Room 213

Chapters

Prologue
Chapter 1: Wake-Up Call
Chapter 2: Thorn in My Side
Chapter 3: Collections
Chapter 4: To Tartarus With Them
Chapter 5: Escape
Chapter 6: Music
Chapter 7: Night
Chapter 9: Questions
Chapter 8: They're Coming

Prologue

The evening’s festivities were coming to a close. The patrons of the latest Canterlot garden party had all left. The other waiters had clocked out. The band had all put up their instruments and gone... except for one. You flap your wings once and carefully glide over to the single musician still at the stage.

“Hello, Miss Octavia,” you say.

“Good evening,” she replies. The gray mare with a coal black mane continues putting her prized cello in her case.

Octavia Philharmonica. The cello player of the most renowned orchestral quartet in Equestria. Also one of the reasons you look forward to your job overseeing such garden parties like the ones she would play. Or rather, you look forward to when they conclude so you two may chat.

The other waiters who worked with you swore to never bother the band. They said that they caused somepony to lose their job by asking if he could help them. Because of this, when you first started, you were afraid of them.

However, as you gathered experience with your job, you began to see certain signs signalling that somepony was hungry or in need of a drink. One night, you saw such signs on the lovely cello player as her band concluded playing. Licking lips, occasional swallowing, all pointing to a mare who needed refreshment. You were already off the clock, but deciding to take a chance, you walked over and asked if she needed anything. She was surprisingly delighted by your offer.

The two of you had what would be the first of many chats after a formal gathering. She commented how none of the other waiters would serve them ever since the last incredibly rude one. You asked about this particular waiter and found that he had been rather insulting so they put in a complaint. He had many complaints against him already, so this was the final straw before he was fired. You tell Octavia about how the story was spun and you both laughed about it. Many gatherings from then had you and Octavia in pleasant conversation after the band had finished.

Which brings you to right now. “So, I liked that little improvisation in the third song,” you tease. You had heard enough classical music in your time waiting these types of parties to know when somepony might mess up. You caught her stumble a bit, but she picked it up beautifully so that anypony listening would have never guessed she made a mistake.

She closes her case with a little more force than normal.

“I-I’m sorry...” you stammer, seeing Octavia’s clearly not in the best of moods.

She sighs. “No... that was a little thoughtless of me.”

“Something wrong?” you ask.

“Just... little annoyances. That’s all.” She sits up, facing towards you.

“Care to share?”

“Nothing much worth talking about,” she replies.

The movement is slight, but you see it when it happens. Her tongue pokes out, just a bit, pointing up and then rolling downward before disappearing back behind her lips.

“A drink for you this evening, perhaps?” you ask.

She chuckles a bit. “That would be lovely. Is there anything left?”

“I shall see,” you say, taking off with a flap of your wings towards the refreshment table. Only a couple wine glasses remain which you take under a wing aside from the leftover hors o’dourves. However, there seems to be nothing on top of the tablecloth to fill them with since the party’s conclusion.

Fortunately for you, under the tablecloth is a different story. An open crate with half a dozen bottles of some of Canterlot’s finest are still there. Taking a bottle under your other wing, you trot happily back over to the thirsty musician.

At this point, you contemplate the same thing you contemplate every party, and quite a few times out of parties as well. 'Would you like to have some dinner with me tomorrow, Miss Octavia?' you think to yourself, trying to psyche yourself up. You had considered asking out the lovely mare many times before, but her mentions of busy schedules, rigorous musical practice, and constant traveling made the idea of vocalizing such a request difficult to the point of stilling your tongue as if made of rock while in the presence of the gray beauty. And tonight, she obviously had something else tiring on her mind, so the evening would be sure to play out like many before it.

You suppress a sigh, going back to the stage where Octavia was waiting. She meets you with a grin as you return, presenting the glasses and wine. “Alright, I saw you reach under the table for it. Are you allowed to do that?”

You shrug. “They considered this all to be gone before anypony showed up. They shouldn’t mind.” Pouring the two glasses half full, you give one to Octavia. “Maybe after this, you’ll feel like telling me what’s on your mind.”

She shakes her head with a smile. “Oh, don’t think I’ll just open up and let loose after a little wine,” she says.

“You might feel better, just getting it all out there,” you say. “Although... there’s no real hurry, I suppose. We do have all evening.”

“True,” she says.

You lift your glass and Octavia follows. Slowly, you bring them together for a tiny ‘cling’.

“Cheers,” you both say.

===

You slowly open your eyes, but the invading sunlight makes you clench them shut again. Head spinning, body aching, mostly above the neck; yep, you were certainly hungover. You feel yourself in a bed, but it’s much softer than the one you were used to. You also felt something... warm. And soft. Something warm and soft against your right side.

Taking a breath to prepare yourself, you open your eyes again, fighting the light to keep them open and get them into focus. As soon as you can make out shapes, you have a thought.

'That’s not my ceiling.'

You hear a light groan and a murmur from whatever is next to you. Knowing that you’re going to regret it, you begin to look over.

No amount of light would keep your eyes from being open in shock from what you saw. A gray mare with a coal black mane, snuggled up against you. Her breathing was slow and steady, signaling that she was still far off in slumber.

You swallow around the dry lump in your throat, heart beating faster as the reality of the situation sets in. You just woke up hungover in a strange bed next to Octavia Philharmonica.

Chapter 1: Wake-Up Call

‘Oh Celestia, how did this happen?’ you think to yourself.

You take some deep breaths to try and calm yourself down as you look around the room to get a better idea of the situation. ‘Okay, there’s a desk with a white phone on it, a cabinet over there, a closet, a nightstand next to the bed with a lamp.’ You look up to the dull, off-white ceiling then down to the deep blue carpet. ‘Some ugly generic leaf wallpaper all over the place as well. Okay, so this is probably a hotel room.’

Your head is spinning. You feel like you are going to be sick if you are upright for any longer. For a moment, you think it wouldn’t be wise to lay back down next to the cello player who’s friendship you may have just ruined, but if you didn’t do it while you could still guide yourself carefully, you may just fall right over.

Lying your head back down on the pillow, you notice Octavia’s hoof still lying across your stomach. Looking over, you see her peaceful sleeping expression; a lone strand of her mane out of place, lying across her face. Taking a hoof, you carefully brush it back into line, eliciting a small sigh from her lips. Turning your body towards her, you let your hoof rest on her shoulder.

Your body, throughout its pain and dizziness, urges you strongly to go back to sleep. You feel yourself sinking down into the sheets atop the soft mattress. And Octavia’s fur brushing against you felt so warm...

“Mmm...” you hear suddenly. “Mm... mmuh?”

It was Octavia. She was waking up.

The re-instilled panic pushes back the need to sleep. However, you quickly close your eyes and pretend to be asleep anyway. Unable to see, you hear the beginning of a yawn before a strong exhaling through her nose along with a faint blow of air against your chest.

For a moment, there is silence.

And then a gasp.

More time passes before you feel a shifting weight on the bed as Octavia sits up, carefully putting your hoof down on the sheets as she does so. After a couple seconds, you risk peeking an eye open just a bit to see what she’s doing. She’s hunched over with her face in her hooves. She sighs before dropping her hooves and looking to the ceiling. She begins turning back to you, so you quickly close your eye again.

‘Please, just go,’ you silently plead. ‘Go and let’s just never speak of this. We can still be friends and forget this ever happened.’ You don’t know what you’d do if you lost Octavia’s friendship because of this.

There’s another moment where you can’t hear or feel anything happening. The weight in the mattress says that Octavia is still there. You don’t know what she’s waiting for.

‘Just go...’ you plead to her again.

Before it becomes too much, you feel another shift in weight on the bed. You fight yourself to sigh with relief that Octavia is finally getting up and maybe you could put this mess behind you. Go back to the way things were, except maybe with a little less wine next time.

However, it’s not as you expect. The weight of her body seems to be laying back down next to you. Her warmth returns as she puts a hoof around your back. You feel her muzzle rub softly against your chest. She snuggles up against you again, holding you closer than she had before.

“I’m sorry...” you hear her whisper.

You couldn’t believe it. Why? Why would she do this? Maybe she wanted you to get up and leave? But then, why couldn’t she have...

You slowly open your eyes as you feel the calm breathing of the cello player against you. This was like something right out of your wildest dreams. Was this just a dream? The throbbing in your head returns, putting a dent in that theory. Did she...? Could she...?

Tilting your head somewhat, you try to look down at the mare... only to have her eyes look up and stare directly at you.

You both push each other away, leaving the bed from opposite sides. Well, she leaves while you just sort of fall off, hitting your already aching head on the ground. The pain becomes that of which you can hear a ringing in your ears before you are finally able to stand up again, albeit needing to lean yourself against the mattress.

“What is going on!?” you hear Octavia shout, much to your displeasure. “What happened!?”

“I don’t know!” you yell back, instantly regretting making more loud noises. You bring a hoof back to your head, trying to control the throbbing that felt like something was about to burst through your temple.

Clenching one eye shut along with your teeth, you see Octavia’s angry expression soften a little bit. However, her eyes open wide and her mouth opens slightly, her face now portraying something of panic.

“We... we didn’t...” Her breathing became more intense, through her own clenched teeth.

“Didn’t? Didn’t what?” you ask.

As the gears turn in your muddled mind, you come the same realization as her as to what the two of you might have done the previous night. Dread clenching your chest, you open your mouth and try to force some words out, but all you can do is shake your head.

Her eyes go quickly back and forth between you and the bed. Suddenly, she steps forward and yanks the blanket onto the floor. You watch as she leans herself on the edge of the mattress, pouring over the details of the sheets. Several seconds go by where you could hear your heart beating in your ears, as if it were trying to crawl up and escape. After she’s done with that, she pulls the blanket back onto the bed and begins searching over that as well.

After some more time looking over the bedspread, she finally looks up, seeming a little more calm.

“Well, I don’t see any... questionable stains,” she says between deep breaths, trying to recover from her earlier hyperventilation. The news also causes you to breathe a big sigh of relief. At least you hadn’t done anything truly regrettable.

A thought enters your mind. You question vocalizing it, but decide that she’d eventually come to the same idea you were having.

“What about somewhere else?” you ask.

She looks up at you. “...where?”

You stop and think. Where would one do such things? Technically, you could do that anywhere and some may find enjoyment through such acts in a non-conventional setting although you doubt either of you would be the type for that. Still, you might not have been in your right mind last night.

Looking around the room, the carpet was, thankfully, the same color all the way around. If you had done anything, it wasn’t in this room. But what about...?

“I’ll check the bathroom,” you say, trying to maneuver your hooves to the desired location. In this moment, you remember a story you heard about a centipede that forgot how to walk after it was asked how it could move all of its legs. Now that you think about it, maybe it was after a round of drinks and the centipede could move fine the next day after some coffee and a couple painkillers.

Oh, you would do anything for some of those right now.

You enter the bathroom and turn on the light. The walls, tile floor, sink, ceiling, and tub are all white. The only color is the deep blue shower curtain and the fake wood grain around the mirror above the sink.

Looking into the tub, you run a hoof along the bottom of it. Completely dry. Even feeling under the faucet reveals no sign of moisture. You scan around the room some more and find nothing else suspect. A little more relief settles the grasp of stress in your chest as you walk out to deliver the good news.

As you leave the bathroom, you see Octavia sitting by the bed, rubbing her temples with her hooves. Her cello case is also propped up against the wall by the bed. She must have found it while you were inspecting the tub. Celestia knows what she would have done without it.

You approach carefully and speak a little softer than normal. “So... I didn’t find anything in the bathroom.”

“No?” she asks, not looking up or stopping her rubbing.

“Nope. Didn’t see anything and the tub is bone dry.”

“Okay,” she says. Still rubbing, she takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier.”

You shrug. “Not a problem. It was understandable given-”

“That wasn’t an apology; I was making a statement.”

Oh. Well then.

You roll your eyes, seeing she was still a bit bitter from the less than pleasant circumstances the two of you had woken up to. She takes a deep breath before releasing it in a long sigh.

“So if we did anything, it wasn’t here,” she says.

You raise an eyebrow. “Where else then if not the hotel room? In the lobby? On the front desk while we asked for the key?”

This actually gets a chuckle out of her. You decide to keep going.

“Take the key, ‘Oh and could you send somepony for our bags? We got our hooves a bit tied here.’”

“D-Don’t. Please,” she says between giggles. “Don’t make me laugh. My head feels like it’s about to crack open.”

“Okay, sorry,” you say with a little bit of a giggle yourself. At least she seems to be lightening up a little.

“So,” she says, getting your attention. “Do you remember anything about last night?”

You try to recall, putting a hoof to your chin. You remember the party you last worked at, meeting Octavia, getting wine, clinking the glasses, and then... nothing.

“Nothing past the party,” you reply.

“Hmm,” is all she replies with. “How soon do you have to get home before work?”

Again you think back, trying to remember your schedule. Through your mind’s eye, you look over a chart with what shifts and when. You had worked quite a few of them, but had been looking forward to the latest garden party, because...

“It’s my weekend off,” you say. It wasn’t often when it happened, but it was now, which you were thankful.

“Alright, can you get back to Canterlot?” she asks.

You stretch your wings out to their span. First time getting a good look at them today, you realize that they were badly in need of preening later.

“Just point me in the relative direction and I can get back easy enough.”

She nods at this.

“Where are we, anyway?” you ask.

“Whinnyapolis,” she says. “Where my ensemble is performing next. We were coming here shortly after the last Canterlot gathering.”

“Oh, maybe one of them knows what happened last night!” you exclaim, regretting it as you see Octavia cringe from your sudden outburst.

“We usually get a couple double rooms for accommodation. I have no idea why I would get a single and why events would lead to us...” she trails off. “Yeah.”

“Maybe they didn’t have enough rooms?” you ask, trying to blow off the mention of what happened with you two.

She shakes her head. “We would’ve made sure to reserve them or find another place.” Getting up from the bed, she lays her case on the floor before opening it. She pulls out a folded piece of paper.

“This is the schedule we had agreed on. Maybe there’s something here about the room situation,” she says while unfolding. When it’s completely unfolded, she looks over it. You sit yourself on the mattress next to where she was once sitting, headache you had almost forgotten about coming back.

Suddenly, you hear Octavia sharply intake a breath.

“Something wrong?” you ask.

“We’re early,” she says.

“Early...?” you mumble to yourself. “What do you mean?”

“It means, we were originally planning to leave right after the party for this town, but a last minute change would have us wait until morning the day after tomorrow, the day we were scheduled to play.”

“Why would you wait?”

“I don’t even... Wait, it was something with Beauty Brass. A, um... a thing. A part for her horn.” Octavia lets out another sigh while hoof now rests against her forehead. “There was an error in delivery and... no wait, not an error, but it was... it was going to be sent to her house. Before the concert. That was it.” Her other hoof comes up as she rests her head on them. “So... I’m away from my ensemble until we play.”

Despite her choppy explanation, you get the idea. You try to think of anything, grasping towards any comforting thought you could give her in your pounding head right now.

“It... could be worse,” you offer.

She looks up at you for a moment, eyes portraying that of a teacher scowling at a child who just tried to cause trouble. After a moment though, her gaze softens. Her eyes drift to the wall in front of her as she picks her head up off her hooves that fall onto the haunches she’s sitting on.

“I suppose you’re right,” she admits. “Sorry about the rude awakening, by the way. Really.”

“It’s okay,” you say with a chuckle. “Biggest bother is my head, which was a problem before you-” You cut yourself off before you go into further detail.

“Before I what? Shouted?” she asks with a little giggle of her own, a light smile now on her lips.

You give a little nervous nod, hoping her mind doesn’t fully grasp what you had said. Unfortunately, you see the smile fade.

“The first thing I did was shout,” she says plainly. “Were you... awake at all before that?”

“I-I...” ‘Am not awake enough for this,’ you think to yourself.

“How long were you awake?” she asks with a little edge to her question this time. She turns herself more towards you.

Your eyes travel from her to the wall to avoid her gaze. Out of the the corner of your vision, you can almost see the beginning of a scowl.

“How long.” It was no longer a question.

“Not that long,” you say quickly. It technically wasn’t a lie.

You look back to her. She looks you up and down, as if trying to spot something.

“Did you see anything?” she asks.

“I, um... like what?” you sheepishly reply.

She still looks like she’s boring through you with her eyes.

“Well...” you try to explain, getting more and more uncomfortable under her gaze. “It’s not like I... or you-, I mean... um...”

Her eyelids begin a slow squint, adding to her piercing look.

“Uh- I... It’s like...” you try to find something to say without admitting to knowing how Octavia laid back down next to you in bed, or at least try to play it off as no big deal. “Um... Well, you know, I, uh, kind of did the same thing-”

You just stop talking and close your eyes.

You don’t hear anything from her. All you could hear was the sound of your own breathing. Straining your ears, you try to see if you can pick up some sort of activity from the mare in front of you. She seems to remain motionless. After a while, you finally hear a stiff sigh making you fear the worst.

“Look at me.”

You really don’t want to. Still, you give a little swallow as you prepare to face her.

Eyes opening slowly, you start at her hooves. Traveling upwards, it doesn’t look like she’s about to run or strike you. She’s just sitting there. Reaching her face, you notice that the harsh gaze was gone, replaced by a face you had a hard time reading.

She was contemplating something, you could see that.

“Do you like me?” Octavia suddenly asks. The question makes your heart almost feel like it’s stopped.

“What brought that on?” you ask, hoping to buy some time to think of a good response.

“Don’t dodge the question,” she says, shooting down your plan. “Do you like me?”

“W-What do you mean?” you ask, trying again to deflect the question in some way.

“You know what I mean,” she replies sternly. “The kind of like where we end up in the same bed together. Do you like me?”

“Well...” you try to think quickly. “You see, um... the conversations we have are always delightful and-”

“Stop.” She takes a step forward, standing right in front of you, staring directly into your eyes. “We are not some foals on a playground skittishly talking around a schoolyard crush. We are adults and we can force down those feelings and state our minds.”

You try to look away, but her hoof reaches up to your chin and pulls you back into her gaze.

“Do. You. Like me?” she repeats, emphasising each word.

‘Break for the door!’ your mind screams at you. However, her gaze keeps you firmly in place. You take a few seconds to breathe, trying to calm yourself; using your pounding head and groggy mind to try and take away from what you were about to say.

“...Yes.”

“Okay.”

You feel Octavia’s hoof move away from your chin. You wonder what she’s going to do at this point, because honestly, after everything this morning, all bets were off. She sits back neatly on her haunches, as her neutral expression gives way for a small smirk on her muzzle.

“I like you, too.”

All you could do was stare, wondering if you heard her correctly. It should have been obvious despite all that’s happened, but still, it felt like it was a long shot.

It was a great feeling of relief, having it 100% confirmed.

“Glad we could just get that out there?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say with a smile. “Although, I’m surprised you were able to just put it forward like that.”

“This wretched headache helped.”

You couldn’t help but feel your smile grow in some sort of satisfaction hearing she used the same method as you did. She walks over to the desk with the telephone. Noticing a card, she picks it up.

“I’m going to call the front desk,” she says.

“You know their number?” you ask.

“It’s on this card, along with the room number.” She picks up the receiver and dials.

“Who would need the room number printed next to the phone?” you ask.

“Drunks like us, I suppose.”

“We’re not-...” you start, but she puts up a hoof signalling somepony had picked up.

You take the opportunity to sit on the edge of the bed. It gives a tiny creak as you put your weight on it. Rubbing your eye with a hoof, you try to listen in on Octavia’s call.

“Hello. Good morning. We’re calling from, uh...” She checks the card. “Room 213, wondering at what time we were expected to vacate... oh... oh, really? Would that be...? Paid for? But what if we...? Oh. ...okay. Thank you.”

You look perplexingly at Octavia as she hangs the phone up.

“So what time do we need to leave?”

She’s silent for a moment. It begins to worry you a little that maybe you had already overstayed in the room.

“... ten o’ clock.”

“Oh,” you say with a little relief. “Well, that’s a few hours awa-”

“Tomorrow.”

It’s your turn to have a pause of silence.

“...what?”

“The room’s been paid for another night,” she explains. “And they don’t offer refunds if we leave early.”

“I see...”

You look down at the floor while Octavia shuffles her hooves a bit. So many different kinds of awkward had filled the gaps in conversation this morning you might be able to call yourself a connoisseur by the time this ordeal was over.

But... this was wrong. Moments ago you had received some of the happiest news of your life and that was because you were forced to get past your inhibitions and simply say what you meant. Giving a quick glance at Octavia, you can see her open her mouth a couple times as if trying to say something. You decide to save her the trouble.

“Well, I don’t have to be at work today, so I could stay for a while” you say. Her eyebrows rise up, displaying her surprise.

“I’m not doing anything until the rest of my ensemble gets here,” she says.

The two of you look up to each other, locking eyes, smiles beginning to grow back on your lips.

“So, what should we do now?” you ask.

“For now, I think we should get some water and sleep off the rest of last night. I’m still a little dizzy and I see you’re having problems staying upright,” she says, noticing you swaying on your haunches.

“Who gets the bed?” you ask jokingly, giving the mattress an idle pat with a hoof.

“I do,” she replies, walking past. Before you voice an objection, she turns and plants a kiss on your cheek, the new soft and warm sensation you only knew from your personal fantasies sending a tingle down your spine and wings.

“But you are welcome to join me.”

Chapter 2: Thorn in My Side

You can’t believe how lucky you are.

Waking up hungover in a hotel room with a mare is usually bad. However, somehow the stars aligned for the situation to end with you sober and back in bed with the mare of your dreams snuggled up in your forelegs, nearly spooning. You were supposed to be sleeping off the rest of your hangover, but you couldn’t sleep. This was too perfect. You couldn’t let this just slip by.

Octavia’s head is against your chest. You could faintly feel her slow breathing through her nose blowing the hairs of your fur. Your muzzle was in her dark mane. It has a faint, kind of bitter, but not unpleasant smell; almost like a fine cup of coffee.

You are not exactly sure what now was. Perhaps now would be best described as a moment of exploration, a chance to push into new territory past just being friends. Taking chances, doing things you wouldn’t otherwise to show how much more she means to you.

Moving into the gray area, your hoof slowly trails down until it is slowly rubbing her soft stomach which had a little bit of a playful pudge to it, where you dare not go lower. Octavia was not overweight by any means, but she had some substance to her form that shows she eats well and it gives her body a delightful bit of squeeze when you held her, like a luxurious teddy bear.

You like this little testing, seeing what you could get away with. Taking one last content sigh, you press your lips against the top of Octavia’s head. You could detect a little taste of something, hard to describe. Within the waves of her mane was a sort of a hint of walnut with a small accent of sweat. Probably be better if she had the chance to shower, but you couldn’t really complain for now.

The act earns you a satisfying ‘Mmmmh...’ from the mare against you. You feel the warmth of her head leave your chest. Opening your eyes to see her looking up at you like moments before, only this time with a dreamy smile. Rolling her body, she lays herself on top of you, making you sink further into the warm mattress under the fluffy blankets. Putting her head over your shoulder, she returns your little peck with one of her own against your neck. You wrap a hoof around her middle while beginning to stroke her mane with the other.

You could stay here forever, under Octavia’s warmth with her calm breathing and occasional nuzzles.

Running your hoof under her mane, you begin to stroke up her back. Higher and higher, tracing you hoof through her fur, lightly scratching the surface beneath. You bring it up around the back her neck, where you feel... something.

“Sssshh!” Octavia suddenly hisses as your hoof travels over the spot. Her head leans up and her eyes shoot open. You take your hoof back, wondering what was wrong. Her own hoof travels back, trying to find where the spot was. She seems to be lightly touching it, seeing if she can tell for herself what it is. You see her wince a couple times during this process.

“What’s... on my neck?” she asks.

“Let me see,” you say with concern. She slides off of you, holding her hair out of the way as you sit up to look.

The fur around the spot looks a little crusty, like something had dried in it. Upon closer inspection reveals it to be a cut down the length of her neck. While not large, it was still decent size.

“Looks like something scratched you on your neck,” you say. “You sure we didn’t do anything last night?” you add with a tease.

You stop when you see Octavia’s expression. It’s like she’s trying to keep herself from having a panic attack.

“Octavia, are you oka-”

“Is there blood?” she asks, somewhat urgently. You take another look.

“Uh, there seems to be some around the opening-”

Octavia visibly flinches. “Please don’t describe it like that.”

“Okay...” you look at her wound again, worrying about Octavia’s sudden change in behavior.

“There’s some dried blood around the, um... the spot here.”

“Thank you,” she says before getting up. She goes into the bathroom and you can hear the sound of running water almost immediately upon her entrance.

“Are you okay, Octavia?” you ask while following her, stopping in the doorway.

“Y-yes, it’s just that...” she stammers, wetting a small hooftowel under the faucet. She takes a deep breath before putting the towel on the back of her neck, she sharply gasps as it makes contact. Either the towel is cold or it really hurts. “I’m... not really comfortable with blood.” She shivers as she lets the towel soak the area a bit. “I just can’t stand the idea of it on me.”

“Ah,” you say while nodding. You don’t really know what to say next. “Sorry to, um... hear that.”

“It’s fine,” she replies, rubbing the towel around. She takes it off and looks at it. She has a slight grimace at the little specks of red.

“You okay now?” you ask.

“Uh... I think so...” She closes her eyes before looking to you. “Could you... make sure it’s all clean? I can’t see it.”

It was a bit surprising to see Octavia like this. She seems quite terrified of something as simple as blood, and such a little amount of it as well. You would chuckle about it had she didn't look so genuinely scared.

And then it dawns on you. Right now, she needs you. It may be small and seem somewhat silly, but she really needs you. Would you dare you let her down?

“Sure,” you say, walking over and reaching for the wet hooftowel. As you expect, the water is quite cold. You take it and fold it over once, hiding the blood, to Octavia’s somewhat relief. Closing her eyes, she hangs her head down where you can brush aside her mane and easily see the injury. She had gotten most of it with her impromptu scrub, but there were still a little bit that would, unfortunately, take a little scrubbing in the sensitive area.

“Let me know if I’m pressing too hard, okay?” you ask. She gives a little nod in response.

You lay the hooftowel across her neck again, rubbing slowly back and forth one hoof and putting the other on her shoulder. You’re making sure to take extra caution with the amount of pressure you were using. Octavia’s breathing rose sharply when you pass over it the first couple of times, but steadies as you continue.

Time passes slowly as you work. Octavia seems to shift a little, but before you can ask if something is wrong, you feel a hoof lay on top of the one you have on your shoulder. She starts to give it a gentle rub as you take the towel off her neck.

“I-Is it all gone?” she asks. Unfortunately, you still see a couple of stubborn dried flakes in her fur.

“I’m afraid not. Sorry, but I’ll have to press a bit harder to get it completely,” you say.

Octavia gives your hoof a little pat. “That’s fine.”

You could tell this situation was really uncomfortable for her. You would try to work quickly, but carefully. You tried to think of something that could ease the tension a bit.

“So, I don’t remember, but just in case I didn’t say it before, you played really well at last night’s garden party,” you say, readying a moist corner of the towel.

Octavia gives a little chuckle. “Thanks. Although I seem to remember a comment about my improvisation.”

“Is that a quip at me or yourself?” you ask, getting back into the playful back and forth your conversations sometimes have.

“Oh, both really. I could make excuses, but I doubt that would really... well, excuse it.” She seems to be getting less tense.

“I’m listening,” you say with half a sing-song, mostly to goad her into defending herself. You know she takes her performances very seriously.

“Well, it was a bit of an awkward key change just the previous bar. I’d like to see anypony keep up with a crescendo when they suddenly have four new flats to worry about.”

You nod as you continue, even though she can’t see it. Octavia is more at ease, making your little scrubbing with the corner of the towel easier.

“Just... anything past E flat major has always been tricky. But, oh, you know Frederic?”

“Your piano player?” you ask.

“He loves A flat. Keeps trying to push for music in A flat, but we mostly tell him no unless we all agree on it.” Octavia lets out a sigh while you give a chuckle. She gives your hoof a little squeeze in response. “He just doesn’t think about the other non-piano players in the ensemble. How much all those complicated keys can just be...” she trails off, lightly shaking her head.

“A problem?” you suggest.

“Hmm... maybe it’s more just a bother,” she replies.

“An inconvenience.”

“An annoyance.” She smiles as you begin to take turns, listing appropriate phrases.

“A humbug,” you say, putting a rough edge to the word, causing Octavia to giggle.

“A hassle.”

“An irritation.”

“A pain in the neck.”

“Ooh, getting fancy now?” you say, finishing up. “A disturbance in the force.”

“HA!” she exclaims before catching herself, but not without a big smile.

However, what she said just kind of tickles something in the back of your mind. You don’t know what. You shrug it off. There are more important things to worry about right now.

She taps her chin with a hoof. “Okay... a thorn in my side.”

You chuckle as you begin to think of another phrase that means annoying, but then something begins to click.

“What was that?” you ask. Something so familiar was close. She looks at you with a little confusion.

“A thorn in my... side...” she trails off again, and you could see her mind working with something.

Thorn in my side. Thorn in my...

Thorn.

Thorn...

~~~~~~

Octavia chuckles before finishing the last of the wine in her glass. You were in the middle of telling her some humorous stories about what things went horribly wrong tonight and every pony on hoof were scrambling to make sure the attendees didn’t notice.

Still, once the wine was done, the two of you usually went your separate ways. You were a little sad that your time with Octavia was coming to an end.

“Well, it seems you’re finished, so I should let you get going,” you say, offering a hoof to take her empty glass.

“Oh, but I want to hear what happened,” Octavia happily replies with a smile. You would never tire of that smile of hers. “I seldom hear of such things behind the scenes of these gatherings.” A slight nervous look flashes across her face as she gives you her glass. “Unless, that is, you have somewhere else you need to be.”

You were surprised by her offer to continue chatting. “No, I don’t have anything else to do tonight. I’ll just take these glasses back first.”

She nods and you give a quick couple of flaps, propelling you over to one of the buscolts cleaning the tables. You give a quick word of thanks for taking a couple extra glasses. Going back to the gray mare, she’s lifting her cello case up onto her back. When it’s in a comfortable position, she nods at you.

“Walk and talk?” she asks. “I’m afraid I would rather get home soon.”

“Okay, sure,” you say. The two of you begin walking towards the gate. You wonder how she can walk with her instrument like it was nothing. You follow a little behind her since it was your place you were going to drop her off at.

“So then. Apéritif had knocked over a few trays, then what?” she asks.

“Not just a few. Quite a few more than a few. And that is when the real fun started,” you say shaking your head, but with a smile. “Protocol demands that all of our equipment be absolutely clean before we serve it.”

“Okay,” she replies, confirming she’s listening. The two of you had walked out the gate and were now going down a familiar street.

“One way to quickly dirty up something is to drop it on the ground. If that happens it needs to be washed again. No exceptions.”

“Even if it simply landed on the underside?” Octavia asks as you both round a corner.

“No exceptions,” you repeat.

“Wow. But... you had plenty of other trays to work with, right?” she asks, looking to you hopefully.

You just shake your head. “That one stack was half of our trays for the evening. Yes, in one stack; we don’t have a lot of room in the kitchen,” you explain. “Not to mention some of them were dented, bent, and other things that made them unsuitable for the evening.”

“Come on,” Octavia protests. “Surely you can get away with a tray that’s a little short of pristine.”

You shake your head again. “They are very captious about their presentation. Anything damaged, no matter how slight, simply will not do.” That Word-of-the-Day calendar was a good investment. “It’s all simply over our heads. Complaints about trivial things in the past drive us to such high standards.”

“Oh...” Octavia looks both ways down the road before she gives you an apologetic look as you cross the street.

You smile and shake your head in an effort to communicate she shouldn’t feel bad. “Well, I’d like to imagine if these standards were not simply the rules, we’d have them anyway,” you explain with a bit of pride. “It’s just who we are. Nopony gets business in Canterlot for anything less than exceptional. Not even in catering.”

She gets a grin because of your explanation. “Very commendable,” she says. “And very true.”

“Didn’t help our tray situation,” you abruptly mention, getting a giggle from Octavia.

“So, what happened?” she asks.

“Well, we had a few sort through the pile and see what could be salvageable and then give it to the dishwashers to wash quickly,” you begin to explain. “However, because we no longer had a real sort of buffer, we had to have those trays washed as soon as possible, as well as the ones that came back.” You shake your head with a chuckle as you turn another corner. “All open hooves were washing. Any waiters not immediately serving were washing. Any chefs not immediately cooking were washing.”

“Wow,” she says again, this time sounding a lot more impressed. “You all just seemed as calm as always tonight; I never would have guessed.”

“Exactly,” you say, a bit more pride showing.

“Well, here we are,” Octavia says.

You turn and are immediately surprised. Your gaze travels along the dark red brickwork to the windows that were blocked on the inside by white curtains. Looking up at the black shingled roof, you see the chimney made from the same brick.

“Octavia, I never knew you lived in such a lovely place!” you say. “I mean... a house in Canterlot? How can you afford it?”

Housing in Canterlot was a big deal. You personally live in a small rented apartment on the other side of town. It wasn’t much, but it was the closest you could get to your job. No other pony you knew in the staff had their own place. They either stayed in apartments as well or were housed in the palace’s servant’s quarters.

“Well, to be fair, it’s rented,” she explains. “And I actually have a friend who knows a friend in the housing market. They put in a good word for me and I was moved in three months later.”

“How long have you lived here?” you ask.

Octavia puts a hoof to her chin in thought. “It hasn’t been that long... I think it’s about 15 months this week.”

“More than year?”

“Yep.”

“Wow.”

A tree in the far side of the yard catches your attention. The trunk split into three thick solid arms going up into a dense and wide foliage.

“What kind of tree is that?” you ask, pointing a hoof.

“Oh, that’s a wild plum tree. Last pony who lived here planted it against the landlord’s permission. However, by the time they knew about it, it had grown large enough to be rather risky and expensive to remove. It’s actually the real reason I got this house”

She slides the cello case off of her back and leans it next to the door. She begins walking towards the tree and waves a hoof for you to follow. You trot up to her and continue towards the tree where, now closer, you can now spot some fruit on its branches.

“They were going to try and remove it, mind you, but that was before it was going to be put on the market. My friend asked me if I was against it and I said no. So they let me rent with the tree as long as I keep it in good shape.” She gives a little chuckle as the two of you stop in front of it. “And I do. Because this tree gave me a taste for something I never knew was so delectable.”

“What would that be?” you ask.

Octavia is silent for a moment.

“Pancakes,” she finally replies.

“Wha-?” you begin before your hoof connects with your forehead. “...Plums, right?” you ask weakly and sarcastically.

Octavia nods with an amused smirk. “Have you ever had fresh plums before?”

“I’ve had regular plums before when I was little. They were...” You shrug. “Okay.”

“Well then, may I invite you to try one of these?” she asks, ducking under the low hanging leaves.

“You sure?” you ask.

“You bring me food all the time. It’s only fair,” she says. “Besides, I am more than happy to share.”

You smile at her generosity. Beginning to take a closer look at the tree itself, you notice something about its thin branches. Taking one carefully with your hoof, you bring it up for a closer look.

“Why are there these little spots on the branches?” you ask.

“Because,” Octavia begins. “That’s where they used to have thorns.”

“Thorns?”

“Yep. One of the thing I do to take care of the tree is clip them off. Or at least the ones that can get you,” she explains.

“Is that really taking care of the tree? Is it good for it?” you ask.

“Well... I don’t know.” Her voice strains a little again before you hear another snap sound and the rustle of leaves. “But it doesn’t seem to have hurt it so far. And I’m kind of uneasy about the thorns anyway.”

You nod, taking another close look at the branch while you hear Octavia pick two more fruits.

“But these plums... make it worth while,” she says as she walks out from under the branches towards you, a foreleg holding a few plums against her chest. You drop the branch you were holding. Unfortunately, it was being held at an angle, so it flings around and drops down Octavia’s neck.

...Where she then makes a loud grunting hissing noise.

“Octavia...?” you ask with concern, unknown to what would have suddenly provoked such a reaction from her out of nowhere.

She’s silent as she falls to her haunches and brings a hoof around to her neck. You move around yourself to see. As she slowly lifts her hoof, you see something deep red under it. You don’t think she got all of the thorns off of that tree.

“I-I’m sorry... Are... are you okay...?” you ask as she brings her hoof in front of her.

Her eyes go wide at the sight of the red slightly splattered on her hoof. Her breathing becomes heavier and heavier before it sounds like hyperventilation.

“Octavia!?” you ask with a little panic. “I’m sorry, Octavia, are you-”

You are cut off by a sickly noise coming from the gray mare in front of you. Her breathing has given way to what sound like dry heaves as she drops the plums in front of her. Before you can say another word, she stumbles forward at a running pace towards her front door. You call after her as she charges inside, leaving her cello case by the porch. You stand outside in a moment of panic, unsure of what you should do.

Your body, as if moving by itself, ventures forward and grabs the cello case, just long enough to bring it inside. You close the door behind you and leave the instrument propped up against the wall beside it. Looking around Octavia’s house, you don’t get time to take anything in before you hear the sound of rushing water coming from down the hall.

“Octavia?” you call out again as you follow the noise. “I’m really sorry! Are you-” Stopping in the bathroom doorway, you see Octavia pouring water from the faucet under the mirror onto a big towel which she then whips around and presses against her own neck. Your waiter training gives you no tips on what to do with a cellist going crazy in her own bathroom. You try to think of anything you could do to help the situation.

“Are... Are you allergic? Is there swelling or-... Leave it! Or apply pressure? Stop, drop, and roll-”

“What the HELL are you talking about!?” she shrieks at you. “Get in here and help me!”

You immediately rush to Octavia’s side, unsure what she wants you to do. All you could see was her scrubbing furiously at her neck with the wet towel. She was going to rub her neck raw at the rate.

“Octavia!” you call out to her. “OCTAVIA!”

You grab her shoulders with your hooves and she slows down a bit. She looks to you again, heavily breathing in and out of her clenched teeth. You both take a moment to calm down as she completely stops rubbing the towel against her neck.

“Give me the towel. I’ll fix it.”

She slowly nods and shakily holds out the towel for you. You take it and notice thin lines of blood on it. At the sight of it, Octavia immediately turns away. Folding it so the blood was out of sight, you move her hair aside and take a look at her neck.

The thorn on the tree had gotten her pretty good. The cut was deep enough to bleed, but nowhere near deep enough for any immediate alarm. Well, at least for you. You take a moist corner and put it over the wound.

“I’m going to push on it. That should help stop the bleeding,” you explain. Octavia winces as you apply pressure.

“Am I pushing too hard?” you ask.

Octavia shakes her head.

“Okay...” you say. You would hate to cause her any more discomfort. “Do you have any bandages? Perhaps some disinfectant?”

She points her hoof over to a wooden cabinet to the left of the mirror above the porcelain sink. Keeping a hoof on the towel, you reach over and open it. The disinfectant is right up in front which you set down on the counter. A convenient gel in a tube; generic store brand, the same kind you use. At least you know it won’t sting. However, there doesn’t appear to be any bandages.

Taking the tube between your hooves, you gently squeeze out a small amount and then use the tip to spread it over the length of the cut. You dab the moist towel over it a couple times to pick up any excess that would leave Octavia’s grey fur uncomfortably greasy. After that, you carefully apply more pressure with the towel, trying to stop the bleeding so the bandage wouldn’t be necessary.

You hold it for some time, the only sounds in the room being your and Octavia’s breathing. Her’s has slown down, but you still detect the discomfort in it. Carefully checking under the towel, you see that the cut was no longer bleeding.

“That should do it,” you say. Looking at her face, you notice her eyes were closed. Probably been that way the entire time.

“Thanks...” she says as she slowly opens them to look at you. “I... I’m sorry about my little...” She waves a hoof around, searching for the right word. “...’episode’. I kind of don’t do well with blood, as you might have guessed.” The final part of her sentence has a hint of sarcasm as she sees your raised eyebrow.

“It’s fine,” you say with a shrug. “Just glad to see you’re okay.”

She smiles at this. Standing up, she flicks her head around to reposition her mane back to its usual place.

“Now then,” she begins, getting back the rest of her disposition. “While you’re here... where were we in our conversation?”

~~~~~~

You let out a little sigh through your nose as the memory stops playing through your head. Blinking a couple times and coming back to the real world, you see Octavia coming out of some kind of trance as well.

Looking down, it seems the two of you have snuggled closer together. Her back was completely against your chest and her head was resting back on your shoulder. You had your hoof still on her shoulder with her own hoof on top of it, but your other foreleg seems to have traveled down and wrapped around her midsection, where the length of her own foreleg has joined it.

Despite the somewhat awkward moment, you enjoy the warmth of her as you offer a smile, albeit with a little nervousness behind it.

“Sorry...” you say, weakly.

With a content sigh and another pat on your hoof, she smiles back genuinely. You feel the guilt lift right off of your shoulders.

The moment is ruined by a loud growling sound. It seems to be coming from her stomach. You and Octavia both look down at the noisy disturber. As much as you’d like to stay, you feel Octavia lean forward away from you.

“I think it’s time for breakfast. Alright?” She stands up onto her hooves.

“Sure,” you reply, standing up as well. “Breakfast here any good?”

“Their omelets are... a little bland,” she explains with a shrug. “I typically get some waffles, prepared fresh, along with some plums.”

“That won’t be a problem today, will it?” you tease.

“Drop and roll,” she replies, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

You chuckle and give her a little nuzzle to her neck that makes her lovely smile come back in an instant. Walking past, you hold the door open.

“Shall we?” you ask.

She gives you a courteous nod as she exits the room. Pulling the door closed, you follow her down the hall.

Chapter 3: Collections

You descend the final stairs into the lobby and your nose is suddenly hit with an assault of mouth-watering breakfast smells. You and Octavia waste no time in trotting over to the dining room just off to the side.

Inside, you see other guests, either up at the morning buffet or sitting at the tables with their meals. A seafoam green hotel employee, shown by her red hat and uniform, behind an oak counter smiles and waves you over.

“Good morning!” she replies cheerfully with a nod, causing her light blue mane to bounce. “The two of you today?”

“Yes, from Room 213 under the name Octavia Philharmonica,” Octavia replies, turning to show her cutie mark for verification. Usual hotel protocol requires letting them get a copy of your cutie mark with a photograph or quick sketch for identification when you check in.

The employee lightly licks the tip of her hoof before opening her logbook and flipping through it. “And when did you check in?” she asks.

“Last night.”

“Okay now...” she mumbles, flipping through some more. Her hoof trails down the page as Octavia gives you another smile. You manage to calmly smile back, but on the inside you are dancing. How you could just wake up one day snuggling with a mare like Octavia and be having breakfast with her like it’s nothing?

You feel like you should be nervous at this moment, but you’re not. Maybe it was because you’ve known her as a friend for a while? Maybe it was because she shares your feelings? Maybe it was because your hangover was still a dull little ache in the back of your head?

Either way, the moment feels right. You can’t imagine anything ruining it.

“Um... ma’am?” the hotel employee calls out with concern.

Octavia turns back to the employee. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes, um... the room is not under your name.”

“No?” she asks in disbelief. She turns to you as you feel a wave of panic go down your spine.

“Would it be under one of your bandmates?” you offer.

“That could... no, they’re not even here, yet.” She lets out an exasperated sigh.

Feeling a sense of dread welling up inside you, you think of something you can do. So, not only did you wake up drunk in a strange town, you might have woken up in a hotel room that wasn’t even yours. Oh no, Octavia’s things are still in there. How are you going to get them back?

You look up to try and give an explanation of some sort. You fail to find any words that may help explain yourself, but you do notice the employee looking back and forth between her book and your cutie mark.

“Everything...” the hotel worker begins. “...Alright?”

“Yeah... Oh!” you say, turning to show your cutie mark. “Is it under my name by chance?”

She looks from the book to your flank, to the book, to your flank again. Her smile renews, she gives a nod, and scribbles something on the page with a quill.

“Yep! Enjoy your meal,” she says.

Relief fills both you and Octavia as you thank her and you both begin to walk up to the breakfast buffet. Crisis averted.

As you walk you hear both of your stomachs growl loudly. No words need be said. The two of you look at each other and know. Food first, find seat afterwards. The two of you grab a couple of the red plastic trays and plates and go in separate directions.

You look at the carefully arranged displays of food. Marble countertops hold trays of edibles ready for the taking. Metal rails on each side make a convenient place to put your tray while you select your food. One counter is partially separated from the customers with glass. On the other side, hotel chefs prepare hot foods fresh.

She starts near the salad bar as you make your way towards the freshly made waffles she recommended. You take one waffle... no, make it two. Taking the knife from the butter, you scoop a bit up and spread it, where it already begins to melt over the warm flaky breakfast treat. Next, carefully drizzling the sweet maple syrup over them, the little container of chocolate chips catch your eye. You remember having something similar as a foal and pour a few into the little pockets to join the butter and syrup and- is that whipped cream? Well, you only live once!

A quick spray from the metal can tops your first dish with a light and fluffy layer. Unable to resist putting a little cherry on the rather childish looking cuisine, you then set off in search of further substance. Octavia has gone to the waffle bar herself as you pass by the omelets, the hiss of frying eggs hitting your ears and nose. You decide to go ahead and try, it certainly couldn’t hurt. You order a large one with cheese and extra peppers.

Finally making it to the healthier options, you take a bowl and begin filling it with fruit. Some orange slices here, a few grapes there, and you are impressed that they were able to have pineapple that looks this fresh. You take a couple wedges of that.

Making one more pass around the buffet, you also take a couple donuts, some simple wheat toast with butter, some country hay fries, and a big glass of orange juice. Looking at the amount of food on your tray, you realize that you are absolutely famished. Still, you can’t help but be a little embarrassed about your rather plentiful amount for a meal.

Until you see that Octavia had taken just about the same amount of food herself. Waffles with simple butter only, white toast, a small salad, hashbrowns, orange juice of her own, and two bowls of fruit, one containing entirely plums.

You two look to your own trays, and then to each others. Meeting eyes, you both give a little sheepish smile.

“I guess we’re both hungry,” she says.

You simply nod before looking around the tables for a good spot to sit. Against the far wall is a row of small tables each built for two against a large window to a beautiful day outside. Walking towards one of the tables, Octavia follows, the two of you needing to weave between a couple other guests.

Upon reaching the table, you put your tray down on one side and walk over to the other, pulling the chair out and offer it to your dining companion. Octavia smiles and gives you a courtly nod as you help her take her seat. She sets her tray down as you return to your own chair.

Taking the rolled napkin full of silverware and unraveling the cloth to reveal your utensils, you spread the napkin across your lap as is proper dining etiquette. You are eating a rather gluttonous proportion, but you would do so with some elegance. Octavia opts to take the same route, spreading her own napkin over her lap as well.

“Good food, good treat, good gracious, let’s eat,” Octavia says in a mock of grace. Your grin grows a bit more as you pick up your fork and knife, balancing them carefully within your hooves to begin eating.

Stabbing into the waffles, there is a satisfying crunch showing that your toppings have not completely dampened the golden brown outer shell protecting the light and fluffy inside. Bringing it up to your mouth, the flavors of the waffle blend with the sweet syrup made richer with the added butter. The chocolate chips give a new texture along with their own succulent taste and the whipped cream’s sweetness blends well with the others. You quickly go in for a second, third, and fourth bite soon after.

Letting out a little moan in response to the flavors on your tongue, Octavia, having started with her waffles as well, looks over. She snickers before returning to work on her own meal.

“Something funny?” you ask.

She looks up at you. “Just that you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

You shrug. “You were right about the waffles.”

“Like you can taste them under all of that!” she exclaims with a giggle.

“They’re there,” you say. “It’s not like I’d just eat a bowl of syrup, chocolate, and whipped cream.”

She rolls her eyes and goes back to her food.

You eat about half of your waffles before deciding to move onto another part of your breakfast. You are eating rather quickly, but it just feels so good to get some food in you. You notice Octavia, although with her refined table manners, is managing to keep pace with you.

Taking a couple bites of toast to cleanse your palate, you begin on the omelette before it gets cold. Unfortunately, the cheese has already become somewhat hard and the eggs are rather tasteless, as Octavia warned. The peppers easily overpowers their flavor. After the first bite, you look down at the rather pitiful example of a classic breakfast entree.

“Was I right about the omelettes as well?” Octavia asks, noticing your offput nature about the dish.

With a sigh, you simply nod. You take another bite of it anyway. It’d be a shame to waste perfectly good food.

“So, what are we doing after breakfast?” you ask in an attempt to make conversation.

She looks up from her food briefly. “Well first, I should probably call the rest of my ensemble,” she says, looking down again to cut off another piece of her waffle. “I have my cello, so I’ll have to practice at some point today.”

You nod as you cut off another bite of omelette. You place the piece on a bit of your toast you then cut through to give it a little extra texture. Celestia knows the poor thing needs all the help it can get.

“After that, well... I was enjoying the time we were spending together.”

Feeling a slight redness in your cheeks, you look up and see Octavia with a tiny smirk, nonchalantly cutting apart the last couple bites of her waffle.

Deciding to look out the window to hide your blush, you see a large carriage has pulled in near the back of the building. Workers seem to be unloading boxes of something. You adjust yourself to see if you can get a better view. Doing so attracts Octavia’s attention.

“What are you looking at?” she asks.

“Ponies unloading something out there. Trying to see what it is.”

Octavia turns around in her seat to try and see for herself.

“Oh, looks like some wine... gin... rum...”

“How can you see from that far?”

“I can kind of recognize some of the labels on the side of the boxes.”

“Really?” you ask, trying to take a careful look. There are no distinct words you could see from the markings you could make out and nothing that would tell you it was wine, rum, or whatever. “I can’t even tell.”

“Well, I’m a bit familiar with them,” she says. “I have a collection of brands at home of the like. I don’t know if I told you.”

You stare out the window, but you lose focus on anything. Something about what Octavia said. A collection of...

“Wait,” Octavia says. You turn to her and see her face full of confusion.

“Did... Did I tell you...?”

~~~~~~~

You follow Octavia through her house into her kitchen. The conversation you were having previously was lost due to her recent outburst which you are still trying to comfort her about.

“Perfectly understandable, some ponies are scared of things,” you say as you trail her hoofsteps. “You just need a little trick to help with it is all. It’s how I get over my fears. Like say...” You try to think of something as Octavia continues to ignore you. You realize you’re babbling at this point, but feel like it’d be more awkward not to at least try to follow your statements through. “Pretend everypony is simply filled with red wine. Wouldn’t be so bad, right?”

“I won’t have to pretend for long,” Octavia remarks, pulling a bottle from the cupboard. “For soon we will be,” she says, showing a bottle of ‘Canterlot Red’ which is basically the drink of the city. Everypony who’s anypony here has had a taste. It was something you’ve had time and again, but that was from sharing leftovers from garden parties with friends or coworkers.

“Are you sure?” you ask, doubting the idea of pouring more onto what you already had to drink.

“It’s just a little celebration after a good show,” she says, rifling through a drawer. “Me and the others do this almost after every time we play.”

“So where are they now?” you ask.

“Packing, probably. We’re playing in another town, leaving tonight, so I’ll meet them there later. I’m actually going to have to get to the train station soon.”

“Have much get ready?”

“Already packed before I left to play tonight.”

So that means it’s just you and Octavia. In her house. You begin to feel your heart thumping in your chest.

“Well, okay. If you insist.” Little more couldn’t hurt. Might calm you down a bit. Plus, it might help you move past the earlier incident.

She pulls out a corkscrew and closes the drawer. Pressing it into the cork that seals the bottle, she begins turning. While she does this, your eyes travel up to the cupboard she had gotten the wine from. In it, you see a rather impressive number of bottles of varying shapes, colors, and sizes contained within it.

“Wow, that’s a lot of bottles,” you note. “Never knew you were such a connoisseur.”

“Hmm?” Octavia turns her head up back towards the liquor cabinet. “Oh, I’m afraid you have it wrong. I wouldn’t drink those,” she says with a chuckle and continuing to twist the corkscrew into the bottleneck. “I enjoy a whiskey every now and again with friends, brandy once in a blue moon, but I mostly keep with red wine.”

“Oh...” you say, feeling a bit foolish for assuming. “Collector, then?”

“In a way, I suppose. Mostly through gifts.” She pulls the cork out of the bottle with an audible pop before continuing. “Bit of a family tradition ever since I turned legal age. Father had given me that nice liquor as a gift on that very birthday.”

She points up to the bottle labeled ‘Golden Rays’. A liquor so fine and smooth, it is said to be brewed straight from the light of Celestia’s sun.

“Couldn’t bring myself to open it,” she muses. “After that, I got the occasional bottle from family for birthdays, Hearth’s Warming, what have you. Sometimes from old friends as well.” She begins pouring the wine into two rather large glasses. “To be honest, I have never spent more than fifty bits myself on a bottle I didn’t intend on drinking.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise as she hands you your beverage. You had never spent more than fifty bits on a bottle you had intended on drinking. You begin to question the value of the drink she had just offered you and decide to take your time enjoying it.

“So, what in your collection had you bought yourself?” you ask before taking a tiny sip of the wine. It’s hard to believe that bitter fermented grapes somehow blended into a pleasant creamy sensation that now runs neatly down your throat.

“Well, only one of any real note.” She finishes pouring her own glass. Picking it up with a hoof, she swishes it. “Back before the quartet rose to play in Canterlot, we’d still have our little after show get-togethers. We played mostly for private parties, but pay was pay.” She takes a light sniff of her drink before sampling. She breathes out a light sigh before continuing. “We were passing through a small town on route to another party to play and decided to stop for the night. I had come across their local winery. They offered me their town’s specialty, 45 bits for a pair.”

“And?” you ask.

“I took the bottles to share with the others. We weren’t exactly living as pretty as we are now. We were always dependant on our next paycheck for our meals.” She walks past you into the living room. “However, business was good. We were becoming more well known. Our names were quickly rising,” she explains as you follow her into the next room.

“So, what you’re basically saying is you had some bits to spare,” you say.

“Well, yes, I suppose that’s the simple way to put it,” she chuckles and she sits in a red velvet easy chair. “Have a seat,” she offers.

You consider the identical chair across the coffee table. Deciding against that, you walk around and sit in the similar loveseat and sit on the end closest to Octavia.

“So how was it?” you ask while settling yourself in.

Octavia raises an eyebrow. “Want to know why I still have the other bottle?”

You look up into her deep purple eyes. Taking a moment, you feel rather warm while looking into them. Pretending it’s the alcohol for a moment (or maybe it really was) you collect your thoughts before you give a response.

“That bad, huh?”

“Never again. I keep it on the shelf as a reminder.”

You both snicker before taking another drink of wine.

“To be fair, the colt told me it was an acquired taste before I bought them,” she says as she takes the glass away from her lips. “So tell me, is there anything you collect?”

You think for a moment. Opening your mouth to speak, you are struck with a minor case of giggles as you realize the irony of it. Octavia raises an eyebrow.

“Yes there is, in fact,” you answer, getting over your little laughing fit.

“What is it?” she asks with a smirk. Apparently your spontaneous laughter is infectious.

“Shot glasses.”

“Really? That’s...” She suddenly gives another chuckle as it dawns on her as well. “That’s pretty funny,” she admits.

You give a little shrug to the humorous coincidence.

Bringing the glass back to take another sip, she stops just before her lips. “So, why shot glasses?” she asks over her cup before drinking.

“Oh, just... well, everywhere has them.” You wave a hoof in the air. “It’s a common souvenir.”

“Why not something like stamps, then?” she asks.

“I used to, as a foal.” You take a swig of your wine. “As I grew, I just needed something with a bit more... weight. If that makes any sense.”

She simply nods. “So do you travel a lot to collect them?” she asks.

“Well... no,” you admit. “My collection is not that impressive. After purchasing those from the closest surrounding towns, I mostly depend on pawn shops or flea markets.”

“Flea markets? Seriously?” she asks. It was true that most pure blood Canterlot ponies wouldn’t be caught dead at such a gathering of low ware peddlers, but these were where you had some of your best finds.

“Yes,” you say before tilting the glass back against your lips again.

“Wow... I’ve heard places like that can be...” she trails off.

“They’re not that bad,” you say with a shrug, trying to act casual. Although, you are afraid of what she might think of you for shopping at such places.

“I figured. I hate to assume.” She takes another swig of her wine. “But you know, you hear things and it doesn’t paint a pleasant picture.”

“It was a secret my dad shared with me,” you say. “He lives well in culture, but that wasn’t always the case. He always had his little tricks for things from his less civilized days.” You sip your wine. “Mom hated it.”

“Sounds like an uncle of mine,” she says.

You’re about to take another swig of your beverage when you notice your glass is empty.

“Need more?” Octavia asks, sipping down the last of her wine as well.

You contemplate how wise the idea of more wine is. However, remembering what made you accept the first time. But right now you are fine. Everything is well; the two of you are just having a conversation after learning about an extreme phobia of hers while barging into her house and- nevermind, your heart just resumed pounding. Red wine was good for the heart, right? Yes, so maybe a little more would help it from all the excitement.

And the fact you are yet again freaking out on the inside about everything.

“If you’re offering,” you say, trying to keep and even tone.

Octavia leans over and takes the bottle, pouring a little more wine for herself. Extending your glass, she pours a little more for you, too.

“You know...” she begins, placing the bottle down and picking up her refilled glass. “Maybe one day we could bring our collections together.”

“Why?” you ask, bringing your glass up for a swig.

“Because, we could go drinking around the world in my own living room.”

You laugh, thankfully before having taken a drink.

“That’d be fun,” you reply.

~~~~~~~

You smile a bit more as the memory wraps up.

Blinking a couple times and snapping out of your trance, you notice your chin is now propped on your hooves. Both your and Octavia’s meals are completely finished and the rest of the dining area was empty except for a couple employees wiping off tables. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the employees looking over at the two of you with a smirk.

You also realize that you and Octavia have just been staring at each other the entire time.

Opening your mouth, trying to think of something to say, the gray mare across from you gives a little giggle. Your mouth closes again back into its grin.

It’s a rather silly moment, but it’s another you wish you could stay in. Just sitting with her. Happy. Smiling. It reminds you of a few young couples you saw outside small restaurants or coffee shops while walking down the streets in Canterlot. The two of you now probably fit the part perfectly.

Octavia closes her eyes and lets out a sigh. “Alright, we should get going,” she says while scooting her chair back. “I have a phone call to make.”

Reluctantly, you follow Octavia, getting out of your chair and walking back towards the lobby. You wanted to stay just a bit longer, but she should really get in contact with her fellow quartet members before they start worrying about where she is.

“We’ll have to stop by the front desk first,” Octavia says.

“Why’s that?” you ask.

“Because...” she begins, turning to you with an awkward smile. “I don’t think either of us took a room key when we left.”

Chapter 4: To Tartarus With Them

Simple joys. That’s all you can think about at the moment as you insert the new key from the front desk into the doorknob letting yourself and Octavia into the room. You’ve really warmed up to the place. When you first found yourself in it, you panicked. Now, you are happier than ever that you wound up here.

Giving off a sigh as you stretch your wings and feel the strangely satisfying ache that only a full stomach can provide. “That was probably the most food I’ve ever eaten in a single sitting,” you comment.

“I could say the same thing,” Octavia replies. She walks around the bed to the phone on the desk as you flop down on the mattress.

You simply lay on the bed contently as Octavia begins dialing. Folding a wing in front of yourself, you begin straightening the individual feathers that had somehow gotten messed up at some point with your muzzle. Feeling a shift in weight on the mattress, you notice her now sitting and looking down at you with a smile as she’s holding the receiver up to her ear. You return the smile as you can faintly hear a ringing from the earpiece. Suddenly, the ringing stops. A light voice you cannot make out replaces it.

“Ah, hello Harpo,” Octavia says, turning away. “I’m calling to let you know of an unfortunate mix up I had with the schedule. You see, I’m currently-”

Octavia is cut off as a sudden bout of laughter bursts through the phone.

“And what is so funny?” she asks as the laughter dies down. “What? I... what?” she asks as you hear somepony speaking on the other end of line. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Alright? ...Yeah, he’s here with me. How did you know? ...I did what?”

You look up with concern as Octavia stares blankly at the wall, listening to the voice on the phone. She eventually lets out a large sigh. “So you at least know where I am. Yes, I have my cello with me and I’ll practise.” Octavia straightens herself up a bit. “Did Beauty Brass get her part, yet? ...Okay. I’ll see you all tomorrow, then.” She gets up to hang up the phone before walking back and setting herself heavily back down on the mattress.

Unsure if you should ask, she looks over and catches your eyes again. She studies the curious look on your face.

“So, I called them last night,” she says.

“...and?” you ask.

“Quite the moment, apparently.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, sitting up.

She sighs. “They’ve been giving me a little grief recently. Last night was sort of... well, you saw me after the show.”

You cringe a little, remembering how angrily Octavia slammed her cello case shut.

“And apparently I might not have been in the right frame of mind.”

“Ah,” is all you say. Sitting quietly for a moment, you think of something else to say.

“This the first time something like this has happened?” you ask laying back down with a little laugh, already expecting an answer.

“Honestly, no. Believe it or not,” she says. The answer surprises you. “While it’s the first time it’s happened to me specifically, I’m not the first who had ended up in a situation like this.”

“Really?” you ask. “Who else in your ensemble woke up hungover in a hotel room?”

“Wasn’t a hotel room, but Beauty Brass and Harpo,” she says, a grin forming on her face.

“Wow. I didn’t know a classical orchestra quartet knew how to party,” you joke, getting a giggle out of the mare beside you. “Do you think they’ll let you hear the end of this?”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she says. “I’m afraid that I’ll no longer have reason to tease them about it after today.” She shakes her head. “But it probably won’t stop me.”

“How are you friends?” you ask.

“Celestia only knows.”

“So do they know about us already?”

“They know we’re both here,” she replies.

“I mean, do they know that we’ve... that we’re...” You’re uncertain of how Octavia might take certain ways you could end that phrase.

“That we’re officially together?” she offers. The fact that she can say it so simply and comfortably makes your heart feel like doing a victory lap around your ribcage. “They don’t, but I think it’s safe to assume that they’re assuming.”

“How do you think they’ll react to the news?” you ask, rolling onto your stomach.

She shrugs. “Well enough, I’d imagine.” She looks down to you with a smile. “And if not, then to Tartarus with them,” she says.

You both chuckle before it dies down into another moment of silence. The more and more you two talk about it, the more you realize that this is really happening. You have moved past the point of being friends and that makes you happier the more you think about it.

“So, how much do you think we drank last night?” she asks, changing the subject.

You look up. “I, um... I have no idea.” She taps her hoof on her knee a couple times.

“Well then... considering our earlier appetites, how much do you think we had to eat last night?” she asks.

“Hmm...” you put a hoof to your chin. You feel the moment of the proverbial light bulb going on over your head as you think you understand what Octavia is thinking.

“Not much, I’d imagine. We could have been drinking on empty stomachs,” you say.

“My thoughts exactly,” she responds.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, thinking about this new possibility. Drinking with little to no food in your system means it wouldn’t take much to get you both to a very inebriated state.

“But... would only the wine get us to the point we must have been last night?” you ask.

Octavia’s expression becomes vexed as she tilts her head with a shrug. “Well, what else did we have to dri-”

Her sentence is cut short as you hear a tiny clinking of glass. You see Octavia’s eyes travels down to the floor, under one of her hind hooves hanging off the side of the bed. She bends down and you can see her pushing aside a bit of blanket that spills off the mattress and partially onto the floor.

She sits back up, in her hoof a half empty bottle of Old Overcolt straight rye whiskey.

One question answered with a few more in its place. You and Octavia look to each other as you feel the deepest pits of your mind begin to churn...

~~~~~~~

The two of you finish your latest round of giggles while sipping a couple more glasses of wine. You were beginning to feel really warm, but finally a little at ease while carrying a conversation with Octavia in her own home. Still, whenever you think of the circumstance, you feel the need for another taste of the wine your host was gracious enough to provide.

“So Harpo was worried because he thought he saw the princess out of the corner of his eye standing right over his shoulder while we played,” Octavia explains. “He couldn’t understand why the princess was attending or why she had chosen such a spot to enjoy the festivities.”

“Oh dear,” you respond to let her know you’re listening.

“He was afraid to look up at her. At the end of the third song, he finally said to her, ‘Your highness, I do believe you’d enjoy the music more from a different location.’”

“And what’d she say?” you ask, bringing the glass to your lips.

“Nothing. It was a statue,” she says. The response made you almost spill some of your wine.

“A statue?” you ask between giggles.

“Part of the decoration near the stage. He hadn’t noticed it until we were up there. We were all concerned with how he was acting the entire evening.” Octavia takes another sip of her wine.

Suddenly, a clock on a cabinet across the room begins to chime. As it lets of eight soft rings, Octavia puts her wine glass down on the coffee table.

“Is it that time already?” she asks.

“What time?” you ask.

She lets out a sigh. “I’m afraid I must be getting to the train station. There’s a party I’m playing out of town.”

“What sort of party?” you ask. You reach out a hoof in an offer to take Octavia’s empty wine glass.

“Just a gathering of local business ponies. Nothing out of the ordinary, but a few big names will be there, requesting us specifically,” she says while giving you her glass.

“I see. Good to hear you’re pretty popular,” you respond.

You take two steps before realizing you’re not at a party at this moment and are not an on-the-clock waiter. You hear Octavia giggle.

“My, we seem to have fallen into a routine, haven’t we?” she asks, rather amused.

“It would seem so,” you say. “Where should I put these?” you ask with the glasses held against your chest with a foreleg.

“Just set them on the counter by the sink, if you would,” she responds. “I’m afraid I need to go get my bags.”

Walking into her kitchen, you place the glasses in the requested spot near the two metal sinks on the marble top counter. Rather, it looks like marble, but setting the glasses on it reveal it to be a fake laminate covering.

You take a step away and then hesitate, looking back at the glasses. It would be rather impolite to simply show up and dirty her dishes, wouldn’t it? A sponge sits neatly by the single middle faucet of the two sinks. Picking it up, you turn the knob and hold the sponge under the stream of water. Wetting it, you pick up a glass and begin to carefully clean around the lip of the glass.

You’ve done your fair share of dishes working in catering. Two more, not even that dirty, for a friend is nothing. You give the inside of the glass one last swishing around with water before dumping it out and begin the process again on the second glass. Clean around the lip, down in the inside, fill, swish, dump. Bare basics in Dish Cleaning 101.

You spot a little plastic rack with a few pieces of silverware in the second sink. You carefully place the glasses upright next to the little forks and knives to dry as Octavia comes in through the doorway, a couple of bags over her shoulders. A rather large black purse and a small white overnight bag.

“Did you clean those glasses for me?” she asks with a delighted tone. You simply give her a smile in return. “That was nice of you.”

The complement gives you a little giddy feeling along with the urge to smile just a bit more. Thankfully, Octavia turns away so you allow yourself to widen your grin.

“Well, I’ve got my bags so all I need is to get my cello.”

“Need any help?” you blurt out without thinking. You inwardly curse your polite waiter instincts and hope you are not being too forward with favors.

“Aren’t you the chivalrous one tonight?” Octavia says happily. “Well, if you insist, could you reach up into that cabinet and give me the first bottle of whiskey in front? I plan on sharing that around in the hotel room after the show.”

Looking up at where Octavia stores her liquor, you pull open the door and see a brown bottle, front and center, with an aged looking yellow label: “Old Overcolt”. Carefully taking the bottle with both hooves, you give it to Octavia who has partially opened one of her bags. Taking it, she tucks it into her bag before zipping it back up.

“Let me go see about how I can carry these with the rest of my things,” she says, walking back out into the living room.

Following her out of the kitchen, you take some time to look around. The decor is very simple. Hardwood flooring with a potted plant by the front door. The seats are two red easy chairs and a loveseat all surrounding a coffee table near a fireplace. A wooden cabinet with a mirror is against the wall with a couple photos, a vase, and a box.

Walking up for a better look, you see a photos of Octavia, one with family in what looks to be a graduation ceremony. The banner behind them saying ‘CONGRATULATIONS’ with her in a blue robe and holding a diploma with two other ponies, a tan mare with white mane and a brown colt with black mane. Probably her parents. The second features her and her band members in the easy chairs and loveseat by the fireplace. They’re all smiling, laughing, and having a good time.

You also see a rather ornate box. Patterns of different colors are strewn about the top of it within a border. You’re not quite sure what it is. Could be a jewelry box, but it’s not like any sort of jewelry box you’ve seen before. Not to mention Octavia doesn’t strike you as the kind of mare who would keep things like that on display rather than tucked away safely.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you step up and tip open the lid. Inside is a number of high quality Ponycristo cigars. The deep bitter smell of the tobacco wafts from the box to your nose simply upon opening the box. This is surprising as you never would have guessed Octavia partook of such a habit.

“Okay, I think I may need a little help,” she says from the other room. She says as she walks back with her bags. She stops when she sees you closing the lid to the humidor. “Please don’t touch those,” is all she says as she slides the bags off her back onto the floor.

“I, um... I never knew you smoked,” you say walking up to take a bag.

“Wha-? Oh!” she says, looking between you and the humidor. “Oh, no. No no no. Those are not actually mine.”

You raise an inquisitive eyebrow.

“They’re Harpo’s,” she explains while getting her cello case from where you left it upon entering her house. “He used to have them rather frequently, and it concerned us, being his friends. Now, he’s cut back a lot, but we have an agreement saying he’s allowed one cigar after every successful show.”

“So why are they here?” you ask, slipping on her bags to help carry.

“As the only home... renter,” she says, hesitating on the last word. “Our get togethers usually take place here, so I keep the box to make sure he doesn’t have access to them at other times.” She takes a pause to adjust the cello case on her back to get it into a comfortable position. “I make him take it out on the back porch, though. I can barely stand the odor of those things. I think the same goes for the rest of us.”

“So how do-...” You look around. “Is this really everything?” you ask, gesturing to the two small bags over your shoulder.

“I pack light. Cello is still a bit heavy,” she explains.

“I thought you said you needed help.”

“For convenience, honestly. It’s a little hard to balance everything and you did offer.”

You nod before returning to your original question. “So how do you know Harpo doesn’t just buy his own when nopony’s around?”

“Well...” she says in a rather amused voice as she opens the door. You follow her outside as a rather brisk wind blows past you, causing you to shiver slightly. It seems that the outside temperature had dropped a bit during your conversation. She uses a key tucked under her bow tie to lock up. “The smell would be rather distinct. And Beauty Brass makes sure he doesn’t have any in their apartment either,” she explains as the two of you begin down the street.

“Wait, Beauty Bra-... Their apartment-” Wheels in your head start turning. “So, wait a minute... Beauty Brass... And Harpo?” you ask.

Octavia nods with a smirk. “About a year after we all started playing together. It’s actually quite an amusing story of how they got together. I might tell you at some other point.”

“Never would have known. They don’t really show anything from I’ve seen,” you say. The train station comes into view.

“Really? Well, they are pretty strict with their public displays of affection,” she says. “Although, I find it surprising. You’re usually very good at noticing such things from what I’ve seen.”

You smile at her compliment. You are always proud of your observational skills and how useful they are in your line of work.

“And I don’t really see too much of you outside of those times,” you say, but realize your little vocal slip. “You guys, I mean.”

Octavia giggles. You think you see a little bit of blush on her cheeks, but that may be the fact that it had cooled off a bit this evening since you were chatting.

“Well, you’ve met them before. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you joined in on some of our meetings. We actually talk about you sometimes,” she says.

“Really?” you ask in a bit of genuine surprise.

“Yes, in fact. Usually when they wish somepony would bring them refreshments.”

You roll your eyes with a sigh at the joke. To be honest, thinking that you are expected to act as a waiter wherever you go is a little bit of a sore spot. Something shared by a lot of your co-workers.

“Oh, come on now,” Octavia says. “They were just kidding around.”

“I know, but still.” You shake your head. “I think it’s a little insensitive, thinking of me only of my job of all hours. I mean, what if I told you that I sometimes think ‘Oh, I could go for some music right now; I wish Octavia was here’?” you ask.

She shrugs. “I wouldn’t mind playing for you,” she says.

The answer kind of takes you by surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, in fact,” she says. “After all, you did some of my dishes. Fair’s fair.”

You both chuckle as you reach the train station. Walking in, you see white everywhere. White floors, white ceiling, white walls, white seats, and white columns. The only break from the whiteness are a few advertisement posters on the walls. You see Octavia begin looking around the waiting area.

“I... don’t see any of my friends here,” she says as she takes a seat.

“Are they running late?” you ask while joining her.

“I’m not sure... they could be. Or they could have already left.” She slides her cello case in front of her momentarily as she opens it and pulls out a train pass, good for so many rides in a certain time frame. Makes sense she’d keep it in the one thing she absolutely has to have with her.

“Without you?” you ask, surprised.

“Well, we normally don’t travel together if we can help it,” she explains. “We get enough of each other during rehearsal, shows, and after shows. Sometimes we enjoy a little space, so we just let each other get to wherever we need to go on their own.”

“And if they can’t make it for some reason?”

“That has never been a problem,” she says. “We always make it.”

“I imagine there must be at least a few complications,” you say as you walk through the station.

“We do everything we can to prevent that.”

“Really?” you ask, hoping for further explanation.

“Yep. Like, whenever we stay in a hotel. Beauty Brass usually calls in the reservations for two double rooms, but makes sure all of our names are listed so we can all get into them. Just in case anypony arrives before she does.”

“I see...” you say before a part in her last statement makes you think.

“Wait, two doubles?” you ask.

“Same as always.”

“But I thought you said Beauty Brass and Harpo were...” you trail off.

“They are,” she replies casually, reading over her train pass.

“Since a year when you started playing. That’s quite a while, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“So do they not, you know... share a bed?” you ask.

“No, they don’t,” she says. “It’s not as if they’re uncomfortable with each other. It’s just that Beauty Brass, being who she is, tends to...” Octavia begins to breathe in and out with great exaggeration.

“Snore?”

She nods. “He sleeps with earplugs, but they hardly do any good when she’s right next to him.”

“I see,” you say, trying to suppress a small snicker.

“Train 2A to Whinnyapolis has now pulled in,” says over the loudspeaker.

“Well, that’s my train,” she says, looking around the waiting area and the front doors one last time. “Looks like I’m traveling alone,” she says. She looks up at you. “I do wish you could accompany me further.”

A thought begins to tick in your mind. “Well, why can’t I?” you ask.

She looks at you in surprise. “Can you?” she asks. “What about work?”

You allow yourself a grin. “It’s my weekend off, actually,” you reply, the same feeling of joy coming from saying the words as from you read it on the posted schedule. You wouldn’t mind taking some time out of it for her, though.

“But you need a ticket,” she says. “They’re rather expensive, especially last minute.”

Your smile only grows. “Let’s just go up there,” you say.

She nods, albeit uncertainly due to not knowing what you are planning. You two begin to walk up and wait in line behind a few other ponies. Their business is short and soon enough, you two are up to the counter while the colt there only glances up from his magazine.

“Ticket,” he says, while flipping the page.

Octavia slides her train pass through the opening in the glass. The colt simply takes it, marks the end and then slides it back. “Thank you, have a good trip,” he adds. At least he’s friendly. He pushes a button that lets Octavia through the turnstile. You walk up to the counter next.

“Ticket,” he says.

You reach behind you into your personal anomaly of space and time simply known as your ‘pocket’ where some ponies and other creatures are mysteriously able to keep small convenient personal belongings on themselves. No amount of study or magic has been able to explain this phenomena, but nopony is complaining about it by any means. You pull out your employment identification card and slide it over the counter.

The colt gives it a close once over, making sure the picture matches the pony carrying it, that it is not expired, and certain legal markings to confirm its authenticity. He gives a nod, sliding the ID back to you.

“Just find an open seat. Have a good trip,” he says. He pushes the button, letting you through the cold metal turnstile with a hard clk-click. Octavia waits on the other side with surprise.

“What did you show him?” she asks.

“Palace staff ID card,” you answer with a smirk. “Allows free passage on board trains to and from Canterlot under the assumption of business.”

She looks around as you both get in line to board as ponies disembark from the train. “Are you allowed to do that?” she asks with a hushed tone.

“Technically, it’s against the rules to use for personal reasons,” you admit with a shrug. “But everypony on staff does it. It makes vacations easier to plan when you don’t have to worry about cost or means of travel.”

“Train 2A to Whinnyapolis is now boarding.”

The line starts moving and ponies begin to file in to take their seats. “Well, that’s a bit dishonest, isn’t it?” she asks as you move along with the crowd down the aisle.

“Nopony really minds. It’s not like the train companies depend on us for their profits. And the managers don’t care what we do during or where we go on our time off as long as we report back able to work when we’re scheduled,” you say as she leads you through a door into another train car with personal seating cabins.

“Still, I knew you had your little tricks when serving me and my friends after hours, but I didn’t know you had such benefits you could take advantage of for personal reasons.” She leads you into a open cabin and closes the door as soon as you’re both inside. The cabin has two wooden benches across from each other with a small table at the end under the window.

“Is there anything wrong with that?” you ask.

“It could strike one as unscrupulous, using your position for such things,” she says as she takes off her cello case and puts it beside her as she sits down. You take a seat across from her and remove the bags from her shoulders.

“My position?” you ask. “Like the fact that I’ve taken and washed glasses from a good number successful Canterlot business owners somehow lets me go into some tailor for a free suit?”

“For all I know,” she says with a little smirk. “You could be eating free meals every night at the fanciest restaurants. The ponies there being so honored to serve the one who had served so many big names.”

“I am rather privileged to be on the high end of the hierarchy of waiters,” you say, joking along yourself. The comment gets a good laugh out of her as you feel your own grin forming.

“Oh, such contemptible behavior.” She shakes her head back and forth, softly tsking. “Just when you think you know a pony...”

The train lets out a whistle as you feel a couple bumps forward. A small high pitched grinding noise lets out from the other side of the train as it slowly starts accelerating. You look out the window to see the walls of the station begin to move and give way to the open landscape and sky. The train continues along the tracks, getting up to speed before you resume your conversation.

“Sorry, Octavia. Some ponies have a certain side to them they don’t talk about,” you say. “Although, I must say that you are also a rather misinformative mare yourself.”

Her jollity is replaced with a look of slight confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you have all those bottles that you don’t drink,” you begin. “Box of cigars, but you don’t smoke. What else could there be?”

She grins again and begins to chuckle. “Would it be a bad time to mention that this is actually a double bass?” she asks, gesturing to the instrument case in front of her.

You give out a fake gasp. “Octavia, I thought I could trust you! How much of our relationship is based on such secrets and lies?” you ask in a mockingly dramatic tone, putting a hoof to your forehead as if you are about to faint.

Octavia only smiles at your performance. A light tapping on the cabin door drags you out of your theatrical display.

“Hello?” Octavia asks. The door slides open revealing an attendant wearing a red and white striped vest holding a few sheets in plastic covers.

“Hello there. We are currently preparing refreshments for our riders. Would you like to see the menu?” he asks.

You look to Octavia curiously. Come to think of it, you hadn’t really eaten anything since before the garden party. It was definitely later than you would have normally had eaten dinner.

“We’re getting off at the first stop, so we won’t have that much time for food,” she says.

Oh well. It’s not like you have any bits on you. You hadn’t really prepared for this impromptu trip. You’ll probably have to wait until you get home for a good midnight snack or something. Not that you mind. Time with Octavia is definitely worth giving up a meal.

“However, if you could bring us two glasses of sparkling cider for us, that’d be lovely.” She digs in one of her bags, pulling out a small hoofful of bits. Handing them to the attendant, he looks at the amount then gives a nod and thanks before walking out and closing the cabin again.

“More to drink?” you ask.

She nods. “The cider on the railways is always somehow delicious in a way that cannot be replicated. A bit of a tradition, if you will.”

“Okay, so after shows, birthdays, travel... How many of your traditions involve alcohol?” you ask.

“Enough to be worrying, I admit,” she says as lightheartedly as she could with such context. “I suppose you’ll have to take one of the drinks I ordered if you’re concerned.”

“Take one of-... you ordered one for me?”

“Did I say that?” she asks with a joking tone.

You chuckle this time, with a shake of your head. “You really are too kind to me, Octavia.”

Again, although maybe it was a trick of the light, you think you see a bit of blush on her cheeks as she turns to look out of the window. A little while passes as you let the conversation go in favor of just sitting in the moment. Then, there is another knock on the door of your cabin.

“Your drinks,” says the attendant as he walks in. Two glasses on a tray are balanced on his back. Turning his head, he carefully picks up the tray and places in on the small table between you and Octavia.

“Thank you,” Octavia says, reaching for her glass.

The attendant bows before walking out, closing the door behind him. Octavia has taken the glass and already begun slowly draining its contents. You take your glass and look into it at the clearish dark yellow liquid.

“It won’t bite,” Octavia says. “Trust me. If you ever had cider before, I don’t know how or why, but it always tastes better in a moving train.”

You smile at her comment. “Do you travel by train often?” you ask.

“No,” she replies, looking into her glass. “It’s usually by caravan of some sort. The chance doesn’t come up that often, so I always order it.” Her eyes travel up to yours. “And that’s why I wanted to share it with you. Who knows when we might get this chance again?”

Your smile grows at her words. “Well, thank you very much,” you say before bringing the cup up to drink. The tart liquid has a very crisp flavor and flows smoothly down with a sweet aftertaste.

“Wow...” you say, bringing the glass away.

Octavia smirks. “It’s one of my two favorite things about traveling like this,” she says.

“What’s the other?” you ask.

“The view.” She turns and looks out the window. “Just looking out at all the land as we pass, especially from the mountain city of Canterlot. I always find it soothing.”

You decide to look out the window to see if she’s right. The view is definitely nothing short of beautiful. You could see villages and cities passing by in the distance along with the forests and plains.

“Can you believe some ponies find it necessary to bring books or other entertainment on journeys like this?” she asks.

You’ve never travelled much before, but hearing Octavia’s question along with all she has shown you, you simply shake your head.

The rest of the train ride is spent in silence, simply enjoying the view and the company you got to share it with. The moon and stars of Princess Luna are out in all of their seemingly otherworldly beauty. The tiny lights dotting various towns all the way to the horizon, almost as if trying to mirror the night sky above them. They stay in your vision off in the distance as the ground travels below you at an impressive pace. The sounds are only of the wheels rolling along the tracks, the occasional rattle of the windows, and the little sighs from the lovely mare your are currently sharing the cabin with.

As you bring the glass to your lips for the last of your cider, you still have to admit that she was right. This was some of the best cider you have ever tasted.

Your view is unfortunately cut off by some buildings, indicating the train is pulling into a station. Remembering Octavia’s remark from earlier, you realize that this is probably her destination. As the train comes to a complete stop, you slip Octavia’s bags over your shoulders. You both stand up and open the door, allowing a couple groups to pass before you follow them down the aisle into the other train car before walking out into the station.

The station, for the most part, looks just like Canterlot’s with something you can’t quite put your hoof on. You decide to worry about it later as you keep up with Octavia.

“So where’s the hotel?” you ask.

“First avenue on the north side, across the city. We’ll have to take a taxi cart,” she answers.

“We?” you ask, surprised she wants you to accompany her further. You expected to drop her off with her luggage before coming back to catch the next train home. While you try to keep some rather untoward thoughts out of your mind, and maybe it was a little of the alcohol in your system at work, but you can’t help but think of some of the ways the night could go from there.

“You’re still carrying my bags, right?” she asks.

You let out a slight snicker with a smile as you nod. However, on the inside you mentally give yourself a little kick for assumptions.

Walking from the train station out into the street, you look back and forth for something resembling a taxi. From your limited experience in cities like this, all you know is the stereotypical taxi cart design: yellow and black. If you are wrong, then at least Octavia would know what to look for.

After a few minutes, you see something that looks vaguely like what you had in mind. Raising a hoof, you prepare to wave it down.

“What are you doing?” asks Octavia.

“I’m, um... waving down that taxi?” you say, suddenly very unsure of yourself.

“That one? That already has a passenger in it?” she asks.

Looking back, you see that the taxi does, indeed, already have somepony in its cart.

“No, I mean the, um... the one I thought was behind it,” you say, putting your hoof down in an attempt to cover your mistake. You feel your cheeks grow rather warm as you look away from Octavia.

“...oh, I didn’t even see that one,” she says.

You suddenly look back down the street, believing that there is, in fact, and empty taxi sent down by Princess Celestia herself to keep you from looking like an idiot. Instead, all you see is a distinct lack of the distinct colors along with Octavia’s smirk in the corner of your vision.

“Thought you could lie to me, hmm?” she accuses playfully. You simply sigh and shake your head as it begins to lean downward in defeat.

A few more minutes pass as you keep your hooves on the ground. You decide Octavia can wave the taxi down herself if she’s so smart. Soon enough, you see her life up a hoof and let out a sharp whistle you never knew her capable of. Looking up, you see another yellow and black cart, this time devoid of a passenger and pulling over in the road towards you.

The cart stops right in front of you. The cabbie pulling the cart is wearing a black t-shirt along with a flat cap that’s a slightly darker brown than his fur over his tan mane. He reaches up and gives you both a tip of his hat.

“Good evenin’,” he says with a slight accent. “Where am I takin’ ya?”

“To the hotel at 601 First Avenue,” Octavia says, hopping up into the cart, taking off and placing her cello behind her. You climb up to join her, placing her bags beside yourself as well.

“A pegasus needin’ a taxi?” the cabbie asks.

“I’m following her,” you reply.

“Ah, right then,” he says, pulling at the strap that ties him to the cart. “Iffin’ you’ll give me a moment. Feels like I might be comin’ loose.”

“Take your time,” Octavia says as she adjusts herself in her seat.

As the cabbie adjusts himself, you take a look back at the station. It looks the same as the one in Canterlot, except... different. Different kinds of ponies lined up inside and waiting to travel. Different attire and luggage, too. And maybe a bit more yellow, perhaps? Could be the light of the city all around. Then again, maybe that’s all it takes. Although, it wasn’t fair to judge.

Wait, was this judging? Or was it simply observation? Well, remembering a bit of history, the great Starswirl the Bearded once said-

“Alright?” Octavia’s voice rouses you from your thoughts.

“Wha- yes?” you ask, a bit jarred from your internal conversation.

She giggles. “Caught in a stare?” she asks.

“A bit, yeah,” you admit.

“So, you two ready?” the cabbie asks.

“Yep,” you both reply in unison, surprising the both of you.

“Well, okay then,” he says with a sly grin. “Sit back an’ I’ll get ya’ where ya’ need to go.”

Relaxing in your seat, you look around the city as you feel the cabbie begin to pull you forward, getting a little speed before attempting to join in the traffic of other carts. Once, you are in the street, he pulls at a steady pace, the wooden cart wheels clicking and clacking against the brick road beneath.

As the blocks begin to go by, you watch the passing lights and signs with great interest. You’ve honestly have never been to a city like this before. Nowhere in Canterlot would you see these blue and pink light up ‘OPEN’ signs or groups of busy ponies out this late. You wonder if this city ever sleeps.

‘Perhaps this place is nocturnal,’ you think to yourself with a smirk.

“Almost awe-inspiring, isn’t it?” Octavia asks.

“I was the same way when I first came to cities such as this,” she says with a reminiscing sigh. “I still never tire of the sights and sounds.”

“I don’t think I would, either,” you reply wistfully. Like the train ride, you simply sit next to Octavia, seeing the city for all its glory. Every light catches your interest. Every pony on the street fascinates you. It was like exploring another world.

Unfortunately, the exciting sights are interrupted much earlier as the cart comes to a stop in front of one of many rather large buildings.

“Here ya’ are,” the cabbie says. “That’ll be six bits, if you please.”

“Could you give me that bag there?” she asks. Hoofing it over, she takes out and counts some bits.

“Here you are. Keep the change,” she says.

“Thank ya’, miss,” he says accepting with another tip of his hat.

She hands the bag back to you as you slip on the other over your shoulder. You hop out of the cart as she carefully adjusts the cello case on her back.

As she begins to step out, you offer a hoof to help her descend down, which she accepts with a smile. When she has her hooves on the ground, you let her hoof go as she begins to the entrance of the building.

“‘Ey, you make her carry that big thing and pay fer the trip and you act all fancy?” says the cabbie, putting the fare he had just received under his hat.

“She would never let me take it from her,” you say. “And honestly, she’s taken me a lot farther than you’d expect and I’m not exactly sure why.”

“I see,” he says as he gives a slow nod.

“Have a good evening,” you say, turning away.

“You too, buddy!” you hear him call out before dragging the cart away for more potential riders.

You walk up to Octavia who is waiting by the front door.

“What was that about?” she asks.

“Nothing,” you reply with a shrug.

She shrugs as well. “Okay then.”

You and Octavia open the doors into the lobby of the hotel. The walls are a light wooden tone. Windows inside stretch from floor to ceiling with a frantic cascade between clear and opaque. There is a finely striped yellow and orange columns inside glass boxes against each wall. Small black textured benches sit by the front doors. The floor is a rather stylistic blend of stripes in various shades of gray. The front desk seems as though it is made of mirrors with a colt sitting behind it.

You two approach the front desk. “Hello! Welcome to the Glues 601. How may I help you today?” the dark red receptionist cheerfully asks.

“Yes, I have a room reserved, under the name Octavia Philharmonica,” she says. “Or rather, the room was reserved by one Beauty Brass, but they are expecting me.”

The receptionist pulls out his log book. He flips to a page with the current date on the heading. His hoof trails down the page.

“Any particular room that you know of?” he asks.

“Um...” Octavia puts a hoof to her chin. “None that I am aware of, no.”

“Hmm...” he vocalizes as he scans the page. Soon, he flips the page over and scans that one as well.

“Well, I’m afraid there’s a problem,” he says.

“What?” Octavia asks.

“It seems that there were rooms reserved under those names, but the reservations have been cancelled and the rooms filled with other occupants. Terribly sorry.”

Octavia’s mouth hangs open in shock. The air seems to grow heavy as the sounds of the other guests fade away. A sudden urge to panic runs through you, but thankfully slows to a stop through the alcoholic warmth in your body before reaching your brain. You and her look at each other, unsure of what to do.

The first thing you figure is that you should probably move away from the front desk.

“Pardon us,” you say, putting a hoof on Octavia’s shoulder. She follows you with little resistance as you lead her aside.

“Okay...” you begin taking your hoof back. “You’ve done this more than I have. What do we do?” you ask.

“I... don’t know,” she says, still in bewilderment. “Nothing like this has happened before.”

“Let’s- okay. Let’s try and think of some options,” you say. “Can we... get back to Canterlot?”

“I-... I don’t-...” she says, shaking her head.

“Octavia!” you say, shaking her gently with a hoof to get her out of her stupor.

She takes a deep breath. “Sorry,” she says. Opening up one of her bags, she pulls out a glossy piece of paper. Wait, that wasn’t gloss, it was completely laminated. “This is the train schedule for their regular routes,” she explains. “Let’s see if we can get anywhere...”

She folds open the the sheet and looks closely. As time goes on, she looks up at the clock against the far wall, then back to the schedule, slowly shaking her head again.

“Something wrong?” you ask.

“That... was the last train back to Canterlot,” she says. “The one we got off of.”

“What? But I thought you said the train we came on wasn’t the last one here,” you say.

“The last one coming from Canterlot to here, no,” she explains. “However, the train we arrived one will be making one last trip around back to Canterlot before returning, and then shutting down for maintenance and refueling.”

“Any late night routes?” you ask.

“Not any we’re looking for,” she says.

You let out a huge sigh. “When’s the earliest train tomorrow?” you ask.

She shakes her head again. “There isn’t one. Whinnyapolis to Canterlot is Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

You suck some air in through your teeth. “What if we switched trains? Rode to certain towns and transferred between routes?”

“That could get complicated and expensive,” she says. She takes a deep breath. “Listen... how long would it take you to go ahead and get home yourself by flying?” she asks.

You think for a moment. “Let’s see... thirty minute train ride. We were going pretty fast.” You tap a hoof against your chin. “It’d take me maybe a hour or two?” you guess. “Not that bad.”

She nods. “So you can get home whenever you want. I think the simplest course for me is to stay here.”

“Stay here?” you ask.

“Yes. Rent another room, if they have one,” she explains.

“Why not somewhere cheaper? Somewhere-”

“Because I’m stressed and I’ve been drinking,” she says flatly. “I’m not in the mood for comparing room prices right now. I will pay whatever they want.”

You decide to let the comment go, understanding the fuzzy feeling first hand clouding your thoughts. “What about your other quartet members?” you ask curiously.

“Hmm...” She pauses for a moment. “You’re right. We may be getting a bit ahead of ourselves. Let’s see if they have a phone we can use. Assuming they haven’t left yet, I’ll try to call them.”

“Okay. I’ll see about a room for you, then.”

She smiles. “Thank you.”

You two walk back up to the receptionist.

“Anything I can help you with?” he asks.

“Do you have a public phone?” Octavia asks.

“Right over there,” he says, pointing over to the far wall, where a wooden shelf holds a metal payphone. “A bit for twenty minutes.”

“Thank you,” she says, walking over to the phone with her cello case.

The receptionist turns back to you. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Do you have any rooms open?” you ask.

“What kind and for how long?” he asks.

“Just a single. For tonight,” you say.

“For tonight? Our usual price for a standard single is forty bits a night.”

You try to hide the shock in your expression at the mention of such a price.

“However, considering your... circumstances,” he says as his eyes drift to the gray mare on the phone. “And the fact you’re buying out what would be an empty room, we have a policy where we might be able to give you a discount. I’ll have to get the manager to finalize, though.”

“Oh, thank you!” you say with a hint of relief that the situation just might work out fine.

The receptionist reaches under the desk and you hear a light clicking noise. You just sit and wait. He drums a hoof on the table while you subconsciously rub your foreleg. Looking over, it seems Octavia is getting rather involved in her phone call; holding the receiver in front of her face as if having the mouthpiece in the center would have whoever hear her better.

As you look back to the front desk, you see a rather large stallion with extremely dark gray fur, nearly black, along with a white mane approach the front desk. He too wore the normal hotel vest uniform, the only difference being the gold plated tag that says “MANAGER”.

“Hello there. How can I help you?” he says with a nod of his head.

“Well, my friend over there...” you say, pointing to the cellist with her head hanging low with a single hoof laying where she hung up the phone. You try not to let the worrisome sight get in the way of explaining yourself. “Had apparently reserved a room, but it’s been cancelled.”

“Oh, well...” he begins, with a little hesitance. “I’m afraid if it’s not in our books, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“They’re looking to get another room,” the receptionist behind the desk tells them.

“Really? Well then, let me see here.” He says, scooting the log book towards himself. “Most of our higher-end rooms have been rented out for an upcoming gathering, so I’m afraid I’ll have to put you in something pretty basic.”

“That’s all we need. We’ll take anything,” you reply.

“So a double for him and his friend?” he asks the receptionist.

“He asked for a single,” he replies.

“Oh, I see.”

Before you can voice an explanation, he lets out a loud “Hmm...” as his eyes scan down the page. Deciding not to bother him with the details, you let him do his job and let him have his own assumptions. He occasionally gives a tiny nod as he reads along with a little movement of his lips, as if reading along.

“Did they get 104 cleaned out?” the manager asks.

“They had to order some special cleaner, sir. Opened the windows and needs to air for about a day.”

You really don’t want or care to ask.

“I see. Well, we got room 213 open. What name will this be under?”

“Octavia Philharmonica.”

“Wait...” he says, looking up from the logbook to you. “You mean the Octavia playing at the upcoming business thing?”

“I, um... yes.”

“Didn’t they have rooms reserved?” he asks the receptionist.

“They were apparently cancelled for tonight,” he explains with a shrug.

“That’s because we had a change in schedule,” Octavia says as she walks up, cello case in tow. “If you could check for a room under the name Beauty Brass two days from now?” she asks.

The manager flips through the pages again and trails his hoof down the page. He taps a certain point and nods his head.

“Yep. Right here. Beauty Brass for two doubles, party of four, including Octavia.”

“Two days from now?” you ask Octavia.

“I...” She sighs. “Had forgotten a little complication that had occurred. It seems we had a delay for Beauty brass due to the new mouthpiece for her horn being delivered. She was complaining of the condition of her old one for some time now.”

“New mouthpiece? Can’t buy one at a regular music store?”

“Beauty could power a personal sailboat with her lung capacity,” she says with a chuckle. “I’ve seen that mare go through normal mouthpieces like tissues when we first started. We had to have multiple on hoof for any show we played. Now, she gets hers specially made.”

She turns to the receptionist and manager, obviously amused by the little anecdote. “So about a new room...” she begins.

“Yes, we were just talking about that with your friend. We have a room ready to accommodate you, but...” the manager says.

“But what?” you ask.

“I had not realized her name was already on another room,” he says.

“Is that a problem?” Octavia asks.

“Due to the upcoming festivities, we must keep our rooms as available as possible. Policy states that at this time, we cannot have a pony with more than one room with their name.”

“What!?” Octavia asks sharply. “But that doesn’t make any sense. What if a company had multiple representatives staying?”

“They would need to be under two different names,” he says, a little concerned of Octavia’s reaction. “It’s enforced by the owner who has ponies looking over the logbooks every night. I’m sorry.”

Not wanting to see any conflict between the cellist and manager, an idea pierces the warm buzz in your head. “Put it under my name, then,” you say.

The manager and Octavia look at you. “Are you not one of the ponies listed for this room two days from now?” he asks.

“Nope!” you reply, happily.

“Well then, that should be fine,” he says, a bit of relief in his voice that a solution was found.

You turn to see Octavia looking at you with one of the biggest smiles you’ve seen this evening. “So, what would be the cost for two nights?” she asks.

“All things considered, I can give you half off for tonight and standard for the night after, so would sixty bits be okay?”

“That is... absolutely more than okay,” Octavia says, happily. “Thank you so much!”

“Not a problem. Will you be needing help with your bags at all?” he asks.

“I have him for that,” she says, gesturing a hoof towards you. You smile and nod, ready to be Octavia’s packcolt for the evening. You begin gathering the bags and cello case. She was right, it’s all rather hard to balance.

You give the receptionist your information and let him sketch your cutie mark as Octavia puts the bits on the counter and gets the key. The two of you walk up the first flight of stairs and walk down the halls, counting off the number of the rooms.

“Hey,” she says, getting your attention. “Thanks for this.”

“No big deal,” you say.

“Yes, it is. I wouldn’t have been able to stay if it hadn't been for you,” she says, looking up and seeing the room number you are looking for. “And you were kind enough to take the time to keep me company for the whole trip.” She sit on her haunches and trades hooves she is holding the key in before wrapping her foreleg around your shoulder in a half-hug.

“So again, thank you,” she says.

You simply smile and enjoy her sign of affection as she clicks the lock and enters the room. You both walk in and examine the inside. There were simple pieces of furniture: desk, bed, cabinet, and nightstand. The carpet was a deep blue with some wallpaper all around with a fall theme. It probably wasn’t what she was used to, but it was definitely better than nothing.

You take her cello case and bags and carefully deposit them into the closet as Octavia walks over to the bed and sits on the edge of it, sighing happily. Walking back over to her, you see her admiring the scene outside the window. Unsure if it would be appropriate to sit with her on the bed, you simply sit on your haunches on the spot as you enjoy the scene with her, like the train ride over.

Also like the train ride over, you two simply sit in silence, only listening to the occasional outside noise. The pitter-patter of late night ponies out on the town. The rolling of wheels on taxi carts. The talking of numerous passing conversations, just faintly within hearing range.

You could never imagine living in such a busy city like this. Sure, Canterlot was big and, in its own right, busy, but it always has a tranquil air at night that nopony would want to disturb. You’ve travelled yourself every now and again, but everywhere you went was still relatively quiet at night. You can’t help but admire the ponies who would be able to function in such a place.

You also had to admire Octavia for being so open in her travels, where she would go, what kind of places she might have stayed in. The scene before you was fascinating to say the least, but you know that it would only be a matter of time before you yearn for Canterlot again. You wonder if Octavia ever feels the same...

“This your first time in a city like this?” she asks.

You nod.

“Pretty noisy, isn’t it?” she asks.

You nod again.

She giggles. “You get used to it,” she says, almost absentmindedly.

You can’t help but share her smile in that moment. Despite the noise, the lights, and everything else, you feel at peace. Perhaps you could get used to this sort of city after all.

‘If only,’ you think to yourself.

You look over to Octavia. You remember something earlier that you are rather curious about.

“So, how were your friends when you called?” you ask.

Her smile slowly vanishes. Her eyes travel down to her hooves. Her brow begins to furrow the slightest bit.

“They’re... fine,” she says in a somewhat strained voice.

“Octavia...?” you ask, carefully. Her mood seems to have completely changed in the time you got away from the front desk.

“Yes?” she asks, trying her best to keep her tone level.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

She looks over to you. Holding eye contact, you simply stare at her, waiting for an answer. All she does is get up and walk over to the closet where you put her bags. She opens the door and you can hear her ruffling around inside one of them.

She returns, holding the bottle of whiskey she packed earlier. Taking the top off the bottle, she looks at you.

“You want any?” she asks.

“I... thought that was the whiskey for you and your ensemble members,” you say, a bit worried by her change in behavior.

She gives a chuckle, one a bit more mirthful than any other this evening. “Well, for right now...” shes says before unceremoniously taking a swig directly from the bottle. She lets out a sigh as she moves the bottle away from her lips.

“...to Tartarus with them.”

~~~~~~~

Your eyes drift from the hazy memory up to Octavia who was still holding the half empty bottle of whiskey. Noticing the clock past her, you see that a solid forty minutes had passed while you were reminiscing. There are many questions you wanted to ask, but didn’t know if it would upset her.

“Have I told you what they were giving me trouble for? What made me so upset last night?” she asks, suddenly.

“I, um... I don’t recall,” you say.

She sets the bottle on the ground and looks up to meet your gaze. Neither of you say anything. Eventually, she begins to lean forward. Closer and closer slowly, with half lidded eyes, until the tips of your noses touch. You can feel her light breath blowing against you as her black mane falls forward, framing her face in a way that forces you to give her your undivided attention, as if she didn’t have it already.

“...You.”

Before you can voice your confusion, she closes the distance between your mouths, pressing her muzzle against yours. The soft sensation blocks out the rest of the world as you both close your eyes. She reaches up and puts her hooves on your shoulders, pulling you forward as she leans more into the kiss.

You can faintly taste a bit of her orange juice from her breakfast and feel her mane brush against your chest, tickling you with every individual strand. Almost by instinct, you reach around her and hold your hooves to her back, which gets a little moan out of her. You continue to enjoy the warmth and motion of her lips as you offer your own to the moment.

Eventually, she pulls away with a gasp. Opening your eyes, you stare into hers, as you regain your breath.

“What... do you... mean by that...?” you ask between breaths.

“As I said before, I like you.” She smiles as her breathing returns to normal. “And I’ve liked you for... quite a while,” she says with a little more red on her cheeks.

“Really?” you ask.

She nods with her smile growing. “You were always so friendly. So easy to talk to. And I noticed on more than one occasion you pulling strings for me.” You allow yourself a tiny grin as you feel a bit of blush yourself.

“So your other quartet members gave you trouble because of that?” you ask.

“They knew I liked you,” she says with a chuckle. “They had their fair bit of fun with it. We’re all friends and a little teasing is normal.” Her smile vanishes. “But... last night, I was having a bad day. Little annoyances.”

You nod as you remember her saying that.

“And then Harpo went a bit too far. Kept going after I asked him to stop. I wasn’t really in the mood for it.” She shakes her head. “He said I was afraid of you. I guess, in a way, I was...” she says with a sigh. “Didn’t help that the others agreed with him.”

You simply sit in silence.

“And then, the phone call last night,” she says. “I told Harpo everything. That you were with me. That we were drinking. I thought he was going to suffocate from his own laughter.”

“Why would he make fun of you like that?” you ask.

“It wasn’t so much making fun of me as it was just the absurdity of it all.” She looks up at the ceiling. “Me trapped in a city with the colt I’m apparently so afraid of.”

“You really didn’t seem that afraid,” you say. “You were usually pretty confident around me.”

“Well, that’s only in... You know. Small doses,” she says.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” you admit.

“I mean, I’m fine for a while. If nothing happens.” She sighs. “Honestly, you were the first good thing to happen that evening. And I was having fun talking. It’s why I invited you to walk me home that night. I thought I could handle pushing my limit a bit.”

You shrug. It was a fair explanation.

“But then, when we got home, and the plum tree...” she groans.

“Oh...” you say, remembering the incident.

“I must admit, the wine I brought out after that was for a number of different reasons,” she says. You both sigh.

“But... why were you so afraid of being around me?” you ask.

“Because I was afraid you’d notice something with that... thing you do!” she nearly exclaims. “Your borderline superpower of noticing body language! Although, I relaxed a bit when you said you didn’t catch anything between Beauty and Harpo. It made me think that perhaps you might not see anything... affectionate. But still, how do you even do that?” she asks.

“It’s... well, it’s a trained thing. I don’t do it normally in everyday life. I have to focus,” you explain. “I don’t notice every little twitch unless I’m looking for it. To be honest, I haven’t used my ‘superpower,’ as you put it...” you pause to chuckle, “since after our first glasses of wine after the concert.”

“...really?” she asks. Her postures slumps a bit, which you notice.

“Yep. And how you’re sitting just a bit more loosely showing you’re relaxed about that fact, but the continuing little rubbing of your hooves shows some doubt,” you begin explaining. “Your head tilted in curiosity as your eyebrows went up just a bit in surprise. The hoof rubbing has stopped as you sat up straighter again in a demonstration of defiance under sudden pressure. Your eyelids seem to be focusing your vision on me more, possibly out of annoyance, and the hard set in your jaw could mean a rising in temper- okay, I’ll stop now.”

Octavia holds her gaze on you for a few moments. Eventually, she smiles again and bursts into laughter which you join in soon after.

She leans forward again, this time wrapping her hooves around your shoulders, pulling you into a warm hug. You return the gesture, wrapping your hooves around her as well. The two of you hold each other closely as you continue expressing your happiness together.

Chapter 5: Escape

You lay on the bed, the fabric of the blanket partially wrapping around your form as your weight causes the mattress to lightly give and dip down. Staring up at the ceiling with a lot less worry than this morning, you simply listen to the hissing sounds of the water, the tiny thumping of drops hitting linoleum, and the light humming of a beautiful mare that you can only pick up every now and again.

Octavia had decided that she put off showering for long enough and went to freshen up for the day. You had contemplated joining her, but had decided against asking for fear of pushing things too fast. Although, after how things went today, it may be a silly thing to be scared of, but you still don’t want to risk it.

The soothing white noise and the full stomach you still have from breakfast makes the mattress under you feel all the more softer. Part of you is tempted to fall back to sleep, but you don’t want to miss any of this amazing day with her. Even just listening to her shower in the other room is an incredible experience.

Eventually, the water stops with a slight squeak as Octavia’s humming comes to an end. You hear a small series of clacking followed by a brief shuffling. Probably the curtain and the towel. You turn your gaze toward the door, expecting her to come out at any moment. Smile growing, you imagine her still wet with her mane weighed down with water.

The black hair flowing like ebony satin, glistening in the midmorning light through the window. She would catch you staring at her, curiosity over her features at first before a grin begins to form on her muzzle. Eyes becoming half-lidded as she would slowly walk towards you with a little extra swing in her flank. Coming straight up to you, her head leaning towards yours as her eyes slowly close, and then-

You are immediately forced out of your fantasy by the unmistakable whooshing sound of a blow dryer. Sighing in disappointment, you realize that Octavia probably isn’t one to simply towel off and then let her mane air dry.

Still, once you’re over the initial shock of the unexpected noise, you’re finding the noise a bit more soothing than the shower. The rising and falling of the noise as you hear it travel along the mare using it, its warm air blowing once again makes the bed feel softer and the food in your stomach sit a little more heavily. Breathing out a sigh, you close your eyes to relax and just listen again.

Suddenly, you feel something soft and warm press against the side of your cheek. Lingering a bit before pulling away, the warmth stays as you open your eyes again to the cellist standing over you with a smirk. You can only figure that you had missed the point at which she shut off the dryer and walked out of the room. Somehow, you had actually dozed off in that time. You’re kind of amazed at how tired you feel again just by those few moments.

Instinct kicking in, you bring a hoof up to your eye to rub out any crust that may have formed followed by a yawn. Octavia giggles as she gets up and travels around the bed.

“The shower is free,” she says.

You stretch against the mattress, straining out a hard ‘thank you’ while doing so. With that now comes the hardest part of getting up: getting up.

While simply a matter of willpower, a comfortable enough bed can sap it right out of you. It can break even the toughest colt. The most highly trained operatives in Equestria’s army may even give away valuable secrets to the enemy for just five more minutes.

Still, if your day with Octavia is to progress, then you must try. Grunting as you attempt to get yourself upright, it’s only a couple tries before you’re able to lift yourself into a good sitting position at the end of the bed. Victory is within your grasp! All you have to do is to get all four hooves on the floor to get to the bathroom. You start with a slight rocking back and forth to prepare yourself for the final leap.

However, a playful gray hoof nudges you on the way back, causing your center of gravity to shift just enough for your weight and momentum to start working against you. Bending forward in a last-ditch effort to save yourself, it does no good as everything you had worked for thus far comes crumbling back down and the ceiling returns to the focus of your view.

You let out a low groan in defeat.

Octavia sadistically chuckles at your downfall. You’re able to open your eyes enough to see that malicious grin on her face as she sits next to you.

“Having trouble?” she asks.

You murmur to the affirmative. Another giggle escapes her lips.

Starting to get yourself pumped in your mind, you psyche yourself up for another shot at getting upright. All it takes is one good push. Taking in a deep breath, you begin a mental countdown from five. Four. Three.

However, a shift in weight interrupts your thoughts as you see Octavia laying down beside you. Her hoof hovers over and lays lightly on your chest, but for however light it is, it might as well be a ton of bricks for how much it keeps you from getting up. Her warmth seemingly surrounding you again like this morning, she begins scooting closer until you almost feel her against your side.

“The bed is quite comfy, isn’t it?” she whispers into your ear.

Closing your eyes with a smile, you concede in the battle against gravity and enjoy the feeling of Octavia’s warm body and her hoof, dragging itself around your chest slowly. Through your fur, it goes up and lightly scratches under your chin which you breathe out a small sigh of satisfaction. Completely at her mercy, you’re content to simply let her trace all over you as she guides her hoof to your chest again. Then your stomach. Then down to your side...

“Gootchy gootchy goo!” Octavia suddenly presses her two hooves into your side, tickling sensations like lighting shooting throughout your body. A once lone calm sigh hanging in the air is shattered by frantic laughter as you struggle to move your convulsing body away from the assaulting hooves.

Rolling does nothing as Octavia always find a new vulnerable place, following you as you try to escape. Eventually, you roll enough that you have run out of room on the bed. Falling onto the floor, you scramble under your own legs until you are upright and still moving away from the crazy tickling fiend. Momentum is once again against you as your scrambling throws you against the far wall with a resounding THUMP.

Sliding down to the floor, all you can hear is Octavia’s amused giggling over your own sporadic breathing. You look up to the little gray devil who is smirking at you from the bed.

“What the hay was that!?” you nearly scream.

“A little motivation,” Octavia replies simply. “Now come on. Get showered up and then we’ll be leaving.”

“Leaving...?” you ask, curiosity from her statement overriding any ire from her trick.

“Well, I was thinking in the shower,” she begins to explain, “Did you know that in my travels, I never really got to see too much of the places I got to play in?”

“No?” you ask.

She shakes her head. “It’s always been simply from the hotel to the performance, back to the hotel. Maybe a store or two if I was lucky.”

“What do you do in a hotel before a show normally?” you ask.

“Oh, we’d just...” Octavia pauses, her mood seeming to drop a bit. “Practice. Non-stop until the performance. Just making sure we were perfect.” Just as suddenly as it left, her bright mood returns. “But my ensemble isn’t here, so there goes that. Besides, we don’t really want to spend all day cooped up in this hotel room, do we?”

Your heart sinks a little. That’s what you thought, or at least hoped the plan was, spending the day alone with each other. However, a little part of what she said made you curious.

“Are you going to skip practicing today because your bandmates aren’t here?” you ask.

“Well, no. I really should have some rehearsal before they get here,” she says a little sullenly, just like when she mentioned practicing before. “We have time, though. So let’s go out and do something. See the city a bit.”

Well, it does sound like fun to explore a bit, seeing as you are unfamiliar with the city. However, as you think of possibilities, you remember a tiny troubling detail.

“Uh...” you vocalize.

Octavia raises an eyebrow. “Is there a problem with the idea of going out?”

“No, not really, except...” You take a breath, expecting her response. “I don’t have any money on me, remember?”

“Well, I do, remember?” she asks with a smile.

You shake your head. “Octavia, you’ve already paid for so much for me. I’d feel really bad asking you to pay more. I mean, I’m going to pay you back for all of, wait- no, unless, uh...” the sentence degenerates into confused garbles as you mix up how to properly say you’ll repay her for her kindness.

“Oh, I suppose that’s fair,” she says, interrupting your rambling. “But I’m sure we can find something. Even if it’s just walking around the city. That would be pretty fun, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” you say, feeling a bit of relief when you hear that this day won’t be putting more strain on Octavia’s wallet.

“But first things first, you may want to clean up a bit,” she comments. “I don’t mean to offend you, but your mane is rather greasy.”

Running a hoof through your mane confirms her statement, an unnatural thickness in your hair that leaves an unsavory feeling. With a sigh, you pick yourself up off the floor and make your way across the room.

“And don’t worry,” Octavia calls out behind you. “I know you’ll pay me back for this trip. One way or another.”

She turns away to look out the window before you can read her emotion. You notice her shoulders are tensed up a bit that seems to follow down to her hooves that are not moving, almost as if being willfully kept in place. Although, even with all these tells, you doubt you really needed them to guess that Octavia is right now grinning from ear to ear.

Entering into the bathroom, you let her words drop from your mind. After the surprise tickle attack, you’re determined not to let her leave you flustered again.

At least for now.

======

You squint your eyes and focus intensely on the art in front of you. The brush strokes were quite impressive. The slow, thick blues running almost parallel to the yellows against it with nary a hint of green between them. Speaking of the yellows, the speckled colors within bring out a rolling texture that seeming grows towards the observer. Above, quick white wisps of the brush dance with each other over the whole scene, lightly blending with the casual and free oranges around them. The pony who painted this was very skilled indeed.

The two of you ventured out for a while, simply enjoying the sights and sounds of the city. Very little words were exchanged as you simply looked around with awe. Along the way, a flier had gotten Octavia’s attention. A fine arts gallery was open to the public today, featuring a new exhibit. You were not really for or against art, but the fact that Octavia pointed it out was enough to know that she wanted to visit. And why not let her choose? She is the reason you’re here.

“You seem very interested in this piece,” Octavia says, her calm voice breaking you out of you trance. “What do you think?”

You nod your head. “Very good. I enjoy the contrast between the shades of blue and orange, along with the swirls within the yellow.”

Octavia is silent for a moment. “Alright,” she says as you turn towards her. “Could you answer me something?”

“What’s that?”

“What do you see in this painting?”

You give her a confused look before turning back to the portrait.

“I see faint and free flowing colors within yellows, fine deliberate blues against warm and careful fading oranges with the almost carefree wisps of white,” you say. “What do you see?” you ask her.

“I see a painting of a beach,” she answers simply, causing you to give a little chuckle. “Do you see a beach?” she asks, without any change in emotion.

“Well, yeah. Of course,” you answer.

“But that’s not what you said you saw,” she replies.

“Yeah, but... but...” you try to reply, but are interrupted by the feeling of something wrapping around your foreleg. It’s Octavia’s hoof as she scoots herself closer towards you.

“Look back up at the painting,” she says calmly, a small smile on her lips.

Feeling the warmth of her touch causes you to grin as you focus your gaze back on the art on the wall. You look it over again, inspecting the colors and brush strokes; seeing how they move.

“I see your eyes darting around,” she says. “Don’t put all your attention on one detail. Look at the whole picture and take it all in. Let your vision unfocus a bit if you need to.”

Her voice slows your gaze from rushing back and forth. Taking a deep breath, you stare at the exact center of the piece, trying to take in everything you can from your peripheral vision. The thick blue and some of the textured yellows are still apparent, but you can’t make out too much of the white’s strokes like this.

“Just relax,” she says, a bit more warmly. You feel her shoulder slowly press into your own, her silken fur mixing with yours. The hairs tenderly brushing against each other. “Just let the colors blend together...”

You keep your eyes on the painting. Slowly, the individual brush strokes escape your view, leaving only the different shades and hues of the pigments against the canvas. Although your focus on them had dropped, the colors now seem to pop out even more, almost as if you are moving towards the depicted scene.

In fact... you could almost swear that the water was moving. The sun’s rays sparkling over the ocean and accentuating the fluffy clouds in such a way that you could almost feel the heat coming off of it. Somewhere in your mind, you could hear the waves calmly spilling up onto the shore and you nearly feel your own hooves sinking into the very sand. You dare not move to disturb this beautiful scene as you could feel a light rush of wind off the salty sea through your mane as your nose picks up a trace of the soothing, oceanic scent. You simply sit still and enjoy it, here with Octavia.

“Wow...” you breathe out.

“See it?” she asks.

“Yeah...”

“And?”

You begin to nod your head, but unfortunately the slight motion is enough to bring you out of the painting. Still, you couldn’t believe how far you saw into it.

“It’s incredible,” you eventually reply, turning back to her. The size of her smile grows as she leans her head towards you, giving you a gentle nuzzle against your cheek. You enjoy her soft embrace for a moment before adding, “I guess I was looking at art wrong all these years.”

Octavia suddenly pulls away. “Oh! No...” she says with a little shake of her head. “I didn’t mean to give you the impression that you were looking at it incorrectly. There are many ways to appreciate fine art.” Her eyes go to the painting again for a moment before coming back to you. “In fact, I want you to teach me.”

“Teach you?”

“Teach me how to see it like you do,” she says. Her entire foreleg rises up from where her hoof was holding yours to wrap around and hold tightly as she scoots even closer. The edges of the fur down your sides just brushing the tips of each other, enough to just feel her body heat underneath. The two of you exchange grins as you turn back towards the painting.

“Look very closely,” you say. “Break it down into parts. Put all of your attention on the blue of the ocean. Don’t look at it as color, but just as paint.” Looking over, you see Octavia’s eyes squinting as she concentrates.

“Okay...?” she says lightly with a hint of curiosity.

“Now break it down further. See if you can find which way the strokes go,” you say.

She squints a little harder before giving a little tug to your foreleg, signaling that she wants to move closer. Lifting up off your haunches for a moment, you both take a couple steps before sitting back down. This time, she’s completely up against you, pressing from shoulder all the way down to what is acceptable in public. The warmth you feel spreads through your body and a little goes up into your cheeks.

“Alright,” she says.

“Now, break it down even further. See if you can see the individual strokes.”

You feel Octavia against you lean forward a bit. Her lips make a cute little pout as she focuses. Looking up to the painting again, you see what you want to share with her. Each stroke on top of each other, piling on and on almost like a jigsaw puzzle where none of the pieces fit; beautiful in its unified chaos.

But there was still one more level deeper to go.

Turning back to Octavia, you see her eyes are open a bit wider. Her mouth slightly open in wonder.

“See it?” you ask.

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbles lightly, trying to keep sight of what she’s seeing.

“Now... break it down further again.”

“Again?” she asks, uncertainty lining her voice.

“Yep. See if you can see each and every strand of paint. Where every bristle of the brush had passed over.” She seems a little doubtful as you talk. “Think of it like... thread,” you explain to help her. “Little strings weaving up and across, over and under each other.”

“Little strings...” she repeats under her breath, leaning ever so slightly further forward and putting a small squeeze on your foreleg. You bring your other hoof over and rest it on Octavia’s as encouragement.

Moments pass by as you enjoy watching her look into the painting with the challenge you’ve given her. Her heads gives a tilt every now and again, causing her mane to sweep over and brush against your side teasingly. The ticklish sensation almost makes you gasp, but you keep silent, suppressing even a shiver to make sure that you do not break Octavia’s concentration.

Eventually, you see her eyes unsquint, and even start moving around the art. Her lips turn upward into a smile as she breathes out a light chuckle. Feeling a sense of pride, you look back to the painting yourself, seeing in between each and every wavering line of paint; having introduced Octavia to another world inside the same piece of art.

“The blue is really thick,” she comments.

“Yep,” is all you respond with.

You both turn back to each other, eyes meeting. Pausing for a moment, you just look into those beautiful amethyst eyes. However, after a few moments, you notice her eyes travelling again. Down to your shoulder, then your forearm, then your back; her eyelids lowering and her smile gaining a slight sultry edge to it. Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, you wonder what she’s doing.

Then you realize that she’s using the technique you just taught her to check you out.

You feel a bit of blush returning to your face as you let her eyes run all over you. A little part of you reminds you that you’re in a public place and out of the corner of your eye, you notice a few ponies passing glances.

“Octavia...”

“Hmm?” she hums innocently with a raising of her eyebrows.

“Ponies are beginning to stare,” you say. She gives a little sigh of annoyance as the two of you stand up.

“Well, let’s see if we can find some more paintings to share each other’s view with, okay?” you ask.

“Absolutely,” she says.

You turn and begin taking a step before looking back. Noticing Octavia’s eyes have travelled back to certain parts of your body, you give her a smirk before waving a hoof in front of you.

“Ladies first.”

The tiny pout returns to her lips as she walks past you. You suppress the urge to snicker as the two of you walk to the next painting.

The next one is a bit more abstract. Blocks of colors obscure the unmistakable shape of a certain stringed instrument in the background as waves of random hues take the form of musical notes and dance around the negative space.

“This one seems a bit more to your tastes,” you joke. Octavia only rolls her eyes at you.

Before taking apart the painting, as per usual, you close your eyes with a small breath before looking up to the art to experience it in the way Octavia had just shown you. Focusing on nothing in particular, the colors start to fade and glow on their own. The dancing notes seem to float around as you can almost hear them. In your mind, you allow yourself to imagine somepony behind the cello; the very somepony at your side-

“Coming?” you suddenly hear a distance away. Looking over, you see that Octavia had already moved on to the next displayed painting.

“What about this?” you ask, pointing back to the cello picture. “I’m kind of curious as to what we could find in this one.”

“It’s something I see every single day,” she says in a flat monotone. “I want to see some different things today.”

After a small pause, you shrug and conclude that Octavia’s reasoning is fair. Joining her at the next painting, an overhead view of a town at sunset, the two of you continue to figuratively take apart and throw yourselves into the artwork presented.

======

You and Octavia walk down the steps of the museum entrance in the middle of a round of giggles. The final painting they had on display was one of a mare and a colt that left very little to the imagination. Although you would normally think the two of you above such crass humor, there were a couple jokes made by both parties about delving into the painting.

The two of you turn down the street and begin to make your way back towards the hotel, if only to keep from wandering too far. However, not even a full block down the road, you begin to hear something that sounds like music.

“Do you hear that?” you ask, looking to Octavia. She just nods with a contemplative expression, showing she hears it to.

Beginning to walk in the direction of the music, you turn around the corner to see a small gathering along the sidewalk. From this distance, you could see ponies smiling and laughing.

You start to hear the true melody and rhythm of the music, a sort of freeform jazz version of a well known winter song, despite the fact that the colder months were still a little ways off. As you get closer, you two look past the crowd to see the performers. A brown colt at a portable piano is manically playing notes up and down the octave. A blue pegasus with a brass horn attempts to follow along but cannot keep up. Drums and cymbals crash together seemingly at random at the hooves of one yellow unicorn. Underneath it all, a white pegasus strumming a cello attempts to come in here and there, but quickly backs off again not knowing where in the song they are. Notes are played sharp or flat and parts are played or held for too long or repeated too much.

The whole result is, in short, hilarious.

As the song awkwardly ends, ponies around clap and cheer for them either out of pity or for the entertainment of the sheer musical atrocity. Looking to Octavia, you see her features scrunched in such a way as you could see her trying to hold herself back from doing or saying something. Her left eye and right ear are twitching while you notice a shaking in her right foreleg; her predominant hoof.

“How about we go?” you ask, wanting to save her from any more of this cacophony.

She doesn’t even respond. She immediately turns the other way and begins walking in a hurried pace. Jogging a bit to catch up with her, you trot alongside her.

“Well, I think they could use a bit more practice,” you say casually as you walk. “Definitely not the best I’ve heard,” you conclude with a little chuckle, looking down to Octavia. Still not looking up, you figure that she’s determined to get out of earshot of the butchers for Hearth’s Warming classics. Thankfully, their playing didn’t carry too far as you pass back in front of the gallery you were just visiting.

Just a little ways down the road, another building catches Octavia’s attention as she reads the name off of the awning. Looking into the window, it seems to be a coffee house.

She walks up to the door and putting a hoof on it, she turns towards you with a curious glance, testing for interest.

“I thought you said we wouldn’t be spending anything today,” you say, considering her silent question.

“Oh, hush up. It’s my money. Besides, I’ve never visited a real coffee house before.” Without awaiting your approval, she turns back and enters the door. You follow her inside and look around as the dark, bold scent of the establishment’s namesake wafts in the air.

The place felt rather cozy with hardwood floors. Stylized lamps hang down from the ceiling over tables throughout. A few couches with end tables can be seen here and there. Some more modern paintings were featured on the walls that were painted a light and warm shade of orangish brown. An area in the corner by the front window shows sound equipment in front of a microphone where musicians would play. The front counter is wood as well where a dark blue coated barista is waiting. She gives a single enthusiastic nod that shakes her shaggy black mane around with a smile on her pierced lips.

“Hello there!” she greets, brown eyes sparkling through thick rimmed glasses. “What can I get for you today?”

You and Octavia look up at the menu. This place seems more than just a normal coffee house. They have a section for the food they served (seems they serve lunch and breakfast no matter the hour), a kids menu, and extra dessert items as well as their drink selection. The two of you look it up and down.

“I would like a...” Octavia begins, not quite sure of her order, yet. After a brief pause, she eventually finishes her statement with, “a caramel mocha, please.”

“What size?” the barista asks.

“Just a small, please.”

The barista, still smiling, taps the cash register, button clicking down as she punches in the order. “And for you, sir?” she asks, turning to you.

“I... I think I’m alright-” you begin to say, but receive a rather hard nudge from Octavia.

“Order something. Don’t worry about payment,” she says in a way that would sound like teasing to the casual overhearing pony, but you could sense the underlying stern tone that indicates that this was not up for debate.

Well, you were craving for a good coffee this morning. You had neglected to get any for breakfast due to your near overwhelming hunger.

“Just a small Equestriano then,” you say. It was simple and you didn’t feel as bad seeing that it was cheaper than Octavia’s drink.

Finishing putting the order into the cash register, she pushes the last button that causes the money tray to open with a ding!

“That’ll be five bits, please,” she says. Octavia reaches a hoof into her bowtie and pulls out the necessary money. You wonder if her carrying her money like that was at all uncomfortable. “Thank you!” she says, taking the bits and giving Octavia a piece of paper. “Your order is number 87.”

Looking down at the receipt, you see only the last two numbers on the order were 87 and that it had a couple more numbers in front of it. You imagine this place had been rather busy earlier. Octavia gives a thanks as the two of you trot to the side to let other ponies order. Sitting on your haunches, you look behind the counter where you can see and hear the hissing and bubbling of the machines, brewing the coffee for the tired and thirsty customers.

“So, you’ve really never been in a coffeehouse?” you ask Octavia in an attempt to make conversation.

Personally, you had been to a coffeehouse once or twice. The kinds of coffee they could make definitely beats what one can prepare at home, but there was always the matter of quality versus salary and your job would be hard-pressed to fund such an extravagance on a daily basis.

“Nope,” she says with a shake of her head. A content smile on her face as she takes in the atmosphere around her. “Always only had coffee from the store prepared at home.”

“Have you just never wanted to try it back in Canterlot?” you ask. It wasn’t hard to find such establishments in a city known for a school for advanced academia.

Octavia’s smile falls into something more contemplative.

“Well, sometimes,” she admits. “But... I just had more important things to do.”

“Ah,” you say, nodding with understanding. “Like practicing the cello or something?”

You see a hard swallow travel down Octavia’s throat. “Yes. Something like that,” she says.

“I haven’t had much experience with coffeehouses myself,” you admit. “But I think you’d like them. They make better coffee, that’s for sure.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep. And sometimes they even have some events, I’ve heard.”

“Events?” Octavia asks.

“Poetry reading for ponies and such. And some places even get some ponies to play music live.” Your gaze travels back to the sound equipment in the corner. “In fact, I bet you could play in a place like this. Ever think about playing at different venues than just dinner parties?”

Octavia doesn’t respond.

“You could bring it up with your ensemble. I bet it’d make a humorous topic of conversa-”

You immediately stop when you hear a very frustrated sigh from Octavia. She’s staring towards the floor and her hooves are gripped very tightly in front of her. Something is definitely wrong here.

“Octavia, are-” you begin, but are cut off by a shout.

“Order 87!” yells the barista who had taken your order, now with two green mugs of coffee in front of her, one plain and the other topped with whipped cream. “Ooorder 87!” You both walk back up to the counter.

“That’s us,” Octavia explains, hiding all traces of her previous emotions. “I’m terribly sorry, but could we get those to go, please?”

“Oh, uh... sure!” the barista says, her smile disappearing for just a moment before taking the drinks aside. Grabbing two paper cups, she carefully pours your simple order into one of them. Popping a lid on the top, she reaches down a grabs a flat metal scoop. She uses it to carefully take the whipped cream off the top of Octavia’s drink before pouring the mug’s contents into the second paper cup. Instead of using the whipped cream she had just taking from the drink, she walks back with the paper mug and discards the creamy scoop by the sink and uses a new one to give a fresh dollop of whipped topping onto the hot beverage.

Coming back, she puts a lid on it as well and slides them both over to you.

“Thank you,” Octavia says, a little embarrassed that she had to ask for such an extra thing.

“No problem!” the barista replies, just as cheerful as ever. “Have a great day!”

With one last thanks, you leave the coffeehouse and begin walking down the road again. The hustle and bustle of the streets seems to have picked up a bit since the two of you first left the hotel.

“Octavia?” you ask, trying to get her attention without having to shout over the commotion of the public around you.

She doesn’t respond.

“Octavia, are you okay?” you ask, this time a little louder. She glances in your direction for a moment before turning back to facing front.

At this point, you know you’ve gotten her attention, but you don’t want to pry for an answer if she doesn’t want to give it. Something about mentioning practice caused her to lose her good mood. You try to puzzle it together, but before you get much time, Octavia turns to the side.

Just past the cart parking for the coffeehouse is a raised section of bricks that holds a garden. Octavia sits on the edge of it. Looking further into her body language, you see a small slouch in her posture showing her exasperation. She brings the paper cup to her lips as you join her in sitting on the edge of the brickwork, thinking of something to say.

“I’m sorry,” you decide on.

She brings the cup away from her lips, breathing a steady stream of air out through her nose.

“It’s fine.”

The two of you sit with no more words as you nurse your drinks, the hot and bitter liquid pouring down your throat. The strong blend of your coffee along with the heat does wonders on a day like today. Just barely warm enough to not need a jacket, but some passing winds make you feel a chill every now and again.

In front of you, the town continues on. Ponies passing by without giving you two so much as a second glance. You could almost laugh at the two of you right now. Canterlot dinner parties to sipping coffee on the sidewalk of a city. As much as you would admit that it’s nice to get out and see a new place and how much you were enjoying your company, it was all still just a bit silly.

Time went slowly on. The weather had cooled the coffee enough to be able to take longer drinks without risk of burning your mouth. However, the small size could do very little to survive against such intake, so the cup is quickly drained of its contents. Setting the cup aside, you think of something you can do to break the silence between the two of you.

“That was pretty good coffee,” you say, feeling bits of the flavor travel off your breath as you speak. “How is yours?”

Octavia gives you a sideways glance as she takes another drink. When she’s done, she sets the cup aside like you did. You wonder if she’s just done with it or if she had actually finished it all.

“A little sweet for my tastes,” she says. You allow yourself a tiny feeling of relief as she gives her answer. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” she says as well.

“That’s okay,” you say with a shrug, not knowing how else to answer.

With another sigh, she looks upward towards the sky, a sheet of light gray clouds covering the city.

“Listen...” she starts. “I know I need to practice at some point today, but I’d rather not be reminded of it,” she says.

You wonder where that came from as you remember what you said before she let out her massive sigh. As you recall that, you remember the conversation earlier along with the painting at the museum and the performer on the street. Debating on whether or not to ask, eventually your curiosity once again triumphs in your mind.

“Why’s that?” you ask. You quickly add, “If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

“It’s complicated,” she says, continuing to watch the sky. “I just...” she begins, but sighs and drops her head down towards the ground. You wait silently, not wanting to push her to explain if she isn’t comfortable. “Do you ever just get to a point in your life where you’re just... sick of what you’re doing?” she asks.

The question sets off some internal alarm bells.

“Octavia, are you thinking of-”

“No, I’m not going to quit playing music,” she answers with a half grumble. “But for a while now, and this may sound strange, but I no longer feel as though I am the one in control of my music anymore.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Well first, let me clarify. Not the music that I play. I mean my career. It feels like it’s just, I don’t know, consumed every aspect of my life.” Octavia shakes her head, the motion causing her mane to flow in a similar manner. “It’s always about what the next show is. What do we play next. And just practice, practice, practice to get it right, filling every possible nook and cranny in my mind.” She gives off another frustrated sigh. “Every single moment I’m not playing, I feel like I should be. A nagging voice that just keeps saying I should be playing every minute of the day.”

“Well, it’s normal if you want to become better, right?” you ask with a shrug.

“This is beyond just getting better!” she exclaims. “That’s not a reason I think of at all! I get all this fear and anxiety about failure. You know that group we saw earlier?” she asks, waving a hoof in the general direction. “I have nightmares about that. Like that’s how I could end up if I’m not constantly practicing. My hooves begin to itch, I start sweating, I get a headache, and the nagging voice just gets louder and louder.”

“How...” you begin, but hesitate for a moment, “...bad does it get?”

Her shoulders droop as she looks up with you with great sadness in her eyes. “Some nights, it’s so bad that I can’t sleep.” She licks her lips before her gaze travels down to the ground. “I actually feel the urge to get out of bed, unpack my cello, and play in the middle of the night. And sometimes, that’s just what I have to do, or...” she trails off.

“Or what?” you ask. Was there something Octavia could do to stifle these insane urges?

“You’re not going to like this...” she moans.

“It’s okay,” you say, patting her on the shoulder.

She shrinks down even more before mumbling something you can’t hear.

“What?”

“I...” she pauses for a moment, “...pour myself a little drink.”

“...Oh.”

“Yeah,” she admits.

”But... I thought you said you only drink socially,” you say.

“I do. What do you- Oh! No, no, no.” She waves a hoof while she chuckles. Although the nature of the conversation is a little bit unsettling, it’s always nice to hear her laugh. “No, not when I get up at night. That’s not what I meant. I just meant it’s a solution for the urges.”

“So you get the urges around your friends?” you ask.

“Yes, I do,” she says with another sigh, draining the previous amusement out of her voice. “In fact, around them is when the urges are the worst. It’s like the only reason I should ever see them is to play. And whenever we’re together but not playing, I feel so... angry at them.”

“And that’s why all of your aftershow celebrations have alcohol?” you ask, but already know the answer.

She only nods at this. Another cool breeze blows past the two of you as silence comes in. It may not sound like she drinks as often as she could be, but it still worries you that she feels the need to solve her problems like that. You slowly rub the shoulder of hers that you are holding with your hoof in hopes that it would offer some comfort.

But then a thought rises up in your mind.

“Is that why...?” you start. The beginning of your question causes Octavia to look up at you. “...you felt the need to drink around me last night?”

Octavia’s eyes go wide as her mouth opens and closes again. She shakes her head, looking for an answer.

“Or why you need to drink around me at all?” you continue. “Octavia, do I make you feel like when you’re around your friends-”

“NO!” Octavia finally blurts out. “Absolutely not! Around you I feel...” Her eyes shift back toward the ground as she trails off. “Feel like, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I can’t describe it,” she says. “But it’s like all of the anxiety I feel, the fear, the urges; they just... stop. And something new is there.”

“Is that a good thing?” you ask.

“K-Kind of?” she stutters. “It felt really weird at first, just everything I’ve grown used to feeling just disappearing like that, replaced by something else. I thought it was, more or less, a new kind of anxiety...” She gives another little chuckle. “So I treated it just the same. But we just started talking and suddenly music wasn’t the first thing on my mind anymore. Still, I was feeling something I didn’t know. However, when we would go our separate ways, I would slowly begin to feel the old anxiety build again.”

She brings a hoof up to the one you’re rubbing her shoulder with. “What I felt with you made me nervous as well. However, compared to what I felt normally, I began to want more of it.” Looking up to you with a smile, she says, “I learned to appreciate the feeling you gave me. Eventually, talking to you just turned into an escape. A way to get away from everything.”

Her smile grows even wider. “And today... Today has been just absolutely amazing for me. I’ve never been to an art gallery other than to play a show before. Or go to a place and have coffee with a friend. Or just decide to leave and visit the first place that catches our fancy.” She picks your hoof up off her shoulder and brings her other hoof around to hold it. “And with you here, I actually don’t want to play the cello. I want to do things with you. I want to try new things and I...”

She reaches up and takes your foreleg, wrapping both of her hooves around it, making sure it doesn’t get away. Laying her head down onto your shoulder, you feel her ebony mane spill down your back. She gives a quick nuzzle into the crook of your neck, before setting against you.

“...I’ve never been so happy. I don’t want today to end.”

Her words warm your heart, much more than the coffee earlier, and replaces the dread you were feeling moments ago with a sense of pride. Your smile begins to grow as well. Reaching across with your free hoof, you use it to bring Octavia into a half-hug as you let your head rest on top of hers. As you breathe in the scent of her mane, you notice a distinct vanilla flavor, probably from the free shampoo and conditioner in the hotel room. Still, her own scent pokes through; the bitter coffee-like aroma with the new flavor.

“You know what, Octavia?” you ask. “Just because today ends doesn’t mean we won’t have another day like this.” You give her a little nuzzle yourself. “In fact, you and I are going to have many many more days like this. Even back in Canterlot.” Just like this morning, you press your lips down in a kiss through her hair. “If there’s anything you haven’t done in Canterlot, we’ll do it. Any place you haven’t been, we’ll visit.” Giving her a little pat on the shoulder, you say, “We’ll do so much when we get back.”

Her grip around your foreleg seems to tighten as she leans her entire body into you. “I can’t wait,” she says in a light voice.

The two of you simply sit together like this on the edge on a sidewalk, the rest of the city, or in fact the entire world, passing by you. Looking around, you see many different ponies walking down the street. Young and old, all kinds of colors, going on about their lives under the bright afternoon sun. All with places to be, but not you. You’re both right where you want to be.

Some would glance at you and the mare against you. Some smile at you. Some nod at you. Another happy couple of a gray colt and blue mare see you and the mare snuggles up to the colt herself. However, most don’t really pay you a second look and that’s okay. Somehow, the ones that do nothing to notice you are the ones that make you the happiest. It’s as if nothing is wrong here. It’s all natural. You and Octavia together seemingly as normal as the birds chirping and the wind blowing, as it should be. Speaking of which, a particularly chilly breeze passes by.

Octavia shivers a tiny bit and you feel her fur mixing with yours. Wrapping a wing around, you shield her from the blustery weather. You know that what you said was only half true. When you get back to Canterlot, she will have to continue playing music. You both will have your schedules to follow, but you would find time to keep your promise. Pulling her a little closer, you hold her as you let her be free from her regular life, away from the stress and the anxiety, at least for a while longer.

Author's Note

Merry belated Christmas! Included some holiday music.

A chapter that focuses on the characters in the here and now. The rest of what happened will be explained soon enough. As always, sorry the update took so long. Hopefully I'll have something (if for a different story) ready in less time now that I am out of class.

Big thanks to Slashe, Eights, and Timebomb0!

Chapter 6: Music

You open the hotel room again, Octavia giggling under the wing you have draped over her.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“That fact that you insisted on keeping me wrapped in your wing all the way here,” she replies. You blush a little.

“Well, this is the first complaint I’ve heard about it,” you reply.

“Who says I’m complaining?” she asks as she gives your neck a light nuzzle. The feeling only causes the red on your face to become much redder. “I’m just happy that you’re so... comfortable with such a romantic display around so many ponies.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” you admit. Although, it makes you smile a bit more.

Unfortunately, Octavia pulls away and steps out from underneath your wing. Her warmth still lingers on the tip of your feathers that you can feel as you fold it up to your side.

“Pardon me a moment,” she says, stepping towards the bathroom. You just give her a nod as she closes the door.

Walking over to the window as she does her business, you look over the city again. In the short time you’ve been here, it’s certainly grown on you. You feel very comfortable here, like a home away from home. It’s not that far from Canterlot, either. It’d be possible to make trips here with Octavia every now and again, schedules permitting.

But then there are expenses. Your current employment got you a free ride here, but you owe all of your accommodations to Octavia and her career. You still feel guilty and don’t think you could ask her to pay for another trip like this. How much did the hotel room cost again? A lot, that you remember. More than twice what you’d pay for yourself, but definitely worth Octavia. You try to think of how much you’d have to put aside for a day trip.

Wait, didn’t she say she came here pretty often? What if she wants to go somewhere else? Or heck, she travels a lot anyway, so maybe she’ll want to stay home?

The phone rings, snapping you out of your thoughts. Looking to the desk, then to the bathroom door briefly, wondering if you should answer it. Well, the room is in your name. You might as well. The ringing stops abruptly as you lift the phone and bring it up to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello, sir!” comes a cheery mare’s voice from the other end. “We have a caller by the name of Frederic Horseshoepin asking for you.”

Frederic? Probably calling to ask about Octavia. You sigh away from the receiver and hope that you can make the conversation quick before anything comes of it. The more you’ve heard about her bandmates, the less you were looking forward to interacting with them. You hope it won’t escalate.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him,” you say.

“One moment, sir!” she replies.

There is a click followed by a low buzz as you try to think of what to say. Something to hopefully keep him from wanting to talk to Octavia. That’s probably the last thing she wants right now. After a small pop, the line goes quiet.

“...Hello?”

“Ah, hello there,” respond a smooth voice on the other end of the phone. “Would Ms. Philharmonica be available at the moment?”

“Oh, uh... she’s busy, I’m afraid,” you say looking towards the door. “Can I take a message?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m just making sure she’s fine,” he says. You feel a bit of relief at his answer. “She is fine, isn’t she?”

“Of course,” you say.

“And how are you? You sound quite chipper, if I may say so,” he inquires. You’re surprised at his friendly casualness. Maybe not all of Octavia’s friends are as terrible as you thought.

“I’m fine, me and Octavia just had an afternoon coffee.”

“The cheap hotel kind, I’m assuming?”

“No, actually a little coffee house a few blocks from here.”

“Oh my, a coffee house. I’ve never been, is it any good?”

“Better than the hotel kind, that’s for sure.”

Frederic begins to laugh on the other side of the phone. “Well, I suppose even out of work, you’ll be getting drinks for Octavia.”

You don’t really appreciate the remark, but give a couple chuckles out of courtesy. “Actually, she was there with me, so...” you just trail off.

“She was with you in the coffeehouse?” he asks. “What was she doing out of the hotel room?”

What an odd question. “We were exploring the city a bit. Walking around, seeing sights, that sort of thing.”

“Has she been practicing?” he suddenly asks.

“She will be, she will be. Don’t worry,” you say, casually.

The line is silent for a moment. “...Will be?” he asks in a rather cold voice.

“Yes...” you say carefully, not knowing what brought such a change of tone. “Later tonight, when she’s ready-”

“Has she been practicing at all today?” he asks, urgency present in his speech.

“Not... yet?”

The line is silent on the other end for a while.

“Why not?” he says, voice heavy and cold as lead.

“Well, because, uh... we’ve been having fun doing other things, and-”

“Doing other things?” he interrupts. “Instead of what she should be doing?”

“Hold on,” you say, getting a little upset that he would talk in such a way. “From what I can tell, she’s already had plenty of practice, so you listen here-”

“No, you listen here,” he interrupts again. “That mare was put on this planet for one reason, shown clear as day on her flank. It’s her job. Her career. Her calling.”

“Yeah, but-”

“And do you think it would be in her best interest to make her walk away from it?” he says as you hear a faint flush of a toilet in the other room.

“Hey, I’m not saying that-”

“I don’t know who you think you are, but let me tell you what you are not. You are not some sort of hero come to save Octavia from her unhappy life. Plain and simple.”

The bathroom door opens and Octavia walks out. She looks at you confused as the verbal onslaught continues from the phone.

“Just... just a moment,” you say in a rare gap in his insults before turning to Octavia who is walking up to you. “It’s Frederic,” you tell her.

Her brow instantly furrows. “Give me the phone,” she says.

“A-Are you sure?” you ask, still hearing bits and pieces of Frederic’s rant on the other end.

“Yes, I know how to deal with Frederich. Give it here.” She gives a little wiggle of her hoof, requesting the receiver again. Considering that she’s known him for years, she probably does have just the way to diffuse the situation or at least make it blow over with as little damage as possible. With a small nod, you give the phone to Octavia.

As soon as the phone is in her hoof, she slams it down on the hook. You jump back a little bit as the muffled chatter on the end of the line is silenced. She looks up at you again, her small pout and half lidded eyes saying ‘Was that so hard?’

Looking back and forth between her and the phone you ask, “What if he calls back?”

Her eyes look away as her jaw shifts in thought. She picks the phone back up, dials a few numbers, then puts the receiver to her ear.

After a few moments, she says, “Hello, this is the residence of room 213. We’d like to request that you withhold and ignore any and all outside calls made to this room. Mm-hmm. Thank you.” Setting the phone down a bit more gently this time, she turns back to you. “That settles that. And don’t worry, he’ll cool off before he gets here.”

You are still a bit surprised at Octavia’s bold move. However, even with all of her confidence, Frederic’s words still ring in your ears and make you shiver.

“Something wrong?” Octavia asks.

“No. Nothing,” you say, gaze drifting to the desk for no particular reason. A moment passes between the two of you before you feel her warm hoof on your shoulder.

“I’ve known Frederic for years,” she says. “I know he has a way of pushing a pony’s buttons. He can be a very bitter stallion and that bitterness rubs off.” Her hoof rubs across your back to your other shoulder as she pulls you into a friendly half-hug. “You shouldn’t take what he says too seriously. Now tell me, what did he say to you?”

Your eyes go back to Octavia who is looking at you with genuine concern. Cracking a smile, you can’t help but feel that maybe she’s feeling the same worry you felt on the sidewalk with your coffee. Letting out a long breath, you say, “You’re right. What he said isn’t anything,” licking your lips and shaking your head, you continue, “All he said was you have a life and I’m not some hero to whisk you away.”

Octavia’s eyes light up a small bit in astonishment.

“I mean... I know that,” you say, wrapping a hoof around her back as well. “You have your music and I can’t take you away from that. But I’m happy with... with...”

You trail off as you see Octavia begin to shake, eyes closed, grinning from ear to ear.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Y-Yes...” she says shakily through chuckles, her cheeks flush with red. “I-I’m fine...”

“What’s so funny?”

“Alright, it’s just that...” She opens her eyes again to look at you. “Frederic did do a number on you. Now you see why I avoid talking to him.”

“What?”

“He said you’re not my hero. And you agreed with him,” she explains. She brings up her other hoof to place them both on your shoulders. “But you’re both wrong. You did save me. And if not now, then you will.”

“What... do you mean?” you ask, head tilting slightly as you bring your hoof back to rest on hers.

“You’re going to break me out of my monotonous life, remember?” she asks. “You promised me how much we’d do in Canterlot. My mind is already racing with ideas for you and me.”

“Like what?” you ask.

“Like...” She begins shaking her head as her smile grows. “Everything! Do you know how many establishments in Canterlot I’ve never visited? How many restaurants I’ve yet to try? Name something you do out of the home in Canterlot, right now.”

“Well, uh... there’s a bowling alley in the south part of the city me and a couple coworkers go to sometimes,” you say.

“I’ve never been. Take me. Take me there.” She leans closer and closer with every word until her snout is pressed against yours.

You chuckle as you take your hooves and wrap them around her waist, your eyes never leaving hers. “You got it. As soon as we get back, we’ll go bowling.” A sparkle of excitement shimmers in her eyes as her smile becomes a bit more joyful and her grip tightens just a bit.

The moment is ruined as you hear the phone begin to ring again. You both look to it before back at each other confused. Slipping out of Octavia’s grasp, you walk over to the phone to answer it.

“Hello?” you ask.

“Hello again, sir,” says the cheery receptionist. “We have a call from a Mr. Horseshoepin again.”

“I thought we just said to ignore all calls.” You look back to Octavia who has a very annoyed expression on her face.

Fred? she mouths out. You nod to confirm and she rolls her eyes.

“He claims that it is an emergency and very urgent that he speaks to you.”

“One moment,” you say, putting a hoof over the speaker. “He says it’s an emergency,” you tell Octavia.

“He’s mad we hung up on him and just wants the last word. Don’t bother,” she tells you.

You nod again and return to the phone. “Please ignore the call, and any others for this room, even if they say they’re urgent.”

“No outside calls under any circumstances?” the receptionist asks to confirm.

“That’s right.”

“Okay then. We’ll ignore all calls.”

“Thank you.”

“Have a nice day!”

“You too,” you say, hanging the phone back up as Octavia lets out an irritated sigh.

“Frederic, you over-dramatic snake...” she grumbles.

“Is he always like that?” you ask. “He seemed decent when we were first talking. Acted pretty nice at first.”

“Oh dear, really?” she asks, an ounce of pity in her voice. “I am so sorry. When Frederic starts out nice is usually when he gives his worst. Softens you up before sticking the knife in. Doesn’t help that he’s never really liked you.”

“No? Why not?” you ask.

“It’s that he... well, it’s tough to explain,” she says. “He knew about my feelings for you, as all the band members did. Of course, Harpo and Beauty Brass didn’t mind, or rather simply didn’t care, but Frederic didn’t like it.”

“I see...” you say, voice trailing off.

“Something wrong?” she asks.

“Well, it’s just that...” You rub a hoof behind your neck. “Did you and Frederic...?”

“Wha- oh! No. Never. Never considered it,” she says quickly. “We were both a bit concerned when Harpo and Beauty started going out, but it turned out just fine. The subject was brought up once, as a joke, but that’s it.”

You give Octavia a look of suspicion. When she raises an eyebrow in confusion, you smile.

“Well, his loss,” you say.

Octavia chuckles. “Not really. We would’ve been horrible to each other.” She releases a little breath as she finishes. Looking to you again, she simply walks up and puts her hooves around you in a warm hug, resting her chin on your shoulder. You’re surprised for a moment, but reach our hooves around her to return the gesture.

Funny to think that this, a simple hug, would have scared you to think of doing with her before today. The two of you still don’t have the whole story of what happened last night, but you don’t really care. While the journey may not be the destination, the destination here is just fine. However, the moment you share goes as soon as it came when Octavia pulls away.

Keeping her hooves on your shoulders, she says, “I’m feeling a bit hungry. Care for an early dinner?” She dips her head slightly to look at you with stern eyes, even though her mouth is still in a smile. “And don’t say anything about money.”

You think of all you had to eat today. Sure, your breakfast was massive, but that was hours ago. You could definitely find room for a meal by now if Octavia wanted to eat.

“Sure. Any place you want to go out to?” you ask.

“Actually, we just came back. I’d like it if we just ordered in,” she says.

“Room service, it is. Is there a menu anywhere?” You turn your head and see a folded up laminated leaflet by the phone. Picking it up and reading the front, you see the words ‘Kitchen Specialties, delivered right to your room!’

“We’ll probably be one of the first dinner orders they get this evening,” Octavia says.

“Probably means we won’t have to wait as long. What do you usually get?” you ask.

“Today’s not been a day for the usual,” she says. “Let me see what else they have.”

She takes the other end of the leaflet and the two of you hold it together, looking it over. The first column lists their appetizers and drinks, the middle boasts their soups and sandwiches, and their main courses are a column by themselves at the end.

They have all the classic appetizers: mozzarella sticks, jalapeño poppers, onion rings, and such. Sandwiches ranging from the simple toasted cheese to clubs you had never heard nor considered. Soups were basic affair; tomato, cream of mushroom, what have you. Their main courses are what you’re eyeing. Some nice buttery spinach rolls sound pretty nice. Or maybe- ooh! Mixed vegetables in rice!

Underneath in tiny print, you see ‘Call to ask for our alternative options.’

You knew what that meant. Meat.

Well, you suppose griffons or minotaurs or something might stay here, but it still bugs you to think about.

You look over to Octavia. “Decided yet?”

She makes a non-committal hum as she shakes her head. “You?”

“Debating between two choices,” you say. “Did you want an appetizer?”

“Well... I’ve never had mozzarella sticks before. Are they good?”

“Depends on who makes them. Never had them taste the same from two different places.”

“But in general, what are they like?”

“Like fried cheese. Pretty much what it is is the best description for it,” you say. “Kind of greasy, gooey, and not good for you in the least.”

“I’ll take an order, then.” She looks over the menu again. “And... I think I’ll just have the portobello cap sandwich. No lettuce. What are you having?”

“Just the rice with vegetables,” you answer. Picking up the phone, you dial the number on the front of the leaflet. After a couple of rings, a somewhat rugged voice on the other end answers, various hissing and the sounds of other ponies in the background.

“H’llo, Room Service. Whot c’n I do fer ya’?” asks the pony on the other line.

“Oh, hello. I’d like to place an order.”

“Roight then, yer callin’ from room 213, ya?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” They must have some sort of caller identification system down there. Makes sense so that not any room can call a prank order for another room.

“Okay, what c’n I get fer ya’?”

“Well, for starters, we’d like an order of mozzarella sticks,” you say. “Then I’d like an order of your vegetables with rice along with a portobello cap sandwich.” You look over to see Octavia waving a hoof and mouthing something. “O-Oh, and no lettuce on the sandwich, please. Sorry.”

“So that’s a mozzarella sticks, veggies ‘n rice, and a portobello san’wich with no lettuce for room 213. Any drinks or dessert fer ya’ t’night?”

“Oh, uh, no dessert, but...” You turn to Octavia and mouth out the word Drinks?

She thinks for a moment before mouthing back, Sweet tea.

“We’ll have a sweet tea and...” You look at the drinks list on the menu. “An unsweet tea,” you decide.

“The total ‘ill be eight bits.” You hear the flipping of pages in a book on the other end. “Is this, er... Alright?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Okay then, it’ll be ‘bout fifteen minutes fer the cheese sticks and forty minutes fer everythin’ else. We’ll send it up soon as it’s done.”

“Great. Thank you.”

“Yer welcome. Have a good evenin’!”

With that, there’s a click on the other end. You put down the phone and turn to Octavia.

“Fifteen minutes for the appetizer and forty minutes for the main course.”

“Forty minutes?” Octavia asks, a bit surprised. “For vegetables, rice, and a sandwich?”

“Maybe we weren’t the only ones ordering early?” you suggest. “At least the mozzarella stick will be here soon.”

“True. So tell me,” she begins, sitting up on the bed again. “I’m a bit curious. What places in Canterlot sell mozzarella sticks? I’ve always heard that they were a bit of a...” She waves her hoof around, searching for the right phrase.

“Not a food you’d expect in such a city?” you ask. Octavia rolls her eyes, albeit with a smile, and nods. “Some diners here and there. There are actually a lot of things in Canterlot you wouldn’t expect. I think the nobles are a bit embarrassed by it, truth be told.”

“Really now?” she asks.

“For all the opera houses and theatres Canterlot boasts, there are a fair share of other venues. For instance, there’s a nightclub in the east, plays techno and dubstep all night long,” you explain. “I’ve never been, but I’ve passed by it a couple times. Rumor has it that Princess Luna herself had visited the place before.”

“You don't say...” Octavia inquires, smirking from the juicy gossip.

“Yep. And did you know, on the south side of Canterlot, there’s an honest-to-goodness arcade?” you ask, walking over to sit next to her on the bed.

“No...” she breathes out.

“It’s pretty well hidden, but it’s there. A good number of fillies and colts are there after school. I only saw it because of its grand opening signs near a pawn shop I frequent for my shot glass collection.”

“I can’t believe it. I’ve always heard that video games were just so... juvenile! How would they be in Canterlot of such places?”

“Times change, Octavia. I’ve seen many social norms fluctuate in my time as a waiter, hearing bits of conversation and overlooking interaction.” Her eyes look toward you very interested. “Expectations come and go, different dresses and suits, even the conversational etiquette. When I was starting out, I used to hear ponies start a talk by mentioning the weather all the time. Now I barely hear it at all, save for a few old faces.”

“I knew that times change. That much is obvious, but... I guess I never really guessed by how much so quickly.” She shakes her head. “I’ve always just been sort of a shut in, doing the same thing with my ensemble, day in and day out. All our showings and performances, basically textbook.”

“Well, some things just don’t go out of style, I guess,” you say, wrapping a hoof around her shoulder.

She giggles at your clichéd response. “I mean I find it a little scary. Not the passing times, but the fact that I’ve been so blind to all of the changes that have happened around me.” She leans a bit of her weight against you. “Tell me more...”

=======

The two of you continue to chat, mostly with you telling her all about Canterlot, the city she’s lived in all her life. Libraries she’s never visited, restaurants she’s never been to, various bars, coffeehouses, and clubs. Every place you mention is a new place Octavia wanted to visit when you got back.

Your dinner came and went. Octavia tried mozzarella sticks for the first time and found them interesting. Also, it was adorable when the cheese stretched out from her lips on her first bite. She tried to pull at it only to have it stretch more.

Your vegetables and rice were fairly bland, but you can’t say you expected much from hotel fair. Octavia seemed to enjoy her sandwich and you took the opportunity to mention a local sandwich shop near your apartment. Another plan for a visit was made.

The dishes were put aside and the two of you simply lay together on the bed, leaning against each other, sharing warmth and stories. Octavia still hung on your every word.

“And so that’s how I found out where the palace orders their catering equipment from. A little specialty shop two towns over,” you conclude.

“I never would have guessed. I always sort of thought they had their own way of making their dishes and silverware,” she says. You simply shake your head.

“You want to visit there now, don’t you?” you ask.

She lets out a slightly exasperated breath. “Yes. Yes I do.”

As you try to think of another amusing story about somewhere in or relevant to Canterlot, you feel Octavia sit up. You look up to her and see that her content expression is now bereft.

“I’m afraid it’s time...” she says as she steps off the bed.

“Time? Time for what?” you ask.

She sighs in response to your question. “I’ve put it off for too long today,” she says, opening the closet.

You realize what she means. “You know... you don’t have to if you don’t want,” you offer.

“I’m afraid I do,” she replies, her tone gradually dropping. She reaches in and pulls out the all too familiar instrumental case.

No more words are exchanged as you watch her bring it to the foot of the bed. She opens it up and pulls out her bow and rosin. With nearly mechanical movement, she applies the rosin to her bow the way it’s been programmed into her body for years and years before setting it back down.

All you can do is watch as she lifts her cello out of its case. Sheet music lay underneath where it laid, but she doesn’t take it. She probably already knows it all by heart, unfortunately. Many hours to hammer it into her mind. Many more to get it considered perfect by those who may never be satisfied.

She plucks a string sullenly, reaching up to the pegs to adjust it before plucking again and moving onto the next one. You’re surprised that she can tune her strings in one try like that, but then you realize how much practice it must have taken for her to be able to do that. When all four have been tuned, she stands her cello up and runs her bow across each string. She gives a tiny nod, confirming that they’re all still correct.

She moves to in front of the bed, cello and bow with her. You almost feel a little sorry for her... until she stands up.

Her stance is straight. Her head is held high. Her charcoal mane flies back before flowing down as she takes a deep breath. Her eyes open and show not her original morose expression from before, but instead shine with something else. Even in this small hotel room, the only eyes to see her being yours, she stands by her cello and music the way she always does. With the same enchanting pride that enraptured you every time you’ve seen her perform, but never have you had the privilege of seeing it so close.

You feel yourself silently gasp at her display. Standing proud and tall, so cool and calculated with such grace as she brings the bow to the strings again. She looks at you, your wonderment on full display, and she had not even played a note.

At that moment, you understand. What you see is not because of her never ending strive to be perfect or her relentless practicing. Rather her graceful poise, her radiant elegance that now shines from her gray fur is all because of who she is. You’ve always thought, but never before now did Octavia look so beautiful.

She smiles, then begins to play...

~~~~~~~

Your throat burns as the hard liquor goes down. Bringing the bottle back down, Octavia returns from the bathroom where you had recently exited yourself. Her hoof reaches for the bottle again. When she takes it you look down to your hoof. It takes a few tries to be able to focus on it.

The two of you had been going back and forth like this, taking turns taking drinks. You were worried about Octavia and didn’t just want to leave her alone with the bottle. She had made the offer to share and you figured what you drink, she wouldn’t be able to. It was a plan that made more sense the more you got into it.

She tilts her head up with the bottle, same as you have. As she does, you ask, “Oc-... Octavia? Are you okay?”

Finishing her gulp, she sighs and says, “You’ve asked that... six times now.”

“And you shtill haven’t answered,” you reply.

“Did you just shlur?” she asks before realizing she just did herself. “Oh, Chelestia dammit.”

“Are we... are we drunk, Octavia?” you ask.

“Yeah,” she replies. She looks at the bottle the two of you had been drinking from. She squints her eyes at the level of liquid still inside. It’s about half-empty. With a sigh, she picks up the cap and screws it on. “I think that... that’s enough.”

“Aren’t drunk ponies supposhed to... you know... not have enough?”

“You were just askin’ me if I were okay!” she exclaims. “Believe me, I’ve had exshper... expe... I’ve done this before,” she stutters.

“I’ve... I’ve never been drunk like thish before,” you say. “Feels weird.”

“How so?”

You look in front of you, your view swaying in front of your eyes. “Like... blurry.”

Octavia chuckles. “Yeah...”

A moment of silence passes, save for the sounds of the busy city outside. A few muffled honks and thousands of hoofsteps do little to help fill the void between you.

“Octavia?” you ask.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“Or, for-...” She puts her face in her hooves. “Why d’you keep asking that?”

“Because you don’t sheem okay,” you say, leaning towards her a little bit. Either out of worry or just to keep your balance.

“What makesh you... say that?”

“You just drank half a bottle’a whiskey.”

She grumbles a bit at your answer, looking down at the offending bottle itself. “Ponies... need to get drunk every now and again.”

“Only if they’re not okay,” you reply. “So if you need to get drunk then you’re not okay.”

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she leans down to put the bottle of whiskey on the floor. She nearly falls forward onto the floor herself, but manages to save herself, if only to fall backward onto the bed instead.

“I’m not okay...” she murmurs.

“Why... why’s that?” you ask.

Her eyes drift lazily towards your general direction. She blinks a few times before getting them to focus on you. The two of you stare at eachother, you swaying a little and her flat on her back.

“Little things...” she says, turning away.

“You shaid that b’fore,” you say.

“A lotta little things.”

“Tell me,” you say. She looks back at you as you lay down on your stomach. Your wings unfold and lay at your sides as the blanket feels cool against your fur. Now down at Octavia’s level you try to look at her with a pleading look.

“Pleashe?”

She cracks a smirk. “You’re cute when you’re wasted...” Her remark makes you feel even more warmth in your cheeks. She raises a hoof toward you, seemingly trying to reach your face. After a couple tiny grunts from her trying to extend her foreleg, you reach with our own hoof and hold hers. She seems happy enough with it as she adjusts her grasp comfortably.

Then, as the moments pass, the room seems to become silent. Even the noise from outside is forgotten as you begin to realize what you are doing, even in your completely alcohol filled brain.

You’re holding Octavia’s hoof.

Even in your stupor, you feel a bit of rising panic. Should you let go? Why was she reaching toward you? Why did she call you cute? She seems okay with it, at least. She’s just laying there, smiling, looking at your conjoined hooves.

Her hoof feels so soft. There is a definite feel of fine grooming, her fur like fine velvet. The years of her music come through as you sense an intense potential strength in her grasp, built from playing her cello.

Her purple eyes look up to meet yours.

“...Cute?” you ask. She just nods. You smile.

“And you’re really nice, too. Always ready to sherve somepony a drink with a smile.”

“That’sh just my job,” you say.

“And you’re good at it. Not to mention just how obs-... obser... how much you notice things,” she continues. “Nothing gets by you. It’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” you say, cheeks growing steadily warmer still.

“And you work hard... even if it’s just bein’ a waiter, you work so hard...”

“It’s not that big offa deal,” you say with a shrug.

“But it is,” she says, turning towards her whole body towards you. “You work and you’re shuch a gentlepony, and...” She trails off before just shaking her head with another chuckle.

“And what?” you ask, curiosity and pride replacing the earlier panic you were feeling.

“And...” she begins, “...you are so much better than...” Her voice steadily loses its joyfulness and is replaced with a sour tone. “...any of my shtupid bandmates.”

“What?” you ask, concern suddenly topping the list of emotions you were feeling tonight.

She sighs. “My bandmatesh are just... terrible.” She stretches her body so her head is facing up towards the wall. “They always fight. They always whine and moan about shtupid stuff. They always pick fights with each other and me and I would just wish that they’d pull out whatever sticks got lodged up their flanks and act like decent ponies.”

“What do you mean?”

She rolls completely over, burying her face in the mattress. Her voice is muffled, but she continues. “We didn’t used t’ be like this...” she says. “We used t’ be friends. We didn’t try to tease each other or make each other angry for no reason. We wouldn’t yell at each other at practice. Yell at each other for not practicin’ enough. Yell at each other for gettin’ a note they thought we got wrong, but we actually got right because they try t’ think they know everything.”

You try to think of something to say when suddenly her hoof pounds against the mattress. “They don’ even care ‘bout the music anymore!” she exclaims. “All the group is to any of ‘em is jusht a fancy position to brag about. They’re here jusht cause they wanna be famous in Canterlot...” She brings her head up with a groan. “Our music changed us. It’s made us horrible ponies...”

“B-But...” You scoot closer to Octavia, holding her hoof still. “I don’t think you’re a terrible pony...”

“You haven’t sheen me out of performances,” she says. “I scream and cry and throw tantrums just like the rest of them. We’re all just awful away from the public view...”

“You’re not awful,” you say. “I followed you here from Canterlot, drinking all along the way, and you were a perfect mare.” She turns her head towards you, her eyes beginning to look red. “You never screamed or cried. You laughed. You made me laugh. I had a great time with you tonight.”

You reach with your other foreleg to hold her hoof in both of yours.

“Octavia, I dunno what you do when I’m not there...” You tighten your hold on her hoof. “But when I shee you, you’re not any of those things you think.”

A smile begins to grow on Octavia’s face again.

“You’re a fantashtic mare, Octavia...” you say, giving her hoof a little pat.

Suddenly, she sits up again, giving your hooves a little tug with the one you’re holding. Taking this as a symbol to get up as well, you take one hoof back to press against the mattress to pick yourself up.

“Thank you,” she says. “That means a lot.”

“Any time,” you reply.

She leans forward, pushing her chest against yours and laying her chin against your shoulder. She brings her other hoof around to your back in an awkward sort of drunken embrace; half hugging, half using you to stay upright. Still, you couldn’t complain as you reach around with your free hoof to her back as well.

“You’re a wonderful shtallion,” she mumbles before breathing a yawn through her nose. The yawn is infectious as you suddenly feel yourself yawning as well.

“Getting tired?” you ask.

“Mm-hmm...” she murmurs.

You pat her back as you look up at the clock. It’s definitely way later than either of you probably stay up. You start to pull away from her.

“I think I’ll be getting ready to get back to Canterlot, then,” you say.

“What? Back to Canterlot?” she asks. “But you’re completely sloshed! You can’t fly back like this!”

“Well... what else can I do?” you ask.

A moment passes before she answers.

“...Stay,” she says, leaning back herself and looking straight into your eyes.

“What?” you ask.

“Stay with me.” She takes both her hooves and brings them up to drape them over your shoulders. “I had such a great time with you... Please. Stay with me tonight.”

“I...” You couldn’t believe she’s asking this of you. The answer is obvious, even in your drunk mind. “...would love to.”

She smiles again as she pulls you closer for another hug. However, all she does is throw both of you off balance and you both fall over onto the pillows, you on top of her. Both of you land with an ‘oof!’. As you realise what happened, you both begin to giggle as you slide off of her, down to her side.

The two of you lay together, both her forelegs around you and one of your forelegs around her. You simple stare into those beautiful purple eyes as they stare back. Every now and again, you feel the urge to blink. Every time you do, it becomes a little harder to open your eyelids again. You can see the same happening with Octavia.

Eventually, your eyelids remain closed. Her warmth is still there and you can still feel it even as you begin to drift...

~~~~~~

As the memory fades, the music ends and her bow drops to her side.

“Why do you like me?” she asks suddenly.

“What?”

“I said why do you like me?” she repeats. “I told you why I like you. You’re friendly, take pride in your work, try to please everypony...” She shakes her head. “So why would somepony like you be interested in me?”

Is she seriously asking this? She’s more successful, more famous, and more talented than you could ever hope to be and she’s wondering how you could be interested in her?

“Octavia...” you begin, “I like you because...” You shake your head as you try to find the right words. “Well, because you’re beautiful, for starters.”

She lets out a little pfft at your reply. “Beauty isn’t that hard to come by in Canterlot,” she says.

“No, no, not like that,” you say. She raises an eyebrow. “N-Not to say you're not beautiful like that, it’s just... you have a different kind of beauty as well.”

“A different kind?”

“All those ponies in Canterlot... So much make-up. So many suits or dresses. They dye their manes, starve themselves, all in an effort to fit some sort of higher opinion.” You lift a hoof towards her. “You don’t have that problem. You don’t starve yourself and you wear what’s only necessary. A bowtie, a little mascara, but that’s it. It shows who you are.”

“But the bowtie is just ensemble uniform,” she says.

“Does anypony else wear theirs out of performances?”

“Well... no. They usually take them off the first chance they get.”

“Exactly,” you say. The words just seem to be sliding out of your mouth, straight from your heart. “And it shows in your performance. You said yourself that the band was just a bragging right to your bandmates. It’s why I don’t have the same feelings for Beauty Brass or, I don’t know, Frederic.” Octavia snickers. “That’s how much you put yourself in your music. You said I take pride in my work, and I see the same with you.” You stretch out both hooves in her direction for emphasis. “Standing proud by your cello. Your pride doesn’t come from wealth or business, but from who you are. Your abilities. Your music.”

“What does this have to do with beauty?” she asks. You get up off the bed and start walking towards her.

“Everything,” you say as you slowly approach her. “Other mares in Canterlot use their money to try and be beautiful. Their pride are their businesses or their connections. But you...” You sit on your haunches in front of her and reach your hoof up to hers still holding her bow. “Your beauty is natural. It doesn’t come from money or power. It just comes from you. Your pride, your ambition, your dreams. And to me...”

You raise your other foreleg to hold her hoof in both of yours, just like last night.

“...That makes you the most beautiful mare in Canterlot.”

She blinks a couple times as your words set in. Slowly, she sits down herself. Her hoof holding her cello very carefully leans it down until it lays on the floor. Reaching over, she takes the bow from the hoof you’re holding and sets it beside the cello. She takes the hoof you’re holding out of your grasp and places it on your shoulder while bringing her other hoof around to the back of your head. Her smile widens until it’s as big as can be.

“Thank you...” she whispers before pulling you forward, pressing your lips against hers.

Author's Note

I'm EST -5:00, so it's still Monday! HOO-AH!

But yeah, thanks to Timebomb0, Slashe720, and Eights for proofing this chapter!

I'm going to work on Shylock now. Also, I promise to take it easy on the blog posts for a while.

Chapter 7: Night

As Octavia’s lips leave yours, you intake a massive breath of air. Her hooves move around your shoulders and her grip tightens as she puts her muzzle in the crook of your neck. Your own hooves, having been hanging beside you all this time, rise up to return her hug.

The two of you sit together for a while. You can feel Octavia’s soothing warmth and breathing, in and out, down your back and wings along with the surprisingly rhythmic activity of the passing outside crowds just audible in your room. Her mane flows down her back, still carrying a light but sweet scent of vanilla from the provided hotel shampoo. Taking a hoof, you gently run it through her hair, all the way down brushing her silky long dark mane and her gray fur underneath.

You look up to the clock. Hours have passed by, either during her practice or your activity afterwards. Either way, the night is here and the only light from the window is from the glow of the city, not the sun.

Octavia lets out a sigh as her grip relaxes, but she leans more of her weight into you. You feel her hoof trace down to your wing as she begins to poke around between some of your feathers. The sensation is a little tickly, almost as if she’s scratching a tiny itch. You let her continue as you begin to rub her back, feeling her fur while her mane is draped over your moving hoof.

Something in your chest feels like it’s welling up and your head is becoming light as the moment sinks in. You are so close to Octavia right now. The two of you have had a wonderful day which will soon come to an end. Tomorrow, her life and bandmates catch up with her. You promised to take her to new things, but... how will she handle it?

Part of you says not to worry, that she’s been living with these circumstances for the better part of her adult life. However, another part of you remembers the way she looked at you at the coffeeshop. Those eyes, full of hope and wonder. Full of trust. Octavia is going to be counting on you to save her from her life and bandmates. To be her hero, just like she said earlier.

Her bandmates. Your conversation with Frederich is still fresh in your mind, sending a shiver down your spine as you realize just how much you’re going to have to deal with him. And Harpo. And Beauty Brass. If the earlier phone call was any indication, then none of them are going to like you for being with her.

For the first time today, true doubt begins to build in your mind a sour your stomach. You let out a sigh as Octavia keeps poking around between your feathers. Suddenly, you feel her stop.

“...Is something wrong?” she asks, a brief pause in her voice.

You open your mouth to respond, but hesitate. It seems like it’d be easy to give a simple affirmative, but the words get caught in your throat and lost in your clouded mind.

This new relationship is going to bring its challenges. Your life was simple before today, but now with her, who knows what your schedule will end up like? Follow to shows or stay behind where you can’t be there for her? And after all of them, her bandmates, oh dear Celestia, her bandmates. You can’t stop the horrid scenarios playing out in your head, each much worse than what was the mere drop of their ire you’ve been subject to already.

Her life and everything in it is about to become yours as well.

“What are you thinking about?” Octavia asks, her head shifting on your shoulder and rubbing your cheek.

“Just... after today,” you say.

“After today what?”

“What it means.”

Octavia is silent for a moment as her hoof stops poking around your wings. You begin to wonder if you had said the wrong thing, but a soft chuckle calms your suddenly rising nerves.

“Are you scared?” she asks.

“Just... Just a bit,” you admit.

She gives a little nuzzle to your neck. “Me too.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m scared of what others may say. What my bandmates may do. What we may have to put up with when we return to Canterlot.”

You let out a slow breath, letting her words sink in. While they did not quell your fears, you take a small bit of comfort knowing that at least you both feel the same way.

“But you know what?” Octavia suddenly asks.

“What?”

“I don’t care,” she says plainly. “I don’t care what they say or what they do.” She gives you another little nuzzle. You smile at her words, but wait for her to continue. It sounds like there’s more to her speech, but the seconds tick on as she begins poking at your feathers again.

You feel confusion begin to rise when no more words come. It begins to replace the anxiety, but only with another kind building on the suspense of what Octavia could say next. She doesn’t care what ponies say or do about the two of you, but it feels like it should be followed up with something. That something could come at any moment so you simply wait in silence, hoping that her next words are as encouraging as before. A sigh escapes her lips as she continues fiddling with your feathers, the two of you still wrapped in a hug. Well, even if she doesn’t speak, you can’t really complain about the situation.

For some reason, your mind travels back to a memory as a child when you would visit the doctor. The doctor was nice, knew how to make you feel better if you were ill, and always gave you a lollipop after your appointment. Also, the waiting room always had this toy box with the neatest things in it. There were little push cars, wind up tops, and more. Another fond memory plays of you playing with the toy you would always go straight for, a maze of little metal balls that you guided with a magnet that was built directly into the side of the toy box itself.

This is where you feel you are right now. The old safe waiting room of the doctor’s. Where things were okay there and would be okay afterwards. And so, you’re content to just sit here in Octavia’s embrace, waiting for whatever it is she may say next. The words going through her head, yet to be spoken, probably going into deeper insight of your situation and your newfound relationship.

You find yourself growing more excited at the idea of hearing her express more of what this all means to her, consequences be damned as she’s already said. The words being forged in the mind of the most lovely mare you’ve come to know, sure to be words to uplift your spirit and fan the growing flames in your heart. Patiently you wait for the heavenly sound of her speech; those glorious words she must be piecing together so elegantly and profound like the music that has formed and shaped her glowing beauty.

Listening to her breathing, you notice she takes in a little larger breath than normal. She opens her mouth...

“I like your wings.”

You almost let out a single giggle in surprise. “What?”

“I said I like your wings,” she says, now simply stroking the feathers instead of poking between them. “They’re so warm and soft...”

You’re at a loss for words. Her statement just came from nowhere and you’re scrambling in your mind for a way to respond.

“I’m… glad?” you manage to say.

“I’m a little surprised you’re letting me do this,” she says. “I thought pegasus wings were supposed to be really sensitive.”

“They are, in certain places. Not really the feathers so much,” you explain. “Plus, some are just a bit more ticklish than others.”

“So it’s like a tickle?” she asks. “I thought it was supposed to be more…” her words trail off.

Another moment of silence passes. However, a question barrels into the forefront of your mind, nearly causing you to bust out laughing. Your shoulders do shake a little, which Octavia picks up on.

“Something funny?” she asks.

Calming yourself, you take a breath. “Not really, it’s just that… well…” You prepare yourself, going over the question in your head, trying to find the best way to put it.

“Just that what?” she asks.

“Are you trying to... ruffle my feathers?”

Octavia’s hoof immediately leaves your wing and wraps around your back as if it was never there. Her jaw and shoulders lock and she intakes a big breath. Her entire frame goes rigid for a moment. The embarrassment is quick to spread within her.

“That’s… not was I was trying to do at all,” she states plainly.

“I know, I know,” you reassure her, giving her a little pat on the back. “Just teasing a bit.”

A quick snort is her response. She just sits there again, not moving. A thought occurs to you.

“I’m glad you like my wings, though. Never really thought of them as something you’d be attracted to,” you say.

This gets a quick hum from her, as if she’s debating her response.

“Well, I mean something that ponies would be attracted to, not just you,” you clarify. “Although, they are the defining pegasus feature, so I guess it makes sense.”

“Yeah…” she mumbles.

You notice the slightly deflated tone in her voice. Her shoulders a bit and her chin rests a little heavier on your shoulder. You feel her cheek against you slightly puffed out with air.

“Is something wrong?” you ask.

“Not really,” she answers.

You’re not convinced. “Are you sure?”

She’s silent for a moment. Eventually, she pulls away from you enough for you to see her face. Her hooves come up from your back and rest on your shoulders.

“I want to ask you something. And I want you to answer me honestly,” Octavia says, her eyes locked onto yours. “I know this all happened in a very unorthodox way. You and me.”

You nod to show that you understand.

“And today, I’ve just been dragging us here and there. Making all the calls and decisions, for the most part.”

A little guilt builds in your chest at that statement. It’s true, today was basically a free ride for you graciously provided by Octavia. “I can pay you back,” you say.

“I don’t want to be paid back,” she says.

“Then what can I do?” you ask.

“Tell me. After today, how should we handle… us?”

You’re a bit thrown by the question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean when we get back to Canterlot, what do we do? How do we keep this up?” she asks.

You try to think of an answer. You’re still not a hundred percent sure what you’re being asked. “You mean, like, taking it slow or-”

“That and more,” she cuts you off. “Take our lives in Canterlot. Your job, my job, my bandmates. How do we add us as a couple? What do we do?”

“I… I don’t know…” you stammer.

“Please,” she pleads, her grip on your shoulders tightening. “This entire trip, everything I’ve paid for, you will make it up right here and now if you can answer this one question. What. Do. We. Do?”

You lick your lips and think. The question rings in your mind. What can you and Octavia do around your current livings? Out of panic your mind goes into work mode and starts a checklist, as if you were going through the motions at a dinner party.

“We go back to Canterlot. Then we look at our schedules,” you begin. “Then we look at when we’re both free and see if we can schedule something. Perhaps dinner. Maybe just a visit and drinks. Or visiting one of those establishments I said I’d take you to. Whatever’s appropriate.”

Octavia just stares at you.

“And as for us as a couple…” you stir your thoughts some more, thinking of what couples do. “We’ll hug. And we’ll kiss. Sometimes both.”

You feel her grip on your shoulders begin to loosen.

“Perhaps we shall schedule visits specifically for hugging and/or kissing, though it may happen sporadically as well.” You feel your cheeks redden. “And as for your bandmates… well, for the most part they don’t matter. If they try to do anything, I’m sure that arrangements can be made for consolation.”

“Emergency hug-kiss visit?”

“If need be.”

Her smile returns as her shoulders shake a little. She’s laughing, even if she’s keeping it in, so that’s a sign you’re saying the right things.

“So we’ll just see what we can do and go from there,” you conclude.

“That’s it? So simple?” she asks.

You shrug. “Basically. Unless we want to make it more complicated.”

Her shoulders begin to shake again, but this time her snickers escape her lips. She quickly regains her composure and straightens herself up. “I guess I can’t ask for a better answer,” she says “Nice, easy, and basic. I like it.”

Relief washes over you as you hear that you didn’t just let Octavia down in the one thing she’s asked of you all trip. “So shall we discuss our schedules and figure out our first meeting in Canterlot?” you ask.

She shakes her head. “Not now. I think I’m just going to get ready for bed. Care to join me?”

“A bit early, isn’t it?”

“It’s been a rather exciting day. I’m probably going to lay awake in bed for a while, all things considered,” she says before holding a hoof up to her mouth to yawn.

“Can’t argue with that,” you say before her infectious yawn causes you to turn your head and breathe out as well.

She moves completely away from you before walking towards the closet. Opening the door, she rummages around her luggage before pulling out a small bag and heading for the bathroom. She closes the door behind her as you hear the water from the sink begin to run. You decide to look out the window, observing the glow of the light sources outside. Some flicker, causing strange effects with the other lights. There are some different colors, such as yellows and pinks and blues.

Such a strange city. You had heard of the concept of a city that never sleeps, but that was usually for much flashier and advertised cities like Las Pegasus. This place didn’t seem to have any sort of razzle dazzle like that. Instead, this place just seems busy. No big shows, no fancy productions, just ponies going to and from where they need to be. You can’t help but respect that.

While alone in your thoughts, you hear the toilet flush. A couple moments later, Octavia walks back out, a bit of her face wet and her bowtie untied.

“I doubt you have certain toiletries with you at the moment, so feel free to use whatever you need in there,” she says.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“Yes. We’ve had our lips locked together today so I don’t think sharing a toothbrush will do too much more,” she says.

“Fair enough,” you say as you walk into the bathroom yourself.

The white tile floor, tub, and everything else makes the light in here more harsh than the light in the other room. You blink a couple times and then squint a little until your eyes can adjust.

The bag you saw her bring in lays open on the counter and what you assume is Octavia’s toothbrush sits next to the sink along with a roll of dental floss. It looks so clean and fresh, the bristles so pristine, you could be forgiven for thinking it was brand new. Beside it lay the toothpaste, a special baking soda blend specifically for whitening. You don’t recognize the brand name, but if it’s good enough for Octavia then you won’t question it.

You take the toothbrush as if it were made of glass, carefully applying just a tiny bit of her toothpaste on it. Although it may be something as simple as a toothbrush, you still don’t want to do anything that could mess it up in any way. Turning on the sink, you wet the end of the toothbrush a little before baring your teeth in the mirror and prepare to brush as gently as possibly. Pushing the bristles past your lips, you slowly brush back and forth.

OH DEAR CELESTIA, THAT FOUL TASTE.

You pull the toothbrush away from your mouth as you feel yourself about to gag. There was no minty flavor you’ve come to expect, simply an overpowering presence of flour and salt, all in a cold, goopy texture.

Spitting a couple times into the sink, you wonder how Octavia could possibly stand to brush with this stuff. Looking to the toothbrush again, you notice it still has a servicable amount of toothpaste for brushing. The thought of trying again give you a little shiver in the back of your throat, but considering you don’t remember brushing since getting here, you prepare to weather the storm upon your taste buds.

You don’t even give yourself time to think, you just put the brush into your mouth and move it all around. It seems to lather, the building foam in your mouth not making matters any more pleasant. You continue as carefully as possible, though, it’s still Octavia’s. You’re caught between two extremes urges, one of trying to preserve the toothbrush and the other of brushing as fast as possible to get the awful taste out of your mouth. You try to find a suitable balance, and by balance you mean save the toothbrush and tell your tongue to shut up.

After thirty seconds of the most agonizing self dental care you’ve ever inflicted upon yourself, you spit all the horrid substance from your mouth and into the sink, forever washed back to the dark depths of the planet from whence it came. Running the toothbrush under the stream of water to clear its bristles, you then wash a hoof and use it to pour some water into your mouth to rinse out the last of the offensive taste. Two scoops and spits makes it bearable.

But as you look at yourself in the mirror, you notice it. Smiling wide, you see that the toothpaste, while terrible tasting, does its job extremely well. Light shines off your near pearly whites and for a moment you consider committing the brand name to memory.

You shake the water off the toothbrush, set it down, and look to the floss. While she was nice enough to let you use her things, the idea of taking a piece still makes you hesitate. Until you read the label: Mint flavor.

Aha, so the mythical mint flavor of pre-bedtime bathroom preparations is contained in the floss, is it? That’s enough to convince you that it’s fine for a small length. Cutting it off on the thankfully provided cutter, you wrap the two ends around the tips of your wings and carefully guide them to maneuver the string between your teeth. The mint flavor hits your tongue and it quickly clears out the last remaining presence of the toothpaste. Mmm, spearmint. Flossing up into the gums, you remember that you probably don’t floss as often as you should, but hey, you do it often enough to make it not a problem for your wings to do the job.

Poor earth ponies, having to wrap it around their entire hoof, you think. Floss companies probably make the most money off of them. Perhaps you could help save Octavia some money in the future by helping-

Before that thought completes itself, you snicker. You pop the string out of your mouth and into the small trashcan in the corner, take one more hoofful of water to rinse, and look at yourself in the mirror. A couple splashes of water on your face, you turn off the sink and dry off with a hooftowel to the side.

You notice something on the towel. Small specks of red.

Your mind goes back to this morning, when you were in here with Octavia. The scratch on her neck and how you were able to help her. How you sat together on the floor for a while. Then, the two of you had breakfast together. You went out into the city together. Had dinner. Made special promises. And all after you woke up hungover, confessed your feelings, and snuggled back up to each other to sleep off your headaches.

Your eyes wander to the mirror again. The pony who stared back is the one who shared all those moments with her. Who was going to take her to so many places in Canterlot, show her so many things.

Feelings you had shut out previously return. The dread, the worry, the fear of going back to Canterlot and what it means. However, it comes back as bubbling excitement. If you and Octavia could handle what this city threw at you, you could handle anything.

You place the hooftowel back down. Turning off the sink, you quickly make use of the other facilities and wash your hooves one last time. Then you stand there for a moment, caught in a stare at nothing. Exciting as it is, it’s still a lot to take in. But as you told Octavia, you’ll plan ahead and take it as it comes. For now, she’s waiting for you on the other side of the door to go to sleep with.

Another yawn escapes you as you turn off the light and stand in the darkness for another moment before opening the door. Taking a couple steps out, you see Octavia staring out the window, just as you had waiting for her. Her bowtie now sits on the nightstand beside the bed.

She turns to you with a smile. “This city is rather amazing isn’t it?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you reply, joining her at the window. “We may have to come back one day.”

“I would like that.” She takes one last look outside before taking a hoof and closing the curtain. The room is now completely dark save for what light slips past. “I’m afraid tomorrow is an important day with the performance,” she says.

“I understand.”

She trots over and sits up on the bed. “Care to join me?” she asks.

“Of course.”

Both question and answer, spoken as if nothing was wrong. You walk over and lift yourself onto the bed as well. Crawling over the mattress, you both reach the end of the bed. She waits for you to lay down first. Your head meets the pillow and you turn so you lay on your back.

She lays beside you, her head coming up to rest on your chest. One of her hooves grip on your shoulder as the other lays above your stomach, causing just a little twitch of reaction from you before settling.

You go to wrap a hoof around her back, prompting her to lift herself up a little bit. Then an idea strikes you. While she’s holding herself up, you unfurl your wing and stretch it out underneath her. Curling it around, you surround Octavia with the warmth and softness that she had said earlier that she appreciated.

You hear a surprised gasp as her fur touches your feathers and pull her close. She doesn’t resist at all, snuggling into your wing as she lays herself down carefully. It’s obvious she’s unsure how much weight your wing can take, but she settles herself in with no problems or complaints from you. You feel her lips press against your cheek before she sets her head back down on your chest, her slow breathing tickling your chest fur.

At this moment, everything is perfect.

Closing your eyes, you just lay there, enjoying everything around you. Sleep is coming eventually, so you don’t try to fight it. Besides, you’ll have this opportunity again at some point. Perhaps even in this city again. Like you both said, it’d be nice to come back.

For as much as you have to show Octavia in Canterlot, there’s still so much of this place left unexplored. So many shops, parks, and restaurants. Maybe on a day where Octavia doesn’t have to perform the day after, so you can really see the city at night. Not just pass through it, but be a part of it.

The city at night… you could only imagine.

~~~~~~

Bright clashing lights shine upon your closed eyelids, stirring you from your rest. You notice that the warm body that used to be beside you is now missing. Opening your eyes confirms this, the blanket tossed aside from where once lay the beautiful musician you’ve traveled with.

Curiosity to where she has gone is short lived, for when your eyes drift to the source of the lights that awoke you, you see the silhouette of the wonderful mare herself. She stares out the window with wonder, watching all the activity under the illumination of the night in a city that never sleeps.

Carefully, you lean yourself up and out of bed. Your tired body protests in the form of aching joints, sore limbs, and a dizzy head, but you persist until you’re on your hooves. Trotting over to her, you sit beside her as she seems too interested in what’s outside to notice you have joined her.

You watch her watch the night, ponies still walking the sidewalk as much as they did during the day. The wheels of carts clack against the ground, bussing passengers where they need to go. All under the lights of signs and lamp posts, under bright yellows, reds, blues, and more colors that dance through the streets in a marvelous and chaotic waltz with everypony outside.

All of this is reflected in her purple eyes.

She turns to you. Her smile paints the picture of her desire to join them quite clearly. She reaches a hoof out to you.

There is wary a moment’s hesitation before you take her hoof. The second you do, she stands up and guides you through the room, stopping only to grab her bowtie. She fastens it around her neck with the speed and experience that’s grown from all the years of wearing it. She grabs the room key and tucks it safely underneath the collar.

After the door opens, you find yourself outside the hotel in a blur. You remember locking the door and walking down the hallway. Or rather, you know that these activities must have occurred.

Before you can think too much about it, you look over to see her staring up into the lights above. The smile of almost childlike wonder that adorns her face is a look so precious that it forces back your earlier confusion.

She leads you down the sidewalk, among the other ponies all seeming to travel around each other in a complicated and chaotic waltz. Steps around one pony and then another, swerving back and forth just so to not bump into any other passerby. As you move through the crowd, you accidently bump into a few ponies before starting to get the rhythm. A step to the side, a simple twist around, a courteous nod to each and every pony that takes part with you this dance of the big city, however brief your time was.

Your main partner is still ahead of you, guiding you across the concrete dance floor. Looking around, taking in your surroundings, the lights and sounds, it all begins to overwhelm you. You open your mouth to talk, but nothing comes out. Nothing over the noise around you.

It does get her attention. She turns back and smiles again. You approach a group of stationary ponies on a street corner, whose presence gives the two of you the excuse to stop for a moment, to take a breath within the sporadic environment.

She laughs. You are not looking at her, nor can you hear her, but you can feel it. The way her hoof is shaking in yours and how it squeezes you tighter. Her joy spreads as you see other ponies around smile, like yourself. You feel your wings unfurl and yourself becoming lighter than air. By instinct, your wings are flapping and it’s almost as if you could rise above the crowd up into the sky based on her positive energy alone.

But that wouldn’t do. Right now, the two of you are right where you want to be, prowling the streets as animals in a jungle of lights. She looks up to you flying just above her, and you laugh as well. You can’t help it, what you’re feeling makes you want to soar. Thankfully, she keeps you grounded in this wonderful place.

As the crowd moves, so does she, tugging you along like a balloon. Now that you can see above the ponies, you get a good look at everything. You see how the city works. How it functions. How it breathes.

She pulls you along and you both laugh. You both run. Feelings you don’t understand in a place you’ve never been, but you can’t get enough.

So you continue down the street, immersing yourselves further into the wonderful city.

~~~~~~

Slowly, your eyes begin to open. There is a slight pressure in your head as you breathe out a long yawn. Nowhere near as bad as the pounding from the last time you woke up, but something that just shows that you woke from one of the best night’s sleep you’ve ever gotten.

And what happened… You’re unsure as to whether or not that series of events was a dream, a flashback, or something else, but it was so vivid and you’ll never forget it.

You begin to notice something dragging around your chest. Looking down reveals it to be a gray hoof. Travelling up the attached foreleg reveals its owner, Octavia, laying beside you. She looks up to you and smiles. She must have woken up before you, but chose to lay with you until you woke up.

You consider asking her about your little run through the city, but decide against it. It felt so real and so amazing that you don’t want to take the chance of having it be disproven. Instead, you reach over with your hoof and wing, wrapping her up in a warm embrace.

She settles nicely within your wing, snuggling up to you and closing her eyes, ready to return to sleep for just a few moments more. Choosing to join her, your own eyelids close as you let the outside world slowly fade away yet again…

A sharp knocking on the door disturbs your rest. You turn your head slightly towards the source of the noise, still not bothering to open your eyes again.

“Octavia, I know you’re in there!”

However, the voice makes your eyes shoot open. You also see Octavia turn to look as well, panic across her face. She bites her lip nervously as she looks at you with pleading eyes. With a gulp, you slide your way out of the sheets and trot as quickly and quietly as you can to the door where the knocking persists.

As carefully as you can, you look in through the peep hole. You know the voice all too well, but seeing out into the hall confirms it.

“Philharmonica, we’ve had enough of this tomfoolery!” yells the voice of Harpo. You also see Beauty Brass next to her. “Open the door this instant!” he commands.

Turning away slowly, you trot back to the bed where Octavia is sitting up, her mane lightly ruffled, and worry in her features.

“Harpo?” she whispers with dread.

“Harpo,” you confirm.

She breathes out a little. “Well, he’ll get frustrated and give up eventually. He’s not so bad as long as Beauty Brass isn’t with him.”

“What’s... so bad about Beauty Brass?” you ask.

“OCTAVIAAAA.”

A very low, yet feminine voice plows through the room, shaking the windows and you down to your bones. With tensed muscles you bear the vocal onslaught as Octavia clasps her hooves over her ears. Not even a moment from the sonic assault does another round of knocking come forth.

As you wonder how much worse this could possibly get, the phone starts to ring. With what’s outside the door, you don’t even think when you pick up the receiver.

“Hello?” you ask.

“You ingrateful worm, where is-!?”

Before another word can come out, you slam down the receiver.

“Frederic,” you call over your shoulder over another round of knocking. Sure enough, almost as soon as you put the phone down, it starts to ring again. He must be calling from inside the hotel in another room which is why the front desk isn’t rejecting them.

Octavia clutches the blanket tight to her chest as she stares off into space, looking like she’s about to be ill.

“OCTAVIAAAA.”

Grit teeth rattle in your head as Octavia curls up into a ball under the blanket. Two at the door and one on the phone, not a single one of which seem likely to let up anytime soon.

You take a breath and try to focus through all the noise. There’s no way you could let them get to Octavia, not at the moment. You could answer the door or phone and just give them a piece of your mind, but… you suddenly feel a chill down your spine.

How does she deal with these ponies on a daily basis? The constant yelling demands and insults, and there’s no way you could just shut them out like she did with Frederic yesterday. Nothing you can do, nopony to come to-

Wait. That’s it!

Inspiration striking, you pick up the phone again. However, you press the hook before Frederic can get a word in. Releasing it and putting the receiver to your ear, you hear a dial tone over Harpo’s hoof on the door. The card thankfully still next to the phone, you dial the front desk. Octavia looks at you confused, so you give her a nod to show you know what you’re doing.

“Hello, front desk. How may I help you?” asks another mare on the other end of the line.

“Hi, I have a complaint about some ponies outside of room 213 causing a noise disturbance,” you say.

“A noise disturbance?” she asks, concern in her voice. “How bad is it?”

“OCTAVIAAAA.”

You and Octavia flinch as you hear and feel the rumbling of the room. You put the receiver back up to your ear as the knocking returns.

“That bad.”

“My word…” she gasps. “We felt that in the lobby! I thought they were just doing construction somewhere. We’ll send somepony up there right away!”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good day!”

“You too. Bye,” you say and place the phone back down on the receiver. However, as soon as you take your hoof away, it begins to ring again. You quickly pick it up, hang it back up, and then pick the receiver up off the hook and place it beside the phone, a droning dial tone being the only noise. That should stop any incoming calls for sure.

Walking back to Octavia who is still curled up, you join her on the bed and put a hoof on her back.

“It’ll be okay,” you whisper. “Security is on its way right now.”

She doesn’t say anything, just a small, timid nod.

Wrapping your hooves around her, you lay down with her as you wait through the persistent knocking, each knock piercing your ears as if he’s tapping directly against your skull. You hope as hard as you can that the hotel staff gets there soon to shoo Harpo and Beauty Brass away.

“OCTAVIAAAA.”

By instinct to the booming noise, you squeeze Octavia a little closer. Fearing for her discomfort, you loosen your grasp and mumble out an apology. She shifts around a little, a small whine escapes her throat as her hoof reaches up to yours. As she pushes herself back into your forelegs, you realize what she wants.

Tightening your hooves around her again, you hold her as firmly as you think you can without hurting her. She lets out a satisfied sigh as she seems to relax into you. The warmth of her body seemingly more intense in your embrace. You feel not only her soft fur, but her supple form underneath easily giving in your grip.

Harpo’s persistent knocking suddenly stops. As you know what’s about to happen, you and Octavia brace yourself for the inevitable yell.

“OCTAVI-”

“STOP! Stop stop stop!”

You hear another pony in the hall yelling, thankfully cutting off Beauty’s yell. They must be who the front desk sent up. Their voices drop in volume so you can no longer make out what they’re saying exactly. From what you can hear of it, Harpo is trying to argue his Celestia-given right to annoy the piss out of you through the door.

The outside bickering lasts only a minute or so, all the while you hold Octavia closely. No movement other than her breathing. Finally, you hear two ponies stomp off one direction while the other calmly trots the other. Feeling Octavia breathe in deeply, she lets out a huge sigh.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you so much.”

She begins to lift herself up so you loosen your hold on her. All she does is turn herself to face you before laying back down. Her purple eyes meet yours and you can now see her smiling. She lets out a small giggle as she brings a hoof up to your cheek.

“My hero…”

You’re unsure how heroic calling security is, but you still feel pride welling up inside of you. The fact that you managed to keep Octavia’s bandmates away for just another moment longer must mean something. But then again, it’s just that. Another moment, and then she’ll eventually have to face them.

“What time did we have to check out by?” you ask, dread settling in your chest.

Octavia’s smile vanishes. “Ten o'clock,” she replies. “What time is it now?”

Looking around, you crane your neck a bit to see the clock on the wall. You bite your lip as your shoulders fall.

“9:48,” you say. How you slept in like this, you’ll never know. You can hear the second hand tick away on the clock, making your recent victory seem more and more hollow.

She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she just wraps her hooves around you back and squeezes you tightly, like you had to comfort her. Burying her muzzle into the crook of your neck, the grip of her strong hooves makes it obvious that she doesn’t want to let go.

Putting your strength back into your own hold around her, you nuzzle the top of her head as the two of you lay together in a tight embrace. You try to recall the feelings from last night, the excitement when you remember the wonderful day with her you had. It works, for the most part, releasing a bit of the anxiety from the ticking clock. While you may not have much time left, you can’t think of a better way to spend it than this.

Author's Note

This would have been out sooner, but I lost internet for a while. Then I got into a fight with my proofreader about toothpaste.

Thanks to Slashe, Kody910, Armada, and Timebomb0.

Either way, the next chapter may depend on some outside forces, so I cannot promise it. I can, however, promise a new written something or other in let's say... two weeks? Could be a chapter of a new story or a one-shot. Either way, I want to keep myself on a schedule.

Chapter 9: Questions

“Not all of them…”

Octavia’s words make your stomach feel hollow as a smouldering doubt builds in the back of your mind. A mix of negativity swells within you. Cold tingles shoot down your spine as realization sets in that you might lose the mare of your dreams after one day. You walk on hard set hooves, tense in frustration that parts or even all of yesterday might have been a lie.

But a warmth beats in your heart, hopeful that you may keep all the promises you’ve made.

“Pardon me, please?” Octavia says suddenly. Looking up, you see her waving at a passing mare.

They have a blonde mane on teal fur. She gives a smile as Octavia trots up to her.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where we may find a restaurant serving breakfast at this time around, would you?” she asks.

The mare puts a hoof to her chin and hums in thought. “Well, there’s ‘The Simple Sandwich’ just down the road,” they say, pointing in the direction. “About two blocks from here, inside a place called the Fifth Street Towers on the skyway level. They have some pretty good breakfast sandwiches.”

Octavia looks where she’s pointing and gives her a nod. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem!” the mare responds happily with a wave before going on her way.

Octavia turns back to you. “Come on. We need food and you need answers,” she says simply.

You simply nod in agreement. The anxiety coursing through your body settles a bit. It’s only a matter of time before it’s all explained.

Trotting down the street, a chilly wind passes by. Neither of you give it any mind, your thoughts being directed towards what Harpo said and Octavia’s thoughts are in who knows where. Even though it blows persistently, it does little but scatter a few leaves on the ground.

Coming up to a couple tall buildings, you look around for the place the kind mare told you about. All there seems to be are big office structures with long, reflective windows wrapping all the way across with different shapes and sizes of concrete making up its outer wall. However, between two skyscrapers is a small building with tall red windows, metal statues of ponies, and the sign FIFTH STREET TOWERS above the door.

“Over there,” you say, pointing towards it.

Octavia turns, nods, and proceeds towards the door with a quick trot. You jog a little to be able to reach the door first and hold it open for her. Bleakness and worry is no excuse for a lack of chivalry.

When you’re both inside, you take note of the interior. The white tiles you stand on give way to dark gray carpets against light gray walls. There are various chairs aligned in rows. Ponies in varying degrees of business attire walk to and from in here. It’s almost a stark contrast to the mix of all kinds just on the sidewalk outside. A sign on the wall near the door has various locations of the building listed along with a map. Octavia takes a look and finds the restaurant you were told about.

“This way,” she says, trotting towards the stairwell.

Trotting up the flight of stairs, you feel your stomach rumble through all the twists and knots in it. Hopefully, everything would be satisfied soon. The upstairs looks more like the same with one way going out on a path that goes above the streets. Daylight floods the area through its massive windows as the hall seems to go into another building entirely.

However, that’s not the way you’re headed. Just a ways from you is a stand up sign with the words DAILY SPECIALS printed at the top with various dish options on display with discounted prices. Octavia pays it no mind, instead walking straight up to the orange counter and waiting for one of the ponies to take her order.

Trotting up to join her, you wait as well. They seem to be fairly busy, passing trays and papers amongst each other, trying to get sandwiches prepared. You look around a bit, some peculiar ceiling art catching your eye. Warped pieces of wood with dangling lights hang down to illuminate the area. Very stylish in a strange sort of way. You’d probably never see something like this in Canterlot.

“Do you have a question?” asks a green mare behind the counter.

“We’re waiting to have our order taken,” Octavia explains.

“Oh, first time here?”

“Um… yes.”

“Well, just fill out your order at one of those stations and we’ll get your food out to you as soon as we can!” she says before turning back to her work.

You and Octavia raise an eyebrow at each other as you take a couple steps over to the first of these ‘stations’ aligned in a row on the counter. It’s a pad of paper with their menu and spaces to write how many of each you’d like. Seems like a waste of time at first, but as you think about it, this keeps all the workers preparing food.

You’d definitely never see something like this in Canterlot.

“Okay…” Octavia says as she tentatively picks up a pencil next to the stand. “What would you like?”

You look over the menu. Despite everything, you feel that little bit of dread of having Octavia pay for your meal. “Egg and cheese sandwich,” you say, knowing that only arguments would come of trying to go hungry.

“I’ll have that, too,” she says, marking a 2 next to the space on the menu. “Along with a bagel for me. What sort of side dish would you like?”

“Oh, I have my sandwich, I think I’ll be-”

“Order it.”

“Hash browns.”

She jots down your request. “And two coffees.”

Looking over the order one last time, she gives a little nod before signing her name at the bottom. As soon as she sets the pencil down, the paper begins to glow and floats up towards the kitchen. Whether it’s unicorn magic or if the paper is simply enchanted, you can’t tell.

“We’ll have your order prepared soon!” says the green mare behind the counter. “Have a seat and we’ll call you up when its ready.”

Walking over to the nearest table, you let your gentlecoltliness shine through again by pulling the chair out for Octavia, just like breakfast in the hotel. She doesn’t smile this time, or even say anything as she takes off the cello case and puts it beside the table. You scoot it up for her to sit before walking around to your seat across from her. Carefully setting down her bags, you take some time to look at her.

Her shoulders are stooped, her normally perfect posture is waning a bit, and her ears look like they’re only upright by force. Her jaw hangs a little slack as you notice her hindlegs swinging back and forth just a little.

She must have as much on her mind as you do.

Suddenly, she looks up. Her brow furrows a bit.

“Are you doing that noticing body language thing?” she asks.

A dry swallow works its way down your throat. “Yes,” you admit.

She lets out an irritated sigh.

“I’m just concerned,” you say.

“I know.”

She sits still for a while, trying to avoid giving any signals whatsoever. Unfortunately, that itself gives away quite a bit of information rather easily. You don’t push the issue at all, though. She said that you’d talk after food and after food it shall be.

Instead, you turn back to study the lights hanging from the ceiling again. You focus and study the form of it, if only to take your mind off the final tense moments before finally getting an explanation. Those swooping shapes, sort of like a plane propellor you’d see in a cartoon. And from the looks of it, the lights are actually attached on top and come down through the holes in them.

Did you call this ‘stylish’ earlier? You’re tempted to take back that thought.

“Odd ceiling fixtures,” Octavia comments. Apparently she saw you staring and looked to see what it is that holds your attention. “But I don’t think I’d mind having something like that back at the house,” she says, turning back to you.

Your nose scrunches a little in confusion. “Look at it again,” you say.

She turns back around.

“Keep looking at it.”

She adjusts herself in her seat and continues to look up at the light. You see her eyes start to squint and her ears fold back. Her lips open just the slightest bit as her head gives a little tilt, draping some of her black mane over her shoulder. Turning herself almost completely around, she continues to study it. Her reaction is almost like when you were visiting the art gallery.

The moment that thought enters your mind, you feel a rush of relief from nowhere, like water pouring on the quarreling fires of anxiety in your chest. A little reminder of your time together showing instances that this high society mare can be nearly the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen. Her cuteness shines especially when she’s concentrating on something she’s unfamiliar with.You almost have to restrain yourself from giggling.

“Would you still want it?” you ask.

She shakes her head, turning back to her original position. “Absolutely not.”

A giggle manages to escape your throat and Octavia’s confusion is redirected at you.

“What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, trying to calm down.

“You’re laughing an awful lot for nothing,” she says.

“Okay, it’s just…” You take a breath to steady yourself. “You’re so cute sometimes.”

Her eyes widen a little in surprise. Her cheeks start to redden as her lips start to smile as she starts to giggle as well. The noise makes you resume your own quiet laughter and, for the moment, all seems right.

But her mood suddenly drops again, this time her ears staying folded back, her leaning back in her seat, and now avoiding your gaze. The sudden change makes you stop as well.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

She licks her lips and takes in a deep breath. Holding it in, she does expel the air, but rather says, “I know I’m supposed to be answering your questions here, but… would you mind if I asked something first?”

You wish she’d look at you, but you respond anyway. “I don’t mind.”

She sinks a little deeper in her chair. “With everything going on now, my bandmates, the upcoming show, and my own overreactions…” She finally gives out a sigh as she closes her eyes. “Do you regret yesterday at all?”

“What? No!” you say, “Of course not! Why would you ever think I would?”

“Because of everything you’ve been roped into now,” she explains, still not looking up. “These threats and having to avoid ponies and just… so much that’s happened the moment we weren’t miles away from it all.”

“Well, that’s different,” you retort. You try to lean over to meet her eyes, but she turns away again. “Everything that’s happening is because of what we want in the future, not because of what’s already occurred.”

“So, do you regret wanting to be- no wait,” she interrupts herself with a shrug.

“See, even you think what you were about to say is ridiculous.” You reach your hoof a little closer to her. “None of yesterday would have happened had I not been willing to go this far with you. I regret nothing about this, Octavia.”

You feel a little shock of terror as the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when a thought occurs. The sensation is even enough to make you draw your hoof back a little.

“You don’t… regret anything about yesterday, do you?” you ask.

“No!” she says suddenly, turning towards you at last. Her eyes lock with yours and you stare into those purple pools to calm yourself down. “At least…” she speaks up again. “I regret what this might be doing with you.”

You give another little giggle. “Don’t,” you state plainly. “Yesterday was probably the best day of my life. If we get through today, we’ll probably have a lot more like it.”

She smiles again. Not just a little smile, but a genuine one as she reaches with her own hoof to put in yours. The soft fur over her musically toned grasp is an amazing comfort right now. While you still have questions, at the moment you feel invincible.

“And we will get through today, won’t we?” you ask.

She nods. “Of course.”

“Order for Octavia!” somepony suddenly yells behind the counter.

You both look over to see a couple trays with all the food you’ve ordered on it. Octavia gets up.

“Could you hand me the small saddlebag, please? My purse is in it,” she requests.

Obliging, you pick it up and give it to her. “Why do you keep your purse inside a bag?” you ask.

“Because it fits. I prefer having less total bags to carry.” She searches around in it and draws out a few bits. Still holding your hoof, she gives you a little tug. “Come on. Let’s get our food.”

Getting out of your chair, you’re a little disappointed that she has to let go of your hoof so she can still carry the bits and walk at the same time. Walking up to the counter, the green mare says, “Four bits for everything.”

Octavia gives her the amount and she slides the trays towards you. “Thank you and have a nice day!” she says in that peppy, trained foodservice voice. Octavia grabs a few napkins for her tray and yours before you take your own food. Going back to your table, you sit down as the combination of savory smells begin to make your mouth water.

Deciding to go straight for the main course, you pick up your sandwich and sink your teeth into it. The pepper adds a nice bit of zest along with the natural cheesy flavor and the eggs. Octavia holds her sandwich, waiting for your judgement before indulging herself. You give her a confirming nod as you pick up a napkin to dab crumbs and grease of your lips of the initial bite. She bites in herself and you see her as delightfully surprised as you were.

“Alright,” she says, getting your attention. “I don’t know what Harpo said on the phone or what conclusions you may have come to. So, ask away, any questions you may have.”

You take another bite of your sandwich as you think. The gooey cheese blends in nicely with the fluffy egg under the slightly crisp bun. Honestly, you don’t even know where to start. Thinking about what the answer to certain questions may be, you decide to go with the big ones first. Octavia sips at her coffee while she waits.

“Did you lie to me?” you ask. Wow, this is a good sandwich.

She closes her eyes a takes in a slow breath over her coffee. Setting it down, she licks her lips and nods.

“Yes. Quite plainly,” she answers. The ease at which she admits that twist the knot in your stomach even tighter.

"About… never trying anything in Canterlot?” you ask.

Her eyes widen a bit in surprise as she leans back a little. “Well, that’s one I know you heard from Harpo,” she says. “But if we were to be technical about it, then yes, I have tried certain establishments in Canterlot.” She shakes her head. “It’s just that they were boring. One clothing shop, which you can see how well that went over…” She sweeps a hoof over her undressed form.

You give a nod of understanding before she continues.

“And two five-star restaurants, the finest in Canterlot,” she says using her hooves for sarcastic quotes over the last words. She gives a little mirthful chortle as her hoof returns to her coffee. “They wouldn’t know a decent serving portion if it broke wind in their mouths.”

The last comment makes you snicker a bit, relieving some of the tension you were feeling.

“So I’ve had the best of the best, so to speak.” she says rolling her eyes, “but that’s it. Don’t you worry, there’s plenty for us to do when we get back,” she concludes with a smile.

Well, that’s one satisfying answer. The other seems small in comparison to this, but you figure it’s worth asking anyway.

“And what about the part for Beauty Brass’ horn?” you ask. “Did you really forget that?”

“Ooh, how to explain that…” Her smile doesn’t fade, but she taps the table with her hoof a couple times. “The answer is yes and no,” she says.

You raise an eyebrow, looking for something more. She gives a little giggle at your confusion.

“I honestly did yesterday morning, when you and I were still rather impaired,” she explains while you take a bite of your hash browns. A good mix of salty and crunchy, better than the hotel. “Having just awoken in a strange room with a stallion and a hangover, I hope you can forgive me for not knowing which way was up at that moment.”

Tilting your head with a shrug, you concede her point. You weren’t really one hundred percent at that point in time either, so that was understandable.

“So that’s when you didn’t lie about forgetting. When did you actually lie?” you ask.

“Before we left on the train.” Her eyes drift off to the side in thought. “Come to think of it… did I even mention it before we were here?” she asks before going to take another drink of her coffee.

“Well no, but there was in the hotel lobby if I recall correctly,” you say.

“Mmh,” she voices around her coffee, giving a slight nod as she drinks. “Then yes, I had lied about it.”

“But why?” you ask before taking another bite of your sandwich.

“Because I didn’t want to make it known that there was any sort of trouble brewing within the ensemble,” she explains. “The ‘forgetting’ of Beauty Brass’ mouthpiece was just an excuse. I just wanted some time away from the others after the show.”

“Then what was the phone call in the lobby about?” you ask.

“I was just calling Harpo to make sure he didn’t do anything crazy when he discovered I wasn’t in Canterlot anymore. It got rather heated, as it often does, but they’re still the ponies I make my living with.” She takes a bite of her bagel.

“And forgetting the train schedule and how you couldn’t rent another room in your name?”

She holds up a hoof and swallows her bagel before responding. “Those were legitimate,” she answers with a pointing of her hoof for emphasis. “I did not know of the hotel’s policy, nor was I planning on leaving once I got there. I was just worried about what you would do.” She breathes in deeply and lets it go in one long exhale, her posture falling a bit. “But I am sorry for lying,” she says, guilt weighing heavily on her slumping shoulders. “I promise, no more lies. No matter how small.”

You offer a smile to her statement that she returns. You’re glad that the ‘lies’ were just a series of misunderstandings and her not wanting to reveal the turmoil within her group of friends. But now that you’re going to be a rather involved part of her life, you trust that she’ll not hesitate to share or stretch the truth.

But there was still something you’re curious about what Harpo mentioned.

“There’s another thing I’d like to ask about,” you say.

Octavia has another bite of sandwich in her mouth that she must have taken when you were in thought. She chews quickly and swallows before saying, “Go right ahead.”

“Harpo happened to say something else. Something about your feelings for me before yesterday,” you explain before taking another bite of sandwich.

She raises an eyebrow inquisitively. “Like what?”

“He said how you were… obsessed with me,” you say. “How obsessed is, well, obsessed in this manner?” You take another bite.

She opens her mouth to answer, but stops. Biting her lip, she slowly shrugs while shaking her head. “Well, there’s an answer to that,” she states. “But first, how would you define ‘obsessed’?”

“How would you?” you ask.

“That wouldn’t work. Crazy obsessed ponies don’t think of themselves as such, or at least they don’t want to,” she explains. “So whatever my definition is would exclude me from it.”

“That’s still good, though,” you offer with a single hoof shrug. “Tell me what you don’t do. Tell me where that line is drawn.”

“Okay…” she says, drumming a hoof on the table. “I don’t stalk you or secretly follow you to wherever you live. I don’t spy on you. I don’t keep any pictures or artwork of you. No stealing and worshipping of your personal belongings.”

You nod as you feel the collective doubt in the back of your mind get washed over with a cool wave of relief. While you didn’t expect Octavia to be crazy, and would probably excuse it if she were, it’s still nice to hear and be a hundred percent sure there weren’t any screws loose.

“So what’s your definition?” she asks. “Let’s see how I stack up to an outside opinion.”

“Okay, uh…” You start to think while she pops the final bite of bagel into her mouth. “I guess the most basic way to describe it would be how you can’t stop thinking about it,” you say. “You can’t get it out of your head, no matter how hard you try. Just keep thinking and thinking and wishing and hoping.” Looking down, you see your sandwich is pretty much gone. Taking the last bit, you chew slowly to savor it.

Octavia gives a slow nod to your explanation. You begin to polish off your hash browns as you wait for her to give some sort of response. She just looks down into her cup, before bringing it up to her lips. Tilting it up, that probably means she’s finishing the last of it. Giving a tiny sigh, the faint smell of coffee carrying on her breath, she sets the cup down.

“Are you okay?” you ask, after her moment of silence.

“Yes, I’m just…” She runs a hoof through her mane. “Thinking.”

“...I guess I was obsessed, then,” she says. Her cheeks redden a bit as she still seems hesitant to meet your gaze.

“To be fair,” you reply, “I can say I was, too.”

Her ears perk up. “Really?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say with a smile. “I don’t think yesterday would have happened if we weren’t just a little obsessed with each other.”

She giggles, the beautiful smile returning to her lips. “I guess that’s true. I’m still a little embarrassed to say it, though.”

“It’s flattering to hear, at least,” you offer.

“It really is.” She takes the last bite of her sandwich as you finish off your drink. “We should probably get going. We don’t want to be late,” she says, dabbing off the crumbs on her mouth with a napkin.

You nod in agreement and instinct causes you to reach for her empty cup and plate. Both standing up, you deposit the paper dishes in the trash can nearby. She picks up her cello as you take her bags before trotting back down the stairs and towards the door. Stepping out into the cool air and busy streets, you look around to try and find another taxi.

“So, any other questions?” Octavia asks, raising her voice to try and talk over the crowd.

You try to think while looking for a cab at the same time. Trying to form new inquiries, you think back to what Harpo said on the phone. As briefly as possible, anyway. The conversation still gives you a nervous shiver at the thought of having to eventually meet him face to face.

One question comes to mind, but you’re a little afraid to ask.

“Uh…” you vocalize, still scanning or a taxi.

“Yes?” she asks.

Oh well. If she’s offended, she’ll let you know.

“Harpo happened to mention…” you begin, pausing when you see a cab approach. Waving a hoof to get their attention, you stand by the side of the road.

They see you and begin to steer towards you and Octavia. Adjusting the weight of the bags on your back, the two of you wait as the cab puller trots up. Their brown fur, tan mane, and cap on their head look somewhat familiar.

“‘Ey, look a’ that!” he says with a slight accent. “It’s the cab-hoppin’ pegasus makin’ his marefriend carry th’ heavy loads!”

You roll your eyes at the comment. While you’re quite surprised the puller could recognize you from two days ago, his ribbing was something you could do without right now. Although, you feel a bit of warmness in your cheeks when he refers to Octavia as your marefriend.

“Hello again, sir,” Octavia says with a chuckle. “Would you be so kind as to take us back to the Glues 601?”

“Sure, hop on in!” he says, gesturing back to the cart with his head. You let Octavia up into the cart first (earning a resounding pfft from the cabbie) before stepping up yourself. “Ya’ two lovebirds get comfy and I’ll get ya’ there in a jiffy!”

His comments actually do get a grin from you this time. Looking over, you see Octavia smiling widely. She takes off her cello case and places it carefully in the back as you do the same with her bags. Free from the burdens, she leans over and rests her head against your shoulder, her silky mane spilling down your foreleg.

“Thank you so much,” she says to the cart puller. You realize that her statement is probably for more than just getting the two of you to the hotel again. You share a bit of that sentiment, having a stranger be okay with a couple in the back of his cab, moreso the fact that it’s you and Octavia. As the two of you begin moving, you reach up around her back and put a hoof on her shoulder and lightly stroke it back and forth over her soft fur.

“You had a question?” Octavia asks.

“Oh right…” you say, a bit of embarrassment taking you out of the moment somewhat. “Well, first off, feel free not to answer this if you don’t want to.”

“This ought to be good,” she says, jokingly.

“While it may sound a bit petty,” you admit. “Harpo said something about other suitors you’ve had. I must say, I’m a little curious about them,” you explain.

Octavia begins to snicker, her chest pressing against your arm shaking as she laughs. “Oh my, now that is an interesting question,” she says.

A particularly cold wind passes by the cart, causing Octavia to shiver before she can explain further. You fold out a wing, wrapping her up in the warmth of your feathers. She snuggles in nicely, pressing her body against yours, hidden away within your appendage.

“Where to begin…” she purrs into your neck.

Your face immediately blushes from feeling her hot breath on your fur. “Well, at the start is as good a place as any.”

She raises an eyebrow, but closes her eyes. The bumps of the road while you’re getting pulled along causes your furs to brush together. Her supple belly slowly and softly pushes against your side as she breathes.

“Barring any throw-away relationships in the academy, I’d say the first pony I got serious with was somepony by the name of Fire Streak,” she explains.

“Fire Streak?” you repeat, the name on the tip of your tongue. It doesn’t take long for you to realize. “Wait, the Wonderbolt?”

“That’s right.”

Another tidbit pops into your mind. “The… gay Wonderbolt?”

“Me and my ensemble were new in Canterlot,” she starts to explain. “We had played at a party with their attendance. He was impressed with our performance.” She adjusts herself, now wrapping both of her hooves around your waist. “But that was the extent of it.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, bringing your other hoof to one of Octavia’s forelegs around you.

“He just liked classical music. That was our only common interest. And I mean only.” She breathes a sigh through her lips. “He’d mostly just listen to me practice during the evenings. More practice than I would otherwise, if you can believe it.”

“Wow,” you say, giving her a little squeeze in your half-hug for comfort.

“So that was the extent of our time together. He had never tried to take things to the next level and when I finally tried to escalate things, he would always shy away.”

“I see,” you respond, trying not to imply an obvious observation.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she states, her tone dropping to a lower, but still playful level. “But he didn’t realize who he was while we were together.”

“So how’d it end up?”

“Not terribly… but not great,” Octavia admits. “I was hurt when he had finally discovered himself, but I knew it wouldn’t help anything to try and force it. We went our separate ways.”

You nod to yourself. Rather noble of her to not try and push for something against the happiness of another pony. “So who else was there, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“There was another by the name of Thorn,” she recalls. “A manager in the Cloudsdale weather factory I happened to meet in one of my trips. We met and something just clicked. Although…” She groans under her breath. “I always suspected some ulterior motive.”

“Oh dear, really?”

“He kept going on about how he wanted to be a famous Canterlot actor instead of what he does now. We both had our jobs and distance put a damper on things, but he kept insisting on visiting. When he was here, he kept insisting on having me introduce him to my friends.” She shakes her head. “I eventually became so fed up, I ended it.”

“I’m so sorry,” you offer.

“Don’t worry. He’s doing fine, last time I checked.”

You give her another comforting squeeze. While you hadn’t had such unique dating experiences as she apparently has, you can at least empathize.

“He wasn’t even the worst of them,” she says.

Your ears perk up, interest and curiosity piqued. “Care to share?”

“Sure. It’s been long enough that I can laugh about it.” She stretches a little, pushing hard against your wing before settling back down. “His name was Zephyr. A royal guard in the Sky Patrol.”

“Sky Patrol? I thought that was primarily a Wonderbolts division,” you ponder, trying to remember the different military branches and functions.

“There’s some overlap. I actually met Zephyr through Fire Streak after he found himself,” Octavia explains. “Zephyr was… a mistake. I kept with him for only one reason and it wasn’t a good reason.”

“What was it?”

“He intimidated my friends. This was when resentment started to set in, so his presence was welcome in meetings. If only to keep the others off my back.” She breathes a sigh through her teeth. “But when we were alone, he really didn’t turn that off. He was just loud, boisterous, and obnoxious. He became worse than Harpo, Frederic, or Beauty Brass.”

Worse than them? A stone lands in your stomach at the thought. “So what happened to him?”

“Well, having a coltfriend with somepony to intimidate ponies around you… gets hard to break up with, as you can imagine,” she begins. You just nod as she continues, “But thankfully, I wasn’t the one who stopped it.”

“Why’d he break up with you?” you ask.

“Oh, he didn’t.”

“What?”

“First, I should explain that not everything about our relationship was bad. He was the one who gave me my taste for red wine,” she says. “Although, he had more of a taste for it than I did. It really came to a head one night.”

“What happened?”

“He was found in the palace wine cellar, late at night, singing very loudly in Princess Celestia’s regalia,” she lists off with a giggle. You almost buckle over forward with your own chortles, but hold yourself to let Octavia keep her place against you. “Charged with disorderly conduct, theft of palace and royal property, found guilty and dishonorably discharged. And let me tell you, it is so much easier to justify not seeing somepony after something like that.”

You and Octavia share a hearty chuckle, although yours is a bit more forced. On the one hoof, he made Octavia uncomfortable, but you don’t know to what extent and whether or not it merits the enjoyment of him losing his job and being thrown in jail. Also, the fact that he could dissuade abuse from her friends is an ability you wish you had. Probably best to shrug it off and not think too hard about it. If Octavia’s happy, then that’s good enough.

Although, something about all her stories begins to tickle the back of your mind. You try to put your hoof on it. All of her past coltfriends: a Wonderbolt, a Weather Manager, a Sky Patrol royal guard, and now you.

Your eyes light up when you realize. “Octavia?”

She looks up at you with a curious hum.

“I hope I’m not jumping to conclusions here, but…” You take a moment to run through the list in your head again, making sure you’re not making an error in judgement before you ask.

“Yes?”

“Has every pony you’ve dated been a pegasus?”

She’s silent for a moment. Eventually, you feel her nodding against your shoulder. “Yes. It would seem that that is the case.”

“Any particular reason?” you ask, this time with a giggle wrapped in confusion and worry escaping along with the question.

“It’s nothing personal. Or maybe it is…” she mumbles. “It’s just that I know what I like and maybe not all ponies have certain, well, qualities that I enjoy.”

“Qualities like what?” A bit of excitement replaces the nervousness at the idea that you have something special that Octavia enjoys about you.

Octavia looks at you. Then, down to the wing wrapped around her. Then, back up to you.

Oh.

“Huh,” is all you can manage. A smirk begins to smear itself across your muzzle.

“You think it’s silly, don’t you?” she asks.

“No, not at all. It’s fairly common in some ponies,” you quickly reply to hide your still expanding grin. Laughter is building and bubbling in your chest, threatening to break loose. “It’s just that I didn’t expect something like that from you.”

“Why not?” she inquires. “If it’s common, then why is it so unexpected?”

“It’s just hard to imagine,” you admit. “An earth pony in Canterlot, the unicorn capital of Equestria, being… a wing pony.” That last part escapes with a chuckle hanging onto the end of it.

“Okay,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

“A feather fiend.”

“That’s quite enough,” she states with a little giggle.

“Flight junkie.”

“Alright…”

“Plume paramour.”

“We’re here!” the cart puller suddenly yells, the taxi coming to a stop next to the sidewalk. You hear Octavia sigh from relief from the announcement lest she be subjected to more of your teasing.

You unwrap Octavia from your wing as she takes back her hooves. Reaching back, she picks up her cello as you get her bags again. Stepping off the cart, you help Octavia down as she turns towards the puller.

“How much?” she asks.

“Six bits.”

She reaches into a bag hanging over your side. Pulling out the coins, she gives them to the cabbie.

“Thank ya’ kindly again!” he says, stashing them under his hat.

Before Octavia steps away, she motions with her hoof to the cabbie. He leans over with his ear as she whispers something to him. Tapping his chin a couple times, he glances towards you before whispering back to Octavia, pointing down the road and making some gestures. She nods and gives one last thanks.

“Anytime,” the cart puller says before looking out to rejoin traffic.

As they pull away, Octavia steps back towards you. “What was that about?” you inquire.

“Just asking about something for later,” she replies.

“May I ask what?”

“A surprise,” she answers as you both approach the doors of the hotel.

A surprise from Octavia? The first possibility that sticks out in your mind is some sort of revenge for making fun of her preference of wings. It’d probably be only fair, you suppose. You decide not to push. If anything, it gives you something to look forward to.

Compared to meeting all of Octavia’s ensemble at once. Which you are about to do.

Holding the door for her, she trots in as terror floods your veins. An icy grip tightens around your heart as you look up at the clock. 12:58, two minutes before Frederic said he’d be calling authorities to hunt you and Octavia down.

“Do you know where in this place you’re supposed to meet?” you ask.

“Back in their room,” she replies. “I’m afraid I don’t know which one that is, though.”

“Room 314,” you reply. “Harpo told me over the phone.”

“Excellent. It raises some questions, but excellent,” she says, turning towards the stairs with a quick trot.

“What sort of questions?” you ask as you both go up the first flight of stairs. “If you answered my questions from earlier, it’s only fair I answer any that you have.”

“Well…” she begins as you start to ascend to the second level. “What did Harpo say exactly in your call?”

“Just trying to convince me that you were lying and trying to hurt everypony,” you reply. “Went on about how ‘self-destructive’ you’ve been acting.”

She just groans in a mixture of embarrassment and despair as you both reach the intended level. Turning down the hall, you begin counting off the room numbers.

Although, remembering that part of the conversation reminds you of another question you have. One that seems silly, but might be worth asking anyway if you can find the right words. However, you still want to be fair to Octavia and answer anything she may want to know.

“Any other questions?” you ask as you approach the door with 314 on it.

She thinks for a moment and then shakes her head. “Nothing really. Except maybe if he gave any notable mention of how I was acting in such a manner. Did he?”

“He only mentioned one specific instance, and that was in regard to us,” you answer. “He said that you dating a waiter would ruin your reputation.”

“Pfft,” she vocalizes before getting caught in a bout of chuckles as you both stop in front of the door. “That’s not seriously something you think I’m concerned about, do you?”

You shrug. “After all that’s happened, I guess not. There’s still a little worry since Harpo mentioned it, what ponies may think.”

“There are very few ponies whose opinions I consider to have value,” Octavia says. “And do you know what I think of them in regards to you and me?”

Before you can answer, she knocks on the door. You hear a bit of chatter on the other side before hoofsteps start to make their way towards you. After a pause, you hear the clicking sound of the lock being undone.

As soon as the door begins to open, a hoof takes you by the chin. In the instant before you can register what’s happening, Octavia’s soft lips press against yours as her other hoof wraps around your head to keep you from pulling away. For a beautiful moment, the rest of the world and its worries melt away as your heart flutters for the sudden embrace. The irresistible taste and warmth of Octavia fills your mind and soul for a few more seconds before she pulls away, leaving you gasping for air.

As the world slowly comes back into view, you turn to see a very annoyed group of ponies in bowties.

“We made it just in time,” Octavia says nonchalantly as she trots into the room.

You take a few steps to follow, still trying to recover from the major impromptu affection, but a hoof against your chest holds you back.

“You wait outside,” Harpo says, still holding the door.

“He comes in,” you hear Octavia retort.

“He has no business being here.”

“He has my bags.”

Harpo turns to glare at Octavia. “Fine. He may set them down, then leave.”

“He may set them down and stay.”

“This is not up for debate, Octavia.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

Harpo lets out an annoyed growl through clenched teeth. You take the opportunity of his attention elsewhere to look around the room, avoiding the looks of Frederic or Beauty Brass.

The carpet and walls look similar to the ones in 213. However, the room is notably bigger with two beds, a couch where Frederic and Beauty sit, and what looks to be a minibar. A couple more lighting fixtures hang from the walls as well as more trim and detail around the corners of the room. Definitely feels like a step up from the room you stayed in.

“Are we to practice?” Octavia inquires.

"In what little time we have, we should,” Frederic chimes in.

“Then we should prepare.” Octavia slides the cello case off her back and carefully sets it on the ground. Undoing the clasps that keep it shut, she opens the lid and begins to prep her bow. While she’s doing this, Harpo turns to you again.

“What will it take for you to leave?” Harpo asks you.

“I, um…” is all you can manage.

“He is staying,” Octavia calls over her shoulder.

“We have matters to discuss, Octavia,” Harpo quips. “Private matters.”

“He won’t be any trouble.”

“These are not words meant for him to hear!” Harpo says, his voice starting to rise. You may be witness to one of these band’s fights if you don’t try to diffuse the situation now.

“Uh--what about, um--” you stammer.

“I think he should stay,” Frederic says suddenly. Everypony in the room turns towards him. “He does have a certain effect on her. He calms her down considerably. Keeps her from acting too…” He rolls his hoof in the air as if searching for the right word. “...rashly.”

Harpo snorts in frustration. “What you witnessed at the train station could have been anything,” he states.

Frederic shrugs. “First time I’ve ever seen it.”

“Did you forget how he called security on us?” Harpo nearly yells.

“From what I heard, all the way back in this room no less, is you and Beauty screaming outside his door,” Frederic retorts. “Anypony in that hallway could’ve called and complained.”

You and Octavia look at each other in disbelief. Is Frederic actually defending you?

“Why do you think he has any business being here?” Harpo asks.

“Well, we are going to be talking about him, and we all know how Octavia gets when we do.” Frederic turns and gives you a sharp look. “I want to see if he can do it again.”

“Every moment she spends in his vicinity puts us at risk,” Harpo says fiercely. He steps over towards Frederic. “We’ve been so close to finally convincing her to give up this silly dream that tears us apart. To cease her actions that risk everything.”

“By what means?” Frederic asks as Beauty begins to scoot away in her seat. “All I remember is shouting and fighting, growing more and more since your little tirade began.”

“What are you saying, Frederic?” Harpo asks in a low voice.

“That maybe, just maybe, there’s a place for this pony that we can all be- PFUH!”

You jump back as Frederic nearly falls over on the sofa. Harpo keeps the hoof he just brought across his bandmate’s muzzle outstretched for a few moments before slowly bringing it back to the ground. Frederic leans back up, rubbing the cheek he was struck by tenderly before shooting a nasty look at Harpo.

“You son of a--”

Harpo raising his other hoof interrupts Frederic. He turns towards you, his expression very worryingly blank.

“We do not want you here,” he says to you. “And so you will leave. There will be no more questions.”

“He will be staying,” Octavia says again, moving to stand between you and Harpo. They stand glaring at each other as you try to think of someway you can help.

You study Harpo’s stance. Everything in his body, his legs, neck, muzzle, are all fixed rigidly. He’s trying to keep himself as still as possible. Trying a little too hard. There is a definite fear to facing down Octavia.

Reaching forward, you put a hoof on Octavia’s shoulder. She looks over to you briefly and you give it a little pat to show your confidence in her. She turns back to Harpo, this time with a smirk.

However, your action only seems to make Harpo angrier. He begins shaking slightly in his left hoof and his eye gives a single twitch. Still, he backs down before it escalates further.

“Fine,” he says. “We shall talk later. But no exceptions!”

Octavia doesn’t say anything.

“Shall we practice, then?” asks Frederic who is nursing his wound with a cold drink from the minibar. You wonder how he can shrug off getting punched in the face like that.

“Very well,” Harpo grumbles.

Beauty Brass gets out of her seat and trots over to her horn case. Frederic reaches over the side of the couch to pull up a little keyboard. Harpo’s harp is already set up and waiting by the bed. Octavia gives you a genuine smile along with reaching up and squeezing the hoof you put on her shoulder. She then turns to finish preparing her bow.

The next few moments are silent, save for a few tuning sounds, but still tense with the events that had just occurred. You’re still surprised how everypony here could just carry on like nothing happened. What’s worse is imagining what it might have been like had you not been there at all and Octavia flew the handle.

Another thing you wonder about is Beauty Brass. She had said nothing the entire time. She lives with Harpo, has a relationship with him, but she didn’t speak up at all during the exchange. You know she normally doesn’t speak a lot, but still, nothing at all?

After a little while longer, the ensemble is prepped and ready. Every pony with their instrument, ready to play.

"We start at the very beginning,” Harpo says as he moves his hooves to the strings. Frederic positions his hooves over his keys. Beauty Brass and Octavia stand proud and tall.

You’re getting to see the best band in Canterlot perform in a hotel room. It’s almost like a little private show, although you don’t think any of them would take too kindly to such a thought.

Frederic presses a button on his keyboard to make the sound of a metronome. They all bob their heads ever so slightly to the beat. After a few clicks, they begin to play.

Author's Note

Big thanks to my prereaders: Eights, Timebomb0, Slashe, Kody910, and Cloud Hop!

Chapter 8: They're Coming

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you twiddle your hooves as you listen to Octavia shower in the other room. Seeing 11:17 on the clock, you have definitely overstayed your welcome in the room, but it was better to risk angry hotel staff than face angry bandmates. Then again, you’d have to face those bandmates eventually.

You had voiced your worry about staying late to Octavia. She simply said not to worry about it.

Just fidgeting on the bed starts to make you feel antsy. Deciding to get up, you do a check over on the room to make sure you leave it in the best state possible to make up for your elongated stay. You start by folding up the blanket on the bed in a neat manner. Taking the bottle of whiskey still left from two nights ago, you set it by the closet door so Octavia can pack it up. Going over to the desk, you begin straightening the various objects on it.

Then you notice the phone. It’s still off the hook. A little shiver of terror travels down your spine. Do you dare?

You think about this. What are the odds that they’ve given up by now? Considering you’ve not heard anything in the past hour, that’s a good sign. And you want to make sure the room is as nice as it can be.

Before you can think about it anymore, you pick up the receiver. No noise is coming from it. No buzzing or beeping usually associated with leaving it out. You hang the phone back up and wait. Tension surrounds the next few seconds as you wait.

…

Well, it seems that-

BRI-I-I-ING!

The noise makes you feel as if your heart stopped. You can’t believe the sheer persistence of these ponies.

Well, you’ll have to face them sometime. With a little hesitance, you reach over and pick up the receiver again and put it to your ear, bracing yourself for another round of yelling.

“...Hello?”

“Hello,” comes a strangely calm voice from the other side. A voice you heard earlier today. “Is Octavia there?”

“I’m afraid she’s… busy at the moment, Harpo,” you reply.

“Doing what?”

“Showering.”

“I see.” His voice, though even, seems to contain something darker beneath the surface. “Well, in that case I would like to inquire about your activities the previous day, if I may.”

“What?” you ask, a bit thrown by the question.

“I want to know what you did yesterday,” he says, as if explaining it to a rather slow pony.

Your eyebrows drop in annoyance, but you decide to answer. “We didn’t do too much. We woke up, got some complimentary breakfast downstairs.”

“That breakfast isn’t complimentary” Harpo interrupts.

“What?”

“They add it to bill and you pay for it when you leave.”

Your heart sinks now knowing there’s one more thing Octavia will have to pay for you. You try to ignore the feelings of guilt and decide to continue.

“Well, after that, we came back to the room for a bit before heading out again,” you say.

“And where did you go?”

“We didn’t have a plan. Just walked around and she saw an art gallery she wanted to visit.”

He lets out a half-hearted “Mm-hmm” in response.

“Got some coffee and then came back to the room for dinner. Afterwards, she practiced until it was time to sleep.”

“Sounds like quite the exciting day,” he says.

“It was pretty nice,” you reply.

You hear him breathe out as he sounds like he shuffles something around.

“So you’ve had your fun,” Harpo remarks. “But I’m afraid it’s time to for everything to go back to the way it was before this whole mess.”

Over my dead flank, you almost think to yourself. However, instead of attempting to challenge one of three ponies who you will be likely seeing on a regular basis, you decide to just go with the path of least resistance for the moment.

“Why’s that?” you ask, putting on as innocent a tone as possible.

“Because we do not have time for such shenanigans,” he says. “Tell me, where in a true Canterlot pony’s life do you think they have room for someone who gets them drunk, abducts them to a strange city, and proceeds to make them blow off the entire day on whims of whatever catches their fancy?”

“Uh…” you say, unsure if he has the roles correct in his described scenario. “But… Octavia did all that, not me.”

“I know.”

Okay, now you’re really confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Let me first say that I do not quite understand what Octavia’s obsession is with you,” he begins. “But what I mean is that this relationship you’re pursuing would only end up hurting you, Octavia, and everypony else involved. Now before you interrupt…” he says, just as you're about to speak out. “Allow me to explain. How is your schedule normally, catering for the numerous events in the busiest waiting service in the city?”

He has a point. Considering your presence is often needed from the beginning of setup all the way to the last of the decorations getting taken down, your work schedule would be difficult to keep with any other plans.

“I can find time,” you say.

“Time for what?”

“Taking her out. Dinner, dancing, everything she’s never gotten to before.”

“Never gotten to before?” Harpo says with a chuckle on the other side of the line. “Do you really believe that? That such a highly regarded mare would not have had other suitors with the opportunity to see everything Canterlot has to offer? That she’s not grown bored of it already?”

“Y-Yes. I do believe her,” you say. “Even then, she told me she wants to, so I will.”

“Tell me something else,” Harpo says. “How did it come to be that you and Octavia left for the city on the wrong day?”

“She said it was a scheduling error. That she forgot the trip was pushed back because of…” You search your brain trying to remember the excuse. “Oh, because Beauty was expecting a part for her horn to arrive.”

“She forgot?” he says, laughter building up in his voice. “And would you believe that her forgetting that Beauty was going to receive an important part to her instrument, one required for her to play, is what lead to you two ending up where you are now?”

Your chest feels like it’s tightening up as you listen. “But…”

“She’s lying to you,” he interrupts. “She’s lied about everything so far. The reason she left, about her future plans with you, and probably even more.” Harpo voice changes to become a little softer as you try to take in the information. “Look, it’s not your fault. We’ve been concerned about her. I cannot say I know what exactly she was or is planning, but what I do know is that she’s been acting self-destructive before now. We just don’t want her to do anything she may regret.”

Your eyes fall down to the floor as you sit back on your haunches. Part of you says that he’s obviously trying to scare you, but something makes you keep listening, just in case there’s some piece of information you can gleam from his rattlings.

“Please do not take too much offense to this statement, but… a professional musician having a romantic interest with a waiter? Imagine the headlines about it. Imagine what it would do to her reputation.”

A frown spreads across your face. You hadn’t thought about that, honestly. Are you in such a low class that being seen with you would be disgraceful?

He clears his throat before continuing. “So please, we are just looking out for what’s best for everypony here. Let me make you an offer…”

Your ears perk up. “What kind of offer?”

“As you know, there’s a bit of hostility in the air at the moment. I’m sure what happened about an hour ago is still fresh in your mind?”

“Of course.”

“Like I said, this is not your fault, but you are the root of the problem. If you want to avoid this for, not just yourself, but to spare everypony such unpleasantries, here’s what I need you to do.”

You hear him shift around on the other side of the line again.

“Leave. Today.”

“What?”

“Go back to Canterlot. Do not stay for the dinner party, do not stay for Octavia, just go back to Canterlot on the next train. Or else we may have more issues before this all gets resolved.”

“I’m sorry, is this an offer or a threat?” you ask.

“It is what it is.”

“...I’ll think about it.”

“The last train before we are due to perform leaves at two o’clock. There is also one leaving at noon, if you’d prefer. Come by room 314, I can give you money for the train ticket back.”

“I have wings.”

“Noted. I just thought you’d prefer a bit of comfort for the return trip.”

“I guess.”

“So, do we have a deal?” he asks. “We can avoid a whole lot of unnecessary mess.”

You hear hoofsteps behind you. Turning around you see Octavia standing there, a towel over her shoulders. Her head is slightly tilted and her lips are pursed in a mix of concern and curiosity as she sees you with the phone. Her wet mane glistens in the sun from the window, a single strand dangling out in front of her face. Her shining purple eyes over the soft gray fur with her perplexed expression is almost reminiscent of a small confused kitten. Despite her worry and the stress of Harpo’s ultimatum, something in the back of your mind finds that right now she may be the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen.

The tightness in your chest begins loosening as you find the strength to confront the problem directly.

“Octavia didn’t pay for me to come here,” you say.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I get free travel to and from Canterlot with my palace staff ID card.”

“Oh, so you can just go on your own, then?”

“I chose to join Octavia on the train from Canterlot.”

“What?... Well, there’s still the matter of the hotel room.”

“She needed my name to sign for a new room and I willingly obliged.”

“Alright, calm down for-”

“And I stayed the night when she needed the company. All of it was my doing, Harpo. Octavia did nothing.”

As much as you know that final bit is just begging for trouble, you have to defend Octavia. For a while, you hear nothing. Almost every part of you is screaming to slam the phone down, but a strange pumping energy through your nerves makes you want to let him give you something else you can throw back in his face.

“So, you are planning to tear us apart,” he finally says.

“No, I’m not,” you say defiantly. “I have no wish to-”

“Wish to or not, that is what you are doing. Do you know what we were like before that night you came up to us?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond. “We were happy. We played show to show, every few evenings and practiced when we had the chance. No bitterness, no fighting at all. Octavia was calm and collected, the perfect picture of higher class. But then you came along…” he hisses, venom dripping from the last few words.

“I did nothing-”

“I tried to be nice and sugarcoat it for you. All of it has been because of you. Everything, it is all your fault. The first of what we’ll call ‘incidents’ happened after your and Octavia’s chance meeting.”

Your pumping energy is fading fast, but as you try to get a word in, Harpo’s sharp tongue continues its lashing.

“Octavia was the one who started acting out. After every meeting, she became more and more obsessed with you. Unhealthily so. Soon, the slightest damn mention of you was enough to set her off. I know she’s probably talked about us to you behind our backs, but let me tell you right now, nothing could compare to the stunts that mare has pulled.” A haggard sigh comes over the phone. “And to think. We were so close. We were so close to finally getting her to give up on you.”

Those words send a chill straight into your heart.

“She started to see it our way. We were finally hammering in the doubt that could make her see what a mistake pursuing you would be. We were recovering, despite your insistence after every single show we’d play with you there. But we’re not done yet. Not at all. We’ve come too far to let some freak chance ruin our efforts to keep the ensemble together and work past the wedge you’ve driven between us.”

You take a deep breath as you feel your hoof holding the phone begin to shake.

“You’ve done quite enough. When we’re done you will stay out of Octavia’s life, once and for all-”

“Over my dead flank.”

You slam the phone back down onto the hook. Your foreleg keeps it pressed down as if it may leap up again at any moment as you breathe deeply through grit teeth. Boiling blood pumps through icy veins as the words of his threat replay in your mind. A few deep breaths to force yourself to calm down, you turn back to Octavia. She now looks more confused than ever.

“Harpo,” is all you say.

Her eyebrows fall from high in surprise to set low in annoyance. She gives a single nod of understanding before pulling the towel off of her shoulders and turning to toss it on the bed. She walks towards the closet and opens it without a word.

On top of the hatred towards Harpo, a new fear bubbles up that you’ve offended Octavia somehow. You thought she’d be at least curious as to what conversation took place. But then again, she’s known Harpo for several years, so maybe she can piece together what happened from simple assumption.

But still, not a single word about it?

As your adrenaline starts to wear down, you feel the need to sit. His words still buzz around your mind. Where to even start…

“Come on. We’re leaving,” she says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Just grab the bags,” Octavia orders, swinging her cello onto her back. “We can’t stay here. Checkout’s overdue and I don’t want another incident.”

You follow Octavia’s orders, grabbing the room key off the desk, taking her bags, and slinging them around your back. As the cool fabric settles against your fur, Octavia sticks the half bottle of whiskey into one of the bags for you and opens the door. Behind you, the phone starts to ring again.

“Leave it,” Octavia says before you can even open your mouth to ask. “If they’re still in their room, then maybe we can sneak out.”

As she works the locks, you take one last chance to glance around the room to make sure you’re not forgetting anything. You two didn’t pack much or even buy any souvenirs, but better safe than sorry.

“AAAIIEUGH!”

The throat tearing scream immediately whips your head around to the source, which is now running into the nearby bathroom. Before you even have time to register what happened, you follow her in and see her curled up next to the toilet in a spell of dry heaving.

“Octavia!? What happened!?” you say, trotting over and putting your hooves on her shoulders in an attempt to calm her down. She’s shivering uncontrollably and her muscles are tensed beyond reason.

She says nothing, but just keeps her head over the bowl just in case something comes up. Looking back to the door, you see that it’s been slammed shut.

“I’m going to go take a look, okay?” you ask, giving her a little squeeze to try and stop her shaking.

She calms down a little, enough to give a nod which is good enough for you. Getting up, you try to keep an eye on Octavia as you figure what in the world made her suddenly scream and nearly vomit. Slowly opening the door, you squint a bit to obscure your vision to what could be so hideously grotesque to get that sort of reaction.

As you open it, you begin to see red out of your self-obscured vision. Opening your eyes completely confirms it. A red substance smeared up and down the door. Leaning in, you take a quick sniff and note its somewhat salty odor. Poking it carefully with a hoof, you bring it closer.

It’s just ketchup. Everyday ketchup, perhaps mixed with water to get rid of its normal thickness. In fact, smeared around like this, it looks almost just like-...

...oh, those bastards.

“It’s not what you think it is!” you call out to Octavia, entering the bathroom again. “It’s just ketchup. Nothing more.”

She’s stopped shaking, which is a good sign. Right now, she’s just breathing heavily with her shoulder propped against the wall.

“I… figured as much…” she says between breaths. “I just wasn’t… expecting that…”

“Wait here and collect yourself. I’ll clean it up quickly,” you say. She just nods in response, closing her eyes.

You trot out of the bathroom and open the closet. White towels are stacked on a shelf about eye level. Taking the soon-to-be-not-so-white towel on top, you turn to the mess on the door. It might be easier to call somepony up from the front desk about the mess, but that would take too much time for them to get here and to explain why it got there in the first place.

It’s not the worst you’ve ever had to clean up in your time as a waiter. Some of the chefs in the kitchen had concocted worse things that had ended up on even worse surfaces. Until somepony attempts to clean authentic all'arrabiata off the polished marble walls of Fancy Pants’ personal estate, then nopony could claim to have known true dread.

Starting with a corner of the towel, you scoop up the red paste from top to bottom. The normally soft towel feeling a bit harsher on the wooden door with the pressure you apply through your hoof. Using new sections of towel for every swipe, you manage to get it pretty clear in four passes, leaving half the towel clean. To sully the remaining length of the cloth, and to make sure there’s as little ketchup left as possible on the door, you sweep over it with the driest part of the towel.

All in all, it takes about twenty-three seconds total. While not the best in terms of what was expected during the events, you give yourself the benefit of the doubt due to the stress of your new marefriend freaking out in the bathroom next door. Satisfied with your job, you take a couple steps in to toss the towel into the hamper in the bathroom.

“All done,” you announce to Octavia, while washing your hooves in the sink of any stray pressed tomato remnants.

“Okay. We have to hurry,” she says, getting back to her hooves.

The ringing from the phone finally stops. You smirk a little. Maybe those ponies are cooling off a little and letting Octavia have some peace.

“They’re coming,” Octavia says, urgency present in her voice.

“What?” you ask, drying your hooves.

“They’re on their way here!” she says, stepping out the door and waving a hoof for you to come along.

“How do you know?”

“Believe me, they do not give up. If they stop doing one thing, then they try something else. I cannot think of what else they’d do.” She gives a little sigh. “They probably expected their little trick to slow us down for some time.”

You just nod as you follow her into the hallway and she closes the door behind you and locks it up with the spare key you had taken yesterday. She takes off in a light canter down the hall that you have a little difficulty keeping up with due to the weight of the bags. You can understand the hurry, though. Another run-in with Frederic, Harpo, Beauty Brass, or, Celestia help you, is an encounter with uncertain catastrophe.

The worst kind of catastrophe because you can’t prepare for it. It could be anything as simple as a shouting match to crush your soul beneath their inflated egos or one of them immediately leaping for your throat upon first sight.

Reaching the stairs, you begin to hear a rather large amount of chatter. Descending into the lobby, you see that the place is now packed with ponies, from the front desk to the doors. Anxiety begins to build up in your chest as you realize that you’d have to wait for this group to check in before you and Octavia get a chance to check out.

“Any ideas?” you say to Octavia, who shows the same kind of worry in her eyes.

She looks around a little. “Not everypony is in line,” she says. “Let’s just go and see how bad it really is.”

Making it down the last couple of stairs, you both dodge and weave around the crowds. Experienced in such maneuvering from time spent in crowded dining halls, this is easy enough to get through. You have to stop and wait for Octavia to catch up a few times. When you get to the desk, you see one line only has two ponies in front of you waiting to speak with the clerk. Getting in line, you see Octavia shift her cello down beside her.

The first red pony trots off happy as the clerk addresses the dark blue stallion right in front of you. He walks up to the desk and the two of you take his place as next to be serviced.

However, you can’t help but notice Octavia is now just about hiding beside you, her fur lightly pressing against yours.

“Something wrong?” you ask.

“Harpo is at the top of the stairs looking for us- do NOT look up there,” she whispers just when you were about to turn your head. “If you look at him, he’ll easily notice. Act natural.”

The stallion in front of you walks off and you both trot up to the front desk.

“Yes, how can I help you?” asks the yellow furred clerk. She looks a little stressed from what has no doubt been a busy day.

“We’re checking out of room 213,” you say. “Sorry that we’re late-”

“Checking out? Room 213? Okay…” she says, seemingly ignoring your apology. She picks up a different log book and flips through the pages, scanning down the list on a certain column of names. “Alright, if I could just ask you to sign here,” she says, scooting the book towards you with a quill ready to go.

Picking up the quill, you sign your name. “Now, I’m afraid we were-”

“Do you have the key?” she asks.

You and Octavia both put the room keys up on the counter which she takes with a slide of her hoof.

“And final charges, breakfast will be five bits,” she explains.

Octavia digs in the saddlebag on your left and puts up the amount of requested coins.

“But we-”

“Okay, you’re all set,” she interrupts again. “Thank you for staying at the Glues 601! Next please!” she calls over your shoulder to the line of ponies that had somehow formed behind you.

“B-But…” you stammer until a nudge in the side from Octavia makes you start walking. She quickly turns with you, sliding her cello around to keep it as hidden as possible.

“Isn’t there some sort of late fee?” you ask.

“If they don’t ask, I don’t think it’s a problem. Besides, we don’t have time if they- move, move, MOVE.”

The sudden change in her tone makes you start walking faster towards the door. “What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Harpo spotted us. He’s coming this way. Just keep moving.”

Almost by pure instinct, you feel the urge to turn your head and look. However, looking for him would only slow you down and confirm to him where you are.

“Where are we going?” you ask, wondering how she intends to avoid Harpo forever.

“Just follow me,” she says. “I have a plan.”

That’s the first reassuring thing you’ve heard today. At least Octavia knows what she’s doing and that’s good enough for you. Weaving through the crowds again, you try to make it to the front door.

Until, a certain blue mare comes into view.

You veer yourself and Octavia off course and behind another crowd of talking ponies. Thankfully, you don’t think she spotted you.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Beauty Brass is guarding the door,” you reply.

A harsh expulsion of air bursts forth from Octavia’s clenched teeth. A sudden dip of her head along with the abrupt tensing of muscles in her cheeks gives a clue that she may have just uttered a very unladylike phrase under her breath.

“How do we get out of here?” you ask.

“I… I don’t know…” she says.

So the mare you were depending upon has been caught in a pinch and hasn’t the slightest idea what to do. The door is being watched by a pony specifically on the lookout for you and Octavia while another pony in the crowds is tracking you down and the only thing you know about their location is that it they are rapidly getting closer.

A cold sensation starts to build inside your body, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. As a reaction to the chill, you wrap a wing around Octavia, pulling her closer as she lets out a small surprised gasp. You keep walking, but pick up the pace a bit, Octavia trotting at your side. As casually as you can, you give a glance around the room, but you still cannot see Harpo.

“Where is Harpo now?” you whisper down to the stowaway in your feathers.

“He was coming from the left side, going around the long way from the crowds,” she answers back.

Excellent. He must be as inexperienced as walking through crowds as Octavia if he’s avoiding going through them. Looking up as if checking the clock, you can see the certain mixture of a light blue mane on blueviolet fur out of the side of your vision.

A big room full of large groups of ponies casually chatting amongst each other from wall to wall. The game is afoot and you have homefield advantage.

“Stick with me,” you say to Octavia, holding her to your side. She just nods as you can feel her nervous breathing by the way her chest inflates and deflates within your soft wing.

Unsavory characters are not too uncommon within your line of work and having one start to tail you is a very real occupational hazard. Adopting skills such as walking through crowds just comes with the job. However, unless you are equipped with the conversational skills to defuse any situation with an ornery guest (which you’re not in normal circumstances, much less here) then these types of ponies make you polish your skills until you could lose any pursuer among the crowd cover.

Twisting around one such group with matching blue suits and red ties, you steer Octavia and yourself deeper into the groups and chatter. Passing by many different conversations, some of news, some of the weather, and one of somepony’s preferred brand of socks, you make it into the middle of the room.

You slow down your pace as glance around, again seeing the unmistakable mane of the one you’re to avoid at all costs. While he’s getting closer, he is also incredibly slowed down by having to trot around, inexpertly swerve, and even shove in some cases, his way through the cluster of company.

This is a pretty standard tactic, luring them into the middle of the jungle and then ditching them. Thankfully, a rather lanky group of ponies are sitting nearby, easily tall enough for you and Octavia to duck behind. As Harpo is led further into your trap, you quickly walk around them and wait. Another passing group comes by which you walk beside to blend in with. Crossing the room again, you pass by another couple of chatting stallions and look back. Sure enough, Harpo is now whipping his head around, completely lost as to where you are.

You’re not out of the woods, yet. You have to keep moving as a moment of sheer logic can give your spot away. Weaving as unpredictably yet as casually as possible, you approach the front doors again.

Beauty is still there, looking for you. This poses a much more difficult problem. Question is, is she just there to wait for you or can you possibly lead her away from the door? Probably not. You’re going to have to get a bit more creative about this one. Looking around, you try to find some sort of distraction you can use to-

Why is Octavia not breathing?

You didn’t notice until now, but her nervous breathing has vanished altogether. She’s simply frozen in fear, guided along only by the pull of your wing.

“Breathe, Octavia!” you whisper to her.

She does so, gasping inwardly very rapidly. You need to get her out of here fast.

Looking around, you don’t see anything to take her eyes away from patrolling the room for you. No enticing tray of food to send past her, no wine she’d need to refill, no cheap lowest-bidder ice sculpture to suddenly have a chunk break off of. Only thing around here are chatty ponies.

That will do in a pinch. Looking around, you see one unicorn by their lonesome with a yellow mane, white fur, and black suit. Taking one last glance around for Harpo, who still hasn’t seemed to have found you again, you trot up to them.

“Hello there,” you say to them, getting their attention. “Can I ask a favor?”

“Well, certainly stranger! What can I help you with?” they ask loudly with a little whip of their hoof.

Their excited nature makes you worry about drawing attention. “There’s a blue mare at the front door looking for us,” you explain. “Unfortunately, I’m having a little bit of an emergency here,” you say gesturing to Octavia who’s still shaking a little.

“Oh dear,” they say.

“Yeah. So if you could ask her to just meet with us where the band is supposed to practice, I need to go to take her back to her room,” you say pointing to the stairs up to the second floor, “and try to calm her down. Can you do that for me?”

“Sure as sugared plums, darling! I’ll let her know!”

As he trots off towards Beauty Brass, you take Octavia back through the crowds towards the opposite end of the room. Glory of being in a large room of distracted ponies is most don’t tend to notice you wandering back and forth. One last look around to confirm that you’ve still lost Harpo and you prepare to make a break for it past the hopefully soon to be distracted lookout.

Sure enough, the white unicorn is chatting up quite the storm with Beauty despite the simple instructions you gave him. He seems to have been perfect for the job. She’s trying to keep her attention on the crowd while seeming to constantly get barraged by questions from the curious new friend she’s made.

As their heads are turned, another pony walks in through one of the end doors, giving you a window of opportunity. Sliding out behind the backs of the two chatting by the front of the building, you and Octavia finally step outside and around the corner to put a solid wall between you and anypony inside who could potentially see you.

Octavia’s breathing seems to have returned to its nervous state, although thankfully slowed down a bit.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Who would sugar their plums…?” she mutters.

“What?”

“Nevermind. We have to keep going,” she says, stepping out from under your wing. Slinging her case around again onto her back, she gallops alongside the road on three legs, using one hoof to attempt to wave down a taxi.

You look behind you to make absolutely sure you haven’t been followed outside. Sure enough, no recognizable faces coming after you.

“Where are we going now?” you ask her, but see as there’s some distance between the two of you.

She ignores you as an empty taxi cart comes into view. Octavia waves wildly as they begin to pull over. You canter up to them as she gives him her destination, but you unfortunately couldn’t catch what she said. She climbs up to the seat in the cart and holds out a hoof to help you up. As you get in and sit down, she lays down her cello behind her as you slide off her saddlebags.

“Okay, hold on!” says the rather old, but stoutly built gray cart puller. Adjusting his cap, he looks out into the street for other passing carts before taking off and merging seamlessly into traffic.

His technique and strength is a lot smoother than the cart ride that got you to the hotel originally. This pony must have been doing this for a long time.

The two of you sit in silence, except for the pitter patter of the wooden wheels underneath you and the noise of the city all around. Funny how last night you never felt so immersed in this place, but today it’s as if you and Octavia are totally detached from it. All of those mesmerizing signs seemingly have lost their dazzle in the daytime, being no more than just colors upon a forgettable backdrop of the town.

Your mind is still spinning with questions, but it doesn’t seem like she wants to talk. It does seem that she’s currently dead set on something, but you have no idea what.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

She doesn’t respond.

“Octavia?”

She squeezes her eyes shut, little wrinkles beside her eyelids folding on top of each other. Her shoulders set as the muscles in her forelegs tense up along with a hardening of the grip in her hooves. Breathing in, her head dips down a bit as a little slouch appears in her posture. Clearly, she doesn’t want to answer.

You want to just leave it, but there’s too much you want to ask to just leave the two of you in silence. So long as you’re on the way to only Octavia knows where, you decide to try something else. “So I talked to Harpo on the phone in the room…” you begin.

You see her tense up again.

“He said some things that I’d like to ask you about-”

Octavia holds up a hoof to stop you. “We can talk all about it later, as soon as we get there.”

“Where?” you ask again.

She doesn’t say anything, but she points her hoof forward. Following her hoof, you see her intended destination. Eyes growing wide and throat going dry, you feel your heart simultaneously drop and beat faster with fear and dread.

The train station.

“O-Octavia, you can’t do this…” you stammer.

Again, she’s just silent as the cart pulls up to the side of the road to let you and her off. She picks up her cello and steps down onto the sidewalk.

“Eight bits for the-” the cab puller begins, but is interrupted as she just thrusts a hoofful of bits towards him, easily more than the fare. Shakily putting up a hoof to accept them, she pours the golden coins into his possession. “Thanks!” he says, delighted with the generous tip.

“Octavia!” you say. She starts walking towards the station as you call out to her again. Quickly grabbing her bags and putting them around your back, you jump off the cart and run to close the distance between you and her.

When you catch up, you grab her shoulder with a hoof and try to hold her. “Where are you going?” you ask, panic cracking in your voice.

She struggles against your grip before turning towards you. “We’re going back to Canterlot. Now come on, the train leaves in ten minutes and I need a ticket.”

“We can’t just go back, you have a show to play!” you plead.

“I don’t care!” she barks. “I’d rather go back home than try to reason with those ponies who are waiting for us!”

“You knew we’d have to face them eventually,” you say, putting your other hoof on her other shoulder.

She only struggles against your grip again.

“Octavia!”

“I’m not ready!” she says, a waver in her voice. “You saw what they did! What they’ll do!” She shakes her head frantically. “I-I just can’t handle that, yet!”

“But if we run now, it will only put it off. It will only makes things worse and make them more angry!”

“I’ll take it!” she cries out, the last of her stoic demeanor breaking away. “I just want more time with you before they…” She grits her teeth as her head slowly drops to the ground. Her eyelids are clenched tightly as you see a small bit of moisture collecting in the sides of them.

You pull her close. Wrapping your hooves around her, you hold her as tightly as you can, not caring of any of the ponies walking by and watching the spectacle. You give a little squeeze in your grip, afraid she may try to escape again.

Feeling her warmth against your fur is different today. It does not bring the comfort or pleasure as you had known it to yesterday. Instead, it only brings a feeling of desperation. The fear that you may lose it forever should you let go. How did things change so drastically so soon?

She doesn’t try to free herself from your grip like you imagined. Instead, she leans into you, putting her face into the crook of your neck. Again, even the feeling of her breath blowing against you is made one of despair as you feel a wetness begin to grow on your shoulder. You take a hoof to stroke her mane, trying to find something to elicit the same safe feeling this close contact had the day before.

“Please…” she whispers. “Just one more day. One more day with you is all I want.”

You take a moment to consider it. For everything Octavia’s done, from being the one to reveal your feelings to allowing you both to have such an amazing day together, you owe her so much to at least give her request a chance.

Going back to Canterlot, how much time would that give you? The train ride home, and then possibly up to when the dinner party starts. If they realize Octavia’s not coming, then they’ll probably come back immediately. They also might decide to play the event without her, giving you both a few more hours alone.

But would it be worth it? Skipping this concert would without a doubt anger Frederic, Harpo, and Beauty Brass beyond words. It would also hurt her and everypony else’s career if they were a member short for a show. If you left with Octavia now, they would never accept you if you allowed her to do things like this.

“We can’t,” you say.

“Why?” she asks, her voice only a shaky breath.

“If we skip out on them, then they’d never let us be together,” you say. “I was talking to Harpo on the phone. He said that you were doing hurtful things because of me.”

Octavia groans into your shoulder.

“Is this true, Octavia?” you ask. “Have you ever done anything like that because of me?”

She doesn’t answer. After a while, you feel her slowly nod. You give her a little pat on the back.

“Then we need to show them that you and me together won’t cause any problems,” you explain. “If you can go back and play for them, just for today, then you and I can have as many days together as we want.”

Slowly, Octavia’s hooves rise up and reach around your back, returning your hug.

“I promised you so many things, Octavia. But the only way I can keep those promises is if we go back and face the others.”

“But I don’t want to…” she says.

“I know. I don’t want to, either.” You plant a small kiss on the back of her head. “But we have to.”

“Last call for 2B Whinnyapolis to Canterlot.”

The loud noise of the station’s announcement catches you off guard and nearly makes you jump out of surprise. You half expect Octavia to make one last break for it, but she just sits in your embrace instead.

Ponies walk by the two of you again, sitting together on the sidewalk. Some old, some young, some other couples as well. Some smiling, some disinterested, but all just trotting past you as if nothing was out of place. It begins to start feeling like yesterday again. Her warmth starting to gain its inviting feel and her hooves squeeze you as hard as you’re holding her.

“Alright…” she murmurs, giving a little nuzzle to your neck.

You smile as everything is returning to normal. You were scared that something today had ruined everything. That all of your future embraces would be forever tarnished, kisses and hugs lined with a sharp edge of fear.

The train whistle blows and you start to hear the wheels begin to move. Slowly, with some scraping noise, the train pulls away from the station, back to Canterlot. With it, taking the shadow of doubt that had tried to cover you. With her final escape gone, there’s only one thing left to do; make it back to the hotel.

“Are you ready, Octavia?” you ask.

Her grip tightens around you a little harder. You take that as a no.

“We have to go back now. They’re waiting for you.” You squeeze her back just as hard. “And you’ll have me there with you. I promise, I will not leave you alone with them for a second.”

She breathes in deeply as her hooves slowly pull away from you. Leaning back, she looks at you with a smile. “You really are my hero,” she says.

“I’ll try to be,” you respond.

“Well, well…” comes a voice trotting up to you.

You and Octavia both turn to see who it is.

“Glad to see the two of you can show some good judgement,” Frederic says. “At least at the last moment.”

“What are you doing here?” Octavia asks, shrinking down and leaning into you a little again.

“Just making sure you didn’t try to make a break back to Canterlot,” he says calmly. “We do have a show to play.”

You can tell Octavia isn’t comfortable and neither are you. While you knew you were eventually going to have to meet up with her bandmates, you didn’t expect it so soon.

He turns to you. “I’ve been watching through the front window,” he says. “Impressive how you were able to calm her down. She usually gets rather wild when she doesn’t get her way.”

“Thanks…” you say, shrugging off the comment about Octavia. You can feel her hoof grip your shoulder tightly. “So, shall we head back to the hotel?” you suggest.

“That would be best. Let’s hail a couple of cabs and then meet up again there,” Frederic says, looking down the street and waving a hoof.

“A couple? Why not go in just one?” you ask.

Both Frederic and Octavia look at you with a perplexed expression. They glance at each other before Frederic says, “Believe me, I don’t want to have to share space with you any sooner than you would with me. Let’s put some distance between us and enjoy what little time apart we have while it lasts.”

“We’ll be a little late going to the hotel, Frederic,” Octavia says.

“Why is that?” he asks, annoyance peeking in his voice. You also get a nervous inkling that Octavia make try to make another attempt at running.

“We shall be stopping somewhere to eat,” she says plainly. “Neither of us has had any breakfast.” She has a point. The two of you had not eaten since waking up and the little reminder makes your empty stomach give a little growl. Still, Frederic’s eyes narrow at her.

“Hotel breakfast not good enough?” he asks.

“I’d prefer something else,” she replies.

“I’ll have her back at the hotel before too long,” you interject. “Besides, the train’s already left, hasn’t it?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Fine. But if she’s not back at the hotel by one o’clock sharp, well, do you remember how you called security on us?”

“Yeah, uh… sorry about that,” you offer.

His expression does not change. “We shall be calling the police for attempted kidnapping if you do not bring her back in time.”

“Don’t they require a 24 hour period of a pony being missing?” you ask.

“Depends on how you word it. Either way, bring her back or else.”

He turns away and waves down a cab. He gives his destination to the puller, a brown earth pony in a yellow vest, and hops into the cart. After a couple moments, they blend into the street traffic and disappear from sight, his threat still lingering in the air.

“Call the police… can he do that?” you ask.

“They can and probably will,” she says turning and trotting down the road the opposite direction.

“But can’t we explain the situation when they arrive?”

“It’s a spectacle thing. They know we’ll be out in public and it would be more about causing a scene than anything,” she says shaking her head. “Negative press and embarrassing gossip about us.”

“Oh,” you say, unfamiliar with the idea about being gossiped about on such a level. “So, where are we headed?” you ask, changing the subject.

“Any place that looks like it would serve a decent breakfast past noon,” she replies. “Can you help me keep an eye out?”

“Sure,” you reply, trotting next to her.

It does feel like everything’s back to normal. At least, somewhat. Frederic’s interruption and threat were jarring, but still, the two of you walk down the street just like yesterday. If you could manage to capture the old feeling with her even after facing one of her bandmates, then maybe you could keep it after meeting with Beauty Brass and Harpo.

Speaking of Harpo…

“Octavia, I do have some things to ask you about,” you say.

She sighs. “Can it wait until we get something to eat at least?” she asks, turning towards you.

Whether or not she knows it, those are the most refined puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen. Just the right amount of wide open eyes with the threat of crying completely subtle but present. Her lip pouting outwardly in such a way still maintaining its dignified stature. The perfect mixture of graceful and pathetic to tug your heart in all directions.

“...Fine, but please, not a moment sooner,” you plead. “Harpo said some things that really have me worried.”

“I know, and I’m sorry to keep blowing you off,” she admits, stepping towards you and placing her cheek against yours. Her warm affection is welcome and feels a little tickly when she continues talking. “But as you know, I’m afraid of facing him. Even the things he says through somepony else can be… intimidating. I don’t even know what kind of things he’s said and I’m scared of answering for them.”

“Because they’re all over-exaggerations?” you ask hopefully.

She steps away and shakes her head. “Not all of them...”

Author's Note

Okay, so I waited a bit to get more prereaders. I am so glad I did, the things they found would have had me so embarrassed should they have been left in due to my hurry. Hurray for prereaders!

Also, there is still a secret within the story waiting to be found!

Thanks to Slashe, Timebomb0, and Eights.