“Twilight Sparkle, I can’t believe you’re here! Princess Celestia said she’d have a special tour guide lined up for me here in Ponyville, but I never imagined it would be you. Smashing luck!”
I do love concert season. It’s always in the fall, and it doesn’t hurt that Equestrian autumns are breathtaking. Orchestras and symphonies across the country spend all spring and summer practicing, raising money, setting schedules and reserving venues. It all culminates in a flurry of performances around Hearth’s Warming, centered on the larger cities and of course, Canterlot. In the fall, though, they refine their techniques and repertoires by playing smaller locales and further-flung towns like Ponyville.
“I never thought we’d get to play Ponyville. It’s one of those out of the way places that we read about in the papers - home of the Element Bearers and all that - but which none of the overstuffed Canterlot types ever seem to make it to. Listen to me, prattling on while you’re being so kind. Dreadful of me, sorry.”
But the real reason I enjoy fall concert season here in Ponyville? It’s that bow. Octavia’s perfect, wonderful pink bow is like a magnet. It’s the bow on the present I’ve wanted to open for years, since I first took time to look up from my books and sit through a concert and decided that her solos were beautiful for more than their sound. What did Rarity tell me once? “Clothes don’t make a pony sexy, darling. Whether it’s a fabulous dress or just a nice hat, what makes clothes on a pony so attractive is the thought of taking them off.” With luck, I’ll wake up with that bow on my nightstand. Or better yet, I’ll wake up wearing it.
“I’ve really had a splendid time today, Twilight. Thank you! Everypony’s been amazingly friendly and for a small town, Ponyville doesn’t lack for anything, does it? I think I’d like to come back here sometime, just to visit. Or perhaps for more, I suppose. Maybe there’s more for me here than friendly faces and a nice auditorium, hmm?”
It could definitely be the accent. If you’ve ever met Rarity’s parents, you know she’s a small-town filly through and through, and you realize fairly quickly that she’s faking that Canterlot accent. Octavia's, though, is pure Trottingham. It’s that peculiar lilting melody that’s like double-chocolate liqueur for the ears. It’s no mistake that all my friends pull for Manehattan’s hoofball team while I wave my little Trottingham FC pennant. They give me the worst looks when I do that, but I have my reasons - my delicious, marvelous, grey-furred, pink-bowed reasons. I could swim in that accent.
“You probably don’t remember, Twilight, but I saw you plenty of times in Canterlot. Not every pony gets to go the Grand Galloping Gala, of course, but when a pony spends the Gala by Princess Celestia’s side the entire night – well, really, you tend to get noticed. I tried asking about you, but when the Gala went positively loony, I lost track.”
She noticed me? Octavia actually noticed me, too? Good to know it was mutual! Should I tell her that I saw her at the Gala too, and when my night with Princess Celestia didn’t turn out like I’d hoped, I tried to get away from that interminable line of ambassadors and dignitaries and nobles to go talk to her? Or that Pinkie got to her just before I did, and that I was seconds away from saying hello before everypony in that ballroom went crazy? Should I tell her that I saw her again at my birthday party, when Rarity did her best to avoid introducing the girls to her high society friends? Maybe. All that matters is that she’s here now, side by side with me, smiling and laughing and irresistible in her subtle and casually exotic way. She might have lost track after the Gala, but I didn’t.
“Our performance today is a matinee, and we’ll be done before sundown. If you don’t mind me asking, Twilight – would you like to grab a bite to eat afterwards, just the two of us? We have three shows here, so we’ll be here for a few days, and I thought, maybe, you know…”
Oh, I know. I know I’m the single luckiest librarian in Equestria. I know I’m hopping and bouncing and grinning and I hope she’s figured out that I’m trying to say ‘yes’ but this is all I can manage at the moment. So yes, dinner would be lovely, and dessert too, and if all goes well, breakfast.
“Perfect! I’ll see you after the show, then. I’ll need to pack away my cello and sit with the director for post-show notes, so meet me by the sidestage exit around seven. I do hate to run, but I need to start warm-ups shortly with the rest of the strings. And Twilight? Thank you for everything. We’re going to have a grand time, I just know it!”
Maybe it’s that mane. Midnight dark, and never so much as a single hair out of place, and oh, I could bury my muzzle in that mane all night. Same goes for that tail, twice over. Somehow they always shine, so dark grey they're almost black, like raven wings but iridescent and shining like she shampoos with liquid pearls. Looking into her eyes is like looking into my own. I’ve never wanted a reflection so much. I want to wrap my tail around hers, I want… You know, Rarity once cautioned me about clashing colors, but suddenly I don’t care what Rarity warned me about - black and grey and purple and pink would look stunning together.
“Hello, gorgeous! I know, I shouldn’t sneak out like this, but I had to see you again. We’re on in about five minutes. I’ll be with the string section, first chair. I have the cello solo in the second and third movements. Watch for me, will you? Oh, right, there’s the three minute warning. Have to run. See you soon!”
Down here she was smiling and laughing and giggling like a schoolfilly. Up there she’s ice and steel and business and I can’t take my eyes off her. How can she can go from blushing to virtuoso so quickly? Seeing that change, that infallible control and easy grace, is exhilarating. She’s been playing for the better part of an hour now and she has yet to crack a smile, to look away, or falter in the slightest. This is her domain, her element, and she’s the absolute master of it.
Lucky cello. It’s wood and string and metal and she makes it cry and weep and shout. She runs her hooves down its neck and it sings her praises. She draws that bow across it, slowly, deliberately, teasing every sigh and shiver from it. She rushes nothing, hooves tickling and pressing in hidden places she knows will draw out whimpers and screams – and she knows every single place. Her bow moves faster, frenzied, frenetic, but always in perfect control. Her cello is crying at the edge, begging, and the audience is trembling along with it. Finally she strikes that last note, explosive and flawless and echoing, and hundreds of ponies explode in applause and relief and release. Lucky cello. Luckier me.
“That was a really wonderful show we had! The venue was great and the audience was just splendid. A lot of my colleagues think playing smaller towns like Ponyville is a waste, that ponies here can’t possibly appreciate high culture and the classics. Total rubbish, if you ask me. I’ll take a hundred ponies cheering like their team just won the hoofball finals over a thousand politely twittering aristocrats any day. So, on to our little rendezvous?”
Come to Ponyville more often! I guarantee you’ll always have an audience here, rapt and enthralled and begging for a front-row seat. We’ll have our own little performance. I’ll always appreciate you, Octavia. I appreciate the way every move you make, every wink and flutter and glance, is like a flirt and a dare and a promise all at once. I’ll cheer for you, too, because I know with talent and skill and grace and poise like yours, there’s no way anything you do with those hooves could be anything short of stupendous.
"Your recommendation was spot-on, Twilight. This might be the best Haywaiian fruit salad I've ever tasted. I had no idea I could find anything so delectable here in Ponyville. Excepting, of course, present company. More wine?"
Delectable is that accent, those eyes, that fluid elegance of movement that makes every bite you take a thing of beauty. You're brilliant and charming and refined in ways I couldn't have hoped for and never dreamt would be possible. I don't need more wine. Every luscious moment with you leaves me speechless and stumbling as it is.
“You’re joking! I never knew Fetlock’s Sonata in A Minor had been transcribed for cello. It’s brilliant as a violin piece, certainly, but I’d love to give it a go. Perhaps we could head back to the Library and you could show me the score? After we polish off dessert, of course.”
Few ponies know that Golden Oak Library is actually property of the Equestrian Crown, given that Celestia herself paid to have it built and enchanted. Fewer still know that Celestia herself approves every book purchase request I make. She did ask me once why I'd been spending so many bits on amassing a Theory and History of Music collection to rival that of Canterlot University. I told her it would help my studies on Harmony and the Magic of Friendship, and she kept signing the checks. I think she knew the real reason, though. The next time I saw the Princess she asked how my studies into Musical Theory were progressing, then she winked and whispered, "Research has its own rewards."
"You're not kidding, are you? You really live in a giant hollow tree which doubles as the town library? And with a dragon, no less! This I have to see. Shame I won't get to meet your dragon friend, though. Everything about you is fascinating, Twilight, it really is. I can’t wait to see your place. I wonder - what other little secrets might I discover there?"
There's plenty to discover, like the new spells I've been practicing. Let's just say they're the kind I only test out in private, and only when I have a nice cold shower ready. Maybe you'll discover that little spot behind my ear, the one that makes my leg twitch and makes me whimper like a puppy. Oh, Spike, Spike, Spike… I hope you’re having as much fun at that Cutie Mark Crusaders sleepover as I'm about to.
"You've been just wonderful, Twilight. Everything you've shown me, everything we’ve done has been so perfectly delightful. You're delightful, Twilight, and lovely, and… I can't tell you how long I've wanted to come here, Twilight. You've made a truly beautiful home here. It feels warm and welcoming and safe. Safe enough to… well, to do this, I suppose."
Octavia isn't grey. I never knew that. She's a sort of goldish-grey, the color of early dawn seen through fog. I'm probably only realizing it right now because she's kissing me, and I can't concentrate on much beyond that because I think my heart's about to explode. She smells like bow rosin and wood polish and her kisses taste like wine that's older than I am, sweet and biting and utterly intoxicating. I remember seeing her wearing her bow during the walk here. She must've taken it off, because there it is on my floor, and I know this because I'm lying next to it. Her cutie mark isn’t purple, it’s lilac, and I'm certain of this because I'm kissing it and my mane is draped across it and they blend together beautifully.
She plays me like a favorite instrument and it's all I can do to keep up. I can't tell if this is a duel or a duet and I don't care as long as she's the one conducting. Every note and every inch of her, every movement and motion, is flawless and perfect and absolutely delicious. Like every audience she's ever played for, I'm spent and panting and wishing it wouldn't end but knowing I wouldn't survive if it didn't. I'd give her a standing ovation but I'm still weak and shaking and I'm not sure my legs work anymore.
“There you are, sleepyhead! I was wondering when you’d wake up. I don’t blame you for sleeping in. We did have a rather busy night after all, didn’t we? I admit, there’s no place I’d rather have woken up than in your hooves, Twilight. Tonight’s performance is a late showing - it won’t let out until almost midnight – so what do you say we do lunch today instead of dinner? That way, after the concert closes, if you like, we could… skip straight to the encore?”
Did I mention how much I love concert season?
Author's Note
Rearranged and expanded from the original version posted to TMP for Prompt # 277. The Prompt: "A change in season." The title is Italian for "Concert at Sundown." Cover art edited by me using vectors by xpesifeindx, somepony, and avfrosty from the MLP Vectorclub.
