The charcoal mare wanders down the street. She quietly observes her surroundings: the various houses that stood on the block caught her eye. The buildings reminds her of her childhood. Whenever she walked down these streets there were children of all ages. Most of them got on her nerves considering no pony liked the cello. They always called her cello a violin. This irritates her greatly to this day. Octavia, upon reaching the door, lifts the handle and enters her apartment. Her room smelled like one of her bandmates, which, during practice, tries to take her things without asking. She’s a horrible bandmate.
Octavia grunts and rests her heavy, yet prized instrument aside. Her cello gently slides to a comfortable position against the beige wall which is closest to the door. She smiles as she shakes off the weight of the cello and walks into the kitchen. She turns on the gas stove as she walks past it.
"Well I'm only going to be home for a bit, so I may as well make some tea," she absent-mindedly murmurs while she shuffles around the cabinets. She moves all her confounded pots, pans and other metal annoyances while she ravenously searched for her desired kettle.
"Now why is... Ugh! Why is the bloody kettle never where it's supposed to be?!” She finds the object of her desires. The kettle is laying on its side and gingerly hiding behind a couple of cake tins that she forgot to get rid of.
“Oh, there it is," Octavia says with a bright smile. She begins to fill it with water and places it on the burner. A rather large yawn escapes while she sits down on her sofa.
"Finally, a moment to relax." Today was a hectic day to be sure, and a cup of tea was precisely what she needed to ease her tired mind.
Her elegant posture relaxes as she stretches her hooves out in all directions, loosening her tense muscles. Octavia closes her eyes momentarily. She paces through the happenings of the day: the serious lighthearted jam session with Sapphire Shores and Vinyl, and the rude and embarrassing interruption of Shores’ manager, who immediately backpedaled away from the three when he saw what they were wearing. After a long hour of giggling, changing clothes, and exchanging information, the three had decided to meet again. Of course it had to be later that day.
Octavia sighs. Even though she enjoyed the time she spent with them, she had only a couple of hours to relax in this pleasantly cool afternoon. She was going to use it wisely by drinking a nice cup of tea.
Whilst she waited for the tea kettle to begin its obnoxious song, she retrieved her most prized possession: her cello. Octavia grinned. Perhaps something soothing would be fitting of her mood? Octavia lifts her beauty from its case,places her left fore hoof on the bridge, and grasps the bow with her other. She starts the first notes of Divertimento, one of her favorite pieces from Mozart. The notes swim from the strings and play with the air surrounding them.
Octavia’s head lowers as the composition reaches its saddest point before rising once again with the sounds of a more lighthearted nature. Her hoof flies over the bridge and applies pressure to the correct strings while the bow criss-crosses back and forth in quick successions over the instrument. Tavi’s ears perk up to the misplaced pitch. She pauses for a moment and chides herself for playing the incorrect note. As she is about to resume, a soft, slowly building noise interrupts her. A groan escapes her as she carefully lays down her cello.
The kettle screeches like a siren. Octavia quickly moves it to a cool burner. The stream of vertical steam slowly dissipates with its terrifying noise. She begins to pour the bubbly water into the tea leaden pot with a soft gurgle.. She anxiously waits by the pot. She really needs a good cup of tea. Last time she brewed her own cup, the fire department had to come to save her poor kettle. She shakes her head as she began to distract herself with some more classical melodies. She remembers another brilliant piece from her motivation, the calm, soothing undertones of Piano Concerto No.19. A soft hum leaves her lips as the song becomes a permanent resident inside her head. Octavia bobs her head to the catchy melody and sometimes muttering a few lyrics her mother sang to her when she was a foal.
As the song begins to close, a sound similar to muffled singing reaches her ears. She turns her attention to the window and tilts her head. She gazes out and sees a bright white filly with her cute pink and purple mane that bobs as she trots down the street. Her sweet voice carries despite the calm wind’s rude interference. The sweet filly bounces to the rhythm of her song. Octavia smiles at her; it was nice to see somepony enjoying her singing.
Octavia scrunches her face. "Hm, I wonder if I could..."
Her gaze drifts past her cello. “What do we have here?” Octavia says as her eyes and grin widens to the tenth degree. "Idea!"
Octavia rushes to her cello, completely disregarding her still piping hot tea. She grabs it, gallops outside, and properly positions the instrument. Taking a moment to find the fillies rhythm, nodding to it and tapping her hoof on the road, she brings the bow to the strings. Octavia looks up at the singer her hoof pacing back and forth over the bridge. Sweetie Belle smiles and stops in front of Octavia’s house to join her in harmony. Their melodies mixed in a stream of beautiful notes and rifts.
Swaying to the strong cello solo, Sweetie Belle continues to sing until the last lyric is sung. She begins to laugh as Octavia finishes the last stroke. "I didn't know you could sing Sweetie Belle!" Octavia exclaims in disbelief.
"Yeah, but... I'm not really that good," she says quietly as she lowers her head. Sweetie Belle is not used to being complimented by other ponies. Only a few ponies have heard her sing and even fewer recognized it as her singing.
"Well, you certainly are talented!" Octavia says with a bright smile as she glances at a clock that hangs above the store’s sign across the street. Octavia leans against her cello while she speaks, "Would your sister mind if you came with me to the studio today?"
Sweetie Belle is slightly appalled by the compliment and subsequent invitation. This is beginning to become too much for her as she stutters, "I-I don't think so, but I should still check with my sister just to make sure."
The cellist chuckles at the the response. "Good girl. I won't be going for a while, so maybe she will be back by that time."
Sweetie Belle smiles and gives a simple nod as she walks down the road. However, Octavia spots her turning a bit to the left and pulling out a small key. Sweetie Belle disappears from Octavia’s view as she enters the building. Octavia does the same, but instead closes the door with her hoof.Once her tea comes in view, she remembers her relaxed state of mind: legs sprawled with the company of a fluffed pillow that made her feel like she was at the spa. All that was missing is her perfect cup of tea.. Placing a hoof on the side of the pot, she quickly pulls it away from the hot surface. It will be strong, but at least it's still hot.
The tea laps against the side of the ceramic cup as it is carefully poured from the pot. She keeps a hoof on the lid to prevent it from falling off or breaking into pieces.
“Two sugars and a little creme,” she mutters to herself as the sweet aroma of vanilla waft through the little room. Octavia has a feeling that she has stumbled upon somepony talented and couldn't wait to show her friends.
Author's Note
This was quite fun to write! This story may not be all that long, but we'll see.
