Intimate Details - Surf, Sand, and Sun

Chapter 8 - Day 5 (Evening)

“Okay. Let’s do it.” Phillip smiled as he stood up, offering them a hand. “I’ll get everything in motion. Thank you, Rarity, Octavia.” Rarity followed his lead and took his hand with a smile.

“Thank you, Phillip. We really owe it to you.”

“Hardly. It’s our honor to have you here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some things to prepare.” Phillip smiled and shook Octavia’s hand on his way out of the office. Rarity and Octavia followed, albeit in a different direction. Jason was waiting with the golf cart outside of the main office building, and he took them back to their bungalow.

“How’d it go?” He asked on the way.

“Perfectly. With any luck, we’ll do it this evening.”

“Really? Awesome!” They left him with a smile and a hug before going inside. Octavia went to sit in the kitchen. Rarity followed, sitting opposite her at the dinner table.

“Are you sure? We came here to relax. You don’t have to.”

“No, I want to.” Octavia grinned at Rarity. “Trust me, if you ever took the stage, you’d know there’s a different kind of release when you’re performing. I just hope I’m not putting you through too much.”

“Hardly.” Rarity grinned. “It’d be my honor.”

“Well then.” Octavia leaned across the table for a kiss. “We ought to prepare.”

Rarity used the last of their leftovers to make lunch, which they ate hastily. Afterwards, Octavia went to shower and apply her makeup while Rarity went to work assembling the dress. She had come to their honeymoon well-prepared for any clothing crisis, but she wasn’t expecting a performance. It would be a small, quiet affair, with maybe fifty in the audience. This should have been nothing compared to the concerts she had done in Canterlot. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit panicked as she sorted through the clothes she had packed. In the end, she settled on the dress Octavia had worn to the club, and began unstitching another, more formal dress. The two colors complimented well, and even with the small sewing kit she had brought along, Rarity could make the necessary alterations. She had both garments, the dress and the near-deconstructed formal dress, on the dining table. Octavia emerged clad in a towel, her face radiant.

“You look good.” Rarity beamed before returning to the task at hand.

“Isn’t that the dress I wore to the club?” Octavia asked hesitantly.

“I cleaned it.” Rarity muttered with pins in her mouth. She did indeed know a spell to remove unwanted odors and dirt from fabric. It had come in handy in the past, and Rarity was rather proficient at it by now.

“And that has to be the dress I wore to the Canterlot Public School charity…”

“You would never wear it again.”

“I actually liked that one…” Octavia pouted.

“Well. Shoot.” Rarity held up the loose ends of what had been the long, flowing sleeves with a helpless smile. “Desperate times, eh?” Octavia pouted at Rarity still. She was adorable when she did that. Octavia couldn’t resist as she gave her wife a quick pinch on the butt. “I’ll be done in a few. Go put on some underwear. Black, if you could.”

“This is a beach concert, not a funeral.” Octavia muttered, blushing from the pinch.

“An evening concert. Were it up to me, I’d have you clad in full amber. It suits your eyes and the cello so well… But this will have to make do. Crimson and Lavender. I like it.” Where the dress Octavia had worn to the club was revealing, Rarity added swaths of lavender-colored cloth from the formal dress. She complimented the skirt as well, sewing in an intricate pattern that made the hem look almost as if it were on fire. She kept the back open, but added independent sleeves that opened at the elbow to keep Octavia’s forearms clear. The fabric would dangle, but Rarity knew from experience the audience liked to see the fabric dance in time with the music when Octavia played faster passages. She bent to her task, focusing and sewing as quickly as she could manage. The sun was beginning to set when she finished.

“Wow. You work fast.”

“It’s not as extravagant as any of the other dresses, but I think it’ll suffice.” Rarity smiled as she helped Octavia into the impromptu dress. In her haste, she had made the waistline a touch too tight, so she did some on-the-spot sewing to let out the hem. “This one is somewhat weak, so be mindful of your movements.” The club dress had had a slit up the side, but Rarity had to compromise it with the extended skirt. Octavia still wore it well, and with her straight black hair, she was an alluring figure. The performance would still be stunning, be it fifty or fifty thousand people in attendance. The sun had sunk below the horizon by then, leaving only a yellow band of light on the horizon in its wake. The sound of a truck pulling up to their bungalow alerted them of Phillip’s arrival. He knocked respectfully on the door, and Rarity went to open it.

“Woah.” Phillip was stunned. Rarity grinned, and even Octavia wore a teasing smile. “That… That’ll work.” He blushed and looked Octavia over. Rarity didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on her wide hips or her well-defined bust. Shyly, he stepped inside. “We, uuh… We’re all ready for you. There were a few guests in the hotel, and we invited them as well. Is that okay with you?”

“Perfectly fine.” Octavia waved a hand. Rarity guessed if she were to perform for a small audience, allowing a few extra people wouldn’t hurt. “You’re not charging them, I hope?”

“No, not at all. That wouldn’t be right.” Phillip shook his head firmly. “You came to me with this proposal. If anyone’s going to be charging for any of the services provided, it’d be you.” His smile was quick and warm. Rarity decided that, despite Davis’ involvement with this resort, she liked this man. Octavia may hold whatever grudge she liked against her father and his business dealings, but Rarity liked him. Both of them.

“Well, then. Are we prepared?”

“I’ll be happy to escort you to the stage myself.”

“Rarity, my cello.”

“Right.” Rarity slipped into the closet and produced the instrument. Octavia was insistent she carry the case herself. It was heavier than her normal cellos, making Rarity curious. Octavia slipped into the back seat of Phillip’s large truck alongside the cumbersome case while Rarity took the front seat. They rumbled off down the gravel drive towards the resort proper. In the late-evening light, Rarity could make out an entire pavilion sitting in the middle of the mostly-vacant parking lot. Phillip had worked fast erecting it, no doubt. The sky was cloudless, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t rain later on in the evening. Rarity was glad for the cover. The sounds of merrymaking reached her ears. There was a dull roar of conversation, laughter, and greetings that she was almost intimately familiar with. Already, Rarity found herself growing excited. Phillip took them around the back of the pavilion, where a smaller awning sat at the back entrance to what Rarity assumed was a stage of sorts inside. Sure enough, there was one large man wearing an earpiece and dark shades. He was dressed in a tropical shirt and beige slacks, but still looked to be standing guard. Phillip pulled up to the awning, allowing Rarity and Octavia to slip out and into the pavilion discreetly. The guard hardly even nodded at them.

They were in. The ‘backstage’ area consisted of a single amplifier cordoned off by a curtain-wall room. There was a stool and a chair. Octavia gingerly set her case on the pavement and peeked out of the curtains. “Oh wow. They actually have a stage.”

“Really?” Rarity had almost expected it, but she was still a little surprised they had managed to get one set up in time. They had only been gone, what, four? Five hours? She peeked out beside Octavia, and sure enough, a low stage consisting of several risers connected together sat before a gathering of chairs. Most of the chairs were empty, but as Rarity watched, a dozen more people stepped inside the larger main entrance and began filling in the empty seats. “Wow.” She muttered, letting the curtain fall back into place. “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course.” Octavia shot her a teasing grin before pulling away as well. “Even if I weren’t, it’d be rude to let them down at this point.”

“True.” Rarity sighed and stepped forward to give Octavia a quick hug and a kiss. More and more people were filing in. They had agreed to perform for the resort’s staff, and Phillip had warned them of the few guests attending as well. He had guessed fifty to one hundred, but as Rarity peeked out one more time, she saw at least half again as many. The chairs were full. People were beginning to stand in the back. Octavia had withdrawn her cello, and Rarity knew now why the case had been so heavy. This was one of her electric cellos. It had a built-in amplifier, so it could produce both electronic and acoustic music without the help of a heavy amp. But it still hooked into the one provided, and Octavia donned specialized headphones to help her tune the massive, black instrument. Rarity wrung her hands fretfully. The crowd was growing restless. At last, though, Octavia pulled her headphones off and smiled at Rarity.

“I’m ready.”

“Good luck, Octavia. I love you.”

“I love you too, Rarity.” They shared one last kiss before Octavia picked up her cello and bow in one hand, and a stool in the other. The curtains parted, and she mounted the stage. A hush descended over the crowd. Rarity could tell; her dress had an impression, even if it was an impromptu creation. Phillip sat in the front row, with resort staff, guests, and who-knew-else in the audience behind him. Octavia looked at all of them with one long, pointed gaze. When she lifted her bow and set the hair to the strings, the silence was audible. Rarity could have heard a pin drop.

The first note was as low and mournful as anything she had ever heard. The entire pavilion was suddenly alive, breathing around them. The cello was its voice, the people its blood. The sound was like a dying moan of a wounded man, low and full of pain and regret. Sorrow descended on Rarity’s heart, and she found tears welling in her eyes. She fought against them, trying her hardest not to cry. Not here, not now. The second note was just as sad, a twin to the first. Octavia’s head hung low, and the dangling sleeves on her arms barely moved as she drew out the second note.

The third was higher. Rarity felt a stain of solemn sadness on it, but something else as well; a small glimmer of something less bleak, less depressing. Hope. She heard hope in Octavia’s music. By then, Octavia had begun to play a slow song, one she hadn’t heard before. The audience was awestruck. Rarity saw many of them standing or sitting with open mouths and tears in their eyes. Anyone could play a cello with practice. Anyone could read sheet music placed in front of them and even play it well.

But there was only one person who could make a cello sing. Only one person who could make an audience cry.

Songs were simple.

People were not.

Octavia didn’t play her cello. She didn’t settle for some predetermined series of notes set to a time signature. She didn’t conform or even try to present people with something bland and unexciting. She shunned sheet music and despised maestros, who commanded instruments with a flick of their wrist and a book of instructions.

Octavia did not play her cello for the audience.

She lived for the audience.

And at her command, the cello leapt to life as well.

She stomped three times. Some in the audience jumped. Others gasped. The three stomps were followed by a waterfall of notes, washing over the gathered resort staff and guests like a fresh spring rain. The cloudburst took them all by surprise, but soon enough, they were clapping in time and hollering encouragement. Octavia’s hands flew as she burned through a fast and melodious tune. The cello hummed and sang with her, filling the pavilion with the song of hope that Rarity had glimpsed before.

When Octavia threw her hair back, it was with a whoop and a holler that set feet to stomping and hips to swaying. Even Rarity found herself laughing and clapping in time with everyone else. Almost as if on que, everyone stood and moved the chairs out of the way. A space was cleared in the middle of the floor, and people coupled off. Rarity saw Jason, Phillip, Erica, and several other familiar faces pair off with strangers and begin spinning, stomping, and hollering along with the cello. Laughter filled the air. Everyone was dancing, clapping, shouting encouragement, and on the stage, Octavia shone. Rarity couldn’t resist anymore. She slipped around the stage and into the audience. Phillip spotted her and made a beeline across the dance floor. As she was swept into his arms, the song changed, growing in intensity and speed. She was swept into a dance faster and more intricate than any she had ever danced before.

If this had transpired in Canterlot, it would have been a scandal. Rarity was having way too much fun for this to be a Canterlite event. Phillip was replaced by Erica, and then a stranger, and then another, and then Jason. The songs began to melt into one experience, transitioning flawlessly from a slow waltz to a fast-paced, heart-pounding ho-down. Octavia played familiar contemporary tunes, classical standards, and original compositions in equal measure. People sang the lyrics to familiar songs, fell into organized rows for standards, and stood awestruck for the original work. Some of it, Rarity had never heard before. Others were old pieces that she listened and danced to as if they were old friends.

She wasn’t even sure when night time fell. But at some point, the pavilion grew dark. Resort staff peeled away from the crowd to raise the walls, leaving a large tent over their heads but let in the cool night air. Tribal-looking torches were lit inside, casting a flickering golden glow upon everyone underneath the canopy. The music went on, even as carts of food were wheeled out, tables erected, and meals served. Rarity talked, laughed, danced, and ate through the night. The sky remained blissfully clear and still, with a million stars overhead to gaze up at and ponder the meaning of life.

At long last, the music faded away. The guests who remained stood from their chairs to give Octavia a standing ovation. Rarity had been present for some of these before; when Canterlot’s concert hall had been packed to capacity with tens of thousands of music-goers cheering and clapping for her performance. But somehow, this was much more meaningful. She hollered and cheered and whistled right alongside everyone else, and Octavia gave a graceful bow on the stage.

She was smiling.

That was a sight Rarity would never get tired of seeing.

The performance had awakened a hunger in Octavia. Rarity could see it flashing in her eyes. She stepped down off of the stage and directly into the audience, intent on finding her. Rarity closed the distance, slipping through the appreciative audience. Octavia was surrounded with well-wishers clamoring to shake her hand or congratulate her, or thank her for a miraculous performance. Octavia only indulged in a quick clasp of the hands or a clipped smile. She was intent on finding Rarity. And Rarity wanted to get to her as soon as she could.

When she finally made it to the front of the audience, Octavia rushed into her arms. She was trembling, but there was a fire in her eyes. Rarity’s heart galloped at the sight. She knew that look, and knew it well. They needed to get back to the bungalow, and fast.

“Excuse us,” Rarity managed to raise her voice above the clamoring audience. “But Miss Octavia is fatigued. We would appreciate it if you would let us retire for the night.” Some people groaned with disappointment, but almost all of them nodded understandably. Rarity saw Jason dash off towards the garage, on the far side of the nearby office building. He returned within two minutes, honking the high-pitched horn on the golf cart to part the audience. Everyone stepped aside and let the two of them slip onto the back seat. Octavia took a moment to rise up and wave them goodbye. She was cheered off of the parking lot by resort staff and guests, all of whom were sad to see her go, but better for having heard her stirring performance.

Quiet soon enveloped them. The only sound was the crashing of the waves, the golf cart’s electric engine, and the crunch of gravel beneath their tires. Jason was all smiles and silence as he took them to their home-away-from-home. He dropped them off and left without a word. Octavia’s hand never left Rarity’s, and now, she tugged on it. Rarity followed eagerly. The fire in Octavia’s eyes hadn’t dimmed on the short, chilly trip back to their bungalow. If anything, it had intensified. Rarity hardly closed the door behind them before Octavia was on her.