The Manehattan Grand Concert Hall: A wonderful piece of architecture dedicated to sheltering hundreds at a time as they listen to music and munch on cheap snacks sold at the entrance. Here I stood on the center of the stage, looking out at the applauding audience, with cello and bow in my hooves and a pink bowtie around my neck.
Next to me was my accomplice: an aspiring violinist and unicorn named Vincenza. She had a long, well groomed, shiny electric and neon-blue-colored mane and tail, and magenta eyes that stood out well against her clean, perfectly white fur. She was wearing a simple black and white tuxedo and blue cravat at the time. Anypony, from a first glance, would have easily came to the conclusion that she was one of the most refined and civil mares of Manehattan.
After we bowed, we walked through the velvet-red curtains, entering the backstage area. Waiting to greet us was an earth-pony stallion and a smaller unicorn mare. The stallion—Noteworthy—was almost entirely blue; his fur being a calm blueberry and his mane and tail a shade of navy. Even his cutiemark, two sets of backward bridged-eighth notes, matched the same color as his mane. The only things not blue about him were his yellow irises and proud smile. The shorter mare beside him—Lyra—wore an equally big grin. She had mint-colored fur, a baby-blue mane, deep goldenrod eyes, and a golden lyre cutiemark.
Lyra's smile spread further across her face, causing her eyes and muzzle to scrunch up and her ears to stand up with glee. "You ready for a totally rocking night?" she asked enthusiastically.
After any of our performances, whether it was major or minor, Lyra would often bring Vincenza and me to some club or restaurant to celebrate. Often it involved alcoholic beverages, something I am not very fond of honestly. I am what some may call a lightweight. I usually get hopelessly intoxicated whenever I drink even a mere glass of wine.
"Whatever, filly. As long as I've got an excuse to take off this stuffy suit and drink cheap beer until I drop—" Vincenza said. She undressed herself entirely, and magically lifted a pair of purple sunglasses out from one of the pockets of her dinner jacket. She laid the glasses over her eyes, and finished, "—I'm not complaining."
I rolled my pupils. It was typical of Vincenza to use the wrong words for things. "It is not a suit, Vincenza."
"Oh yeah, Tavy?" Vincenza frowned, "Hey, wait a moment! I told you not to call me that! We went over this already!" She stared at me for a long second before slamming her eyes shut and loudly stomping a back hoof. She groaned, "Ugh…. You drive me insane! In the bad way! Do you have any idea how much alcohol I'll have to drown myself in because of that?"
"Vinyl, like not to be mean or anything, but I won't drag you back to Mrs. Arpeggio drunk again," Lyra stated.
"Aww c'mon, why not?"
"She's still angry at me because of last time."
"I could take her off your hooves," Noteworthy offered. My brother was always the caring type—he always went out of his way to help ponies, whether he had just met them or had known them for quite a long time. Up until this point, he had never met Vincenza—apologies—Vinyl, yet he still offered to haul her intoxicated and mindless flank home.
"Really? Thank you so much! Hey, Tavi, your brother is awesome! You should totally kiss him! Right on the lips!" Vinyl said.
"Absolutely not," my eyebrows dipped in disgust. Do you see what I mean by mindless now? How dare she suggest such a thing!
"Please? Technically speaking, he's not related to you, so it shouldn't be that big of a deal. C'mon, kiss him already!" She winked.
"It is still weird! He's my brother! Also I do not 'swing that way,' as you fillies say."
"Looks like you actually do have a chance with her, Vinyl!" Lyra jested.
My face twisted into a mock scowl. "A jobless pony with strabismus has more of a chance than her," I said. Vinyl and Lyra flinched. I understand why the former would do so, but why the latter? Often the lyrist would find something like that to be funny, even hilarious, but why not now?
"Dang, well at least it was worth a shot…."
"Lyra, you are not a good matchmaker," both Vinyl and I said.
Noteworthy interjected to ask, "Um…girls, are we going or not?" We nodded.
It was loud. It was very loud. The only word I have for it would be supersonic. The place was packed full of shouting, talking, whispering; guffawing, giggling, laughing; drunken and uninhibited fools. In the middle of it all was Miss Scratch. Vinyl was leading a group of ponies, including Noteworthy, into a game of drunken Duck Duck Goose in the center of the establishment.
Of course I had been spending my time in a more polite manner: sitting at a table, alone, with a glass of water in front of me. That changed when Lyra had returned with one of her friends: A curly pink and blue-maned, sapphire-eyed, cream-colored pony named Sweetie Drops. Lyra dubbed her "Bon-Bon," though.
Bon-Bon was a nice pony but at times could become hard to manage, which was why I was soon alone once more, sitting outside the building, breathing in the cool, calming night air as if I was drinking an elixir. Any uncertainty in my mind fluttered away like a butterfly in a very quiet hurricane. Any worry I had was crushed by the strong winds of the storm. My calmness survived however, holding out in the eye of the hurricane, looking up at the sunlight in awe. She was completely unaware of the walls of flying debris around her, and thought to herself "Today is a wonderful, beautiful day."
Miss Calm was not the only survivor though. She had been accompanied by Miss Deep Thought, who had asked her "What is worth more: free will, action and thought, or guaranteed success of a predetermined outcome?" It was then that Miss Calm stumbled out of shock and was thrown around by the winds of the hurricane. Curse my brain.
Often I found myself contemplating questions similar to this. This question in particular always came back though, and never left with an answer, unlike all of the others. It would always be rephrased, but the meaning was always the same: is it better to have a destiny or to be without one? Of course I was not anywhere near finding the answer; I did not try to answer it, and if I did I had no idea where to start.
"I can help you answer it," a childish voice reverberated around my entire head and sent a chill down my spine and into the ground underneath my hooves. "Just let me untie you," she said.
"Who are you? What are you?" I asked.
A bright-purple filly with swirled, messy white and mulberry mane and tail appeared out of thin air in front of me. Her swirled purple eyes were slanted so that one pointed downwards and the other upwards. "My name is of little importance," she stated. "Now, let me untie you."
I looked around and said "And where did you come from?"
"Where I come from is of little importance." She stared at me blankly.
"What do you mean by untie?"
"You might not see them, but I do: tiny little strings that dictate every movement, every statement, everything. Octavia, time does not flow nor does it split like a river. Anything that has happened, is happening, and will happen has already been predetermined by my father, by his strings. I can free you. You will be able to finally answer that question of yours."
"Are you ridiculous? You are expecting me to believe some crazy, random filly who literally appeared out of nowhere, will not tell me her name nor her origin, and uses weird, cryptic language. And how do you know my name? Never mind that, I'm probably crazy myself!" I exclaimed. I walked inside to leave the filly in the streets. Obviously I had been hallucinating or something. It was a good thing I was at a bar. I could drink my insanity away.
I stated my wish to the bartender: "Give me the hardest brandy you have."
