My Sweet Eleanor

by TheDorkside99

Rating: teen
Tags: Sad, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Octavia, Romance
Length: 10409

When Octavia leaves for a week, will her fillyfriend remain faithful?

Octavia's heart is full of love for music and a young pony named Eleanor. When an incident takes Octavia across Equestria, the mare of her dreams stumbles upon a truth that threatens not only her relationship, but her life.

Published 2012-01-29 00:19:38 UTC
Last updated 2012-03-31 23:56:13 UTC

A Mare Once Met, A Fare Thus Kept

“Eleanor…”

The name rang in the cellist’s ears like the call of the church bells summoning mourners to a candlelit funeral. Visions of picnics on sunny meadows and walks down Ponyville’s moonlit cobblestone streets rushed like rapids through her mind. Hopeless gasps for the perturbed air sent Octavia into unspeakable shock and despair.

“Of all the travesties in the world, Tavi.”

“Tis done for love.”

“Nay, but of hatred!” cried the mare after Octavia’s heart. She lied still on the cold floor and not as much as a light whimper could be heard escaping her lips.

“Eleanor. My sweet Eleanor. Your voice quickens, but your words kill.”

* * *

“Oh Tavi, must you play tonight? Will you not enjoy this lovely night with your precious Eleanor?” cried the mare after Octavia’s heart.

The gray pony of exquisite musical inclinations graced the delicate request with a very brash smile. “Eleanor, you know that I hold concerts every night during the months of June and July. Besides, as long as one single heart beats in Canterlot, the beat of music must go on.”

Eleanor, a mare with naive taste for jewelry and beautiful verse, simply brushed off the comment with an elegant huff. “And what of the one single heart in all of Equestria that fractures every second you are gone charming everypony with your infectious tunes? With whom will I ponder the night skies?”

“You hardly need me for that,” replied Octavia straightening her pink bow tie. “That is why I purchased the telescope for you.”

“Oh yes,” said Eleanor glancing at the stars she marked on a hanging map made of creased papyrus. “Certainly a metal rod will keep that old horse entertained while I win the hearts of every mare and stallion in Canterlot.”

“Do my ears deceive me, or do I detect jealousy in that curious remark?”

“Why? Did you spot it with the telescope, perhaps?” asked Eleanor, spinning the expensive device so that it tipped dangerously to one side.

“Careful Eleanor!” Octavia dove for the telescope and witnessed the costly scientific equipment shatter into hundreds of glass and metal pieces. She rose to her hooves and let out an exasperated sigh.

“That wasn’t cheap, you know.”

“It was mine and I can do whatever I please.”

“Must you carry on all disagreements as a child?”

“At least little pretty fillies get what they want.”

Octavia chuckled. “Surely the pony who dons mare’s modesty will not resort to methods of bib bearers?”

“Maybe.”

Octavia paused a moment and put a hoof to her chin. “Well then, perhaps when I come back from tonight’s concert I should run to market and buy you a large cotton candy on a stick.”

“Really?” Eleanor’s eyes lit up.

“Yes, my dear. And while I’m at it, perhaps I could pick you out a nice little dress for our nocturne walks on the town.”

“The blue one that comes with a hat we saw last week in the shoppe!”

“Of course. And shoes to complete the ensemble. What say you?”

“Ooh, yes! Yes! Thank you Tavi!” Eleanor embraced the gray pony.

“And before I return, I mustn’t forget one last purchase of grave necessity.”

“And what might that be, Tavi?”

“DIAPERS!”

Eleanor backed away slowly. “W-whatever for, Tavi?”

“Oh, you know, so that the little filly doesn’t make a nauseous mess of herself more than she already has.”

“Tavi, I’m much too old for that sort of thing.”

“And after I’ve changed you, a warm bottle of formula must needs be prepped in preparation for slumber.”

“You’re frightening me, Tavi.”

“And after I’ve fed you, a gentle rub on the rump to lull the poor, deprived filly off into its little sour world of sweet dreams.”

“Well, I might actually enjoy that detail.” Eleanor looked up and found herself between the wall and a glaring cellist biting her lower lip.

“So, erm, what flavored cotton candy are you getting me, Tavi?” she said nervously.

A moment of silence passed before Octavia opened her mouth wide.

“I’m not getting you anything, you babbling baby!”

“B-But…oh why must you taunt me like this Tavi?” Eleanor broke into a childish sob.

“These aren’t taunts I am spewing in your ungrateful general direction, Eleanor.”

“Then what, pray tell, are these words that pierce my soul?”

“Sarcasm!”

Eleanor pushed away Octavia and threw herself on the bed. She sprawled her petite body all over the neatly made bed and buried her face into a frilly pink pillow.

“You hate me, Tavi! I am an absolute angel and you still hate me! I am nothing more than a burden to you! And you also hate me!”

Octavia let out a sigh and glanced at the small elegant clock that sat on her dresser. The time marked ten minutes before she would be considered late for the third week in a row. She took a seat next to her lamenting filly friend on the bed and ran a hoof through her vivid orange mane.

“Eleanor.”

She lifted her face from the pillow. “You’d rather I were thrown into an orphanage forced to eat horrid porridge three times a day, I’m sure of it!”

“Eleanor.”

“Or perhaps taken by a foreign representative far away to a farm forced to applebuck fifteen hours a day.”

“Eleanor.”

“Or perhaps you’d rather send me out into the dark alleys to sell my heavenly body to some pungent stranger so he could…”

“Eleanor Marie!”

The rapid increase in volume roused Eleanor into an upright position. She clutched a pillow tightly and avoided contact with the eyes of her lover. “You didn’t have to yell, Tavi.”

Octavia sighed and spoke in a calm voice. “Eleanor, you know that I love you.”

Eleanor sniffled. “Well, you’re certainly hiding it well.”

“Nay, my little pony. You are simply deaf to my affection. You must open your ears.”

“What are these silly words you mutter, Tavi? I can hear perfectly well.”

“Listen.”

Octavia pulled Eleanor close to her chest and brought her muzzle close to her lover’s ear.

“Along the banks her eyes as suns glow bright,

Her fields of white caress this mare’s rough soul.

When wondrous hooves her satin mane sets right,

Her youthful lips usurp the fount of youth.”

As she finished her verse, the musical pony gently pulled Eleanor into her lips and gave the disquieted pony an experience she never had while Octavia’s filly friend. Her snow white fur tickled down her back whilst her stomach tied into a warm assortment of suspense and joy. After the two mares lost in each other’s love for a few moments, Eleanor pulled away and sat silenced on the bed.

“Well then, I must be off to the concert. Can’t have the boys waiting all night, can we?”

Octavia stood to her hooves and made her way to the door. She reached for her top hat from the rack, a gift from Eleanor during their first months as a couple, and playfully placed it on her sleek black mane. With cello in hoof, she turned to her lover who still showed an expression like she descended from heaven’s sweetest realms.

“Tavi…I love you.”

“As do I, my sweet Eleanor.”

A Fellow Grief, A Cello Thief

“Three cheers for Octavia, the greatest cellist in all of Equestria!”

The tavern filled with rousing cheers from the orchestral quartet that had just played for its largest audience to date. Four mugs filled with quality ale clinked in the air and instantly vanished down the grainy throats of ponies well-seasoned in musical travels. Octavia slammed her mug on the wooden table and raised a hoof in the air.

“Compatriots, permit me to verbalize my gratitude for one of the greatest performances that has ever graced my ears…and as for you three, tis not a single difference would be noted had your places been taken by a trio of trinket music boxes!”

“Aw, come on Octavia,” said the harpist, Strings McGee. “At least we hit the notes, right?”

“Precisely, my hollow headed harpist!”

“Heh, ya walked right into that one, eh McGee?” joked Sousie Tuba, the sousaphone player. “But don’ take it tah heart. Ol’ Octy’s just a bag of tricks, ain’t that right Octy?”

Octavia took a bow. “These snippets of truthful jest are droplets of love overflowing from the depths of my heart.”

“Then it appears we may have a drought on our hooves,” commented the pianist Frederic Horseshoepin, giving the cellist a slightly smug smirk. Oohs spilled from the mouths of the two other musicians.

Octavia crossed her hooves then gripped Frederic’s neck in a playful lock. “Oh Frederic, must I remind you of our brief courtship from long ago. You weren’t complaining about droughts. In fact, you could say it rained every night. And you were more than willing to stick your tongue out in the rain.”

Frederic’s face went red which brought laughter upon laughter at the table.

“I-I’m going to get more ale. E-Excuse me.”

Octavia sighed. “Ah, the perks of walking on the other side of the street.”

“Well, now that we’re on the subject,” said McGee. “How’s my little sister doing?”

“Like the honey bee of spring, Eleanor is nestled sweetly in the full bloom of my love. And she stings my patience with her incessant buzzing.”

McGee smiled. “So it’s going good, right? I mean bees and spring are good things, right?”

“Well, ah, I don’t know, see? Spring’s warm and all and, ah, bees make…honey?” chimed Sousie.

Octavia facehoofed. “Oh, you duo of denseness. Are you ever good for anything other than pulling strings and blowing horns?”

Sousie broke into laughter. “Oy, we both walked into that one! Ya got us good, Octy. Very good.”

“Oh yes, let us all laugh and praise Octavia because she’s so delightfully funny and can rub strings together,” said Frederic in a wavy voice.

Octavia gave the pianist a simple glance then chuckled. “Well, tis more pleasing to rub than to pound, as I always say. Right you two?”

Sousie burst into laughter and even the dim witted McGee pounded the table.

“Pleasing to rub than pound. I get it. I actually get it!” yelled McGee between guffaws.

Frederic drank a sip of his ale before returning serve. “Hmm! Well, it was a delightful day in ponydom the moment you turned gay!”

Octavia leapt onto the wooden table gaining the attention of every eye and ear. “Well, I would say the same thing, but that day just so happens to coincide with the day I met you!”

This time the entire tavern erupted into a burst of laughter and cheers. Chairs were knocked over and the ponies that sat in them with them. Even the burly bartender who rarely acknowledged anypony cracked a pleased grin.

“Oh my gawsh! My sides!” screamed Sousie. “You can’t buy entertainment this good!”

“Boy, she got you good, huh Freddy? I mean, she got you good, right?” said McGee.

Frederic pulled at his collar and marched up onto the table with Octavia. “Very well, Miss Octavia. If you think you’re so great, then I challenge you to improvise a song!”

Octavia smirked and hopped off the table. “You do realize you’re writing your own death certificate, Frederic? However, if this tames the tumultuous tot, then allow me to retrieve my cello from the entrance.”

“Nuh-uh-uh, my little pony,” said Frederic as he pulled out his leg across Octavia’s chest and pointed a hoof to a corner of the tavern. “I want to hear your musical genius on the piano.”

Octavia pushed away the unwelcomed gesture and made her way to the old grand. Every eye once again watched as she took her seat on the short bench and picked out several notes before assuming the proper position.

“This, my friends, is an original composition by yours truly, and for Frederic unruly.” Octavia cracked her hooves, flipped her sleek black mane off her eyes, and began to play and sing:

Frederic he went to town

Riding on a pony

She was so unsatisfied

She left him to his moaning.

Frederic, you keep it up

You’ll be soft as taffy

And the mares you so oft scare

Acquire the taste of filly!

There was not a single dry eye in the tavern as thunderous applause masked the laughter the improv song generated. Frederic slid back into his chair and stared into his empty mug of ale.

Octavia walked over to the bartender and placed an elbow on the counter. “I believe that bit of performance deserved another round, what say you old man?”

The bartender obliged and poured Octavia a complimentary drink from the tap. As the last drop slithered through the foamy top, the bartender hoofed the refreshment to her. Immediately his eyes lit up.

“Ay pony, I’se thinkin’ yer cello’s a gettin’ aways from ya.”

“Nonsense, my good stallion. Though I excel in all instruments, I shan’t leave my most fond weapon of choice.”

The bartender shook his head. “Nah. I’se really means it. Look.”

He pointed a hoof toward the entrance. Octavia turned with the mug on her lips and spat what ale she had left in her mouth as she spotted a cloaked pony sneaking outside the tavern with her cello in hoof.

“You there! Unhoof my cello this instant!”

The cloaked pony chomped the cello by the handle and broke out the swinging doors.

“Hey get back here, you fiend!”

Octavia burst through the doors and ran hot on the robber’s hooves into the moonlit streets of Canterlot. The cello proved to be cumbersome for the scrawny pony and the weight caused a loss of balance. The cello broke free of its case and the momentum caused the strings to rip and twist as it scratched on the cobblestone. Octavia reached her prized instrument and mumbled softly under her breath as she ran her hooves up and down the spindling strings.

“You stupid, rotten, no-good, filthy criminal scum! What in the name of Celestia were you thinking?”

“I-I’m sorry, ma’am,” replied the stunned stallion. “I was just lookin’ for a way to make money to feed my poor family. I was gonna give I back, I swear. Please don’t hurt me.”

“So the demon inside your head told you to steal the cello from the world’s greatest cellist who ever lived? Your family deserves to starve, you bucking bastard.”

The trembling stallion struggled to his hooves and bolted from the scene. Strings McGee and Sousie Tuba caught up with the gray pony still hurling insults at the fleeing father.

“Cursed be your wife and children! May they all have their eyes gouged, their orifices shredded by the grimiest stallion, and have their flesh rotted and eaten by plumpish maggots!”

“Gee, that don’t look so hot, right?”

Octavia brought her breathing down to a normal rate and gave a sigh. “No, McGee, it doesn’t. And it has left my heart cold and hard.”

“So hold on a sec. How are ya gonna play tomorrah?” asked Sousie.

Octavia raised her voice anew. “Does my cello look in any condition to play, you blind buffoon? Cancel the next week of performances. I must take it to the only place that knows how to properly fine tune a cello.” Octavia grabbed her cello and locked it back in its leather black case in a huff. She began to make her way towards her apartment leaving the two group members in a daze.

“And where’s that, Octy?” asked Sousie.

Octavia turned around and scowled at the sousaphonist. “Manehatten.”

Your Dresses To Stay, Johannes To Play

“Manehatten!” yelled Eleanor.

Octavia slammed a suitcase shut and scowled at the distressed mare. “For the fifth time, Eleanor. Yes, Manehatten.”

Octavia turned her attention to the mirror and straightened her bow tie. Her fillyfriend sat on the bed with a handkerchief up to her nose.

“But, that’s clear across Equestria. You’ll be gone for weeks! Years! I’ll die alone!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Eleanor,” said Octavia, rummaging through her things inside a drawer. “It will take me no more than three days to arrive, another to fine tune my cello, and finally another three days to return. You do the math, and it comes to a grand total of not years.”

“Well, it will feel like years to me,” said Eleanor. “Is there not one single pony in all of Canterlot that can tune a cello?”

Octavia paused from her scavenging. “Tune a cello? Yes. But fine tuning is what I require, sweet Eleanor. I know of only one pony whose can revive the liveliness of my cello and that pony is in Manehatten, not Canterlot.”

Eleanor stood up from the bed and walked over to Octavia. She wrapped her hooves around the gray pony’s neck and cast her a seductive glance.

“Tavi, honey. You are the best and most wonderful cellist in all of Equestria. Surely a normally tuned cello will suffice. Those gentle strokes from your wonderful hooves are what create the magic of your craft.”

“Eleanor, you wouldn’t know the first thing about playing a cello if it gave you music lessons.” Octavia broke free from her lover’s embrace and rushed to her closet to continue her search.

Eleanor crossed her hooves and frowned in Octavia’s direction. “Perhaps I don’t, Tavi, but I do know that one should be happy with what they have and not have to splurge on such petty details.”

“Oh really?” said Octavia, finally coming out of the closet. She carried several of Eleanor’s dresses and opened the door that led to a balcony.

“T-Tavi, what are you doing?”

“Well, since you’ve clearly made a life changing discovery leading to contentment, I’ve taken the liberty to rid of these ‘petty details’ from your collection.” Octavia dangled the expensive dresses over the side of the balcony and cast a smirk in Eleanor’s direction. The fashionable pony rushed to Octavia and attempted to recover the dresses that were just out of her reach.

“Tavi don’t be ridiculous, I need those!”

“For what? You’re a pony! You don’t need clothes.”

“What are these words? Of course I need them!”

“Why?” asked Octavia as she extended her reach a tad farther.

“Because I do, that’s why!”

“I want an answer that makes sense, my dear, not nonsense. Tell me why do you need them?”

“Octavia stop it right now!” yelled Eleanor.

Octavia grinned. “Tell me what I want to hear, filly.”

Eleanor grunted. “Fine. I need them because they are what make me special.”

Octavia hoofed back Eleanor her dresses and walked back inside the room. She scanned the floor and reached for a card that had fallen to the floor.

“Found it.”

“What, Tavi?” asked Eleanor placing each of her dresses back in the closet.

“The directions to Treble’s Music Store in Manehatten.” Octavia placed the card in a pocket of her suitcase and glanced at the clock. “Tis almost time for me to depart, but not before I make a little trip to the restroom. Eleanor, would you mind making me a sandwich before I leave? I don’t want to spend any unnecessary money if I don’t have to.”

Eleanor sighed. “Very well, Tavi.”

After a short moment, Eleanor returned from the kitchen with Octavia’s sandwich wrapped in a napkin. She placed it on the dresser when she noticed Octavia left a drawer open. A wallet size pictured that caught the corner of her eye piqued her interest enough to grab it. She examined carefully and gave a short gasp.

“Who is this stallion with Tavi?” she whispered to herself.

“Who’s what, darling?” asked Octavia coming out of the restroom.

Immediately Eleanor hid the picture behind her back and grinned nervously. “Oh, nothing my dear Tavi. Just the random mumblings of a pony. Here is your sandwich.”

Octavia gave the sandwich a whiff. “Red wine vinaigrette. You know me well, my love.”

“Yes, I do!” she replied chuckling.

Octavia kissed Eleanor’s lips then grabbed her things and headed out the door.

“Until we meet again, my sweet Eleanor.”

“O-Of course. Do be careful, my love,” replied Eleanor. She pulled out the picture once Octavia was out of sight.

“Do be careful.”

The train rattled across the serene country side just as the sun hid behind the mountains of the Equestrian Madre range. Ponies from all walks of life sat huddled in their seats trying to keep warm in the coolness of the evening. Octavia placed another blanket over her shivering body as she continued to pen a new composition in her musical notebook.

“We apologize for the sudden breakdown of our heating system,” said an announcer over the speakers. “Rest assured out top engineers are working tirelessly to restore it. Thank you.”

“Blasted train,” muttered Octavia. “This is the very last time I purchase coach in an effort to save money.”

Octavia picked up her pencil and continued to write. The cold made her shiver so much the pencil fell out of her hoof and rolled under several seats behind her.

“Buck,” she murmured to herself. She sighed and looked out the window. Several tall pines lined the bottom ridge of the snowcapped mountains that lay beyond the valley of wheat that had become an object of trance for anypony that stared as they whizzed by. The sun had long escaped behind the ridge and the moon took its place illuminating the land with its delicate light. Octavia was just beginning to fall asleep when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Um, excuse me ma’am,” spoke a stallion’s voice.

Octavia grunted as she turned around and rubbed her eyes.

“What is it?”

“As courtesy of the Pony Express, we would like to provide you with a free hot beverage. Tea or hot chocolate?”

“Chocolate? Celestia no. Tea, please. Earl Grey.”

“Right away, ma’am.”

As the stallion left, Octavia snuggled into her former position and pulled a small lever in an attempt to recline the seat further. When she noticed that it would not, she gave a disgruntled sigh. “Blasted train seats. I swear, the only other thing that would make this train wreck a complete living hell would be…”

“Um, excuse me, ma’am,” said another voice.

“What?” blurted Octavia.

A young filly with a brown mane and blue eyes stared frightened into Octavia’s glare. She held out a tiny hoof with a pencil within its weak grasp.

“I-I think this is yours, ma’am.”

Octavia snatched the pencil. “Yes, thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am weary and need some rest.”

Octavia turned around in her uncomfortably erect seat. “Young children. Celestia help me if Eleanor ever wanted to adopt one of these snotty inconveniences.”

“Ooh, is this yours?” said the young filly.

Octavia quickly turned again and saw the little filly staring in amazement at the large leather case.

“Yes.”

The filly reached out to touch it.

“Don’t touch it,” the gray pony warned. “Tis very valuable.”

“Oh, I know. I know. My mommy use to have one too. But it was a smaller one. This one’s too big for me, you know.”

“Yes. All the more reason for you to leave it be.”

“Can you play me a song, please?” asked the filly with wide, smiling eyes.

Octavia scowled. “Does it look like I’m giving a concert? Leave me be, child. I do not give impromptu performances for anypony.”

“Oh, I can see why.”

Octavia realized the curious filly had opened the case revealing the torn strings from the previous night’s fiasco. Quickly the cellist ripped the instrument out of the filly’s hooves and glared nastily at her.

“Are you deaf, child? I told you not to touch this.”

“Oh, but I can fix it. I can. See.” She pointed to sapphire ribbons that adorned her head. “I fixed my mane today and it’s pretty. So I can do it.”

“That is very generous of you to offer, but I’d rather have a professional take a look at it.”

“Whose Uh Pruhfeshunal?” the filly asked.

Octavia sighed. “No, my little pony. What I mean is I would rather have a tuner whose profession is to fix instruments such as mine deal with the problem. You are not a professional tuner, and definitely not a professional manedresser.”

The little filly looked puzzled. “My mane doesn’t have a dress.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Please, little filly. I am very tired and need my rest. And besides, aren’t your parents looking for you?”

“I don’t have any parents,” said the filly looking at the carpet.

“Oh.” Octavia glanced uneasily across the floor.

The little filly looked up at Octavia with pleading eyes. “Can you play a song for me?”

Octavia facehoofed. “Did you not hear what I just told you? My cello needs repair. It simply cannot play in its current state.”

“But only three are broken,” said the filly pointing at the cello. “You still have three left.”

“And what possible monstrosity would you expect me to play on a mere three strings?”

“Brahm’s Lullaby. Tis a simple melody that only requires three strings.”

Octavia stared blankly at the knowledgeable filly. “You are right about that. B-But, why would I go out of my way to play such a simple tune.”

“It was mommy’s favorite,” she answered with a sniffle. “And today is her birthday.”

Octavia looked at the sad filly and lifted her face with a tender hoof. “Very well. In honor of your late mother’s birthday, it would be my honor to play Brahm’s Lullaby.”

The cellist took the bow out of the case and readied it by the strings. She brushed away the torn strings that dangled like wires. As she proceeded to play the first note, the little filly tapped her hand.

“Is it okay if we sing the words?”

Octavia smiled. “I’m afraid the lyrics are unfamiliar territory for me.”

“Oh, then I’ll sing it first, and then you can sing with me when you learned it, okay?”

“Very well.”

Lullaby and good night,

Thy mother's delight,

Bright angels beside

My darling abide.

They will guard thee at rest,

Thou shalt wake on my breast.

They will guard thee at rest,

Thou shalt wake on my breast.

“That was lovely, my dear,” said Octavia as she covered the dozing little filly with a blanket. Octavia looked up into the night sky pondering the millions of bright stars decorating the darkness blanketing the sleepy valley. She finally slipped into a restful slumber with a hoof around the filly and a smile on her face.

Uncouth Concealed, A Truth Revealed

Gray skies covered Canterlot in a silent fog that chilled to the bone. The streets were empty and puddles covered cobblestone squares in large portions, a pair of rare sights for Canterlot’s normally warm and pleasant summer nights. Only minutes from her home, Eleanor walked along Canterlot’s high end district into a residential area that briefly cut into downtown’s array of bright entertainment. With a parasol in hand, she looked into her hoof at the only thing her investigations from the nights before revealed: an address.

She picked up her head and spotted the house from across the flooded street. She tried her best to skip over the puddles, but only managed to moisten her dress up to the knees.

“Hmph! Dumb rain!”

When she made it across the street, she slowly walked through the unlocked gate and passed an array of carefully manicured bushes and trees. On the porch, Eleanor unfolded her parasol and pushed the golden doorbell which faintly played the first eight measures of Fur Elise.

“I hope I wrote the address down right. How embarrassing it would be to..”

Eleanor’s thoughts were interrupted by an elegantly dressed gentlecolt holding the door halfway open.

“Um, may I help you, Madame?”

Eleanor stumbled to speak. “Y-Yes. Uh, you wouldn’t happen to be Frederic Horseshoepin, would you?”

“Why yes, yes I am,” he replied. Frederic scaled Eleanor with his eyes and huffed. “Look, if you want an autograph or something, I’m afraid I am much too busy at the moment, so I will have to ask you to leave.”

“No no no, it is not an autograph I am seeking from you.” Eleanor paused a moment to recollect her thoughts. “Mr. Horseshoepin…”

“Please, call me Frederic.”

“Very well, Frederic. I’m here because I know you and Octavia used to be lovers.”

Frederic cocked his head. “And perhaps you could introduce yourself before I call the police.”

“Oh yes, where are my manners. I am Eleanor. Strings’s little sister?”

“And Octavia’s current go around, am I correct?” asked Frederic with a smirk.

“I have a few questions to ask you about Octavia, if that’s okay with you,” she replied ignoring the remark.

Frederic scratched his chin and sighed. “Look, Miss Eleanor. What Octavia and I had happened long ago. We were in love, and then we broke up. Simple as that. A common practice among two consenting adult ponies. Now if you’ll excuse I have more important matters than to satisfy the curiosity of a young lass.”

Frederic was in the middle of shutting his door when Eleanor placed a hoof in the way on the door frame.

“Tell me about this photograph, Frederic.” Eleanor held up the photograph in question to Frederic’s face. His eyes grew very wide and his jaw dropped nearly to the floor. When he regained his composure, he opened his door all the way and motioned Eleanor with his hoof.

“Please come in from the rain, Miss Eleanor. We have much to talk about.”

“There you are, Octavia. Good as new!”

Treble, the plump and peppy owner of the music shop hoofed Octavia her newly repaired cello featuring new strings and a finished head. The sun that poured in through the window reflected off the majestic body of the waxed instrument. Octavia grabbed her bow and played a quick tune and smiled at the conclusion.

“Treble! If I weren’t here for the entire duration of the process, I would say you swapped my cello with a newer one.”

Treble gave a hearty chuckle. “Well, I try my best. Especially for somepony of your caliber.”

“Oh nonsense, my good friend. I am no more than a simple soul with love for music.” Octavia pulled out a wallet and thumbed through its contents. “So, how much for the repair, old man.”

“It’s on the house.”

“B-B-B-B…”

“Nope,” Treble yelped in a high scratchy voice. “I will not take money from a soul who blesses my ears with the sweet sound of music as you have. Besides, I still owe you for my lousy finals performance from music school.” Treble gave Octavia a playful wink.

“Then we are even.”

Octavia admired her cello when something caught her eye. The little filly from the train stood outside the store with her face pressed against the window. Her beady eyes gazed at an elegant violin stained with a fiery red-orange finish and a sharp looking bow to boot. From inside, Octavia motioned the filly to come in to look at the violin together.

“Amazing, is it not?”

“My mommy had one like that. She did. I saw.”

Octavia chuckled. “Really, a Saddlevarius? The most exquisite and expensive violin you can buy? She must’ve been quite the player.”

The little filly nodded and continued to admire the instrument. Octavia knelt next to the little filly and placed a hoof on her shoulder.

“You know, little one. You really should be at the orphanage. Somepony there must be going insane looking for you right now.”

“But I don’t have to go,” she responded as-a-matter-of-factly.

Octavia chuckled. “Don’t be silly, little filly.” She stood to her hooves and grabbed her hoof. “Come on. I want to make sure you make it to the orphanage in one piece.”

The little filly did not move from her spot and pouted at Octavia’s direction. The cellist pulled the little filly until she was dragging her along the carpet.

“Little filly, don’t make this any harder than it should be.”

“But I don’t wanna go!” she cried.

Other customers of Treble’s Music Shoppe turned to face the spectacle of a professional cellist dragging a street filly by the hoof. Octavia grinned nervously then gave the filly a hard stare.

“Little filly, you are going to comply with the governmental regulations of abandoned children to exist under the care of state appointed orphanages or, so Celestia help me, somepony should find me here with a crying babe!”

The little filly pouted. “I’m not a baby. No. I’m a big girl.”

“Then prove yourself and come with me to the local orphanage!”

The little filly stared at her hooves and sighed. “I can’t.”

Octavia thought for a moment then knelt once again to the filly’s level. “What do you mean?”

The little filly pulled a piece of folded paper out and hoofed it to Octavia. She opened it up and began reading its contents.

“This official note certifies that the holder is entitled to the social terms listed below.”

Octavia mumbled the words she read to herself when suddenly, tears began to form in her eyes. She put the paper down and gazed at the little pony in front of her. She placed a hoof on her flank when she spotted the peculiar cutie mark that only meant one thing.

“My word. You…You’re a…”

“A wanderer?” said Eleanor.

She gripped the picture she found in Octavia’s drawer tightly in her hoof, staring at the little filly that sat in between her lover and Frederic grinning with cake crumbs on her face. She looked up at Frederic who sat on a large red chair next to the crackling fireplace. He bent near a candle to light it with a match.

“We found her one day while at market,” he said. He placed the used match on a small table and positioned himself back into the chair.

“Poor thing. She was a unicorn whose mother drank terribly and father hit heavily. As a result, she lost her ability to use magic at birth. Not wanting anything to do with her, they sent her to the orphanage where she spent the next ten years. Of course, a magicless unicorn that doesn’t have the strength of an earth pony or the flight ability of a pegasus was overlooked for those years. And so, after ten years as with every orphan, she was marked on her flank and given the boot.”

Eleanor glanced uneasily at the fireplace. “So, how did she end up with you two?”

“She didn’t,” replied Frederic. “Octavia brought her along after she met her after a solo concert. Something about the filly’s natural inhibitions towards music that captured her attention. Anyway, we spent a whole day absolutely spoiling this useless creature. At the end of the day Octavia said she wanted us to adopt her.”

Frederic stood to his hooves and made his way to a personal bar. He prepared a drink for himself then set his back against the counter.

“This was the object of our separation,” he said taking a sip. “Since then she’s always hated me. Made fun of everything I did. The nerve.”

“Well, it does sound like you didn’t treat the little filly very well,” said Eleanor. “What happened to her?”

“She’s dead.”

Eleanor gasped. “How could you refuse to adopt such an unfortunate child?”

“Because it was more than just love Octavia had for the filly. It was obsession. Sick, twisted obsession.”

“What do you mean?” asked Eleanor.

Frederic placed his drink on the counter and began walking around his guest examining her dress.

“How many dresses do you own, Miss Eleanor?”

“I don’t know. Hundreds, perhaps. A modest number, really.”

“Of course,” he replied. He bent down to Eleanor’s knees and hoofed the bracelets around her ankles. “And these. She purchases jewelry by the box for you, I presume.”

“I do not understand where you are getting at, Frederic,” she said squirming in her seat. “In fact, you are scaring me a bit.”

“She buys you flowers,” he said running a hoof over Eleanor’s back leg.

“Frederic?”

“She buys you candy.” He continued feeling up her back leg until he reached her flank.

“Stop it, please!”

“And speaks beautiful words of poetry in your ears!” Frederic ripped Eleanor’s dress off and gasped as the peculiar cutie mark that decorated the flank of the poor filly from long ago reappeared.

“I knew it.”

Eleanor quickly jumped and slapped Frederic across the face. “No, you don’t understand. Octavia and I have something special together. She loves me for who I am. Unlike you, you pervert!”

Eleanor stormed out of the room and bolted out the front door. She kept running ignoring the blots of water that smacked her face as she ran through the streets back to the apartment she shared with Octavia. When she finally reached the front doorstep of the complex, she let her flank fall on the steps and she began to weep softly.

A Stallion Fond, A Common Bond

“Wanderer,” Eleanor whispered.

Eleanor could not take her eyes off the photograph she discovered in Octavia’s drawer from the day before. She gripped it tightly within her shaking hooves bending the image straight down the middle. The sight of her lover’s past self enjoying the company of a wanderer allowed feelings of doubt to creep into her heart.

“Do you really love me, Tavi? Or is there something you’re hiding from me?”

Speckles of rain began to decorate the old photograph as the gray sky recoiled into a light drizzle. A light wind magnified the bite of the cold that nipped Eleanor’s softened fur, driving her to a mad search for her key to the apartment. She reached into her purse, a present for her birthday last year, and rummaged through every sliver of space she could find. After searching for a few minutes browsing through her mare’s necessities, she let out an exasperated sigh that danced in the cool air in white steam.

“Excuse me, Miss.”

Eleanor looked up to find a young stallion standing with a broom in his hoof.

“I-I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help notice you dropped these down the street awhile back.”

The young stallion reached into the pocket of his long cloak and held out his hoof with Eleanor’s keys, dangling lightly in the brisk wind. Eleanor reached out and grabbed her keys, pausing a moment to collect her thoughts about this strange new stallion with a hint of a Latin accent in his voice.

“Oh, thank you good sir. You have nothing to be sorry for. In fact, I should be thanking you dearly, especially on a night like this where it would have taken me hours to find these.”

Eleanor turned quickly and fumbled to find the right key among the many that hung in her hoof. As she identified the correct one, she inserted the key into the gate and twisted, but the key became stuck refusing to turn a single centimeter.

“Oh my! How embarrassing.”

Eleanor put all her strength into her wrist as she twisted and turned, but the brute resistance of the key kept it still, and coupled with the freezing cold only served to give her hoof a bruising pain. Eleanor was about to give up when suddenly, a warm sensation covered her neck and hoof that sent a chill down her spine.

“Allow me to help you, Miss.”

Eleanor, entranced by the gentle voice from behind, obeyed and moved out of the way to allow the young stallion to work on the stubborn key. He grabbed the knob firmly and pulled it out until it clicked. Then, turning the key with ease, the door opened gently causing cool air to brush across Eleanor’s shivering body. Eleanor darted her eyes from left to right and smiled weakly.

“Thank you, kind sir. I keep forgetting that little trick to open this blasted door!”

“It was no trouble at all, Miss,” the young stallion replied. “And please, call me Forte.”

Eleanor and Forte smiled at each other for a moment then quickly looked away from each other’s gazes in a rush of embarrassment. A few moments of silence passed as the two ponies, their gazes diverted in opposite directions, struggled with what to say next.

“Well, thank you Forte,” Eleanor said, finally breaking the awkward silence.

Eleanor walked through the gate and started to make her way to the stairs that led to her apartment, but paused before she took another step. An idea that entered Eleanor’s mind caused her to smile as if a light bulb clicked just above her in the dark, dank night. She turned around and was relieved to see Forte still standing there with his broom clutched tightly in both hooves.

“Forte, you look so cold. Why don’t you come inside for some hot tea?”

Forte shrugged his shoulders at the idea. “Oh, I couldn’t, Miss. I mean I still have a lot of work to do and I’d just feel like I was taking advantage of you or something.”

“Nonsense!” she exclaimed in a dramatic fashion. “I just want to thank you for letting me in. Please come inside from the bitter cold, I insist!”

“That’s really kind of you to offer, Miss, but I should get back to work. Besides, I always open that old rickety gate for lost children and such. It’s nothing really.”

“I am not a lost child, Forte!”

Eleanor’s strong answer came at such an unexpected manner that both ponies jerked back in shock at its alarming volume. Another moment of silence passed through the courtyard, this time marred with confusion and built-up tension. Forte, not wanting to disturb the beautiful mare standing in front of him bothered and hurt, turned around and began to make his way to the wet streets of Canterlot with his head hanging low.

“Forte,” Eleanor called out.

The young stallion sighed and turned to face his caller.

“I-I’m terribly sorry for yelling at you. Truly, I am. Please, I do not wish to see you out in the freezing rain. Come inside, even if just for a few minutes. Until the rain stops. Then you can continue to sweep, or whatever it is that you do with that broom.”

Forte couldn’t help but smile at the pony’s sincere generosity. The street sweeper rested his broom against a dimly lit wall, much to the relief of Eleanor.

“Very well, I accept your kind offer. Thank you, Miss.”

“Please,” she replied with a soft voice. “Call me Eleanor.”

“So, I take it you’re not from around here, right Forte?” asked Eleanor.

Eleanor hoofed a mug of hot lemon and mint tea to her guest then took her seat adjacent to his on the kitchen table. Forte lifted the mug and breathed in the soothing aroma through his frozen nostrils and smiled.

“That is right, Eleanor. Where I am from, there is no strange cold weather during the summer months.” Forte brought the mug down to his lips and took a rapid sip of his tea, a satisfied sigh blowing out of his nose.

“And there is not very good tea like there is here, either.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Eleanor replied.

She took a peek out of the kitchen window and was relieved at the constant patter of rain that forced her invited guest to stay indoors. She watched as the broom Forte left outside against the wall darkened in color by the water that moistened its entire body. After losing herself in a trance, she was brought back to reality by Forte’s gentle voice.

“W-What? I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Oh,” he replied. “I just wanted to know if I could help myself to these crackers on the table.”

“Of course, that’s what I put them there for,” she said with a smile.

Forte grabbed a hoofful of the lightly buttered crackers and politely munched on one while taking sips of his tea. Eleanor smiled as she saw him eat; a question entered her mind.

“So, how was it that you came to Canterlot, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Forte nodded in approval of Eleanor’s question and began. “My father was a ship merchant, and every month he would sail across the ocean and deliver all kinds of goods to different countries. Sometimes I would go with him, when there was not school of course.”

“I can just imagine how worried sick your mother would get with you and your father being gone so long at sea,” said Eleanor.

“Actually, I never met my mother. She died giving birth to me.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” said Eleanor placing a hoof over her chest.

“This is okay,” Forte replied. He took a sip from his mug and continued his story for the ever attentive pony sitting at the table. “Anyways, one day my father got a call to ship twenty tons of rice to Canterlot. This was one of those trips where he would take me with him. When we arrived, His men unloaded the cargo and he met with the stallion that ordered his services. He noticed something strange about him, like a bad curse he felt as they talked or something.”

Forte paused to take a bite from the cracker in his hoof

“And then, there was a loud bang. My father and the stallion turned to see that I had accidentally opened one of the crates and lots of rice spilled onto the floor of the dock. But what was more surprising was that within the rice were illegal firearms.”

Eleanor gasped. “You mean, your father was part of an illegal business trade?”

“And without even knowing,” Forte exclaimed. He paused and glanced apologetically at Eleanor, who closed her eyes as to forgive him for his outburst.

“So what happened next, Forte?”

“Well, it was at that moment the security at the docking station took notice and called in the royal guards for assistance. It was everypony for themselves as stallions left and right ran away. Some got caught, including the stallion who made the order. As they were pulling him away, he gave an order for his men to grab a firearm and shoot at whoever tried to flee.”

Forte put his mug on the table and pressed his lips together tightly, struggling to finish the rest of his story. The rain outside grew into a fierce downpour and a flash of lightning cast a quick shadow on the table, which was soon followed by booming thunder.

“Forgive me, Eleanor,” Forte said.

“No, there is no need. Please, feel free to take all the time you need.”

After a brief moment, Forte breathed a deep sigh and continued. “I ran towards the door as fast as I could and my father ran behind me. I tripped and landed right at the entrance where one of the stallion’s men stood pointing a gun at my face. Before he could shoot, my father bucked him in the chest so hard, it sent him out into the ocean. Just as we thought it was safe to walk out, my father grabbed me by the waist and turned his back to the opening.”

A single tear ran down Forte’s cheek and died on his lip.

“The last thing I remember hearing were blasts coming from outside.”

As the last words of his tragic tale escaped his lips, Eleanor could not help but throw her hooves around him and share in his weeping. She clutched him tightly to her chest, the warmth of her body uniting with his cold exterior creating an exchange of mutual heat that comforted one and burdened the other. Eleanor, after a few minutes of their embrace, broke free of Forte and wiped her eyes.

“So, you were wanderer, too? Like me?”

“Yes, Eleanor,” he replied, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief graciously given to him by his empathetic hostess. “I spent the next twenty years with no place to go, and nopony to talk to. I knew not the language and had to spend nights out on the streets. A stallion I met when I was thirteen took pity on me and let me stay in his basement so long as I swept his yards for him and his friends in the high end district. I’ve been doing this every day since.”

For a few moments, the two wandering ponies sat in their chairs reliving their lives as the outcasts they once were. The ticking of the grandfather clock sounded through the entire apartment until it climaxed into a melodious chorus, signaling the eleventh hour. Forte quickly rose to his hooves and grabbed his cloak from his chair’s backrest.

“It is getting late, and I believe the rain has stopped. Thank you for the tea, Miss Eleanor.”

As Forte turned to leave, he felt his leg being grabbed and thrust to the side, causing him to turn completely around to face a mare in distress.

“Forte, you cannot leave. Not after what you’ve told me.”

“I am sorry if what I said upset you. It was not my intention. I think it would be best for me to leave.”

“I will not hear of it!” Eleanor grabbed the young stallion with both hooves and pulled him closer to her petite frame. Forte squirmed in his stance, uncomfortable with the position he had been placed by the mare.

“Eleanor…”

“Spend the night Forte. With me. Please.”

“But Eleanor, is this not inappropriate. We just met.”

“Perhaps we have just met in pony,” she cried. “But in spirit, we hold the common bond of loneliness and despair that comes with being a wanderer. Forte, spend the night with me, that we may not wander alone anymore.”

The young stallion peered into the mare’s eyes and softened at her pleading expression, relaxing his stiff posture. He continued his visual intake of the beautiful mare as his eyes carried him down from her precious face to her elegant neck, her youthful chest, and finally her delicate body. As if reading his thoughts, Eleanor grasped one of his hooves and placed it over her flank.

“Lift the hem of my dress, Forte. And see the mark which you and I bear in unison.”

Forte obeyed the satin voice of his hostess and began to raise the exquisite dress until his eyes stared into the peculiar mark that he bore on his own flank. The sight shocked his mind and aroused his temptations to search deeper within. Before he made his next move, Forte looked up at Eleanor whose warm sigh beckoned him to pursue his innermost desires and curiosities. As he continued to run his hoof deeper within her dress, their eyes locked, then their lips. Soon their bodies intertwined on the bed in an expression of love they shared as two wanderers who no longer wandered alone.

A Jacket She Found, A Racket May Sound

“Oh Eleanor, Eleanor!” Octavia called out. My sweet Eleanor, where have you gone?”

Octavia placed her belongings onto the floor next to the door and walked into the kitchen. When she saw that Eleanor was not to be found there, she returned to the living room and placed a hoof on her chin.

“Now, where could that mare have run off to?”

Still standing out in the sunny day, the little filly poked her little head inside and took in all of the extravagant things Octavia and Eleanor owned together. The grandfather clock, the oak table and chairs, the paintings, the fireplace, everything amazed the little filly that she couldn’t bear the thought of entering what looked like a room of the Princess herself.

“Little filly, why do you insist on standing like a flabbergasted foal? Come inside so you can meet my sweet Eleanor!”

The little filly obeyed and walked slowly through the open door. She paused in front of the large clock, admiring its wooden texture and shiny golden finish. When the clock struck precisely at one, the little filly jumped at the immense sound it made.

“That’s a scary clock. It is. Uh huh.”

Octavia laughed and lifted the filly from the ground. She twirled her in the air to the little filly’s delight. She brought the filly back to the ground and gave her a firm but loving hug.

“Oh, you wiggling willow! Tis only the grandfather clock that calls for those with rumbling tummies to scamper into the kitchen for something to nibble!” Octavia tickled the little filly’s tummy, causing her to laugh and giggle. The little filly trotted happily into the kitchen and took a seat at the table. Octavia walked in after her and turned her attention to the refrigerator. She opened it and peeked inside wondering what to feed a little filly.

“So, what is it that your heart and stomach desires, little one?”

“Grilled cheese! Grilled cheese!”

“Grilled cheese it is!”

Octavia reached inside and pulled out a loaf of bread and a block of cheese. Closing the refrigerator with her back leg, she placed the ingredients onto the counter and stared at them for a moment. She twisted her face into a confused scowl and she pondered how to make her little filly the simple snack.

“Now bear with me a moment, little filly. I am not accustomed in the art of cooking. Cello is my forte. Violin my second fiddle. All instruments sing to me within my grasp, but a tool of the kitchen is like a knife in the hooves of babes.”

“What’s so hard about grilled cheese?” asked the little filly.

“Well, nothing really. I understand that a sandwich is nothing more than layers of bread and whatever else goes inside. Usually Eleanor handles things in the kitchen, but I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Octavia took out a knife from a drawer and flipped it in the air. She tried to grab at the handle, but missed completely and saw the knife fall down to the floor. The little filly stifled a giggle as Octavia reached down to pick up the knife, chuckling at her own clumsiness.

“Well then, shall we proceed?”

The little filly nodded.

Octavia turned to face the block of cheese. She eyed it carefully as she calculated where exactly to begin the incision. With the grace of a surgeon, she placed the sharp edge of the knife about an eighth of an inch across and began slicing the cheese. The little filly watched intently as the musician, with the skill of a trained cellist, slid and sloshed the knife downwards through the cheese. As soon as the knife hit the counter, Octavia lifted her head, wiped her brow, and proudly placed the slice on her hoof and showed it off to the little filly.

“You see, just like clockwork.”

The little filly stared curiously at the slice her hostess cautiously cut for her then giggled a girly giggle.

Octavia was confused. “What is it? What do you find so jocular that you should laugh in such a manner?”

The little filly laughed even louder.

“Well I say. I do not know what has gotten into you. I, the Marvelous and Musical Octavia have just performed the most excellent cut into this block of cheese, and produced what even the most seasoned chef would call a perfectly cut slice. Tell me little one, what do you find so funny?”

The little filly, after seeing two hooves pressed firmly into Octavia’s sides, brought her outrageous laughter down to a polite chuckle as she pointed a hoof to Octavia’s cheese.

“You forgot to take off the wrapper. You did. See, you cut it with the cheese too!”

The little filly could not contain her laughter and continued to guffaw at her hostess’s peril. The cellist looked at her piece of cheese and noticed the plastic wrapper still clinging to the slice of cheese. She looked back at the block sitting on the counter and saw how she had sliced right through the thin layer of plastic. At first Octavia frowned, but soon enough she found herself laughing along with the joke.

“Well now, I simply thought you would find a grilled cheese sandwich with a hint of plasticity to be quite scrumptious. I was only thinking of expanding your tastes, you see.”

“No you weren’t,” said the little filly. “You weren’t paying attention, that’s what happened! You messed it up and you cut the plastic thing! You’re silly, Octavia!”

“Oh, am I?”

Octavia rushed at the unsuspecting filly and lifted her into her hooves. She forced the piece of cheese into the filly’s face and playfully smushed it all over her little lips. The little filly cackled gleefully as she used her little legs to push the plastic covered cheese away from her face, not wanting to taste the results of Octavia’s absentmindedness.

“Who is the silly one now, filly?”

“You, Tavi!”

“Wrong again!”

Octavia set down the little filly and growled something awful at her, causing the delighted filly to sprint across the kitchen floor and into the living room. Octavia chased her young guest into the living room and around the coffee table. They chased each other for a good while until the little filly, tired and breathless, gave into her captor and succumbed to the barrage of nuzzles and love. Both ponies plopped onto the couch and shared a nice little laugh as they looked up at the ceiling.

Octavia spoke. “Now then, shall I make you a proper lunch, one without plastic I presume?”

The filly smiled. “Not right now, Tavi. I’m a little bit sleepy at the moment. Please wait…until…I.”

Before she could finish the request, the young pony drifted off to sleep in the hooves of Octavia. The cellist could not help but smile at the warmth this precious little body she held felt against her chest. It felt like nothing else in the world mattered, that all she lived for and could ever think was to give this little filly a loving home. How foolish for me to think this filly to have been scraped from the sludgy bottom of a forgotten barrel she thought.

Octavia carried her little friend into the room and placed her in the spot Eleanor usually slept, right next to the window. As soon as she hit the bed, the little filly snuggled into a more comfortable position and continued her dozing. Octavia bent down and kissed the filly’s cheek then covered her with one of her blazers.

Octavia tiphoofed out of the room and walked back into the kitchen,. She eyed the block of cheese that sat at the counter, and swore if it had a mouth, that it’d be laughing at her too.

“Mindless nutritious mass. Cursed be the cows that gave you life.”

Octavia was in the process of putting the ingredients back into the refrigerator when she noticed something unfamiliar hanging on the back of one of the chairs. She walked over to it and realized that it was a stallion’s jacket, one that could be bought at one of those discount stores.

“This does not belong to me, or Eleanor. How could it have made its way in here?”

Suddenly, a frightening thought entered her mind.

“Could she have…left me for another?”

Her thoughts were then interrupted by the opening of the front door. She turned to see Eleanor walk into the living room. Octavia made herself invisible to her and peeked out of the doorway just enough to see what her lover was up to.

Eleanor pulled a small notebook out of her purse and furiously scribbled a note to Octavia. “There, that should do it.”

Eleanor left the note on the table and walked back outside, shutting and locking the door behind her. Octavia came out of her hiding place and went over to the table to pick up the note. Before she could reach for it, the door unlocked and swung open again. Octavia quickly stood straight, retracting her hoof hoping Eleanor didn’t catch her reaching for the note.

“Tavi!?” Eleanor exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were home. I left you a note just in case.”

“Uh, well, I was using the facilities,” Octavia said.

“Oh I see,” replied Eleanor. “Are you hungry? Would you like me to make you some lunch before I leave?”

“Oh, no! No, don’t you worry about me, Eleanor. I’m sure I will manage just fine.”

“Well, okay. I forgot my coat in the closet. Weathermare mentioned a light drizzle tonight and I’d hate to get my dress wet.”

Eleanor turned to walk into the room. Before she could take one step, Octavia stepped in front of her, blocking her clear path to the room.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary Eleanor. Wait here, I brought a jacket for you that you can use.”

“Really?” asked Eleanor.

Octavia rushed into the kitchen and grabbed the mysterious jacket that hung from the kitchen chair. When she entered the room with the jacket in her mouth, Eleanor gave a light gasp.

“Is something the matter?” asked Octavia.

“Oh, uh, no of course not, Tavi. I just…well, that thing is absolutely hideous. W-Why would I wear such a thing?”

“Ah, well, it just so happened that this jacket was sitting all alone in the train station, and with nopony to claim it, I decided to bring it home as a memento of my travels to Manehatten. It kept me quite warm on the way back, so I know you can put it to good use.”

Eleanor took the jacket from Octavia, sighing with what Octavia interpreted as relief. “Yes, of course. Well, thank you Tavi, I am sure to…treasure it always.”

Eleanor slipped into the jacket, which drooped over her body and hit the floor with cloth to spare. She leaned forward and planted a kiss on Octavia’s cheek. “See you later tonight, Tavi.”

“Yes, yes. See you tonight. Have fun at your…” Octavia picked up the note and quickly skimmed it. “…meeting.”

The door shut for the second time. Octavia let herself drop on the couch and brought her hooves up to her chin in a pensive posture.

“Yes, my sweet Eleanor. Enjoy your secret meeting with your new found stallion.”