Espressivo

by Vivid Syntax

Rating: everyone
Tags: Lyra, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Octavia, Romance, Slice of Life
Length: 3378

After practice, Lyra and Octavia work out their creative (and relationship) differences.

Music transcends language, but how can you communicate when you're out of sync? For Octavia and Lyra, the first annual Ponyville Philharmonic Concert is the chance to learn not just about themselves, but each other.

Written for Syke Jr as part of the Jinglemas 2019 collaboration event. Check it out, and swing by FIMFicCollabs for more!

Published 2019-12-23 04:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-12-23 04:30:01 UTC

Espressivo - Jinglemas 2019 for Syke Jr.

Music curled and flowed through the air, filling the newly refurbished orchestra hall with the symphonic music of an Equestria long past. Octavia waved her conductor’s baton, more powerful and inspiring than the wand of a great sorceress. The musicians followed her lead, bending the very soul of the air around them to a philharmonic vibration that would soon brighten the Hearth’s Warming Season for hundreds of ponies in Ponyville. Sure, the volunteer orchestra weren’t professionals, but they had nobly chosen to invigorate their community through music, and most of them had reached truly inspiring levels of musicianship with only a few months of practice.

Something tickled at the back of her mind, however. Octavia was not merely a player of music. She could feel the sound, becoming one with it. A pat of her soul was deeply connected to it, and she a small twitch deep in her psyche told her that something was still missing, even though she had not yet put a hoof on it.

She pulled her focus back to the creatures in front of her, drawing her eyes across each one, but there was one pony Octavia was paying the most attention to. Lyra was a unicorn, minty-green and with a lyre in her hooves. She’d been Octavia’s partner for more than a year, and now, she was her new roommate. Even amidst the beautiful flow of music, Octavia couldn’t take her eyes off of Lyra.

Because Lyra was dragging.

With a twitch of her nose and a light snort, Octavia cut off the music and rapped the music stand with a tick tick tick of her baton. “Stop, stop! Stop it.” Most of the musicians halted. Most. “Bulk Biceps!”

He quit blowing into his tuba and blushed.

Octavia stood tall and sighed. “Espressivo, everyone.” With an exacting point of her baton, she stabbed at her sheet music. “Bright. Bold. Up-tempo. This is the most exciting movement of the concert, and it really must be driven, precise, and most of all, played quickly.” She gave a withering look across the orchestra, the ponies and griffons and changelings that had all become part of their little community, and she lingered on Lyra for just a hair longer than the others. “And that does mean everyone.”

A few musicians lowered their eyes. Others looked around, curious who had not met Octavia’s expectations. Yet others zoned out, counting the seconds until the end of the rehearsal. Lyra sat with her ears down, her eyes betraying her guilt.

Octavia sighed. “You have made excellent progress everyone, but the concert is next week, and there are precious few rehearsals left. Let’s all ensure we’ve practiced at speed.” She cast one more glance at Lyra, who was already squinting at her sheet music. “Now, we’ll pick it up at 147. Percussion, crescendo as if your life depended on it.” She raised her baton. “Let’s begin.”

At the end of the rehearsal, Octavia gave a nod of approval and a satisfied sigh. She had learned to temper her expectations with volunteers, and while she had originally hoped to join in with her cello, perhaps on the off chance that the group would be able to manage themselves or another would step up to conduct, she had resigned herself to musician-wrangling for the season.

“Good work, everyone.” She methodically folded her music and began putting away her materials. “We’ll reconvene in two days, same time, for our first dress rehearsal. Keep practicing at speed.” The orchestra members breathed a satisfied, collective sigh as they also packed up. Some lingered to chat, others rushed out the door and into the snow to meet loved ones, and a few continued quietly rehearsing their parts.

One pony, however, walked directly to Octavia with a bright smile. “You did really well tonight, beau. The band has come a long way.”

“Thank you, dearest,” Octavia replied to Lyra without looking up. Instead, she continued to file her papers. “Though at this point I believe the group is more of an actual orchestra than merely a band.”

Lyra giggled. “That’s a pretty big compliment coming from you.”

Octavia finally stood up straight as she shut her music case closed with a clack. “Agreed,” she said with a smile.

They left the grand orchestra hall together, stepping out to the quiet snowfall in the streets of Ponyville in their matching scarves. Yellow gem lamps lit the dark streets, and the lights inside the homes of Ponyville cast cozy-looking silhouettes against the curtains. A few murmurs of activity floated on the wind – faraway children playing or ponies shopping for one more gift just before the stores closed – but mostly it was quiet.

Octavia trotted through the snow with her music case in her saddlebags, and Lyra floated her instrument with her magic beside her, lagging a half step behind. With some precise timing and a stutter step, Lyra leaned her head against Octavia’s. “It’s pretty magical tonight, isn’t it?”

“Hm?” Octavia pulled back with a raised eyebrow. “Oh. Yes, dearest. Of course.”

Lyra frowned. “Did you… hear what I said?”

Octavia nodded. “You were commenting on the whimsical nature of the scenery.”

Lyra sighed. “Well, when you put it like that…” She took a breath and brightened her tone. “What’s on your mind?”

Octavia looked ahead down the road. “A number of things. The flutes need to be louder in the third movement, but if I push them too far, they will become shrill and unlistenable. I’m ever concerned about the mailmare delivering the fliers we made, and while I have every confidence that Roseluck will eventually pull through on the flower arrangement she promised for the concert, I’ve yet to see the designs. These are just the most forefront issues.” She looked over her shoulder, back at Lyra. “Shall I continue?”

Lyra giggled, though she was slightly out of breath. “No, it’s okay.” She bumped her nose against Octavia’s flank. “That’s why I wanted to make this a community effort, though. You’ll drive yourself crazy if you do everything yourself.”

Octavia finally smiled. “One reason among many that I love you, dearest. Thank you as always for keeping me grounded.” Her expression faded slightly, and she trotted more quickly. “Still, there is much to do. I have eight different stores and establishments to visit before the dress rehearsal, and delays will only upset things further.” Silently, she thought back to the rehearsal and reminded herself that she still needed to figure out what, exactly, was missing from the music.

Lyra awkwardly tried to keep up. “Well, I’m here to help if you need. I have some time off tomorrow if you want me to run any errands.”

“Frankly,” Octavia grunted, “I think you can best serve the group by spending the time on additional practice.”

“W–” Lyra blinked in shock and stopped in her tracks. “What do you mean?

Octavia also halted. She mentally placed herself at the conductor’s podium. “You mostly enter on time, but there are twenty-six measures where you consistently lag behind the band, especially the espressivo section. Even when you don’t have the melody, Lyra, I need you to keep pace with everyone.”

Lyra swallowed and said, “I’m trying my best. Is…” She turned her head to the side and frowned. “Is that why you keep looking at me during practice?”

“Ah, good. You’ve noticed.” Octavia gestured in a small circle with her hoof. “I hope you don’t think I’m being unfair. I wouldn’t give you feedback if I didn’t know you were capable of improving.”

Lyra’s ears folded against her head. “The timing is irregular. It’s… It’s a pretty hard part.”

Octavia’s voice raised in pitch. “Though not as difficult as the piccolo, and yet Toe Tapper is able to keep up.” She looked up the road. “We really should be going. Schedules to keep and all that.”

Lyra’s head hung low, and she allowed herself to fall half a step behind Octavia. “I’m not as good as him, though.”

Octavia continued without looking back. “It’s not a matter of ‘good,’ dearest. You are, I believe, more talented than him. It’s a matter of work and keeping pace.”

“Well, maybe there’s another way? Could we get the rest of the group to play more slowly? You can still be expressive when–”

“Nonsense, darling. The music is written the way it’s written for a reason.” Lyra tried to say something, but Octavia continued. “I understand creative differences and adaptation for different levels of musicians, but I’ve already slowed it down, and if we want the music to be truly perfect, then we need to stick to what is written.”

Weakly, Lyra asked, “Can’t we express ourselves at our own pace?”

With a sigh, Octavia, still facing away, said, “Not in this case, I’m afraid. We must maintain our musical integrity. Besides, I need to do what is best for the group. Do you understand?”

“...Sure.”

They didn’t speak for the rest of the trip home.

Octavia stepped up to their small, two-story house and fetched the key from her bags. By the time she had the door open and was inside, Lyra had only just gotten to the doorway. She stepped inside without a word.

Their home offered a warm getaway from the cold outside. A few move-in boxes still sat in the corners, but a large couch sat in front of the fireplace, perfect for snuggling on. One corner of their living room, near the window, was set aside for cello rehearsal, and next to it sat an old oak desk. Strands of garland hung across the walls with the few Hearth’s Warming decorations that Lyra had brought from her previous home, and above the mantle hung the flag they’d bought together for their one-year anniversary: a simple but elegant design with black, gray, white, and purple stripes.

Octavia removed her saddlebags and sighed contentedly. “Ah, excellent.” She stepped towards the couch and then turned around to face Lyra. “We seem to have a few extra minutes of Cuddle Time tonight, owing to our efficient packing at the orchestra hall. I–” She noticed that Lyra had not yet removed her own bags. Instead, she stood there with her head hung low. “Darling, whatever is the matter?”

Lyra breathed heavily. “Sorry, I’m not really feeling it right now. Maybe later.”

With a cock of her head, Octavia asked, “But when?” She shut her eyes and mentally checked off a list. “I need to be early tomorrow to the costume shop, and we’ve agreed how important our sleep schedules are, and we also agreed on thirty minutes of Cuddle Time this evening.”

Lyra shot her a cold glare. “You agreed on the thirty minutes part.”

“Of course!” Octavia reeled. “That’s what we said I could spare.” She stepped closer and put a hoof on Lyra’s shoulder. “I assure you I didn’t choose that number flippantly. There is more paperwork to do tonight, and then I must consolidate my notes.”

Lyra growled and pushed her hoof away. “I said I’m not feeling it, Octavia.”

Octavia recoiled and gasped.

“I’m going to my room. I need to practice,” Lyra spat. She turned up her nose and marched past Octavia.

Octavia held out a hoof. “Dearest, you’re upset.”

Lyra whipped around. “Ya’ think?” Her eye twitched.

Softly, Octavia said, “Darling, I know the holidays can be stressful, but I’m sure we can work through this.”

Lyra’s shoulders tensed and raised. “It’s always work, isn’t it?” She sneered. “Even when we’re doing an activity together–” She adopted a mocking tone. “It’s all ‘professionalism this’ and ‘schedule that,’ isn’t it? But what about us?” Tears welled up in her eyes. “What about spending time together and just feeling good about things?”

Octavia stumbled over her words. “I’m… That’s not…” She felt dizzy, but she recollected herself. “Please be reasonable, Lyra. You’re the one that asked me to help put on this event.”

“Because I thought we could do it together.” She sat down with a thud, and her head hung low. “You’re finally done with traveling for a few months, and it feels like I see you even less than when you’re touring.”

Octavia stood in shock. Her lip quivered. “I… I didn’t realize.”

“I get it. I really do.” Lyra looked up. “It’s a lot. A lot a lot. But this…” She shrugged. “This isn’t what I thought our first holiday together would be like. I… I just wanted something relaxed. Something tender.”

The floor between them seemed to stretch on for miles. Octavia’s hooves felt heavy, but the ever-ticking clock in her mind drove her to action. She calmly, slowly stepped forward until she sat immediately in front of Lyra.

Neither of them said anything. Octavia moved her hoof to Lyra’s. It was warm, despite the long walk home from the orchestra hall.

Lyra sighed and leaned forward. Their foreheads met with the almost silent ruffling sound of their manes.

Octavia whispered, “I’m sorry I lost sight of it, darling.”

Lyra took in a deep breath and let it out through her mouth. “It’s okay. Like you said, I asked for it.”

“Would you…” Octavia swallowed hard. “Would you like to cuddle now?”

Lyra looked deep into her purple eyes. She took another long breath and let out a labored moan. “Sorry. I’m… not feeling it tonight.”

Octavia nodded slowly, frowning. “I understand.”

Lyra gently kissed Octavia’s forehead. “I’m going to go practice.”

“...Alright.”

A beat passed.

Lyra stood, turned, and walked up the creaky steps, leaving Octavia alone.

She sat there for several minutes, listening to Lyra walking upstairs. She couldn’t help but notice Lyra’s irregular footfalls, so unlike her own. “Years of rehearsals,” she groaned. Looking over to the desk, she remembered the paperwork. “I… suppose I should get started then.”

Octavia wandered over to the desk and began signing the thank-you cards for each member of the orchestra. She didn’t get far, however, before she heard Lyra strumming upstairs.

Octavia folded her hooves and listened. Lyra plucked furiously, starting at measure 147. She strummed the strings flawlessly for a few moments, only for her to hit a sour note that made Octavia cringe. Not even a second after that, Octavia heard Lyra softly say, “Darn it!” and stop abruptly.

A moment later, the music started again at measure 147. Lyra made it further this time, still at tempo, but it wasn’t long before she hit a string of wrong notes. “Ugh!”

The pattern played over and over and over again. Lyra would begin, try her hardest, and ultimately fail in her run of notes, only to grunt in discouragement. All the while, Octavia listened, a cold despair gripping her heart.

After the twenty-seventh attempt, the music stopped.

The house remained silent.

Octavia lowered her head and held her breath. She felt as if she was in a snow globe full of glass, and even the slightest disturbance would lead to disaster.

Her ear flicked as the music started once more, but different this time. “Hm?” she asked as she listened more closely.

It took a few notes, but this was clearly the same song, measure 147. However, the timing was odd. “It’s wrong?” she wondered aloud. “No, not quite.”

The music continued to float through the house. It was undoubtedly Lyra’s part, but it was softer. Slower. But then, it picked up slightly, and the corners of Octavia’s brain lit up as she heard the music like it was the first time. Lyra oscillated between lento and allegro, but more than anything, she leaned into the music, allowing herself to flow with it - her artistry and passion came through loud and clear with every note. There were short runs of staccato notes, and Octavia could feel the frustration behind them. There were long periods of heavy, soft notes that struck Octavia in the heart with grief. There were whimsical, almost sarcastic notes that flooded Octavia’s mind with all the dismissive comments she’d made to Lyra, all the nights that might have been spent together that were instead thrown to the orchestra to try to perfect just one more detail.

Octavia could feel the music all the way to her spine, and above her, Lyra played on. There were missed notes, sure, but even the inaccuracies lent themselves to the vibrant river of feelings that flowed from upstairs.

Octavia’s hooves tingled, and she looked over to her cello case. Her ear flicked. Her nose wrinkled, and her eyes darted back and forth between her cello and the upstairs. Without making any footfall noises, she crept over to her cello, unpacked it, and stood in position.

“One,” she whispered as Lyra reached the end of one of the musical phrases. “Two, three, four…” Counting herself in, she played the melody of the next section for a mere two measures, her ears attuned to the upstairs.

The music had stopped.

Octavia’s chest sank, but she played those measures again. She silently prayed.

And a moment later, the lyre part came in, played tentatively but deftly from upstairs.

Octavia’s heart stirred, and she continued playing, and a moment later, the two instruments were in sync despite the walls that separated them. Octavia took the lead, but rather than playing at the tempo that she’d studied for months, she allowed herself to fluctuate her time signature as Lyra sped and slowed, and Lyra was able to follow in turn. One would slow down, and the other would match her pace. Almost teasingly, Octavia would speed up, daring Lyra to play along, and though Lyra dropped a few notes, she never quit.

They danced together like that, on two separate stories of their home, exchanging the melodies and improvising from rooms away. Octavia’s eyes fluttered, and she spun in place as her ears strained to hear Lyra above her.

And soon, it was over. The song was complete.

The stillness took over the room again, and Octavia paused, listening again for movement.

She didn’t need to wait long. She heard the small click of the door upstairs opening, and soon, Lyra appeared at the top of the stairs, smiling and with her lyre floating in her magical levitation field.

Octavia smiled back, still holding her cello. “It… appears you were right.”

Lyra chuckled quietly. “I don’t think it’s about being right.” She walked down the rest of the stairs. “I think it’s…” She looked up and to the side as she stopped in front of Octavia. “...more about listening, and maybe a little about not being so married to schedules and ideas about how things are ‘supposed’ to be.”

Octavia half-lidded her eyes and tapped Lyra on the nose with her bow. “Careful with the m-word, dearest, or I’ll get ideas.” She averted her gaze and blushed. “I could feel you playing.”

Lyra nodded and placed a hoof under Octavia’s chin. “I know. I could feel it, too.” She leaned in and gave Octavia a quick kiss on the lips.

Octavia closed her eyes and relished that warm feeling for a moment. “Well, right or not, I think you may have found what was missing from the music.” She rubbed her cheek against Lyra’s, then hugged her. “Would you be willing to consult with me on how to incorporate a few changes?”

“Mmm…” Lyra hummed in mock consideration as she hugged back. “I suppose so, but only after some Cuddle Time.”

“Of course, dearest,” Octavia whispered sweetly. “And we’ll take as long as you want.”

~ ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ ~

A week later, the reviews came in for Ponyville Philharmonic’s first Hearth’s Warming show. The reporters raved about the glories and politely acknowledged the missteps, but most of all, they focused on the third movement, how different it was from anything they’d ever heard, how the shift to a slower tempo brought out the fullness of the piece, and how it not only entertained them, but made them feel.

And at the bottom of the review, captioned with the words, “The spark of the season,” was a picture of the conductor and her marefriend, smiling with their foreheads pressed together.