Fortississimo

by Akumokagetsu

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Sad, Octavia
Length: 1141

Octavia slips deeper into a crippling depression that prevents her from playing.

The music industry is a bleak, dark place.
For Octavia, it's something that she was accustomed to for her entire life; but when she begins experiencing difficulties playing because of extreme stress, Octavia begins slipping further and further away from social life, her music, and even her very own talent.
But Octavia can still hear the music, even when she isn't playing.

She hears it like nopony else does.

Published 2014-01-27 15:40:04 UTC
Last updated 2014-01-27 15:40:04 UTC

The Sound Of Perfection

0-0-0-0-0

“No. Try again.”

Octavia hated those words.

She silently steeled her jaw, not even flaring her nostrils. Her face remained as blank as a sheet of paper. In contrast, the sheets before her were practically littered with notes that insisted upon being played as emotionally as possible, crying out with mournful pleas to an audience that wasn’t there.

The chill of the empty amphitheater wafted over her, lifting her hairs a little when it did so. The single light dangling over the stage when not in use for concerts always made her feel like an animal on display, but Octavia pushed such thoughts from her mind to focus on her music. She again felt silly for needing to remind herself that she was not quite as alone as she felt; just outside of the little circle of luminescence were at least five other ponies, each finished or awaiting their own verdict from the conductor.

“Yes, Mister Bourreau,” Octavia nodded lowly, eyes never leaving her expansive notes on the thin wooden pedestal before her. Bourreau de Musique, the tan colored coordinator with a gnarled moustache, ruffled his thinning blue mane in agitation and once more lifted his slim baton. Perfectly in time, Octavia began.

For Octavia, it was never as simple as ‘playing the music’.

No. For Octavia, music was not something to simply be listened to.

For Octavia, music was an experience.

The low thrum of a steadily rising moan rose from her cello, guided elegantly by her hooves as it drifted into the air. The loving strokes she caressed the instrument with instigated even louder and faster notes that cried in a rhythmic lament. Octavia could feel almost as if her heartbeat were attempting to match her tempo, and she swung into the crescendo with confidence to release a quivering, high pitched but frail scream from her cello, like a bird reaching for its mother.

SLAM!

Octavia jumped, dropping her bow to the floor with a clatter.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong!” de Musique belted angrily at her. “This is the third time, mare!”

“I-I apologize,” Octavia cleared her throat, sweat beading uncomfortably as she snatched up her bow and carefully applied rosin, even though it seemed to be useless to do so. “I don’t know which note I missed-”

“You didn’t,” Bourreau shook his head, and sighed with a half growl into his hooves before wiping his face. “You can’t keep a damned tempo.”

“Sir,” Octavia eyed the miniature metronome that he kept facing her stool, as all others used. “I am quite certain that I had the proper rhythm-”

Octavia didn’t manage to dodge the conductor’s baton, which slapped viciously across her hoof. She yelped automatically in pain, the stinging making her lurch backwards and nearly fell of her stool.

“Idiot!” de Musique screamed, throwing her sheets of paper to the floor, his red face uncomfortably close to her own as she strained to both keep a straight back to face him and refrain from tipping over. “Crétin, stupide!” he bellowed, hot garlic breath assaulting Octavia’s nostrils. “If you refuse to display competence, then get out, mare!”

Octavia bit back a reply, not daring to wipe her face, although she was strongly tempted to. Bourreau slowly backed away, and she took her opportunity to hastily scrabble for her music sheets. Her eyes stinging slightly, Octavia held her breath and once more began to play.

She began carefully, with pinpoint accuracy and determination; regardless of her conductor’s lowly boiling rage, Octavia would not be called a failure. Bourreau de Musique was similar to many of her other conductors that she had been directed to in the past – he certainly wasn’t the worst of them, but he was still very unpleasant.

For Octavia, it was never as simple as playing the music.

For Octavia, the difficulty was increased substantially, as she also had to contend with an even greater threat than failure.

Stallions.

It didn’t matter whether or not Octavia could play flawlessly – for every ten musical pieces that she perfectly memorized and played beautifully, a single stallion rushing through one piece was still considered of greater worth than she was.

It was infuriating in the extreme, and a constant sense of pressure on her to improve.

She would show them.

Just as she had promised her parents, she would show them all.

Octavia coaxed the cello into a pleasant rhythm, the humming beat of her song rising once again into the air for all to hear. She knew the song well; better than anypony else did, she was certain. Days upon days of practice, night after night of sitting in empty rooms much akin to the current one, Octavia burrowed the songs into her mind so that she would never forget. Most of them she could still play without sheets or guidance, and she slowly began rebuilding her structure of confidence as the music swelled.

Octavia’s song was one of passion, and her hooves tenderly embracing the cello as each note swam in immaculate cadence with its brethren, a breathtaking single mare symphony that made the dingy bulb hanging above her silently transform into the spotlight with which she was accustomed.

And, for a bare moment, Octavia was no longer alone on an empty stage with nopony to turn to – Octavia was alone on an empty stage, and rightly deserved the spotlight because she had earned it. The music in her ears sang in brilliant concordance with the cheering audience begging for more in her mind, each and every note pulled with fervor and grace from her tree of melody.

She allowed herself a small smile as she finished at last, a testament to her endurance and willpower to achieve perfection.

Octavia’s wooden stand was violently kicked to the floor, her music sheets falling through the air as swiftly as the smile left her face.

“WRONG!” de Musique shouted, jamming a hoof toward the door. “Out! Out, incompétent!”

Octavia bit her tongue for fear of being struck again, and grabbed as many of her notes as she could before coldly stalking up the isles and toward the thick double doors.

She would show them.

Regardless of the hot tears blurring her vision that she swore she didn’t have anymore.

She would show them all.

0-0-0-0-0

Author's Note

From someone who has been on the inside, there is an enormous amount of sexism in the music industry.
It really isn't publicized all that often, and so you usually never hear of it. That doesn't mean that it isn't still happening, though. On top of that, there's also the rampant drug abuse that musicians tend to suffer from just to endure the extreme duress of flawless performance, as a single mistake can ruin their career.

So, yeah. The music industry kinda sucks.