Una Nota Dolce, Chapter 12 - Il Mio Sole

>Well, Anon…
>Yeah?
>Tonight’s the night.
>Yes…indeed it is.
>You adjust your bow tie in the mirror, checking the smoothness of your shave.
>Smooth as a foal’s flank.
>Anon…
>Yeah, brain?
>You adjust your cufflinks, taking a gulp of mouthwash into your mouth, swishing vigorously.
>Remember that day you auditioned for the San Francisco Philharmonic?
>Yeah.
>You spit and wipe your mouth with a washcloth.
>Remember how it turned out?
>Yeah, I didn’t get the spot.
>But you were so sure you had that spot locked up…
>You pause and stare at yourself in the mirror.
>It takes just a moment for the fear to settle in your gut like a boulder.
>What if she moved on?
>When you met her, she seemed pretty content just living for her music…
>What if, after everything that was said and done, she had moved on?
>While you stayed put?
>You curl your fingers on the counter, watching you stare at yourself in the reflection.
>What if this really was a fool’s errand, another goof in a long line of goofs…
>…
>No.
>What, Anon?
>I cannot allow doubt to cloud my resolve, brain. Even from you.
>But…
>Yes, failing hurt. But failure tonight is not a choice.
>…
>If I fail tonight, there is nothing else. There is no plan B, there is no backup, there is no returning to the way things used to be.
>..You really are serious, aren’t you Anon?
>You’re my brain, you tell me.
>…heh. I suppose you’re right.
>You take a comb through your hair one last time.
>You nod at yourself in the mirror.
>What that line from that song your mom loved so much?
>Sooner or later, God’s gonna cut you down?
>Well, if you fail tonight, he might as well.
>Otherwise, tomorrow may as well just not come at all.

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JHtuw1mIcgA
>You are Octavia.
>You hated wearing dresses like this.
>You check the shoulders, making sure they aren’t riding down your forelegs at all.
>You tap your rear hooves on the floor, making sure the shoes are on securely.
>But what are you going to do? You’re playing for a princess after all.
>The orchestra’s director insisted you dress the part.
>You check your mane in the mirror one last time.
>Why do dressing room mirrors need so many bulbs?
>You keep your mind asking these questions, going over tonight’s music selection in your head over and over again.
>Always thinking, always asking questions.
>It keeps your mind busy, keeps it from wandering back to thoughts of…
>The look of the stars seen from your back, cool grass on your skin as fireflies danced overhead.
>The sound of laughing next to you, followed by the splash of water flung by foot, sending the fireflies scrambling.
“Damn it Octavia, focus…”
>These memories haunt you like a ghost.
>You stare at yourself in the mirror. You know this is what you need.
>He’s far away, and you just need to get back in your groove, back in the game.
>Get back to your life’s calling.
>Give yourself something else to focus on.
>You trace your hoof along the violin case on the table in front of you.
>The one that contains the shards of Sonnet’s memory.
>And his.
>You sigh and drop your head.
>Focus…be strong, Octavia.
>Be strong…

--------------

>You are Anon.
>Thank the maker, you’re in.
>And you didn’t get frisked for the object awkwardly strapped to your side, under your arm.
>You suppose Fleur-de-lis hasn’t reported the ticket stolen yet.
>You weave your way through the crowds. One or two p0nies recognize you from the fashion gala a few months ago, but you go mostly unnoticed.
>Mostly, you are standing twice as tall as any other being in the room.
>You look at your ticket, seems your seat is in the balcony.
>Only a minor complication.
>You make your way up to your seat.
>It’s in the aisle, and the p0ny sitting right next to you has yet to arrive.
>I wonder what all the guards are doing here…
>Huh, you think the Princess was making an appearance or something.
>…point made.
>You stare out at the stage below.
>No sign of Octavia…
>Well, if she’s the headliner, she’ll probably come out right before they start.
>I suppose you’re right.
>You notice on the edge of your vision that the seat next to you is now occupied.
>”Oh my, I haven’t missed anything, have I?”
>You look over at your seat partner.
>Wow, that is one big p0ny.
>You didn’t know p0nies could have both a horn AND wings.
“No…not yet.”
>The white mare turns and looks over at you with a smile, a golden crown resting daintly on her head to match her torc.
>Man, you don’t know how she does that pastel wavy thing with her mane, but that’s one wild effect.
>”I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met. You are?”
“Oh, pardon my manners. I’m Anonymous.”
>The mare giggles. She seems quite pleased just to be talking to you.
>Man, you must have forgotten to turn off the swag.
>Don’t get ahead of yourself, brain…
>”It is a pleasure, Anonymous. You can call me Celestia.”
“A pleasure, madam Celestia.”
>She bows her head slightly in response as you return your attention to the stage.
>The performers are sitting down, and…
>Celestia quirks an eyebrow as your breath audibly catches in your chest.
>Octavia.
>There she is.
>She’s right there.
>”It seems you’re here to see a specific p0ny, Anon.”
“You could say that…”
>Celestia smiles. “A special somep0ny?”
>You keep your gaze locked on Octavia as you nod.
>Her face looks like a stone wall as she adjusts her cello, her black concert dress contouring her form like a sheet in the breeze, pressed against a pole.
“Yeah…you could say that…at least she was…”
>Celestia’s smile widened. “Am I to assume you’re here to correct that mistake?”
>Man, this p0ny asks a lot of questions…
“Yeah…I am.”
>Celestia coos as you sit back, the conductor striking up the orchestra.
>”There always was something about the summer that makes young love seem more magical, don’t you agree?”
>Man, she must read a lot of dime-store novels.
>You don’t respond as the music starts.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sUgoBb8m1eE
>Your mind is taken back to that first night, when you and Octavia met.
>Dulcet tones tickle your senses as you subconsciously zero in on the sounds of her strings, elicited by every subtle movement of the bow.
>The sound of the rest of the orchestra fades from perception, leaving just you, her and her music.
>…
>Something is wrong.
>You can’t put your finger on it, something running…under the surface.
>Something in her music that should not be there.
>”She sounds tormented…in conflict.”
>You look back at Celestia, who watches the orchestra with focused, soft eyes.
“You must have a practiced ear.”
>”When you’ve lived as long as I have, you tend to develop one.”
>You fold your hands as you listen to Octavia play.
>The face of stone she puts on does not go with the subtle undertones of her notes. Not one bit.
>”…if I may be so bold, Anon, this special somep0ny of yours…is it the mare with the cello?”
>Your silence speaks volumes.
>”I see…It appears her solo is coming up…”
>You lean forward, watching the mare who has ensared you so completely that you’ve chased her halfway across Equestria.
>The orchestra begins to back off. It’s time for Octavia to shine…
>Aaaand….any minute now...

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>You are Octavia.
>Something is terribly wrong.
>You closed your eyes, allowed yourself to disappear into your craft.
>Just as you’ve done so many times before.
>This piece is nothing new to you…
>You don’t hear it.
>You hear the sound of stomping hooves on dirt, as gentle notes dance about you with the man producing them.
>You smell that musty odor of skin as you first stir in the morning.
>You feel that strange feeling of fingers crossing your skin as lips press up against…
>You open your eyes, nearly losing your place.
>Why isn’t this working?
>Why won’t he just…go away?
>Wait…why has the orchestra gone silent?
>No…the solo!
>You missed your cue!
>Quick, quick, catch up…
>This isn’t happening…
>This is a dream…this is all just a horrible dream…

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>You are Anon.
>And, along with everyone else, you sit there slack-jawed as Octavia just stops.
>Her bow goes slack as her arm drops. The only sound anyone could hear is the sound of her own sobs.
>Oh no…this is bad…
>”You know, Anon?”
>You look back at Celestia.
>She smiles warmly as her horn glows.
>”I do believe that’s your cue.”
>Before you can even react, your world flashes bright white.
>…
>And you reappear quietly at the back of the theater, down on the ground floor.
>Ahead of you is Octavia, losing it.
>…
>Anon.
>Brain?
>Now or never.
>You collect yourself with a deep breath as a few p0nies notice you standing there.
>There she is, Anon. Just up that aisle is Octavia.
>It’s time.
>You take one step.
>Then another.
>Another still.
>P0nies turn to look at you as you pass, but your gaze remains fixed ahead.
>You draw in almost close enough to touch her.
>She doesn’t notice you there. Nobody moves as Octavia continues to sob on stage, covering her eyes with her hoof.
>Anon…do something.
“Please…don’t stop, Octavia.”
>Octavia’s eyes snap up at you like you’re back from the dead as the entire room falls silent.
>”What…what are you doing…”
“Please…don’t stop playing.”
>”Why are you here?...You…you told me to leave, to go back where I belong…why…”
>You reach in to your suit coat. With a tug, you undo the string haphazardly holding the oblong package against the inside of your jacket.
>You pull the violin from its resting place. The warm wood finish has been left to keep the same pattern it had when it left the mill. The smooth ebony neck shines in the light as strings seem to hum in the air as it moves.
>Octavia looks on as you hold the instrument up a little, giving her a good view as the tears she had been fighting start to dry up.
>The conflict of her mind and her emotion is evident as you turn the violin in your hands.
“This is something precious…a gift from someone I hold very dear to my heart…”
>”Anon…”
“She even had a message engraved in the neck…”
>You hold the violin to read the underside of the neck.
“Do not play music, play your feeling. Love…Octavia.”
>Octavia looks like she’s about to lose it.
>Anon, what are you…
>You raise the violin to your chin, Octavia calming down enough to look on with confusion.
“Come on Octavia…all these p0nies are waiting for a performance.”
>She just looks around briefly before locking eyes on you.
>”O..okay Anon. Lead us off.”
>You do.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4DBD8CFC18
>Somep0ny once told you to only use a violin as a gateway, to express your soul to those around you.
>You take that advice to heart.
>All of your pain, all of your regret, all of your loneliness and yearning for what once was.
>All of your bullheaded conviction to bring back those halcyon summer days once more.
>You send those feelings out with every draw of your bow.
>Your eyes are locked squarely on the one mare you want to receive them, standing above you on the stage.
>You don’t blink, you don’t even register breathing.
>Her song still wavers with confusion and fear, but as she keeps her gaze locked with yours, using the familiarity as an anchor.
>You and her, your rhythm grows stronger with each measure.
>It is like the first time you two played together.
>There is no audience. The walls melt away from your consciousness.
>There is just you, her, and the dolce notes of your true feelings for this mare, this…kindred spirit.
>This being you were going to ask to spend the rest of your life with.
>This soul that you still want to spend the rest of your life with.
>That’s all there is now.
>That is all you need.
>As the two of your bring your song to an end, the crowd erupts in applause and cheering.
>From above, Celestia smiles approvingly.
>You look up at Octavia, who looks down on you with baited breath.
“Octavia…”
>She catches her breath as you say her name, the crowd growing silent.
“Octavia…I love you. Please…what I said…I never wanted you to go away…”
>Oh hell son, you did it now.
>Octavia’s tears well up like a dam about to burst.
>You look down at your feet, pushing that knot in your gut down long enough to finish what you have to say.
“I know, I said that you should go back where you belong…and where you belong…”
>You look back up at Octavia, tears of your own coming to the forefront.
“You belong in P0nyville…with me.”
>A pin could be dropped, and it would hover in midair to avoid breaking the silence and tension as your words sank in.
>You look up at Octavia, everything you are hinging on her response.
>”Anon, I…”
>Fucking crickets.
>…
>”…I….I don’t…I don’t know what….”
>The cello crashes to the floor as Octavia turns and runs away.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qg8Xw4GAnDI
>Life seems to slow to a crawl as you drop your own violin, reaching forward to go after her.
>She’s disappeared backstage by the time you climb up onto the stage.
>You hear the backstage door open as you vault over the grand piano.
>As you get backstage, the door hangs open into the night air.
>You run out the back into the alleyway, looking in every direction.
>No sign.
>You lost her.
>Octavia’s gone.
>As you go back inside, you look to your side.
>It’s Octavia’s violin case.
>You open it.
>You see the remains of the violin she held so dear inside.
>Without a word, you pick it up and step back outside, looking skyward.
>You can’t see the stars tonight.
>Mission…failed.