Octavia: a pony who was once a well-known cellist throughout the entire city of Canterlot. Before the incident at the Grand Galloping Gala, she traveled with her troupe, her bandmates all selected as the best Equestria has to offer in the field of orchestral music. Once the event came, the horrific reality that a pony could destroy a whole famous troupe’s act in less than seconds shattered the group’s entire reputation. A ton of ponies at the venue reported to the Princess that the music at the event—as quoted by Princess Celestia herself—sucked eggs. That day horrified the cellist, her once beautiful melodies now taking a disastrous plunge; the possibility of her career being silenced forever becoming a cruel reality for the poor mare.

Now, Octavia roams the streets of Canterlot, hoping somepony would take her in and sign her up for work. She needed a job and fast if she wanted to keep her house; the payments were extremely high. She’s already applied for three jobs as of now: two applications in intricate were sent to the Cloudsdale Orchestra, a slight step down to the Canterlot Orchestra, while the other application was sent to Canterlot Records, the highest ranking record company in all of Equestria that wishes to gather the best of the best musicians. Octavia hopes Cloudsdale Orchestra will pick her up, but she fears the performance at the Grand Galloping Gala may hinder her application considering that Cloudsdale may be the replacement for the Canterlot Orchestra for this year's event. In addition to the possible hindrance, she is a mere earth pony, which would make it difficult to meet up with the rest of her possible bandmates for practice.

Octavia looks to her left and to her right, her dark gray mane slightly bobbing as she carefully checks both directions. Then, she proceeds to cross the street, her hooves clip-clopping across the brick road. As of late, Canterlot added a new section to the city, where most of the higher up residents now reside. For Octavia, this was another place to find work as there were a select few of new high class restaurants opening up, looking for local entertainment to come in and be their one hitters.

She steps up to the other side of the street. Looking back on the place she previously stepped on, she never realized she walked this far from her home, the freedom of having so much time on her hands hitting her all at once. Usually she’d be practicing her cello, making sure she would be in tiptop shape for the next day’s concert or simply to relax and take in her own music. These days, however, made this less enjoyable for her. It became more of a chore, forcing herself to play and to stand in a certain position to avoid being slammed onto the ground ever again.

Octavia sighs and continues her journey. The sidewalk in front of her appearing much longer than it should because no pony was really out at this time of the morning. Octavia liked it this way: there was no pony to yell at her about how bad she is as a pony, how bad her performance was at the well-known Triple G, and no pony to ever judge her by her sudden disappearance in the music industry. It is the greatest of melodies to her, the only noises to be heard were the great sounds of nature, the gentle breeze blowing through her lustrous mane.

Octavia turns her gaze to her right, her attention suddenly grasping a hold of the brown square sign in front of the large, yet basic building across the street. She reads the sign aloud, her voice calm and collective, “Wanted: New Solo Artist.” Octavia’s tired expression suddenly lights up, her grayish mulberry orbs shimmering in the sunlight as she peered at the restaurant’s name: the Golden Coral. She smiles for the first time today: an opportunity.

She carefully checks both directions once again before crossing the street, this time rushing across to see if the restaurant was open. She slowly trots to the front of the building, the wooden door welcoming her. She notices the hours of the shop on the door which were taped on it.

“It’s supposedly open today,” she murmurs underneath her breath.

She attempts to open the door, grasping the knob with her hooves. She turns it and…

...locked.

Muttering incomprehensible swears underneath her breath, Octavia keeps her eyes straight as she gently knocks on the door, the door vibrating as she taps it. Along with the gentle wrapping on the door, the mare lets out a long drawn out, “Hello?”, hoping that somepony inside the establishment could hear her beck and call.

After hearing nothing but the wind in her ears, she sighs and turns away from the door. What she doesn’t hear is the sounds of the heavy wooden door unlocking and swinging wide open.

As she is about to step onto the sidewalk once again, a voice shouts, “Miss?”

Octavia freezes on the spot, her mind rapidly printing several pictures in her mind. The voice sounded masculine to her, a bit rough on the edges as if to say it has had some experience…

She turns to face the stallion of the establishment.

Only to find somepony she never thought she would.

“Welcome to the Golden Coral, Miss?” the buff, large pegasus stallion says as he smiles gently at her.

“O-octavia,” she stammers out in reply as she gazes into the stallion’s green orbs. “I didn’t know you worked here, Soarin.”

Suddenly, the stallion’s eyes widen. “How did you guess that?”

“Just a hunch,” Octavia replies, her eyes glued to Soarin’s face.

Soarin sighs. “You have a good eye, Octavia.”

“Now how did you guess that?” she asks, her eyes shifting wildly at the stallion.

“You know,” he says, waving his hoof in circles. “Just a hunch.” He winks at Octavia, causing her to sigh loudly.

“Touche,” the mare says reluctantly while Soarin simply chuckles in response.

As the light chuckling of the big, blue stallion dies down, he motions for her to walk in. “Care to take a seat?”

She smiles and enters the establishment, the atmosphere of the restaurant making her feel like she was in a cabin: an old, rustic, clean clean cabin at that. The first thing she spots is the bar, her eyes glazing over it. She’d have to investigate into that matter later on, she wouldn’t want to look like an easy mare. Then, she turns to the large, yet finite amount of seating, the tables supplied varied in size. In the crowd of unintended seating arrangements, she spots a nice window seat for a couple to sit in, a place where they can see another section of the new part of Canterlot.

After seeing what was needed, she cranes her neck back to Soarin, who was attempting to lock the door. “Any seat?” she asks, causing him to jump slightly and snap his attention to Octavia.

His eyes rapidly shift around the room. “Uh… Yeah,” he awkwardly mentions, before continuing his struggle with the complex locking mechanism.

The mare shrugs in her mind, the awkwardness of the Wonderbolt not ringing any alarms in her head. However, what is ringing in her head is the fact that this famous stallion was working at a restaurant. She’ll have to ask him why he’s here when he saunters on over.

Octavia picks the seat closest to the window, not in fear of being seen by anypony considering the stallion locked the door and threw away the key in his jet black vest-like apparel that contrasts well with his wild dark blue mane and bright baby blue coat. And he definitely was a looker too, at least, in Octavia’s mind he was. He had the flank any mare would dribble over if they had the chance to even get a backside view of it. And if they did get a view, usually it was covered by that tight Wonderbolt suit of his.

However, here, there was no suit, no fangirls awaiting as his doorstep asking for his rightful hoof in marriage, and certainly there was no chance she’d get a front row seat to see a backside of a well-toned body like Soarin’s?

She tuned in to her regularly scheduled cello cycles—also known as her favorite past time when she’s not in La-La-Land—to see a not-so-extreme close up of Soarin, the awkwardness dissipated from his countenance as he stares directly at her.

“So, Miss Octavia,” he begins, bringing his fore hooves out from his lap and onto the table. “How can I help you?”

Octavia lightly shakes her head, attempting to sink the images of Soarin’s backside. She looks back at him and says, “I would like to take the position of being a solo artist at your establishment.”

Soarin raises an eyebrow to this. “You would want to work here?”

“Pardon?” Octavia responds, her confusion smearing across her face. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Soarin exhales deeply. “Well, I’m the owner of this small underground establishment and all I have are a few foot soldiers I got from the academy to help out with this business.”

Octavia puts her hoof the underside of her chin, the furling of her brow clear as day as she conjures up a clean response. She didn’t want to offend her potentially new boss, so she decided with a nice question. “What do you mean by foot soldiers?”

“They’re new recruits that are dedicated to the Wonderbolt name and also have a general understanding of cooking,” he explains calmly before bursting into laughter. “B-because if I did it, t-the whole business would’ve burned down by now!”

Octavia laughs lightly at this, noting in her head to never let Soarin get near any cooking range or stove of any type. “So you have volunteers, per se,” she states, waving her right hoof around while she looks at him.

He grins. “Exactly! I would like to change it up a bit and have some professional staff or in this case, artists for entertainment.” He looks outside and spreads his hoof out to the expansive new neighborhood right beside them. “And there’s a whole new crowd to work with, just waiting to be given a shot at the spotlight no matter what it takes.” She looks out the window, gazing at the large royal buildings, their spiral patterns of purple and white whisking her to a new realm of uncertainty. Soarin is right, there’s so much undiscovered talent out there, just waiting to be tapped into. Once you’re in the business and you drop down, it’s hard to climb back up to the top.

Especially when you mess up at the biggest event ever in Canterlot.

Octavia sighs. “I know how that feels to be at the bottom…” She shifts her gaze back to Soarin, who is smirking at her. She shrugs it off, not really defining its purpose. “It’s a struggle.”

Soarin nods. “Especially when you fell off the side of the planet…”

Octavia’s eyes widen. “What happened with the Wonderbolts?”

Soarin shakily sighs as he looks down at the forks prepared on the table. “They put me on leave.”

“Why?” she asks almost immediately, not missing a beat.

“It’s a long story…” Soarin says as he is about to move his hooves off the table.

Octavia did not want that to be his answer. She swiftly grasps one of his hooves softly, being careful to not shift the table and its contents on the hardwood floor. “Soarin, I have all the time in the world,” she says with sincerity. “And I don’t mind having a chat with somepony I want to work for.”

Soarin looks up at Octavia and smiles, his eyes beginning to pool with moisture. “A-alright.” He puts his free hoof back on the table, easing into his wooden chair as he begins his tale.

“It all started when Spitfire, Fleetfoot, and I were getting ready to perform for our first three pony flight routine at practice,” Soarin begins, seeing Octavia’s already confused expression. “Rapidfire wasn’t there, he was out for the season with the feather flu.” Octavia’s brow ceases to rise as it slowly begins to lower back to its normal position.

Seeing this as an opportunity to continue, he brings home the explanation, “We were standing near the starting platform, about to rush out and introduce ourselves like normal. There would be a DJ and an announcer, pumping up that large crowd we’d always get at our performances. As we ran out, I suddenly got this feeling…” He pauses for a moment, waving his hoof around and his brow ruffled up, a crease showing on his forehead. “This feeling of…”

“...failure?” Octavia says, squeezing Soarin’s hoof softly with hers.

Soarin looks up and nods. “Yeah! This feeling of failing! Like I was going to hit Spitfire or Fleetfoot by accident and cause a massive crash in the air.”

Octavia squeezes his hoof again softly. “And what happened next?”

The stallion smiles squeezing her hoof with his, causing her to giggle. “Well, we went outside onto the platform with Spitfire leading of course.” He looks out the window again for a moment. “Then Fleetfoot followed up behind her…” He brings his gaze back to her. “And I was last in line.”

Octavia smirks. “Saving the best one for last?”

Soarin blushes. “That’s not true, but thanks.”

“Anytime,” Octavia says. “Now, as you were saying, so you were going out to perform this routine and…”

Soarin clears his throat. “Yeah, we took off and did our routine to the T…” he says politely, his voice trailing off. “Then the finale came.”

Octavia coaxes the stallion, giving a small squeeze once again while her eyes were plastered upon his face. “What happened?” she asks, leaning forward in her seat.

“We…” He begins, the moisture coming back. “...collided.”

“What?” Octavia says in disbelief, her mouth wide open as if someone had disengaged her drawbridge. “How?”

Soarin sighs. “My wing clipped Fleetfoot's base of her wing, causing her to smash right into Spitfire’s chest and…” He pauses for a moment, choking out a sob. “She crashed to the ground with Fleetfoot landing shortly after.”

“So, were they okay?”

The stallion shakes his head. “That’s why our shows have been cancelled ‘til further notice.”

Octavia gaped as she remembers the main headline that day: Wonderbolts Cancels Tours!. Ever since then, the Wonderbolts have had no media attention whatsoever.

Octavia sighs. How could she not know this? She loves watching them fly, but for some reason she doesn’t know the nitty-gritty of the flying team?

“I can see you’re confused,” Soarin states blankly. “What’s wrong?”

Octavia looks back at him. “I just,” she began, pausing to collect her thoughts. “Didn’t remember hearing about the whole situation.”

Soarin squeezes her hoof. “That’s because they try to keep it secret,” Soarin says as if it’s a matter of fact. “If the media heard that our flyers are all down, they would think that we ended.”

Octavia nods. “Then why open up a restaurant?”

She stares at the stallion as a bit of moisture slowly glides down his cheek, the stray tear gently finding it’s end as it impacts on the table. Soarin notices this and wipes his face while cleaning off the wooden surface in embarrassment. “Look, I’m sorry,” he mutters out. “I didn’t need to get all emotional to someone who asks for hi—”

Octavia interrupts him again. “Soarin,” she begins, gliding her hoof gently along his right one. “It’s okay. Look, I can relate to you.”

Soarin’s eyes widen. “You can?”

Octavia rolls her eyes. “Why would I say I know how rock bottom feels?”

Soarin wipes his face once again, tears still pouring from his eyes. “Because you dived off the scene too.”

Octavia nods. “Yes.” She gives his hoof a squeeze. “And that’s why I’m here to ask you if I can play here.”

“So you can run away, forget the pain, and think you’re not to blame?” he asks without hesitation.

Octavia shakes her head. “No, so I can get back on top and give somepony the reason to continue.”

Soarin raises an eyebrow while wiping the end of his muzzle. “And who is that?”

Octavia smiles. “You’ll figure out who eventually.”

Soarin just blinks in response.

“So,” Octavia begins. “Do I have the job?”

Soarin smiles and shakes her hoof. “Yes ma’am,” he says politely. “Welcome to the Golden Coral.”

Octavia smiles as she gives her boss a final squeeze of the hoof. “Please, don’t refer to me as ma’am, I’m still in my prime.”

Soarin laughs heartily. “Alright then, Octavia,” he says as he lets go of her hoof. “Be back here in a couple of hours.”

“Alright, boss,” she addresses him, turning to leave the establishment. Soarin pauses for a moment before grabbing her hoof, gripping it softly as she did. She gasps, craning her neck to see her boss grasping her hoof.

“Octavia,” he says with a smile on his face. “We need to do this again sometime, maybe after your final performance tonight?” He says with a smirk while giving her hoof a soft squeeze. “I have to get to know my employees, you know?”

Octavia smiles right back. “Of course, Soarin.”

With that, she leaves the establishment with more than just thoughts on playing her favorite musical instrument.

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