Operetta

by Static Shock

Rating: everyone
Tags: Sad, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Octavia
Length: 1445

Octavia visits the site of her very first concert.

Octavia visits the site of her very first concert, which has been closed for demolition.

Cover art was made by Metadragonart, at this page.
Original drawing by Josh-5410, here.

Published 2012-10-05 23:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-10-05 23:10:01 UTC

Operetta

Octavia stood there for a moment, eyes closed, thinking back to her very first concert. On this very stage she had performed, the day she got her cutie mark. Her music had been well received, and it had been that very concert that had earned Octavia her cutie mark.

It pained Octavia to see that the stage on which she had performed her single most important play had dilapidated to the point where Princess Celestia had decided to have the building removed.

The walls, once lavishly adorned with golden chandeliers and crimson red curtains, were now only sparsely decorated, with everything of value having been removed. The occasional crack could be seen beneath the paint, confirming that the building’s state of disrepair had gone on for too long for it to be saved.

The room itself, once filled with ponies from all over the world, come to see her play, was now cold and empty. Seats were torn, some even missing. Even the stage itself had suffered from years of neglect; a gaping hole could be seen in the wooden planks, some of which would creak noisily if you tread on them. The lights, too, had suffered plundering. Almost all of them were missing, the ones still present most likely broken.

The memories of the night of Octavia’s first concert were still fresh in her mind. Memories of shaking legs, false notes, nerves and cringing onlookers.

Seeing the disappointment in the crowd had only served to worsen Octavia’s nerves that night, causing her to forget what notes she should have been playing. Resisting every urge to run off the stage at that very second, Octavia had taken one deep breath, hoping that it would calm her down.

It had worked, thankfully. She had calmed down, and had started over. The piece had flowed easily that time, the cascading melody soothing the crowd and easing even Octavia’s own nerves.

The crowd had started smiling, and so had Octavia. Seeing ponies enjoy her music was all Octavia could have wanted, and that night it had happened for the very first time.

That’s it, Octavia. Motif, modulation, repeat until satisfied, she had thought to herself as she kept lowering the key at which she was playing, to end the piece.

Little did she know that as she kept playing, a mark had appeared on her flank.

The evening had turned into a great success, almost all of the praise having been directed towards Octavia and her cello.

Knowing that ponies enjoyed her music was why Octavia had decided to continue playing. Knowing that at least one crowd had loved her and her music, if only for a few minutes, is what had kept her going all this time.

Seeing the crowd smile as the melody she was producing caressed their ears... was magical, for lack of a better word, and now the stage on which that had first happened was being torn down.

Days she had spent playing in the street, trying to collect enough money to save the building, but it couldn’t be done. The building had been neglected for too long, the cost of its repair rising well into the thousands of bits. Octavia may have been a high-class musician, but even she couldn’t afford the repair.

So, grasping her bow and cello in shaking hooves, she stood on a completely darkened, dilapidated stage, ready to play on that very spot one last time.

It would only be fitting, she thought, to play the very first piece she had ever played in public, on that very stage.

After taking a deep breath to steady her nerves and hoof, Octavia started to play, closing her eyes to concentrate on her music. The melody flowed easily; Octavia had always remembered it, playing it regularly for nostalgia’s sake, as well as practice. The notes echoed through the empty building, with only the pony responsible for them able to hear their sound.

The piece was a short one, as she had had to memorize it when she was just a filly. Opening her eyes halfway through the piece, Octavia stared into the auditorium.

As she had started to play once again, the very night she had been remembering seemed to repeat itself. The room, empty just moments before, was suddenly filled with a crowd bigger than Octavia had ever seen, each and every one of the ponies seeming familiar, somehow. The walls, previously in a state of complete disrepair, looked like they had been recently painted. Even the chandeliers had returned, candles alight and flames dancing to Octavia’s music.

Octavia smiled, happy to see that she had managed to amass such a crowd, and happy to see the building in its full glory once again. She poured her heart and soul into her cello, and it responded. A melody unlike any she had ever played before flowed into the room, every single pony in the crowd closing their eyes so as to better hear it.

Closing her eyes as well, Octavia continued to play, never stopping to think about what note next to play. Her hooves took on a life of their own as they danced across her instrument, creating a powerful crescendo. Octavia revelled in the music, unsure of where or how she had heard the melody before, if at all. This... this was what Octavia played for.

With her piece finished, Octavia opened her eyes one more. The crowd she had been playing for had vanished, the building too reverting to its previous state.

The disappointed was bearable, for Octavia already knew that what she had seen couldn’t be real. It was just... a part of that magic, she thought.

Deciding that she hadn’t yet had enough time to part with what she thought would be the most important stage she’d ever get to play on, Octavia picked another melody to play. A nocturne, she thought, would suit the occasion.

She set her bow to her cello once again. The melody she played was a slow one, all tones played within the lowest key possible, to accompany her mood.

Legato, Octavia... she thought to herself, her music still flowing effortlessly. She had never been able to shake the habit of guiding herself through her music, and had eventually accepted it as what set her apart from other musicians.

Throughout the piece, Octavia couldn’t help but smile as she remembered some of the many performances she and her cello had been through, all of them only made possible by the one she had mimicked just moments before. Borrowing notes from all the pieces Octavia could remember playing, she kept going.

Running out of concertos to mimic, Octavia decided that she wouldn’t end the evening on a somber tone. One piece after another she played, every single one of them starting optimistic, but ending on an even lower key than the previous piece had.

Fighting back her tears, Octavia looked around the room, smiling to herself. The theatre being torn down was a tragedy indeed, but she’d always have her memories, and she was thankful for that.

Once again setting her bow to her cello, Octavia looked around the room as she played. Row upon row of seats could be seen, yet none of them were occupied.

A major key, she noticed, echoed around the room. A fast, energetic melody, as though she was trying to play for a room of dancers. For a brief moment, Octavia thought she detected a hint of a waltz, but as her hooves took on a life of their own once again, she remained lost in the melody.

Note after note she played, never seeming to end her piece. Whether she was extending her piece on purpose, Octavia didn’t know. All she knew was that the piece was among the most beautiful she had ever played, and nopony was around to hear it.

Finishing her last piece, Octavia stretched the note, finally realizing that she didn’t want the piece to end. She wouldn’t just be ending the piece; she’d be losing a place very dear to her.

Even good things have to end, Octavia...

One final stroke across her cello, and the music stopped. The auditorium fell silent, save for the sound of Octavia’s hooves as she went to pack her cello. A tapping sound resounded around the room; the tears Octavia had been fighting back, landing on her cello. She’d never forget this building, now the site of two of her most important concerts.

Picking up the case now containing her cello, Octavia made for the exit. She took one final look around the room, then closed the door behind her.