Malignancy

Chapter 1, Part 3:
A Decent Cup of Tea

Manehattan, Upper East Side,
Monday Morning (September 18th, Anno Domina 988):

Octavia Philharmonica tried to get to her hooves before she was fully awake, and banged her head hard against the underside of the table. Her swearing was rapid, vulgar and creative as she fell back to the soft white carpet, forehooves clutching her head.

Her insides burbled and groaned again as she crawled out from under the table on her hocks and elbows. As soon as she was upright, she bolted for the bathroom, knocking over an expensive vase on her way. It shattered on the floor.

In the bathroom, answering nature's urgent call, Octavia's cursing was again as vulgar as it was creative, though less rapid, and said with far more effort for breath.

She flushed the toilet, twice. Her guts groaned and she lurched to the sink and smacked at the fixtures with her hooves, filling the sink and drinking with greedy slurps. She slumped against the basin and fumbled at the fixtures again until the tap was off.

She took a deep breath. In. And out.

She looked up at the mirror, at the state her mane was in, the dried remains of last night's meal staining her face, neck and forelegs a dark, reddish brown. She licked at her chin, but it was completely crusted and dried into the short grey hairs. She sighed. "Dirty girl," she teased her reflection. "Greedy little piggy." She released the basin and backed away from the mirror, stretching her legs and flexing her hardened earthy muscles, cracked her neck.

Hopping into the tub, she ran herself a hot shower, multiple jets of water rushing over her, melting the caked on glut of the furious evening out of her coat and mane. Steam filled the bathroom and rolled out the open bathroom door into the swanky flat. "Never again... never again..." she lied to herself, relief dripping from her voice like the revitalizing water dripping from her mane. As the hot water soaked through her coat to warm her skin and tired muscles, a wave of euphoria began spreading through her, radiating outward from her stomach and the back of her neck. She couldn't suppress a smile, and, in the privacy of the steam and the warmth, she didn't even try.

She scrubbed herself free of the reddish remnants and swayed in the warm jets, luxuriating in sensation.

The door buzzer wrenched her from her revelry, and she turned off the water with another sigh. Shaking her coat, she climbed out of the shower, grabbed a fluffy white "Hers" towel from the rack, and wrapped it around her mane. A matching "His" towel wrapped her tail well enough. Still dripping, and crunching the broken shards of vase under her hooves, she answered the ornate, inlaid wooden door.

"Sorry to catch you in the shower, Miss Octavia."

"It's no trouble at all, Porter. Come in."

Porter tipped his hat and pressed past into the living room. Octavia nodded at Porter's apprentice and held the door open for her as well. But the young mare hesitated just outside the door. Octavia realized she was still smiling in joyous abandon, and pulled her lips closed over her unusual teeth.

"Sorry," she said with her hoof held over her mouth.

The apprentice, a blue and green unicorn with an archery cutie-mark, gave her best attempt at a smile and pressed past after her mentor. Octavia watched the apprentice assess the living room before moving on to the kitchen, letting the swinging door close behind her.

"Where's the other one?" Porter was saying, pointing a hoof at the single cello case in the middle of the living room.

"They're both present and correct," Octavia reassured him. She crossed the room and tapped the locked cello case with her hoof. "Disassembled, of course."

Porter tugged on the rigid cello case with his forehooves. It held fast where it was. Porter let out a single bark of laughter and nodded. "You are, by far, my favourite supplier, Miss Octavia."

"Oh hush, you're going to make me smile again. And I've already scared your new apprentice half to death," she teased.

Porter took several deep, quick breaths, then took and held a deep breath and lit his horn. A powerful aura blazed around the cello case and the stallion grunted as the case's ponderous mass lifted into the air. Once it was up there, though, he had a better time of it and was panting with relief. "There we go. Oh, don't take her wrong, Miss Octavia. Brilly's no squirm. She started out on the production side of things all by herself. Locals put us onto her and we gave her 'the choice'."

"Extraordinary."

"Just what her cutie-mark was telling her, Miss. Now," he spurred the heavy cello case to movement. "If you'll excuse me, Miss."

"Thank you, Porter House." She watched him float the case out of the apartment to take down to the delivery cart outside. She took the opportunity to finish towelling off her mane and coat and tail, discarding the wet towels on the white angora carpet where she stood. Her violin case and saddlebags were sitting on the torn, stained, cream coloured sofa beside the toppled bookcase. She walked over the smatterings of flung books, and the spilt tray of uneaten hors d'oeuvres, and fished a brush out of her saddle bags. She strapped the brush to her hoof and was using it to tame her coat when Brilly re-entered the living room. The apprentice was levitating a broom, a dust pan and numerous spray bottles, sponges and towels. "Hello!" Octavia chimed.

The unicorn didn't jump or shy away – she didn't even pause or slow her work. She did turn her eyes immediately toward Octavia, making and keeping eye contact – her expression tight and neutral. "Hello," she said in even tones without inflection.

"I'm afraid I've left somewhat more of a mess than usual. It was a long... wonderful night."

"It's fine," she huffed. "I'm not above a little manual labour."

Octavia blinked. "That's rather defensive. I certainly didn't mean to imply you weren't capable of doing your job."

"Of course not. Apologies." She shrugged and began sweeping up the shards of broken vase. "Mr. Porter House says I'm overly defensive too. Back home, earth-ponies sort of dominate this industry. Before Mr. Porter House, I'd never met another unicorn processor."

"He is a very special sort. Rare even. Do the other apprentices and journeymares tease you? For being a unicorn in a 'dirt pony' profession?"

"Yes. They do."

"Well, if it means anything, my sisters and I were teased quite mercilessly in the beginning as well for our… unique differences."

"You?" Brilly stopped working and stared. "Somepony... teased you?"

"For a time. Her Majesty kept us all on rather short leashes in those days. My older sisters especially. For... obvious reasons. But, believe me, time, quiet dignity, dedication and brutal precision can solve any problem."

"Yes, Miss Octavia."

"Oh, no, don't do that," Octavia laughed. "Porter House calls me that out of nostalgia, mostly. It was his coping mechanism when we first met. He used to be in Service, you know – that's why you hear him 'Miss', 'Ma'am' and 'Sir' all over the place – not that that's a bad thing, mind," she clarified. "You can call me Octavia. Or even Monica, if you'd like."

"Monica?"

"Short for Philharmonica. My given name."

"It's... nice." Brilly returned to her sweeping.

Octavia continued to brush out her mane, smirking at the unicorn. "You seem... nervous?"

"No!" Brilly blurted. Then laughed. "No. I'm just-"

"Of course you are. You've never met one of us before. Have you?"

"I've met your older sister, Melody, actually."

"I see." Octavia returned her brush to her saddlebag. "And tell me... 'Brilly'..." Octavia crossed the room toward Brilly, careful not to walk over the large, still congealing bloodstain in the middle of the carpet.

"It's short for 'Brilliant'. My name is Brilliant Dawn." She made a point to make and hold eye contact with the approaching mare – those wide, purple, penetrating, unblinking eyes.

"Brilliant," Octavia tried the word on in her mouth, her coarse tongue curling into the L and R sounds, scraping against the jagged sides of her pointed, interlocking teeth. She smiled a wide, toothy grin as she approached Brilly. "Tell me, Brilliant," she rolled the Rs and enunciated the Ls in dramatic fashion. "Did she – Melody, that is – did she scare you?" Octavia pressed her face very close to Brilly's, her many sharp, oft-hidden, off-white teeth bared.

"Oh... yes," Brilly breathed. "Very much."

Octavia gave a single bemused, wooden laugh. "And she should have." Octavia opened her large eyes even wider. Stretching their lids back, her pupils constricted to vertical slits. "The key... is not to give clear signs of your fear, to not stimulate the responses fear generates in... others..." A low, soft rumbling came from deep in Octavia's throat. She pressed her face closer still, her gaze boring into Brilly's eyes. Their breaths mingled, Brilly's short and fast, Octavia's deep and slow and smelling of foul deeds done in the dead of night, hot enough to curl Brilly's hair.

Brilly did not move or flinch, or even wrinkle her nose. She did not shrink away or engage in prey behaviour – as she had been trained to avoid doing. Brilly kept her face passive, looking straight into Octavia's wide open, iridescent purple eyes. Octavia stretched her lips and cheeks into a taut rictus of a smile, wider than a pony's face should have been able to stretch, showing off rows of wet, stained, dagger-sharp teeth to either side of her dainty, white, normal equine incisors. Her eyelids were peeled so far back that they exposed the throbbing veins and healthy pink flesh holding her eyes in their sockets.

Octavia flared her nostrils, snorting, and the rumbling sound became a snarl, issuing from the back of her throat, slow at first, but soon pitching up and rising in intensity until it was a full-on growl. Brilly could feel it resonating through her hooves and stomach and skull and molars. Brilly fought to stop her eyes retreating away from the slit purple orbs pressing closer in toward her face.

Octavia snapped her jaws with a crack! Brilly winced and jerked back, ears flat against her head.

Octavia's growl became a hoarse chuckle and she let her face snap back to a terse little grin. She took a step back and heard Brilly release the breath she had been holding. "You'll have to excuse me. I'm a bit of a tease when I'm in a good mood. You did well." She returned to her violin case and saddle bags, throwing the case around her neck and the bags over her back. "You've been well trained. You did well," she repeated, readjusting the straps and checking their balance. "Have a lovely day." She left the apartment, Brilly's eyes following her as she left.

She met Porter in the stairwell as he was coming back up. "So," he said, pausing half way up the stairs. "How'd she do?"

Octavia tilted her nose up into the air and looked down at him from the landing above. "I have no idea to what you are referring."

Porter raised his eyebrows and once again began climbing the stairs, never breaking eye contact. "So, then, you didn't just back my new apprentice into a corner and snarl in her face to see if you could make her pee herself a little? Or whatever it was that made the last one quit?"

"Of course not!" Octavia broke eye contact. "There were no corners involved."

"Hah!" Porter huffed as he reached the landing to stand beside Octavia.

Octavia lowered her chin, her eyes level to his. "I would say she's a keeper. She didn't back up a single step or signal... many prey indicators. Still a bit young and stupid, but then, weren't we all?"

Porter shrugged. "I suppose. We'll see... You didn't squeeze your take into there, surely?" He pointed at Octavia's violin case.

"Hm?" Octavia looked down at the case hanging by its strap around her neck. "Oh!" She laughed. "No, this actually has my violin inside."

"Then where...?" He craned his neck to look at her saddlebags. "If you don't mind my asking?"

"The usual place," Octavia grinned as she patted her stomach with a foreleg.

"No!" Porter snorted with blatant disbelief. "There were... at least forty kilos missing! You couldn't!"

"I'll admit it was a bit excessive, even for me."

"'A bit excessive' she says! Miss Octavia-" He realized how loud his voice was getting and forced it down to a whisper. "You should be bulging left, right and centre out to here!" He made an expansive gesture with his foreleg.

"I think you're getting dangerously close to making a comment about my weight, Porter," she tsked.

"I'm commenting on your eating habits, surely."

"Well, I shall thank you to stop doing so now." She continued descending the stairs. "Have a lovely week if I don't see you before then, Porter."

"And you, Miss Octavia," he sighed.

Octavia left the brownstone apartment building and set out in search of a decent cup of tea.