For little Alto Clef, life was spent in silence because words got in the way. Oh, there was a lot the little foal wanted to say, but when the opportunity came to talk, he chose to remain in silence rather than listen to himself stutter. While at home, he might try to say something on occasion, but for the most part, he just didn’t bother.

His window watching was interrupted by his mother, who pulled him into an intense, smotherly hug. The colt blinked a few times, felt a static crackle building up between him and his mother, and then he could not help himself, he laughed, just a little. With a smile upon his face, little Alto basked in his mother’s affection while still staring at the window, waiting for his friend to come.

“Such a lovely shade of chocolate brown,” Octavia said, speaking her words into Alto’s ear. “You are absolutely perfect, you know that? Perfect in every way.”

Alto did not reply, and he did not agree. His smile faltered a bit and he thought about the fact that he wasn’t perfect—he stuttered. Still, his mother loved him, and he wasn’t going to argue about that. Pulling his gaze away from the window, he looked up at his mother while she settled into the window seat, holding him.

“Your mother, Vinyl, she wanted to name you ‘Brown Note.’ Isn’t she a silly pony, Alto?” A satisfied grin spread over Octavia’s muzzle and she stroked her son’s neck. “I wish you’d try to talk just a little, Alto. I don’t care if you stutter, I just like to hear the sweet sounds of your voice.”

The colt sighed, feeling guilty, but he didn’t say anything. He did wrap his forelegs around one of his mother’s forelegs however, and clung tight to her. For a very long time now, he had heard all of these speeches, all these pep-talks, all of these inspirational words intended to somehow magically make everything better and make it alright to talk.

“It seems to me that you are excited to see your friend,” Octavia said as she gave her son a snuggle. “That makes me happy, you know. I think this is your first friend that isn’t a family member. This is a very proud accomplishment for you, little Alto.”

Thinking about his mother’s words, Alto began to nod, his head bobbing up and down. He and Honeysuckle had only played together a few times now, and he was already quite fond of her. In fact, he liked her a lot. She didn’t mind long silences and didn’t seem to have the need to fill the air with useless chatter.

“Now, you have your lesson, Alto. I know it will be hard, with company over and all, but try to think of it as a performance.” Smiling, Octavia began smoothing out her son’s mane, slicking it back, so his handsome face was more visible. “You have your grandmother’s mane, Alto, and it’s a bit unruly. Vinyl certainly doesn’t help.”

Vinyl made his mane look awesome, but of course the colt wasn’t about to say that in front of his mother, Octavia, because then she would have conniption fits. Or she’d freak out about him saying something, and then have her conniption fits. His mother could be a bit… fussy, one might even say picky. She liked things done in a certain way, she liked order, she liked calm, she liked everything that Sly hated. Which was why it was so funny to watch his mother try to deal with Sly. But Alto wasn’t about to say anything about that, no.

Seeing his big sister, Megara, Alto began bouncing around in his mother’s embrace and his stubby little wings flapped against his mother’s body. Then, a moment later, he saw her, he saw his friend, Honeysuckle. Forgetting to maintain his calm, Alto popped free of his mother’s embrace, landed on the floor, and took off running for the stairs, eager to say hello to his friend.

Sighing, Octavia said to herself, “They grow up so fast.”

There were times when Alto envied Sly, his brother. Sly was witty, Sly was outgoing, and Sly could talk without stuttering. That said, Sly was also his best friend. They had grown up together, they were the same age, and Sly was always, always there when Alto needed him. It didn’t stop Alto from feeling just a little bit peeved with his brother though, like now.

Sly could just walk right up to Honeysuckle and say hello without a problem, or being shy about it. As for Honeysuckle, she seemed to like Sly, and the two liked to spend time talking together, which left Alto feeling left out, a fact that he had revealed to nopony. It was okay though, because Alto had chosen the silence.

“Megara, I’m proud of you.” Maud, sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by books, focused upon the half-manticore, half-pony that was just about to open up the snack pantry. “Hi there, Honeysuckle. Don’t mind me, I’m trying to unravel a geological mystery that is leaving me perplexed.

The little filly turned away from Sly and looked up at Maud with a cautious grin.

“Look, I’m tellin’ ya, Mama likes you,” Sly said to Honeysuckle.

“Where’d my book go?” Maud asked, distracted, and she began searching around the table. “It was just here a moment ago. I swear, things in this house grow legs.”

Alto watched as his other mother, Maud, got out of her chair and trotted out of the kitchen, off in search of her book. Megara had her head inside of the snack pantry, trying to find a sugary snack for Honeysuckle. Sly was giggling to himself and there was a worrisome, impish look in his eye, a look that Alto knew all too well. Octavia was distracted and setting everything up for his lesson.

Sly, grinning, pranced over to his mother’s chair at the table, slipped something beneath the floral-printed cushion, and then sauntered away with a crazed grin upon his face. There was nothing that Alto could do but shake his head at his silly Pie sibling. There was a thump and a clatter as Octavia set up the tripod sheet music stand.

“I know we have maple chips,” Megara growled as she rummaged around in the snack pantry cupboard. “I can smell them!”

“Cupboard up over the sink, the locked one,” Octavia said to Megara in a distracted voice.

Crossing the large kitchen in just a few bounds, Megara lept up onto the kitchen counter near the sink, extended one terrifying looking claw from her index paw-finger, and jammed it into the cupboard lock. She twisted and turned it a few times, her tongue sticking out in concentration, and then the lock popped. Opening up the cupboard, Megara found the motherlode of sugary, super-sweet treats. She pulled the tip of her claw out of the lock, retracted it, and began searching for the maple chips.

Maud returned from her sojourn bearing a heavy looking book upon her back. She walked near the table, gave a gentle buck, and the book flipped over to join the others. Sighing, Maud pulled her chair out and then sat down. The kitchen filled with the trumpeting of flatulence, it was loud, very much so, ripping, wet, and rather wooshy sounding. Somepony had gone through the trouble of lubricating the whoopee cushion before placing it.

Octavia dropped her book of sheet music while gasping in horror. Laughing, Megara lost her balance and fell to the floor in a big, furry heap. Honeysuckle exploded with laughter, which was more of a strange sound, almost like chittering. Even Alto found himself laughing, and how could he not? This was funny.

“Sly…” Maud deadpanned as the whoopee cushion she had just sat on let out its last flappy poot. “Sly, you are in so much trouble.”

“Meep meep!” With a wave and blowing a tarty raspberry, Sly made a hasty exit from the kitchen, moving away in a blur, and leaving behind a faint outline of himself that continued waving at his mother.

An eyeblink later, Maud was after him, moving with equal speed, and the whole house trembled in anticipation of what was sure to be quite a chase. Octavia began picking up her sheet music while shaking her head in dismay and sighing. Honeysuckle was sitting on the floor beside Alto, laughing so hard that her costume was flickering. Megara started to recover, but burst anew with fresh peals of laughter.

It was a common sight in Ponyville, Maud chasing after her son, Sly, who remained annoyingly out of reach until he felt like being caught. That was Sly’s talent, his magic, and perhaps the most frustrating thing about him, his ability to escape. The only pony who could catch him with any regularity was Pinkie Pie, but catching him and keeping him were two very different things. Auntie Pinkie regularly suffered much frustration in her many attempts to catch her nephew, Sly.

“My son behaves,” Octavia said to herself in a low whisper as she restored everything around her to order.

Poor little Alto was feeling the pressure. With Honeysuckle watching, it was hard to concentrate, and it was difficult to wrangle his viola. The pegasus colt wasn’t big enough for his instrument, so he played it in much the same way his mother played her cello, upright. He sat on a short wooden stool, his viola hugged to his right, and his bow grasped in his left fetlock. Alto was backward, but that didn’t bother his mother Octavia in the slightest, and she was still able to teach him what to do just fine, because she was awesome.

Drawing his bow over the strings made for an awful screech and Alto cringed.

Clucking her tongue, Octavia shook her head, but said nothing. Alto knew that the music would come in time, and things would get better. He just had to be patient. With his eyes half-closed, he tried again, then again, and then he just kept going, sawing away at his strings. Some of the noises that he made almost sounded like they could be music.

“I can make music,” Honeysuckle blurted out, her sudden and unexpected words almost causing Alto to drop his bow. “But to make music, I have to take off my costume.”

“It’s okay, you can do that here,” Octavia said to the filly. “It’s safe. You’re safe with us.”

Intrigued, Alto watched as Honeysuckle hemmed and hawed, uncertain if she should take her costume off. Gripping his bow, he waited, and his wings felt itchy against his sides. If Honeysuckle could make music, they would have something in common, something that they shared, and that excited him, though he could not say why.

With a flash of green, Honeysuckle ceased to be a unicorn and became something else. Fine gossamer wings buzzed above her back, and she sat down upon the sun-warmed floor. The filly went still, concentrating, and then drew the edge of one wing over the other, which made a sound, a screechy sound, and it sort of reminded Alto of the time he had seen an old earth pony playing the saw.

Inspired, he drew his bow over his own strings, and made a screechy sound. Embarrassed, he coughed, but refused to give up. He listened, his ears straining, and watched as Honeysuckle continued to make weird, odd noises by rubbing her wings together.

“That’s rather good,” Octavia said, and then she pursed her lips together. “No, I take that back, that is exceptional, but it needs cultivating. It needs nurturing. That could be an exquisite sound with some hard work.” The stern looking mare nodded, listening, and she made a gesture at Honeysuckle so the filly would keep going.

Alto tried again, and this time, he made something that was almost musical. Honeysuckle stopped playing, listened, angled her wings a bit, and then rubbed them together. The sound she produced almost mimicked Alto’s, and the little colt sucked in a deep breath. He drew his bow over his strings, straining to make something beautiful, and Honeysuckle responded with a near copy.

Octavia had both hooves held over her mouth, and Megara sat with her ears perked.

For Alto, this was an experience like nothing else. He and Honeysuckle were trading sounds… they were… communicating. Alto realised that he was having a conversation with Honeysuckle and now distracted from his efforts, his concentration slipped. Now without his intense focus, recognisable music began to stream from his viola, and he slipped into the first few notes of a song that he did not recollect. Honeysuckle, a natural mimic, followed his lead, and the kitchen was filled with an odd, harmonious melody. It was far from perfect, but to Alto’s ears, it was the sweetest, most beautiful music he had ever heard in his life.

So entranced with the moment was Alto, that he did not notice that his mother was crying. The colt continued to trade notes and sounds with Honeysuckle and the conversation intensified. The strange, almost saw-like music that came from Honeysuckle’s wings was a beautiful compliment to the viola, his viola. Her gossamer wings, reflecting rainbows, moved against one another, and Honeysuckle’s head bobbed like a chitinous metronome.

Filled with a need to express himself, Alto made sounds with this viola, some of which were beautiful, and Honeysuckle responded with bewitching reverberations of her own. Tears streamed down Alto’s face, darkening his cheeks, and at long last, he had somepony that he could talk to. With Honeysuckle, he had a friend that he could have conversations with.

Closing his eyes, baring his soul, his bow dancing over the strings of his viola, Alto did not notice the flashes of light that blazed upon his hips.

Author's Notes:

This just sort of happened. It was there. I wrote it. I offer no apologies.