Hopefully we'll get some writefags in here.
>its a quiet evening
>you stand at the door giving your ticket to enter the building
>you take your seat and wait a few moments
>as the lights dimmed and the curtains drew
>stood Octavia your one true love
>you want her, you need her
>as the sound of classical music enveloped the room
>you sneak back stage while no one was looking
>you hide behind some boxes
>planning, waiting for the right moment
>for the plan was perfect
>the show ended and as Octavia walked into her private room, you followed
tell me if you want me to write more
and how this should end
Good question. I was looking to expand my Octavia folder
I'll dump what I have, I guess
I don't have much, but I do have a high-res of that.
Speaking of which.
We're all horsefuckers here. Its normal to us.
I don't know if I'd go that far. The color scheme is part of what I like, real horses kinda lack that.
So if anyone does wanna see it, it is pretty hard right now.
>I, Dr Mc Phil approve of this thread!
>Go on my fellow faggs, post glorious pone!!!
Sure, let's go with that
Well not only from this thread, you know
Wasn`t expecting to be this sexy pics of Octavia though, but pleasantly surprised
I geus Octavia is okay.
Rather cum inside Marshmallow butt
I always saw Octavia as somewhat a mirror case of rarity. Rarity wants to to be in high class society and live the life of a noble. Octavia seems to live or at the very least interact with high class ponies, but probably yerns for a simpler life. Not to give up her cello or anything like that, just when she's home she doesn't have to put on an act as she does. I don't know it's just headcanon I guess.
Does Vinyl fir into your headcanon then? Seems like she would be the relief from the high-class act.
Honestly not really. I mean I can see that they might befriends and might hang out now and then, but I would think that Vinyl might be a little out there for her to consider her anything serious. Octavia wants a simple humble life, not trade one way of life for a completely different way. Personally I never got the OctavaiXVinyl ship. I don't totally oppose it, I just don't see it working out.
Don`t have much on her yet though.
Owh spidey whidey, I`ll rape you most fashionably, darling.
It won`t hurt, maybe be a little but mommy will be nice and behave
Owh my little darling. Don't get to submissive now, sometimes mommy just wants her little man to play a bit naughty. Becarefull though if you become to dominatted I'll lock you up in the cellar and you'll be forced to eat rat shit. Teehee cutey
It looks like the saliva-string thing they usually do to make the mouth look more... vorey. I don't have the words to describe what I mean.
Fuck I spend too much time on the internet.
Uh oh. You poor anons must have missed the episode "Inspiration Manifestation".
It canonized the fact that Octavia is a lifeless prop that is in an infinite loop, created by Rarity with ease. You could also interpret her as being Rarity's tulpa. The fact remains, though, that she's really not really real. Compared to the other characters, her amount of real is a lot lower. Poor guys.
or rarity just teleported the band from where ever the hell they were playing, either way i'm good, would fuck rarity's tulpa, 10/10 pure sex
oh god the feels, how did i never notice this before?
>mfw Octaivia maids used to be a thing
Even if she was real, none of us would be good enough for her.
trips confirm classiest pony is out of our league
then you must have wandered in here by mistake good sir, the exit is in the other direction
>tfw when you'll never get to suck Octavia's hooves
>tfw she'll never look confused while she actually enjoys it
>tfw she'll never tell you to do it again sometime
erryday I keep suffering
I don't have any lewd other than whats in this thread, but I have a few wallpapers
>revealing your power level
This is all of them, except those that are over 4mb.
Or Rarity swapped the Tavi and Co.'s bodies with the beaner pones.
>YFW Octavia is now trapped in the body of some fat mexican.
>YFW Octavia is now trapped in the body of some fat mexican.
>Eight o'clock rolls around, and you put on your best casual clothes, and head out into the cool, clean Canterlot evening
>A few blocks from your house lies your favorite drinking spot in all of Equestria: Hook and Talon, a griffon-run bar with a great atmosphere
>It looks a little out-of-place, sandwiched as it is between a beauty parlor and a high-end bookstore
>Still, that claw-shaped neon sign out front brings back so many blurry memories…
>The after-work crowd is just beginning to show up: a few ponies leaning on the bar, chatting over mugs of frothy beer
>Soarin is late, as usual, so you grab a booth in the corner for the two of you
>You settle back against the cushioned seat, gazing at the window at the quaint city life as you listen to the candy-sweet sound of pony pop music
>The sound of the door opening reaches your ears, and you look over to the front of the tavern, expecting to see Soarin
>Instead, a muscular, familiar-looking white stallion steps inside
>You recognize him as the pony who was with Octavia last night
>Two other ponies, both young mares, and both incredibly attractive by pony standards, follow him in
>His girly haircut draws stares and snickers from the other ponies, but only when he's not looking
>The stallion leads his mares to the bar, and raps his hoof against its wooden surface
>Gerald, the elderly griffon barkeep, pops up as if from nowhere, holding a glass and a stained dishrag in his claws
>"Evening sir. What can I get you?"
>"Hmm, yes. How about you go ahead and whip me up a…"
>He goes on to list a drink order than sounds more like an organic chemistry lecture than a beverage
>"You can do that, of course, can't you?"
>He grins smugly at Gerald, who looks sweaty and uncomfortable
>"Well, I'm not really familiar with…"
>"Not familiar? Oh, isn't that a shame?"
>His grin widens, and the mares on either side of him snicker
>"We'll just take cosmopolitans then, for the three of us. You can manage that, can't you?"
>Gerald nods, obviously eager to get out of there
>Immediately, you feel a deep sense of loathing for the muscled bishi
>"Anon? You okay, man?"
>You look over to see Soarin standing next to your booth, still wearing his Wonderbolts uniform
>God, what a dork
"Heh, yeah, I'm fine."
>Your pegasus buddy slides in across from you, picking up a menu and listing off choices
>You only half-listen, still staring across the room at the muscled stallion
>The mares on either side of him continue laughing at whatever he says, one of them leaning up against his side
>"Anon? You listening to me?"
>You nod, tearing your attention away from girly-hair and back towards Soarin
>The two of you shoot the shit about your lives, him going on about the difficulties of working with Spitfire, while you talk about your music, and the tryout last night
>For whatever reason though, you neglect to mention your conversation with Octavia
>"So you got the gig? It's a definite thing now?"
"Looks that way. Just gotta show up, do my thing, and hopefully get asked back."
>"That's great, man. I'm kinda envious, really."
"Envious? How would you be--"
>You're cut off by a pony stepping up to your booth
>"Excuse me, sirs."
>Looking up, you see the white stallion from earlier, a mare at either side of him, and an incredibly haughty look plastered across his face
>He gestures to Soarin
>"I couldn't help but notice... is that Wonderbolts uniform you're wearing?"
>Soarin looks down at his clothes
>The stallion extends a hoof
>"My name is Andante Giardo. I'm a talent promoter here in Canterlot."
>Soarin awkwardly shakes his hoof, clearly trusting the guy just about as much as you do
>Which is to say, not at all
>You've always been suspicious of people who smile that easily
>"If you were ever thinking about moving away from the Wonderbolts, maybe to achieve some real celebrity status of your own, I've been thinking of making my bid in some of the Equestria-wide single races. Interested?"
>Soarin's mouth opens and closes, soundlessly
>He withdraws his hoof
>"I'll think about it."
>With a final, self-assured grin at the both of you, he trots away, silver curls bouncing around his neck
>"What the hay was up with that? Do you know that guy?"
>You watch him disappear out the door, mares leaning on his withers, and can't help but feel a pang of jealousy imagining Octavia on him like that
>Which makes no sense, because you want nothing to do with that stuck-up bitch, right?
>"Anon, you really gotta stop zoning out on me, man."
>A few hours of bachelor debauchery later, you stumble up the stairs to your apartment, and collapse in bed
>Your head is spinning pretty badly from the alcohol, but you're still too excited about your good news to sleep
>So, in lieu of anything better to do, you grab your guitar and begin to compose, strumming aimless arpeggios as weird, nonsensical lyrics spin through your head
>You wake the next with a slight headache, curled up like a lover next to your guitar
>And you must have done something right last night, because you suddenly find yourself filled with inspiration
>Hastily grabbing a stack of paper and your single working pen, you set out to writing
>You can't remember the last time music came this easily to you
>Lyrics seem to write themselves, falling out in neat little rhyming couplets on your page, matching perfectly to your favorite chord progressions
>By the time lunchtime rolls around, you've already got the bones of a new song written out
>You just wonder where the inspiration came from...
>After all, you've gotten drunk with Soarin plenty of times, and never woken up the next morning feeling like the next Jeff Mangum
>Maybe it was the news from Quarter Note's?
>Or maybe it was watching *her* play...
>Now is not the time for thinking of arrogant music horses
>Now is the time for Anon to be a genius
>After scarfing down a thin sandwich, you head back to your room to finish your song
>The pattern continues for the next week
>Wake up, breakfast, compose, lunch, compose, dinner, listen to some other music, compose, bed
>Aside from Derpy's occasional mail deliveries, you don't see or hear another pony the entire week
>But damn, do you make some music
>By the time the day of your gig rolls around, you've got ten new songs written, enough to release another album of your own
>And, hopefully, enough to wow tonight's audience
>Your nerves have that jittery, electric feeling coursing through them from the minute you wake up, and you spend most of the day obsessively practicing, working your fingers raw as you ensure that every song will go perfectly
>Because you wouldn't want to mess up in front of her...
>In front of anyone, you mean
>Because you don't care what bitchy music ponies think about you
>You're gonna go out, wow the audience, and get your career on the road
>No matter what Oct-- she thinks
Self posting like a whare.
This reminds me of.. no, it doesn't remind me of anything. Sorry.
I have no idea. Wasn't that cold if I remember.
But I was too scared to play cause I thought maybe the contractions, and the vibrations could damage something.
Fuck that pairing.
Nigga, you know where you are?
>Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock at your front door
>Opening it reveals Derpy hovering just outside, mailbag slung over her withers, and a big, doofy smile on her face
>"Good afternoon, Mr. Anon!"
"Hey Derpy. Got something for me?"
>The gray pony shakes her head
>"Nope! I just wanted to wish you good luck on your big day!"
>Right, you forgot you mentioned that to her
>Derpy reaches out and clumsily pats you on the head
>"I know you'll do super great! Make sure you tell me how it went tomorrow!"
>Despite your nerves, you force a smile for the mailpony, before she turns and flies away
>You return to your guitar, but your hands are shaking too much for you to play properly
>Letting out a deep breath, you lean back in your chair, trying to calm yourself
>It's just a gig...
>It's not like this is your first time performing in front of people, or ponies
>Sure, this is probably one of the biggest gigs of your career so far, but what difference does that make?
>Just go out and do your thing
>However, as much as you try, you can't seem to convince yourself to calm down
>You decide to go for a walk instead, pulling on your shoes and stepping out into the Canterlot streets
>The city is as upbeat and fancy as ever, with multicolored, overdresses ponies hustling to-and-fro between quaint, gaudy storefronts
>As usual, you attract a fair number of stairs from the populace, but you've learned to ignore it at this point
Ironic shitposting is still shitposting
>A few blocks down from your house, you reach your destination: a shopfront that stands in stark contrast to the others
>Where the rest of the street of the street is covered in pastel colors and pristine white walls, the store before you is constructed from dark red brick, with various bands' posters papering every window
>There isn't even a sign outside; the place doesn't need to distinguish itself
>You step inside, darkness meeting your eyes and the scent of incense tickling your nostrils
>Rows of wooden shelves form a maze around you, each stuffed precariously with records still in their packaging
>"Can I help you?"
>A groggy female voice sounds out from the darkness, and an alabaster unicorn sporting a spiky, electric-blue mane steps into view
>"Oh. Hey Anon."
"Hey Vinyl. What's up?"
>She rubs her forehead
"The usual, huh?"
>"Aw, shut up."
>She leans against one of the shelves, rubbing her eyes
>"So, you lookin' for somethin', or can I go back to sleep?"
>You shake your head, running a thump across a row of records, reading the names on their spines
"I'm just killin' time. Got a big show tonight."
>"Sounds great. Watch the store for me for an hour or two, will ya?"
>Vinyl saunters off around the corner, and you hear a soft thump as she slops down onto one of the beanbag chairs that are randomly scattered throughout the place
>You pull out an interesting-looking record, and scan the cover
>'Huey Lewis and the Neighs'
>Eh, how bad could it be?
>You find a working turntable in the back of the store, and put the album on
>It's... pleasant, you guess
>About as pleasant as pun-based pony rock can be
>The store remains empty as Vinyl snoozes away in the corner, and you slowly watch the afternoon pass into evening through the poster covered windows
>By the time 5 o'clock rolls around, you return the stack of records you listened to, and head back to your apartment
>After a quick shower, you pull on your best clothes, and grab your guitar case
>Chilling at Vinyl's place helped calm your nerves a little, and you've even got a little bit of confidence coursing through your veins as you flag down a cab
>The cab pulls up neatly in front of Quarter Note's, and you make your way around to the backstage entrance
>The bouncer eyes you over, clearly surprised
>"Well, what do we have here? I didn't think you'd make it, last time I saw you."
>You shrug your shoulders
"Neither did I, really. But hey, crazier things have happened, eh?"
>The bouncer waves you in, ending the conversation
>Inside, the backstage room looks much the same as you remember it, only a lot less crowded
>Which is to say, you're the only one here
>Several plush armchairs are scattered throughout the room; you grab one and sit down, resting your guitar case against your knees
>You're stuck in that awkward phase of having nothing to do but wait, drumming your fingers against your cases shell to keep the silence from driving you crazy
>Fortunately, the orange-ish mare from last week trots into the room, clipboard clasped in her mouth
>She removes it when she sees you
>"Good, you're here. Finally. Where's the other one?"
"The other... I don't know."
>The orange-ish pone gives an exasperated sigh
>"Ugh! Supposedly one of the greatest musicians in Canterlot, and she can't even bother showing up on time? How disgustingly unprofessional."
>She snorts, and grimaces
>As if on cue, Octavia trots through the doorway behind you, eyes closed and muzzle upturned, with her lush black mane swaying at her withers
>The white stallion, Andante, you think his name was, follows closely behind her, the cello case strapped along his side
>Slowly, the pair stroll into the room, positioning themselves in front of you and the orange-ish mare before Octavia opens her eyes
>And she doesn't look too happy to see you
>"You? What are you doing here?"
>"Opening? For me? You can't be serious."
>She glances between you and the orange-ish mare, as if expecting to be let in on the joke
>The mare just sneers at her
>"Perfectly serious. Now, if you would please hurry up and make yourself ready, we have a show to run in only half an hour!"
>"Hurry up? Do you know who you're talking to?"
>"I do, in fact. And if you want to make it in the showbiz world, I suggest you learn to act like a professional."
>She puts a weird emphasis on the word 'professional,' but her rant seems to shut Octavia up
>The gray mare looks positively enraged now, but the orange-ish pony next to you pays her no heed, instead spinning around, and walking briskly through the door
>As soon as she's disappeared, Octavia explodes
>"Gah! Who does she think she is! As if she knows anything about the performing arts!"
>She throws herself into a chair and sits there, pouting with her forelegs crossed
>After the haughty attitude you'd seen before, her reaction is somewhat surprising
>Andante crosses the room to stand beside her, leaning the cello case up against the wall
>"Don't listen to her. I'm gonna go scope out the crowd, see if there's anyone out there we need to impress. I left the cello over there. You'll make me proud, right?"
>He wraps a foreleg and Octavia, who returns his hug with a bit more enthusiasm than you'd expect
>"I always do, don't I?"
>You look away form the tender moment, face hot with embarrassment
>...and maybe a little jealousy
Well considering 4chan is literally neckbeards that makes a lot of sense
Now We're Talking!
>Andante exits, and you and Octavia are left alone
>The gray pony seems to avoid looking at you, a troubled scowl etched into her face
>Slowly, you cross the room, and take a seat a few feet from her
>She still doesn't look at you, but her ears perk up at your approach
>You twiddle your thumbs for a minute or two, trying to think of something to say
"Man. What a bitch, huh?"
>Octavia doesn't respond
"So... what're you gonna play tonight?"
>She turns to you, and gives a look like you just asked her the stupidest thing imaginable
>"I will be playing some of my more famous compositions. Because unlike *some* performers here, I actually have a reputation to maintain."
"A reputation for being late?"
>Anger flashes briefly across her face, but Octavia quickly returns to her composed, haughty state
>"Hah, cute. It's a pity they didn't hire you as a comedian."
"Who says they didn't? I could be a professional clown, for all you know. Maybe you're just not in on the act."
>Octavia rolls her eyes
>"I can admit, being a clown would suit you better."
"Oho, really? Alright then, how about we make a little wager?"
>"Wager? Please. What could I have to gain by gambling with you?"
"It's not about the gain. It's about having a little fun. Don't tell me you don't know how to have fun, now."
>"I have no need of 'fun,' right now. I'm here to perform, and that's it."
"No need of fun? To me it just sounds like you're scared you'll lose."
>"I'm not! How could I lose a competition to the likes of you? I just don't feel like trifling with such silly things!"
"You sound awfully worked up about this."
>"I am not...!"
>Octavia takes a deep breath
>"Okay, fine. You want to challenge Octavia Melody? Have it your way. What sort of wager do you have in mind?"
>You grin slyly at her, putting more confidence into your face than you're currently feeling
"Simple. At the end of the night, we ask the crowd which of us they liked best."
>Octavia blinks in surprise
>"That's it? Ha. And here I thought you were actually going to challenge me. So, what'll I get when I win?"
>You stand up, positioning yourself in front of her
"I was thinking the loser would have to buy the winner's entire discography."
>"So, money then? That's pretty boring. I think the look on your face will be satisfying enough."
>You inch closer towards her, she rises up in her chair as if to challenge you
"What's that? You're gettin' satisfaction from my face now? Didn't know you liked me so much, Ms. Melody."
>"Don't try to act cute. It won't make me go any easier on you."
"Oh, you won't need to worry about tha--"
>"You! Anon! You're on in five minutes! Hurry up!"
>Orange-ish mare's voice interrupts your face-off with Octavia, bringing you back to your senses
>Your face is inches away from hers, staring angrily into her violet eyes, your nose inches away form her snout
>The heat of her breath tickles your nostrils
>Embarrassed, you pull back
>Octavia does the same, and you notice a bit of a red flush has crept into her cheeks
>Trying your best to avoid looking at the gray mare, you grab your guitar case and head out onto the stage
>Strangely, arguing with Octavia has actually calmed your nerves a little, and your fingers are perfectly steady as your tune your instrument
>A curtain separates you from the crowd, but you can hear ponies chatting and bustling about on the other side
>It sounds pretty busy, especially for a thursday
>A hush comes over the pony crowd as the PA crackles to life, and a smooth, chocolatey male voice fills the room
>"Fillies and Gentlecolts! Tonight, we here at Quarter Note's Fine Dining and Cocktail Lounge are pleased to present not one, but two exquisite musical acts! Opening for us tonight is Anonymous, trans-dimensional alien bringing strange yet beautiful music from his dimension to ours. Following him, we have Canterlot's own Octavia Melody, the up-and-coming composer as gorgeous as she is talented. So, sit back, and enjoy the finest music this city has to offer."
>The curtain rises silently up into the ceiling, leaving you staring into stage lights and a crowd of several dozen ponies, all well-dressed and seated at fancy-looking dining tables
>Some of them turn their attention to you, but most continue their conversation or sipping at their drinks
>Slowly, you make your way to the center of the stage, where a short wooden stool stands next to a microphone
>You position yourself on top of the stool, adjusting the mic to rest near your mouth, and remove your guitar from its case
>Your first chords catches the attention of about half the room, the ponies' ears flicking in your direction
>You play slowly at first, letting your chords ring out bright and clear, the room's masterful acoustics carrying ever sound to your audience
>More of the ponies are starting to pay attention now, and even a few of the waiters have slowed down to watch
>Invigorated by their attention, you add your voice to the song, keeping it restrained for now to further lure the ponies in
>The sound of your mellow warble turns yet more heads, and by the time finishes, the whole room has ground to a standstill, every pony's attention fixed on you
>You can't help but smile
>On the next song, you up the intensity, playing the same song you used to wow the judges last week
>You put a powerful amount of emotion into your voice, confidence boosted by your captive audience
>By the time it ends, several ponies have even begun bobbing their heads or tapping their hooves along
>You take that as encouragement to play some of the catchier tunes you wrote over the last week
>A few ponies even get up from their seats to move in front of the stage, pairing up and dancing some strange sort of face-paced, four-legged waltz
>They look like they're having so much fun, you continue your current song past the point where it usually ends, strumming its chords with renewed vigor
>Once you finally decide to end it, you're panting and out of breath, and the ponies below you cheer
>Their cheers cause your heart to swell with happiness and pride, and you smile and thank them through the mic
>Looking down at your watch, you see that only twenty minutes of your hour have elapsed, leaving you with plenty more time to wow your audience
>You continue amping up the energy with your next few songs, your voice growing hoarse from the strain
>More and more ponies follow each other onto the dance floor, so many that the waiters begin moving tables to make room for them
>After you last fast song ends, you're dripping with sweat, and panting heavily
>Ponies applaud wildly, sounding more like a stampede stomping through the room
>You start to wish you'd brought a water bottle, your throat feels dry and fuzzy
"Thank you, everypony."
>You wave to the audience, and they cheer in turn
"This'll be my last song before Ms. Octavia takes the stage. Thank you for being such a great audience!"
>More cheering, but it fades down as you strum your first chord
>For your last song, you select a slow, emotional ballad
>It's not even a song you wrote, it's one you heard back on earth
>Still... they don't know that
>Despite the pain in your throat, you inject powerful emotion into your voice, letting it meld with the guitar chords into a single, fragile piece
>The ponies on the dance floor pair up, and begin to slowdance, while those near tables wave candles in the air
>Your song finishes with a flourish, and ponies applaud wildly as you let the last chord ring out
>Shaking with exhaustion and excitement, you carry the stool, mic, and guitar offstage, before stepping out for one last bow
>You're grinning like a fool the entire time, elated by the audience's cheers
"Thank you all!"
>The PA crackles on again, but its words are lost in the roar of the crowd
>Slowly, you exit back to the backstage room, eager to see the look on Octavia's face
>You run into the gray pony alright, but her reaction is less pleasing than you hoped it would be
>She looks halfway between angry, and scared
>When she notices you looking at her, she forces her face back into its usual haughty, neutral look
>"Hmm. Not bad. Now, why don't you let me show you how it's done?"
"Go ahead. But don't forget out little wager."
>"Wager? I never agreed to that!"
>The voice from the PA cuts into your conversation
>"And now, fillies and gentlecolts, please calm down, take a seat, and prepare yourself. This next performer has wowed eyes and ears across the entirety of the city with her brilliance and beauty. Please, join us in welcoming the lovely Ms. Octavia Melody!"
>The ponies cheer again, and Octavia gulps, pausing to adjust her bowtie before heading out onstage
>You pull a chair into the hallway between the backstage and the stage proper, sitting their to watch her performance
>Andante appears at the other side of the stage, lugging Octavia's cello case out to her
>He gives her a subtle pat on the back before heading off, leaving her standing there alone in the middle of the stage
>Octavia smiles awkwardly at the crowd before closing her eyes, her face falling back into its neutral state as she calms herself
>Slowly, she undoes the clasps of her cello case and removes the instrument and bow, rearing onto her his legs as she stands it in front of her
>The stage lights fade, save one shining directly on Octavia
>Her grey coat gives off a silvery sheen in the light, and her mane resembles polished ivory
>Once again, you find yourself entranced by this pony's beauty
>She slowly drags the bow across the cello's strings, producing a low humming note that quiets the audiences, and draws their attention like iron filings to a magnet
>Eyes still closed, she begins to play, music flowing forth from her instrument seemingly effortlessly, filing the room with a haunting, enchanting swirl of notes
>She never opens her mouth to sing, there are no words to her song, but every emotion in her music is felt deep in your chest
>It starts out serene and pensive, then builds to a flowery happiness, before a sudden urgency and fear blends in, pulling the music down to a somber, bitter sadness
>You feel tears rolling down your cheeks
>Somewhere in the audience, a pony sobs
>Octavia herself remains still, however, her body stone-still except for the motion of her forelegs as she plays
>The music drops into its lowest, saddest point, and for one horrifying moment you think it's going to end there
>But slowly, surely, the music builds into a hopeful crescendo, sending waves of goosebumps across your skin as Octavia's music soars
>Her playing rings triumphantly through the room, bright, powerful, and full of life
>And before you know it, the piece slows, quiets, and gradually fades out
>The end of her composition feels like coming down from a drug trip; reality seems dull and quiet in comparison
>The audience of ponies breaks into wild applause, and Octavia gives small, satisfied smile before bowing, finally opening her eyes
>Her purple irises seem to shimmer, partially from the stage lights, partially from her own happiness
>She bows again before returning her cello to its case, and strutting elegantly off stage, her confidence fully restored
>Wordlessly, she begins to push past you into the backstage area, but you stop her
"Ah ah. Did you forget about our little wager?"
>"If you honestly think you're going to win after that performance, you're even crazier than I thought."
"Really? 'Cause to me it just sounds like you're scared of the results."
>The gray mare grits her teeth
>"Are you patronizing me?"
"Just callin' it like I see it."
>"Alright, fine. You really want the humiliation that badly? Let's go."
>You follow her back onstage, where Andante is just beginning to carry her cello case offstage
>Octavia motions for him to wait, and steps up to the mic
>"Attention, fillies and gentlecolts. Me and my... friend, here have a little competition going on between the two of us."
>The audience focuses on her, and Octavia glances back at you before shaking her head
>"We were wondering, between the two of us tonight, which did you prefer?"
>Andante looks confused by her actions, and looks to you as if expecting an explanation
>You just shrug
>"If you preferred the 'music' of Anonymous, please raise a hoof."
>A startling number of hooves go up immediately
>Octavia's haughty demeanor disappears almost immediately at the sight
>She stands there, frozen as you and Andante count the hooves
>Octavia gulps, and you see beads of sweat forming in her coat
>She begins to shake, and Andante grabs the mic from her hooves
>"And for Ms. Octavia Melody?"
>Another crop of hooves shoots up, and the two of you set to counting them
"Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one... thirty-two."
>Octavia lets out a deep breath, looking relieved
>"H-hah! I knew I couldn't lose to you. You were a fool to challenge me in the first place, Anonymous."
>Octavia wipes the sweat from her forehead, trying her best to resume her haughty posture
>You stick your hands into your pockets, looking more defeated than you feel
>The fact that you even came close to Octavia after that performance... damn
"Guess you're right. So, what am I buyin'?"
>"Buying? What do you me-- oh, right! Yes, well, you don't need to worry about that. The look on your face is enough for me!"
>Octavia turns her nose up, the very image of pride
>If you hadn't seen her reaction to thinking she lost, you'd be annoyed at that
>Your conversation, if you can call it that, is interrupted by the approach of an unfamiliar stallion
>He's dressed sharp, as ponies go, complete with a tuxedo, tophat, and monocle
>His mane is blue, and he's sporting a Clark Gable mustache
>When he speaks, his voice is vaguely British, like Octavia's
>"Jolly good show, you two. Simply splendid. It really is good to see some earnest, up-and-coming talent in this city."
>You thank him, but Octavia just nods, as if the praise is to be expected
>The fancy pony continues
>"Tell me, are either of you currently signed to a label?"
>When he speaks, his voice is vaguely British, like Octavia's
Best Pone is from best Country.
Did somebody say writefag?
>On the streets of Baltimare, two figures march down towards the seaside markets
>One, an unsettled, ashen-grey pony towing a large case in a cart
>The other, a large, green ape-like creature in a suit
>Your voice is wracked by doubt.
"Are you certain this will work?"
>The ape-man shoots you a confident smile. "Of course," he answers. "You've all rehearsed this piece a thousand times over."
>You begin to fidget with your towing harness as you speak
"What if somepony misses their part? What if the guards turn up and arrest us for not getting a permit? What if... I'm left alone out there?"
>The idea of no-one coming to back you up crosses your mind, leaving you terrified
>You feel a strong hand touch your shoulder. "Nonsense. We've gone through too much effort to waste it all on making you look like a fool," he answers. "Nopony would waste so much effort on a prank."
>He scratches his chin, thoughtfully
>"Well, maybe one pony," he adds, laughing. "But fortunately, she's more into folk music than classical."
>You try to force a laugh and join in your colleague's jollity, to no avail
>A moment later, the two of you arrive at the markets
>Crowded, busy, noisy
>You look at Anon, incredulous
"Hardly the ideal location for a concert. How is anyone supposed to hear us?"
>"People go quiet when there's something to listen to. Just have faith."
"Right. Thank you, Anon."
>You begin to unbuckle your harness before undoing the locks on your case
>A double-bass, one of your larger instruments, lurks within
>Carefully, you lift the instrument out of its prison before rearing up on two legs
>Awkwardly tottering about, you struggle to navigate the crowded market, trying to find a place to play both out of the way of shoppers and in the line of sight of your audience
>Eventually, you find just the right spot
>Planting your double-bass into the ground, you brace yourself before drawing your bow across the strings for the first note
>The crowd's roar almost completely drowns out the low tones of your double bass
>You catch a glimpse of a few faces in the crowd giving you strange looks before continuing about their business
>Others, however, stand back, taking a moment to stand back and simply enjoy your music
>With their approval, you gain the confidence to continue
>Suddenly, you hear the sound of a cello at your side
>Taking a split second to glance over, you spot Mediant at your side
>Breathing a sigh of relief at the fact you weren't going to be left alone out here, you continue to play your double-bass, maintaining perfect rhythm
>Then, right on cue, you hear the echo of your colleagues' bassoons and violins
>You're able to pick out the sound of Leading Tone's violin in particular
>As your music grows louder with every new musician joining, the crowd becomes quieter and quieter
>By the time all the violinists arrive, those in the crowd yet to go quiet in awe by themselves are being shushed by other onlookers
>Anon re-emerges from hiding too, drawing out his baton to conduct the mass of instrumentalists
>He gives you another confident smile, and this time, you're able to return it in earnest
>Then, in the crowd, you spot something else
>The orchestra's entire brass and percussion section, led by Philarmonica herself, moving into position around the marketplace
>You brace yourself for the coming crescendo as they settle into place
>What happens next is a thing of pure beauty
>As the brass kicks in, so too does the choir
>Apparently, Anon had them assimilate into the crowd itself, to create the effect of the onlookers singing along
>Interestingly enough, a few of the real onlookers who actually knew the words began to join in, boosting the choir's volume further
>Then, as the verse ends, there's a tense lull in the music, filled only by the sounds of a few Prench horns and your friends in the strings section
>It's building up to something spectacular
>After a few more bars, the tension is broken as Anon's movements with the baton shift back from delicate to intense, summoning the full might of the orchestra and choir
>You focus hard on your instrument, making sure to keep time with the rhythm as your part becomes more intense and intricate
>Anon himself begins to sing along as he gets ready to lead the orchestra into the last moments of the song
>The choir's voices fade as the brass and strings - yourself included - intensify, the tempo doubling
>The entire crowd, the entirety of your orchestra, seem to fade out of existence
>All you see are yourself, your double-bass, and your conductor
>Your hooves move across your instrument with incredible precision as you perfectly hit each note
>Then, with a final flourish of Anon's baton, the music terminates
>For a second, the entirety of the marketplace is devoid of sound
>Then, suddenly, the air is filled with the unrestrained stomping of hooves by onlookers
>Anon and many of your orchestral colleagues take a bow as the stomping continues
>Then, suddenly, Anon turns around, pocketing his baton before moving towards you
>Nimbly, he holds your double-bass's neck in one hand whilst wrapping his other arm around you for a hug
>"See? What did I tell you," Anon asks rhetorically. "A bit of faith in other ponies can get you far."
>You chuckle lightly
"I'll keep that one in mind."
>Loosening yourself from the hug, you take the opportunity to bow to your most wonderful audience
>Anon packs your double-bass into the case, locking it and mounting it securely in your cart before slipping a fresh harness onto you
>"We should probably get moving," he explains, "before the cops turn up."
>As the two of you do your best to disappear into the crowd (opting eventually to settle for sneaking off into a nearby alleyway than fading into the background completely), you think back to when Anon first proposed this idea
>He said that ponies loved classical music, but that they just didn't know it
>So instead of getting them to go to the theatre, he suggested taking the orchestra out to them, to the common ponies
>At first, you thought the idea was insane
>But now, after seeing the joy and excitement in the faces of those who watched you and your fellow musicians, you're not so sure
That's all I have for now. Sorry. I must sleep. I'm nodding off in my chair here.
>You shake your head and, surprisingly, so does Octavia
>"Neither of you? Really? Goodness me, I'll just have to fix that, won't I?"
>Elation begins to swell in your chest as you realize what he's talking about
>"Yes, my boy. I'm willing to sign the both of you on, if you'll accept it. On one condition, of course."
>"And that is...?"
>Octavia speaks up now, looking as excited as you feel
>Andante is beaming proudly behind her
>The blue-maned pony gestures between the two of you
>"Your first release under me will be a collaborative album with each other. A combination of styles, if you will."
>Octavia looks at you, horrified
>"Me? Work with him?"
>She turns her nose up
>"Absolutely not. I won't do it. I refu--MMF"
>Andante clamps his hooves over Octavia's mouth
>"We'd be delighted!"
>Octavia stares daggers into the burly white stallion
>Blue-mane pony turns to you
>"And you, my boy?"
>You nod, so excited by the prospect of actually having a label that you don't even mind having to work with Octavia
>He produces two paper cards from the pocket of his tuxedo, and hoofs one to you and Octavia
>"My name is Fancy Pants. You'll find all my contact information on there. Set up an appointment within the week, and we'll get down to business, okay?"
"Right, yeah. Thanks so much."
>Fancy chuckles, and heads back to the main floor with a wave goodbye
>Andante finally takes his hooves off Octavia's mouth, and she sputters angrily, glaring at the both of you
>She turns on Andante first
>"What were you thinking? Do you honestly believe I want to record an album with him?!"
>She gestures angrily at you with a hoof
"Hey! What's the big idea?"
>"Stay out of this!"
"Stay out? How can I stay out of something when you take every opportunity to drag me back in? What exactly is your problem?"
>"My 'problem' is that you just can't seem to leave me and my career alone!"
>The two of you are advancing on each other now, but Andante grabs Octavia and drags her offstage
>You follow behind them, continuing your argument with the gray mare as she tries to preserve her dignity
"You think I planned this? Are you crazy? I was at the tryouts same as you. Everything after that was just dumb luck!"
>"Luck? Like I believe that!"
>The two of you are backstage now, Octavia ranting at you while still held in Andante's forelegs
>"You're just jealous of my success, and now you're trying to piggyback off my talent and hard work, isn't that it?"
"What? How the hell do you reason that?"
>Octavia turns her nose up, waving her forehoof in a gesture of dismissal
>"Hmph. I just know."
>You stare at her, unblinking
"You're completely insane."
>Octavia turns red with anger
>"I am not!"
>She tries to leap toward you, forelegs flailing violently, but Andante grabs her and holds her back
>He grins slyly at you, before assuming an expression of utmost seriousness and concern
>"Anon, I think you'd better go. You're starting to upset Octavia."
>You can see what he's trying to do, and you immediately feel the same hatred for him as you did back in the bar
>However, you don't feel like proving him right by causing a scene
>So, without another word, you grab your guitar case and begin the walk home
If you're talking about mine, I'll probably update it tomorrow. Everything new I've written is already in this thread, though.
>The orange-ish mare stops you on your way out, handing you your payment and thanking you for the performance
>You mumble something in return, not really focused on her right now
>What the hell was up with Octavia back there?
>As much as you rack your brains, you can't come up with a reason for her to hate you as much as she does
>Seriously, you only met her a week ago, and you two barely even spoke then
>Does she actually think you're trying to steal her spotlight?
>No, she can't be that stupid
>Any pony who can write music like she does can't possibly be that dumb
>So... what's the answer?
>Maybe you'll figure it out after getting to know her better
>After all, you're both signed to the same label now
>You feel that same sense of light-headed euphoria you did when Fancy first made the deal
>Even if you have to deal with Octavia's attitude, this is a huge step for your music
>The thing you've dreamed about your whole life... it's finally going to happen
>And so, pushing thoughts about the boisterous gray mare and her womanizing companion out of your head, you return home, head already brimming with new ideas
Gonna call this the end of Part 1. Those of you who are reading, what do you think so far?
If we're talking about a perfect situation and ends up being everything we'd expect while destroying the OctaviaxVinyl Ship I'd love nothing more than to see it. However as of now I'd much rather she remain in the background and let it be ambiguous. It's too risky in my opinion that something may go wrong.
Dont bet on it, some charchter developent with Vinyl. Would be pretty interresting. But the chances of stuff like that happening in an actual episode are 0,00001%
You can dream, anon-kun
A must have on every octavia thread.
I had no idea that it's JeffMango who is writing the green text story, looking forward to the rest of it even more now.
>Three days after the show, you pick up the phone to call Fancy
>A tired-sounding mare, who you assume is a secretary, answers, and you set up an appointment for two days from now
>During the mean time, you pour extra energy into practicing and refining your new songs, along with pressing more records and giving them to Vinyl to sell
>She's pretty jealous to hear about your deal with Fancy, especially since she's been an amateur musician for a lot longer than you have
>You promise her you'll put in a good word for her at any opportunity you get, which seems to placate the wild-maned little horse
>On the morning of the day of your appointment, you wake feeling like a kid on Christmas
>You made sure to pack your guitar, extra strings, and all the written copies of your songs the night before, so preparation is simple
>Ten minutes later, you're out the door and flagging down a cab
>The address the secretary gave you is clear across the city, and it takes a good thirty minutes of sprinting for your driver to reach it
>As you pull up, the first thing you can think is 'damn'
>You probably should have expected something like this from a pony with 'Fancy' in his name, but still
>The estate is massive, and every inch is pristinely cleaned, and decorated in subdued blue and white hues
>Marble statues of ponies, griffons, and other mythical beasts dance about in a wide green courtyard, the path through lines by fountains of crystal water
>You try to push feelings of inadequacy out of you head as you stroll through the opulence
>After ascending a flight of stairs, you rap on the oak double doors out front, and are greeted by a purple mare, sporting glasses and a droopy white mohawk
>She glances you over, surprisingly nonchalant about the inter-dimensional alien hanging out on the front porch
>"Are you the 2:30 appointment?"
>She has that classic secretary voice; it's almost uncanny
>"Right this way."
>With a flick of her tail, the mare turns around, and leads you into Fancy's estate
>The inside of the place is much more subtle; it looks mostly just like a regular house, save for the fact that it's huge, and that anything and everything is perfectly spotless
>Immediately, you feel very self-conscious about the fact that you didn't shower this morning
>"Do you know where the other one is?"
>"The other one. Fancy said there were gonna be two of ya. So where's the other one?"
"She, uh, must be late."
>The secretary mare shakes her head, letting out a frustrated sigh
>"You music folk, I swear. None of ya could maintain a schedule if your life depended on it."
>At the end of the hallway, you come to an illuminated spiral staircase, which the mare leads you up
>Along the walls are paintings of various ponies, none of whom you recognize
>Wait, no, there's one of Princess Celestia
>You take a moment to ponder how high art exists in a world where everything is a cartoon
>"You okay back there?"
"What? Yeah, I'm fine."
>"Ya spaced out for a minute, I was worried. Anyway, Fancy's office is just down this hall, and to the left. You have a good day now, okay? I'll send the other one up when she gets here."
"Right, yeah, you too."
>Still feeling a little overwhelmed by the size and beauty of the estate you're currently in the middle of, you follow the mare's directions down the hall, and knock on Fancy's office door
>Fleshgod Apocalypse Reference
You have my respect, anon
>Ahh, you think music is your ally.
>But you merely adopted the music; I was born in it. [i]Molded[/i] by it.
>I didn't hear silence until I was already a mare, and by then, it was nothing to me but [i]deafening![/i]
>The stallion's mellow, refined voice sounds muffled through the door
>You pull it open, revealing a surprisingly utilitarian office space
>Fancy sits behind a dest stacked with papers, binders, and a weird-looking pony typewriter
>His face lights up when he sees you
>"Ah! Mr. Anonymous, good to see you. I trust this means you're willing to officially accept my offer?"
>You nod, trying to remain professional despite the excitement boiling within you
>"Alright then. We'll just wait until Ms. Melody shows up, and then we can begin."
>He reaches under his desk, and pulls out a steaming kettle, and teacups
>How the hell...?
>"Care for a little? I'd like to get to know you a bit better, if we're to be future business partners."
>As you and Fancy wait for Octavia to show up, the two of you chat idly about life in Equestria, the music scene, and the difficulties of fitting in after being ripped from another dimension
>"And you say you don't remember how you got here?"
"Not a thing. Everything from the first few days is really fuzzy. But after a little talking with the princesses, I was given permission to stay in the city."
>Fancy nods, either genuinely intrigued or very good at acting like it
>"And the music career? When did you start that?"
"Well, I couldn't really find employment anywhere, and I needed something to do, so I commissioned this instrument here, and started composing. Not much else to it, really."
>"I see, I see. You're self-taught, then?"
"For the most part, yeah. You see I--"
>A loud rapping on the door interrupts your conversation
>Before Fancy can respond, the door swings open, revealing a sweaty, panting Octavia standing in the frame
>Her pompadour-styled mane is frazzled, and her bowtie is askew around her neck
>She's even dragging her own cello case along, which you guess would explain her appearance
>Fancy looks at her in surprise, reaching a hoof up to readjust his monocle
>"Ah, Ms. Melody! Glad to see you made it. Please do come in."
>He gestures for her to take a seat next to you
>Octavia does so, but makes sure to scoot the chair an additional two feet away from you first
>Once she's situated, Fancy addresses the two of you together
>"So, down to business. I want to release a collaboration album between the two of you, showcasing both of your abilities, and also how classical Equestrian music can blend with music native to the homeworld of Mr. Anonymous."
"You can just say Anon."
"You don't have to say 'Mr. Anonymous' every time. You can call me Anon."
>Octavia's looking at you as if you just said the stupidest thing imaginable, before rolling her eyes
>"Is it really necessary for me to work with him, Mr. Pants? Are you sure I couldn't record something of my own instead?"
>Fancy shakes his head
>"I'm afraid not, my dear. You see, as talented as the both of you are, there's something in my gut telling me that there's even more potential to be unlocked by having the two of you work together. And so that's how we'll be doing it."
>Octavia groans in annoyance, and scoots her chair a few more inches away
>Just to spite her, you scoot closer, backing her up against the wall, where she sits pouting with her forelegs crossed
>Fancy looks between the two of you, a puzzled expression on his face
>"Well, um, if the two of you are ready to begin, I can show you to the practice room."
>Octavia opens her mouth to protest, but you cut her off
"Yeah, let's go."
>Fancy leads you down through the twisting hallways, eventually arriving at a small, padded room, and ushering the two of you in
>Inside, are several wooden chairs, sheet-music stands, and stacks of blank paper
>It's lit by an simple, electric chandelier hanging from the ceiling, giving the place a comfy feeling, perfect for playing music
>You take a seat in a chair at the room, unclasping your guitar case and pulling the instrument out, checking the tuning on each string as you wait for Octavia
>The gray mare is hanging back, looking eyeing the room like it was some sort of death trap
>Fancy gestures for her to enter, looking a little concerned
>Octavia sighs, and drags her cello case inside, grabbing a chair as far away from you as possible
>Fancy still looks a bit uncertain, but he quickly masks it before speaking to you
>"Alright then. I'd like to see a few ideas from the both of you before you leave. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."
>And with that, he shuts the door, leaving you and Octavia alone in the eerily-silent practice room
>Unconsciously, you start noodling along a blues scale to fill the silence
>Octavia's ears flicker at the sound, but she refuses to look over in your direction
>Your playing peters off, and the room stands silent, minutes stretching by like hours
"You need me to get that out of the case for you?"
>Octavia glances at you, then looks away again
>"I'm perfectly capable of getting out my own instrument. I just don't feel like playing with you."
"Then why are you here?"
>"I, uh... I'm hoping our new employer will see the errors of his ways, and let me record solo."
"Didn't you hear him? That's not gonna happen."
>You run a hand across your forehead
"Look, I don't know what your deal is. I've done nothing to hurt you, and you treat me like shit. But, it'll be better for the both of us in the end if you just put the hatred aside so we can get some work done."
>Octavia gives you a strange look
>Halfway between embarrassment, and the usual "you're a moron" expression she gives you
>"Hatred? I don't hate you. I just look down on you for you inferior musical skills, and I'm angry that someone as untalented as you is considered to be on my own level by many of Canterlot's populace."
"Oh, my skills are inferior, eh? You wanna put that to the test?"
>"What are you suggesting, another little challenge? You remember I won the last one, right?"
"By one vote, " you mutter
>Octavia's eye twitches, and she finally turns to face you
>"You really think your skills are anywhere near my own? Fine. I'll humor you for a few minutes. But after you lose, I don't want to hear any more nonsense about you being my equal as a musician."
"Okay. Let's go."
>You watch as Octavia unclasps her case and removes the cello, standing up from her chair and bracing herself against the instrument
>She takes up the bow, and gestures to you
pls let there me moar!!
I am loving this story so much!
this must survive!!! the ride cant end!!!
I cant LET it end!
>You shrug your shoulders, and begin plucking a few simple arpeggios, the notes sounding sharp and clear in the soundproofed room
>Octavia smiles haughtily, and begins to play
>Her music isn't much more complex than yours, but it feels deeper, somehow
>Each notes from her cello feels so natural, so beautiful, perfectly placed
>Immediately, you realize that there's no way you're going to win this
>As much as you hate to admit it... Octavia's going to outplay you
>But that doesn't mean you can't have a little fun first
>You change up the pace of your music, shifting from soft arpeggios to fast-paced chords
>Octavia slips up for a second, but quickly finds the groove of your playing, and overlays your playing with a jumpy, energetic string of cello notes
>Again without warning, you switch to a slow, mellow blues tune
>This time Octavia is legitimately thrown off, and falls silent for several seconds as she listens to a style of music unfamiliar to Equestria
>But, quickly enough, she picks up on the groove, and a low, mellow cluster of notes falls into place over yours
>She smiles smugly at you
>This time, Octavia takes the lead, and brings her part into a sweeping, powerful classical melody
>You recognize the key, and can feel enough of the rhythm to follow along, but your playing seems shallow by comparison
>Octavia realizes this, and her ego seems to swell even more at the thought, her music swelling to a grandiose crescendo that drowns out any attempt to follow
>You sit back, silent for a moment
noice I love that song
I'm not going anywhere, I just have a weird schedule and I write slowly.
>You're not going to outplay Octavia at this point, that much is clear
>But maybe you can at least impress her
>Taking a deep breath, you steady your picking hand, and slowly begin to play
>Octavia easily matches your simple pattern of chords, playing deliberately simple patterns as if to patronize you
>Without warning, you break from your simple pattern up chords, hand flying up the neck of your guitar as you drop your pick, fingers plucking at strings on their own
>You've never been great as a bluegrass player
>But you're probably better at it than Octavia
>She quickly increases the speed of her own playing as well, trying to weave in cello notes amidst your rapid-fire plucking
>To throw her off even more, you dart around the circle of fifths like hopscotch, changing key without any warning
>Sweat has started to break out along Octavia's forehead
>She's keeping up with you, but the style is too unfamiliar for her to really trump you at it
>You're starting to get a little shaky from the effort yourself, but you're determined not to let her win
>The two of you lock eyes, each one mentally daring the other to quit
>Meanwhile, the threads of both your music intertwine like snakes, each one racing ahead to some unknown destination
>Sweat is dripping down Ocavia's forehead and into her eyes, and your hands feel like they're on fire
>You're not going to make it...
>The B string snaps under your fingers, wipping up across the neck and cutting a thin red line into your left hand
>You yelp and cradle the affected appendage in right hand as blood begins to seep out across your palm
>Octavia immediately stops playing as well, dropping her bow and collapsing against the cello, panting
>"Ha... I win..."
>She eyes your injury, but doesn't say anything
>The cut is thin, but deep, and blood has begin to trail over your hand and down your wrist
>You pull your shirt off, and wrap it around the wound, tying it up to form a makeshift bandage
>Octavia quickly looks away, slightly embarrassed
>Once your hand is bound up, you lean back in your chair, heart still racing from your musical duel
"Yeah. You won. Of the two of us you... you're the better musician."
>It's hurts to admit, but you'd have to be a fool to argue that at this point
>Octavia doesn't look as happy as you expected her too
>"Well, uh, it's good to see you've finally accepted it."
>An awkward pause stretches between the two of you
"So... should we try to get something written down?"
>"What do you mean?"
"Fancy said he wanted us to get some song ideas down. And a couple of the things you played sounded pretty good, so..."
>You gesture towards the stacks of paper in the corner, and Octavia gets your drift
>"Ah, yes, right.