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.