Chapter 2: Healing [unedited]
Octave woke up, sudden panic spiking through his body. “Note!” He said, startled, but immediately getting up to check on his friend. It was around 6:30 in the morning, but that didn’t stop Octave from rushing through to Note’s room, the air stale, but less sickly.
Noteworthy stirred in his bed, grumbling a bit. “What’s going on then?” He mumbled before sitting up, his eyes weighed down by exhaustion. A yawn poured from his mouth and reverberated in Octave’s ears. “How’s it going, Octy?” Noteworthy asked as he began to stretch his limbs, pushing them until he heard the satisfying pop in each major joint area.
“A-are you feeling better?” Octavia looked over the sweaty stallion that looked a lot better than last night before he fell asleep, with the only noticeable infliction on his health was a serious case of bed mane.
“A lot. Thanks to you, of course!” Note said as he took a sniff of the air, scrunching up his nose and shuddering at the sudden realization of his odor. “Uh, give me a couple minutes. I need to get myself cleaned up. Then...I’ll take you to breakfast. How does that sound?” Noteworthy asked as he got up from his creaky bed, the sheets sticking to him a bit more in some places than others.
“Oh, you don’t need to do that.” Octave looked away from Note, a small blush being concealed by his mask. Why in Equestria am I blushing? It’s not like he asked me out on a date. Octave thought, suppressing any thoughts that could deviate into outlandish fantasies.
Noteworthy finally moved around enough to feel comfortable in his still recovering body. “I insist. Besides, I didn’t really get to enjoy our last meal together and I would like to make up for that lost opportunity.” Noteworthy made his way to his bathroom, “I’ll be out in ten minutes, ok?”
Octave chuckled, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll be here, I guess. Waiting around.” Octave turned around and walked back into the living room. He sighed slowly, happily ripping off his mask. I’m glad to get this thing off. Octave mused as he sat silently in Note’s living room, the music that occupied his ears only ringing from his mind. That blush from earlier coming back with a vengeance as a warmth grew inside of him, the kind that starts in a concentric part of the chest before branching out to the rest of the body. His thoughts turned towards the assurance that he had done something good for a friend. Anypony would, for a friend. If they were sick, a friend, time permitting, would happily help them get back to tip top shape. It isn’t out of the ordinary to take some semblance of enjoyment out of doing it, right? I have nothing to be embarrassed about. Octave closed his eyes, trying his best to focus on something else. Onto that music.
Though deaf to the ears of others, a small tap of a conductor’s instrument struck the edge of a music stand. A deep breath in, followed by a synchronous molding of sounds rang Octave’s ear drums. The ensemble fine tuned, prepared to play each piece with refined, precise perfection, setting off its symphony. Each synthetic bow string gliding along the more metallic part of each instrument, moving from side to side, sometimes playing in unison, sometimes playing complementary to each other, all the time playing with a confidence unmatched by rival ensembles. Each instrument having their own part to add to the beauty that echoed and sent shivers down Octave’s spine. His contribution gaining more attention than the work of his peers, purely because of his equal, if not better, skill with an instrument without the use of magic or wings. Vibrations of the instrument reverberating through Octave’s entire body as the ensemble moved along, allowing for him to become more intune with each note he plays from the experience of knowing what each sound feels like. Each note, each slur, each trill, every key change danced and organized in Octave’s mind, the music memorized to a point of near obsession, letting him enjoy what others played, as the music continued its journey controlled by time.
The impactful finale played, and the last notes of the ensemble hanging in the air, the crowds of aristocrats stood up all at once to clap for the performance. Every performer stood up, waiting for the cue by Noteworthy to bow. Octave breathed in, feeling a crack in his chest, notifying him that he hadn’t been breathing right during the performance again. Thunderous stomping and clapping was all the ponies on stage heard for a good minute before even that noise dissipated in the hall’s acoustic chamber. The ensemble members packed up their instruments, talking and commenting on one another’s performance, all slowly breaking up into their own cliques, leaving just two left on the stage.
“We really pulled that out of thin air, didn’t we?” Octave asked, sorting his music and looking towards the now empty hall.
“Well, you played very well, as you always do,” Noteworthy gave a snarky smile, bouncing his eyebrows.
Octave snorted, “I’m beginning to think you’re biased. And that wasn’t what I was asking, was it?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it now, Octy! It’s done, it’s ove-” Noteworthy paused to bring his foreleg up and cough. “It’s over. We can go home, happy that it’s done, right?”
“It sounds like you could need the rest. Is that sickness coming back?” Octave looked at Note, his voice relaxed, his eyes less so.
“I don’t think so, but I will let you know if it does. You were a great help to me, Doctor Octy!” Noteworthy grinned, over exaggerating his enthusiasm in it.
“You call me that again, and I’ll tie you to your bed next time, leave you to fend for yourself with a bottle of medicine just out of reach.” Octave smiled back, mimicking Noteworthy’s enthusiasm. He put away his cello, music in the case, and closed his locker door.
Noteworthy came up to Octave, hugging him before whispering something in his ear, making Octave’s eyes go wide and a blush spread across his face. When he pulled back, he put more effort into the hug. “Thanks for looking after me, Octy. It means a lot knowing someone cares about me that much.”
“Think nothing of it, Note. I know you would do the same for me if I got sick, which I think you just got me seeing as you just hugged me.” Octave chuckled, albeit nervously.
“Right. Wouldn’t want you getting sick. We’ve got things to work on for our second little endeavour of the week. You feeling up to staying around for a while longer so we can practice?” Noteworthy asked, moving around to set himself up for either decision.
“I might as well. I’d like to actually play the songs, rather than just imagine playing them in your living room while you cough up a lung.” Octave said, walking back over to grab his cello.
“Great. Let’s get right to it then!” Noteworthy immediately showed a brighter bounce in his step, as if any sickness he was recovering from had just left his body right then. Enthusiasm oozed from his ecstatic smile.
As they went through each song, time and time again, Octave tuning both his own mastery of the song and Noteworthy’s singing, he recognized something peculiar in the music.
“So quickly does you Midas touch
Turn everything to gold
And with my heart right in your clunch,
A better me you mold.
Playing a sonata on my heartstrings with each word you say,
Your company is addicting, oh how I wish you’d stay,
That is why i must confess the secrets of my mind
And smile at you with no regrets, you smiling in kind.”
Hours later, after constant hammering of each and every song, Octave took a deep breath, his eyes opening and he gazed at the worn out Noteworthy. “You look like you need a nap.” Octave commented, giggling when he saw Note let out a big yawn.
“A light coma, preferably, but a nap would have to do. Tomorrow, I will rest my vocal chords. It’s pretty late. Do you want to stay the night again? A lot less quarantine this time, I promise.
Octave laughed a bit harder this time, “Alright, you’ve convinced me. Though it will be a dull day if I’m not constantly hearing your voice.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Doctor Octy” Noteworthy trilled, his tired face contorting into a snide grin.
Octave rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Alright, Noot, whatever you say. Let’s just get back to your house.”
…………
A lone, small chandelier hanged above the duo, its light illuminating them and the kitchen around them. Night, in its adolescence, engulfed all other light from the rest of the house. The linoleum floor lightly echoing laughter and conversation from the two, leaving a small ringing in both of their ears that neither cared to mention.
Noteworthy wiped a tear from his eye, still confused as to why the thought of a unicorn with its horn on its back was so funny, “How would it wear clothes? Everything would need to be tailor made for its horn just being there. Celestia help the poor pony,” He then started back again in a fit of laughter, followed by Octave’s laughter joining him.
“Celestia help the tailor!” Octave wheezed at the thought.
Their interesting conversations meandered here and there, having no true purpose save for the entertainment of discussion, wearing down their psyches and alertness. Each minute that passed weakened their ability for proper conversation, degrading to short sentences and one word exclamations that would send the two into yet another fit of uncontrollable laughter.
“W-well, I think it’s right time to get to sleep. What say you there?” Octave asked Noteworthy, his eyes threatening to close as he fought to keep focus on the pony in front of him.
“Mighty fine idea, Octy. Mi-” Noteworthy cut himself off with a wide mouthed yawn, “Mighty fine indeed. You want the bed this time? It was very inhospitable of me to leave you on the couch last time.”
“You were so weak you could barely walk, last time. I don’t think the first thing on your mind was to be hospitable. And no, I think I will be fine on the couch again. I’m too tired at this point to care. I’d gladly sleep on a hot bed of coals, if it meant I got to sleep.” Octave smiled, the action wavering from lack of effort put into it.
“If you say so.” Noteworthy got up, putting the cups that they had out away. A sudden will of clarity passed through him, his mind sharper than it had ever been that night. “I’m gonna say this again, cause I think you have to hear it again. You really are a good friend. Thanks for being there with me, and helping me.” Note looked directly into Octave’s unfocused eyes, smiling ever so lightly.
“Happy to help!” Was all Octave could muster before succumbing to another fit of giggles. “I’m gonna go to bed now.” Octave began to walk into the living room, “Night, Noot!” He said before laughing hysterically in the other room.
Noteworthy shook his head and called out, “Night.”
The house became quiet after that, leaving both stallions to their thoughts. Octave laid on the couch, quickly slipping into sleep, while Noteworthy stared up at the ceiling, Has he noticed? Will he notice? He’s a smart pony, so I have to give him credit for that. I guess only time will tell. Events of the last couple days replayed in his head; the delirium of him getting sick, them practically crashing into the house to get him into his bed, the fever dreams of Octave leaving him dancing in his head, the break from his fever, their conversations, the beginning of the concert, and finally tonight. It all floating in his head, bringing a smile to his face and a stronger faith in his conviction, making him more certain in what he will do.
He kept that smile as he let sleep pass over him, only opening his eyes to call out to the darkness, “Goodnight, My love.”
Author's Note
Sorry for being so absent, recently. I've been preoccupied with college and stuff of that nature. I dipped my hands into a bit of poetry again, and I don't know how to feel about it. Anyway, thanks for sticking around.
Chapter 3: Requiem of a love song [Unedited]
Though his ears were used to the shuffling and murmurs of a music hall filled with patrons and aristocrats, Noteworthy felt it all pounding in his head, blasting his ear drums since their eyes were on him and not his orchestra. His tempered nerves crumbled at the rumbling of the audience, bringing doubt to the forefront of his mind.
“Ready to sing your heart out?” Octave chimed in behind Noteworthy.
Suppressing a jump, Noteworthy turned to look behind him. Though his chest was pounding and his breath hitched every so often, he offered a weary smile. “As I’ll ever be,” He murmured.
“Dear Luna, you look like a mess. What’s got you so unnerved? I would’ve thought this was going to be a walk in the park for you.” Octave looked visibly worried.
“I’ve got a lot riding on this performance. I have no doubt that you will do well. I’m more concerned about how I will do.” Note slumped his front legs, releasing some tension that he had forgotten he was holding onto. “I’ll be fine. Let’s just rock this out, alright? You and I, the best tag team out there.” His voice grew with enthusiasm, but how long it would last was anypony’s guess at this point.
Octave gave a small half-smile. “After you, friend,” Octave nodded with his head to the closed off stage. A chair and a microphone the only things on it at the moment, waiting to be used properly.
They took their positions and the curtains opened, a roaring applause erupting from the crowd, even before the duo starting performing. Their fame was well known, their skill matching the expectations of their audience, not needing to prove once again why they were so well liked amongst upper socialite society.
Once the applause died down, the air stood still, all mouths staying shut so not to disrupt the performance.
The soft pull of the cello’s strings sent out its dulcimer warmth as the tone carried through the great expanse. Following suit was Noteworthy, his rich baritone voice surprising the crowd as he complimented every harmony with his melody.
“Through the trials of time and fire,
We stood sturdy and raised higher,
It was then that my love for you grew,
The happiness you brought me, oh if you only knew...”
Ballad after balled, sonnet after sonnet, lamentations and reparations, the set of songs was almost over, the last of Noteworthy’s songs being the shortest, giving Octave a break. By then, he was sweating, considering how much effort it took to play an instrument compared to just singing, though it didn’t bother him all that much. The pieces were turning out amazing so far, helped partially by the additions he had made, but that was a thought for another time. Octave looked to Note, who was looking a bit ragged himself, and gave him a nod to signal that he was ready.
Noteworthy stared into Octave’s eyes, smiling and swelling with nerves and excitement. This is it. This is what it’s all come down to. I could just stare into those amethyst eyes all day, Noteworthy sighed, But I have a job to finish.
“I’ve finally got the guts to say,
The secret I have kept for far too long,
I have faith in you, I’ll kneel down and pray,
That everything does not go horribly wrong.
Everything you do makes my day!
And even better when I tag along,
With that said, I must no longer delay
The real meaning behind all of these songs”
Noteworthy turned back, staring once again at Octave, who stopped playing, thinking something was wrong.
“The truth is I am rather very gay,”
Octave’s eyes widened, his mouth opening, as if to say something, but nothing came out before:
“For you, my love, my feelings are so strong”
The audience gasped as Noteworthy took Octave’s cello and sat it down to the side, lifting the shocked stallion from his seat. “This was all for you. Sorry I had to make you work for this event, but there was only one pony I could trust to do something as bi-”
Octave cut him off by lunging at him, forelegs wide, embracing him, “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. I loved this, and,” Octave paused for a moment, It’s all coming together. The lyrics, the books, everything, Images of the times they’ve shared travelled through his head as he confirmed his decision, “and I love you!”
The audience behind them burst out in applause, cheering and whistling. While it wasn’t the longest concert, or had the most recognizable songs, it would stick with those in the audience the most. It would mark the end of a friendship, and the beginning of something so much better.
Author's Note
I needed to finish this story before I finish Shellshock. This ending, I feel, was a bit rushed. I will work harder to make the ending to Shellshock 10X as good as this one. The poetry, or songs, in this were not my best work. Let me know if I should look for a way to publish some of my other semi-decent poetry. Thank you, once again, for reading my stories.
Chapter 1: The meeting [Unedited]
“Truly, I don’t believe I have the words or the understanding to be able to describe to you what it felt like to first play my cello. Though I can describe in visceral detail what it was like to play my first instrument. Oh Celestia, was it horrid. I thought I wanted to play the Trumpet. I had it in my mind somewhere that I would be the next star performer in her majesty’s royal brass ensemble. After being the sole cause for my parents’ insomnia for a month, I came to the realize that I was flat out rubbish at the trumpet. That, however, didn’t discourage me from trying out the tuba. I swear, I gained more muscle mass from carrying that to practices every week than I have from my numerous attempts to get in shape. Alas, the tuba was not my strong suit. Finally, after much deliberation with my parents, basically me begging to try another instrument, I was allowed to try out this small wooden stringed instrument. Not the cello, not yet. My goals had changed by then, prompting my hubris and hormone drenched mind to set myself toward a world renowned four pony ensemble. I played the violin and the very first note came off smooth and resonating through the room I was in. The second note was much like the first and the third like the second. Soon I couldn’t stop, and by the end, my ears still rang with the notes I had played, carrying on long past their initial presence. I loved it, absolutely loved it. The relief that washed through me as I finally found an instrument that I wouldn’t torture ponies ear drums with. Well, the time went by as it always does, and I threw myself into the mastery of the violin. Soon enough, I got my hooves onto a viola, then a bass, and finally, the cello. Don’t get me wrong. I relish every moment I had with the violin. Viola and bass, not so much, but I digress. The raw strength of tone and pitch that I had at my disposal through the cello was unparalleled. The journey from trumpet to cello made me appreciate, in a way, the other instruments and musicians on a deeper level. The level of commitment to mastery that other ponies strive for is what I enjoy the most when seeing an orchestra come together. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to exactly answer your question, but did what I say suffice?” Octave asked the furiously typing colt, who was nervously trying to remember what Octave had said.
“Yes, Mr. Symphony. More than enough for our citizen spotlight this week, but I’m not complaining.” He said as he finished up every word, almost verbatim. “Oh, but before you go.” He tried catching Octave as he stood up from the chair. “I’d like to get a picture for the paper,” he began to blush, “And also one for a personal collection, if that’s ok with you”
Octave giggled at the colt’s timidity and looked at the wall mounted clock. “Well, yes. I’d be much obliged to. I still have some time. Where do you want to take it?”
“Here is fine, though if you could kinda rest a hoof on that windowsill over there while still looking at me, I think that will be the best lighting to contrast against your coat.” Featherweight pointed over to the window.
Octave began to move into the position Featherweight had suggested, “You know, I’m quite a fan of your work as well, Mr. Featherweight.”
Featherweight almost dropped his camera, but managed to keep it in his grasp, getting back to business, “Of me? What of me is there to be a fan of?” He stabilized himself with his wings before snapping the picture.
“Well of exactly that, your picture taking. I see them in the paper and I’ve always thought to myself how you manage to take them and make them so lifelike with what you have. I admire all the details you have in the pictures and there are probably countless other things that I don’t notice that you put into them. I’m none the wiser, but all the same. You are so young, yet so skilled at what you do.” Octave walked up to him. “I would be happy to have another picture taken with you.”
Featherweight stammered and blushed harder, “T-thank you, Mr. Symphony. That means the world coming from you.” He lined up the camera with one hoof as Octave draped a hoof around the colt, who immediately tensed up.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I should have asked, shouldn’t I.” Octave retracted the hoof and opted to just keep both hooves down and smile at the camera.
“It’s fine. Sorry,” He said before smiling himself and snapping the picture. “Thanks again for the interview and the picture,”
“It was my pleasure. Though I do need to start heading out.” Octave started toward the door.
“Well, don’t let me keep you any longer. I will see you in a week or so, I believe, at the Vanhoover convention center for your concert. I’ll be watching in the crowd.” Feather said excitedly
“Oh! Well, I don’t know if we’ll be having one, but if there is an after party, please feel free to drop by and say hi. Now, I’ll be off. Have a great rest of your day, Mr. Featherweight.” Octave opened the door to the school house.
“You too, Mr. Symphony!” Featherweight waved back, his voice cracking a bit.
Octave left, closing the door behind him and began a brisk walk to the train station. I’m still on schedule. I should be alright for the meeting.
He reached the train station, boarded his train and set off towards Canterlot. Train rides were normal occurrences for him at this point in his life, since his job had demanded so much travel. It wasn’t something he ever minded in the first place, and the constant push of the train left for some nice quiet time for him to just think or sleep.
As the time passed, Octave reviewed all the songs he had to know for this next performance that was closing in. Each trill, each accent, each vibrato was packed and categorized in his head. Soon enough, the train slowed down and stopped at Canterlot station.
Stretching and popping locked ligaments, Octave made his way to the music guild’s court, next to the astronomy wing of the castle. The change of scenery always took a moment to get adjusted to. Where in Ponyville, everyone would smile and wave to those they knew, contrasted to the egotistical, self-indulgent nature of aristocracy that would keep to themselves or give a curt nod to an acquaintance. Everypony felt they had something to hide, and those that didn’t were far and few between. Within the initial few minutes of being in the selfish city, Octave adapted the walk and the posture of a pony who cared little of others.
The pillars of the musicians guild were pearly white and etched with every like of musical note there was. When he first arrived at the musicians guild, the sight of the pillars and the exterior decor was breathtaking, and somewhere deep down, there is still a pull of that alure that the structure initially gave off, but it had faded past the 100th time he’d come.
He finally reached the hall that he was told to arrive at and walked in, greeted by a lone humming reverberating through the hall walls. The melody was one that he hadn’t recognized, and that was saying something. What is that that? Oh, I think I know. “Noteworthy!” Octave called out, his voice clashing with the humming.
The humming had stopped. Out of one of the curtains came an infamously blue stallion. “Why hello there, Octave. Got my message, have you?”
“Well, I’m here aren’t I? What is it that you wanted to bring me up for? Is it something to do with the performance?” Octave asked as he walked around to his locker, where his work cello lay.
“No, tomorrow should be sounding fantastic, there was another matter that I needed to attend to with you. You see, I was hoping to interest you in another opportunity to perform.” Noteworthy smiled at his friend, the faintest of blushes emerging. “Also, it would be a great favor that I would owe you if you did take up this job.”
“Would you kindly Spit. It out. So I can get an understanding of what you’re asking me, here? Of course, it’s unlikely I’ll say no, but let’s not beat around the bush.” Octave said, grabbing a chair and digging the spike of his cello into the ground, firmly sticking it before he began tuning.
“Right, well. I was hoping you would be able to be my accompanist. It’s a small performance,” Noteworthy paused for a moment before coughing, “Yeah, That’s just it. A small little showcase of some of my vocal compositions that I wouldn’t normally be able to display since, well, most ponies in an orchestra can’t sing.”
“I almost take offense to that, but relating to your request, I think I can make time for that. When is it and how many songs?” Octave asked.
Noteworthy brightly smiled, “Just one minute,” he said before running off deeper into the stage area, coming back with a folder. “Here, there’s about three songs, and I’ve written the accompaniment to be in bass clef for you. It will be in four days, but I know you can get these songs done since it’s a basic accompaniment that has a solo every once and awhile. Nothing you haven’t handled before.” He sat the folder on a music stand and brought the music stand over to Octave.
“Four days?! You sure do have a lot of confidence in me. I never thought you had expanded into vocal music, only orchestral composing. I will be happy to take a look at them, but a quick question.” Octave said as he took a look at the sheet music.
“Go ahead,” Noteworthy said.
“Why me? Why a cello? You clearly made this to be a set that almost revolves around the cello. Not that I’m complaining, but why not a violin? That is the usual instrument ponies tend to go to when they think of an accompanist, or at least a Pianist.”
“No reason.” Noteworthy state bluntly, “Well there is a reason. It’s just that I think a cello goes well with my voice. It’s deep and powerful, will rarely ever go muddy, and that’s what I feel will compliment my voice the most. As for why you, specifically. Well, let’s be honest here with ourselves, Octave. You are the best of the best in all of our orchestras. It would be foolish not to pick you.” He smiled, but began to cough once again.
Octave sat there for a second, processing what was said. Finally, Octave smiled, “Well, thank you, Noteworthy. I will start becoming familiar with these pieces as soon as I can. Now when is it that we are meeting again tonight? I want to make sure I have enough time to browse around the shopping district.”
Noteworthy’s expression turned sour. “Didn’t you hear? I sent the letter out to everyone last night. The majority of the ensemble is sick with hay fever. It’s you and our viola player that are fine. At least, you are the two that I’ve seen today that look healthy enough.” Noteworthy sighed, “Should things get worse, I might need to move the concert ahead, but that is unlikely. It’s a weak illness this year. Shouldn’t last for more than a day or two, and it’s already been one.” Noteworthy went back to smiling, “we’ll be back to full power soon enough.”
“I would hope so. I’m almost sick, myself, from hearing Andante Festivo being played over and over again. One of the few songs that we’ve outsourced and didn’t like.” Octave got up, started packing away things, and looked toward Note, “Well, it’s unfortunate, but if there isn’t any other reason to me to be in canterlot, I will be heading off”
“Well, I could make your time up here worth while. Wanna grab some lunch?” Noteworthy asked, smiling at his gray friend.
Octave stopped and rechecked his schedule in his head. “Yeah, I could go for some lunch. What did you have in mind?” Octave asked, putting away his cello finally.
“I’m not sure. How about we take a stroll down the shopping district and see what catches our eyes. Sound good?” Noteworthy asked getting the door for Octave.
“That seems like a good plan. Sure, thank you” He said as he walked past him.
“No problem. Let’s head out.” Noteworthy closed the door behind him and caught up with Octave, whose take home saddlebags bumped into him once and a while down the narrow corridor.
The skies were clear, leaving the unrelenting heat to sear and lash at the fur of everypony who didn’t have clothes on, doing so much as baking alive those that did. “Aristocracy does have its perks doesn’t it? Once you have enough status, you get the glory of dying of heat stroke while on your way across town,” Octave jeered, flourishing his accent to become more accented and nasally.
Noteworthy chuckled, “Now don’t let them hear you say that, or else they will waddle toward you and uncomfortably glare at you. We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Noteworthy said as he nudged Octave’s attention toward an exceptionally layered unicorn.
“It is blistering out today, though, isn’t it? I can’t wait to get underneath some shade.” Octave started beading sweat, the extra weight on his haunches not helping the situation.
“You’re telling me.” Noteworthy looked around the walkways and residential areas around them. “Do you ever feel alone in this city?”
Octave scrunched up his face, turning his attention to Noteworthy, “What do you mean?”
“Well, just look around us. We’re the only earth ponies around for, at least a mile I’d say confidently. You remember the first time you came to the Musicians guild, right?”
“How could I not? Thank Celestia what’s her face decided to pursue a trophy wife life, or else I would have gone back to Ponyville. ‘Go on, yeehaw, play us a fiddle diddy’ Oh the nerve of some ponies. They think they can say whatever they want and hide behind their money.” Octave clenched his jaw for a moment before closing his eyes and breathing out slowly. “I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”
“Exactly that. Being that we’re well established in the music industry, we don’t see it all that much, but I can say without a doubt in my mind that there is some xenophobia in canterlot. Oh! How about there?” Noteworthy pointed to a small cornerstone cafe.
“So long as we can go in, I’ll eat anywhere.” Octave said, picking up his pace toward the cafe.
The sudden change of hot to cold made the fur of both ponies stand on end, their bodies welcoming the frigid air around them. They quickly sat themselves down, relieved to be out of the heat.
“What’ll it be to drink, gentlecolts?” A uniformed mare asked, holding her notepad telekinetically, waiting eagerly to get their orders.
“An Iced tea for me, please,” Octave said, his fur getting chilled as the sweat he made became room temperature.
“And A water for me, for now, Thank you” Noteworthy said, beginning to shiver a bit as well.
“Alright, An Iced tea and a water. Here are the menus, and I will be right back to get your orders,” The mare placed the menus in front of the two before leaving
“Thank you,” Octave said before adjusting to the temperature and taking a look at his menu. “So, going on to other topics. What made you want to create choir music?”
“Well, it-it isn’t really choir music. I j-just wanted to create a couple of songs that were different, so I created some songs to sing to. It’s kinda cold in here, isn’t it?” Noteworthy’s jaw shivered and his teeth occasionally clattered together.
“Yeah, a bit. It is a better option than outside.” Octave looked at Noteworthy oddly.
“You got me there. Anyway, I wanted to make these songs to verbalize some emotions of mine that orchestral songs feel to be an inappropriate form. Don’t get me wrong, Octave. The power and feeling that comes from a well disciplined ensemble can bring me to tears, but I want to convey a more ‘visceral’ emotion.” Noteworthy’s body still trembled.
“Well, get on with it then. What’s t-”
Noteworthy coughed again.
“What’s the emotion?” Octave asked.
“Love!” Noteworthy exclaimed, “Oh it’s all one could think to describe. Love! What is it? Where do I find it? Am I in love? All these things, I am hoping to put into the minds of my audience.”
“And I’m sure you will, though why love? What sparked your inspiration there? Got your eyes on somepony?” Octave jabbed at Note before the waitress came back.
“So what’ll it be, Gentlecolts?” The waitress asked.
“I’ll take a fruit salad, please” Octave said.
“And I’ll have the daffodil sandwich with fries, please” Noteworthy said, still through chattering teeth.
“Alright. I’ll get that right out for you,” She said as she took the menus and trotted off toward the kitchen.
“So,” Octave decided to be a bit cheeky, smirking at Noteworthy.
“So, what?” Noteworthy backed up a bit, smiling awkwardly.
“Who is your love interest?”
“N-no one,” He stuttered through shaky lips.
“Alright. You don’t want to tell me. That’s fine. I can understand that.” Octave sat back normally. “Well, when I have the time, I will be happy to look at all of them. I’m excited to see what the lyrics hold.”
“Mmhmm” Noteworthy said, starting to get distracted by his shaking.
The conversation died down and both were content with the silence of other cafe patrons’ conversations. Their food arrived, Octave smiling before digging into his salad, Noteworthy grimacing a bit at the platter before him.
Lunch went by and the two tidied up before heading back into the heat, Noteworthy starting to become worse for wear.
“You alright?” Octave asked as he took the check, getting the appropriate bits and tip ready.
“Fine. I’m fine. Just,” He stopped for a moment before coughing, his voice taking a hit each time, “Just a bit achy.”
“You don’t think you caught the hay fever that’s going around, do you?” Octave asked, his face tensed in worry.
“I just might of caught it. It’s fine. I can walk it off.” Noteworthy said, his body shaking more.
“No, no. Let’s get you home, and quickly, before you cough up a lung in public.” Octave said, guiding him out of cafe.
“That’s a symptom now?” He started to giggle, and soon found himself unable to stop. The aching in his body giving him an odd thing to laugh about, perpetuating the cycle.
Walking home was grueling, the weather and Noteworthy’s body fighting against the two every step of the way, but finally they reached the sweet relief of getting into Note’s house. As soon as they got in, Noteworthy was in his bed, shivering and sniffling. “What a time to get sick. Why can’t I ever get sick when I have nothing else better to do?” He complained as he covered up more.
“Well, if that were to happen, we wouldn’t have any reason to complain about sickness, now would we?” Octave shouted from the pantry, looking for a dust mask or something to cover up his mouth. Finally finding it, he adorned it, smiling underneath. “Now then. I think it only right if I stay here and help you get better.” He came into the bedroom, a glass of orange juice and hot tea balancing on a plate.
“What?!” Noteworthy erupted into another fit. “But you have the concert tomorrow, and all the songs I piled onto you. You don’t need to help take care of me,” Noteworthy rasped.
“Need I remind you that you are a part of the concert as well? We can’t have our composer/conductor be missing, now can we? Besides. If I help, then you are bound to get better quicker!” Octave gave a warm smile, before realizing it was worthless since his muzzle was behind the mask.
“Well, I guess I can’t stop you. Though I didn’t know you had any medical training,” Noteworthy said, a fever warming his body and flushing his cheeks.
“I don’t. But I do know how to care for sick ponies,” Octave took a washcloth and began running cool water over it, “My grandmother would get sick fairly often, and it was my job to make sure that she was tended to-to the best of my abilities. While you aren’t my grandmother, I think I will still have the same work ethic,” Octave came in, resting the cool washcloth, which then had Ice cubes in it, on top of the weary pony’s head.
“Thanks, Octave. I’m not sure what I did to deserve your help, but I am very thankful that I had,” Noteworthy let out a sigh as he shifted underneath the covers. His eyes drooped and his body yearned for a moment of no discomfort.
“You look tired, Note. I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll just be in the other room, reading the sheet music, so just call out if you need anything, alright?” Octave said, next to Note’s bed, smiling, once again forgetting he had the mask over his muzzle.
“Th...thanks, Octy. Your the best,” Note said, struggling to keep consciousness.
Octave nodded and left to the living room.
“I love you…” He briefly mumbled before going into a low slumber.
…………
Scribbling and the occasional mumble was the only noise to accompany Noteworthy’s light snoring. The light of day had almost burned up in the sky, leaving the dregs of shifting yellows and reds to battle with the oncoming grays and blues. That didn’t matter much for Octave. It was set in stone that he wasn’t going home the moment he found out Note was sick.
Set before him was the music of a love sick dog. While other songs in this genre had the music quality of a yappy chihuahua, weakly yipping into the night, Noteworthy’s held a different tone to them. A great poodle or Mastiff howling low at the moon in painful longing to be with it came to Octave’s mind when comparing it.
Sitting back on the couch, Octave closed his eyes, the actual music flowing across his mind as he visualized himself playing the notes. I will say, Noteworthy. While your ability to create symphony masterpieces is amazing, bar none, I do regret to think that your ballads need a bit of work. He opened his eyes and took a look at the music once again, eager to “correct” some parts of each song. The lyrics were of little importance to him, so he shifted, modulated, harmonized and augmented the notes to his design. Once again he went into his mind, playing the changed music on his cello, his hooves moving in real life as to mimic the bowings and slurs.
After an hour or so of this process, Octave stretched, deciding to take a look around Noteworthy’s house. Contrary to the pony’s character, the house looked relatively organized and structured. Books were tucked away on neat shelves, trinkets and dohickeys of Noteworthy’s past were placed with special care in certain areas of the house. Only one spot reflected what Octave thought was a part of Noteworthy’s personality. His work desk.
Papers were crumpled up and tossed haphazardly everywhere around it. Numerous bottles lay atop of it, all with varying levels of contents left in them. Gashs and indents were evident in the middle of the desk, and countless open books crowded the work area, all referencing to something about love. Confessions? Arbitration? Longing? Regret? Note, old sport, what have you gotten yourself into? Octave though as he passed it, looking more around the house.
On a few occasions throughout the night, Noteworthy called out for Octave, and was tended to accordingly or in the best capacity that could be supplied. The rest of the night was filled with Octave pulling a book or two from one of the shelves and slowly losing himself to sleep, always keeping an ear out for a call from his friend.
Author's Note
Really, I'm just distracting myself from finishing chapters of Shell Shocked, but I hope you enjoy this all the same.
