The Dancer

by Yip

Rating: everyone
Tags: Drama, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Mystery, Octavia, Slice of Life
Length: 18007

Tiny dancer in my head.

Octavia's creativity pays off one day during a concert, where a special piece she adds as a finale brings out a new fan. But the fan appears out of nowhere, and no one seems to notice her but Octavia.

And all she does is dance.
----------------------------------------------
Featured on Equestria Daily November 15th, 2012.

Published 2012-11-06 03:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2016-01-23 16:00:59 UTC

I - Curtains

On the northwest end of Ponyville lay a modestly-sized, antiquated wooden building with little more adorning it than a few cracked windows and brass plating on the front doors labelled “PUSH”. Mounted above the double-doored entrance were rusted yellow letters that spelled out “Ponyville Music Hall” on a normal day and, on occasion, tampered with to form “Ponyvile Music Hell”.

On the inside, the air was filled with only silence and the seats were occupied with ponies waiting for the show. Their eyes were glued to the the red curtains on the stage, not daring to speak a word lest they miss the beginning of the impending melody. In a quick motion, the fabric shielding the stage to the audience was pulled to the side, revealing seven instrument-wielding musicians, poised with their musical tools and looking to the applauding audience with straight-faced, no-nonsense expressions.

Within seconds, a stout, light-brown stallion with a pearl-white mane and tail had lowered his hooves on two of his piano’s keys at once, holding the tone for a couple of seconds before moving them to a higher note. As he reached the middle of the piano, a high trill began sounding its way out of a violin wielded by a mature, light-purple mare with a chocolate-brown mane.

Then, everything went silent once more. After a few moments, the group looked to each other, nodded their heads and poised themselves again, ready to continue.

A melodic tune began pouring out of the instruments, led by the thundering trills of the violin, piano and cello with the support of a timpani drum’s beat. Two flutes and a trumpet’s loud buzz enhanced the sound and accentuated the impact it made on the audience, keeping everyone in the theatre on their toes.

As the night went on, there were songs that made its listeners cry, songs that made them think—despite having no lyrics. There were sections that made shivers go up their spine, pieces that shocked them to the back of their seats.

As the group quickened their pace, rising higher and higher in pitch and volume in a stunning crescendo, the audience was leaning on the edge of their seats. All at once, the musicians stopped—most of them, anyway. Every performer on stage had scurried off to the side save for one grey-coated mare: the cello player, Octavia. She took a few careful steps towards center stage and positioned her bow on her cello’s delicate strings.

A bead of sweat ran down her back as a thousand faces turned to stare as if boring a hole right through her; unshaken, she closed her eyes. Within moments, she forgot about her fellow musicians, the audience, the building. She entered a secluded world of peace and tranquility, where the only sound she could hear was the steady motion of her breathing and saw only what stories her cello had begun singing; back in the theatre, what could be heard was a prodigy coaxing music from her instrument with subtle grace.

The long, drawn-out notes coming out of the instrument left the audience wanting more, which was delivered shortly afterwards with sharp notes and high-pitched finishes. The fast-paced sounds ended abruptly with Octavia re-entering the world of the theatre, smiling as she turned to her fellow musicians. The audience quickly began applauding the performance enthusiastically, rising from their seats—and some with tears forming in their eyes.

The rest of the group went out to take their bows, staying in the spotlight for several moments before the curtains were placed back into position. The thunderous rounds of applause made the cramped theatre an impossible place for the performers to speak without having their voices drowned out.

As the group retreated into a windowless back room, they sat down on six chairs forming a small circle. Their instruments leaned against a wall, still and quiet.

‘I thought that went pretty well!’ Octavia exclaimed, prompting five heads to nod in response. ‘But where’s—?’

‘I am right here, darling,’ a formal-sounding voice replied from behind her. ‘I was placing the cover over my piano. I trust you folks always take measures to protect your instruments, hmm?’

‘Of course we do, Staccato,’ Octavia replied. ‘What did you think of the concert?’

Staccato waltzed to the center of the circle with his head raised high, twirling a black, sharp-tailed suit as he turned to face Octavia. ‘Does the cheering outside answer your question?’

A short giggle spread across the room.

‘So,’ Staccato began, ‘if we could begin by—’

‘Whoa, who put you in charge?’ a teal, pink-maned mare interrupted, giggling. ‘Only joking, Staccy! Go on!’

‘That’s Staccato, Vivace,’ Staccato replied, snorting in annoyance. ‘I’d appreciate if you stopped calling me that. Now, I’m certain that you all enjoyed your performance this evening?’

‘Oh yes!’ one of a pair of identical light-grey mares replied, similar in every way to her twin save for her having a straight golden mane as compared to the other’s curly mane. ‘It was quite delightful, wasn’t it, Treble?’

‘Most certainly, Clef!’ Treble replied. ‘The way their faces lit up—’

‘And the way they looked to us in admiration, it was a feeling we’ll never forget—’

‘We felt like superstars!’

‘As you should, ladies!’ Staccato resumed. ‘You should all be proud of our spectacle tonight! I daresay this has been our finest one yet, and a big part of it is thanks to our wonderful cellist’—Octavia beamed—’who came up with the idea of finishing off with a solo! And, of course, our lovely flutists were fantastic during our rendition of “Yesterday”; I’d say The Lonely Hooves Club Band themselves would be delighted to hear such a cover!’

Treble and Clef joined in Octavia’s glee.

‘And what about the rest of us?’ the violinist protested, frowning. ‘I thought we played great! Why don’t we get any credit?’

‘Sonata, please,’ Staccato replied, sighing. ‘You simply must give me time to continue before going off with that mouth of yours. I was just getting ready to congratulate you, Vivace and Waltz.’

The teal mare and a sky-blue colt, with a chocolate-coloured mane matching Sonata’s, whom he sat right next to, offered a slight smile.

‘Hmmph! I doubt it,’ Sonata hissed.

Everyone but Sonata and Staccato, who looked to each other with narrowed eyes and glowering expressions, simply sat in their seats, quiet and patient.

‘Where was I?’ Staccato resumed, breaking from the battle. ‘Ah, I have some excellent news I procured from the theatre’s manager!’

The room’s occupants brightened up and leaned their ears in. The colt was looking down at his rear hooves hanging from the chair, his face withdrawn from the conversation.

‘Waltz, are you alright?’ Staccato inquired. ‘I wouldn’t want you to miss out on this news, hmm? Best if you paid more attention to me.'

'Y-yes, mister Staccato,' Waltz replied sheepishly. Sonata patted a hoof against his back and continued to glare at the pianist.

'Wonderful! Now, I got some news recently from a friend of mine—mind you, this is simply a rumour—that talent seekers from Manehattan have been touring around Equestria. The last time a sighting of said seekers was found, they were in Canterlot. They might be headed here next.’

Unintelligible murmurs scattered across the room.

‘I bet you’re thinking exactly what I’m thinking: a better theatre! Fame! Bigger audiences!’ Staccato closed his eyes and a hint of a smile crept up on his face. ‘I’m sure that’ll give you all plenty to think about, hmm? Just remember to keep trying your best; I have no idea when, or even if, they’re coming. Does anyone else have anything to input?’

‘Oh, oh!’ Vivace cried out, raising her hoof into the air as high as she could. ‘Is Saturday the next concert date?’

‘Ah, yes it is! I think it would be prudent to get some rest before then—who knows, maybe the talent seeker will be there!’ Staccato raised a hoof. ‘Ta ta, everyone!’

Staccato took a quick bow and retreated back on-stage, his suit fluttering behind him as he trotted.

‘Good night folks! Loved the concert!’ Vivace cried out happily. ‘Octy, you wanna walk home with me?’

Octavia rose from her seat, gave a short sigh and trotted over to the side, retrieving her instrument. ‘It’s not like we don’t walk home together every day, Vivace.’

‘Oh, I know!’ Vivace stuck out her tongue playfully. ‘I just wanted to make sure! I hate walking alone!’

As the remaining musicians grabbed their instruments and followed Staccato’s move out the door, Octavia used her free hoof to pull Vivace back into the room. In a rapid flash of her hoof, she shut the door, leaving the two in the room alone.

‘What’s going on, Octy?’ Vivace inquired, raising her eyebrows. ‘You aren’t holding me captive, are you?’

‘No, no... nothing like that.’ Octavia sighed. ‘I just wanted to have a one-on-one with you. Do you have any idea what’s going on with Staccato and Sonata? They’re usually not this hostile!’

‘They haven’t liked each other since I came several months ago. Maybe even longer before that, who knows?’

‘I know—but I haven’t seen them at each other’s throats like this even when I first arrived!’

‘I still remember the first time you played with us,’ Vivace remarked, looking up to the ceiling. ‘It was only last month, but you sure made a great first impression! You’re already the star of the show!’

‘That isn’t what I’m trying to—ugh,’ Octavia moaned and took a peek up above at a decaying plank of wood lining the roof. ‘Let’s go walk home, Vivace. I don’t think it’s a great idea staying in this old theatre; it might collapse at any given moment.’

Vivace offered a slight chuckle and trotted out the door with her trumpet encased in a velvet-lined, hard plastic yellow case. ‘Maybe that’s the reason why Staccy’s gotten so grumpy at you! He could be jealous of you taking the spotlight!’

‘No, he’d be stern with me if that were the case.’ Octavia followed her friend out the door and headed towards the theatre’s double-doored exit. 'They might have some history between them. Wouldn’t want to stay in this group if we can’t all get alo—say, how’d you get into the group, Vivace? You don’t exactly strike me as the type Staccato would associate himself with.’

‘Whatever do you mean, darling?’ Vivace said haughtily, raising her snout up snobbishly high. ‘I am as refined as a crumpet, my dear Octavia.’

Octavia allowed a short giggle.

‘Very funny. But really, how did you get in?’

‘Same way as you did. Getting noticed by Staccato while playing for a group! Although, I guess I was picked because he couldn’t find another trumpeter or someone with an instrument that plays like it—oh!’ Vivace lit up. ‘Did you see the front sign? I came into the theatre and saw it hanging above me!’

The duo were now outside of the theatre, with Octavia looking to her friend, incredulous. ‘Whatever do you mean, Vivace—oh,’ she remarked as she turned around, ‘it’s... nice?’

Vivace tried to suppress a giggle, but her efforts were in vain as she fell on the ground in hysterics. ‘I was reaching up to touch the door frame when the “a” shook and turned upside-down! It was so funny that I just left it!’ she explained between breaths.

Idly doing random things with her hooves? Octavia thought. How bizarre... I need to get to know these ponies better.

Almost as quickly as she had fallen, Vivace sprung up, smiled and continued walking. ‘So why didn’t your marefriend come out and walk with you today?’

‘I’m not really sure why you keep calling her that. Vinyl and I have no relationship whatsoever, and I can tell you with all honesty that I don’t have any romantic feelings for her.’ Octavia sighed. ‘And you’re going to ask me on Saturday, and then at the next concert after that, and the one after that...’

‘Huh? Then why do you live with her?’

‘We’ve been friends since we were fillies, Vivace.’

‘Right! Right... now I remember! It’s a shame she couldn’t come to see your amazing solo finish, though!’

‘Really? You liked it too?’ Octavia stretched a wide smile and turned towards Vivace expectantly. ‘It’s... it’s nice to see everyone admiring your work.’

‘I never said I liked it. I don’t think that soloist could play a cello for her life! I think she should take some lessons from a real teacher—’

‘Like you’re any better!’ Octavia rebutted, playfully shoving her friend to the side. A short giggling escaped their lips as they came to one of Ponyville’s many townhouses, decorated with very little save for a treble clef engraved on the wooden door’s frame. ‘So, I’ll see you on Saturday, then?’

‘You better do your best, Octy!’

Octavia waved her hoof as Vivace skipped away, humming a rendition of the prior performance. I wonder if I could get Vinyl to come to one of my performances, she pondered, pushing the front door open. Maybe I’d get the same reaction that Vivace gave me. Wouldn’t mind having someone to talk to about these sort of things, especially if that someone lives with me.

Octavia began humming a soft tune as she walked into the house. Bare-surfaced stairs were going straight up in front of her, and two rooms on the eastern side of the building connected into the passage beside the staircase. The humming ended abruptly as she walked into the closest room—the living room, a simple space adorned with little more than a sofa, a radio sitting on a pedestal and unrecognizable sheets of music and remains of half-eaten food lying everywhere on the floor.

Octavia, watching her step as she walked across the room and recoiling at the thought of touching something, took a peek over the back of the tattered sofa and observed a sleeping mare, unable to see the look of disgust on her friend’s face through closed eyes.

'Vinyl!' Octavia yelled, prompting the snoozing pony to jump from the couch in surprise, the sudden motion of which caused her glasses to soar off of her face. Before they could hit the floor, her alerted mind instinctively snatched them in mid-air.

'I see you're as alert as ever. How can you be so responsive already if you were only just sleeping?'

'Yo...' Vinyl began, recovering her cerise eyes with the untouched glasses. ‘I was trying to come up with some fresh beats on my own... guess I kinda made a mess. Maybe I was only half-asleep or something. Sorry I couldn't come to your concert; I really needed to get this done.'

‘This mess is really disgusting, Vinyl.’ Octavia sighed. ‘Did you make any progress with your work? It’d be great if you could finish soon so you can clean up in here; I like relaxing on the couch too, but not in a room like this.’

‘Yeah, yeah...’

‘So how far are you into it? Did you need any help with it?’ Octavia inquired. Maybe I can ease her into attending the concert. Not sure where to go from here...

'Ah, not very far... I've been here for a while—' Vinyl motioned towards the scattered mess of food and papers. '—but nothing has been coming to mind. I should probably get this finished... but on my own. No offense—we just have different styles, you know?’

Octavia harrumphed. ‘...Just because you say you’ll get it finished doesn’t mean that you’ll do it.’

‘Yeah.’

'...Sounds rough. I've got a talent seeker coming to see our group sometime in the next few weeks—not sure when—so I’m a little focused on my music too... wait, you need some inspiration?' Octavia asked, raising an eyebrow.

'Well, yeah. What are you getting at?'

'I really like seeing ponies I know in the audience before I play—'

'Let me just stop you right there,' Vinyl interrupted, holding out a hoof. 'I know what you're going to say, and the answer is no. No offense, but it's just not my style, you dig? It doesn't have that edge that ponies really like, the thing that sets it apart!'

‘You’ve never seen our group play, Vinyl. Too busy, remember?’

‘I’ve seen you play, though.’

‘It’s not the same when I’m practicing, that’s just my own thing.’

‘Well, it can’t be any different from that “Stilettos” group, can it?’ Vinyl stuck out her tongue. ‘Those guys were boring.’

Octavia stopped and brought her hoof to her chin, deep in thought.

Huh... an edge? Something to get ponies interested,something that isn’t “boring”? Maybe this will work for more than just Vinyl...

'As a matter of fact,' Octavia began, 'there is something of an “edge” I'll be putting into my next piece; it won’t sound anything like that concert I showed you. Today's Thursday, so you still have a few days to think of your song... interested?'

Vinyl lifted her own hoof to her head, rubbing it against her mane as she thought about the offer. After a few moments of consideration, she turned back to Octavia.

'For real? Something fresh, and not from that boring steel-toes group?' Vinyl questioned, prompting a nod from Octavia. 'Nice, I do like edgy music... ah, why not?’

'Excellent!' Octavia cheered, hugging her roommate. 'It's great to get other ponies involved with the theatre!'

'Hey now, don't go around thinking I'm in this permanently,' Vinyl said, pushing her roommate off of her tight embrace. ‘I'm just coming to hear you do... whatever you're doing, and nothing more. You know what I’m saying?’

'Yeah, I know what you mean. It's just something you're going to try, not necessarily to become a fan. You’d probably have enjoyed it already if you had just given it a chance before, though...'

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. You got it.’ She promptly smiled, picked up a half-eaten slice of herb pizza in her mouth and made her way to the hallway. Octavia watched as her roommate left and promptly crashed on the moth-eaten couch, disregarding the mess all around her.

Better not screw this up, Octavia said with a sigh. She curled up on the couch and closed her eyes. Celestia knows the talent seeker might be our big break.

The Dancer~|D|~

'Do you think the talent seeker is here?'

Vivace's words left her mouth laced with fear as she began taking a peek out of the theatre curtains. She darted her head to and fro repeatedly, attempting to find something out of the ordinary amidst the patient crowd.

'As long as we play our best, it won’t matter if he or she is here or not,' Octavia replied, trying her best to pull off an assuring smile. 'Don't worry, it's just your everyday normal concert! Play like you usually do!'

'Yes, I know... but I just can't shake the nerves off! Staccy is making this whole thing seem so important, and I'm not sure I can gather the energy to play like I usually do!'

Octavia poked her head outside the curtain just as her friend did, both of them hidden by the darkened lights on stage.

'Well, I don't think he would stand out even if he was here,' Octavia concluded. 'If he did stand out, though, we'd see it. And I don't see anything quite out of the ordinary—'

Octavia's eyes focused on a single, distinguishable figure going through the auditorium's main door, bearing a sharp blue mane and unmistakable shades covering her eyes.

'Huh,' Octavia said, bemused, 'she actually came. I honestly didn't think she would.'

A shuffling of hooves was heard behind the two as a figure approached them.

'Are you girls ready?' Staccato asked the two. 'We don't really have time to be staring out into the crowd, we should start in just a few moments.'

'Yeah, we're both ready,' Vivace replied. 'At least, I think Octavia is ready. I've got my trumpet right here!'

As Vivace picked up her trumpet lying on the backstage floor, Octavia went over to the side wall, picking up her own instrument to show Staccato. The mahogany bow remained attached on the cello, keeping tight to its side to prevent it from getting dropped.

'Good, good... now, what say we start this thing? That talent seeker could have our future waiting!'

The rest of the group, complete with their instruments, joined the trio right behind the curtains, each of them nodding their heads in agreement.

'Then let's get this show on the road! Raise the curtains!'

A dark-haired stallion at the side wall began pulling a string next to him, shifting the curtains to the side and silencing the watching crowd. The septet walked on stage, set up their instruments proper, Staccato's piano having already been set up, and squinted as the lights in the theatre lit up in an instant.

'You sure that you’re ready, Vivace?' Octavia whispered.

'I... I think I’ll be fine. Let’s hope we all stay that way, eh?’

Staccato's piano began chiming out a few high-pitched, introductory notes before the drum began beating, setting the pace for the rest of the group. Slowly, each member entered the first piece, playing their respective instruments softly and quietly. Suddenly, they all erupted in a burst of quick notes, concluding the first piece of the concert. The echo of the finale's impact reverberated for a moment in the theatre after the final note, turning every head in the theatre.

For the remainder of the concert, the soft moments were many and the quick, hard moments were few. The audience's reaction was initially filled with impressed smiles, but as the concert went on, only the fast-paced parts made any notable impact.

Hmm... an “edge” to my playing...

As the final song drew to a close, Vivace turned to Octavia with an anticipating gaze, waiting for her solo moment. As Staccato pressed the third highest key on the piano, followed by the second and finishing off with the highest note, the crowd prepared to start their applause. However, their attempt was cut off by a low, lengthy tune that poured out of Octavia's cello, drawing their attention towards her.

As she noticed the wary eyes focusing on her playing, she quickly changed to a more subtle tone. The other musicians turned to her as she continued playing notes, attempting to whisper to Octavia to make her stop. But it was of no use, as Octavia had quickly entered her own musical world, and had begun quickening her pace and variation of pitches without any outside distractions. Soon, she could barely keep her hoof up with the rapid tune that was quickly tiring her out.

Octavia's frantic movements vibrated the cello in ways she had never imagined, churning out fast-paced, complex string after string of notes, shocking the audience’s senses. The same could be said for the rest of the seven musicians on stage, who refrained from interrupting to make the unrehearsed piece appear more natural.

Octavia continued to remain in her own world, free of the accusing glares her bandmates kept giving as they glanced over towards her. There was one thing she did notice, however: the figure of a yellow, brown-maned mare was on stage, appearing seemingly out of thin air. Her movements seemed to go along with Octavia's notes, stepping or making a sharp jab every time she hit a high note. As she continued to slide her bow across her cello, her mind raced along question after question concerning the figure’s appearance.

She’s dancing...

Octavia's realization prompted her to stop the music, choosing instead to focus on the dancer on stage. As though she pushed some hidden button, the dancer suddenly stopped, turned to face Octavia and dissipated into thin air. A sense of longing to keep the dancer where she was filled Octavia, but a feeling of shock prevented her from moving her bow to churn out more musical notes. After a few moments, not a trace of the mare could be seen on the stage, leaving a bewildered cello player behind clutching her bow, still and unmoving.

Not a moment later and the audience's shocked faces turned to enthusiastic smiles, which led to a thunderous applause stronger than any Octavia—or any of the other musicians for that matter—had ever heard before. Every guest in the theatre was out of their seats, chanting cheers of "bravo!" and "amazing!" towards the confused cello player and her fellow performers.

The other members of the group raised their eyebrows and turned to each other, shrugging and exchanging surprised glances. Octavia shook from her focus on the now empty stage where the dancer had stood, looking towards the crowd with a pleased smile stretching out on her face. She caught a glimpse of the blue-maned mare she knew as her roommate, who was out of her seat just like the rest of the crowd, showing her shocked expression through lowered shades.

The other members of the group began waving and smiling, promptly departing the stage as the feeling wore down. As they passed Octavia to head backstage, mumbles of congratulations and praise passed by. None of those words, none of the audience members, not even Vinyl's shock was of any concern to Octavia at that moment as she turned her gaze back to the empty spot on stage.

'Who... who was that?'

II - School of Rock

A hoof tapped on wood several times, waiting for the echoing response to fill its owner’s ears. A distortion filled the reply, jumbled by the ringing that still remained from a once full room’s thunderous applause. For several moments, Octavia simply stared. For another moment, the mirage of an ethereal figure briefly shimmered where the dancer had been before.

‘Yo! Octavia!’

A voice coming from afar shattered her concentration, causing the image to vanish instantly. ‘You coming in the next... I dunno, year or so?’ Vinyl called out from the front door. ‘It’s getting pretty dark outside, might want to hurry up.’

‘Yes, yes...’ Octavia stepped off the side of the stage, still keeping her eyes glued to its center. How bizarre...

A gentle whisper of wind whistled through the air as the two mares left the theatre. A whisper...

Octavia...

‘Vinyl!’ Octavia yelped, shivering all over. ‘Did you hear that?’

Vinyl watched and raised an eyebrow as her friend darted her head to and fro, searching for the source of the voice. Her glasses were raised, exposing her cerise eyes to the air. ‘Well, uh... I did kind of call your name.’

‘No, I mean right now. As in a few seconds ago.’

‘Yeah. I was about to ask you something.’

Octavia blushed a deep shade of crimson and turned her head away. ‘Oh... sorry about that. I guess it’s just the wind playing tricks on me.’

Vinyl closed her eyes as the duo walked. A humming sound began to rise out of her throat, culminating in a string of slow, somber sounds escaping her mouth.

‘You change gold to lead... you remember that, Tav?’ Vinyl said softly, opening her eyes and raising them up to the night sky. ‘You played so well today that it sort of... brought me back. You know, back to when we were just little fillies.’ Vinyl was too busy staring at the two stars hovering in a sea of darkness to notice Octavia’s blushing. Lanterns filled with a gentle flame or busy fireflies lined the streets they walked. ‘Do you remember those days, Tav?’

‘Y-Yes, Vinyl.’ Octavia shuddered. ‘I do remember them well.’

‘You alright?’ Vinyl inquired, taking a sideways glance at her friend.

‘Yes, quite alright...’ Octavia’s thoughts wandered for several moments. ‘You know, you were the one who stopped enjoying this kind of music. I figured you’d be the one to forget what it used to be like.’

Vinyl sighed. ‘Mm, yeah. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate some good tunes now and again. I don’t think I’ve heard anything like that though since we played our song.’

‘You still remember that?’ A bright smile stretched over Octavia’s face.

‘Yeah. Like I said: You change gold to lead, but I remember what you said—’

Octavia cleared her throat, and Vinyl nodded her head in response. ‘Purify the colours, purify my mind... how does it go again?’

The two stopped in front of their home. A lantern hung on either side of the door, the fireflies inside brightening up and dancing along with the tune. ‘Spread the ashes of the colours, over this heart of mine,’ Vinyl sang. The fireflies glowed brighter, and both mares smiled at the sight.

‘That song didn’t make any sense!’ Octavia said, giggling. ‘They were nice to make, though... things seem too stressful these days. We need more whimsical things in our lives.'

‘I know what you mean.’ Vinyl pushed open the door with her hoof and the fireflies settled down. A somber fire illuminated two more lanterns on the inside. ‘I think I’m gonna hit the hay,’ she said, stretching her hooves individually before making her way upstairs. ‘G’night, Tavi.’

‘Good night, Vinyl.’ Octavia walked into the dimly-lit living room—groaning as she stepped into an unrecognizable pile of mush on the floor—and sat down on the sofa.

For a few brief moments, she had forgotten all about the dancer. As she laid on the couch, it was all she could think about that night.

~|D|~

An uncomfortable feeling washed over the cello-playing mare—one that hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, one that raised her hooves in a futile attempt to block the sun’s rays. Realizing that it was a wasted effort, she got up from the couch she had been resting on and made her way, groggily, to the living room window.

As she closed the curtains, her body whined and longed for a quick session of stretching—her mind disagreed, and she instinctively followed it to the couch as it longed for more rest.

A sudden knock came, seemingly from nowhere, shaking Octavia out of her sleep-deprived state. She waited several seconds, another knock. ‘Tavi,’ Vinyl’s voice moaned, slightly muffled from the top floor, ‘you gonna answer that? I can’t really sleep when some ponies feel the need to knock at... one thirty in the afternoon! Buncha jerks...’ Vinyl trailed off, prompting a quick eye roll before Octavia walked to the front door.

Another knock came just as she pushed the door open, more forceful than the last. Standing at the doorway was Staccato, putting on a bright smile as he spoke.

‘Good... afternoon, Octavia?’ he said, recoiling a touch at her rustled mane. ‘My word, did you just wake up? Do you know what time it—’

‘Yes, Staccato,’ Octavia replied, rubbing her eyes with an idle hoof. ‘Every Sunday is guaranteed off, though. Nothing’s open.’

‘Yes, yes... but honestly—’ Staccato stared once more, aghast, at Octavia’s mane. ‘—it is far too late to be waking up!’

‘You’re one hundred percent right, Staccato.’ Octavia promised herself another eye roll later. ‘So how come you’re making a house call? Something happen at the Hall?’

‘Well, something did happen, and we want to talk about it... you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?’ Octavia shook her head as the pianist spoke. ‘Come on, then. The other members of the group should be on their way there already—wouldn’t want to keep them waiting, would we? It won’t take long, I promise you that!’

Octavia nodded her head, to which Staccato ushered her along with a hoof. ‘Splendid!’ the stallion said, eyes widening and smile brightening as Octavia followed along. ‘The twins were tagging along as I walked home, when all of a sudden, they thought of a marvelous idea! I chatted with Sonata a little about it, and the twins made a house call for Vivace; I do say, I was hesitant to consider it at first, but it seems to fit with our group so well!’

Octavia waited a moment for Staccato to catch his breath before speaking. ‘And Waltz?’ she inquired. ‘Well, first off, just what is this groundbreaking idea?’

‘You’ll find out when we get there—surprises are all the better!’ Staccato teased, chuckling to himself. ‘Waltz almost always tags along with Sonata, so I’d wager that he’d be showing up too.’

Octavia racked her brain in a futile attempt to come up with more things to say—it was not the awkward silence that bothered her, although Staccato’s random glances at everything around them showed that there was plenty of that.

Her mind slowly drifted to the dancer.

So close... a few feet away... dancing...

The dancer appeared several feet in front of her.

There she is... the curiosity bounds in me... she just disappeared out ofthin a—

‘Are you alright, miss Octavia?’ Staccato asked, looking to Octavia with an air not of confusion, but interest. ‘Did you see something?’

As though she had awoken for the second time that day, Octavia shook from her trance. ‘Y-Yes, sorry. Daydreaming about nothing, I guess.’

‘Hopefully you can stay awake for the meeting.’ The two approached the front doors of the “Ponyville Music Hall”, its letters now properly mounted above the entryway. ‘Some mischievous young mare or colt messed with the letters to spell out “Ponyvile Music Hell”. Can you believe that?’

Octavia chuckled. ‘Sounds like quite a handful.’

‘You have no idea. Who would come to a place with “hell” in its name?’ The duo walked inside, soon greeted with a round of waves by the rest of their musical troupe up on the stage. ‘Good afternoon, Ponyville Players!’

‘Hey, that’s a pretty cool name!’ Vivace shouted from across the room. ‘Do we have an official name yet, Staccy?’

Staccato harrumphed at “Staccy”, but continued to move towards the stage with Octavia by his side. ‘I didn’t really think about that, but that’s not what we’re here to discuss.’

The six other musicians nodded their heads in agreement and went into the back room together—as they entered the windowless space, Staccato assumed the center of the room while his fellow players circled around him.

‘Octavia,’ he began, ‘that playing was absolutely phenomenal last night. Does anyone here disagree?’ The room fell silent. ‘As I expected, everyone agrees. Now, we might still be all excited from the huge applause we got—no, earned, last night, so consider this thoughtfully before making any judgements on this suggestion.’

Staccato drew in a deep breath and let it all out slowly.

‘I propose that we add a little “rock” element to our group.’ Small murmurs scattered throughout the room—all but Sonata, however, had smiles on their faces. Sonata bore a scowl. ‘Now now, this isn’t some huge undertaking from everyone. In fact, all we really need to do is keep Octavia doing her own thing like last night.’

‘Won’t that just make my music sound off?’ Octavia commented, raising an eyebrow. ‘I mean, it’s not like I can’t make my cello make all sorts of melodies, “rock and roll” or whatever suits your fancy, but it wouldn’t fit if it wasn’t backed by something else.’

‘Very true,’ Staccato replied. ‘Very true. Any thoughts?’

‘Adding this to our group is ridiculous, Staccato!’ Sonata said sharply. ‘Honestly! Do you want to alienate our listeners with that trash every night? No offense to you, Octavia. I really like your part, but anything past that would be too much for our audience.’

‘Well, what about the Lonely Hooves Club Band?’ Clef—or Treble, no one in the room could tell when their hair wasn’t done up properly—piped up.

‘Indeed, they put orchestra music in with rock and they’re the most famous music group in history!’

‘We already took the first step by playing “Yesterday”!’

‘And we can play something else if flutes aren’t needed!’

‘You can’t really compare us to them, girls,’ Sonata replied, frowning. ‘We’re not at their level, not by a long shot. If Octavia’s music doesn’t sound good without other elements of rock backing it up, I say we forget about this completely.’

‘Sonata, please understand that you are not in charge here, nor am I.’ Staccato frowned disapprovingly. ‘I am merely stating an idea to expand our audience. Should they choose not to like it, then we can revert back to our present music. All I ask is that we give this a chance; we can rehearse some of this new music as a group in case we ever need it.’ A pause. ‘All in favour of at least rehearsing this idea?’

All hooves save Sonata’s and Waltz’s shot up. Waltz looked around and slowly rose his own into the air, met with several approving nods and a single sigh.

‘Wonderful!’ Staccato clapped his hooves and smiled. ‘We’ll keep playing as we did on Saturday until our new sound really kicks in! Now, I’ve got a dreadful amount of things to do at home, so now that we have everything settled, I say we wrap this up with a ta-da!’

Staccato turned—shooting Sonata a quick, hard glare as he did—and left the room. A murmur buzzed around the room as the remaining musicians made their way to the door, followed by short formalities as they departed.

Octavia watched as Sonata, hanging her head down low while she walked, left the circle wordlessly. A part of her was drawn to leave the theatre right then in an attempt to keep Sonata’s privacy as it was—private. A larger part of her—curiosity, as it were—sparked a conversation.

‘Sonata, wait!’ Octavia called out, grabbing the attention of both the violinist and the colt walking alongside her, the group’s drummer. ‘Could I have a word?’

‘By all means,’ Sonata replied warmly. ‘If this is about my reluctance to your music, though, I assure you I meant no harm—’

‘It’s not that,’ Octavia cut in, eliciting a sliver of surprise from the two she walked with. ‘I was just wondering if you could tell me... no, that’s silly. Forget I said anything.’

‘What is it, Octavia?’ Sonata inquired, opening the theatre’s front doors with a gentle push. ‘We won’t bite. Waltz certainly won’t,’ she added, chuckling as Waltz’s cheeks glowed bright red.

‘Well, it’s...’ Octavia stepped outside and noticed Staccato’s distant figure ahead. ‘It’s about you and Staccato.’

Sonata drew in a deep breath and she, too, stared out to Staccato’s figure. She paused for a moment, allowed Waltz’s hoof to rest on her shoulder and give it a few pats before continuing on. Octavia swore she could see a tear beginning to form before Sonata’s head turned.

‘I’m surprised no one has tried to ask me that question yet,’ she stated, waving off Waltz’s hoof with her own. ‘Waltz would be the only one who’d know—he hasn’t really interacted with many ponies but myself and a few others, but we’ve spent a lot of time together. I’ve been almost as independent as he has since I was a nearly grown-up filly—since Staccato and I got along.’

‘You two were friends?’

Both Sonata and Waltz nodded—the latter’s eyes lit up, steady and unwavering, as his friend spoke. ‘Very good friends, actually. He was my neighbour when we were young, long before I met Waltz and much longer than when I became involved with this group.’ Sonata looked up to the clear sky, stopped for a moment and closed her eyes. ‘We were self-titled rebels; our parents were strict, enforcing curfews and the like during ridiculous hours. So we did what any young ponies do in those cases: we snuck out of our homes and talked about what we’d do with our lives.’

Octavia allowed a slight giggle to escape her mouth, eliciting a slight blush in her cheeks.

‘We wanted to do whatever we could to record our rebellious nature. We tried writing stories, making diaries, confiding secrets in each other... but songwriting was the best of the bunch. Our idea was to become rockstars and use the songs we made when we grew old enough.’

‘Rock? But aren’t you against that type of music?’

‘Not particularly.’ Sonata drew in another deep breath and let it all out, an exasperated sigh. ‘See, we grew up and started playing the music... but Staccato grew to be so good at playing and making rock ballads with his piano that my lyrical services weren’t really needed anymore. He drifted into playing more formal songs—less about staying up past curfews and more of whatever randomly came out of his head. Soon, lyrics were cut altogether, and in his genius sprouted seclusion of the worst form. One day, he just didn’t speak altogether, so I hit my breaking point and left.’

Sonata hung her head low once more, prompting another round of pats from Waltz’s hoof. The trio stopped at a fork on the street, one way leading to Octavia’s home, the other way leading to a bridge connecting several more homes to the main part of town.

‘I-I’m sorry if that dug too deep, Sonata,’ Octavia stammered.

‘Don’t worry about it, Octavia,’ Sonata replied, shaking her head. ‘I’ve actually been waiting to tell someone about Staccato and I—well, I don’t think I was going to tell Vivace unless I wanted the entire town to start making rumours about us.’ The two mares shared a short giggle. ‘But that’s in the past. For now, I’m just focusing on how this will all turn out—I really do want the group to experience some well-deserved success. Especially when we have someone as talented as you.’

‘Oh goodness no—we’re all equally talented!’ Octavia said, her face glowing with a blush much redder than before. ‘That’ll show at our next concerto! See you tomorrow, you two!’

‘S-See you then, Octavia!’ Waltz called out, smiling brightly as he waved. Sonata joined in, and the two promptly turned and walked towards the bridge, leaving Octavia alone with her thoughts.

She walked down the short distance to her home.

It’s good to have ponies on your side. Even Waltz seemed to warm up to me!

A wispy cloud formed ahead of her. It quickly morphed into the figure of a mare.

No... ‘Go away!’

The figure looked at Octavia. This was not the same one that belonged to the theatre; its physical features—or lack thereof—were the same, but an empty, cold stare was present in the place of life. It did not exist.

This does not exist.

Octavia shut her eyes for several seconds, then reopened them. Nothing was out of place any longer; nevertheless, the cellist stood still. Waiting.

But nothing came.

This does not exist.

Octavia walked into her home and crashed on the sofa without a word. Vinyl was not there. Nor was Octavia.

~|D|~

‘A full house?’ Vivace gasped. ‘Does that look like a full house to you, Octy?’

Octavia took a glance over to Vivace, standing nervously behind the curtains shielding them from the audience beyond. Even on the dimly-lit backstage, Octavia could’ve sworn that she had goosebumps all over her.

‘Hello? Octy?’

Octavia blinked twice—before she could react, however, Staccato had made his way to to the curtains himself. After poking his head out for a quick moment, he looked to Vivace. ‘It’s not quite a full house,’ he corrected. ‘It’s definitely close, though. Doesn’t matter if there are a dozen or several hundred out there, though; we need to bring our A-game every night. Especially if that talent seeker is amongst the crowd.’

The remainder of the group approached the curtains, smiling with various instruments by their side—save for Staccato and Waltz, the latter bringing with him two felt-tipped mallets that hung securely from leather bands around his hooves. Octavia wordlessly got into position on the stage, grasping her cello with one hoof and her mahogany clamped in the other.

No one was speaking—no, Octavia thought, Staccato is saying something... I can see his lips moving—

A wisp hovered over Staccato. The musicians all stood in their proper positions, poised to play—but Octavia could only remain captivated by the wisp. She frowned, then smiled, then stood blankly.

‘Ponyville Music Hall welcomes one of Ponyville’s premier groups, the Ponyville Players, to play “Whisper in the Wind”,’ a deep, loud voice called from above. Applause soon followed.

Curtains.

The applause soon died down, and with it came calming beats from the timpani drum. As each instrument came into play, following Waltz’s rolling beat, their players took quick glances at Octavia. A small murmur coursed through the audience upon sight of the mare, who had been too busy staring at the alluring movements of the dancer on-stage to raise her playing arm.

Staccato, beginning to blush harder and harder as the murmurs continued to pass through, hit each key on his piano with more force than before. With it, the murmurs grew louder.

Finally, when he could take it no more, he hopped off of his piano and stormed towards Octavia. The audience gasped, and so did the dancer—in the span of a few seconds, the mirage stopped dancing, turned to Octavia and disappeared altogether without so much as a smile or a frown. Staccato, on the other hand, was most definitely frowning—complimenting his reddened face.

‘Octavia!’ he whispered harshly, bringing Octavia back to her senses. ‘What in Celestia’s name are you doing?’

‘I—’ Octavia looked out to the audience, still murmuring as they spoke. ‘I—’

‘We haven’t planned for improvisation! How do you expect us to cope with you not playing?’ Staccato looked to the audience and took in a deep breath. ‘Look, are you with us? Are you focused?’

‘I—yes.’

‘Then let’s get to it. We’ll talk about this later.’ Staccato sighed and walked over to his piano. Octavia raised her bow for the first time that night, set it on the strings and waited for Waltz’s beat to lead her in.

Octavia did not play a solo, nor could she look at her fellow Ponyville Players that gave her quick, worried glances as the night went on. The applause was lacking, and the dancer was not amongst the watchers.

Octavia did not want applause, nor did she care about her blunder. She longed for the dancer.

III - The Dancer

‘What in Celestia’s name was that?’ Staccato thundered, frustratedly waving his hooves about. ‘Do you have any idea what this could have cost us? What the public might think of us now?’

Octavia stood with her cello by her side in the Ponyville Music Hall’s back room, hanging her head down to the floor. No tears flowed from her eyes, but nevertheless her shoulders sagged and her hooves shuffled.

‘Staccato,’ Sonata said, standing amongst the remaining musicians to the side, ‘the audience didn’t look disgusted. I don’t think this will have a lasting imp—’

‘Did you not hear the murmurs?’ Staccato snapped. ‘We’re finally being given a chance to make it to the big stage and we get murmurs instead of applause. That simply won’t do. No, it won’t do at all...’ He paced himself around the room for several moments. ‘I-I think I need some time to cool off. No practice tomorrow, Ponyville Players.’

‘I... I think I might...’ Octavia mumbled, raising her eyes to meet Staccato’s.

‘What was that?’

‘I think I might come to practice on my own tomorrow. I can’t allow what happened out there to happen again.’

Staccato raised both of his eyebrows. ‘Oh... well! We will discuss this at a later date, but for now—now we should all get some rest before the next practice. Goodness knows I need some right now.’ With his parting words, he departed through the back door, several of his fellow players leaving by his side. Sonata and Vivace looked back expectantly.

‘Don’t worry about me, girls,’ Octavia insisted. ‘I just need to check up on something.’

The mares nodded their heads and followed Staccato out into the night.

Octavia heard a voice. Her cello was leaned up against a wall, then quickly forgotten. Every step the cellist took, the voice came closer and closer. When she found herself on-stage, the voice said one clearly audible word—Octavia swore she heard a sniffle afterwards.

Play...

There was nothing on the stage.

Octavia drew in a deep breath and sighed. Imagination, she thought. This is getting ridiculous. She walked over to the edge of the stage and sat down, hanging her rear hooves over the side. Her body leaned back, and she could see the top of the theatre.

It looked like a rotting, wooden roof at first; after a good, hard look, however, Octavia could make out the outlines of an earth pony next to another of its ilk—In an embrace. A stallion... and a mare.

Octavia sighed once more. I need to get my head straightened out...

Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier—within seconds, she was asleep.

~|D|~

‘Moss orava? Air yew areeght?’

A mumbling woke Octavia’s mind from her rest—most of her senses did not follow suit.

‘Miss Octavia? Are you alright?’ the voice repeated feebly. ‘Do you need some water? Dearest me, this is not at all what I expected...’

‘I... I’m sorry?’ Octavia replied. She opened her eyes, and found herself looking up to the same rooftop she had been the night before. As she lifted herself up—her back ached as she did so—her surroundings also bore familiarity. ‘Who’s there?’

‘Ah, you’re awake!’ the feeble voice replied behind Octavia. She got up on all fours and turned to see the voice’s owner—a grey, elderly stallion with a darker shade of grey colouring his mane. He was standing on his two rear hooves and leaning against a soaking-wet mop he held with the other two. ‘Was beginning to think you were dead!’

Octavia recoiled a touch at the comment—until he smiled a warm grin, a significant lack of teeth notwithstanding. ‘H-Hello?’ she said. ‘Why am I at the Hall?’

‘I’d imagine you were here all night—it’s early morning!’ The aged stallion gave a throaty chuckle. ‘What brought you here last night, miss Octavia?’

‘How do you know my name?’ Octavia questioned, rubbing her sore back.

‘I’ve seen you play oodles of times! Have to clean up after your whole group, too... one of your friends really likes to make a mess of herself, but I only know your name from your entire group. Miss Scratch told me lots about you!’

‘...Scratch?’ Octavia’s eyes widened. ‘How do you kn—’

‘Yes, I’ve seen you play. Wonderful young prodigy! Indeed, you and your group will go very far before all is said and done.’

‘Yes, thanks, but how do you—’

‘My father was a cleaner too. Loved this place since the day he was born til' the day he died! Celestia bless his kind soul.’ Octavia rolled her eyes as the stallion spoke. ‘You know, I found it quite interesting when you were sleeping while looking up at the building’s roof. Did you catch the artwork up there?’

Octavia nodded her head, judging that it was better not to speak lest she be interrupted again.

‘Sad that it’s in such rough shape now!’ The cleaner staggered over beside Octavia and looked up. ‘You know, there was once a stallion that did the same thing that you’re doing. He was rambling on and on about a dancer or some other nonsense right around where we’re standing—’

‘A dancer?’ Octavia lit up. ‘Did you say... dancer?’

The cleaner harrumphed and looked to Octavia gravely. ‘Goodness! When I was a kid, we never interrupted our elders!’

Octavia smiled sheepishly. ‘I-I’m sorry, do go on, mister...’

‘Mister,’ the stallion replied. ‘Most ponies just call me Mister, so that’s mostly what I take to now!’

‘Ah, yes... Mister.’ Octavia sighed. ‘Do go on.’

‘Where was I... yes! Dancing—my father told me all about the two ponies who built this place with their own two hooves. A mare and a stallion—my father was very young when they did so, only a young colt—were famous dancers in Manehattan. With the funds they had amassed for several years, they built a theatre in Ponyville with little outside help. Just their blood, sweat and tears... and their love, I guess, kept them going.’

‘What happened to them?’ Octavia wondered out loud.

‘They died!’

‘No... I mean after they built the theatre. Is it this one?’

‘Yes. Now, I hadn’t been born when the theatre was done, but I was pretty close. My father was appointed as the cleaner, and no one else was hired to work at the theatre--not sure why, really. Past that, I wouldn’t know. No one ever told me what happened to them after they made this old place.

‘But I do know that they were the best at what they did. Prodigies, those kids! A shame that they’re no longer with us... I might not have much left in my old bones either, maybe I’ll join them soon!’ Mister guffawed.

Octavia pondered for a moment. ‘You mentioned something about a stallion with the mare? I feel like I've heard about this mare before.’

‘A stallion? Oh, yes... the one who did what you're doing. He would come in every week and started playing music for no reason. Piano, specifically.’ Octavia did not interrupt, but when the cleaner wasn’t looking, she allowed herself another eye roll. ‘A strange one, he was. Would come in and play music, mumbling something about a mare... and wouldn’t you know it, he looked just like your pianist over there!’

‘Over where?’ Octavia looked around the theatre--towards the entrance, the other six members of her septet were walking towards the stage, most of them clutching jet-black instrument cases. She turned back to the aged stallion. ‘He... he was mumbling about a mare?’

‘I believe so. Unless my memory is acting up again—no! Why are you all messing up the theatre?’ Mister grudgingly—with great effort and Octavia’s helping hoof—lowered himself off of the stage and towards the faint splotches of muck that lay in the musicians’ wake.

‘Staccato?’ Octavia said. ‘What’s going on?’

Staccato dodged the incoming cleaner as he sped—relatively speaking--by. ‘My dear, you haven’t been here all night, have you?’ Octavia nodded, and Staccato looked to her, aghast. ‘My goodness! I had spoken with the rest of our troupe, and we wanted to surprise you by coming here early—are you still up for it? We can put some effort to rehearsing our "rock", too.’

Staccato, taking the staircase stage-left—Crazy old man forgot the stairs, Octavia thought idly—came up next to her and looked to her eagerly.

"Mumbling something about a mare"... did he really mean Staccato? The pianist smiled at her. I... ‘Sure, just let me go get my instrument. And Staccato,’ she said as an aside to the pianist, ‘could I have a quick word after we finish?’

‘If it’s quick, can we not just have it right now?’ he replied. ‘I’m in no rush—I might just forget to talk about it later anyway.’

Octavia opened her mouth to speak—something held her back. Staccato raised an eyebrow as Octavia stood in front of him, staring, slack-jawed. ‘What is it, Octavia?’

‘I—’ Octavia stumbled for words. ‘—I think... I think I felt stage fright or something last night.’

Staccato raised both of his eyebrows—before he could speak, an eavesdropping Vivace barged in and put her hoof on Octavia's shoulder.

‘Oh no!’ she exclaimed, giving Octavia a slight shake. ‘You’ve never had a problem with that before! Did you hit your head or something?’

‘I’m fine, honestly.’ Octavia lightly pushed Vivace’s hoof off of her shoulder and looked to both her and Staccato. ‘Don’t worry about me. What happened last night won’t happen again.’

Vivace and several other ponies cheered happily at the news—Staccato, however, remained unconvinced. Nevertheless, he walked over to his piano, still lying stage-left, and removed the cover without a word. His fellow musicians did the same with their instrument cases.

‘I’ll just be a moment,’ Octavia said, retreating backstage. ‘My cello is in the back room.’

‘Yes, yes...’ Staccato laid down his piano cover and walked over to Octavia, away from the rest of the group. ‘Octavia, you know very well that we consider you family, right? We were very concerned for you last night... I wasn’t trying to sound vicious or anything on the stage. I just wanted things to work out quickly before the whole thing turned even worse than it already was.’

‘I understand, Staccato.’ Octavia smiled. ‘I was only thinking of my blunder, not at all about some silly grudge against you.’

‘No no, don’t think of yourself like that. You didn’t make a terrible mistake. It was a mistake, sure—’ Staccato smiled sheepishly. ‘—but don’t beat yourself up over it. We’ve moved past it, and so should you.’

‘Thanks, Staccato.’ Octavia turned away.

‘Oh, and Octavia?’

‘Yes, Staccato?’

‘Another thing about families, you know’—Staccato narrowed his eyes—’is that they don’t lie to each other. An incident we can get past, but dishonesty is a terrible mistake and should be regarded as such. You keep that in mind.’

Staccato broke off from the conversation to return to his piano, leaving Octavia breathless where she stood. He saw right through me, she thought. Her stomach felt queasy and her legs shook.

She practiced, but she wasn’t truly there. Something about the day had gotten to her, but she wasn’t sure which part was the worst of it.

~|D|~

Octavia walked up to her home in the noon-day sun—no one had been walking with her. Her body reeked of sweat and her stomach roared; all forgotten, however, when she saw a note on the door, addressed only to herself.

octavia,

hey, its vinyl. i was planning on mentioning this to you before, but i wont be in town for a few days...ive got some stuff i need to do in a different place. tried to make this look like a letter... thought youd appreciate me having a sincerely thing at the end, looks formal like that.

Octavia chuckled.

so yeah, sorry for leaving all of a sudden... didnt think you would be staying overnight on your day off or anything. hooray for you, your social life is slightly better than it was before. Octavia chuckled again. dont party too hard without me.

sincerely vinyl

Octavia took the letter inside with her and left it sitting on her living room’s window sill, quickly forgotten. The room still reeked of uncleanliness, and the floor was still littered with this-and-thats from before. She didn’t care, though—she crashed on the couch, the nearest place of rest, for the third day in a row.

But for the first time in those days, her mind was at ease. Her thoughts were not to Vinyl, nor to the cleaner. Someone else had seen the dancer before—she exists, she thought, and that was amazing.

~|D|~

‘Alto, will you stay with me forever?’

A mare and a stallion looked up at their creation—a wooden building, with the words “Music Hall” engraved at the front on fresh hardwood with a smell of a mid-summer’s day wafting in the air

‘Yes, Allegrezza. Nothing will keep me apart from you.’ Alto pulled Allegrezza closer to him. The two walked into the building together, never keeping more than a few inches apart. Past the double doors, a brand new auditorium filled their senses with wonder. The smell of newly-rolled carpet excited their nostrils and crimson red walls brightened up the room.

The pair slowly walked up the aisle towards the stage, savouring every moment they shared.

‘Oh, Alto... let’s dance forever!’

Allegrezza closed her eyes and rested her head on Alto’s shoulders.

‘Nothing would please me more, my dear.’

IV - Shooting for the Stars

A deafening applause drowned out a mare's deep panting onstage, expanding and depressing her lemon-yellow chest with each breath she took. At every movement of her torso, a slight rustle shook her long, straight brown mane.

The theatre looked no different as it always had to her—a flawless room with walls of polished hardwood and a ceiling of ornately-hewn stone. Her exhausted face peered out to the roaring crowd, studying their reactions curiously as they gushed out their praise. The spotlight's shine focused on her fizzled out and the velvet curtain ahead of her began to close, beckoning her backstage.

Taking no more notice of the waning cheers, the mare turned and left the auditorium. She took in a deep breath, then let out a sigh and pushed open the back door—her exhaustion quickly turned into excitation at the sight of the figure inside. He was a moderately-built brown earth stallion with a short yellow mane, a delicate smile etched on his face.

‘Allegrezza!’ the stallion exclaimed, holding out his hoof shaking with excitement. His glossy eyes, in the bright light of the backstage room, reflected Allegrezza's figure—reminding her that he came to her not as a dream as she had been accustomed to, but as the one she truly loved. The initial surprise faded, and she flung herself into his hooves, ending in a warm embrace.

‘Oh Alto, it's been so long!’ A gasp escaped Allegrezza's mouth as the embrace loosened. ‘But why are you here? Were you not supposed to be dancing in Manehattan on this lovely soirée?’

Alto merely chuckled in response. ‘I have been apart from you for far too long; no manager can keep me from seeing your beautiful face, my love!’

‘Alto, it pains me to see this theatre in other ponies’ hooves after they took it away from us...’ Allegrezza let out a deep sigh. 'Let's leave all of this behind! I'm sick of dancing for worthless coin!'

‘All in good time, my sweet. I need only a week’s worth of funds for us to start our free lives together.’ Alto paused for a moment, inspecting the decorated room they resided in. A thick red rug beneath them gave the pair warmth around their hooves, and the walls of the ornately-hewn room were fitted with a similar material.

‘But the waiting, Alto—’

‘Like another lifetime apart, I know. But we must make this sacrifice to reach our happiness. But for now,’ Alto clapped his front hooves together, ending the embrace, ‘we dance for ourselves!’

‘But what about your unexpected absence tonight? What if we get suspended?’

‘My dear, even the best in the business are sometimes misunderstood—they are only punished with silly talking-tos. They cannot afford to kick us out! Now, no more talk; let us dance!’

~|D|~

Octavia put down her cello into its velvet-lined case and sighed—another concert, another night of disappointment. The Ponyville Music Hall’s back room wasn’t devoid of life, but the feeling was nearly there—especially for Octavia.

‘Hey,’ Vivace started, placing her own instrument in a similar case to Octavia’s. ‘You doing alright, Octy?

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Octavia replied, eyeing Vivace’s case with sudden interest. ‘New case? I thought yours was yellow.’

Vivace smiled as she closed her case. ‘Well, I thought since we’re going to be such big superstars that we should act the part. Black is a lot more professional than yellow, you know!’

Octavia chuckled. ‘Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Hey, have you seen St—’

‘Ponyville Players,’ a voice bellowed—Staccato's, Octavia observed. ‘I would like to welcome you to someone about whom I’ve heard a great many things: say hello to Star Gazer, one of the most famous music managers on the east side of Equestria!’

In walked a white-faced stallion—Octavia could not see anything past his visage, as his extravagant garb covered his entire body and the top of his head. At the very least, his head was covered with your everyday plain black top hat; the rest of the outfit—looking more like a thin blanket secured around his neck and hanging below his invisible hooves—was another matter entirely. It was a light-blue fixture with clashing colours of black and crimson striping down its length. A few gems were also dotted here and there, coloured yellow, green or purple—sometimes a combination of the three. His stance was not haughty, but it was not humble and withdrawing either; he had an air of flamboyance and professionalism rolled into one package.

Even how he spoke was bizarre: boisterous and outgoing, but a soft, eastern-like accent was still salvageable. ‘And a good day to you too, my good Staccato! A wonderful looking group you have here,' he added, inspecting each member with widened eyes.

'I trust you enjoyed the performance, mister Gazer?' Staccato inquired, a twinkle sparkling in his eyes.

'Goodness, I was expecting a bit of an introduction first—I'm particularly interested in hearing about your ravishing cellist over there.' Gazer gave Octavia a suggestive wink, to which a blush quickly filled her cheeks. ‘I’ve heard quite a few things about you, my dear. While your technical prowess is undoubtable, I’ve also caught word about an... edge, so to speak, that you possess. Normally, the lack of such a creative piece would prompt me to dismiss the rumours and be on my way, but I figured a gorgeous mare such as yourself would be able to explain what went wrong properly.’

‘I—’ Octavia paused for a moment. ‘Well, others claimed that I did have a creative edge... I assure you, it does exist. What happened tonight won’t happen again.’

‘Very well,’ Gazer said, offering Octavia a polite smile. ‘Then we have no more to discuss. Show me what you’ve got, Ponyville Players, and don’t hold back—and while you have the hooves to run several miles, I want to see you win the hundred-yard dash.’

Staccato raised a hoof in protest. ‘Mister Gazer, please—’

‘No need, no need.’ Star Gazer smiled. ‘I’m sure that you’re all prepared for this, anyway. You did just perform.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘There will be time for chatter later, my friend. Even the absolute best in the business slip up and have an off night every now and again, and I’m sure that with a different mindset, you’ll have a much more energetic performance.’

Gazer pranced out of the room, leaving a group of musicians scratching their heads and looking to each other, unsure of what to do next.

‘So...’ Octavia said, ‘...should we go play for him, Staccato?’

‘He’s certainly here as the talent seeker, so there is no question whether we should or shouldn’t perform.’ Staccato sighed. ‘It’s very unfortunate that we had to get a strange one, though. His racing metaphor made no sense, and I’m not sure if we can perform as he—’

Vivace rushed over to Staccato and pressed a hoof on his mouth. ‘Not so fast, Staccy!’ she said, ignoring the protests attempting to break free from the pianist’s mouth. ‘You want this... we all want this. This is the last step we need to take, don’t you see?’

The other musicians nodded their heads. Clef—or Treble—said: ‘She’s right, Staccato. Just look at Vivace: she’s all sorts of crazy, and she’s still in the group!’

Vivace lowered her hoof, and Staccato looked to every Ponyville Player in turn. Swallowing hard, he walked over to the room’s exit. ‘Alright, folks. Just like we rehearsed, eh? I mean, we haven’t actually performed this piece even once so far, but that doesn’t mean anything will go wrong, right?’

No one answered. With sweat running down their backs and fake smiles etched on their faces, they picked up their respective instruments and tools and proceeded on-stage, all pleading for their big break.

This was their one chance at crafting their cadence—but only for Ponyville. The cadence would only make way for a new section in the Ponyville Players’ grand piece.

~|D|~

Trembling hooves clutched instruments on-stage as Star Gazer, seated front row in Ponyville Music Hall, watched. The Players looked to each other, waiting for a signal to start—Staccato nodded his head. Octavia lowered her bow onto her cello, closed her eyes, and then—

‘Hold on, my good mares and stallions!’ Gazer called out, rising from his seat. ‘Hold it, please. This isn’t right, no... not right at all. It just isn’t proper to not have an audience, now is it?’

The musicians stood with their instruments, perplexed, but still ready to play. ‘I’m sorry?’ Staccato replied. ‘I thought you wanted us to play—’

‘Yes, I most certainly did. You must surely see, though, that this setting is terribly inadequate. A small theatre, a lack of an audience: terrible things that hinder the overall flair of a musical piece. I’m sure you agree, my good Staccato?’

Most of the players on stage looked to each other, shrugging; Staccato, on the other hand, brightened up. His eyes widened and he nearly flew right out of his piano bench and towards the front of the stage.

‘Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, mister Gazer?’ Staccato asked in a somewhat fanboyish tone.

‘If you’re thinking about how run-down the decor is in this place, then yes. Atrocious, really—needs a full reinvention.’

‘Well, yes—I mean, no, that wasn’t what I was thinking about.’ Staccato cleared his throat. ‘...As you were saying, mister Gazer?’

Star Gazer was staring at the ceiling, scratching his chin. ‘Yes, this needs work—ah! I seem to have gotten off-track; I would like your group to come to Manehattan with me to try your luck with the crowd as an opening act. It won’t be for one of our bigger groups like the Lonely Hooves Club Band, but I trust you will still perform well all the same.’

The ponies on-stage stood, mystified, as Gazer awaited his response. Octavia took a double take—the circumstances surrounding something so exciting was highly unusual, and she wasn’t sure what to do.

‘Did I say something wrong?’ Gazer inquired, raising an eyebrow. ‘Wouldn’t you lot like a chance in Manehattan? It has a fantastic amphitheatre where I could truly take in your skills and judge your future for true.’

Staccato stumbled for words before eventually making several out: ‘We—why, yes! We would be immeasurably delighted to come with you!’

Gazer smiled, then made his way up the stairs leading to the stage. ‘Wonderful. We will be departing in two days’ time—that should give you ample time to prepare and for me to speak with my correspondent here. Don’t worry about saying goodbye to too many ponies, though; you might not even get to stay in Manehattan, should you fail to impress me!’

Vivace turned to face Octavia, and gulped. Words were not needed to express the importance of succeeding.

‘Right, then. Thank you, all of you, for meeting me on this fine night. I trust you will also bring some appropriate vestments for our little escapade; they add a certain... je ne sais quoi to the performance, if you will.’ Gazer turned and walked off-stage, his “robe” shimmering behind him with every stride. ‘In two days, my good ponies!’

The peculiar stallion proceeded out the front door with a short ‘ta-ta’.

‘...Gee,’ Octavia said, ‘some artists are a little too strange.’ Everyone else in the room nodded their heads, keeping their excitement—and confusion—bottled up. Octavia judged that it was better to leave the emotions until after they had succeeded.

~|D|~

‘Hey, you. You should clean your room—it’s kind of weird to see you around a mess.’

Octavia struggled to open her eyes. The short sleep the night before was taking its toll.

‘Yeah, I know you can hear me. Why didn’t you tell me, Taves?’

Vinyl’s voice was unmistakable, especially when she was irritated. Octavia opened her eyes and blinked—sure enough, she was staring her down from beside her bed, the lack of shades covering her eyes making her all the more intimidating.

‘Hrm... tell you what, Vinyl?’

‘Hey, you awake yet? You know what I’m talking about, Taves, and I only heard about it this morning. I have my sources.’

Oh. ‘Ah, right. Can I get up before you yell in my ear some more?’

Vinyl took a few steps back, then scratched her head. ‘Sorry. I was just a little shocked that you wouldn’t tell me about that sooner—you’re not the kind of mare who keeps many secrets.’

Octavia’s eyes widened; she knew what Vinyl was referring to, but her mind shifted to another secret, one she had struggled to face before. She shuddered.

‘You were asleep last night, Vinyl,’ Octavia replied, rising from her bed and rubbing her sore eyes. ‘I came home pretty late. Did you want me to wake you?’

‘Well, I suppose that makes sense.’ Octavia rolled her eyes as Vinyl spoke, and shifted out of bed. ‘I can’t believe you’re leaving, though. It’s going to be really lonely here all on my own.’

‘It’s just a test run to impress the talent seeker that arrived in town last night. There’s no guarantee that we’ll stay there for more than a couple days—of course, I wouldn’t mind moving there permanently.’ Octavia saw her reflection in Vinyl’s eyes. ‘W-Well, I’d be visiting fairly often. The train to Ponyville doesn’t take very long.’

Vinyl chuckled. ‘Talent seeker, eh? Pretty crazy that you attracted one here—say, this is your last day, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Every famous musician needs something to set them apart... visually, I mean. You’ve got the talent part down solid, as far as I’ve seen.’ Vinyl took a glance at the black cello case in the corner of the room. ‘Rarity’s Boutique might have something perfect for you, do you want to go take a look? It’d really spice up your look—not that you don’t look good already.’

Octavia blushed and scratched the back of her head. ‘That does sound nice, the talent seeker mentioned something like that. But why would you of all ponies suggest that?’

‘I dunno, maybe I’m just feeling weird today.’ Vinyl quickly turned and made her way out of the room, stopping at the door’s arch. ‘You coming or what?’

‘I’ll be there in a second,’ Octavia replied. Vinyl shrugged and left the room; a short while later, a door opened and shut. Tomorrow, she thought. I might not see that theatre for a long time... dancer—

Octavia blinked repeatedly. Her eyes caught a wide-open, empty blue suitcase she had brought out the night before; the eventual contents of the bag were scattered around the floor. I’ll get to them later, she judged. The cellist rushed to catch up with her friend.

~|D|~

‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were going to miss me, Vinyl.’

‘H—’ Vinyl blushed, and aimlessly looked to the sky. ‘No, I’m happy for you. The only reason I suggested shopping was for your sake; you wouldn’t catch me dead in a boutique even if you were leaving forever.’

Octavia smiled. ‘Uh-huh. I believe you.’

‘What have you got planned for tonight, Taves? You leave tomorrow, so you ought to have a rocking party planned, right?’

Octavia glanced to her right—a building, almost as wide as the Ponyville Music Hall and certainly much shorter, lay empty on the side of the street. On the front were several images of cider mugs plastered on tainted glass windows, reminding Octavia of a different time. A time long gone.

‘...A time long gone.’

‘What was that, Taves?’ Vinyl caught Octavia’s eyes as they glanced over. ‘Ah, the Applespice Café. Great choice, good times. We’ll head over tonight once you’re done packing or whatever, eh?’

Octavia shook out of her trance. ‘Uh, er... the Applespice Cafe? We haven’t been there in ages.’

The duo walked across a short bridge overlooking Ponyville River, Applespice Café getting farther and farther away as they approached Carousel Boutique at their front. ‘I’m sure the bartender remembers you. He said so himself: “I remember all of my regulars, whether it’s been ten days or ten years since I saw them last”. Surely you wouldn’t mind even a quick drink or two?’

‘Vinyl—’

‘Why, hello!’ a voice trilled, interrupting a sighing Octavia. The door of the boutique had swung open, leaving Vinyl and Octavia facing a rather pleased-looking Rarity. ‘Were you coming for an appointment?’

‘An... appointment?’ Octavia asked hesitantly. ‘I’ve never gone dress shopping before; I have no idea how it works.’

‘Oh, my dear—’ Rarity sniffed and sharply turned her head, facing indoors ‘—Sweetie, that better not be you making dinner! You know how... ah, I beg my pardon, you two. Sisters are quite a hassle, aren’t they?’

Octavia nodded her head, unsure of how to answer.

‘Oh, you’re the cellist for the Ponyville Players, aren’t you?’ Rarity smiled brightly, and her eyes twinkled. ‘Goodness, I loved that performance a week or two ago—it really was quite the show!’

‘Yes, that’s me. Would you mind if I took a look at your dresses? I need one by tomorrow morning, and my friend here figured you’d have some in stock.’

‘Ah...’ Rarity blushed. ‘I’m terribly sorry, but not only would we need to take some measurements—need an appointment for that—got one bright and early in the morning, goodness me—but I’ve been excruciatingly busy as of late, what with preparations for the Summer Sun Celebration that’s only... a few days away! It doesn’t hurt that my baby sister is here messing around until my parents can find a place to stay.’

Octavia smiled sheepishly—She’s a chatty one.

‘I’m sorry for bothering you, miss...’

‘Rarity, darling.’

‘Miss Rarity, I apologize for taking up some of your busy schedule for this misunderstanding. I hope we’ll meet again; I’m heading up to Manehattan for an audition, so to speak.’

Vinyl nudged Octavia, and whispered: ‘Formal. Classy.’

‘You won’t be performing in Ponyville anymore?’ Rarity frowned. ‘A shame, you are all so very talented. The best of luck to you all!’

Octavia and Vinyl both nodded their head as Rarity hastily shut the door behind her. ‘She’s a busy one, that mare,’ Octavia noted.

‘She’s busy with the nine-hundred-and-ninety-ninth Summer Sun Celebration—I’d be pretty rushed if I were her. It’d be pretty rad to work on ponies’ dresses for that, but rushed nonetheless. Sucks that you didn’t get your dress, though—I’d probably bring some bits along with you to Manehattan. They’ve probably got lots of places there to buy dresses and stuff.’’

The duo made their way back across the bridge, both of them taking another glance at Applespice Café.

‘I think I’ll go check with the bartender to see if there are any events going on at the bar tonight,’ Vinyl said. ‘You go ahead and pack your stuff, I have some... other matters to attend to after tonight.

‘Very well. I’ll see you tonight, Vinyl.’

‘Oh, you’ll see me tonight. Both of us are going to raise our mugs to you, and it’ll be the last night before you become a superstar.’ Vinyl smiled. ‘See you then, Octavia.’

Octavia waved to Vinyl as she entered the bar. I’m really going through with this, she thought. I might not see her for a long time.

She won’t dance ever again...

V - Talent

‘Alto, this is the third night in a row we’ve danced in this room. Shouldn’t we go someplace else to have some private time?’

Alto, frowning unimpressively, broke his close embrace with Allegrezza and stared in disbelief. ‘You can’t be serious! Leave the theatre we created together? This, our true home, and you wish to abandon it?’ he questioned sternly, his voice rising with every word.

‘Don’t talk so loud! Someone might be nearby—’

‘Let them come! I care not if I am discovered, this was built because of our handiwork. This land was not supposed to be theirs! I am indifferent to whatever deed they claim makes this place their own. And they call it Ponyville’s Theatre?' Alto snorted. 'If they can spend their own blood, sweat, and tears for love, I will give this place up at a moment’s notice!’

‘Honey, please—’

Alto paused for a moment, watching the door to the auditorium. ‘See? Just as I had thought. There is no one here, we have nothing to worry about. Now, the night grows thin; let us dance once more!’

A creaking noise crept up from behind the dancers as they re-embraced, followed by a grey hoof poking out from the auditorium door. Slowly, the rest of the shocked stallion to which the hoof belonged revealed himself, his middle-aged eyes widening in surprise.

‘You... you’re that dancer from Manehattan! You aren’t supposed to be here!’ he said in a rushed, accusing tone.

‘Now, mister—’

‘I may just be a lowly cleaner, but I can—and will—tell the manager that you’re here! He’ll be furious, and he’ll contact the manager in Manehattan, and... just leave or else I will!’

Allegrezza swallowed down and looked to the stallion. ‘Please, mister... cleaner. We won’t be in your way, can’t you just leave us in peace?’

‘If my manager found out I didn't tell him, I’d get fired on the spot, no questions asked. You know how he is.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Alto shot in. ‘It is not your manager’s theatre, it is ours! You cannot hope to intimidate us with such idle threats!’

The cleaner snorted in disgust. ‘I’m an honest pony, I don’t just lie to everyone on the whim of two hotshot lovers, especially not to my own boss. Now, he lives just down the street from the theatre, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind telling the other manager where his star dancer is, eh?’

‘We'd both get fired!’

‘Exactly. Now, get out before I lose my job.’

Alto sighed in defeat and turned to Allegrezza, his eyebrows curving worriedly. ‘Don’t you worry about saying goodbye,’ Allegrezza chimed in, smiling, ‘because I’m certain we’ll see each other again very soon. Someday, we can—and will—leave together. Today is not that day, but it will come.’

‘Hey, you know I can still hear everything you’re saying, right?’ the keeper commented, raising his hoof in the air. ‘I’m right here—and if you don’t leave right now, I’ll tell the manager about that little scheme, too.’

‘I musn’t tarry much longer, my love. I will see you soon, I promise!' Alto turned to the aged pony. 'And as for you, my good sir, I wish you much success with your future!’

Alto received an uncomforting “harrumph” in response.

Not a second later, Alto was out the back door into the starry night of Ponyville, leaving Allegrezza with only her sighs and the theatre’s resident cleaner.

‘You’d be better off not dealing with that type. He may seem like your true love, but he’ll just leave you out of a job. I would just hope that he never returned and say “good riddance” to the whole thing. Phooey!’

The cleaner, too, left the room, through the auditorium door and away from sight.

He will return. He will return...

For the next several weeks, as Allegrezza had expected, Alto showed neither hoof nor mane of himself anywhere near Ponyville. It was difficult, but she continued to dance for Ponyville night after night. After sending some mail in and receiving none in reply during all that time, anxiousness filled her more and more every day.

Weeks turned into months, which quickly turned into a full year without any sight of Alto. Worry kept her from sleeping at night, and the elusive stallion was all that she could think about when performing her routine.

No contact. No sign of his appearance. Not even a response from her hundreds of letters sent to the Manehattan Theatre.

And one day, she decided to simply never leave the theatre. Even after countless years, she never did leave. She just kept on dancing, always waiting for someone.

Someone who never showed up.

~|D|~

The scent of hard cider and sweaty underlegs filled the Applespice Café, the local cider joint for Ponyville. It wasn’t the finest cider around, that honour belonged to the Apple family; nonetheless, it was still a regular night hotspot for ponies looking for a little bit of a break.

For Octavia and Vinyl, it looked to be their final break together.

‘Hey, come an’ have shumthin’ from the real bar, Taves!’ Vinyl said slurredly, sitting on a tall bar stool with a mug of foaming brown cider held tightly in her hoof. ‘Thersh no need to be drinkin’ that weak schtuff you call a drink! Come get shumthin’ real maresh drink, y’know?’

Octavia sat at the bar stool next to her soon-to-be ex-roommate, holding a tall wine glass half-filled with an untouched crimson liquid in her hoof. Turning to Vinyl, she raised an eyebrow and frowned.

‘And get drunk like you? I thought you weren’t going to have that much to drink tonight.’

‘Drunk? No way! Me, the mosht level-headed mare thish shide of Canterlot! Why, there should be shome kinda medal for how reshponshible I am!’

Octavia rolled her eyes and turned back to her glass, swirling it around a few times without spilling a drop. Her mind wandered for several moments before shrugging, picking up the glass and letting some of the liquid go down her throat. She winced.

A little strong, she thought. Her mind wavered to the figure inside the Ponyville Music Hall, then she took a look at her glass. Bottoms up.

The cellist took another long sip of her drink, then turned to see the half-sleeping mare lying her head on the bar counter with her mug half-empty. Over her head, she could see a few other ponies sitting at a table, discussing something unintelligible—every few seconds, they shot an accusing glare towards Vinyl.

Can’t talk about anything to her in her present state, that’s for sure.

‘Ya know, I’ve alwaysh felt shomething deep inshide of me,’ Vinyl said, pointing her free hoof to her chest. ‘Riiiiiiight here. The heart. Y’know, like where ya feel shtuff.’

‘Shh, not so loud... you'll get us in trouble!’

‘Why do youcare? You’re not even drinking yer shissy drink! Ya don’t even need to be here!’

‘Vinyl?’ At this point, most of the eyes in the bar were staring accusingly, some at Vinyl, some at Octavia. ‘I think we’ve spent long enough in he—’

‘I jush lurvsto help ya, Taves! Yer the only friend I have in thish whole place, sho I helped ya. Y’know that Gazer fella?’

‘Vinyl, please—’

‘Hesh not a talent sheeker, I’m the talent sheeker! I shaw yer concert and told him and he shaid “shure” and schtuff and he...’ Vinyl finished, trailing off before crashing her head back on the table in a stupor. ‘And he...’

‘Miss Octavia?’ the bartender, a well-built stallion cleaning a mug on the other side of the bar counter, inquired. ‘I'm not about to tell a couple of old regulars to leave or anything, but your friend is causing quite a bit of trouble. If things were less quiet in here, I wouldn't mind, but the—'

'—And he came here becaush I shaid sho!' Vinyl proclaimed, raising her head for one last hurrah before crashing it down on the counter again.

'Vinyl!' Octavia shot. 'This is not what I expected from you—well, I didexpect it, but it still doesn't make this right.'

Vinyl lifted her head briefly, smiled a wide, toothy grin, and laid a hoof on Octavia’s shoulder. Her other hoof reached out for her empty mug, but before she could, the bartender had snatched it away for cleaning.

‘Vinyl,’ Octavia said, ‘how many mugs of cider have you had to drink?’

‘I dunno, maybe twoooo? I shaw three more, but I know you had those onesh, right? Yer the one who should be kinda tipshy, not me!’ Vinyl lifted herself from the bar stool and stumbled to the door. ‘Lesh go, the bartender ruined our fun.’

Octavia looked with worry to her friend, who stood by the door, puzzled by its mechanics. Octavia frowned.

‘I’ll pay for the two of us,’ Octavia said, retrieving and laying down several golden coins from her saddlebag hanging from the bar stool. ‘Five mugs of cider and one glass of cherry wine, right? I’m so dreadfully sorry about my friend, so I added a few bits as a tip.’

‘Much obliged, Miss Octavia,’ the bartender replied, smiling. ‘Just like old times, eh? It’s a shame you’ll be leaving for... Fillydelphia, was it?’

Octavia frowned. ‘How did you kno—Vivace, right.’

The bartender chuckled. Octavia looked again to Vinyl, waved to the bartender and took off to give her a helping hoof.

‘Let’s go; we need to get you home.’ Octavia pulled open the glass-laden bar door, and Vinyl soon followed her out into the dimly-lit outdoors. After taking a few steps, she collapsed, lying on the ground belly-up with a frown on her face and eyes shut tight.

‘No, I’m drunk!’ Vinyl said. ‘I had to be drunk on the day when yer leavin’! The lasht thing we'll ever do ish bring me home! I’m a-a ho-ho-horrible pony!’

A few tears ran down the sides of Vinyl’s face, trailing until they reached the grass underneath her. Octavia shook her head.

‘You’re drunk. I know. I’ve seen you drunk before and, honestly, it’s not a big deal. You can say goodbye to me tomorrow—right now, you need your rest.’

‘R-really?’ Vinyl said, curving her mouth back into a smile. Her eyes opened to gleaming crimson colour, visible through tears even in the absence of significant light. ‘That shounds like a good idea to me!’

Vinyl closed her eyes and laid her head down on the grass, knocked out too fast for Octavia to react. She looked down at the sleeping figure, curled up in the fetal position as a thin stream of saliva escaped her mouth and onto the ground.

'Aww, isn't that... adorable, I guess?'

Octavia had been through this routine before. In a practiced motion, she put her hooves underneath Vinyl's unconscious self and lifted up, grunting a little at the effort as she walked out to the starry night.

'Ergh... walking like this with a heavy burden sucks. Another pair of hooves would've been great.' Octavia paused for a moment. 'Eh, maybe it's best that Vivace opted out. Wouldn't know what her reaction to this would be... hm, you’ve gained weight, Vinyl.’

Octavia’s mind shifted to a possibility—one where she wasn’t there, and Vinyl still faced a night of drinking. Her stomach churned.

‘A fine thing this would be alone, you know. Just please... please don’t keep doing stuff like this.’ Even though she knew Vinyl could not hear her, Octavia smiled. Everything was going to work out fine.

~|D|~

Octavia left her home as silently as she could—as she closed the door, she paused for a moment. Will she be alright? she thought. ...Yeah, I guess so. The only thing I’ll have to worry about is her nasty hangover in the morning.

She began walking. Where she was walking, she did not know, even though the night sky was still young. Her thoughts idled until she came to a river—looking down, an unmuddled reflection in crystal clear water. A shimmer, and another figure took her face’s place.

An ethereal figure.

Octavia did not look at it long enough to see it clearly, but she knew what it was as soon as she had caught a glimpse. There was someone she needed to see, and fast.

Knock knock.

Ponyville Theatre was closed. She had to try anyway.

Knock knock. The impact on the theatre’s door came down harder. Several seconds, and no response.

Knock—

A click prompted Octavia to stop before her second knock, followed by a slow, ominous creaking sound as the door squeaked open. Although the night had gotten darker, the moon’s light shone on the figure opening the door, showing Octavia his aged face.

'Huh? Who's out there knocking on my door?' the stallion called out, squinting as he looked at Octavia. 'Say, you're one of those hooligans coming to stay here and wreck the place, aren't you? Well, my manager didn't just put me on night shift for nothing! I've got nothing to lose and I'm ready for a scrappin'!'

As the stallion raised a hoof in self-defense, Octavia raised her own, signifying peace. ‘Whoa there! It's just me, Octavia!'

'Octavia? The music mare?' he questioned, his voice laced with suspicion. 'I could barely see you through this darned night. Shouldn't you be preparing to leave for Manehattan tomorrow? It's pretty late to be out wandering the streets.’

'How did you know about that?'

'My manager was a little disheartened when I took my shift, so I asked him what was going on.' The keeper let out a brief chuckle. 'Your group were his strongest performers. But don't stay out in the dark! Come on in!'

It wasn't much brighter inside, but what little light remained from the moon shining through the windows was enough to see the space the keeper had been cleaning and, vaguely, to see each other's faces.

'The manager thinks the place will start to go down without its star act, but I'm sure we'll manage somehow.' The keeper grumbled to himself. 'So, what do you need at this late hour? I’ve got the rest of the night here; I’m all ears.’

Octavia hesitated for a moment. The stallion gave her a gentle look, and she sputtered: ‘D-Do you know anything about that... that dancer you mentioned a while ago?’

‘Dancer? We get plenty of those come in through the week. A lot of them are quite pretty,’ the stallion added, looking up to the ceiling with a smile.

Octavia groaned. ‘No, not them. I mean the dancer who made this place.’

‘Who?’ the stallion replied, losing interest in the ceiling. ‘I don’t recall any dancer making this place, but I remember the stallion who made it... a musician, I believe? A stage manager?’

‘The one your dad told you ab—wait, the stallion? Do you know anything about him?’

‘He went to Manehattan or something, maybe FIllydelphia... Vanhoover? Eh, I can’t remember everything. It probably started with an “m”, or maybe an “r”. Can’t say I know too much about the stallion, though, other than him making the theatre and moving away.’

Octavia sighed. ‘Well, thanks anyway. I initially came to—’ Octavia caught a glint of the stage in the dim light, ‘—to get one last look at the place before I left. Can’t leave without saying goodbye.’

‘Well, take your time. This place ain’t going anywhere.’

A soft whistling music escaped the stallion’s mouth as he went through a row of seats, inspecting every cushion with a passing glance. Octavia took a full look at the stage, and pondered.

Could I call the dancer right now, see her one last time?

Octavia turned to the whistling pony close by. ...Ah, I wouldn’t have been able to anyway. She sniffed, and promptly turned to face the door—her steps were short, but she eventually made her way outside without saying so much as a “goodbye” to the keeper. A single tear flowed from both of her eyes, an ensuing stream quelled by an unknown force.

That force, she thought. I won’t be feeling it again. Not in there.

~|D|~

A clock’s alarm had been neglected the night before. In its place, a new alarm reared its white and blue-maned face over Octavia.

'Hey, yo... shouldn't you be getting ready for Manehattan? It's like—' The speaker, Vinyl, looked at Octavia’s clock with rubbed-out, bloodshot eyes. '—ten-ten.'

'Hrm... ah?' Octavia's own bloodshot eyes were just beginning to open as she uttered incomprehensible sounds. 'Whozzat? Can't be Vinyl... hangover...'

'Yeah, I know I have a hangover. I'm not sure how I even got out of bed, frankly.'

The half-asleep cellist opened her eyes further and looked up in disbelief. 'Vinyl... up 'fore me? Must be dreamin'...'

‘If it were a dream, then I’m your knight in shining armour—here to take you away to Manehattan. You’re all packed, right?’

Octavia nodded her head.

‘Well, then we had better get going. Last time I checked—’ Vinyl yawned once more. ‘—ten-ten was morning. Late morning, even.’

Octavia groaned.

‘What about that dress?’ Vinyl said, scratching her head. ‘You gonna find one in Manehattan or something?’

‘Yeah, I guess so,’ Octavia replied, getting her hooves out of bed with a steady lurch. ‘Say, about the stuff you said last night...’

‘Huh. If you’re about to say what I think you’re about to say, then I guess I didn’t just dream about that.’

Octavia continued, and smiled: ‘...Thanks, Vinyl. We wouldn’t even be in this position if it wasn’t for you.

Vinyl rubbed the back of her neck and blushed. ‘Well... well, we should get going. I’ll wait out front.’ As she quickly walked out of the room, Octavia smiled. A door opened, then shut, Octavia following close behind with a suitcase rolling behind her. Her left hoof struggled with the load—Seems heavier than it was before, she thought, grunting and sweating her way to the door.

The door opened once more, with Vinyl’s hoof up against the frame. She smiled.

‘Need another hoof with that, Tavi?’

'No, no—that's quite alright,' Octavia said, grunting with every tug. Vinyl placed a hoof on Octavia's chest, then pointed up to her horn.

'Did you forget about my magic?' Vinyl said, chuckling. 'Really, it's no trouble at all.'

Octavia nodded her head, and soon the bag hovered over the ground, enveloped in a light blue glow. Vinyl shut the door, and the two began walking away from their home.

'Are you feeling okay, Vinyl?'

'Hmm?'

'I mean... are you okay with me leaving and everything? I know it was done on fairly short notice, so I don't know how you feel about losing your roommate.'

Vinyl laughed. 'You think this is a bad thing? I set you up for this, Tavi! Don't worry about how I feel—it isn't even that big of a deal, anyway. I can do whatever I want with no one else in the place, your boring concerts will be a thing of the past—' She stopped for a moment. '—no, I kid. I travel all of the time, either way. You're going to come visit, I'm going to come visit; it'll be like you never left.'

'I suppose so.'

In the distance, the two could see a nearly lifeless train station in the early noon lull. A few ponies were scattered here and there around Ponyville, and only one was at the station, looking down at his wristwatch while tapping his other hoof impatiently. A train was in front of him, standing quite still. A cluster of varied suitcases and bags surrounded him, almost certainly not all belonging to him—it became obvious rather quickly, due to the banana hat resting on his head, who it was.

'That's pretty tame, especially for Gazer,' Vinyl said. 'You should see some of the stuff he's had on in Manehattan. Enough to fill a fashion disaster museum, even.'

Octavia recalled his last outf—her eyes veered to the right, and all was forgotten. She was looking to the Ponyville Music Hall once more, and her stomach churned.

No.

‘You’re a little early, Octavia. Any reason as to why?’

Star Gazer's voice made her jump; Vinyl looked to her with raised eyebrows.

'You okay, Tavi? What's gotten you spooked?'

'It's the jitters of making the big time, my good friend!' Gazer replied, giving Vinyl a good slap on the back. 'How the hell have you been?'

'Doin' alright, I guess,' Vinyl said, shrugging. 'Haven't been over in Manehattan for a while; how are things there?'

'I'm sure that, thanks to your hard work in finding these lovely musicians, things will be going just swimmingly—yes, indeed. I expect great things from your group's audition, Miss Octavia. Say, speaking of which, I figured they'd be back by now.'

'Where did they go?' Vinyl said, setting down the bags amongst the parcels lying on the station dock. Octavia stood where she was, still and silent.

Gazer frowned. 'The train had some issues or other—something about a leaky hoozmawazit, what a bother. If I knew anything about these contraptions, perhaps I could have sped up this awful delay.'

'...And the musicians?'

'Ah, right. They left for a bit to go say goodbye to some of their friends and whatnot, I believe, while the train gets repaired. Curious, really, since they'll be visiting fairly often. It's not as if we're crossing the world to get to Manehattan.'

Octavia shook from her trance—her stomach continued to churn.

'You're going to Manehattan with that outfit on?' Vinyl raised an eyebrow.

'What outfit?'

'Never mind, Gazer. You really do never change—except for your clothes, that is.'

'You've got that right!' Gazer replied, giving Vinyl another firm slap on the back. She recoiled a touch, but Gazer simply laughed. 'But, seriously, what do you mean by...'

The duo's conversation left Octavia's ears; for a while, she could not think. She could see Waltz and Sonata in the distance, but she could not shake another figure from her head.

A dancer...

'...Drunk again, eh? You must have a hangover something fierce, my friend! I certainly hope that Octavia—or any of the group for that matter—did too much on your little escapade, did they?'

'I had just a little bit, Mister Gazer,' Octavia replied.

'It speaks! And it seems we have two more speakers arriving: the mother and son of the group!'

'We're friends,' Sonata said, unamused as she shot a quick glance to Waltz. 'I'm not that old.'

'I never said you were, my dear. It was merely a figure of speech, a passing gesture, a spur of the moment whim!'

Sonata frowned, and looked to Waltz, who shrugged. 'Will the others be too much longer?'

'Not likely,' Gazer said. 'I see smoke from the train, so I certainly hope they won't take long. I'll go check on the conductor, just give me a few minutes...'

As Gazer walked over to the train's main entrance, Sonata sighed.

'Staccato is having second thoughts about this whole thing,' Sonata said. 'Be wary, Octavia, if he does something... unorthodox.'

Octavia blinked.

'You alright, Octavia?' Waltz inquired.

'I...I'm fine. Don't worry about me—just a little emotionally exhausted, I guess.'

‘Yeah, I’m just happy to be starting a new life in the big city! I’m sure the ponies my age will love my drum. I’ve heard from Vinyl that it sounds a lot like a bass, and that sounds pretty popular.’

Octavia's eyes widened—Sonata did the same. 'Wait... Vinyl? You're telling me you two already know each other?' the two said in unison.

‘Heh, you two sound like the twins.’ Waltz turned to Vinyl. ‘She just came to me after the one concert she listened to and told me about the drum. It was nothing more than that.’ Waltz shrugged. ‘I didn’t think it was a big deal.’

‘Heh, I figured as much. Say, you’re talking an awful lot more than usual, did you have a change of outgoing-ness overnight?’

‘No, I just don’t talk much when ponies I don’t know are around. And I usually don’t talk when the group is together because Staccato is usually there... he scares me. He mostly seems to care about the group itself, not the members. He just wants success.’

Octavia frowned. ‘Yeah, but he hasn’t done anything rash yet. I think it’s best just to leave him be and go on with what we're doing, even if he's having second doubts about whatever it is he's thinking about. I had... other things on my mind overnight, and Staccato wasn't one of them.'

‘Speaking of overnight,’ Sonata chimed in, pointing her hoof towards Vinyl, ‘it seems as though somepony didn’t have such a great night last night. What did you do? Get drunk or something?’

‘That’s not really any of your business.’ Vinyl paused for a moment. ‘Yeah, I suppose I was. I guess it was kind of obvious.’

‘Indeed, you do look quite unwell,’ a voice inputted from behind Vinyl and Octavia. ‘And I trust that Miss Octavia was also present in your little escapade?’

‘Staccato, I wasn’t getting drunk.’ Octavia turned after seeing Waltz frown and take a step back, unsurprisingly coming face-to-face with a frowning stallion staring straight at her.

‘That seems wholly untrue. Why would she go alone on the night you leave? Seems a little convenient either way.’

‘I was accompanying her, but I had nothing to drink.’

‘Mm.’ Staccato sighed. 'I'm just a little on edge, my dear, so I apologize for jumping to conclusions. I just don't want anything to go wrong on this trip—imagine, the Ponyville Players, playing on the big stage! I'm getting shivers already.'

'Shivers are for cold climates, silly!' Vivace said from behind Staccato, prompting him to jump. 'Did you miss me, Staccy?'

'We were gone for ten minutes at the most.' Staccato grumbled.

Vivace walked around the tense Staccato, and stood next to Octavia, laying down a single duffle bag arched over her back and her trumpet secured to her side. 'I had to say goodbye to a few more friends, but I've just been so anxious to go to Ponyville that I couldn't come any later. I've got family in Manehattan and I can't wait to see them!'

'Hey, maybe you could get lodging with them! It'd be better than whatever crummy hotel we'll wind up getting.'

‘Great idea!’ Vivace’s eyes lit up. ‘Hey, maybe if they’ll accept me, they’ll let you come too. If not, then I’d rather be with my friends than my family, in all honesty.’

‘We’ll talk about this later,' Octavia replied. 'Let’s get our stuff in the train so we can leave as soon as the twins come. I’m not really expecting them to be as early as we are—they're younger than us, right?’ She walked over to the train's entrance, ajar and blocked by Star Gazer's approaching figure.

'The train is up and running, as confirmed by our lovely attendant,' Gazer said, a young white mare blushing a few feet behind him. 'I'm surprised there aren't any other passengers—regardless, let us be off once we have the whole party here. Ah, speaking of which, there they are now.'

Gazer walked past Octavia to greet the pair of ponies. 'You two ought to get name tags, it's impossible to tell the two of you apart...'

'Octavia?'

The group's voices faded from hearing, but Vinyl's, who had moved away from the pack, was crystal. 'Octavia, you okay?'

'I'm fine, Vinyl,' Octavia replied, shaking her head. 'Honestly, I don't know why everyone keeps asking me that.'

'I dunno, you seem a little down. You just remember to have a good time, okay?' Vinyl lifted a hoof under her glasses and rubbed her eyes. 'Let me get your bags for you.'

As Octavia's bags, including her cello's black case, rose into the air, Octavia smirked. 'Are you tearing up, Vinyl?'

Vinyl's hoof quickly lowered, and her mouth twisted. 'W-huh? No, no—I don't cry, Octavia. I guess I'll miss you and all, but you said you'd come visit, so I wouldn't—'

Octavia embraced Vinyl, and the bags dropped mid-flight inside the train. Vinyl's initial surprise faded, and one of her hooves reached up and patted her back.

'I, uh,' Vinyl said, breaking away from the embrace, 'I'm not very good at saying goodbyes or hugging, I guess. So, uh... guess I'll see you later, then,' she finished, turning as the rest of the group approached.

'That's fine—and I'll come back as soon as I can.' Octavia walked into the train along with the rest of her group—getting to a side booth was hard enough without the bags and assorted clothing in the way, littering the train car's floor. The attendant sighed at the terrible mess, but kept her composure as she dealt with Gazer and the group's tickets for the journey.

Once Octavia had found a booth, with Vivace following close behind, she stared out the window. The train had not begun moving, but Vinyl was already waving her hoof on the station dock. Octavia waved back.

'And we're off!' Gazer shouted as the doors shut.

Octavia continued to wave until the train started moving, where Vinyl put her hoof back down and prepared to leave.

A glint through a window belonging to Ponyville Music Hall caught Octavia's eye, sidetracking her from all other thoughts.

A yellow glint, with the familiar outline of a pony.

All she should make out was a downcast expression on the figure staring straight back at her, as if it had a longing for the cellist to come to her. But Octavia could not see any more, as the train moving made the Hall appear as no more but a speck in the distance.

She would never see through that window again.

VI - Candle in the Wind

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

VII - Alto

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

VIII - Allegrezza

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

IX - Finale

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

X - Coda

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.