Wishes and Music
by Vyreinos
Chapters
Chapter 1
Wishes and Music
Chapter 1
Octavia sat in her dressing room, staring at herself in the mirror. Her glossy black mane flowed down her back in straight, beautiful locks. Her bowtie was exactly level on her neck and she had brushed her beautiful grey coat until it almost gleamed in the light. Physically, she was perfect. So… absolutely… perfect.
Octavia picked up the half-full bottle of whiskey sitting on the vanity in front of the mirror and downed it in a single gulp, relishing the burn as it rushed down her throat. She had become extremely familiar with this burn over the past few months; it was her only constant companion other than her cello.
She smacked her lips, looking down at the bottle thoughtfully. “Damn,” she muttered, gripping the bottle tightly. “Barely a buzz. I’ll have to pick up something stronger on the way home. Maybe it’s time to try that 100 proof.” The idea made her laugh. Just two months ago a glass of wine would make her sit down, complaining of wooziness. Now that same wine might as well have been water.
Octavia froze, her gaze becoming unfocused and distant. Two months ago…
Memories that had been deeply repressed rose to the surface, shattering any semblance of composure that Octavia had. The bruising grip... the rope burns... the cold laughter... it felt like a hot coal had been thrust into her mental scars.
Octavia shook her head violently, messing up the perfection of her flowing mane, and threw the whiskey bottle as hard as she could. It hit the mirror with a resounding smash, and both shattered into pieces. A small shard flew outward from the mirror and nicked her cheek, causing her to flinch. The pain, however, was a blessing; it caused her to forget those terrible memories and focus, instead, on the present.
The door to her dressing room slammed open and a high-pitched, female voice screamed out. “Miss Octavia! Are you alright!? What happened!?” Octavia scowled over her shoulder. Of course she would have heard that.
She was none other than Octavia’s newest “assistant” Velvet Blossom. Velvet’s job was to “help Octavia stay on schedule and organize all of the details so that she could put on the best show ever!” As far as Octavia was concerned, Velvet was less of an assistant and more of a pest who never left her alone.
“Oh my gosh! What happened!?” Velvet exclaimed, noticing the broken mirror. “Did a fan sneak in again?”
Octavia rolled her eyes. “Does it look like there’s anypony else in here, Velvet?”
“Well, no…” Velvet began, unsure of herself, “...but then… who broke the mirror?”
Octavia whirled around, exasperation and anger in her eyes. She just wanted to be left alone. “Who do you think it was, you stupid foal!? It was me! I broke the damn mirror!”
Velvet flinched back, visibly frightened. Her voice shook as she said the next thing that came to her mind. “O… oh. W… well, why… why did you do that?”
Octavia fought the urge to scream at the top of her lungs. “Maybe I was just tired of looking at myself,” she said through clenched teeth.
Velvet was genuinely confused by this. “But Miss Octavia… you’re so beautiful! Why wouldn’t you want to look at yourself?”
Octavia closed her eyes and exhaled through her clenched teeth. Every muscle in her body was tensed. She wanted to hit Velvet in the mouth as hard as she could, just to see if it was actually possible to knock sense into a pony. Something stopped her though. A small voice in the back of her head, one that she hadn’t heard in months, whispered soothingly. ‘She hasn’t done anything wrong. She doesn’t know. It isn’t her fault.’ Octavia hesitated.
Velvet spoke again. “Oh… Miss Octavia… you… you’re bleeding. Here, let me get that.”
Octavia felt a soft cloth touch her face where the glass had cut her. She opened her eyes slowly. “Get away from me.” She whispered quietly.
Velvet stopped wiping but didn’t remove the cloth from Octavia’s face. “What was that, Miss Octavia?”
Octavia stared at Velvet until the young assistant was forced to look away. “I said: Get. Away. From. Me.” Her voice was clear, cold, and menacing.
Velvet began to tremble. She hadn’t been Octavia’s assistant for very long, but in the short time that she had been, Octavia had never acted like this. “B… but… but… your… your face,” she squeaked, fear causing her to stutter.
Octavia finally lost her composure. “Get away from me!” she screamed as loudly as she could, tears of anger running down her face. “Just go away and don’t come back!” She stormed out of the room, leaving Velvet there still holding the cloth in midair, quietly crying.
The halls outside Octavia’s dressing room were crowded with the backstage ponies that made it possible for Octavia to play her music, and they were all silently staring at her. She didn’t care. As long as they stayed out of her way, they could stare and laugh and call her names. She was going home. She couldn’t deal with all of this tonight.
As she reached the doors that would lead her out into the cold night and towards her home, a deep, commanding voice stopped her. “Octavia! Where in Equestria do you think you’re going?”
Octavia cursed under her breath. Of all the ponies that could have stopped her, it just had to be him. She whirled around, meeting the hard, emerald eyes of her manager, Vincent Showstar. “I’m going home, Vincent!” she said, scowling. “I can’t deal with this tonight. Find somepony else to play.”
Vincent’s voice was full of cold steel and fury as he cantered towards Octavia. He wasn’t about to let this drama-queen of a cellist ruin the most important show of the year. “Octavia, I didn’t spend a fortune on you just so you could go home because you can’t ‘deal with this.’ You will get your flank on stage and you will play!”
Octavia ignored him. She didn’t feel like arguing with him, not tonight. He, however, refused to give up. “If you walk out that door,” he began coldly, “then you will never play the cello professionally again as long as I draw breath! You know I can do it!”
That stopped Octavia. She did know he could do it. He had done it with a lyre player a few years back. She had refused to play because her marefriend was about to have a child. Last Octavia had heard that pony was living with that same marefriend in some obscure town. She screwed her eyes tightly shut, fighting back more tears. Playing the cello was her life… if she lost that… she might as well kill herself.
Octavia turned slowly, defeated. “Fine, Vincent. I’ll go out there and play your stupid little show.” Her voice was emotionless and distant.
Vincent smirked, the thrill of victory pumping through his veins. “I knew you would see reason. Go and get yourself cleaned up. Curtain’s in five and you look like crap.” He turned, searching the crowd of ponies that had stopped to watch the exchange. “Autumn!” He exclaimed, indicating her with a hoof. “Get Octavia cleaned up! She has to look presentable!” Autumn nodded and hurried to do as he had ordered. She didn’t want to end up in the same position as Octavia. As she led Octavia away from the heartless manager, Vincent called out loudly. “And somepony get me a bucking cup of coffee! It’s freezing in here!”
Autumn led the now complacent Octavia into her own personal dressing room and sat her down in front of the vanity. As she straightened Octavia’s mane and made the cut invisible, she attempted to soothe her, “Everything will be alright honey. All you have to do is go out there and do what you love. All you have to do is play. You don’t even have to play what Vincent wants you to, just play what you feel.”
Octavia stared at Autumn’s reflection. Autumn Styles had been her manedresser and make-up artist for years. She had always liked Autumn. She was down-to-Equestria and usually had sound advice. Unfortunately, not all of the sound advice in the world could help Octavia right now. “I feel dead inside Autumn,” She whispered. She wanted to cry some more but her body was out of tears.
Autumn finished making Octavia “presentable” and stepped in front of her, pulling her into an embrace. Octavia felt limp in her hooves. “Just go out there and play, Octavia,” Autumn whispered. “Just go out there and play.”
Two minutes later Octavia was standing next to the one thing in the world she treasured: her cello. The thick red curtain swayed gently in front of her, and she could hear the soft mumble of the crowd behind it. She stared at the curtain blankly, trying to feel anything.
A baritone voice sounded over the loudspeakers. “Fillies and gentlecolts! Good evening! I hope that each and every one of you is having a wonderful Hearth’s Warming Eve! For your entertainment tonight we are proud to present the one, the only, the greatest cellist in all of Equestria: Octavia!” As the announcer said her name the curtain rose, revealing her to the crowd of thousands.
It was show time.
For a long, silent moment Octavia stared out into the crowd blankly. She barely even noticed that her view had changed. She still couldn’t feel anything and if she couldn’t feel anything then she couldn’t play anything; emotions were what made her music so amazing.
Another silent minute passed and the crowd began to whisper amongst themselves. What was Octavia doing? They had come here to listen to beautiful music, not to be stared at! As the whispering turned into grumbling, a harsh, angry whisper sounded out from the side of the stage. “Octavia! What the buck do you think you’re doing! Play!”
Octavia glanced over. Vincent was staring her, his face red with anger. He looked as if he wanted to come onto the stage and beat Octavia until she played. He wouldn’t, of course… not in front of the fans, at least.
Seeing Vincent’s anger sparked Octavia’s own. What right did he have to order her around like a dog? She wasn’t his slave! The spark turned into a wildfire. What right did he have to demand that she play music!? She was the one who had paid in blood, sweat and tears to be able to play the way she did! She was the one who had spent her foalhood practicing and practicing until her hooves ached and her head spun! She was the one who had forsaken her friends to focus on her passion!
A change occurred in Octavia. The wildfire of anger burning through her was quenched by a flood of other emotions. The dam that she had so carefully constructed had finally broken and months’ worth of despair, hatred, longing, fury, sorrow and loneliness rushed through her relentlessly. She felt herself withdraw from the world around her. The sounds of the world faded into the background and the colors of the world faded into shades of grey.
Octavia began to breathe heavily. She felt light-headed and her heart was thudding in her chest. She couldn’t handle this… it was too much. She felt like she was going to collapse. Her mind realized something was terribly wrong and shut down its higher faculties, giving itself over to primal instinct. Octavia suddenly felt as if a cocoon of apathy had wrapped around her. She could still ‘see’ the emotions and know why they were there, but she could no longer feel them. Octavia knew that if this… cocoon fell apart, then she would go insane from the sheer strength of her emotions. So she did the one thing that she had done all of her life whenever her emotions were starting to overwhelm her.
Octavia began to play.
Her emotions rushed from her heart into her bow and from her bow into the strings of her cello. From those strings the music of her emotions played out, giving everypony in the building a taste of the true Octavia. Fury came first. Octavia’s bow flew across the strings, transforming her silent, inner anger into a fast-paced wail of passion. Fear came next. Her bow danced across the strings, alternating pitches and tempo, telling the story of Octavia’s inner demons. Loneliness came next. Here her bow glided across the strings slowly, producing a mournful sound that resonated with Octavia’s shattered dreams of friendship… of love.
Octavia played and played, using her music as a medium to expose the very essence of her soul. She was oblivious to everything around her; the only things that existed were her, her cello, and her emotions. She didn’t notice when she began to cry. She didn’t notice when she clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached. She didn’t feel the heat of the spotlights on her flank or the pressure to play well for the crowd. She didn’t even feel the cold, consuming grip of her resurfaced memories. She simply played.
When she was finished and her final note resonated, lingering in the air, she breathed a sigh of relief. Again, she felt nothing, but this was… different from the feeling before; now she felt… peaceful. Before, her heart had been filled to bursting with her bottled up emotions; it couldn’t hold any more and when she had tried to force more in it couldn’t handle the stress. Now, it was as if her heart was an empty glass, ready to be filled again.
A roaring noise brought Octavia’s focus back into the moment. The crowd was going insane. Most, if not all of the ponies were crying, allowing the tears to flow down their faces freely. Whistles sounded from the masses and chants of “Encore! Encore!” rang out. Octavia gazed out into the adoring crowd with a blank expression. She may have felt at peace but that didn’t mean she could bring herself to care. Octavia turned slowly and walked towards the side of the stage, carrying her cello. She was going home.
Chapter 2
Wishes and Music
Chapter 2
“That was amazing, Octavia!”
“Yeah! You really are the best in all of Equestria!”
“I bet Celestia is going to ask you to be her own private cellist one day!”
“Will you sign my flank!?”
Octavia progressed through the halls slowly, barely registering the praise of the ponies that crowded her. One pony did catch her eye though; Autumn Styles gave Octavia a small nod as she passed. Octavia returned it, but kept moving. She needed sleep. And alcohol — alcohol wouldn’t be too bad either.
Leaving the crowds behind, Octavia finally reached the doors to the world outside and, opening them, relished the blast of wintry air. The night was young, but already completely black: the moon was covered by dark clouds and, without a source of light, it was impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction. Snow and ice covered the ground, making the footing slippery and dangerous; it was going to be a fun walk home.
A hoof landed heavily on her shoulder. “And here she is: the star of the show!” Vincent’s voice was sweet and enthusiastic, which could only mean one thing: journalists. Sure enough, another voice rang out, just as enthusiastic as Vincent’s.
“Oh wow! It is such an honor to meet you Octavia! Your performance out there was astounding! Do you have a moment to answer some questions for Strings?” Despite her current apathetic attitude, Octavia was impressed. Strings was Canterlot’s number one magazine for everything performance-based. Despite the name, they covered everything: plays, bands, choirs, and even—apparently—solo cellists. Everypony who was anypony in the performing world was included in the magazine. Being featured in the magazine was one of the best ways a pony could be noticed for their abilities. It really was a shame that Octavia couldn’t bring herself to really care; she just wanted some sleep.
“I’m flattered, really, but right now I’m exhausted. Do you think we could do this later?” Octavia asked, her voice listless.
The journalist looked surprised that she had been rejected. “Uh…sure, I guess. I mean—” Vincent interrupted her.
“Miss… Penny, was it? Why don’t you go and get a few of the other interviews you wanted? I’m sure that Octavia just needs some water. I’ll make sure she meets up with you at the after-party, alright?”
The journalist shrugged. “Alright, I’ll see you then!” As she rushed off to do her next big interview, Vincent whirled on Octavia, seething.
“Are you out of your mind!?” he hissed, “That was Strings! You know, the magazine for performers!? For Celestia’s sake, it’s like you don’t want to advance yourself!”
Octavia stared at Vincent with dead eyes. She couldn’t even bring herself to become angry with him anymore. “First of all, you don’t want me to get that interview to advance my career; you want it to advance yours. Secondly, I’m not going to the after-party. I’m going home.”
Vincent let out a harsh chuckle. “Oh no you aren’t!” he said, tightening his grip on Octavia’s shoulder. “You’re going to go to that after-party and you’re going to give that interview. After that, you can go home.”
He waited, smirking, for Octavia to open her silly little mouth. He knew that any argument she made, he could beat and he loved winning arguments with the ponies he managed; it made him feel powerful. Octavia, however, was no longer paying attention. Vincent’s too-tight grip had catapulted her mind back two months in time, when another stallion had gripped her too-tightly. She could smell the musty odor of the barn and the reek of the alcohol on his breath. Rocks were suddenly digging into her back and ropes were digging into her legs.
Octavia’s hooves shot out as forcefully as she could, hitting Vincent in the chest. Hard. He was knocked to the ground. “Get away from me!” Octavia screamed. Her voice was full of terror and tears had started to form at the corners of her eyes.
“Octavia!” Her screams had brought Autumn, who had forgotten her bag and was on her way back to retrieve it, running. “What did you do!?” she demanded, glaring at Vincent.
He scowled, rising and dusting off the shoulders of his jacket with a furious hoof. “Me!?” he exclaimed, nearly sputtering with rage, “I did nothing! I told this… this… drama queen that she was going to the after-party! Then she slams her hooves into me like I’m a bucking kicking bag!”
Autumn rolled her eyes; she didn’t have time to deal with Vincent right now. “Octavia?” she asked tentatively, reaching out a hoof to comfort the hysteric mare. “Octavia? Everything’s alright. Nopony is going to hurt you.”
Octavia was still drowning in her nightmare. Autumn’s hoof became her assailant’s, and she hit it away. “No! Please!” she whimpered, falling to the floor, “Please!”
Autumn hesitated, holding her hoof; she had no idea what to do. Acting on instinct, she knelt down and threw her forelegs around Octavia, ignoring her thrashing struggles. “Octavia, relax! Everything is alright now,” she whispered, rocking Octavia back and forth gently, “everything’s okay. Shhh.”
Slowly, Octavia relaxed and came out of her hysteria. She remembered nothing; her mind had gone to great lengths to lock the memories away. Again. Looking around blearily, the first thing she saw was the kind, caring gaze of Autumn. “A… Autumn? What happened? Why are we on the floor?”
Autumn opened her mouth to answer, but Vincent beat her to it. “Well, I was telling you how you are going to the after-party, and then you shoved me and fell to the floor screaming.” His voice was heavy with anger and sarcasm. He narrowed his eyes. “Fake hysterics will get you nowhere, my dear. You’re still going to the after-party.”
Autumn rose to her hooves, whirling on the pretentious manager. “Vincent, why don’t you shut the buck up and prance off to your little after-party alone? If you honestly think that was faked, then you’ve got hay for brains!”
A dark look crossed Vincent’s features. “If you don’t want me to shove your flank back out on the streets where I found you, then I suggest that you go home. Now.”
Autumn started to tell Vincent exactly where he could go, but Octavia stopped her. “Autumn. Just let it go. There’s no sense in you losing your job because of me. Besides, I’m fine now.” She plastered a wobbly smile on her face.
Autumn was torn. On the one hoof, she really did need this job. On the other, she had a feeling that Octavia needed her now more than ever. Vincent made the decision for her. “Now!” he bellowed, making both her and Octavia jump.
There was no sense in testing him. With an apologetic look back at Octavia, she left.
Vincent watched her leave until she turned out of sight, then glanced back at Octavia, who had managed to stand up. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to pull, but you are going to that after-party, and you are going to give that interview to Strings. Are we clear?”
Octavia scowled. “And if I don’t?” she asked, anger beginning to cut through the haze leftover in her mind from the nightmare.
Vincent’s eyes hardened. He was tired of playing with these infuriating mares; if you gave them an inch, they took a mile. “Then I’ll blacklist you so hard that you’ll not even be able to play in the privacy of your own home! Now get your act together and get your flank up to that after-party!”
Octavia froze, the seed of anger dying as quickly as it had ignited. It always came back to that, didn’t it? In the end, she always loved playing too much to risk her career by going against Vincent, and this time was no different. She lowered her gaze to the ground. “I hate you,” she said in a quiet voice.
Vincent turned and walked away, letting out a barking laugh. “Yes, but it doesn’t matter does it? I’m the best manager in all of Canterlot and you want your career to soar. I’ll see you at the party!” His bark morphed into an almost sadistic laugh that made Octavia shudder as he walked out of sight. She hated Vincent, but he was right. He was the best manager in all of Canterlot. She had thought about finding a different one many times, one that wouldn’t force her into doing things just to make their own careers look good, but in the end nopony was better. ‘Although,’ Octavia thought as she composed herself and prepared to make her way to the top of the building, ‘if things stay like this, I won’t care whether or not he’s the best.’
Octavia almost gagged when she arrived at the party. Everything about it was disgustingly opulent. Enormous crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a magically generated light throughout the party. The floor was made of pearly marble and columns of the same material extended from floor to ceiling every few feet. Each column had its own unique design inscribed upon it and the ceiling was nothing but a gigantic rendition of Canvas Cloud’s The Rise of Equestria. It was a magnificently beautiful work, but it seemed wasted on these ponies.
Speaking of which…
The guests of the party were definitely all cut from the same cloth. Their clothes were as extravagant as any in all of Equestria and the very air in the room was thick with arrogance and conceit. Everypony was separated into little groups and made a gigantic point of shunning those they thought were beneath them. It was a lot like a high school cafeteria, just on a much wealthier, grander scale.
A little voice in the back of Octavia’s mind interrupted her judgments. ‘You used to be just like them: you used to be just as conceited and superficial as they are.´
Octavia shook her head, grimacing. She didn’t like being reminded of that fact, especially by her own subconscious. Sighing, she scanned the crowd for Vincent; the sooner she got this interview over with, the sooner she could go home.
Finally, she spotted him. He was socializing with what looked like fashion designers a few tables away. As she started forward, Vincent noticed her and shook his head, subtly shooing her away with a hoof.
Of course. He would call her when he was ready and not before. His disdain infuriated her, but what could she do? Sighing, she glanced around for a quiet corner to sulk in.
“Oh look everypony!” a shrill, haughty voice called out. “It’s Octavia!”
Octavia winced, cursing her luck. She had hoped to just get in, do the interview, and get out without making a fuss. Apparently, though, that wasn’t going to happen. She looked around frantically for an escape route, but it was futile; everypony near her was now focused on her.
“Oh, darling, you simply MUST tell us how you compose your beautiful music!”
“Indeed! I was at your performance tonight and I just couldn’t stop myself from tearing up. What’s your inspiration?”
“Can I interest you in some wine, darling? Maybe some of these gourmet sandwiches?”
Pony after pony barraged Octavia with questions, and, after a few moments, she couldn’t take it. Octavia pushed through the wall of ponies that had formed around her and made her way to a balcony that was in one corner of the room. The ponies she had pushed out of her way, appalled at being treated like the “common trash”, simply huffed and turned their backs on her.
After making sure that nopony had followed her, Octavia breathed a sigh of relief and turned her back on the party. Looking over Canterlot from so high made her breath catch. The city was beautiful. It stretched out for miles before Octavia, snow covered and subdued. The lamps that lit the cobblestone streets on either side looked like tiny sparks that flickered and danced with the wind. In the distance, glowing with a soft, warm light that seemed to emanate from the very stones it was built out of, sat Canterlot Castle. Its graceful spires and dignified beauty put the rest of the city to shame. The breathtaking view put Octavia’s mind at peace and allowed her, for the first time that night, to truly relax. She was so focused on the view that she didn’t realize that another pony had joined her on the balcony until they spoke quietly.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Octavia, startled out of her reverie, jumped away from the voice, gasping in surprise. Catching her breath she whirled on the intruder, who was now giggling, and glared at them. “You shouldn’t sneak up on ponies like that!” she hissed.
The intruder, still giggling, responded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you like that. It’s just that I saw you out here all by yourself and I just thought you might want somepony to talk to.” Finally, she got her giggles under control and gazed at Octavia with large, friendly eyes, her expression falling. “Honestly, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that. I’ll leave you alone.” The mare turned to leave the balcony, dejection and disappointment evident in every step.
Octavia’s first instinct was to let the mare leave. After all, solitude was what she wanted… wasn’t it? Something about the way the mare’s shoulders drooped made her hesitate though. Maybe she wouldn’t be so bad…
“Wait!” Octavia called, stepping forward slightly. “I’m the one that should be sorry…that was rude. You just startled me is all.”
The mare turned and beamed at Octavia, giving her the chance to get a good look at her. She was a unicorn with a coat as white as the snow that covered Canterlot. Her mane was dyed two colors of blue and was styled to hang down one side of her face, almost covering one of her ruby red eyes. Her cutie mark was, interestingly enough, a musical note.
“You play an instrument?” Octavia asked, surprised.
The mare chuckled. “You could say that; I’m a DJ. Name’s Vinyl Scratch.”
Octavia yawned. “Oh…sorry. I didn’t really get much sleep last night. My name is Octavia.”
Vinyl smiled, her eyes lighting up. “I know; I was at your show. You were really amazing down there. I mean, I thought the beginning was a little weird, ‘cause you were just staring at us, but then when you started playing it was just like ‘Wow!’ I’m kind of jealous.” She stopped, catching her breath. “Anyway, if you’re so tired, why don’t you go home? From what I saw back there,” she nodded her head towards the party guests that Octavia had just escaped, “it seems like you don’t even want to be here at all.”
Octavia blinked, caught off-guard by Vinyl’s enthusiasm. “Uh…yeah…I really just want to go home and get some sleep, but my manager…encouraged me to stay and get interviewed by Strings.” She blinked again, realizing what Vinyl had said. “You’re jealous? Of what?”
Vinyl raised an eyebrow. “’Encouraged’ huh? What exactly does ‘encouraged’ mean? You didn’t even want to get the interview? Why do it then? And of you, of course! I mean, whenever I play in a club or something, ponies hear my music, but they don’t listen, you know? Whenever a pony hears your music, they listen. They feel. Don’t get me wrong, I love DJing, but it can be depressing sometimes. Most of the ponies in the club don’t even know my real name.”
Octavia wasn’t really comfortable discussing her problems concerning Vincent and her career—much less her life—so she decided to avoid the first part of the question. “They don’t know your real name?” she asked, a confused look on her face, “What do they know you as then?”
“My stage name is DJ Pon3. That’s what everypony knows me as,” she explained, shrugging. “In fact,” she continued, laughing, “most of the ponies don’t even know what color my eyes are because I wear shades when I DJ.” Vinyl smirked knowingly. “So… why are you here if you don’t want to be again? I must have missed the part where you explained that.”
Octavia frowned. She was beginning to regret her decision to call this pony back. “I would really rather not discuss it right now. Especially not with a pony I barely know.”
Vinyl laughed again, throwing her head back. “Relax, Octy! I was just messing with you!”
Octavia stared at Vinyl, her eyes hardening with fury. “What did you call me?” she asked, her voice cold and quiet.
Vinyl’s smile wavered slightly. “Um… Octy? See, it’s because your name is Octavia… and I just took…” She trailed off, intimidated by the steel in Octavia’s gaze. “Um… would you rather I call you Tavi?”
Octavia trembled slightly, struggling to control her anger. “That’s it. I’m going home.” She walked towards the door to the party, brushing past Vinyl on her way past. She was going home. Screw Vincent, screw Strings, and screw this pony who thought that because they had had one conversation, she could come up with a nickname for her.
She was almost to the door when Vinyl placed a hoof on her shoulder, moving in front of her. Her gaze was fixated on the ground. “Waitwaitwaitwait! Look…I…I’m sorry. I’m not used to talking to…high class ponies. Most of the ponies I talk to are just your average, working-class pony, and because of that I lack the…the…finesse that you’re used to.” She brought her head up and gazed at Octavia with pleading eyes. “Just give me another chance…please?”
Octavia scowled. Why should she give this pony another chance? She was tired, emotionally drained, and sober. She wasn’t in the mood to give anypony another chance, much less this… this random stranger! She shoved Vinyl’s hoof off with her own. “I don’t know who you think you are, and, honestly, I don’t care. All I want is for you to get out of my way and—” Octavia stopped, her anger losing its momentum.
Vinyl Scratch was starting to cry.
Vinyl stared for a moment, not understanding why Octavia’s tirade had stopped, then felt the wetness on her face. “Dammit!” she exclaimed, turning away from Octavia and rubbing a hoof over her eyes angrily, “What am I, some prissy little foal!?” She sniffed and glanced over her shoulder at Octavia. “Look, I’m sorry for bothering you. It won’t happen again.” Vinyl ran off towards the stairs that led back to the ground floor of the building, not caring about the party or its guests. At one point she actually leapt over a table, knocking an ice sculpture to the floor in the process. The noise made many of the guests scream, while the rest simply scowled at the interruption. Vinyl didn’t stop though; she simply ran until she reached the stairs, then she was gone.
Octavia stood frozen in place, stunned by what had just happened. What had just happened? Why had Vinyl suddenly started crying? Sighing, she turned and walked back to the balcony. Why couldn’t she ever do anything right? She shouldn’t have even called Vinyl back in the first place. So why had she?
‘Because you wanted somepony to talk to. A friend,’ a quiet part of her mind answered. Octavia scowled into the night. That couldn’t be true! Having friends meant sharing secrets, and sharing secrets meant telling somepony what had happened. She wasn’t going to do that. Ever.
Octavia shook her head to clear it. That voice was wrong; she didn’t want any friends. She didn’t want anypony!
‘You’re lying to yourself,’ said the voice.
Octavia felt a twinge in her chest. Looking up at the now-cloudless night sky, she frowned. What was this feeling? She felt… angry and sad and… and…
And completely, utterly alone.
Octavia, for the first time in months, felt guilt. Vinyl had only wanted to talk, had wanted to be her friend, and Octavia had shoved her away just like she had everyone else. She had ruined a chance at friendship and she hated herself for it. A frigid gust of wind blew across Octavia’s flank, making her shiver. It was time to go home.
She started to turn away when a small, bright flash of light began to move across the night sky. It was a shooting star. Octavia followed it for a moment, entranced by its simple beauty, and then closed her eyes, whispering softly. “I wish that, just once, something would go okay for me. I wish that I could get past what happened and become the pony that I once was. I wish… I wish that I could find somepony that I could love.”
By the time Octavia opened her violet eyes, the star was gone. Suddenly, she felt foolish for making the wish in the first place: wishes only came true in dreams and pony tales.
“Ah! There you are Octavia! Miss Penny is ready to interview you now. Come along!” Vincent’s voice was just as arrogant as ever, but this time it was coupled with the slur of alcohol.
Octavia wiped away the tears that had started to trickle down her face before turning around. “Fine,” she answered, her voice heavy with self-hatred and lonely despair.
At least once she was done with this interview she could go home and spend the night drinking herself into forgetting all about pointless wishes and the picture of Vinyl’s crying face that, for some odd reason, had been burned into her mind.
Stupid guilt.