Part 1: Octavia's Overture
<♪♬♪>
For a professional cellist, there are many symphonies, overtures, and anthems to learn to play. Tchaitrotsky. Beethoofen. Mozart. Each with their own style, pacing, and requisite skill level. The good cellist, and good musicians in general, know many of these beautiful compositions by heart. To be able to play an entire song, beginning to end, from memory alone is considered the mark of a master. But this only comes from practice - the ritual of repetition.
Ah, in many respects, being devoted to one's music is not that different from a life of pious devotion in the service of a deity or religious order. Both have their rituals. Both have standards, a set of laws that govern a life. But as a pilgrim worships their god, a musician worships music - tone, rhythm, pitch. In place of gods, musicians have these.
In the course of a musician's life, there are also milestones. That first recital that ignites something in a young cellist's soul. That first standing ovation at the Ponyville theatre. Playing in an orchestra for the first time. Playing at the Grand Galloping Gala. These are signs that such individuals are really getting somewhere. That they're not just spinning their wheels on a thick layer of ice. That their endeavors have traction. That their lives have meaning. That's what everypony wants, right?
To mean something. To be worth more than just the sum of biology and magic.
The stage is the nexus of a musician's life. It's where everything they want to be collides with everything standing in their way. Doubt, fear, anxiety are all enemies to these intrepid performers. For on that stage, their minds must be 100% focused on the task at hand. If they let their focus or concentration drift, if they worry about anything else except their music, they make mistakes. Their rhythm slips. They betray their god.
One fateful night, Octavia Philharmonica betrayed her god. But she wouldn't do it consciously, of course. She is a master cellist, after all. Only an external force would make her commit such a massively damning musical sin. But what force could make her do such a thing? What unnatural abomination could possibly make her commit that level of hubris?
Well, all evidence points to a certain pink, party-loving earth pony.
*****
"Sod it! Sod it! Sod it!"
Each pounding of the hoof was a sour note. A set of flat, disharmonious chords to punctuate the disastrous aftermath of the worst night ever. Purple eyes that once held such majestic beauty and an unquenchable thirst for life now only held tears.
Around her lay echoes of her life. Fragments of her illustrious career and all that brief time spent in the spotlight. A framed picture here. A news clipping there. A present sent by an adoring fan there. For some reason, one of her fans gave her a false moustache, of all things! Miss Philharmonica allowed herself a brief, yet almost forced giggle as she remembered that nice young stallion.
Regardless of how silly the bushy applique may have been, like every other item clustered around her crumpled form, it was a memory. Something that she could cling to in this moment - that might serve as an anchor and keep her from deciding to find the highest roof in Canterlot and leap off towards the ground below in a last act of defiance.
In the months following the 1000th Annual Grand Galloping Gala, many things changed for the gray, elegant musician. Even though she didn't precipitate the madness of that night, and regardless of the fact that she was really just another victim of the six crazies from Ponyville, an innocent bystander that fell prey to the machinations of the Elements of Harmony, the fault still fell to her. See, the upper-class twits here in Canterlot, noses stuck up so high in the air that you'd think they'd always be walking into walls, all but disbarred her from performing. They didn't dare provoke the ire of the sovereign in her castle by publicly bad-mouthing the six friends, but they still needed a scapegoat. Somepony to pin the entire fiasco on to cover their own flanks. To protect their image in the eyes of the numerous delegates and their subjects from all over Equestria that attended the Gala.
Octavia, being a so-called 'commoner' originally from Ponyville, drew their condescending gaze. The details as to exactly what they did are largely meaningless. It really doesn't matter now, anyway; the damage to the cellist's career and life is done. The royals are quite happy with themselves, really. Their image remains untarnished, so what does a commoner's unrefined life matter? Especially that of a 'dirt pony' musician?
That poor musician was now trapped. Pinned in between high-class drama and political intrigue, and had no way out. The shadowy predator of destitution bore down on her. The bits she had saved up rapidly dwindled as she raced to find one engagement. One influx of money was the difference between poverty and staying afloat. Street performing, as it was, could only delay the inevitable. She sold jewelry, she sold furniture. She would even sell her own best friend, the one and only Vinyl Scratch, if she didn't love that head-bobbing mare like a sister.
Vinyl Scratch would have dropped what she was doing in heartbeat and come to the grey Earth Pony's aid had she known, but Octavia was simply too proud to ask for help.
As she wallowed in what ponies were most certainly supposed to wallow in, her mind was a scattered amalgamation of regret, pain, and fear. Questions flew about what little shreds of consciousness remained.
Why is fate so cruel?
Why can't I just swallow my bloody pride and ask Vinyl if she can front me some bits?
Why do these royals hate me?
Why? Why? WHY?!
She had so many questions, but so few answers.
Deciding to take on these conundrums tomorrow, Octavia buried her snout into the posh floorboards. Her charcoal-colored mane, uncharacteristically messy, followed the rest of her head as she drifted into the realm of dreams, leaving her depressing reality behind, surrounded by the shattered remnants of a wonderful life that'd been thoroughly squashed by the ambitions of a few corrupt royals.
An exhausted sigh served as a farewell, signifying that last bitter mote of consciousness departing for the evening. A restless sleep followed. After all, how could a mare sleep... when she's being evicted from her flat in the morning?
*****
"Please, just a few more day-" Octavia stammered out, almost pleading.
"Octavia... Stop. Just... stop." The orange-coated unicorn stallion stared into Octavia's distinct indigo eyes.
"P- Please. You have to do... something. Please."
"I'm truly... very sorry. It's just that you've had all the deferments the law allows."
Her landlord, Duplex, sighed sadly. While he recognized that Octavia's situation was brutal and of no fault of herself... Well, he had a business to run.
"Don't you have anywhere you can stay tomorrow?"
Octavia looked off to the side, tears streaming down her face.
"Ah... I... I see. So no-"
"Ponyville. I have... family there." She interrupted.
"... I know it's not much, Octavia... but I can cover your train ticket there."
Octavia's eyes lightened a touch at this.
"I... Thank you, sir. That's very kind."
"Well..." Duplex smiled slightly.
"You always were a good tenant."
*****
Truthfully, she had no place to stay. All her family was long gone... But Ponyville was where she grew up. Maybe somepony could take her in.
A few articles of clothing and about 100 bits in a coin purse.
That was all she had left. Everything else was either long since sold or left behind.
A new life awaited Octavia Philharmonica. Whether it will be a high-stakes adventure, a heart-wrenching romance, or a depressing tragedy was up to her.
Fate can only get a mare so far. Their choices take them the rest of the way.
- II -
Da Capo
<♪♬♪>
Just Outside Canterlot's North Gate
A tall figure rested his haunches against the monolithic barrier of Canterlot's northern gate, a knee-length cloak concealing all but a quartet of white legs that at the end gave way to a set of steel-grey unshorn fetlocks. Apparently, unkempt hooves were all the rage with Canterlot's mares, and the stallion under that cloak rather enjoyed the company of the fairer sex, and they his. Well, except for...
"IN FACT, THE ONLY THING ROYAL ABOUT YOU IS THAT YOU ARE A ROYAL PAIN!"
Prince Blueblood shivered slightly in the brisk morning air, if more for the remembrance of Lady Rarity than any actual frigidity. He was just starting to question his reason for coming out here when a triad of shady individuals came into view just down the path. All winged, though not all of them were equines.
The group diverted from the main path and walked towards the pristine walls of Canterlot - and towards Blueblood.
"About bloody time." Blueblood chided under his breath.
***
The leader of the group was a scarred griffon in the employ of an enigmatic individual called Saxon. Nopony knew who he is, nopony's ever seen him. Well, no pony has. Bloodwing, the best griffon mercenary in the land is his number two. He was flanked by two pegasi wearing the blood-red armor of Saxon's mercenary force. Dark ivory accouterments contrasted the vampiric armor.
"Bloodwing."
"Blueblood. Ze Archon - she is... taken care of, yes?" the griffon interrogated.
"The Archon is taken care of. And I might add, without drawing the ire or... attention of the public."
"Dot vas not the agreement."
"I'm not interested in killing my countrymares, Bloodwing. Only in results. Besides - between the period that her abilities would manifest and she could make it back to Canterlot, your master's plans will already be impossible to stop."
"Hyu can guarantee zis?"
"But of course. She's gone to a nearby hamlet, about 1 hour's train ride, but we'll have the stations locked down during all of this. I've also taken the liberty of bribing a few of the local guards into keeping a close eye on her."
"Hmph."
One of the pegasi spoke up.
"Well, let me put it this way, Blueblood: If you follow through on this, and keep the Archon out of Saxon's business, then things between you and him will be solid. You'll be free to rule Canterlot as you see fit as we agreed, and we'll preserve the lives of your precious Princesses."
The center of attention then returned to Bloodwing. "But. If ze Archon awakens, if she doez anyzing zot is not staying out of our vay or hyu betray Herr Saxon... Zen things between hyu and him.... Not so solid. She vill have to be taken care uff, and hyu will not be immune from... punishment either. Yes?"
Blueblood only nodded at the half-blind avian.
It's a shame that cellist got caught up in all this.
***
Outside the Ponyville Train Station - 4:31 AM
Ponyville's streets remained silent, as if a unicorn had conjured some sort of sound-obliterating curse on the sleepy village. The aetheric quiet that currently blanketed the city was no arcane trick, however. Such was, plainly put, the way of things in Ponyville, especially in the early morning. Amid the distinct lack of noise and commotion, a plainly-colored earth pony cellist stood, equally as quiet as her surroundings. Stunningly elegant and refined, she appeared out of place in the otherwise quaint and down-to-earth town.
The brisk air proved refreshing for Octavia. It had been a great while since she'd returned to her hometown, and she had forgotten how... charmingly rustic the hamlet was. It wasn't on the main road between Canterlot and Manehattan, and as such saw fairly light traffic on most days.
Miss Philharmonica had always stood apart from most other ponies. She wasn't born with a vibrant color nor with a predilection towards ever letting her mane down. Fun and parties, while understood by her, were largely irrelevant. She was born for the snooty upper class.
This fact, combined with the Celestia-forsaken hour that it was, was why she was utterly stunned when a familiar pink party planning pony came flying seemingly from nowhere and started singing some sort of upbeat tune.
"Welcome, welcome, welcome! A fine welcome to you!"
Octavia shook her head back and forth, trying to get her eyes to stop being all... well, the term that came to mind was 'bendy'. Once she was able to refocus on the insane singing pony in front of her, a feeling of rage and grief filled her.
"Welcome, welcome, welcome! I say, how do -"
"YOU."
Octavia noticed that whatever was creating the... music was apparently done for the moment.
"Just you? There's supposed to be a do after that! But not like a 'do re me' do, but a high-pitched regular old do! Yeah, that's not how it goes, silly pants! Er, I guess since you're not wearing pants and all then I guess it would just be silly hooves so really why do they say silly pants if it's silly hooves and - "
"Shut. Up. But you. I know you. From the gala."
"You were at the Grand. Galloping. Gala?!"
"Yes. I was." Octavia's voice dripped with more disdain than usual.
"It's all I ever dreamed, woo hoo!
It's all I ever dreamed, yipee!
I'm at the Grand Galloping GalaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAA-"
"Did you have fun?! I tried to let everypony have fun! But those snooty upper class musicians wouldn't play any good music and nopony could really dance to that but-"
"You want to leave my vicinity, Pinkie Pie. Right now. Lest I do something I regret."
"What're you-" The pink mare noticed the anger welling on the broken musician's face and suddenly understood.
"NOW."
Then Pinkie Pie did something she thought she'd never find herself doing. She lowered her head and backed away from the borderline-psychopathic mare, leaving Octavia to stew by her lonesome. Frustrated and exhausted from the train ride, she dropped her bags and collapsed in the middle of the cobblestone boulevard.
So... so very tired.
Figuring that she should probably get looking for a job immediately, she picked herself up.
Weeping can come later, because right now...
She stuffed a golden bit into a nearby newspaper machine that prominently displayed "The Daily Oat" on its facade.
"... Right now, I need an opportunity in this community."
***
The Apple Farm - Yesterday at 4:37 PM
The characteristically stolid Big Macintosh rested on the gaudy couch in the main room of the farmhouse.
His back leg rested in a cast on said couch. Again.
"Honestly, Ah dunno how ya get so banged up all the time. Do ya just have a love fer gettin' yerself hurt, or what?"
Big Macintosh's head bounced up at the orange-coated mare standing atop the centralized staircase.
"Nnnnope," came the characteristic reply.
"Well, at least Ah've learned t' ask fer help this time around. Ya'll'll be doin' interviews t' hire an extra farmhand. With you outta the picture, we'll need all the help we can get."
"Eeeyup. Will Ah be includin' the loft too?"
"If that's whatcha think. Ah mean, the rest o' the family's busy tendin' t' their own crops. We can't just ask 'em fer an extra hand."
"'Kay."
***
Canterlot - The Daily Oat HQ
"Yo Four String, we got another last minute ad!"
"What kind?"
"Uhm... One sec, lemme check the categor- Help Wanted."
"Where's it from?"
"... Ponyville."
Four String resisted the urge to just stab himself with a sharp quill and end this misery.
"Stick it with the others, Yup."
The frustrated editor sighed, looking up at the precariously tall pile of "last-minute" ad submissions.
Can't ponies these days have the decency to meet deadlines?
***
- WANTED -
Temporary farm hand at Sweet Apple Acres.
Reliability and speed a must. Boarding and meals included.
Apply at 100 Sweet Apple Lane in Ponyville.
There it was. The opportunity.
Hard labor on a farm. While it wasn't Octavia's first choice... Nor the second... Nor even the third, it was the best opportunity in the paper. It would be worth a look, at least.
***
"Ya don't look like much, girl. The hay are you from, anyway?"
"Applejack..."
"... Sorry, Big Mac. Ah guess this is why we're havin' you do the interviews."
The orange mare huffed as quietly as possible.
"Ah'm gonna go and milk the cows. See ya in a bit."
With a loud slam of the back door, Applejack was gone. Two earth ponies remained in the house - grey and red.
"'Scuse mah sister. She can be a bit judgmental."
"It's no problem, sir."
"Call me Big Mac."
"Big Mac. But to address her concerns - I may not seem imposing, but... I feel I may surprise you."
"Uh huh. Have ya ever worked a plow before?"
"No sir."
"Ever bucked an apple tree before?"
"No sir."
"Ever done anything related to farmin', at all?"
"... No, sir."
"Then give me one reason why ah shouldn't jus' show ya the door."
"Because I'm stubborn as hay and willing to learn."
Even she was surprised at the unrefined answer she gave.
"... Well, Ah'll give ya a chance, Miss Philharmonica. A chance. Don't waste it."
"I- Thank you, sir. But... may I ask why?"
"Fella's prerogative."
"That's... helpful."
"Welcome."
