Downturn

by Creed

Rating: teen
Tags: Romance
Length: 5474

The cellist and the flyer: two pristine careers handled only by so few. Once they both hit rock bottom, how will they fare?

Octavia has hit rock bottom after the Grand Galloping Gala (The Triple G) incident. She couldn't bear the news of being released from the Canterlot Orchestra, the troupe being disbanded after their reputation tanked. This leaves Octavia to scour about, looking for a job. With no hope in sight, she desperately turns her attention to local venues and finds a small restaurant located in a new section of Canterlot. What she didn't expect was a certain famous flyer to be the owner of the establishment.

A submission to the Crack Ships Inc. Shipping Prompt Contest for this month.
Written by: ~ ! Creed ! ~
Briefly edited by: #GetaTacht

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-08-15 19:17:58 UTC

An Octasaur Opportunity

Octavia: a pony who was once a well-known cellist throughout the entire city of Canterlot. Before the incident at the Grand Galloping Gala, she traveled with her troupe, her bandmates all selected as the best Equestria has to offer in the field of orchestral music. Once the event came, the horrific reality that a pony could destroy a whole famous troupe’s act in less than seconds shattered the group’s entire reputation. A ton of ponies at the venue reported to the Princess that the music at the event—as quoted by Princess Celestia herself—sucked eggs. That day horrified the cellist, her once beautiful melodies now taking a disastrous plunge; the possibility of her career being silenced forever becoming a cruel reality for the poor mare.

Now, Octavia roams the streets of Canterlot, hoping somepony would take her in and sign her up for work. She needed a job and fast if she wanted to keep her house; the payments were extremely high. She’s already applied for three jobs as of now: two applications in intricate were sent to the Cloudsdale Orchestra, a slight step down to the Canterlot Orchestra, while the other application was sent to Canterlot Records, the highest ranking record company in all of Equestria that wishes to gather the best of the best musicians. Octavia hopes Cloudsdale Orchestra will pick her up, but she fears the performance at the Grand Galloping Gala may hinder her application considering that Cloudsdale may be the replacement for the Canterlot Orchestra for this year's event. In addition to the possible hindrance, she is a mere earth pony, which would make it difficult to meet up with the rest of her possible bandmates for practice.

Octavia looks to her left and to her right, her dark gray mane slightly bobbing as she carefully checks both directions. Then, she proceeds to cross the street, her hooves clip-clopping across the brick road. As of late, Canterlot added a new section to the city, where most of the higher up residents now reside. For Octavia, this was another place to find work as there were a select few of new high class restaurants opening up, looking for local entertainment to come in and be their one hitters.

She steps up to the other side of the street. Looking back on the place she previously stepped on, she never realized she walked this far from her home, the freedom of having so much time on her hands hitting her all at once. Usually she’d be practicing her cello, making sure she would be in tiptop shape for the next day’s concert or simply to relax and take in her own music. These days, however, made this less enjoyable for her. It became more of a chore, forcing herself to play and to stand in a certain position to avoid being slammed onto the ground ever again.

Octavia sighs and continues her journey. The sidewalk in front of her appearing much longer than it should because no pony was really out at this time of the morning. Octavia liked it this way: there was no pony to yell at her about how bad she is as a pony, how bad her performance was at the well-known Triple G, and no pony to ever judge her by her sudden disappearance in the music industry. It is the greatest of melodies to her, the only noises to be heard were the great sounds of nature, the gentle breeze blowing through her lustrous mane.

Octavia turns her gaze to her right, her attention suddenly grasping a hold of the brown square sign in front of the large, yet basic building across the street. She reads the sign aloud, her voice calm and collective, “Wanted: New Solo Artist.” Octavia’s tired expression suddenly lights up, her grayish mulberry orbs shimmering in the sunlight as she peered at the restaurant’s name: the Golden Coral. She smiles for the first time today: an opportunity.

She carefully checks both directions once again before crossing the street, this time rushing across to see if the restaurant was open. She slowly trots to the front of the building, the wooden door welcoming her. She notices the hours of the shop on the door which were taped on it.

“It’s supposedly open today,” she murmurs underneath her breath.

She attempts to open the door, grasping the knob with her hooves. She turns it and…

...locked.

Muttering incomprehensible swears underneath her breath, Octavia keeps her eyes straight as she gently knocks on the door, the door vibrating as she taps it. Along with the gentle wrapping on the door, the mare lets out a long drawn out, “Hello?”, hoping that somepony inside the establishment could hear her beck and call.

After hearing nothing but the wind in her ears, she sighs and turns away from the door. What she doesn’t hear is the sounds of the heavy wooden door unlocking and swinging wide open.

As she is about to step onto the sidewalk once again, a voice shouts, “Miss?”

Octavia freezes on the spot, her mind rapidly printing several pictures in her mind. The voice sounded masculine to her, a bit rough on the edges as if to say it has had some experience…

She turns to face the stallion of the establishment.

Only to find somepony she never thought she would.

“Welcome to the Golden Coral, Miss?” the buff, large pegasus stallion says as he smiles gently at her.

“O-octavia,” she stammers out in reply as she gazes into the stallion’s green orbs. “I didn’t know you worked here, Soarin.”

Suddenly, the stallion’s eyes widen. “How did you guess that?”

“Just a hunch,” Octavia replies, her eyes glued to Soarin’s face.

Soarin sighs. “You have a good eye, Octavia.”

“Now how did you guess that?” she asks, her eyes shifting wildly at the stallion.

“You know,” he says, waving his hoof in circles. “Just a hunch.” He winks at Octavia, causing her to sigh loudly.

“Touche,” the mare says reluctantly while Soarin simply chuckles in response.

As the light chuckling of the big, blue stallion dies down, he motions for her to walk in. “Care to take a seat?”

She smiles and enters the establishment, the atmosphere of the restaurant making her feel like she was in a cabin: an old, rustic, clean clean cabin at that. The first thing she spots is the bar, her eyes glazing over it. She’d have to investigate into that matter later on, she wouldn’t want to look like an easy mare. Then, she turns to the large, yet finite amount of seating, the tables supplied varied in size. In the crowd of unintended seating arrangements, she spots a nice window seat for a couple to sit in, a place where they can see another section of the new part of Canterlot.

After seeing what was needed, she cranes her neck back to Soarin, who was attempting to lock the door. “Any seat?” she asks, causing him to jump slightly and snap his attention to Octavia.

His eyes rapidly shift around the room. “Uh… Yeah,” he awkwardly mentions, before continuing his struggle with the complex locking mechanism.

The mare shrugs in her mind, the awkwardness of the Wonderbolt not ringing any alarms in her head. However, what is ringing in her head is the fact that this famous stallion was working at a restaurant. She’ll have to ask him why he’s here when he saunters on over.

Octavia picks the seat closest to the window, not in fear of being seen by anypony considering the stallion locked the door and threw away the key in his jet black vest-like apparel that contrasts well with his wild dark blue mane and bright baby blue coat. And he definitely was a looker too, at least, in Octavia’s mind he was. He had the flank any mare would dribble over if they had the chance to even get a backside view of it. And if they did get a view, usually it was covered by that tight Wonderbolt suit of his.

However, here, there was no suit, no fangirls awaiting as his doorstep asking for his rightful hoof in marriage, and certainly there was no chance she’d get a front row seat to see a backside of a well-toned body like Soarin’s?

She tuned in to her regularly scheduled cello cycles—also known as her favorite past time when she’s not in La-La-Land—to see a not-so-extreme close up of Soarin, the awkwardness dissipated from his countenance as he stares directly at her.

“So, Miss Octavia,” he begins, bringing his fore hooves out from his lap and onto the table. “How can I help you?”

Octavia lightly shakes her head, attempting to sink the images of Soarin’s backside. She looks back at him and says, “I would like to take the position of being a solo artist at your establishment.”

Soarin raises an eyebrow to this. “You would want to work here?”

“Pardon?” Octavia responds, her confusion smearing across her face. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Soarin exhales deeply. “Well, I’m the owner of this small underground establishment and all I have are a few foot soldiers I got from the academy to help out with this business.”

Octavia puts her hoof the underside of her chin, the furling of her brow clear as day as she conjures up a clean response. She didn’t want to offend her potentially new boss, so she decided with a nice question. “What do you mean by foot soldiers?”

“They’re new recruits that are dedicated to the Wonderbolt name and also have a general understanding of cooking,” he explains calmly before bursting into laughter. “B-because if I did it, t-the whole business would’ve burned down by now!”

Octavia laughs lightly at this, noting in her head to never let Soarin get near any cooking range or stove of any type. “So you have volunteers, per se,” she states, waving her right hoof around while she looks at him.

He grins. “Exactly! I would like to change it up a bit and have some professional staff or in this case, artists for entertainment.” He looks outside and spreads his hoof out to the expansive new neighborhood right beside them. “And there’s a whole new crowd to work with, just waiting to be given a shot at the spotlight no matter what it takes.” She looks out the window, gazing at the large royal buildings, their spiral patterns of purple and white whisking her to a new realm of uncertainty. Soarin is right, there’s so much undiscovered talent out there, just waiting to be tapped into. Once you’re in the business and you drop down, it’s hard to climb back up to the top.

Especially when you mess up at the biggest event ever in Canterlot.

Octavia sighs. “I know how that feels to be at the bottom…” She shifts her gaze back to Soarin, who is smirking at her. She shrugs it off, not really defining its purpose. “It’s a struggle.”

Soarin nods. “Especially when you fell off the side of the planet…”

Octavia’s eyes widen. “What happened with the Wonderbolts?”

Soarin shakily sighs as he looks down at the forks prepared on the table. “They put me on leave.”

“Why?” she asks almost immediately, not missing a beat.

“It’s a long story…” Soarin says as he is about to move his hooves off the table.

Octavia did not want that to be his answer. She swiftly grasps one of his hooves softly, being careful to not shift the table and its contents on the hardwood floor. “Soarin, I have all the time in the world,” she says with sincerity. “And I don’t mind having a chat with somepony I want to work for.”

Soarin looks up at Octavia and smiles, his eyes beginning to pool with moisture. “A-alright.” He puts his free hoof back on the table, easing into his wooden chair as he begins his tale.

“It all started when Spitfire, Fleetfoot, and I were getting ready to perform for our first three pony flight routine at practice,” Soarin begins, seeing Octavia’s already confused expression. “Rapidfire wasn’t there, he was out for the season with the feather flu.” Octavia’s brow ceases to rise as it slowly begins to lower back to its normal position.

Seeing this as an opportunity to continue, he brings home the explanation, “We were standing near the starting platform, about to rush out and introduce ourselves like normal. There would be a DJ and an announcer, pumping up that large crowd we’d always get at our performances. As we ran out, I suddenly got this feeling…” He pauses for a moment, waving his hoof around and his brow ruffled up, a crease showing on his forehead. “This feeling of…”

“...failure?” Octavia says, squeezing Soarin’s hoof softly with hers.

Soarin looks up and nods. “Yeah! This feeling of failing! Like I was going to hit Spitfire or Fleetfoot by accident and cause a massive crash in the air.”

Octavia squeezes his hoof again softly. “And what happened next?”

The stallion smiles squeezing her hoof with his, causing her to giggle. “Well, we went outside onto the platform with Spitfire leading of course.” He looks out the window again for a moment. “Then Fleetfoot followed up behind her…” He brings his gaze back to her. “And I was last in line.”

Octavia smirks. “Saving the best one for last?”

Soarin blushes. “That’s not true, but thanks.”

“Anytime,” Octavia says. “Now, as you were saying, so you were going out to perform this routine and…”

Soarin clears his throat. “Yeah, we took off and did our routine to the T…” he says politely, his voice trailing off. “Then the finale came.”

Octavia coaxes the stallion, giving a small squeeze once again while her eyes were plastered upon his face. “What happened?” she asks, leaning forward in her seat.

“We…” He begins, the moisture coming back. “...collided.”

“What?” Octavia says in disbelief, her mouth wide open as if someone had disengaged her drawbridge. “How?”

Soarin sighs. “My wing clipped Fleetfoot's base of her wing, causing her to smash right into Spitfire’s chest and…” He pauses for a moment, choking out a sob. “She crashed to the ground with Fleetfoot landing shortly after.”

“So, were they okay?”

The stallion shakes his head. “That’s why our shows have been cancelled ‘til further notice.”

Octavia gaped as she remembers the main headline that day: Wonderbolts Cancels Tours!. Ever since then, the Wonderbolts have had no media attention whatsoever.

Octavia sighs. How could she not know this? She loves watching them fly, but for some reason she doesn’t know the nitty-gritty of the flying team?

“I can see you’re confused,” Soarin states blankly. “What’s wrong?”

Octavia looks back at him. “I just,” she began, pausing to collect her thoughts. “Didn’t remember hearing about the whole situation.”

Soarin squeezes her hoof. “That’s because they try to keep it secret,” Soarin says as if it’s a matter of fact. “If the media heard that our flyers are all down, they would think that we ended.”

Octavia nods. “Then why open up a restaurant?”

She stares at the stallion as a bit of moisture slowly glides down his cheek, the stray tear gently finding it’s end as it impacts on the table. Soarin notices this and wipes his face while cleaning off the wooden surface in embarrassment. “Look, I’m sorry,” he mutters out. “I didn’t need to get all emotional to someone who asks for hi—”

Octavia interrupts him again. “Soarin,” she begins, gliding her hoof gently along his right one. “It’s okay. Look, I can relate to you.”

Soarin’s eyes widen. “You can?”

Octavia rolls her eyes. “Why would I say I know how rock bottom feels?”

Soarin wipes his face once again, tears still pouring from his eyes. “Because you dived off the scene too.”

Octavia nods. “Yes.” She gives his hoof a squeeze. “And that’s why I’m here to ask you if I can play here.”

“So you can run away, forget the pain, and think you’re not to blame?” he asks without hesitation.

Octavia shakes her head. “No, so I can get back on top and give somepony the reason to continue.”

Soarin raises an eyebrow while wiping the end of his muzzle. “And who is that?”

Octavia smiles. “You’ll figure out who eventually.”

Soarin just blinks in response.

“So,” Octavia begins. “Do I have the job?”

Soarin smiles and shakes her hoof. “Yes ma’am,” he says politely. “Welcome to the Golden Coral.”

Octavia smiles as she gives her boss a final squeeze of the hoof. “Please, don’t refer to me as ma’am, I’m still in my prime.”

Soarin laughs heartily. “Alright then, Octavia,” he says as he lets go of her hoof. “Be back here in a couple of hours.”

“Alright, boss,” she addresses him, turning to leave the establishment. Soarin pauses for a moment before grabbing her hoof, gripping it softly as she did. She gasps, craning her neck to see her boss grasping her hoof.

“Octavia,” he says with a smile on his face. “We need to do this again sometime, maybe after your final performance tonight?” He says with a smirk while giving her hoof a soft squeeze. “I have to get to know my employees, you know?”

Octavia smiles right back. “Of course, Soarin.”

With that, she leaves the establishment with more than just thoughts on playing her favorite musical instrument.

Now We're Soarvia

Octavia stands on all fours, setting her prized possession down by her hooves. She’s practiced enough for this event; a solid one and a half hours of sliding her wooden, high quality bow gently on the strings of her instrument. This should amount to enough practice for this, right?

She sighs. Octavia couldn’t fail again, that feeling of utter simply nudging her skull now like a foal who wouldn’t stop crying in her ear. She didn’t know if she could deal with it anymore, but she has to try.

She has a reason to play, one that will be in the audience tonight.

Octavia carefully stands up and looks in the mirror, observing her face. She needs a bit of a cleaning, the sweat on her forehead sliding down her face and onto the floor.

“Best I take a little shower,” she says to her sweating reflection. “I got to impress Soarin tonight if I want to keep this job.”

A small blush slowly appears on the reflection’s face, her eyes shimmering back at the real Octavia. She never thought of a stallion outside her troupe like this before. She wants to impress him, she wants to make him look good, and she can’t wait to speak to him again. Soarin even promised her that they would talk after her performance, so there was no way she’d let that stallion leave her eyesight.

Turning her head away from the blushing reflection, Octavia gets into her bathtub and turns on the water, beginning her quick shower; the sounds of water colliding with her body are all to be heard.

Octavia tugs on her pink bow tie, trying to adjust it for the final time as she stands in front of the Golden Coral entrance. She needed to do well tonight in order to get some ponies talking. She had to nail this performance.

She sighs as she grasps the door knob with her hoof, turning it slightly before she entered. Her heart begins to beat fast, the unknown amount of ponies waiting anxiously for her arrival making her nervous. She closes her eyes, giving herself a bit of a pep talk, there was no need to be afraid. This is the first time she’s going to do this.

Just like she did when she first started even playing the cello, sitting in her room as she grasped her instrument in her left fore hoof while her right one slides the bow gently across the strings. Whenever she started to play, she would always envision the whole entire act in her head, playing the notes she heard in her head to the real performance, her eyes closed shut as the notes fluttered around her, making her calm and collective. This is her zone, her musical arena. No pony else could enter it.

She smiles and opens the door, opening her eyes to the welcoming party of…

...a mere twenty ponies.

The nervousness she had disappeared, the amount of ponies suddenly sucking her motivation out of her.

She should’ve expected this: a small local restaurant with the only advertisement out being the front window, their sign of entertainment being only half of a door length’s height that hung above the huge gallery.

“Hello, Octavia!” a familiar, rough masculine voice sounds off. “Over here!”

Octavia turns her head to her left, her eyes meeting the face of her boss. She smiles and trots over to him, her saddlebag bouncing up and down. “Why hello, Soarin,” she says with a smirk. “When am I to go on?”

“Whenever you want,” he replies as he turns to look at the tables. “Looks like you have a nice crowd tonight.”

Octavia gives him a small smile. “Yes,” she says. “It’s time to play for the first time in weeks.”

Soarin’s eyes widen. “You mean you haven’t practiced?”

Octavia chortles. “Of course I have!” Octavia puts her hoof on her boss’ shoulder. “Don’t worry! I’ve been practicing ever since!” she exclaims, making Soarin’s shocked expression slowly dissipate as she spoke.

“Well… alright,” Soarin breathes out, wiping a few sweat trails from his forehead. “I’ll be in the audience after I...” he begins, turning his attention to the bottles beside him. “...fix this issue here.”

Octavia looks at his issue; a mess of all messes. On the floor lay an abundance of liquor bottles which are scattered about in an unorganized fashion. Octavia glances back over at him, the pegasus stallion giving her a sheepish smile in return. Not only should she not allow him to be near the ranges, but she shouldn’t allow him to organize either; by the looks of his situation, she’ll have to do all the organizing.

Octavia groans as her imagination runs wild. What if she came home and he left the house in disarray as if he was a horrifying hoarder who forgot what organization meant? What if Soarin left something cooking on the range and it suddenly caught fire?

She grimaced as she turned away, unable to bear the scene any longer. It’s not something she should worry about, the terrified future of her self shall wait in agony. Right now, she has a concert to perform.

Octavia trots up to the stage: the small elevated platform welcomed her with its nice, cushioned high chair fit for a queen. She smiles for a moment, the seating arrangement reminds her of the orchestra. The lights shining on her, the crowd gazing up at the rest of the performers, and the show would begin…

...with a strong crescendo.

Octavia begins her piece with a small consistent pull, the music beginning to flow through her. She inhales deeply and closes her eyes. Octavia gives herself to the music as she plays, her hairs on the back of her neck standing on end; she couldn’t play differently, she had to play with her mind shut off from the reality that exists in front of her. She could only hear her music: the eloquent sounds of plucking and bowing of the strings of her instrument being her all.

Her instrument and herself play as one.

No one could change that.

Never again shall anypony change that.

She brings up the intensity, changing notes to her emotions; the anger seething as she plucked and bowed her instrument.

Nopony shall take her down.

Not a single one shall make fun of her again.

The show continues as the audience watches Octavia, their jaws unhinged by the strong, swift movements of her bow.

While the rest of the ponies jaws were on the floor attempting to reestablish connection once again, Soarin, who was still fixing his mishap perks up at the sounds of his employee. He couldn’t help but wonder what she looked like when she played. It sounds incredible, nothing that he’s ever heard before.

He’ll have to check this out.

Soarin swings out from behind the bar to see his employee raptured in her own little world, the music flowing out seamlessly as she calmly closed her eyes. He could see her splendor, yet he couldn’t help but wonder…

How the heck was she playing so fast?

Octavia ponders this too, her hoof sliding so far with her bow that she felt as if she was having trouble keeping up with her own music. This is the most intense part of the song, the highest peak she’ll ever hit. She didn’t intend for this to happen; the song was supposed to be a bit softer and slower, but this came out of her head, this tune of…

...of anger…

...of hatred…

...of pain.

She finally has set herself free.

She can be herself now.

And suddenly, she dropped the tone, the loud booming of her cello echos throughout the restaurant.

It was finished. The song of she wrote herself throughout her entire career in the Canterlot Orchestra has been played. Nothing more.

She opened her eyes as she slowly let the bow slide down her hoof, the heat on the bow-or hoof, she couldn’t really tell-made her eyes widen. She did it!

But she didn’t like the crowds expressions.

All of them look shocked to her almost as if to say they were upset…

...except for one.

Soarin, the stallion of her desires stands in front of her, smiling up at her. “Octavia?”

“Y-yes?” She stutters out, her voice wavering as her mind came up with horrific possibilities that Soarin didn’t li—

“I loved your performance, maybe you should play here more often?” He gives her a small wink.

“Huh?”

A pony from the audience shouts, “Yeah, please come back!”

And as soon as one spoke, the whole lot cheered and chimed in from all directions, the overwhelming praise soon combining into one cohesive voice, shouting out the name for all the ages to hear.

“Octavia!” they chant in unison.

It is a dream come true for a mare of the lone cello. Octavia couldn’t have it any better. She could feel the excitement in her music once again, something that the Canterlot Orchestra lacked for her. She felt alive on stage, she felt truly herself; nothing could stop her up there.

After taking a bow, Octavia calls out, “Soarin.” The stallion looks at her. “Can we take a seat now?”

Soarin smirks. “Of course, Octavia.” He grasps her hoof with his and pulls her over to him.

They walk over to a remote table from the crowd, the chants dying down while the normal calm music plays.

Octavia takes her seat first, sitting on the lower wooden seat. She looks up at Soarin who is now sitting down in front of her, his eyes meeting hers. Soarin puts his hoof on the table and starts the conversation. “That was an amazing performance Octavia.”

Octavia’s hoof slides over Soarin’s, the two now holding each other’s hooves. “Well thank you, Soarin,” Octavia says as a red tinge forms on both sides of her cheeks. “I’m glad you liked it…”

Soarin gives her a bright smile and squeezes her hoof. “It looks like you’re back in action.”

Octavia giggles. “You will be soon too.”

“Yeah,” Soarin says while scratching the back of his neck with his free fore hoof. “I hope…”

Octavia squeezes Soarin’s hoof in response and gives him a bright smile. “I know so.”

As they sit, the two talk in the homey restaurant as the sun begins to fade on their day.

It’s closing time now.

They’re the only two left.

Octavia and Soarin sit near the window, the rest of the occupants have left for the night. The streets are quiet, the music has died down, the cooks have left; all that’s left is two ponies under the company of the moon.

“And he just splattered himself with the punch! I couldn’t believe he did that!” Soarin says, failing to hold in his laughter. “Rapidfire couldn’t even stand foot in the office without getting picked on for the whole week!”

Octavia laughs with him as they speak about life’s many pleasures.

They talked about anything…

“Did you know I also roomed with a record salespony from Ponyville?”

“You did? Why did you do that, Octavia?”

“Oh, she needed a place to stay and since her and I have been friends before that for a while, I decided to let her in.”

...and...

“Didn’t Spitfire and you date for a while?”

“Yeah but our personalities didn’t mesh well. Plus, she’s allergic to apple pie.”

“Sounds like a major dilemma.”

“When your mare doesn’t eat apple pie, it’s time to find a new one.”

“Well, Soarin, I love apple pie.”

...everything.

“Didn’t it just make you happy up there on stage?”

Octavia smiles. “Of course.”

“I remember when I saw your orchestra playing,” Soarin says. “A lot of you didn’t look so happy…”

“That’s because we were forced to play just to stay alive…” Octavia states with melancholy. “We needed the money, especially me. I’ve been broken and sitting outside, waiting for my last of my wealth to fade.”

Soarin sighs and gives her hoof a little squeeze. “Octavia…”

“Wait, Soarin, let me finish,” she says, her gaze directly on Soarin’s as her eyes shimmer in the night light. “Y-you gave me a job without hesitation,” she begins, her voice wavering as he continues her explanation. “You’re here for me, unlike my roommate who left to go to Ponyville to live with her coltfriend.” She begins to shake in her seat. “She didn’t even say goodbye…”

Soarin simply squeezes her hoof in response. “But you have me now, right?”

Octavia looks up at Soarin, her eyes collecting with moisture as they glisten in the white night light. “Of course and I wouldn’t have it any other way…”

“Why is that?” Soarin asks. “Why would you pick me?”

Octavia glance trails down Soarin’s neck. “Well you’re attractive for a start.”

She notices Soarin’s wings begin to rise, causing her to smirk. “You’re also very nice to talk to and so…”

“Charming?”

“I don’t know if charming would fit there…”

“Oh my pride, Octavia, it’s gone!”

“And there it is,” Octavia chortles. “Maybe you should be an actor instead of a flyer, Soarin.”

Soarin rolls his eyes. “Only you give me a lifetime supply of apple pies.”

“That would be costly,” Octavia says, putting her hoof under her scrunched muzzle. “Unless I won the lottery, then that may be a possibility.”

“Possibility?” Soarin questions as his right eyebrow rises to a new height. “You’ll need a few train loads before you’ll even close to what I eat.”

“Then I’ll have to start saving then,” Octavia says with a bright smile. “Otherwise, you’ll leave for another mare who will provide you with the most apple pies.”

“You’re right, I would. Spitfire never provided,” Soarin answers, guaffing as he finished his line.

“Well then I better get started.”

“Wh—”

In one swift fluid movement, Octavia swings Soarin to her muzzle, locking them in a full blown kiss. Soarin’s wings flare out, shivering from the sudden move. His eyes are open wide while Octavia’s are closed shut. She kisses the stallion for all he’s worth as she slowly moves a hoof to his face, gently sliding her hoof on his cheek. He moans and does the same to her cheek while pulling her close.

After a few seconds, Octavia pulls away, her eyes fluttering open as she stares at the now hypnotized stallion. “Did you enjoy that?”

“V-very,” he stutters out, causing her to giggle.

“Did I break you, Soarin?”

He slowly trots over to her. “Definitely surprised me,” he says, while swinging a hoof around her and pulling her closer to him. “But I’m not complaining.”

“So is this…”

Soarin silences her with a slight peck to the lips. “Of course. Besides, why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Octavia murmurs. “Because you could get any mare in the world?”

Soarin nuzzles her cheek with his. “I could, but no mare would match up to you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the one that brought me back to life.”

“How?”

“I was broken, barely breathing, just holding on to what I thought I could.” Soarin looks at her in the eyes, green meets with purple. “And you taught me something I will never forget…” Soarin nuzzles her playfully. “Whenever you’re down, you’ll always be able to turn it around.”