1. SplintersView OnlineGetting Complicated1. SplintersSplinters The Manehattan Concert Hall burst at the seams with ponies, and not one of them made a sound. The heavy silence thrilled Octavia Melody, for, in a few seconds, it would be shattered by the heavenly strings of her cello. Octavia took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She opened the with a glare aimed at the dim-lit crowd and drew her bow like a sword ready to slice her cello’s stomach. She wrapped a hoof around its neck like a noose. She played, and the music, sweet nectar, flowed out from the stage to wash over the audience. She felt good today. Her hoof moved easily up and down her cello’s neck. Her bow slid across the strings as if strung with a soft breeze. The acoustics of the domed stage made her and the music omnipresent. No doubt of herself or her abilities existed in any corner of her mind. She played perfectly and offered these gaping snobs a glimpse of nirvana. The music ebbed away as Octavia reached the end of her movement. She took a bow and waited for the applause. It never came. Octavia grit her teeth and raised her head to glare at the audience, but they gazed right back at her, emotionless and silent. She growled. “Well? What’s wrong with all of you?” She yelled. “Don’t you know good music?” No one answered, and Octavia felt her face burn with shame and embarrassment. “Say something!” But they kept staring with blank, dead eyes. Octavia’s eyes snapped open. She was back in hotel room in Manehattan. She was okay, drenched in sweat with her heart beating hard enough to break her ribs, but otherwise fine. The audience was gone, and her cello lay propped on its stand over at the corner, waiting. Just a dream. It was just another bad dream. Just like the ones she always had before a grand performance. She shivered. Where the hell was her heat? She rolled around and found Macintosh snoozing away, his back to her. She scowled, grabbed one of his forelegs, and rolled him over. Not an easy feat considering how much of his bulk returned to him after a month of working on his farm. As a reflex, Macintosh wrapped Octavia in a a hug and brought her close. She sighed into the crook of his neck. The immense heat emanating from his body was more than enough to keep her warm through even the most frigid Canterlot nights. She had hoped that his body and the heat that came from it would ease her into a deep, dreamless sleep, but no such luck. No matter, she had ways to manage, and, this time, she didn’t have to do it alone. Octavia kissed and nipped at Macintosh’s neck until he groaned himself awake. She gazed into his emerald eyes and gave him a half lidded look he knew all to well. He smiled and brought her nose to touch hers. “What’s wrong, Octi? Ya don’t usually go for a second time around.” Octavia contemplated her answer. She could say anything really, and he would believe her without question. She could simply say that she had a little itch. It’s not as if she needed a reason to have a little bedtime fun. But Macintosh had told her to be honest about everything, little things and big things, important things and stupid things. She looked at him, at those big green eyes and gazed at her with such soft affection. Her lips pursed in thought. No, there was no reason to tell him. He wouldn’t understand. “Have you even considered that you might be losing your touch?” she asked with a teasing smirk. Macintosh chuckled, his question easily forgotten. He rubbed her nose against hers and gave her a soft kiss. Octavia sighed into his lips and wrapped her forelegs around his neck. He pulled away before she was ready, leaving her tongue out in the cold. “Hope you don’t mind if I give it another shot,” he said with a smile. “Yes, yes, of course,” Octavia said, growing impatient. “Now suck on my tongue already.” “Always the romantic,” Macintosh said with a chuckle. -*- Octavia tapped the strings of her cello to practice her hoof positions in the last few minutes before she was called next on stage. Once confident, she went through ever single note she was to play, every single change of key, every single vibrato and tremolo. She was the premiere player at the event, the headliner, the one that sold out the concert hall, and this was her first time playing in a venue outside Canterlot. She would accept nothing but perfection. “Octavia!” Octavia slumped her shoulders as Fiddly Faddle’s call rang out backstage, loud enough to carry over the sounds of the brass band currently performing. A mare with a lemon-yellow coat and a deep blue mane trotted up to Octavia with a huge smile. Octavia sighed and took a sudden interest in her cello strings. Fate had shot Fiddly Faddle straight at Octavia’s life like a cannonball. Not only was she Macintosh’s cousin, Octavia had been the first to give Fiddly a cello. Now if Octavia could shoot Fiddly Faddle back, that would be a vast improvement of her life. “Hello, Fiddly,” Octavia said without looking up from her cello. “I was wondering when you would show up.” “I’m so excited!” Fiddly said, her body practically trembling. “Can you believe it? Manehattan Hall! Ah never woulda thought that a little ol’ country filly like me would ever make it here. Oh no, look at me ramble on an’ on. Bet you’ve been here plenty of times, huh?” Octavia clenched her jaw. “It’s my first time.” “It is? That’s great! Now we got a common bond. Why I bet...” Octavia allowed Fiddly’s voice to fade away into the ether, just as she always did when dealing with boring chatterboxes. Just allow them to prattle on and on and on without giving them any attention. She examined the hairs of her bow for a moment and applied a bit of resin. A white, curly mane of fluff caught the corner of Octavia’s eye, and her hoof instinctively jabbed Fiddly’s mouth shut. Octavia stared at a point behind Fiddly. Fiddly, confused, turned her head to stare too. An aged mare with a powder blue coat talked to a group of flautists. Octavia didn’t blink and watched the mare. “Who that?” Fiddly asked. “Who’s that? Are you serious?” Octavia asked, never averting her gaze. “That is Dulcet Tone, the owner of Manehattan Hall and the most distinguished cellist of the post-neo-romantic era. She is the wealthiest, shrewdest, most well-connected musician and real estate mogul of our time.” “So she’s a big deal?” Octavia laughed and finally turned away from Dulcet Tone to look Fiddly in the eyes. “If I impress her, then I will have acquired a lifetime meal ticket.” The audience’s applause shook the concert hall as the brass band finished their set. The stagehand called out Octavia’s name, and she went to stand at the very edge of the stage. The band exited by the other side, and at that moment the stagehand gave her the signal to go. The loudspeakers announced her name, her instrument, and her playlist. Octavia took a deep breath and went to the center of the stage. She stabbed the ground with her cello’s endpin like a flag claiming the middle of the stage as her own. She played. As the bow slid across her cello, Octavia entered a state of peace, almost a meditation. She hit her notes with exact timing, and, after the first ten seconds, she knew she had her cello under her complete control. The music lilted through the hall and sweetened the air. Though her set lasted two and a half hours, it felt as though but a minute passed to Octavia. She bowed and waited for applause. None came for several seconds. A whistle pierced the air like an arrow, and loud stomps boomed through the hall, almost shaking the walls. Octavia looked up at the high balconies. Macintosh, right in the middle, cheered so loud it filled the room despite unfavorable acoustics. His cheers crumbled the crowd’s hesitation and more applause quickly followed. It went on and on, several ponies getting off their seats for a standing ovation. Octavia grinned and took another bow. Was that it? Had she mistakenly interpreted the audience’s silence in her dream? Had that silence not been a rejection, but a stunned awe at the presence of her true talent? Yes, of course. How ridiculous she had been. She bowed one final time before exiting the stage. Her set finished, a rush of endorphins made her feel as light as a feather. She couldn’t stop grinning, even as she put her cello in its case and took the long way around to stealthily join Macintosh in their private balcony. “You did great, sugar,” Macintosh said. He gave her a light kiss, and Octavia had the sudden urge to test just how private these balconies were. Maybe next time. Even she didn’t want to take such big a risk during her debut. “Was there ever any doubt?” She asked as she took a seat beside him. She sunk low into the plush chair and breathed a sigh of relief. She looked up at the glittering chandeliers for a moment, allowing the euphoria to wash over her for several minutes. “All that’s left is the after party. Just have to schmooze with the bourgeois idiots and win a few engagements. This could be my chance at the national stage, Macintosh.” “I always figured you were a pretty big deal to start, playing for the princesses and such,” Macintosh said. “Oh, playing Canterlot is surely profitable and no small feat, but Canterlot is a pond, a very large one but still a pond. If I’m to reach true wealth and status, I need to play all the big cities. Canterlot, Manehattan, Fillydelphia, Braytain, all of them. Then I’ll finally make a name for myself.” “Eeyup,” Macintosh said. His smile faded away for only a moment. He stared off into the distance at the empty stage. “A name for yourself,” he muttered under his breath. Octavia tilted her head, wondering whether to pry. She decided against it. The next performer took the stage, and Macintosh’s face brightened immensely. He brought a hoof to his mouth and blew an ear-splitting whistle. Octavia covered her ears and looked to the stage. There, standing proud, gripping a violin, stood Fiddly Faddle. Octavia raised an eyebrow. “I thought she was a cellist,” Octavia said. Now that she thought about it, however, Fiddly didn’t have a cello case with her when they spoke backstage. “Aw heck, Fiddly can play anything with strings,” Macintosh said with a smile. “From a guitar to a harp and anything in between.” Octavia grunted to let him know she heard him. She had nothing more to say, and the subject didn’t really interest her. She watched Fiddly as she began to play. Her performance seemed shaky. Far too many slurs and random vibratos. Well, Octavia wasn’t surprised. Learning to play several instruments meant sacrificing time for developing real skill. At least her playing was smooth. Despite the lackluster performance, the audience gave a raucous applause. One much louder than hers, Octavia noted. Fiddly Faddle was the last performance of the night. Octavia and Macintosh looked on as the audience shuffled out of the concert hall. Most of them left through the front entrance, a few others, however, took the stairs leading up to the top floor to attend the party reserved for the performers and generous patrons. She glared at the crowd as they climbed. She wanted nothing more than to contemplate her performance back at the hotel in front of the fireplace, preferably with a stiff glass of several alcoholic liquids sloshed together. She pushed the thought from her mind and took a step forward. A hoof on her shoulder stopped her from taking another. “You know, you ain’t gotta force yourself to do this if you don’t feel up to it,” Macintosh said. “I’m sure ya made a pretty big impression already.” “I must, Macintosh.” Octavia walked to join the rest of the ponies, and Macintosh followed behind her. “The most important thing in networking is the follow up.” The upper floor was a babble of ponies coalescing beneath a thick atmosphere of self-adulation. Musicians rubbed their noses in rich ponies’ backsides, complimenting and schmoozing their little hearts out in order to secure their next mortgage payment. Octavia grit her teeth. Soon she would join them. Oh well, a small price to pay for the comfortable living her profession provided. Several waiters snaked through the mass of ponies, holding silver platters of hors d’oeuvres. All of the little appetizers were savory, with not a sweet cake or pudding in sight. She bit back her disappointment. She had to focus. If she wanted something sweet she could simply ask Macintosh to make something for her later. Octavia had only one target in mind: Dulcet Tone. She scanned the room for her. The needle amongst hay, the diamond amidst the rough, whatever the hell ‘rough’ was. She found Dulcet by the far wall admiring the row of painting mounted there. She was across the room, and the only obstacle between her and Octavia were the dozens of ponies in attendance. She would have to navigate through the undulating mass of chatterboxes and obnoxious tail-biters. Octavia took a deep breath and made her way to the opposite wall. A timpani player she once knew at university stopped to chat. She spent ten minutes pretending to remember him and another ten pretending she cared about his newborn. Thankfully, Macintosh stepped in for her and took over the conversation with an analogy that compared foals to trees. She slipped away from them and continued on her way. Octavia only made it a few paces when a business broker negotiated her way to Octavia and asked for a performance at her nephew’s wedding. At any other time, Octavia would have loved to get the gig and go, but the damn pony wanted to haggle, and Octavia didn’t want to waste so much time on small fry. Luckily, Macintosh quickly came and posed as Octavia’s manager, allowing her to escape once again. She was almost there, just a couple dozen steps separated her from her future. “Octavia!” Fiddly Faddle’s blue mane popped into Octavia’s field of view like a storm cloud. “You were sooo good. Course, Ah knew you would be. My favorite part had to be when you were playin’ the second movement and...” Octavia scowled at Macintosh’s cousin as she rambled on. Octavia would usually have enjoyed the constant rush of praise, but she had more pertinent matters to take care of. She kept looking over Fiddly’s shoulder. It was a clear shot from here to Dulcet Tone, just a few more feet. Once again, Macintosh arrived, and, once again, Octavia felt a tide of relief wash over her. “Macintosh, thank goodness,” Octavia said. She pushed him toward Fiddly, and he gave her a confused look. “Please talk to your cousin while I go speak to Dulcet Tone.” She hurried away before either of them could ask any mundane questions. “Hey cuz!” Fiddly said. “You hear of Dulcet Tone? She’s a pretty big deal, but she’s awfully nice. She came and talked to me and gave me her card.” Octavia froze after taking only three steps. She turned back and barged her way into the conversation she just left. “She what?” Octavia asked, disbelief and a hint of jealousy clear in her voice. Fiddly smiled. “Look, see?” She held out a thick, black, glossy business card with Dulcet Tone’s name etched in mother of pearl. “She said to stop by so we could ‘discuss my future’ or somethin’ like that. Ain’t it neat?” Octavia scoffed. “Well, if your sub-par performance was enough to impress her, then I’ve been worrying far too much.” She turned away and continued on her path to Dulcet Tone. “Just give me two minutes and I’ll have her attention as well.” “Good luck!” Fiddly called after her. Another pony, an orange-cream coated mare, stepped beside Octavia, obviously going to speak with Dulcet Tone as well. Octavia clenched her teeth and pushed her side against the stranger, knocking the mare to the ground. The mare opened her mouth to say something, but bared teeth and a vicious glare shut her mouth. Octavia was not in the mood to deal with any more ponies that couldn’t guarantee her a comfortable living. Dulcet Tone stared at a large oil painting depicting ponies in togas as Octavia approached her back. Octavia took a deep breath and politely coughed to catch Dulcet’s attention. The older mare looked over her shoulder at Octavia and fixed her steel-gray eyes on her. “Dulcet Tone, I presume?” Octavia said. “My name is Octavia Melody. I’m sure you remember my performance.” Dulcet went back to her painting. “Octavia Melody? Octavia Melody...” she mumbled to herself. “Ah yes, I remember now. The cellist. Barber’s Cello Concerto in A minor Opus 22. Fitting I suppose, given your name and the amount of octatonic runs in the piece. Though it’s not often I hear it performed as a solo.” Octavia smiled, pride filling up her chest like a balloon. “It’s always been my belief that if the cellist is good enough then the other instruments are unnecessary and redundant.” Dulcet hummed in acknowledgment. Octavia waited for her to say something and continue the conversation, but Dulcet remained silent. Octavia pressed her lips into a thin line, her patience wearing thinner and thinner by the minute. She took another deep breath to calm herself and eased into her sweetest voice. “So what did you think of my performance?” “I am no music critic, and you do not seem the type to enjoy critique.” Well, Dulcet was right about that, but Octavia needed to segue the conversation into her performance and how excellent it was. She was sure Dulcet was often asked to give her opinion, and she was simply tired of it, but Octavia couldn’t let a silly think like Dulcet’s feelings stop her. “No, please, I would love to hear it.” It was a bold faced lie, but Octavia was good at those. Dulcet didn’t bother to turn around again. “It was awful.” “What?” Octavia’s sweet voice rotted away. “I played perfectly.” Dulcet gave a labored sigh. “Perfection is sterile. If I wanted to hear a piece of music played soullessly, I would have put a bit into a player piano. You hit the correct notes for the correct duration of time. That was all. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Dulcet didn’t move, and Octavia knew she was supposed to leave Dulcet’s presence, but Octavia was never good at following social cues. “Now just wait a minute you decrepit old wart, I–” “You what?” Dulcet turned to her with a heavy glare that made even Octavia shut her mouth. Dulcet’s tone remained perfectly even. “Practiced for hours upon days upon weeks upon months upon years on your hoof positions, on your rhythms, on your timings? That practice was wasted time. You are but a machine. An automaton whose only talent is to execute simple tasks. Do you even like playing the cello? Do you enjoy the music you play? Do you even know what emotions are?” Octavia socked Dulcet across the face. The elderly mare fell to the ground, unconscious. Octavia blinked and stared at her hoof. She turned her head to the crowd. Everyone gaped at her, wide-eyed in a deathly silence. Macintosh was among them. They met eyes. He frowned and looked away. Octavia’s heart sank. What had she done? -*- The gigs stopped. Days passed with no new engagements, and the cancellations just kept coming right after another. Octavia lay on a naked mattress in one of her guestrooms, the heat off despite the chilling air. She went through just how much free time she had. She groaned and buried her face in the mattress. A whole year without work. She grit her teeth as her eyes started to water. How the hell was she supposed to support herself? She took a deep breath. No, it wasn’t completely and utterly hopeless. She would think of something, she always thought of something. Right? Outside her room, a door opened and closed and a set of hoofsteps entered. “You wanted to speak with me, Macintosh?” There was no mistaking Fancy Pants’ posh voice, and Octavia’s heart skipped a beat. “Eeyup,” Macintosh said. “It’s about Octavia.” Octavia rolled off the bed as quietly as she could and held her breath as she stood by the door. “I suppose Blueblood told you?” “’Told’ is a nice way to put it. Listen, I know what Octavia did was wrong, and...well, truth be told I understand why you’re droppin’ her from all the events you got comin’ up, but–” “Macintosh, please,” Fancy Pants interrupted. “Do you have any water?” “Eeyup.” The hoofsteps went into the kitchen, and the clear clink of ice hitting glass rang through the apartment. Water was poured and gulped, and Fancy Pants gave a satisfied sigh interrupted by an awkward cough. “I know what you are about to say, Macintosh. Honestly, I would expect no less from you, going to your marefriend’s defense despite knowing she is in the wrong, and make no mistake, she is very much in the wrong, but I am not of two minds on this. I am not conflicted in the least. I will no longer be hiring her to play at my events.” “Just give her a–” “A chance? No. Macintosh, I have given her several chances. Do you think this is the first time her professionalism has fallen to her...thorned personality? It has been an embarrassment each time, but this! To actually assault another pony. This is something that no amount of talent or apologies will make me overlook. She’s lucky Dulcet hasn’t pressed charges.” Fancy Pants sighed again, a bitter, saddened heave. “Macintosh, I’m sorry, I truly am, but her reputation is set. She is through. As much as it pains me to say, it would behoove Octavia to focus on other pursuits. Now, if that is all, I will take my leave.” Octavia stood silent and thoughtless for several minutes. She hardened her jaw and looked away from the door. Her sight landed on her cello, shining in the dusty rays of light peeking through the blinds. Her eyes narrowed into a glare. So many years of her life all thrown away with a single swing of her hoof. So many blisters and callouses on her hooves, all a complete waste. Was this what her life had all amounted to? All of that work just to get in her own way yet again? Octavia growled and grabbed the cello’s neck. She dragged it across the room, through the bedroom door, and out to the balcony. She swung the cello over her head and threw it to the ground below. It shattered at Fancy Pants’ feet. He looked up and caught Octavia’s gaze. He shook his head and moved on. Octavia hung her head in shame. Macintosh walked up beside her and pressed his side against hers. She inhaled sharply. He felt so warm in the freezing wind. Her cello was nothing but splinters now, garbage. “Playing the cello is all I can do.” Macintosh nuzzled her cheek, and Octavia pushed him away. “Just leave me already.” She leaned forward and rested her head on the balcony’s railing. The wrought iron chilled her chin. “Go back to your farm and your future and leave me here to rot and fester in this apartment as I deserve.” But Macintosh did not leave. He rubbed her back, and Octavia didn’t have the will to pull away. “I’m gonna make you something to eat, okay?” Macintosh said. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and headed for the kitchen. “You gotta be hungry, you haven’t eaten for a couple of days now. I was worried.” “I’m fine,” Octavia said as she held her stomach. It felt tight and squeezed, as if it was eating itself. “I don’t want any food.” “C’mon now, I’ll make you yer favorite.” Macintosh emptied out the fridge, set its contents on the table, and rummaged through the cabinets for pots and pans. Octavia flinched. He wasn’t going to stop unless she ate something. She followed him into the kitchen. “Bread and water.” She took a seat at the table. “What?” Macintosh froze and looked over his shoulder at her. Octavia glared at him, but he only smiled in return. “Quit messin’ with me,” he said with a chuckle. “I got plenty of apples for an apple pie if that’s what yer worried about. And I’ll give ya a big bowl of vanilla ice cream with caramel sauce to hold ya over until it’s ready.” Octavia clenched her teeth, but said nothing. “Been meaning to tell ya,” Macintosh continued as he filled a bowl with ice cream and caramel. He set the bowl down in front of her. Octavia only stared at it. “I set up a meeting with Dulcet Tone. It wasn’t easy, but I assured her I only wanted to talk. You’re welcome to come along if ya’d like. Now, I ain’t sayin’ you gotta apologize or anythin’, but I think talkin’ things out will be really good for ya. Who knows, maybe it’ll help get things back to normal.” “Will you stop?” Octavia snapped. She got out of her seat, kicking her chair to the floor. "I don't want ice cream with a caramel drizzle, I don't want a mouth-watering apple pie, I don't want you to speak to Dulcet Tone on my behalf, and I certainly don't want to see, speak, or apologize to that grizzled, old nag. Do you know what I want, Macintosh? I want you to leave!" Octavia pointed to the door, and Macintosh stared at her. "You...you don't really mean that, do ya sugar?" he asked. "I do. Just go, and don't come back until I come and get you." Macintosh pressed his lips into a tight line and stared at the door. "Is that what you really want?" "It is," Octavia said, turning away from him. "Now leave." Macintosh sighed. "Alright, I'm leaving." He made his way to the door. "That meeting with Dulcet is in a week. You really outta go and talk to her. It'll help, I promise." He left without another word between them. The door clicked shut. For the very first time, Octavia felt alone in her apartment. She tossed her untouched ice cream into the sink, and put away what Macintosh had taken out. She stayed in the guestroom, eating nothing but bread and water, for an entire week. She didn't leave her apartment, she didn't talk to anyone, she didn't even shower. She felt lost in her own home, pacing about in a daze just to pass the time. Without her cello or Macintosh to occupy her time, there was nothing for her to do but wallow in her room. Well, there was one thing she could do. She could go to that meeting with Dulcet Tone. Octavia cringed at the thought. There was no way she could face Dulcet again, but Macintosh's parting words still played over and over in her head. It would help. A week all alone had softened her to the idea. Macintosh promised, after all. And it wouldn't be as if she had to go apologize. No, of course not. If anything, this was her chance to really give that old mare a beating. With her words this time. -*- Dulcet Tone lived in the poshest district of Manehattan, in the penthouse suite of Le Chateu Blanc, one of the largest and most gratuitously French skyscrapers in the city. It's bricks were white and speckled, and many a stupid pony claimed them to be made of pure marble. The stories garnered so much notoriety, in fact, that quite a few bricks were missing from the ground floor, making the the building look like a skull with missing teeth. Octavia searched for an intercom but found none. Instead, a doorpony in a spiffy red suit, holding a clipboard, stood in front of a revolving door. Octavia approached the mare, intending to pass by her, but was stopped with a hoof on her chest. "Name and business, please," the doormare said. Octavia growled. "Octavia Melody. I'm here to see Dulcet Tone." The mare flipped through the pages on the clipboard. "I have you here along with a..." The mare peered at the list, and her cheeks suddenly turned a bright shade of red. "Big Macintosh Apple. Where, uh, where is he?" “Just let me through,” Octavia said. The mare nodded and stepped aside. “Top floor.” The resplendent grandeur of the lobby—it's crystal chandeliers, it's gushing fountains, it's luscious plants—made Octavia absolutely livid for the sole reason that they were not hers. Not even cheap facsimiles resided in her building. Octavia boarded the elevator, a glass box in a clear tube that overlooked the city, and pushed the button to the top floor, the fiftieth floor. With every story past the tenth she rose, Octavia clenched her teeth harder and harder. She stared out at the Manehattan skyline. The glimmering cityscape shimmered down below in a picturesque vista that utterly humiliated Octavia's own balcony view. The elevator eased to a stop and opened to a short hallway with a large, oak double door. Dark, almost black planks of hardwood comprised the flooring, and several paintings lined the walls. Octavia kept her glare aimed foward and knocked on the door. It opened slowly. "Yes?" Dulcet Tone called out. Her face fell when she saw Octavia. "Oh, it's you. Have you come for the other cheek?" A faint bruise blemished Dulcet's cheek, the worst of it had already faded way. "No, my...a pony by the name of Big Macintosh set this up. I suppose he sent you a letter?" "Ah yes, Big Macintosh Apple," Dulcet said. "The red good-ol'-colt with the muscles and the accent." She opened the door wide. "Well, I suppose you should come in then." Octavia followed Dulcet inside. Dulcet's apartment was very different from hers. More room and space, of course. There was also more furniture and more sentimental knick-knacks strewn about. A few trophies and ribbons, some pictures of Dulcet with famous fashion designers, pop idols, and royalty along with a well used kitchen gave the apartment a more lived-in look. Anything that Octavia did have in her home, Dulcet had a better, more expensive version of. Better hardwood floors, nicer wallpaper, shinier appliances, cushier sofas. "Where is that stallion, by the way? Seems a shame for him not to be here after all the trouble he went through," Dulcet said. Octavia had her hoof on a crystal vase, wondering if she should tip it over or not when Dulcet's voice threw her off her train of thought. "Trouble?" "I won't go into details, suffice it to say that he managed to knock on my door without being on the list, a great achievment indeed. Now, enough about stallions. Have you come to apologize?" Octavia scoffed. "I won't apologize until you take back what you said about me and my playing." Dulcet smiled. "My goodness, still so hot-blooded. You should be grateful that I haven't pressed charges." "Like I care about that," Octavia snapped. "I'm not afraid to go back to prison. It would be worlds better than you holding it over me until the statute of limitations kicked in." Dulcet chuckled. "I'm not a very sentimental pony, but it's very hard not to be around you. You remind me of myself when I was your age. Let me guess, you're a rags to riches story. You happened upon a cello, found out you had a modicum of talent, and worked your hooves raw and your personality to sharp stone to get where you are now." "Stop pretending you know me," Octavia said through curled lips. "Oh, but I do know you. You're just like me. Which is why I'm going to tell you that everything I said at the concert is absolutely true. I suppose I could have worded it a tad nicer, but we all have bad days." Dulcet shrugged and went to the kitchen to fill a kettle with water and set it on the stove. Octavia just tried not to punch her again. "I know it may not seem like it, but you're very lucky. I wish I'd had someone to tell me I had no talent at your age." "Shut up!" Octavia stomped her hoof. "Is this your way of getting back at me? Are you getting off on torturing me like this? And what the hell do you know anyway? Just because you're one of the best cellists in Equestria doesn't mean–" "Was." The single word deflated Octavia. "What?" "I was one of the best cellists in Equestria. Not anymore, haven't been for over twenty years." Dulcet went to stand in front of her fireplace. She plucked a small, framed photo from the mantle. "I used to think no one could surpass me until I met her." She handed Octavia the picture. It was of Dulcet, decades younger, standing intimately close with another mare, one with a mint green coat and soft, lavender eyes. Confused, Octavia handed back the photo, and Dulcet stared at it with a kind smile. "When we first met she was just picking up the cello. She was quite the natural. I was stricken at first sight. To get closer to her, I offered to give her a few pointers, a lesson here, a practice session there." She chuckled and replaced the picture on the mantle. "It wasn't long before she didn't need my lessons anymore." Dulcet sighed. "Our relationship didn't survive my resentment and jealousy. In the end she revealed what I had always known but feared to realize. I was a fad. A trendy little thing with a bit of talent in her and a lot of talk behind her." She went to the kitchen and turned off the stove. "Once the authentic article appeared, once a pony with real talent, with a real gift, came along, well, there was no use for me. And there'll be no more use for you soon enough. That's the sad fact of ponies like us, ponies that are only successful through brute force repetition. We always get surpassed." "That's not going to happen to me," Octavia said. Dulcet chuckled and poured herself a cup of tea. "Your successor has already shown her face. It will." "It won't!" Octavia slapped the mug from Dulcet's hooves, and it shattered on the ceramic tile. Octavia stared as the amber liquid crept through the grooves of grout. She hung her head. "It won't," she whispered. "Surely you must have already known," Dulcet said. "I...I had thoughts, stupid thoughts. I wasn't–I won't give up just because of some ridiculous notions in my head." "Why fight the inevitable?" Dulcet asked. "The sooner you accept it and move on the more advantageous your position will be. Here's some free career advice: Get into real estate. I never had any of this," Dulcet gestured to her luxurious home, "until I became a property mogul. I'm sure you would be suited for it. You certainly have a strong enough punch." Dulcet picked up the shards of her mug and set down a dish towel to soak up the spilled tea. Octavia said nothing and only glared at the ground. "Everything I've worked for. You're saying I should just give it all up?" "Now now, don't make it sound so bleak. You made it quite far in a profession you simply aren't suited for, and for that you should be commended. But now it's time to accept your limits and move on. I know it will be hard at first, but believe me it gets much easier and much more profitable. Besides, did you ever really enjoy playing the cell? I'm sure it brought you things that you enjoyed: wealth, confidence, respect. But did you enjoy playing it for the sake of playing it? Would you still play even if it couldn't give you a comfortable living." Octavia sucked in hlips. "I...When I found out my career was over, I threw my cello off my balcony." Dulcet Tone smiled. "And we have our answer." "Shit." -*- The hike to Macintosh's farm was easy yet long. There were no sheer walls of stone to climb nor were there steep, knee-cracking slopes, but it was a tedious hike. It was a hike that looped and doubled back around the mountains of dry grass and dead trees. The path had definitely been made for ease of travel rather than speed. The trail did not cut through the land as roads in cities did. Rather, the trail did its best best to avoid harsh terrain altogether. Bright side: it gave Octavia plenty of time to think about how to break up with Big Macintosh. It wouldn't be easy. Macintosh was good at keeping his emotions tightly held behind that stoic face. He wouldn't falter, not even shed a tear, Octavia was sure. But her? Just thinking about ending their relationship made her chest and ribcage want to break into two. She grit her teeth. What the hell was wrong with her? She had to do it. As much as she didn't want to, as much as it would hurt, as much as she would miss how massive and overwhelming his body and kindness were, she had to do it. She just wished it could have lasted a little longer. He had been a fun one, no doubt about that. Octavia continued on against the powerful and freezing gales funneled between the mountains until Macintosh's farm came into view. A wooden picket sign welcomed her to 'Royal Farm #26'. Octavia shook her head. Macintosh didn't get naming rights until he won the bet with Princess Luna to outright own the land. A path of wet mud wound through the neatly plowed acres of the farm. Leaves and grass clippings were mixed in with the neatly cut rows of dirt. Octavia scanned the flat terrain but found no big, red stallions. A small shack stood at the far end of the valley, a recent addition to the landscape. If Macintosh wasn't outside then he would be in there. She approached, her hooves sticking to the mud, and the doors swung open when she was still a couple of feet away. Macintosh shambled out with a yawn, his hulking form sagging with fatigue. Their eyes met, and his face brightened with a smile. He perked up, trotted to her, and locked their lips together before Octavia could say anything. A bolt of lightning traveled down Octavia's spine. She wrapped her forelegs around Macintosh's neck and deepened the kiss. She gripped his mane and pulled him closer to her. He felt so warm, no, hot, almost blazing. She broke the kiss and buried her nose in his neck. He smelled of sawdust. She shivered as Macintosh brought his hooves around her and hugged her tight, and one of them trailed deliciously down, down, down her back to caress her cutie mark. It had been a long week, and she wanted nothing more than to take him into the shack and slam the door behind them. Octavia regained control of herself and pushed him away. She felt the cold again. "Macintosh, I..." She stared at the ground as she scavenged for the right words. She blinked. His hooves were wrapped in white bandages stained with splatterings of blood but nothing else, not even dirt. They were fresh. Octavia narrowed her eyes. "What were you doing?" Macintosh's eyes darted to his hooves and back to her. "Oh this, I was just, uh..." He gave her a sheepish grin and rubbed the back of his neck. "Aw heck, I was hoping to make a couple more to really perfect it, but since you're here already." Macintosh nodded his head toward the shed, and Octavia raised an eyebrow. He opened the door for her, and she walked in. Dust swirled in the air inside, and a thin layer of wood shavings covered the floor. Scrap wood, carved in very familiar shapes, was stacked all the way to the ceiling. They looked like the discarded scrolls and necks of several cellos. At one corner, behind a workbench burdened with chisels and other woodcarving tools, was something tall hidden beneath a sheet. Octavia widened her eyes. "Macintosh, tell me you didn't–" "Eeyup," Macintosh said with a smile. He went to the cloth and pulled it off a finished cello. Octavia stared and timidly approached. The cello shined. She ran a hoof along its body, smooth and darkly stained. It was strung and ready to play. She grabbed it and plucked at the strings, their deep resonance made the air tremble. It was perfect. She hated it. "Why?" Octavia shook her head. "Damn it, why?" "I figured you might need another one after, well, ya know," Macintosh said with a smile. "So I checked out a few books from the library in Ponyville, got some lumber from Sweet Apple Acres, and had Fiddly Faddle try out the prototypes and give me some feedback. Took some time, lots of wood, and a whole lotta splinters, but I think it turned out all right, all things considered." Octavia shook her head and pushed the cello against his chest. "I've given up the cello. Throw it away. Burn it. Get rid of it. I never want to see a cello again for the rest of my miserable life." She headed for the door. "And the next time you want to do something for me, don't. Because every time you do it just reminds me how much I don't deserve it, how much I don't deserve anything I have." "Octavia." Macintosh's voice was so quiet and calm that it forced her to turn and face him. He looked neither angry nor sad. He had a kind smile and a soft gaze that she had seen him give Rainbow Dash before she went off to her extended stay in Cloudsdale. She remembered being a tiny bit jealous then. Macintosh took a couple of steps toward her and held out the cello to her. "Take it, sugar. You'll regret it if you don't." Octavia sneered. "And how do you know?" Macintosh stepped closer and touched the tip of his nose to hers, and when he spoke his breath smelled of sweet cider. "Because I know you, Octi. I know ya like I know my own heart. I know that you always get bad dreams before a big performance. I know that you hate spendin' time in a crowd of ponies, especially if you gotta talk to 'em. I know that you're too hard on yourself, and you can't enjoy something unless you feel like you earned it. And I know that if you don't take this cello you're going to regret it." Octavia laughed through clenched teeth. "Don't be stupid, Macintosh. You don't know me. If you knew me you would be galloping the other way. So don't pretend to know what's best for me. In fact, just stop being around me. We're thr–" "Am I interrupting something?" A well enunciated voice lilted inside the shack. Octavia and Macintosh turned to Luna standing in the doorway. They bowed, and Macintosh gave Octavia back the cello before he addressed the princess. "Of course not, Princess Luna, but, uh, what're you doin' here, if you don't mind me asking? Your monthly inspection was two weeks ago." Luna narrowed her bright blue eyes. "I came to discuss our agreement. If you would join me outside?" She gave a pointed look at Octavia, and Octavia blew her a kiss in return. Luna grimaced as if licked by a timberwolf. Good ol' Luna, she was always fun to play around with and always lightened up Octavia's mood. "Of course," Macintosh said. He followed Luna outside the shack. They walked a few feet away before stopping, and Octavia peeked her head out the door to eavesdrop. "I had the soil samples examined by the royal edaphologists," Luna began. "How'd it go?"Macintosh asked. "The results were appalling," Luna said, her voice taking a harsh edge sharper than a knife. "Salinity, drainage, nitrogen, nitrites, none of it has changed. All absolutely abymal. Two months you've tended to this land, all for nothing. So I, out of the graciousness of my heart, have decided to offer you a deal. We simply walk away from this agreement. You keep the money we have payed you, and you stop wasting all of our time. Simple as that." Octavia growled, teeth bared and hackles raised. She stomped toward them, ready to commit another offense of assault and battery. Macintosh's chuckle stopped her, and she retreated back into the shack. He dragged his hoof in the dirt and picked up a soggy clump. "Walk away? From this? Not on your life. It's true, I've done all I can, and to hear that nothing's changed, well, it's a bit discouraging. A lot discouraging, actually. But I can't give up. This land might not look like much, just a dead plot of dirt, but I know that all my hard work is going to pay off. I believe that, I have to, because farming is all I can do." He allowed the dirt to fall from his hoof. Luna clucked. "Is that all you can say? It's certainly not making me believe in your abilities." "That's okay," Macintosh said with a grin. "If there's one thing I've learned from Octavia, it's to ignore the ponies that doubt you. Better yet, prove them wrong. So I hope to prove you wrong by the end of the year, Princess Luna." "We shall see, Macintosh Apple." Luna left angrier than she had arrived, and Octavia felt a little bit of forgotten pride well up in her chest. Macintosh returned to the shack, and Octavia's grip around the cello neck tightened. " Macintosh, I..." Octavia trailed off and remained silent for a moment. She stared at the ground, her weight leaning on the cello like a cane. "I came here to break up with you because I was going to give up the cello, and I didn't know what I would no next to support myself...and you. I couldn't guarantee you a comfortable living, and so I decided to end our relationship. But now, I'm going back to the cello, I'm not going to give up, but I'm still breaking up with you. It might take me years to repair my reputation and my lifestyle. If—no—when I regain what I've lost, and you haven't moved on to another mare that doesn't care much for threesomes, then I'll come back for you. If you'll have me." Macintosh tilted his head at her. He brought a hoof to her chin and lifted her head to look into her eyes. He smiled. "Sorry, sugar, but you're stuck with me. For better or worse. Or until you actually mean it when you say you're breaking up with me." Octavia smiled, actually relieved, as if a dire pain in her chest had lifted. "I don't deserve you," she whispered. Macintosh chuckled. "Sugar, Pincess Celestia doesn't deserve me. Now, are you just gonna stand there feelin' inadequate, or are we gonna run back home and make up for this week apart?" "Home?" Octavia said with a raised eyebrow. She set the cello back on its stand and moved in front of the workbench. With one sweep of her hoof she cleared it away, Mac's tools falling to the side. Macintosh smiled. "Sugar, it's me that doesn't deserve you." -*- The soft thud of rain hit the shed's roof and nudged Octavia out of sleep. She lay on top of Macintosh's stomach, a lovelier mattress than the sawdust on the floor. She yawned and hopped off of him. Her legs wobbled, and she had to brace herself against the workbench to keep herself standing. She stumbled to the door and peered outside to watch the rain and think. She didn't know whether she could be successful with the cello, the kind of success a pony with natural talent would usually garner. All she knew was that she wanted to surpass Dulcet in all aspects. She wanted to surpass everyone that dared to pick up a cello. Yet, she really had no idea how to accomplish it. All she could do was practice, and hope that that would be enough. Outside, Macintosh's neatly plowed rows turned into a disorderly mush. The rain washing away all of his hard work. She sighed and ran a hoof through her mane. That was enough rain-watching for now. She wobbled back to Macintosh and settled down beside him. He rolled over, still asleep, and hugged her tight. The thought of him by her side through the uncertainty of the future, well, it made her a little less scared. Octavia rolled her eyes at her own sentimentality. She really was getting soft. Author's Note Special thanks to Comma-Kazie for supporting this chapter's creation via Patreon.
2. Bit by BitView OnlineGetting Complicated2. Bit by BitBit By Bit The usual damn song wren woke up Macintosh before dawn, and his shuffling nudged Octavia out of a comfortable sleep. Macintosh yawned and nuzzled his nose into Octavia’s mane. She sighed into his neck and wrapped her forelegs around him. Living so far away from his farm meant that he had to get up hours before the sun rose, practically the middle of the night, just to get all his work done and come back in time to prepare breakfast. He talked often of how much easier things would be once he built his homestead on the land. Macintosh pulled away, and Octavia pulled him back. His resistance broke with the slightest pull. She always won these little tugs of war. Whether because he went easy on her or because he couldn’t help but get closer to her, she didn’t know. She hoped for the latter. Octavia pulled his head into her chest and clamped his sides with her back legs. “No,” Octavia mumbled, still half-asleep. “Sugar, we go through this every morning,” Macintosh whispered into her neck, and his heated breath made an enticing shiver caress her back. “Either I stay until morning, and you go without breakfast and lunch and I gotta pour concrete for the homestead’s foundation in the sun, or I go now and you wake up to a nice breakfast in bed. Ain’t a hard choice to make.” “I care only for the present, Macintosh, and presently I’m freezing my flanks off, and I need you to heat them up for me.” Octavia placed her hooves on top of Mac’s head and pushed gently. “With your breath. Besides, we don’t have any food.” Macintosh helped roll her on her back. “So? I’ll just go get groceries.” Octavia wrapped her legs around his neck. “Unless you’re going to steal them, don’t bother. We don’t have any money.” Mac’s eyes widened and he lifted up his head, dragging Octavia down the bed along with him. “What? Completely out?” “Spent the last few bits paying this month’s bills. We won’t have more until you get paid again,” Octavia explained, her voice sharpening into an annoyed edge. This was exactly why she didn’t like giving up control in the bedroom. “Macintosh, your empress is getting impatient.” “Octavia, this is a big deal,” Macintosh said, his voice still not muffled by her thighs. “I don’t get paid for another month, and the stipend I get ain’t even close to paying off all our bills, especially not for this apartment.” “Macintosh, what did you expect?” Octavia said with a roll of her eyes. “I told you that without money coming in from playing venues, our financial situation would be a bit...strained. I even tried to spare you of it. But no, you decided to stay Mister ‘you’re stuck with me’.” “Sugar, no matter what, I’m gonna stay with ya, but I honestly thought you had more bits saved up. Heck, I thought my savings would last us a little longer.” He ran a hoof through his short, soft mane. “We gotta think about what to do.” “Macintosh, don’t trouble your cute, little freckles about it,” Octavia said. She hooked a leg around his neck and pulled him back to her. “I know you tend to worry, but there’s no reason to. I’ve survived worse, you’ve survived worse. We’ll be fine. I’ll think of something.” “I...I guess,” Macintosh said, his head turning. He gazed at the door for a long second. “I...gotta get to work.” He unhooked his neck and silently stumbled to the door. “I’ll, uh, see you later, okay?” “Macintosh?” Octavia called to him. He closed the door behind him without a sound. Octavia stared at the door with a scowl. She rolled over on her stomach and growled into her pillow. She fumbled in the dark for her nightstand and opened its drawer. -*- He didn’t return at breakfast, although she did find a stack of pancakes waiting for her on the dining table. Where he found the ingredients, she had no idea. A little note from Macintosh only told her that he would be back by sunset, and he had prepared her dinner as well. Octavia crumpled up the note and threw it away. She sliced into her pancakes and began to eat. She left one pancake uneaten purely out of spite, and she decided she would do the same with her dinner as well. To think that Macintosh would leave her alone and able to walk. It just wasn’t done. It was a good thing he would be out until that night, Octavia didn’t know what she would do to him when he stepped through the front door. She wanted to yell in his face, she wanted to tackle him to the ground, she wanted to tie him to the bed and make him regret ever walking out on a bedroom tussle with her. She sighed and slid the plate of pancakes away. Maybe, just maybe, her unsatisfied libido was making her overreact. After all, Macintosh went to work on his farm. If the situation were reversed, and if she had decided to practice her cello, Macintosh would have understood. Still, this was the first time he had left her high and dry. Usually, he would be more than happy to oblige. Octavia tried to push the train of thought out of mind, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t the type to just let things go, especially when it came to ponies she actually kind of cared about. Octavia shook her head. She needed to practice. It festered in her—the questions, the rejection, the base desire—as she played her cello. She couldn’t keep her notes steady, and her strokes became harsher and faster the longer she played. A couple of bow strings snapped. Octavia stopped. She undid the broken strings and replaced them with strands from her own tail. She took a deep breath and tried her best to calm down. It worked, for about a second. Once she put bow to strings, all her emotions came thrusting to the fore. She tried and tried for hours until the sun finally set. Her playing didn’t get any better. If anything, it became much worse. She couldn’t get into her ideal state of mind. Usually everything around her would fade away until she was no longer consciously playing, but these feelings and thoughts would not disappear into the background. As the sun tipped into the horizon, setting her bedroom aflame with orange light, Octavia plunked her cello back onto its stand with no progress made. She went back to the kitchen, and ate the soup, salad, and pasta Mac had made for dinner. Once she ate all but a few bites, she set them aside with the unfinished pancakes. She looked at the front door, and slid the plates so that they would be the first thing Macintosh saw when he walked in. Octavia waited. She waited the same way ponies waited to board commercial sky yachts. Hours passed, and Octavia’s eyelids grew heavier. Where the hell was he? She rested her head on her foreleg upon the dining table, determined to only rest for a moment or two. When she woke up, Macintosh had her on his back, heading for the bedroom. She buried her nose in his mane. It smelled of sweat and sawdust. Strange, wasn’t he pouring concrete today? Octavia’s eyes snapped open. Wait, what time was it? He was supposed to be back hours ago. She took his mane in her teeth and pulled back in an attempt to get him to stop, but he didn’t. “Just a few more steps, sugar,” Macintosh said with a smile. “Then I’ll make up for this morning, I promise.” Octavia rolled her eyes and hopped off his back. Macintosh stopped and turned to her, eyebrow raised. “I don’t care about that,” Octavia said. “No, that’s a lie. I care very much about that, but that is not what this is about. What is going on today? You never leave when I want you, and when you do leave in the morning you always come back before breakfast, not in the middle of the night.” Macintosh rubbed the back of his neck and smiled. “Aw well, I was gonna tell ya tomorrow mornin’, but I guess since you asked...I...This morning when I left I went out looking for a job.” “What?” Octavia said through gritted teeth. “Eeyup, walked around and found a construction site. Asked if there was any work and the foreman took one look at me and gave me a shot. Nothing too fancy. I just push stuff, lift stuff, put it back down, that sorta thing.” His smile widened into a grin. “I figured it all out, Octi. I’ll put the homestead on hold, ‘cause it ain’t like we got the money to build it anyway, and if I work the same hours I did today, taking every other Sunday off, and combine that with the stipend from the royal palace, we’ll have just enough to pay our bills and buy groceries. Things’ll be a little tight for a while, but we’ll be okay. It’ll be fine.” Octavia tensed and looked at Macintosh, really looked at him. There were bags beneath his sunken eyes. His shoulders slumped with fatigue. No, not just his shoulders. It looked as if his whole body buckled beneath a heavy weight. And yet he looked so happy, so damn proud of himself. Why? “No, absolutely not,” Octavia said. She struggled to keep her voice quiet and steady, but a tremor sneaked out of her lips. “You are to quit that job tomorrow, and you are not to worry about our financial situation any longer. I’ll be the one to worry about it.” Macintosh’s face fell. “But, sugar, if I don’t do this, then what’re we gonna do?” “I’ll play on the streets again. It’ll be good practice.” “We both know that ain’t gonna be enough,” Macintosh said, taking a step forward. “I can do this, Octi. I know I can.” “I know you know you can,” Octavia snapped. “Just because you know you can do something doesn’t mean you should. What you should be doing is working on your farm and tending to my every need. That means providing me with good food, good sex, and good banter.” She rubbed her aching temple and tried to think of what to do. Damn it, but he was right. Even if her pride would let her go back to busking, it would hardly be enough to afford the most meager apartment in Canterlot. “There has to be something else.” “You know, if we can’t afford the apartment, then maybe we should...give it up,” Macintosh whispered. Octavia hissed in a breath. “We...can’t.” “Why not? Does it mean that much to ya?” “Other than a symbol of status? Not really,” Octavia said. “But this apartment was made by renovating several condos together. It cost me a pretty bit, lots of them. As a result, well, this apartment is so upside down that it would take a very gullible sucker to pay what I put in.” Macintosh smiled. “That’s not so big of a deal. We’ll get a good amount for it and set up payments for what’s left.” Octavia shook her head. “Even if we do, unless we get a very good offer, or negotiate a very low payment, there’s no way we could afford a lease or a mortgage along with servicing the debt. We would still be homeless with nothing but a debt payment to keep us warm.” “Well,” Macintosh drew out the word and added an upward lilt, earning him a suspicious gaze. “We could, and it’d just be until we get our hooves under us mind ya, move in with my family. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind none.” Octavia’s heart stopped beating for a quick second. Spending an indeterminate amount of time amongst Macintosh’s meddlesome family did not seem like a wonderful time. Just the thought of dealing with his obnoxious sister, not to mention all of his friends still in Ponyville, sent her spine into shivers. But if it would keep Macintosh from working himself to death, then she would gladly deal with all of them. “Fine,” Octavia said. “Send a letter, or whatever you have to do to arrange it. The sooner we move out the sooner we can count on three square meals a day.” His grin was much too wide for her liking, as if completely unaware of her impending misery. Even so, she liked this smile a lot more than the previous one. She shook her head with a little smirk of her own. She was getting much too soft. Octavia widened her eyes as Macintosh pressed his lips against hers, but she settled into the kiss and closed her eyes to fully enjoy it. It ended much too soon. “Thanks sugar, I know you ain’t too fond of ‘em, but they absolutely love ya.” Octavia choked back a laugh, she could name at least one Apple that absolutely hated her guts. “Yes, well, now that that’s all settled, go take a shower and get some sleep. I know you’re too tired for any hip cuddling tonight, so I expect you to put in extra effort in the morning.” Macintosh chuckled. “I will.” And he did. -*- It was strange to stand upon such a lush and fertile farm whose very existence would not be possible without the stallion beside her. As Octavia walked beneath the brown, red, and yellow leaves of the apple trees of Sweet Apple Acres, she felt a small kindling of anger flicker in her gut. She tried to douse it, reminding herself how much Macintosh’s family meant to him. Right now, she just needed to figure out how much scorn she could freely show. The Apple family were opening their home to them. If the situation were reversed, she would be the first to slam the door in their faces. Octavia supposed she should be grateful. Perhaps she could hold back for a day or two. Octavia tugged at her cello case’s strap across her chest. The farmstead, a wooden home large enough to house several ponies, came into view. The setting sun hid behind the building, giving the house a warm glow that belied what waited for Octavia inside. Macintosh sped up his pace as soon as he saw his old home; Octavia slowed down. When Macintosh reached the front door, she was still beneath the trees. He looked back, smiled, and waited for her to catch up. Once she finally arrived, Macintosh wrapped a foreleg across her withers and brought her close to him, the cello case jostled into his side. He knocked on the front door, and Octavia held her breath. The door opened slowly. No one was on the other side. Macintosh and Octavia exchanged confused glances, and Macintosh retrieved his foreleg and headed inside with Octavia following. The house was dark and still, the only sound was the creak of the floorboards as they walked in. A small bit of candlelight flickered from the kitchen. A small smile eased onto Macintosh’s face. He beckoned for her to follow him into the kitchen. Octavia rolled her eyes but followed him anyway. Might as well get it all over with. “Surprise!” the Apple family shouted, the kitchen brightening to reveal a large, towering cake in the middle of the dining table. Octavia licked her lips. It looked downright lovely. Pearl white frosting coated the cake so evenly Octavia could almost see her reflection. Plump, juicy strawberries lounged upon the top, sliced precisely into the shape of rosebuds. Shavings of milk chocolate curled across the sides like bark. This was no homemade concoction. This was professionally crafted decadence. As Macintosh’s grandmother and two sisters greeted him and chatted away, Octavia snuck to the table, set down her cello, and grabbed the cake knife. Of course they wouldn’t mind if she had a slice or two. After all, this cake was bought to celebrate her coming here. Octavia cut a sizable wedge, a good quarter of the cake, for herself and slid it upon one of the plates laid out on the table. No light reflected off the deep, dark brown of the chocolate cake. Four layers, with a rich golden caramel between them, made Octavia gasp in delight. As annoying as the Apple family was, at least they had decent tastes. She took a fork, stabbed a little bit of everything, and ate her first bite. The bitterness of dark chocolate, the creaminess of the caramel, the airiness of the frosting, the sweet vibrancy of the strawberries. Oh, it was a beautiful concerto. It was bliss. It was like the coming of long awaited vengeance. It was perfect. Octavia wolfed it down like sweet ambrosia, and all too soon she was done. She licked the crumbs from her plate. Octavia spied a glance at the other ponies. The Apple family were still engrossed by Big Macintosh telling them of everything that had happened to lead him and Octavia to this predicament. He was kind enough to leave out any...unnecessary details. All of them completely ignored her and the cake. Well, what was another slice between acquaintances? Octavia grabbed another quarter of cake and tucked in. She finished that slice all too quickly, and Macintosh and his family were still catching up. Octavia took another slice without much thought, and she didn’t even hesitate to eat the last slice after that. Octavia sighed, her cake-lust finally sated. She leaned back on her chair, and sucked on her teeth to dislodge crumbs stuck between them. “Octavia!” Applejack was the first to take notice of her. “You polished off the whole dang cake?” “I absolutely did, and it was delicious. Thank you very much,” Octavia said. “Well we’re glad you enjoyed it, dearie,” Granny Smith said. “You didn’t save any for Big Mac?” Applejack asked, eyes narrowing. “Aw heck, you know I ain’t one for sweets,” Big Mac said with a smile. “I was gonna give her my slice anyway.” “And what about Applebloom?” Applejack snapped. “Ah know for a fact she was lookin’ forward to–” “Wow, you ate the whole cake all on your own?” Applebloom asked, wide-eyed. “Don’t ya feel sick?” Octavia chuckled. “Sick? From just one cake? Of course not. The only pony that can surpass me in eating sweets is Pinkie Pie. Though in my case it doesn’t all go to my rump, for better or worse. I always did wonder what it would be like to have extra cushioning back there.” Applejack slapped her hoof against her forehead. “Thanks for that, Octavia.” “Extra cushioning?” Applebloom repeated with a tilt of her head. “Why? Does it hurt when you sit?” “Only in the mornings.” “Octavia!” Applejack rushed forward, grabbed Octavia’s hoof, and dragged her out of the kitchen. Octavia barely had time to grab her cello. “How ‘bout Ah show ya where y’all'll be staying while yer here.” Applejack took her up the stairs to the second story, far away from the others. Applejack shoved Octavia away and glared at her. “Have you lost yer pony-pickin’ mind? Ah don’t care if you wanna pat yourself on the back for being so gosh dang clever with yer dirty jokes, but not in front of my baby sister. You ain’t gonna be the one to explain the birds and the bees if she gets too curious.” Octavia shrugged. “What is there to explain? Just a matter of rubbing sensitive bits with other sensitive bits until you don’t want to anymore. Simple.” Applejack rubbed her temple. “Celestia help my future nieces and nephews. Just follow me.” She went to the end of the hall and opened one of the doors. “Applebloom’s taken Mac’s old room, and Applebloom’s old room is too small for the two of ya, so y’all are gonna stay in our parents’ room.” The first thing Octavia noticed as she set down her cello were the pictures. The framed photos were everywhere: on the walls, on the dressers, and on the nightstands. There were dozens, and each of them depicted another member of the Apple family, deceased and living. Octavia estimated it would take at least twenty minutes to flip them all. At least the bed looked big and comfy with a thick quilt laid over the mattress sheets. Octavia hopped onto the bed. Nice and firm with no annoying squeaks, just like her stallion. “It’ll do, I suppose,” Octavia said. “Though I’m not too sure about sleeping in the same bed where you and Big Macintosh were conceived.” “And delivered,” Applejack added, “but don’t worry, we washed the sheets.” Octavia grimaced and hopped off the bed. “Well that’s a lovely thought. Are the walls soundproof?” Applejack sighed. “Yeah, it is. Story goes that Pa soundproofed the room after Mac blubbered about not getting any sleep ‘cause he heard ghosts wailing in the middle of the night.” Octavia chuckled. “Ghosts, the oldest excuse in the book. Still, it doesn’t sound like Macintosh to blubber about anything.” “Aw well, he used to be a real crybaby back when our parents were alive,” Applejack said with a shrug. “But that was a long time ago.” Applejack shuffled her hooves. It was obvious she wanted to say something but was holding back her tongue. Fine, if she wouldn’t say it, then Octavia would have to. “I know what you’re going to say,” Octavia said. “You don’t like me.” “Ah wasn’t gonna say that.” Applejack rubbed her foreleg with the other. “Ah mean, that wasn’t all Ah was gonna say, an’ Ah certainly wasn’t gonna say it like that. Look, we don’t like each other. That’s fine, but since we’re gonna be living together, and since you're practically family, Ah’m willing to just...play nice, a’right? So, Ah won’t get on yer case so long as you try not to be so...blunt with yer words. How’s that sound?” Octavia rolled her eyes. Truthfully, it sounded as if Octavia was a troublesome little filly and if she behaved she wouldn’t have to suffer a lecture from her older sister. Octavia clenched her jaw. She hated this arrangement. It made her indebted to a family she wanted nothing to do with, but she supposed it was inevitable now. She just had to remind herself it was for Macintosh's sake. So instead of saying anything she only held out her hoof for Applejack to shake. She did, and that was the end of it. “You wanna come back downstairs? We just finished making zap apple jam, and it’s pretty dang tasty this time around.” Octavia didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. “I’ll be down in a minute.” “Sure thing.” Applejack left, closing the door behind her, and Octavia wasted no time in flipping every single photograph over. It took less time than Octavia first thought, only about ten minutes to shove almost all the pictures into an empty dresser drawer. The last was a picture of Little Macintosh with his mother in a plain wood frame on a desk beside an old oil lantern. Little Macintosh beamed, wide eyed, at his mother who had a plow hitched on her harness. Octavia couldn't help but smile a little. They both looked so happy. Octavia kept this one where it was. With nothing else to do, she slid open the large window behind the desk and leaned forward to gaze into the endless orchard of Sweet Apple Acres. The red, orange, and yellow leaves were all that swayed in the trees. There were no apples left on the boughs, yet the air still smelled so sweet. A soft whistle wafted through the trees, but it slowly became louder and sharper until it pierced the air. Octavia’s ear twitched, and she raised her head to look for the source. A blue streak slammed into her. She tumbled to the ground and on her back. A lithe, cyan pegasus stood over her, her pink eyes looked down, eyebrows raised. Octavia blinked to get her eyes back into focus. “Rainbow Dash?” Octavia smirked and wrapped her forelegs around Dash’s neck. “If you came here to introduce our cutie marks to each other, I’m afraid Macintosh and I agreed to illicit trysts only if we both participate.” She looked down Dash’s body. “And I don’t think you’ve done the proper stretches to prepare yourself.” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “Ha ha ha, you should do stand up.” She pulled herself free and stepped away from Octavia. “Sorry about that, though. It was dark and I thought you were Mac. Wanted to say hi before everypony else came.” “Everypony else?” “Yeah, you know, the usual. Twilight, Pinkie, Fluttershy, Rarity. Those guys.” Octavia got to her hooves and rubbed her forehead. “Oh good, I was hoping to visit the circus today.” A few feminine voices came in from the open window. Octavia looked out and saw a few figures making their way down the path to the farmstead. “Looks like they’ll be here in a minute or two.” Rainbow Dash’s eyes widened. “Jeez, already? I thought I had a huge lead on ‘em.” She hurried to the door. “Mac’s downstairs, right? I wanna see him before he gets avalanched.” She swung the door open and rushed out, only to hit her head against Big Mac’s broad chest. Rainbow Dash stumbled back, and they caught each other’s gaze. Neither of them said a word. Neither of them moved for several seconds. Dash tackled Macintosh. The momentum forced him to his hindlegs, and Macintosh laughed as he wrapped his forelegs around her. They twirled together, and they buried their noses in each other’s necks. “You two should get a room, preferably with me already in it,” Octavia said as they finally released each other. They both ignored her and delved into their own little conversation just as Macintosh's family did before. Octavia rolled her eyes. Fortunately, she only had to suffer their talk for a short while before there was a knock from downstairs followed by a myriad of voices. Big Macintosh and Rainbow Dash hurried their little hooves downstairs to join the whirlwind of excitement, and Octavia kicked the door closed behind them. The last thing she wanted was to be a part of their touching reunion, as if he had been away for years when it had only been a month or two at most. Octavia slumped onto the bed and rolled over to stare up at the ceiling. The voices downstairs became so loud that the muffled talk managed to penetrate the soundproof room. She looked over at her cello. She knew she should be practicing, but doing so now wouldn't help at all. She felt too entrenched in thought and emotions. She wouldn't be able to enter her ideal state of mind. And so she stayed there on the bed as the minutes passed by. Finally, after a couple of hours, the door creaked open. Macintosh sneaked into the room with a manilla folder between his teeth and a pink pastry box on his back. He set both on the desk and turned on the lantern, dimming it to a small spark of light. Octavia watched him. He didn't notice her; he probably thought she was asleep. Macintosh shuffled through the papers in the folder, examining them for a second or two before flipping them over and putting them aside. "What are you doing?" Macintosh tensed and looked over his shoulder at her. He gave her a sheepish grin. "Sorry, sugar. If I'd known you were up Ah woulda offered you a cupcake." He pushed the pastry box closer to Octavia, though it stayed on the desk. "As for the papers, well, they're just the finances for Sweet Apple Acres. Don't tell Applejack, had to swipe them from the safe." Octavia raised an eyebrow. She hopped out of bed and sat beside Macintosh. She opened up the box of cupcakes and took one of them, admiring its rainbow frosting for a moment. She bit in. It was delicious, spiced and sweet with a mysterious little zip at the end, as if a little spark ignited every single tastebud at once. The sensation was odd but pleasant, like a tickle on her tongue. "This year's dessert competition winner," Macintosh said with a smile. "Where we first met," Octavia muttered. She looked at the confection, its sweet cake an orange cream with specks of red. "I take it Pinkie Pie made these?" "The one and only," Macintosh said, going back to his paper. Octavia polished off the cupcake and grabbed another. She looked at the small pile of documents Macintosh had put aside. She shuffled through them and saw several financial statements going back almost a decade. Profit and loss statements, quarterly balance statements, harvest reports. "I didn't think a farm would need all this," she said. "Farming's a business," Macintosh said. "Like any business, you don't keep track of the money it's gonna die." Octavia nodded and continued to nose around the papers. She caught something strange in last quarter's balance sheet and compared it to the most recent one. Where it listed the stakeholders of the company, Macintosh's name had been removed. "They took away your share of the company?" Octavia asked, resisting the urge to crumple the paper in her hooves. Macintosh shrugged. "Eeyup. I ain't helping out on the farm anymore, ain't got no money tied up into it. Heck, I got my own farm now. We figured it was best if I gave up my share." "We?" "Me an' Applejack." Octavia rolled her eyes. She had learned a long time ago that when Macintosh and Applejack were involved, 'we' usually just meant the latter. But fine. For the sake of keeping the peace between Octavia and her new 'family', she'd keep her mouth shut. After all, what was the big deal? What did it matter if Macintosh gave up his childhood to save this farm? What did it matter that Applejack took his share of that same farm as soon as he stopped working on it? What did it matter if she was treating her own brother like a common farmhand? "You okay sugar?" Macintosh asked. Octavia hadn't realized how hard she clenched her teeth, nor how much her body shook. She took a deep breath and nodded. Octavia focused back on the financial statements and flipped through them. A pattern leapt out at her. "The farm brought in less profit this season," Octavia said. Macintosh shrugged. "It's a bit of a transition I gotta imagine. We–" "They." Macintosh smiled. "We couldn't harvest as many apples, and that affects cider season, and that affects profits. Besides, Babs is still gettin' used to workin' here." "Babs?" Octavia asked. "Little filly about Applebloom's age, Applejack hired her to help around the farm after I left. You'll probably meet her soon, she's takin' the autumn break to go visit her parents." "A filly?" Octavia said with a raised eyebrow. "Applejack hired a child to replace you? No wonder she's failing." She threw the papers back onto the desk and went back to the bed. Macintosh yawned, turned off the lamp and joined her. He lay beside her and nuzzled the top of her mane. "It's really sweet to see ya worryin' about the farm like this," Macintosh said with a laugh. Octavia puffed. "What do I care of the farm? I just live to point out the mistakes and flaws of others." Macintosh chuckled, but said nothing more on the subject and instead changed it altogether. "We missed ya down in the kitchen. Everypony was askin' where ya were." Octavia rolled so that her back was to Macintosh. "Really? Because all I can imagine are them bludgeoning you with their doe eyes. 'Oh Big Macintosh, we missed you so.' 'Oh Big Macintosh, your muscles are so firm.' 'Oh Big Macintosh, sire my foals.'" Macintosh sat up on the bed and looked at her. "Are you jealous, sugar? 'Cause you know I'd never–" "Oh do go on, Macintosh," Octavia said dryly. "So long as you invite me, I don't care what you do with them. I'm not jealous of your relationship with those mares. I'm jealous of..." Octavia trailed off and dug her head beneath her pillow. "I'm jealous of you," she muttered. Macintosh softly stroked Octavia's back, and the sensation made her sigh her tension away. "What do you mean, sugar?" Macintosh asked. "I don't know, I..." Octavia lifted her head out from under her pillow and rolled on her back to stare at the ceiling again. Thank goodness it was so dark; it hid the blush reaching up to her ears. This was so embarrassing, why was she even telling him? She could just say she got into a cask of cider and was blubbering in a drunken stupor. And yet, it felt good to lay out her feelings like this. Really good. As if getting rid of an ache in her chest that had been weighing her down. "They admire you," Octavia continued, "and not just when you're doing something for them or performing for them. They admire you simply for who you are. And not just them, almost everypony you meet, besides Blueblood, who's not even worth the time anyway. Meanwhile, I just have...you, no offense meant of course." Macintosh chuckled softly. "Sugar, that's the easiest problem to solve. All you gotta do is be yourself." Octavia rolled her eyes. "Oh, what a novel idea!" Octavia said, the sarcasm dripping from her lips. "Next I'll try sharing my toys and simply talking to my bullies so that we may reach a new level of understanding. My goodness, the world seems so open and colorful and teeming with magic." Macintosh gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Glad you agree." Octavia narrowed her eyes. "Give me another one of those cupcakes. I want to smash one in your face." "I didn't know you were into food play," Macintosh said with a grin. Octavia rubbed her temple. She had taught him too well. "The fact remains. As much as I detest these next words to come from my mouth, I still have a desire to have your friends...worship me." "Well, I don't know about worship, but my advice still stands." Octavia hummed in thought. "Your advice is not completely terrible, but if I want them to admire me then I simply must show off my skills, and not only that, I must use my skills to do something for them. Then they will feel so grateful and guilty that they will be forced to admire me. But what?" "Applejack's goin' to see Filthy Rich tomorrow to renegotiate the zap apple jam contract. You're really good with those sort of things." "Zap apple jam?" Octavia repeated. "Applejack mentioned that earlier. What is it?" Macintosh smiled. "Why it's one of Sweet Apple Acres exclusive products. The jam's made from zap apples which only grow about once a year, and let me tell ya, they ain't easy to grow. You actually already tasted it. Pinkie uses a bit of it for that rainbow frosting, the zap apple's what gives the frosting its color." "Oh," Octavia thought back to the cupcake. "Is that what makes that zing? That small buzz on your tongue?" "Eeyup. You should try the jam by itself. Like a bolt of lightning hit ya right in the mouth, an' I mean that the best possible way." Octavia nodded. "Interesting, but why would I want to help Applejack?" "'Cause yer a caring, loving pony that would do anything to help my family," Macintosh said with a teasing quirk of an eyebrow. Octavia laughed. "I mean besides that." "Well, Applejack's the most reliable pony in Ponyville. If ya help her out, she's definitely gonna tell all her friends. She'll admire you, they already admire her. You put some math on that and now they admire you." Macintosh shuffled on the bed and drew her into a hug. Octavia didn't resist. "And they'll feel the same way about ya as I do." "I suppose you have a point," Octavia said. She yawned into his neck. "It would be nice of them to not so easily dismiss my advances as crude jokes. But I'll have to study the contract if I'm to be any use." Macintosh rubbed her back. "Don't worry, I got a copy you can look over tomorrow morning. I'll talk to Applejack an' let her know you'll be helpin' her out." Octavia grunted. "Do you really think Applejack will see my presence as a help? It's much more likely she'll see me as nothing but a hinderance. I'm sure she'll hate all of my suggestions on principle alone." Macintosh kissed the top of Octavia's head. "Applejack likes ya a lot more than you give her credit for. Just talk to her, and let her know what you think. She'll listen to ya." Octavia rolled her eyes but said nothing. She found it a little endearing when a bit of Macintosh's naïveté shined through, and yet a little, tiny, deeply-buried part of her hoped he was right. -*- The next day Applejack and Octavia walked silently beside each other on the path to Ponyville, neither of them very eager to break the silence. Applejack had reluctantly accepted Octavia's offer to go with her to renegotiate the contract, though it took some rather impressive linguistic gymnastics for Applejack to do so with a straight face. Octavia had spent the entire morning looking over the zap apple contract. It...wasn't terrible. Granny Smith had recounted the tale of Ponyville's founding to Octavia, and through that historic lens the contract made sense. Of course, they were no longer in the past. Sweet Apple Acres was much larger now, and its situation much less desperate. Consequently, Octavia definitely saw a few outdated clauses that could be done away with. Namely the first, the last, and all in between. She had a few daring ideas, but hadn't brought them up with Applejack yet. Octavia would have loved to simply stay quiet and allow Applejack to do whatever she thought was best. However, Macintosh's words rang in her mind. She supposed the least she could do was tell Applejack her ideas. She reached into the saddlebags Macintosh had lent her and took out a copy of the contract she had marked with red ink. "Applejack, I had a few ideas about the contract. The deal you made with Filthy Rich wasn't awful, but considering where the farm is now you could easily–" "Octavia, Ah'm real glad yer takin' an interest in the family business," Applejack interrupted, "but there really ain't much for ya to worry about with this. We've had this contract with the Rich's since Granny Smith's day. Whenever the terms come up for renegotiatin' all we do is adjust for inflation." "I noticed," Octavia said dryly. "But the farm has grown; it's productivity has grown. You don't have to deal with mildly successful general stores. You could easily go into the high brow boutiques in Canterlot or Manehattan. There are hundreds of bored, rich ponies that would pay hundreds of bits for a novelty like this, and when they taste it they'll pay a hundred more. And that's just your jam. You could have a whole line of apple products: apple sauces, apple cider, apple juice, apple and nut protein bars. Then there's apple distribution! If anypony orders a waldorf salad anywhere in the tri-city area it'll be made with your apples." Applejack tried her best to give Octavia a smile, but even phony expressions counted as lies, and so Applejack's face twisted with the attempt. "Octavia, this deal and the Rich's have treated us fine for almost fifty years. There ain't any reason to go behind Filthy Rich's back just to look for better pastures somewhere else. Heck, this contract is practically a tradition." "Go behind his back? A tradition?" Octavia clenched her jaw and stopped in her tracks. Applejack stopped as well, tilting her head in confusion. Octavia took a deep breath. Calm down, there was no need to escalate things. Octavia tried to put on her best smile, but hers was much better than Applejack's. "Applejack, don't you think you might be putting a bit too much sentiment into this relationship your family has with Filthy Rich? This is business. I'm sure he'll understand if you field your options." "We do things different here in Ponyville," Applejack said. "This is more than just a business relationship. It's an agreement between two families that has lasted for as long as Ponyville. Sure, we might make some more money with somepony else, but we ain't ever gonna have this sort of partnership." Octavia ground her teeth together. Her body shook and her fake smile melted away to reveal a deep scowl. "Are you insane? This is a business. You cannot make business decisions based on sentimentality. Your first priority should be the farm's growth, and let me tell you, Filthy Rich is nothing but a little weed, content with sucking whatever potential profits he can to sustain his meager wealth. Do you honestly think, for one second, that he values this relationship as much as you do? He doesn't. All he sees is a big fat paycheck. You're in charge. Act like it." Applejack glared at Octavia. "You're right, Ah am in charge. Which is why Ah'm gonna renew this contract." She blew a puff of air from her nose and continued on. Octavia grit her teeth and galloped ahead of Applejack, forcing her to a halt. "What is wrong with you? These are perfectly sound ideas! Is it because they're mine? Do you dislike me so much you'll dismiss all of my ideas no matter how great?" Applejack ran a hoof through her mane and scowled at Octavia. "You wanna know why Ah don't like your ideas? It's 'cause they all put money over ponies. That all you care about? Money ain't important, Octavia." Octavia bared her teeth into a twisted sneer. She stepped closer to Applejack, so close their noses touch. Applejack didn't back down, nor showed any sign of surprise or fear. Instead, she steeled her glare. "Listen, carefully," Octavia said. "In five years when you've run this farm into the ground and left your family destitute, I hope that twisted, misguided thought keeps you well fed as you wait for Macintosh to save you yet again." Octavia spat in front of Applejack's hooves and walked past her, back toward the farmstead. Applejack said nothing and only continued on her way toward Ponyville. Octavia slammed open the front door and stomped up the stairs into her bedroom. Macintosh sat at the desk, wistfully staring out the window with half-lidded eyes. "Didn't even make it outta the farm," he said with a sigh. Octavia grit her teeth and stared at her hooves. "I'm sorry, but it seems that I can't stay here. I really thought I could. If you want me to leave then I'll completely understand. I'll move back to Canterlot, get a job, and perhaps find a little rent controlled apartment in old town." A warm foreleg wrapped around Octavia's withers, and Macintosh brought her close. Her head leaned against his chest, and he rested his head on top of hers. "If you're goin' somewhere then I'm goin' with ya," Macintosh whispered. "But there ain't any reason for that. Why don't you tell me what happened." Octavia buried her face into his neck. "I don't want to." "Why not?" "Because if you knew what I said to her, you would..." Octavia trailed off. She knew full well that Macintosh had seen one of her worst moments at the Manehattan fiasco, and yet he stayed. In some ways, however, this was much worse. She had bared her teeth and lashed out at his sister, and Macintosh valued his family more than anything else in his life. "I said something horrible to Applejack," Octavia said. "So horrible, I think you'll hate me for it." "Do you regret saying it?" Macintosh asked. "No." Octavia answered with no hesitation. "Not one bit." "Then I won't either." Octavia rolled her eyes. "You have a bad habit of oversimplifying everything." "What can I say? I'm a simple pony." Octavia chuckled. She backed away from him in order to meet his eyes. "Fine, I'll tell you, but you won't like it." She told him every word exchanged between her and Applejack. All the while Macintosh looked thoughtful, but nothing else. He never showed anger or sadness. Octavia would hate to play a game of poker against him. It only took a few of minutes for Octavia to recount it all, but even after she finished she still had more to say. "And she just dismissed me over and over again! I just don't understand her thinking," Octavia said as she paced around the room in a huff. "Sweet Apple Acres could easily reach the national level with the right leadership, yet Applejack is just content to keep it stagnant. Which is all fine and good, but there's no guarantee that what works now will work tomorrow. New competition could spring up, or there could be a bad harvest, or a million other things could go wrong for no reason." Macintosh tilted his head. "So what're you really worried about?" Octavia scoffed and waved away his accusation. "Please, Macintosh, you know me well enough. I'm nothing but brutally honest a hundred percent of the time." She scowled out the window. Macintosh came to her and rubbed her back. "Listen, sugar, Applejack didn't do a great job listenin' to ya, and I'll have a talk with her about that, but when it comes to Applejack runnin' the farm, there's nothin' you can do but have faith in her. There's a reason Granny Smith and me chose Applejack to be in charge." Macintosh kissed her cheek, and a bit of red from his lips spread to tinge her cheeks. "But I want ya to know that I trust ya, and if there's something you feel you gotta do, then I'll support ya. So long as it ain't illegal." The corner of Octavia's mouth lifted in a smile. "Thank you, but I honestly don't know what to do. I just feel..." Defeated. Octavia didn't want to say it out loud, didn't want to give the final word any substance outside her own thought. "It'll be okay. Maybe some food'll help. I'll be downstairs gettin' lunch ready." Macintosh went for the door, but only took a few steps before looking over his shoulder. "Oh, and you should probably get ready for the lecture Applejack's gonna give ya. She's probably gonna be boilin' up about the whole thing 'til she get's back." Octavia rested her head on the desk. "I'll keep that in mind." Macintosh nodded and left, and Octavia stayed still for several minutes. She raised her head as she fought back the water that blurred her vision. When she could see clear again, her eyes rested on the photo of Macintosh with his mother. She grabbed it, gently, as if it were made of the same stuff as her. She smiled at the old sepia tone, but her smile quickly faded. The world could be a harsh place, couldn't it? But that was fine, because Macintosh had survived its cruelty. She had survived its cruelty. But Macintosh was far stronger than her. He had made it through while remaining soft and kind. Octavia returned the photo and opened one of the desk's drawers to get parchment and an inkwell. Life had made her hard and mean, but that was fine. It meant she could fight. Octavia dipped her quill into the ink and busied herself with writing a contract. She wrote furiously and with great purpose, not a single stroke wasted. Not a drop of ink spilled. In one half hour she finished. She lifted her quill from the last serif, and Applejack kicked the door open. "Who the heck do you think you are?" Applejack yelled. "We opened our door to ya, called you family, but you're here just one damn day and you think you could butt in and act like you run this place? And then you go an' spit in front of me? Ah swear to Celestia it took all the will Ah had not to slug ya across the face. You're lucky your Mac's mare or Ah swear Ah'd buck ya back to Canterlot where you came from. What do you have to say for yourself?" Octavia looked over her shoulder at Applejack and said nothing. She took the contract she wrote and presented it to Applejack. Applejack raised an eyebrow and took it. "What's this?" she asked. "A contract," Octavia said. She turned to face Applejack fully. "You can read it if you like, but it basically lays out the terms of my and Macintosh's living here." Applejack scanned the one page agreement. "You're...paying me rent. A lot of it..." "Yes, I thought it only fair considering the shared meals and utilities. In exchange, Macintosh is not to work on Sweet Apple Acres unless given a proper wage: a hundred bits an hour for consultation, a hundred fifty for labor, a hundred if I get to watch." "What? Why do Ah gotta pay to get my own brother to work on the farm. It's a family business, he's family, and if it does well then that means good things for 'im," Applejack said. Octavia chuckled. "Oh no, neither Macintosh nor I have any stake in the farm. Its success or failure is no concern of ours. We simply rent a room here, that's all." Applejack shook her head. "Ah don't get it. Is this supposed to be some kind of apology? 'Cause you don't need to give me bits every month, a simple 'sorry' is good enough." Octavia glared at her and stepped closer to her. "No, this is not an apology. It is a statement of two simple truths. The first, that you make a better landlord than a potential sister-in-law. The second, that Sweet Apple Acres will fail under your leadership, and, when it does, I'll be damned if you drag Macintosh down with you. So sign it, and be done with it." Applejack's face darkened into a vicious snarl. She tossed the contract to the ground and stomped on it. "You know what, Octavia?" Applejack brought her nose to Octavia's. She spoke in a harsh whisper. "What's the point? You ain't gonna last long here anyway. 'Cause sooner or later Mac's gonna figure out just how mean and petty you really are, and Ah can't wait to help him kick ya out on the street." "You mean the street you'll soon be living in?" They glared at each other for several seconds, neither of them backing down. "Lunch is ready." Macintosh poked his head through the doorway. "Be right down," Applejack and Octavia said simultaneously, both wearing fake smiles. Macintosh frowned, obviously not buying it for a second, but showed better judgement and went back downstairs anyway. With the intrusion gone, both of them went back to glaring at each other. "Sign the contract," Octavia said. "Ah got a few changes Ah wanna make," Applejack sneered. "Don't bother payin' me any rent. Ah ain't gonna take my own brother's money. All you gotta give me is quiet. You don't talk to me, ever, and you can stay for free for all Ah care." Octavia pulled the contract from beneath Applejack's hoof and took it back to the desk. She crossed out the offending clauses and made the proper revisions. She presented the new contract to Applejack, who scanned through it. Octavia held out the quill to her, and Applejack took it. She signed, and Octavia did as well. Without another word Applejack left the room and slammed the door behind her. Octavia released a breath she didn't know she was holding. She collapsed onto the bed and stared at the desk, at the only photo left in the room. She won. Author's Note Special thanks to Comma-Kazie for supporting this chapter's creation via Patreon.
3. Fear and FailureView OnlineGetting Complicated3. Fear and FailureThe air of Sweet Apple Acres was far too tense for the notes of Octavia’s cello to ring clearly and beautifully, and the unwanted accompaniment of Applejack’s grinding teeth was out of tune. In it’s own way, Octavia supposed, not saying anything was it’s own form of lying, and perhaps, like a twisted face, grinding teeth was simply Applejack’s tell. Tell or not, the conclusion was the same. After a full week of trying, Octavia could not practice in the Apple family homestead. And so, one morning after waking up at half past noon, Octavia encased her cello and bow, slung the case across her back, and headed to the front door without a word to anyone. Not to Applejack, and not to Macintosh. “Where you headed?” Granny Smith asked as Octavia tried to move past her. “Canterlot,” Octavia said. Granny Smith’s eyes met Octavia’s and then went up to the cello case. She turned to look into the living room where Applejack currently busied herself with a list of chores she had to do that day. Sometimes, Granny Smith seemed distracted and senile, other times, like right now, she seemed to understand things in easy seconds. “Family’s tough,” she said. “Yer stuck with ‘em no matter what, for better or worse.” “I’m not a part of this family,” Octavia said. Granny Smith chuckled. “You’re more a part of this family than you know. Welp, be seein’ ya then.” She left Octavia alone and went to the living room to sit on her recliner. Octavia considered Granny’s words for a moment, but ultimately shrugged them off and left the farm. Octavia practiced her cello in the only place she felt welcomed: her soon-to-be-sold apartment in Canterlot. Practicing here, among her own possessions, why, it almost felt like nothing had changed. She was still the princess of the concert halls, the absolute master of the strings, still the best, or, at the very least, still ignorantly believing she was the best. The notes flowed smoothly from her cello, and slowly Octavia felt the familiar pride well up in her chest. Her hooves became lighter, the bow became an extension of her foreleg, and soon the music felt exactly the same as always. The beams of sunlight traveled across the room as the day waned on, and Octavia was at peace. “You’re wasting your time.” Octavia’s grip tightened on her bow, popping a few strands of hair. She jerked her head up to glare at the trespasser. Oh of course, who else but Dulcet Tones would be standing there beneath the door jam? Octavia cursed at herself for forgetting to lock the door. Dulcet strutted into the apartment and grabbed an apple from a bowl set atop a coffee table. Octavia gritted her teeth, placed her cello back on its stand, and snatched the apple from Dulcet’s hoof. Octavia bit into it, and set it down on the table. “Your execution is already perfect,” Dulcet continued. “But your style lacks emotion. It’s not something you can practice. You've spent years grinding your style down to nothing but the fundamentals, haven't you?" “What are you doing here?” Octavia snapped. Dulcet smiled. “Why, I’ve come to warn you. Tonight you will be haunted by three spirits. Without their visits you cannot hope to shun the path I have tread." She walked past Octavia and gazed around the apartment. "And to take a look around the apartment, of course, I have permission from the building manager." “I don't care if you got permission from bloody Celestia. I swear if you don’t leave right now I’ll–” "Is that any way to talk to your savior?" Dulcet interrupted. "I hesitate to know your idea of salvation." "I've looked at the public records. This apartment as well as a few on the eighth floor of this building are under your name, correct? I'd like to take them off your hooves at a price I think you'll find quite agreeable." Octavia narrowed her eyes. "What's the catch?" Dulcet smiled. "The catch? Why, that I'll make more money off of this real estate than you will, of course. Make no mistake, I'm not doing this for charity. I'm doing it because I see an opportunity. Does that make it a bad deal for you? Not necessarily. I did my research, I know how much you owe. Surely the thought of all that debt going away is a tantalizing one." Octavia grit her teeth. "Listen here, I would rather go destitute and rot in a medieval debtor's prison than accept any offer from you. So if you're done gorging on my misery, you blood-sucking maggot, you can crawl as far away from this place as your pus-bloated body can take you." Dulcet shrugged. "Well, since you asked so nicely, I'll make my leave." Halfway through the door, Dulcet stopped and looked over her shoulder to deliver her final piece. "You plan on becoming better, don't you? To make a glorious comeback and make everypony regret ever shunning you. But you've already made it impossible. You've been blacklisted. Cast out. From here to Manehattan to Fillydelphia. You'll never play professionally no matter how great you become. You don't even have the charisma to be a rebel or a controversial outsider." With an unceremonious push, Octavia propelled Dulcet out of her apartment and slammed the door on her flanks. With a deep breath, she tried to calm down. The last thing she needed was a chipped tooth from clenching her jaw so hard for so long. She grabbed the apple. She threw it. It smashed into a pulp against the wall. Her scowl softened as she stared at the pulverized apple. What a waste. It took a quick couple of minutes to clean up the mess. Octavia stared at her cello, then at the bowl of apples on the table. She couldn't practice here anymore, not right now at least. Dulcet's visit and their conversation tainted the air. It would take a few days to clear out. With her cello in its case and slung over her shoulder, she waited another half hour before leaving. Less chance of running into Dulcet Tones that way, or any pony for that matter. Before she got the chance to leave, however, another unwelcome pony swung the door open. The glare Octavia gave the tan-brown stallion would usually be enough to make any pony immediately turn the other way. However, this stallion–the stallion with a white mane and tail that he stubbornly described as 'platinum', the stallion that completely stole her iconic bowtie, the stallion that she hated almost as much as Dulcet Tones–only flicked his mane at her scowl. "Frederick, I see you've finally come to take me up on my offer," Octavia said. "Not yet, my little grand staff, I'm afraid I'm still very much attached to breathing." Octavia's ex sauntered in as if he owned the place, though, to be fair, he did once several years ago. "I came on the request of Miss Dulcet Tones. Now normally I wouldn't think of setting foot here again, but she caught me in a nostalgic mood. Don't you ever feel like that, Tavi? A desire to visit the past?" "If you've come for a pity rut, I already have a stallion in my collection." "What a coincidence, so do I," Frederick replied with a laugh. "No, I came to have a look at the old place." He looked up at the staircase leading to the tenth floor. "Dulcet told me it was up for sale. In fact, I had planned to meet her, but I'm sure you already chased her away." He whistled as he looked up at the floor above. "I heard that you bought all the condos on the tenth and ninth floor and renovated them together, but I didn't think it was actually true." Running a hoof through his mane, Frederick shook his head and laughed a grim chuckle. "For the love of Celestia, Tavi. I know you're you, but I would never had thought you would take it this far." "Why are you here, Frederick?" Octavia growled. "Certainly not because Dulcet asked or because of some ill-conceived desire for the past, and certainly not because you're seriously considering buying the place." Frederick took a deep breath, and all the usual playfulness drained from his voice. "Despite how things ended between us, I still care about you. You were always on edge, and when I heard what you did to Dulcet I thought you might be spinning into a spiral of self-destruction. I came to see if you were all right." "Oh don't pretend you care," Octavia snapped. "You've made your feelings quite clear years ago." "Tavi, please, I know toward the end of it our relationship was a bit strained, but–" "A bit strained?" Octavia came up to him and gripped his stupid bowtie to bring his face as close to hers as her gag reflex would allow. "Make no mistake, Frederick, despite your attempts to remain amicable, I despise you. Absolutely hate you. I wish I meant it as an insult, but if anything my disgust only shows how much I truly cared for you once. And you don't even have the decency to hate me back. I wish you were dead, with my whole heart I do, because seeing you alive only reminds me of how even the most reckless, passionate love can decay into flaccid apathy, and how I'll surely experience that rot again with a stallion that is greater than you in every single trait, quality, and characteristic. And when he does become tired of me, just as you did, the pain will be shattering." "Are you...crying?" Octavia pushed Frederick away and turned her back to him. "Leave." Frederick straightened his bowtie and heaved a heavy sigh. "I didn't get tired of you. You just...became too much for me. All the things I loved about you became your biggest faults. Your brutal honesty became lack of tact. You're dogged determination became obsessiveness. So I started avoiding you. Instead of confronting you about it, I just pretended that everything was okay and nothing had changed. That wasn't fair to you, and I know that now, but..." Frederick trailed off, but Octavia stood still and silent. Frederick shook his head and headed for the door. "You're such an angry pony, Octavia, and you won't let anypony help you, so you end up unhappy. You're worried about how things will end up with your new relationship, well, I would be too. How do you expect things to change if you won't?" He left, and Octavia released a breath she didn't know she was holding. She was a little proud of herself for not devolving into violence, though she wasn't sure that was something to really be proud of. Several deep breaths couldn't help her regain calm. Her heart still beat furiously, and her weak knees forced Octavia to prop herself on the kitchen island. The world spun. She gripped the island edge and grit her teeth as she tried to force herself steady. She felt apart from herself, apart from her body, thoughts, and emotions. She felt tired. So damn tired. Slowly, quietly, her shattered facets came back together. The strength came back to her legs, her heart slowed, and her head stopped swimming in nothing. She gripped the strap of her cello case, still across her chest, and glared at the front door. Only after several minutes of no interruptions, did Octavia feel confident enough to leave. Hopefully, that was enough conversation for one day. It was not, for Octavia ran into yet another pony in the sunset-drenched streets of Canterlot mere feet from her front door. Rarity, in a thick winter coat, waved at Octavia seconds after the latter exited the apartment building. Octavia held back a sigh. Well, of all the ponies in Canterlot she could have run into, Rarity by far was the least unsavory. In fact, on a very good day (a very, very good day), Octavia might even call her a friend. "Octavia! What a delightful surprise." Rarity actually sounded sincere. "Yes, a surprise," Octavia replied. Caution would be necessary here. Octavia hadn't seen Rarity since before this entire mess started. Octavia didn't know how much that furnished dandy knew about Octavia's situation other than her new residence at Sweet Apple Acres. "Are you hungry? Let's go somewhere to eat and catch up," Rarity said with a smile. "I only brought enough bits for a train ticket home." "Nonsense, it'll be my treat," Rarity beamed. "Come, I know the perfect place." Rarity lead the way and Octavia followed. Even she wasn't heartless enough to refuse a free meal. As they walked beside each other, Rarity dominated the conversation. She gossiped about how Blueblood was in hot water with his aunt, Princess Celestia. Apparently he had treated a dear friend of the Princess, one A.K. Yearling, with a bit less sophistication than Celestia would have liked. Rumor had it that Yearling, in retaliation, casted a thinly veiled surrogate of the prince in her latest story, and the few ponies that managed to get their hooves on an advanced reader copy noted that the portrayal was not flattering. So incredibly unflattering, in fact, that Blueblood was now the laughingstock of high society even before the book's release. Octavia ate up the news like holy nectar, reveling in the schadenfreude, her only pleasure to indulge in all day besides her earlier practice. They stopped at a little bistro not far from the Canterlot Theatre. The hostess greeted them and sat them inside. Rarity unzipped her coat and hung it on the back of her chair before taking a seat. Octavia set her cello beside the table, took her seat across from Rarity, and opened up the menu. Surprisingly, the menu featured quite a few apple dishes. Waldorf salad, apple fritters, baked apples, and even apple cider mimosas. "Octavia," Rarity said, and her downcast tone made Octavia look up from the menu. "Applejack told me why you and Macintosh are living in Sweet Apple Acres, but I found her explanation conveniently lacking. Of course, I'm current with all the gossip in Canterlot, so I know exactly what happened. I don't quite agree with hiding the whole truth from Applejack, but she also told me what happened between you and her and, well, maybe for now it's for the best. No need to give Applejack more reasons to dislike you." "We'll agree to disagree," Octavia said as the waiter came to take their order. "I'll have one of every dish and drink that features apples, thank you, and bring it all at once." "I'll have the salad, please," Rarity said. The waiter scribbled down the order and hurried away, allowing Rarity to continue their conversation. "Don't you think it would be best to make amends with Applejack quickly? Family is important to Macintosh, after all. It must be hard for him to have his sister and his marefriend at odds with each other." "Hard for him? It's been hard for me," Octavia replied. "And if it's been difficult for him then he hasn't said a word about it." She thought for a moment, a hard frown curving her mouth. Octavia didn't like this turn in conversation; a too intimate topic with a not so intimate pony. "What business brought you to Canterlot today?" Octavia didn't really care, but turning attention to Rarity was the easiest way to change the subject. "Oh the usual: meeting with clients, and searching..." Rarity continued on, and Octavia only half-listened as she thought of Dulcet's offer, or rather the reasoning behind it. Just what was Dulcet up to? Obviously she had her eyes on making a profit, but how, and how could Octavia take it instead? The most likely answer was that she intended to rent out the apartments, but could the potential rent really surpass the mortgage payment? Even if it could, Octavia cringed at the thought of becoming a landlord. She bought two floors to be rid of having to deal with annoying ponies. The waiter's entrance interrupted Rarity's talk and Octavia's thoughts. He hovered two massive platters beside the table and set down the smaller plates of entrees in front of the two mares. Octavia didn't even wait for him to finish bringing her every plate before she stuck her fork into a chunk of apple in her Waldorf salad. She took her first bite and savored it, but the flavor fell flat on her tongue. It tasted...sweet, just sweet. It lacked the underlying tartness, the juiciness, the crunch that Octavia had grown so accustomed to over the past few months. Plus, the salad was overdressed. The same experience echoed out through every dish. Sure, the apple fritter was crispy, the baked apple nicely spiced, the apple liquor refreshing, but they lacked something. But Octavia was no cook, and so she couldn't put it into words. It didn't taste as good as Macintosh's cooking, that was the best way to put it. Even so, she took another bite. It wasn't as if the food was terrible. Still, it was enough to get Octavia reminiscing. When was the last time she and Macintosh enjoyed a meal alone together? Far too long. At that moment, Octavia wanted nothing more than a lovely little dinner, just the two of them, in a home of their own, without any annoying family or the prospect of debt looming over their heads. Of course, that could happen if she took Dulcet Tones' offer. All that debt would be wiped away. They could find a small, affordable place in Ponyville supported by Big Macintosh's royal stipend. Octavia could find a traditional job, perhaps Pinkie Pie would be kind enough to let her work part-time at Sugarcube Corner. At least until Macintosh finished building his own farmstead and they moved in together there. She could live secluded yet still close to the city she knew, perhaps become a housewife...maybe a mother. But would she be happy with that? No, of course not. She would never be happy until all of her naysayers were crushed sweetly under hoof. Until her talent and status were acknowledged as maximum. And yet, she feared the little part of her heart and mind that would gladly settle for a normal life with Macintosh. The part of her that knew with uncomfortable certainty how much she had come to rely on him for food, companionship, and support for these past few months. The part of her that wanted to heed Frederick's warning. "What's wrong, Octavia? Usually, you're halfway done with your meal by now," Rarity said before taking a bite of salad. Octavia gave a wistful sigh. "You know, I never thought the time would come when I had to choose between a stallion and my ambition, but perhaps it's a decision everypony has to face at some point in their life." Rarity quirked an eyebrow. "My goodness, I didn't know you were the type to choose between the two. After all, there's no doubt in my mind that both you and Macintosh would want you to have both. I hear from Fancy Pants that Macintosh has been nothing but supportive of you, even pleading your case." "That's true, but Macintosh silently suffers gladly, and he's happy to care for the ponies he loves." Octavia chuckled low. "I wouldn't be surprised if we one day find ourselves in a codependent cycle where he enables and encourages my self-destructive behavior in order to tend to my emotional and mental wounds. And what if we have nothing to show for it but an endless, tiring fight against the course of our own lives." "That's enough of such talk," Rarity scolded. "I'm quite tired of this new Octavia who speaks in nothing but roundabout hypotheticals and gloomy 'if's. So if it's all the same to you, I would like for you to return to your coarse and blunt way of speaking, even if that means you must call me an uncouth name or two. You can start by telling me what's going on." The corner of Octavia's mouth pulled up slightly, and she looked up from her food to really appraise Rarity. My goodness but she was pretty in the dim light of the bistro, her deep blue eyes shimmering in the evening sun. Macintosh certainly had good taste in mares. Good taste, but poor judgement. If only he had had the sense to pick Rarity instead, his life would have been so much more pleasant. "Dulcet Tones put in an offer for my apartment, one that would completely erase my debt." Rarity's eyes widened. "What a surprise." "I insulted her and rejected the offer." "What a surprise," Rarity repeated, much more sarcastically. "I've changed my mind," Octavia continued, and though her heart sank, a burden had lifted from her back. "There's no sense in letting my pride get in the way of my comfortable living. Besides, Macintosh has suffered enough because of me. He would follow me to Tartarus and back without a second thought, and neither of us want to break it off. So rather than lead him into hell, it would be best if I...took a more traditional route." "Well, imagine I would live to see the mighty Octavia think of another pony that wasn't her reflection," Rarity said with a smirk. "But honestly, If you think that's what is best for you and Macintosh, then I'm sure everything will turn out alright. You know your relationship best, after all. But is that really all that's bothering you? I would imagine it would take more than that to perturb you so." Octavia sighed, unsure of how much she wanted to share. "I was visited by...a prior acquaintance." "Oh, an ex," Rarity said with a knowing nod. "Now there's something that would cause any pony to think too much." Rarity stared at her salad for a few moments before looking up at Octavia. "I'm sorry for my curiousity, Octavia, and feel free not to answer, but...did you...that is, was it a serious relationship?" "I loved him," Octavia said flatly, she crossed her hooves on the table and hunched over, her snout tickled by the bubbles of her mimosa. "I really did. He made me feel like I could do no wrong. He made me feel as if...only a deeply flawed world could ever deny me. He made me feel that way up to the very moment he told me to get out of his apartment and never return." "Are you scared the same thing will happen with you and Macintosh?" Rarity asked in almost a whisper. Octavia stood, slinging her cello across her back yet again. "Thank you for the meal, but I need to get back to Sweet Apple Acres." Rarity quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure? You hardly touched your food." "I'm sorry, but I'm not that hungry." And it was the truth. -*- The entire way to Sweet Apple Acres, Octavia's thoughts of her conversations throughout the day occupied the cellist. Rarity was right, ultimately Octavia knew her relationship best, thus only she could decide what the best course of action to take. This time, just this one time, her decision was one comprised of the utmost consideration for Macintosh. However, she couldn't possibly let him know that. He was the self-sacrificing sort and put Octavia's desires over his own. He always did. Whenever she asked him what he wanted to eat, he would always say minestrone soup, mushroom stroganoff, and apple pie simply because that was Octavia's favorite meal. No, she had to be convincing. She had to make him believe that this was truly what she wanted. Easy enough, it was already partly true. What she wanted was for Macintosh to get what he wanted. She paused for a moment. Okay, so what did Macintosh want? As Octavia continued her walk, she couldn't give a definite answer. She didn't know what kind of life Macintosh wanted, whether he wanted an easy, idyllic life or a tumultuous and adventurous one, but Octavia knew one thing for certain. Big Macintosh wanted his farm in Canterlot. It was why he made a bet with Luna for the land, and it was where he devoted much of his time and labor, all of his own free will. The best action, then, would be whatever allowed Macintosh to get back to working on his farm. Then it was decided. She would tell him of the offer, but she would spin the story around to make it look like Octavia's expert haggling skills had gotten the better of Dulcet, thus making it sound as if this was something Octavia had strived for, had worked toward. A pang of guilt clenched her stomach. She didn't want to lie to Macintosh. She had done so before, of course, but always from a place of playful teasing or embarrassment. This...this was a deliberate lie meant to misinform him. No, no it wasn't. This wasn't really a lie. Dulcet did make the offer. Octavia would simply present the facts in a different sort of light, and what was wrong with that? Octavia nodded to herself in order to steel her resolve as she climbed the steps of the Apple family farmstead. Knowing Macintosh and the time of day, Octavia headed to the kitchen where Macintosh busied himself with making dinner. She didn't announce her presence immediately, choosing instead to lean against the doorway and watch Macintosh tend to soups and sauces bubbling on the stove, his back to her. The earthy, savory scent of roasting mushrooms filled the air, and Octavia knew instantly that Macintosh was preparing her favorite. Just like that, all her planned cleverness and and all her justifications crumbled, replaced instead by the overwhelming desire to provide and care for Macintosh, no matter what it took. After starting a feud with his sister, leaving them destitute, and taking him away from his farm, she owed him that much. "Dulcet Tones put in an offer for the apartment. It's enough to wipe out the debt." Macintosh said nothing for several seconds until he turned off the stove. He turned to her, his face unreadable. "What are you going to do?" Octavia stepped up to him. "I'm going to take Dulcet's bits, so that we can start from a clean slate. It's not as if another pony will ever make the same offer." Macintosh approached her and gave her a kiss, one that Octavia gladly fell into. It ended much too soon for her liking. "If that's what you want then I'm behind ya." Turning back to the stove, he added, "Now go wash up, dinner's gonna be ready soon." "I've had an exhausting day," Octavia said as she headed out of the kitchen. "I'm going to take a nap. Would you save me a plate for later, please?" "Eeyup." Octavia climbed up the stairs and went to their bedroom without another word. When she entered the moonlit room, she swung her cello off her and stood it up against the wall. She opened it, and even in the dim night the cello still managed to gleam like the finest crystal. Octavia trailed a hoof down the scroll and neck and sighed. Did she want to continue playing? She kept changing her mind, but this time things were different. Her reputation tarnished, her apartment gone, her talent nonexistent. And yet the world hadn't ended. Things became inconvenient, sure. Living with Macintosh's family, having to swallow her pride, neither of these were ideal, but at least she still had a somewhat comfortable living. Good food, good sex, good banter. Maybe that really was all she needed. Octavia shut the case and stuffed it into the back of the closet. She never thought she would be the type of mare to choose a stallion over her ambition. So what? She wasn't the first, she wouldn't be the last. Besides, she wasn't even sure how to fulfill her ambition. If what Dulcet said was true (and even Octavia had to admit that was very likely the case) then it didn't matter how much she practiced. When it came to the cello, there might be no way to make others bow to her anymore. She supposed she could marry into a royal title. It would have to be a mare, though, she already had a stallion. Was Luna single? That over inflated blowhard certainly needed a prick. Octavia would have to find out tomorrow when she went to pay Dulcet a visit. -*- Octavia glared at the great white of Dulcet's apartment building. It really was a nice place, though it would be nicer if it were hers. Surprisingly, Octavia's name was on the doormare's list. Dulcet was expecting her. Octavia didn't know whether to be flattered or angry, so she decided on neither. Best to keep a straight face coming into a negotiation. After a long elevator ride, Octavia ambled down the hall and knocked on Dulcet's door. It eased open. "Octavia," Dulcet Tones greeted her with a smile. "How expected. Come in, and have a seat. We have much to talk about I imagine." Octavia stepped into the apartment and wasted no time in telling Dulcet her intentions. "I've come to accept your offer." After closing the door behind them, Dulcet turned to smile wider at Octavia, a wicked little smile that Octavia would be far more comfortable if it were on her own face. "You know," Dulcet began as she went to a file cabinet tucked in the corner of the room, "I have such torn feelings toward you." She gave a small chuckle as she rummaged through the files and papers. "A part of me wants to help you and keep you from making the same mistakes I have, and yet, another part, perhaps the part most like you, wants to crush you. I'm sure there's a psychological mechanism behind it. Anger at my past-self projected onto you, or something like that." "You talk too much," Octavia said with a glare. She sat on Dulcet's comfiest recliner, right in front of an ornate mahogany coffee table. "Is this your way of telling me you're rescinding your offer?" "No, my offer is the same," Dulcet said. She pulled out the file she sought, and went over to the coffee table. She pulled out two piles of papers and set them in front of Octavia. "To be cruel or to be kind. I couldn't decide in the end, so I'm leaving the choice up to you. It's like a little game." "Somepony ought to give you a board game if you're this desperate for entertainment." Octavia sneered. "My birthday is next week if you're feeling generous. Speaking of which, the contract on your right is not only for my apartment, but for you to come to my birthday party and apologize to me in front of all present. And trust me when I say that everypony will be present." Octavia hardened her jaw. "And the one on the left?" "The one on the left stipulates that you will never play a cello publicly again." Octavia allowed the scowl on her face to remain for a few seconds more. Little did Dulcet know Octavia had already decided to do just that, but she needed to keep it close to her chest. She needed to make Dulcet think this was a difficult decision for her, otherwise she might think of something else inane. "Must I decide now?" Octavia asked. "I'll give you three days to read over them and decide. Those are your copies so feel free to take them," Dulcet answered. "Though I already know which one you're going to pick." "Then we have nothing more to discuss." Octavia leapt off the chair and grabbed the contracts, but before she could head out the door, a thought popped into her head. "By the way," Octavia said, "do you happen to know if Princess Luna is single?" "Uh..." For the first time since Octavia met her, Dulcet had to think before speaking. "I'm...not sure. Rumor has it that Princess Luna never hesitated to keep a lover before her banishment, but if she has one now then it is quite possibly the best kept secret in Equestria." Octavia clicked her tongue. "I'll have to get it straight from the pony's mouth then." Octavia left, glad to finally have the last word. The meeting had gone better than she expected, lasting only minutes with nothing of significance lost. Her return home also went smoothly, no unexpected meetings with unwanted ponies, and best of all she was the only one in her train car. No, she took that back. The best, best part was that the Apple family farmstead would be empty of everyone but Octavia and Macintosh. Today seemed to be the polar opposite of yesterday, and she intended to take full advantage of it. Arriving at the farmstead, the sound of water running through the pipes clued Octavia to Macintosh's whereabouts. Perfect, while he showered she would hurry upstairs and make sure he got quite the eyeful when he entered their bedroom. She climbed to the second story and went into the bedroom, dropping the contracts onto the desk. She stopped to stare at them for a moment. Well, no point in putting it off. She took a pen from the desk and signed the contract that prohibited her cello playing. A little pang of regret traced her heart as she signed, but her certainty quickly squashed it. This was the right thing to do. No point in questioning that now. The bedroom door opened, and only now did Octavia realize that the sound of rushing water had stopped. Octavia turned to face a freshly showered Macintosh, his coat still slightly damp, the scent of apples mixing with that of soap. He smiled at her, and Octavia smiled back. "How was your trip, sugar?" Macintosh asked as he came up to her. "It was a good trip, I'll tell you all about it after." Octavia hopped onto the desk and leaned back, making sure to give Macintosh a full view. Macintosh tilted his head and feigned ignorance. "After what?" he asked. "After you take this mare for a ride," Octavia said with a smirk. Macintosh chuckled and raised himself up so his front hooves were on either side of her on the desk. He leaned in for a kiss, but the sound of crinkling paper stopped him. Tilting his head, he looked at Octavia's right flank where his hoof disturbed the freshly signed contract. "What's this?" Macintosh asked, picking up the papers to read them. "Macintosh, I hate when you keep me waiting." Octavia wrapped her forelegs around him and leaned forward to bite his neck in an attempt to bring his attention back to what really mattered. Macintosh, however, remained undeterred. He skimmed the page. "Oh, it's the contract for selling the apartment," he observed. "Yes, exactly, now can you please rut me already?" Despite Octavia's prodding, Macintosh continued reading. He furrowed his brow. "Why does it say you gotta stop playing the cello?" He lowered himself off the desk and flipped through the contract. "And you already signed it?" His head jerked up and scanned the room. "Where's your cello?" "It's in the closet," Octavia said with a sigh. "Macintosh, there's nothing to be concerned about. I–" "Nothing to be concerned about?" Macintosh repeated, taken aback. "I thought you were working on getting better. I thought you were gonna fight your way back to the top. What happened?" Octavia ran a hoof through her mane and leapt off the desk. "Macintosh, this is for the best." "For who? Octavia, you love playing the cello, and you hate having other ponies tell you what to do. You tellin' me you're fine with this?" "I won't lie and say this is easy for me," Octavia admitted. "But this is for the best...for you." "What do you mean?" "I can sell the apartment, erase the debt, and get a job. That'll leave you with enough time and money to continue working on your farm. I wanted to be considerate of you for a change." "I liked it better when you just thought of yourself," Macintosh said, and Octavia tensed. "Funnily enough, Rarity said something similar yesterday," Octavia said, her voice soft. "You're both wrong, however. Soon enough the two of you will come to resent me. It's happened before. If I don't change then–" "What do you mean it's happened before?" Macintosh interrupted. "With who?" "With...my ex...Frederick." "So?" "So?" Octavia growled. "Macintosh, our relationship right now is exactly like my relationship with Frederick in the beginning. He was just like you: kind, supportive, with the silly mindset that I could do no wrong. But soon the rose-tinted glasses faded, and all my loveable qualities became flaws. I'm sure the same will happen to you, so I want to...change." Macintosh glared at her for a few moments. He clicked his tongue, and it had the same impact on Octavia as a clock striking the hour of her execution. "You think I'm stupid or something?" "What?" Octavia quirked an eyebrow. "I hate to break it to ya, sugar, but I already know you're an ass," Macintosh continued. "You're rude, you're vindictive, you're two-faced. You threw me out of the apartment for a week, you insulted and started a feud with my sister, you slugged an old woman across the face. You slugged an old woman across the face, and you refused to apologize. But I'm still here, ain't I? And it ain't because I'm too dumb or too in love to realize how obnoxious you are." "Then why are you with me?" Octavia snapped. "If I'm so terrible then why do you stay?" "Because you're also kind, and loyal, and you don't take crap from anypony," Macintosh said. "You're driven to a fault, you're confident and self-assured, and you don't let the stupid things ponies say about you get to you. At least, you didn't before. But aside from all that the one thing that keeps me by your side is that I believe with my whole damn heart that you're a good pony. A pony that makes plenty of stupid mistakes, sure, but still a good one." Octavia clenched her jaw and stared at the ground. Macintosh approached her and tilted up her chin, their noses almost touching. "Octavia, my darlin', you're only you when you bite and spit for what you want. So what do you want? What'll make you happy? I'll be fine so long as you follow your gut." "You'll resent me for it one of these days." "Wanna bet?" Macintosh said with a smirk. "Gotta warn ya, I got a pretty good track record." Octavia buried her head in Macintosh's chest. "To be honest, Macintosh, all I want right now is for you to treat me like one of your fields." Macintosh chuckled. "Never heard that one before." -*- Octavia threw open the fridge in search of something to eat. Luckily, she found the plate of food that Macintosh had put aside for her. She didn’t bother to heat it up, and simply sat at the dining table to eat. Her conversation with Macintosh had left her more confused than ever. She didn’t have the faintest idea what to do. Deep in her gut she wanted to fight, if not as a cellist then as something else, and Macintosh gladly gave his blessing, but she still hesitated. A silhouette caught the corner of her eye, and she leapt back from the surprise visitor. The other pony came closer, and Octavia made out a hint of green and white along with a wrinkled mouth. “Granny Smith?” Octavia asked. “Yup,” Granny Smith replied. “What are you doing up this late?” “What’re ya doin’ up this early,” Granny Smith countered. “S’already five in the mornin’. Gettin’ an early snack?” Octavia nodded as Granny Smith took an apple from the basket on the table. She sat across from Octavia and took a bite. “We don’t get a lotta chances to talk you ‘n me. How’re things?” Octavia shrugged. “Confusing,” she admitted. It was easy to talk to Granny Smith. She always treated Octavia with kindness and respect, even after the fallout with Applejack. Granny Smith didn’t say anything in response, and only considered Octavia with a piercing look. Feeling an awkward silence start to develop, Octavia decided to continue. “Have you ever...wanted to fight for something, but doing so would be troublesome to the ponies you cared about?” Granny Smith chuckled. “Have Ah ever told ya that you remind me of my late husband, Cedar?” “Once or twice,” Octavia said. “He used to say he was born from the dirt without a bit to his name. Fought his entire life to make other ponies see his worth.” Granny Smith’s eyes glazed over as she looked past Octavia, past the kitchen, and past the present. “He wanted to make Sweet Apple Acres the biggest, grandest, most profitable farm in Equestria.” Granny Smith took a few more bites to finish her apple and chewed slowly. When she finished, she spoke again. “He died at the head of a plow.” Granny Smith yawned and raised a hoof to cover her mouth. She moved to get up, her chair squeaking against the floor as she pushed it back. “If that ain’t troublesome, Ah don’t know what is.” “Wait,” Octavia raised a hoof to keep Granny Smith around for a minute longer. “Did he ever prove his worth?” Granny Smith shrugged. “Depends on who ya ask. You ask me, he did. You ask somepony in Canterlot, they probably wouldn’t even know who he was. You ask Cedar, well, Ah ain’t gotta clue.” Granny Smith headed for the front door. “It ain’t what you wanna prove that’s important, ya hear? Everypony’s got somethin’ like that. It’s who ya wanna prove it to that matters. Ah don’t know who ol’ Cedar wanted to prove his worth to. You ask him, he woulda said everypony, but between you an’ me, Ah think he wanted to prove it to himself. You understand?” Octavia nodded. “I understand.” Granny Smith left without another word, leaving Octavia with a little bit of wisdom, but not a shred of advice. Ah, so that was it then. All this time Octavia didn’t strive to prove her abilities, her worth, to the upper echelon of Canterlot, but to herself. If that were the case, then it was surely impossible. She would never be content with her own accomplishments, she would never prove her worth to herself, for in the deepest reaches of her heart her greatest fear was her own worthlessness. She craved the praise and admiration of other ponies as the proof to combat that fear. Was that Octavia’s fate then? To work tirelessly toward an unattainable goal only to die behind her cello? Before she met Macintosh she would have gladly done just that, but things were different now that her professional life was in shambles. And what of Macintosh? His faith in her, his belief that she was a good pony and that she should continue to fight, was naive. While she pretended to be an unequaled cellist, while she strived to be acknowledged, the ponies around her suffered beneath the weight of her ego. She couldn’t do that to Macintosh, even though he gladly volunteered. She was no good, simply a broken mare, and she would only make the ponies around her unhappy. Things would be better for everyone if she were alone again. Octavia finished her food and headed upstairs. Macintosh still slept soundly on the bed, his mane a mess and his breathing soft and calm. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight. She went to the desk where the slightly-wrinkled contract still lay, the signed contract that prohibited her cello playing, and pushed it aside. She grabbed a blank sheet of paper and a pen and started her letter. Macintosh, I release you. Don’t try to find me. Octavia Octavia clenched her jaw. She couldn’t write any more than that for fear of becoming too sentimental. If she left one speck of regret, any indication at all of love or affection, he would come find her no matter where she went. It was for the best. If she ran, and he found her, she wouldn’t be strong enough to reject him. It was for the best. He actually had a promising future, and she would only be deadweight. It was for the best. She left the letter and took the contract. Despite her best judgement, she went to the bed to get one last look at Macintosh. Impulse brought her lips against his for one final kiss. He shifted, but didn’t wake up, and Octavia had to fight to urge to do it again. She snuck out through the backdoor and ran as fast she could away from Sweet Apple Acres. A place she never loved but would sorely miss. Author's Note Special thanks to Comma-Kazie, Ryan Coll, and FatherNiwa for supporting this chapter's creation via Patreon.
4. Lost and FoundView OnlineGetting Complicated4. Lost and FoundFillydelphia had never been known for its high-brow culture and decorum. Historically, it had been a factory town where everything from toothbrushes to luxury carriages were made and shipped out to the rest of Equestria. But wages were good, ponies were buying, production was at full force. In such conditions, once salt-of-the-earth ponies became interested in the finer things in life; the indulgences of the bourgeois. Combined with a bit of gentrification in the downtown area, Fillydelphia was quickly becoming the new hotspot for both the idle rich and the tooth and nail wealthy. Consequently, a booming housing and construction market, an administration slow to place compensating regulations, and very lax requirements to become a realtor and businessowner made the Fillydelphia area an opportune place for a pony to make a fortune, especially a pony with a...scrappier disposition. It took Octavia six months. Six months of hard won negotiations and navigating tricky contracts. Six months of outrageous commissions that the rich paid out of habit, and the slightly better off paid out of ignorance. Six months of coercing and sweet-talking other realtors to work for her and bullying the ones that wouldn't out of the area. Six months of accumulating more bits than she had ever seen as a cellist. And there, in her throne room, the highest floor of the tallest building in Fillydelphia, Octavia gazed out her window at the steel skeleton of a skyscraper. Several pegasi and earth ponies crawled like ants on the steel beams, slowly but surely growing taller by the day. This was no mere skyscraper, it was her investment. A menagerie of posh apartments whose monthly rent would guarantee her several lifetimes of luxury. All she needed to do was wait for that skeleton to grow some meat, and her bags of bits would rival those of the royal coffers. Octavia turned away, tired of waiting for the future, and poured herself a glass of whiskey. She sank into the cushions of her recliner with a contented sigh, leaned back, and stared at the furnishings of her apartment. The crystal chandelier hanging high above her, at the impressionist paintings that Octavia liked solely for their color, the fine rug she walked around to avoid wearing down its pile with her hooves, the couches and chairs that would never be filled, and the dozens of knick-knacks and tchotchkes said to be some ancient relics of some ancient civilizations from the far off land of who-knows-where. She listened to nothing but her heart drumming in her ears. She sipped her whiskey. In this one, singular moment she was content. A tap on one of her windows made her freeze. She sunk deeper into her seat and kept her eyes staring at the chandelier. Octavia was alone, the tap of glass must have come from the outside, which meant it was a pegasus, and there really was no pegasus that Octavia wanted to speak with. Several minutes passed with no more noise from the glass, but just as the tension melted from her shoulders, a knock on her front door made her clench again. Just as with the window, the knock only came once. Octavia breathed deep and took another sip. "Hey Octavia!" Her glass of whiskey fell to stain the rug as Pinkie's blue eyes filled Octavia's vision. Octavia jolted, brought a hoof to her chest, and Pinkie Pie grinned at her as if the pink pony had been invited over for tea and scones. Once Octavia's heart stopped trying to escape its cage, she stood and glared at the black cello case strapped to Pinkie's back. "Get that thing out of here," Octavia said. She stood from her chair and picked up the fallen glass. "But I need to return it. Oh! And this too." Pinkie set down and opened the case, and Octavia quickly turned her head away in order to avoid looking upon the gleaming cello that Macintosh had made her. Pinkie, meanwhile, plucked a folded sheet of paper from between the strings and held it out to Octavia. Octavia took it, unfolded it, and stared at the grand staff scribbled there. "This is..." Pinkie's smile widened. "Macintosh copied it from the wall in your old room. You know, before the place got sold." Octavia traced a hoof across the bass clef. It was an exact replica of the music she had written on her bedroom wall. Not a single mistake. She squashed the smile pulling at her lips and clenched her teeth. After crumpling up the paper, she threw it at the cello. "Why did you bring these to me?" "Applejack wanted me to," Pinkie said. "She thought that it was high time Mac got rid of this stuff." Pinkie sucked in her lips as an awkward silence developed between them. "Did my leaving hit him hard?" "Duh! Breaking up is hard no matter who it is," Pinkie said. Break up? Ah yes, Octavia supposed that was indeed what had happened. Strange, she never thought of it with such an uncompromising term. She always thought of it simply as 'she left'. A deep, choking cold gripped at the deepest pit of her chest. She fought it off, and it receded. "At first we didn't see much of him at all. He pretty much just spent his time working on his farm in Canterlot. He's a lot better now, though! I talked to him just yesterday before I left." "Ah, so…he's recovered," Octavia said. She didn't know why she felt so hurt by that. That creeping cold came gnawing back. Pinkie scanned the apartment. "But how're you doing? Are you okay?" Octavia sneered. "Isn't it obvious?" She poured more whiskey into her empty glass and took a sip. "Well, I just thought you wouldn't be happy without your cello," Pinkie Pie said. "Oh please, Pinkie," Octavia laughed. "The only reason I ever bothered with the cello was because I thought it would bring me wealth. Now that I have everything I want, I don't need it anymore." Pinkie tilted her head and stared deep into Octavia's eyes. Octavia quickly turned away under the guise of pouring more whiskey in her glass, but she still felt Pinkie's intense gaze burning her back. It wasn't an angry look, it wasn't even an inquisitive look. It was a look that penetrated into a pony to find the one thing Pinkie understood and recognized most. "If you're really happy, Octavia, then I'm glad." Her eyes fell to the crumpled paper by the cello, and she grabbed it. She unfurled the paper and pressed out as many of the wrinkles she could. Pinkie then folded the paper back into a neat square and placed it back between the cello strings. She closed up the case and gave Octavia a faint smile. "It was really good seeing you again, maybe we can hang out sometime. Not now, though. I gotta head back." Octavia stared in honest surprise as Pinkie headed to the front door. Pinkie's hoof reached for the door knob. "Is...is that it?" Octavia asked. "Aren't you going to ask me to come back?" "Why would I?" Pinkie asked with a tilt of her head. Octavia took a step back. "That is, I mean..." She forced a smirk on her face. "I just thought that if everypony figured out where I was I'd get quite the talking to from Rarity or Rainbow Dash or, Celestia forbid, Applejack. I'm actually surprised you managed to find me despite how careful I was. No interviews, no photographs, I even use my company's name in the Classifieds. How did you do it?" Pinkie Pie tilted her head even more until it was a good ninety degrees. "Macintosh told me." Octavia's heart choked her. "Wh-what? H-how?" Pinkie shrugged. "I think a mare from Canterlot told him." "If that's the case then...where is everypony?" Octavia asked. "I thought for sure that the second Macintosh knew where I was he would...that you all would..." She trailed off and stared at her whiskey-stained rug. Pinkie approached and placed her hoof on Octavia's shoulder. "Octi, it's not like we don't care that you left. Believe me, you leaving made everypony either really sad or really, really mad. But we all know that this was your choice, and it's what you wanted to do, and it's not really our place to try to bring you back. That's all between you and Mackey." "So, that's it?" Octavia asked, turning away. "Is there something wrong?" Pinkie asked. “No, no, of course not,” Octavia said. She backed away from Pinkie and stared out the window. “I simply expected more calamity to break out once everypony knew my whereabouts. I’m actually quite relieved.” “Oh okay.” Pinkie smiled and came to stand beside Octavia. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I was really rooting for you two.” “You were?” “Yeah, duh! I was the one that introduced you two, remember?” Pinkie Pie chuckled, but it was faint and distant, a mile and a year away. “I thought you two were perfect for each other. You needed to be spoiled and Macintosh loves spoiling ponies.” Octavia nodded. “He spoiled me rotten. Sorry to keep you. I won’t any longer.” “Okie dokie lokie,” Pinkie Pie said. “I’ll make super duper sure to visit often, okay?” “Yes, I’d...yes.” Octavia didn’t make eye contact. “Hopefully I'll see ya in two days!” The sound of a door closing and opening signaled Pinkie’s departure. "Wait, why in two days?" No answer came. Octavia stood very still for very long. She shivered. She grabbed her glass and placed it on the counter. She lit her fireplace, and the warm orange glow danced across the cello case. She shouldn’t. She couldn’t. But it had been so long since she held a cello and felt the strings try to slice into her calloused hoof. With a sigh, she unclasped the lock. The wood shone brilliantly even by firelight. Octavia ran a hoof across its highly polished surface. She strummed the strings and heard the familiar open chord. Its beauty made Octavia’s heart brittle and small and cold. Octavia lifted the cello away from its case. She hefted it up, carried it, and felt its weight. Something rattled inside. Her ear twitched. She gently shook the cello. There was definitely something there. After a bit of finagling, she managed to get a small wooden figure out of the cello. It was a sculpture of wood, no bigger than her hoof, of a pony standing on a base. It was her. The hardwood seemed almost softened by the craftsmanship. Her mane looked ready to waft in the wind. Her bowtie seemed wrinkled and breathable. Her eyes were wide and kind, her mouth a warm smile. The smile. Only Macintosh could have carved this. Octavia had only ever shown that smile to him. Octavia looked away and to her fireplace. She clutched the little piece of wood to her chest, and felt the love within it overwhelm her. She remembered cold nights by a fireplace, She remembered playing Macintosh's favorite song for him. She remembered the notes cradling the chilled air. She remembered Macintosh resting peacefully beside her, listening until she finished. Then she would join him, and bury her nose in his neck and breathe deeply the scent of freshly turned earth and the sweetness of apples. And she would feel...she would feel... Octavia clenched her jaw and shoved the cello and the wooden figurine back into the case. She locked it all up and hid it deep in one of her many closets. That time was over. This was the way it had to be. “Ms. Octavia?” Octavia had her forehead pressed against the glass window of her office. She opened her eyes slowly, the familiar Fillydelphia skyline held none of its usual comfort. A night of rest had done nothing for her mood. “What is it?” Octavia didn’t turn to greet her assistant. “There have been complaints about the quality of caviar served at the open houses.” “Buy better caviar then.” “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re already buying the best.” Octavia sighed. “Then buy cheaper caviar and toss it with salt, strip the label and replace it with some French-sounding gibberish in fancy script. Then rave about how it’s an exclusive brand eaten by the nobles of some far off land.” “Will...will that really work?” “It will. Is there anything else?” “I brought the newspaper as you asked. Our new classified ad has been published. Also, your one o’clock has arrived.” “Send them in.” Her assistant left, and Octavia was alone once again. She needed to focus. She couldn’t keep yearning for the past like this. She turned away from the window and looked through the classified ads. Her advertisement for realtors came out exactly to her specifications. There were plenty of pictures of bits, and the ad took up almost half the page. Octavia couldn’t help but smile at the perfection. It dwarfed the other ads and made them utterly insignificant. So sorry, Pierto’s Uptown Couture. Too bad, All-Stallion Reverie. You’re out of luck, Royal Farm #26. Octavia’s heart almost burst at the name of Macintosh’s farm. She squinted to read the minuscule ad copy. Farmhand Wanted Room and Board Included Honest Work; Good Pay Octavia swatted the newspaper off her desk and it fell in a mess of sheets. She couldn’t read another word. It looked as if things were moving along just fine at the farm. "It's nice to see you're as volatile as always." Octavia recognized the voice. It was a voice that she had come to utterly despise. Dulcet Tones leaned against the door frame, her glasses slightly askew. She stared at Octavia with a peculiar blend of amusement and disdain. Octavia couldn't quite tell whether the sneer on Dulcet's lips was contemptuous or just cheeky. "And what are you doing here?" Octavia asked. "Here to lecture me about my life choices?" Dulcet laughed. "Why would I waste my time doing that?" She sauntered in and sat in a seat in front of Octavia's desk. Octavia frowned and took her own seat across from her. "I'm here strictly on business. Though I wouldn't be opposed to a light chat while I'm here." "If I wanted your company I would invite you to my apartment. It's bigger than yours." Dulcet chuckled. "Yes, but it's in Fillydelphia. It doesn't really count." Octavia scowled. "What do you want?" "Simply put, I want to buy this impressive, little business you've built for yourself." "And why would I give you my golden goose?" "Does that mean you're not willing to sell?" Octavia's mouth pressed into a hard line. "I have my price, but I doubt you would be willing to pay it." "You're most likely correct." Dulcet Tones took out a slip of parchment and a pen, scribbled, and slid the slip face down toward Octavia. "Let's not waste time in meaningless banter and negotiations. Here is what I'm willing to pay. I will advise you, my first offer is always my best." A sly grin curled the corners of Dulcet's mouth. "But I suppose you already know that." Octavia glared but decided against a response. She flipped over the parchment and scoffed. "That's it? I'll make that amount within five years." "That's why it's called an investment and not a gamble." "Well I call it a crappy offer." Octavia stood. "If that really is your best, then we have nothing more to-" She stopped herself as she remembered a small detail Pinkie Pie had told her. Dulcet quirked an eyebrow as Octavia fell uncharacteristically silent for a moment. "Did you tell Macintosh where I was?" Octavia asked. "Hmm?" Dulcet replied. "Who?" Octavia glared. Dulcet knew full well who she was talking about. "The red stallion with the muscles and accent." "Oh him," Dulcet said, with a smirk. "If my memory is to be trusted, and these days it's not guaranteed, then I believe you might have come up in conversation when he came to remove the last of your furniture from the apartment in Canterlot. I happened to mention that you had started a quaint business dabbling in realty, land development, and construction in Fillydelphia. Of course, this was some months ago. I can't remember the exact details." "Did he say anything?" Octavia asked. "To finding out where you were? No. He said absolutely nothing. He simply stared off to nowhere. But I did ask him a bit of an indulgent question. I asked him if he could tell you anything at that moment what would it be." Octavia waited for Dulcet to elaborate, but a minute of eye contact passed by in silence. "Well?" Octavia prodded. "What did he say?" Dulcet gave her a devilish smile. "What do you think he said?" "Really? We're playing this game now?" "Not a game, just curiosity. What do you think he said? Give me a guess and I'll tell you." Octavia rolled her eyes but complied. "Knowing him and his naïveté he probably said something silly like 'I'd tell her I want her to be happy' or something along those lines." "Close." Dulcet laughed a quiet, hollow laugh. A laugh of nostalgia. Dulcet stood up and scooted the chair into the desk. She made for the exit, but stopped halfway and looked over her shoulder. "He said, 'Don't you dare come crawling back'." Octavia's heart cracked. She gripped the edge of her desk and grit her teeth as she fought to hold back a sudden wellspring of tears behind her eyes. Was this really it? Had she really tossed everything away? To think that even Macintosh would want to say something like that to her. Macintosh! The one stallion that had absolutely adored her. Loved her with every part of his heart and soul. Dulcet laughed deep from her gut. "Oh I wish you could see the look on your face!" She grinned. "I can't believe you actually bought it!" Octavia blinked. "You mean, he-" "What point would there be in talking to him? You think I strike up conversations with every pony that moved out of that building when I bought it? How idiotic can you be?" Octavia gritted her teeth. "You-" "Do forgive me," Dulcet said without a single drop of sincerity. "I really can't help myself. There's just something oddly satisfying to me about watching a pony suffer the same way I have. Ta-ta." Octavia threw her name plaque at the old mare, but Dulcet had made a hasty exit, and the hard metal thudded against the heavy oak of her office door. With nothing to vent her rage with, Octavia could only clutch the edge of her desk and stare daggers at the unmarred surface. Her anger churned her gut, forced its way up her throat, and finally escaped from between her gritted teeth in a fierce yell of despair. Octavia raised her hoof and slammed it down on her intercom. "Cancel all of today's meetings and showings! Take the rest of the day off! We're closing early!" "Y-Yes, ma'am," her assistant's warbled voice answered. Octavia left her office in a daze. Even early in the afternoon, crowds of ponies walked the streets making their way to complete the small tasks of everyday life. Octavia kept her eyes to the ground, staring at the passing hooves. Habit led her through the streets toward home as the more aware parts of her mind dwelled on nostalgic thoughts. This choice. She made it freely, willingly. She knew it had to be done. Why couldn't he? Her heart was breaking, slowly shattering, shedding pieces of itself like a bird in molt. She would have an empty chest by the time she reached her front door. Octavia hit a solid mass and was knocked on her flank. Looking up, she found Rainbow Dash standing over her. The hood of her blue and gold Wonderbolts uniform flopped at her neck, allowing Octavia a clear view of her face. The ex-cellist gulped as Rainbow Dash turned away from the Wonderbolt she had been talking to. "Aw crap, sorry about-" Dash began to say, but stopped as she saw who had bumped into her. A thick grimace of disgust contorted her face, as if she had stepped on something excreted by a beast of burden. Dash said nothing else. She raised her head, looked straight in front of her, and continued to walk without paying Octavia any mind. The other Wonderbolt hesitated in confusion at first, but caught up a moment later. "Do you know her?" "I thought I did," Rainbow Dash replied. Octavia's heart fell to pieces. She collected the remains and hurried back home, half-jogging the rest of the way. When she finally arrived home, she slammed the door behind her and collapsed on the rug. She couldn't move, she couldn't feel. She felt as alive as that wooden effigy locked securely in her cello case. "This is the way it has to be," Octavia told herself. She chanted it like a sacred prayer, a charm against the feelings threatening to break her resolve. These feelings would surely pass. She would soon forget the pain. And then all would be well.. "This is the way it has to be." Octavia never moved from her place on the rug. It was where she slept, and it was where she awoke. A light tap from the door stirred her awake, and the sound of paper sliding against the wood floor tittered her ear. She felt disgusting. Her face felt damp with tears, mucus, sweat, and drool. She wiped her mouth with a foreleg and stumbled to the front door. A small envelope lay there, a couple feet inside. Octavia tilted her head at it, at her name written in chunky, slightly clunky lettering. Obviously someone not used to handling a quill. She picked it up, and opened the front door to see if there was anyone on the other side. There wasn't. With a suspicious narrowing of her eyes, Octavia retreated to her dining room table and opened the envelope carefully, just in case there was some unwanted dust lacing whatever might be inside. She shook it and tapped it against the edge of the table. No dust. Satisfied, she pulled out a folded piece of thick paper. A poster. Unfolding it revealed an advertisement for a Wonderbolts show: a pegasus all clad in gold and blue soared through the sky and left streaks of color behind them. Across the top, the poster announced in bright, saturated letters the star attraction: Rainbow Dash. Along with the poster came a single ticket for the show. It was today. Octavia smirked. Someone wanted her at the show no doubt, and she laughed at a potential assassination plot. But if someone wanted to kill her, she would hope they wouldn't be so obvious. She remembered Pinkie's words: 'I'll see you in two days'. It was more than likely this is what she meant. Well, fine. Going outside and watching a show might be fun, and even if Rainbow Dash refused Octavia's existence, it didn't mean that Octavia couldn't enjoy hers. There was something about a flight suit that erotically charged a pony's form more than mundane nudity ever could. Octavia sniffed the air. Shower first. Octavia had a little history with Fillydelphia Stadium. It had been hastily built only five months ago when the city had been chosen to host the Ponylympics. At the time, Octavia was gaining experience at one of the largest architectural firms in Equestria. Her role had been small: simple clerical work. Basically making sure that plans and permits had been properly filed with the city. Enterprising and ambitious as she was, Octavia had the forethought to adjust a few numbers here and there. No one double checked them, of course, rushed as they were to complete construction. Ultimately, the stadium was built with a plumbing system ill-equipped to handle the amount of ponies at even half capacity. To this day ponies could be heard telling stories of the horrendous smell that plagued the opening ceremony. Months later, when the owners decided that the terrible facilities were ruining ticket sales, they decided to renovate the stadium, and Octavia's fledgling realty and construction business had the winning bid, thousands of bits lower than her competitors. Design is cheap when you already have the plans, after all. So when Octavia passed through the opening gates with hundreds of other ponies entering the stadium, it was with the peace of mind that the bathrooms wouldn't pose an unfortunate distraction to the day's show. Speaking of smells, even Octavia wasn't immune to the savory scent of fried chips and processed cheese sauce. Feeling in good spirits, she decided to grab some cheap nachos from the concession and have a little snack during the preshow flights. Octavia didn't bother to find her seat and instead stood at a central point on one of the several mezzanines that surrounded the field. She balanced her nachos on the railing and ate as she watched the effortless loop de loops, rolls, and dives meant to warm up the crowd before the main event. She savored the salty crunch of the chip and the gooey heat of the cheese. These simple yet unique pleasures she had sorely missed after obtaining her wealth. Appearances were everything in her industry, and you had to look the part to gain the trust of the fabulously rich. Octavia sighed as she became lost in thought. "Check out that guy in the cloud box." Octavia's ear twitched as a pair of stallions started a conversation nearby. "What about him?" "Talk in the tabloids says he's Rainbow Dash's coltfriend." Octavia's breath caught in her throat. She stared at her food as the processed cheese curdled in her stomach. "No way, she ain't the type to date an earth pony." "Oh yeah? What, you're her pal now? You best friends with her? Painting your hooves and braiding each other's manes?" "Shut up." Octavia clenched her jaw as ground her teeth together. She tightly shut her eyes. No, of course it wouldn't be him. They could be talking about any earth pony stallion. Dash wouldn't…they would never…it was only talk. Octavia swallowed hard, opened her eyes, and looked up at one of the many clouds floating above the stadium's perimeter. She spotted a speck of red and orange high up there. While the details were difficult to discern, there was no doubt who that silhouette belonged to. She needed the bathroom. Octavia retched into the toilet and leaned heavily against the bathroom stall. Damn it. Celestia damn it. She should've known, of course he would be here. Why wouldn't he be? Even if what the stallion had said was just a rumor, it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for Rainbow Dash to invite him and her other friends to see her show. But why this one? Why this show in this city of all places? Octavia didn't dare close her eyes anymore. Every time she did he saw him. His jaw, his emerald eyes, his freckles, his short mane, his body so charged even mundane nudity could do nothing to dampen its effect on her. She had to leave. Now. She flushed the toilet and the retch swirled away. For a moment. Then it stopped and floated higher as the toilet started to back up with water. Octavia grimaced. She shouldn't have cheaped out on the pipes. The crowd roared in applause as Octavia made her hurried exit. She panicked and sought the nearest place of solitude she could find. She found herself in an alleyway beside the stadium. A nice dark corner of the world that suited her just fine in that moment. She didn't care about the smell of refuse and stale alcohol and staler urine. She leaned her head against the rough brick wall and closed her eyes. Ever since she saw him up in that cloud, she had tried to keep the memories from washing over her. But they were a tidal wave, and she was less than a sea wall. The wave crashed into her, destroyed her, and she did her best to ignore the tears streaming down her cheeks. She remembered those cold nights against his warmth, where the lonely days of her past seemed like nothing but awful dreams. She remembered the peace of mind he brought her, the absolute assuredeness that everything would be all right. She remembered days where he suffered the brunt of her unmitigated anger, and how he seemed completely immune to it. "This is…" she gasped out the words like a mare desperate for breath at the bottom of the ocean, "the way it has…". She couldn't finish her prayer. She no longer believed in its power. A terrible truth made itself known. So large and unerring that Octavia was forced to contend with it. She wanted him back. But how could she? She had taken too long. And now…now he had moved beyond her. There was no way for her to seize what had once been hers. "Go on ahead, I'll meet with you later." Octavia grit her teeth at the familiar voice. "Octavia?" The ex-cellist turned away, and quickly wiped the tears from her eyes as a purple-maned mare approached her. "Rarity. Here to turn a trick?" Rarity gave a single-syllabled laugh. "It seems your wit has turned into a blunt instrument since last we met." A pregnant pause. Then, "Come, let's go grab a bite to eat, and you can tell me what's wrong." Octavia sneered. "What do you care?" Rarity sighed. "Octavia, despite everything that's happened, I still consider you…" Octavia tensed, and Rarity quieted. "No, I take that back," Rarity continued. "The truth is, Octavia, that I am absolutely elated to see you whimper and cry in this disgusting alley. It's not all you deserve, but it's a start. I want to have dinner with you so that I may find out just how miserable you are, and, if I can, multiply your misery tenfold by telling you what's happened with Macintosh since your absence." Octavia relaxed. "You're paying." "I wouldn't have it any other way." Rarity wore a large sun hat with peonies of various colors decorating the brim. She wore a loose fitting cotton dress that still breathed in the unruly heat of summer. Octavia couldn't help but stare as she perused the bistro menu. My but she was so pretty in the late afternoon sun. The waiter came, took their order, and a heavy silence fell between them. Rarity only stared into Octavia's eyes, obviously waiting for her to speak first. Octavia had no idea what to say. She had so many questions, but Rarity was the last mare on earth she wanted to ask them to. Not because of any petty rivalry, but because she didn't want the fashionista to know just how much she missed him. "How's Macintosh?" Octavia finally said after minutes of quiet. "Why were you crying?" Rarity asked back. Octavia's body stiffened. "I had something in my eye," she said. "Then what were you doing in that alleyway?" "Drinking." "Octavia…" The ex-cellist clicked her tongue. "You haven't answered my question." "Macintosh is better, now." Rarity said as their food arrived. She cut a piece of her raviolo and stabbed it with her fork, but didn't take a bite. "My leaving hurt him badly, then?" "What do you think?" Rarity said curtly. Octavia took a deep breath. "His farmstead?" "Done," Rarity said. "It took him three months. For three months it seemed he completely disappeared from the face of Equus. None of us saw him, he never answered our letters, we couldn't even find him at first until Applejack suggested checking his farm. We tried to get him to rest, but he wouldn't listen to reason." "I…I see." "No, you don't see." Rarity snapped. "When he finished, he slept for four days. Then ran a fever and was bedridden for another seven. He dreamt of you." Octavia tightened her lips into a line. "How do you know?" "He spoke in his sleep. Domestic things. Serving you dinner, attending your performances, shopping for groceries, going out to a play. When he woke up he would always ask where you were, then after remembering what you did, he would just stare up at the ceiling and drift back to sleep." "I…" Octavia didn't know what to say. "He loved you, Octavia. He loved you so deeply that I don't think his heart will ever be rid of you, not completely. I mean, it would be one thing if you had just broken up with him but to run away? It's…" They returned to silence as Octavia stared down at her apple salad. Guilt swelled in her chest like a cloud of spores. It sprouted and writhed inside her like mycelium burrowing through the earth. But amidst the fungal growth she felt…hope. If Macintosh really cared for her that deeply then maybe she could…return, after all. "Would he…" Octavia began, but took a sip of water to quench her quickly drying mouth. "Do you think he would-" "Well if it isn't the prissiest mares in Equestria!" Another familiar voice called out before Octavia could finish. Both mares turned their heads to see Rainbow Dash, out of her Wonderbolts uniform, heading toward them. Rainbow's mane was slightly damp from a shower. She seemed in a fantastic mood, she didn't even seem to mind Octavia's presence. Octavia tilted her head in thought as Rainbow approached. She seemed elated, no, that wasn't it. Smug. Absolutely smug. About what, Octavia couldn't say. But she had this saunter to her step that stunk with superiority. Even as Rainbow took a chair from a nearby table, she couldn't help but give a bit of flair and spin it in place beside them. The pegasus gave them a cocky smile as she sat. "How'd you like the show?" "Fine." "It was nice." The two spoke at the same time, and Rainbow was not impressed with their enthusiasm. "Well what did you think of the ending?" "I…stepped out early," Octavia said. "Sorry, Rainbow Dash, but I also had to leave before the grand finale." Rarity said. Rainbow Dash deflated immediately. "You mean I got an earful from Mac for nothing? Jeez, coulda saved me the trouble of sending you that envelope." Octavia nodded in realization. "Ah, so that was you." Rarity glared at Dash. "What did you do?" "I did the most dangerous dive of my life, is what I did!" Rainbow Dash said, and that cocky smile came back in full force. "Honest to Celestia, I was so close to the grass it tickled my nose and made me sneeze. But don't worry, I still managed to pull back up with a sweet barrel roll." Rarity rolled her eyes. "And what did you do after that? I can't imagine Macintosh would get terse with you over a stunt." Rainbow Dash snickered and flashed her teeth in a grin. "Well, they were doing an on-field interview after my amazing performance. Some guy had a mic and everything. And that's when I announced that Macintosh was my coltfriend." Octavia dropped her fork on her empty plate. "C-coltfriend. You mean, you and…and," "Rainbow Dash!" Rarity said in a harsh whisper. "No wonder Macintosh was upset. Spreading such a bold-faced lie like that." Octavia felt the tension leave her shoulders. She hadn't even known she was so stiff. "What lie? It's been a big rumor for months, and it's basically decided anyway." "By whom!?" Rarity said, a little louder than she meant to be. Rarity blushed, and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. They hadn't. "By whom?" Rarity repeated softly this time. "Then you're pursuing him?" Octavia butted in. "Macintosh, I mean." Rainbow Dash turned to Octavia and looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time. Her lip curled in something between a grin and a sneer. "Yeah, I am." "As am I," Rarity added with the same tone as an answer to a simple math problem. "Right," Rainbow Dash continued. She glared at Octavia, and Octavia never broke eye contact and met glare for glare, and leer for leer. Her ego was ignited now. "I messed up. I trusted you to have Macintosh's back. That was a bad call, and that's on me. I'm not gonna make the same mistake again. Macintosh is gonna be with me, and I'll make sure a pony never takes advantage of him again." Rainbow Dash stood up and gave an annoyed grunt. "Lost my appetite. I'll see you around, Rarity." "Actually, Dash, I'm finished eating," Rarity said as she placed a few bits on the table. She locked eyes with Octavia. "I wouldn't put it in exactly the same way. But I agree with Rainbow Dash. We were satisfied to fall back when you two first came together, but circumstances are…different now. "It was lovely meeting with you again, but I wouldn't be too bothered if this were our last outing together." She gave a nod to Dash, and the two of them headed for the exit, but before either of them took a single step, Octavia spoke. "I've decided to return." Though the two stopped in their tracks, neither of them turned to face her. Octavia continued. "You said it yourself, Rarity: Macintosh's heart will never be rid of me. I'll use that to my advantage, and I'll make him mine again." "That all?" Rainbow Dash said. "No," Octavia replied. "I want both of you to remember this. I have something neither of you could dream of. He chose me." "We all have decisions we regret," Rarity said. She took the first step forward, and Rainbow Dash followed only a split second behind. "I'll be sure you regret this one." "I wouldn't have it any other way." Octavia barged into her own home with all the force of a rabid tornado. She slammed the door behind her and threw every suitcase she had onto every surface she had. Couches, coffee tables, night stands. She had so much to do. Not only did she have to pack, she had to sell her company. Sell her company. Just the thought made her smile. No longer having to deal with the whims of the wealthy, no longer having to read pages and pages of land reports. No longer having to work at all and yet still enjoy the luxuries her wealth could afford her. Yes, if she sold the company she would have a tidy sum that would last the rest of her life. Sure, if she had more time she could have created more wealth for herself, but these new…developments meant that the sooner she returned the better. Yes, and she would present that sum of bits to Macintosh, and all will be forgiven. How could he not. Surely, he'd understand. This was just a little tangent in their lives together, a small detour that allowed her to earn the money that would allow them to live in comfort. That's what she'll tell him, and he'll forgive her, and they'll be together. Then she'll be happy and rich. What more could a pony ask for? She packed everything she would want in her life with Macintosh. Which mostly amounted to clothing, which meant about a small suitcase's worth of bow ties. She stared at the half-filled luggage and chuckled. Perhaps she had been too excited at first. She shut the suitcase and went for the phone. She had to arrange a flight, an auction perhaps, some sort of notice of her absence. So much to do, so much to do. Within two hours Octavia was seated first class on the fastest dirigible she could find. She could hardly contain her excitement as it alighted in Canterlot. The city hadn't changed a bit since she last saw it. The ornate spires and towers of royalty held a panache that the skyscrapers of Fillydelphia just couldn't compete with. She took a note to spend more time in the city in the near future. She missed it more than she ever expected to. From the city, it was simply a matter of hailing a taxi, and then a mile or so hike up the mountain and toward Macintosh's farm. Though her luggage didn't make the trek any easier. But when the sight of the farm came into view, Octavia knew it had indeed been worth it. Macintosh had worked his magic, just as she knew he would all those months ago. The hard-packed clay had transformed into dark and rich loamy earth. Octavia's hooves sank gently into the soil with each step. And there, in the distant, stood Macintosh's farmstead. It was a sprawling two story cabin built of peeled logs and beams that seemed to shimmer in the sunset. Were it made of steel and glass, no pony alive would hesitate to call it a mansion. She remembered Macintosh speaking of his dream home. A place so large yet cozy that it could entertain and host dozens of guests all at once. She remembered him wondering to himself whether he should build the homestead out of cedar or pine. She wondered which type of wood he had ultimately decided on. Whichever wood it was made of, Octavia's eyes watered just from the sight of it. She dragged her luggage through the earth, and hopped the stairs onto the large porch where several wood chairs stood at the ready. Octavia took a deep breath and knocked. Several seconds passed before she heard the familiar hoofsteps. The knob turned. The door opened. Octavia's heart leapt as she saw his usual half-lidded gaze. "I'm home!" She announced. The door slammed in her face.