The Secret Life of Octavia Melodyby TerrasoraChaptersAdventureArrivalMovementImaginationAdventureOctavia tore through her home, more a force of nature than a pony. Pillows and cushions flew across her bedroom, then across Vinyl’s room, then, just for fun, back across Octavia’s room. The living room was laid bare, the couches all but ripped open, every single shelf checked and double-checked. Trash cans were emptied, cupboards thrown open, even the refrigerator was given a cursory once-over. All it yielded was a nicely chilled bottle of water. Octavia flopped onto her seat, placing the bottle on her forehead, trying to ease the steady throbbing. “Any luck?” asked Vinyl. Octavia threw her a dirty look. “Guess that’s a no.” A pause. “Hey, do we have anymore water in the fridge?” Purple eyes gleamed dangerously from beneath a water bottle. “Sooo… is that a yeah?” Octavia held her glare for a few moments, then let out a sigh. The water bottle exchanged hooves. “Thanks,” said Vinyl, popping off the top with a burst of magic and taking several long drinks. Octavia watched her, then dragged herself to her hooves. She trudged to the kitchen with a heavy sigh. “Come on, Tavi!” called Vinyl, still glued to her seat. “It won’t be that bad! We’ll just get Harpo to send another copy.” “Harpo doesn’t prepare,” replied Octavia sullenly. “There isn’t another copy.” “You don’t know that!” Octavia poked her head through the kitchen doorway, her eyes blank and absolutely certain of her fate. “Yes. Yes I do.” “Alright, so Harpo might not have a copy, so what? Just go to practice and don’t mention it. Boom, problem solved.” Vinyl nodded in satisfaction, tapping a sip of her drink. “I can’t do that!” gasped Octavia. “Why not? How’s conductor guy supposed to know that you have the music?” Octavia paused. A miniature Vinyl Scratch appeared over her left shoulder in a burst of flame, cloaked in a red cape and clutching a plastic, Nightmare Night toy pitchfork. A pair of horns, the same bright red as her cape and pitchfork, stood perched on her head. “Stop worrying, Tavi,” cooed the devil Vinyl. “Just stay quiet. Don’t tell Timely Performance about it and you’ll be fine. Harpo’ll take the blame once he gets back.” “Hey now!” A pink cloud appeared over Octavia’s right shoulder with a slight puff. Harpo stepped out of the cloud, waving it away with a hoof. “It’s not my fault! I sent the music with full trust in you, Octavia. And look what that earned me! Why if -- Wait, where are my wings?” Harpo reached his hoof upwards, waving it wildly above his head. “And that holy donut thing! Where’s my holy donut thing?!” “Halo,” said Octavia. Harpo rolled his eyes. “Yes, hello Octavia. Why am I not an angel?” Octavia shrugged. “I guess that I just can’t imagine you as an angel.” “Well, it’s not that hard! I just need white wings and a donut!” “Halo.” “I want a donut!” protested the tiny Vinyl. “Nopony’s getting a donut! Halo!” Octavia let out a growl of frustration. Harpo crossed his hooves, turning away with a huff. “Well, since I’m not an angel and I’m not getting a donut, I see no reason why I should help you.” Fire suddenly sprouted over the tiny composer, blowing away as quickly as it had flare. When it receded, Harpo had two pointed horns and a bright red toy pitchfork. The composer glanced up in confusion, touching his new horns. He turned towards Octavia with a deadpan expression. “Oh, so you can’t see me as an angel, but a devil is completely fine.” He glanced over at Vinyl. “And where’s my cape? Why does Vinyl get a cape?” “Because,” said Vinyl, opening up her cape, “capes are sexy. And Tavi always pictures me in sexy things.” Harpo nodded. Octavia turned a beet red. “Tavi?” asked Vinyl. She waved a hoof in her roommate’s face. “Taaaaavi. C’mon Tavi, come back to me.” The two devils evaporated. Octavia’s eyes refocused, her cheeks still noticeably pink. “So, what are you gonna do?” Octavia blinked a few times, trying to get the image of a sexy devil Vinyl out of her head. “Stop listening to devils.” “Oh… Wait, what?” *** There’s always an interesting progression to rage. It comes slowly to some ponies, their faces slowly twisting, forming into scowls and bared teeth a moment before they started shouting. It flared in some, white-hot for a moment before cooling away just as quickly. For others, rage was a lack of emotion, a burning cold that started in the pit of their stomach, turning their eyes flat and their words into icicles. Timely Performance’s rage was the first kind. “You!” he barked. “Get that music, Mademoiselle Melody! Find Monsieur Nadermane! Send him a letter, do anything and get me that music, or I swear by both sisters that you will be out of a job!” Octavia’s mouth hung open. “Maestro, I have no--” “Excuse!” screeched Timely Performance. “Absolutely no excuse! Monsieur Nadermane sent me a message, he told me that you would have the music, that you would get it to me by today! He told me that I shouldn’t see it until it was finished, no matter how much I insisted! And now you tell me that you don’t have it?” The conductor looked around, trying to find something to hit his baton against. There was nothing readily available. “Damn it, Mademoiselle Melody!” Octavia looked down at the floor. Practice had ended, most of the other ponies in the orchestra had left, but she could firmly feel the gazes of the five or six that still hung around. “I’m sorry, maestro,” she whispered. Timely Performance snorted. “I’m sure you are.” His saddlebags floated into the air, coated with his magic before coming to a rest over his flanks. “Get me the music, Mademoiselle Melody. I don’t want to see your face until you do.” He trotted past the cellist. “Madame Strings,” said the conductor from somewhere behind Octavia. “You are to be first cellist until Mademoiselle Melody’s return. Monsieur Horseshoepin, begin preparations for a full orchestra piece, in case Nadermane does not pull through for us.” Octavia felt her heart sink into her hooves. She shrugged, a familiar pressure building just behind her eyes, her vision slowly blurring. She touched a hoof to her eyes. It came back wet. I, thought Octavia, fighting her way to the entrance. I just have to… The thought trailed off. Octavia wiped at her eyes, tears matting her hooves. She shoved through the concert hall’s entrance, her cello throwing her slightly off balance. A hoof reached out, steadying the cellist. Octavia looked up, right into a purple-tinged reflection. “Careful, Tavi,” said Vinyl with a chuckle. “Can’t have you hurting yourself. You make most of my food.” Octavia turned away from her roommate, wiping away a few more tears. “Whoah,” said Vinyl. She trotted closer, trying to look into Octavia’s eyes. “Hey, Tavi, you alright?” “I-I’m fine, Vinyl.” Octavia breathed in through a stuffy nose. Vinyl glanced up towards the concert hall. Then back to the cellist. “It was that conductor, wasn’t it? Tavi, I told you not to tell him!” “How could I not tell him?” asked Octavia, a bit more loudly than she had intended. “By not saying anything! And now you’re--” Vinyl broke off, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re crying.” Octavia rubbed at her eyes. “I’m doing nothing of the sort.” “The bastard made you cry,” growled Vinyl. She turned towards the concert hall, marching forward purposefully. “Vinyl?” asked Octavia. “Vinyl, what are you doing?” “I’m gonna go punch that asshole in the face.” Octavia ran forward, placing a hoof on Vinyl’s shoulder. “Vinyl, stop!” Vinyl stopped walking, her eyes still firmly set on the entrance. “What’d he do?” “Pardon?” asked Octavia. “What did he do to make you cry, Tavi? I’ve never seen anypony do that in all of the time that we’ve been friends, then you’re gone for a few hours, I come to walk you home, and you’re fucking crying!” Vinyl turned, lifting her shades up slightly, her bright red eyes boring right into Octavia. “What. Did. He. Do?” *** Timely Performance stood on stage, scowling at the world. His face hadn’t twitched in the slightest, his eyes burning angrily as he shoved his sheet music and his baton into their various cases. It was little wonder that the other musicians had evacuated the building Nothing had gone right, absolutely nothing! He had known that today was not going to be a good day. The 23rd. 23 was an unlucky number and the day was certainly living up to that standard. His coffee had burnt, his baton had chipped slightly, and now Nadermane’s work was lost somewhere! I knew, thought Timely Performance, I knew that he should have just sent me the music. But no, he had to send it through Melody. How stupid of him to trust a cellist over his conductor. The idiot! If he had just sent it straight to me, as I told him to, we wouldn’t even been having this problem! I swear, I’ll strangle her if she doesn’t get me that music. He sighed half-heartedly. Well, at least Horseshoepin can write a decent piece. The entrance to the concert hall burst open, a flood of sunshine temporarily blinding Timely Performance, shrouding the white mare in a layer of shadow. “Just who the hell do you think you are?!” shouted the mare. “W-What?” The conductor blinked a few times, the bright light making his eyes well with tears. The mare stalked closer. Timely Performance could have sworn that her eyes were nothing more than purple holes. “Is that your name?” barked the shadow. “What?!” “Is that all you can say, colt?! Just ‘What?’!” “WHAT?!” Vinyl lifted one of her hooves. “Say ‘What’ one more time, asshole! I dare you! I--” Octavia roughly shoved Vinyl out of the way. “I’m sorry, maestro,” she said hurriedly. “This is my roommate, she’s a bit touched in the head and has forgotten to take her medication.” “Let me go, Tavi! Let me go!” Timely Performance blinked away the last remnants of the blinding light. Two mares stood before him. Octavia hung around Vinyl’s neck, desperately trying to keep the unicorn from swinging her hoof down. “You’re lucky she’s holding me back, or I’d beat the shit out of you!” “Vinyl, for the love of all that’s good, stop talking!” “One versus one, bitch! I’ll wreck your shit! I’ll--” Octavia shoved a hoof in Vinyl’s mouth, turning back towards Timely Performance with a sheepish smile. “I’ll… I’ll just get going.” The conductor stared down at the mares, his mouth hanging slightly open. “Mademoiselle Melody?” “Y-Yes, maestro.” Timely Performance exploded. “GET OUT! GET OUT AND DON’T YOU DARE COME BACK!” Octavia nodded quickly. “Yes, maestro. I’m sorry, maestro.” “AND GET ME THAT MUSIC!” Vinyl wriggled her way out of Octavia’s grip. “How’s she supposed to do that without coming back, dumbass?!” “GET OUT!” *** “Tavi?” “...” “Tavi, I’m sorry.” “...” “I mean, it’s not the worst thing that I’ve done. Remember when I punched out that griffon for saying that you played a stick? That was worse.” “Vinyl,” said Octavia slowly, “that was my boss.” “... The griffon?” Octavia moved with lightning speed, snatching a pillow off of the sofa and beating Vinyl with it, the thud of a pillow on flesh punctuating each of her words. “Not the griffon! The stallion whose ‘shit’ you threatened to ‘wreck’!” Vinyl cringed under the assault. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m--OW, THAT WAS THE ZIPPER!” Octavia gave Vinyl one last smack for good measure, then threw her pillow aside, her breathing heavy, her eyes watering again. Silence fell on the room. “Tavi,” began Vinyl hesitantly, “I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do to fix this, I will.” “You didn’t fix anything,” spat Octavia. “You only made it worse. Just… just leave me alone, Vinyl.” The DJ seemed to wilt slightly. She nodded sadly, pushing herself onto her hooves and towards her room. She paused at the doorway, giving one last glance at Octavia before softly closing the door behind her. Octavia put her head in her hooves, taking a few shuddering breaths, then she climbed shakily to her hooves. She trotted quickly into her room, slamming the door shut and locking it with a few sharp movement. ]Her room was impeccably neat, everything in its proper place. Her bed stood in the middle of the room, a large closet dominating the wall across from the cellist which, when opened, would reveal a few dresses, even fewer shirts and skirts, and a grand amount of freshly pressed bowties, all perfectly organized and arranged. Perhaps the only thing in the room that suggested that anypony actually lived there and didn’t simply clean it was a desk, set in a corner of the room, directly under the window. The desk was a mess. Piles of broken quills sat beneath it, remnants of spilled ink sat atop the wood alongside cracked inkwells and balled up pieces of parchment. A fresh sheet sat in the middle of it all, groups of five thin lines running across the paper, waiting for blots of ink and dark slashes to be printed onto it. Octavia’s gaze fell on this desk, and another weight of failure dropped onto her already hefty load. What am I supposed to do tomorrow? Octavia dragged herself forward, flopping onto her bed. In the corner of her vision, she saw a piece of paper fall off of her bed. The cellist twitched, a familiar disquiet growing within her at the thought of a random piece of paper disturbing her room’s balance. She crawled towards the edge of her bed, plucking the piece of paper from the floor. To My Two Favorite Fillies. Octavia quickly scanned over the letters. She had known Harpo for years, yet they led such different lives. The composer had a map hanging in his home, a simple one consisting of only borders and names. Each time that Harpo got back from a trip, he’d take a marker in his hoof and color in all of the places that he had visited. That map had more colors on it than any Canterlot model had on their dresses. Which is to say that it is very, very colorful. But that only complicated things! If Harpo could sit still for long enough, Octavia could simply send a letter explaining what had happened. But no, Octavia could never tell where he’d be at any given moment. Send food and things to this address… I won’t be here for long, but I’m sure that it would get to me eventually. Octavia bolted upright. I won’t be here for long, but I’m sure that it would get to me eventually. The cellist vaulted off of her bed, rushing towards her messy desk and taking a quill in her hoof. She dipped the quill into the ink, poising it over the parchment. Eventually. A single drop of ink fell from the quill. Eventually. There was not enough time for eventually. Timely Performance was angrier than Octavia had ever seen. She was all but fired; she could not wait for eventually. She needed to act now. *** Knock knock knock. “... Tavi?” “Vinyl, do you really want to make it up to me?” “Y-Yeah! Of course! But what--Tavi, why do you have those bags?” “Pack quickly, Vinyl. There’s a train leaving to Manehattan in an hour that we can still catch. Then we can take a boat up towards Scoltland that takes us right into the town where Harpo sent his letter.” “Tavi… Are we going on an adventure?” “Well, I wouldn’t call it exactly that, but yes.” “Give me two minutes.” Author's Note I hope that Vinyl gets into more fights. I liked writing that. Arrival“Hold me back, Tavi! Hold me back!” “Vinyl, for the love of all that’s good, stop talking!” “GET OUT! NOW! GET OUT AND DON’T COME BACK UNTIL YOU FIND THAT COMPOSER!” Octavia turned towards Timely Performance, nodding furiously and straining against her roommate, trying to push her back out through that door. “I can take him! Let me go! I’ll fuck him up!” “You just told me to hold you back!” “Do that too!” Octavia gave one last heaving shove, knocking both herself and Vinyl Scratch through the doorway. A flash of light. Vinyl and Octavia were falling, the wide expanse of Equestria miles and miles below them and the concert hall hovering high above their heads. Vinyl shouted something, but her voice was whipped upwards by the rushing winds. “What?!” shouted Octavia. “I can’t hear you! We’re falling through the sky!” Thud. Octavia and Vinyl sat across from each other in rather uncomfortable seats on a rather uncomfortable train at a rather uncomfortably late time of the night. The only other passengers in that car were an elderly couple, both of them snoozing comfortably against each other. Vinyl stared through the window, watching trees whip past in the murky darkness. Octavia blinked, her gaze snapping from place to place. “Vinyl?” “Yeah, Tavi?” “Isn’t there something… strange about this?” “How do ya mean?” Octavia knit her brow. “I’m… not entirely sure. Just a feeling, I suppose.” Vinyl shrugged, turning back to gaze through the window. Octavia sighed. “Vinyl, I’m sorry for dragging you along like this.” “Sorry?” asked Vinyl, her face twisted with confusion. “C’mon Tavi, this is gonna be awesome! Heading out of Canterlot in the middle of the night, grabbing a train, sailing out to Scoltland to find a lost page--” “Sheet music written by a friend.” “Whatever! It’s badass, Tavi!” Vinyl grinned brightly and turned back towards the scenery. “I’ve always wanted to see more of the world and now we are! Sweet.” Octavia gave a half-smile. “But you’ll be missing work, won’t you?” “Ah, screw that!” said Vinyl, with a dismissive wave of her hoof. “There are more important things than work.” A pause. Vinyl turned towards her roommate, a slightly embarrassed smile on her face. “Like you, Tavi.” Heat bloomed in Octavia’s cheeks. “That’s very sweet of you, Vinyl.” Vinyl leaned forward slightly, laying a hoof on Octavia’s foreleg, her glasses lifted onto her forehead to reveal her scarlet eyes. She was sitting next to Octavia now, though the cellist could not remember when Vinyl had moved. “I mean it, Tavi,” purred Vinyl. “You’re the most important thing to me right now. That’s why I was so pissed at Timely, that’s why I agreed to drop everything and follow you onto this boat and out into Scoltland.” Octavia hardly even noticed the train car melt away, replaced by the rocking boat’s cabin. There were two beds in the room, but both she and Vinyl sat on one. Octavia was pushed up against the bed’s headboard, nowhere to run as Vinyl slowly crawled forward, bright red eyes keeping Octavia in a trance. “Tavi,” said Vinyl softly. “I care about you. I would never let anything happen to you.” She was close now, so close that Octavia could feel the DJ’s breath on her lips. “Tavi, I lov--” Slap. Thud. “Ah! Son of a bitch!” Octavia sat upright in bed, her face flush, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. Vinyl was nowhere to be seen. “A dream,” she mumbled. “Just a dream.” “What the hell, Tavi?!” shouted a voice from somewhere on the floor. Vinyl climbed to her hooves, a scowl on her face. “Vinyl?” “No shit. Why did you knock me out of bed?” Octavia’s face reddened further. “Why were you in my bed?!” “Because there’s only one bed!” Vinyl gestured around the rather small room. A desk with a lamp, a closet, a chair off in the corner, but only one bed. The best they could get on such short notice. “Oh,” said Octavia sheepishly. “Yeah.” Vinyl climbed back onto the bed, noting with the smallest tinge of confusion that Octavia scooted away from her. “So, what were you dreaming of?” “Nothing!” said Octavia a bit too quickly. “Oh really?” Octavia nodded furiously. “Who did you punch?” “Nopony!” Vinyl leaned in a bit, noting the pink tinge that Octavia had taken. “Why are you so red?” “N-No reason!” “Tavi, you’re acting weird.” “I am not!” “Yeah, you kinda are. Here, let me feel your forehead.” “No! Stay back! Back I say!” *** Octavia and Vinyl stepped out onto the docks. The cellist fixed her bowtie slightly, shouldering her packs. Vinyl sported a brand new bruise. They stood in a town drawn right from a storybook. The building were made, or at least looked like they were made, of cobblestone, blue-black shingles adorning every building and the tops of trees just visible beyond the rooftops. It was a grey day and both Octavia and Vinyl shivered slightly in the cold, but the locals briskly walked through the roads without so much as a scarf to protect them. A green sign, just off to the side of the docks read “Welcome to Ayr.” “Ayr,” said Octavia. “We’re certainly in the right place.” “Right, so now what?” “Find Harpo. What was the address on that letter he sent us?” Vinyl’s magic flared around her horn, zipping open one of her bags and floating out the bit of brown parchment. “17 Saddle Road, Ayr, Ayrshire, Scoltland.” She glanced up and down the docks. “Alright, now we find Saddle Road.” “Right.” Neither of them moved. “Alright, let’s go Tavi.” “Yes, quite.” Neither of them moved. “Excuse me,” said a gruff voice in a decidedly Scoltish voice. “But you’re blockin’ the path. Plannin’ on movin’ anytime soon?” Octavia and Vinyl turned, finding themselves face to face with a rather large Earth Pony. The stallion was a dark green, his mane a golden-orange. “Pardon us,” said Octavia, stepping to the side. The stallion snorted in response, walking past them at a brisk pace. “Hey, Tavi,” said Vinyl, gathering their bags. “Come on, this is our chance.” She trotted forward, keeping pace with the stallion, leaving Octavia to catch up. “Hey, we’re looking for 17 Saddle Road. Any idea where it is?” The stallion raised one of his eyebrows. “And what business do you two mares have at 17 Saddle Road?” “We’re looking for a friend,” said Octavia. The stallion snorted again, then turned towards Vinyl. “17 Saddle Road is a tavern, lass. And it’s not the nicest tavern in Ayr. I don’t know much about your friend, seein’ as I haven’t been back home in a while, but I’d advise that ya start your search elsewhere.” He glanced over at Octavia. “‘Specially if ya have her walkin’ around with ya.” Octavia started in surprise. Vinyl knit her brow together. “What’s wrong with Tavi?” “Nothin’, I’m sure. But she’s nothing but Canterlot when she talks. Now, I’ve been around a bit more so I’m a fair bit more calm at the accent, but there are plenty around here who don’t feel the same.” Vinyl and Octavia exchanged glances. “If it’s too much,” began Vinyl, “I can go in there and get Harpo out. That way we won’t have to worry about anything.” The stallion nodded. “Not a bad plan.” “No,” said Octavia firmly. “This is my problem, and I plan on following through.” “That’s brave of you, lassie, it really is. Stupid, but brave.” “Hey!” Vinyl rounded on the stallion. “Nopony calls Tavi stupid!” The stallion held up his hooves. “You’re right. They’ll probably call her worse.” He stopped walking, placing a hoof on an entrance. “We’re here. Best walk in with me if you’re walking in, it may help a bit.” Without a warning, he pushed open the tavern’s door. Vinyl and Octavia hesitated just a moment, then followed him inside. It was, quite frankly, the epitome of taverns and bars, just as one would expect to find in a story about the Wild West. A band played off in the corner, quick, flighty tunes that seemed to propel the atmosphere towards a brawl. It wasn’t, given the rather early hour, the fullest of bars, but there were certainly quite a few ponies. “Mornin’ ya piss-drunk sack o’ cunts!” boomed the stallion. A dozen unfriendly eyes fixed onto the newcomer. “What? Has the drink killed so much of your brains that ya can’t even remember me?” Octavia leaned in worriedly towards Vinyl. “This was not a good idea. Why would Harpo come here?” “Tavi, it’s Harpo and this is a bar.” “Ah. Yes, that explains it perfectly.” The bar exploded. “Awrite, Bigyin Bevvy?!” “Gonna grab a bevvy Bevvy?!” “Where ya been, Bevvy?” “Too good to hang around, then?” The stallion, whose name was apparently Bigyin Bevvy, held up his hooves for silence. “Alright, alright. I’m back from business, and I met these two bairns outside. Say they’re lookin’ for a friend o’ theirs.” He and every other pony in the bar turned towards Octavia and Vinyl. Vinyl stepped forward, clearing her throat slightly. “Yeah. If he’s not here, then he was here some time in the last few days. We’ve got a picture if you need to see it, but his name is Harpo Parish Nadermane.” The ponies whispered amongst themselves at the name. They were not friendly whispers. “Aye,” said an older pony sitting at a card table. A stack of poker chips stood in front of him, balanced by the absence of chips held by anypony else at the table. The whispers stopped respectfully. “Parish was here. If yer lookin’ fer him, then you’re a bit late. But me an’ a few others, we got a bit of a debt to settle with Parish.” Vinyl glanced around nervously. “Right. Do, ummm… Do you know where he went?” “Aye. He talked about it quite a bit. And then he vanished with three bottles of whiskey and about 100 bits of debt to me and me boys here.” Vinyl giggled nervously. “Oh, that Harpo. Well, if you tell us where he is, we’ll be sure to yell at him and have him bring everything back.” The elder pony shook his head. “Nae, lass. As friends, his debts are yours.” “We’re not even really friends!” protested Vinyl. “He’s just like this guy we know!” “Celestia damn you, Harpo,” muttered Octavia. Bigyin stepped forward. “Now, Full House, I don’t think that they’re carrying around the means to repay somethin’ like that.” “That’s a shame,” said Full House. “Shouldn’t have come here lookin’ for him, then.” Vinyl glanced down at the table. Then up at the stallion. Then back down, then back up. “We’ll play you for it.” Full House blinked. “Begging yer pardon, lass?” “We’ll play you for it. A game of Tespur Hold ‘Em. We win, you ignore the debt and you tell us where Harpo went.” “Nae,” said the stallion with a shake of his head. “Ain’t no meanin’ to it. What am I supposed to be gettin’ off this deal?” “You win, we pay back double Harpo’s debt.” The room broke out into low whistles and murmurs of interest. A few ponies brought out their bit bags, betting on whether Full House would take the bet, whether the mares actually had a chance, and whether or not Bigyin would intervene. Bigyin Bevvy stepped forward. “Now hold on!” A few bits exchanged hooves. “Bevvy,” said Vinyl. “It’s alright. I think I know what I’m doin--Whoah!” Octavia wrapped a hoof around Vinyl’s neck, pulling her close and whispering into her ear. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? We can’t afford that, we won’t have enough money to get back home!” “It’ll be fine, Tavi. I know what I’m doing.” Vinyl grinned, a touch of megalomania showing in her pearly whites. “Alright,” came Full House’s voice. “I’m willing to work with ya. We’ll play a game. Each of us will start out with the hundred bits that your boy owes me and we’ll go on until one of us, probably you two, have nothin’ left. How’s that?” “And if we win,” said Vinyl, “you’ll forgive the debt and tell us where he went?” “On my honor.” Vinyl trotted over to the now vacated table, dropping heavily onto her seat before pulling one out for Octavia. The cellist sat down nervously. “I’ll be dealer,” said Full House. He took the deck in his hooves, expertly cutting and shuffling and bridging. While he did this, his friends painstakingly counted out the bits, dropping a huge pile of gold coins in front of Full House and two slightly smaller ones in front of Octavia and Vinyl. The cards slid across the table, a pair stopping in front of both Octavia and Vinyl. Three cards went into the center, all face down. Full House rested his hoof on one of them. “Ready?” he asked. Vinyl nodded. Octavia raised her hoof. For a few moments, every single face in that bar except Octavia’s was the same. A look of sheer and utter confusion had descended on Ayr. “Errr… yes, lass?” asked Full House. Octavia put her hoof back down. “How do we play this game?” Again, Ayr moved in perfect harmony. Every jaw dropped towards the floor. Bigyin Bevvy slapped a hoof over his eyes. “Poor, poor Canterlot. I cannae bear to watch.” Author's Note Gambling! Drinking! Stealing! Hurray! MovementOctavia looked around the bar with a light, slightly confused smile. She glanced over Full House, the old stallion’s hooves meekly tapping one gold bit against another, her gaze coming to rest on Vinyl Scratch. “Last round, Tavi,” said Vinyl, wiping away an imagined tear. “You done good, filly.” Octavia smiled proudly. It was incredible, really. She had no idea what she was doing, had fumbled cards, could hardly even remember what combination beat out what, but she was carrying the match. A pile of bits had steadily grown in front of her, some of it from Full House, some of it from Vinyl, but all of it now belonged to Octavia. It was glorious. Full House grumbled incoherently. “Are we actually gonna get to playing anytime soon?” Vinyl turned with a cheeky grin. “Dish ‘em out.” Four cards slid across the table, each pair coming to a stop right in front of each mare. Full House slapped his own pair in front of him, with an audible crack. “Tavi,” said Vinyl, “you’re the little blind.” Octavia threw in a few bits. Full House grunted, then threw what little remained of his bits. “Tavi, you’re the little blind.” Octavia blinked, knitting her brow slightly and turning towards Vinyl. The scene changed, the pile of gold that had been sitting in front of Octavia evaporated, only to condense as perfectly stacked towers in front of a smug looking Full House. Vinyl had a respectable amount of bits. Probably a quarter of the entire pot. The cellist had exactly two bits. “C’mon, lass,” said Full House gruffly, “throw in what little ya have. I want my money back.” Octavia sighed. “Can I just give this to Vinyl?” Vinyl looked scandalized. “You can’t just give up like that!” But Full House simply shrugged. “Do what you want, lass. I’ll just be taking it all back in the end. And what your friend owes me.” Octavia took up her two final bits, offering them to Vinyl with a sheepish smile. “You’re the better gambler, Vinyl.” Vinyl huffed, snatching the bits and tossing them onto her pile. “This isn’t gambling.” Full House grinned. “That’s right. It’s a sure thing.” He tossed a few bits into the center of the table. Vinyl tossed in a few more. Full House flipped three cards onto the table. Another round of betting, Full House’s confident smirk never faltering and Vinyl’s own face kept perfectly blank. “Three of a kind,” said Vinyl, turning over her pair of cards. Full House’s grin widened slightly. “Straight.” He raked in the pot amidst cheers from the rest of the bar. “I wanna deal,” said Vinyl. The stallion raised a questioning brow. “And why’d you want to do that?” “I think you’re cheating.” The entire bar froze, each gaze burrowing straight into Vinyl Scratch. The DJ hardly even flinched. Full House leaned forward slightly. “That’s a very serious accusation here. I’m not a cheater.” “Then let me deal.” The stallion narrowed his eyes slightly. “Alright, you will. But if I think that you’re doing something, even for a moment, you’ll be paying double what that composer owes.” Vinyl nodded. “Deal.” Magic sprouted around her horn, the same aura surrounding the deck of cards. They floated into the air, where they quickly shuffled themselves before falling back to the table. “Ready?” asked the DJ. “Just play the cards,” said Full House. Octavia fussed with her bowtie, mentally counting the bits she had bothered to bring. And the game went on. Vinyl took a round, then Full House took one, then Vinyl took three and Full House took one. Then Full House took another. And another. The bits were split about equal, if a bit heavier on Full House’s side. “You know how to handle your cards,” said the stallion, throwing a few of his bits into the center. “I’ve played before.” “Ya ain’t got the talent that the composer did.” Vinyl gave a half-smile, flipping a fifth card onto the table. “Harpo’s got a bit more experience gambling.” Full House nodded. “Certainly seemed like it. Raise.” A few more bits went into a rather sizable rather of bits. “Call.” Vinyl tossed in the same amount, and flipped her cards. “Full House.” Full House smiled wanly. “Two pair. Ya ain’t much for a bluff, are you?” Vinyl laughed slightly, her horn flaring, the bits sliding towards her pile. “No, not really. Too many ponies around me are used to lying. But I think that I’m pretty easy to read too, right Tavi?” The DJ turned and winked, placing her shades back over her eyes. Octavia scowled in confusion. Vinyl never plays with her glasses on. That means… Octavia blinked. Oh, buck me with Celestia’s thick h-- Vinyl’s magic flared, pulling the pile of bits into a waiting bag just as a hoof lashed out, tipping the card table over and onto Full House. The stallion let out a cry that Octavia barely heard as Vinyl grabbed her hoof with a manic grin. “Run, Tavi!” called Vinyl, dragging Octavia past Bigyin Bevvy and the other shocked ponies of the bar. “Run for our lives!” The mares pushed their way out of the bar, barreling down the street without so much as a glance back. They could, however, hear the thunderous pounding of hooves on pavement behind them. “Vinyl!” shouted Octavia. “You’re gonna get us killed!” Vinyl was laughing, her words coming out in short, breathy bursts. “I know! It’s--”breath”--SO AWESOME!” One set of hooves rumbled closer and closer, getting closer and closer to the mares. “Who do you think that is?” asked Vinyl, not slowing her pace. “Ya damn fillies!” came Full House’s voice. “I ain’t lettin’ ya get away lie ‘e did!” “What did he say?” asked Vinyl, turning towards Octavia. “I DON’T KNOW!” The hooves were right behind them now. Octavia could have sworn that she Full House was physically breathing down her neck. “MOVE!” The cellist dove to the side, off of the main road and into an alley, a firm hoof dragging Vinyl with her. They hit the ground, sliding slightly, Vinyl landing on top of Octavia. Full House let out a frustrated cry as he barrelled past the alley, moving too quickly to stop himself. “Vinyl, get off of me!” said Octavia urgently. “We have to get going!” But Vinyl didn’t move. “You know, this is kind of hot.” Slap. “Still kinda hot.” Slap. Vinyl climbed off of Octavia, rubbing at her cheeks. “Good point. Being chased by a pony that wants to take our money.” Vinyl’s bit bag jingled happily. “Money which you stole.” “I won it, didn’t I?” A voice hissed out of a window. “Hey, you two! The mares!” Vinyl and Octavia turned quickly, ready to run. A griffon hung out of the window, light brown feathers seeming even brighter in the dingy alley. He waved a talon at them. “Come on, hurry up!” Octavia knit her brow in suspicion. “Why?” The griffon rolled his eyes. “Harpo’s friends, right? I’m trying to help you out, so just come on!” The stampede of hooves got closer and closer. Shouts from the crowd began to flood into the alley. “Or,” said the griffon, “you can stay out here and get tarred and feathered. Whatever.” Vinyl bounded forward, vaulting through the window in one smooth movement. Octavia gave one last glance at the alley’s entrance, then followed Vinyl over the threshold. The griffon rammed the window shut and drew the covers just as the group of ponies ran down the alley. The room was sparsely furnished, barren save for a well-worn couch and two equally battered plush chairs. A coffee table sat in the middle of the furnishings, covered in rings where cups once sat, the ground around it littered with plastic cups. “You know,” said the griffon, “Harpo didn’t even have that many ponies chasing after him. And he stole three bottles of whiskey. Good whiskey, too.” Vinyl collapsed onto one of the chairs, breathing hard. “Don’t suppose you have any of it?” The griffon smiled, walking into his kitchen and returning with a glass bottle and three glasses. “Just a bit left. Got through most of it two days ago.” He poured an inch into each glass. “‘Fraid that you’ll have to drink it straight, though.” Vinyl’s glass floated into the air. She tossed her head back, draining it in a single gulp. “That is good.” Octavia didn’t take the glass. “You’re the griffon,” she said. “The one from the photo Harpo sent us. ‘Claws are cheating’.” “Aye,” said the griffon, sipping at his drink. “Gerald. And you’re Octavia, and that one’s Vinyl. Harpo told me about you two.” The room lapsed into silence. Vinyl held her glass out. Gerald refilled it. “How do you know Harpo?” asked Octavia. “Showed up at my doorstep, asked me to show him Scoltish folk music, just like that.” Gerald laughed. “Hardly even got his name out before he started asking for stuff. But, I suppose that it’s my job.” He finished with a shrug. “Your job?” asked Vinyl. “Ethnomusicologist,” answered the griffon. “It’s a fancy word that means that I listen to a lot of old music.” “So does Tavi,” murmured Vinyl into her drink. Gerald smiled at the quip. Octavia let out a sigh. “I don’t suppose that you know where Harpo went?” Gerald finished his drink, then pushed himself off of the couch. “I do, actually. I helped him buy the ticket. That was the deal and all.” He walked over to a bookcase, deftly picking out a volume. “Deal?” asked Vinyl. “Aye.” Gerald thumbed through the book’s pages. “I play a few songs for Harpo, help him onto a ship to Macho Pinto and he pays me in whiskey.” Vinyl sat up excitedly. “Macho Pinto?!” Octavia’s eye flared. “You’re the reason why half the town’s chasing us?!” Gerald paused, glancing upwards briefly. “Mmmmm, nope. That’s still Harpo. He bought the whiskey, decided that it wasn’t enough, went back to the bar, cheated Full House out of his money, and stole three bottles.” He smiled brightly. “Then we drank everything and he left the next day. It was fun!” “I’m gonna kill him,” mumbled Octavia. “And then I’m going to go down into Tartarus, bring him back, and kill him again.” Gerald stared at the cellist in surprise. “Huh.” “What?” “Nothing. But, Harpo described you perfectly.” Vinyl let out a chortle of laughter. “You should see her when she’s angry.” Octavia lashed out, smartly rapping the back of Vinyl’s head. “I’m sure it’s a treat,” said Gerald with a smile. He stopped flipping through the pages of his book and pulled out a small folded square of paper. “This is a schedule,” he said, handing it to Octavia. “The circled ships go directly to Macho Pinto. I think that the soonest one leaves sometime tonight.” Octavia unfolded the paper. It was an old flyer, worn by the Sun, the letters faded. A few ships were circled in red marker and, yes, one was set for later that same evening, but what drew her attention was a note scrawled hastily in a corner in the same red marker. It was messy, hardly legible, and unmistakably Harpo’s writing. “Up the mountain,” read Octavia slowly. “Breathe… Table?” “Table?” asked Vinyl. “Table,” affirmed Octavia. The two mares turned towards Gerald, but the griffon just shrugged. “No idea,” he said. “Sorry, Harpo didn’t explain much. But the way he talked about it, he’s been around Equestria three times over.” Vinyl snorted. “Bragging again.” “Then he hasn’t?” “Nah, he probably has.” Gerald seemed mildly impressed. “What does he do?” “He does crazy things and gets paid for it,” said Vinyl. “A daredevil?” “A composer,” said Octavia. A pause. “Who travels the world?” “Yes,” said Octavia. “Crazy, right?” added Vinyl. Gerald’s eyes darted from mare to mare. “I don’t believe you.” “It’s true.” The griffon’s face scrunched slightly, trying to get the notion through his head. “Why? Is that what composers normally do?” For a brief moment, Vinyl and Octavia moved in perfect harmony. Their faces contorted into a semi-pitying look at the nonbeliever. Then their shoulders come up, followed quickly by their hooves as they shrugged at Gerald, who had met but hadn’t really met Harpo Parish Nadermane. “It’s Harpo,” they said in unison. Author's Note Hijacking a school computer to upload a chapter. At this point, my life seems to revolve around ponies. Imagination“No, no, no!” The conductor waved his baton in the air, breaking off the music. “You all seem to be forgetting that I’m marking time here! Follow my tempo.” Timely Performance’s magic flared around his horn, a light purple aura flickering over his baton and carrying it upwards, swishing it through the air in time with the mauve unicorn’s words. “1-2-3-4-5-6-1-2-3-4-5-6! There! Is that better?” “Yes, maestro!” responded the orchestra in tandem. “Good.” He smiled in satisfaction. Timely Performance turned to his right, a smile on his face as he raised his baton over the cellos. “Once more, from the top. Mademoiselle Melody, on my cue.” The concert hall’s balconies filled with ponies, each of them covered from head to tail in black cloth, leaving only their eyes uncovered. They hid. For the most part. But they could not escape Octavia Melody’s practiced eyes. She watched them, careful not to attract too much attention to herself, keeping them only in the corner of her eye. For all the rest of the world, Octavia was merely a cellist, her instrument and bow poised, awaiting the conductor’s flourish. But she was so much more than that. One of the assassin ponies poked his head over the balcony railing, his eyes briefly but pointedly settling on Timely Performance before he ducked back into his hiding place. Target confirmed, thought Octavia, tightening the grip on her bow by the slightest amount, preparing herself for the assault. She didn’t know why they were there, but one thing was certain. They were after the composer. The assassins struck suddenly, moving in perfect tandem. They jumped from the balconies, some landing amid the crowd of musicians, aiming to prevent anypony from escaping, while a few let loose their throwing stars, gleaming silver that shone in the stage’s lights, nearly blinding Octavia. But she was the best, her talent honed from years of training with the monks on the very tip of Mount Lhorse. She dove out of her seat, knocking aside the stars with her bow. A single drop of poison flicked off of the weapon, landing on Octavia’s hoof, making her grit her teeth in pain. “Begone from here!” she shouted at her assailants. “This orchestra is under my protection! You will leave this place or you will suffer!” One of the assassins straightened slightly, those bright red eyes staring into Octavia’s own. The masked pony reached up and pulled down on the cloth, revealing a white muzzle. “Madame String,” said the assassin with Timely Performance’s voice, “would you be so kind as to bring Mademoiselle Melody into the land of the living?” Octavia blinked. The assassins dissolved, the leading white mare replaced by Timely Performance’s scowling visage. “Have you returned to us, Mademoiselle Melody?” asked the conductor testily. “Y-yes, maestro,” answered Octavia, her eyes blinking, the image of black-covered ponies still bright in her vision. “Where did you go this time? Just out of curiosity?” The orchestra rumbled with humorless chuckles. Octavia shifted her glance towards the stage’s wooden boards. “Nowhere, maestro. I was here.” “Well, it certainly didn’t seem like it.” “I’m sorry, maestro.” Timely Performance scoffed, his magic slightly brightening as his baton rose back into the air. “I don’t want apologies Mademoiselle Melody. I want you to play. On my cue.” “Yes, maestro.” Octavia straightened slightly, her hooves poised on her cello’s strings, her eyes fixed upon the baton, already counting out the rhythm in her head. I-2-3-4-5-6-1-2-3-4-5-6 The baton twitched downwards. *** Octavia packed away her cello, carefully stowing away her bow, placing her blocks of rosin into their compartment with a few practiced, fluid movements. She stretched out, trying to work the knots out of her back hooves. The hours she had spent balanced against her cello had done her no good. “Good practice, Octavia.” The cellist craned her neck over shoulder. A light blue mare stood behind her, her brown mane brushed back perfectly and a light smile on her lips. Octavia finished zipping up her case’s various pockets. “Good practice, Beauty.” “Are you going straight home today?” Octavia hoisted her cello, stumbling slightly under its weight. “Yeah. I should actually get going. The train leaves in a half hour.” “Oh. Well, I and a few others were planning on heading out to eat. Care to join us?” The cellist glanced around awkwardly, rubbing at her neck with a hoof. “I don’t think I can. I’ve… got a lot of things that I need to do. Like wash dishes and… stuff. So I can’t.” Beauty gave a few hesitant nods of understanding. “Alright. That’s fine. I’ll just go tell the others.” “I’m sorry.” “No, don’t worry about it!” She flashed a reassuring smile. “I mean, if you’re too busy, then you’re too busy! I’ll see you next practice, Octavia!” Beauty Brass turned, quickly walking back to her group of friends. Octavia raised a hoof in farewell, the motion making her cello slide into an uncomfortable position. She winced, rolling her shoulder, forcing her instrument back to its proper place. I should have said yes, she thought. What am I going to do at home? She looked over her shoulder. Beauty Brass and her group were chatting amongst themselves. They hadn’t left yet. There was still plenty of time, nothing was stopping her from trotting right up to them and asking whether she could still join them. Beauty Brass was a nice pony; she’d surely agree to it! It would just take a few words! *** Octavia pressed her head against the train’s window, a sigh fogging up the glass. The train was, as it normally was at this hour, almost completely empty. Octavia and her cello had taken up an entire bench, normally an unforgivable offence on a train, but an inconsequential detail when there was only one other pony in the entire cart. Octavia wiped off the fog with her hoof, watching Canterlot’s tall buildings whip past. “You’re pathetic,” she told her reflection. The reflection responded with a disappointed look. Then the face in the window shifted, growing slightly angry at Octavia’s accusation. “I’m pathetic?” asked the reflection. “Try looking in a mirror!” Octavia’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Alright, maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words, but you know what I mean!” The Octavia in the window leaned forward slightly. “You can’t go around blaming your reflection for all of your mistakes.” “Well, you certainly could have helped.” “What could I have done?” “I don’t know!” exclaimed Octavia, throwing up her hooves. “Something!” “Yeah,” said the reflection with a snort, “that would have worked.” Octavia scowled at her cheeky self. “You could have told me.” “Told you what?” “To go back and talk to Beauty.” The reflection rolled its purple eyes, extending its hoof and somehow managing to tap on the glass. “You seem to be forgetting that I’m not real, Miss Melody. Just a product of your hyperactive imagination. Besides, there were no mirrors around and you can’t have a reflection without mirrors, can you?” “This isn’t a mirror.” “It’s a glass pane with reflective qualities, it’s certainly close enough!” responded the other Octavia with a huff. “We wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you weren’t so pathetic.” “Where do you get off, calling me pathetic? If that isn’t just the rudest thing!” “Hello pot. I’m kettle. You’re pathetic.” Octavia scowled through the window, slightly unnerved by the sheer speed of her doppelganger's snark. “But you know,” said the reflection, now taking dainty nibbles from a sandwich, “this could have been entirely avoided.” “I know.” “Beauty is a very nice pony.” “I know.” “Would it kill you to make some friends?” Octavia rubbed at her eyes, fogging up the window with another sigh. “Honestly, I’m starting to sound like my mother.” Three high-pitched tones sounded from the train’s speakers. “The train is now approaching Aria Avenue. Please remain in your seats as the train slows to a complete stop. Please secure your belongings and exit the train in an orderly manner. Thank you for riding with us today.” Octavia placed a hoof on her cello case, throwing one last look at her reflection. The Octavia in the window stared back, but offered no more words. *** The entire building was throbbing. The windows shook in their sills, the wooden door trembled in its frame, a constant, rhythmic throbbing. Octavia placed a hoof on the doorknob, the vibrations quickly rattling through her leg and into her head. The throbbing picked up speed, growing faster and faster until Octavia could barely stay on her hooves. Then it surged, a powerful blast that shattered all of the windows and tore the doorknob off the of door, sending Octavia flying backwards. She twisted in the air, landing on her side rather than allow her cello to break her fall. “Damn!” shouted Octavia, diving into her cello case. “It’s back!” She drew out her cello, laying it on its side, and her bow, loosening it until the strings hung slack. Her bag of rosin blocks came next, hanging open from her teeth. A figure appeared in a second-floor window. It was pony-shaped, wearing a black suit of armor that covered the entire body, leaving only a short, two-toned blue mane and bright red eyes visible. The armor’s front seemed to be made of mesh, like the covering of a speaker. The throbbing sound emanated from the figure, seeming to shake the very air surrounding it. Octavia gritted her teeth against the horrid consortium of sound, reaching into one last pouch on her cello case and producing two small, bright orange earplugs. She shoved them into place, taking a moment to revel in the silence before glancing up towards the armored pony, her old foe. The Black Mare, Dub Trot. Octavia flicked her head upwards quickly, sending a single rosin block flying upwards. She caught it on the loosened bowstrings, drawing it back with her free hoof and sending it pelting towards Dub Trot’s masked face. Another block followed, then another. Dub Trot dodged them, her head weaving back and forth before propelling herself into the air with a blast of sound. Octavia turned in a tight circle, carefully dropping her bow and rosin blocks onto the cello case and taking up her cello by its neck. She kept turning, angling herself upwards and swinging with all of her might as Dub Trot came crashing down from above. Tap. Tap. Tap. “Ground Control to Major Tavi. Yo, is there anyone in there?” Vinyl tapped Octavia’s head again, making the cellist twitch comically. Octavia gazed back at her roommate with a flat expression. “Hello Vinyl.” Vinyl grinned brightly. “Hey Tavi. How was work?” Tap. Tap. Tap. “Fine.” Octavia waved Vinyl’s hoof away, quickly working her way past the other mare and into her home. Dubtrot blared from the speakers at an unholy level, the same welcome greeting that Octavia had gotten ever since she first moved in with Vinyl Scratch. As far as Octavia could tell, it was the exact same song as well. Though she used the term ‘song’ very loosely with Vinyl’s music. She also used the term ‘music’ very loosely when describing Vinyl’s music. Vinyl trotted back into the house proper, magically shutting and locking the front entrance and diving back onto her well-worn chair. “You gonna lock yourself in your room, Tavi?” “Yeah.” Octavia crossed the living room, pausing slightly before the door to her room. “Want me to turn down the volume?” “Please.” Vinyl’s magic flared, the same sheen appearing over the speakers, lowering the music to more tolerable levels. “That good?” “Yes. Thank you, Vinyl.” “No problem.” Vinyl settled deeper into her chair. “Oh! A few postcards and letters and stuff got here today. They’re on the kitchen table if you want to check them out.” Octavia hesitated for a moment, her hoof resting on her room’s doorknob, before turning into her small kitchen. As promised, a stack of papers sat on the kitchen table. A few were bills, congratulations on dedicatedly making her payments, those weren’t much of a problem and Octavia shoved them to the side, taking up a stack of square papers instead. The postcards always had the same format. A quickly scrawled message on the front and a photo on the back, depicting Harpo Parish Nadermane doing whatever had tickled his fancy. This one, from some remote village in Germaney, showed the purple composer at a bar, an amber drink in his hoof and a cheeky smile on his face. The message, scrawled in sloppy black ink, read “Wish you were beer!” Another had Harpo locked in a hoof/claw wrestling competition with a Griffon, the composer straining and beet red and the Griffon hardly breaking a sweat. “Claws are cheating.” And yet another, depicted Harpo in a beret, sitting on the edge of a cliff, watching the sunrise over a hamlet. The message was written in golden ink, a flowing, elegant affair.“C’est magnifique!” This pattern went on and on, each one depicting a new place and carrying a new message, but always including Harpo’s cock-sure, adventure seeking smile. Octavia gave a half-smile. Harpo had always talked about living this kind of life, seeing new places, meeting new people. Good for him. He was living the dream. Octavia shoved the postcards aside, reaching for the letter that Harpo had sent. This one had come from Scoltland. The corners were wrinkled, the ink slightly faded in places. Not illegible and not written on napkins, though, so it was certainly an improvement from Harpo’s normal correspondence. To My Two Favorite Fillies, It’s been a very interesting few days. It seems that I’ve slept on everything but a bed. Grass, hay, sod, futons, hardwood, carpet, but no beds! It’s done wonders on my back. In the same way that a sledgehammer does wonders on cement. Which is to say that my back is in terrible, terrible pain. And you should feel bad for me and send food and things to this address. Of course, I won’t be here for very long, but I’m sure that it would get to me eventually. Or not. Scoltish ponies have as much of an appetite as I do. I suppose that it’s supposed to make up for the lack of Canterlotian manners. Which I rather like! The last time I let out a burp, the other ponies in the bar actually stomped for me. I felt loved. In any case, I was able to listen to some serious Scoltish folk music here! I rather liked it, even if I couldn’t understand a single word (they were singing in Equish, but I got lost in their accents), and I’ve added a few revisions to that work I sent you. The maestro wanted it by the 23rd, so this should be the last time I’m able to change it, but I really think that this is my best work to date! With All Regards, Harpo The next page of the letter consisted of a hastily scrawled musical staff, a section of music clearly printed onto it. A few words in the corner read “Replaces measures 53-64.” Octavia turned over the letter in confusion. “The work he sent?” she asked herself. “Vinyl?” she called. “Yeah?” “Do you remember getting any music from Harpo?” A pause. “Like the new Daft Pony album?” “No, Vinyl. Sheet music.” “Noooooo. Why?” Octavia turned back to the letter. Maestro wanted it by the 23rd. My best work to date. Today was the 22nd. “Oh, horsefeathers.” Author's Note Inspired by The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, a spectacular recent movie that I would recommend to most anyone. Like, seriously, I've heard it called the new Forrest Gump, and it really is on that same league. WATCH IT! ERMAHGERD!
AdventureOctavia tore through her home, more a force of nature than a pony. Pillows and cushions flew across her bedroom, then across Vinyl’s room, then, just for fun, back across Octavia’s room. The living room was laid bare, the couches all but ripped open, every single shelf checked and double-checked. Trash cans were emptied, cupboards thrown open, even the refrigerator was given a cursory once-over. All it yielded was a nicely chilled bottle of water. Octavia flopped onto her seat, placing the bottle on her forehead, trying to ease the steady throbbing. “Any luck?” asked Vinyl. Octavia threw her a dirty look. “Guess that’s a no.” A pause. “Hey, do we have anymore water in the fridge?” Purple eyes gleamed dangerously from beneath a water bottle. “Sooo… is that a yeah?” Octavia held her glare for a few moments, then let out a sigh. The water bottle exchanged hooves. “Thanks,” said Vinyl, popping off the top with a burst of magic and taking several long drinks. Octavia watched her, then dragged herself to her hooves. She trudged to the kitchen with a heavy sigh. “Come on, Tavi!” called Vinyl, still glued to her seat. “It won’t be that bad! We’ll just get Harpo to send another copy.” “Harpo doesn’t prepare,” replied Octavia sullenly. “There isn’t another copy.” “You don’t know that!” Octavia poked her head through the kitchen doorway, her eyes blank and absolutely certain of her fate. “Yes. Yes I do.” “Alright, so Harpo might not have a copy, so what? Just go to practice and don’t mention it. Boom, problem solved.” Vinyl nodded in satisfaction, tapping a sip of her drink. “I can’t do that!” gasped Octavia. “Why not? How’s conductor guy supposed to know that you have the music?” Octavia paused. A miniature Vinyl Scratch appeared over her left shoulder in a burst of flame, cloaked in a red cape and clutching a plastic, Nightmare Night toy pitchfork. A pair of horns, the same bright red as her cape and pitchfork, stood perched on her head. “Stop worrying, Tavi,” cooed the devil Vinyl. “Just stay quiet. Don’t tell Timely Performance about it and you’ll be fine. Harpo’ll take the blame once he gets back.” “Hey now!” A pink cloud appeared over Octavia’s right shoulder with a slight puff. Harpo stepped out of the cloud, waving it away with a hoof. “It’s not my fault! I sent the music with full trust in you, Octavia. And look what that earned me! Why if -- Wait, where are my wings?” Harpo reached his hoof upwards, waving it wildly above his head. “And that holy donut thing! Where’s my holy donut thing?!” “Halo,” said Octavia. Harpo rolled his eyes. “Yes, hello Octavia. Why am I not an angel?” Octavia shrugged. “I guess that I just can’t imagine you as an angel.” “Well, it’s not that hard! I just need white wings and a donut!” “Halo.” “I want a donut!” protested the tiny Vinyl. “Nopony’s getting a donut! Halo!” Octavia let out a growl of frustration. Harpo crossed his hooves, turning away with a huff. “Well, since I’m not an angel and I’m not getting a donut, I see no reason why I should help you.” Fire suddenly sprouted over the tiny composer, blowing away as quickly as it had flare. When it receded, Harpo had two pointed horns and a bright red toy pitchfork. The composer glanced up in confusion, touching his new horns. He turned towards Octavia with a deadpan expression. “Oh, so you can’t see me as an angel, but a devil is completely fine.” He glanced over at Vinyl. “And where’s my cape? Why does Vinyl get a cape?” “Because,” said Vinyl, opening up her cape, “capes are sexy. And Tavi always pictures me in sexy things.” Harpo nodded. Octavia turned a beet red. “Tavi?” asked Vinyl. She waved a hoof in her roommate’s face. “Taaaaavi. C’mon Tavi, come back to me.” The two devils evaporated. Octavia’s eyes refocused, her cheeks still noticeably pink. “So, what are you gonna do?” Octavia blinked a few times, trying to get the image of a sexy devil Vinyl out of her head. “Stop listening to devils.” “Oh… Wait, what?” *** There’s always an interesting progression to rage. It comes slowly to some ponies, their faces slowly twisting, forming into scowls and bared teeth a moment before they started shouting. It flared in some, white-hot for a moment before cooling away just as quickly. For others, rage was a lack of emotion, a burning cold that started in the pit of their stomach, turning their eyes flat and their words into icicles. Timely Performance’s rage was the first kind. “You!” he barked. “Get that music, Mademoiselle Melody! Find Monsieur Nadermane! Send him a letter, do anything and get me that music, or I swear by both sisters that you will be out of a job!” Octavia’s mouth hung open. “Maestro, I have no--” “Excuse!” screeched Timely Performance. “Absolutely no excuse! Monsieur Nadermane sent me a message, he told me that you would have the music, that you would get it to me by today! He told me that I shouldn’t see it until it was finished, no matter how much I insisted! And now you tell me that you don’t have it?” The conductor looked around, trying to find something to hit his baton against. There was nothing readily available. “Damn it, Mademoiselle Melody!” Octavia looked down at the floor. Practice had ended, most of the other ponies in the orchestra had left, but she could firmly feel the gazes of the five or six that still hung around. “I’m sorry, maestro,” she whispered. Timely Performance snorted. “I’m sure you are.” His saddlebags floated into the air, coated with his magic before coming to a rest over his flanks. “Get me the music, Mademoiselle Melody. I don’t want to see your face until you do.” He trotted past the cellist. “Madame Strings,” said the conductor from somewhere behind Octavia. “You are to be first cellist until Mademoiselle Melody’s return. Monsieur Horseshoepin, begin preparations for a full orchestra piece, in case Nadermane does not pull through for us.” Octavia felt her heart sink into her hooves. She shrugged, a familiar pressure building just behind her eyes, her vision slowly blurring. She touched a hoof to her eyes. It came back wet. I, thought Octavia, fighting her way to the entrance. I just have to… The thought trailed off. Octavia wiped at her eyes, tears matting her hooves. She shoved through the concert hall’s entrance, her cello throwing her slightly off balance. A hoof reached out, steadying the cellist. Octavia looked up, right into a purple-tinged reflection. “Careful, Tavi,” said Vinyl with a chuckle. “Can’t have you hurting yourself. You make most of my food.” Octavia turned away from her roommate, wiping away a few more tears. “Whoah,” said Vinyl. She trotted closer, trying to look into Octavia’s eyes. “Hey, Tavi, you alright?” “I-I’m fine, Vinyl.” Octavia breathed in through a stuffy nose. Vinyl glanced up towards the concert hall. Then back to the cellist. “It was that conductor, wasn’t it? Tavi, I told you not to tell him!” “How could I not tell him?” asked Octavia, a bit more loudly than she had intended. “By not saying anything! And now you’re--” Vinyl broke off, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re crying.” Octavia rubbed at her eyes. “I’m doing nothing of the sort.” “The bastard made you cry,” growled Vinyl. She turned towards the concert hall, marching forward purposefully. “Vinyl?” asked Octavia. “Vinyl, what are you doing?” “I’m gonna go punch that asshole in the face.” Octavia ran forward, placing a hoof on Vinyl’s shoulder. “Vinyl, stop!” Vinyl stopped walking, her eyes still firmly set on the entrance. “What’d he do?” “Pardon?” asked Octavia. “What did he do to make you cry, Tavi? I’ve never seen anypony do that in all of the time that we’ve been friends, then you’re gone for a few hours, I come to walk you home, and you’re fucking crying!” Vinyl turned, lifting her shades up slightly, her bright red eyes boring right into Octavia. “What. Did. He. Do?” *** Timely Performance stood on stage, scowling at the world. His face hadn’t twitched in the slightest, his eyes burning angrily as he shoved his sheet music and his baton into their various cases. It was little wonder that the other musicians had evacuated the building Nothing had gone right, absolutely nothing! He had known that today was not going to be a good day. The 23rd. 23 was an unlucky number and the day was certainly living up to that standard. His coffee had burnt, his baton had chipped slightly, and now Nadermane’s work was lost somewhere! I knew, thought Timely Performance, I knew that he should have just sent me the music. But no, he had to send it through Melody. How stupid of him to trust a cellist over his conductor. The idiot! If he had just sent it straight to me, as I told him to, we wouldn’t even been having this problem! I swear, I’ll strangle her if she doesn’t get me that music. He sighed half-heartedly. Well, at least Horseshoepin can write a decent piece. The entrance to the concert hall burst open, a flood of sunshine temporarily blinding Timely Performance, shrouding the white mare in a layer of shadow. “Just who the hell do you think you are?!” shouted the mare. “W-What?” The conductor blinked a few times, the bright light making his eyes well with tears. The mare stalked closer. Timely Performance could have sworn that her eyes were nothing more than purple holes. “Is that your name?” barked the shadow. “What?!” “Is that all you can say, colt?! Just ‘What?’!” “WHAT?!” Vinyl lifted one of her hooves. “Say ‘What’ one more time, asshole! I dare you! I--” Octavia roughly shoved Vinyl out of the way. “I’m sorry, maestro,” she said hurriedly. “This is my roommate, she’s a bit touched in the head and has forgotten to take her medication.” “Let me go, Tavi! Let me go!” Timely Performance blinked away the last remnants of the blinding light. Two mares stood before him. Octavia hung around Vinyl’s neck, desperately trying to keep the unicorn from swinging her hoof down. “You’re lucky she’s holding me back, or I’d beat the shit out of you!” “Vinyl, for the love of all that’s good, stop talking!” “One versus one, bitch! I’ll wreck your shit! I’ll--” Octavia shoved a hoof in Vinyl’s mouth, turning back towards Timely Performance with a sheepish smile. “I’ll… I’ll just get going.” The conductor stared down at the mares, his mouth hanging slightly open. “Mademoiselle Melody?” “Y-Yes, maestro.” Timely Performance exploded. “GET OUT! GET OUT AND DON’T YOU DARE COME BACK!” Octavia nodded quickly. “Yes, maestro. I’m sorry, maestro.” “AND GET ME THAT MUSIC!” Vinyl wriggled her way out of Octavia’s grip. “How’s she supposed to do that without coming back, dumbass?!” “GET OUT!” *** “Tavi?” “...” “Tavi, I’m sorry.” “...” “I mean, it’s not the worst thing that I’ve done. Remember when I punched out that griffon for saying that you played a stick? That was worse.” “Vinyl,” said Octavia slowly, “that was my boss.” “... The griffon?” Octavia moved with lightning speed, snatching a pillow off of the sofa and beating Vinyl with it, the thud of a pillow on flesh punctuating each of her words. “Not the griffon! The stallion whose ‘shit’ you threatened to ‘wreck’!” Vinyl cringed under the assault. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m--OW, THAT WAS THE ZIPPER!” Octavia gave Vinyl one last smack for good measure, then threw her pillow aside, her breathing heavy, her eyes watering again. Silence fell on the room. “Tavi,” began Vinyl hesitantly, “I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do to fix this, I will.” “You didn’t fix anything,” spat Octavia. “You only made it worse. Just… just leave me alone, Vinyl.” The DJ seemed to wilt slightly. She nodded sadly, pushing herself onto her hooves and towards her room. She paused at the doorway, giving one last glance at Octavia before softly closing the door behind her. Octavia put her head in her hooves, taking a few shuddering breaths, then she climbed shakily to her hooves. She trotted quickly into her room, slamming the door shut and locking it with a few sharp movement. ]Her room was impeccably neat, everything in its proper place. Her bed stood in the middle of the room, a large closet dominating the wall across from the cellist which, when opened, would reveal a few dresses, even fewer shirts and skirts, and a grand amount of freshly pressed bowties, all perfectly organized and arranged. Perhaps the only thing in the room that suggested that anypony actually lived there and didn’t simply clean it was a desk, set in a corner of the room, directly under the window. The desk was a mess. Piles of broken quills sat beneath it, remnants of spilled ink sat atop the wood alongside cracked inkwells and balled up pieces of parchment. A fresh sheet sat in the middle of it all, groups of five thin lines running across the paper, waiting for blots of ink and dark slashes to be printed onto it. Octavia’s gaze fell on this desk, and another weight of failure dropped onto her already hefty load. What am I supposed to do tomorrow? Octavia dragged herself forward, flopping onto her bed. In the corner of her vision, she saw a piece of paper fall off of her bed. The cellist twitched, a familiar disquiet growing within her at the thought of a random piece of paper disturbing her room’s balance. She crawled towards the edge of her bed, plucking the piece of paper from the floor. To My Two Favorite Fillies. Octavia quickly scanned over the letters. She had known Harpo for years, yet they led such different lives. The composer had a map hanging in his home, a simple one consisting of only borders and names. Each time that Harpo got back from a trip, he’d take a marker in his hoof and color in all of the places that he had visited. That map had more colors on it than any Canterlot model had on their dresses. Which is to say that it is very, very colorful. But that only complicated things! If Harpo could sit still for long enough, Octavia could simply send a letter explaining what had happened. But no, Octavia could never tell where he’d be at any given moment. Send food and things to this address… I won’t be here for long, but I’m sure that it would get to me eventually. Octavia bolted upright. I won’t be here for long, but I’m sure that it would get to me eventually. The cellist vaulted off of her bed, rushing towards her messy desk and taking a quill in her hoof. She dipped the quill into the ink, poising it over the parchment. Eventually. A single drop of ink fell from the quill. Eventually. There was not enough time for eventually. Timely Performance was angrier than Octavia had ever seen. She was all but fired; she could not wait for eventually. She needed to act now. *** Knock knock knock. “... Tavi?” “Vinyl, do you really want to make it up to me?” “Y-Yeah! Of course! But what--Tavi, why do you have those bags?” “Pack quickly, Vinyl. There’s a train leaving to Manehattan in an hour that we can still catch. Then we can take a boat up towards Scoltland that takes us right into the town where Harpo sent his letter.” “Tavi… Are we going on an adventure?” “Well, I wouldn’t call it exactly that, but yes.” “Give me two minutes.” Author's Note I hope that Vinyl gets into more fights. I liked writing that.
Arrival“Hold me back, Tavi! Hold me back!” “Vinyl, for the love of all that’s good, stop talking!” “GET OUT! NOW! GET OUT AND DON’T COME BACK UNTIL YOU FIND THAT COMPOSER!” Octavia turned towards Timely Performance, nodding furiously and straining against her roommate, trying to push her back out through that door. “I can take him! Let me go! I’ll fuck him up!” “You just told me to hold you back!” “Do that too!” Octavia gave one last heaving shove, knocking both herself and Vinyl Scratch through the doorway. A flash of light. Vinyl and Octavia were falling, the wide expanse of Equestria miles and miles below them and the concert hall hovering high above their heads. Vinyl shouted something, but her voice was whipped upwards by the rushing winds. “What?!” shouted Octavia. “I can’t hear you! We’re falling through the sky!” Thud. Octavia and Vinyl sat across from each other in rather uncomfortable seats on a rather uncomfortable train at a rather uncomfortably late time of the night. The only other passengers in that car were an elderly couple, both of them snoozing comfortably against each other. Vinyl stared through the window, watching trees whip past in the murky darkness. Octavia blinked, her gaze snapping from place to place. “Vinyl?” “Yeah, Tavi?” “Isn’t there something… strange about this?” “How do ya mean?” Octavia knit her brow. “I’m… not entirely sure. Just a feeling, I suppose.” Vinyl shrugged, turning back to gaze through the window. Octavia sighed. “Vinyl, I’m sorry for dragging you along like this.” “Sorry?” asked Vinyl, her face twisted with confusion. “C’mon Tavi, this is gonna be awesome! Heading out of Canterlot in the middle of the night, grabbing a train, sailing out to Scoltland to find a lost page--” “Sheet music written by a friend.” “Whatever! It’s badass, Tavi!” Vinyl grinned brightly and turned back towards the scenery. “I’ve always wanted to see more of the world and now we are! Sweet.” Octavia gave a half-smile. “But you’ll be missing work, won’t you?” “Ah, screw that!” said Vinyl, with a dismissive wave of her hoof. “There are more important things than work.” A pause. Vinyl turned towards her roommate, a slightly embarrassed smile on her face. “Like you, Tavi.” Heat bloomed in Octavia’s cheeks. “That’s very sweet of you, Vinyl.” Vinyl leaned forward slightly, laying a hoof on Octavia’s foreleg, her glasses lifted onto her forehead to reveal her scarlet eyes. She was sitting next to Octavia now, though the cellist could not remember when Vinyl had moved. “I mean it, Tavi,” purred Vinyl. “You’re the most important thing to me right now. That’s why I was so pissed at Timely, that’s why I agreed to drop everything and follow you onto this boat and out into Scoltland.” Octavia hardly even noticed the train car melt away, replaced by the rocking boat’s cabin. There were two beds in the room, but both she and Vinyl sat on one. Octavia was pushed up against the bed’s headboard, nowhere to run as Vinyl slowly crawled forward, bright red eyes keeping Octavia in a trance. “Tavi,” said Vinyl softly. “I care about you. I would never let anything happen to you.” She was close now, so close that Octavia could feel the DJ’s breath on her lips. “Tavi, I lov--” Slap. Thud. “Ah! Son of a bitch!” Octavia sat upright in bed, her face flush, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. Vinyl was nowhere to be seen. “A dream,” she mumbled. “Just a dream.” “What the hell, Tavi?!” shouted a voice from somewhere on the floor. Vinyl climbed to her hooves, a scowl on her face. “Vinyl?” “No shit. Why did you knock me out of bed?” Octavia’s face reddened further. “Why were you in my bed?!” “Because there’s only one bed!” Vinyl gestured around the rather small room. A desk with a lamp, a closet, a chair off in the corner, but only one bed. The best they could get on such short notice. “Oh,” said Octavia sheepishly. “Yeah.” Vinyl climbed back onto the bed, noting with the smallest tinge of confusion that Octavia scooted away from her. “So, what were you dreaming of?” “Nothing!” said Octavia a bit too quickly. “Oh really?” Octavia nodded furiously. “Who did you punch?” “Nopony!” Vinyl leaned in a bit, noting the pink tinge that Octavia had taken. “Why are you so red?” “N-No reason!” “Tavi, you’re acting weird.” “I am not!” “Yeah, you kinda are. Here, let me feel your forehead.” “No! Stay back! Back I say!” *** Octavia and Vinyl stepped out onto the docks. The cellist fixed her bowtie slightly, shouldering her packs. Vinyl sported a brand new bruise. They stood in a town drawn right from a storybook. The building were made, or at least looked like they were made, of cobblestone, blue-black shingles adorning every building and the tops of trees just visible beyond the rooftops. It was a grey day and both Octavia and Vinyl shivered slightly in the cold, but the locals briskly walked through the roads without so much as a scarf to protect them. A green sign, just off to the side of the docks read “Welcome to Ayr.” “Ayr,” said Octavia. “We’re certainly in the right place.” “Right, so now what?” “Find Harpo. What was the address on that letter he sent us?” Vinyl’s magic flared around her horn, zipping open one of her bags and floating out the bit of brown parchment. “17 Saddle Road, Ayr, Ayrshire, Scoltland.” She glanced up and down the docks. “Alright, now we find Saddle Road.” “Right.” Neither of them moved. “Alright, let’s go Tavi.” “Yes, quite.” Neither of them moved. “Excuse me,” said a gruff voice in a decidedly Scoltish voice. “But you’re blockin’ the path. Plannin’ on movin’ anytime soon?” Octavia and Vinyl turned, finding themselves face to face with a rather large Earth Pony. The stallion was a dark green, his mane a golden-orange. “Pardon us,” said Octavia, stepping to the side. The stallion snorted in response, walking past them at a brisk pace. “Hey, Tavi,” said Vinyl, gathering their bags. “Come on, this is our chance.” She trotted forward, keeping pace with the stallion, leaving Octavia to catch up. “Hey, we’re looking for 17 Saddle Road. Any idea where it is?” The stallion raised one of his eyebrows. “And what business do you two mares have at 17 Saddle Road?” “We’re looking for a friend,” said Octavia. The stallion snorted again, then turned towards Vinyl. “17 Saddle Road is a tavern, lass. And it’s not the nicest tavern in Ayr. I don’t know much about your friend, seein’ as I haven’t been back home in a while, but I’d advise that ya start your search elsewhere.” He glanced over at Octavia. “‘Specially if ya have her walkin’ around with ya.” Octavia started in surprise. Vinyl knit her brow together. “What’s wrong with Tavi?” “Nothin’, I’m sure. But she’s nothing but Canterlot when she talks. Now, I’ve been around a bit more so I’m a fair bit more calm at the accent, but there are plenty around here who don’t feel the same.” Vinyl and Octavia exchanged glances. “If it’s too much,” began Vinyl, “I can go in there and get Harpo out. That way we won’t have to worry about anything.” The stallion nodded. “Not a bad plan.” “No,” said Octavia firmly. “This is my problem, and I plan on following through.” “That’s brave of you, lassie, it really is. Stupid, but brave.” “Hey!” Vinyl rounded on the stallion. “Nopony calls Tavi stupid!” The stallion held up his hooves. “You’re right. They’ll probably call her worse.” He stopped walking, placing a hoof on an entrance. “We’re here. Best walk in with me if you’re walking in, it may help a bit.” Without a warning, he pushed open the tavern’s door. Vinyl and Octavia hesitated just a moment, then followed him inside. It was, quite frankly, the epitome of taverns and bars, just as one would expect to find in a story about the Wild West. A band played off in the corner, quick, flighty tunes that seemed to propel the atmosphere towards a brawl. It wasn’t, given the rather early hour, the fullest of bars, but there were certainly quite a few ponies. “Mornin’ ya piss-drunk sack o’ cunts!” boomed the stallion. A dozen unfriendly eyes fixed onto the newcomer. “What? Has the drink killed so much of your brains that ya can’t even remember me?” Octavia leaned in worriedly towards Vinyl. “This was not a good idea. Why would Harpo come here?” “Tavi, it’s Harpo and this is a bar.” “Ah. Yes, that explains it perfectly.” The bar exploded. “Awrite, Bigyin Bevvy?!” “Gonna grab a bevvy Bevvy?!” “Where ya been, Bevvy?” “Too good to hang around, then?” The stallion, whose name was apparently Bigyin Bevvy, held up his hooves for silence. “Alright, alright. I’m back from business, and I met these two bairns outside. Say they’re lookin’ for a friend o’ theirs.” He and every other pony in the bar turned towards Octavia and Vinyl. Vinyl stepped forward, clearing her throat slightly. “Yeah. If he’s not here, then he was here some time in the last few days. We’ve got a picture if you need to see it, but his name is Harpo Parish Nadermane.” The ponies whispered amongst themselves at the name. They were not friendly whispers. “Aye,” said an older pony sitting at a card table. A stack of poker chips stood in front of him, balanced by the absence of chips held by anypony else at the table. The whispers stopped respectfully. “Parish was here. If yer lookin’ fer him, then you’re a bit late. But me an’ a few others, we got a bit of a debt to settle with Parish.” Vinyl glanced around nervously. “Right. Do, ummm… Do you know where he went?” “Aye. He talked about it quite a bit. And then he vanished with three bottles of whiskey and about 100 bits of debt to me and me boys here.” Vinyl giggled nervously. “Oh, that Harpo. Well, if you tell us where he is, we’ll be sure to yell at him and have him bring everything back.” The elder pony shook his head. “Nae, lass. As friends, his debts are yours.” “We’re not even really friends!” protested Vinyl. “He’s just like this guy we know!” “Celestia damn you, Harpo,” muttered Octavia. Bigyin stepped forward. “Now, Full House, I don’t think that they’re carrying around the means to repay somethin’ like that.” “That’s a shame,” said Full House. “Shouldn’t have come here lookin’ for him, then.” Vinyl glanced down at the table. Then up at the stallion. Then back down, then back up. “We’ll play you for it.” Full House blinked. “Begging yer pardon, lass?” “We’ll play you for it. A game of Tespur Hold ‘Em. We win, you ignore the debt and you tell us where Harpo went.” “Nae,” said the stallion with a shake of his head. “Ain’t no meanin’ to it. What am I supposed to be gettin’ off this deal?” “You win, we pay back double Harpo’s debt.” The room broke out into low whistles and murmurs of interest. A few ponies brought out their bit bags, betting on whether Full House would take the bet, whether the mares actually had a chance, and whether or not Bigyin would intervene. Bigyin Bevvy stepped forward. “Now hold on!” A few bits exchanged hooves. “Bevvy,” said Vinyl. “It’s alright. I think I know what I’m doin--Whoah!” Octavia wrapped a hoof around Vinyl’s neck, pulling her close and whispering into her ear. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? We can’t afford that, we won’t have enough money to get back home!” “It’ll be fine, Tavi. I know what I’m doing.” Vinyl grinned, a touch of megalomania showing in her pearly whites. “Alright,” came Full House’s voice. “I’m willing to work with ya. We’ll play a game. Each of us will start out with the hundred bits that your boy owes me and we’ll go on until one of us, probably you two, have nothin’ left. How’s that?” “And if we win,” said Vinyl, “you’ll forgive the debt and tell us where he went?” “On my honor.” Vinyl trotted over to the now vacated table, dropping heavily onto her seat before pulling one out for Octavia. The cellist sat down nervously. “I’ll be dealer,” said Full House. He took the deck in his hooves, expertly cutting and shuffling and bridging. While he did this, his friends painstakingly counted out the bits, dropping a huge pile of gold coins in front of Full House and two slightly smaller ones in front of Octavia and Vinyl. The cards slid across the table, a pair stopping in front of both Octavia and Vinyl. Three cards went into the center, all face down. Full House rested his hoof on one of them. “Ready?” he asked. Vinyl nodded. Octavia raised her hoof. For a few moments, every single face in that bar except Octavia’s was the same. A look of sheer and utter confusion had descended on Ayr. “Errr… yes, lass?” asked Full House. Octavia put her hoof back down. “How do we play this game?” Again, Ayr moved in perfect harmony. Every jaw dropped towards the floor. Bigyin Bevvy slapped a hoof over his eyes. “Poor, poor Canterlot. I cannae bear to watch.” Author's Note Gambling! Drinking! Stealing! Hurray!
MovementOctavia looked around the bar with a light, slightly confused smile. She glanced over Full House, the old stallion’s hooves meekly tapping one gold bit against another, her gaze coming to rest on Vinyl Scratch. “Last round, Tavi,” said Vinyl, wiping away an imagined tear. “You done good, filly.” Octavia smiled proudly. It was incredible, really. She had no idea what she was doing, had fumbled cards, could hardly even remember what combination beat out what, but she was carrying the match. A pile of bits had steadily grown in front of her, some of it from Full House, some of it from Vinyl, but all of it now belonged to Octavia. It was glorious. Full House grumbled incoherently. “Are we actually gonna get to playing anytime soon?” Vinyl turned with a cheeky grin. “Dish ‘em out.” Four cards slid across the table, each pair coming to a stop right in front of each mare. Full House slapped his own pair in front of him, with an audible crack. “Tavi,” said Vinyl, “you’re the little blind.” Octavia threw in a few bits. Full House grunted, then threw what little remained of his bits. “Tavi, you’re the little blind.” Octavia blinked, knitting her brow slightly and turning towards Vinyl. The scene changed, the pile of gold that had been sitting in front of Octavia evaporated, only to condense as perfectly stacked towers in front of a smug looking Full House. Vinyl had a respectable amount of bits. Probably a quarter of the entire pot. The cellist had exactly two bits. “C’mon, lass,” said Full House gruffly, “throw in what little ya have. I want my money back.” Octavia sighed. “Can I just give this to Vinyl?” Vinyl looked scandalized. “You can’t just give up like that!” But Full House simply shrugged. “Do what you want, lass. I’ll just be taking it all back in the end. And what your friend owes me.” Octavia took up her two final bits, offering them to Vinyl with a sheepish smile. “You’re the better gambler, Vinyl.” Vinyl huffed, snatching the bits and tossing them onto her pile. “This isn’t gambling.” Full House grinned. “That’s right. It’s a sure thing.” He tossed a few bits into the center of the table. Vinyl tossed in a few more. Full House flipped three cards onto the table. Another round of betting, Full House’s confident smirk never faltering and Vinyl’s own face kept perfectly blank. “Three of a kind,” said Vinyl, turning over her pair of cards. Full House’s grin widened slightly. “Straight.” He raked in the pot amidst cheers from the rest of the bar. “I wanna deal,” said Vinyl. The stallion raised a questioning brow. “And why’d you want to do that?” “I think you’re cheating.” The entire bar froze, each gaze burrowing straight into Vinyl Scratch. The DJ hardly even flinched. Full House leaned forward slightly. “That’s a very serious accusation here. I’m not a cheater.” “Then let me deal.” The stallion narrowed his eyes slightly. “Alright, you will. But if I think that you’re doing something, even for a moment, you’ll be paying double what that composer owes.” Vinyl nodded. “Deal.” Magic sprouted around her horn, the same aura surrounding the deck of cards. They floated into the air, where they quickly shuffled themselves before falling back to the table. “Ready?” asked the DJ. “Just play the cards,” said Full House. Octavia fussed with her bowtie, mentally counting the bits she had bothered to bring. And the game went on. Vinyl took a round, then Full House took one, then Vinyl took three and Full House took one. Then Full House took another. And another. The bits were split about equal, if a bit heavier on Full House’s side. “You know how to handle your cards,” said the stallion, throwing a few of his bits into the center. “I’ve played before.” “Ya ain’t got the talent that the composer did.” Vinyl gave a half-smile, flipping a fifth card onto the table. “Harpo’s got a bit more experience gambling.” Full House nodded. “Certainly seemed like it. Raise.” A few more bits went into a rather sizable rather of bits. “Call.” Vinyl tossed in the same amount, and flipped her cards. “Full House.” Full House smiled wanly. “Two pair. Ya ain’t much for a bluff, are you?” Vinyl laughed slightly, her horn flaring, the bits sliding towards her pile. “No, not really. Too many ponies around me are used to lying. But I think that I’m pretty easy to read too, right Tavi?” The DJ turned and winked, placing her shades back over her eyes. Octavia scowled in confusion. Vinyl never plays with her glasses on. That means… Octavia blinked. Oh, buck me with Celestia’s thick h-- Vinyl’s magic flared, pulling the pile of bits into a waiting bag just as a hoof lashed out, tipping the card table over and onto Full House. The stallion let out a cry that Octavia barely heard as Vinyl grabbed her hoof with a manic grin. “Run, Tavi!” called Vinyl, dragging Octavia past Bigyin Bevvy and the other shocked ponies of the bar. “Run for our lives!” The mares pushed their way out of the bar, barreling down the street without so much as a glance back. They could, however, hear the thunderous pounding of hooves on pavement behind them. “Vinyl!” shouted Octavia. “You’re gonna get us killed!” Vinyl was laughing, her words coming out in short, breathy bursts. “I know! It’s--”breath”--SO AWESOME!” One set of hooves rumbled closer and closer, getting closer and closer to the mares. “Who do you think that is?” asked Vinyl, not slowing her pace. “Ya damn fillies!” came Full House’s voice. “I ain’t lettin’ ya get away lie ‘e did!” “What did he say?” asked Vinyl, turning towards Octavia. “I DON’T KNOW!” The hooves were right behind them now. Octavia could have sworn that she Full House was physically breathing down her neck. “MOVE!” The cellist dove to the side, off of the main road and into an alley, a firm hoof dragging Vinyl with her. They hit the ground, sliding slightly, Vinyl landing on top of Octavia. Full House let out a frustrated cry as he barrelled past the alley, moving too quickly to stop himself. “Vinyl, get off of me!” said Octavia urgently. “We have to get going!” But Vinyl didn’t move. “You know, this is kind of hot.” Slap. “Still kinda hot.” Slap. Vinyl climbed off of Octavia, rubbing at her cheeks. “Good point. Being chased by a pony that wants to take our money.” Vinyl’s bit bag jingled happily. “Money which you stole.” “I won it, didn’t I?” A voice hissed out of a window. “Hey, you two! The mares!” Vinyl and Octavia turned quickly, ready to run. A griffon hung out of the window, light brown feathers seeming even brighter in the dingy alley. He waved a talon at them. “Come on, hurry up!” Octavia knit her brow in suspicion. “Why?” The griffon rolled his eyes. “Harpo’s friends, right? I’m trying to help you out, so just come on!” The stampede of hooves got closer and closer. Shouts from the crowd began to flood into the alley. “Or,” said the griffon, “you can stay out here and get tarred and feathered. Whatever.” Vinyl bounded forward, vaulting through the window in one smooth movement. Octavia gave one last glance at the alley’s entrance, then followed Vinyl over the threshold. The griffon rammed the window shut and drew the covers just as the group of ponies ran down the alley. The room was sparsely furnished, barren save for a well-worn couch and two equally battered plush chairs. A coffee table sat in the middle of the furnishings, covered in rings where cups once sat, the ground around it littered with plastic cups. “You know,” said the griffon, “Harpo didn’t even have that many ponies chasing after him. And he stole three bottles of whiskey. Good whiskey, too.” Vinyl collapsed onto one of the chairs, breathing hard. “Don’t suppose you have any of it?” The griffon smiled, walking into his kitchen and returning with a glass bottle and three glasses. “Just a bit left. Got through most of it two days ago.” He poured an inch into each glass. “‘Fraid that you’ll have to drink it straight, though.” Vinyl’s glass floated into the air. She tossed her head back, draining it in a single gulp. “That is good.” Octavia didn’t take the glass. “You’re the griffon,” she said. “The one from the photo Harpo sent us. ‘Claws are cheating’.” “Aye,” said the griffon, sipping at his drink. “Gerald. And you’re Octavia, and that one’s Vinyl. Harpo told me about you two.” The room lapsed into silence. Vinyl held her glass out. Gerald refilled it. “How do you know Harpo?” asked Octavia. “Showed up at my doorstep, asked me to show him Scoltish folk music, just like that.” Gerald laughed. “Hardly even got his name out before he started asking for stuff. But, I suppose that it’s my job.” He finished with a shrug. “Your job?” asked Vinyl. “Ethnomusicologist,” answered the griffon. “It’s a fancy word that means that I listen to a lot of old music.” “So does Tavi,” murmured Vinyl into her drink. Gerald smiled at the quip. Octavia let out a sigh. “I don’t suppose that you know where Harpo went?” Gerald finished his drink, then pushed himself off of the couch. “I do, actually. I helped him buy the ticket. That was the deal and all.” He walked over to a bookcase, deftly picking out a volume. “Deal?” asked Vinyl. “Aye.” Gerald thumbed through the book’s pages. “I play a few songs for Harpo, help him onto a ship to Macho Pinto and he pays me in whiskey.” Vinyl sat up excitedly. “Macho Pinto?!” Octavia’s eye flared. “You’re the reason why half the town’s chasing us?!” Gerald paused, glancing upwards briefly. “Mmmmm, nope. That’s still Harpo. He bought the whiskey, decided that it wasn’t enough, went back to the bar, cheated Full House out of his money, and stole three bottles.” He smiled brightly. “Then we drank everything and he left the next day. It was fun!” “I’m gonna kill him,” mumbled Octavia. “And then I’m going to go down into Tartarus, bring him back, and kill him again.” Gerald stared at the cellist in surprise. “Huh.” “What?” “Nothing. But, Harpo described you perfectly.” Vinyl let out a chortle of laughter. “You should see her when she’s angry.” Octavia lashed out, smartly rapping the back of Vinyl’s head. “I’m sure it’s a treat,” said Gerald with a smile. He stopped flipping through the pages of his book and pulled out a small folded square of paper. “This is a schedule,” he said, handing it to Octavia. “The circled ships go directly to Macho Pinto. I think that the soonest one leaves sometime tonight.” Octavia unfolded the paper. It was an old flyer, worn by the Sun, the letters faded. A few ships were circled in red marker and, yes, one was set for later that same evening, but what drew her attention was a note scrawled hastily in a corner in the same red marker. It was messy, hardly legible, and unmistakably Harpo’s writing. “Up the mountain,” read Octavia slowly. “Breathe… Table?” “Table?” asked Vinyl. “Table,” affirmed Octavia. The two mares turned towards Gerald, but the griffon just shrugged. “No idea,” he said. “Sorry, Harpo didn’t explain much. But the way he talked about it, he’s been around Equestria three times over.” Vinyl snorted. “Bragging again.” “Then he hasn’t?” “Nah, he probably has.” Gerald seemed mildly impressed. “What does he do?” “He does crazy things and gets paid for it,” said Vinyl. “A daredevil?” “A composer,” said Octavia. A pause. “Who travels the world?” “Yes,” said Octavia. “Crazy, right?” added Vinyl. Gerald’s eyes darted from mare to mare. “I don’t believe you.” “It’s true.” The griffon’s face scrunched slightly, trying to get the notion through his head. “Why? Is that what composers normally do?” For a brief moment, Vinyl and Octavia moved in perfect harmony. Their faces contorted into a semi-pitying look at the nonbeliever. Then their shoulders come up, followed quickly by their hooves as they shrugged at Gerald, who had met but hadn’t really met Harpo Parish Nadermane. “It’s Harpo,” they said in unison. Author's Note Hijacking a school computer to upload a chapter. At this point, my life seems to revolve around ponies.
Imagination“No, no, no!” The conductor waved his baton in the air, breaking off the music. “You all seem to be forgetting that I’m marking time here! Follow my tempo.” Timely Performance’s magic flared around his horn, a light purple aura flickering over his baton and carrying it upwards, swishing it through the air in time with the mauve unicorn’s words. “1-2-3-4-5-6-1-2-3-4-5-6! There! Is that better?” “Yes, maestro!” responded the orchestra in tandem. “Good.” He smiled in satisfaction. Timely Performance turned to his right, a smile on his face as he raised his baton over the cellos. “Once more, from the top. Mademoiselle Melody, on my cue.” The concert hall’s balconies filled with ponies, each of them covered from head to tail in black cloth, leaving only their eyes uncovered. They hid. For the most part. But they could not escape Octavia Melody’s practiced eyes. She watched them, careful not to attract too much attention to herself, keeping them only in the corner of her eye. For all the rest of the world, Octavia was merely a cellist, her instrument and bow poised, awaiting the conductor’s flourish. But she was so much more than that. One of the assassin ponies poked his head over the balcony railing, his eyes briefly but pointedly settling on Timely Performance before he ducked back into his hiding place. Target confirmed, thought Octavia, tightening the grip on her bow by the slightest amount, preparing herself for the assault. She didn’t know why they were there, but one thing was certain. They were after the composer. The assassins struck suddenly, moving in perfect tandem. They jumped from the balconies, some landing amid the crowd of musicians, aiming to prevent anypony from escaping, while a few let loose their throwing stars, gleaming silver that shone in the stage’s lights, nearly blinding Octavia. But she was the best, her talent honed from years of training with the monks on the very tip of Mount Lhorse. She dove out of her seat, knocking aside the stars with her bow. A single drop of poison flicked off of the weapon, landing on Octavia’s hoof, making her grit her teeth in pain. “Begone from here!” she shouted at her assailants. “This orchestra is under my protection! You will leave this place or you will suffer!” One of the assassins straightened slightly, those bright red eyes staring into Octavia’s own. The masked pony reached up and pulled down on the cloth, revealing a white muzzle. “Madame String,” said the assassin with Timely Performance’s voice, “would you be so kind as to bring Mademoiselle Melody into the land of the living?” Octavia blinked. The assassins dissolved, the leading white mare replaced by Timely Performance’s scowling visage. “Have you returned to us, Mademoiselle Melody?” asked the conductor testily. “Y-yes, maestro,” answered Octavia, her eyes blinking, the image of black-covered ponies still bright in her vision. “Where did you go this time? Just out of curiosity?” The orchestra rumbled with humorless chuckles. Octavia shifted her glance towards the stage’s wooden boards. “Nowhere, maestro. I was here.” “Well, it certainly didn’t seem like it.” “I’m sorry, maestro.” Timely Performance scoffed, his magic slightly brightening as his baton rose back into the air. “I don’t want apologies Mademoiselle Melody. I want you to play. On my cue.” “Yes, maestro.” Octavia straightened slightly, her hooves poised on her cello’s strings, her eyes fixed upon the baton, already counting out the rhythm in her head. I-2-3-4-5-6-1-2-3-4-5-6 The baton twitched downwards. *** Octavia packed away her cello, carefully stowing away her bow, placing her blocks of rosin into their compartment with a few practiced, fluid movements. She stretched out, trying to work the knots out of her back hooves. The hours she had spent balanced against her cello had done her no good. “Good practice, Octavia.” The cellist craned her neck over shoulder. A light blue mare stood behind her, her brown mane brushed back perfectly and a light smile on her lips. Octavia finished zipping up her case’s various pockets. “Good practice, Beauty.” “Are you going straight home today?” Octavia hoisted her cello, stumbling slightly under its weight. “Yeah. I should actually get going. The train leaves in a half hour.” “Oh. Well, I and a few others were planning on heading out to eat. Care to join us?” The cellist glanced around awkwardly, rubbing at her neck with a hoof. “I don’t think I can. I’ve… got a lot of things that I need to do. Like wash dishes and… stuff. So I can’t.” Beauty gave a few hesitant nods of understanding. “Alright. That’s fine. I’ll just go tell the others.” “I’m sorry.” “No, don’t worry about it!” She flashed a reassuring smile. “I mean, if you’re too busy, then you’re too busy! I’ll see you next practice, Octavia!” Beauty Brass turned, quickly walking back to her group of friends. Octavia raised a hoof in farewell, the motion making her cello slide into an uncomfortable position. She winced, rolling her shoulder, forcing her instrument back to its proper place. I should have said yes, she thought. What am I going to do at home? She looked over her shoulder. Beauty Brass and her group were chatting amongst themselves. They hadn’t left yet. There was still plenty of time, nothing was stopping her from trotting right up to them and asking whether she could still join them. Beauty Brass was a nice pony; she’d surely agree to it! It would just take a few words! *** Octavia pressed her head against the train’s window, a sigh fogging up the glass. The train was, as it normally was at this hour, almost completely empty. Octavia and her cello had taken up an entire bench, normally an unforgivable offence on a train, but an inconsequential detail when there was only one other pony in the entire cart. Octavia wiped off the fog with her hoof, watching Canterlot’s tall buildings whip past. “You’re pathetic,” she told her reflection. The reflection responded with a disappointed look. Then the face in the window shifted, growing slightly angry at Octavia’s accusation. “I’m pathetic?” asked the reflection. “Try looking in a mirror!” Octavia’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Alright, maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words, but you know what I mean!” The Octavia in the window leaned forward slightly. “You can’t go around blaming your reflection for all of your mistakes.” “Well, you certainly could have helped.” “What could I have done?” “I don’t know!” exclaimed Octavia, throwing up her hooves. “Something!” “Yeah,” said the reflection with a snort, “that would have worked.” Octavia scowled at her cheeky self. “You could have told me.” “Told you what?” “To go back and talk to Beauty.” The reflection rolled its purple eyes, extending its hoof and somehow managing to tap on the glass. “You seem to be forgetting that I’m not real, Miss Melody. Just a product of your hyperactive imagination. Besides, there were no mirrors around and you can’t have a reflection without mirrors, can you?” “This isn’t a mirror.” “It’s a glass pane with reflective qualities, it’s certainly close enough!” responded the other Octavia with a huff. “We wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you weren’t so pathetic.” “Where do you get off, calling me pathetic? If that isn’t just the rudest thing!” “Hello pot. I’m kettle. You’re pathetic.” Octavia scowled through the window, slightly unnerved by the sheer speed of her doppelganger's snark. “But you know,” said the reflection, now taking dainty nibbles from a sandwich, “this could have been entirely avoided.” “I know.” “Beauty is a very nice pony.” “I know.” “Would it kill you to make some friends?” Octavia rubbed at her eyes, fogging up the window with another sigh. “Honestly, I’m starting to sound like my mother.” Three high-pitched tones sounded from the train’s speakers. “The train is now approaching Aria Avenue. Please remain in your seats as the train slows to a complete stop. Please secure your belongings and exit the train in an orderly manner. Thank you for riding with us today.” Octavia placed a hoof on her cello case, throwing one last look at her reflection. The Octavia in the window stared back, but offered no more words. *** The entire building was throbbing. The windows shook in their sills, the wooden door trembled in its frame, a constant, rhythmic throbbing. Octavia placed a hoof on the doorknob, the vibrations quickly rattling through her leg and into her head. The throbbing picked up speed, growing faster and faster until Octavia could barely stay on her hooves. Then it surged, a powerful blast that shattered all of the windows and tore the doorknob off the of door, sending Octavia flying backwards. She twisted in the air, landing on her side rather than allow her cello to break her fall. “Damn!” shouted Octavia, diving into her cello case. “It’s back!” She drew out her cello, laying it on its side, and her bow, loosening it until the strings hung slack. Her bag of rosin blocks came next, hanging open from her teeth. A figure appeared in a second-floor window. It was pony-shaped, wearing a black suit of armor that covered the entire body, leaving only a short, two-toned blue mane and bright red eyes visible. The armor’s front seemed to be made of mesh, like the covering of a speaker. The throbbing sound emanated from the figure, seeming to shake the very air surrounding it. Octavia gritted her teeth against the horrid consortium of sound, reaching into one last pouch on her cello case and producing two small, bright orange earplugs. She shoved them into place, taking a moment to revel in the silence before glancing up towards the armored pony, her old foe. The Black Mare, Dub Trot. Octavia flicked her head upwards quickly, sending a single rosin block flying upwards. She caught it on the loosened bowstrings, drawing it back with her free hoof and sending it pelting towards Dub Trot’s masked face. Another block followed, then another. Dub Trot dodged them, her head weaving back and forth before propelling herself into the air with a blast of sound. Octavia turned in a tight circle, carefully dropping her bow and rosin blocks onto the cello case and taking up her cello by its neck. She kept turning, angling herself upwards and swinging with all of her might as Dub Trot came crashing down from above. Tap. Tap. Tap. “Ground Control to Major Tavi. Yo, is there anyone in there?” Vinyl tapped Octavia’s head again, making the cellist twitch comically. Octavia gazed back at her roommate with a flat expression. “Hello Vinyl.” Vinyl grinned brightly. “Hey Tavi. How was work?” Tap. Tap. Tap. “Fine.” Octavia waved Vinyl’s hoof away, quickly working her way past the other mare and into her home. Dubtrot blared from the speakers at an unholy level, the same welcome greeting that Octavia had gotten ever since she first moved in with Vinyl Scratch. As far as Octavia could tell, it was the exact same song as well. Though she used the term ‘song’ very loosely with Vinyl’s music. She also used the term ‘music’ very loosely when describing Vinyl’s music. Vinyl trotted back into the house proper, magically shutting and locking the front entrance and diving back onto her well-worn chair. “You gonna lock yourself in your room, Tavi?” “Yeah.” Octavia crossed the living room, pausing slightly before the door to her room. “Want me to turn down the volume?” “Please.” Vinyl’s magic flared, the same sheen appearing over the speakers, lowering the music to more tolerable levels. “That good?” “Yes. Thank you, Vinyl.” “No problem.” Vinyl settled deeper into her chair. “Oh! A few postcards and letters and stuff got here today. They’re on the kitchen table if you want to check them out.” Octavia hesitated for a moment, her hoof resting on her room’s doorknob, before turning into her small kitchen. As promised, a stack of papers sat on the kitchen table. A few were bills, congratulations on dedicatedly making her payments, those weren’t much of a problem and Octavia shoved them to the side, taking up a stack of square papers instead. The postcards always had the same format. A quickly scrawled message on the front and a photo on the back, depicting Harpo Parish Nadermane doing whatever had tickled his fancy. This one, from some remote village in Germaney, showed the purple composer at a bar, an amber drink in his hoof and a cheeky smile on his face. The message, scrawled in sloppy black ink, read “Wish you were beer!” Another had Harpo locked in a hoof/claw wrestling competition with a Griffon, the composer straining and beet red and the Griffon hardly breaking a sweat. “Claws are cheating.” And yet another, depicted Harpo in a beret, sitting on the edge of a cliff, watching the sunrise over a hamlet. The message was written in golden ink, a flowing, elegant affair.“C’est magnifique!” This pattern went on and on, each one depicting a new place and carrying a new message, but always including Harpo’s cock-sure, adventure seeking smile. Octavia gave a half-smile. Harpo had always talked about living this kind of life, seeing new places, meeting new people. Good for him. He was living the dream. Octavia shoved the postcards aside, reaching for the letter that Harpo had sent. This one had come from Scoltland. The corners were wrinkled, the ink slightly faded in places. Not illegible and not written on napkins, though, so it was certainly an improvement from Harpo’s normal correspondence. To My Two Favorite Fillies, It’s been a very interesting few days. It seems that I’ve slept on everything but a bed. Grass, hay, sod, futons, hardwood, carpet, but no beds! It’s done wonders on my back. In the same way that a sledgehammer does wonders on cement. Which is to say that my back is in terrible, terrible pain. And you should feel bad for me and send food and things to this address. Of course, I won’t be here for very long, but I’m sure that it would get to me eventually. Or not. Scoltish ponies have as much of an appetite as I do. I suppose that it’s supposed to make up for the lack of Canterlotian manners. Which I rather like! The last time I let out a burp, the other ponies in the bar actually stomped for me. I felt loved. In any case, I was able to listen to some serious Scoltish folk music here! I rather liked it, even if I couldn’t understand a single word (they were singing in Equish, but I got lost in their accents), and I’ve added a few revisions to that work I sent you. The maestro wanted it by the 23rd, so this should be the last time I’m able to change it, but I really think that this is my best work to date! With All Regards, Harpo The next page of the letter consisted of a hastily scrawled musical staff, a section of music clearly printed onto it. A few words in the corner read “Replaces measures 53-64.” Octavia turned over the letter in confusion. “The work he sent?” she asked herself. “Vinyl?” she called. “Yeah?” “Do you remember getting any music from Harpo?” A pause. “Like the new Daft Pony album?” “No, Vinyl. Sheet music.” “Noooooo. Why?” Octavia turned back to the letter. Maestro wanted it by the 23rd. My best work to date. Today was the 22nd. “Oh, horsefeathers.” Author's Note Inspired by The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, a spectacular recent movie that I would recommend to most anyone. Like, seriously, I've heard it called the new Forrest Gump, and it really is on that same league. WATCH IT! ERMAHGERD!
