Fallen Apples and Broken Chords

The day dawned bleak and grey, with the faintest tendrils of snow floating across the window. A flat light bled into Octavia’s guest room, confusing her as to what time of day it was. It could have been past noon for all she knew. Thankfully enough, the incumbent headache that came with copious alcohol consumption had resolved to beating only a small portion of her brain out of her skull, and the dull throb was bearable. Along with the faint musk from last night was another scent, one that awakened a different sort of hunger in her gut; completely different from the ravenous lust she felt last night with a hoof between her thighs.

After regretfully slipping out of the sheets and making her way to the bathroom for a small bit of water, Octavia descended into the glorious smell of hash browns and eggs.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Lyra stood next to a hot stove, pushing eggs around a skillet while a heaping plate of hash browns floated into the dining room. “Sleep well?”

“Like a foal.” Octavia yawned, fetching a glass of orange juice for herself. “What about you? Have a good night?”

“Oh, you know, slept okay… Got some interesting listening material as well.”

The glass slipped out of her hoof and tipped over, spilling what little orange juice Octavia had poured for herself. Lyra burst into laughter, even as she manipulated a nearby towel to mop up the mess.

“You’re blushing so badly right now.”

“Can you blame me?!” Octavia sputtered, pouring another glass with shaking hooves. Indeed, her cheeks felt as if they had been lit on fire. “I’m so sorry, Lyra, I didn’t mean to disturb you or anything…”

“Hardly! It’s okay, Octavia. I get that you’re smitten with Honeysuckle. If I were into mares, I’d be half-tempted to clop myself into a coma every night as well. But relax, I don’t hold it against you.” She shut the stove top off and shoveled two eggs each onto separate plates. “But don’t expect me to do your laundry for you.”

“Fair enough.” Octavia muttered into her glass, still blushing like a schoolfilly. She honestly hadn’t intended to keep Lyra up. She knew she had a tendency to be vocal during such activities, but it appeared as if her efforts to keep it to a dull roar had fallen short. ’I can’t blame her, Lyra’s a light sleeper and it’s not like I gave her any time to even get TO sleep… Still, if I plan on having that mare, it looks like I can’t bring her back here…’

“Breakfast is served.” Lyra bubbled, nudging Octavia with her hip on her way past. “I made them like you like them; over easy, and the hash browns are extra-crispy.”

“Thank you. Old habits die hard, huh?”

“It helps that I’ve taken my own over-easy since music school.” Lyra set both plates on the dining room table and sat behind her own, digging in immediately. Octavia followed with the proper decorum, but still ate more than her fair share of delicious food. Somehow, the juice tasted sweeter, the hash browns more hearty, and the eggs more fair than the simple food back in Canterlot. There was even freshly-churned yogurt to be had, sprinkled with ripe blueberries and dry oatmeal. Feeling more full than recent memory could be bothered to recall, Octavia leaned back in her chair and smiled across the table at her old friend.

“So, any plans today?”

“Sadly, yes.” Lyra groaned. “I’ve got to go tune an old grand piano in the town hall, and then one of the jazz accompaniment’s contrabass’ snapped a tuning knob, so I’ll repair that before they leave for the week. I’m actually going to be out all day. I’m sorry, Tavi, normally I’d have spent the day showing you around town and keeping you company.”

“No big deal.” Octavia shrugged. “I’m kind of in the mood for a relaxing day inside anyways… Oh, though I thought I heard somepony mention a market today?”

“That’s right.” Lyra smiled. “It’ll be the last of the season. I thought the weather crew would hold off on the snow until this afternoon when it was over, but what do I know about clouds?” Lyra gestured out of the window at the light snowfall. Nothing had accumulated yet, but thin white flakes were drifting past the window nevertheless.

“Well, I’ve never been to a market, so I think I might indulge.” Octavia nodded, downing the last of her juice. “Might want to stock up on some produce anyways.”

“I’ll stop by Bon Bon’s cart and tell her to give you a discount. Trust me; you don’t want to go two months without some of her candies.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Octavia smiled at her friend, stretching languorously as Lyra levitated their plates back into the kitchen to be washed. The mint-colored unicorn slid out of her own chair and made for the front door, donning a scarf and boots as she went.

“You sure you’ll be fine on your own?”

“I’ll live, Lyra.” Octavia waved her goodbye. “Have a good day.”

“You too.” She opened the door and stepped out, ushering in a faint breeze that wafted over Octavia’s face like the tantalizing kiss of a lover. It was a welcome chill, but reminded her that she had things to do that day. Alas, no mare left the house after a bit of intimacy without washing themselves, so she resolved to taking a bath and drying off before leaving. The water was nice and hot, and did wonders to help relieve the remnants of her hangover that weren’t chased away by the delicious food. Mane styled, coat cleaned and dried, Octavia left Lyra’s home an hour later to make her way into town.

The snowfall was indeed light, the pinpricks of ice melting on her face the moment they made contact. She hardly felt the need for a scarf, as whatever light breeze there was had already died down. The dull, grey overcast sky was a welcome sight to match her mood. It was a perfect day to stay in, maybe curl up with a good book, and perhaps a mug of stiff coffee. She lamented her decision of morning beverage as the town square came into view, laden with carts and happy ponies in equal measure.

’It’s your first market, Octavia. Try not to embarrass yourself.’ She slowed her walk to an idle crawl, taking plenty of time to watch the transactions taking place, listening in on conversations here and there. It seemed the entire process was run on a barter system, with variant prices for goods. She found it difficult to pin down which bits of produce were selling for how much. One mare purchased a dozen tomatoes for three bits, but the stallion after her paid four bits for half as many. Still, this day wasn’t destined to last forever and Octavia was nothing if not well-off. Her own saddlebags practically jingled with money begging to be spent, and several late-season fruits and vegetables were catching her eye.

“Hello.” She greeted a corn vendor cheerily, browsing the assorted ears. “How much for a dozen?”

“Shucked is two apiece, un-shucked is one.” The elder stallion quipped in a rather business-like manner. Octavia frowned at him curiously.

“I’m sorry, ‘shucked?’ What does that mean?”

“Shucked.” The stallion waved a hoof over the naked, yellow product. “Un-shucked.” He indicated the green-clad ear, still wrapped in its protective leaf.

“Oh. Uuh, I’ll take a dozen un-shucked, I guess.” After handling the transaction and tucking the dozen ears into her saddlebags, Octavia cast a wary glance over her withers at the farmpony. She had always heard tales of Ponyville’s legendary kindness; how ponies here were among the friendliest and accepting in all of Equestria. But that stallion had been awfully curt in dealing with her. Shaking off the thought, she turned to a lettuce-and-celery vendor.

“Hello.”

“Hi.” The mare blinked at her, not even bothering to spare her a proper greeting before turning back to the other pony she had been speaking with. Octavia deadpanned, browsing the assorted heads of lettuce and celery stalks. There was no sign with prices or tags, so Octavia lifted a hoof tenuously.

“E-excuse me, how much is-“

“What?” The mare turned to her with a glare.

“I’m sorry, I was asking how mu-“

“Two bits apiece.”

“Oh.” Octavia flagged, stepping back a little. “Th-that’s a little expensive, isn’t it…?”

“Two bits apiece.” The mare re-affirmed before turning back to her conversation. It seemed to be something about another farmer’s daughter getting her cutie mark. Octavia felt a twinge of anger pull at the corner of her mouth. Angrily, she turned and stalked away. ’I didn’t even want salad anyways.’

The next two vendors were much the same. It seemed they had all the time in the world to chat with their friends and other ponies that lived in town, but turned cold and business-like with Octavia. No, not even business-like, they were just plain rude. ’At least in Canterlot, the grocery attendants smile at you… what IS it with ponies out here? Do I really stick out that much?’ An angry cloud descended over Octavia, and she ended up paying whatever price they quoted her without a second thought. Furthermore, she had more jargon and country-speak thrown at her than she knew what to do with. Many times, she had to clarify what she had just been told, or ask for more laypony’s terms.

In short, the reason why she was even in this town was beginning to rear its ugly head, and remind her that she had been unceremoniously excused from the symphony. The words of the letter, still in her saddlebags, came back to her as she stomped from one cart to the next.

’Dear Octavia Philharmonica,

We the board of directors for the Canterlot Royal Symphony have deemed it fit you take a sabbatical leave in order to cool your temper and re-discover your creative spark. Multiple accounts from your fellow performers have informed us of your lackluster playing, poor musicianship, and bullheaded attitude. To say nothing of the damaged grand piano, which was an antique aged well over six hundred years.

You will be billed for the replacement/repair, and your salary frozen during your leave. We hope this time away from the symphony will help show you your creative spark, and allow you a chance to evaluate what is truly important to you.

Very Sincerely,

-Treble Cleft

Being forced to leave for damaging the piano, Octavia could understand. But her performances lately had been some of her best, at least in her opinion. To hear that other symphony members weren’t impressed had been the final nail in the coffin, so to speak. Octavia wrote one letter to Lyra, waited a day for the response, and then left for Ponyville.

The back-woods, uncultured hick town she now found herself in, given the cold shoulder by ponies who couldn’t tell a crescendo from a trombone.

“Well hello there!”

“Huh?” A cheery voice stopped Octavia in her tracks, and she hadn’t even realized that she’d been walking without looking where she was going.

“Y’all don’t like like yer from ‘round these parts.” The twangy country accent of this pony made Octavia’s eye twitch. She looked the mare up and down, from her worn Stetson to the mud on her orange hooves. ’Funny, she’s got the same coat color as Honeysuckle…’ As Octavia’s eyes travelled higher, though, she was disappointed. ’Same eyes, but Honeysuckle’s hair was as black as the night itself… Not that dirty, unwashed blonde. Stupid mare, she probably doesn’t know the first thing about music, or high society…’

She tried to fight the glower on her lips, but it persisted. “I’m not.” She clipped, glancing around at the bustling market still in full-swing around them. “I come from Canterlot.”

“Well shoot, y’all shoulda told me sooner! Ah thought you looked differen’t. Mah name’s Applejack, pleased to meetchya.”

“Applejack.” Octavia blinked at the mare, trying to place the name. She thought she might have heard it before, but placing it was escaping her in light of her impending disgust at the uncultured manner of speech. “Well then, I guess you’re selling-“ She glanced at the cart Applejack stood beside, blinking at the full, round apples resting in a heap. “Apples.”

“Eeyup! That’s our trademark, fer sure! Ah’m a proud apple farmer, always have been, always will be.”

One glance at her flanks betrayed the mark, and Octavia fought to groan. ’By the stars, even her cutie mark just screams ‘Apples!’ What a truly unfortunate mare.’

“Right.” Octavia sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose with a sigh. “I suppose I’ll take a few.”

“Now, don’t look so down.” Applejack gave Octavia a pat on the back, which felt more like getting a loving kiss from the business end of a sledgehammer. “Y’all ought to cheer up!”

“Forgive me,” Octavia stepped away from the dirty farmer with a scowl. “My reception in Ponyville has been less-than-stellar.”

“Ah take it you ain’t met Pinkie Pie yet.”

“No, I haven’t.” Octavia grimaced. “Who in the blazes is Pinkie Pie?”

“Why, our resident party pony! She always has a way t’ make a pony smile. Y’all could say it’s her special talent. Now come on, let’s uuh… Gosh, how does she say it?” Applejack scratched her mane thoughtfully. “Oh! Let’s turn that frown upside down!”

“Forgive me if I decline.” Octavia grimaced, stepping back from the beaming earth pony. “I just want some apples, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Alright, look, sugarcube.” Applejack dropped her own smile and stepped forward, beckoning Octavia closer. She leaned in reluctantly, fearing another weighty pat on the back. “It ain’t no big secret y’all are from out-uh-town, an’ it doesn’t help that yer makin’ a big scene.”

“Making a scene?” Octavia reared back, scrunching her nose. “How am I making a scene?”

“Well…” Applejack lifted a hoof out to the side, and Octavia spared a look around. Truthfully enough, ponies around them had stopped and were watching the two of them with interest. “Look, ah’m tryin’ t’ be friendly here. Yer new to town, so y’all might not know how things are done ‘round here. Ponies tend t’ talk to those they’ve known, and talkin’ to anypony else is new to them. It don’t help none that half the farmers here ain’t seen a castle like that one there, which we’re all thankful for, but was kind of a culture shock.”

“Tell me about it.” Octavia felt the heat of anger well up inside of her once more, fueled half by the condescending letter still burning a hole in her saddlebags, half by simple anger at being unable to buy produce at a fair price.

“It don’t help none gettin’ angry, neither.” Applejack glowered. “Ah’m tryin t’ help.”

“Well, thank you but no thank you.” Octavia flipped her mane over her neck and stared Applejack down. “I just want some apples, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Golly,” Applejack shook her head sadly. “You try to be nice to one mare, an’ you get spit on. That’ll teach me, ah guess.”

“What?! I’m not… spitting on you! I’m being perfectly civil!” Octavia bristled, staring daggers at the farm pony’s backside. Applejack just leveled a stare at her over her withers, one eyebrow cocked as if to say ‘oh really?’ Rather than belabor the point, Applejack shoveled a dozen apples into a small sack and passed them off plaintively.

“How much?” Octavia grumbled, fishing her ever-lightening coinpurse out of her saddlebags.

“On th’ house.” Applejack lifted a hoof with a grimace. “Ah ain’t ‘bout to ask fer bits from somepony who cain’t accept simple charity. Iffen y’all won’t listen to reason an’ let me help you out, maybe you need them apples more than ah need the bits. Now, Octavia, wasn’t it?” Applejack arched an eyebrow, and Octavia gave her a stoic nod. “Ah suggest y’all run along home an’ cool down a bit. Won’t do you no good losin’ yer temper in the middle of market.”

Octavia was struck for a moment, staring Applejack dead in her green eyes for a few long, tense moments. Anger and disgust welled up inside of her, threatening to spill over at any moment. Many thoughts ran through her head, from bucking that smug look off Applejack’s stupid face to dumping the donated apples onto the ground and squashing every last one of them right in front of her. She was so close to snapping, just one touch from going over the edge, but something gave her pause.

“Thank you.” She managed to grumble through grit teeth. She took the apples and slid them into the last free bit of space in her saddlebag, turning tail on Applejack and the market as a whole. It was a long, cold walk home, and the snow had finally made up its mind to start falling in earnest. Flurries swept in behind her, sending icy lances of pain biting into her coat all along her flanks and stomach. The cold air tempered her fury, though she nursed dark thoughts all the way to Lyra’s house.

Weighed down with produce, feeling cold and more than a little angry, Octavia could hardly remember going inside, packing away her purchases, or even dumping her empty bags at the door. She certainly didn’t recall grabbing a full bottle of gin from Lyra’s liquor cabinet, nor popping the cap and drinking a few pulls straight from the bottle.

She didn’t even remember the rest of that night.

“Tavi.”

“Hmmn.” She groaned, curling into a tighter ball.

“Tavi. Come on, wake up.”

“Five more minutes.” She scrunched her eyes, feeling the reluctant strings of consciousness pulling her out of a dreamy haze.

“No, not five more minutes, five seconds at best. Come on, wake up or I’ll be forced to take you upstairs.”

“Wha?” That forced her eyes open, and Octavia ascended into full wakefulness at a snail’s pace. She blinked unevenly at the fuzzy surroundings, wiping a hoof over her sleep-crusted eyes blearily. “Whuzzat?”

“You’re gonna freeze down here. Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” After clearing one pesky bit of crust from the corner of her eye, Octavia finally got a decent look at her surroundings. She was in Lyra’s living room, the fire in the hearth having died out long ago. She still clutched the half-empty bottle of gin between her forehooves, holding onto it as if it were a piece of flotsam and she a shipwrecked pony. It took almost a full minute of getting her mind to work, despite the attempts of a developing headache to beat her brain out of her temples and the churning sensation in her stomach doing its best to empty what food she’d had the presence of mind to eat.

“Need some help?” Lyra laid a hoof on her withers, further shaking Octavia from her post-alcohol-induced nap.

“Yeah.”

“Come on, then. There we go.” Lyra scooped the bottle out of her hooves and gingerly picked Octavia up with a glimmer of magic. Rather than fight it, Octavia let herself be levitated off of the couch and up the stairs into her guest bedroom. She cast one longing look at the bathroom, and that was all it took for Lyra to deposit her near the toilet.

“Hrk.” She upended once, twice, into the bowl, only idly aware that a thin field of golden-colored magic was holding her mane out of the way.

“Seriously.” Lyra sighed. “It’s just like music school all over again.”

“But with better alcohol.” Octavia managed to choke between heaving. Lyra just chuckled, rubbing Octavia’s back warmly.

“I dunno, cheap beer looks better coming up than expensive gin.”

“I’m sorry, Lyra.” Octavia leaned back from the bowl after a few solid minutes, groaning inwardly. “I’m a hot mess.”

“Aren’t we all?” Lyra flushed and wiped at Octavia’s muzzle with a spare towel. “I knew you’d be like this, ever since you sent the letter. Don’t worry, I won’t interfere with your self-destructive downward spiral of depression… But I will stop you from taking that last step, should it come to it. And I’ll be there to pull you out of it when you’re ready.”

“What?” Octavia hardly heard the confusing jumble of words Lyra had just spoken, her entire body throbbing with the oncoming headache.

“Nothing, Tavi.” Lyra rolled her eyes, picking her up once more. “Just get some rest, if you can.”

“Th-thanks…” Octavia moaned, curling up under the comforter that Lyra draped over her. She heard a faint metallic clank, and peeked one cautious eye out to see a mop bucket next to her bed. Lyra’s tail flicked as she rounded the corner. The upstairs hall light flicked off, her door closed, and Octavia found herself alone once more.

With nothing but a bucket and dark thoughts to keep her company.