"Fiddlesticks--"
"C'mon, sissy, Ah'm a famous violin player; be more 'classy', like I've heard y'are now a days."
"There is nothing wrong with being sophisticated, Fidd--Country Fiddle."
"Surely ain't. But there is with being haughty."
"Besides, sister, you were a famous violin player; you're nothing but a fading entertainment."
"That's a bit harsh!"
"Listen," Octavia yanked Country Fiddle's white hat down over the latter's eyes, "You may be my older sister, but now I've achieved what you couldn't: eternal fame." She shot her sister a glare masking a broken heart brought by broken dreams. Country Fiddle simply stared distantly. "I didn't run off; I knew my place." Octavia couldn't hold back a few tears; she turned her head sharply so Country Fiddle couldn't see them. She stared at a small insect scurrying along the polished floorboards. "Ponies look to me as the next great Beehoofen or Mozclop! They scream in acclamation at my great music. Ponies love me..." She choked and glared at the small little bug sniffing at her feet. She wanted to crush it.
Country Fiddle took a step forward, causing Octavia to retreat a few paces, before speaking too slowly, "Octavia, why are you still keeping this ruse? You are a kind mare, not a cold one. We are the best of friends... Why this strife?" Her acquired country accent completely vanished, and the old sound of her voice struck something hidden within Octavia.
"We were best friends, Country Fiddle..." Her voice dropped, almost as though from despair, but gained a singular firmness Country Fiddle couldn't quite identify. She turned back to her sister with resolute eyes. "I found my talent here. I've become all the better for it..." Vinyl Scratch opened the bar doors. "I gotta go, Big Sis." She winked. "See you around."
Country Fiddle stopped her. "I'll see you at your concert tonight."
"I'd prefer you not to." She walked out with Vinyl.
Country Fiddle turned to the bar tender.
"Just put 'er on mah check, thanks," throwing on the counter the bits for them both.
She stepped out and looked up at the sky. It was lightly raining.
"Do you think Canterlot looks prettier in the rain or at night?" She repeated to herself an often asked question by so many visiting ponies and residents. Country Fiddle really had no opinion on the matter. Indeed, she would rather there were no Canterlot or any cities at all. She hated the city. The over-stimulation always stressed her and threw her into depression if she was not carefully aware ("So much noise and confusion... it breaks one to small bits"). She had merely repeated words Octavia had so often said to her when they were younger, living in Canterlot.
No matter how many rainy days there were, Octavia had always asked her the same question, with the same sing-song tone to her words. It was so silly, Country Fiddle thought. Being perennially silly was one of many things about her little sister that she loved.
She was staying the night in the castle while she visited Octavia in Canterlot; the same room she had stayed in while studying under Beehoofen when she was young. She hadn't asked to stay with her sister and Vinyl Scratch. She was disappointed her sister hadn't asked her to stay with them when she had messaged that she was coming, and again at the tavern they met at; so Country Fiddle suffered to message the Princess asking if she could stay in her old room.
"Darn cobbled roads! They ain't at-all soft like the dirt roads out in the country." She sighed. "It'll all be worth it tonight, though."
She planned to show Octavia what she could do. They hadn't seen each other in several years, and her sister had thought that she had given up music completely; and, so far as she could gather from their conversation, that Octavia thought Country Fiddle's life choices as some sort of passing amusement; that her having had won the right to study under Beehoofen when they were young was a fluke, and something she outwardly laughed at all the while inwardly envied; and used Country Fiddle's late-appearing cutie mark as a subject for all sorts of contemptuous remarks--"The oldest any pony has ever been in receiving their cutie mark!"
There was a knock at the door. A Royal Guard announced a visitor to see her in the Gardens. She picked up her hat and headed for the Gardens, thanking the Guard with a silent tilt of her hat.
Vinyl Scratch was waiting for her on the steps flowing down out onto the Gardens. It was still wet and misty. Vinyl's wet mane contrasted strangely against the greens. She stood up when she heard Country Fiddle approaching from behind her. She made as if to speak but stopped. They listened to the hush the small, tiny rain drops seemed to bring. Country Fiddle breathed in the smell of the wet air deeply as they walked into the Gardens. It was a while before Country Fiddle finally broke the silence.
"So, uh, how are ya?"
"Ocatvia doesn't show it, but she misses you."
"She never writes. Ah send her letters on letters, and get lil' reply, 'cept for the occasional contemptuous words... Even today while we talked, she hardly said anythin' that wasn't cold."
"She hasn't told you about how she earned her cutie mark? She's told me: your parents somewhat forced in on her. It's best if she tells you herself."
They stopped at a small patch of colorful flowers on the edge of a small pond. The surface held a pleasant, somber lilt. Vinyl said she only wanted to come to say she wanted to attend the concert with her, despite Octavia's objection. This small walk was capricious: a way to say something else that was on her heart. It was clear this was a burden Octavia had unintentionally put her. Country Fiddle understood and made to lighten the mood a little off this dreary conversation.
"Well, it's always good to see an old friend, ain't it?" Country Fiddle smiled cheerily. She swooped up a hoof full of flowers and ate them. She couldn't help spitting out a few in small fits of giggles.
"Yes, it is," Vinyl lifted her head and laughed.
"See ya at seven then, my friend?" Country Fiddle said in her voice that was so warm it was almost sad. Vinyl smiled before taking her leave.
She walked into the theater with Vinyl. They were dressed clean, in quiet colors. Vinyl wore a plain black dress, her mane done up in a neat bun on the back of her head that let her bangs hang; Country Fiddle wore a gray one with sleeves, delineated yellow, and her mane flowed like a waterfall down over one shoulder, curled like water drawn by Coltinardo da Vinci himself. Their seats were near the front, but far enough back to be somewhat in the shadows when the stage lights turned on.
Country Fiddle opened the small program. All the songs save the first were composed by Octavia. The first and last pieces were solos performed by the illustrious Octavia herself; these were said to be the quintessential pieces of nouveaux classical music in Canterlot.
The opening piece, played on their grandfather's old cello, was played flawlessly.
"Just like Tavi..."
"Eeyup," Vinyl assented with a small lull. "Always perfect. Always precise." A tear escaped her eye. "Always trying so hard..."
Country Fiddle could not make out why Vinyl would cry. She listened to the rest of the song without anymore words. It was a pleasant song by Mozclop that began rather slow and sad, but then, suddenly, picked up in a flourish only Mozclop could pull off, ending with a long, wavering, spirited note like a single blast of a firework.
When she finished, the crowd applauded loudly before she could even rise. And when she did rise, straightened her little bow tie, laid her cello blow stiffly against her frame, and bowed low, perfectly poised, the crowd somehow increased in volume and shouted and whistled loudly with approval.
"Mozclop is lucky he didn't have to deal with you, beautiful!" Country Fiddle heard a stallion shout in her ears. Several like phrases were repeated all round by stallions and mares alike. They all were entirely infatuated with her.
While everypony around her stood up and stomped their hooves, Country Fiddle had remained seated. She looked up at Vinyl Scratch and saw a few glistening tears in her eyes, but they were not tears of sadness, as she might have imaged, sad for whatever Octavia was going through, but they were happy tears, proud tears--proud, that despite her friend's trouble, her dearest and closest friend still had the strength and power to push through and conquer it, and turn her suffering into a beautiful work of art. Vinyl turned to Country Fiddle with a wide smile, hoping to see approval on her face, and when she saw her face expressionlessly gazing back, she was in such a state of excitement, she pulled up Country Fiddle and nudged her.
"Wasn't she awesome!" She jumped in the air and whistled and cheered. As the crowd settled back down and took their seats, she added, "Your sister is truly a genius, you know, Fiddlesticks."
So what then seemed to weigh on Vinyl before in the gardens? Was it not anything but really, not a plea for Octavia, but a plea for her (Country Fiddle)? Vinyl, no matter the tough attitude she displayed toward other ponies, she knew she could be--and always was--completely open to her and Octavia, never hiding anything, and never afraid to show her feelings. But the moment together in the gardens had given Country Fiddle the impression something was upsetting Vinyl because of Octavia, but this no longer appeared to be so. On the contrary: Vinyl hugely admired Octavia. So then, was it not what is troubling Octavia that made Vinyl shed those tears, but happiness and pride for her sister? So then, what was it that she needed to say that was weighing on her heart? Was it something to do with her (Country Fiddle)?
Octavia pattered off behind the curtains. A full orchestra could be heard bustling about behind the curtains. A minty colored unicorn trotted up the steps, affirmed everypony's opinion on Octavia's opening solo, which she pronounced "brilliant" and "extraordinary," before introducing herself as Lyra Heartstings, Octavia's friend, peer, and assistant, all of which she seemed very proud of to call herself and of sharing with the audience, and running over the songs for the evening.
Half of the following pieces, all the way up until Octavia's second solo, were to be conducted some by Octavia and some by her friend, Lyra Heartstrings. In total there were six more until the finale, with an intermission between the fourth and fifth (the pieces after the intermission being a bit longer than those before). The fifth and sixth would be conducted by Lyra, giving Octavia more time to rehearse and practice her grand finale. In all it was nearly another two hours until the whole would be finished, far too long for Country Fiddle to sit, even with intermission.
Lyra, twirling about with ostentatious gestures a conductor's wand she picked up out of nowhere in her field of magic, "And without further delay, allow me to introduce the Canterlot University Symphonic Band playing 'Rain' composed, and tonight conducted by: Octavia Melody!"
The curtains flew open revealing a very large group of ponies, mostly unicorns, holding all sorts of instruments. The conductor's wand flew around in a flourish as Octavia strutted, with light, timed steps, up onto the raised platform, before a very ornately carved marble podium, on which lay her original sheet music, written in her own hoof, with many little notes scribbled all the way up in to the corners (mostly drafts for letters; she had a strange habit of writing letters in drafts before writing them out in full to be sealed and sent; of her music, however, she never had drafts, never making a single mistake, which earned her very high reputation as the next "Mozclop," which she had no problem flaunting, despite never being taught by the late stallion; Mozclop's last student before his death, and, as had been witnessed by Celestia herself, having been said, his dearest, was Country Fiddle). She took the stick in her mouth, Lyra disappeared off the stage, and, having tapped the podium to get the attention of her performers, made a large sweep that begun the first of many ornate and fantastic bars of the song.
Everypony sat enthralled, their ears perked and their eyes glued, not less than half of which were glued on Octavia's passionate form, which seemed to toss about like Beehoofen himself.
In fact, Beehoofen was in a high box, on the left, closest to the stage. He stared at Octavia with great approval, the same approval one has when one feels flattered and their ego fed. Beehoofen drunk in the similarity to his own way of conducting, and marveled at the original song.
"If I had only known," he muttered, shifting in his seat so as to lean closer to the edge of his box.
Country Fiddle was the only one who looked around.
When the song finished with a loud bang, the crowd couldn't help but stand and stomp their hooves, whistling and cheering. None of them seemed to notice, or if they did none seemed to care, that the piece really held no meaning at all, and was only composed to impress. Perhaps it was because Country Fiddle was Octavia's older sister that she could hear the worthlessness in the notes; that Octavia did not care for the piece; and that she noticed a grimace in her little sister's face, just on the edge of her lips, when she turned and bowed.
The next was another similarly loud and complicated song, again conducted by Octavia. About half way through Country Fiddle told Vinyl she had to use the little filly's room.
She found a place in the hall where she could be alone; but she felt she needed air and stepped out back.
Country Fiddle took a deep breath, and continued to breathe in deep droughts of the cold air. It had cleared up and the stars were shining. The revealing light of the city obscured most of the sky.
When she returned inside and took her seat, the next song had already started, conducted by Lyra.
"You look crazy, Fiddles. Are you alright?"
"Fine," she said, and smiled.
Vinyl needed no more persuasion to return to listening to the song.
Country Fiddle continued to look around at all the faces.
Usually ponies would be doing all sorts of things during a song. Some would find it dreadfully boring and distract themselves with repressed chatter, fiddling with their mane, tapping on the ground, gazing round absently--but here there could be found not a single pony not enthralled! All were entertained as though hypnotized. It was this very fact, that despite the song's lack of meaning, not only of itself, but also to the composer, that was frightening. It meant ponies could easily be persuaded to believe lies if it were sweet to their tastes. Apparently Ocatvia had learned this, unconsciously or consciously, and learned to use it to powerful effect; such kind of songs could be turned out again and again very quickly and very easily; and, Country Fiddle knew, were turned out constantly by many well-respected ponies, to great or lesser effect, who oft believed they were doing a very good thing for others by giving them this music, and also doing themselves good as they received much praise and money for their work.
An image of a plate of rotten, putrid pony-meat so well disguised in delicious sauce so that the meat could neither be tasted nor detected had come to her mind; and it was this that had so repulsed her, and made her so nauseous, to leave the building and recompose herself.
After the next two songs, one conducted by Lyra, that cheery filly, and the other by Octavia, the fifteen minute intermission began.
Most ponies didn't leave the theater, staying in their seats and starting animated conversations with their friends and neighbors about the songs so far. Beehooven, high up in his box, let his gaze float over the whole crowd approvingly while he talked with a big smile painted on his face to none other then Princess Celestia. Only when the Princess seemed to ask a question would he turn his head, with his wild mane-cut, and look at her for a moment as if considering, as a form of politeness and respect, but not kindness, and listen to it and then answer it before, half-way through answering, returning his gaze back to the excited crowd.
"Hey, Vinyl." Country Fiddle tried to get Vinyl Scratch's attention away from another musician pony with a sky-blue coat and brown mane. "You wanna head out into the hall and get somethin' to drink or a snack? Hey, Vinyl!" She poked her with her nose and played with her hair, and gave her a tap or two on the legs with her hoof, trying to get her attention.
The crowd, all standing up and condensing into small little pockets, somehow made the room seem fuller and smaller, and her ears couldn't help but attempt to pick up what everypony around her was saying, some shouting to try to be heard over the others, and she felt very overstimulated, and it all was making her feel a little anxious. She wanted to go out where the crowd would be thinner and where she might even see some sky, but Vinyl Scratch was so absorbed in her conversation with this pony that she didn't even notice Country Fiddle's advances to get her attention.
"Vinyl Scratch, Imma gunna go out ta get somethin' to drink, you wanna come?" She shouted in her ears. Vinyl Scratch seemed to not notice, but then the pony pointed behind Vinyl and it was then she turned around to an exasperated, and rather sad looking, Country Fiddle.
"Oh, Fiddlesticks! Sorry, I didn't hear ya. What is it?"
"Vinyl," she gasped playfully, and let her acquired drawl slip away into her original mode of speech "were you talking with this fine young mare about classical music?" She winked and nudged Vinyl rather hard in the shoulder. Country Fiddle had overheard Vinyl Scratch talking about how she had been almost moved to tears when the violins held that one note that, she had said, reminded her of somepony crying; the way she had related it to this pony had also produced tears in that pony's own eyes.
"What!?" Vinyl was quick to react and blushed, but worked hard to quickly recover and stave a slight trembling of embarrassment in her voice. "Hey, just because this kinda music isn't my thing, doesn't mean I can't appreciate it, right? Besides, this is my best friend Octavia we're talking about: how can I not love it?" She added to validate her point, and tossed her mane in a swagger. The pony she had been talking to giggled.
"C'mon now Vinyl Scratch, I wanna grab a drink or two with ya in the hall. Bring yer friend if ya want, Ah don't mind."
"Oh, that's alright," the blue pony said. "You two go along. I'm going to stay and talk with other ponies some more." And with a friendly hoofshake with Vinyl Scratch, "It was a pleasure to meat you Miss Vinyl Scratch."
"You too, Beauty Brass--I mean, Miss Beauty."
As they shook hooves, Beauty gave Country Fiddle a significant look that certainly meant something serious, but Country Fiddle wasn't paying any attention: she was looking up at the boxes above.
"Alright. You're done, are you not? Allons-y, partner!"
Beehoofen had spotted Country Fiddle below, and gave her a knowing nod. He didn't take his eyes off her until she left the room, despite still talking with Princess Celestia. Princess Celestia noticed that Beehoofen was watching Country Fiddle, and looked over at her as well. Country Fiddle, even at that distance, saw a strange twinkle in the Princess's eye. She knew they were talking about her.
There were less ponies in the hall outside, almost deserted; a small station of refreshments stood off to one side. Country Fiddle followed Vinyl Scratch to the table. Vinyl took some snacks and a few cups of juice in her magic. Country Fiddle merely watched her absently, her mind still on other things.
"Wh--whacha thinkin' 'bout, Fidthles?" Vinyl said with a mouth full of food. "Aren't ya gunna grab something? Fiddles? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she said, and smiled only with her lips.
"Well," she said, picking up a few more snacks, "if it's important, I'm sure you'll tell me." She winked.
"I..."
Vinyl Scratch perked up.
"What's up with you? In the garden--"
"Oh, that! I was gunna ask the same of you." Meaning the flower eating.
"You didn't seem to say what you wanted. I thought you were concerned about Tavi--"
"Oh gosh no!" She laughed heartily. "I mean, yeah: she's been through a lot, but she seems to be past all that. She's really actually very happy!"
That didn't make sense. How could Octavia be as happy as all that? The way she treated her--
"Oh, I get it! You mean why I was acting all serious and stuff. Well, actually, Fiddlesticks..." She flushed and gazed up at the ceiling, considering while seeming to inspect a chandelier made of many kinds of crystals. Country Fiddle looked up at it too. She had seen this chandelier before, while it was still being put together in the Canterlot Castle when she was younger: it was very expensive.
After several moments, Vinyl Scratch continued, "Country Fiddle, you have to stop treating Octavia so coldly." Country Fiddle's face remained placid. "You're the cause of a lot of anguish in her life right now. She blames herself for you running away when you were young; you hurt your parents when you did that and she was the one that had to see their faces cry over you. Of course the letters she send you are cold: she's afraid to connect with you as a sister again. And--I said I was gunna let your sister tell you this, but you should know now: her parents loved you so much, they put all the expectations they had for you on Octavia, and it was under that pressure she had earned her cutie mark: a special talent in creating the very best of music: a prodigy. Reasonably, she had mixed feelings about it." Vinyl paused as though she were going to continue, but took a deep breath and stopped talking altogether.
Country Fiddle turned to the side, ashamed. "Why didn't you just tell me, then?"
"I couldn't. In fact, it took a strong moral courage to say what I did just now." She tilted up Country Fiddle's dropped head to look her in the eyes. "No matter what, you're one of my best friends. Please don't take what I said as anything but because I care for you, kay?" She nudged Country Fiddle rather hard in the ribs, and winked with a smile. "Meet you inside." She hugged her and headed back inside, leaving Country Fiddle at the table, alone. Just at the threshold of of the red and gold velvet double-doors, Vinyl looked back with a face that said "Tell anypony about this mooshiness, and you'll get it" before the doors closed her inside.
Country Fiddle's face was contorted at though she were trying to remember something, or as though she were sad. In actuality, she was thinking, perhaps too hard, she felt. She thought about all that had happened and that was said to her; she thought about her sister; she thought about Vinyl Scratch; she thought about the ponies listening to and applauding Octavia's music; she thought about Beehoofen and Celestia talking about her; she thought about her own actions and decisions, not only of tonight but also of those in her youth that have lead up to this point, chief of all was her decision to leave her family, cutting off all relations, when she was already nearly a mare, though without a cutie mark, to live away from the cities and the fame, which had tormented her because she had to keep an image of herself she felt was untrue.
Since Country Fiddle's finishing studying under Beehoofen, Beehoofen thence decided to take no more students. Of Country Fiddle he had had only this to say: "A wasted talent, though she can bring a crowd to dance easily enough; but I do not think she will amount to much. If she stays in a professional atmosphere, I think she should loosen up and that wasted talent may turn from a smelly heap into a fragrant, flowering garden."
And it was that that her parents strove to keep her in and bring her up to be, being ever so proud of her and wishing her only the best and easiest, happiest life; they put her to study under Mozclop. They took her to perform all sorts of elegant music all across Equestria where she sent crowds wild with acclamation for her work, and she was the most famous violin prodigy in all Equestria. But still she did not get her cutie mark.
"Next performance, honey, for sure," her parents would repeat with strange smiles to her at the end of every concert.
But it wasn't long before Country Fiddle left quietly in the night, after refusing to play one night, straight to her audience, and sat on the stage, refusing to budge. Her parents gave her a firm talking to backstage, and then, when they were asleep, she ran away.
Some long time after that did she earn her cutie mark in the private company of a simple rock farmer. And the next day they both left the rock farm; and Country Fiddle stopped playing her violin for concerts or any sort of performance, and lived working on a farm in Appaloosa in the fresh country air.
And now, here she was, in a city listening to her younger sister's accomplishments, and the greatest beginning to an outstanding musical career. Whether her parents were here or no did not come to her mind.
She determined she had to talk to Octavia. Now.
She went back into the theater, which was still in a great excitement, its din striking her, and sat next to Vinyl, who had engaged back into the mechanical process of conversation with Beauty, and waited a few minutes for Octavia to come out and announce that the recital would now continue. Everypony stopped and turned to face her, and applauded and cheered, and then began to hush and to take back their seats. Octavia's face beamed noticeably, but with marked restraint.
"Now these last pieces," she addressed the audience with strange intonations as she impressed each word, "are for my parents--and, I regret, I won't be conducting them before you both tonight, but I hope my last piece for the evening will, at least, make up for it. Mom, Dad, would you please stand up and take a bow?" She pointed with one hoof somewhere off in the distance, making some sort of eye contact. Country Fiddle and everypony else followed to the general direction she was looking and quickly searched for two ponies standing, and lay their eyes on them with a warm smile, all save Vinyl Scratch, who looked straight at them, knowing just where they were seated. They were seated in the high box across the audience from Beehoofen. "Thank you both so much for always being there for me; putting up with me when I misbehaved;" (here everypony chuckled) "Loving me and always pushing me to be my best; caring for me and raising me; helping me up when I have fallen; being my heroes; I wouldn't be where I am today without you both. I love you!" It was short and direct, but it made its effect, and admiring sounds of sniffling, quiet cheers, and "d'awws" could be heard. When her parents took their bows, their eyes glistening with pride, the crowd rose in a loud cheer--stomping their hooves and calling out all sorts of admiring, polite things.
Octavia made a motion as though wiping tears. "And now," she was chocked with emotion, and seemed unable to continue, but recomposing herself, proceeded: "And now, my dear friend Lyra will take the stage and do you the honor of conducting--" She stopped short, covered her eyes with one hoof, leaving only her smiling mouth visible, and slowly walked back behind the curtains.
Lyra, wiping lingering tears from her own eyes, said something about how caring Octavia is, how amazing her parents are, personally praised and thanked Octavia's parents, and then began to talk about the next two songs, slowly becoming more animated.
The songs were almost too stereotypical, Country Fiddle thought, to be real: the first was titled "Father" and the second "Mother."
But against her previous feelings, she stayed and listened to the first song; a rather tender song, with fierce but hypnotizing drums laying its foundations deep and strong.
She looked up to her parents. Had they even yet noticed their eldest daughter down here, even as they gazed on their youngest exulted on stage? For the greater part of the song, she did not move her eyes off her parents, wondering if they would notice her. If Beehoofen had noticed her, certainly her own parents have. Why wouldn't they turn and look at her? Even when one or the other turned their heads to lay their gaze on the audience, and admire the approval in all their faces of their daughter's music, they noticeably glided over the place where Country Fiddle sat in the pit, pining after them.
At the end of the song, when everypony rose, she slipped out. With her back toward them, her parents watched her sneak into a door that lead to the back of the stage.
She was sure she was unnoticed, and doubted she really would be noticed, as even those ponies who were supposed to be looking out for any sort of trouble were all so absorbed in Octavia's music. Lightly stepping across the polished hardwood floors of the back stage, she slipped past several ponies unnoticed in the rather wide hall that ran right next to the stage, and entered a door.
At the very back of the stage there was a room with a high ceiling, vaulted with crimson curtains thin as veils that fell along reliefs of Roaman columns. The whole room was empty of ponies. The warm artificial yellow light from above was caught and mixed in places with the color of the curtains, throwing subtle waves of red across the dark-patterned carpeted floor. Black music stands filled the room in a strange array, some grouped and others scattered helter-skelter; music sheets littered some parts of the floor and stood limply on the stands; a few abandoned instruments lay on stands, against the wall, or, the more despised, on the floor. The faint sounds of the music outside made the room feel all the more quiet and isolated; a strange feeling, that this room should never be silent, but always filled with a warm, though somewhat chaotic, din.
A strange shock that began on her forehead, just between her eyes, flowed down her body, leaving the feeling of a head-rush from which she quickly regained herself; she walked across the room to the ornate double doors, darting her head all around, trying to look on as much as she could of the still room, noting the way things were arranged.
The doors opened into a wide hall, in similar style to the room from which she came, carpeted in reds, though here, more keenly than the former, the cool air contrasted with the warm lighting, not too terribly long but which branched off several times, each leading to different rooms for practicing, storage, meetings, offices, and more private rooms for personal use by very important ponies. Country Fiddle, having been a famous violin player, and having played here many times before, knew her way around well enough. But her memory had clearly slipped a bit or else the rooms had been rearranged in their uses, for the room she was sure Octavia would be in was nothing more then an empty room, the walls far too white and the floor far too plain, with a few empty chairs and an old viola with two broken strings and no bow. So this was a common practice room now, not a room for private use.
The halls were very empty and very quiet. She wondered whether she would be able to hear Octavia practicing if she remained still, but there was no sound. Of course, she recalled, all the rooms are sound proof. So she continued, keeping well hidden from windows in doors she thought were offices or other non-private rooms. She was sure the private rooms had no windows, though the last one had none, so she did her best to peep in on windows as she passed. One was another empty room, with a very large bookshelf filled to the brim with what appeared to be books on music theory and hoof-written notebooks; another was entirely empty; one was occupied by a stately griffon who was writing something out, tears in her eyes; one had a chair fallen over and the lights turned out so she couldn't see much more than what could be lit from the light in the hall.
Coming back to the main hall, she noticed for the first time that the end of it curved, not a sharp turn. Was this a new branch? Turning down this curve, she noticed the carpet felt softer and the doors were gilded. A faint sound of a cello drifted down the hall. The hall curved again into a sort of large C-shape, near the end of which was a door left slightly ajar. Country Fiddle galloped down the hall and stopped just before the door. A sudden chill swept over her, and, shaking though feeling neither cold nor nervous, she opened the door. Octavia gave her no glance.
The room was a powerful show of influence. The subtle smell of a rare sent of a very expensive perfume assaulted her. The room was tall enough to keep it almost naturally cool during the hot days and warm during the cold. A crystal and gold chandelier hung from the high ceiling whose surface was a deep indigo, filled with many small and painfully beautifully cut diamonds and crystals of a myriad of colors arranged like stars, and where it met the walls was delineated with ornate gold like lightening. The walls were similarly delineated in their corners, though much thinner; it gave the impression the entire room were a grand painting of some idle world. A large mirror stood in the wall to the left, making the room feel more open but, Country Fiddle thought, even more spectacular. On the right wall was a fire-place of carved marble, a small gas fire flickering within its polished walls. The fire-place was the base of a large limestone pillar that held at the top, a la Cantereon, carved and carefully painted statues of the Princesses Celestia and Luna. A grand realistic painting of an imaginary landscape, full of rolling hills, majestic skies, grand clouds, fantastic buildings, and an imposing castle on a cliff hung on the wall before her, above Octavia; the one thing this painting lacked, as far as subject, Country Fiddle thought, was water. The walls were creamy like the light of a sunset, and the carpet had many colorful patterns and designs and a large image of the most famous scene in Equestria's recent history: the defeat of Nightmare Moon and the return of Princess Luna. Above the door was a giant window. There were some book-shelves filled with music, a desk for studying (over flowing with loose papers, mostly music sheets), and a few chairs (set neatly off to one side). There was another set of double doors under the painting.
To think all this wealth was concentrated here for a single pony's pleasure.
Octavia stood playing her cello slowly in the middle of the room. The sound lifted and began something a bit more cheery and quick. Underneath it, however, a tension was building to a crescendo.
"Little Sis..." Country Fiddle crossed the threshold. Octavia's cello hushed and Country Fiddle could hear her own heart pounding. "Little Sister, I want to talk--we need to talk," she corrected herself.
Octavia sighed and stopped playing as though she were about to talk, but, thinking better of it, started to play again where she left off, with slowly increasing vehemence. "You come in here, interrupt me, and begin with something as pale and expected as that?" She softened her playing when she spoke so Country Fiddle could hear, but spoke so quietly and with such placidity.
Country Fiddle smiled strangely. "Tavi, I want to know what happened to you--Vinyl told me you are doing fine and are happy; though that mommy and daddy somewhat forced you to get your cutie mark." Country Fiddle walked, bouncing on the plush carpet, up to her little sister and stood glancing between her eyes and her cello.
Octavia said nothing. Her bow-work quickened.
"Tavi, please tell me: what is upsetting you?"
She almost imperceptibly raised a corner of her mouth. "I would prefer not to," was the cold response.
"We've always been frie--"
"None of that nonsense, now, Country! None of that cliched nonsense." She stopped playing. She had nearly shouted, but restrained herself to return to speaking in utmost placidity.
Country Fiddle stepped forward, and gently placed a hoof on her younger sister's foreleg. It was a strange feeling, looking up at her little sister standing over her on her hind legs. A momentary panic passed over Country Fiddle's face. Octavia looked like the older sister. Her eyes, with their peculiar sharpness, gazed down on Country Fiddle like a mother's disapproving eye.
Octavia smiled curtly and let her hoof holding the bow drop; Country Fiddle's fell upon the cello. She made to remove it, but Octavia gently lay hers on top effectively stopping her; and she brought the bow up to Country Fiddle's eye. "I don't understand you, Country," flicking a stray hair out of her elder's face to help tidy her look but, catching a few others seemingly unintentionally, only making to let more stray hairs fall and tangle, giving her the air of an un-groomed pony masquerading as a groomed. "You know your position and condition--where you are from, that you are the product of your home--who raised you--who your sister is--how much your parents, our parents, love you--how much I love you--alas, here you are: a confidence-pony!"
Octavia tossed her hair, pulled back away from Country Fiddle, and took her cello to place it on a stand against the wall. Setting it down, timing the moment to speak precisely, she sighed. "Sister," facing her older sister with an infantilizing glare that was not impolite, "you have cheated me--all of us who care for you."
A knot of adrenaline reared its ugly head and unpleasantly twisted Country Fiddle's insides. She audibly gulped a drought of air. She looked at Octavia searchingly and with surprise, and Octavia dropped her eyes, in which appeared an expression not only of sadness but also of ill will.
"You're so simple, now..." Octavia breathed, shrugging her shoulders and closing her eyes.
"Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication," Country Fiddle remarked flatly.
"There is a marked difference between simplicity and sophistication; just as much between ragged and refined," Octavia stood taller; "the former is chiefly of an ignorant type; the latter of a knowledgeable type, learning by experience to be able to apply continuing growing knowledge precisely."
Observing that Octavia still held strong behind her fortifications, Country Fiddle determined she would best get what she wanted by subtle infiltration, sneaking into the source, rather than rushing brute force against the weakest wall. By using careful, kind words, she mused, I can help Octavia overcome her feelings of being wronged, freeing up the truth she is unwitting obstructing.
"How do you mean?" she sung with a queer sort of smile, almost like a frown.
"E.g. you and I," she impressed importance on the "I." "You, unable to take the responsibility of a real career, left, afraid; also, I gather, you really weren't all that great of a musician," she spoke as though what she stated were the most obvious fact in Equestria, not unkindly, however; in her voice lingering notes of what seemed to be disappointment.
Country Fiddle breathed in a deep drought of air.
"And I, Country..." she dug her hind hooves into the carpet while her fore-hooves performed the double duty of exigency of balancing her poised form and drawing little circles on the carpet; her throat quivered slightly for a moment or two. She appeared almost neurotic, Country Fiddle thought. "I understood my self and my place, and acted upon it. I love music, and I love my family. If a problem arose with them, I would bring it up, not run away; I love my mother and my father." Her voice floated like a mother's tender tone, but just as she had played on the cello a sound both cheery and malicious, so too did now she countenance both despair of loss and disgust. "Whether they 'forced' me to get my cutie mark or not is of no great consequence: they pushed me to be my best, and I cherish the fact, Country!"
Country Fiddle bated her breath.
Again Octavia cast that disapproving, infantilizing, motherly glare that was not unkind. "Perhaps you don't recognize what you have done? you alone broke my parents' hearts."
Country Fiddle chocked.
"They believed in you - I believed in you." Her voice was soothing and yet piercingly cold in the same tone; it floated into and met Country Fiddle's heart like a promising, fresh breeze, only, upon suddenly reaching her, to prove violent, and roared fiercely, the air chilled, the clouds troubled but sleek as a mirror: a blizzard in a once warm and friendly land. "You fooled us all; it was only later that we did uncover your ruse; helped brought to light by kind, generous Beehoofen, that you had cheated in the audition we played in when we were younger to win and to humiliate me -"
"I told you both what I had done!" Country Fiddle retorted with marked vehemence.
"We now know you really can't play as well as you had made us believe. Verily, I am astonished how long your prodigious wandering around lasted: you were famous, but then you left it; then everypony found out you were nothing but a confidence pony: selling your stolen wares as new and original and magical." Though Octaivia's voice remained calm, malice dripped from her tongue. The more she continued the more excited she became, even throwing her hoofs in the air at times in disgust.
Country Fiddle knew that this clearly was something that had long since weighed on her little sister's heart; and with her here, the seeming object of it all, the dam broke, and the water flowed forth in a raging torrent. Though she knew Octavia was only--in her own way--pouring out her heart, and that she really shouldn't take it to heart, that her talking was getting her closer to the answer she sought, she could not help but feel hot and bitter tears welling up behind her eyes. Her face burned, and she was sure she was flushed.
"After that my parents emotionally disowned you. 'How could our own daughter throw away all we have provided her; how could she leave without a single good-bye?' You are no longer their daughter," she added emphatically. Octavia trembled and stamped her hoof. "You broke their heart!" She shouted. "And you broke mine!" Her voice trembled. In a wild passion, she approached Country Fiddle.
Country Fiddle started, somewhat as from dreams into realities, and shook in fright. Octavia lifted her hoof to strike her; and, against her better nature, just as she brought her hoof down, Country Fiddle stepped aside and, when Octavia's hoof was fully extended, locked it and then guided it back into her sister's muzzle with a titillating smack.
Octavia fell. When she turned to get up, she wiped away something red from her mouth. She got up and made to strike her sister again, fire in her eyes and daggers in her strange smile.
Country Fiddle couldn't breathe. She froze. She only just managed to move as Octavia struck out, but her shoulder took the blow.
"Your portent talent is nothing but vagrant chicanery; you never had a place in music, and never will." Her eyes were livid.
She ate her own words, even as she ever seemed eating her own heart.
Octavia rushed at Country Fiddle. Country Fiddle threw open the doors below the painting and ran in. It was a bedroom even more elegant than the last room, apparently where Octavia was sleeping while she stayed in Canterlot. In the middle of the large room, against the far wall, was a bed; the sheets tossed, and the pillow wrinkled up like brow, as if whoever slept here slept but illy, with alternate visitations of sad thoughts and bad dreams.
Country Fiddle looked back at her swiftly accosting sister, and, falling back, fell against the foot of the bed. Upon nearer proximity, Octavia stood up and lifted both her fore-hooves to strike. Country Fiddle rolled back along the bed, catching one of the curtains that hung around above the bed. The curtain draped across Octavia's strange form. Seeing her chance, Country Fiddle lunged forward and made to tie Octavia's fore-hooves together to hinder her. By the time Octavia pulled the sheet off her head with one hoof, Country Fiddle had already knotted her other. Octavia struck out like a trapped animal, with true terror in her eyes; Country Fiddle moved around and caught her remaining hoof and tied it and the other behind the back. When Octavia struggled to stand with her hind legs, Country Fiddle forced her to kneel, and then tied her hind legs together as well. Octavia screamed insults at her elder, even as she shouted at her own fear. Country Fiddle, anxious of the attention this might bring, gagged her mouth with the remnants of the sheet. For a time she struggled to free herself, shouting and gnawing at the sheet; her legs struggling about like a dying insect's. She exhausted herself, and glared up at Country Fiddle. Country Fiddle returned her gaze with hot and bitter tears.
She left Octavia bound on the floor. As she crossed the threshold, she thought better and returned to her little sister and knelt beside her. Fiddles hugged Tavi without looking into her eyes. She stood up, not too quick, and silently left her in that silent room; she closed the doors shut.
Country Fiddle crept into the room that held within the viola with the two broken strings. She put the bow she had taken from Octavia's cello to the two strings and calmly tuned the instrument very slowly.
"Nothing is better than igniting a crowd a-flame with excitement; they feed on your performance; eating your fame even as the eat their own hearts for their lack, and you plunge them into idolizing ecstasy! By some special connection they are elated with you, as though they were you drowning in their praise. Truly, there is nothing better than know you do not only well but great; and that others, many you don't know and never will, recognize and affirm that it is so: that what you do is great and good; and they enjoy you; and you are loved," Octavia had told her big sister at the tavern only but a few hours earlier.
Precisely because Octavia feared she would end up like Country Fiddle did she attempt to drive her away. Octavia had been very happy before she saw her twin sister today: her coming brought back all the internal horrors she strove to keep away. She had seen the way her family and everypony around her had abused her sister, talked about her with such disapproval, and, feeling personally affronted and hurt at her removing herself of them, their rejection of her entirely. Octavia struggled to send her sister letters for the first few weeks after Country Fiddle left, before earning her cutie mark, struggling all the more not to tell her the full account of what she had done.
Almost instantly Octavia became overwhelmed with great expectations poured over her like great successive waves beating against a rocky coast, tearing pieces away into its depths.
"You, Octavia Melody, are the true prodigy. We don't want you to be like your sister: you will be greater!"
She studied and worked harder than ever, and her parents did ever their best for her, showering her with love and in the same hoof a fragile pride they ever tried to hide, until it seemed to vanish completely when she earned her cutie mark and a new, more solid pride arose within them, a fact she couldn't help but feel proud and happy about. The same unwavering new pride in her parent's own eyes caused her to question Country Fiddle and why her parents were ashamed of her big sis; and it was she who dug deeper into her sister's former musical talent and found out how Country Fiddle copied other famous ponies' music to sound original. She stopped sending her letters. She had believed in her sister, whom she loved, but with this lie revealed, she too could not help but reject Country Fiddle and despise her, feeling personally wronged. The scar ran deep.
Until today, she lived a very happy life which she loved, with little suffering and much success with her friends and with other ponies, as well as in her music. She loved her music, her friends, her parents and her family, her life... and then, bringing with her all those terrible reminders of a fleeting life, Country Fiddle showed up after years of being away.
Precisely because Octavia loved Country Fiddle did she abuse her.
Alone in the room, Octavia wept and wailed.
With the ceasing of the last song, and the announcement of Octavia playing her grand finale, Country Fiddle, to an astonished crowd, in the midst of which could be seen an electric blue mane rising and then gliding like a phantom down the aisle toward the stage, and in the boxes, a wild gray mane start up and jut forward next to a pink, green, and blue mane disappearing behind the box, and a pair of manes in the box opposite, falling over the edge, took steps out onto the stage, fiddle in hoof, and, twirling up the bow to the strings, played to set the whole tickled world a' dancing.
Author's Note
...the confidence mare will take steps, fiddle in hoof, and set the tickled world a' dancing!
A link for the inquiring reader
