What it means to be a self-made mare

by oswak

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Sad, Romance, Slice of Life
Length: 3762

My name is Octavia Philharmonica, my talent is the composing and understanding of music. This is the story of how I became who I am today, and also of how I almost failed.

My name is Octavia Philharmonica, my talent is the composing and understanding of music. This is the story of how I became who I am today, and also of how I almost failed.

Inspired by this and this. My first attempt at dark/gloomy slice of life (if I can even call it that). Expect feels, frustration and love.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-09-22 16:50:03 UTC

Chapter 1: Preface

My name is Octavia Philharmonica, and I'm a musician. I work at the Canterlot Orchestra as main cellist, and while I really enjoy playing it, my talent is music in general.  For a few months now I've been writing and recording my own music, then publishing it thanks to a record label specialising in modern age classical music.

My musical career was the main reason I decided to come live in Canterlot in the first place. I used to live in a small town near Manehatten, Trottrens. For the reference, it's about as big as the infamous Ponyville, and around six hours of train ride away from the here.

It had been six months since I moved out of my parents' house and started living on my own. From time to time I felt a little lonely, but it was nothing I couldn't overcome for the sake of my career.

Besides, my loneliness wasn't simply a side effect; there was another reason for me to live here... I needed get away from her, the mare I loved.

She had been a childhood friend, always by my side, always fooling around, we even used to practise our instruments together, hers being the piano. One morning in my middle teenage years I woke up from a dream,  realising I wanted to be more than her best friend.

The realisation I was gay really hadn't been one, I had always been, I just never really paid any attention to it. Kind of like entering a room with someone sitting still, and only acknowledging their presence after they move around or make some noise. Though in this case it was more like the presence of somepony and lack of somepony else, I guess.

I suppose it happened this way because I grew up in a small town. In bigger agglomerations, it was assumed a pony was straight until proven otherwise. It was generally thought of as “abnormal”, and there were even ponies who downright rejected others for liking members of their sex. At first this really shocked me, considering roughly half of the couples back home were homosexual, but then I learnt about high society, who treated it like a crime. Most rich ponies considered gayness a felony worse than murder. Fucked up, right?

Fortunately, princess Celestia was sensible enough to punish this kind of open discrimination. Unfortunately, she couldn't punish the subtle – or not so subtle, discreet one, and a career was virtually impossible unless you were straight. This was the first part of why I needed to get away from her. I needed to forget about her, to forget about my sexuality. I needed to pretend to be heterosexual in order to play the cello and compose some music.

There was another reason I couldn't date her... Most ponies in Trottrens – and any smaller town, actually –  were bisexual, choosing not to deny any part of their sexuality. However there were exceptions, ponies who were only felt attraction for one gender. Obviously, I was one of those, and, unfortunately for me, so was Vinyl....

Vincenza “Vinyl” Scratch was a white unicorn with a sky and sapphire blue mane. She usually wore her purple sunglasses all the time, even during the night. Her cutie mark was a pair of eighth notes facing the wrong way, symbolising her talent to create unconventional music. She had nicknamed herself Vinyl after discovering it. Of all the things she was, she was also straight.

In short, the mare I loved didn't, and never would, have feelings for me other than those of friendship. Needless to say, erasing her from my life wasn't easy and it hurt, but it hurt far less than living in constant reminder that my emotions were unrequited...

And now, I was crying alone in my bed, all because I had reminded myself of her and how alone I really was. Great going, Octavia, great fucking going. I couldn't allow myself to lose any more sleep, I had practice with the orchestra the next day – or was it already past midnight? I couldn't tell without a look at a clock.

Forcefully clearing my mind, I turned to lay on my back. Then, some time later I pushed my pillow and my whole body towards the cool side of the bed. After a while I flipped my entire body, and rested with my half of my face burrowed into the cushion.

Five, ten, twenty minutes later I still lay there, unable to reach sweet unconsciousness.

Having had enough of this, I rolled off my bed and headed towards the door. I needed to stroll through the city for a moment, clear my mind and tire myself out. Trying to force myself to sleep wouldn't bring anything except frustration.

I lived at the very outskirts of the city. I hadn't really had a choice, it was the only place with an affordable rent that wasn't in the middle of Canterlot's “poor district”. I didn't mind though, walking moderate distances daily would only help me stay in shape. Besides, after looking at a map I had come to realise it wasn't that far from the places I needed to attend, and on top of that I got to escape the city ambience once in a while, when it became too much, just like I was doing now.

As I walked away from the city, I noticed how clear and gorgeous the night sky was. I started staring, taking in every detail of this beautiful, starry scenery. Then, out of nowhere, a shooting star crossed the sky.

I'm not and never was one to believe supernatural stuff like wish-granting stars, but what did I have to lose?

I... I wished I could be happy...

I entered the theatre where the rehearsals usually took place, quickly joining my section and packing my cello out of its case.

Just last week, the piece the theatre had needed us for stopped being shown. It had been very popular, lasting well over three months. Three months of daily rehearsals and shows for us, and so, the director decided to give us two weeks of a break. Of course, since we were professional musicians and we couldn't allow ourselves to fall out of practice even in the slightest, we agreed to meet up twice a week. Although those rehearsals weren't mandatory by any means, it was our own responsibility to not let our skills rust.

Besides, the majority of the orchestra had another occupation, also relating to music, which would help us stay in touch with our talent, even without bi-weekly practice. This other occupation had been mostly inhibited most of us during the presentations of the piece; daily shows and practice didn't leave much time for anything else.

I had managed to keep working on my own music during that time. Then, when I started going to the studio regularly to record my pieces, I was overwhelmed by how little time I had left to breathe. Figuratively speaking, of course.

And now? Now everything was starting to roll for me. I had started meeting up with other ponies from the orchestra to form a small ensemble, meant to play at high class parties and other events where a big orchestra would've been “overkill”. Frédéric – Horseshoepin, our pianist – said our goal for next year would be to play at the grand galloping gala. My manager, Golden Notes, even mentioned the possibility of a solo concert in the months to come.

To be honest, my time here in Canterlot hadn't been that bad. I wasn't really unhappy, not even yesterday. Yesterday I had reminded myself of my loneliness, and how much I missed her. I would have to avoid that in the future.

Before I could think of anything more, the director called my name, snapping me out of my thoughts. I would have to avoid that too.

The rest of the rehearsal went by smoothly and quickly as usual. It was noon and I still had an hour before my meeting with Mr Notes, which meant I could easily go home and warm up leftovers from yesterday. Actually, screw that, I'd go eat in the city.

As to Mr Notes. He was a brown unicorn with a black mane highlighted by a few brown streaks. There wasn't anything really notable about him, he was close to what one could call the average manager. Sharp, critical, slightly hypocritical, and equipped with a strong sense of business.

I made my way to a small diner I knew had low prices – for Canterlot standards – and ordered a pansy sandwich and some hay fries. As the waitress walked away I quietly chuckled to myself. She was new, and very cute. If I were male, I could have made a joke about being what you eat.

I had spent enough time in the city to learn about stereotypes – gay stallions were pussies and unmanly, and gay mares were rough, tomboyish and/or sexist – and while none of that was true, it was funny to hear ponies talk about it as if it were. Besides, laughing at jokes like that usually meant fitting in, and I needed just that for my career, even if it meant being hypocritical about the reason of my laughter.

On the other hoof, hypocrisy is kind of my thing. The way I “talk” in my thoughts and I express myself orally are so very different. Aloud I speak with restriction and control, but my thoughts are a jumble full of foul language and slang. Admittedly, the way Vinyl spoke was much worse than my thoughts, but she didn't have to deal with nobles, and she was quite a lot wilder than me.

Oh great, I thought about her...

Pushing those thoughts away as I finished my sandwich, I waved the waitress over, eager to pay the note. I gave a rather generous tip – she was a good waitress after all, pretty too – and as I stood up I could have sworn I saw her wink, but she looked away too quickly for me to be sure.

As far as I could remember, I hadn't seen her any of the two other times I had been here, but she didn't seem like she was actually new to the job. She was either new and very talented or I had just always come when she wasn't working. I resisted the urge to facehoof. This wasn't the only restaurant in the world, she could have just started working here after quitting the same job at a different establishment. Let it never be known that Octavia Philharmonica is a complete idiot.

Walking out of the small building, I heard a voice calling “Excuse me miss?” from behind me. It was probably the waitress. This meant three possibilities. She was calling somepony else, she was calling me and it wasn't important, or she was calling me and it was important. I decided to ignore the matter and pretend I hadn't hear her. In the case she indeed was calling me and it was important, she would probably pursue me further to ask whatever she wanted. I kept up my speed, and after a few moments, nothing happened. Perfect, this meant I would have – I pulled my watch out of my mane – twenty-nine more minutes until I'd have to speak to another equine being.

“Look Octavia, you've been overworking yourself for the past two months, and as your manager I simply can't allow this to go on.”

“I told you, I'm fine.”

“A 'fine' pony doesn't work a hundred hours per week.”

“Why? I've been sleeping more than enough, and I take my time to cook and eat every day. I am not overworking myself, and I'm in perfect shape.”

“I can see that, or rather, I can't see you're overworking yourself, and that's why it took me so long to confront you about it. You see, I worry about the ponies I have a contract with, and you essentially don't have a life right now. A pony doesn't just live off food, water and sleep. You have other needs too. Get some time off, talk to ponies, find yourself a coltfriend or I don't know, do something else than music for a while.”

“Actually, the orchestra is pretty much taking a break right now for the next fortnight. I first thought I'd take advantage of that and just boost my solo music a bit, but I guess having some of that time to myself can't be that bad.” Stupid, stupid Octavia.

“Oh, perfect.” He grinned. “I'm not allowing you into the studio until two weeks from now. You need to take a proper break.”

“No I don't, sir. I'm a grown mare an-”

“Yes you do, now shut up and get out of here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Great. Just great. I'd have to sit around my house for two entire weeks. Sure, I could go to practice sessions, compose at home and practice there too, but I had planned to use a major part of this break to record the stuff I had made. Plus, I already had a lot of sheet music lying around my flat, and writing even more of it wouldn't do any good. No, I had to record the stuff I had before writing some more.

That left me with even more time to kill. Fuck! Time I would simply waste, instead of using it efficiently. Time I could've spent pushing my career forward. Time I could use to educate myself on newer movements in music. Well, actually, I could just pick up a few books on musical theory, just to fill in on some potential blanks, and maybe come up with new ideas. Oh, and of course this meant I would get time to finally read the newest A.K. Yearling book.

I stood up from the bench I had been sitting on, intent of finding the closest book store. I would buy the novel first. After all, my musical theory wasn't really rusty at all – I had been writing music on a daily basis for the last year – and to be honest there weren't many books on the subject I hadn't already read during my studies. I could probably just submerge myself in fiction for the two weeks to go. I guess this “vacation” would be a lot better than what first it sounded like, even though it would be far less productive.

Tomorrow morning I would have to stop by the market and buy enough food to last about a week. Didn't feel like going out for at least that much time. I could even avoid practice, just by playing at home. Yes, a week at home with books and my cello. Now that's what I call a plan.

A quick glance at the street sign revealed that I had day dreamt past the book store. Good thing I had all the time in the world. I turned around and finally got to my point of interest.

It was a fairly small shop, with mostly newer and popular articles. Fortunately for me, that meant they had the book I was looking for. I found it fairly quickly, but decided I wanted to get more books while I was here. This book – around six hundred pages – I would read in a day or two, and that just wouldn't do.

I approached the shelf with the “romance” banner. I usually read romantic novels, I guess it's to compensate my lack of real relationships. I prefer the ones when the protagonist is male, and falls in love with a mare, go guess why.

As I was browsing through the available books, I noticed a mare approach the same section. At first I didn't give her any more attention than necessary. However, after turning my head to the right to check out the books there, I realised I recognised her. I didn't remember where, but I definitely remembered her mane and that lovely face of hers. I quickly looked away to avoid staring.

Pegasus. Two toned mane, lime and pink. White coat. Cute freckles... That's it! The waitress from that restaurant I ate at. I wonder why she wasn't at work.

“Hey, you were in that diner, weren't you?” I said rather suddenly, turning towards her, then noticing she had already been looking in my direction.

She blushed and looked at the ground, apparently surprised by me. After a short silence she shook her head, lifted her gaze from the ground, and replied. “Erm, yes.”

“Funny coincidence. Almost like some sort of cheesy romance novel.”

It took me a very short moment to realise what I had said. “Well, that is, if we weren't two mares, obviously.” I gave a short, nervous laugh, hoping she wouldn't dwell on it.

To my great relief, she also let out a quick laugh. Almost a giggle, really. Adorable, in fact.

“So, why did you come here? Looking for a specific book or just want anything to read?” I asked, automatically trying to make conversation.

“I'm looking for a book I've already read. The first book in a five-part series. A long time ago, my best friend lent it to me. I was originally a bit sceptical – she had a shit taste when it came to books – but after a few chapters I simply devoured the whole thing. Then I was so avid for the rest that I instantly bought all the other books, and I've had the whole pentalogy minus tome one sitting on my shelf for years. Decided I'd finally fill that gap.”

“What is it about? Well, more importantly, what's it called?”

“It's called “Another Night”, a romance. Each book has separate characters, who are still linked to each other. For example, the protagonist in the second book is the son of the couple whose story is told in the first one. The fun thing is that the title of the whole series is only explained at the end of the fifth book. I particularly liked this last book, because of... errr... personal reasons.” Her original nervousness was back, I wondered why that was. Not that it mattered to me, I guess I was just curious.  I would probably find out if I read the series, plus it did seem genuinely interesting.

“Actually, I don't think they have it here. I'm gonna go to a different store, see if they have it. See you around. Well, maybe.”

“Hey, wait. Can I come with you? I need something to read and you spiked my interest. It'll be easier for me to find it if you help me.”

Surprised, her ears perked up and her whole face lit up. “I don't see why not.”

“Perfect! Oh, and I'm Octavia, by the way.”

“My name's Blossomforth.”

I quickly paid for my purchase, and we left. We walked around town for a good amount of time, stepping into another book store before finally finding one that had that novel, as well as the rest of the pentalogy. We then somehow ended up close to my building. I invited her for tea, and we spent the rest of the afternoon – and part of the evening – chatting. This was the beginning of my first friendship in the big city.

It's not a date. Just a friendly little thing between friends. I thought as I trotted towards the cinema. Blossom had invited me to watch a film with her, as friends, obviously. Though I had trouble fully believing that; it was a romance after all. I mean, who goes to see a romance with their “just friends”?

Actually, nevermind, I'm just letting my emotions and hopes think for me. It makes sense she'd invite me to see that, considering we're both huge fans of this genre. Besides, Blossom's straight.

Now, I have admit it, I did have a crush on Blossomforth, but she was a really good friend above all, and I couldn't let this become Vinyl all over. I didn't want to have to throw away another friend because of my stupid feelings. Especially since this one was my only one here, and also partly because she recommended really good books.

I had only had time to read two of that series, but I was loving it. I didn't even mind the fact that the protagonist of the second book was falling in love with a stallion. I don't know how I can describe it, but stallions just weren't the deal for me, and no matter how I looked at them, nothing attracted me. No matter how hard I thought, I just couldn't imagine loving one. Physically, too, they had no appeal for me, they just all looked boring (except maybe those few, very feminine ones). And sexually... Sexually I was downright disgusted of them. The sight of a penis was enough to drive any desire out of me instantly...

And yet somehow, this author managed to make the story interesting to me. On top of that, the plot was extremely intricate and interesting. All in all, I completely understood my friend's obsession with the pentalogy.

And yet, albeit my love for this series, I had only read two of its books in the same amount of weeks. Why was that? Blossomforth, that's why. I had been spending so much time with the mare, no wonder I had developed a crush on her, especially considering her downright illegal cuteness. Unfortunately for me though, those feelings caused me to start seeing things. I often ended up misinterpreting her body language, seeing her drop hints and be flirty.

Obviously, those hints were nothing more than a fruit of my imagination, and that was just my brain's way of fucking with me. As much as I could sometimes swear she was trying to seduce me, I knew better than it, and the same applied to this “date”.

As Blossom stepped into view I forced those thoughts away. It bring anything to keep brooding over that; it would just make me appear like a nervous wreck. That's not what I wanted. I greeted her calmly and we entered the building.

We were walking through Canterlot. The movie had been, to my disappointment, quite boring.

“See you next week.” I said closing the door. Tomorrow, my job at the orchestra would resume, and I would finally regain access to the recording studio. Oh how eager I was!