A Two-Toned Augmentation! Mactavia!
The One and Only Chapter: Sustainable
A Two-Toned Augmentation! Mactavia!
by the Great Mewtwo
Rarity, Big Macintosh, and the rest were on the move from another village after performing as the Ponytones at a newly-commissioned market. The sun was bright and contributing to an oversaturated blue in a partly cloudy sky, bounded by rolling hills, as they traveled. Not uncommonly, Big Mac was charged with moving the group’s billboard and other supplies contained in a covered wooden cart, but Rarity would not see this as an excuse; as far as she was concerned, there was another performance in Ponyville, from which they could urgently use for the money, especially seeing that Rarity had a suit to prepare and Applejack and Apple Bloom alone could not safely handle the applebucking duties all on their own.
“Big Macintosh, could you please kick it up? We can’t afford to be late to our next gig,” snapped Rarity.
“Eeyup,” he replied in trademark fashion.
In his effort to keep up with the pace of the unladen ponies, Big Mac increased his trot, despite the cargo he was carrying atop a hill.
“Well,” sighed Rarity, “the top of Neighcross Hill. Once we get to that cross road, it’s only another thirty–”
Rarity was knocked off her balance by Big Macintosh’s unexpected loss of control. He was moderately strained as it is, but nor would fate exclude some sort of mishap. When he and the others made it to the top of the hill, he lost his hoofing on some cobbles left over from a stone hopper and found himself careening down with all their supplies. Though his strength was admirable, stopping the cart was not going to be a task for it, as his only safe bet was to bring it down into a knoll with small shrubs awaiting them anyway.
Meanwhile, at the cross road, a traveling Octavia Melody, grayed in her coat, found herself en route back to Ponyville, cello in tow, to teach music theory to a waiting school. The rustling of dirt, dust, and shrubbery caught her attention as she headed for the other hills to elude the runaway cart. Big Macintosh managed to avoid hitting a large rock and crashed the cart into some waiting wild berry bushes. Though neither one of the ponies were hurt in the incident, the cart itself had taken some damage on a wheel.
“Big Macintosh, are you alright?” asked Rarity.
“Eeyup,” shouted Big Mac from the foot of the hill.
Rarity and the others galloped down the hill to assess the damage on the cart and to anyone in the area. Thankfully, no one was seriously injured, but the wheel had been warped and seemed to be splitting.
“Well, the wheel is bad and the board’s been scuffed. I’m sure that Pinkie can repaint the poster, but what do we do about the wheel?” asked Rarity.
“Wait a second,” thought Big Mac, “what if Octavia can lend us a string to patch up the wheel?”
“Octavia,” cried Big Mac, “Our wheel is just a little bad and–”
“Need some help?” responded Octavia, “I was just returning to Ponyville myself. This cello has been taking a toll on me after traveling for so long from a show in Fort Neighers.”
After looking at the state of the cart, Octavia quickly looked through her saddlebag and produced some old strings from her cello, strong enough to bind the bad wheel. Big Mac and Octavia worked quickly to mend the wheel and push it out of the sweet, berry-scented shrubbery.
“Thank you very much, Octavia,” applauded Rarity, “you really are a lifesaver. Would you mind playing the accompaniment at our next gig?”
“That’d be nice. I knew something would come out of that nasty Fort Neighers performance. Traveling all that way only to be outshined by some blue sharks and sea ponies.”
“I know that feel, Octy. They’ll never know art,” Rarity snipped.
As would have been common courtesy, Big Mac loaded Octavia’s cello into the cart to offset her own load. The crew, Octavia, Rarity, Big Mac, and the two other Ponytones, continued onward to Ponyville proper. Big Mac and Octavia carried the damaged cart together by a yoke and a makeshift rope respectively. This was a mild relief, yet such a big help beyond measures, to Big Mac after what became of him.
Right as they entered Ponyville once again, they were applauded by the civil proper as they made their way to a bank celebrating its role in the community. The faint smell of berries filled the roadway as they toned up and got ready.
“People actually love this berry thing in our act,” thought Big Mac.
At any rate, this gig at the bank would pay rather heavily. Believe it or not, the performance was quite captivating to the other Ponyvillers. Even discounting the scent of berries and the idea of performers being very down to earth, Octavia could have easily used the respect and cash after her failed performance. Octavia, using a new third string, professed the virtuosity that was her cello playing to accompany Big Macintosh’s booming low voice, enriching the song.
Later, after four songs, the set was over. The cheering and the ovation, not uncommon to them, engulfed the Ponytones and followed them for some time beyond the bank. The ponies were still all paid rather handsomely by the bank teller and the bank manager, 600 bits in all; Octavia herself made a good deal for herself, albeit supplemented by Big Macintosh’s share of the bits.
“Here,” he said, “get yourself something really nice," remarked Big Mac.
"Why, thanks, Big Mac," Octavia replied.
Octavia nodded in thanks for the appreciated gift as Rarity and the Ponytones went their way.
Later that night, Big Macintosh, albeit swooned over by his sisters at home, took a stroll upon the town and stumbled across the Liberato Conservatory. He made himself at home as he walked through the doors adorned with windows in the shape of hats, some that she would have identified as half-rests and whole rests. The main chamber, whose white walls were embellished by the accents of staves, arcs, and ties, was where he would find Octavia Melody struggling to restring an old double bass at her music studio.
“Hey. Need some help?” asked Big Mac strutting past a piano and a few horns.
“Well,” she said, releasing the string from her teeth, “I just need somepony to keep this thing straight.”
Being her stallion, Big Macintosh kept the bass rigid while Octavia worked to restring it. With a few quick turns of the pegs within the peg box at the top of the bass, she tuned the string to the key of G, but moving only so slightly as to not risk having the string pop on either of them. Suddenly, Octavia and Big Mac found themselves working on all sorts of other instruments, from old tubas and bugles to harps, headless drums, and even pianos that had to be crudely tuned with the aid of some tuning forks.
As it got late, Octavia started to question what went through Big Mac’s mind. She eventually pondered the idea that he was without any external source of love for the kind of hard worker he was.
“Big Macintosh,” called Octavia.
“Eeyup?”
“Thanks for helping me tonight. I probably would have never gotten it all ready for my lesson tomorrow.”
“You’re welcome.”
With that, Octavia Melody paid it forward with an otherwise innocuous kiss. She leaned forward with puckered lips and planted one on his cheek. Surprised and determined now to repay the favor with one of his own, Big Macintosh gave her an even bigger kiss, even on the lips themselves. She found herself melting as she appreciated the music in him, the stringy music itself coming from a phonograph he bumped into.
“Will you have a dance with me?” Big Mac asked over the airy overtones lifting his foreleg.
“It shall be an honor,” she responded as she curtsied.
For a moment, Big Macintosh shared the wooden floor as they waltzed. He led as gracefully as Granny Smith had taught him, Octavia taken aback by his skills that were only honed by practicing with his sisters. Before the song was over, Big Macintosh dipped her down rather low and planted a deep smooch. He tried his best to keep from laughing from such an experience.
“I knew you were still smoochy,” Octavia said laughing.
“I knew you were still classy,” he retorted.
Without two simple thoughts, the candles in the hall went out as she intended to close up shop for the day anyway.
“Well, I’ll see you soon,” said Octavia, blowing a last kiss.
“Eeyup,” he replied walking out the door.
When Big Mac got home, he was greeted by his favorite little sister, Applejack.
“Welcome home, best big brother,” she cried, “Say, I’ve seen this kind of thing happen with musicians before whenever there’s a groupie involved, but are you going to kick Octavia out the Ponytones or not?”
“Nope,” he replied proudly. Obviously, Octavia Melody was no groupie. She was Big Macintosh’s whole note to her whole rest.
Author's Note
Just a little shipping practice with Big Mac and Octavia.