Their First Dateby CrackedInkWellChaptersPart 1: Five o'clockPart 2: Six o’clockPart 3: Six-fifteenPart 4: Seven-thirteenPart 5: Seven-Forty-eightPart 6: Eight-thirtyPart 7: A Week, Three Days, Twenty Hours, and Nineteen Minutes Later…Part 1: Five o'clock “Octave!” his father called out, making the young stallion cut off in the middle of a note on his cello. Octave looked up from his music sheet in annoyance to hear his father call out again. “Octave, come here, we have a surprise for you!” “Coming,” he called back. Looking over to the clock on the nightstand, he saw that it was almost five o’clock. The young stallion wondered what his parents could possibly want from him right now. With a frustrated sigh, the gray pony laid his cello on the bed and rested the bow across his music stand. For being in his junior year of high school, Octave Melody was used to having a tight schedule, which mainly consisted of studying, practicing, eating dinner, with some recreation. He never really liked any surprises that threatened to interrupt the usual flow of his mechanical day. With a frown, he trotted down the stairs to find not only his father, Maestro, but his mother Clover, and his little sister Opal sitting in the family room with smiles on their faces. “What is it?” Octave asked dryly, “You all know that I don’t like being interrupted when I practice.” His mother got up; the green unicorn with a golden mane went over to put a hoof on her son’s back. “Octave,” she said in her lilting accent of old Iresteed. “We have a very special surprise for ye.” Her son raised an eyebrow, “I already heard that. So... what is it?” “Well, yer father and I have been thinkin’,” his mother said, her sly smile not diminishing. “You’re sixteen and in high school, but we've noticed how at this point in yer life how much ya always stays at home.” “So what’s wrong with that?” “Octave,” his father said, getting up. The gray Trottingham earth pony walked up to face his son, and said, “You've been doing nothing but sitting around in your room studying, or playing that cello of yours. You don’t hang out with your friends, or even go to any of the school clubs or dances, much less anything outside of school. Son, we’re getting worried about you being this anti-social.” “I’m not anti-social,” Octave protested, “I do have some friends at school you know.” “But how often have you gone to other ponies’ homes?” his mother questioned. “All ya’ve been doin’ lately is stayin’ in your room.” “Which is why,” his father grinned playfully, “that is going to change.” “What are you two saying?” Octave asked. Before either his parents could answer, the doorbell rang, the shrill ding-dong echoing throughout the house. While his parents urged him to get the door, Octave couldn't help but wonder why his little sister was giggling like mad. ‘What is going on here?’ the young cellist thought, ‘Also, why do they want me to get the door? They’re perfectly capable.’ Octave reached a hoof for the doorknob and opened it. “Yes, can I-” Octave’s greeting was cut short by a very familiar voice. “Hey, Octie!” he blinked, right before the cellist was his best friend, with his usual cocky smile, and his purple shades obscuring his eyes. He was also wearing the usual black saddle bag that he constantly carried to and from school. “Record?” Octave asked in confusion. “What are you doing here?” The white unicorn tilted his head. “What do ya mean? Aren't you ready to go?” “Go where?” “On our date, duh,” Octave’s heart stopped when he heard those words. His eyes widened in fear. “W-What?” he asked, his voice beginning to shake. “Our date, aren't you ready?” his best friend replied. When the cellist didn't give him an answer, Record waved a hoof in front of his friend’s face, “Hey, you alright there?” Slam! Octave shut the door and leaned back against it, breathing heavily. Did he just hear that right? No, he couldn't have, there’s no way that Record of all ponies would- “Uh, Oct?” he heard Record’s muffled voice as his friend knocked on the door. “Octie? You alright, dude?” Taking a deep breath, Octave cracked open the door to see his friend’s worried face. “Hey brony, what’s wrong?” Record asked. “Did,” Octave looked up and down the familiar Canterlot street to make sure that nopony was in listening distance. He even scanned over the tiny front lawn to see if anyone other than Record was there. “Did you just say-” the cellist lowered his voice, “a date?” “Well, yeah,” Record shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for, your parents said to come by at five, so I’m here.” “My… parents…?” the unicorn noticed that the gray cellist was beginning to sweat. Suddenly, Octave’s eyes glinted sharper than the blade of a sword, “Record, is this your idea of a joke? If it is, it isn't funny!” “Wha? No, dude, I’m being dead serious here.” The door swung open, and Octave couldn’t help but jump at the unexpected noise. He turned to see that his mother was standing in the entryway. She smiled warmly, “Record Scratch, we’re glad you've come. Would you like to come in for a wee bit?” “Sure Miss… uh, Luck, wasn't it?” Record asked. “It’s Clover,” she corrected him; “Lucky Clover is my name. Please do come in, dearie.” “M-Mom?” Octave’s mind couldn't comprehend what was going on. “Hmm?” “Uh, w-what’s going on?” he looked to his mother with confusion and uncertainty in his eyes. “Dearie,” she said, putting a hoof over his withers. “I’d think this might be a good time fer us to have a wee talk.” Clover gave her son a reassuring smile, but it did little to help calm the cellist’s nerves. She led the two colts into the family room and sat them down on the couch. “I suppose you’re wondering what’s going on, son,” Maestro asked, to which his son nodded. “Well then, let us get straight to the point. Octave, we already know that you’re gay.” “WHAT!?!” the cellist screamed out in horror. “Octave,” Clover frowned at him. “What did we say aboot no screamin’ in the house?” “I… I-I-I…” Octave couldn't have felt any more exposed than he was at that very moment. Questions arose in his head faster than popcorn popping on a hot stove. Suddenly, he felt a pair of forelegs being wrapped around his neck; he looked down to find that they belonged to Record. Turing to the unicorn, the cellist saw that his friend had already put his shades up to hang on his horn, revealing those ruby eyes. “Dude, calm down,” Record told him. “Everything is alright; nopony’s gonna hurt ya.” Octave felt his nervousness lessen significantly in his best friend’s embrace. At the same time, it brought about an odd sense of peace to him, along with the feeling of warmth in his cheeks. He looked around to the rest of his family, he didn't see disgust, nor anger on the faces of any of them. “Octave,” his little sister said. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. You’re still my big brother, even if you do like colts.” “But… H-How did any of you know?” he asked when his best friend let go of him. “I never told anypony.” “Truth be told,” his father began, “your mother and I did have our suspicions. But it wasn't until Opal,” he gestured to his younger child, “read your journal that any of us found out what you’d had to say about your friend here.” “She did what?!” Octave exclaimed, “When?!” “Remember when I got grounded a few weeks ago?” Opal asked and his brother nodded. “Well, back when our elementary school got the day off, I got bored and sneaked into your room. I found your journal on the bookshelf, which is a stupid place to put it if you ask me, and I read what you thought of Record.” At this point, Octave’s face turned as red as his best friend’s irises. He bowed his head and covered his face with his hooves in embarrassment. “Then what?” he muttered. “I showed it to mom,” Opal said, “She read it and grounded me, but not before she showed it to dad.” ‘Oh dear, sweet Solaris, just kill me now!’ Octave thought, now feeling more embarrassed in his entire life. “Is that all?” he asked. “Well, ta be honest,” his mother said. “Part of me was surprised, while most of meself was rather disappointed in ya. Only it ain't fer the reason yer thinkin’ of.” The young cellist peered up from his hooves with a questioning look in his eyes. “Octave, dearie, did ya really think we would kick ya out fer bein’ yerself? Don’t ya trust yer own family? We’d never think aboot doing that to ye. You’ve got a heart of solid gold, and ya deserve some happiness too.” Octave began to tear up at his mother’s words. “You… You really mean that?” “Of course we do,” his father nodded. “You know, we ought to have seen this coming since you two have been this close since elementary school. Besides, times are changing after all, and all we want from you, regardless who you end up with, mare or stallion, we want to see that you have a shot at something that gives you pure joy.” Octave didn't say anything, he pounced on the three of them, trying to hug them all at once. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you all so much.” “Ah… hello?” Record said, trying to get Octave’s attention despite the smile on his own face. “Should I give you guys a moment, or…?” “No, no, it’s fine,” the cellist said returning to his seat. “But it does bring up something,” he added while wiping the tears from his eyes. “You’re fine with this? I mean, with me being secretly gay and…” Record chuckled, “Nah brony. If anything, I’m flattered that you’d like me. I guess it just goes to show then.” “Goes to show what?” the cellist asked with a raised eyebrow. “That I’m good-looking enough to have a guy fall head over hooves for me without me even trying,” he said with a grin. Octave facehoofed, but not without blushing a little. “How am I supposed to respond to that?” he thought out loud. Record laughed, “Come on, your family doesn't mind and I don’t really mind all that much, so... how about it? You wanna go out with me?” Opal giggled and began singing: “Record and Octave, sitting in a-” “Opal, be quiet,” her other brother ordered his cheeks still red. “So then,” Clover said, her horn lighting up, and giving her son a bag full of bits. “Now we’ve gotten that out of the way,” she then lifted the two young stallions off the couch and walked them to the front door. “Jus’ remember a few things: Be safe, don’t wander off too far, and above all - have fun, dears.” When Octave and Record were outside, Clover lowered them to the ground and closed the door. “M-Mom wait!” Octave called out before he heard the “clicks” of the door being locked. The cellists tried jiggling the door handle, knocked on the door and even asked his family to open the door, all with no luck. “I can’t believe it!” he said, sitting on the curb after admitting defeat. “They locked me out.” “Come on, Octie, look on the bright side,” Record said, sitting next to him. “At least you’ll be going out with me.” “Y-Yeah. Besides, Record, I didn't think you’d… well…” Record gave a confused look before realizing what he’s being asked, “Oh! Oh that,” he said, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, I know, I’m the guy who’s trying to get a marefriend thing. Well, when your parents told me that you’d like me… I don’t know…” “Record, do you mind if I ask you a very personal question?” “Yeah, go ahead.” “Are you… I-I mean, do you even think that you might be… attracted to colts too?” “Ya know, I haven’t been given much thought.” Record admitted, “But when I heard your parents said that you’re gay and all that stuff, suddenly, everything made sense. I mean, you did tell me once that you’d think that nopony would ever go out with ya.” Octave nodded, “Yeah, I remember.” “I just felt sorry for ya, you know? I mean, even with my taste in music, at least you gave your friendship a try with me. So… I thought, ‘Why would I not give you a chance as well?’” “Have you ever dated a stallion before?” “Mares, you already know that. Stallions? It’s my first time doing something like this.” “Same here. I don’t even know what to do on dates.” “Dude, it’s not that hard. Dating is really just a glorified version of hanging out. You don’t have ta act anything out, just be you. Just think of it as you hanging out with me, but you can be more... open about it.” Octave looked at Record right in the eye, “Record, are you sure you want to do something like this, with me?” The unicorn nodded, “Yeah. Dating my best friend... why not? Besides, I don’t want ya to be miserable, I just want ya to be happy.” The two of them sat there for a moment until the cellist broke the silence. “Well then… I feel like having some pizza, you?” “Yeah, pizza sounds good.” “I know a place that’s not too far from here. It’s cheap, but they serve some good slices.” “Well then,” Record said, grinning, “lead the way.” Part 2: Six o’clock Octave took Record to one of Canterlot’s cafés, Il Fuoco Della Cucina or, as it’s known in Equestrian, The Burning Kitchen, because he knew that it’s the only in the city that serves authentic Istallion pizza for only a few bits per slice. The only downside is that ponies are offered only a very limited menu from these two bit slices. Nevertheless, at least they were getting fed, and Octave knew that Record loved cheese pizza. “Wow, dude,” the white unicorn said after swallowing a bite. “I wish I’d known this place sooner. This has to be the best pizza I've ever had!” “And it’s not too far from my house,” Octave nodded. “My family usually comes here if we were craving anything Istallion. The pasta is alright, and the desserts are good too, but the pizza is what really stands out.” “Amen to that!” Record cocked his head back and dropped the remainder of the crust into his mouth. Octave, meanwhile, picked his glass of soda, only staring at the warped reflections off of the glass. It wasn't until Record snapped him out of his thoughts that the cellist looked up, “Pardon?” “I said, what are ya thinking? You zoned out for a moment, there.” “Oh,” Octave blushed in embarrassment. “Sorry, I was just thinking.” “About?” “Perhaps it’s just me, but don’t you think that… oh, how do I say this… this all seems rather... forced.” “Forced?” “I mean think about it, not less than hour ago, I just found out that my family has found out that I’m… you know. Not to mention that I’m having my first date with you. I’m trying my best to think that I haven’t fallen asleep.” Record laughed. “I can tell ya, buddy, you’re awake, and this is happening.” “Yes, but… the way that they’re making us go out, it just seems rather unexpected to me.” “Huh? How come?” Octave rubbed a hoof over his other foreleg. “To be honest, I wasn't planning on… coming out to them myself… or you, for that matter.” Record tilted his head to the side. “You've just lost me.” “What I mean is that up until recently, I knew that all of you would find out sooner or later about me, but I didn't think it’ll be this soon.” “What, do ya mean that you’d planned to say something later?” Octave nodded, “Something like that.” “When?” The cellist looked up to his friend, “I mean, if you weren't planning on telling us now, tomorrow, next week, next month or next year, when?” Octave went silent. Record sighed, “Look, what happened doesn't matter. I mean, your family is overjoyed that you’re going out with an awesome pony like me, right?” “I… I suppose so. Record, what-” Octave began to say before he was interrupted by the waitress arriving at the table, and placing down the bill. “Was everything alright,” the mare questioned. The young stallion told her that it was, and paid her the correct amount. As the two began to leave, Octave spoke up before Record could, ironically enough, with the same question that the DJ had been about to ask. “Huh? Oh, that’s right. Record, please be honest with me when I ask this, but what do you think of me really?” “What do ya mean?” “I mean, how do you see me as? Do you see me as your friend, brother, lo-… o-or what?” Record thought for a moment before replying, “To be honest? Before your dad sent me that letter, I've always seen ya as my best friend, who’s kinda like the uptight brother that I’d never had, as sappy as that sounds.” “I’m not uptight,” Octave protested. “Dude... really? You play the cello, listen to nothing except either classical music or movie scores-” “Which I still consider to be classical music,” the gray earth pony interrupted, raising a hoof to accentuate. “Right, there, you've just shown how opinionated ya are. That you tend to want to have things your own way. I mean, you’re practically an aristocrat, without actually being one. But honestly… I kinda envy ya.” Octave blinked, “What? You envy me? Whatever for?” “Brony, are you really that blind to how lucky you really are?” Record deadpanned. “Your dad conducts some fancy orchestra, your mom was literally born lucky, your family is pretty well-off, despite not having any servants, you live on one of the richest streets in Canterlot, AND you play on something that I really suck at. I mean, dude, what you do with that cello is good. Really good, so I won’t be surprised if you end up playing in huge concert halls and all that. Octie, you have a future,” Here, the unicorn gave a sad sigh. “Meanwhile, I’m just somepony who lives with a family that’s always tight on money. Look, I know that I might be somewhat ‘popular’ in school, but I know that once I get out of there, I’ll be forgotten by everypony.” Octave’s jaw dropped, he couldn't believe what he was hearing coming from his best friend, his date. “Record, do you honestly think like that? How could the pony I envy so much say anything like what you've just said?!” Record’s ears perked up, “Hold on a second, you envy me?” “What do you think?!” Octave snapped, “I mean, for Solaris’s sake, you are the very embodiment of everything I’ve ever wanted to be! You’re outgoing, you’re fun to be around, you have the courage to challenge authority when you need to, y-you’re certainly braver than I could ever be! So what that your family isn't as rich as mine, Record? You have a computer on which you create music (although I do question your tastes). But, unlike you, I don’t have the imagination to create music like you do! I’m just someone who plays out whatever is written, and you know how terrible I am at improvising. I don’t know what you do with your buttons and turntable, but you can create a song on the spot that everyone seems to like. So how could I not envy you?” When Octave’s rant was over, he turned to his friend. Record’s mouth was hanging open slightly, and he took off his shades, staring at the cellist with wide eyes. “Whoa, that’s what you really think of me?” Octave took a deep breath, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I shouldn't have let my feelings get the better of me.” “Dude, it’s okay.” Record put a hoof over Octave’s shoulder. “You were being honest with me. So I guess when you’re in the closet for so long, you tend to bottle everything up, right?” The cellist nodded, “Look, from here on out, whatever you feel, don't be afraid to tell me. Besides, we’re on a date after all, and from experience, the best ones I've ever been on are the ones where the other pony is being open.” “Oh… well, alright. So... we've eaten dinner. What do you want to do now?” Record shrugged, “I don’t know, I thought you knew.” “Well, I was rather shoved on the spot on this whole date thing.” Octave replied, “Do you want to see a movie?” “Like what? There’s nothing good playing now,” Record thought for a moment, but then suddenly stopped. “What’s this place?” Octave looked up to see what Record was staring at. The sign that hung from the side of the building was of a silky black cat with a saxophone, next to it were the words: The Singing Cat. The two young stallions could hear jazz music oozing out through its stylized double doors. “I don’t know,” Octave admitted. “I've never been in there before.” Record smiled, “Why don’t we go in?” “But we don’t know what this place is,” the cellist protested. “All the more reason to check it out,” the unicorn went up and pushed open the right hoof door. Now they could hear clearly drums, brass, and wind instruments playing wildly, with a mare singing over top of them all. Record looked back at his friend. “You coming?” Octave paused. He had been told since he was a little colt that he should always stick to places that he knew. This place was something that he was completely unfamiliar with, but looking at Record, he could see that he seemed ready to jump into the unknown with nothing but that cocky smile to invite him in. “I’m coming,” Octave said, and with that, the two of them stepped into The Singing Cat. Part 3: Six-fifteen The first thing the young stallions saw as they entered was a wide hallway, that was filled from floor to ceiling with black and white photos hanging from the walls, the paper protected by simple wooden frames. The only illumination came from aged lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling, the yellowed beams shining through the warped glass. At the very end of the corridor, facing them, was a simple red couch, its fabric worn, but still bright. Beside the sofa sat a little wooden pedestal with silver tap-bell, and a dark blue curtain on the right-hand wall concealed a doorway to another room. Above the couch was a simple sign that read: “Ring for Service, Wait to be Seated.” They could still hear jazz music coming from behind the curtain, along with the sounds of ponies talking animatedly and the chinking of china. Record, without taking off his shades, trotted down the hallway with Octave following near behind him. “It looks like something out of a film noir,” Octave commented. “What, you mean those old detective movies?” Record questioned. “Well, it certainly has that feel,” the cellist nodded. Sniffing the air, he asked, “Am I the only one that smells coffee?” The DJ took a whiff as well, “Yeah, maybe this one of those coffee houses or something. Though, I don’t know any that play jazz.” By now, the two of them were at the end of the hall, standing in front of the couch. Record looked between the bell and the sign, “There’s only one way to find out.” He reached up with a hoof and chimed the bell a few times. Soon enough, a stallion in a tuxedo popped his head out from the curtain. “You rang?” he asked. Record nodded and the stallion stepped out, “Welcome to The Singing Cat. May I ask why you two are here?” “Uh, curiosity, sir,” Octave answered. “We saw the sign and heard the music-” “Ah,” the stallion nodded, seemingly as if he understood the situation, “Here for the music, I see.” He smiled at them, “It’s such a relief that the young are taking an interest in jazz. Would you like to come in?” “What sort of place is this?” “Follow me,” the stallion told them, before turning and walking back through the curtain. Octave and Record followed the mysterious stallion through the drapes, and into a large, open room. The ceiling was wreathed in shadow, and from the darkness descended cords from which lamps hung, illuminating each table individually. On a stage at the head of the room, the members of a jazz band were playing their hearts out. A saxophone was played by a dark brown earth pony, while a pale green pegasus was commanding a trumpet. Another earth pony stood in the back with large double bass, and a white mare stood in front, belting out a song in a powerful voice. Wooden tables with red tablecloths were spaced around the room, each encircled by burgundy cushions. Booths of faux-leather seats lined one side of the room. Most of the ponies were either paying attention to the musicians, or to their white cups, while others were talking with each other. They were led to an empty booth, an old picture of Canterlot’s streets hanging from the wall above the table. Once they took a seat, the stallion offered them some menus. “I’m sorry, we’ve already had dinner,” Record said. “Oh? Did you have any dessert, yet?” the stallion asked. The young stallions shook their heads, “Ah, well, in that case, perhaps I could- Oh! Forgive me,” the stallion started laughing, “I just realized that I haven’t introduced myself, have I. No? My name is Speak Easy, or simply Mr. Easy. I’m the manager here.” “Well nice to meet you, sir,” Octave nodded politely. “May I ask to let us rest for a bit before we have any dessert?” “But of course. I’ll have somepony come to you gentlecolts in fifteen minutes. In the meantime, enjoy the music,” and with that, Mr. Easy went left the two alone in the booth. Record took a look at one of the menus that the manager left behind, “You know, this place is pretty classy, for a coffee house.” Octave raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?” “I mean look at this place, there’s a live band, the ponies working here are dressed up all fancy, and… Oh, yikes! It’s certainly a whole lot more expensive than Starbutt’s.” Octave picked up the other menu, and his eyes widened at the prices in the coffee section alone. “Thirty bits for one cup! You know, I may not drink coffee but that has to be awfully high!” “Wait, you don’t drink coffee?” Record asked. “Well, no. Never had a drop, but-” “Okay, stop right there! You, never had coffee? Ever?” the unicorn asked in complete surprise. Octave shook his head, “No. Why are you so surprised at this? Wait, do you drink coffee?” “Well yeah,” the DJ nodded. “I started drinking the stuff about a year ago.” “I don’t know how you could drink that stuff; it always smells dreadful to me.” “It’s not as bad as ya think once you pour in some sugar and cream. I mean, sure, it’s an acquired taste and all.” The two of them went silent. The musicians on staged finished their song and the ponies in the coffee house applauded. A pegasus on stage took hold of a microphone and said, “Thank you very much, Mares and Gentlecolts. Once again with the wonderful Mr. Sax, we will be now be playing a rendition of ‘Deep Purple.’” There was applause, and the band began to play at a slow tempo from a piano, and a unicorn stallion trotted up took his place at the microphone and started singing. “How’s your mother?” Octave said, breaking the silence between them. “Huh? Oh, she’s alright. Busy as usual.” “And your father?” Record sighed, “Haven’t heard much in the past month. All I’ve heard is that he’s got a new job in Applewood. You know he always writes to me more than Mom, ever since the whole divorce thing.” “I see. What kind of job does he have now?” “Well, he said he’s learning the ropes of becoming a producer. I mean, that’s kinda cool right?” “A producer?” “Yeah, he said that he’s learning about all the stuff that goes behind the scenes of putting a movie together.” “Well, that’s good to hear.” “Record?” The two colts turned to this new voice. There, in a white apron, pushing a cart of dishes was a light blue pegasus with a slick orange mane that was pulled back into a ponytail. He had a hammer and chisel for his cutie mark. “Hey, dude! I didn’t know you came here!” “Yo, Chisel,” the DJ smiled back. “What are ya doing here?” “I work here part-time,” Chisel replied, “I didn’t expect you and… Oct, isn’t it?” The cellist nodded, ‘Close enough, I suppose,’ he thought. “Still, what are ya doing at this joint?” Chisel asked. “You guys are the first from school I’ve seen in here.” “Well, we-” Record begin to say, but Octave immediately interrupted him. “W-We just came in out of curiosity.” The earth pony stated, sounding somewhat nervous. “Well… yeah?” the DJ raised an eyebrow. “But more importantly we-” “Wanted some coffee!” Octave interjected. “Okay, seriously, dude, what’s up?” “N-Nothing.” “Octie?” “R-Really, it’s nothing.” Chisel chuckled, “Ya know if I didn’t know any better.” He said, “I would think that you two were stallion-stuffers on a date.” “What did you say!?” Record snapped at him. The Singing Cat suddenly became quiet, and all eyes were now on the three of them. “Dude, chill. It’s just a joke,” Chisel said. “Ya don’t have to get all mad about it.” Record shook his head, glaring at Chisel, “Brony, that wasn’t funny.” “Why should you care?” the pegasus asked. “It’s not like…” suddenly, he realized that what he had joked about had been true. “Record, you’re dating a dude?” “Yeah, I am. What’s in it for ya?” “Dude, seriously? I mean, seriously!” “Is there a problem here, Mr. Chisel?” Mr. Easy asked, approaching the three colts. “Yeah,” Chisel replied, turning to his boss with anger in his eyes. “I just found out that these two are dating each other!” Octave sunk back underneath the table. “Mr. Easy, can’t you kick these two colt-cuddlers outta here?” Mr. Easy was certainly surprised at this outburst. He looked between his employee and the couple sitting at his booth. “Before I say anything, I do have one question for you two.” Octave gulped. “Do either of you have any money on you?” the owner asked, to which, the cellist nodded. Speak Easy turned to his employee. “Not to worry, Mr. Chisel, you won’t be seeing them in this establishment again.” The young pegasus grinned evilly, that was until his boss added: “Mr. Chisel, you’re fired.” Chisel’s jaw dropped to the floor, “W-What?!” “May I kindly remind you of the first rule in working in this establishment?” Easy sternly asked, “It’s that as long as the customer is polite and has the means to pay, we treat them with the utmost respect. Your display in behavior does not reflect the rules here at The Singing Cat. I’ll make sure to mail you your final paycheck, but for now, please get out of my coffee house.” Chisel did so with a snort; throwing his white apron in his boss’s face before marching out through the swinging doors. Mr. Easy turned to the couple, “I severely apologize for what just happened. That was unfair to you two. I don’t think you’ve ordered yet, have you?” They shook their heads. “For tonight, whatever you order, it’ll be on the house. Also, anytime either of you comes in, you’ll be granted a fifty-percent discount off of the whole menu.” “Really?!” they both asked, surprised at it. “Sir, this is incredibly generous of you!” Octave added. “It’s quite alright. After that display from a… former employee, you two deserve to have better treatment. Speaking of which, may I take your order?” Part 4: Seven-thirteen “I, for one, still can’t believe you ate all that,” Octave commented. By now, he and Record had already left The Singing Cat, their stomachs full of the desserts they had consumed. The sky was now bright orange, lighting up the drifting clouds with a soft red glow. The sun hovered near the horizon as Solaris slowly lowered it, only to give way to Artemis’ shining moon, the face of which was just starting to become visible over the hills to East. As the couple walked on aimlessly, streetlights began to flicker to life. “What can I say?” Record shrugged with a satisfied smile, “They got really good cheesecake over there.” “Along with the pizza from dinner, the soda, and let’s not forget that cup of coffee big enough for somepony to swim in.” Record laughed, “Oh, come on Octie, I didn’t down the whole thing.” Octave shook his head, “Even so, I think you’ve probably eaten more in the past few hours then I have ever seen you eat at school for a week. Including breakfast!” “So? I like to eat. Who doesn’t?” “Well…” Octave, try as he might, couldn’t think of an argument to that. He decided to shift the conversation’s gears a little, “A change in subject, then. Since your friend Chisel now knows about us, what do you think the school’s going to say, come Monday?” “Why should you care?” Record asked. “They might say that we just went out.” “But don’t you see a problem with that? I mean, you saw Chisel’s reaction to us. What’s to keep a good chunk of the school from reacting the same way as he did, if not worse? I mean, my secret is officially out now, and I’m the one who dragged you into this. Don’t you think that we might be in danger from here on out?” “What are ya talkin’ about?” Record shook his head. By now, the couple had stopped at a stone guardrail that overlooked the landscape below the mountain, West, towards the setting sun. “It’s not maredieval times. Gay ponies aren’t lynched anymore or hunted down. I mean, the Prince himself made it legal not only for ponies like you to get hitched but even put in place a bill of rights too. So why are you worried that the school is gonna find out?” Octave rolled his eyes, “Record, has it ever occurred to you that just because a group has legal rights, it doesn't mean that everypony would change their minds overnight? I’ve learned from school – no matter how tolerant a place might be, there will always be ponies that would hold a grudge towards you – simply because you’re not them. Hate crimes still exist in Equestria. Not just towards ponies like myself, but those from different races like zebras or gryphons.” The cellist sighed as he leaned up against the wall. “In truth, what I’m really afraid now is for either of us ending up as victims, all because of me.” “Okay, stop right there.” Record said sternly, “Dude, I am not going to let anypony hurt ya. And don’t you dare think that I wouldn't...” The DJ trailed off suddenly. This caught the cellist completely by surprise. “You wouldn't, what?” “It’s…” Record said, turning eyes away from Octave, looking towards the sunset. In the light of the setting sun, Octave could see that his best friend was blushing. “It’s nothing.” “Yes, because it certainly sounds like nothing.” Octave said sarcastically, but Record didn't respond. “Look, you said that I should be honest while we’re on this date. So I think that you ought to have that chance as well. I promise you, no matter what you say to me, I don't think any differently of you.” “Eh… fine,” Record mumbled, “Just don’t think that I’m weird or anything.” Octave agreed, “Look, before your dad sent me that letter, telling me that you’re gay and that you secretly liked me, I never thought I’d go out with a dude. I just wanted a marefriend, like everypony else. Trying to fit in, ya know? I try to find a nice mare, ask her out, and date for a little before either of us dumps the other. For a while, I thought if something is wrong with me. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong that I couldn't hold down a relationship and all. Then I read the letter… to tell ya the truth, brony, at first I wanted to turn the offer down.” “What? Why?” “Because I couldn't see myself dating dudes… at first, that is. After a while, I started to have… weird thoughts about ya. The thing is, I'd never thought about any other guy that way before. But with you… I don’t know, it just seemed… right. Octave, I really do want to see ya happy. I do want to make ya laugh, and not to be afraid of anythin’. I-I know this is weird coming from a guy like me, the idea of dating ya, even if it’s just this once, makes sense ta me.” For a long time, even after the sun had set and the moon was lifted above the horizon, Octave didn't know how to respond. On the one hoof, this was something that he’d day-dreamed about at times, his best friend admitting that he has feelings for him. Yet, on the other hoof, it brought up a question, something which he asked aloud: “Record, where do we go from here? I mean, do you still want to be my best friend or… what?” Record sighed, “I don’t know dude. I really don’t want to lose ya over this.” “Why would you lose me? If anything, you agreeing to be my date is, perhaps, the kindest thing you've ever done for me. For that, I’ll be eternally grateful because of you.” Octave paused for a moment before asking, “Record, I know I normally don’t ask this, but,” he opened his forelegs out. “…may I?” With a nod and a smile, Record gave his best friend permission to hug him. After not too long, he wrapped his hooves around the cellist and hugged him back. Breaking the embrace, Octave asked the question that had been growing in his mind from the start of the date. “By the way, what did you bring your bag for?” “Oh! That’s right! I nearly forgot!” Record’s horn lit up, the red glow surrounding the saddlebags before lifting off of him. He opened it up and levitated out a pair of headphones. “Here, put these on,” he said. “Why?” Octave questioned. “Just put them on, I've made you something.” The cellist sighed, “Record, you know what my opinions are towards techno music-” “Dude, trust me,” the DJ gave Octave his characteristic cocky smile, offering the headphones to him. “I promise you’ll like it.” “Fine,” the gray earth pony groaned, taking the headphones into his hooves and placing them over his ears. “Just don’t play too loud.” “Got it,” Record nodded as he hooked the cord into a small metal box, a device Octave had seen him using often, that the DJ played his music from. After adjusting the volume and choosing out the right song, the unicorn pressed play. At first, the very first thing that Octave heard was a beat, which quickly followed with an electric pizzicato that echoed in his ears. The melody was unfamiliar for a few seconds until he recognized what it was. “Is this Buch?” Octave asked. The unicorn nodded silently. Indeed, the cellist recognized what that electronic orchestra was playing through its beats of Tonic and Dominant. It was J. S. Buch’s Orchestral Suite No. 2, Menuet and Badinerie. Octave had, of course, played the Braeque* masterpiece before. He knew about the difficult melody of the solo flute, now being played by what sounded like an electrical harpsichord. The sound was hauntingly beautiful, despite its artificial origins. But what amazed him most about the piece, was that Record hadn’t changed a single note of it. True, there were the beats, the modern background noise he would hear almost everywhere he went. Yet at the same time, the beats and electronic sounds somehow complimented the genius of Buch. If anything, the piece sounded more alive than it ever had to Octave. When the music was over, and Record stopped the next track from playing, the unicorn asked, “Well, how was it?” Octave slowly took off the headphones and gave it back to his date. “Record,” he said, looking at him in the eye. “You are wrong on one thing tonight.” “W-What?” the DJ asked, taken completely aback. “You, sir, do in fact have a future. If you can make music like that, where you don’t chop up the music from what’s already perfect, but instead use it to your advantage, then I say you will never be forgotten.” “Ya mean it?” Record asked, surprise evident in his wide eyes. Octave nodded with a smile on his face. “I’m rather surprised actually, you made that… for me?” “Well, I was going to give it to ya on your birthday. But when this came up… I just, you know, had ta finish it.” The unicorn said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why… I must say, Record; I’m rather flattered that you've made that for me... thank you.” “Yeah, yeah,” the DJ nodded. “So, what do ya wanna do now? You ready ta go home?” Octave shook his head, “Not quite yet. Why don’t we take a little walk, first?” Record smiled, “Eh… why not?” Author's Note * Braeque is a wordplay on the word Baroque by combinding with the words Brae and Baroque. (Pronounced either Brae-rock or Brae-Rok.) Part 5: Seven-Forty-eight “….And then she’s like, ‘Record, I’ve already told you that the assignment was due today.’” Record was talking to Octave, mimicking his History teacher at school. It had been a little over a half an hour since they had left The Singing Cat, and the two of them had wandered into Canterlot’s Celestial Square. The plaza was a large, public space that usually held outdoor events for tourists. It was the kind of place where vendors, shop owners, and food carts sell low-quality goods at high prices. Anyone who grew up in the capital knows that it was an expensive tourist trap, where ponies from out of the city could take pictures of a famous location. But on some days of the year, the public space was often used for holidays; during Hearth’s Warming Eve, they would decorate a giant, seasonal tree in the square, or for the Summer Sun Celebration, where the prince himself would ceremonially raise the sun in public. There was no reason for either Octave nor Record to be there. In fact, neither of them realized exactly where they were. The two of them had been going back and forth telling jokes and stories, as well as sharing their opinions, for several minutes. Record continued with his story, “And so I said, ‘What are ya talking about? Your syllabus said it’s due tomorrow,’ I even showed her the paper. But she’s all like, ‘Weren’t you here last week? I’ve already said that it was a misprint.’ I tried telling her that I was sick that week, and that nopony said anything about it. So do you know what she did?” Octave shook his head, “She gave me an ‘F’. Why? She knew I wasn’t there when she changed the date. It’s so unfair! It’s like she’s out to get me.” “Sounds an awful lot like my old music teacher,” Octave commented, “Though not as unpredictable, Ms. Trill was always unfair to me. Why, I remember during one piano lesson, I told her that I had been trying out the cello for almost a month and that I was pretty good at it. Do you know what she said? She gave me a lecture on how difficult it is to play a string instrument, and ‘Oh how I was too young to learn to play something like that’, and that I ought to stick with the piano. Don’t you just hate it when adults think that we’re too incompetent, or not talented enough, or don’t know enough to be taken seriously? Just because we aren’t twenty-five, doesn’t mean we can’t understand anything for ourselves.” “Ugh, I know, brony! I mean, just because we’re younger than them, doesn’t mean that all of us are stupid.” “Exactly!” Octave exclaimed, “At last, someone who actually gets it!” Record nodded, “Yeah, same here.” Octave stopped for a moment to take a look at where they were. “Hey, how long have we’ve been walkin’?” Octave looked up as well, quickly realizing wherein Canterlot they were. “I must say, it’s been quite some time since we left the house... I just didn’t notice until now.” “Yeah,” Record glanced around, before something in the middle of the square. “Hey, what’s this?” Octave followed his date to what he was looking at. At first, the cellist felt confusion, for he was quite sure that he’s never seen a stand-up piano in the middle of the square before. Especially when this same piano had words written in chalk across the front, reading: “Play me.” “What is a… piano doing out here for?” Octave asked, walking around the piano, looking for any signs of an owner. In which, he couldn’t find anything, no name, no label; just a stand-up piano in the middle of the square. “Hey, Octie,” Record called him, sitting down on the bench that stood in front of the instrument, “Come sit with me.” Octave obeyed. He sat down beside to the DJ, unsure as to what his friend had in mind. “You mind playing me something?” Record asked. “After all, I made some music for ya, so maybe now you can repay me with a favor.” “Play you what?” Octave raised an eyebrow. “You know that I don’t know anything outside of classical music, right?” “T-That’s the thing,” Record said, his cheeks turning pink. “I was thinking… You happen to know how to play anything… uh…” “Yes?” “…. Do you happen to know how to play Horseshopin?” Octave was taken completely off guard by this. It wasn’t because he didn’t know how to play any of Horseshopin’s music, nor had he not been asked by anypony to play one of the composer’s nocturnes. What was surprising to him was that Record, the DJ, the blasting-through-his-headphones techno, remixed, dubstep Record, had asked him if he knew Horeshopin! “Uh… I know only two… why?” “W-Would you mind playing some for me?” Record asked, his cheeks now turned bright scarlet. “I mean, there’s a free piano here, and nopony is asking us to leave so… how about it? Would ya play some for me?” “You want me to play a classical piece?” the gray earth pony questioned. “I thought you didn’t like anything classical?” Record turned away, and with a low voice, said: “Oct, can I tell ya something?” His date responded with a nod, so he stated: “The truth is, I don’t listen to techno all the time. There’s some stuff that I listen to, every now and then… I know I’m a DJ, and I do like using a turntable, and remixing music to make it sound better, but… I sometimes listen to other kinds of music, just to make me relax.” “Relax? What do you mean?” “Look, I don’t always admit this. So don’t tell anyone else at school - I don’t want them ta think I’m a nerd. Hey, don’t look at me like that, just hear me out, okay?” The unicorn took a deep breath, “It’s kind of a guilty pleasure, really. Truth is, dude… Whenever I feel depressed or looking for inspiration… I, uh…” “Well, spit it out,” Octave said. “I listen to some Horseshopin,” Record muttered. “There! I said it! I sometimes listen to classical music too!” Octave’s jaw dropped, “I’m sorry, did I hear that right?” the cellist said, “Are you saying that a DJ like yourself actually has some… culture!?” Record lifted his purple shades, glaring at him. “Hey, a DJ can’t live on remixes alone. Nopony can. Look, I’m not as obsessed as you are when it comes to this stuff. And some of the stuff those guys have written isn’t all that good, but when they got it right, they really got it right.” Octave blinked, “Wow, Record, I never imagined hearing something like that coming from you. Not only that… but I agree.” Record tilted his head to the side, “Huh?” “To tell you the truth, from somepony who does play classical music from different time periods, there are some pieces that even I find completely dreary. Even Moztrot (rest her soul), I’ve often found, has written some unbelievably dull pieces. I often found myself bored out of my mind playing some of them because they lacked emotion.” “Yeah, I think I get what you’re saying,” the DJ nodded, “I’m not sure if it’s the same with ya, but have you ever found a song that the guy who made it somehow knows what you’re going through?” “Would you clarify that?” “I mean…” Record turned to the piano keys, “Whenever I listen to Horseshopin... Agh, I don’t know how to describe this... It’s like she knew what I’m going through. Ya know? Whenever I had a rough day at school, or if mom gets angry for some reason, I just listen to some of that piano music and it makes me relax.” Octave nodded, “I believe I understand. But is Horseshopin the only composer you listen to?” “Only her… and Vifilli… and some Moztrot… and Tchaicoltsky… and Beethooven… and that one bit from Strotvinsky.” “Strotvinsky? Really?” Octave blinked, “Which one?” “You know that one song, The Rite of Spring?” Record admitted. “You know it’s a ballet, not a song,” Octave corrected him. “Whatever,” the unicorn waved a hoof dismissively. “I like it, I get inspiration for my music by listening to that.” “You do?” “Duh, I mean, have ya heard it lately? It’s got rhythms within rhythms, and beats within beats; it’s every DJ’s dream to make something like that.” For a moment, the couple sat there in awkward silence until Octave broke it by asking: “You said for me to play some Horseshopin, correct?” “Uh… yeah,” Record nodded. “Would you mind playing some for me?” Octave thought for a moment what to play when he decided on a piece, he smiled at Record. “Very well, for you, then,” he took a deep breath, put his hooves on the keys, and began to play. Somehow, when he played the dreamlike piano music, it was almost as if instrument played itself. The street and window lights cast both lights, and shadow off of the buildings, the street, and the piano, while Record reflected the music perfectly. He didn’t notice the crowd that was gathering around them. How could he, with those ruby eyes to look at? In fact, even when he finished it, the applause he received seemed to his ears rather muted. Part 6: Eight-thirty “Okay, what about this,” Octave suggested. By now, Octave had decided that it was time to get home. That was to say, to go back as slowly as was equally possible. To procrastinate, both of them would chat back and forth, covering a wide range of topics about nearly anything they could think of. “How about... our first?” “Our first what?” Record asked. “Anything, I suppose,” the cellist shrugged, “Like for example, do you remember the first piece of music you ever listened to?” “Oh… That’s a real tough one, dude…” Record paused to think for a moment. “I guess... the earliest song that I could remember hearing was from dad. He put on a record of… Ugh, what was it? I think it might have been a song from a silent movie star. Chaplin, I think, it was called ‘Smile’ or something like that. I don’t know for sure, it’s been a really long time.” “For me, I think it was Beethooven’s sixth symphony. In fact, it’s one of the earliest things I could remember. Dad later told me that when I was about four or five, mum wasn’t able to take care of me, and neither of them was able to find a foalsitter, so my dad offered to take me to work with him. He said that at the time, they were rehearsing the sixth, and when we came in, I was having a fit for some reason. Anyway, all I remember was that I was crying over something until dad started conducting. When he did… I just went silent. To this day, I can’t explain it, but there was something about that music that I found hypnotic.” “Okay… What about the first time playing music in front of a crowd?” Octave chucked dryly, “How could I forget? The first time I performed, I was playing the piano. I couldn’t stop shaking. And I’m sure that I wasn’t nearly as good back then.” “Eh… For me, when I got up to a crowd for the first time, I couldn’t see them. Since you know, at a dance all the lights are off, except for the one spotlight in the DJ’s face. I think I did well on my first try. Heh, I mean, the school has been asking me to do the music for their events since then.” “True. From what I’ve heard, you’re getting better at what you do.” “Ya bet I am!” Record looked ahead, now realizing that Octave’s home was now just down the street. “Record,” Octave said softly, “I want you to know that I had a good time tonight. Thank you once again for giving me my first date and all… Say, do you remember your first date?” “Mine? Eh… To tell ya the truth, brony, my first date wasn’t nearly as good as this one.” “Why? What happened?” “You remember Stinking Rich? Ya know that filly, whose family runs Ponyville?” Octave nodded, “Yeah, if you wanna know what real… what’s the word? Narcissism? Yeah! If ya wanna know what real narcissism looks like if it was given a body, it’ll be her. I tell ya, from start ta finish she talked about nothing but herself.” “That doesn’t seem polite,” Octave commented. Record snorted, “That’s a kind way of putting it, I broke up with her the very next day. But still, I’m glad that I went out with ya too.” He saw his best friend looking away but noticed that the cellist’s muzzle was turning red. “Likewise,” the earth pony nodded. By now, Octave’s home was now only a few yards away. The lights were on, and he’d checked to see if nopony was watching. He didn’t notice anyone. “Record?” “Yeah?” “Is this going to be a one-time thing?” Octave asked. “I mean, I did have fun talking to you… and playing for you, but since this date is over… are we going to go back to being friends once more?” Record put a hoof to his chin, “To be honest dude, and I mean, really, brutally honest here… this has to be the best date I’ve ever been on.” “R-Really?” “Yeah, it makes me kinda wish that we’ve should have done something like this sooner.” The DJ smiled, “You’re a good stallion, Octie… So do you wanna… I don’t know…” Record was blushing, and rubbing the back of his neck with a hoof. “Yes?” Octave raised an eyebrow, guessing what’s going on inside his friend’s mind. Record shook his head, “Nevermind. I think I need to think this out for a bit.” The cellist nodded, “I suppose I might do the same.” “So… see ya at school on Monday?” “As usual. Good night Record.” Octave turned to the front door and started to make his way there. But deep down, he couldn’t help but feel something was missing from all of this. Something that would make this lovely night complete, but the question was what. Before Octave could touch the door handle, hoping that it might be unlocked, he heard his friend calling out. “Hey, dude! I forgot to give ya something!” “Give me wha-” There have been times that Octave had been caught off guard. There indeed have been times that surprises had been thrown at him. But at this point in his life, on those very steps on that night, an unexpected miracle occurred. Record did something that he thought would never do outside of his fantasies. Record gave him his first, real kiss. Of course, part of Octave was in shock, that what he considered to be the impossible was now being pressed up against his lips. Eyes wide, stiff, the Cellist was conscious that his entire head had turned into a glowing, red lantern. To his surprise, Record wasn’t as aggressive in his kissing at he thought he would be. If anything, those soft lips were shockingly gentle. Record pulled away, but Octave still had a look of shock on his face. The DJ’s eyes widened behind his glasses as he realized what he’d done. “Uh… dude?” he asked, warily. “You… did you just…” Octave struggled to figure out what to say after all of that. “Was that… your first?” Record asked with dread. “Oh, dude. Octie, I’m so sorry about that! I-I thought you wanted i-it and-” “Record.” “I-I just didn’t know okay! Augh! I really screwed things up, didn’t I?!” “Record.” “Y-You know what brony, forget that I-” Octave kissed him. Even though it lasted for a few seconds, it might have been an eternity for Record, now his turn to be surprised. Yet, at the same time, it wasn't unwelcomed. Octave broke the kiss, “Record,” he said, “Has it ever occurred to you that you might worry a bit too much?” “I… but…” “Although, rude as it was, it was quiet… enjoyable to say the least.” “Rude?” Record asked with a raised eyebrow. “Please, Record; a gentlecolt never kisses their dates, at least not on the first night.” Record smiled, “Well, good thing I’m no gentlecolt then, huh?” “I…” Octave trailed off, “… you know, you can be so evil at times.” The DJ chuckled, “Yeah, yeah. Glad that didn't ruin anything...” For a moment, neither of them said a word until Record said, “So… See ya on Monday?” Octave nodded, “Of course, good night.” “Night,” and with that, Octave watched Record trot off. Octave stood for a moment, lifting his head to the sky, and then started to laugh. Now, the night seemed whole to him. Complete. And he couldn't help but feel happy about it all. With a smile, he turned to the door, which he found to be unlocked. He wasn't sure if he’d heard his family asking how it went, nor even remembering walking to his room, but he did remember being in his room, putting in a record that reflected his mood perfectly. For the rest of the night, he couldn't help but sing, as well as play along with Beethooven’s greatest work. And even when he played or sang off key, he felt nothing but joy for the rest of the evening. Part 7: A Week, Three Days, Twenty Hours, and Nineteen Minutes Later… “How much further?” One of the unicorns in the orchestra complained. He, along with the rest of Canterlot Philharmonic had been following Maestro and his son for the last several blocks. They carried the strings, drums, brass, and other instruments through Canterlot’s poorer neighborhoods. Every so often, they took a few minutes to rest, and to make sure no one stole the priceless instruments. Octave looked again at a scrap of paper he held in a hoof, checking the address written upon it for the umpteenth time. “We’re on the right street. And going by the numbers, it should be somewhere around here. In fact, I think we’re almost-” Suddenly, the cellist looked up at a number plate on the front wall of one of the apartment buildings. “Stop!” he called out, “This is the place.” With a collective sigh of relief, the orchestra put down their cases on the sidewalk, and take a moment to rest from carrying the heavy cases. Some of them who’d carried the lighter instruments had already begun to take theirs out of their cases; checking to see if their respective horns, flutes, and violins were tuned for playing. “Hey, Maestro?” A pegasus, carrying a double bass called out. “Remind us again - why are we out here with the whole orchestra again?” “Because,” the older stallion said. “I’m doing this for my son. He asked me a favor to ask a certain somepony to a Prom. And please, don’t gripe; all of you are getting some extra pay for doing just one song.” “So you’re saying,” a unicorn from the clarinet section inquired, “That we’re dragged out here to that your son could serenade somepony to a dance?” “Pretty much,” Octave nodded. The unicorn nodded, “Heh, I admit, that’s kinda charming actually. Who’s the lucky mare?” Octave paused for a moment, he looked over to his father, but all he got was a blank stare. “You’ll find out,” he said, turning to the apartment complex. He walked up the stoop to the panel that had a list of addresses and buzzers. After looking for the right address, he pushed the button a few times, until finally, a voice came through the tiny speaker. “Yes? Who is it?” it was a mare’s voice. “This is Octave,” he said. “Can you send down Record for me? I wish to see him for a moment.” “Oh sure, just stay right there.” About a minute or so later, the door opened up to the white unicorn. “Octie?” Record asked, completely confused. “What are ya doing here for?” “Good evening, Record,” Octave nodded, “I’ve come to ask you a few things.” “Well, shoot.” “Have you made any arrangements to go to the Junior Prom?” Record shook his head, “Not really…” he craned his neck over to a tuning army of musicians. “Say, dude, what’s with the orchestra?” “I’ve prepared a special… surprise for you.” Octave sat down on the stoop, and Record stepped out of the doorway and joined the cellist. The DJ looked to the orchestra, the musicians crammed onto the thin stretch of sidewalk, some of them with some level of confusion, while the faces of others held amusement. “What’s all this for?” he asked. “Record,” Octave said, his cheeks turning pink. “A few weeks ago, you told me about the very first piece of music that you ever listened to, right?” “Yeah, how could I forget?” Record nodded, “I told ya that Dad used to put on a song called ‘Smile.’ Why?” Octave turned to his father, “Dad if you please?” Maestro nodded, lifting both of his forelegs into the air. When the orchestra was at attention, he began to lead them into the song. Even though the orchestra was playing in a very confined space, the buildings around them acted to magnify the sound, almost in the same way as a concert hall. Almost immediately, Record’s ears perked up, “Is this…?” he turned to Octave, a sly grin on his muzzle. “They’re playing ‘Smile’?” “Indeed they are,” Octave answered. “I’ve pulled a few strings just to make this happen for you.” “This? All of this… is for me? Why?” “Well, I was thinking,” Octave turned to face his friend. “Since you’ve been so awfully kind to me, I was wondering if you want to…” “Yeah?” “Would you be interested to go to the… Junior Prom with me? That is if you haven’t found somepony to go already.” “Well, no, I haven’t…” He looked back to the orchestra, taking a moment to listen to that familiar melody. “But I don’t think I got anything better to do ‘til then.” “Oh, thank you,” Octave beamed. “Yet, that’s not quite the real question I wanted to ask of you.” Record turned to the cellist in mild confusion, so the Earth Pony clarified: “Record, after the events of this previous week, I have a confession to make.” He took in a deep breath, “You see… Record… Would it be possible that I have the privilege of calling you my special somepony?” Record went silent. He took off his shades to look at Octave, his eyes glinting like rubies in the light shining from the setting sun. “So what you’re saying,” he said, “Is that you’ve gone through all this trouble of bringing a whole orchestra into my neighborhood, not only to ask me out to some dance but to ask me if you and I could be in a relationship?” Octave saw from the unicorn, a smile, not his signature cocky smile, but a genuine one. The cellist even saw tears forming in his friend’s eyes. “I mean, wow, dude. Nopony has ever done anything even close to this before. I’d never thought you would do all of this for me.” “I would do anything I have to, so I could see you as happy as you are now.” Octave replied back. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Record said, “Yes.” Octave blinked, “To what?” The DJ laughed, “What do ya think, numb-nuts?” He reached forward, hugging the cellist. “I’m saying yes ta you.” “Record… Thank you,” Octave said, hugging him back, “Thank you for everything.” “Although, I’d need to figure out how to top all of this,” Record joked. “I don’t believe you’d need to,” the cellist said with a smile. Author's Note And that's the end. Wow, I had quite some fun with this story. Nice and sweet but has some heart behind it all. So what do you all think? That is, if you don't mind of me asking.
Part 1: Five o'clock “Octave!” his father called out, making the young stallion cut off in the middle of a note on his cello. Octave looked up from his music sheet in annoyance to hear his father call out again. “Octave, come here, we have a surprise for you!” “Coming,” he called back. Looking over to the clock on the nightstand, he saw that it was almost five o’clock. The young stallion wondered what his parents could possibly want from him right now. With a frustrated sigh, the gray pony laid his cello on the bed and rested the bow across his music stand. For being in his junior year of high school, Octave Melody was used to having a tight schedule, which mainly consisted of studying, practicing, eating dinner, with some recreation. He never really liked any surprises that threatened to interrupt the usual flow of his mechanical day. With a frown, he trotted down the stairs to find not only his father, Maestro, but his mother Clover, and his little sister Opal sitting in the family room with smiles on their faces. “What is it?” Octave asked dryly, “You all know that I don’t like being interrupted when I practice.” His mother got up; the green unicorn with a golden mane went over to put a hoof on her son’s back. “Octave,” she said in her lilting accent of old Iresteed. “We have a very special surprise for ye.” Her son raised an eyebrow, “I already heard that. So... what is it?” “Well, yer father and I have been thinkin’,” his mother said, her sly smile not diminishing. “You’re sixteen and in high school, but we've noticed how at this point in yer life how much ya always stays at home.” “So what’s wrong with that?” “Octave,” his father said, getting up. The gray Trottingham earth pony walked up to face his son, and said, “You've been doing nothing but sitting around in your room studying, or playing that cello of yours. You don’t hang out with your friends, or even go to any of the school clubs or dances, much less anything outside of school. Son, we’re getting worried about you being this anti-social.” “I’m not anti-social,” Octave protested, “I do have some friends at school you know.” “But how often have you gone to other ponies’ homes?” his mother questioned. “All ya’ve been doin’ lately is stayin’ in your room.” “Which is why,” his father grinned playfully, “that is going to change.” “What are you two saying?” Octave asked. Before either his parents could answer, the doorbell rang, the shrill ding-dong echoing throughout the house. While his parents urged him to get the door, Octave couldn't help but wonder why his little sister was giggling like mad. ‘What is going on here?’ the young cellist thought, ‘Also, why do they want me to get the door? They’re perfectly capable.’ Octave reached a hoof for the doorknob and opened it. “Yes, can I-” Octave’s greeting was cut short by a very familiar voice. “Hey, Octie!” he blinked, right before the cellist was his best friend, with his usual cocky smile, and his purple shades obscuring his eyes. He was also wearing the usual black saddle bag that he constantly carried to and from school. “Record?” Octave asked in confusion. “What are you doing here?” The white unicorn tilted his head. “What do ya mean? Aren't you ready to go?” “Go where?” “On our date, duh,” Octave’s heart stopped when he heard those words. His eyes widened in fear. “W-What?” he asked, his voice beginning to shake. “Our date, aren't you ready?” his best friend replied. When the cellist didn't give him an answer, Record waved a hoof in front of his friend’s face, “Hey, you alright there?” Slam! Octave shut the door and leaned back against it, breathing heavily. Did he just hear that right? No, he couldn't have, there’s no way that Record of all ponies would- “Uh, Oct?” he heard Record’s muffled voice as his friend knocked on the door. “Octie? You alright, dude?” Taking a deep breath, Octave cracked open the door to see his friend’s worried face. “Hey brony, what’s wrong?” Record asked. “Did,” Octave looked up and down the familiar Canterlot street to make sure that nopony was in listening distance. He even scanned over the tiny front lawn to see if anyone other than Record was there. “Did you just say-” the cellist lowered his voice, “a date?” “Well, yeah,” Record shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for, your parents said to come by at five, so I’m here.” “My… parents…?” the unicorn noticed that the gray cellist was beginning to sweat. Suddenly, Octave’s eyes glinted sharper than the blade of a sword, “Record, is this your idea of a joke? If it is, it isn't funny!” “Wha? No, dude, I’m being dead serious here.” The door swung open, and Octave couldn’t help but jump at the unexpected noise. He turned to see that his mother was standing in the entryway. She smiled warmly, “Record Scratch, we’re glad you've come. Would you like to come in for a wee bit?” “Sure Miss… uh, Luck, wasn't it?” Record asked. “It’s Clover,” she corrected him; “Lucky Clover is my name. Please do come in, dearie.” “M-Mom?” Octave’s mind couldn't comprehend what was going on. “Hmm?” “Uh, w-what’s going on?” he looked to his mother with confusion and uncertainty in his eyes. “Dearie,” she said, putting a hoof over his withers. “I’d think this might be a good time fer us to have a wee talk.” Clover gave her son a reassuring smile, but it did little to help calm the cellist’s nerves. She led the two colts into the family room and sat them down on the couch. “I suppose you’re wondering what’s going on, son,” Maestro asked, to which his son nodded. “Well then, let us get straight to the point. Octave, we already know that you’re gay.” “WHAT!?!” the cellist screamed out in horror. “Octave,” Clover frowned at him. “What did we say aboot no screamin’ in the house?” “I… I-I-I…” Octave couldn't have felt any more exposed than he was at that very moment. Questions arose in his head faster than popcorn popping on a hot stove. Suddenly, he felt a pair of forelegs being wrapped around his neck; he looked down to find that they belonged to Record. Turing to the unicorn, the cellist saw that his friend had already put his shades up to hang on his horn, revealing those ruby eyes. “Dude, calm down,” Record told him. “Everything is alright; nopony’s gonna hurt ya.” Octave felt his nervousness lessen significantly in his best friend’s embrace. At the same time, it brought about an odd sense of peace to him, along with the feeling of warmth in his cheeks. He looked around to the rest of his family, he didn't see disgust, nor anger on the faces of any of them. “Octave,” his little sister said. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. You’re still my big brother, even if you do like colts.” “But… H-How did any of you know?” he asked when his best friend let go of him. “I never told anypony.” “Truth be told,” his father began, “your mother and I did have our suspicions. But it wasn't until Opal,” he gestured to his younger child, “read your journal that any of us found out what you’d had to say about your friend here.” “She did what?!” Octave exclaimed, “When?!” “Remember when I got grounded a few weeks ago?” Opal asked and his brother nodded. “Well, back when our elementary school got the day off, I got bored and sneaked into your room. I found your journal on the bookshelf, which is a stupid place to put it if you ask me, and I read what you thought of Record.” At this point, Octave’s face turned as red as his best friend’s irises. He bowed his head and covered his face with his hooves in embarrassment. “Then what?” he muttered. “I showed it to mom,” Opal said, “She read it and grounded me, but not before she showed it to dad.” ‘Oh dear, sweet Solaris, just kill me now!’ Octave thought, now feeling more embarrassed in his entire life. “Is that all?” he asked. “Well, ta be honest,” his mother said. “Part of me was surprised, while most of meself was rather disappointed in ya. Only it ain't fer the reason yer thinkin’ of.” The young cellist peered up from his hooves with a questioning look in his eyes. “Octave, dearie, did ya really think we would kick ya out fer bein’ yerself? Don’t ya trust yer own family? We’d never think aboot doing that to ye. You’ve got a heart of solid gold, and ya deserve some happiness too.” Octave began to tear up at his mother’s words. “You… You really mean that?” “Of course we do,” his father nodded. “You know, we ought to have seen this coming since you two have been this close since elementary school. Besides, times are changing after all, and all we want from you, regardless who you end up with, mare or stallion, we want to see that you have a shot at something that gives you pure joy.” Octave didn't say anything, he pounced on the three of them, trying to hug them all at once. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you all so much.” “Ah… hello?” Record said, trying to get Octave’s attention despite the smile on his own face. “Should I give you guys a moment, or…?” “No, no, it’s fine,” the cellist said returning to his seat. “But it does bring up something,” he added while wiping the tears from his eyes. “You’re fine with this? I mean, with me being secretly gay and…” Record chuckled, “Nah brony. If anything, I’m flattered that you’d like me. I guess it just goes to show then.” “Goes to show what?” the cellist asked with a raised eyebrow. “That I’m good-looking enough to have a guy fall head over hooves for me without me even trying,” he said with a grin. Octave facehoofed, but not without blushing a little. “How am I supposed to respond to that?” he thought out loud. Record laughed, “Come on, your family doesn't mind and I don’t really mind all that much, so... how about it? You wanna go out with me?” Opal giggled and began singing: “Record and Octave, sitting in a-” “Opal, be quiet,” her other brother ordered his cheeks still red. “So then,” Clover said, her horn lighting up, and giving her son a bag full of bits. “Now we’ve gotten that out of the way,” she then lifted the two young stallions off the couch and walked them to the front door. “Jus’ remember a few things: Be safe, don’t wander off too far, and above all - have fun, dears.” When Octave and Record were outside, Clover lowered them to the ground and closed the door. “M-Mom wait!” Octave called out before he heard the “clicks” of the door being locked. The cellists tried jiggling the door handle, knocked on the door and even asked his family to open the door, all with no luck. “I can’t believe it!” he said, sitting on the curb after admitting defeat. “They locked me out.” “Come on, Octie, look on the bright side,” Record said, sitting next to him. “At least you’ll be going out with me.” “Y-Yeah. Besides, Record, I didn't think you’d… well…” Record gave a confused look before realizing what he’s being asked, “Oh! Oh that,” he said, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, I know, I’m the guy who’s trying to get a marefriend thing. Well, when your parents told me that you’d like me… I don’t know…” “Record, do you mind if I ask you a very personal question?” “Yeah, go ahead.” “Are you… I-I mean, do you even think that you might be… attracted to colts too?” “Ya know, I haven’t been given much thought.” Record admitted, “But when I heard your parents said that you’re gay and all that stuff, suddenly, everything made sense. I mean, you did tell me once that you’d think that nopony would ever go out with ya.” Octave nodded, “Yeah, I remember.” “I just felt sorry for ya, you know? I mean, even with my taste in music, at least you gave your friendship a try with me. So… I thought, ‘Why would I not give you a chance as well?’” “Have you ever dated a stallion before?” “Mares, you already know that. Stallions? It’s my first time doing something like this.” “Same here. I don’t even know what to do on dates.” “Dude, it’s not that hard. Dating is really just a glorified version of hanging out. You don’t have ta act anything out, just be you. Just think of it as you hanging out with me, but you can be more... open about it.” Octave looked at Record right in the eye, “Record, are you sure you want to do something like this, with me?” The unicorn nodded, “Yeah. Dating my best friend... why not? Besides, I don’t want ya to be miserable, I just want ya to be happy.” The two of them sat there for a moment until the cellist broke the silence. “Well then… I feel like having some pizza, you?” “Yeah, pizza sounds good.” “I know a place that’s not too far from here. It’s cheap, but they serve some good slices.” “Well then,” Record said, grinning, “lead the way.”
Part 2: Six o’clock Octave took Record to one of Canterlot’s cafés, Il Fuoco Della Cucina or, as it’s known in Equestrian, The Burning Kitchen, because he knew that it’s the only in the city that serves authentic Istallion pizza for only a few bits per slice. The only downside is that ponies are offered only a very limited menu from these two bit slices. Nevertheless, at least they were getting fed, and Octave knew that Record loved cheese pizza. “Wow, dude,” the white unicorn said after swallowing a bite. “I wish I’d known this place sooner. This has to be the best pizza I've ever had!” “And it’s not too far from my house,” Octave nodded. “My family usually comes here if we were craving anything Istallion. The pasta is alright, and the desserts are good too, but the pizza is what really stands out.” “Amen to that!” Record cocked his head back and dropped the remainder of the crust into his mouth. Octave, meanwhile, picked his glass of soda, only staring at the warped reflections off of the glass. It wasn't until Record snapped him out of his thoughts that the cellist looked up, “Pardon?” “I said, what are ya thinking? You zoned out for a moment, there.” “Oh,” Octave blushed in embarrassment. “Sorry, I was just thinking.” “About?” “Perhaps it’s just me, but don’t you think that… oh, how do I say this… this all seems rather... forced.” “Forced?” “I mean think about it, not less than hour ago, I just found out that my family has found out that I’m… you know. Not to mention that I’m having my first date with you. I’m trying my best to think that I haven’t fallen asleep.” Record laughed. “I can tell ya, buddy, you’re awake, and this is happening.” “Yes, but… the way that they’re making us go out, it just seems rather unexpected to me.” “Huh? How come?” Octave rubbed a hoof over his other foreleg. “To be honest, I wasn't planning on… coming out to them myself… or you, for that matter.” Record tilted his head to the side. “You've just lost me.” “What I mean is that up until recently, I knew that all of you would find out sooner or later about me, but I didn't think it’ll be this soon.” “What, do ya mean that you’d planned to say something later?” Octave nodded, “Something like that.” “When?” The cellist looked up to his friend, “I mean, if you weren't planning on telling us now, tomorrow, next week, next month or next year, when?” Octave went silent. Record sighed, “Look, what happened doesn't matter. I mean, your family is overjoyed that you’re going out with an awesome pony like me, right?” “I… I suppose so. Record, what-” Octave began to say before he was interrupted by the waitress arriving at the table, and placing down the bill. “Was everything alright,” the mare questioned. The young stallion told her that it was, and paid her the correct amount. As the two began to leave, Octave spoke up before Record could, ironically enough, with the same question that the DJ had been about to ask. “Huh? Oh, that’s right. Record, please be honest with me when I ask this, but what do you think of me really?” “What do ya mean?” “I mean, how do you see me as? Do you see me as your friend, brother, lo-… o-or what?” Record thought for a moment before replying, “To be honest? Before your dad sent me that letter, I've always seen ya as my best friend, who’s kinda like the uptight brother that I’d never had, as sappy as that sounds.” “I’m not uptight,” Octave protested. “Dude... really? You play the cello, listen to nothing except either classical music or movie scores-” “Which I still consider to be classical music,” the gray earth pony interrupted, raising a hoof to accentuate. “Right, there, you've just shown how opinionated ya are. That you tend to want to have things your own way. I mean, you’re practically an aristocrat, without actually being one. But honestly… I kinda envy ya.” Octave blinked, “What? You envy me? Whatever for?” “Brony, are you really that blind to how lucky you really are?” Record deadpanned. “Your dad conducts some fancy orchestra, your mom was literally born lucky, your family is pretty well-off, despite not having any servants, you live on one of the richest streets in Canterlot, AND you play on something that I really suck at. I mean, dude, what you do with that cello is good. Really good, so I won’t be surprised if you end up playing in huge concert halls and all that. Octie, you have a future,” Here, the unicorn gave a sad sigh. “Meanwhile, I’m just somepony who lives with a family that’s always tight on money. Look, I know that I might be somewhat ‘popular’ in school, but I know that once I get out of there, I’ll be forgotten by everypony.” Octave’s jaw dropped, he couldn't believe what he was hearing coming from his best friend, his date. “Record, do you honestly think like that? How could the pony I envy so much say anything like what you've just said?!” Record’s ears perked up, “Hold on a second, you envy me?” “What do you think?!” Octave snapped, “I mean, for Solaris’s sake, you are the very embodiment of everything I’ve ever wanted to be! You’re outgoing, you’re fun to be around, you have the courage to challenge authority when you need to, y-you’re certainly braver than I could ever be! So what that your family isn't as rich as mine, Record? You have a computer on which you create music (although I do question your tastes). But, unlike you, I don’t have the imagination to create music like you do! I’m just someone who plays out whatever is written, and you know how terrible I am at improvising. I don’t know what you do with your buttons and turntable, but you can create a song on the spot that everyone seems to like. So how could I not envy you?” When Octave’s rant was over, he turned to his friend. Record’s mouth was hanging open slightly, and he took off his shades, staring at the cellist with wide eyes. “Whoa, that’s what you really think of me?” Octave took a deep breath, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I shouldn't have let my feelings get the better of me.” “Dude, it’s okay.” Record put a hoof over Octave’s shoulder. “You were being honest with me. So I guess when you’re in the closet for so long, you tend to bottle everything up, right?” The cellist nodded, “Look, from here on out, whatever you feel, don't be afraid to tell me. Besides, we’re on a date after all, and from experience, the best ones I've ever been on are the ones where the other pony is being open.” “Oh… well, alright. So... we've eaten dinner. What do you want to do now?” Record shrugged, “I don’t know, I thought you knew.” “Well, I was rather shoved on the spot on this whole date thing.” Octave replied, “Do you want to see a movie?” “Like what? There’s nothing good playing now,” Record thought for a moment, but then suddenly stopped. “What’s this place?” Octave looked up to see what Record was staring at. The sign that hung from the side of the building was of a silky black cat with a saxophone, next to it were the words: The Singing Cat. The two young stallions could hear jazz music oozing out through its stylized double doors. “I don’t know,” Octave admitted. “I've never been in there before.” Record smiled, “Why don’t we go in?” “But we don’t know what this place is,” the cellist protested. “All the more reason to check it out,” the unicorn went up and pushed open the right hoof door. Now they could hear clearly drums, brass, and wind instruments playing wildly, with a mare singing over top of them all. Record looked back at his friend. “You coming?” Octave paused. He had been told since he was a little colt that he should always stick to places that he knew. This place was something that he was completely unfamiliar with, but looking at Record, he could see that he seemed ready to jump into the unknown with nothing but that cocky smile to invite him in. “I’m coming,” Octave said, and with that, the two of them stepped into The Singing Cat.
Part 3: Six-fifteen The first thing the young stallions saw as they entered was a wide hallway, that was filled from floor to ceiling with black and white photos hanging from the walls, the paper protected by simple wooden frames. The only illumination came from aged lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling, the yellowed beams shining through the warped glass. At the very end of the corridor, facing them, was a simple red couch, its fabric worn, but still bright. Beside the sofa sat a little wooden pedestal with silver tap-bell, and a dark blue curtain on the right-hand wall concealed a doorway to another room. Above the couch was a simple sign that read: “Ring for Service, Wait to be Seated.” They could still hear jazz music coming from behind the curtain, along with the sounds of ponies talking animatedly and the chinking of china. Record, without taking off his shades, trotted down the hallway with Octave following near behind him. “It looks like something out of a film noir,” Octave commented. “What, you mean those old detective movies?” Record questioned. “Well, it certainly has that feel,” the cellist nodded. Sniffing the air, he asked, “Am I the only one that smells coffee?” The DJ took a whiff as well, “Yeah, maybe this one of those coffee houses or something. Though, I don’t know any that play jazz.” By now, the two of them were at the end of the hall, standing in front of the couch. Record looked between the bell and the sign, “There’s only one way to find out.” He reached up with a hoof and chimed the bell a few times. Soon enough, a stallion in a tuxedo popped his head out from the curtain. “You rang?” he asked. Record nodded and the stallion stepped out, “Welcome to The Singing Cat. May I ask why you two are here?” “Uh, curiosity, sir,” Octave answered. “We saw the sign and heard the music-” “Ah,” the stallion nodded, seemingly as if he understood the situation, “Here for the music, I see.” He smiled at them, “It’s such a relief that the young are taking an interest in jazz. Would you like to come in?” “What sort of place is this?” “Follow me,” the stallion told them, before turning and walking back through the curtain. Octave and Record followed the mysterious stallion through the drapes, and into a large, open room. The ceiling was wreathed in shadow, and from the darkness descended cords from which lamps hung, illuminating each table individually. On a stage at the head of the room, the members of a jazz band were playing their hearts out. A saxophone was played by a dark brown earth pony, while a pale green pegasus was commanding a trumpet. Another earth pony stood in the back with large double bass, and a white mare stood in front, belting out a song in a powerful voice. Wooden tables with red tablecloths were spaced around the room, each encircled by burgundy cushions. Booths of faux-leather seats lined one side of the room. Most of the ponies were either paying attention to the musicians, or to their white cups, while others were talking with each other. They were led to an empty booth, an old picture of Canterlot’s streets hanging from the wall above the table. Once they took a seat, the stallion offered them some menus. “I’m sorry, we’ve already had dinner,” Record said. “Oh? Did you have any dessert, yet?” the stallion asked. The young stallions shook their heads, “Ah, well, in that case, perhaps I could- Oh! Forgive me,” the stallion started laughing, “I just realized that I haven’t introduced myself, have I. No? My name is Speak Easy, or simply Mr. Easy. I’m the manager here.” “Well nice to meet you, sir,” Octave nodded politely. “May I ask to let us rest for a bit before we have any dessert?” “But of course. I’ll have somepony come to you gentlecolts in fifteen minutes. In the meantime, enjoy the music,” and with that, Mr. Easy went left the two alone in the booth. Record took a look at one of the menus that the manager left behind, “You know, this place is pretty classy, for a coffee house.” Octave raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?” “I mean look at this place, there’s a live band, the ponies working here are dressed up all fancy, and… Oh, yikes! It’s certainly a whole lot more expensive than Starbutt’s.” Octave picked up the other menu, and his eyes widened at the prices in the coffee section alone. “Thirty bits for one cup! You know, I may not drink coffee but that has to be awfully high!” “Wait, you don’t drink coffee?” Record asked. “Well, no. Never had a drop, but-” “Okay, stop right there! You, never had coffee? Ever?” the unicorn asked in complete surprise. Octave shook his head, “No. Why are you so surprised at this? Wait, do you drink coffee?” “Well yeah,” the DJ nodded. “I started drinking the stuff about a year ago.” “I don’t know how you could drink that stuff; it always smells dreadful to me.” “It’s not as bad as ya think once you pour in some sugar and cream. I mean, sure, it’s an acquired taste and all.” The two of them went silent. The musicians on staged finished their song and the ponies in the coffee house applauded. A pegasus on stage took hold of a microphone and said, “Thank you very much, Mares and Gentlecolts. Once again with the wonderful Mr. Sax, we will be now be playing a rendition of ‘Deep Purple.’” There was applause, and the band began to play at a slow tempo from a piano, and a unicorn stallion trotted up took his place at the microphone and started singing. “How’s your mother?” Octave said, breaking the silence between them. “Huh? Oh, she’s alright. Busy as usual.” “And your father?” Record sighed, “Haven’t heard much in the past month. All I’ve heard is that he’s got a new job in Applewood. You know he always writes to me more than Mom, ever since the whole divorce thing.” “I see. What kind of job does he have now?” “Well, he said he’s learning the ropes of becoming a producer. I mean, that’s kinda cool right?” “A producer?” “Yeah, he said that he’s learning about all the stuff that goes behind the scenes of putting a movie together.” “Well, that’s good to hear.” “Record?” The two colts turned to this new voice. There, in a white apron, pushing a cart of dishes was a light blue pegasus with a slick orange mane that was pulled back into a ponytail. He had a hammer and chisel for his cutie mark. “Hey, dude! I didn’t know you came here!” “Yo, Chisel,” the DJ smiled back. “What are ya doing here?” “I work here part-time,” Chisel replied, “I didn’t expect you and… Oct, isn’t it?” The cellist nodded, ‘Close enough, I suppose,’ he thought. “Still, what are ya doing at this joint?” Chisel asked. “You guys are the first from school I’ve seen in here.” “Well, we-” Record begin to say, but Octave immediately interrupted him. “W-We just came in out of curiosity.” The earth pony stated, sounding somewhat nervous. “Well… yeah?” the DJ raised an eyebrow. “But more importantly we-” “Wanted some coffee!” Octave interjected. “Okay, seriously, dude, what’s up?” “N-Nothing.” “Octie?” “R-Really, it’s nothing.” Chisel chuckled, “Ya know if I didn’t know any better.” He said, “I would think that you two were stallion-stuffers on a date.” “What did you say!?” Record snapped at him. The Singing Cat suddenly became quiet, and all eyes were now on the three of them. “Dude, chill. It’s just a joke,” Chisel said. “Ya don’t have to get all mad about it.” Record shook his head, glaring at Chisel, “Brony, that wasn’t funny.” “Why should you care?” the pegasus asked. “It’s not like…” suddenly, he realized that what he had joked about had been true. “Record, you’re dating a dude?” “Yeah, I am. What’s in it for ya?” “Dude, seriously? I mean, seriously!” “Is there a problem here, Mr. Chisel?” Mr. Easy asked, approaching the three colts. “Yeah,” Chisel replied, turning to his boss with anger in his eyes. “I just found out that these two are dating each other!” Octave sunk back underneath the table. “Mr. Easy, can’t you kick these two colt-cuddlers outta here?” Mr. Easy was certainly surprised at this outburst. He looked between his employee and the couple sitting at his booth. “Before I say anything, I do have one question for you two.” Octave gulped. “Do either of you have any money on you?” the owner asked, to which, the cellist nodded. Speak Easy turned to his employee. “Not to worry, Mr. Chisel, you won’t be seeing them in this establishment again.” The young pegasus grinned evilly, that was until his boss added: “Mr. Chisel, you’re fired.” Chisel’s jaw dropped to the floor, “W-What?!” “May I kindly remind you of the first rule in working in this establishment?” Easy sternly asked, “It’s that as long as the customer is polite and has the means to pay, we treat them with the utmost respect. Your display in behavior does not reflect the rules here at The Singing Cat. I’ll make sure to mail you your final paycheck, but for now, please get out of my coffee house.” Chisel did so with a snort; throwing his white apron in his boss’s face before marching out through the swinging doors. Mr. Easy turned to the couple, “I severely apologize for what just happened. That was unfair to you two. I don’t think you’ve ordered yet, have you?” They shook their heads. “For tonight, whatever you order, it’ll be on the house. Also, anytime either of you comes in, you’ll be granted a fifty-percent discount off of the whole menu.” “Really?!” they both asked, surprised at it. “Sir, this is incredibly generous of you!” Octave added. “It’s quite alright. After that display from a… former employee, you two deserve to have better treatment. Speaking of which, may I take your order?”
Part 4: Seven-thirteen “I, for one, still can’t believe you ate all that,” Octave commented. By now, he and Record had already left The Singing Cat, their stomachs full of the desserts they had consumed. The sky was now bright orange, lighting up the drifting clouds with a soft red glow. The sun hovered near the horizon as Solaris slowly lowered it, only to give way to Artemis’ shining moon, the face of which was just starting to become visible over the hills to East. As the couple walked on aimlessly, streetlights began to flicker to life. “What can I say?” Record shrugged with a satisfied smile, “They got really good cheesecake over there.” “Along with the pizza from dinner, the soda, and let’s not forget that cup of coffee big enough for somepony to swim in.” Record laughed, “Oh, come on Octie, I didn’t down the whole thing.” Octave shook his head, “Even so, I think you’ve probably eaten more in the past few hours then I have ever seen you eat at school for a week. Including breakfast!” “So? I like to eat. Who doesn’t?” “Well…” Octave, try as he might, couldn’t think of an argument to that. He decided to shift the conversation’s gears a little, “A change in subject, then. Since your friend Chisel now knows about us, what do you think the school’s going to say, come Monday?” “Why should you care?” Record asked. “They might say that we just went out.” “But don’t you see a problem with that? I mean, you saw Chisel’s reaction to us. What’s to keep a good chunk of the school from reacting the same way as he did, if not worse? I mean, my secret is officially out now, and I’m the one who dragged you into this. Don’t you think that we might be in danger from here on out?” “What are ya talkin’ about?” Record shook his head. By now, the couple had stopped at a stone guardrail that overlooked the landscape below the mountain, West, towards the setting sun. “It’s not maredieval times. Gay ponies aren’t lynched anymore or hunted down. I mean, the Prince himself made it legal not only for ponies like you to get hitched but even put in place a bill of rights too. So why are you worried that the school is gonna find out?” Octave rolled his eyes, “Record, has it ever occurred to you that just because a group has legal rights, it doesn't mean that everypony would change their minds overnight? I’ve learned from school – no matter how tolerant a place might be, there will always be ponies that would hold a grudge towards you – simply because you’re not them. Hate crimes still exist in Equestria. Not just towards ponies like myself, but those from different races like zebras or gryphons.” The cellist sighed as he leaned up against the wall. “In truth, what I’m really afraid now is for either of us ending up as victims, all because of me.” “Okay, stop right there.” Record said sternly, “Dude, I am not going to let anypony hurt ya. And don’t you dare think that I wouldn't...” The DJ trailed off suddenly. This caught the cellist completely by surprise. “You wouldn't, what?” “It’s…” Record said, turning eyes away from Octave, looking towards the sunset. In the light of the setting sun, Octave could see that his best friend was blushing. “It’s nothing.” “Yes, because it certainly sounds like nothing.” Octave said sarcastically, but Record didn't respond. “Look, you said that I should be honest while we’re on this date. So I think that you ought to have that chance as well. I promise you, no matter what you say to me, I don't think any differently of you.” “Eh… fine,” Record mumbled, “Just don’t think that I’m weird or anything.” Octave agreed, “Look, before your dad sent me that letter, telling me that you’re gay and that you secretly liked me, I never thought I’d go out with a dude. I just wanted a marefriend, like everypony else. Trying to fit in, ya know? I try to find a nice mare, ask her out, and date for a little before either of us dumps the other. For a while, I thought if something is wrong with me. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong that I couldn't hold down a relationship and all. Then I read the letter… to tell ya the truth, brony, at first I wanted to turn the offer down.” “What? Why?” “Because I couldn't see myself dating dudes… at first, that is. After a while, I started to have… weird thoughts about ya. The thing is, I'd never thought about any other guy that way before. But with you… I don’t know, it just seemed… right. Octave, I really do want to see ya happy. I do want to make ya laugh, and not to be afraid of anythin’. I-I know this is weird coming from a guy like me, the idea of dating ya, even if it’s just this once, makes sense ta me.” For a long time, even after the sun had set and the moon was lifted above the horizon, Octave didn't know how to respond. On the one hoof, this was something that he’d day-dreamed about at times, his best friend admitting that he has feelings for him. Yet, on the other hoof, it brought up a question, something which he asked aloud: “Record, where do we go from here? I mean, do you still want to be my best friend or… what?” Record sighed, “I don’t know dude. I really don’t want to lose ya over this.” “Why would you lose me? If anything, you agreeing to be my date is, perhaps, the kindest thing you've ever done for me. For that, I’ll be eternally grateful because of you.” Octave paused for a moment before asking, “Record, I know I normally don’t ask this, but,” he opened his forelegs out. “…may I?” With a nod and a smile, Record gave his best friend permission to hug him. After not too long, he wrapped his hooves around the cellist and hugged him back. Breaking the embrace, Octave asked the question that had been growing in his mind from the start of the date. “By the way, what did you bring your bag for?” “Oh! That’s right! I nearly forgot!” Record’s horn lit up, the red glow surrounding the saddlebags before lifting off of him. He opened it up and levitated out a pair of headphones. “Here, put these on,” he said. “Why?” Octave questioned. “Just put them on, I've made you something.” The cellist sighed, “Record, you know what my opinions are towards techno music-” “Dude, trust me,” the DJ gave Octave his characteristic cocky smile, offering the headphones to him. “I promise you’ll like it.” “Fine,” the gray earth pony groaned, taking the headphones into his hooves and placing them over his ears. “Just don’t play too loud.” “Got it,” Record nodded as he hooked the cord into a small metal box, a device Octave had seen him using often, that the DJ played his music from. After adjusting the volume and choosing out the right song, the unicorn pressed play. At first, the very first thing that Octave heard was a beat, which quickly followed with an electric pizzicato that echoed in his ears. The melody was unfamiliar for a few seconds until he recognized what it was. “Is this Buch?” Octave asked. The unicorn nodded silently. Indeed, the cellist recognized what that electronic orchestra was playing through its beats of Tonic and Dominant. It was J. S. Buch’s Orchestral Suite No. 2, Menuet and Badinerie. Octave had, of course, played the Braeque* masterpiece before. He knew about the difficult melody of the solo flute, now being played by what sounded like an electrical harpsichord. The sound was hauntingly beautiful, despite its artificial origins. But what amazed him most about the piece, was that Record hadn’t changed a single note of it. True, there were the beats, the modern background noise he would hear almost everywhere he went. Yet at the same time, the beats and electronic sounds somehow complimented the genius of Buch. If anything, the piece sounded more alive than it ever had to Octave. When the music was over, and Record stopped the next track from playing, the unicorn asked, “Well, how was it?” Octave slowly took off the headphones and gave it back to his date. “Record,” he said, looking at him in the eye. “You are wrong on one thing tonight.” “W-What?” the DJ asked, taken completely aback. “You, sir, do in fact have a future. If you can make music like that, where you don’t chop up the music from what’s already perfect, but instead use it to your advantage, then I say you will never be forgotten.” “Ya mean it?” Record asked, surprise evident in his wide eyes. Octave nodded with a smile on his face. “I’m rather surprised actually, you made that… for me?” “Well, I was going to give it to ya on your birthday. But when this came up… I just, you know, had ta finish it.” The unicorn said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why… I must say, Record; I’m rather flattered that you've made that for me... thank you.” “Yeah, yeah,” the DJ nodded. “So, what do ya wanna do now? You ready ta go home?” Octave shook his head, “Not quite yet. Why don’t we take a little walk, first?” Record smiled, “Eh… why not?” Author's Note * Braeque is a wordplay on the word Baroque by combinding with the words Brae and Baroque. (Pronounced either Brae-rock or Brae-Rok.)
Part 5: Seven-Forty-eight “….And then she’s like, ‘Record, I’ve already told you that the assignment was due today.’” Record was talking to Octave, mimicking his History teacher at school. It had been a little over a half an hour since they had left The Singing Cat, and the two of them had wandered into Canterlot’s Celestial Square. The plaza was a large, public space that usually held outdoor events for tourists. It was the kind of place where vendors, shop owners, and food carts sell low-quality goods at high prices. Anyone who grew up in the capital knows that it was an expensive tourist trap, where ponies from out of the city could take pictures of a famous location. But on some days of the year, the public space was often used for holidays; during Hearth’s Warming Eve, they would decorate a giant, seasonal tree in the square, or for the Summer Sun Celebration, where the prince himself would ceremonially raise the sun in public. There was no reason for either Octave nor Record to be there. In fact, neither of them realized exactly where they were. The two of them had been going back and forth telling jokes and stories, as well as sharing their opinions, for several minutes. Record continued with his story, “And so I said, ‘What are ya talking about? Your syllabus said it’s due tomorrow,’ I even showed her the paper. But she’s all like, ‘Weren’t you here last week? I’ve already said that it was a misprint.’ I tried telling her that I was sick that week, and that nopony said anything about it. So do you know what she did?” Octave shook his head, “She gave me an ‘F’. Why? She knew I wasn’t there when she changed the date. It’s so unfair! It’s like she’s out to get me.” “Sounds an awful lot like my old music teacher,” Octave commented, “Though not as unpredictable, Ms. Trill was always unfair to me. Why, I remember during one piano lesson, I told her that I had been trying out the cello for almost a month and that I was pretty good at it. Do you know what she said? She gave me a lecture on how difficult it is to play a string instrument, and ‘Oh how I was too young to learn to play something like that’, and that I ought to stick with the piano. Don’t you just hate it when adults think that we’re too incompetent, or not talented enough, or don’t know enough to be taken seriously? Just because we aren’t twenty-five, doesn’t mean we can’t understand anything for ourselves.” “Ugh, I know, brony! I mean, just because we’re younger than them, doesn’t mean that all of us are stupid.” “Exactly!” Octave exclaimed, “At last, someone who actually gets it!” Record nodded, “Yeah, same here.” Octave stopped for a moment to take a look at where they were. “Hey, how long have we’ve been walkin’?” Octave looked up as well, quickly realizing wherein Canterlot they were. “I must say, it’s been quite some time since we left the house... I just didn’t notice until now.” “Yeah,” Record glanced around, before something in the middle of the square. “Hey, what’s this?” Octave followed his date to what he was looking at. At first, the cellist felt confusion, for he was quite sure that he’s never seen a stand-up piano in the middle of the square before. Especially when this same piano had words written in chalk across the front, reading: “Play me.” “What is a… piano doing out here for?” Octave asked, walking around the piano, looking for any signs of an owner. In which, he couldn’t find anything, no name, no label; just a stand-up piano in the middle of the square. “Hey, Octie,” Record called him, sitting down on the bench that stood in front of the instrument, “Come sit with me.” Octave obeyed. He sat down beside to the DJ, unsure as to what his friend had in mind. “You mind playing me something?” Record asked. “After all, I made some music for ya, so maybe now you can repay me with a favor.” “Play you what?” Octave raised an eyebrow. “You know that I don’t know anything outside of classical music, right?” “T-That’s the thing,” Record said, his cheeks turning pink. “I was thinking… You happen to know how to play anything… uh…” “Yes?” “…. Do you happen to know how to play Horseshopin?” Octave was taken completely off guard by this. It wasn’t because he didn’t know how to play any of Horseshopin’s music, nor had he not been asked by anypony to play one of the composer’s nocturnes. What was surprising to him was that Record, the DJ, the blasting-through-his-headphones techno, remixed, dubstep Record, had asked him if he knew Horeshopin! “Uh… I know only two… why?” “W-Would you mind playing some for me?” Record asked, his cheeks now turned bright scarlet. “I mean, there’s a free piano here, and nopony is asking us to leave so… how about it? Would ya play some for me?” “You want me to play a classical piece?” the gray earth pony questioned. “I thought you didn’t like anything classical?” Record turned away, and with a low voice, said: “Oct, can I tell ya something?” His date responded with a nod, so he stated: “The truth is, I don’t listen to techno all the time. There’s some stuff that I listen to, every now and then… I know I’m a DJ, and I do like using a turntable, and remixing music to make it sound better, but… I sometimes listen to other kinds of music, just to make me relax.” “Relax? What do you mean?” “Look, I don’t always admit this. So don’t tell anyone else at school - I don’t want them ta think I’m a nerd. Hey, don’t look at me like that, just hear me out, okay?” The unicorn took a deep breath, “It’s kind of a guilty pleasure, really. Truth is, dude… Whenever I feel depressed or looking for inspiration… I, uh…” “Well, spit it out,” Octave said. “I listen to some Horseshopin,” Record muttered. “There! I said it! I sometimes listen to classical music too!” Octave’s jaw dropped, “I’m sorry, did I hear that right?” the cellist said, “Are you saying that a DJ like yourself actually has some… culture!?” Record lifted his purple shades, glaring at him. “Hey, a DJ can’t live on remixes alone. Nopony can. Look, I’m not as obsessed as you are when it comes to this stuff. And some of the stuff those guys have written isn’t all that good, but when they got it right, they really got it right.” Octave blinked, “Wow, Record, I never imagined hearing something like that coming from you. Not only that… but I agree.” Record tilted his head to the side, “Huh?” “To tell you the truth, from somepony who does play classical music from different time periods, there are some pieces that even I find completely dreary. Even Moztrot (rest her soul), I’ve often found, has written some unbelievably dull pieces. I often found myself bored out of my mind playing some of them because they lacked emotion.” “Yeah, I think I get what you’re saying,” the DJ nodded, “I’m not sure if it’s the same with ya, but have you ever found a song that the guy who made it somehow knows what you’re going through?” “Would you clarify that?” “I mean…” Record turned to the piano keys, “Whenever I listen to Horseshopin... Agh, I don’t know how to describe this... It’s like she knew what I’m going through. Ya know? Whenever I had a rough day at school, or if mom gets angry for some reason, I just listen to some of that piano music and it makes me relax.” Octave nodded, “I believe I understand. But is Horseshopin the only composer you listen to?” “Only her… and Vifilli… and some Moztrot… and Tchaicoltsky… and Beethooven… and that one bit from Strotvinsky.” “Strotvinsky? Really?” Octave blinked, “Which one?” “You know that one song, The Rite of Spring?” Record admitted. “You know it’s a ballet, not a song,” Octave corrected him. “Whatever,” the unicorn waved a hoof dismissively. “I like it, I get inspiration for my music by listening to that.” “You do?” “Duh, I mean, have ya heard it lately? It’s got rhythms within rhythms, and beats within beats; it’s every DJ’s dream to make something like that.” For a moment, the couple sat there in awkward silence until Octave broke it by asking: “You said for me to play some Horseshopin, correct?” “Uh… yeah,” Record nodded. “Would you mind playing some for me?” Octave thought for a moment what to play when he decided on a piece, he smiled at Record. “Very well, for you, then,” he took a deep breath, put his hooves on the keys, and began to play. Somehow, when he played the dreamlike piano music, it was almost as if instrument played itself. The street and window lights cast both lights, and shadow off of the buildings, the street, and the piano, while Record reflected the music perfectly. He didn’t notice the crowd that was gathering around them. How could he, with those ruby eyes to look at? In fact, even when he finished it, the applause he received seemed to his ears rather muted.
Part 6: Eight-thirty “Okay, what about this,” Octave suggested. By now, Octave had decided that it was time to get home. That was to say, to go back as slowly as was equally possible. To procrastinate, both of them would chat back and forth, covering a wide range of topics about nearly anything they could think of. “How about... our first?” “Our first what?” Record asked. “Anything, I suppose,” the cellist shrugged, “Like for example, do you remember the first piece of music you ever listened to?” “Oh… That’s a real tough one, dude…” Record paused to think for a moment. “I guess... the earliest song that I could remember hearing was from dad. He put on a record of… Ugh, what was it? I think it might have been a song from a silent movie star. Chaplin, I think, it was called ‘Smile’ or something like that. I don’t know for sure, it’s been a really long time.” “For me, I think it was Beethooven’s sixth symphony. In fact, it’s one of the earliest things I could remember. Dad later told me that when I was about four or five, mum wasn’t able to take care of me, and neither of them was able to find a foalsitter, so my dad offered to take me to work with him. He said that at the time, they were rehearsing the sixth, and when we came in, I was having a fit for some reason. Anyway, all I remember was that I was crying over something until dad started conducting. When he did… I just went silent. To this day, I can’t explain it, but there was something about that music that I found hypnotic.” “Okay… What about the first time playing music in front of a crowd?” Octave chucked dryly, “How could I forget? The first time I performed, I was playing the piano. I couldn’t stop shaking. And I’m sure that I wasn’t nearly as good back then.” “Eh… For me, when I got up to a crowd for the first time, I couldn’t see them. Since you know, at a dance all the lights are off, except for the one spotlight in the DJ’s face. I think I did well on my first try. Heh, I mean, the school has been asking me to do the music for their events since then.” “True. From what I’ve heard, you’re getting better at what you do.” “Ya bet I am!” Record looked ahead, now realizing that Octave’s home was now just down the street. “Record,” Octave said softly, “I want you to know that I had a good time tonight. Thank you once again for giving me my first date and all… Say, do you remember your first date?” “Mine? Eh… To tell ya the truth, brony, my first date wasn’t nearly as good as this one.” “Why? What happened?” “You remember Stinking Rich? Ya know that filly, whose family runs Ponyville?” Octave nodded, “Yeah, if you wanna know what real… what’s the word? Narcissism? Yeah! If ya wanna know what real narcissism looks like if it was given a body, it’ll be her. I tell ya, from start ta finish she talked about nothing but herself.” “That doesn’t seem polite,” Octave commented. Record snorted, “That’s a kind way of putting it, I broke up with her the very next day. But still, I’m glad that I went out with ya too.” He saw his best friend looking away but noticed that the cellist’s muzzle was turning red. “Likewise,” the earth pony nodded. By now, Octave’s home was now only a few yards away. The lights were on, and he’d checked to see if nopony was watching. He didn’t notice anyone. “Record?” “Yeah?” “Is this going to be a one-time thing?” Octave asked. “I mean, I did have fun talking to you… and playing for you, but since this date is over… are we going to go back to being friends once more?” Record put a hoof to his chin, “To be honest dude, and I mean, really, brutally honest here… this has to be the best date I’ve ever been on.” “R-Really?” “Yeah, it makes me kinda wish that we’ve should have done something like this sooner.” The DJ smiled, “You’re a good stallion, Octie… So do you wanna… I don’t know…” Record was blushing, and rubbing the back of his neck with a hoof. “Yes?” Octave raised an eyebrow, guessing what’s going on inside his friend’s mind. Record shook his head, “Nevermind. I think I need to think this out for a bit.” The cellist nodded, “I suppose I might do the same.” “So… see ya at school on Monday?” “As usual. Good night Record.” Octave turned to the front door and started to make his way there. But deep down, he couldn’t help but feel something was missing from all of this. Something that would make this lovely night complete, but the question was what. Before Octave could touch the door handle, hoping that it might be unlocked, he heard his friend calling out. “Hey, dude! I forgot to give ya something!” “Give me wha-” There have been times that Octave had been caught off guard. There indeed have been times that surprises had been thrown at him. But at this point in his life, on those very steps on that night, an unexpected miracle occurred. Record did something that he thought would never do outside of his fantasies. Record gave him his first, real kiss. Of course, part of Octave was in shock, that what he considered to be the impossible was now being pressed up against his lips. Eyes wide, stiff, the Cellist was conscious that his entire head had turned into a glowing, red lantern. To his surprise, Record wasn’t as aggressive in his kissing at he thought he would be. If anything, those soft lips were shockingly gentle. Record pulled away, but Octave still had a look of shock on his face. The DJ’s eyes widened behind his glasses as he realized what he’d done. “Uh… dude?” he asked, warily. “You… did you just…” Octave struggled to figure out what to say after all of that. “Was that… your first?” Record asked with dread. “Oh, dude. Octie, I’m so sorry about that! I-I thought you wanted i-it and-” “Record.” “I-I just didn’t know okay! Augh! I really screwed things up, didn’t I?!” “Record.” “Y-You know what brony, forget that I-” Octave kissed him. Even though it lasted for a few seconds, it might have been an eternity for Record, now his turn to be surprised. Yet, at the same time, it wasn't unwelcomed. Octave broke the kiss, “Record,” he said, “Has it ever occurred to you that you might worry a bit too much?” “I… but…” “Although, rude as it was, it was quiet… enjoyable to say the least.” “Rude?” Record asked with a raised eyebrow. “Please, Record; a gentlecolt never kisses their dates, at least not on the first night.” Record smiled, “Well, good thing I’m no gentlecolt then, huh?” “I…” Octave trailed off, “… you know, you can be so evil at times.” The DJ chuckled, “Yeah, yeah. Glad that didn't ruin anything...” For a moment, neither of them said a word until Record said, “So… See ya on Monday?” Octave nodded, “Of course, good night.” “Night,” and with that, Octave watched Record trot off. Octave stood for a moment, lifting his head to the sky, and then started to laugh. Now, the night seemed whole to him. Complete. And he couldn't help but feel happy about it all. With a smile, he turned to the door, which he found to be unlocked. He wasn't sure if he’d heard his family asking how it went, nor even remembering walking to his room, but he did remember being in his room, putting in a record that reflected his mood perfectly. For the rest of the night, he couldn't help but sing, as well as play along with Beethooven’s greatest work. And even when he played or sang off key, he felt nothing but joy for the rest of the evening.
Part 7: A Week, Three Days, Twenty Hours, and Nineteen Minutes Later… “How much further?” One of the unicorns in the orchestra complained. He, along with the rest of Canterlot Philharmonic had been following Maestro and his son for the last several blocks. They carried the strings, drums, brass, and other instruments through Canterlot’s poorer neighborhoods. Every so often, they took a few minutes to rest, and to make sure no one stole the priceless instruments. Octave looked again at a scrap of paper he held in a hoof, checking the address written upon it for the umpteenth time. “We’re on the right street. And going by the numbers, it should be somewhere around here. In fact, I think we’re almost-” Suddenly, the cellist looked up at a number plate on the front wall of one of the apartment buildings. “Stop!” he called out, “This is the place.” With a collective sigh of relief, the orchestra put down their cases on the sidewalk, and take a moment to rest from carrying the heavy cases. Some of them who’d carried the lighter instruments had already begun to take theirs out of their cases; checking to see if their respective horns, flutes, and violins were tuned for playing. “Hey, Maestro?” A pegasus, carrying a double bass called out. “Remind us again - why are we out here with the whole orchestra again?” “Because,” the older stallion said. “I’m doing this for my son. He asked me a favor to ask a certain somepony to a Prom. And please, don’t gripe; all of you are getting some extra pay for doing just one song.” “So you’re saying,” a unicorn from the clarinet section inquired, “That we’re dragged out here to that your son could serenade somepony to a dance?” “Pretty much,” Octave nodded. The unicorn nodded, “Heh, I admit, that’s kinda charming actually. Who’s the lucky mare?” Octave paused for a moment, he looked over to his father, but all he got was a blank stare. “You’ll find out,” he said, turning to the apartment complex. He walked up the stoop to the panel that had a list of addresses and buzzers. After looking for the right address, he pushed the button a few times, until finally, a voice came through the tiny speaker. “Yes? Who is it?” it was a mare’s voice. “This is Octave,” he said. “Can you send down Record for me? I wish to see him for a moment.” “Oh sure, just stay right there.” About a minute or so later, the door opened up to the white unicorn. “Octie?” Record asked, completely confused. “What are ya doing here for?” “Good evening, Record,” Octave nodded, “I’ve come to ask you a few things.” “Well, shoot.” “Have you made any arrangements to go to the Junior Prom?” Record shook his head, “Not really…” he craned his neck over to a tuning army of musicians. “Say, dude, what’s with the orchestra?” “I’ve prepared a special… surprise for you.” Octave sat down on the stoop, and Record stepped out of the doorway and joined the cellist. The DJ looked to the orchestra, the musicians crammed onto the thin stretch of sidewalk, some of them with some level of confusion, while the faces of others held amusement. “What’s all this for?” he asked. “Record,” Octave said, his cheeks turning pink. “A few weeks ago, you told me about the very first piece of music that you ever listened to, right?” “Yeah, how could I forget?” Record nodded, “I told ya that Dad used to put on a song called ‘Smile.’ Why?” Octave turned to his father, “Dad if you please?” Maestro nodded, lifting both of his forelegs into the air. When the orchestra was at attention, he began to lead them into the song. Even though the orchestra was playing in a very confined space, the buildings around them acted to magnify the sound, almost in the same way as a concert hall. Almost immediately, Record’s ears perked up, “Is this…?” he turned to Octave, a sly grin on his muzzle. “They’re playing ‘Smile’?” “Indeed they are,” Octave answered. “I’ve pulled a few strings just to make this happen for you.” “This? All of this… is for me? Why?” “Well, I was thinking,” Octave turned to face his friend. “Since you’ve been so awfully kind to me, I was wondering if you want to…” “Yeah?” “Would you be interested to go to the… Junior Prom with me? That is if you haven’t found somepony to go already.” “Well, no, I haven’t…” He looked back to the orchestra, taking a moment to listen to that familiar melody. “But I don’t think I got anything better to do ‘til then.” “Oh, thank you,” Octave beamed. “Yet, that’s not quite the real question I wanted to ask of you.” Record turned to the cellist in mild confusion, so the Earth Pony clarified: “Record, after the events of this previous week, I have a confession to make.” He took in a deep breath, “You see… Record… Would it be possible that I have the privilege of calling you my special somepony?” Record went silent. He took off his shades to look at Octave, his eyes glinting like rubies in the light shining from the setting sun. “So what you’re saying,” he said, “Is that you’ve gone through all this trouble of bringing a whole orchestra into my neighborhood, not only to ask me out to some dance but to ask me if you and I could be in a relationship?” Octave saw from the unicorn, a smile, not his signature cocky smile, but a genuine one. The cellist even saw tears forming in his friend’s eyes. “I mean, wow, dude. Nopony has ever done anything even close to this before. I’d never thought you would do all of this for me.” “I would do anything I have to, so I could see you as happy as you are now.” Octave replied back. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Record said, “Yes.” Octave blinked, “To what?” The DJ laughed, “What do ya think, numb-nuts?” He reached forward, hugging the cellist. “I’m saying yes ta you.” “Record… Thank you,” Octave said, hugging him back, “Thank you for everything.” “Although, I’d need to figure out how to top all of this,” Record joked. “I don’t believe you’d need to,” the cellist said with a smile. Author's Note And that's the end. Wow, I had quite some fun with this story. Nice and sweet but has some heart behind it all. So what do you all think? That is, if you don't mind of me asking.
