An Octave Lower

by MoonMoonStargazer

Rating: everyone
Tags: Octavia, Slice of Life, Lyra, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance
Length: 1352

Lyra had never taken notice to Octavia. Why would she care that every one of her concerts was a failure to her idol?

For years, Lyra had watched Octavia run out on her concerts, every last one of them. Was it because Lyra was really that bad at her lyre? Was she ashamed to be in the same room as Lyra because of jealousy? The only way to find out would be to confront Octavia, but how is that possible when the "best musician in Equestria" won't even glance at her?

Credit to Velglorth on DA for the picture!

Published 2015-01-27 18:40:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-01-27 18:40:02 UTC

Prologue

The strings on the harp plucked harmoniously in the silence, every breath in the crowd put to a halt. They all were staring up at Lyra Heartstrings, melodious musician and supposed student of Octavia Philharmonica. For years they had watched her in the small diners and at the lesser-known charity events, but only now did she get the chance to shine above all other musicians, her shaky presence on stage revealing her first-time jitters.

Sitting on the chair provided to her by the technical directors, the only thoughts flashing through her mind were ones of her only console, her getaway: Humans. Lyra didn’t bother looking into the crowd, nor up at the lights. No, when she played, she stared off into the distance behind her.

When she looked back, she could see his warm presence, his hands reaching out to embrace her in a shower of love. From the first moment she had heard of a “human,” her imagination had lit, and he was, since then, her friend.

So yes, it was weird to the general audience, used to the well-behaved Octavia Philharmonica, but it also enticed all of the ponies. Nopony knew exactly what she did or why she did it, but as soon as her head was turned, her horn would light up, a small smile would rest itself on her face, and a gentle breeze of notes would fly away, gingerly guided by her graceful hooves.

As always, a delicate tune floated around the heads of the crowd, most “picture perfect,” posture straight and eyes narrowed to evaluate the quality of every wannabe that stepped up to the stage.

The music was a cool winter’s day to everypony, the chilly air prompting frothy cups of cocoa and warm blankets. The entire crowd could be seen at any music performance with their eyes closed, a carnal smile frozen onto their faces.

Lyra could feel the pressing stares shooting into her neck, and could feel the breathing around her begin to start up with each new chord. Through her hooves she felt the pumpkin spice marshmallows, the hands of time stopped, the reaches of space boundless. Each note sent vibrations through the audience, all in expectant wait of the climax.

Taking a small glance back to the dark space, Lyra seemed relaxed, the stern faces of the crowd taking no effect on her. Her eyes slowly scanned the crowd, each passing second seeming to light a firecracker, her hooves slowly starting to pull fast on the strings, a slightly dissonant note zapping in with the rest of the melody.

For a second, the hand on her back zipped between reality and fiction, her eyes fluttering back into consciousness.

When her eyes found their intended target, everything became a hush of whispers and regret; the whispers came from the crowd, and the regret from Lyra. She had stopped her tune just in time to see the small gray tail whisking out the metal door at the back of the concert hall.

Lyra could feel her eyes begin to swell, the voices in front of her gradually gaining in tone, seeming to become restless.

“Why’d you stop!?”

“Can’t handle the heat?”

“Get off the stage!”

“Where’s Octavia!?”

Each new scream seemed like an arrow to Lyra, her heart pierced simultaneously by the force of hundreds of hateful, rude, and disappointed comments. The first tear rolled down her cheek in near succession to the small object smashing into her stomach.

Looking back, the figure of her comfort was gone, no longer connected to her mind.

Swirling back to the crowd, she dropped her head to look at the miniscule scrap of metal, a small box, that had left its mark on her chest.

Frozen in place, Lyra could feel the cool water begin streaming down her face, the air turning to ice. When she gained the courage to try and look back up, she was met with silence.

Through the blur in her eyes, she could see everypony, staring at her and pointing hooves in her direction. Nopony wanted to make the first comment.

Standing up, Lyra straightened her back, wiping the tears away. Putting a furrow in her eyebrows, she looked forward, her mouth turning down. “Do you think that just because I’m not her, it gives you the right to make fun of me? I have spent my entire life practicing to play in front of you all, and you have the nerves to laugh at me?”

“She was never my mentor, just so you all know. She never even bothered to glance at me! So everypony in this room can shut up, because I’m done! I will never play this instrument again!” Her expression dropped, her voice becoming weaker by the second. She knew she couldn’t be mad at them; after all, they had done nothing to her.

Glancing about the room at the fearful faces of everypony, Lyra turned away, holding her head high. “Now if you all will excuse me, I believe I have a date with my friend. Good day to you all, and shame upon you.”

She didn’t look back, nor did she bother picking up her instrument. The puddle of tears said every word she would ever need to say.

Standing behind the curtain left stage, Lyra felt ashamed. If Octavia didn’t believe in her, then who would? Maybe it wasn’t her destiny to play the lyre, harp, whatever anypony wanted to call it. Lyra called it her friend, and now even that was destroyed.

Taking a quick peek forward, the red exit sign flashed in front of her eyes, the entire stage crew around it avoiding her gaze. Bringing her eyes to the floor, she walked straight, another rush of tears falling to the wooden planks that made up the stage and all surrounding areas.

She stopped at the metal bar, raising her hoof to rest on the cool rod. Her voice turned cold, her hair dropping in front of her eyes. “And if you think I’m ever going to come back, then you’re wrong. And last thing: If this gets out to the press, I will personally find you all…”

She pressed her body forward, the door giving way as the brilliant sunlight hit her eyes. Staring up, she almost hissed, the bright day only making her morose presence more evident to the rest of the town.

“Lyra Heartstrings! I organized this event for a reason, and that was for you to play, not run off crying like a little filly!” Lyra grunted, the blinding white hooves stepping into her sight.

“Vinyl...please, I can’t have this today. Something came up…”

“Oh, right, Octavia. She ran off, ashamed of you once again, right? I don’t care! I can’t make exclusive events like this for a show like that! Next time, either come in for the game, or don’t come in at all!”

The rage was starting to boil in her, the cracks in the ground the only evidence of her stress. “Then I just won’t come...” she managed through grinding teeth.

Vinyl seemed surprised; nopony had ever rejected her before, let alone been so rude about it. “You bring your head up when talking to me, Lyra. I will not have a performance like that again, you hear-”

“YES! I hear you, alright!? Stop it, Vinyl Scratch! I don’t need this today…” Lyra looked up at Vinyl, a begging look in her eyes. As she turned to walk off, Vinyl reached a hoof out, only to touch warm air. She was speechless, enraged, and most of all shocked. Never had a pony done that to her, their trainer, their mentor. Lyra could hear the stomp of Vinyl’s foot as she stormed off.

A small smirk found its way to Lyra’s whimpering face.

If I’m going to get any solace today, I have to find her. I need to find out why she refuses to stay with me at my performances…

Trotting off, Lyra was already formulating a plan, the tall figure next to her resting his hand on her back in silent agreement.