There are days in everypony's life that just feel perfect. Octavia had had many of these days in her life, days when the world around her was at peace and there wasn't a worry in her mind. She attributed it all to her music, of course; playing it, listening to it, absolutely immersing herself in it. When her cello began to play, the world around her crumbled to an unimportant dust.

   Some ponies said she wasn't quite right, what with the constant melodies always coming from her little stand-alone house off in the suburbs of Ponyville. She didn't mind, of course; her life was pretty much perfect - she was making an honest living doing something she loved.

   Today was one of those days for her. She woke up to birdsong, which was, in her opinion, second only to her cello. The temperature was perfect; that cool-but-not-cold feeling that made her feel weightless. She turned over in the silky covers. It would be an excellent day.

   Eventually, she forced herself out of bed, yawned, stretched, and shook her head, stumbling off to the bathroom. All the while, she was humming and mumbling to herself: "Hmm hmm hmm..." "Oh, dear, what a mess." "Brushie brushie..."

   A few lines from one of her favorite composures swung through her mind, sweeping with it a lot of her thoughts. She stood for a moment and stared into the mirror, lowering her brush and blinking drowsily. She might have stared at herself for hours had it not been for the short knock at the door.

   She shook her head again, snapping back into reality. She tossed the brush into the sink in front of her and turned smartly on her hooves, walking quickly to the front of the small house.

   She fumbled with the doorknob for a moment before opening it. "Oh, good morning, D-"

   "Hi, Octavia!" Derpy said, a bit too loudly for so early in the morning. "I have some mail for you!" she continued, smiling and pulling a small blue-tinted envelope out of her saddlebag and handing it to Octavia.

   "Um, thank - thanks, Derpy," she said, managing a tired smile and taking the envelope between her hooves. "Why, um, why did you bring it to the door?"

   "It looked super important. Also, your mailbox isn't working."

   "Did you remember to unhook the latch?"

   She grinned sheepishly. "I tried, but I couldn't grab hold of it. Sorry."

   "Oh, it's fine," Octavia replied. "I wouldn't have gotten up if you hadn't knocked," she chuckled.

   "Okay, well, have a good day, Octavia!" she said cheerfully, walking off the porch before taking flight and disappearing from view.

   She smiled and tore open the letter, and turning back into the house, shutting the door behind her.

   It began with an intricate, rather fancy symbol and  a name she didn't recognize. She was suddenly proud of herself... somepony she didn't know knew about her. Done well, haven't I? She read on:

   Dear Ms. Octavia:

   We're sorry to contact you with such late notice, but Master Silverwing desperately needs entertainment for the small banquet he's throwing in one week's time. He noticed your performance at the Grand Galloping Gala last year and the year before and decided that you were a perfect choice.

   If you'll accept the job, you have one week. We need an ambiance artist, half an hour maximum. 28th Street in Canterlot, house twelve. We pay well. Send us an RSVP by post to let us know. Thank you!

   She rubbed her eyes and looked over the letter again drowsily. There wasn't too much to understand in it, but she still couldn't grasp it. She just wasn't a morning pony.

   Her eyes lingered on the words 'Canterlot' and 'job' and her ears pricked up. She gasped and squealed, fully snapping back to attention. She got an offer! It'd been weeks since the last party she was asked to play at. More ammo for the bank.

   Of course, it wasn't really the money she was happy about. She was always glad to spread her music. In fact, she probably would've done it for free, just because they asked. Well, money was money, and music was music. She trotted happily upstairs to her music room, snatched a piece of paper out of her composure desk and threw together a short RSVP - before a sudden thought hit her.

   One week. One week to find a slow, long ambiance song and re-memorize it. And she couldn't use the one she used at the Gala. Oh, she had her work set out for her.

   So she set to it.