Octavia

The bow glided across the strings of her instrument, the even beats of the metronome keeping the tempo, the soft music filling the room, and flowing serenely out the open window, dispersing into the night air. Octavia played the gentle serenade, eyes closed, memorized notes sliding from her head to her hooves, and the cello sung. She played the final frames, and took her bow to the mostly empty room, answered by a solitary cricket chirping contently to itself. "Oh, what do you know?" Octavia said, "I hardly call what you do music, Beahoovan."

The cricket merely chirped.

Octavia smiled to herself as she returned her prized cello back into its case, then stopped the metronome, replaced the cover with an ornate 'S. Tock' carved in the corner. It was a very well built tempo maintainer.

Octavia collapsed on the couch. She had performed many concerts, played just as many music halls and orchestra pits, but still, before every one she worried about how the audience would respond, that she would make a terrible slip during the performance, that she would be forced to exit the stage followed only by silence. Tonight, with another performance scheduled for the following night, Octavia had the usual spell of stress, and she drifted into fitful sleep.


Octavia stood before her audience, their forms mere silhouettes beyond the bright stage lights bearing down upon her eyes. The house waited patiently. Octavia raised her bow and positioned it. She slid it, and an ear splitting screeched wailed. Octavia winced, and tried again, eliciting a sharper scream. Somepony cleared their throat. Octavia started again, and made it through a bar before a string snapped, followed by its brothers. Tears welled in Octavia's eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm so sorry."

The audience remained silent. No pony spoke. There was no booing. Just cold, uncaring silence. Octavia ran from the stage, biting back tears.


A loud thunderclap ripped her from sleep. "Morning wakeup call!" Soarin announced happily through her open window.

"You ever considered subtlety?" Octavia groaned as she stood up.

"If you don't like my methods, get an alarm clock," Soarin said from his position outside her window.

"What? And deprive myself of seeing your mug every morning?" Octavia said with a cocked eyebrow, "Good idea." She went to the aquarium housing her cricket. "You frightened Beahoovan!" she moaned.

Soarin rubbed his head awkwardly, "Sorry about that, Octavia."

Octavia placed a small amount of food into her pet's home, "It's not me you should be apologizing to!"

Soarin rolled his eyes. "I'm so very sorry, Octavia's bug."

"I meant my neighbors," Octavia clarified.

"Oh play a few notes on your oversized violin and they'll be right back in dreamland," Soarin said, waving a hoof at the cello case.

"It's so nice to have such a cultured friend such as yourself," Octavia replied, heading towards her kitchen, "Can I offer you an apple?"

Soarin entered the apartment, trotting after the cello player. "Yes please," he said, taking an apple from the fruit bowl, chomping it down quickly, "Anyways, it's not my fault I can't appreciate your music. It's just so slow and dull."

"I can't understand the appeal of the Wonderbolts," Octavia retorted between measured bites of her red fruit, "Just a bunch of pegasi showing off and going obscenely fast."

"It's more than that, Octavia," Soarin said, rolling his eyes, "It takes years of practice just to get close to the things we do in the air."

"Give me a pair of wings and a week to get used to them," Octavia challenged.

Soarin shook his head. "Really? You think you'd be able to do this?" He shot off backwards towards the open window. Unfortunately, midflight, he failed to account for one of his hind legs and kicked Octavia's end table, sending it crashing into the wall, leaving a dent punctuated by a glassy crash.

"Soarin! Idiot!" Octavia yelled after him as she galloped towards the destruction to assess. The aquarium was in shatters.

Soarin skidded to a stop outside and reentered. "I'm so sorry, Octavia!" he said, glancing around wildly, then shot after a brown dot in the corner of his eye, "It's okay! I found Beahoovan!"

Octavia gingerly swept up the mess, then let out a stifled yelp. "Oh no, oh no, oh no… not today…"

"What?" Soarin said, genuinely concerned, "Did you cut yourself?"

"My metronome! You busted my metronome!" Octavia was furious.

Soarin carefully put the cricket into a glass before turning to address the problem. "I'm so sorry," he said, trying to calm Hurricane Octavia, "Did you really need it? I mean, surely you'll be fine until you can get it fixed?"

"You…" Octavia took a deep breath, "I have a ritual, okay? Before every performance, I sit backstage, by myself, listening to the metronome for ten minutes. It gives me the tempo!" She began to panic, "How am I going perform? It's going to be terrible! I'll be hideously out of time."

"Don't worry about it, I'll handle it, promise," soarin said as he bolted back out the window, and jetted towards the horizon.

Octavia carefully placed the pieces into a box, made sure to give her cricket food in his temporary home, and went off to solve the crisis herself.


Octavia went to her usual music supply store, but they were out of tempo-keepers, and oblivious as how to repair hers. Two other music stores were similar stories, and a third had grossly inept construction in their models. Octavia racked her brain, "Okay, think, Tavi," she said, "Where else could I…" the solution slammed into her consciousness. "The clock shop!" she said, and galloped to Rani's Time Emporium.


It was a short journey, made shorter by Octavia's haste to achieve her goal. She had only been to the shop once before, to get a time piece for her apartment, but it was hard to miss the large sign on the store. She bucked the door open dramatically. This didn't seem to draw any attention.

"You've got to let me look at the construction of this!"

Rani wasn't looking pleased at the sole other costumer when Octavia stepped inside. "Let you just tear my clock apart? I don't think so, sir."

Octavia galloped to the counter where the two were arguing.

"Fine, how much to purchase it?" The angry customer said.

"I'm going to exercise my right to refuse service," Rani said, "Trade secrets and such."

"Excuse me," the exasperated Octavia said, slamming her box down, "Miss, I was wondering if you could fix my metronome."

Rani gave the box a short, appraising look, "I'm afraid I'm a clockmaker. Not sure where to start with a metronome."

"I might be able to help," the brown-hued stallion next to her suggested. He was ignored.

"Could you at least have a look at it?" Octavia asked the Manehatten clockmaker, "I've got a concert tonight, and I need my metronome."

"Just need a new spring, some wood glue, and tools," mused the spiky-haired customer, "Been looking forward to your concert, by the way."

Rani shook her head sadly, "Sorry, afraid I can't manage it in that time frame."

Octavia collected her box mournfully, "Well, thanks anyways." She sulked out in the fading sunlight.

"I hope the concert doesn't get cancelled," the clock-connoisseur said, and then turned his attention back to his own goals. "I must know how one makes these numbered panels work," he said to Rani, "I could do marvelous things with it!"

"I told you already, go away."

After glancing around briefly, the desperate pony leaned in to whisper, "What if I said I was Doctor Whoof?"

"I'd call you a loony and call the authorities," Rani shut him down.

Sepia Tock gave up and left, mind working on the puzzle he was forcibly left with.


Octavia was in her dressing room, her bow tie in disarray. "What am I going to do, what am I going to do…" A nervous knock echoed on her door. "Come in," Octavia said, staring at her own image in the mirror.

Soarin carefully opened the door, paper bag hanging from his mouth. He waved nervously.

"Oh, it's you," Octavia hissed.

Soarin placed his package down on the counter, "I'm so, so sorry, Octavia. I'll never do it again, I promise."

Octavia sighed, and decided to take the mature route: swallow the anger, and let it fester for a future fallout. "I forgive you. Accidents happen." She placed her head back in her hooves, "But what am I going to do about tonight? It'll be a disaster!"

A ticking began to emanate from the direction Soarin was standing. A new metronome stood beside the bag imprinted with a store logo. "Say what you will about my job, but it trained me to get to places fast," Soarin smirked cockily.

Octavia gave the pegasus a hug and said, "Thank you, so much you cloud-brain." She began to push him out, "Now go away, I have a tempo to pick up."

"See you after the concert, then. Be ready to talk about clocks," Soarin said as he was promptly removed.

Octavia, now alone, sat beside her metronome, corrected her bow, and closed her eyes, listening intently to the beat.

Some called it her best concert yet. Critics raved, a reporter from Symphony Strings Magazine begged for an interview, and Soarin took her and a friend of his out for drinks.

Octavia just smiled to herself. It was a good concert, sure, but then next one will be even better.