Temporary

by XiF

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, Comedy
Length: 2563

Octavia loses her memory during a game of croquet.

"Wh-what happened? We were playing croquet, and… you hit the ball," Octavia said, motioning to Beauty Brass. "It flew that way…" Octavia flung her hoof in the opposite direction, "and I went to get it. Then… I tripped on a hoop, and the ball hit me…!"

Octavia loses her memory in a game of croquet.

Cover art by Erthilo.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-11-16 12:30:01 UTC

Temporary

Temporary

XiF

Octavia examined the table with great curiosity. She watched, unblinking, as a small trail of ants made their way across it, each ant carrying a crumb twice its size. She picked one up and tentatively touched it to her tongue. Grimacing, she tried to shake the ant off her hoof. Instead, she bumped the table, eliciting a gasp from Beauty Brass. The other pony sighed and shook her head, but Octavia didn’t pay her any mind.

The table no longer interested Octavia, so she turned her attention to the room around her.

The two ponies sat across from each other in silence. Their faces were lit only by a small candle, burnt down to just a tiny stub. Beauty Brass was staring out the window, her eyes glazed over. The sun was setting, and she was growing increasingly nervous. Her eyes stung, but she resisted the urge to rub them. She gnashed her teeth. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and every so often, she would wipe it away with a silk hoofkerchief.

If Octavia had noticed, she certainly didn’t show it. In fact, Octavia didn’t seem to be paying Beauty Brass any heed at all. Instead she was gazing around the room, her attention momentarily focusing on a book, or a houseplant, or a lamp. Finally, her vision fell on the other pony in the room. She shifted in her chair, and opened her mouth as if to say something, only to close it again.

Then, Octavia broke the silence.

“Wh-what happened?” She said. She spoke slowly and hesitantly. “We were playing croquet... and... and....” Octavia’s brow twisted in deep thought.

Beauty Brass momentarily parted from the window to give Octavia a hopeless look.

“You hit the ball...” Octavia said, as she pointed her hoof at Beauty Brass, “and then... it flew that way.” She flung her hoof in the opposite direction. “I ran to go get it… and then… then... I tripped on a hoop, and… the ball hit me!” She rubbed the back of her neck. Her eyes grew wide. “Oh…! I must have... I lost my memory…!” Octavia pondered this for a moment, and then looked up at Beauty Brass, flashing a reassuring grin. She reached out, perhaps to slap Beauty Brass on the back, but she only succeeded in knocking over a vase. “But don’t worry! I'm sure it's only temporary. I’ll be fine in a few days!”

Beauty Brass smiled and shook her head vigorously— perhaps too vigorously. “I’m... I’m sure you will, dear.”

Octavia returned the smile and nodded in agreement. A minute passed, and she continued to nod to herself.

Another three minutes passed, and Octavia was no longer nodding.

She looked up at Beauty Brass. “Wh-what happened?” she asked. “We were playing croquet, and... and... you hit the—”

“You— you lost your memory, dear,” Beauty Brass interrupted. “Remember?”

“I... I did?” Octavia thought for a moment. “Oh, I suppose that would make sense....” she muttered, nodding to herself.

Octavia’s doubts quelled; she continued to nod to herself. The two ponies sat for another good five minutes, until the door burst open.

Octavia turned around in her seat to greet the visitors, two stallions. She looked them over twice before saying, “What happened?”

Harpo stood in the doorway, blinking in disbelief.

“We were playing croquet… and…” Octavia continued.

He fell to the ground with an audible groan; Frederic tripped over him and somersaulted, sprawling across the floor.

“…you hit the ball.” Octavia pointed to Frederic’s limp body.

“Why... why doesn’t she have her memory back...? That stupid doctor....” Harpo muttered, rolling up into a ball. “The doctor said....”

“That Octavia would get her memory back soon,” replied Frederic, getting back up. He dusted himself off. “Yes Harpo, we are all well aware.”

“B-b-but... but... our c-concert...” Harpo stuttered; his mouth dried as he gasped for air. He stood up, grabbing Frederic by the shoulders.

“...Is in one hour, yes,” Frederic said, frowning. At this point, Octavia was talking mostly to herself.

“I ran to go get it… and then… then... I tripped on a hoop, and… the ball hit me!” Octavia frowned. “Oh… I must have lost my memory…!”

“Oh Celestia, we’re doomed! We’re a quartet, not some terrible trio!” Harpo was, quite literally, holding back tears. “A-and! Th-the Princess...!”

Octavia looked up and scanned the room, finally opting to stare at the floor. “Don’t worry! I'm sure it's only temporary. I’ll be fine in a few days!” She whispered, smiling at the ground.

“Harpo, look, let’s be calm about this,” said Beauty Brass. “We’ll go to the theatre. I’m sure we’ll work something out there.”

Harpo rubbed his eyes, glaring at Beauty.

“Suuure,” he retorted, in a decidedly resentful tone, “let’s just go pick somepony off the street, paint them grey and have them play instead! It’d go better, that’s for sure!”

Beauty rolled her eyes. “Come on. I said that we’ll figure something out, okay?”

*

“Thank you, ladies and gentlecolts, for taking the time to join us today,” said Princess Celestia. She stood behind a podium, her mane flowing vivid blues, pinks, and greens. Her wings stood erect in a sweeping gesture. From Beauty’s backstage view, the Princess seemed to dwarf the audience by sheer grandeur.

Octavia, meanwhile, was drawing on her sheet music with a blue crayon as if were a coloring book. Beauty Brass shuddered and tugged at her collar.

“Well, we’re up after this,” Frederic muttered. He shifted in his chair.

Beauty Brass simply gulped.

“The Planting of the Trees is truly a momentous occasion,” continued the princess, “as I’m sure you already well know.” The audience murmured in agreement.

Octavia had finished drawing a vaguely rotund kitten head when she looked up. “Beauty?” she said, “Can I have a glass of water?”

“You just had some water!” she hissed.

“I... what...? When was...? But I... wait... wh-what happened? We were playing croquet, and—”

Harpo twitched. “You lost your memory, remember?”

Beauty Brass eyed the emergency exit longingly. Her eyes darted towards the fire alarm, and then back to the exit. She frowned, chewing her lip as her imagination spun into action and her eyes glazed over.

“I... did...?” Octavia rubbed her forehead, suddenly feeling quite dizzy. She looked up at Harpo. “Can I... can I have a glass of water?”

Sparks seemed to fly from Harpo’s gnashed teeth. He reached out as if to strangle Octavia, only to blocked by Frederic’s hoof.

“We must stay calm, everypony,” said Frederic, “There is no point in arguing.”

“But we still don’t even have a plan!” exclaimed Harpo.

“We still don’t have a plan?” hissed Beauty Brass, snapping out of her trance.

Octavia had seemingly forgotten about her thirst and had finished drawing the kitten’s body; although at this point, it would take a whole lot of artistic license to call it a kitten.

Harpo blinked. His brow furrowed. “Well... I still have that sock puppet.”

“Buh?” exclaimed Beauty.

Harpo produced a small grey sock puppet. “I’m Octavia, and I like to boogie!” He flailed it around.

Beauty Brass and Frederic fell silent.

A few moments later, Beauty Brass got up, saying that she had to go home. She explained that she had to go and rethink her life. Frederic stopped her with his hoof.

“I’m not sure how to put this gently, Harpo….” Frederic said, “I, of course, have nothing against you skills as a ventriloquist, but… I’m not sure that will work.”

“Mmmph! Well, yes, um...” Harpo stammered. His face grew red.

“I just mean that,” explained Frederic, “I doubt anypony, let alone Princess Celestia, will be fooled by that... that thing.”

“...Indeed! Verily, I say! Ergo...” said Harpo, pulling the sock puppet off his hoof and casting it aside. His face burned. He glanced around the backstage room, attempting to divert attention from himself. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide, freezing in place.

Beauty followed Harpo’s gaze. “Oh no, no... you don’t think....”

“Lyra? Are you kidding?” hissed Frederic, “she’d never!”

Frederic was perfectly justified in doubting that Lyra would cooperate. Lyra had, after all, been the quartet’s mortal enemy ever since that noodle incident not but three summers ago.

“But... but she’s a unicorn!” explained Harpo. “She could fix everything, probably!”

The pony in question was wiping off her lyre. She dropped the rag she was holding and pivoted around icily, narrowing her eyes. “If you think that I’m gonna help you four,of all ponies—”

“Lyra!” Octavia gasped. She scrambled to her hooves to embrace the unicorn in a hug.

Lyra blinked. “Huh? I wha— huh?”

“...Y’know, Lyra...?” Harpo remarked, a grin spreading across his muzzle, “sometimes, ya just gotta forget everything...

and start fresh.”

Beauty Brass cuffed Harpo across the shoulder.

*

“This,” Beauty Brass announced, to nopony in particular, “was another ridiculously, amazingly, and spectacularly stupid idea.”

“Oh yeah? Well no one asked you,” spat Harpo.

Frederic shifted uncomfortably on his bench. “I mean no disrespect Harpo, but I’m inclined to agree with Miss Brass.”

“Well? I don’t suppose you have a better one, do you?” deadpanned Harpo.

“I was just saying,” muttered Beauty. She shrugged.

Octavia’s limbs hung from small strings, each enveloped in a mint green glow. She glanced around the stage. “Hey Beauty!” Octavia called.

“Shhhh!” Beauty Brass hissed.

“Oh! Sorry!” Octavia replied, whispering. “Hey...” Octavia blinked, “what happened? We... we were playing croquet... weren’t we? And, you hit the— mmmph! Mmmph mph mmmmph!”

Beauty Brass pressed her hoof against Octavia’s muzzle. “I’ll tell you later, okay?”

Frederic bit his lip. “I’m still a bit… unsure about this, Harpo.”

Harpo sighed.

“Listen,” He leaned over in his chair to whisper in Frederic’s ear, “this performance is our chance. Our one and only chance. Princess Celestia is the special guest. If we don’t mess this up, we’ll play at the Gala. It’s almost guaranteed.”

“But what are our chances? Of not screwing up, I mean,” asked Beauty Brass.

“Oh, ye of little faith—” said Harpo, his head held high.

“Beauty Brass, Beauty Brass!” Octavia whispered. She struggled against her bonds. With her head, she gestured towards

the ground. “Is that pony hair?”

“That’s a bow, you doofus!”

And then the curtains opened.

*

The beginning of Night Sky’s Overture went surprisingly well. This was mainly because Octavia didn’t have to play anything, but the fact that Beauty had duct taped her mouth shut probably helped a little as well. Fifteen measures in, the magically imbued strings sprang to life. Octavia’s forelimbs flailed around until she managed to pick up her bow. A string hoisted her hoof, and along with it, the bow. It dropped her bow violently onto her cello’s strings, filling the stage with a discordant screeching noise, like a cat’s claws scratching against granite. The audience noticeably winced. Again and again, the bow rose and fell harshly upon the strings, as the rest of the quartet tried to cover the sound by playing louder.

“Mmh mmmmh mh!” exclaimed Octavia, struggling against her bonds. The glowing strings pulled back with equal resistance.

“What’s going on...?” an audience member murmured. Several other audience members coughed in an uncomfortable sort of manner.

In the back of the audience, Princess Celestia had her hoof pressed against her mouth in and ill attempt to contain her amusement.

The glowing strings snapped. The quartet came to an abrupt stop as a mint green unicorn fell from above and crashed through the wooden stage, in front of where Beauty Brass was sitting. A second later, there was a sickening crunching noise, followed by a faint voice. “I... I’m okay! I’m okay, everypony!” The voice wavered, as if the pony in question was spinning around dizzily. “Okay, I’ll admit that it’s a little dark down here, but I want you to know that... I’m okay! Tell mom that...” The voice took on a more desperate tone. “...tell mom that I love her and—” There was a loud ‘thump,’ and then all was silent.

Beauty Brass felt her heart rate significantly spike. Her face burned, but she maintained an unnaturally large smile. She could hear the audience muttering amongst themselves.

“Was that Lyra?” hissed Frederic. Octavia, free of her bonds, was pulling at her cello’s strings curiously.

In the back of the audience, Princess Celestia was all but guffawing.

With a deep breath, Beauty Brass shut her eyes, collected herself, and quietly counted the quartet off into the next song.

*

Five minutes later, Beauty Brass was sitting in the corner of the dressing room, her face buried in her hooves. She was rocking back and forth wearing the kind of look you’d expect from a pony whose entire life had been ruined in the course of fifteen minutes. Beauty Brass sobbed quietly and curled into a tighter ball in an attempt to become one with the corner.

Meanwhile, Frederic was trying to convince Octavia that no, Lyra Heartstrings could not have possibly told Nightmare Moon to come to her in her dreams and erase her memories, thereby destroying the competition at the Planting of the Trees charity concert.

“I’m telling you, Frederic! It was that no good, conniving, brattish, evil—”

“It was just a game of croquet! You lost your memory in a game of croquet!” insisted Frederic.

“Sure, that’s what she’d have you think,” retorted Octavia, “to divert suspicion! Sounds just like her, if I do say so myself.”

“I swear; I was there! You lost your memory in a game of croquet!”

“It was all part of the plan! She even had Nightmare Moon cast a spell on you!” declared Octavia, undeterred.

“...I fail to see how Lyra Heartstrings, of all ponies, would have connections to a royal Princess!”

“It was her!” screamed Octavia. “It was her, it was her, it was her!”

Harpo, meanwhile, had been sitting near the doorway keeping to himself the whole time.

“...Um, guys...?” He finally muttered.

Princess Celestia stood in the dressing room doorway, wearing that all-knowing smile of hers. Octavia and Harpo spun around, while Beauty shrunk further into the corner after a quick glance.

“P-Princess Celestia!” exclaimed Frederic. He stumbled back a few steps.

Octavia blinked, her mouth falling open. Time seemed to freeze; her chest pounded and her throat grew dry. “The P-Princess...?” she finally managed, falling to the floor.

“I would be honored,” said Princess Celestia, seemingly unfazed, “if you all played at the Grand Galloping Gala next month.”

“What?” exclaimed Frederic.

“The Grand Galloping Gala?” repeated Beauty Brass, jumping up in one swift motion.

“Us?” said Harpo.

“So,” asked Princess Celestia, “I take it you will be there?”

“O-of course!” stammered Frederic. “We’ll be there!”

“I’m glad to hear that, My Little Ponies.” Princess Celestia smiled. The Gala was going very interesting this year. “I will be looking forward to seeing you there.”

“O-of course, Princess!” said Frederic.

As soon as she had arrived, Princess Celestia was gone, leaving only a single golden ticket on the dressing room table.

The quartet congratulated themselves, patting each other on the back. Harpo rushed to Octavia’s limp body and shook her. “Did you hear that, Octy? Did ya? Did ya? We’re playing at the Gala! All of us!”

Octavia’s mind spun, and she blinked a few times, adjusting to reality. Only a few moments later did she finally speak. “What happened...?” said she, “we were... playing croquet and—”