Everything You Wanted

Rain fell softly on the streets of Manehatten, the gentle mist doing little to wash away the grime ingrained in its streets. Herds of ponies moved through its walkways, their bodies hidden beneath their impassive umbrellas, concealing the bright colors beneath. It was on these days, thought Octavia, that the city showed its true colors.

She sighed and turned from her balcony, stepping in before the rain could do more than dampen her coat. Within her apartment, there was little enough of note besides her prized cello, the space quite aptly summarizing her own life. With a sigh, she stopped by the bathroom to dry off before settling in for another practice session.

As she drew the first note, however, she stopped.

She loved the sound of her cello on a rainy day. The moisture brought a life to the notes she could feel in her soul, but today was not for her music. Today was for another tawdry party held by some wealthy socialite who would as soon listen to a yowling cat if they thought it was in vogue. Today was for showering tired pieces on deaf ears.

She took one glance at her sheet music and slowly pushed it closed. She shifted her grip and began to play, letting her heart guide her instead of her eyes. Note by note, a slow nocturne began to take shape, drifting through the dark corners of her soul. As she closed her eyes, she could see the city below, gray and uncaring. Countless ponies moved beneath black umbrellas, flowing in blind and soulless rivers, weathering the cleansing rains around them.

Such was Manehatten, a city of the deaf and dead.

As she opened her eyes, a lone shadow stood in sharp relief against her wall. “Be at ease,” he whispered, a pair of gleaming eyes fading into existence.

She almost threw something at the intruder, before the patent absurdity of the gesture struck her. Here was a creature that had entered her home without unlocking the door or breaking a window. If four solid walls couldn’t stop it, what good would a music stand do?

“Very well.” Octavia tightened her grip on the cello, but otherwise sat still. She had seen her share of strange things, even having played at the infamous “Gala of Harmony” as the debacle had come to be known. If she had learned one thing from her life, it was that sometimes one was simply a passenger. “I believe you have me at a disadvantage.”

“My name is Viscous. Forgive my intrusion, but your music was beautiful. It had a richness of longing I’ve not heard in ages.” He sighed, settling across from her upon one of her chairs. “You’ve lost your dreams, haven’t you?”

“Perhaps.” As she eyed Viscous, she thought about his words. She’d once dreamed of being a pioneer, of filling the concert halls of Equestria with a golden age of music. She was going to bring a renaissance to the classics, and revive the lost art of the orchestra. And now she played lawn parties for spoiled nobles. “Yes.”

“I thought so.” Those glowing eyes wandered about the room, settling on her books of symphonies as recognition flashed within them. “One artist can often recognize another, especially when it comes to the unique sensation of under-appreciation.”

“What manner of artist are you?” Part of Octavia reflected on the oddity of her current situation, but there was a sincerity to Viscous she couldn’t ignore.

“I work in dreams, lost ones specifically.” It let out a soft chuckle. “Funny, we build societies to fulfill our dreams, but in the end we rarely find a greater enemy to them. The walls that protect us so often trap us.”

“I suppose so.” She coughed. “I presume there’s a reason you’re here.”

“Yes. I said I worked in the art of dreams. I’d like to fulfill your dreams, or at least give you the power to do so yourself.” His eyes met hers, and the words hung in the air.

“Why?” She could have asked a million questions, but at the end of the day, it was only ‘why’ that mattered.

“I’m old. I’m quite old. I’ve watched millions perish unfulfilled, their lives devolved to little more than rote action. Living, breathing souls reduced to cogs and belts.” He shook his head. “It’s genocide of the soul, and inexcusable. Dreams aren’t just what make life worth living, they’re why we live at all.”

“Perhaps.” Octavia turned her head out the window, where the falling rain drew ripples across the glass. Even though the pure water, the city beyond was as gray and dingy as ever. “I dreamed of bringing beauty to the world once. Now I play parties for ponies who’d rather listen to the jangling of bits than the singing of strings.”

“I thought as much.” The shadow turned towards the window as well. “Do you still dream of bringing beauty to this world?”

“Yes,” decided Octavia. “Yes I do.”

Twilight muttered sullenly under her breath, her coruscating mane proving woefully attractive to ambient moisture. “There’s trouble in Manehatten, Twilight. You should go check it out, Twilight. Never mind it’s twelve degrees and raining, Twilight. Your hair won’t soak it all up and weigh half a ton in the driving wind, Twilight.” She managed a sharp huff, scowling as the hills and roads slid past beneath her. It wasn’t fair. Statistically speaking, she should have had at least another three days before a disaster.

When at last the city of Manehatten swam into view, Twilight only found her scowl deepening. Manehatten, so far as Twilight was concerned, was a lump of petrified excrement that couldn’t be bothered to show proper courtesy to a princess, much less a common pony. It was rude, boorish, noisy, and overpriced. It was a mystery what Rarity saw in the place to be sure. The streets even stank, Twilight noticed, as she angled towards a clump of police ponies surrounding the mayor.

“Princess Sparkle!” Declared Poll Numbers, the stately brown earth pony quickly straightening his tie. With a flawless jet mane, and a suit and tie to match, looked every bit the aspiring politician. Unfortunately, he acted the part as well, as he’d demonstrated when he’d pinned the ‘chocolate main’ incident on her. “I am honored you could come aid our fine city on such short notice!”

“My pleasure,” Twilight lied through her teeth. Honestly, there were days she considered simply ripping the choicest bits out of the city and hurling the rest into the bay. Maybe that’s what had happened already? She could only hope. “I live to serve the people of Equestria.”

“As do we all,.” Poll Numbers likewise lied, unless serving the public ponyfeathers counted. “We should make haste, lest the great ponies of Manehatten suffer further.”

Poll Numbers smoothed down his suit, and led the way further into the city, making sure the cameras caught his good side as he did. As he led, the procession passed parked police wagons and hastily erected barricades, their edges lined with worried crowds and the policeponies trying to control them. At the sight of Twilight, a few cheers erupted, quickly turning into a tide of applause.

“Oh, so now you recognize a princess.” Twilight grumbled.

“Did you say something?” Poll asked, but Twilight merely shook her head and grunted. “Very well. It all began a few hours ago. We would have tried to act ourselves but…well we’re not sure exactly what is actually happening.”

“So what is it? Ponies disappearing? Talking murals? Give me something to…” She trailed off as they rounded the corner.

Ahead, it was as though somepony had spliced another city straight into Manehatten. One moment it was brick and asphalt, the next it might as well have been the surface of the moon. Gone were the drab brick towers, stained with decades of soot and grime. In their place rose dark high-rises, their facades presenting a provocative cityscape of shadow and light. Art deco and gothic undertones intermingled, bringing a sense of age and class, while subtly colored lighting lent it all the youthful energy of a city in its prime. Beneath it all, soft strings of music drifted on the wind, completing the transformation of Manehatten into something beautiful. The sight took her breath away.

“It was like this when I got here.” Poll offered lamely, the constant fussing with his tie showing just how out of his depth he was. “I’m told that one moment, everything was normal, then suddenly: this.”

“Wait.” Twilight cocked an eyebrow. “This is it? Your city changes, improves even. And what do you do? You get all up in a tizzy and start calling down princesses?”

“Half our city, over a hundred years of history, was just obliterated! We’ve lost an immeasurable cultural heritage!” It was impossible to tell if Poll was legitimately concerned or just covering his own rump.

“And how many ponies were hurt?” She held up a hoof to forestall his response. “Actually injured, I mean, so don’t try that property damage horseapples.” Twilight asked, her words bringing a sudden, awkward silence.

“Well, uh, that is…” Suddenly, Poll’s rancor disappeared. “None, exactly.”

“Fantastic. I’m busy trying to prevent Ponyville’s economic collapse, and you call me over to play interior decorator.” She sighed and scrubbed her face with a hoof. “Fine, I’ll take a look and see if I can’t fix it, since I’m here anyway.”

“That would be appreciated,” Poll said awkwardly.

“I’m sure it would.” With that, Twilight made her way into the new city.

Sweetie Belle was having an interesting day to say the least. While she hadn’t exactly been looking forward to the Manehatten leg of her debut tour, she had been looking forward to the sights and landmarks of the historic city. She’d even been hoping, maybe, to run into Scootaloo, even though she wouldn’t have long in the city.

What she hadn’t been prepared for was whatever had decided to happen.

“Hello? Anypony?” She wandered through the empty halls, disoriented by the remodeled interiors. “Anypony at all?”

The last thing she remembered, she’d been sneaking off to the studio for some shut eye. Between her producer, her handler, and her fans, Sweetie was getting increasingly sick of being good at singing. She’d expected to maybe make it to the small time, maybe joining a modest band and seeing Equestria on tour. What she hadn’t bet on was breaking records on her first album and becoming part of a hit new group. A part of her wished Sweetie and the Silver Belles had just stayed forgotten.

Of course, when she woke up, it was to find that her studio had transformed. It was still her studio, with the same equipment in the same positions down to her half-finished bottle of water, but the architecture had changed completely. Every surface radiated a lush character that made the old building, landmark that it had been, look like a concrete bunker.

Even her dress had changed into a gorgeous yellow silk affair that went stunningly with her gilt surroundings, to the point where she found herself stopped by a window to admire her own reflection. Between her curly mane and elegant frame, she'd quickly become the poster mare for the Silver Belles, with looks that filled the seats as much as her songs. Some even whispered that, between her and her sister, she was the prettier mare. Of course, all such whispers were quickly drowned out by the grinding of Rarity's teeth and Sweetie's own polite giggling.

As she walked through the halls, something caught her ear. It was a tune, though this far away she couldn’t pick out the nature of it. It didn’t quite sound like anything she’d ever heard, however, and she found her hooves beginning to lead the way of their own accord. Slowly, she began to make her way to the stairs, following them up and up into the tower.

From the signs along the way, she quickly guessed that she was heading towards the main concert hall. With each step she took, the music grew louder, more enchanting. Somehow, she could tell that the music and the changes were related. Just listening, she could feel the music fit the decor flawlessly, as though it had shaped the walls itself.

At long last, she found the door to the concert hall, letting the song wash over her as she pushed it open. There, before her, the entire set sprawled out in all its new and glorious splendor. At its center, a lone gray mare played upon a cello of light, its soft blue glow accenting the golds and reds of the new architecture. Before the mare, in the seats, a shadow flickered of its own accord, hanging there in the open air.

For a moment, Sweetie felt panic rise in her chest at the wavering form hanging there, but as she watched a realization slowly dawned on her. It was simply listening to the music same as she was, and some part of her rebelled against interrupting the glorious notes with something so crass as a scream. She felt the urge to panic return as it turned its glowing eyes on her, but after a moment it simply turned away again. Producing a limb from its inky darkness, it waved her over politely. Still uncertain, but soothed by the music, Sweetie found her way to the seat beside it.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the shadow whispered.

“Yes, it is,” Sweetie had to admit. “What, uhm... what’s going on right now?”

“Octavia up there is chasing her dream.” The shadow nodded at the mare on stage, watching rapt as she continued to play.

“What do you mean?” It felt uncouth to speak during such a beautiful performance, but her curiosity was simply too much to bear.

“Octavia was frustrated with the world. She dreamed of bringing beauty to it, only to find that the world didn’t care. So I gave her the power to make it care.” The shadow smiled as it spoke, clearly pleased with the outcome.

“So you did this?” Sweetie asked, the shadow shaking its head.

“No, I gave her the power to do this. Do you see the cello and bow she has?” He pointed a limb at the instrument in question.

“They’re beautiful.” They were. This close, she decided they were more like crystal than light, but the comparison wasn’t perfect. They didn’t shine or reflect, they simply glowed. This close, she could see they were inlaid with gold and lighter blue, wrought in oddly mechanical patterns. “Are they magical?”

“Sort of. I stole the idea from something I saw once, a brush of sorts, if you will.” He grinned. “I’m usually not one for stealing ideas, but in Octavia’s case, the harmony of the concepts was too much to ignore.”

“So it lets her change the world with her music?” Took a second look at the cello, further awed by it.

“To a degree. Certainly enough for her purposes.” He glanced at Sweetie, his smile gentler this time. “You approve?”

“Of course, it’s gorgeous!” And it was. “But, where did all the other ponies go?”

“Eh, reality starts spontaneously reshaping itself, some ponies are bound to flee.” He glanced around. “Maybe most of them.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” She glanced at the shadow. “Nopony was hurt, were they?”

“Probably not.” He shrugged. “Not by the changes certainly. I can’t vouch for their panic.”

“I see.” She turned back the performance. No matter how long it went on, each note proved as captivating as the last. As she listened however, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the melody was missing something.

“You’re an artist too, I take it.” When she glanced at the shadow, he smirked. “It’s obvious from the expression on your face.”

“Yeah, I just sing though, and I’m nowhere near as good as she is.” Sweetie felt a blush come to her cheeks. She didn’t even rate in the same league as Octavia, if the current performance was any indication.

“Is it your dream though, to sing?” Suddenly, he seemed all the more interested in her answer.

“Yes, it is. I didn’t want to be famous or anything, I just wanted to sing.” Her mind flashed back to those first days, feeling her voice fill the tiny space of her basement, letting it resonate around her.

“Here.” She glanced at the shadow as something bumped her side. It looked like a sword, but its colors and make matched those of Octavia’s cello. In its center was embedded a spherical red gem. “I think you’ll get just as much out of this as she would.”

“Is this…?” She took it hesitantly, her eyes flicking between Octavia and the blade.

“It’s actually closer to the original than Octavia’s is. The transistor was never really intended to be an instrument in the classic sense of the term, but you’re a singer, aren’t you?” He chuckled. “You don’t need an instrument in the traditional sense. Though if you prop it on the end it stands in well enough for a microphone.”

“I... why?” Sweetie Belle looked back up to him. “Why just give this to me?”

“Because I think that everypony, everybody, deserves to chase their dreams. It’s why we’re here at all, to have dreams and to chase them, but life and society do their best to get in the way sometimes.” He chuckled. “All I do is make it my business to level the playing field.”

“But, you’re just giving this to me? For free?” She stared at the blade in disbelief.

“Last I checked, charity wasn’t for profit.” He snorted. “Well, not traditionally. There are times.”

“Well, I—” Whatever else Sweetie Belle was going to say was lost as the door to the concert hall opened with an ominous click. Moving faster than the eye could follow, the Shadow knocked her off her seat and held her below the tops of the chairs. Motioning for her to keep quiet, he let her manage a peek at the newcomer.

It was none other than Twilight Sparkle.

The source of the disturbance hadn’t been hard to puzzle out. The way the notes reached her ears on the open air told her instantly that it was more than simple acoustics behind it. It wasn’t long before she pinned it down as coming from the Manehatten arts institute. She barely even had to look at the signs as the music led her straight to the concert hall.

When she arrived, it was to find the hall empty except for a lone mare playing atop the stage. Though her charcoal grey fur rang a bell in Twilight’s mind, she couldn’t put a name to the face. Then again, she didn’t exactly have to.

“Is this your doing?” Her words cut the melody short, leaving the charcoal mare to lower her bow from the cello. It was then that her name came to Twilight: Octavia. A cellist of some repute maybe a decade ago, prior to the first Grand Galloping Gala Twilight and her friends had attended. Unbidden, a pang of guilt streaked across Twilight’s conscience.

“Yes, it is.” Her purple eyes met Twilight’s, proud and even defiant. They both knew why she’d come here.

“I need you to put it back the way it was.” Perhaps Twilight could have reasoned it out, and engaged in a long and convoluted plan to bring this all to a close without any hurt feelings, but such time was a luxury the Princess of Magic simply didn’t have. “Now, please.”

“No.” Was all Octavia replied, before settling back to her song.

“I don’t have time for this.” Twilight muttered. Ten long years of being a princess, and it felt like every week she was dealing with some fresh brand of megalomaniac. “Please, just put the cello down, and we can talk about this.”

“No,” Octavia repeated, not even bothering to look up.

Twilight slowly rubbed her temples. Of course she had nothing better to do than talk down another psycho with an artifact. Never mind that she was expected to do paperwork and public appearances on top of stopping every deranged attempt to change the face of Equestria. It wasn’t as though she had a town of her own depending on her.

“Please, can we just sit down and talk about this for once?” Slowly, she felt a migraine building behind her eyes. She cast a spell and checked the time. 4:37 PM. It occurred to her that she’d likely be up until 4:37 AM filling out the budget requests she would normally be finishing right now.

“If this were something that could be solved with talk, we wouldn’t be here, now would we?” Octavia commented icily.

“...you make an excellent point.”  Without further ado, she simply seized the cello and bow and tried to yank them out of Octavia’s grasp.

What happened next proved difficult to describe. One moment, Octavia was there, the next, Twilight found herself on an express trip into the ceiling. With the cracking of plaster, her horn sank deep and stuck her fast, leaving her to flail helplessly above a cold eyed Octavia.

“I said no.” With that, she marched back onto the stage, and resumed her song as though nothing had happened.

“And I said,” Twilight growled, teleporting herself free to stand directly in front of Octavia. “Stop.”

Slowly, Octavia lowered her bow, and the music faded to silence.

“Make me.”

“What’s going on?” Sweetie wailed as soon as they’d escaped the hall, an ominously bass rumble lurching through the building.

“Just what I’d expected. The power to chase one’s dreams means the power to fight for them as well.” His head flicked side to side, and he started towards the stairs, leaving Sweetie to chase after him.

“Wait, is she fighting Twilight?” Sweetie Belle grabbed him in her magic, becoming briefly surprised when it actually worked, and tried to drag him back. “She can’t fight Twilight! Twilight’s my friend!”

“And Twilight is attempting to reign in the behavior of a chronically under-appreciated musician. Both of them are getting exactly what they asked for.” A tentacle snaked from his form and wrapped around a distant door handle, starting to winch him against Sweetie’s grip. “Now, seeing as neither of us picked a fight, I’m all for leaving.”

“You’re just gonna leave? After you started this?” Sweetie Belle huffed angrily, giving another haul on her magic.

“I started nothing, I merely gave Octavia the chance to act out what was in her heart. If she wants to rewrite Manehatten from the ground up, that’s her business, and she has every right to it.” He hauled harder in his own right, the handle beginning to creak.

“You can’t just go giving out power like that, then saying it’s somepony else’s problem!” Sweetie pulled as hard as she could, but her hooves began to slide against the polished marble floors.

“But it is somepony else’s problem! It’s always been a problem!” Just as he was winning, the door’s bolt snapped, causing the shadow to lurch back and crash right into Sweetie. “All I did was give Octavia a chance to resolve a problem that had plagued her. If the good princess over there feels like she shouldn’t have that chance, then that’s between them, and they can solve it the old fashioned way.”

“They’re fighting you maniac! They could get hurt!” As she disentangled herself, Sweetie flared her horn, but the shadow slipped through her grasp. “How could you let ponies get hurt?”

“They were already hurting, don’t you get it?” As soon as he was safely through the door, he rounded on Sweetie, glaring back over the distance. “Octavia could have stopped, Twilight could have stopped, but they chose to fight instead. However badly they might get hurt fighting, it would hurt them more to give up.” There was another rumble, and dust drifted from the ceiling. “Can we please hurry this up? I’d rather not argue philosophy with a pancake.”

“I—” Sweetie yelped as a chunk of masonry nearly brained her, shattering against the ground. “Okay, fine!”

The two of them made a mad dash for the stairs, only to find the lower flights collapsed already from the strain. With no other option, the two continued up, higher and higher through the crumbling structure. By the time they reached the roof, the entire building had begun to sway, the no doubt destroyed concert hall below being something of a structural weak point.

“What do we do now?!” Sweetie shouted, trying to keep to her hooves as the building lurched.

“Okay, it looks like the building is swaying pretty badly. With any luck the side foundations will give out first, and we can jump from the roof into an adjacent building as this one falls into it.” He glanced back at Sweetie, registering her distinctly unimpressed look. “Well? You got a better idea?”

“Yeah, how about we fly?” She thrust a hoof up, where a distinctly purple and orange blur was slicing a shockwave through the rain. “Is that Scoo—” The sonic boom washed over them, sweeping away her words.

“Sweetie!” Scootaloo shouted, immediately tackling her friend in a hug. A dry cough later, and she turned to the shadow. “Oh, right, hey Viscous.”

“Good to see those wings working out for you,” Viscous said as the building lurched again. “Mind helping us not die?”

“Scootaloo at your serv—” With a thunderclap and the scream of tortured metal, the building finally collapsed.

Rain fell softly on the streets of Manehatten. Beside her, Octavia could make out the sound of coughing and shifting rubble. All around her, the remains of the Manhatten Arts Center lay strewn about, a visual allegory of her own hopes. One particular chunk rested firmly on her thighs, pinning her beneath its weight. The cello and bow were gone, shattered before they faded to nothing.

“Why?” She turned her head to meet the gaze of the princess above her. Though cuts and burns covered the alicorn’s body, her eyes spoke of greater wounds to her heart.. “Why did you attack me?”

“I was sick of it,” Octavia said, as much to Twilight as herself. “I spent years learning, practicing, and for what? A grey drab world filled with gray drab ponies who couldn’t care less.”

“You can’t just go around changing cities and attacking ponies because you don’t feel appreciated!” Twilight huffed, a few tears of frustration mingling with the rain. Whether they were for herself or Octavia, it was impossible to say.

“It’s funny, now that I think about it.” Octavia coughed, the hot taste of iron on her tongue. “We always talk about what you can’t do. You can’t just do this. You can’t just do that. Nopony ever says you shouldn’t they just say you can’t. But what if I can?” She met Twilight’s eyes. “Should I?”

Twilight hesitated. “No, no you shouldn’t.”

The world began to fade, darkness filling the edges of Octavia’s vision. Somewhere distant, she could hear the sirens of an ambulance. Before she lost consciousness, however, one final question drifted to mind.

“Why?”

“You’re telling me you made a deal with this maniac?!” Sweetie Belle’s voice had been occasionally known to shatter glass. After taking up a career in singing, it felt like it was pushing the point of bones. That nothing in Viscous’ apartment-turned-temple broke was a testament to it’s construction, as well as the fact that there was nothing in it to break. “What were you thinking?!”

“Sweetie, I just, look, I…” Scootaloo grunted, then glared at Viscous. “Little help here?”

“Will you lay off about the fight?” Viscous groaned. “She didn’t even die.”

“She could have! Who do you think you are?” Sweetie thrust herself into Viscous’s face, the force of her voice causing him to waver slightly.

“Who do you think you are?!” Viscous shot back, his voice finally slipping towards a snarl. “I get it, you all live in happy go lucky cages munching your feed bags and hoofing the line. Maybe that’s convenient for you, but what about Octavia? She could have given up her gift. There’s no binding contract on that. But she didn’t, she made her call.”

“You can’t just shrug it off like that! You started this!” Sweetie Belle stomped off in a huff, only to stomp right back. “If you’d never bothered her, none of this would have happened!”

“And that’s a good thing?” he asked, his voice softer.

“Yeah!” she replied.

“So I never should have given her that choice?” It was clear from his tone that the question was a trap, and Sweetie suddenly hesitated to answer.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” As soon as she said the words, there was a blur of motion, and she found her jaws sealed into a heavy metal muzzle.

“Then in that case, you shouldn’t get to choose to argue with me.” He snickered as she started to flail against the muzzle, struggling at it.

“Hey!” Scootaloo shouted, finally involving herself. “Get that thing off her!”

“Just trying to prove a point, but fine.” He reached over to undo the muzzle, but paused to look into Sweetie Belle’s glaring eyes. “All I’m doing for you is letting you make your own choices, and your own mistakes, same as Octavia. Like me, hate me, but from this day forward, I want you to look around yourself. Look around yourself and tell me that everypony hasn’t been muzzled. Be it by weakness or luck or circumstance, you’ve all been muzzled, and that’s what I’m fighting against.” He unlatched the muzzle, withdrawing it back into the void that was himself. “Maybe you get hurt, but at least you get hurt being you.”

“Keep your stupid sword.” Sweetie growled, chucking the blade at him, only to have it tumble along the floor.

“No, you keep it.” He tossed it back so it barred the door. “You want to prove me right, you take that sword and don’t use it, but I won’t have you running around without the choice.”

“Fine.” She snatched up the sword, and stormed out.

For a moment, Scootaloo and Viscous sat there in silence.

“I should probably…” Scootaloo trailed off.

“What do you think of all this?” Viscous asked.

“I don’t know. Sweetie’s got a point, but…” Scootalo shrugged.

“So do I?” Viscous asked, a note of hope in his voice.

“Yeah, kinda. I don’t know.” She sighed. “I have a lot to think about.”

“We usually do, we just forget to think about it.” Viscous offered her a limb to shake. “I’ll talk to you later. And make sure Sweetie doesn’t throw away that sword. Seriously, that thing can be dangerous in the wrong hooves.”

“Yeah, alright.” With that, Scootaloo followed Sweetie out the door.