Una Nota Dolce Chapter 2 - Pietoso

>You opened the store, the same way you’ve done since you’ve started working for Rarity.
>Anon, ya dun goof’d.
>You keep saying that, Brain.
>Your decision to return to P0nyville early before the end of the three-day exposition was met with some annoyance by Rarity, and she asked you to run the shop while she was gone.
>She didn’t mention your impromptu performance.
>Man, that really rustles your jimmies.
>”Hey Anon, my sis’ is gonna be back today, right?”
>Oh yes, Sweetie Belle. Sweet girl, as her name implies.
>Well, with exception of that one time.
>Cutie Mark Crusaders Human Cutie Mark Finders was awkward and disturbing for all parties.
>Still, sweet girl.
“That’s right Sweetie Belle, later on tonight. You ready for some lunch?”
>She shakes her head. “Nah, I’m gonna go have lunch with Applebloom and their family. Want to come with me?”
>Not really. Your last encounter with Applejack involved a rope trap and a dart full of morphine.
>You’re just glad that AJ’s not a good shot.
“No, I’ve got to stay and run the shop. Tell you what, you want to help me inventory when you get back?”
>”Awww…” That sounded dangerously like work.
“Maybe you can get your cutie mark in human helping?”
>Sweetie Belle’s eyes light up! “Sure thing, Anonymous!”
>And with that, the filly is out the door like a pastel purple bolt.
>You sigh and grin a little as you adjust a dress on display, picking off a few stray bits of lint.
>You feel it again.
>The weight is subtle, like it isn’t there, but still very much is. The length of the bow makes a slight change of the balance of your hand, and the muscles of your wrist contort ever so slightly to compensate.
>The initial tone of horsehair drawn across catgut strings.
>Wait…isn’t this Equestria?
>P0nyhair.
>Oh god, what if Octavia used her own hair to make her bowstrings?
>You shake your head. It doesn’t matter.
>Still…you would love the chance to play again.
>You stretch. Business today was rather slow.
>Oh well, bits are bits.
>The bell above the door rings.
>You talk without turning around, still adjusting the dress.
“What is it Sweetie Belle, forget som-“
>You turn around to see who it is who actually came in.
“…Octavia?”
>The gray p0ny stands in the doorway, still wearing that little bow tie from the party.
>A little weird, but it’s actually quite fetching.
>Brain, this mare was queen bitch to us not too long ago.
>Whatev’s.
>”Umm…Anonymous, was it? Madam Rarity told me I could find you here. “ She gingerly enters the shop, every movement of her hooves measured as she looks around.
“Well, I do work for her.” You accentuate your sentence by snapping a cloak in your hands as you fold it. “Is there something I can do for you?”
>Octavia looks as you fold, studying the motions of your hands. She’s holding something back, the evidence is as clear as day on her face.
>”I…have to say, I never expected someone like…well, you, to work as a clerk in a fashion boutique.” That arrogance creeps back into her voice ever so slightly, even if the expression of those damnably violet eyes remains unchanged.
“Everyone’s got to make a living…” You set the cloak down, making sure to arrange them by color.
>”Well, yes, but…” Octavia sighs and cuts her sentence short.
>Whatever it is she wants, it must be difficult for her.
“Look, Octavia, I’ll help you out. I’m sure you didn’t come all the way to P0nyville just to remark about my employment, so why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”
>She winces a little at your tone, though your eyes fail to notice, fixated on your work.
“If you want to charge me to have your violin cleaned of my ‘grubby paws,’ leave the bill on the counter.”
>That’ll learn ‘er.
>Shut up, brain.
>”…I suppose I deserve that.”
>Damn straight you de…wait, what?
>You turn around to see Octavia looking down and to the side a bit.
>Is she…ashamed?
>”I came all the way down here to apologize…I accused you of being boorish because I assumed you were like the others and…I’m sorry, I guess I kind of deserved what happened the other night?”
>Like how I made you look like a first year music student?
>Shut up brain, this is blowing my mind enough as is.
>You realize the inherent irony of that, right?
“…that’s it? You came all the way down here to apologize?”
>Octavia continues to not look at you as you sit down across from her. There’s got to be more to this.
“…That can’t be it. You could have stayed in Manehattan and likely never saw me again. Why are you here?”
>Octavia shakes her head, like she’s chewing on the words.
>”…I had a favor to ask.”
>She insults you, you stuff it in her face, and now she’s here asking for favors?
>Damn these crazy mares.
“Alright…you came all the way down here, I might as well listen.”
>Octavia just turns and walks back to the door. Picking up something that was left outside, she comes back in and places it in your lap.
>Well, that was unexpected.
>Your jimmies start to rustle as you trace your hands along the violin case, the same one from the ballroom.
>”I just wanted you to play again.”
“…why?”
>Octavia’s soft eyes get that noble air to them again, if only for a little while. “Please…I’ll tell you if you play it.”
>I think I saw a horror movie start like this once.
>Without a word, you stand and set the violin on a table. Octavia looks up at you with confusion and maybe a little…hurt.
>”A..anon?”
“Excuse me Octavia…but I need to wash the grubbiness off my paws.”
>Anon…you are so uncool.
>You’re about to reply to your brain when you hear something come from Octavia.
>It’s soft and lyrical, and she…
>She’s giggling?
>You quirk an eyebrow as she chuckles, taken aback at just how…cute she looks when smiling.
>”Alright, I appreciate the thought.”

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>Hands = clean.
>You open the case, taking the worn wooden instrument into your hands.
>Octavia looks a little anxious.
>”Please, do be careful with it…it’s…precious to me.”
“Of course.” You quirk an eyebrow as you take a moment to inspect the violin more closely.
>It’s an old instrument. Very old, at least one generation even by your human age standards. However, you are impressed at how well this instrument has been maintained.
>The smudges in the finish where your fingers last gripped it tell you that you were the first person to play it in some time.
>Octavia just watches you expectantly, hopping into the chair you were sitting in before.
“Well…what do you want me to play?”
>Octavia just shakes her head. “I don’t care what you play, just…play. I need to know something.”
>What the hell could she possibly learn by listening to you play again.
>Oh well, you keep your promises.
>You raise the bow to the strings, check your tuning, and…begin.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gIuotFZnBtk
>It doesn’t take you long to once again disappear into the zone.
>As you play, you don’t pay much attention to the notes you perform. Your hands, your fingers, you trust them to know what they are doing.
>Your mind drifts to memories, able to express through your music while unclouded by anger and petty revenge.
>You remember warm summer fields and cold skyscrapers in the dead of winter. Stuffy old classrooms and the smell of glue. The feeling of your mother’s hand as it let yours go, the feeling of her eyes on your back as you walked up the path on your first day of school.
>You haven’t thought about your old life since you were in Equestria, but your music…your last real connection to who you were before.
>You seep back into the world around you as your song comes to an end.
>Is…is she about to cry?
“There…I played for you. Now, will you tell me why it was so important for you to come down here and have me play?”
>Octavia sniffled a little and shook her head, regaining her composure somewhat. Did what you play really rustle her jimmies that much?
>”When you played the other night, in Manehattan…”
>You sit down, leaning on your elbows as you place the violin back into its’ case.
>This ought to be rich.
>”…that was the most amazing thing I ever heard.”
>….
>wut.
>”You were so…so passionate! I could tell right away that I had upset you, because…well, besides the fact that you showed me up, but it was in your song! That vigor! That…pure energy!”
>She’s really analyzed this. Octavia animates vividly as she describes your impromptu performance.
>She doesn’t even seem upset at it!
>These confounded mares drive me to drink.
>”But then…” Her voice drops. You quirk an eyebrow. Is this why she came all the way out here?
“What is it?”
>”There was…something else, under your anger…” Octavia looks up at you, and for the first time, you’re cognizant of her eyes meeting yours.
>Your jimmie rustling is as disjointed and confused as you are.
>”It ate at me all night. P0nies kept asking me about you the rest of the night, but I just wanted to find out what was under the heat of the moment…”
>Wow, she really reads a lot into her mu-
>”Just now…I figured it out. It was sadness.”
>Wait, what?
>Your jimmies go off faster than a Formula-1 racer.
>”It ate at me…it drove me insane, thinking that someone I thought was such a…forgive me for saying this, such a rube, was capable of something much deeper than he was on the surface.”
>You’re not sure if you should be flattered or insulted.
“Well, I appreciate that you don’t think of me so…lowly anymore, but I’m not sad. I’m quite happy thank you.”
>Octavia’s violet eyes glare at you in annoyance. “Anonymous, just because I insulted your intelligence does not mean you need to insult mine.”
>Jimmies have been brought to rustle factor 50.
>”And now…I just want to know who you are.”
“Me? Well…uh.” What the hell’s with this mare?
“I’m Anonymous…”
>”I know who you are, but…who ARE you? Where did you come from? Where did you learn to play like that?”
>You sigh, it’s not like you had business to worry about.
“Alright…If it’s that important to you, I’ll tell you…”