Life is an Unwritten Book

by Revenant Wings

Act I - Part 8

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Early evening came with cooling temperatures and a warm breeze.  The sun was just beginning to fall over the horizon as Written Script and Amalthea left the house for the hills just outside Ponyville.  Amalthea carried with her a small blanket and a blue bottle and glasses in her saddlebags, while Written Script carried a picnic basket in his own aura.  They walked through the streets of Ponyville, noting others on their way through the streets in the same direction as they are.

“This concert seems to be a popular event,” Amalthea said, violet eyes peering around at the growing crowds.  “It almost looks like the entire town is going.”

“Ponyville’s a rather social community with how small it is,” Written Script said.  “They enjoy any excuse for them to get together.  Celebrations, parties, musical events, you name it.  I rather like it.  You can go anywhere and find somepony who knows your name or treats you like a friend.”

“Do you think we’ll see that lavender unicorn friend of yours?” Amalthea asked.  “I liked her very much.  I would like to see what she recommends as far as literature goes; I’ve found a few I’m interested in after reading that book on the history of literature.”

Written Script laughed.  “Even if she’s not here tonight, I’m sure you’ll get a chance to talk with her soon.  Twilight’s not the most social of mares, but if she heard about your love of books, she’d open up to you right quick.”

“That’s good to hear,” Amalthea said.

She trotted along quietly for a while, Written Script only able to tell she was walking next to him by her glowing white coat next to him, lagging slowly behind so he could watch her golden mane bouncing gently behind her.  The sound of her voice starting again made him speed up so she could see him paying attention.

“Did you ever like her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like… did you ever fall in love with her?”

Written Script nodded.  “At one point, I did.  When she first came into Ponyville, I thought she was the prettiest mare I’d ever laid eyes on.  And when she was revealed to live in the library, I loved here even more since I thought I’d found someone who shared my interests.  But she found a group of friends here and I never brought up the courage to talk with her much until she offered to be my editor.”

“Would you ever get together with her if you had the chance?”  There was something in Amalthea’s voice that Written Script could not place.  It sounded like fear, but wasn’t exactly that.  It may have been concern, but that didn’t quite sound like it, either.  Prodding was the closest he could think of, and he didn’t even think that was the right term for it.

“There might have been a time where my answer would have been yes,” Written Script said guardedly.  “But I’ve fallen for you more than I ever fell for her.”  Written Script stopped for a moment to clasp one of her hooves in his own.

Amalthea giggled.  “Oh, Written,” she said, blushing playfully.  “You’re not only a gentlecolt, you’re a flatterer.”

Written Script smiled as they continued.  That seemed to have pacified her for the time being as they continued her walk to the concert grounds, leaving Ponyville and heading up a short walk into the hills.

On the other side of a small pass, a stage had been set up.  Ponies were already crowded around the base of the hill close to the stage, but Written Script and Amalthea chose a spot a fair way up the hillside.  They were well within sight of the stage, but could hear almost everything that came from down below, including the murmurs of ponies close to the stage.

Amalthea took out the blanket and spread it on a relatively flat piece of grass.  Written Script set down the picnic basket on top of it and they both sat down.  Amalthea began pouring two glasses of a bubbly liquid from the bottle as Written Script pulled out warm buttered rolls, a vegetable and cheese tray, and two small salads with little plastic forks.

It wasn’t long before fifteen ponies came and sat down at the chairs onstage next to their instruments.  Not long after that, an older pony with a grey coat, a white mane and beard, and a baton for a cutie mark came on stage and coughed to get everypony’s attention.  Once the entire hillside was quiet, the older pony began to talk.

“Fillies and gentlecolts.  Thank you all for coming to the third of our summer concert series.”

There was a moment of polite applause that quickly settled down while the conductor continued.

“My name is Complex Time, and I shall be your conductor for this evening.  Before we begin, may I please introduce a special guest: gracing us tonight with her presence, from the Canterlot School of Classical Music, please welcome Octavia Philharmonica.”

There was a round of polite applause and even a few whistles as a very refined grey mare stepped out on stage and walked over to the lead cello.  Written Script used the opportunity to pop the blue bottle from Amalthea’s saddlebag without anypony hearing him, all the while politely clapping with the rest of the crowds.

“She’s got purple eyes just like me,” Amalthea whispered quietly.

“They’re lighter than yours, dear,” Written Script said, pouring a glass of the liquid.  “Yours are a deeper shade – and in my opinion, more beautiful.”

Amalthea blushed as Written Script passed her a glass half-full of the golden drink.  Written Script poured half a glass for himself as Octavia bowed, took her position, and the orchestra began to play.  Rolls were passed around and vegetables and cheese were sampled as Written Script and Amalthea watched the musicians and listened to the music.

“This is so beautiful,” Amalthea said quietly between bites of her salad.  “I mean it’s a lovely evening, the music is fantastic, and the idea of bringing a picnic dinner is so romantic.”

“I figured we could take a bit of time to ourselves, having been out getting you acquainted for much of the time this past week.  This was simple, an available evening, and I have been meaning to go to one of these eventually.  And, I must say, I very much like it.  Do you need your sparkling cider topped off?”

“Not yet,” Amalthea said, looking at the small amount of golden cider still in her glass.  She sighed as she took a bite of a celery stick.  “They play music so beautifully,” she said dreamily.  “I can almost see pictures in my mind from it.”

“They do say that listening to good music is like listening to someone tell a good story,” Written Script said, “complete with emotion and a sense of flow.”

“Do you ever listen to music while you write?”

“Sometimes.  Not always.  Sometimes I get distracted by the music and end up dancing around my room.”  This caused Amalthea to double over with laughter as Written Script mimed his usual two-step he performed on his own when he thought no one was looking.  Tonight, with Amalthea, he didn’t care.  “But other times it is quite effective.  And I’ve been meaning to get a new record soon.”

“Perhaps a few days from now we could go to the music store.”

“Perhaps,” Written Script said, though his smile told Amalthea it was more than just a possibility.  “Perhaps.”

As Written Script turned back to face the musicians, he could see the grey mare, Octavia, looking in his direction.  Over the sound of the music, he could hear the slightest of chuckles.  A light, almost refined sound that perfectly resonated over the hills.  Written found himself feeling flush and had to put an extra hoof down to keep himself from falling over, but he never took his eyes off the mare.

“Are you alright?” Amalthea asked.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t drink my cider so quickly,” Written Script said quickly.  “Don’t worry about it.”

Onstage, Octavia turned her head away with a huff and went back to focusing on her cello.

“But Written, dear,” Amalthea said, “you’ve only had a glass and it’s been downed long ago.”

“I think it’s finally starting to kick in,” Written replied.  “I’ll be fine if I eat a little something, I promise you.”

Amalthea smiled sweetly and nodded, handing him another roll.  Written tried to grab it with his aura, but Amalthea wouldn’t let it go.  Eventually, Written realized what she was doing and took a bite from the roll still held in her magic.  She giggled and Written told himself he was with the most beautiful mare in the world.

So why can’t I keep my eyes off that damned cellist down on the stage!?  She looked towards me and chuckled at me once, and yet I can’t help but think of her instead of my dear Amalthea.  I’ve never heard of her before, yet look at me!  I keep sitting here dumbstruck with a flushed face and acting as though a non-alcoholic drink has put me over the edge.   She’s looking at me again!  Why is she looking at me!?  What reason does she even have to look at me?  I’m no one!

Hold on a minute, Written, don’t get yourself all worked up over something so small.  She’s just appreciative of the fact that you enjoy the music.  Look at all the other ponies, they’re talking amongst themselves while you’re staring and actually watching her.  But so is that group over there, so why isn’t she looking at them?  And she’s gone back to looking at me.  Why is she looking at me?  Why can’t I stop looking at her – her soft grey coat, her bright pink eyes, her flowing mane?  Why is it that she is making it where I can’t even lo—

“Written!”

Written Script felt himself being shaken.  He snapped out of his daze and turned to Amalthea, whose bright purple eyes were staring at him with worry.  He looked around to see lanterns had been lit all along the hills so that the ponies could see the landscape and the stage below.  The sun had fully set below the horizon and the temperature had dropped but the warm breeze was still there.

“Written Script!” Amalthea called out to him again.  “Are you okay?”

He looked over to her.  “What… what happened to me?  Why are you asking me if I’m okay?”

“You were watching the musicians on stage for a minute but eventually your face turned red and your eyes glazed over.  I’ve only been with you about a week and I can still tell that is not normal for you.  Are you okay?”

Written Script nodded.  “Yes.  I-I’m okay.  I don’t know what could have come over me.”

Amalthea didn’t seem entirely convinced.  “Were you watching her?”

“Who?”

“That cellist.”  The response was sharp, quick.  “The guest from Canterlot.”

Written Script shook his head.  “I… I really don’t know.  After a minute or so, I can’t remember what I was doing when I lost focus.”

Amalthea turned back to the stage as the music stopped and the conductor announced that there was an intermission.  The intermission passed without a word between them and the music started up again before Written pulled out a small cake for dessert and cut it.  The sight of the dessert and of Written slowly returning to normal caused a smile to return to Amalthea’s face.

Written, on the other hoof, made sure not to stare at Octavia again for the rest of the concert.

When the concert was over, Amalthea and Written Script were tired.  They packed up the picnic and the remainder of the food and cider and walked home, Amalthea slightly leaning on Written’s shoulder.  When they got home, Amalthea shook out the blanket and folded it while Written put the leftovers away and they both headed into bed.  Amalthea curled up next to Written under a blanket and put a hoof firmly around his chest in a hug and she fell asleep shortly thereafter.

Written, meanwhile, didn’t fall asleep.  He stared at the ceiling, thinking to himself of the events of the evening.

It was jealousy…

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