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- >You are Octavia.
- >And you are bored to tears.
- >At first, Canterlot seemed like a haven for the arts and intellectualism, high society and class.
- >Now you realize it's just full of ponies pretending to be cultured.
- >When you first arrived, you were living the dream.
- >People loved your work.
- >Your fame caught on quickly
- >Soon, you were constantly getting invitations to parties and gifts from gentlecolt callers.
- >It was exciting, for about a month.
- >Then things started to sour, like a neglected carton of milk.
- >Ponies would try to talk music with you at soirees.
- >You would politely nod and try to humor them at first.
- >Inside, you wanted to scream.
- >You played the same pieces night after night.
- >For the same crowds in the same high-brow restaurants and prestigious clubs.
- >And what did they do? They ate it up!
- >You could literally play Vivaldi's Winter drunk and they'd still applaud.
- >Tonight will be no different.
- >You're playing at Rumor, probably the douchiest bar in the entire city.
- >It's where 40-something stallions go to compare wallet sizes instead of dick length.
- >No, this was no college bar, it was the den of the affluent douche
- >And maybe the occasional cougar.
- >You trudge up the street with your cello case in tow.
- >Let's just get this over with, shall we?
- >You enter the club and get setup on stage rather quickly.
- >As you rosin up your bow, you take a minute to look around the establishment
- >The lounge reminds you of some kind of really, really ritzy furniture store
- >If a furniture store was setup inside a castle ballroom.
- >Clusters of armchairs and sofas dot the room, all weird shapes and sizes.
- >You don't understand who would be ready to drop a hundred bits on the cover and a watery martini.
- >It's the specimen of tackiness, but ponies call it "avant guard."
- >The crowd tonight is the typical faire.
- >Little black dresses everywhere.
- >You even spot Fleur de Lis, laughing a little too loudly at a stallion's joke.
- >Some stallion who isn't Fancy Pants.
- >The stink of perfume and cologne strings your nostrils.
- >When the chairs are semi full, the lights on the stage dim a little bit.
- >The chatter in the room dies down a little and faces are drawn toward you.
- >With a noticeable sigh, you begin to let your bow flirt with the strings.
- >You waver back and forth, rocking it in robotic fashion across your instrument
- >It's Buck's Cello Suite No. 1, Prelude.
- >It's not a bad piece, but it's nothing special.
- >Every single pony in the room has heard it countless times, they've just never put the name to the piece.
- >Immediately several heads in the crowd perk up.
- >You can only see their lips moves, but you can tell what they're saying.
- >"Oh, I studied this in college." or "This piece was composed on the morning it debuted!"
- >You continue to stroke the strings idly.
- >Your body knows the music, freeing your mind to wander.
- >You scan the room lazily, staring back at all the stupid faces watching you.
- >It may not be the same exact group of ponies, but you honestly can't tell tonight's audience from last weeks.
- >Everyone is puffed up in overpriced suits and necklaces that look like they could give you neck problems.
- >You're about to just close your eyes and wait for this to be over.
- >Wait.
- >In the crowd, way in the back, you see something
- >Something that isn't a pony.
- >He's a...
- >You aren't sure what he is exactly.
- >He's underdressed, technically.
- >His suit looks well-worn and his tie hangs clumsily around his neck.
- >You're not even sure how he got in like that.
- >The little white unicorn next to him seems to have him in the thick of a conversation.
- >In fact, they're the only two in the place not looking at you.
- >He has a beer in his hand and he takes an occasional sip.
- >You realize a few seconds too late that your timing on that last stanza was off.
- >Not that anyone in the room noticed.
- >You quickly recover and finish the suite, dragging on the strings as the hum from your cello exhausts itself.
- >Applause.
- >You smile politely, even though that was practically your warm up.
- >Any music student in their first year could probably pull that off.
- >But they clap their hooves giddily, someone even throws a rose onstage.
- >Oh, for fuck's sake.
- >You fight back the urge to gag.
- >You give a shallow curtsy, even though it pains you.
- >But your eyes begin wandering to the farthest seats again, curious.
- >In the back, you can see the monkey-man and the mare with him rise from their chairs.
- >No one really seems to notice him, or care.
- >You see him take a long draw on his beer and then toss a few bits on the table, before stumbling to the exit.
- >Wait.
- >They're leaving?
- >You try to get a better look at them, but the crowd is rising in a standing ovation.
- >Your view is totally blocked.
- >Damn.
- >Soon, the two of them are out the door and out of sight, leaving you in a room full of ponies you hate.
- >Your face sags a bit and you notice a frown tugging at the corners of your mouth.
- >Eh, he probably would have been the same anyway.
- >You're not sure why you're being so terribly curious.
- >You give your head a little shake, putting the thought out of mind.
- >The room has quieted now and the guests all seem to have nestled back into their chairs.
- >Reluctantly, you decide to start the next piece and begin to play again.
- >You pack up quickly once you finish your songs for the night.
- >A few stallions try to get your attention before you leave, but you manage to duck them by leaving through the backstage.
- >It empties out into an alley and you take in a breath of air
- >God even the smell of garbage is better than that cloud of obnoxious perfume
- >You decide that you could use a drink
- >But you weren't going to spend your money on an overpriced cosmopolitan back at Rumor
- >With your cello following loyally at your heels, you set off to your favorite bar in Canterlot.
- >For the first time that day, you notice a liveliness to your step.
- >After winding through a few alleys into the little-known underbelly of the city, you find it.
- >Whiskey Priest
- >The entrance isn't very flashy, it's just a board with the name and an arrow pointing down a musty staircase.
- >You awkwardly clamber down the stairs, careful not to drop your beloved cello.
- >The place is seedy, more of a dive bar than anything else.
- >But this was your reprieve.
- >A place you could hide from the high society ponies.
- >All of Canterlot's bullshit was drowned out in here.
- >The barstools are all torn, gummy leather.
- >And you can't tell if the smell is stale alcohol or dried urine.
- >Probably both.
- >But the drinks are cheap and that's what you really need right now.
- >The bar isn't too crowded. You can see a couple of shadowy figures sitting at a booth on the far side of the bar, obscured by the acrid cigarette smoke and the dim lighting.
- >Besides them, the only other pony in the bar is the guy who runs the place.
- >He's an old stallion, with a whiskery mustache and hair thick as straw.
- >Quiet, but you like that.
- >Everyone in Canterlot seems to say something when there's nothing to talk about.
- >You're glad someone speaks the language of subtlety in this town, even if it is in the armpit of everything.
- >He nods at you as you climb up onto a bar stool and lean your case against the varnished wooden countertop.
- >By the time you're finished getting comfortable, he's all ready placed a shot down in front of you.
- >You've been coming here a bit more frequently than you care to admit
- >In fact, you were drinking fairly often nowadays.
- >You slosh it down quickly, grimacing and bracing yourself against the counter
- >The liquor burns down your throat like gasoline and your nostrils flare at the musky aroma.
- >Fortunately, gives way to a calm, warming sensation, like you're sleeping on a beach.
- >Oh fuck yeah, that's the stuff.
- >Stingy, but better than that shitty clear stuff they keep serving at parties.
- >You untie your bowtie, letting it hang around your shoulders like a limp noodle.
- >You flick up your hoof to get the bartender's attention
- >He readies another shot for you and places it on the counter.
- >You're just about to gulp it down when
- >The serenity is shattered by a shrill voice from across the bar.
- >"Oh, Anonymous, why must you insist on frequenting such boooorish establishments?"
- >It sounds more like a whine than anything else.
- >You spin about on your barstool, eyes scanning the room for the source
- >Squinting, you peer across the bar to the furthest booth, where the two dark figures are sitting.
- >You can make out the outline of a white unicorn pony, with a mane of deep purple.
- >Not the sort of pony you'd expect to catch in a place like this.
- >She has her front hooves crossed in protest, her nose upturned.
- >"I see no reason why we had to depart from Rumor in such haste and end up in this…this…"
- >Your ears actually hurt listening to this mare.
- >Wait.
- >Rumor?
- >You recognize this mare.
- >She's the white unicorn from earlier, the one that was hiding out in the back with the monkey-thing.
- >Sure enough, he's sitting across from her, nursing his high ball glass.
- >He's still wearing that cheap suit.
- >She props her head up with her hooves, resting them on the table.
- >"Have you no taste, Anonymous? I take you on a lavish visit to the Canterlot and you spend it visiting vulgar places like this."
- >He doesn't answer his companion, only smiles and continues to sip his drink.
- >Her gaze flicks from her friend over to you.
- >You spin about on your barstool quickly and slouch over the bar, hoping you weren't caught staring.
- >Shit, shit, shit.
- >The clack of hooves on the concrete floor can be heard
- >They rapidly grow louder as you can sense them getting closer.
- >You try to make yourself look busy, but there's nothing on the counter but your shot.
- >You drink it, but it doesn't make you look occupied for very long.
- >The trotting noises grow a bit louder and then stop completely.
- >You hear the mare's voice, this time, just feet away.
- >"Excuse me, begging your pardon, but would you happen to be Miss Octavia Melody?"
- >Turning around again, you notice the white mare standing next to you, her face cocked sideways in curiosity.
- "Y-yes?"
- >The mare's face lights up and her lips are upturned into a huge, tooth smile
- >You know this smile. It's the smile you see every time you introduce yourself at a party.
- >It's the kind of smile ponies get when they realize they're about to rub shoulders with someone in Canterlot's high society.
- >You came here to drink and get away from this.
- >But even hear, the stink of Canterlot's upper class has found you.
- >She bows her head as if in reverence before feeding her hoof into yours.
- >"Oh, darling it is so lovely to meet a musician such as yourself."
- >"My associate," she nods toward the monkey at the booth, "and I heard your performance at Rumor tonight."
- >Your arm is growing tired from shaking her hoof and you do your best to summon a fake smile in return.
- "Oh? T-thank you."
- >"It seems you have me at a disadvantage. My name is Rarity."
- >Rarity.
- >You've heard of this pony before. Some kind of fashion designer.
- >Word travelled quickly at Canterlot's get-togethers.
- >Even though she came from Ponyville, she was the same exact thing
- >Trying to fake her way into the good graces of Canterlot's elite.
- >Were it not for her mysterious friend you'd probably be leaving
- >You grimace and muster a "Nice to meet you."
- >She turns to her side and calls back across the bar.
- > "Anonymous, be a dear and come over here, would you?"
- >Anonymous.
- >What a weird name.
- >The monkey dude looks over and rises from the table, slowly
- >You catch yourself using your hoof to tuck your hair behind your ears.
- >"Anonymous, you're familiar with Miss Melody, yes?"
- >He shakes your hoof with his weird-looking paw.
- >"'No, actually."
- >That one catches you off guard.
- >It almost knocks you off your barstool and you have to steady yourself.
- >"Anoynmous, she was the one we saw playing earlier, at Rumor."
- >The human shrugs. "Sorry, I wasn't really listening."
- >The mare quickly reaches and smacks him on the back of the head with her hoof.
- >"Anon! You're addressing one of the finest musicians in all of Canterlot! Please, for once, show some respect."
- >She looks at you and places both of her hooves around one of yours in earnest.
- >"Please excuse my human friend. He has a tendency to say things he doesn't mean. You understand."
- >Human. Is that what he was called? A human?
- >You take a moment to disarm the white mare.
- "No, no, it's quite all right. I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it."
- >You look over to Anonymous and smile
- >The human is rubbing the back of his head, but he smiles back at you.
- >You notice you've moved your hair behind your ear again.
- >You decide to hold you hooves in your lap and resolve to stop fidgeting
- "I hate to be rude, but would you mind if I finished my drink? It's been quite a long evening."
- >The mare once again breaks into her high-pitched, sophisticated whining.
- >"Oh! Of course, dear. Anonymous and I need to be going, anyway. Thank you so much for your time. We'll simply haaaaave to take in one of your concerts in the very near future."
- "I'd like that."
- >It's a lie. Well, at least kind of.
- >"Come along, Anonymous. Let us give Miss Melody some privacy."
- >The human smiles and nods at you as he follows Rarity out the door of the bar. "Later, Miss Octagon."
- >The bartender has busied himself by putting another shot in front of you. A double.
- >He was apparently listening in. And knew you needed it.
- >The walk home is spent deep in though.
- >The human didn't know who you were.
- >Nor was he listening to your music.
- >Hell, he didn't even get your fucking name right!
- >That was…definitely a first for you. You were unsure how to feel about it.
- >Angry? No, it would be sort of silly to think every single resident of Canterlot knew who you were.
- >Maybe a little disappointed? No, not everyone had an interest in music.
- >Or did it actually feel kind of good not to be fawned over for a change?
- >You give your head a shake.
- >Ridiculous.
- >Pfft. You should just ignore it. So some weird alien isn't interested in your music. Who cares?!
- >You climb the stairs of your apartment and get inside, stowing away your cello before taking of your white collar.
- >You crawl into your bed and try to get comfortable.
- >There's nothing on the schedule tomorrow, fortunately, so maybe you can try to get a few things done.
- >Your eyes begin to close, but try as you might, sleep doesn't come any easier.
- >The experience at the bar is still on your mind.
- >Mainly Anonymous.
- >Was he Rarity's coltfriend?
- >Well, seeing as how he lives Ponyville, your chances of running into them again are slim
- >You turn and toss, as if your bed was suddenly made of rocks.
- >But if you do run into them again, well, that could be interesting.
- >You are Octavia
- >And you feel like you've been hit by a train.
- >Maybe you had a few too many shots last night.
- >You're not sure how many you drank after Rarity and Anonymous left.
- >But it feels like a hundred.
- >Definitely a hundred.
- >You groan and put your head in your hooves.
- >At least you aren't playing today.
- >You roll over and fumble for the clock on your nightstand.
- >In your stupor, you drop it and it rolls onto the floor.
- >Fuck!
- >Leaning over the bed, you paw at it with your hoof
- >1 pm.
- >Shit.
- >The only thing preventing you from staying in bed for the rest of the day is your obvious appetite.
- >You haven't eating anything since last night.
- >As if on cue your stomach audibly growls.
- >And seeing as how you slept through breakfast, you might as well make yourself some lunch.
- >Climbing out of bed, you trot into your kitchen.
- >Opening up the fridge, you notice just how scarce the contents are.
- >Right now, it's only host to a few condiment bottles and a six pack of beer.
- >You close the door and fight the urge to vomit.
- >You don't even want to think about alcohol right now.
- >No matter, you'll just have to go out for some lunch.
- >Back in the bedroom, you decide to give yourself a once over before heading out.
- >Your normally pristine mane is a bit messy,
- >You brush your hair a bit and put on another collar and bowtie.
- >You don't really care enough to make yourself look prim and proper for Canterlot today.
- >The fresh air does you some good
- >The warm afternoon sun is pretty forgiving
- >And it's nice not to have to lug your cello around for the day.
- >Maybe if there's time after lunch, you'll run a few errands.
- >Occasionally you hear ponies whisper your name to their friends as you pass, but you try to ignore it
- >Your stomach growls again and you up your pace, hoping to get to where you're going quickly.
- >You decide to treat yourself to your favorite little bistro
- >You get seated right away, but whether it's because you just got lucky or your reputation did the heavy lifting, you're not sure.
- >The waiter pony brings you a glass of ice water, some bread and a menu, leaving you a few minutes to order.
- >As you read down the list of the menu's offerings, you lick your lips in anticipation
- >You decide upon a nice daisy sandwich and then try to relax while you wait for the waiter to get back.
- >The water is helping your hangover a bit and you find yourself buttering the bread, more out of boredom than actual hunger.
- >Looking out on the street, you can see ponies trotting to and fro, some like they're on daily errands
- >While others look like they're out just to be seen by other ponies.
- >You take another sip of water to get the bad taste out of your mouth.
- >But above the relative calm of the afternoon, you hear someone shouting from down the street.
- >"Anonymous, pleassssssse. The hat store on the other side of town is only open for six more hours!"
- >Oh no.
- >You recognize that whine.
- >You lean over in your chair, trying to get a good look of who is making such a commotion.
- >You find your answer pretty quickly.
- >Anonymous towers above other ponies, making him sort of easy to spot. He's carrying a few shopping bags in his arms, while Rarity trudges through the Canterlot street, like a guide on a jungle trek.
- >You pop your menu back up, covering your face and trying to hide behind it.
- >Oh god, oh god. Please don't let her see you.
- >You take a peak behind the menu, just enough to see what's going on.
- >As luck would have it, she and Anonymous stop right next to your table.
- >It would appear as if you've been found out, but Rarity doesn't see you.
- >She simply stops and pulls a map from her saddlebag, horn aglow in magic.
- >Anonymous stops right beside her.
- >Your heart feels like it's gained ten pounds.
- >You can hear your pulse in your ears.
- >Rarity studies the map, cocking her head like a pigeon in trying to decipher it.
- >She begins to look around, as if to confirm it's accuracy.
- >The menu is so close to your face you can't even read it anymore.
- >God, you wish she would just move!
- >Just then, your waiter returns to take your order.
- >"Have you thought about what you might like to order, Miss Melody?"
- >Rarity perks up at the mention of your name and turns around.
- >You look at your waiter and shoot him the biggest fucking daggers you possibly can.
- >His face twists into one of fear.
- >"I'll just give you a few more minutes to decide."
- >He scampers off back to the kitchen, cowed.
- >You feel someone's arms wrap around your neck, followed by that annoying shrill.
- >"OH Octavia darlinnnnnng! It's so good to seeeeee you on such short notice, dear."
- >You sigh.
- "Hello, Rarity."
- >The white unicorn unhands you and takes a step back.
- >Anonymous joins the pair of you a few seconds later, standing quietly.
- >From your seated position, you have to crane your head a bit to look him in the face.
- >He smiles politely, but says nothing.
- >You smile back.
- >But this time, it's genuine.
- >Probably the first time in weeks you can say that.
- >You put the menu down, realizing you have no other choice.
- >"Anonymous, aren't we lucky to have run into one of Canterlot's finest performers twice in one week?"
- >Other ponies begin to take notice of her enthusiasm.
- >You hunch over, as it to make yourself smaller.
- >God, why can't she just shut up!
- >Anonymous answers her question by shrugging. "I guess."
- >That one cut you a little deeper than it should.
- >You're sick of other ponies feigning interest in your music.
- >Or trying to be friends with you.
- >So why does it hurt so bad when now that someone isn't kissing your flank all the time?
- >The conversation stops dead in its tracks when you hear a strange sound.
- >You and Rarity look around, trying to locate it, but it seems like Anonymous all ready has.
- >One of his weird hands is holding his stomach.
- >He looks down at his pony companion and p
- >"Uh, Rarity, do you mind if we stop for lunch before we hit the next store? I'm hungry."
- >The unicorn rolls her eyes at him, revealing that this might be a theme with him.
- >Rarity hands him a stack of bits and points him over to a store across the street.
- >"If you must. Go get yourself a hayburger or some such. But be quick about it!"
- >She's sending him away?
- >No! God, can this mare get any worse?
- >You want to object, but that would look odd.
- >So you watch, helplessly, as the human jogs off, soon lost in the throng of pony passersby.
- >Turning back to you, Rarity begins to jaw at length.
- >You don't really register any of it.
- >The one thing that was keeping the conversation remotely interesting is now gone.
- >Shaking your head, you try to get it out of your mind
- >What was wrong with you?
- >What was with all of this sudden interest in someone you barely knew?
- >Someone who didn't even like your music?
- >Your inner monologue is cut off, however, by Rarity's persistent interrogation.
- >"I must say, Miss Melody, your taste are eclectic! I see you in that dump of a saloon last night and now at one of the more stylish restaurants in town. You certainly are a well-traveled mare."
- "Thanks."
- >Hmm, you do have something you'd like to ask, Rarity, despite the fact she's annoying you.
- >You need to go about it carefully, though, lest you invite suspicion to your doorstep.
- >You let Rarity drone on for a few more minutes, thinking of a way to extract the information.
- >Finally, you think of a subtle way to do it.
- "Well, it's good to have fans like you and your coltfriend."
- >You point with a hoof across the street, indicating the store Anon went into.
- >It almost makes you sick to say it, but you need to know.
- >You're not sure why you need to know, you just do.
- >Are they an item?
- >Going steady?
- >Just friends?
- >Fuck-buddies?
- >Rarity sputters, her face scrunching up in disbelief.
- >"Miss Melody, I'm flattered you think of me as a fan but Anonymous is NOT my coltfriend."
- >She spits out the words like a bad taste in her mouth.
- >You can feel your lips turn up ever so slightly in a smile.
- >Why does it relieve you so much to hear that?
- >Well, at least you know now.
- >You're not really even sure why you asked.
- >The information, though, could come in handy, you suppose.
- >But you continue to probe, making yourself sound as uninformed as possible.
- "Oh, sorry. I assumed you were together."
- >She shudders, as if you just suggested she roll in mud.
- >"Goodness, no. No, no, no."
- >Anonymous suddenly emerges from the crowd again, scarfing down a salted pretzel.
- >"Back, what did I miss?"
- >Rarity laughs, as if she's about to tell him a really funny joke.
- >"Miss Melody here was under the impression you were my coltfriend!"
- >Anonymous looks down at you, his eyebrows rising in surprise.
- >You fight the urge to grit your teeth.
- >She didn't have to call you out like that.
- >You're really beginning to hate this mare.
- >"No, Rarity's not my marefriend. If she was I'd be broke and probably in an insane asylum."
- >HA! But on the other hand, you're starting to like this Anon guy more and more.
- >You and Anon share a laugh for a moment.
- >But you keep it short, careful not to let it go on too long.
- >Rarity's face is beet red, huffing as she gives Anon a pretty harsh slap with her hoof.
- >It doesn't seem to hurt him so much as it's annoying.
- >"Well, I never! As if I would ever debase myself by courting with a ruffian like you, Anonymous!"
- >She turns to you, her smile is gone. It looks like you might have enjoyed that laugh a little too much.
- >She looks embarrassed.
- >"Well, Miss Melody, we must be going. Lots of shopping left to do today! To the hat store!"
- >Her hoof catches the sleeve of Anon's suit and pulls, dragging him off.
- >He gives you a little wave as he gets hauled off.
- >You wave back until they disappear into the crowd again.
- >You only stop waving after you notice your arm hurting.
- >Your waiter finally returns and you put in your order.
- >The poor guy is scared stiff, probably after that dirty look you gave him earlier.
- >You feel sort of bad, you'll leave him a nice tip to make up for it.
- >But as you eat your lunch, you catch yourself thinking about what just happened.
- >True, Anonymous didn't seem that thrilled to see you.
- >But on the bright side, he didn't get your name wrong again.
- >Seeing Rarity again sort of grated on your nerves unnecessarily.
- >But you did find out something kind of important.
- >So, there's that.
- >You enjoy your food and the nice weather, pondering.
- >And smiling.
- >For once, you're not feeling so jaded.
- >Maybe, with Anon in it, Canterlot isn't the boring place you thought it was.
- >Maybe.
- >Seeing Anonymous at lunch has done wonders for your attitude.
- >You woke up today hungover and a bit pissed off.
- >Now you feel sort of…optimistic?
- >It was only a couple of minutes, but it's enough to put you in a good mood for the rest of the day.
- >You set about your daily errands with gusto.
- >There's a slight jauntiness in your trot.
- >So Rarity and Anonymous weren't dating.
- >That was a good thing, right?
- >One thing is clear: you want to get to know Anonymous more
- >You make a silent note to temper your expectations, though.
- >Just because he doesn't hound you like other ponies doesn't mean he's instantly your best friend.
- >That doesn't bring your energetic mood down, however.
- >For the rest of the afternoon, things seem to click.
- >You pick up some rosin for your cello, as well as some groceries for the apartment.
- >The library got some new scores in, so you checked them out to study later.
- >And the dry cleaner's finished pressing your outfit for the orchestra.
- >Finally, you arrive at your last stop of the day.
- >Canterlot Symphony Hall
- >You'd be playing here in a few weeks.
- >Timidly, you approach the entrance.
- >There's a pony sitting behind the glass ticket window,
- >You smirk.
- "Hello, Quadrille."
- >The face looks up, glum eyes peer back at you through the glass.
- >Her eyes blink for a moment before she realizes who you are.
- >She slides the magazine closed and off to the side.
- >"Oh! Tavi! Sorry, I didn't know it was you."
- >You cringe.
- >Tavi.
- >You hate being called that.
- >But Quadrille is your friend, or the closest you have to one in Canterlot, so you let it slide.
- >"What brings you here?"
- >You paw at the pavement with your hoof, looking down.
- "Um, are there still some reserve tickets for performer's families?"
- >The mare cocks her head, looking at you quizzically for a moment.
- >"Yeah, there are. There are still two in your name. Want them?"
- >You nod and Quadrille disappears for a moment behind the glass.
- >The sound of a file cabinet opening and slamming shut is her before the mare returns to her seat.
- >She slides an envelope through the tray at the bottom of the window.
- >You open it to reveal two tickets for the concert you're playing at in two weeks.
- >Excellent.
- >You slide them carefully into your saddlebag.
- >Her voice, tinny and low, sounds through the glass again.
- >"Hey, Tavi, mind if I ask what's up? You never take the tickets that are put aside for you. I always hold onto them just in case, but, what the special occasion?"
- >You aren't entirely sure how to answer that, so your face does by blushing a bit.
- >It's difficult to conceal it on your grayish complexion and soon the color of your cheeks matches your bowtie.
- >Quadrille's lips turns up in a smirk.
- >"Ohhh. I get it."
- >You dread what girlish things she's cooking up in her brain.
- >Vainly, you try to save face.
- "I-it's not like that! They're just for a friend!"
- >Damn. Way to sound unconvincing, Octavia.
- >Quadrille rolls her eyes, propping herself up on her elbow.
- >"Uh huh. Sure. Well, I think it's nice that you're inviting a nice colt to your performance."
- "Well, the guest I'm inviting isn't exactly a colt, so…"
- >Quadrille's eyes snap open from their dreamy look into one of shock.
- >You grimace. You might have just made it worse.
- >"Octavia Melody, I had no idea you were into mares. Had I known I could have set you up with a fri-"
- >Emphatically, you shake your head.
- "No, no. That's not what I meant. This guy I'm inviting, he's…different."
- >The mare tilts her head in confusion, but motions for you to continue.
- >"Different how?"
- >You turn on your hooves, making sure the tickets are still safe in your bag.
- "You'll just have to wait and see!"
- >Quadrille shouts after you, but behind the glass, it doesn't carry more than a few feet.
- >It might have been a little mean to tease her, but it wouldn't do well to make out a cheque you can't cash.
- >Hell, Anonymous hasn't even agreed to come yet.
- >So you need to take things slow.
- >Eventually, you end up back at your apartment.
- >The day went by quickly, but considering you woke up so late, that was to be expected.
- >You still have a few things to do before you go back to bed, however.
- >It wasn't hard to get a hold of Rarity's address.
- >Word travels quickly in Canterlot.
- >One of her business cards was easy to come by.
- >The same could not be said of Anonymous.
- >Even with all the gossip that swirled about in the city, this Anonymous was a ghost.
- >No one seemed to know where he lived exactly, what he did for a living.
- >Or even his last name.
- >So you'll have to go through Rarity.
- >You carefully slide the two tickets into an envelope, seal it and write Rarity's address on it.
- >Unfortunately, inviting Rarity to your performance is a necessary gambit.
- >The thought of bringing her makes you cringe, but, she's the only shared connection you have with him.
- >You scribble a polite note, asking her to bring herself and Anon to Canterlot Symphony Hall on the date of the performance.
- >Suddenly, you notice that you're shaking as you write.
- >Were these feelings real?
- >Did you actually like Anonymous?
- >And were you really this desperate to get his attention?
- >You feel like a filly, back in high school
- >Dropping a note in someone's locker.
- >But when you are reminded of how boring Canterlot has become for you, well, it doesn't seem like such a bad idea.
- >You head downstairs and put the envelope into the mailbox outside your building.
- >Well, here goes nothing.
- >The two weeks pass quickly.
- >You got a letter from Rarity in the mail just a day after you sent her the tickets.
- >"Dear Miss Melody,
- >"Anonymous and I would be simply HONOURED to attend your prestigious event.
- >"Thank you kindly for such a generous offer!
- >"And such fine seats as well!
- >"We are truly touched that you would think of us, your fan-"
- >You can practically hear Rarity's voice ringing in your ears as you read it over.
- >Fortunately, it seems like Anonymous is coming with her.
- >Good.
- >That would have been a nightmare if you plan had backfired and only Rarity had decided to come.
- >The fact that Anonymous is interested is still at least a step forward.
- >Your music and your status as a musician didn't seem to impress him very much the last time he was in Canterlot.
- >So perhaps this is a good sign?
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