If Octavia were a pegasus, the wind would be blaring in her ears like an ensemble cresting on a crescendo in an opera house. Fortunately, she wasn't a pegasus. The only noise that welcomed her was quiet mixed with emptiness that tickled her eardrums as she sat at the table set for herself in her apartment.
Her ensemble had the day off today to recover from their last night's performance. That night was a cocktail filled to the brim with ponies of Canterlot and those who were visiting. Canterlot had the snootiest of the snooty, but they were not all like that. Ponies of all kinds could dabble in the classical. She just so happened to get poshly remarked in those halls and while she could put up the facade with her bow tie adjusted rightly, she liked to be a casual mare in her own time, mostly when moving between hotels and stations, dressed in loose garb that didn't pinch at her skin.
That same loose clothing hugged her form. A white tee she had in her suitcase. Her makeup from last night hadn’t wore off (she didn’t know how, must've been magic or something unexplainable). A vase she had on her kitchenette countertop now sat in front of her, where she dined. A croissant on a plate pervaded a fluffy warmth just below her in-hoof cup of tea, its steam filling her nostrils. That warmth sent goosebumps to war with her own nerves. She took a sip, letting the delicious drink entice her with its sweetness. She licked her lips and cast her gaze out the window.
Skyward were Equestrian’s major cities. Her new-ish apartment (she kept calling it new, yet it was not, she had only been in it a few times) was on the tenth floor of a towering monument of Manehatten. She had moved here after feeling a bit too tepid in Ponyville. No, it was not Vinyl’s fault. They are still the best of friends, writing letters back and forth in a somewhat bi-weekly frenzy while attempting (and horribly failing) at scheduling time to meet among the never-ending scheduled performances. Octavia had been... lost. Rather confused. She needed time to herself to recoop, understand where her hooves truly lay. Thankfully, her music kept her stable, and the ensemble did pay well enough to let her find lodging in Manehatten. It was much closer to where her ensemble would practice when not on tour. Maybe that's the second largest reason (trailing behind her loss of self) why she left Ponyville. Being in a place where she had to take a train ride and a half to simply meet with her ensemble made it hard for her to get rest.
So, here she was, in her new-ish apartment, staring at a skyscraper that was adjacent to hers.
Octavia sighed and took another generous sip, before setting her tea on a small porcelain plate. She picked up her little fluff of bread, clutching it in her hooves, and nibbling into it further. The crunching of the bread could be heard, and she smiled as she chewed and chewed while the sounds of a bustling city played among and between her bites. She could hear those hoofsteps clip-clopping against concrete. Some chatter raised a cacophony of noise, while wagons traversed the paved roads for those who had hitched a ride. Doorbells rang every time a new pony entered a business. She could imagine some of them: a bakery with donuts and baguettes ready to purchase, freshly made; a restaurant touting themselves as five-stars with waiters and waitresses handling customers' orders in an attempt to ensure their stay was as best as they could make it; a boutique with all the glitter and glam designed in their attire while fanciful music flirted with hypotheticals; and many, many more, and all they could make Octavia do was drift, drone about what could be there while her mind tittered on her cello's condition, leaving her to wonder if the strings on it needed to be replaced, or if they would keep up with the hoofsteps of the others. Chords interweaved in her mind, played so eloquently, blocking out that city life with a song she held close to her heart.
Her forehooves started dancing, pulling each imaginary string she had of her invisible cello. One hoof still held the croissant carefully, but the other was free to roam. Her body moved to and fro as she played, chaotically, but also softly. Each string plucked its way into the whirlwind of her emotions. She closed her eyes and let herself go.
…
“Whoa…”
Octavia opened her eyes. She froze, mid-pluck, and craned her head to the voice that put her emotions on pause.
It was her roommate. His name was Anon. He was paired with her after his landlord demanded him to get a roomie that had some class (or, in this case, could help him handle the rent, as he was almost about to get kicked out). Naturally or unnaturally, Anon asked her, desperately, pleading with her to say yes. Apparently many ponies had taken a look at the apartment and while some were interested, none of them had committed to the price. This had left Octavia to possibly save him from sure destruction, which, while it wasn't an obligation she was tied to, she had some sympathy lingering in her heart. Not to mention since she didn’t really see any other options that enticed her to pull the magical trigger known as ‘getting a bill’, she had asked the landlord to give her a tour. Safe to say, the tour had stayed short.
At the time, Anon’s apartment looked like a pigsty. Messy, yet somewhat 'organized', if she were even able to call it that. Piles of all sorts were in front of her and the landlord. She didn’t know how to identify each one. Some of them were indiscernible, but apparently there was a method to the madness. Pizza boxes mixed with plastic spoons and bowls meant a trip to a to-go speciality restaurant. Books, papers, notepads; they all represented study of some kind. A pizza box with a controller though; that meant some type of crossover happened, one with logic well beyond her comprehension would permit. She didn't want to know anyway. Her mind had been made up. A disorganized slob was asking her to save his alien hiney from a bout of homelessness.
So, she turned to the landlord, and with a smirk, announced her commitment. It was high time to fix him.
She accepted the course of action. And since then, while she paid the rent, Anon kept the place clean. That was their terms and conditions, which Anon committed to. They talked sparingly, making sure the other was okay, and that the bills were paid. She wasn't bailing the man out without him committing some bits to the place too, and he did commit some. Many, in fact.
And that was their relationship. She was never home really, touring kept her on the move and money in her saddlebags. Now that she had time to herself…
…she decided to enjoy her apartment for once.
“You’re home.”
Octavia hummed as she saw Anon step through the threshold. “I am.”
Curt. Just how she responded to those she didn’t know, but still knew of. She set her croissant aside and picked up her tea again. It was still warm, thankfully, and she took a sip to remind her of such.
It tickled her spine as she heard Anon’s voice again. “Breakfast?”
“Yes,” she murmured. She felt her ears perk up. “You… still work delivery?”
“The Equestrian’s version of Doordash, but yeah,” he said. She spared a glance at him, spying him scratching his neck as he set down his carry-on bag. “Late night shift. Egh.”
“You do know you could do it during the day…”
Her sensible comment fell on deaf ears. He had already flicked off his shoes, put his delivery hat on a hook on the wall (it was some cap he thought looked cool; it was rather drab delicately put, but garage sales ‘held the keys to treasure’ in his eyes, which was said to him on her... first day... yes, the first day she had spoken with him), and stumbled into their shared bathroom. She didn’t have many toiletries in there, if any. She carried hers in a bag, not in her case. That was reserved only for her cello.
She rolled her eyes, shifting in her seat. What a silly man.
“Oh, sorry!” He sorta talk-shouted. His head peeked around the corner. “I’m taking a shower. I’ll be out in a few, okay?”
She giggled lightly. “Take your time.”
He snorted before his head disappeared around the corner. A chaotic forceful click of the door reverberated in her ears. Then, the shuffling of his ‘feet’ drummed into a flick of the curtains. She could even hear him stumble into their walk in shower, fumble with the knob, and he—“Ah! Cold!”—got hit with a burst of jetted water. She chuckled and shook her head. She tuned him out and took another sip of her tea.
She could wait. She could wait for him to take his time. She had nowhere to go. A day to spend all on her own.
That’s all she needed to make him notice her, right?
…
That thought made her muzzle scrunch up. Where did that come from? That thought never crossed her mind before! It tickled her inner twine, her hairs standing up on end, even the ones in her mane.
She sniffed the air. It wasn’t tainted by Anon’s presence. Sure, he smelled like a night of food deliveries, possible angst, and a tinge of sadness, but that wasn’t her smell. No, she made sure to lay the scent thick, her natural mixing with a shampoo she bought in Canterlot before she left. Like daylilies flirting with a sunflower patch. That’s what it had said on the bottle. She smelled herself. More like a sunflower than a daylily. Either that or her memory served her less and less.
See, the insides of an opera house was what she was in-tune with, not the grass she was supposed to lay on when she could relax in a park (it was a dream to do that). Tea was close to her, the mint leaves intermixing in the brew. Tea made her feel warm just like the music halls, filled to the brim with plucked strings, loud brass, fluttering flutes, and delightful piano keys. Tea reminded her of how her world worked, why she even stayed in her ensemble: finding like minded musicians brimming with the shared passion of playing classical music. Tea reminded her of the strings she played as the liquid filled her, warming her core. She could tackle anything if its nutrients were in her bloodstream.
And yet, here she was, getting jumpscared by Anon’s late entry in their shared apartment.
The human.
What a—
The squeak of the nozzle stopped the waterfall in the room next to her. She let one ear stay up, alert, hearing the sounds of a towel wiping against the wall. She snickered.
Octavia set her tea down and nibbled a bit more on that croissant of hers. It disappeared into her mouth, making her take another sip of her tea.
The amount of time it had taken to do that, Anon had already cleaned the shower walls and took care of throwing on his clothes and himself (in that order). She surmised there might be some other things involved in his routine, but she didn’t know them, not well. All she had gathered was a moment of delirium before the door to the bathroom swung open. It clacked against a cabinet door nearby, probably one where he stored all of his necessities.
She snorted as she saw Anon dart around the corner.
“It’s good to see you, Octavia.”
His hair was still wet.
“It’s good to see you too, Anon.”
There were marks where the water soaked into his plain yet bright blue tee.
“You… staying around?”
“For today, yes,” she mused. A few stray dollops of water held onto his skin. She saw his face and let out a whinny. “Did you even dry yourself off?”
“Sorry. Had to catch you before you left again.”
Before you left again…
Those words plucked at her heartstrings.
Octavia felt her lips tug at the seams, sagging down. Her ears splayed against her head. “You don’t need to apologize. I know it’s mostly my fault.” She hung her head. “Our schedules clash so much that we never get to see—eep!”
He stopped her train of thought by hugging her rather unceremoniously. She squeaked as Anon’s shirt mingled with hers. The end of her mane bristled against his neck. His wet hair collided with her dry mane. His arms wrapped around her midsection, letting those water droplets seep into her shirt. Yet, even with the wetness, warmness resided. A subtle warmth, one that she didn't know how to keep, only that he kept her close, tightening their embrace.
It was different to be held like this. To be latched onto so needily enough to forgo basic hygiene in a fashion that felt healthy, but also not. She sneered that negativity, mentally, like a critique of her music, whenever a string felt off, plucked off-sync. She lavished in this melody, this unfamiliarity in its keystrokes. It was something to break the monotony of her daily life. It was unexpected, yet not unwelcome. That’s what she wanted in this day off of hers, right?
She didn't know. She didn't know as she leaned a bit closer to him instead. She could hear his heartbeat: slow yet galloping at a pace she didn't understand. Almost like hers—oh wait, that gallop was her heartbeat, his was normal. Hers was brewing in her chest. She hoped she’ll match his, a slow timbre. A calm breeze. Peaceful. Delightful.
That tea would make it hard for her to meet his pace, though. An energizer and all that—
She shook her head. Her thoughts grazed in a field of elation so much that she didn’t notice Anon had pulled away. He was looking at her with his hands up, his mouth jumbling words together.
“O-Oh—sorry. I... shouldn’t have hugged you out like that.”
His gaze was full of concern, his fingers playing with themselves. A tick, possibly?
She waved a hoof toward him. “No, it’s okay. Why did you hug me?"
His lips curled upward. "I wanted to thank you."
"You… wanted to thank me?”
“Yeah… I should’ve said it though.”
She laughed. “You could’ve but I’m not against what you did.”
“You aren’t?”
Her ears perked up. Her lips did too, the tea's taste still gracing her maw. She felt happy, warm, not only because of her morning drink, not because of her day off, but because, for once, she felt wanted. A stallion didn’t hug you like that, Octavia. Not even her ensemble did that. Even the touchy-feely types avoided hugs in most public settings. Yet, this was private, with somepon—er, someone she only met a hoofful amount of times. Was it wrong to question it? No, probably not. But the feeling was questionable, for several reasons that she was too fickle to carry out in detail. She wanted to understand the calamity that was her roommate. Not consider the hugs from others.
Maybe she needed to get a hug more often. That would resolve her confusion, right?
“You could dry yourself off before—” She was going to finish her thought, but he had gasped and ran back into the bathroom. A bit of shuffling later, and he came out a bit more dry. His hair was combed but still had that wet look to her. His arms weren’t covered with droplets, though.
It’ll do.
She scooted out her seat and turned it to face him. “Now that you’re more presentable, could you…” She spread out her forelegs. “Could you… do it again?”
Wordlessly, he walked over to her, gave her a smile and hugged her tenderly. No water this time, but the droplets remained soaked in his shirt. She could feel his presence ensnare her, not aggressively, but captured her enough to feel comfortable in his embrace.
“Never received a hug?”
She let out an airy laugh. “Not like what you do, Anon.” She returned it, softly, weakly, her forehooves trying to round him and connect like his hands did around her. Hooves didn’t work like that, just short of connecting.
She nuzzled into his chest and pulled back to see his reaction.
His face was scarlet now, cheeks abiding the most. “Forgot y-you ponies nuzzle.”
“It’s part of the package,” she replied. “Welcome home.”
“I should be saying that to you.” His voice was laced with warmth. Just like her tea. His hands scooted up closer to her head to pull her closer.
She nuzzled him for his troubles. “You still can.”
“Okay…” He cleared his throat. “Welcome home, Octavia.”
Those words felt like velvet to her.
“Thank you.”
And nothing else needed to be said. The two kept their embrace for a moment longer, before Octavia pulled away and told her that his bloodshot eyes could use some work. He was going to retort but his yawn had punctuated his contrast to stay awake, but she knew if he stayed up any longer, he would probably sleep standing up. So, she told him to take a nap in his room, it might help him.
“Then wake me up in thirty minutes.”
She tilted her head. “Are you sure?”
He nodded and patted her mane. “If this is your day off, then I’m spending it to finally get to know the pony who saved me from being homeless.”
“Sounds good…” she wistfully replied, her voice flirting with an octave lower than her usual. She hummed as he left, clambering into the hallway to her left, where their rooms were separated but connected. She let out a chuckle, before turning back to the window.
Outside was the world she already knew.
Inside was one she was going to learn more about.
…
She couldn’t wait for those thirty minutes to pass her by.
Author's Note
Sometimes its those simple moments. Wanted to capture that with this one.
Written from a stroke of sudden inspiration.
If you want more, lemme know, but this will stay as a one-shot for now.
Octavia couldn’t sit still.
She was daydreaming, still holding a cup in her hooves. She had long since sipped its contents, but she couldn’t stop rubbing one of her forehooves against it. She was hoping her cup would wake up, dance on the table, summon the teapot across the way (somehow), and fill itself with what remained. Sadly, Octavia’s fantasy would never come to fruition, no matter how much she tried to tell it to refill itself. She glanced out the window, seeing the world that contrasted her world inside the apartment, and she wanted to say something about it, but then her mind drifted back to her empty cup, and she sighed, frustratedly, as a forceful jet of air shot out from her nostrils. She frowned as she imagined steamwaves hovering just above the cup, only for them to scatter when she realized it was empty. Groaning, Octavia set it aside on its plate and slid off her seat.
She walked toward the range, where the teapot sat patiently. Each hoofstep echoed in her ears, while its scent tempted her to pick up the pace from a lazy trot to a canter. She kept herself calm, cool, and collected. There was no need to race when she was the only one racing, so she drifted instead, like a cloud overhead, preparing a storm with blistering thunder.
Octavia and her pegasus-isms. She didn’t know why she gravitated to those. Was it because of the ponies in Ponyville? There were pegasi there, but none of them were close to her. She did cross paths with Raindrops once in a while, Flitter and Cloudchaser too, but Rainbow Dash was too far off the beaten path with her Wonderbolt practices and duty to save the world every now and again, and Derpy was… delivering mail.
Besides, Vinyl had kept Octavia focused and put-together when she was still living in Ponyville. The trade off was attending her rather ridiculous raves every month. Even if she had enjoyed them to the point of losing control, swaying to the music as she had nursed a drink of a different nature in her hooves. The raves were a love-hate relationship exemplified, where grounding herself meant losing herself to any music that had made her eventually feel alive.
She groaned. Grounding. All roads led back to those pegasus-isms. The concept must have budded from clouds in Ponyville, watching the weather team create storms and subsequently bust them moments later. She had walked out during a few of those scheduled rainstorms, enjoying the not impromptu shower on her way to the Sugarcube Corner. She could remember the sudden towel dry that Pinkie gave her, and she had to stay for a while to avoid ‘getting sick’.
Spoiler alert, she had gotten sick anyway. Good thing performances had been canceled for that week!
…
Her mind drifted back to the apartment. Her hooves tapped the top of the teapot. She lifted it, slowly, carefully. Carrying it with her worn-down hooves from all her time spent playing her cello. She needed to get a hooficure some time soon. Perhaps one of her ensemble members could go to the spa with her tomorrow. She could go by herself right now, but she didn’t want to leave. There was no reason to, right?
Besides, she still needed to wake Anon up. He could wait though. Her mind was still enraptured by her tea, carrying the teapot slowly back to her seat.
Unfortunately for her, Octavia’s mind was not done going adrift. Pegasi had it easy, at least, it looked nearly effortless as they created clouds and storms, and then busted them without breaking a sweat. She had asked Raindrops about it, and she said it was all in a days’ work. Who says that to a mare like her? She had to painstakingly pluck each string of her cello, stare at a music book making sure she didn’t miss a note and—she took a deep breath and sighed.
Learning to filter one’s language tended to be a weak point on Octavia’s resume. She discovered it that day, which made her cheeks blistering red. She could still feel the heat tingle them now, but she paid it no further heed.
Octavia wished music was that easy. Every single movement, every single note; they had to be precise. No mistakes. If there were, ponies would notice, or not, if it was a good enough mistake. She couldn’t bank on good mistakes. She could only bank on—
She cut herself off with a rather impactful grunt. She had walked straight into the table. Thankfully, the teapot hadn’t ejected from her grasp. No spilled tea, no cracked cupware, and most importantly, no Anon suddenly bursting out the door to her right asking her what happened. The hallway, for what it was, did not need someone like him creeping out and asking her if she was okay. He needed his rest. Thirty minutes per his request, and another fifteen so she could drift a bit more. Maybe.
What time was it?
…
She sat on her flanks and let out an anxious whinny.
Tea poured into the cup, enough to nearly overflow it, before Octavia set the teapot to side, probably with too much force. The poor thing most likely had a new crack, but she didn’t care… yet. She shakily held the cup with two hooves and nursed it happily into her muzzle.
Upon contact, the liquid she drank was cold and dreary in its taste.
She shivered, setting it back down on its porcelain plate.
Maybe it was time to see how Anon was doing.
She harrumphed, fell off her now cold throne, and trotted into the hallway. There, she stopped, hooves skirting on hardwood flooring. A door towered above her, like she was an ant and it was the largest building in Manehatten. She shook her head, her dramatic distraction definitely directing her elsewhere. She frowned before she gave the door a gentle knock, like plucking a cello string for the first time, precisely in the center.
The door creaked open.
Guess Anon didn’t lock his door. Why would he? He hadn’t had to deal with her at all really. She was a roommate in name and—
She let out a frustrated titter. “Tavi…”
With a deep breath, Octavia stepped into Anon’s bedroom.
The man of the hour was on top of the bed, somehow not under the covers. Instead, he was laying on the comforter, his head plastered against a large puffy pillow. She resisted the urge to giggle to herself as she approached his bedside, seeing his scrunched up face. He wasn’t snoring, surprisingly, given how long he was out.
A night shift, Octavia couldn’t imagine that. Granted, she did pull her own all-nighters, but those plagued her in her early days, her nerves on fire when a performance of a lifetime presented itself. Maybe his body was used to it. Just like how she was used to her own practice, her own music, spending hours to hone her craft. Maybe he—oh, who was she kidding? She probably was overstating her view of him. She didn’t even know him, yet.
Yet… and—
“Hairless—emmm… monkeys.”
She tilted her head, accompanied with a brow raise. What was Anon whispering in his sleep? How was he already this deep in his sleep? Wasn’t it—
She withheld a gasp. A clock lurked toward the top left of the room. Like a spider, crawling through a massive web. It ticked and tocked, and it read that it was way past thirty minutes. Way too far past. How did daydreaming occupy more than an hour and a half of her time? It now explained why her tea was cold, and it even explained why he was a bit further into his sleep than expected. Speaking of Anon, he flipped away from her—“Musical chairs.”—What did he just say?
Was he dreaming of hairless monkeys playing musical chairs?
“Hot… pockets.”
She didn’t know what he was saying at this point. He had grunted when he said hot too, that was—“Weird.”—Was he finishing her sentences in his sleep through telepathy?
Octavia blinked away her silliness. Not possible. Even if he was an alien.
She tapped a hoof against his shoulder, the one closest to her side of the bed. “Anon…” she whispered.
He didn’t budge.
“Anon.”
She shoved him a bit more.
“Anon!”
“I didn’t scam you, I swear!”
Anon sprung awake, his fists up at the ready. His eyes were wide and still somewhat bloodshot, but at least they didn’t look as red. He had snapped over to her and she nearly flinched, but kept her composure by forcing a smile. There was no need to be worried about what he could do here, right?
Her smile fell to the wayside. She cleared her throat. “Are you okay?”
Anon crawled over to her and he was way closer to her than he was just a moment ago. “Yeah. Thanks for waking me up, Octavia.”
“You’re welcome?” She blinked away her confusion. “Did you sleep well?”
He gave her a finger up (she didn’t know what it was called) and smiled. “Like a rock.”
“Good…” she whispered and then snorted. “You were whispering monkeys and musical chairs in your sleep. Had me worried there for a second.”
“Oh, that’s normal.” He let his legs dangle off the side of the bed. “Dreams tend to somehow connect like an absolutely trippy etch-a-sketch drawing for me.”
She didn’t know if what he said was Equestrian or Anon-ish. “I’ll just pretend I know what that means.”
“Probably good for your health,” he said with a grin, before hopping off his bed. She scooted back a bit to give him enough space to do… whatever he was doing. He stretched his body, first his neck then continued to do so until he wiggled his toes, grunting and moaning as he did so. It flustered her, seeing how much he actually stretched. Then, with one final grunt, he walked toward the hall and let out a chuckle. “Haven’t stretched like that in a while.”
“Sounded like you broke a bone or two.”
He snorted. “Long nights on the job are like that.”
A smirk warmed up to her face. “Remind me to never resort to doing your job.”
“Eh… you most likely will never have to,” he said rather softly.
She tilted her head. “I won’t?”
He spared a glance back at her. “You won’t. Trust me.” He beckoned her with a hand. “Want to watch some terrible movies? Got my old TV set out there that somehow didn’t break from the portal that dropped me in Equestria like a used dishrag.”
She followed close by as he walked out the door. “You came through a portal?”
“Phrasing, Octavia.”
“I didn’t mean it like that you dolt!” A flaring heat rose to her cheeks, which earned her a hearty chuckle from Anon.
Their journey continued into the living ‘room’ (it was just conjoined to the kitchen and the dining room). A sofa stood there, a little ways from the black box Anon probably called the Tee Vee. She didn’t know if she imagined that right, but it was apparently plugged into the wall outlet, so it must use electricity like the lights in their apartment did. New technology always cropped up these days; although he did say it was something that came with him through the portal. For a second, she thought they were going to go out to the cinema or he was going to pull out a projector like some other ponies had in their homes.
In her own headspace, she didn’t notice Anon was already crouching down by the Tee Vee. He was holding onto a large binder full of… something, grinning like a madpony who just discovered fire. That grin morphed into a smirk as he pressed the button on the front of the Tee Vee.
The screen burst into static, black and white particles dancing on its face.
She felt her ears splay back against her head again. “Does it normally do that?”
He nodded. “Yeah, this thing has seen better days, though. Somehow, this is a technological marvel compared to what you ponies have. Like I am sho—”
Suddenly, the marvel’s static spoke loudly, making Octavia put her forehooves over her ears. She winced, letting out a pained whinny. Anon flicked his attention back to the Tee Vee and fumbled with the front of it. He pressed a few buttons, and a green bar with numbers on it appeared. The larger line skirted lower and lower, nearing zero.
She looked over at Anon and waited for him to give her some kind of signal. He smiled and gave her a finger going upward—whatever that meant, probably the signal to let her hooves go.
Octavia’s hooves fell back to the ground again, and the static, while still showing up on the screen, was no longer yelling at her.
“Sorry about that. It sometimes has a mind of its own on start-up.” He got up and folded himself onto the couch, his head laying on a pillow while his arms held onto that binder of his. “Have a seat, Octavia.”
“Like, next to you?”
“Don’t worry, I don’t smell like death.”
She walked over to him and sniffed. Blueberries and potatoes. That’s not a combination she thought she would smell. “You don’t smell like death, but what shampoo do you use?”
“Not sure. It looked like some off-brand Head & Shoulders.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
He shrugged. “Ehh… it had blueberries on the front.”
Blueberries. Shampoo… was that a Sapphire Shores recommended shampoo? She had one of those too and used it once a week with her normal shampoo. Did he like the scent? What was the reason a stallion would use it?
“Octavia?”
She snorted, which she hoped would wrinkle her dissentent away like the applause of a crowd, and hobbled onto the couch. “Well you don’t smell terribly.” She wiggled into his form and laid her head on her forehooves. “Scoot over.”
Anon groaned as he most likely caved into the couch—that’s what she hoped that noise was for. Her tail flicked against her hindlegs, covering herself while she made herself as comfortable as she could. Then, she felt a plush pillow ride against her back, which made her look back at Anon, who was sheepishly smiling at her.
“Anon?”
“Thought you might need a pillow or two.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need one for my back.”
“That one is to make sure I don’t bump into you by accident.” A blue pillow was placed by her forehooves. “This one's for that head of yours.”
She felt a smile tickle her cheeks. She folded her forelegs into herself and looked over at Anon to see if he’d drop the second pillow for her. He must have gotten the memo as he let it fall and plop itself right where her forehooves were originally. Thankfully the pillow didn’t bounce or roll off the side of the couch, that would have been annoying with how she was right now, but as she sat her head on the pillow, she chose to forget about that possibility.
For a moment, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She didn’t know if this was how humans normally bonded, but she wasn’t going to judge. Bad movies on a projector with a bunch of friends was a great time, but laying this close to them… now that was a different story.
She spared one more glance at Anon. He pulled out a small box labeled Cats.
“Cats?”
“One of the worst movies I own.” He grunted as he pushed off the couch. He slid out of the couch without disturbing her too much, although his leg did brush near her dock of her tail, and she was not ready for the sudden rub there. She held back her urge to kick whatever was behind her until he was out of the way, before kicking her hind legs out a bit to get rid of the ghostly touch.
She hummed to herself while watching Anon fumble with the set again. A little tray opened up and he deposited the thing into it. The machine ate it and then whirred to life. Before he came back to the couch, he grabbed a little gray rectangle. Carefully, he not-so-carefully flopped into his previous spot, making the whole couch rock. He grunted before snuggling up to his pillow again.
Anon’s little behavior reminded her of Vinyl again. She was similar in the sense of just flopping on the couch. Octavia was worried about her again, going through the fourth couch in a row in a matter of a few months—
“Ready to witness these poor excuses of felines?”
She shook her head and gave him a bashful smile. “Y-Yes.” She then spied that gray rectangle again as it was pointed right at the Tee Vee. “Is that for the Tee Vee?”
“Yeah, it’s for the—wait, can you say that again?”
“Tee Vee?”
Her ears perked up as Anon’s laugh rang true. “Dude, it’s called a TV.”
“Yes, precisely what I said.”
“No, you said Tee Vee.”
“Right.”
…
“Octavia.”
She threw her forehooves in the air. “What?”
“Say T.”
“Like the letter?”
“Yes.”
“Okay…” Her muzzle scrunched up. “T.”
“And now say V.”
“V.” She licked her lips. “What does this—”
“Now say them together!” A grin warped on Anon’s face.
“Tee Vee.”
“Oh my God,” Anon announced, screaming into the pillow shortly after. Who was God? “I’m not going to bother.”
“Bother God?”
“No, your emphasis and—” He stopped and flicked the rectangle thing at the T.V—wait that’s how he wanted her to say it? Wait—he shook his head. “I don't know if that’s just your accent or you—”
“T.V.”
His eyes widened and he began to clap. “There you go! See, was it that hard—ack!”
She bopped him with her hoof. “We don’t have many words like that in Equestrian.”
He rolled his eyes while nursing his head. She didn’t hit him that hard, did she? “It’s not a word, but I am not going to go there. Besides, I keep forgetting that you ponies have your own language and it’s not just English verbatim.”
“We do have our own colloquialisms,” she jested with a toothy grin.
“It’s not just that,” Anon began with a bit of vibrato in his voice. He pressed a button on his rectangle and the green bar returned. “You have all these other symbols too, but you, for some reason, choose to not show them in your media. Like, what does a ☼︎ mean?”
Octavia smiled. “That’s a harsher form of a R.”
“Harsher?!” Anon gasped and raised a brow. “You don’t mean harsh in a negative way, right?”
She shrugged her withers. “Depends on the musical piece.”
…
“What?”
“It’s mostly used for music theory when it invigorates the mind of a different feeling. We use symbols to express them.” She wrinkled up her muzzle and looked back at the rectangle. She pointed at it with a forehoof. “What is this called?”
“A remote.”
“Hmm…” She tapped her chin with that same hoof. “You use that to control the volume of the T… V?”
“Yes, and why do you now pause so hard between the T and the V?”
“Getting used to saying it, is all,” she tittered. Just like practicing a piece, a few strings playing behind them and—her eyes widened. “So what are we watching again?”
“Cats.” He pointed at the screen. “That’s the menu and—”
Octavia looked at the screen.
“Anon.”
“Yeah?”
…
She pointed a hoof at the screen. “Those aren’t cats.”
“Their anthro—”
“No. Those are abominations.” She could feel her forehead crease as she squinted at them. “Are you sure this is okay for us to watch?”
Anon laughed. “Yes. You’ll see. They’re cats. Just… bad ones.”
She wrinkled her muzzle. Before the screen disappeared, she further saw them. One was wearing a coat. A coat. It reminded herself of wearing one on a winter’s day that was more brutal than most. Ponies used them as utility to ensure they weren’t going to freeze to death. She highly doubted these thick furred not-cats would need a coat, but she couldn’t entirely judge them based on that, right?
He flicked the volume a bit higher, and the movie began to play…
“Anon.”
“Yeah?”
She let out a forceful exhale. “Never show that movie to me ever again.”
Two hours passed like time was not worth even discussing. She watched as a bunch of not cats did cat-like things but were still not cats.
He laughed. “I told you it was a bad movie.”
She buried her face into the pillow. “Mmmhmph.”
“What was that?”
She popped her head off her pillow and glared at him. “Perish.”
“Can't. Death doesn’t want me... or the church for that matter,” Anon said as he got up from the couch. She watched the criminal press the off button on the remote and eject the ‘disc’ (as he called it during the movie). He got up for a moment, shimmying his way off the couch to not disturb her disposition. She let out a groan stifled by her frustrated whinny she interjected with, and her ear flicked the side of her head.
What a terrible movie. Everything sounded off-kilter in her ears. Some songs were even painful to hear. Was this actually a movie or a film to torture ponies and humans alike?
She didn’t know. It reminded her of something. Something grating. A pony in her ensemble, recruited by her director, made similar noises. She was supposed to do a simple backing vocal for the choir. Instead, she made the glass break and half the orchestra halted their notes to cover their ears. The director asked her what that was, she said it was her voice ‘slipping’. Safe to say, that mare was never let back into the ensemble.
The fact that there were several ‘cats’ of her in the film made her wish she could wiggle her way back to her room to open up her own cello to comfort her nerves. They were emblazoned by the memory, begging for her to get up and play. But she couldn’t, not with Anon returning back to the couch, the remote now sitting on the stand beside the TV. She looked up at him, watching his lips move yet no sound came out. She sighed, set her head down, and closed her eyes.
She imagined the opera house. She imagined the cello she had. She imagined her hooves glazing over the strings, each making harmonics that set her back to Canterlot, where ponies around her danced and danced while her and her ensemble played precariously. She tickled each twine, each string playing notes that masqueraded in her performance.
And then Anon showed up and blocked out all the noise, a cheeky grin on his face—
“Octavia? Did I do something wrong?”
She flinched and returned back to the couch. She had somehow got up during this entire stanza and her hindlegs were balancing her sudden pronounced build. She turned, rather wobbly, to Anon and then promptly settled on all fours. She blinked at him. “I apologize. I'm a bit tired from that movie.”
“Well, I can always let you rest and—”
She shook her head rapidly this time. She did not want to let this day end in her sleeping it away! Besides, she had a human to get to know, and she really wanted to get to know him while he was awake! “No, Anon. I don’t need to rest. I just needed to get off the couch.” She cracked a crick that was her neck and sighed. “Sorry for worrying you.”
“No, it’s… okay.” The words awkwardly fell out of his mouth, which made her worry that what she did was way less than okay. He raised a brow. “So what do you want to do? I do have more movies.”
An itch graced her muzzle at the most inopportune time. She ignored it, even if her eyelid twitched with need. “Can we just talk instead?”
“Sure. I assume the couch is off-limits.”
“Quite.” She stretched her hind legs this time and let out a coo as the muscle popped rather satisfyingly, before she batted a hoof at the little rascal tickling her muzzle. She sighed and licked her hoof.
“You might be part cat, Octavia,” he said with a chuckle as he turned to wander over to the table. He walked on the side closest to the hallway, leaving her back in her spot, closest to the window. “It’s crazy how cat-like you ponies are.”
Octavia didn’t reply, frozen in place. She bared down with her eyes on her hoof, and realized he was right, partially. She had to clean her hoof and—she stopped and shook away that thought. She wasn’t going to entertain his cat-isms. She wasn’t going to be compared to those… things.
She just let out a groan before looking up at him with disdain.
“Alright, I’ll stop with the whole cat thing.” He sighed, pulled out the chair, and plopped into his seat. “So what did you want to talk about?”
She hopped into hers and looked out the window. “How was life on Earth?”
A cloud drifted overhead, while ponies moved like ants in a colony on both sides of the road. “It was… different. Way different than here.”
Those words tasted like an overloaded baked potato. She turned to him and tilted her head. “So you didn’t do deliveries?”
He shook his head. “Did pretty much everything else though,” He said, his voice low on purpose.
“Like what, exactly?” Octavia asked, leaning on one of forelegs for some sort of comfort.
Anon rolled his eyes. “Didn’t know I was playing twenty questions—”
“It’s only been three,” she replied bluntly. She smirked. “Are you allergic to questions?”
“Questions? No. Long words. Very.” He licked his lips like he tried tasting them and it made his eyes widen and his nose shrink into his face. “Egh. Just thought of Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg. Makes my skin crawl whenever I say it, egh!” He winced and held himself close. Then, after a few moments, he shook his head and let out a shaky sigh. “Anyway, to answer the one before that, I was basically jumping from job to job. Went from being a janitor at a department store, to a fast food representative, to a customer service help desk representative—” He coughed. “Sorry, that one was a bit of a mouthful. Anyway, customer service… oh! I also did work as a door-to-door salesman, but it didn’t last long. Their furniture was way too expensive to sell. Went back to being a janitor after dealing with corporate heads saying ‘I wasn’t selling enough,’ like it was my fault they were overpriced.” Anon cleared his throat and rolled his eyes. “Then I became a waiter shortly after getting fired from my janitor job. Accidentally plugged the scrubber for shampoo-ing floors into an outlet that shut off all the power in a school, heh. Then I went back to being a customer representative again—” He coughed again. “That word is a bit long… oh, and I served a hotel as a concierge desk assistant before finally stumbling into an office job. I literally worked there for two weeks and then boom, here I am!” He emphasized the boom by shoving his arms straight down at the ground and shoving them out with an excited grin on his face (he somehow was wincing at the same time, was representative that long of a word?). “He-heh. Sorry, I said way too much. Hope you’re not upset or anything—”
Octavia felt her face contort in a way she wasn’t comfortable with. She didn’t even know how to respond to this, but Anon’s coughing fit gave her a moment to consult with herself. Get her bearings just right before she treaded anything that Anon just told her. Her roommate was something else. Like a wine she never tasted, like a piece she never heard, like a whirlwind of emotions she never felt.
There were some similarities Anon was showing to some other ponies Octavia had crossed her life. Like Vinyl’s quirky moments when they were roommates too. Animated through her music, animated through simply having somepony wanting to talk to her—very similar. Octavia could even see a bit of Pinkie Pie in him. Her parties had some glimmers of wacky shenanigans, like getting blasted by a party cannon. Octavia experienced one without the party, the one that veered her career off course for a while. The other was when she was more acclimated in Ponyville, one that celebrated a life of good cheer and not an end of a career.
No, she wasn’t still upset about that whole scandal. Not one bit.
“Don’t worry, Anon. I’m not bothered.”
She was bothered, but not by him.
“You aren’t?” He asked in-between his coughing fit.
“No,” Octavia began, shaking her head. She was lying under her teeth. That stupid cannon… “You’re just airing out whatever tension you’ve had built up for so long. Right?”
He stopped coughing and raised a brow. “How did you know?”
She smiled. “Even though you’re an alien—”
“Human.”
Semantics: the word she grabbed onto and chucked it out the window she was sitting by. “Right. Even though you’re a human, we’re not that different from each other.”
“How so?” Anon asked, this time tilting his head like a curious pup.
Her ears flicked up at that question. “You appreciate just living in the moment. Just like me.” She put a hoof to her chest. “I always try to make sure I don’t slip up. Practice, practice, practice. It’s the way of the musician. It affects my daily life. I wake up, make sure my mane is styled just right, my bow tie is on tight, my cello is prepared for playing, and so on. It’s bad enough to waste forty minutes on a mane style, but another hour trying to get the right tone to play on my cello—” She shivered as that grueling hour resurfaced in her brain. It was when she first started playing, so it made sense. “It’s just so much to consider.”
She bit on her lip while Anon just stared at her. He looked over her face, then at her horribly wrinkled shirt, then back at her face. What was he thinking?
“Anon are—”
“That’s… really relatable, Octavia.” He rubbed his shorter finger against his more distant one. “I don’t know why but if I can’t do my routine, everything just falls apart. Working all those jobs made me change my routine and it always kept me on my toes. Now with this whole delivery thing, it’s like I’m back at the start again and have to work myself to some office job.”
She scooted in further toward him. “You’ll do fine, Anon.”
“Y-You sure?”
“Yeah,” she said with a soft smile. She hopped off her chair and walked over toward him, choosing to do something she knew was a bit further but that voice of his was influencing her to make sure he wasn’t about to break into a million little Anon pieces.
She could feel his eyes looking at her, and the sound of his chair scooting against the hard floor made her shuffle a little faster. “Octa—”
She reared herself a bit on her hind legs and pushed forward, laying in his lap. There, she nuzzled into his chest. “I’ll be here more often to check in on you.”
She felt his hand graze her withers. “This feels intimate.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Just two friends comforting each other, right?”
“Right.”
…
His heartbeat again. It was racing this time. With whom, she didn’t know. Hers was just fine, beating slowly to her heartstrings.
“Have you ever hugged like this?”
A little airy laugh escaped him. “No.”
She pulled back and tilted her head. “Really?”
“Hugs weren’t my speciality,” he muttered, trying to find something else to look at. His cheeks were burning red, from what she could tell.
She smirked. “Well, hopefully you don’t mind this then.”
“Mind wha—”
She scootchied a bit to make room for her body to shimmy just enough to wrap a forehoof around his chair, allowing her to nuzzle into him even further. “Do you mind, Anon?”
“I-I don’t! Honest.”
She laughed. “You can be honest, Anon. I won’t bite.”
“I am being honest!”
She doubted that. She doubted that as she laughed at his misfortune. She doubted that as he pulled her closer and thanked her for her time. She doubted that as she stayed there for a little longer before pulling away and chatting with him more about life. How he was living paycheck to paycheck before she stumbled in. How his previous roommate was a fan of the Wonderbolts, and how there was a flight group called Blue Angels back on Earth that were like them, but way more expensive. He rambled on and on about how the world wasn’t so like theirs, so full of happiness, and she doubted that. “Happiness is what you make of it, Anon.”
“So like what I’m making on the—”
His stomach growled. He turned to her and hoped she didn’t hear it.
“—stove.”
She smirked. “Guess your stomach is a bit hungry from all this talk.”
“Guess he is…”
She sat in her chair. Pensively looking over at him every so often, while she stared out the window, tea not in her hooves. The sun had fallen a bit, a passage of time that Celestia was fond of showing when she could (courts were brutal from what she had told her at one of the Galas). The sun began to paint the sky with a subtle tint of orange. She could hear a few new notes enter the mix as the ponies prancing in the streets grew fewer and fewer. Something had to build the city life, and that came in the form of more wagon riders.
She rolled her eyes and turned back to Anon.
“Anon?”
He was in the kitchen, wearing a white apron that said ‘I love cooking!’ in pink (she had seen him put it on). His hands were gripping onto a pan that he was cooking their lunch on as he had forgotten about making some popcorn for the movie they had watched.
“Yeah?”
She couldn’t help but let her lips frame her face with her happiness. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
The food sizzled in the pan. It made her lick her lips in anticipation.
“For cooking for me.”
He laughed as he shifted the pan a bit. “It’s part of the package. For saving me, that is.”
She chuckled too. She didn’t mean to laugh at the saving part. That much would be true, from an outside perspective. She even believed it at one point, up to today as a matter-of-fact. But… knowing him a bit more. Knowing who he was. What his life was like while she was dealing with hers…
She started to wonder if she really saved him at all.
“We’ll see who saved who in the end.”
“Wait, what do you mean in the end?”
She giggled. The world outside kept knocking on her window sill. She knew she had to face it alone, tomorrow, traversing the streets of Manehatten just to practice with her ensemble. She smiled, knowing she’ll soon hear those strings pluck, that enchanting music play, calling her to join in their foray.
Unfortunately for them, they had to wait. She had other plans tomorrow morning.
“It’s your day off tomorrow, right?”
Octavia saw his lips curl up, framing his face. “Right, heh. I forgot I told you that.”
“And you’ll make me breakfast tomorrow?”
“Of course.” He began plating their dishes, spicing it up with some salt from the cupboard. “Food will be done soon. Want anything to drink?”
She wasn’t going to be alone this time.
“Tea, if you don’t mind.”
“You and your tea,” Anon said, tsk-tsking as he shook his head. He pulled over the teapot, the one she used earlier for her own tea. Thankfully he had cleaned it out— “With or without sugar?”
She smirked. “I’ll let you decide.”
“Sugar it is,” Anon said with a chuckle. “Will have it done in a bit.”
“Mind if I watch?” she asked, her ears perking up as she leaned further to get a better angle.
“Not at all,” he replied.
She scrambled over to his side.
There was no better feeling than sharing tea with someone you cared about.
Author's Note
A mare and her tea. Don't stand between them (unless she lets you).
Hope you all enjoy the second half I wrote here. 
Pre-read by Randomaneer123 and Darth Ball.
