t do that again. I happen to like my apartment.”
“Maybe you just have cranky neighbors,” Pinkie said.
“No, I have sane neighbors,” Octavia corrected snappily.
Pinkie grinned widely. “Sounds like somepony needs to play another song!”
“No, somepony needs to sleep.” Octavia looked over at the clock and did a double take. “It’s that late?”
“Ooh,” Pinkie said, ears drooping. “I still have a long walk back home tonight, too...”
Octavia was many things. Cruel was not one of them. "I couldn't make you do that. You'll stay here tonight."
"Really?" Pinkie was overjoyed and began bouncing, much to Octavia's chagrin.
"Calm down!"
Pinkie froze in midair and slowly descended to the ground. "I'll take the couch." She happily trotted over to the couch past a stunned Octavia. She stood there, unable to make her eyes and brain agree with what they had just seen, and finally decided that she had just been too tired to understand and there would be sense in the morning.
* * *
Octavia scooted deeper into her bed, getting comfortable. Pinkie had taken one of her blankets, but the night was warm, and she thought she would be fine.
At least, that's what she thought; until she heard a little knock and the door slowly opening.
“Octavia?”
“Yes?” Octavia said flatly, casting her eyes at the ceiling as if hoping to find a supply of patience there.
“I'm kindof lonely out there all by myself. May I sleep with you tonight?”
Octavia made the fatal mistake of looking at her, intending to glare angrily. But unfortunately, their eyes met, and Octavia felt her resistance crumble under the pleading power of Pinkie’s quivering blue eyes. She sighed as she lay back down. “Very well, but please keep it chaste.”
"Chase?" Pinkie asked. "I don't want to chase you; I want to cuddle with you!" And, much to Octavia's astonishment, she proceeded to do just that, by jumping into her bed, sliding under the covers, and wrapping her forelegs around her.
“What are you doing?” Octavia demanded, pushing away at Pinkie’s forelegs. She had never before been so assaulted. And in her own home, too!
"Shh, just relax and enjoy the cuddles." And before Octavia could properly adjust to this new development, Pinkie had fallen asleep.
Octavia was, to put it lightly, rather miffed. This mare had had the audacity to enter her house, stay much longer than could be considered polite, take advantage of her hospitality by entering her own bed, wrap her rather comfortable forelegs around her protectively, provide a nice little shelter and added warmth, let her gentle breath tickle her mane... This actually was quite nice.
Octavia vaguely remembered wanting to complain about something, but she couldn't for the life of her remember what it was. She fell asleep quickly, into the deepest and most fulfilling sleep she had had since she was just a filly.
* * *
Octavia awoke slowly, as she always did. Memories of last night slowly came back, and she smiled.
She turned around, fully expecting to see a pink mare laying next to her, but to her disappointment, the bed was empty. Octavia frowned, a bit confused. Why did she feel so disappointed? It wasn't like they had been close. It had been just one night, after all. And surely any connection that would last would take much longer than only a few hours to form. Really, she shouldn't be disappointed to find herself alone. Why had she expected any differently?
And why did it bother her so much?
Sighing, Octavia rolled back over to heft herself out of bed when she saw something on her nightstand that was certainly not there before: a blueberry muffin, with a little note leaning on it. It was clearly for her to read, as there was a pencil drawing of a treble clef on the outside.
She picked it up and began to read.
Hey Tavi!
Sorry I had to leave so early. I almost forgot about two birthday parties I had set up today and I can't miss those! I had to make the birthday cakes, and each pony wanted a different one so I have to go make a red velvet cake with vanilla frosting and a chocolate alpine cake before they start and I haven't even started baking them yet!
Octavia paused. She had a sudden vision of Pinkie Pie baking cakes in her kitchen and singing the entire time--and then getting Octavia kicked out of her own apartment because of the noise complaints. A wry smile flicked across her face, and she returned to the letter.
Either way, thank you so much for letting me crash here last night. I made you some muffins for breakfast (you're running out of flour, just fyi).
I enjoyed spending time with you. If you want to come hang out with me, come to Ponyville and see me at Sugarcube Corner. I'd write the address, but I forgot it. That's ok, though, because Sugarcube Corner is the only place in Ponyville that's shaped like a gingerbread house.
Here followed a crude sketch of a oddly-shaped house with a smiling mare standing in front of it. The poofy mane that took up more area than her head clearly meant that this was to represent Pinkie Pie.
Hope to see you again soon!
~~Signed~~ ~~love~~ signed your super ~~new~~ maybe best friend Pinkie Pie
Octavia couldn't help but smile at Pinkie's exuberance showing through even her writing. Setting the letter down, she reached over and picked up the muffin. Unwrapping a small section with all the grace she could, she leaned down and took a bite.
She had heard the term ‘flavor explosion’, but this was the first time she could say she had experienced it. Her jaw dropped and she almost forgot to chew, it was that good.
It took her nearly ten minutes to eat that muffin, and she was supremely saddened when it was gone. Sighing, she trotted over to the bathroom for her morning shower. After all, even if your world has crashed down around you, there’s no reason you can’t be civilized.
Once she had finished, she walked into the kitchen for a glass of water and froze. There on her counter was a figurative mountain of muffins. In front rested another little note.
Do you accept my apology now?
Octavia couldn’t suppress a smile. Having somepony do something like this for her just felt... good. “I believe I’m on my way to accepting,” she said out loud as she reached for another muffin.
But right as she unwrapped it, there came a knock at the door. Groaning, Octavia set down her muffin and stomped with as much dignity as she could muster over to the door.
She opened it to find Beauty Brass, another of her ensemble members.
“Hello, Octavia,” she said. She cast a discerning eye over Octavia, taking in her freshly-showered coat and brushed mane. “You’re taking this well,” she observed.
"As well as could be imagined," Octavia said hesitantly.
Beauty jerked a hoof over her shoulder. “Fredrick wants to go and get so drunk he can't tell the difference between the white keys and the black keys. Do you want to come and join us?”
This early in the morning? He had really taken this hard.
Octavia's eyes flicked over to the letter sitting open on her side table. “Actually, I have made other arrangements for my week off; but I appreciate the offer.”
Beauty raised an eyebrow, but didn't press for details. “Ok, if you're sure...”
A tiny smile played at Octavia’s lips. “Oh, yes. I am quite sure.”
Author's Note
Both ponies’ definition of ‘gala’ found here.
