Una Nota Dolce Chapter 1 - Capo (AnonXOctavia)

>Yet another day in Equestria.
>It didn’t make sense, waking up one day to find yourself living with p0nies. But, you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
>Badum-TISH
>Thanks, Brain.
>You thought it was going to be hard, the only human in all of Equestria.
>Nope. Everyp0ny has been exceedingly kind, treating you like every other p0ny.
>Well, with the exception of the occasional rape attempt.
>Damn these lustful mares.
>Despite the occasional attempt on your p0ny virginity, you manage to eke out a decent living, assisting Rarity in the running of Carousel Boutique.
>She jumped at the opportunity. With you working there, she could concentrate more on her fashions.
>Apparently, your “artistic eye” was what allowed her to agree to your employment.
>You stack a set of folded cloaks on the shelf, sorting them by color. You weren’t complaining, goodness no. The pay was good and the work was honest while not too stressful.
>However, there was one thing you missed about your old life.
>The stage. The applause. The feel of fine grain wood, varnished to perfection as the bow in your practiced fingers made taut catgut strings sing like the choirs of angels.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VDtky4HFyIk
>You begin to whistle one of your favorite concertos, the first movement of Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 3.
>Separating the cloaks by color, you let your mind wander back, reliving the first time you played a real, honest to goodness Stradivarius.
>The bell rings over the door. Oh well, that was then. This, while not performance, is now.
“Welcome to Carousel Boutique, where the fashions are sleek, chic and tres magnifique…”
>Well, you regret one thing about working here.
>”Mail call!”
>Oh good, it’s just Derpy. You turn to face the wall-eyed mailmare. She’s the only one who doesn’t stare at you.
>Well, at least you can’t tell she’s staring at you.
“Good morning Derpy, anything for me?”
>”Nah, just something for Rarity.” The grey pegasus thrusts a scrunched-up envelope.
“…Derpy, this letter is addressed to Berry Punch, and I am sure she would not want us reading her court orders.”
>”Oh…right, sorry.” She takes the letter back and resumes rummaging in her mailbag.
>That’s our Derpy.
>Eventually, she finds the right letter.
“Rarity, you’ve got mail!”
>”Dahling, I’m working, could you read it to me? Be a dear.” She must be in the zone.
>Or fixing her hair.
>With her, it’s likely the same thing.
“Alright, alright, hold on.”
>You open the letter, pulling out a note and a pair of gilded tickets.
“Dear Miss Rarity, plus one, you are hereby invited to the fifteenth annual Manehattan Exposition and Banquet. Find enclosed two tickets for the banquet and…”
>You were cut off by a squeal that could crack diamond. Rarity dashes into the room and snatches the letter from your hands, nearly knocking you down in the process.
>Her hair is in curlers.
“Of course…”
>”Did you say something, dear?”
“Nothing.”
>Rarity can barely contain her excitement. “Anon, do you know what this is?! Only the finest fashion designers in all of Equestria are invited to the Manehattan Exposition! We’re going to need to design you some dress clothes!”
“Oh, that sounds wo…wait, what? Me?”
>”Well of course, dahling. Who else would I take with me?”
>Well, when you put it that way…

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

>You had never imagined that p0ny architecture could be so grand.
>You must say, Rarity really did a smash-up job on the tuxedo. In fact, you wonder just how she got so proficient at clothing for humans.
>Rarity, for what it’s worth, abandoned you as soon as the two of you arrived. No matter, it’s nice to get away from the boss once in awhile as you hold a glass of champagne in your fingers.
>And then…the music starts.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MyAy6hxGirg
>Your ears draw you across the ballroom, slipping between p0nies of obvious noble refinement, enticed by the sweet melodies that remind you of a home long lost.
>Music! Real, sweet music!
>The vibrato tones of the cello echo across the gilded walls of the banquet hall as the din of the party dies around you.
>There is no party for you right now, just you and the music.
>Then there is, of course, the p0ny performing it.
>She may be a simple earth p0ny, but this gray, raven-maned mare was the only being you could perceive. The cello in her hooves rose above her head, even as she stood on her hind legs, doing things with strings you thought couldn’t be done without fingers.
>When she looked down on you from the stage with hard, violet eyes, you shuddered in your skin a little. That was a practiced look you saw in many humans trained in the classical arts. That bit of arrogance, that their artistry propelled them above the rabble they entertained.
>For you, however, it represented familiarity.
>As the song ends, your senses are drawn back to reality. The applause seeps into your hearing as the mare takes a curt bow and sets her cello aside, stepping off the stage for a short break.
>She doesn’t even turn to you as you approach.
“I have to say, that was a wonderful performance, Miss…”
>”Octavia,” she answers in a short, terse word. You’re used to everyp0ny being so friendly, her attitude takes you aback slightly.
“…Miss Octavia. Your tempo control on the second section was especially precise.”
>Octavia just rolls her eyes, looking at you like that professor who thought every student who used the word “Stanza” was using a word they read in a book, but did not understand.
>”Yes…well…I’m glad you liked the song…”
“I was wondering, how do you perform col legno with hooves? I imagine it’s difficult enough to just hold the bow.”
>Octavia sighs and turns to you. “Look, I know you enjoyed the song, but please. Trying to strike up conversation with something you don’t understand is just boorish.”
>Did she….
>She did, Anon.
>Brain, I don’t think she knows who she’s dealing with.
>Wait, what are you…
>You clear your throat and look around as Octavia’s attention returns to other party guests. Setting your champagne on the edge of the stage, you spy something you can use.
>A violin case, placed behind the case for Octavia’s cello.
>How convenient.
>Anon, this is your brain, think about this. If you embarrass Rarity here….
>Brain, thinking is your job.
>As talented as Octavia is, you need to show her just how much you understand.
>You only draw a few quizzical murmers from the crowd as you climb onto the stage, Octavia paying too much false attention to one of the richer attendees to notice.
>The murmers grow a little louder as the idle conversation dies down as you pull the violin and it’s bow from the case.
>All eyes are upon you as you draw the bow across the strings, adjusting the pegs to bring the sound into tune, adjusting the tension of each with a practiced hand and ear that show no signs of rust.
>You look down at Octavia, whose mouth hangs agape as anger begins to twist across her face. She starts climbing onto the stage.
>”W-What? What do you think you’re doing! Take your greasy paws off that instrument THIS INST-“
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lSa88XeJJ1w
>It only takes a few notes to shut her up.
>Along with everyone else it seems.
>You’re in luck, this particular instrument is of fine quality. Bach’s subtle inflections flow from your fingers as you take comfort in the familiar feeling of ebony wood in your palms, a chinplate against the underside of your face as the bow balances delicately in your grasp.
>This feeling! This sensation that…that cuts to your very soul! Oh, music, it’s been a stranger to you for far too long. Save me a seat at the table, Mendel, ‘cause daddy’s home!
>It doesn’t take long for you to forget that the entire point of this performance was to make Octavia eat her words. You lose yourself in your performance, like you feel the notes swirl around you in a cascade of artistry.
>Your soul is an open book, to be read by all.
>As your performance comes to an end, you open your eyes and look around.
>Oh my…that is a lot of shocked, slack-jawed p0nies.
>Especially…yup, there’s Rarity, as shocked as the others.
>You turn to Octavia. She looks more shocked than anybody. You aren’t sure this is a good thing.
>Well, you did it. Play it through to the end, you prideful idiot.
>Thanks, brain.
>You can’t even think of something smart to say as you place the violin in Octavia’s grip. She just accepts it without even a twitch.
>You look around and suddenly become very conscience how everyone is staring at you.
>You excuse yourself and step off the stage.
>The only sound in the room as you walk to the door is the sound of your own footsteps.
>The only sound in the night air as you leave the building are the chirping of nighttime insects.
>The only sound you hear as you approach the ticket counter at the Manehattan train depot is the sound of your own voice, ordering a ticket on the first train back to P0nyville.
>Anon, I think ya may have dun goofed.