Any room for best background pony?
>Best background pony
>Not pic related
Eagerly awaiting the return of both based writefags. On a side note do either of the writers have pastebins?
I remember this story a while back set in the mirrorverse, partially centred around mirror-Vinyl (a unicorn strings-player who might as well be unicorn-Octavia). The story had her playing her violin by hoof normally, but during the grand finale, she used her magic to levitate and play two violins at once.
>"Anonymous? How... How is this?"
>"I've never really worn lingerie for anypony before..."
Pastebin from previous threads: http://pastebin.com/2djFLJeZ
>It wasn't hard to get a hold of Rarity's address.
>Word travels quickly in Canterlot.
>One of her business cards was easy to come by.
>The same could not be said of Anonymous.
>Even with all the gossip that swirled about in the city, this Anonymous was a ghost.
>No one seemed to know where he lived exactly, what he did for a living.
>Or even his last name.
>So you'll have to go through Rarity.
>You scribble a polite note, asking her to bring herself and Anon to Canterlot Symphony Hall on the date of the performance.
>Unfortunately, inviting Rarity to your performance is a necessary gambit.
>The thought of bringing her makes you cringe, but, she's the only shared connection you have with Anon.
>Suddenly, you notice that you're shaking as you write.
>Were these feelings real?
>Did you actually like Anonymous?
>And were you really this desperate to get his attention?
>The whole thing feels like a shot in the dark.
>Was he even interested in ponies?
>And if he was, that still didn't mean he was interested in you.
>You feel like a filly, back in high school
>Dropping a note in someone's locker.
>But when you are reminded of how boring Canterlot has become for you, well, it doesn't seem like such a bad idea.
>You carefully slide the two tickets into the envelope, seal it and write Rarity's address on it.
>You head downstairs and put the envelope into the mailbox outside your building.
>Well, here goes nothing.
>The two weeks pass quickly.
>You got a letter from Rarity in the mail just a day after you sent her the tickets.
>"Dear Miss Melody,
>"Anonymous and I would be simply HONOURED to attend your prestigious event.
>"Thank you kindly for such a generous offer!
>"And such fine seats as well!
>"We are truly touched that you would think of us, your fan-"
>You decide not to slog through her laborious vocabulary.
>You can practically hear Rarity's voice ringing in your ears as you read it over.
>Fortunately, it seems like Anonymous is coming with her.
>That would have been a nightmare if you plan had backfired and only Rarity had decided to come.
>The fact that Anonymous is interested is still at least a step forward.
>Your music and your status as a musician didn't seem to impress him very much the last time he was in Canterlot.
>So perhaps this is a good sign?
>The two weeks pass quickly in a blur.
>As you prepare for the upcoming concert, you imprison yourself in your apartment.
>Practice is all you seem to do.
>You pause for meals and to bathe, as well as to sleep
>But every spare moment you can muster is spent with your cello.
>This performance must go to plan.
>It must be your crowning achievement.
>Something so good, even someone as indifferent as Anonymous will be impressed.
>A thought distracts you from time to time, however.
>Do you want Anonymous to be impressed with your music?
>Or just you?
Well, what I meant to say is while I'm balancing a few projects too, I've got it kind of easy, considering you're a physics major and working on some long-form stuff. I took a few classes in college, never really went anywhere, though.
What old gray mare? The only Greg made in her group is Octavia herself I think. I think it is because the 2 of the four look like OCs and the pianist/violinist is male there for not as interesting.
Octavia is a supporting character, not a "background pony". Background ponies are the extras that appear for no other reason than to simulate the set's population. Octavia exists to fulfill a role (playing music in a venue, for instance).
>what is Día de los Muertos
>what is a calavera
You are in a cabaret with Octavia and this guy slap her ass, what you do?
>being older than 15
Continuation from many, many past threads
Part 1: http://pastebin.com/jAcMiprF
Part 2: http://pastebin.com/XXNbz2eL
>Needless to say, you don't feel like spending the night here
>Without even opening the door, you turn and head down the landing toward Anne's apartment
>The lights are on, and you can hear some sort of commotion going on inside
>Maybe she's having a party?
>Well, you'd hate to interrupt her fun, but you have to make sure everything's okay
>You walk up and knock on her door
>Anne opens, not wearing her usual leather coat
>She looks surprised to see you, and immediately backs up until only her face is peeking out of the doorway
>"Anon! V-- what are you doing here?"
"Um, those 'Trinity' guys came by again. I wanted to ask if you'd seen anything."
>"See anything? Um, no, I haven't. They must have come by when I was out."
"Really? Damn, those guys are crafty."
>You shove your hands into your pockets, your frustration making the cold even less pleasant
>You glance back into Anne's house, where most of the commotion seems to have halted
"So, what's up? You havin' a party or something?"
>You try to peer around her to see who's there, but she closes the door just enough to block your vision
>"Sorry, it's, erm... I haff to go."
>Quickly, she ducks back inside and shuts the door
>Man, she sure is skittish
>You're sure all this trouble with the Trinity has been really hard on her
>Maybe you'll drop by and visit again tomorrow
>But right now, you've got your own problems
>Like where the hell you're going to sleep tonight
>You don't have any way to contact Octavia, and there's no way Vinyl's gonna be coherent right now
>Which leaves you with one option...
>As usual, Soarin's voice is laced with lethargy as he answers the phone
>"Hello? Who is this?"
"It's me. I know this is sudden, but can I stay at your place for a few nights?"
>"Stay here? Why...?"
>You give him a few seconds to process
>"Oh, yeah, the Trinity! Oh jeez, have they come back?"
"Yeah, a couple times."
>"And you stayed? Dude, you're crazy."
"I know, I know. But seriously though, can I stay with you?"
>"Yeah, yeah, sure. Jus' lemme... clean up a bit, and I'll come get you."
>Knowing Soarin, cleaning up will probably take until tomorrow morning, but you agree
>Surprisingly, the pegasus shows up only twenty minutes later
>He swoops down from the sky, still sporting that goofy uniform, and lands in front of you
>His eyes widen when he sees the smashed window
>"Whoa, whoa, when did this happen?"
"A few days ago..."
>"Dude, why didn't you tell me?"
>You'd been kinda preoccupied with the drama with Octavia
>"C'mon, man, we're supposed to be friends. I wanna know about stuff like this."
"I know, I know, I'm sorry. There's just been a lot going on lately."
>Soarin surveys your apartment again
>"Yeah, I can imagine. Well, should we get going?"
"Sure. And hey..."
>You put a hand on his wither
>Soarin smiles, and you notice he looks even more tired than usual
>Guess that's something to discuss later
>He flutters down to the street, grabbing a cab by the time you've reached the bottom of the stairs
>Celebrity status sure has its perks in this city
YESSSS. Thank you based Jeff!
>The ride is quick, in contrast to your usual excursions through Canterlot
>Soarin's apartment lies right in the affluent center of the city, no doubt surrounded by various other horse celebrities
>The cab pulls up in front of an ornate, vaguely-medieval highrise that stretches at least twenty stories up
>Soarin chuckles, uneasily
>"Heheh, yeah, I'm kinda on the top floor. I forget other ponies can't fly sometimes..."
"Eh, it's fine. I could use the exercise anyway."
>"I'll go up and get some dinner ready, okay?"
>You get out from the cab, hauling your guitar case and a sack of your clothes and other possessions after you
>By the time you reach the top, your legs are burning, and your arms are numb from the shoulder down
>You did not need the exercise that badly
>Soarin's apartment has the door open, and a warm light is seeping out from it
>You stop just outside, bracing yourself as you get flashbacks to Octavia's apartment
>If hers was that bad, then Soarin's place must be...
>Eh, quit being to picky
>You can put up with as ten Octavias worth of mess if it means a place to stay
>And so, prepared for the absolute worst of bachelorhood, you step into Soarin's residence
>It's fucking immaculate
>All the furniture still has that crisp, just-bought sheen to it, everything is tidy with mathematical precision, and the place is ever so subtly scented with lilacs
>Well, this is a level of irony you're not entirely prepared to deal with
>You step outside, and take a few deep breaths, before reentering
>It feels like your vary presence is dirtying this place
>Soarin appears from the kitchen, looking more than a little bashful
>"Sorry if the place doesn't look its best. I tried my best to straighten up before I came over."
>You raise an eyebrow at him
"Seriously? This place is cleaner than most hospitals I've seen."
>"Heh... I guess I'm kind've a neat freak."
"Hey, it's all good. So... what's for dinner?"
>Soarin leads you to the kitchen, where a big bowl of steaming pasta awaits you, along with some fresh-looking green salad
"Soarin, you are the least 'bachelor' bachelor I've ever met."
>He blushes at that, and smiles, but you also that same tired sadness hidden in his eyes
>As friendly as he's tried to be, you can tell something is really bothering him
>The two of you sit down to dinner, enjoying the food as you chat about your respesctive jobs, the usual
>You feel kinda bad about it though, because you have much less to complain about than Soarin
>Horror stories of working with Spitfire follow one after the other, each one more laughably horrifying than the last
>Meanwhile, you're jobs been pretty great for the most part
>You try to find some negative elements to emphasize, but, damn, Soarin's stories easily beat yours out
>"...and then, of course, I'm the one who has to clean it up! Even though her stupid stunt was what lit the banner in the first place."
"Why don't you tell her that, then? You gotta stick up for yourself, man."
>He shakes his head, sighing
>"You don't know what Spitfire's like, man. You can't talk to a mare like her. Especially not if you're, well, somepony like me..."
"What do you mean by that?"
>"Nevermind. So, how're things with you and Octavia?"
>He gets a bit of a weird look on his face when he asks about her
>You're not entirely sure if you should tell Soarin about what's been happening with Octavia
>She did ask you to keep it a secret, after all
>But you feel like you can trust Soarin
>And besides, the guy's letting you stay in his house, the least you can do is be honest with him
"Well... can you keep a secret?"
>Soarin nods, and you inhale deeply before beginning your story
>You tell him about everything that happened after the night on the roof, about the falling out, you warning Octavia about the threat, agreeing to work together again...
>...and end on that one, perfect day where everything between you two suddenly fit together
>By the time you finish, Soarin has a look of awe on his face
>"Wow, dude... that's amazing..."
>Telling him the story has made you realize for yourself just how crazy all of this is
>"I'm so jealous..."
>His withers slump a little, and he gets that look in his eyes again
"Jealous? Oh, shit, man... were you interested in her too?"
>He shakes his head
>"No, not her specifically. It's just... I wish I were as good with mares as you."
>Something about the way he says it tells you that this isn't a recent development
"Me? Good with mares? Are you crazy, dude? I'm some weird alien freak, and you're a full-blown celebrity."
>"Yeah... not much good that does me, though. And being a weird alien is great. All sorts of mares are interested in you."
"All sorts? I'm pretty sure the count is a solid 'one' right now. And even she's somewhat dubious, most of the time."
>He shakes his head
>"You really gotta open your eyes, man. You hang out with Vinyl all the time, right?"
>"You've got Octavia Melody, one of the most desirable mares in Canterlot."
"'Got' is a pretty strong word for a mare like Octavia..."
>"And even Spitfire jokes with Fleetfoot about rutting you sometimes."
"Rutting? I don't think I've even met her."
>"I know, man. I know."
>Soarin's head droops towards the table
>Suddenly, you realize something
"Wait... you like Spitfire?"
>He nods, dully
"Dude, she treats you like shit. Why?"
>"I dunno, man. She's just... she's just so amazing at everything she does, and we used to be so close, I thought..."
>Soarin chokes up a little, but tries to pass it off as a cough
Here ya go Aaron.
>You honestly have no idea how to comfort the pegasus
>Even though you were in a similar situation with Octavia, it seems like her and Spitfire are two very different girls
"That's... damn, dude."
>"I know. I'm sorry for unloading all this on you, it's just... I haven't told anyone. It hurts, man."
>Having the object of your infatuation treat you like dirt at every available instance?
>You experienced only a little of that with Octavia, and it was brutal
>What must Soarin have been going through, and for how long
"It's fine, Soarin, really. Anything you need to tell me, go ahead. Please."
>He smiles, though strain is etched into his features as he holds back tears
>You've always thought of Soarin as a bit of a lazy goof-off, but now you're starting to realize this stallion is tough as nails
>"Thanks, Anon. Really. Do you think... am I... agh."
>He shakes his head as he struggles to find the words
>"Am I a loser?"
>It takes you a second to process exactly what he's asking
"A... a loser? Dude, what are you, some different Soarin? You're a Wonderbolt! I mean, maybe I'm just some crazy alien who doesn't know anything about Equestria or whatever, but that seems like a pretty big deal."
>"Yeah, I guess. It's not as good as you'd think, though. Everyone judges you, but they don't really want to know you."
>You recall Octavia saying something similar
>"You're probably the only real friend I have."
"Wow. It really means a lot to hear you say that, but... that can't be true. C'mon, man, you have to have other friends. What about your teammates?"
>He shakes his head
>"They've made it pretty clear we're not friends. They respect my ability to fly, I guess. But we're not close."
"And there's no one else? What do you do all day?"
>"Practice, mostly. After that I'm too tired to do much of anything."
"Well... jeez, man. Is there anything I can do to help?"
>He shrugs again
>"Probably not. I dunno, everything just kinda sucks right now..."
"I know the feeling."
>Even though some things have gone well for you lately, you're quite familiar with the feeling of everything spiraling out of control
>The two of you sit in silence as the leftover pasta cools
"Hey, you know, why don't you come to one of my shows?"
>"I dunno, sorry. I meant to go to one, but..."
"Not for me, for you. You could meet some new ponies there. Most of them are pretty nice, even if you get some of the uppity Canterlot folk."
>Soarin nods, considering the idea
>"It's a start, I guess."
"Hell yeah, it's a start. These shows can get pretty crazy too, man, you'll love it."
>The idea seems to have cheered Soarin up a bit
>"Well, alright. If you say so."
>The two of you clear away the dishes, and spend the rest of the night on happier, lighter conversation
>Soarin bakes the two of you a pie, which basically tastes like everything right in the world
>Eventually he retires to his bedroom, and you stretch out on the couch
>Until tomorrow, crazy horse world, until tomorrow
Might as well post classical music whilst we wait.
Adagio for Strings
Pachelbel's Canon in D
I'm in pretty much the same total amateur boat, but I really love Bach's Goldberg Variations and Bach in general.
Also some odd ones like that Commie fuck Shostakovich. Wagner because of a friend.
>Tomorrow is a fair bit warmer and more comfortable than most tomorrows your used to
>Soarin wakes you with the smell of pancakes cooking in the kitchen
>He looks much happier this morning, and greets you warmly when he sees you're up
>You said warmly, not energetically
>Crossing the kitchen, you give him a friendly pat on the back before getting yourself some water
>The pancakes are delicious, as you'd expect, and as you eat you go through a mental checklist of everything you need to do
>You need to get the police, or guards, or whoever patrols this city to investigate the situation with your apartment, and this Trinity group
>You need to show up for your daily session with Octavia and Fancy
>You need to find living arrangements until things are cleared up
>And, of course, you need to continue your songwriting, of course
>"Anon? You okay?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Just thinking."
>"Alright. Well, I gotta get to practice. But, seriously, call me again if you need a place to stay. You're more than welcome."
>It's a relief to hear that, although part of you hopes you can stay with Octavia again...
>"You too. About last night, I mean. I'm really sorry about--"
>You cut him off with a wave of your hand
"You don't gotta apologize for anything. Friends gotta help each other out, right?"
>The two of you embrace in the manliest of bro-hugs, and you head out
>The cold hasn't abated at all; in fact you think it's gotten worse
>You catch a cab quickly in this busier area of the city, and head back to your apartment
>Should be safe now that it's the middle of the day, you figure
>As grim as it is, the fresh gouge in your front door doesn't really surprise you
>Two days down, one more to go
>Fortunately, not much seems to have been touched inside
>Then again, you didn't have much for them to go through
>The rest of your meager belongings find their way into either a sack, or your one suitcase
>Which are then stored under your bed
>No matter what happens, you're leaving this place behind
>You've just gotta grab your guitar, and you can--
>*TAP TAP TAP TAP*
>Well, you know who that is...
>Derpy's got her mailbag, as usual, and a pair of wooly earmuffs adorns her head
>"Did you have a party or something?"
>She gestures to the damage to your window and door
"No, Derpy, I didn't have a party?"
>"Huh? Speak up, Anon!"
>You reach out and take the earmuffs off her ears
"I didn't have a party Derpy. This is from, uh..."
>Actually, that party excuse would have been a good one, dammit
"A bear. A bear attacked my apartment."
>Derpy's eyes go wide
>"A bear? Really?"
>"Wow. That's so cool! Er, I mean, it must have been really scary for you. But still, a bear in the city! Wow!"
>She flutters her wings a little, and smiles at you
"So... is there any mail for me?"
>She ruffles through her bags, and removes an official-looking envelope
>Proudly, she hands it to you, an excited gleam in her eye
>"Well, what is it?"
"I dunno, lemme see."
>You tear the evelope open, revealing a sheet of gold-tinted stationary
>Unfolding it, you begin to read aloud to Derpy, who watched enraptured
/Dear Upcoming Canterlot Musician:
How would YOU like a chance to perform at the biggest event in all of Equestria? Yes, we're talking about the Grand Galloping Gala! All you need do is send us a sample of your work by November the fourteenth, and you'll automatically be entered for a chance to win a performance at this historical event.
Please mail to.../
>The rest of the letter is just an address and a regal-looking signature
>"Wow! That's so cool!"
>Derpy rushes in and wraps her forelegs around your neck in a furry, feathery hug
>She pulls away just as quickly, looking embarrassed
>"Sorry... But really, that's great! The Gala, wow... that's the kind of event every pony in Equestria wants to go to!"
>Derpy stares wistfully out over the city
"Have you ever been to one?"
>She shakes her head
>"No, but... I hope I can, one day. It'd be so cool!"
>She rubs her hooves in excitement
>You look back at the letter
>Once Derpy's left, you grab your guitar case for the trip down to Fancy's estate
>A chance to perform at the biggest event in all of pony-dom, eh?
>You can't really say you like your chances, but hey, it could happen
>What have you got to lose?
>The garden in front of Fancy's place has started to wither in the cold, and most of the fountains are frozen over
>A squad of gardener ponies patrols the stone pathways, and you wave to them as you cross the courtyard
I fucked up. Fixed a word. Leave me alone Dad.
That would be kind of cool. I want Soarin to get some love too.
>Secretary mare (you think Fleur called her "Etta" or something?) waves you inside, shuddering at the cold wind
>"Hurry up! You're letting the draft in!"
"Good to see you too, ma'am."
>You head through the winding, polished halls down to Fancy's office, slightly proud of yourself for finally learning the place's layout
>Pulling the familiar door open, however, immediately kills that good mood
>Fancy and Octavia are inside, and between them stands a bulky white stallion, still sporting that same faggy haircut
>Andante sneers at you
>"Well, I guess he remembered to show up after all."
>You glare at him, before turning to Fancy
"Did I miss something?"
>Fancy stands up from behind his desk
>"No. We've just been discussing plans for tomorrow's show."
>All three ponies look at you like you're retarded, but with varying degrees of malice
>"It's Wednesday, Anonymous. You and Octavia perform on Thursdays, remember?"
"Um, yeah. Guess I just kinda lost track of time..."
>And you had a damn good reason; there's ponies trying to kill you, man
>Andante chuckles in the background, and you hear him mutter something
>"Anyway, I'd like you and Octavia to perform some of the new material, as a way to promote the upcoming crossover album. Does that sound agreeable?"
"Of course, yeah."
>You look over to Octavia, hoping for some kind of agreement
>However, she just keeps her eyes trained on Fancy, staying silent
>Fancy addresses her instead
>"Ms. Melody? Is that okay with you?"
>Octavia fidgets with her bowtie, and you think you can see sweat under the fur on her forehead
>Andante steps forward
>"We're not sure if that's what's best for her image as a performer."
>Fancy raises an eyebrow, and you detect a calm anger creeping into him
>"Need I remind you that Ms. Melody is my employee? Therefore, this decision is one for her and me alone."
>Andante grins smugly
>"Okay, Tavi. What's it gonna be?"
>Octavia's still fidgeting with her bowtie, and you can see sweat standing out against her gray fur
>She looks to Andante, Fancy, and then to you
>"I'll... I'll need some more time to choose."
>Judging by the looks on Andante's and Fancy's faces, they're as unhappy with that answer as you are
>"I see. Well, please decide quickly then. We have much to prepare."
>Fancy stands from behind his desk
>"Well then, I'll leave you two to practice."
>Fancy ushers you out, and you can tell he's trying hard to remain polite
>Andante seems to lag behind to purposely annoy him
>When the three of you exit, he strategically positions himself between you and Octavia
>Octavia keeps her eyes trained on the floor the entire way to the practice room
>When you reach the familiar space, Andante wraps a foreleg around her withers, turning his back to you
>You hoped she would shrug him off, but she accepts the embrace neutrally
>It's a small gesture, but it feels like you just got kicked in the balls
>"I'm heading back to the apartment to take care of a little business. Don't be back too late now, okay?"
>Octavia waits a second, and then nods
>Andante pats her head, and turns to leave
>As he passes you, he gives you a brief look of haughty pride
>Clearly, he thinks he just won
>And the worst part is, you're not sure if he's wrong...
>You follow Octavia into the practice room, and the two of you set up your instruments in silence
>She avoids look at you the entire time
>The two of you sit there, neither playing a note, stewing in an agonizing silence
>Finally, Octavia takes it upon herself to break it
>"I'm... I'm sorry about that."
>You cross your arms, and raise an eyebrow at her
>That seems to annoy her
>"Look, this is all so sudden for me, okay. I'm trying to learn to handle having a... having somepony like you with me, and..."
>She tugs at her bowtie again
"You still like him, don't you?"
>Octavia winces at the bluntness of your question
>"I'm... I'm not sure."
>You sigh, feeling your shoulders droop
>Should have known this was all too good to be true
>"This doesn't mean I don't like you, though! It's just... complicated."
"Octavia, what do you see in that stallion?"
>"I... I don't know. He's strong, cunning, and he's always kept close to me, even when other stallions... didn't."
"He also manipulates the hell out of you."
>"He doesn't mean to, Anon. It's just the way Dante is."
"And you're okay with that?"
>Octavia snaps at you
>"I don't know, okay? Since when is this any of your business?"
"It became my business two nights ago. Or was that all a giant lie?"
>"It wasn't a lie!"
>Octavia's voice breaks, and suddenly she sounds close to tears
>"It wasn't. I meant it, Anon. These weeks with you have made me happier than I've been in years, really. But..."
>"Dante's been with me so long, I don't... I don't know what to do."
>She hangs her head
>You sit there in silence, watching Octavia as your brain processes this painful new stream of information
"Well... I think you're going to have to make a choice."
"Mhm. I've made it pretty obvious that I like you, Octavia. You're easily the most captivating mare I've met while I've been here, and I'd really like to get closer to you. If you want that too, then... then I'd be really happy. But if that's not what you want, I need to know."
>Octavia looks concerned
>"Anon? What are you saying?"
"I'm saying it's me or him."
>"I don't think I could do that. Both of you are important to me, really. I don't... I don't want to lose either of you."
"I'm sorry, but I'm not gonna let you shuffle me around with that jackass."
>"He is not a jackass!"
>You raise your hands in mock surrender
"Okay, okay, sorry. But I mean what I said. I've made you my first choice, Tavi. I'm not gonna be your second."
>She hangs her head
"So... what's it gonna be?"
>"I don't know, Anon. I don't know. I can't make a decision like this."
"Only you can, Octavia. Tomorrow, we're either going to play together, or we're not. I'm leaving this up to you."
>Her eyes are watery with tears
>"Okay. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll have my answer."
>Right now, you want nothing more than to embrace the little gray mare, to feel those warm lips again...
>But you can't
>Right now, you have to be strong
"Well... tomorrow, then?"
>You stand, grabbing your guitar case
>She grabs her cello, still in its fancy new wheeled form, and begins to head out
>She halts, and turns
"Either way... even if you make a choice I don't like, I... I won't be mad."
>She smiles sadly at that
>"Thanks, Anon. I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."
>And with that, she's gone
>You wait a few minutes in the practice room, trying to wrap your head around everything
>Everything comes down to tomorrow
>It's a little unpleasant, knowing that Octavia alone will decide what happens between the two of you
>Makes you feel somewhat helpless
>Anyway, you gather your things, and slowly trudge out the door
>Instead of heading straight home, you wander through the Canterlot streets, mind just sort of floating from thought to thought
>You feel numb, though not in a depressed way
>It's as if your brain has accepted that you have no control in this situation, and has removed any of your ability to focus on it
>Tomorrow, you'll know
>You spend a good deal of time wandering, infact, so much so that darkness has already fallen by the time you head back
>You're dimly aware that you don't know this section of the city too well, but that strange numbness has kept you from worrying about it
>However, eventually you manage to conjure enough energy to ask for directions toward your home
>You don't mind the walk
Don't you fucking dare use that name.
>The numbness continues as you cross block after block, only dimly aware of the pain in your thighs and arm
>There's a pony walking towards you down the street
>You can't tell who they are though; a hood covers their face
>You're not terribly worried about mugging in this city, though
>Once they're about twenty feet from you, the pony stops
>Weird, but you're still not terribly worried
>Four more ponies, considerably larger and dressed in darker clothing, emerge from the shadows to fall in behind her
>Okay, now you're a little worried
>You stop in your tracks, staring down the hooded ponies
>The leader steps forward, pulling her hood back
>The streetlight illuminates her features, but you wouldn't need much light to recognize this mare
>She grins at you, as the ponies behind her advance
I hope it does continue, I really was digging it.
Nah she's definitely the Equestrian equivalent of English.
This Anon is right. I had to rebuild my computer over the weekend and I had to compress everything in order for it to fit on my backup drive, apparently this was enough for it to not be detected as a duplicate image which will probably make posting images a nightmare in the future.
That reminds me, I read this one fic that surprisingly made me like Blueblood as a character in a similar way; by adding a whole lot of depth.
Growing Pains, I think it's called.
Those nazi pones are probably just going to give anon a very strongly worded letter telling him to leave town forever, everything will be fine.
Soarin is probably going to save his ass
I'm probably just retarded, but is it Anne as in
Aryanne, the /pol/ incarnate?
It isn't dead yet, or, at least, I'm trying. I've been a real POS lately, but for some reason everytime I try to write, it ends up sounding pretty retarded and I start over. I want to continue it, but lately I feel like I can only push the plot out further instead of making shit happen. I haven't abandoned it, at least not yet. Just having a little trouble.
I love the way you write Octavia by the way. You make her actually have depth. I dunno how long you're planning on making the story, but maybe you could expand a bit on Andante too
Page 7 Bump
spoiler exists for a reason
I'd offer to be bored and depressed with you, but I have to be at work in 10 minutes. So I guess just don't have too little fun without me
So, uh, the story's pretty close to being finished, probably by sometime next week. I've got everything planned out now, and all that's left for me to do is to put it into greentext.
However, the next couple of days are going to be hell for me, and it's likely I won't be able to use 4chan at all. As such, please don't expect any updates after tonight.
I hate to keep you guys waiting, but it's not by choice.
Like I said, I've been poking at it but unfortunately it's not coming along like I expected. I've attempted to restart it a couple of times in the past couple of days, but not feeling it. I'll get back to it eventually, just not really coming up with good ideas right now.
>You enter you house and find this what do you do?
"Anne? What are you doing here? Who are they?"
>The blonde mare shakes her head
>"Anon... you are perhaps ze single stupidest creature I haff met in all my life."
>Her voice is colored by a thick, German accent
>Combined with the hulking ponies behind her, it makes her surprisingly menacing
>The trickle of fear you felt earlier is beginning to grow as she advances on you
"Anne? Is this a joke? Because it's really not that funny. So I'm just gonna, uh..."
>You try to edge around her, but the ponies behind her block your path
>Your hands dig into your pockets, hoping to find something you can use as a weapon
>In your jacket pocket, your right hand closes around the stone
>You knew you had a good reason for keeping it
>"Ve varned you, Anon. All you had to do was listen."
>The trenchcoat ponies have formed a circle around you and Anne now
>"Zis land belongs to pony-kind, and only pony-kind. A creature such as yourself has no place among us."
"Seriously, Anne, what the hell?"
>"Aryanne, monkey. I vill not haff an animal like you disrespecting my name."
"Ary-what? Disrespect? Warned me?"
>The ponies are closing in on you
>Suddenly, the pieces fit together in your panicked mind
"Wait a minute! You're the Trinity?"
>Aryanne nods, an expression of proud self-satisfaction gleaming on her face
>"Of course, you daft beast. Our organization has existed for centuries, protecting ze purity of pony-kind. You are merely on more obstacle in our way."
>A blinding pain explodes in your left knee
>Gasping in pain, you collapse to the ground, and feel a pair of strong forelegs close around your neck
>They begin to tighten, and your arms flail as you struggle for air
>Your right hand still clutches the stone, and you smack it against your assailant's head with a sickening *crack*
>Hollering, he lets go, and you try to scramble to your feet
>Your knee screams in protest, but you manage to get halfway to a standing position before the other jump onto you
>You thrash about wildly, trying to throw them off while maintaining your balance
>It's no easy task, and the ponies rain blows along your back and shoulders
>You collapse to the ground under their weight, trying in vain to hit one of them back
>Your hand manages to get a decent grip on one of your attacker's coats, and you pull him off, tossing him as far from you as you can
>Meanwhile, Aryanne watches the scene with a smug grin on her face
>You reach around and try to grab another pony, but you feel teeth close around your hand instead
>The flat lumps of bone grind against your knuckles, causing your entire body to twitch in agony
>It proves to be too much, and you sink to your knees, the pain in your injured leg so bad you nearly black out
>Your consciousness is growing fuzzy, and it's hard to focus on anything
>The pavement's freezing surface is almost refreshing as your face touches it
>Two pairs of white hooves step into view, and you look up at Aryanne, who now towers over you
>Her grin widens, and she gestures to one of the ponies on your back
>You feel a pony's forelegs close around your neck, and slowly your air is cut off
>Feebly, you try to pry them away, but the grip is like iron, seeming to drag the very life from your body
>This is the end, isn't it?
>The very thought that you're going to die here is so alien, so monumentally strange
>Tavi... you'll never get to hear her answer...
>"Gute Nacht, Anonymous."
>And the world went dark
>The door clicks softly as Octavia opens it, the sound of her hoofsteps echoing in the penthouse
>Her cello bounces slightly as she wheels it inside, the sheer size of the place making the instrument look small, and insignificant
>She tiptoes into the lavish kitchen, brewing herself a cup of tea before moving to sit by the window
>There's a lot to think about
>Outside, a few flakes of snow begin to fall, spiraling slowly down like little frozen pinwheels
>Octavia's always loved the snow, but right now she doesn't feel much like enjoying it
>Tomorrow, she has to cut away one of the two most important ponies in her life
>The question is... which one?
>How can any mare be expected to make a choice like that?
>And why her?
>She's been lonely, friendless, and unpopular her entire life, why should she have to give up one of the only ponies to ever care about her?
>As if on cue, she hears heavy-set hoofsteps coming down the hall towards her
>Octavia swallows a lump in her throat, nervous and terrified of what she must do
>But when Andante steps into the kitchen, even after all these years, she still feels that little schoolgirl squick in her heart
>"Evening, Tavi. You're home early. Did you finally decide to ditch that washed-up fop and his pet?"
>Anger flashes in Octavia's chest, but she doesn't say anything
>It's still hard for her to speak around Andante
"No... Well... I just..."
>There she was, getting tongue-tied in front of him again
>Something about Andante-- his strength, his confidence, his presence-- makes her feel small, and slow
>It's different than with Anonymous
>Anonymous doesn't cast a shadow over her, in fact, he's nowhere near her level as a musician, or as an intellectual
>Being with him, she feels clever, talented, beautiful...
>"Tavi? Don't zone out on me, now."
>He reaches out and touches Octavia's cheek
>She resists the desire to lean into his touch, keeping her eyes trained on the spiraling flakes outside
>Andante's pleasant expression fades, and he stands, circling around behind her
>"What's the matter, Tavi?"
>His hoof trails along the nape of her neck, sending a tiny shiver through her body
bumping for more glorious green
I'm going to flip out if Andante gets Octavia as more than a friend simply because I used to know a guy who acted in a similar way. Anyway keep up the fantastic work you glorious writefriend.
>"You don't need to worry about loyalty to them. I'm already working out a new deal with a promoter far more respectable than Fancy Pants. All he needs to do is see you perform tomorrow."
"I like working for Fancy..."
>Octavia's voice sounds weaker than she hoped it would
>Andante shakes his head, hoof moving back to her cheek
>"I understand, Tavi. But this new deal will be better for you. With this, you'll be headlining shows all across Canterlot. Across all of Equestria, even. You just need to trust in me."
>"But what? Tavi, please don't tell me you feel bad for Fancy and his ape. Even if you could help them, they wouldn't deserve it."
"No, it's not that..."
>"Then what is it?"
>Andante's hoof moves to Octavia's chin, tilting her face up to look him in the eye
>She used to feel she could lose herself in them forever
>What happened to the Andante she knew?
>The gentlemen who was always so kind to her, so close, yet just tantalizingly far enough to drive her to borderline obsession
"It's... it's nothing. I just need a little time to be alone."
>"Hmm. Well, as always, the guest bedroom is yours. Don't stay up too late, now. You need to make sure you're at your best for the performance tonight."
>Octavia nods, dully, turning back to look out the window
>Her tea has cooled by now, so she heats more
>She drinks it more for the heat than anything, and its soothing warmth is more welcome now than ever
>Octavia sighs, staring into the murky depths of her mug
>'Tomorrow, we're either going to play together, or we're not'
>Why couldn't you let things be easy?
>Consciousness returns slowly to you, and you spend what feels like hours only half awake
>You're dimly aware of voices around you, but your muddled brain can't make out the words
>Then you're moving, slowly at first, then quicker
>A black mask is placed over your face, and you briefly feel the frigid air against your skin
>The sudden rush of information overwhelms your enfeebled mind to the point it nearly shuts down again
>But you hold on
>You can't exactly remember why, but you know you have to stay conscious
>There's something really important you need to remember...
>What was it?
>You feel yourself half dragged, half carried across rough pavement, and the sound of a door shutting somewhere
>Wherever you are now, the air is warmer, and your brain begins to calm
>You were captured... and there's someone-- yes, you remember it's a someone-- you need to get back to
>But who are they?
>And how are you going to escape?
>Your hands are bound by a thick rope that chafes your wrists and cuts off the circulation to your fingers
>The dragging continues down a bumpy set of stairs, and you feel yourself tossed against a wall, needles of pain shooting up your leg
>The mask is removed from your face, revealing a white pony standing over you
>Immediately, memories begin rushing back at an almost-painful rate
>She smacks you across the face
>"I told you not to disrespect my name, ape."
"Aryanne, right, Aryanne... where am I?"
>"Ze basement of Canterlot Central Station."
"A train station?"
>"I am not a monster, Anonymous; I never vished you harm. I merely vant your filthy kind out of my beautiful homeland. And zat's exactly vhat I plan to do now."
"Never meant me any harm? But, the box... the broken window..."
>"All simple varnings, vhich you could haff heeded. Yet in ignoring them, you've forced us to take more... drastic measures."
>You gulp, and a cold sweat breaks out across your brow
>That seems to please Aryanne, and she smiles reaching out to pat your head
>"Zere now, don't vorry. Zere are plenty of places outside Equestria for your kind. Zey may not be as grand or beautiful as our land, but you vill be vhere you belong. You should be zanking me."
>Maybe it's your weakened mental state, or maybe it's her surprisingly-haunting German voice, but a part of you wants to believe Aryanne
>If you stop fighting, there won't be any more pain
>And you're hurting so bad right now...
>You don't want to fight
>Just let this nightmare end
>Yet, even as the rest of your mind aches to give in, a part of it continues to scream at you that you're forgetting something
>But no matter how much you wrack your brains, your memory apart from the attack and Aryanne's warnings is a blur
>You struggle limply against your binds, before giving up and settling back against the wall
>"Zere, see? No reason to fight. Just sit back, and try to relax. Your train vill be here in a few hours."
>Aryanne turns and struts out from the basement, gold-blonde tail swishing at her forehooves
Leaving off here. Tomorrow's scenes should be pretty intense, assuming I do them properly. Be ready.
Gah I've never been looking forward to a green text this much before. I'm really hoping for a happy ending but I reckon even if it ends badly it will still be damn good because of the quality of your storytelling. On that note how close to the end are we (if you know) are we close to end end or do we have some way to go?
It's about 80-90% completed.
>Octavia awakes the next morning feeling tense, and divided
>She has less than twelve hours, not even half a day
>And then she'll have to choose…
>Dully, she drags herself from the guest bed of Andante's apartment
>The longer she stays here, the more she realizes that she can't give up Andante
>This place is too familiar, too much a part of her
>Every inch is painted with memories of coming here as a filly, back when Andante was her only friend
>Her only friend…
>How could she give up on her only friend?
>Even if he…
>Anon's words filter unbidden back into her thoughts
>But he doesn't know Andante like she does
>She has to listen to her heart, not to him, right?
>But, no matter how hard she listens, her heart doesn't seem to be telling her much
>Back int the kitchen, Octavia goes through the motions robotically, preparing breakfast for herself
>Andante is no doubt out on business
>She wonders, as she has so many times, what exactly that business entails
>After all these years, he's never told her
>At the table, she feeds herself mechanically, not even tasting the oats as she forces them down her throat
>Can she even perform like this?
>Everything in her feels overstressed and weak, not the honed sharpness she likes to maintain
>After putting her dishes in the sink, Octavia heads into the penthouse's own practice room, where her cello waits for her
>It's much neater than the one at Fancy's, and far more fitting to a musician of her stature and skill
>Yet it feels… empty, somehow
>As she begins the first notes of her warm-up, she can't help but focus on how lonely it is to play along
>Anon may have been a simpleton, and his music reflected that, but his guitar has a friendly, comforting element to it
>It was simple, yet it had a depth, and an innocence to it
>Just like him…
>Without meaning to, she breaks from her warmup, playing as she did with him: freely
>And so she continues as the hours while along, bringing her ever closer to that one, fateful moment
>You can't tell how long it's been by the time you're finally given food
>A different trenchcoat pony, this one with a buzz cut and a strong jaw, tromps down the stairs
>In his unicorn aura he holds a bowl of some greenish mush
>It looks disgusting, but you're too hungry to care
>The pony approaches you and, without even speaking, upends the bowl slightly to your right
>The glop splatters over the stone floor
>Above you, the stallion grins, showing several missing teeth
>"Eat up, monkey boy."
"Eat a dick."
>Your backtalk earns you a swift kick in the shins
>It burns like all hell, but you don't give him the satisfaction of showing any pain
>However, as soon as the stallion's left, you howl like a little girl
>Christ, that hurts
>Combined with the constant ache in your knee, it's almost enough to make you want to black out again
>But you can't, there's that thing, that someone, that you need to get back to
>You're pretty sure they're nearby, wherever you are
>However, first thing's first
>You roll over, and begin scarfing up the green junk
>It's humiliating, but you're going to need your strength if you're to get out of here
>Once you've scraped most of it up, you lean back against the wall, letting it settle in your stomach
>You try to think up a plan of escape, but your brain is still too muddled to process much information
>And so you wait, hour after hour passing by, your mind alternating between fear, boredom, and that all-encompassing desire to escape
>Octavia watches helplessly as the clock ticks toward the time of her performance
>If she only had a few more hours, she could decide
>Just a little more time…
>But time refuses to wait, and so soon Andante's knocking on the practice room door
>Octavia retreats to the guest bedroom-- which has essentially become hers, over the years --to get ready
>She bathes, files her hooves, clips a few stray hairs from her tail, and styles her mane into its familiar, perfect pompadour
>Even without having to think about it, it's easy
>She pauses to admire herself in the mirror, a bad habit she got into as a young mare
>Anonymous realizes how pretty she is…
>If he does, does he even care?
>It's a petty thing to think about, but still, it's nice to feel wanted
>Andante's voice echoes down the hall, calling her from her room
>Octavia's throat seems to close at his voice, and chill creeps across her body
>Andante ushers her calmly out to the carriage, carrying her cello case for her
>If he's at all worried about what choice she'll make, he's not showing it
>His confidence makes her wonder if she even has a choice at all…
>A thunderous rumbling sounds through the basement, sending vibrations through your injured knee, making you cry out
>"Easy, Anonymous. It von't last long."
>The rumbling fades, and you crane your neck to see Aryanne walking toward you, a haughty gleam in her eye
"Aryanne, please. You can't…"
>"I can't do zis? No, Anon, I'm afraid I very much can. And if you can't learn to mind your place, I vill do much worse."
"Mind my place? Who are you to say where I belong?"
>She just laughs at that
>"Who am I? I am Aryanne von Pferdheim, my line stretches back to ze very founding of zis land. My ancestors built zis land, Anonymous, and I vill not see it corrupted."
"Corrupted? Seriously? I haven't done anything! You're the one who goes around breaking people's windows and beating them senseless!"
>Anger flashes across Aryanne's face, and she smacks you across the face
>She's stronger than she looks; it hurts like hell
>Will this torment ever end
>"I've done vhat I haff to to protect my home. You vouldn't understand zat, vould you?"
>She turns her back to you, smacking you with her tail as she does so
>"Hans! Gunther! Get ze guards out of ze way."
>She turns back to you, running a hoof through your hair
>"Let's get zis monkey on board."
>Octavia stares blankly out the window as the cityscape rolls by
>Her thoughts are fractured, and chaotic; memories of Anon, and Andante flash through her head, like flipping through the pages of a book
>Occasionally, she remembers her old village, living with her parents
>What would they think of her now?
>What would they tell her?
>Andante sits next to her, staring straight ahead, the furrows on his brow showing that he's currently deep in thought
>Octavia can only wonder as to what
>Shamefully, she hopes it's her
>The fillyhood fantasy of Andante returning her secret feelings still lurks somewhere in Octavia's mind
>As much as she's tried to forget it, to move forward, she can't
>The carriage jumps slightly as it pulls up in front of Quarter Note's, jostling the ponies inside
>Octavia allows herself to be thrown against Andante, relishing the brief instant in which his coat presses against hers
>Quickly, he pushes her back upright, and climbs out, not saying a word
>She's not surprised by his reaction, but Octavia feels herself sinking deeper into the depression that's plagued her since last night
>Andante doesn't care about her
>It's so obvious, and she knows it
>She's known it for years now, so why can't she accept it?
>She follows along behind him, dragging her cello behind her
>The two of them step inside the building, to be greeted by familiar orange-coated show organizer
>"Ah, Ms. Melody, good to see you've arrived. Where's your partner?"
"Anonymous? Um... I don't know yet."
>"I see. We were told you two were performing together, is that correct?"
>Andante finally turns to look at her, and Octavia feels that dreaded pressure closing in around her
"I'm not sure yet. We'll have to discuss it when he gets here."
>"Oh, I see. Well, please make it snappy. We're expecting a full house tonight, and I want everything to go exactly as planned, understand."
>Octavia's voice sounds lifeless even to her
>The orange-ish mare snorts, and trots away
>Andante just chuckles softly, and walk away, shaking his head
>Octavia's left alone, leaning against her cello case for support
>Maybe, if she could just get a chance to see him, making this decision would be easier
>Or if she could get the two of talk to each other, make them understand, maybe...
>That's just wishful thinking
>Even if she could create a peace between Andante and Anonymous, she would still have to choose one or the other eventually
>Octavia creeps out to the stage, peering from behind the curtain into the audience
>An hour before the show starts, and the place is already packed with ponies
>All there for her, and Anon...
>The idea brings a warm feeling to her chest, even in the midst of all this chaos
>She spies Andante in the back, chatting with a silvery-blue mare
>When she was younger, the sight would have killed her, but now...
>Andante's good with mares, she knows that much; it's one of the things that's kept her attention on him all these years
>Every other mare, though, he throws away
>But not her
>Octavia's the one mare he's kept around, year after year...
>Wait, 'kept around?'
>It sounds almost like she's his pet
>Is that really what she thinks of herself?
>Octavia quickly pulls the curtains shut again, collapsing onto the floor
>Her heart is hammering in her chest, and it feels like the entire club is spinning around her
>Has she really let herself fall this far?
>Slowly, she pulls herself back to her hooves, and staggers back into the dressing room
>She's still just a filly at heart, it seems, chasing after some schoolgirl crush
>Back in the changing room, Octavia goes through the motions of checking her instrument
>The cello's wooden body is as pristine as ever, and her bow is perfectly rosined
>She still has no idea what to play, though
>Anon will no doubt have some crazy new idea for her to show off over, of course
>But still, she'd like to add something of her own to the mix...
>Octavia pulls open her saddlebags, digging around inside for some sheet music
>She finds a few scrolls of notes, and pulls them out
>Just as she's about to close the bag, however, she notices something small and white that was buried beneath the paper
>Reaching in, she removes the object, unfolding it in her hooves
>It's the white lily Anon bought her on that day the two of them spent together
>The flower's a little wrinkled from her bag, but it's been preserved remarkably well
>Tears spring unbidden to Octavia's eyes
>He bought her this just because he liked her
>Just... just because he likes her
>Octavia reaches up, and threads the flower into her mane
>He bought her a flower just because he likes her
>He never demanded that she work for him, or tried to tear her away from anyone
>Anon just liked her
>And so, Octavia made her choice
>Your entire body screams in protest as you're tossed onto the train
>The inside of the car is bare and dark, with no means of escape other than a single wooden door
>In which Aryanne is currently standing
"Anne... please. We were neighbors... I thought we were friends..."
>Your head feels hazy from being tossed around
>I always have room for derpy
Open your orifices wide, we're shoving this in.