Gothtavia

by Thesmokinguy

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, DJ P0N-3, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Zephyr Breeze, Moondancer, Octavia
Length: 4580

Just what lies beneath that pink necktie?

Octavia's new style has been the hot topic for rumors. Rumors of her being a Threstral who hangs out in graveyards, keeps drugs hidden inside her bowtie and talks with ghosts. She confirms nor denies any of this.

The chapter 4 number is not a typo, there's a sensible reason for that (I swear).

Only two chapters left to publish, will upload soon!

Many many thanks to my prereaders Lucky Seven, Silver Needle and editors Bean, Spook, Mockingbirb (who pitched in a lot of invaluable ideas, and inspired the style of the fic).

Cover art by the ever talented Corduroy Road.

Published 2024-09-27 04:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2024-09-27 04:30:01 UTC

Chapter 1 (Octavia and Moondancer)

“Have you been reading too much Edgar Allan Trot lately?” Moondancer whispered into Octavia's ear.

“As cold in your opens as ever, Moondancer,” Octavia replied, not even sparing her a glance. “Hello to you, too.”

“Hi. It's weird to see you here after so long.”

“I assume it would be. I’d hoped you would be too caught up in your studies to greet me.”

“I was curious about the new look.”

Octavia cocked her eyebrow, taking a sharp breath. “Not much reading I can do these days, no. Anything that’s not a music sheet, that is. Composing is hard, and dying is easy.”

“Sure it is,” Moondancer humpf'd. “Gotta admit, you nailed the look, though.”

“Hm?”

“You know. Gothic look? That was what you were going for, right?”

“What are you insinuating?” Octavia asked.

“Don’t worry, I don’t blame you or anything.”

Octavia groaned, and returned to her tasks. Even these days, she'd rather give Moondancer silence than scorn.

“You know,” Moondancer said, failing to take the hint, “it all dates back to the banishment of Nightmare Moon, formerly known as Princess Luna, The Mistress of the Night, et cetera, et cetera. The style, the literature, and everything around it, emerged from a feeling of profound grief her once-loyalists held for her. They decided to mourn her and wore society's disapproval as a badge of honor.” Octavia heard the smirk in her voice as she continued. “But later, the whole part about a treacherous princess probably got lost in the transcript. Ponies must have just decided the aesthetic looked hot or something, and it became all the rage,” Moondancer said, ending with a shrug.

“Moondancer.” Octavia took a deep breath before continuing. “I will admit you are a scholar in several areas of magical studies. But do not lecture me.” She managed not to call her pedantic. Small victories.

“Look.” Moondancer would not quit. “If you're gonna call yourself a goth, at least learn about some of the history. Or even better, the literature.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m not familiar with them already.”

“No, I just assumed you were above being a poser.”

“Who says I am?”

Moondancer huffed. “Name one artist, then.”

Far from stumbling at the question, Octavia reached for the cello on her back. Leaving the bow in its place, she struck the strings with her bare hooves. What could be best described as a bass riff, augmented by the acoustics of the building, blew Moondancer’s expectations —and almost, eardrums— into pieces.

"Me, of course," Octavia stated plainly, before being politely escorted out of the Canterlot library.

Chapter 2 (Octavia and Spoiled Rich/Diamond Tiara)

Passing by a jewelry store, her own reflection in the window made Octavia stop dead in her tracks. She took a moment to fix her bowtie before facing that reflection again. For a moment, it felt as though that simple piece of pink fabric was the last remnant of innocence she had left – the only thing keeping her from sliding down into an abyss of darkness that gazed back at her.

In addition to her reflection, she could also see the baffled looks of passersby. Their stares brought her back to reality; mares, young and wide-eyed, old and squinting, and stallions... it was hard to decipher their gazes, but Octavia chose to feel elated by a selected few.

And for a good reason. Not even Rarity could weave something as neck turning as her. The perfectly coiffed raven-black hair cascaded down her back. A dark, irresistible allure framed her pitch black eyeshadows and mascara. She was a statue of living obsidian, cold and hard, drawing each eye. The kind of mare that any pony would aim to impress.

Was it envy, or just Octavia's overwhelming confidence? Did it matter? In either case, they only got to admire her from afar – as she'd have it. Harder to approach, and thus, harder to bother.

But of course, some ponies didn’t get the memo.

“Octavia Melody!” Spoiled Rich stomped her way to her, dragging behind her a sheepish looking Diamond Tiara, “There you are!”

Spoiled Rich. To Octavia, she was as simple as she was pitiful; a mare who thought her money could buy her actual status, but without the class needed to be actually esteemed. Octavia had come to learn this since she began teaching piano lessons to Diamond Tiara . More time with the piano meant less time with her mother, after all.

That was when their disdain for each other started.

Octavia turned to the filly first. “Hello, Diamond Tiara. I hope you haven’t given up on your piano lessons.”

As the filly shook her head, Octavia's tone dropped a few notes. “Spoiled Rich.”

Spoiled Rich glanced at the store window with a raised eyebrow, then back at Octavia. “Planning on buying something?” Her eyes wandered for a moment before she scoffed. “Pretty trinkets, I admit. Our other store has the same kind of assortment. I buy these for my daughter all the time. If you mention me, they might just give you a discount.”

“Unfortunately, these are all too gaudy for me. I must decline.” Octavia said flatly.

Spoiled's answer was a firm huff, and a dig of her hoof against the pavement. “Octavia, if there was any trace of dignity and class within you, you would be ashamed!”

“For refusing to accept discounted antiques?”

“Antiques!” Spoiled scoffed again. “Is that what you think this is about?”

“I think I don’t have the time for playing guesses today,” Octavia said coldly, turning around. “I’ve got somewhere actually important to be.”

“The graveyard perhaps?” Spoiled's voice snapped sarcastically, stopping Octavia dead in her tracks. “To hang out with your ghost friends?”

By this time, Spoiled's voice had risen enough to command the attention of the entire street. But some things, the musician simply could not let go.

Spoiled wanted to make a scene, and Octavia would now give them a show.

“Sorry, come again?” she asked despite her better judgment.

“The lyrics of your songs,” Spoiled noted, curling her nose. “The profanity... Do you have any idea how that influences the ponies that listen to you? The things fillies like my daughter pick up from your music?”

“Mom, she only plays instrumental musi—”

“Quiet Diamond Tiara, can’t you see the adults are talking?”

Octavia could hear the chattering of their ongrowing audience. Diamond Tiara shrunk, flushed with embarrassment. Her mother, however, seemed to have all the bravado in the world. She shook her head and continued:
“And that’s not to mention the drugs you take before your concerts!”

“Fascinating. Last time I heard, the Gabby Gums gossip column has been long defunct.” She smirked at Spoiled's wince, but the follow up was already passing her lips “No need to keep parroting these rumours, is there?” Despite her momentary victory, Octavia could not help but put a hoof to her bowtie; like a guilty foal putting a hoof to their muzzle when they lie.

The gesture didn't escape Spoiled Rich. “That’s a cute and elegant bowtie you got there, miss,” she purred venomously. “Mind if I take a closer look… at its contents?” She said, eliciting some gasps from the crowd.

Octavia clutched her bowtie at these words, indignant. “What I decide to keep inside of my bowtie is none of your business.”

“I am appalled that THIS is the example you give to our youth!” Spoiled Rich declared loudly, looking around the gathering crowd. Their eyes pierced Octavia; she wanted to move away, but they were all around her.

“What are you even on about?” Octavia tried to keep her look straight to Spoiled’s eyes, but it kept darting to the sides and towards the ground.

“You and your... solemn mood!” Spoiled almost spat. “A veritable advertisement for depression!”

She continued her tirade while stomping closer towards Octavia’s face. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Octavia!”

“I’m sorry my lifestyle disrupts the delicate fabric of your comfort and threatens to expose the artificial constructs and facades you still cling to in your daily life. I really, truly am.” Octavia did her best to give Spoiled her most unapologetically ironic apologetic look.

“Excuse me?”

Octavia smirked. “I’m fully aware why ponies like you don’t like me.” She shook her head, raising her hoof to prevent any retorts. “It dawned on me quite recently. You are all perfect, aren't you?”

Spoiled Rich scoffed and frowned, opening her mouth.

Octavia continued, not letting her respond. “Nary a hint of a shadow may fall on your perfect lives, can it?” Her mouth had long since twisted bitterly. “Tell me”—she was the one to scoff this time—”have you ever let yourself feel despair?”

Spoiled blinked and took a step back as Octavia stepped towards her.

“Have you ever let yourself feel pain?” Octavia cocked her head. “Do you feel grim, when life is grim?” She let a little smile dance on her lips, then nodded sadly. “Is there anything wrong with that?”

“I—” Spoiled started, but Octavia interrupted her.

“You can't even stomach hearing a simple word—”

She smirked as she saw Spoiled wince.

“Die,” she almost whispered. The word washed across the crowd, and to Octavia's childish joy, Spoiled slapped her hooves against Diamond Tiara's ears.

In the shocked silence, Octavia raised her head. “To die,” she stated clearly. “Not to 'go away', not to 'pass on', not to never be talked about again – to die!”

The crowd was silent and still like a painting.

Octavia sighed. “I know what it means. I accept death as it is; can you say the same?” She didn't wait for Spoiled's response. “Memento mori, Spoiled Rich. You will die one day, and there are many who have perished before. Do not forget them, and do not delude yourself by pretending your life is perfect and happy.” Octavia looked around now. “Be grim when life feels grim; be happy when life is happy; be willing to see the worst of life, and the best of it.”

“And frankly, If I was you, Spoiled Rich, I would be more concerned about the kinds of things your daughter picks up at home, besides awfully expensive trinkets.” Octavia spared an empathetic glance for Diamond Tiara.

“How dare you?!” Now it was Spoiled Rich’s turn to gasp.

”Sorry, I just don’t like ponies prying into my personal life, a silly pet peeve of mine.”

“How about we see if it really is a rumor then?” To Octavia's surprise, Spoiled Rich lunged forward, her perfectly made up face contorted into a mask of rage that rooted Octavia to the ground for a split second, as she attempted to tear her bowtie. The unexpected boldness gave Octavia no room to react, or get out of the way. Not that she needed to anyway.

“OW,” she exclaimed suddenly, retracting her hoof. There was a drop of blood on it. And on the spiked collar underneath the bowtie, too. “The edge!”

“Want to know what’s inside my bowtie? Then I will gladly show you.”

She opened the fake knot of her necktie, revealing a hidden compartment, and green powder therein.

“I knew it!” Spoiled screamed, her voice jumping up an octave. “Such debauchery!”

“Steady. This is mint powder.” To demonstrate, she took a bit and put it under Spoiled's nose – the other pony took a sniff and bent over in a violent coughing fit. “You see,” Octavia explained, “I use it to clear my clogged sinuses. A lady gets a cold some days. Or perhaps...” she smirked bitterly, “she cries too much.”

“Or perhaps she sniffed a bit too much of it,” she added with a sigh, her stern tone faltering, then shook her head. “Either way, it gives something of a kick, but nothing anywhere close to real drugs.”

“Who in–” Spoiled coughed, still trying to get her bearing, “Who in Tartarus would keep that stuff inside a bowtie?!”

“When my own music started to sound like requiems for me,” Octavia explained solemnly, “when I could no longer stem the tide of grief...” she sighed theatrically, “I became grateful for that minty whip's snap that reminded me that I yet live!” She paused, and then, shrugged, “Also, a lack of pockets. Now if you will excuse me.”

The ponies that were gathering them made way for Octavia to trot through, mouths agape.

“This! Isn't! Over!” Spoiled Rich tried to screech between coughs, while Diamond Tiara mouthed the words, ‘I’m sorry,’ from the distance.

”Memento mori, Spoiled Rich.” Replied Octavia, “Memento mori.”

Chapter 4 (Octavia and Zephyr Breeze)

Octavia was still thinking about the earlier evening, and the sour aftertaste it had left on her. She knew nothing good would have come out of her parents visiting her out of the blue, or of them finding her in her current state. And yet, she could never have predicted the way the situation would develop. Of all the things that had happened to her in the past few days, this was the only one which actually managed to shake her to the core.

Fortunately, it was nothing one (or three) glass(es) of wine, and admiring a beautiful bouquet of flowers couldn’t fix. There was also the occasion for said bouquet. And thus, she found herself at a flower shop, staring at a candidate to bring for the event.

She blinked, and looked up into Roseluck’s smiling face.

"This one is nice," Octavia said despite herself, forcing a smile. "Would it be okay if I made a change or two?"

Not waiting for Rose’s reply, Octavia took a hoofful of purple flowers from the bouquet and replaced them with eight lilies she picked up. Before Rose could object, Octavia grabbed a bunch of dark red roses and struck them into the center. Finally, she picked up an armful of blue flowers – whatever they were – and peppered the bouquet with them. Every night sky needed some stars, after all. And then, she went on, picking up flowers and enhancing the bouquet.

Without her realizing, Octavia eventually packed the bouquet with almost every flower present in the flower stand, creating a wild and untamed cacophony of energetic and eclectic colors. She paused, then rearranged the disperate flowers by color and shape until they formed more of a harmonious whole.
At least as far as Octavia knew. “Better, I suppose.”

“Oh my, that is quite the…” Roseluck smiled awkwardly. “...colorful? …bouquet?” the flourist chuckled nervously. “Do you want me to include a note? For a special somepony, maybe?” She picked up a small card, and then stopped, realizing Octavia’s sudden silence. “Ooh~!” she tried to cover a laugh. ”Or is there no need for one?” She covered her mouth. “After all, why include a note if the bouquet is for a date?” she whispered up, eyes brimming with excitement.

Octavia rolled her eyes in response, and stated, coldly: “Why yes, these are not for me. What gave it away?”

Roseluck deflated “I– I’m sorry! I meant no offense.” her voice trailed off. “I was just interested— I mean, you don’t buy a lot of flowers and I thought you might…”

Octavia bit her lip at the sight of the poor mare, scrambling for words to try and salvage the situation.

Octavia sighed theatrically. “No,” she shook her head. “There is no need to apologize.” She took a deep breath, and rubbed the back of her neck, sighing. “I… had a rough week.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She offered Roseluck a conciliatory smile, and Roseluck responded with one of her own. Octavia smiled and added, quietly: “And yes, it is both for a special somepony, and a date.” She smirked. “After all, I’m not really one for flowers.”

Roseluck winced, glancing at the chaotic, multicolored bouquet. “You don’t say.”

Reaching out for her cello case, Octavia counted six bits, halted, and added four bits more. Surely the bouquet would be more expensive than that. From the case and directly into Roseluck’s hoof, she signaled her to keep the change. That was the least she could do for a friend.

She set the bouquet in the cart carefully, making sure the cello case would not fall on it. It had to last at least until nighttime, so she couldn’t carry it with her mouth. With her daily quota of sunlight accomplished, she was ready to go back home.

She did not make it far until a colt’s voice on her back called for her attention. “Hey miss, you dropped something!”

Thinking some bits must have fallen off from her case, or maybe even some flowers, she turned back. As she did so, she came face to face with a pale green pegasus with a wavy mane, who – without missing a beat – pinned a pink flower in her mane, miraculously not poking her eye out in the process.

“There, now it’s in its rightful place.” Zephyr admired his work with pride gleaming in his eyes.

Octavia glared at him, her mane threatening to drown out the pink flower like a black hole. Either he would realize what mistake he just made or she would become a cockatrice and stone him. Whichever happened first.

After a long, tense moment, Zephyr realized the mare was not swooning. Under her glare, the pegasus actually took the hint. He plucked the flower from her mane and shoved it into the bouquet, before muttering, “Ehm, maybe this works better,” and adding a nervous chuckle.

“You can look at it all you want, but: Do. Not. Touch. My. Mane.” Octavia didn’t break her stare as she reached for a mane comb from her case.

“Well, what can I say? As a mane stylist by trade, I’m always looking for more ways to finetune a mane like yours!” With every word, Zephyr's snappy persona flooded back.

Octavia’s angry look morphed into a puzzled one, in the process of figuring out whether to be offended or complimented at this. “And whatever is wrong with it?”

“Absolutely nothing that cannot be fixed! Let me elaborate.” In a matter of seconds, Zephyr flew to a nearby restaurant and fetched a table and two chairs, which he promptly placed in their spot as some sort of impromptu date, much to Octavia’s, and the restaurant owner’s, dismay.

“I have so many ideas about how to make your mane suit your style even more! Wanna hear them?” Zephyr chirped, seemingly forgetting about her previously stern reaction.

Octavia refused to take a seat, instead scalding him with her gaze again. But despite her squinting eyes and total silence, she found herself amazed and strangely intrigued by his gall.

Zephyr caught onto her discontent once again. “Alright, you got me. I have to be honest. I can’t think of anything to make your mane look even better. Actually, It looks great. I just needed an excuse to talk.”

“Did you really?” Octavia’s heart sank. Another botherer who would not leave her alone.

“Word goes around real fast here.” Zephyr spoke in a quick, hushed tone. “I’ve heard them say really mean things about you, and I know what that's like!” With each word, he was getting more and more excited. And louder. “Like, ponies judge from their ivory tower right? All the time.” He gave a quick self-satisfied nod, but continued before Octavia could interject. “They just don’t want to understand, and just make things up, and blow stuff out of proportion.” He waved his hooves in a semi-circular motion. “They never want to know the real you, or hear what you actually have to say.”

Octavia blinked in disbelief.

“So just you know,” Zephyr nodded. “I’m not like them. I want to help. Sincerely.”

Octavia let her body and frown relax a bit. After a moment, she pulled up a chair, ready to sit on it. Maybe she had judged him wrong, and he was just as misunderstood as she was. Was it possible that Zephyr, the bane of existence for most ladylike mares and Rainbow Dash, was for once being sympathetic instead of weird?

“Octavia.”

She leaned forward, her attention now fully his.

“I understand how hard it is, not being able to fit in, being rejected. But I’m telling you right now:”

He put a hoof on her shoulder and to her own surprise, she let him.

“I can fix you.”

She could hear the spinning record that was her brain gears, scratch.

“What?”

“It will be hard at first, but if you let me, I can help you get over your issues and addic— Wait, wait, lower your stick, don’t swing it at my beautiful face!”

She mentally chastised herself for thinking this could go anywhere sensible. At least now she would get to give him a piece of her mind. And a few slaps with her cello bow.

No, wait, the bow was way too expensive for that. Definitely worth more than Zephyr.

“How about I fix your stupid face, you pig?!”

Zephyr cowered behind the table. “I just wanted to tell you that you looked hot, okay?”

Octavia’s brain reset for the second time, trying to reach for a familiar memory. Dejà vu was it called? Whatever it was, it made her forget she was just about to slap the stupidity out of him. Hearing those words again, from somepony other than her, felt weird, and bold. But not wrong.

Seeing how his words had an actual positive effect, he rose from his cover. “Look, it's true, the black aesthetic, the collar, mascara and so on complement you like, so well, more than almost anypony else I have seen trying to pull that look. And I see a lot of them everyday!” Once again, she found herself captivated by his rambling outburst. “I may not know you, but I know how carefully built your reputation is, and just how much it is at risk. And for you none of that can get in the way of looking pretty, which I can totally get behind.”

Octavia’s eyes softened.

“I admire how much confidence you radiate while showing Equestria your true self.” Zephyr added with a sincere nod. “That’s why I didn’t know how to approach you, you make it so hard. But that’s part of your appeal!” His genuine smile helped sell his message.

Octavia was torn between emotions again. She found herself skeptical, and yet, flustered. Quickly, she told herself to keep the latter to herself. Pink and black rarely meshed well, after all.

“There is only one pony who can call me–” she paused, and pushed the word out: “cute.” She gave him a stern look, and growled: “And it is certainly not you!”

Zephyr rounded the table towards her. “Oh c’mon! I can tell that’s not true by the red on your cheeks! You are cute and you know it!”

“I’m not cute! Look!” She grabbed her spiked collar and brought it forth.

“Just accept the compliment! Just take it!” Zephyr grinned.

“You are not my type! What with your disheveled looks and cavalier attitude, we are worlds apart!” She pouted, making herself appear taller, eyes shut and chin piercing the sky diverting her gaze from him, if only to conceal her blush. She fiddled with her bowtie -as if it threatened to choke her- and the collar underneath.

“Hey, you don’t know me, you would be amazed to know how deep my nihilism goes!” Zephyr feigned being offended “Thanks to my sister, I’m in touch with my inner darkness; It talks to me, and brings the worst out of me sometimes. Makes me do horrible things, like procrastinating.”

Inwardly, she was reveling in this attention. Ideally, she shouldn’t, as now he would not leave her alone. It was so amusing though. When was the last time she had somepony so head over heels for her?

Then again, it was Zephyr Breeze. She tried to shake those flattering thoughts out of her head. Compliments were cheap, she reminded herself. Without genuine love and true understanding, they were shallow, like the pony uttering them. They, however, still felt good, and it did wonders for her mood and self-esteem.

Maybe she could let herself have some fun, this time. How deep would his infatuation go?

She suppressed a mischievous smile. It was time for her to double down. If he couldn’t handle her at her goth…

“You must know,” Octavia straightened up, regaining her cool. “If you aim to truly impress me, you must go all the way.” She played it up, stern and icy.

“How may I prove myself worthy of your affection, mistress Octavia?” Zephyr was almost groveling.

“You will not be a true goth until you get your hooves on a bat,” Octavia grabbed a flower from her bouquet, the one Zephyr had given to her, and squeezed it in her hooves. “Then you must grip it tightly… and bite its head off!” With that, she bit down, decapitating the plant. She chewed, and gave him a sidelong glance. “That would be your initiation rite.”

Zephyr looked taken aback by this, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. “Uhm, I’m sure if I did that, my sister would do the same to me, heh.”

“I also hope you enjoy being bossed around, doing every little chore I order you to do.” She smiled confidently. “I am a harsh mistress. Cruel, even. I do not let any misdemeanor slide.”

The doubts were starting to sink into Zephyr's now sweating coat. “That sounds terrific! Or terrifying.”

Octavia sighed inwardly. Despite her explicit you are not my type, the pegasus still clung onto hope. She’d given him so many red flags she started to wonder if he was really into vexillology, instead of just desperate.

“Ugh!” the musician groaned theatrically.“I would really appreciate it if you could stop talking for a second, I can’t keep up with the voices in my head!” Octavia massaged her temples, resisting the temptation to smirk. She was having too much fun with this.

Zephyr simply stood with his mouth agape, eyes darting at his sides to try and find the words, or an escape route. In the end, it seemed, she got through to him. Just like that, he no longer wanted the responsibility that came with a goth girlfriend.

“Zephyr.”

“Yes?” He managed to squawk out.

Octavia batted her eyes, and drove her gaze directly into his very soul, giving him the most sultry and seductive look her tired eyes could accomplish.

“Would you like to die in my shadow world?”

It was a shame Rainbow Dash was not there to behold the scene, otherwise she would have been impressed with how quickly Zephyr bolted from there. It would have given her a run—or flight—for her money.

Octavia let out a long contented sigh, then chortled, and finally, let out a short laugh. A moment later, she glanced up, only to see Roseluck giggling like crazy, covering her mouth. Octavia tried in vain to compose herself and frown sternly at her, but soon it proved contagious to Octavia, who found herself stifling a laugh too.

Only a moment later, she realized that it wasn’t fun. Zephyr was just like everypony else. Everypony besides her.

With that realization, Octavia’s laughter died in her before it had a chance to escape in the first place.

Worse of all, she was just reminded of her earlier afternoon, to add salt to the wound.