Private Gig

Chapters

Op. 1, Movt 3: Intimo
Op. 1, Movt 4: Ma Non Troppo
Op. 2, Movt 1: Acceso
Op. 2, Movt 2: Andante
Op. 2, Movt 3: Freddo
Op. 2, Movt 4: Barcollando
IM 2: Letters Between Octavia and Her Agent
Op. 3, Movt 1: Come Sta
Op. 1, Movt 1: Prelude
Op. 1, Movt 2: A Prima Vista
IM 1: A Memo Between Castle Servants

Op. 1, Movt 3: Intimo

Private Gig
by NavyPony

Op. 1, Movt 3
Intimo

After nearly five hours of frenzied activity, Twilight’s birthday party began to wrap up; the afternoon wore into evening, and all but a few ponies trickled out, each offering their thanks and congratulations. The first to leave were those whose jobs necessitated an early departure – the nurses, one or two of the mail ponies, a change of shift for cloud patrol, and the like. Then it was those with foals at home – Carrot and Cup Cake and their compatriots; Fluttershy fell into a similar vein, apologizing profusely as she went to take care of her animal companions. Not much later, parents started pulling their fillies and colts away, citing the need to eat something more balanced than just pastries for dinner. Rainbow Dash left with most of the casual guests, heading out for weather duty just before Pinkie Pie started to organize cleanup. That complete, the pink mare left, as well, heading back to Sugarcube Corner for incomprehensible but painstakingly-explained reasons. Before long, the library was almost empty.

“Sure has cleared out,” Applejack commented to nopony in particular, sipping at some punch as she leaned against a bookshelf. “Almost seems like normal for this place, don’t it?”

“Actually, it’s still busier than usual,” Twilight responded, not a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “Not that I’m complaining, just that that it’s usually only Spike and me, and right now there’s… hey…” She scanned the ground floor of the library with a perplexed expression before calling over the background music, “Spike? Spike!?” When the young dragon failed to answer she turned back to her friends. “Have either of you seen Spike?”

Rarity’s reply was emphasized by a nod and a delicate smile. “I have, actually. I believe that uh, somepony, invited him to spend the night at Fluttershy’s Cottage. She’s taking care of Sweetie Belle tonight, you see, and not that Fluttershy isn’t a fabulous individual, but I fear Sweetie would’ve been bored senseless without another friend. Plus,” Rarity added, an awkward sort of lilt in her voice, “you’ll be wanting some privacy tonight…”

“Privacy?” Applejack and Twilight said simultaneously, both with similarly confused looks on their faces.

“Well… don’t worry about it, then.” Rarity aimed a surreptitious glance across the library, where its last occupant, the musician Octavia, was still playing away on her cello. “Although I must ask, have you spoken to Miss van Clef as of yet?”

Twilight failed to suppress a blush when the performer’s name was mentioned. “What? That’s… I mean, no. It’s just, she hasn’t stopped playing, and I didn’t want to interrupt her, and…” She shrugged and tapped a hoof against the ground timidly. “I thought it’d be a shame to make her stop playing just because I wanted to talk to her.”

“Uhh, Twilight?” Applejack interjected, draining the last of her punch. “Ya mean to say she came all the way here to play, and ya haven’t even spoke to the mare? Why dontcha invite her to join us and enjoy a slice o’ some cake and to chat with us or somethin’? Ah’m sure she’d appreciate it, and from what Ah’ve heard, you’d like the chance to meet her, right?”

Nopony heard Rarity mutter the word, “Privacy…” under her breath.

“Of course…” Twilight took two steps across the library before stopping in her tracks. “It’s just, I don’t want to interrupt her playing… Should I wait until she finishes the song?”

Much to the surprise of everypony else present, Octavia was the one to answer. “That won’t be necessary,” the grey mare intoned softly, neither opening her eyes nor missing a beat in her song. “I’m quite capable of carrying on a conversation while playing. And on the subject of which, good evening Miss Twilight Sparkle. Have you enjoyed your evening thus far?”

Finally summoning the courage to speak, Twilight marched across the room, her friends close on her heels. “Certainly! It was spectacular. You were spectacular. Thank you for coming.”

“Wouldja like something to eat?” Applejack inserted. “Ya must be famished after all that playin’, and there’s plenty o’ leftovers ‘round here. Or somethin’ to drink, perhaps? We got punch and the like.”

“That’s very kind of you to offer, but I am quite fine,” the musician said softly, moving into an elegant and legato stretch of her song, “Might I ask your name, Miss…”

“The name’s Applejack, but mah friend’s call me ‘AJ’. This here’s Rarity,” the farmer motioned towards the seamstress, who seemed to be doing her best to remain silent, “and this’s Twi, but I guess y’already know who she is, it bein’ her birthday and all.”

“In a certain capacity,” the mare replied, a mercurial quality to both her voice and her face. “Although not quite in the same manner as many of my other clients. I look forward to getting to know her better. If you’re amiable, that is?” She asked, turning towards Twilight with a charming smile.

Standing in front of her friend, Twilight couldn’t see the expression on Rarity’s face; otherwise, she would’ve been too distracted to reply. “Of course I’d like to get to know you better!” she declared. “When do you have to leave? I mean, I don’t want to monopolize your time if you intend to catch the late train back to Canterlot, or anything.”

Octavia responded with an airy laugh which perfectly complimented her music. “I’m here at your pleasure, Twilight Sparkle. Far be it from monopolizing, you’re more than entitled to my time. I have no expectations of returning to Canterlot until sometime tomorrow.”

Twilight was mystified, Applejack was concerned, and Rarity was just as composed as she desired.

“But…”

“Eh?”

“Ahem. Perhaps it’s time for me to be going… I do have quite a lot of work to do, after all, and the night isn’t getting younger. AJ?” She threw a less-than-subtle hoof over the earth pony’s shoulders. “Perhaps it’s time that-”

“Nah, hold on a sec,” Applejack butted in, dismissing her friend’s suggestion and throwing the hoof off her back. “Miss Octavia, you’re aware that Ponyville don’t rightly have an inn o’ any sort? Do y’all got plans ‘bout where you’ll be spending the night? ‘Cuz if not, Sweet Apple Acres’ve got a couple o’ rooms available. Breakfast, too, if you’re okay with traditional fare. We’re kinda south by southwestish of here, y’know.”

“Applejack,” Rarity pronounced through clenched teeth, “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

Octavia was about to say something charming and kind, but Twilight’s enthusiasm beat the other mare’s decorum. “Of course it won’t be a problem! I have a guest bed!” the unicorn pronounced happily, referring to the same piece of furniture Rarity and Applejack had shared during Twilight’s first sleepover. “If that’s okay with you, I mean? It’s probably not what you’re used to, but…”

“I imagine it will be perfectly satisfactory.” Octavia said, managing a smile that was simultaneously coy, coquettish, and too nuanced for anypony other than Rarity to fully understand. “Now, do any of you have any requests? With such a minute audience, it’s rather difficult guessing what might be well-received… with the songs that is,” she added with a flourish of her bow.

“Actually, Ah’ve always been a fan o’ Pachelbuck’s-”

“Ahem,” Rarity repeated, once more throwing a forehoof over the other pony’s shoulders. “I think it’s time that we took our leave. As I was saying, Applejack, I imagine the two of them will be-”

“But…”

“Privacy,” she hissed.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Even after Applejack and Rarity had left, the musician kept on playing, finishing her song. When that was finished, she asked if Twilight had any particular requests while it was just them. With characteristic decisiveness, the young mare declared that yes, she did, if Octavia knew it. Hayndel’s Passacaglia was usually interpreted as a duet, but…

She did. Octavia kept her eyes closed until the piece was finished, lifting her bow from the cello’s strings and letting the last note fade into oblivion, and instigating an impulsive hoof-stomp from her audience. It was an energetic ovation, and typical of Twilight’s natural vivacity, but it was still appropriately quiet. They were alone in a library, after all. “Brava, brava,” Twilight gasped, just loudly enough to be heard above her applause. “That song is… it’s…”

“It’s a little bit more serious than my clients usually like,” Octavia inserted, just as Twilight was beginning to struggle to find a suitable description. “Not counting the Suites, that is, but they’re the definitive cello solos. At any rate, I probably like this piece more for the fact that I get to play it so rarely; I’m glad you appreciated it.”

“What?” the unicorn interjected, rising from the reclining position she’d maintained during the performance. “I’m glad I appreciated it! I, hmm… I intended that to be smarter sounding than it really was.”

Octavia took Twilight’s words with an amused smile and an effervescent chuckle, but changed the subject. With all the refinement assumed of a Canterlot sophisticate and far more than typically possessed, she asked, “Do you have any other requests – musical or…” She trailed off with a rolling hoof motion, not so much searching for the right word as pretending to do so. “… Or otherwise?”

Op. 1, Movt 4: Ma Non Troppo

Private Gig
by NavyPony

Op. 1, Movt 4
Ma Non Troppo

Sitting down together, it didn’t take Twilight long to realize something remarkable: Octavia van Clef was a bona fide conversationalist. She was engaging and sociable, and seemed thoroughly interested in everything the unicorn had to say. Every comment Octavia made was suggestive of a keen mind and a clever wit, but she tempered it with a natural and good-natured graciousness. She neither dominated the discussion nor remained passive in it, having just the right amount to say at just the right times. The conversation moved naturally, and it refused to run out of steam – not only was Octavia interesting, but she seemed to know something about everything. Not a topic came up in which the earth pony didn’t have something useful to contribute.

By comparison, Twilight felt like she had much less to offer. “Octavia,” she asked, levitating a pair of plates onto her kitchen table. “Would you prefer the cake or the… you know, I’m sorry. May I call you Octavia, or would you prefer your full name? Or an honorific – ‘Miss Octavia’, maybe?” Twilight asked, becoming sidetracked. “Although Rarity called you ‘Miss van Clef’, and I think she knows you better, so-”

“Miss Sparkle, the pie looks delicious, and being that we’re not in public you’re welcome to call me whatever you desire,” Octavia van Clef said, brushing aside questions with a casual gesture of her hoof. “I’m unparticular. You, on the otherhoof… are my client. Do you have a preference?”

“Just Twilight, please. If that’s okay with you, I mean. It’s what my friends call me.”

“Friends, then,” commented the musician genially. “Well, if that’s how you want to think of us, you’re more than welcome to call me Octavia, or whatever else you find natural.”

“But you’re…” Twilight’s face colored slightly. “You’re Octavia van Clef. Is that alright?”

“In the privacy of your home? Naturally. Different ponies prefer to call me by different names, and I don’t mind. Call me whatever you want; it neither changes nor dilutes who I am.”

Twilight found herself enjoying the stark wisdom of the comment – it almost seemed like the kind of thing to write to Princess Celestia about. “I suppose you’re right,” she acknowledged, finally remembering to pass a slice of pie across the table. “After all, what’s in a name?”

“What’s in a name?” As naturally as breathing, Octavia continued the line, albeit taking certain liberties. “That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet. So Octavia would, were she not Octavia called, retain that dear perfection which she owes without that title. Twilight, doff my name, and for that name which is no part of thee take all yourself.”

Even had she tried, Twilight Sparkle couldn’t have refrained from accentuating her words with a couple hoofclaps of applause as she exclaimed, “That’s spectacular! Romaneo and Juliet, act… two, I think?”

“Act two, scene two,” Octavia confirmed. “Although I can’t admit to being a particular fan.”

“Not a fan?” Twilight had been levitating a bite of cake towards her mouth, but it stopped in midair. “Of Shakesaddle?”

The musician covered her mouth daintily as she chuckled. “No, no,” she corrected, composing herself, “the Bard I quite enjoy. I’m referring to Romaneo and Juliet specifically, and I’m not talking about the play. It’s the characters themselves to which I refer.”

“Oh.” The answer satisfied Twilight enough to smooth her brow and allow her to resume eating. “Why is that?

“They’re simply so… naïve. They’re teenagers who meet each other at a party, and despite knowing nothing about love, they decide that they’re soulmates and that death is ultimately preferable to life alone?” Octavia interrupted herself with a melancholic sigh before continuing. “It seems pointless to me… even silly, and that’s what makes it a tragedy, I suppose. But what about you, Twilight?” she asked, turning the conversation away from herself as she emphasized the unicorn’s name. “I take it that you’re a particular fan of Shakesaddle; what are your favorites?”

“Well, Haymlet is definitely my favorite tragedy, and as for comedies…” She paused momentarily, head tilting to the side as she considered the question. “I think my favorite is ‘Much Ado About Nothing’, but ‘Breaking of the Nag’ is a close second.”

Octavia pursed her lips inquisitively. “You don’t mention any of the histories.”

“I talked to the Princess about them once,” she confided. “About how different things must’ve been back in those days – all the emergencies and attacks and rebellions from which she saved Equestria. I asked her why that doesn’t happen anymore, you see – if it was a social change, or improved international relations, or something else.”

The grey mare chimed in just as she was supposed to. “And what did she say?”

“She said,” Twilight intoned with a dull sort of humor, “that the biggest change since then, was that ponies don’t publish fiction like that nowadays. And now I can’t really enjoy them.” Twilight shrugged her shoulders helplessly and shook her head. “I mean, how can they be called ‘histories’ if they’re actually fiction?”

“I don’t really know,” Octavia responded, taking a tiny bite of her pie. “Although I imagine that you have plenty of other options from which to choose, being that you live in a library.” She glanced about the room, surveying the mostly-empty building with an eye many times sharper than her casual expression. The shelves were organized, but with random volumes missing, and the ledger was mostly unused. A few tomes were tucked in special nooks and crannies, all of them tired and dog-eared. The entire place was warm, comfortable, and obviously loved. It was apparent to Octavia that this wasn’t just the building in which Twilight Sparkle lived – it was her home. “It seems cozy. Intimate, even. Have you lived here long?”

“Umm, no, actually.” Despite her usual comfort with the subject, Twilight permitted a sheepish grin to paint her face. “Umm… Princess Celestia set it up for me when I moved here, just a little bit back. I moved to Ponyville on special assignment from Her.” Her tone was marginally boastful, but in her defense, it was true.

Nopony, least of all Octavia van Clef, could have mistaken the tone with which Twilight said the Princess’ name. “The two of you must be very close, for the Princess of all ponies to be sending you a birthday present like me.” She smiled, and it was perhaps the most honest one she’d worn all night. “This is a very strange gig.”

Twilight misunderstood entirely. “Strange?” she asked anxiously, the canvas of her brow creasing expressively. “But not in a bad way, right? If something’s wrong, it’s definitely my fault, and not because of the Princess! She was probably just too busy-“

Octavia cut off the lavender mare with a raised hoof and a gently expression. “Nothing’s wrong Twilight; I’m enjoying myself immensely. I simply meant that my you’re not much akin to my expectations. I’ve met ponies that would kill to be as close to the princess as you are, you know, and few of them were much like you.” She paused momentarily, turning on one of her more charming smiles. “You’re very interesting.”

“Umm, thank you?” Twilight did her best to mimic the other pony’s expression. It was, after all, a very pretty smile. “You’re… very interesting, too.”

“That’s very sweet of you to say. Would you-”

“Oh! I forgot to offer you something to drink!”

Twilight dashed to the kitchen before Octavia could decline.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

“I never realized it was such an event out here. The entire town spends that long on it? And they really do it entirely without magic?” Octavia asked, cradling a half-empty glass of warm milk between her hooves. She somehow preserved her air of refinement despite the vaguely slouched posture. “I can hardly imagine such a thing, let alone its success. Whatever happened?”

Twilight’s reply was good-natured in tone, although it had hints of conspiracy around the edge. Here, at least, was a fellow Canterlotian who knew how things were supposed to be done. “Well, between you and me, they were really disorganized. I don’t think they’d ever finished on time in the last couple years. And it wasn’t because not using magic made it more work, I think. Instead, it was literally because they didn’t use magic. Rather than planning a course of action, they just attacked every problem independently on a micro-level. They eventually reached a sort of Nashian equilibrium, caught in a circular tug-of-war.”

“You think that if they’d approached it from an arcane perspective, they’d have realized they were facing issues of OSP?”

“More or less,” she answered, taking a sip from her mug of tea. “Without the focus on economy of action that we learn from basic- Wait, what? You’re familiar with the Opposing Schools Phenomenon?”

Octavia smiled and took one of the last few bites of the bit of pie that remained on her plate. “Somewhat,” she offered enigmatically.

Twilight hesitated. She wanted- no, she had to sate her curiosity… But she didn’t know how to share her thoughts without coming across wrong. The solution, therefore, was to ask. “Would it be racist for me to ask how you, I mean… know magic theory?”

With the intentional slowness demanded of anypony using hooves instead of magic to wield her silverware, the musician lowered her fork and knife onto the edges of her plate. “You know, Twilight, I don’t believe anypony’s ever asked me that question.”

Twilight’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “I’m sorry! I don’t think earth ponies are stupid or anything, it’s just that I’ve never met a non-unicorn who knew about the basics of magic, and-”

“And I’m an earth pony,” Octavia filled in. “I should be more precise – I’ve never had anypony ask if that question was inappropriate.” Realizing the agitated look on the librarian’s face, she added, “And it isn’t.”

“Then… How? Why?”

“Twilight,” the other mare intoned with a melodic sort of weight to her voice, “I live and work in Upper Canterlot. The majority of my clients are unicorns, and most of the rest wish they were,” she explained. “The most recent magical breakthrough is always in vogue, after all, and I wouldn’t be much of an entertainer if I were unable to talk about what my clients were talking about.”

“So… you know about magical theory as a… a conversation piece? Does that mean that you do this often?” Twilight inquired scratching her head. “Sit down with ponies and just… chat with them?”

“Yes, actually. Being good at conversation is important for many facets of my job. The social scene, of course, is my bread and butter – attending events and giving a good impression, that sort of thing. It’s advertising, in a way, and nothing gives a bad impression like being a dullard. Nopony wants to hire a dullard for anything.” Octavia laughed melodically, as if what she said were some sort of private joke. “Then there are there some of my more public engagements – gigs that take me into the spotlight.”

“Like the Grand Galloping Gala?”

Octavia refrained from rolling her eyes at the memory. “Not quite. Sometimes my larger employers enjoy making public appearances with me in tow – dinner and whatnot. Kind of… showing off, you might say. Other times I perform at events kind of like this one…” she waved a dainty hoof at the room, drawing attention towards remains of this afternoon’s party, “and the guests want to speak with me. In both cases, it’s important that I can converse with them – gossip, fashion, and politics are the most common topics, although anything is fair game.”

Twilight’s gaze became somewhat more distant, although it maintained its deadlock on Octavia. “Oh. I guess that explains why you’re so well-read.”

“Somewhat,” she admitted, “but it doesn’t compare to the last reason I do this.”

“And that is?”

“Well… this,” the hired mare sang. “Just… talking. Conversation. Intimacy. So few ponies are willing to take the time to understand each other nowadays, and I’m popular because I take the time to do just that. You might be surprised how many of my clients want somepony to sit down and really listen to them – to talk to them.” Octavia drained the last of her glass of milk. “Some ponies even purchase my time for the sole purpose of conversation, choosing to… ignore my other services.”

Twilight was taken aback by the suggestion. “Really? That seems… strange. Especially with you, Octavia. Why would they-”

“You feel that way, then?” Octavia smiled coquettishly at the mare across from her. She rose from her chair and began to exit the kitchen. “Well I have nowhere to be tomorrow and we have all night. Would you like me to…”

“Yes, that’s…” Twilight gushed, seeming too pleased for words. “Of course! I’d love to hear you play some more!”

Twilight didn’t notice the tiny break in Octavia’s gait when she heard the request. “Of course.” The grey mare changed direction midstride, sauntered over to her cello, and prepared to play. “Do you have any requests?”

“What’s a piece you think that I would like?”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Octavia didn’t know what possessed her to choose the first of Benjamane Britten’s Cello Suites. Being neither pleasant nor comfortable, it was far from the kind of song that seemed at ease in a library, and it was nothing alike the nighttime serenades that she normally played in these situations. But on the other hoof… It seemed right. Octavia progressed slowly but relentlessly through the song, drawing it out as best she could, and when the song finally ended, Cello Suite No. 1 somehow became Suite No. 2, which itself became No. 3. The night waxed, and much to her surprise, Octavia found herself engrossed in the performance, if only because it was so different from her typical routines. There was a faint sheen of sweat on her face as she started the tail end of Suite No. 2, and she was struggling to keep tears out her eyes when she got to No. 3’s Seventh Movement. Octavia played and played and played, and she did so perfectly.

Twilight Sparkle was only halfway aware of any of this. The faceted themes of the piece, coupled with the deeply passionate tone Octavia lent it, had enthralled the young mare from the very beginning. Though she’d fixed herself another mug of tea as the musician went through the Second Suite, the young mare soon found herself dancing in and out of consciousness, melodies playing through her head as she drifted between sleep and wakefulness. It was only when the music finally ended that she returned from her half-slumber, a languid smile on her face. “That was… beautiful,” she declared. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” Octavia intoned, taking a slight bow. “Is there anything else you’d like?”

“I, ah…” Twilight had to stop and cover her mouth as she yawned. “I would love to listen to more, but I think it’s – wow, is it really that late?” The nearest clock professed that they were closer to sunrise than sunset. “I’m afraid I should be getting to sleep.” She yawned again. “Come upstairs and I’ll show you to the bedroom.”

No longer sure what to expect from the unicorn, Octavia followed the other mare, and one staircase later, she found herself in a surprisingly crowded chamber. It looked out of place compared to the structured organization of the actual library, with disorganized and overcrowded bookshelves lining several walls, cluttered desks, and all kinds of writing implements and magical paraphernalia littering the floor. A trio of clocks adorned one wall, including a beautifully hoofcrafted cuckoo clock, and the far side of the room was dominated by a doorway to a stargazing platform. Little bits of artwork, random pieces of clothing, the remains of magical experiments, and an eclectic assortment of official-looking awards and photographs littered the room, all distracting the observer from the one thing that made this Twilight’s bedroom: the bed. Of which, conspicuously, there was only one, and it was quite large enough for two ponies to share very comfortably. “In that case, shall we…” Octavia started to untie her bowtie and began a slow amble toward the star-and-moon-decorated covers.

“Actually, one moment, please.” Twilight illuminated her horn and cleared much of the room in an impressive display of telekinesis, made more so for her obvious fatigue. “Let me just make room for the guest bed.”

“Guest bed?”

“Of course. I take it out when other ponies spend the night…” Twilight yawned once more as a purple glow enveloped two dozen pieces of… stuff in the closet. With no apparent effort on the unicorn’s part, the pieces drifted out and began assembling themselves – bed frame, headboard, and mattress all coming together perfectly. “Unless you’d prefer the sofa?” she added, halting the construction. “It’s comfortable too, but I think you’d prefer the bed. It’s better for your back.”

Ever the gentlemare, Octavia nodded passively and took a couple petite steps towards the bed. “If you think your guest bed is the better choice, I will take your word for it. Thank you.”

With one last flicker of Twilight’s magic, linens and pillows winked into existence on the guest bed. “No problem, then.” Her task complete, the purple mare flopped onto her own bed and crawled under the covers as Octavia did the same across the room. She sighed three words as she drifted to sleep. “Good night, Octavia.”

“Good night, Twilight.”

Op. 2, Movt 1: Acceso

Private Gig
by NavyPony

Op. 2, Movt 1
Acceso

The morning came late for many ponies, and neither least nor greatest amongst them was Octavia van Clef. She awoke slowly, her eyes sliding open of their own accord as she rose to her hooves. Yawning, the mare took in her surroundings.

The second floor of the Ponyville Library was illuminated by the rising sun, with thick rays of light dripping through the eastern window and saturating Twilight Sparkle’s bedroom. It somehow seemed smaller and more cluttered in the daylight and Octavia was reminded of the fact that she’d arrived unexpected. All the little things that she hadn’t noticed the night before – the minute details of Twilight’s life – were on complete display. It was uniquely intimate and, if Octavia were going to be honest with herself, a little bit voyeuristic. It was a private peek into her client’s mind, after all.

Not that it stopped her.

The bookshelves were crammed with volumes of every variety and without conceivable categorization – novels, biographies, textbooks, and political writings were all interspersed without reason, and it spoke of a scholastic but disorderly nature. The three clocks on the wall and the little alarm clock on the bed stand all displayed the exact same time, showing that Twilight was a meticulous perfectionist and probably downright obsessive. Her collection of quills looked well-used, and the trash bin was filled with empty ink bottles, scroll cases, and used teabags; it suggested long nights writing and studying, and the stacks of parchment in Twilight’s hornwriting backed it up. Although there were several photographs placed prominently about, Twilight appeared in only one of them. Coupled with the fact that her mirror and grooming supplies occupied only a tiny corner of the room, the purple mare was probably quite humble. Her bed had been left unmade. It suggested that Twilight was more concerned with action than appearance and that she tended towards organization only when it was functional.

It also meant that Twilight was already awake.

Octavia mouthed a silent curse when she realized she was alone in the room. Waking up after her clients may not have been a matter of bad business when she was paid in advance, but it was certainly poor form. Conventional attitudes of upper Canterlot held that sleeping past sunrise was disrespectful to Princess Celestia but Octavia was more concerned with what she’d termed next-day-weirdness. Whether it was regret, embarrassment, detachment, or whatever else, Octavia’s experience suggested that any morning in which she slept later than her clients turned out to be… awkward.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

On this occasion, that awkwardness presented itself as a dark, opaque haze which separated the two mares – literally. “Good morning?” Octavia called from the top of the stairs, straining her eyes to see through the acrid-smelling smoke filling the library’s first floor. “Twilight? Twilight, are you about?”

The distant quality of Twilight’s voice suggested that she further away than the library’s main chamber. “Oh, Octavia? Good– eheheh. Good morning!” she called cheerily. “I’m in the, ugh, ahem, the kitchen! Come down!”

“K-kitchen?” Octavia started moving towards Twilight’s location, using her ears more than her eyes as the smoke became denser and denser. “Ehem. Twilight, I think there’s something wrong, perhaps-”

“No, ugh, everything’s, ach. Everything’s fine! I’m just, ehech, ehech, I’m making breakfast!”

The catch in Octavia’s throat had less to do with the fumes than she would’ve liked to admit. “Ah. Making breakfast?” she echoed, arriving in the kitchen doorway only to find it even worse than expected. The harsh smoke bit at her nose and made her eyes water, but she maintained picture-perfect composure. She even managed a slight smile, depending on one’s definition of the word. “That’s… very thoughtful of you. What are you…” Octavia hesitated before using the word, “cooking?”

“They’re, ach, they’re supposed to be potato pancakes. I think.” The failing chef turned away from the stovetop to explain, “One of Golden Harvest’s, uhuh, ahem, sorry. One of my friends gave it to me. She got it from one of her cousins who’s apparently a chef, and she, ahech, she gave it to me. It’s supposed to be a really good recipe, but I’m starting to think that-” Octavia never learned what it was Twilight was starting to think, as her attention was suddenly consumed by a flash of yellow-orange just over the other mare’s withers.

“Twilight, I think your pancakes are on fire.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

“So that’s a daffodil omelet with apple hash browns for unicorn,” the cream-colored stallion recited, “and the fruit platter and a croissant for the earth pony. Will that be all?”

“That’s fine,” Twilight declared. “And could we please get some refills on the orange juice? And… Octavia?”

“More coffee for me, thank you.”

“Very well. A server shall be out shortly while I relay your orders. If you have any concerns, do not hesitate to ask.” Their waiter departed, visiting one of the other tables in front of the café before finally going inside. It left the two mares alone to make small talk.

Well, alone was not perfectly accurate; there were other customers at other tables, after all, but none of them paid more than passing interest in either Octavia or Twilight. More interesting, perhaps, was the fact that they seemed equally unconcerned with the plumes of black smoke still issuing from the library’s windows. Her smile faltered an edge when she thought about it.

Her musings were quickly interrupted. “So, Octavia. I’m, uhh, really sorry about that… thing with breakfast. In retrospect, I suppose I should’ve just suggested this in the first place.”

Her smile snapped right back into place. “It was… something of an experience, I’ll admit, but no lasting harm was done.” The only ill effect she’d suffered was that her coat smelled of burnt potatoes and her cello’s case had kept it from suffering a similar fate. “Your books, however…”

“Hmm?” Twilight paused for the briefest of moments. “Oh, you mean because of the smoke. They’ll be fine – all the shelves are enchanted to protect the books from smoke and humidity and the like. It’s really kind of a necessary precaution.”

“Is that so? Does this sort of thing happen often?”

As if to answer Octavia’s question, one of the café’s waitresses approached, the filly levitating both a pitcher of juice and a carafe of coffee. “Good morning, Twilight, madam.” She nodded to each of them in kind as she placed the orange juice on the table between them. “I saw the smoke this morning, Twilight – what kind of spell was it this time?”

“Um.” The unicorn’s lavender cheeks took on a magenta hue at the question. “Actually…”

She began filling Octavia’s cup of coffee. “Must have been Spike then, huh? Well, it’s nice to see that it was only smoke this time, not like last week. Say, ma’am, would you like any cream or sugar for your coffee? Ma’am?”

“Hmm?” Not until she turned to face the waitress did Octavia realize she’d been staring at Twilight. Even worse, her mouth was agape. She quickly rectified the situation and turned away. “Oh, no, thank you. Black is fine.”

“Okay then. If you change your mind, let me know,” she called over her shoulder, ambling back inside. “Have a nice morning Twilight! And you too, Miss!”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

“Look at that. Look at that! Do you see that?”

“Look at what?” Bonbon swiveled her torso until she could see the direction her marefriend was pointing. She immediately wished she hadn’t. “Lyra, please. Are you still going on about them? It’s just Twilight Sparkle and that musician that played for her birthday party last night. They’re having breakfast together, just like us. There’s nothing to look at.”

“Yes there is,” the teal unicorn hissed. “Don’t you see what’s going on here – what Octy’s doing? It’s completely inappropriate. Scandalous, even.”

“Completely inap-” The ivory mare shot another quick glance to the opposite end of the patio. “No. They’re just talking over breakfast. There’s nothing even remotely weird going on.” Bonbon turned back towards her own table with a heavy sigh and a well-practiced scowl. “Come to think of it, they’re probably the most normal table here.”

“I’m telling you Bons, it’s totally outrageous.” She clopped a hoof on their table, nearly upending the little saucer of syrup by Bonbon’s plate. “This kind of thing shouldn’t be going on in Ponyville. Not in my Ponyville.”

“Your Ponyville?”

“Fine. Our Ponyville. Whatever the case, depravity of this order doesn’t belong anywhere.”

“That bad, huh?” Bonbon deadpanned. “Alright then, get it out of your system. What’s going on that’s so scandalous?”

“Refills,” Lyra uttered with absolute seriousness. “That waitress has refilled their drinks three times since they sat down, whereas we got here before them and I’ve only gotten one refill on my coffee.”

“And you still haven’t finished that cup,” Bonbon retorted, pointing at the tepid mug in front of her marefriend. “Perhaps she’s not coming around because she can see that you haven’t finished it yet.”

“No, she’s not coming around because of discrimination,” asserted Lyra, becoming more passionate with every word. “That waitress is giving them preferential treatment because she knows that they’re both from Canterlot, and she assumes that they’re going to tip better because of it. Do you know how the average annual income of a Canterlot musician compares to the average income of musicians in the rest of Equestria?”

“Forty-three percent?”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

The cream-colored stallion stood at the edge of the table, his gaze sliding from Twilight to Octavia. The former was sipping a mug of coffee and the latter picking daintily at the last of her fruit tray, but both were more engrossed in their conversation than what remained of their meals – something to do with Canterlot politics that he could only pretend to understand. Horte Cuisine looked back and forth between them once more.

He reviewed the bill. Two glasses orange juice. Two cups coffee, complimentary. Daffodil omelet. Fruit platter. Side of apple browns. Croissant. Total: seventeen and a half bits. It hadn’t changed since the last two times he’d checked it.

He gave another glance to the mares in front of him, this time starting with Octavia and moving to Twilight. It would’ve made sense to just pass the bill to Twilight; she was, if not a regular, a resident of Ponyville. But the musician… well, even if it was only for a moment, she’d shot him a glare that screamed out that she wanted the check. Maybe. There was also the possibility that she was just born with a very demanding sort of expression on her face.

He scanned the receipt once more. Two glasses orange juice. Two cups coffee, complimentary. Daffodil omelet. Fruit platter. Side of apple browns. Croissant. Total: seventeen and a half bits. It was still the same.

He looked back and forth between them. Again. Twilight, Octavia. Octavia, Twilight.

Screw it. Deciding who paid for the meal was not his job. He slid the bill onto the table face-down, in the dead-center of the table. “Let me just leave this with you,” he pronounced quietly, making sure the check was no closer to one customer than the other.

Both of the mares noticed the bill, turned to face the waiter, looked back at the bill, and then at each other. They then turned back to Horte, both attempting to speak simultaneously.

“Uhh…”

“That’s somewhat…”

The waiter stuck his nose into the air and with a slight cough, turned tail. “Take your time, ladies. I’ll be back in a little bit.” He retreated to the kitchen before either could form a complete sentence.

So the two of them were left alone with the bill. They both reached for it simultaneously, their discussion forgotten.

“Well, how about I…”

“I don’t normally offer to do this, but, perhaps it would be proper if I…”

Both of their hooves stopped halfway to the middle of the table, the check unreached. They smiled rather exuberantly at each other, spending a long moment with both of their hooves suspended in midair.

Twilight went first, albeit ineloquently. “Um.”

“Actually, I-”

“Perhaps…”

“Well.”

“Maybe I should-”

“Perchance you would allow me?”

“Octavia…” Twilight put her hoof down on the bill.

The musician did the same, mimicking the pony across from her. “Twilight?”

The unicorn grinned sheepishly and in a tone with which Octavia was all too familiar she murmured, "Please, let me?”

Octavia swore inaudibly. Worse, she hesitated, and while Twilight (presumably) never noticed the fact, it bothered Octavia. She’d normally have acquiesced, and smiled as she so did. She’d normally have anticipated, if not suggested, that Twilight assumed the bill. Moreover, it would have normally been stipulated in her contract that any additional expenses were incurred at the cost of her client. And unless her agent had royally bucked this gig up, things were no different now than they normally were.

But somehow… it was different. “Why don’t you let me?” She pulled the slip of paper closer to her side of the table.

Twilight blinked twice before responding. “Well… that wouldn’t really seem right. I mean, if I hadn’t screwed up breakfast…” She blushed at the consideration. “Well, if I could cook right, we wouldn’t be here at all. So I should pay, right?” She dragged the bill back towards her side. “Besides, I’m the one who suggested this place.”

“But if I weren’t here,” Octavia gave another tug on the bill, “you wouldn’t even have gone out to eat this morning, no?” She inclined her head in the most suggestive way she knew. “So maybe I should-“

Twilight pulled the check towards her before she could muster an argument. “But I…”

Octavia raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “But?”

The unicorn attempted to come up with an answer, her face dancing through a series of expressions as she did so. “Ahh? Um. Eh, uhh… but it’s my birthday?”

The musician responded with as much grace as she’d ever claimed. “It’s not the first birthday at which I’ve performed.”

“Oh.” Twilight’s countenance faded into the very slightest smile possible, and somehow, impossibly, Octavia was bothered by that fact. “Well… please?”

She sighed and conceded, “Why don’t we split it?”

Op. 2, Movt 2: Andante

Private Gig
by NavyPony

Op. 2, Movt 2
Andante

Ponyville was not what Octavia had expected. It was bigger than she’d imagined, (which wasn’t saying much, to be sure), but it was still small. It was tiny, in fact – compared to Canterlot, Manehattan, or anywhere she’d visited, this place was orders of magnitude smaller. But despite that, or even because of that it was lively in a way novel to Octavia. The residents were cheerful and friendly, without the insular attitudes she expected from a town in which everypony knew everypony else’s name (and from what she’d seen, they most certainly did). She and Twilight had been the recipients of scores of greetings throughout the morning, and every one of them had seemed genuinely friendly not just to Twilight, but to Octavia as well. It was like a storybook village, and it would’ve been charming had it not been so utterly alien. And then there was the weather. It seemed… too right. In conversation with a resident of Ponyville, Octavia found herself apt to describe it as ‘better than anypony could hope for’. Among her more traditional clients, however, she might’ve found a different word. Cliché.

While the musician was chewing on her opinions of Ponyville, the magician was struggling with another thought. It was not until they were more than halfway back to the library when Twilight finally broke the silence that had built up around them. “So, Octavia… do you have to be leaving soon?”

“Oh?” Such a question was a faux pas amongst faux pas, but when coming from Twilight… It just made Octavia sigh internally. It was mostly good-natured. She tilted her head to the side, dark mane swinging behind the inscrutable mask which her face had become. “Would you like me to leave?”

“What? No!” Twilight answered too quickly. “No, no, of course not. I just meant that I don’t want to make you late for… whatever you might have waiting for you in Canterlot. When did you say you had to be back, precisely?”

Octavia smiled with practiced ease as she pretended to think about the question. She knew the answer immediately, of course, as the answer to this question never changed. “I don’t believe that I did. But since you want to know, I don’t have an exact schedule. I’ll return… approximately whenever I feel like it.” Her contract, after all, had been fulfilled the moment she stepped in the library last night. “Or whenever you want me to leave, of course. I wouldn’t dream of imposing upon your hospitality.”

The unicorn muttered something to suggest that such a thing was impossible, but it wasn’t loud enough for Octavia to get more than the gist of it. Either way, it left them in silence for another short period while Twilight recomposed herself. “Well, umm… where to now?”

Octavia lifted up a dainty hoof to mostly cover a coquettish smile. “I’m hardly the pony to answer that, Twilight.” She paused to take in the backdrop, very unsubtly looking back and forth at her surroundings. For the sake of Twilight’s embarrassment, she kept admiring the nearby buildings instead of coming to meet the other pony’s gaze. “It is, you know, my first time in Ponyville. If anything, it should be I asking that question, no?”

“Yes, of course, I suppose. Sorry about that.” Twilight slowed from her amble to a more sluggish pace as her face reddened. “In that case… what would you like to do?”

Octavia slowed her pace to match the other mare. “Twilight, once again, I’ve never visited Ponyville before. Can I really be expected to give suggestions of things to do when I don’t even know what my options are?”

“Then…” Twilight chewed on her lower lip in thought for a moment, still leading the other mare aimlessly down the road. “If you don’t know what there is to do in Ponyville, maybe I could show you around town?”

Gracious as ever, the grey mare nodded. “That sounds wonderful. Lead the way.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

“…and so I’m showing her around Ponyville.”

Applejack’s responded with a sort of bemused scowl. “And y’all decided to show ‘er the marketplace? Ah mean, sure, it’s kinda the center of Ponyville and all, but it’s not exactly what Ah’d call a tourist attraction.”

“It was closest to where we were,” Twilight asserted quietly. “And it’s kind of an… interesting place. I mean, there’s nowhere quite like it in Canterlot.”

“Really?” A tiny yellow filly jutted her head out from behind the stall with enough speed to make Twilight take a step back in surprise. “They don’t got no marketplace in a city as big as Canterlot? How do the ponies buy their fruits ‘n vegetables ‘n stuff? Or anything else, for that matter? Why, they must be-”

“Woah there, Applebloom,” AJ interrupted by ruffling her younger sister’s mane forcefully enough to unbalance her. “Ah’m sure they have things taken care of. Besides, Ah think Miss Twilight’s a bit busy to be spendin’ all morning chattin’ with a filly who’s supposed to be helpin’ run the stall.” The farmer nodded her head in the direction of Octavia van Clef, who, at Twilight’s suggestion, had begun roving the stalls while the unicorn spoke with Applejack. “Besides, even if she ain’t,” at this, Applejack turned to direct the full force of her gaze on Applebloom, “what did Ah say about-”

“Twilight?” Both Twilight and Applejack’s heads snapped to the source of the sound, where from just a couple yards away, the crowd seemed to part around Octavia. She had a brown paper bag clutched in her mouth, but her speech was unaffected and the mercurial smile which she normally wore had simply moved up to her eyes. “Oh, and Miss Applejack, it is a pleasure to see you again,” she added, placing the paper bag by her hooves.

“Just Applejack, if ya please,” the farmpony requested with a tip of her hat before motioning to the little filly sticking her head up from behind- nope, nevermind. “Uh, Twilight? Didja happen to see where ‘Bloom got to? She was just here.”

The question of Applebloom’s location was answered almost as soon as it was asked, although by the filly in question rather than the one being questioned. From behind Octavia, a tinny voice asked, “Hey, you’re that mare that played the big violin at Twilight’s last night, aren’tcha? How d’ya carry around something so big? Don’tcha got somepony to help? And- ooh.” Applebloom’s expression lit up when she laid eyes upon the treble clef adorning the grey mare’s thigh. “How’dya get your cutie mark? Ah don’t think I’ve ever seen one like that, you know. I don’t got mine yet and-”

Where the little filly’s sister put on an increasingly severe scowl and Twilight rolled her eyes in good humor, the musician smiled, but barely. The expression she presented was cold, precise, and fulfilled the letter of the law more than the spirit; above all it was practiced. “I am; through an exorbitant amount of practice; not normally, although I do on certain occasions; and it’s really not a story which bears telling.” Her rapid-fire answers, combined with the overwhelming casualty with which she gave them, distracted everypony sufficiently from the words themselves. “And it is a cello, not a violin,” she added for good measure.

“Oh. Is that what your cutie mark is then? A cello?” Applebloom squinted her eyes at the purple symbol, her voice uncertain. “It looks kinda fancy-ish. Is that because you play fancy music?”

Twilight chortled quietly before correcting the filly. “It’s a treble clef – a symbol used to denote pitch in written music.”

“Oh. So… it is fancy?”

This time it was Octavia’s turn to laugh, albeit in a self-defacing sort of way. “I suppose I try to get ponies to think that. Being ‘fancy’ as you so aptly put it, is a boon for my reputation.”

“D’ya speak fancy, then?” Applejack asked. “French, I mean?”

The musician’s face turned coy as she explained, “You can’t get by in my profession without a respectable amount. Names, places, menus, a phrase here, a phrase there, and of course the traditional ‘voulez-vous'.”

“Huh. Is that some kinda music term?”

Her eyes sparkled darkly. “Not really, no.”

“Oh.” Applejack kicked the ground awkwardly, awaiting some further explanation. It didn’t come. “Well in that case… where were we? Uhh, Twilight, what were ya sayin’ earlier? About things to do in Ponyville?”

“Well, heheh, that’s the problem, I guess. I…” She turned to look at the musician beside her. “Well, it’s Octavia’s first time in Ponyville, and I thought I’d show her the sights, but I think I’m still new here, to be honest. I mean, I don’t suppose you have any suggestions?”

Applejack rubbed a hoof under her chin for a long while before answering. “Ah don’t suppose the town hall would be very interesting, would it? The clock tower might-”

From behind Twilight and Octavia, Applebloom appeared. Somehow. “Ya oughta visit Sweet Apple Acres! It’s practically a Ponyville landmark!”

From behind Applebloom, an orange-coated pegasus appeared. “Or the schoolhouse! Or Rainbow Dash’s house! Or our Rainbow Dash clubhouse! Or maybe the Rainbow Dash museum! Or even the Rainbo-”

From behind Scootaloo, the last of the Cutie Mark Crusaders materialized. “Or~” shouted Sweetie Belle, her voice cracking enthusiastically, “you should visit Carousel Boutique! It’s literally a Ponyville landmark!”

One of Octavia’s ears quavered slightly at Sweetie’s suggestion, and while the young fillies continued droned on in what must have been an attempt to get tour-guide cutie marks, the musician turned to Twilight with a twinkle in her eyes. “A boutique?” she asked, only just loudly enough to be heard over the voices of the Cutie Mark Crusaders. “And a landmark?” But more importantly, a boutique. “That sounds… interesting. Tell me about it, Twilight?”

“Tell you about Carousel Boutique?” In Twilight’s defense, the response was so instinctive that her better judgment couldn’t altogether stop her. “It’s kind of a historic residence-slash-workshop-slash gallery. It was originally built by Silly Swirl, who was one of the first ponies to declare official residency in Ponyville during its founding. But it was her daughter, Silk, who-”

“Ahhem,” Applejack cleared her throat loudly – necessary if she was to be heard over the still-escalating Cutie Mark Crusaders and also break through Twilight’s singled-minded lecture, “Sugarcube, Ah think that when Miss Octavia asked ya about it, she meant that maybe y’all wanna go to the Boutique insteada just stand here and talk about it?”

If only her face were visible, Twilight could’ve been more aptly described as a magenta unicorn than a lavender one – and one very interested in the ground between her hooves, at that. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

AJ chuckled merrily. “Ayyup.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

“Look, Octavia, I’m really sorry about that,” Twilight explained as the two of them departed the central marketplace. “I, umm, I tend to do that, I guess.”

“Do what? It’s not your fault those fillies felt obligated to keep recommending for sightseeing spots. Even if some of them were a bit… unlikely.” The more realistic of their suggestions had included visiting Appleloosa and the Cloudsdome in Cloudsdayle. “I thought they were charming, although I wasn’t aware that Princess Luna had a Top Secret Moon Fort.”

“What? Oh, no, I… That’s not what I meant.” Twilight’s pace slowed only a fraction as she tried to construct a better apology. “I mean, yes, I’m sorry about Crusaders, but I mean about the whole ‘lecture-mode’ I kind of pulled. I…” She sighed and picked her pace up slightly. “It’s a bad habit of mine, and I hope it-”

Octavia smiled gently, even though Twilight couldn’t see her face while leading the way to Carousel. It was a silly thing, really, smiling when nopony could see the mask, but it was habit. She maintained the expression, quietly listening while the librarian opened up about this insignificant foible. But while it was nothing more than a tiny eccentricity to the entertainer, it was the center of Twilight’s world, if only for the moment. So she simply listened and smiled, and inserted all the correct reassurances at the right times. And, in fact, Twilight wasn’t boring, although she seemed especially prone to diving headlong into the occasional tangent.

And since Twilight was talking about something she was unhappy with, the solution, was to change the subject. It was an entertainer’s job to keep her client entertained, after all. And being the master of her craft that she was, she’d do it subtly, too. “That’s not boring,” Octavia interjected at the most opportune moment, “let me tell you about something boring.”

“Oh?” Twilight’s brow scrunched at the assertion. Or the request. She wasn’t really sure which it was. “Umm… feel free?”

“Salt,” she declared with her nose as high in the air as she could manage without looking too ridiculous. It was important that the best jokes be unexpected, after all. “Salt is boring.”

“Salt is… boring? Umm, why?”

Octavia took a few quick steps to catch up with Twilight so she could look her in the eyes when she answered: “Because it’s so dry.”

For the longest time, the only sounds that could be heard was the shrinking din of the marketplace and the regular clip-clop of the two mares’ hooves striking the road. The topmost tier of Carousel Boutique had only just begun to peek over the nearest hill when Octavia repeated herself.

“I said, because it’s so dry.”

“Yes, I, umm… I heard you. It’s just…” Twilight grimaced as she turned away from the mare beside her and towards the building coming upon them. They were almost, almost close enough to the boutique to give ‘being here’ as an excuse to cut off the conversation where it was, but not quite. Twilight gulped.

“Well, it’s just…” Somewhere nearby, a small choir of birds shared a brief exchange, giving Twilight an extra hooffull of seconds to compose a reply more tactful than the one that came to her head. Those seconds did absolutely nothing. “Octavia, don’t take this the wrong way, but that joke was…” she sighed as she admitted, “it was really bad. It was awful.”

Octavia opened her mouth with a wide smile, but a voice that was not her own answered. “I didn’t think it was so bad, it just… umm… lacked the teensiest bit of delivery. otherwise, i think it would’ve been really… umm… something. i’m sure she worked really hard on it and wanted to… um, make you laugh, because… maybe?”

Because she didn’t know better, Octavia was entirely unsurprised by the pegasus’ interruption. She simply threw a casual glance and a similarly casual smile over her shoulder and greeted the mare floating overhead. “Good morning, Miss…”

With a noise more akin to a mouse than a mare, Fluttershy’s mouth and eyes snapped shut. “Fluttershy.”

“Miss… Eepysqueak?”

At the question, Fluttershy’s wings followed the example set by her eyes and mouth, adhering themselves to her body. Gravity being less paralyzed than the frightened pegasus, she found herself halfway closer to the earth than she’d expected before a quick burst of telekinesis enshrouded her. “umm, thanks, twilight. and, umm, like i said, i’m fluttershy.”

“Of course. Octavia? I don’t suppose you met my friend Fluttershy last night?”

The musician inclined her head gently towards the still-suspended pegasus. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, and um, you as well.” Fluttershy smiled awkwardly for a long moment before finally craning her neck to face Twilight and gesturing with a timid hoof. “Uh, Twilight, I don’t mean to be a bother, but could you maybe-”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Within no time at all, all three ponies had their hooves planted firmly upon the ground and the topic of their conversation up in the air. “So, umm, Fluttershy? What are you up to today?” The unicorn asked, trying desperately to conjure a topic to get them back on their way to Carousel. “Anything interesting?”

The pegasus’ eyes danced back and forth between the other mares before answering. “no? i mean, nothing interesting, i think.”

Octavia would have giggled, had she possessed less class. Instead, she responded pleasantly, “Well then, Miss Fluttershy-”

“just, umm, fluttershy, please.”

“Of course. Then Fluttershy, what brings you this direction? Are you headed to the Carousel Boutique as well?” She nodded towards the brightly-colored building before them. They were practically on the doorstep.

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, are you here to see Rarity, too? I’m so sorry, but I think she might be closed.”

“Closed?” Octavia’s eyebrows and tone both rose marginally. “What a shame.”

“Surprise is more like it.” Twilight added. “Rarity’s is never closed. There’s nothing that could make her close, short of Nightmare Night.”

Fluttershy halted midstride and ducked her head even further down than it already was. “oh, umm, of course. I mean, I’m sure that if you’re here, she’ll stay open. it’s just… i mean, you’re her friend, and all, and you have miss…” She attempted to steal a glance at Octavia, managing to be completely obvious as she did so. “i’m sure it’ll be fine…”

Twilight sighed and seized the poor pegasus in another burst of magic. Levitating her the last dozen or so paces to the steps of the boutique, Twilight asked, “Fluttershy, what is it?”

“it’s, umm… fine. could you put me down? please?”

“Miss Fluttershy, perhaps you should answer her, and she would be more inclined to return you to the earth?”

“well, you see… it’s just that today…”

“Fluttershy…”

From deep within the colorful, multilayered building that was Carousel Boutique, a certain enthusiastic voice called out. “Oh Twilight! Is that you? Me and Fluttershy were just about to head to the spa! I’m just getting some things ready. Have you seen the dear?”

“She’s out here with me!” Twilight hollered back. “Is this why she says you’re going to be closed?”

“Well, yes! But feel free to tag along! Like I always say: the more…” Rarity burst from her residence in sunhat, scarf, and an expression that went from ecstatic to cross at a million miles an hour, “…the merrier.”

Octavia did her best to smile.

Op. 2, Movt 3: Freddo

Private Gig
by NavyPony

Op. 2, Movt 3
Freddo

As far as spas went, this one was subpar. The proprietresses were friendly, the atmosphere was cheerful, and the customers were pleasant, but the establishment itself simply didn’t live up to the standard that had been suggested of it. Sure, the honor of “Best Spa I’ve Ever Been To,” besides being incorrect grammar, shouldn’t have meant much in a town in which there was only one spa and most of the residents did little in the way of travelling. Still, after hearing so many ponies saying it about the Aloetus Spa, Octavia had started to hope it was as good as Ponyville believed.

It was good, but it just wasn’t that good. Sure, the masseuse was skilled, but not expert. The mud was imported, but it had a slightly gritty consistency. The magazines in the reception area were a little bit on the lackluster side. Not to mention the fact that the mood music was a little bit too familiar for Octavia’s taste, what with the quiet cello solos and the all but inaudible vocal accompaniment, and that horrible flat note three minutes and twenty-one seconds into track six.

The drinks, on the other hoof, were relatively decent. Maybe. Possibly. To be honest, Octavia wasn’t actually sure – she suspected that they were par for the course, but having never before been subjected to beverages with tropical umbrella garnishes, she didn’t have much to measure them against. Had she been in Canterlot, where propriety forbade her from measuring such things as taste and preference objectively, she’d have been hard pressed not to qualify them in vague and snobbish terms, especially when she didn’t have any actual standard. Expressions such as ‘rather what I expected’ or ‘I’ve had worse’ were a part of her usual phrase book; being noncommittal was being cautious when her goal was to please.

So when she got questions like Rarity’s, Octavia would usually brush it off. “How are you enjoying your Mai Tai, darling? It doesn’t offend your palate, does it?”

But on the other hoof, she wasn’t in Canterlot at the moment, and that was wonderfully liberating. “I love it,” she answered with a wide smile. “It’s somewhere between refreshing and delightful, with a healthy dose of delicious to round it off. In fact, I could stand for another.” Almost before the words were out of her mouth, one of the earth pony sisters who ran the spa had refilled her half-empty cup from an overfull pitcher. “And I have no complaints about the service either.”

“I know, right?” Twilight finished her own beverage, and it was replenished even more quickly than Octavia’s. She took another sip before continuing. “In fact, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this myself – I mean, it’s one of the best places to spend time in Ponyville.”

“Yes, isn’t it so fortunate that we came across each other? Imagine if you’d arrived but ten minutes later… I’d have been denied the opportunity to enjoy the company of you and your…”

“umm… rarity?”

The yellow pegasus’ words went ignored or unheard, and Rarity continued. “I’m sorry Miss Octavia, would you call yourself her friend?” She raised an accusatory eyebrow. “Or perhaps something else?”

“Well-”

“Of course she’s my friend!” Twilight interjected. “Octavia is-”

A hint of annoyance flashed across the interrupted mare’s face, although it was covered before she’d turned to face her fellow unicorn. “Twilight.” Her tone was not cross but it did not quite approach your usual genial manner. “Not to be rude, but would you kindly not interrupt me while I, hmm…”

“interrogate her?” a quiet voice whispered.

“Why yes Fluttershy, interr-” Octavia covered her smirk by sipping from her glass as Rarity’s white face shaded itself crimson. “Hmm, Fluttershy I think you mean to say interact with her.” The poor pegasus shook her head and mouthed the word interrogate again, but she was ignored as Rarity turned back to Twilight. “Twi, you’ve been enjoying the darling’s company all morning, while I’m sure Fluttershy is quite interested in hearing what she has to say.”

“actually, i don’t mind if she doesn’t want to talk, i just like her music and-”

Octavia set her glass down beside her and for the first time in the conversation, sat up from her lounging position and opened her eyes. The spa ponies were (probably wisely) nowhere to be seen, having likely sensed the rising tension in the room. The pegasus who’d recognized her yesterday, Fluttershy, was mumbling almost inaudibly to herself, eyes downcast; Rarity was just turning back to face Octavia, her face stiffening slightly; and Twilight was looking back and forth between all of them. Utterly unaware of the rising tension surrounding her, she took another taste of her Mai Tai and smiled pleasantly. The musician thought it was charmingly naïve. “Twilight, would you please find the pony running the bar and ask for another round? It will be on my tab, of course,” Octavia offered.

Twilight blinked two or three times before formulating a reply, the conversation having turned in a rather different direction. “But… you don’t have a tab. And besides, I’m the one that invited you here.”

Fluttershy piped up, relatively speaking. “actually, it was kind of me who invited you, so maybe i should-”

“So really I should be the one paying for them,” Twilight continued, having either ignored or failed to note her friend’s whispers. Judging from the faint flush in the mare’s cheeks, Octavia deemed it to be the latter. “It’s only the polite thing for me to do.”

“Please, I would be amiss-”

“Really, dear,” Rarity interrupted, “she is offering to pay; I’m sure she wouldn’t if-”

“umm twi?”

“No, I’m happy to pay and that’s final.” In a display of uncharacteristic stubbornness, the young mare rose from her position and trotted out with her nose slightly higher in the air than typical. Fluttershy paused for only a moment and followed in her wake.

“That was skillfully done,” Rarity said, wasting no time. “I suppose you get everything you want that way?”

“I thought I would spare her the discomfort of listening in on my interrogation.”

“Darling, darling, this isn’t an interrogation.”

Octavia’s response started with an almost apathetically half-hearted scoff. It was the kind of expression she wished she had more excuses to use. “It would hardly be the first time and it certainly won’t be the last. Go ahead.” Like flicking a switch, she put on her most mysterious smile – the one that won her job offers whenever she wore it in a crowded setting. She called it her ‘professional smile’.

Seeming to smolder as she did so, Rarity responded. “Very well, Miss Octavia, as long as Twilight’s gone…” She paused momentarily, spinning her glass and watching the fluid inside swirl. “What are you intentions in regards to her?”

“So direct,” Octavia answered with a sniff, returning to a reclining position and closing her eyes lazily. “You really should have asked me what I thought about her or how she compared to some of my previous clients… it’s a much more subtle way of bringing the conversation where you want it, especially considering that I already know where we’re going with this.”

“Is that so? Where, then, are we going with this?”

“See, that’s much better – you’re putting me on the defensive without giving anything away yourself. It’s an obvious move, and not especially high level, but that doesn’t keep it from being a good one.”

“But nonetheless, you’re avoiding my question. Questions, in fact, seeing as how you ignored the first one, too.” If she’d been smoldering before, Rarity was now seething. “So tell me.”

Octavia shrugged her shoulders lazily. “Fine. But understand that I’m answering you because I don’t want to drag this out until Twilight returns.”

The chair she was sitting in creaked slightly as Rarity shifted her weight to more comfortably stare down her opponent. “Because you get less repeat business that way?”

“Because it’s my job to see that she enjoys the time she spends in my presence, and I’m good at my job. Unless I think she’d enjoy seeing me talk circles around your none-too-subtle snipes, I’m not going to fight with you while she’s about.” Octavia didn’t bother suppressing a yawn between sentences. “When it’s only you, however…”

“How noble of you, thinking of Twilight when she’s around but still giving me what I want when she isn’t. It takes a very special kind of pony to be so… accommodating.”

“As you have no doubt assumed, accommodation is something I’m rather good at.”

Rarity harrumphed quietly. “Then start accommodating my question, darling.” Venom practically dripped from her words. “What, exactly, are your intentions in regards to Twilight?”

“Twilight Sparkle is a client.” Octavia tried not to sigh very loudly as she said it. “Nothing more.”

“And that’s rather what I was afraid of. You see, while I am not wholly unfamiliar with your type, it strikes me that Twilight is probably unaware of the details of your occupation.” Rarity paused and glared frigidly at Octavia, as if expecting the other pony to speak. When she didn’t, the seamstress was forced to continue. “I’m just concerned that Twilight may have received the wrong impression, unless you… informed her. I’m assuming that you didn’t.”

“My behavior was the paragon of my craft, Miss Rarity. You have nothing to worry about.”

“A craft which Twilight is altogether unfamiliar with. And unless she knows, then… then…” She gestured with a hoof, as if she could somehow magick up the words she was searching for like with a summoning spell. Eventually she settled for something close enough. “I’m afraid she’s going to get hurt.”

Octavia snorted delicately – it was just enough to sound derisive but not enough that anypony could consider it unladylike. “Miss Rarity, I don’t hurt ponies unless I want to hurt them, and I assure you, I have no particular desire to hurt Twilight.”

Rarity’s sigh came out more like a hiss than anything else. “Miss Octavia, I’d like to believe you, but I just don’t see how that’s possible. I think she’d be better off knowing now so that she doesn’t have to find out later, when it’ll… well, it’ll…”

Once again she started waving her hoof, searching for the right words, only this time she was cut short. “Do you intend to tell her, then?” Octavia asked, perhaps more brusquely than absolutely necessary.

“I have half a mind,” Rarity chimed in response, and showing altogether too many teeth when she smiled.

“I have no doubt of that,” Octavia snapped almost before she could stop herself. “But whatever the case, I would be exceedingly irritated if you were to do such a thing.”

“Tsk. Because it’s not in your best interests?”

“Something to that effect, yes.”

Rarity pursed her lips coldly, little lines forming on her face from scowling. “What about Twilight’s best interests? Have you considered them?”

“I always consider the happiness of my clients.”

“Their wallets, more like-”

The entertainer, expert as she was, clenched her teeth instead of sneering, and managed to turn it into a smile to boot. “I was hired by a third party to perform for Twilight Sparkle and her wealth – or lack thereof – is a complete nonfactor. Were she the most destitute pony in Equestria, I would continue thusly, so long as she composed herself in an appropriate manner.” Octavia lifted her glass to her lips and drained the last of the Mai Tai. “And if I suspect correctly, I rather doubt she could afford to purchase my time – at least not with any sense of regularity.”

“Then don’t string her on like this. Tell her.”

“I will not,” Octavia replied firmly, “and I warn you that I would be most irate were you to do so.”

“Irate? Miss Octavia, I’ve been kidnapped by diamond dogs. I’ve climbed mountains to send dragons packing. I faced off against Nightmare Moon. Why should I be afraid of a who-”

“I’m back!” In a brilliant flash, a certain unicorn reappeared in the room, having teleported in with seven or eight glasses filled up with colorful liquids dangling about in her telekinesis. Three of them were suspiciously empty, which probably explained why the remainder wobbled precariously in her grip. “Look, girls! They have lime-flavored ones and… What’s going on here?”

Twilight looked back and forth between Rarity and Octavia quickly enough to whip her bangs back and forth over her eyes before announcing, “Your drinks are empty. Here.” She floated a pair of the glasses towards her friends, passing an orange-colored drink towards Rarity and a red one to Octavia. Twilight then proceeded to arrange the remainder of the glasses around her own seat before sliding into it with a content sigh.

Before either of the other two could respond intelligibly a butter-colored blur jumped through the doorway and slid halfway across the floor. “Rarity I think I lost- oh, Twilight, there you are. I was so worried, I…” She faded into incomprehensible mumbles as she ambled back to her own seat.

“So,” Twilight Sparkle started, levitating a green beverage by her lips, “what did I miss?”

“Not much darling. You look like you got the better end of the deal, having apparently had a good run on the bar. Myself and Miss Octavia were just discussing her business.” Rarity chuckled and turned to the earth pony. “You were saying something about the work you do in Canterlot? Besides the occasional concert?”

Every part of Octavia’s face except her eyes were the very picture of gentility. “Yes, of course. Ahem. Like I was saying, I’ve been contracted to attend the Solar Charity Auction next week with Mister Toity.” She took a slow pull from her beverage, icy lavender eyes locked on the mare across from her the whole time. “He’s a bit dull himself, but recognizes good ideas when he hears them.” Twilight’s ears didn’t so much as perk up at the implications of Octavia’s words, but Rarity bit her lip. “One of the Princess’ so many-times-removed nieces is having a ball later this month, and while I haven’t yet chosen with whom I’m going… well, events like these always have a glut of powerful ponies who want me to brighten their rooms.” Rarity gulped quietly. “And then there’s Miss Shores, who keeps sending me tickets to her performances as an apology for the last time she hired me to play for her.” Octavia shrugged smoothly, sub-zero gaze still pinning the white mare to her seat. “It’s amazing to what lengths she’s going to get me to be seen with her in public. In fact, I imagine that-”

It was very difficult for a white-coated pony to blanch, but Rarity managed, somehow achieving an even paler shade than her natural color. “Ahem. That’s enough, darling, I’m sure Twilight’s bored of-”

“Actually, not at all!” Twilight declared, putting another empty glass beside her lounge chair. “Did you know that Rarity’s met Sapphire Shores? And Hoity Toity, too.”

“My, how interesting.” Octavia’s cool smile warmed considerably as she turned to face the other unicorn. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Twilight took another gulp of another drink and grinned. “Well…”

Op. 2, Movt 4: Barcollando

Private Gig
by NavyPony

Op. 2, Movt 4
Barcollando

Octavia van Clef did not often get drunk when she was with a client. Even considering that she rarely paid for those drinks she consumed and the fact that she very much enjoyed the effects alcohol had upon her, she could count on her hooves the number of times it had happened over her career. Simply put, public drunkenness was so far from the image that she’d worked so hard to refine that her company could hardly withstand the blowback from an incident. Even in more private settings, that level of inebriation still led one towards poor decision making and thus poor decisions. The wrong action at the wrong time would give the wrong impression and the wrong ideas would get spread. Getting drunk with anypony but her close friends risked damage to her business, and Octavia took great pride in doing the right thing for her business.

None of this was to say that she didn’t drink, or that she avoided alcohol in the slightest. And even if she didn’t appreciate a good drink herself (and she did), the various wines, craft beers, and cocktails in vogue was required knowledge for an entertainer of her caliber. The key was simply to keep from crossing that threshold between being tipsy and true inebriation and should that be impossible, to simply remain more sober than her company.

Being both an earth pony and a mare who’d attended more open-bar functions than she could count (a rather large number), this was very rarely a problem for Octavia.

Conversely, Twilight Sparkle was neither a Canterlot socialite nor an earth pony, and though she too, had attended more open-bar functions than she could count, that was for a very different reason. Namely that she couldn’t remember any, and there had been at least one.

Well, there had probably been one in there. Twilight was beyond remembering any such event specifically, but it seemed likely that she’d been to one at some point.

In so many words, Octavia’s client was drunk, and while she normally considered such a situation to be less than ideal, Twilight was behaving herself admirably. “And then we turn…” Twilight looked back and forth across the crossroads, wobbling slightly. “West. We turn west,” she asserted, smiling at her companions before moving in the direction she’d indicated. West, apparently.

“Umm, Twilight?” The pegasus who’d joined them at the spa grimaced slightly as Twilight marched ahead. It was an expression that looked very uncomfortable for the young pony to wear. “Shouldn’t we wait for Rarity? Or something? Maybe she would want to go… west… too…” Fluttershy paused for only a short moment before she decided it’d be better to follow Twilight than wait for their friend. She zipped back up to trot beside Twilight. “Is this way west? So I can tell Rarity where we went?”

“Yes, it-” Twilight declared emphatically, walking several more steps before she seemed to recall the other questions. She stopped dead in her tracks and spun around to face Fluttershy and Octavia. “Where is Rarity? Did she leave already?”

The grey mare suppressed a laugh, hiding a smile behind one hoof. “Twilight, she’s still inside, she-”

“Oh no! We need to wait for her!” Twilight looked legitimately distraught by the thought of leaving her friend behind. “What if she thinks we all went to the bathroom, and she spends hours loitering about while she waits for us to return? That would be-”

“That would be highly unlikely,” Octavia replied, allowing herself a humored tone. “But if you’re concerned one of us could go back and-”

“That won’t be necessary.” Rarity’s nose was thrust high in the air as she strode out from the spa, the little bell on the door ring-ding-dinging behind her. “Exeunt omnes, everypony.”

“To the west!”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Fluttershy’s cottage, being by its very nature out of the way, was so far removed from the spa that nopony really thought ushering a stumbling unicorn there to be a good idea. And with freshly ponicured hooves, Rarity and Octavia – rather tersely – agreed that trekking through the fields to be less than appealing. Thus, it was decided that Twilight should be brought to her own home. So it came that, halfway through their journey, Rarity excused herself towards the nearby Carousel Boutique, waving goodbye and fuming silently while she watched the other three trot off.

With a short (but dignified) huff, Rarity pressed herself through the door of the boutique and made a beeline towards the kitchen. “Please, Rarity,” mimicked the unicorn in a sing-song pitch, “allow me to escort her home. It’s one of my specialties. Especially the escorting part, because that’s what I do best.” With a flash of baby-blue telekinesis, she levitated a similarly-colored bottle from atop her refrigerator and lowered it down to eye level, nearly dislodging the long-haired cat which had been lounging besides it.

“Meow,” was Opal’s short (but dignified) response.

“Oh, Opal, darling, you know I wasn’t talking about you!” said Rarity as she sat down and magicked a small glass towards herself. “I would never dare impinge upon your honor like that.

“Meow,” replied the cat.

“It’s just this mare. You know, I have half a mind to march up to her and tell her what I really think,” said Rarity. With a little smile, she poured a measure of gin into her glass and took a sip. “More, in fact. A mind and a half. Can you have more than a mind to do something?”

Opal responded with a bored flick of her tail.

“I suppose not, then. And besides, can you imagine that? Me, marching out and making such a scene in the center of town?”

“Meow?” chirped back the cat.

“I should think not.” Rarity took another sip of her drink. “It would be positively unladylike. And besides, what would I even say?”

“Meow.”

“Ha!” snorted the unicorn as she poured herself another. “I couldn’t exactly walk up to her and say ‘meow’ to her, now could I? Why, imagine the response…” She resumed the sing-song chime. “I’m Octavia and I’m ever so busy toying with other ponies’ hearts and… excuse me Miss Rarity, but are you saying-”

“Meow.”

“Precisely!” she laughed, taking another long sip of her drink as the expression on her face slowly returned to a scowl. “But imagine how Twilight would take it. I don’t think she’s ever had her heart broken. Why she might end up completely devastated by the whole affair,” Rarity muttered with distaste, “and lock herself in the library for days on end, wallowing in…”

Opal glared down at her from atop the refrigerator.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, it probably wouldn’t happen precisely like that. But you must admit that Twilight can be the teensiest bit overdramatic,” she said between tastes of the sapphire gin. “And she’s not exactly… well, she’s not experienced in love by any measure. Why, the poor thing is liable to be whisked right off her hooves by the first pony to tell her she’s pretty.”

“Meow,” Opal retorted playfully.

“Well yes, dear, she is quite pretty,” said Rarity with a blush that was certainly just the alcohol. “But it would never work out. She’s a librarian and I’m a dressmaker, and everypony knows that librarians and dressmakers might as well be the same as Applejack and oranges.” She lifted her glass to her lips and continued, “And besides, she’s not my type. What would we even do together?”

The little cat began grooming herself.

“Opal! The nerve… Why, I am much too sober to allow that kind of suggestion.” Shooting a dirty look at her cat, Rarity poured another measure of the juniper flavored spirits into her glass, drank it in a swift gulp, and immediately refilled it. “But honestly darling, that Octavia is dangerous. She’s liable to drain poor Twilight dry.”

The cat glanced up for just a moment before she went back to licking her fur.

Rarity scoffed aloud. “Get your mind out of the gutter, dear. I meant fiscally. Money. That mare will lead our little librarian on, when in fact she’s just trying to get hired again. And again. And then Twi will run out of bits, and she’ll turn to her friends and then… oh no…” Rarity took an especially long pull from her drink. “Sweet Celestia…”

“Meow,” chided Opal.

“No, I meant that literally. She’ll convince Celestia to keep paying for that mare’s services. After all, the Princess has already proven she’s more than willing to provide all that money, and…” Rarity slammed her mostly empty glass on the table with a resounding thunk, which besides being an enjoyably dramatic gesture, had the added effect that Rarity was now holding a completely empty glass. “Why, I pay taxes! Imagine, having my money going to such sordid, indecent… Why, I should-”

“Meow,” the cat interrupted. “Meow.”

“Oh, hush. You’re a cat. You don’t know anything about the higher workings of a socio-economic system.” Rarity raised her glass to her lips, surprised to find it lacking in gin. “I have a mind to write Mayor Mare about this.” She poured herself another, even taller glass. “Besides,” she snorted condescendingly, “This mare’s not just a musician. She’s an entertainer.”

“Meow,”

“Yes, that’s bad. Mark my words, Opal: that mare will destroy Twilight! She’ll destroy her with… with music! Music and poetry! Music, poetry, and witty banter and eloquent turns of phrase and synonyms for ‘pretty’ that contain a truly superfluous number of syllables!”

“Meow.”

“Yes, Opal. Yes. A refined sense of humor as well.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

“Because it’s soo~ dryyy~~” Twilight explained in the dullest monotone she could manage in her state. “Get it? Dry? Hahahaha!” Twilight stumbled through the library’s door, trying (and failing) to not snort as she laughed at her own joke. “Ohahaha, it’s funny because salt is dry, and… it’s hygroscopic, which means that it absorbs the moisture of its surroundings, so…”

Fluttershy and Octavia shared a glance and returned to their task of seeing Twilight safely home. Though their arrival at the Ponyville Library could have been called a ‘collective stagger’, that was really only because of the way Twilight brought down the average. Fortunately for the unicorn, Fluttershy and Octavia had maintained enough sobriety to shepherd the young mare inside, where she almost immediately collapsed on the nearest horizontal surface and continued explaining why the joke was funny. In this case, the surface happened to be the ground and the explanation did not extend much further.

“Umm, thank you. A lot, actually for helping me get Twilight home. Doing this by myself would’ve been…” Fluttershy shivered. “I’m sorry, Twilight’s not normally like this, you know, but sometimes she can actually be quite a hooffull.”

Octavia responded with an indifferent shrug of her shoulders. As far as such things went, Twilight was still on the better-behaved half of drunks. Maybe the better quarter, even. Sashaying over to the part of the floor where Twilight had unceremoniously thrown herself, Octavia ran a ponicured hoof through the purple and pink mane. “She seems tame enough.”

“That’s because I am tame…” Twilight giggled. “Octavia, are you spending the night again? I didn’t break down the guest bed, you know, in case you wanted to stay. I make okay pancakes.”

Octavia raised a hoof to cover the smile which possessed her face. “That might be the first time somepony’s tried to convince me to spend the night with an offer of ‘okay pancakes’ in the morning.” Octavia pretended not to notice Fluttershy watching her as she mulled the answer over. Well, technically she was pretending to mull the answer over – she’d decided on the answer some time ago.

“Pretty please?”

She’d been planning to politely refuse. She was going to refuse. There was no question. But damn, if Octavia didn’t have to turn away from the enormous watery eyes so she didn’t have to say ‘no’ to the young mare’s face. “Twilight,” she laughed artificially, but well enough that nopony could have told the difference, “my career would be ruined it somepony found out that ‘okay pancakes’ were enough to hire me for a night. Besides, I must be returning to my work at some point. Tonight is as good a time as any.”

“Ugh…” Twilight moaned drunkenly. “Well, will you play one more song before you go?”

How could she refuse?

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Edherd Elgar’s eighty-fifth opus was a cello concerto, and not an especially long one. It had two adagio movements divided by a lento movement, and a moderato to finish the whole thing off, and though it was written for a full concert orchestra, it wasn’t too much work to summarize it as a solo piece. The mood of the concerto was perfect: an elegant and serene theme with slightly sorrowful tones interwoven.

It was one of her traditional ‘goodbye’ songs.

So when Octavia was two-thirds of the way through the third movement, it caught her slightly off-guard when somepony spoke. She’d forgotten Fluttershy had been there at all. “Umm, Miss Octavia…” Her voice was quiet and gentle, and though she pawed at the ground nervously with a hoof she maintained eye contact, however tenuous. “…May I talk with you?”

“You may, while I’m still here and so long as Twilight doesn’t object for some reason.” Both of them simultaneously turned to face their host, who was sprawled out on a sofa, snoring softly. “I assume she won’t, but I think it would be most prudent to speak quietly, don’t you?” Fluttershy’s gaze lowered to the ground while Octavia continued to play through the movement, left hoof dancing across the A string as she went through an especially technical phrase. “What do you wish to talk about?”

Fluttershy’s pastel mane shielded most of her face when she finally resumed speaking. “Yes, umm… I… before we left the spa, Rarity, uhh, seemed very upset with you.”

That. “Rarity is very concerned about Twilight; she’s worried I might hurt her.” Octavia spared a glance at the purple mare, sleeping unabashedly with her mouth hanging open. “It is… an admirable quality, to be sure, but misplaced in this instance.” She did not say aloud that it was especially annoying, as well. “Hurting her is the last thing I want. Twilight is one of the most delightful ponies I’ve ever had the pleasure of entertaining. She’s a darling to be around and I wish I had more customers like her.”

“That sounds like the kind of thing you might say about all your customers.”

The next note in the concerto received a fraction more stress than Octavia usually gave it. “It is not. If I didn’t like Twilight, I wouldn’t have stayed nearly as late as I have. As things stand now…” she turned her neck to look at a clock, not missing a beat in the song as she did. “I’ll probably get chastised by my assistant for spending so much extra time in Ponyville. Not that it really matters.” She accented her answer with a fluid shrug, a very difficult gesture to manage while playing. “I’ll get a talking to no matter what I do – he has a business degree, and he thinks that gives him the right to run my business.”

“Is he a musician, too?”

Octavia cocked her head slightly to the side. “No. I hire him to plan my schedule and interact with clients. It gives me more time to actually do my job.”

Fluttershy raised one eyebrow a fraction of an inch. “So… he wants you to go back to Canterlot… but, you don’t want to?”

A sigh passed through Octavia’s lips as she shifted to the final movement of the concerto. “Ponyville was a pleasant excursion, but I must, of course, return to Canterlot. I do, after all, have engagements to keep and obligations to fulfill.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” Fluttershy nodded slowly, as if sagely agreeing with the importance of keeping appointments. “So do you have another job tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Octavia said coolly. “Another private gig.”

“Oh,” Once again, the syllable was emphasized with a slow nod. “Is that good?”

“Probably not as good as this one.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Twilight turned the little piece of cardstock in her telekinesis again, trying to distract herself with it. It was a very professional-looking business card – the kind that cost more than a bit apiece to print.

Octavia van Clef
Entertainer
Cello, Viols, Vocals, Conversation, Company, Etcetera
Parties, Receptions, Evening Engagements and Private Gigs
The Upper Octave Talent Company
15532 Endless Boulevard

On the back of the card, hastily penciled in an elegant script, was another street address – a private residence, instead of a business. Centered beneath it were two words that should have been so distracting. They were, really.

707b black stone ct
write me
~O.

But it wasn’t a fraction as distracting as the smudge of lipstick somepony had left on her the night before.

IM 2: Letters Between Octavia and Her Agent

Private Gig
by NavyPony

Intermezzo 2
Letters Between Octavia and Her Agent

Charter,

I’ve decided to spend some additional time in Ponyville. Expect me back a day late. Please make the necessary arrangements.

~O.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Mlle. Octavia,

I have just received your dispatch. Is this perchance an extension of your current Ponyville contract or would I be correct in assuming that you are cancelling your upcoming obligations (you say a day late, but you could be extending indefinitely, for all I know) for reasons entirely unrelated to the company?

As you probably remember, you have two different engagements scheduled for tomorrow, and while I am quite capable of ‘making the necessary arrangements’ (as you so simply put it), I urge you to consider the effect a cancellation of this sort will have on your reputation. Id est, I urge you to reconsider this vacation.

I realize, of course, that I am merely an advisor/assistant and that you are the owner of the Upper Octave Talent Company, but as your advisor, I advise you to take my advice from time to time. In this case that advice is to return to Canterlot as soon as possible. This is, after all, your livelihood.

Your Ever Humble (But Fiscally-Minded) Assistant,
Golden Charter

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Charter,

I’ve decided to spend some additional time in Ponyville. Expect me back a day late. Make the necessary arrangements.

~O.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Mlle. Octavia,

Fine. I’ll contact tomorrow’s clients with the news that you are going to be out of town due to unforeseen circumstances and blah blah etcetera. I’ll keep it in appropriately vague terms and, as always I’ll take care of rescheduling and recompensation and whatnot. Anyways, this is going to wreak havoc on your calendar over the next couple weeks, because I’m going to have to push somepony back to get your now-snubbed client in soon, and that’ll push somepony else back and so on and so forth, and there are engagements that I simply can’t touch. It’s going to take me hours just to estimate a new schedule, not to speak of the negotiations. Shudder. But, of course, I’m up to the task.

Your Ever Humble (And Indispensable) Assistant,
Golden Charter

P.S. How up to date are you with the racing and trick-flying scenes?

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Charter,

And that’s why I pay you so well. Just let me know when everything’s in order.

But thank you, I really couldn’t do all this without you.

~O.

P.S. Minus three weeks, maybe. I could get caught up in an hour or two. Are you looking at a WB event?

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Mlle. Octavia,

I’d say you flatter me, except that it’s all true. Assuming that you’ll return before dawn tomorrow, I have your whole schedule taken care of. So, because of my help, you can enjoy your vacation in the sticks. Also, yes. One of the new Wonderbolts contacted me on short notice about a companion for some awards ceremony. No public performing, just hoofcandy and company for the evening. And make sure you get caught up on your Cloudsdale politics, too.

Your Ever Humble (With Occasional Exception) Assistant,
Golden Charter

P.S. But do have a nice time in Ponyville.

Op. 3, Movt 1: Come Sta

Private Gig
by NavyPony

Op. 3, Movt 1
Come Sta

Twilight refrained from screaming in annoyance, but no amount of self-restraint could keep the mare from chewing on her bottom lip. She was usually so good at letter-writing, wasn’t she?

She was, of course. Her second-grade report card had, well, reported as much. So had the report cards from grades third through twelfth, in fact, as well as every instructor that she’d ever met. So clearly the problem lay with the letter and not with her. Very clearly, in fact. That being the case, she allowed herself to give an angry glare to the offending stationary and also one at the quill for good measure. It was normally such a good quill, too.

It had gotten her through the envelope, at least. ‘707b Black Stone Court, Canterlot’ it said, in the same graceful script which she usually reserved for letters to Princess Celestia and formal theses. The envelope was the easy part. The hard part lay in the contents of said envelope, as witnessed by the crumpled sheets of parchment she’d added to her rapidly filling wastepaper basket in the corner of the room and the scowl she was giving to the next blank sheet atop the stack.

“You are going to be a tasteful and well-written, friendly letter that thanks Miss Octavia for visiting us, compliments her on her music, inquires about her well-being and goings-on, and probably before any of the rest of that subtly asks her what she’s doing in the mid-to-near future, and invites her to come back to Ponyville without sounding obsessive or clingy or being a single run-on sentence like the last three.”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

She levitated up her quill, gave it a healthy taste of ink, blotted it, and put it to parchment. Take twenty-seven.

Dear Miss Octavia,

I hope this letter finds you well. The weather in Ponyville is just starting to turn frigid, and

Twilight sighed quietly. “But what if she doesn’t care about the weather in-”

“Twilight!?” A coltish, slightly nasal voice cut through the walls of the library. “Twilight?!”

“Oh no. Crud. Crud!” She whirled into action, crumpling up her letter and throwing it into the basket in a telekinetic comet. The entire wastebasket ignited in a burst of purple fire, but that was probably for the best.

Twilight’s door slid open just as she grabbed the closest book and leapt into her bed, acting as if nothing was wrong. Because there wasn’t anything wrong at all. “Twilight?” the little dragon asked, waddling in. “What’s up?”

She turned a page. “Oh hey Spike, I was just laying here and reading and definitely not doing anything suspicious. How are you?”

“I’m… fine? But why are you reading…” he lifted a scaly brow. “How to Woo Refined Mares from Canterlot in Six Easy Steps,” Spike read aloud from the cover of the book in her hooves, “… and it’s upside-down?”

“Yes. Yes. I was reading a different book that’s… not in my hooves, and it told me that by reading books upside-down I could learn things entirely unrelated to the subject listed on the title and… my research has nothing to do with wooing refined mares or unrefined mares, or anypony at all, for that matter. It has to do with…” Her eyes scanned the room rapidly, searching for something else. “It has to do with something else.”

“…Okay…” Spike’s glare was more suspicion than scowl. It wasn’t as if Twilight had never done weird things in the past… “Well, in that case…” He shook his head nonchalantly. “I’m going to be heading out; me and the CMC had a great time last night and today we’re going to-”

“That’s nice, Spike. Have fun.” Without ado, a telekinetic shove pushed Spike out of her bedroom and downstairs as the door slammed shut with the distinctive click that locks made when trying to keep unwelcome individuals out of a room. Also, Spike made the distinctive ‘Aaaahhhh!!!!’ that baby dragons made when tumbling down a flight of stairs. Neither sound was particularly unfamiliar to Twilight and she returned to her work with her usual fervor.

Dear Octavia,

How are you? Ponyville is

Uggh, come to think of it, she probably didn’t even care about Ponyville in the slightest. It was probably such a backwater town compared to Canterlot and Manehattan and refined cities. In fact, Octavia was probably embarrassed of the time she’d spent here, and any mention of the place was sure to sour the letter.

Mademoiselle Octavia,

Wait… was she a mademoiselle? Twilight thought so, but… The piece of parchment was teleported to the wastepaper basket before she finished the thought.

Was it possible that Octavia van Clef was married? Probably not, but perhaps she had a very special somepony and didn’t enjoy the implications that she was an available mare? In fact, how could anypony even assume the fact that Octavia was single, given her social status, her gracious temperament, and her splendid… prettiness. Yes. Because she was very…

Dear Octavia,

I think you are very

What the hay was she writing? Who, how, and why could anypony begin a letter like that?! Especially when written to-

“Gaaahhh!!!!” Take thirty ended up smeared on her forehead as she face-planted on the table before the ink could dry. It was for the best, anyways. Nopony could possibly be allowed to find out that Twilight Sparkle was-

“Impossible! This is bucking impossible!” She slammed both of her forehooves down on her desk as her quill spun around the room like a butterfly drunk on maple syrup. “How am I supposed to write a letter to somepony that is entirely beyond my scope of comprehension or understanding? How can I expect myself to interact in an orthodox manner with a mare who is so much more worldly, cultured, and interesting than I can ever be expected to be? How can-”

“Writing to the Princess again?”

“Spike! I told you that-” Twilight cut her shout short – the bedroom door was still shut and locked, and this voice sounded as much like Spike the Dragon as Spike sounded like Pinkie Pie. Of course, that was because the balcony window was open and the door was shut, and more namely, the voice in question belonged to one Pinkie Pie. “Pinkie!” Twilight cried, hastily struggling to cover the already-illegible letter beneath her hooves. “What, uh, what brings you to my bedroom?”

“Not much, Twilight, not anything really. Dashie was doing weather patrol nearby, by which I really mean she was napping, and I was just getting my ornithopter ready when I overheard you stressing out about ponies beyond your scope of comprehension or understanding and I decided that you needed my help more than Dash.” The earth pony studied the room with a toothy grin, her gaze slowly settling on the scorched remains of the wastepaper basket. “What’s going on? Having trouble with another friendship report or something?”

“Oh… umm, no. In fact, it’s nothing!” Twilight’s smile was about as realistic as Mayor Mare’s recurring promises to lower taxes. “I don’t want to bother you, and I certainly don’t want to interfere with your weather patrol, so don’t worry about it… In fact, you should really just get back to-”

“Nonsense!” Pinkie exclaimed exuberantly. “I’d be glad to take time out of my busy schedule to help you with your nothing! So, what are we doing?” More blur than pony (and with a ‘whooshing’ to boot), the mare zipped to Twilight’s desk, ripped the piece of parchment out from beneath Twilight’s hooves, and began reading aloud. “Dear-”

“PINKIE! STOP!”

Pinkie Pie, now held upside-down in an aura of lavender magic some seven feet from where she had just been, continued to read aloud. “Dear something, I something something something very something. At least, I think that’s a 'something'. It might just be an inkspot. Twilight,” the poor mare tilted her head and squinted at the paper, which seemed surprisingly normal give her upside-down and levitated status, “Can the Princess even read this? Is it in some sort of super-secret secret-squirrel style spy-code? Even I can’t even read it and I can read letters and- OOF.”

Twilight released the purple aura surrounding Pinkie, and the young mare suddenly succumbed to the (sometimes fickle, in Pinkie’s case) embrace of gravity. “Yes it’s a letter-” a letter that was now wreathed in cold violet flames, “-and not a very good one. And no it’s not for the Princess. It’s… uh-”

“A what?” asked Pinkie as she dropped the smoldering letter.

“It’s, umm, a professional correspondence between me and, a…” The first book Twilight laid eyes upon was an old text she’d been studying a couple weeks back. “Between me and a pseudologist… in Canterlot. A very famous and renowned pseudologist that I admire and very much respect.”

Pinkie Pie scratched her curly mane, still lying prone and upside down on the bedroom floor. “Sue dolly gist?”

“A pseudologist, with a P. As in, somepony who studies pseudology. It’s a very technical field – I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details. Now if you’ll excuse me, I-”

Pinkie crossed her forehooves exaggeratedly. “I don’t know, from the way you’re talking, it doesn’t sound like a professional correspondence. And I should know, I’ve written… more than four.”

Twilight raised an accusing eyebrow.

“Okay, okay, three, but I won’t go any lower than that. Those letters to that party supply store definitely counted. Anyways, you should just tell me what’s bugging you. I may not be a Sued Optometrist with a ‘P’,” She emphasized the letter ‘P’ with an especially chipper smile as she rolled onto her hooves, “But there is a ‘P’ in Pinkie Pie! In fact, there’s two!”

“Yes Pinkie, I know how to spell your name.”

“And I know how to spell your name too! Y-O-U-R-space-N-”

“PINKIE PIE!” Twilight stomped a hoof on the ground and much to her credit, managed to light nothing on fire.

“Twilight, why are you so angry right now?”

“I… ugh.” She marched over to her bed and threw herself onto the mattress. “Pinkie, I’m trying to write this letter, right?”

“The professional correspondence to the Salt Nanny Varnish?” Pinkie Pie pogoed across the bedroom, hopping on all fours to her friend’s side. “It didn’t sound like a professional correspondence, you know, when you were talking about it. It sounded more like a friendlier-type letter between ponies who aren’t friends but want to be friends.”

“Yes, that is… you’re right. It’s not, strictly speaking, a professional correspondence.”

“With the Sock Navy Sane Whiff?”

“That was ‘Pseudologist, Pinkie”

“Ought Cavey Vane Cliff?”

“Pinkie…”

“Octavia van Cle-”

“PINKIE PIE!”

“Look, Twilight, I don’t actually care to whom you’re writing, I just want to help you write your letter. Look, the trick to writing impressive and personal ‘business correspondences’ is to not overthink what you’re writing, Twilight. It’s not like this is a book report, is it?”

When Twilight looked up at Pinkie she saw a conspicuous pair of horn-rimmed spectacles resting upon her face. Twilight did her best to ignore them. “No, Pinkie, it’s not.” Book reports were easy, after all.

“You should just pretend to be somepony else. Pretend you’re Rainbow Dash writing a fan letter to the Wonderbolts with a 475 character limit instead of you writing a letter to your pseudologist.”

“Pinkie…”

“You’re right – there’d be too many misspellings. Try pretending you’re AJ writing a letter to one of the Oranges in Manehattan.”

“Pinkie Pie…”

“Hey, she’s surprisingly good at writing, but I suppose the diction might be a teensy-tiny issue. Instead-”

“Pinkie. Pie.”

“Well if you wrote like you were me there’d be too much confetti in the envelope, Fluttershy wouldn’t get her actual point across, and Rarity would have waaaayyyyy too much subtext in her letter.”

“PinkiePiePleaseStop!”

“But I suppose that if nopony you know is good enough, you should just write a letter like Princess Celestia would write!”

Twilight rolled back out of her bed, “Pinkie Pie, that’s not even possible. Nopony could write a letter like Princess Celestia, because they’re not a Princess.” Which was not a strictly true statement given Princess Luna’s existence, but that was not the subject at hoof.

“Then don’t make this a book report and make it a letter to a friend, you silly filly!”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

In the little flat on the second story of 707 Black Stone Court, a certain earth pony yawned quietly as Celestia’s setting sun peeked through the blinds of her bedroom. She could’ve looked at the modern little clock on her bedstand, but she already knew it was four-thirty from the angle the sun cut through her blinds, and that meant she had to get up.

She poured herself a glass of cranberry juice and tonic water and sipped it as she appraised the fare available in her pantry. There was nothing substantial, of course. It was a house full of condiments but no real food, which bothered her no more or less than it ever did.

Sipping her drink, she ambled to her front door to peruse the mail that’d been pushed through the mail-slot. The morning paper was still there, untouched from when she’d walked in listlessly at ten, as well as a couple other meaningless envelopes that the mailpony had probably delivered just a couple minutes prior. Junk, advertisement, junk, bill (thrown on the counter instead of the trash), loan offer, and… how curious…

It was an old-fashioned parchment envelope; the address was written in a fluid but still robust horn-written script, the stamp of a kind that hadn’t been sold for several months, and the return address blank except for a name and a town.

Twilight Sparkle
Ponyville

Curiouser and curiouser.

In the little flat on the second story of 707 Black Stone Court, that certain earth pony very carefully opened the old-fashioned parchment envelope and began to read.

Op. 1, Movt 1: Prelude

Private Gig
by NavyPony

Op. 1, Movt 1
Prelude

It was a party. Or rather, it was a Party, in the way only Pinkie Pie could manage. Almost everypony in Ponyville had found room in the library for music, games, dancing, and snacks. The Cakes had crafted an assortment of confectionary treats, Pinkie Pie had cupcakes on nearly every horizontal surface (minus the bookshelves – those were strictly off-limits), and somepony had procured a barrel of Sweet Apple Acres’ finest cider. Ponies were bobbing for apples, playing ‘Pin the Tail on the Pony’, and any of half a dozen other games, with foals and full-grown ponies enjoying them with equal vigor. And then there were the presents.

There were bouquets of Ponyville’s most delicious flowers piled high on one table, and a score of gifted books on another. Almost half a dozen ponies had gotten decorative quills from Davenport’s Emporium, with Cheerilee and the Mayor having chosen some particularly fine specimens. Four dresses were laid delicately nearby, one from Rarity herself (with a giant hat to go with it), two commissioned from the seamstress as gifts, and one that Fluttershy had made using her ever-surprising sewing skills. Somepony with a bowling ball and pins for a cutie mark had given her a Persian rug. There was a complimentary spa package from the twins, and tickets to a Wonderbolts show from Rainbow. And there was bigger stuff, too. AJ and her brother had constructed a reading desk and a chair from apple wood. Mr. Davenport was promising a sofa, to be delivered next week. Princess Luna had even made a brief appearance, dropping off an expensive telescope and proffering a couple (admittedly stiff) salutations before returning to Canterlot.

By almost any metric, it was the best birthday Twilight Sparkle had ever celebrated. There was only one thing missing, and had it been any other pony, it would have been ridiculous. Still, it kept Twilight from enjoying herself. Which was ridiculous, she considered. It certainly shouldn’t have been something worth ruining her party when her friends were having such a good time, after all.

So why was she standing by herself in a corner?

“Twilight?” Rarity crooned, appearing from the crowd with her lips pursed in concern. “Whatever are you doing in this corner by yourself? Is something the matter?”

She answered more or less automatically. “What? Of course not, Rarity. Everything’s spectacular; I’m having a great time.”

“You might be more convincing if you said that with a smile on your face, darling,” the other unicorn retorted light-heartedly. “I rather expected you to start danc- well, moving, perhaps, when this song started, but you’re just standing here. Now tell me, what’s really bothering you?”

Twilight refrained from sighing when she reiterated, “It’s nothing Rarity. I really am having a good time, it’s just that I don’t really feel like dancing right now. I, uhh… I might’ve had too many of those apple fritters,” she fibbed, forcing a laugh. “By the way, have I thanked you for your dress yet? And the ones from the Riches and from Shiny? I know you put extra effort into his because he couldn’t be here, and I really appreciate that. But they’re all amazing, you know. I really-”

“Yes, darling, I know; you must’ve said it a dozen times now, and so you know, your flattery isn’t going to distract me.” It did, however, put an enormous smile on the dressmaker’s face. “So tell me what this problem is,” the mare pleaded. “Is it the decorations? I did want to use the blue streamers, but Pinkie Pie absolutely insisted on green. I know it doesn’t quite match the décor, but it-”

“The decorations are great, Rarity. They’re perfect, which is not to say that blue wouldn’t have been just as good,” Twilight affirmed emphatically, remembering to smile this time. “Say, is that Applejack over there? I’ll bet she-”

Rarity interrupted the attempted deflection with a ‘tsk’. “Twilight,” she chastised, “you shouldn’t be like this – it’s your birthday, after all. Besides, imagine how Pinkie Pie would feel if she found out you weren’t enjoying the party she threw. She worked especially hard on this, you know.”

“It has nothing to do with the party,” Twilight muttered, indirectly admitting that something was wrong. “And don’t even joke about that. You know how she gets when she thinks a party’s going wrong.”

“Then you should just tell me what’s bothering you, darling.” The white unicorn’s lips turned up in a devious smile, one more befitting of a Canterlot politician than a simple citizen of Ponyville. “It’ll make you feel better, and maybe I can help. The last thing we want is Pinkie Pie-”

“Did somepony say my name three times?!” A bouncing blur bounded out of the throng as if summoned by eldritch magic. “Hi Rarity! Hi Twilight! How do you like the party? It’s been really-really-really fun so far! It’s been, like, the best party ever! Even better than your party last year, and definitely better than the Grand Galloping Gala! All those ponies were stuffy and uptight, and the music was totally boring, but the ponies here are my best friends and this music is way better! Hey, did you know that I picked this song out just for you? You should get out there and get your groove-thang on!”

Rarity was as shocked by the interruption as the pony she’d been talking to, but she recovered more quickly. She jumped into the conversation as soon as the pink earth pony took a breath. “Actually, Twilight was just telling me how much she was enjoying this party…” She turned to face the floundering birthday mare. “Come on,” she hissed at her fellow unicorn, “tell her.”

Pinkie jumped in before Twilight Sparkle had a chance to put their thoughts back together, let alone form a response. “That’s funny. She looks kinda like… oh no…” Her eyes widened and her mane went from being outright bouncy to merely poofy. “Twi… is something wrong? Did you want blue streamers? Or maybe you wanted the banner that said ‘It’s Your Birthday’ instead of the ‘Happy Birthday’ one? I’ve still got them at Sugarcube Corner… I can go get them right now if you want. I’ll just-”

Reacting instinctively, Twilight wrapped the party pony’s tail in telekinetic magic to keep her from zipping away in panic. “No, no, no,” she asserted, levitating her friend far enough off the ground to prevent her from putting a hoof down. “You did everything right, Pinkie – the party’s perfect.”

“Then whatever’s the matter, darling?” Rarity interjected, not wanting to be forgotten. “It’s not like you to be so down when all your friends are having fun.”

“Yeah, what gives?” Pinkie echoed.

“Fine, fine,” the purple mare conceded. “Just… don’t talk to other ponies about it, okay? I don’t want to bother them or… or let them think I’m ungrateful.”

Both members of her audience promised. “Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye!” Only one of them performed the hoof-motions.

It was enough for Twilight. “It’s just… it’s my birthday, you know? And usually, on my birthday, Princess Celestia comes. Like last year, when we had my party in the castle ballroom? She showed up after we left the garden party. But… she isn’t here today,” the unicorn explained with a melancholic smile. “I just wish she could’ve come.”

“Twilight… you know that the Princess is very busy; she’s probably doing something vitally important right now,” Rarity murmured in her most reassuring voice. “And her sister aside, I don’t think there’s a single pony in all of Equestria that she cares about as much as you. I’m sure she’d be here if she could.”

“Well of course,” she answered, rolling her eyes. “And I know that. After all, it’s not like it’s the first time the Princess hasn’t been able to come. It’s just, when she can’t, she normally tells me beforehoof. But this time... she didn’t even send me a card.” An errant sniff accentuated the emotion Twilight was trying to hide. “She’s never completely forgotten before…”

“Oh, darling…” Rarity cooed, swooping in for a hug. “I’m sure she didn’t forget; I’ll bet something just-”

“Tch. Of course she didn’t forget, silly! She’s Princess Celestia! She doesn’t forget anything, especially not her favorite pony!” Pinkie shouted optimistically. “Besides, I know the absolutely most perfectest way to brighten you up!”

Both the unicorns shared a glance – Rarity with an exaggerated but good-natured sigh, and Twilight resigning herself to a smile. Cheer, after all, became downright contagious when Pinkie was around.

Pinkie paused only long enough to look between the two of them expectantly. “With cake!” she sang, rising on her hindhooves and looking towards the library’s main door. “Mr. and Mrs. Cake! Mr. and Mrs. Cake! It’s time! Bring it in, bring it in!”

At Pinkie’s words, everypony in the crowded library turned to the front door expectantly. Most of them sucked in breaths of air, like they were getting ready to sing, and intentionally or not, all of them were smiling.

And they all waited. And waited. And waited. And as the silence became more and more tense, the party-planner’s brow became sheened with a nervous sweat and her smile strained uneasily. “Cough-cough, THAT WAS THE SIGNAL, cough!” she shouted, as if unaware that everypony inside the library could hear her even more clearly than the Cakes could outside. When there was no answer, she blushed something fierce and looked towards Twilight with an embarrassed grimace. “Eheheheh,” she chuckled, “Excuse me Twilight. I… just-hafta-go-check-on-something-and-I’ll-be-right-back-before-you-can-”

But even before Pinkie Pie could finish her sentence, there was a knocking on the library’s door – a rich ‘thunk thunk thunk thunk’. It was not a quiet noise, but nor was it harsh on the ears; it was a sound both vibrant and clear, as if the pony outside had turned the door into a well-tuned instrument. Nopony’s hoof could make that sound without musical inclination or practiced experience knocking on the doors of the rich and famous. Or both.

Everypony stood in silence for an awkward amount of time. That sound was most certainly not the rough banging Mr. Cake would have made, nor was it the casual thumping Mrs. Cake made when she knocked, and nopony had expected another knocker.

The silence was only broken when the knocking resumed, followed by a melodic, feminine voice. “Excuse me,” she intoned with a tonal Canterlot accent. “Is this the residence of Miss Twilight Sparkle?”

Her questioned asked, the hush remained. Seeing as how nopony else was going to do so, it eventually fell upon Twilight herself to answer the question. “Yes!” she called, stepping through the shocked crowd. “If you’ll give me a moment-” She pulled the door open with her magic as she stepped up. “I’m Twilight. Can I help-” Her question was cut short by an involuntary gasp.

The pony outside seemed used to the response, nodding her head politely and smiling. “My name is Octavia van Clef,” she spoke with a melodic lilt, hefting an impressive cello over her shoulder as she did so, “and Princess Celestia of Equestria wishes you a very happy birthday.”

She marched inside like she owned the whole library, and began to play.

Op. 1, Movt 2: A Prima Vista

Private Gig
by NavyPony

Op. 1, Movt 2
A Prima Vista

Octavia was gorgeous.

‘Gorgeous’ was the only way to put it. She was too lovely to be merely ‘attractive’ or ‘good-looking’, too regal for ‘sexy’ to be appropriate, mature enough to preclude being ‘cute’, and striking enough that ‘picturesque’ fell grossly short. The mare was graceful and refined, with a smile that somehow managed to be equally amiable and mysterious. The dainty way she slid her bow across the cello strings and the dexterous way her hoof moved across its neck both spoke of the refinement and sophistication expected of a Canterlot native. But just as much, she was an earth pony, and it showed. There was a robust passion in her movements – a stubborn and sensuous strength which crept into the way she threw her shoulders and how she turned her neck.

All of these things crept into every aspect of the mare – from her movements to her music – and from the first moment she was revealed on the doorstep, Octavia drew every eye in the room. Even when the Cakes did finally appear, a reproduction of their now-infamous Marzipan Mascarpone Meringue Madness balanced perilously between them, Octavia remained the center of attention. It was only after Pinkie Pie led the party-goers in a rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ (Octavia singing and playing along with them) that things began returning to normal. Cake was served, drinks were poured, and the party’s most recent addition started playing J.S. Buck’s Six Suites. Before long, she was just another source of background music.

Still, even as the games resumed and the guests moved back to what they were doing before she arrived, some ponies continued to talk about the musician.

Rainbow Dash was amongst them. “So what’s up with her?” she wondered aloud, scratching her mane bemusedly. “I mean, she’s not from Ponyville. Did she come all the way out here just for Twilight’s party?”

“Ah don’t rightly know, Sugarcube. Ah mean, she ain’t from Ponyville, and the mare sure as hay don’t look familiar to me, but Ah’m getting’ the feelin’ that she’s a big deal o’ some sort. Definitely gives off that vibe, don’t she? A real genteel sorta mare, and right good at that instrument, too.”

“Genteel? Really, AJ? She’s-”

Happening to overhear her friends’ conversation from where she stood by the wall, Fluttershy stepped in. As uncharacteristic of her as it was to interject, she did so, albeit in a whisper. “She’s Octavia. She’s a really talented and popular cellist in Canterlot, you know.” The pegasus increased her volume slightly when Dash and Applejack both paused their conversation. “In fact, she was one of the performers at the Grand Galloping Gala last year, although she normally only does smaller, private performances – parties and receptions and the like. Still, I’d never imagined she would come all the way out here, especially for… well, something like this. I hear she’s really exclusive, and almost never-”

“Uh, Fluttershy?”

“Yes, Rainbow Dash?” The other pegasus’ eyes widened and her neck tilted towards the floor. “I’m sorry, was I being rude again? I shouldn’t have interrupted you; I was being boring, wasn’t it?”

“What? ‘Course not, Darlin’,” Applejack answered. “It’s just… Ah think Dash here was wonderin’: where didja learn all o’ this? Ah’ve never heard ya mention a… uh… more than a passin’ interest in music.”

Rainbow chimed in with a vigorous nod. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about this stuff before. Since when have you been all classical-music-y and stuff?”

Fluttershy blushed with an apologetic grin. “What? Oh, I’m sorry. I talk about it with Rarity and Twilight, sometimes. I just figured that you weren’t big fans, so I wouldn’t waste your time with it. Was I wrong?”

“Ehh… It’s just surprisin’… And not that Ah don’t enjoy myself a bit o’ music like this, just that Ah don’t know much about it.” Applejack gave a good-natured chuckle at herself as she explained, “Guess Ah’m a li’l bit ignorant when it comes to this stuff.”

“Well that’s okay, Applejack. I’d be glad to tell you all about it.” The usually timid pegasus broke out into an enthusiastic smile. “I suppose the first thing you should know is that-”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Not all of the partygoers were quite as enthralled as Fluttershy. One such pony was Lyra Heartstrings, whose words weren’t intended for many ponies to hear. “I can’t stand her.”

“Really?” Bonbon turned to her on-and-off marefriend, expression mildly perplexed. “You probably know more than I do about it, but I thought she sounds very nice, and-”

“That’s not what I mean,” the unicorn muttered with a roll of her eyes. “Sure, she can play – but that’s not much. Blues can play, Fiddlesticks can play, Kazooie can play, Meadow can play. Hay, I can play. As of the last Equestrian census, do you know what percentage of non-pegasus ponies have cutie marks that are music related?”

Bonbon clung to a hope that answering the question would keep her friend from devolving into a party-stopping tirade. She could only try. “Sev-”

It didn’t stop her from continuing, but at least she kept quiet. “Seven. Seven percent of all non-pegasus ponies cite their special talent as ‘music’ or ‘music-related’. Lots of ponies can play just as well as Octy.”

Damage control involved changing the subject ever-so-slightly. “Octy?”

“Octy, because her name’s Octavia. It’s like… what do you call it? A sobriquet, maybe? It’s diminutive, and that’s why I use it.”

“Like how I call you Ly-Ly sometimes?”

“No, that’s a hypocorism, which… you know, not right now. The issue is that Octy isn’t better than I, but she still…” Lyra scrunched her visage up in a generic sort of scowl; it may have been intended to hide her jealousy, but it did a poor job thereof. “She’s famous, and rich, and popular, and famous and…”

“And you’re not?”

“And I’m stuck playing in the park for bits… I just can’t figure it out.” Her shoulders drooped. “Maybe it’s because she’s prettier than I am…”

Living with a bipolar marefriend was hard. “Lyra…”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Living with a bipolar anypony was hard, in fact, and Spike could’ve attested to that fact. Twilight was acting weird tonight, and although a certain amount of strangeness was typical for her, this was a little bit more than he was comfortable. After all, better safe than sorry. “Umm, Twilight? Is everything okay? Hello~” He had to wave a scaled claw in front of her face to provoke any sort of reaction. “Twilight? Is someth-”

Being the first pony to really speak with her since the cellist’s arrival, Spike felt the full brunt of Twilight’s excitement, built up over the last ten minutes – she went from expressionless catatonia to beaming like Pinkie Pie in less time than she could’ve cast a cantrip. Spike may have been the one speaking to her, but he wasn’t the only one to take note when Twilight declared, “That’s Octavia. That’s the Octavia van Clef. She’s… she’s Octavia!” She wasn’t quite shouting, but it was close.

“Uhh… yeah, she said that when she came in,” Spike replied, urging Twilight to calm down. “Do you know her?”

She laughed aloud. “Hahahaha… Know her? Of course not. Spike, if I knew her, my life would be complete.” The young mare paused for a moment, indulging in her more meticulous nature. “Well, except for finishing my reading list, visiting Neighpon, learning to play the piano, getting published in a scientific journal, perfecting my teleportation spell, going on a fishing trip with Shiny, adopting a foal, earning a teaching certificate, having Celestia declare me a pr-”

“Twilight?”

Spike’s question got her to stop speaking just long enough to notice the attention she was attracting. With a blush and an awkward hoof through her mane, Twilight muttered, “Oh. Umm, sorry. I mean, no, I don’t know her, but I know who she is. She’s a cellist from Canterlot, and she’s really, really good. She’s like, my favorite modern musician, and-”

“Excuse me, darling?” Carrying a piece of cake with her magic, Rarity stepped from the crowd with an immense smirk plastered on her face; only the seamstress’ closest friends might’ve guessed that it was forced. “A word please?” She threw a hoof around the birthday mare in an uncharacteristically casual gesture and pulled the other unicorn away from the forming crowd (and Spike), not stopping until they were in a private corner. Rarity didn’t say anything more until they were safely ignored by the rest of guests, at which point she dropped her friendly demeanor entirely. "Twilight,” she started with a serious tone, “how much do you know about this Octavia?”

“Hmm? Oh, lots,” Twilight answered after collecting herself. “She’s specializes in Baroque-era music, even though she’s most known for playing a Tchaiklopsky piece at one of Prince Blueblood’s celebrations – it’s where she got her start, in fact. After that, she started playing at parties and get-togethers for the nobility, and-”

“That’s not quite what I mean,” Rarity said, cutting in with a hesitant grimace. “How much do you know about her – not her music, but her?”

The way Twilight creased her forehead answered the question before she could form words. “What do you mean?”

Rarity scoffed. It was a polite scoff – the very pinnacle of refinement – but it was a scoff nonetheless. “Twilight… have you...” She hesitated momentarily, searching for the proper phrasing. “Have you ever inquired about this pony from… from anypony who knew much about her?”

As bright as she might’ve been, Twilight missed the gist of the question. “Of course,” she answered, smiling obliviously. “I talked to Princess Celestia after I heard her play, and she likes her music, too. She says that Miss Octavia does some of the Baroque-iest Baroque she’s ever heard, and that’s saying something – she was alive back then, after all. But don’t you see? That’s why she’s here: the Princess hired her for my birthday.” The way Twilight beamed went beyond ecstasy. “She is my birthday present.”

Rarity sighed, and her sigh was not quite as polite as the previous scoff. “I… I think that should be taken as a no, you haven’t heard about her… Or else you do know about her, and I miss my mark entirely.” She thrust her untouched plate of cake towards Twilight with a questionable glance and a dark tone; it was only her minimal volume which kept her from attracting attention. “Darling, I’ve been to Canterlot more recently than you, and in a more… worldly capacity than you ever were. I’ve seen the kind of… soirees Miss van Clef performs at, and more importantly, who she performs for. It’s-”

“Whom.”

“Why, this Octavia van Clef, of course,” Rarity said with a slightly confused pout. “Who else are we talking about?”

“No, ‘whom’,” Twilight corrected once more. “As in ‘whom else are we talking about’, or ‘whom she performs for’. Although that should actually be ‘for whom she-”

“Shush,” the white unicorn pronounced, once more pushing her plate towards Twilight. “Eat some more cake and listen to me.”

Taking the cake up in her telekinesis, Twilight silenced herself and did as she’d been bade. Also, she ignored Rarity’s diction – one could always have more cake; one could never have less.

“Now, as I was saying,” the white unicorn whispered, “you may have lived there most of your life, but I understand a bit more about Canterlot than you do, and if the rumors are true… Miss van Clef is very Canterlot. I’m worried that you may have the wrong idea about her, you see. Unless I’m very much mistaken, she’s,” Rarity punctuated her sentence with an acute sniff, “she’s not really here to play music.”

Try as she could to follow her friend’s account, Twilight was distracted; the MMMM was probably the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted, and for a pony who’d shared meals with the Sun Goddess, that was saying something. “I’m sorry, what do you mean?” she managed to ask between bites. Actually, ‘between’ wasn’t completely accurate – her mouth was at least partially full. “Princess Celestia hired her to perform and-”

It was getting to be too much for the seemly Rarity. “Yes, I know,” she said, massaging a temple. “And who am I to argue with a Princess about such trivial matters? Temporal matters, I suppose. But still… I’ve known you for more than a year, now. You’re my friend, and I’m worried, is all. It’s your business, of course, and I won’t tell the others, but… do be careful, won’t you? Just because she’s charming and proper, just because she specializes in the upper crust, it doesn’t change what she is, it’s just another boon for her. Her real job isn’t music, it’s pleasure.”

Twilight was confused enough to put her fork down and place her plate of cake on the nearest surface. “Well of course, right? I’ve read that it’s what performance is all about – the key component, if you will. Sensory pleasure is the foundation of any entertainer’s success.”

“Precisely,” hissed Rarity, “and Miss van Clef is very successful. She’s not a musician, darling – she’s an entertainer.”

IM 1: A Memo Between Castle Servants

Private Gig
by NavyPony

Intermezzo 1
A Memo Between Castle Servants

FROM: Office of the Head Steward
TO: Bottom Line, Royal Financier
SUBJ: Misfiling to the RSF

Mister Line, I’m writing to inform you that one of my subordinates recently filed a royal expense report incorrectly, and it needs rectification. Which is to say that it needs alteration. Which is to say that it should never have been filed, and the expense itself needs to disappear. You understand.

To be brief, Princess Celestia desired the services of a certain musician to be hired for her protégé – the musician is apparently a favorite, and was to appear and perform at the protégé’s party as a sort birthday present. One of my proxies met with the pony’s agent to negotiate the contract, but she wrote the expense to the CCCB versus one of the more suitable accounts. In her defense, she was actually too junior to know how these things are normally filed, and the culture budget was probably the next best choice.

This effectively being a luxury request by the Princess Celestia, without boon or benefit to country, castle, culture, etc, ad nauseam, it has no part in the accounts. Therefore I, based on my authority as Head Steward, hereby ascribe this expense to the Royal Slushie Fund.

The musician and her company have already been paid and the accounts have already been charged, so this isn’t the typical matter of paying from different accounts. Instead, I need you to have the Canterlot Castle Cultural Budget reimbursed from the Slushie Fund, and then have records of these payments erased. If you file a Form 2583 Mundane Incident Report marked for immediate routing to my chief clerk, I can see that the official records land in your hooves. I’m trusting you to take care of it from there.

V/r, S.S.

P.S. You’ll be glad to know that my Lunar counterpart just informed me that he located the final batch of forms his previous assistant filed while trying to implement Princess Luna’s attempted tax overhaul. They’re being destroyed now.
P.P.S. Remind me to tell you of the RSF’s creation sometime, and why it’s called the Slushie Fund as opposed to the Slush Fund.