Title:           Canterlot Cocktail (WIP)
Author:          LensCap
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/2djFLJeZ
First Edit:      Friday 22nd of August 2014 12:29:20 AM CDT
Last Edit:       Friday 22nd of August 2014 12:29:20 AM CDT

>You are Octavia.
>And you are bored to tears.
>At first, Canterlot seemed like a haven for the arts and intellectualism, high society and class.
>Now you realize it's just full of ponies pretending to be cultured.
>When you first arrived, you were living the dream.
>People loved your work.
>Your fame caught on quickly
>Soon, you were constantly getting invitations to parties and gifts from gentlecolt callers.
>It was exciting, for about a month.
>Then things started to sour, like a neglected carton of milk.
>Ponies would try to talk music with you at soirees.
>You would politely nod and try to humor them at first.
>Inside, you wanted to scream.
>You played the same pieces night after night.
>For the same crowds in the same high-brow restaurants and prestigious clubs.
>And what did they do? They ate it up!
>You could literally play Vivaldi's Winter drunk and they'd still applaud.
>Tonight will be no different.
>You're playing at Rumor, probably the douchiest bar in the entire city.
>It's where 40-something stallions go to compare wallet sizes instead of dick length.
>No, this was no college bar, it was the den of the affluent douche
>And maybe the occasional cougar.
>You trudge up the street with your cello case in tow.
>Let's just get this over with, shall we?
 
>You enter the club and get setup on stage rather quickly.
>As you rosin up your bow, you take a minute to look around the establishment
>The lounge reminds you of some kind of really, really ritzy furniture store
>If a furniture store was setup inside a castle ballroom.
>Clusters of armchairs and sofas dot the room, all weird shapes and sizes.
>You don't understand who would be ready to drop a hundred bits on the cover and a watery martini.
>It's the specimen of tackiness, but ponies call it "avant guard."
>The crowd tonight is the typical faire.
>Little black dresses everywhere.
>You even spot Fleur de Lis, laughing a little too loudly at a stallion's joke.
>Some stallion who isn't Fancy Pants.
>The stink of perfume and cologne strings your nostrils.
>When the chairs are semi full, the lights on the stage dim a little bit.
>The chatter in the room dies down a little and faces are drawn toward you.
>With a noticeable sigh, you begin to let your bow flirt with the strings.
>You waver back and forth, rocking it in robotic fashion across your instrument
>It's Buck's Cello Suite No. 1, Prelude.
>It's not a bad piece, but it's nothing special.
>Every single pony in the room has heard it countless times, they've just never put the name to the piece.
>Immediately several heads in the crowd perk up.
>You can only see their lips moves, but you can tell what they're saying.
>"Oh, I studied this in college." or "This piece was composed on the morning it debuted!"
 
>You continue to stroke the strings idly.
>Your body knows the music, freeing your mind to wander.
>You scan the room lazily, staring back at all the stupid faces watching you.
>It may not be the same exact group of ponies, but you honestly can't tell tonight's audience from last weeks.
>Everyone is puffed up in overpriced suits and necklaces that look like they could give you neck problems.
>You're about to just close your eyes and wait for this to be over.
>Wait.
>In the crowd, way in the back, you see something
>Something that isn't a pony.
>He's a...
>You aren't sure what he is exactly.  
>He's underdressed, technically.
>His suit looks well-worn and his tie hangs clumsily around his neck.
>You're not even sure how he got in like that.
>The little white unicorn next to him seems to have him in the thick of a conversation.
>In fact, they're the only two in the place not looking at you.
>He has a beer in his hand and he takes an occasional sip.
>You realize a few seconds too late that your timing on that last stanza was off.
>Not that anyone in the room noticed.
>You quickly recover and finish the suite, dragging on the strings as the hum from your cello exhausts itself.
>Applause.
 
>You smile politely, even though that was practically your warm up.
>Any music student in their first year could probably pull that off.
>But they clap their hooves giddily, someone even throws a rose onstage.
>Oh, for fuck's sake.
>You fight back the urge to gag.
>You give a shallow curtsy, even though it pains you.
>But your eyes begin wandering to the farthest seats again, curious.
>In the back, you can see the monkey-man and the mare with him rise from their chairs.
>No one really seems to notice him, or care.
>You see him take a long draw on his beer and then toss a few bits on the table, before stumbling to the exit.
>Wait.
>They're leaving?
>You try to get a better look at them, but the crowd is rising in a standing ovation.
>Your view is totally blocked.
>Damn.
>Soon, the two of them are out the door and out of sight, leaving you in a room full of ponies you hate.
>Your face sags a bit and you notice a frown tugging at the corners of your mouth.
>Eh, he probably would have been the same anyway.
>You're not sure why you're being so terribly curious.
>You give your head a little shake, putting the thought out of mind.
>The room has quieted now and the guests all seem to have nestled back into their chairs.
>Reluctantly, you decide to start the next piece and begin to play again.
 
 
>You pack up quickly once you finish your songs for the night.
>A few stallions try to get your attention before you leave, but you manage to duck them by leaving through the backstage.
>It empties out into an alley and you take in a breath of air
>God even the smell of garbage is better than that cloud of obnoxious perfume
>You decide that you could use a drink
>But you weren't going to spend your money on an overpriced cosmopolitan back at Rumor
>With your cello following loyally at your heels, you set off to your favorite bar in Canterlot.
>For the first time that day, you notice a liveliness to your step.
>After winding through a few alleys into the little-known underbelly of the city, you find it.
>Whiskey Priest
>The entrance isn't very flashy, it's just a board with the name and an arrow pointing down a musty staircase.
>You awkwardly clamber down the stairs, careful not to drop your beloved cello.
>The place is seedy, more of a dive bar than anything else.
>But this was your reprieve.
>A place you could hide from the high society ponies.
>All of Canterlot's bullshit was drowned out in here.
>The barstools are all torn, gummy leather.
>And you can't tell if the smell is stale alcohol or dried urine.
>Probably both.
>But the drinks are cheap and that's what you really need right now.
 
>The bar isn't too crowded. You can see a couple of shadowy figures sitting at a booth on the far side of the bar, obscured by the acrid cigarette smoke and the dim lighting.
>Besides them, the only other pony in the bar is the guy who runs the place.
>He's an old stallion, with a whiskery mustache and hair thick as straw.
>Quiet, but you like that.
>Everyone in Canterlot seems to say something when there's nothing to talk about.
>You're glad someone speaks the language of subtlety in this town, even if it is in the armpit of everything.
>He nods at you as you climb up onto a bar stool and lean your case against the varnished wooden countertop.
>By the time you're finished getting comfortable, he's all ready placed a shot down in front of you.
>You've been coming here a bit more frequently than you care to admit
>In fact, you were drinking fairly often nowadays.
>You slosh it down quickly, grimacing and bracing yourself against the counter
>The liquor burns down your throat like gasoline and your nostrils flare at the musky aroma.
>Fortunately, gives way to a calm, warming sensation, like you're sleeping on a beach.
>Oh fuck yeah, that's the stuff.
>Stingy, but better than that shitty clear stuff they keep serving at parties.
>You untie your bowtie, letting it hang around your shoulders like a limp noodle.
>You flick up your hoof to get the bartender's attention
>He readies another shot for you and places it on the counter.
>You're just about to gulp it down when
>The serenity is shattered by a shrill voice from across the bar.
>"Oh, Anonymous, why must you insist on frequenting such boooorish establishments?"
 
 
>It sounds more like a whine than anything else.
>You spin about on your barstool, eyes scanning the room for the source
>Squinting, you peer across the bar to the furthest booth, where the two dark figures are sitting.
>You can make out the outline of a white unicorn pony, with a mane of deep purple.
>Not the sort of pony you'd expect to catch in a place like this.
>She has her front hooves crossed in protest, her nose upturned.
>"I see no reason why we had to depart from Rumor in such haste and end up in this…this…"
>Your ears actually hurt listening to this mare.
>Wait.
>Rumor?
>You recognize this mare.
>She's the white unicorn from earlier, the one that was hiding out in the back with the monkey-thing.
>Sure enough, he's sitting across from her, nursing his high ball glass.
>He's still wearing that cheap suit.
>She props her head up with her hooves, resting them on the table.
>"Have you no taste, Anonymous? I take you on a lavish visit to the Canterlot and you spend it visiting vulgar places like this."
>He doesn't answer his companion, only smiles and continues to sip his drink.
>Her gaze flicks from her friend over to you.
>You spin about on your barstool quickly and slouch over the bar, hoping you weren't caught staring.
>Shit, shit, shit.
 
>The clack of hooves on the concrete floor can be heard
>They rapidly grow louder as you can sense them getting closer.
>You try to make yourself look busy, but there's nothing on the counter but your shot.
>You drink it, but it doesn't make you look occupied for very long.
>The trotting noises grow a bit louder and then stop completely.
>You hear the mare's voice, this time, just feet away.
>"Excuse me, begging your pardon, but would you happen to be Miss Octavia Melody?"
>Turning around again, you notice the white mare standing next to you, her face cocked sideways in curiosity.
"Y-yes?"
>The mare's face lights up and her lips are upturned into a huge, tooth smile
>You know this smile. It's the smile you see every time you introduce yourself at a party.
>It's the kind of smile ponies get when they realize they're about to rub shoulders with someone in Canterlot's high society.
>You came here to drink and get away from this.
>But even hear, the stink of Canterlot's upper class has found you.
>She bows her head as if in reverence before feeding her hoof into yours.
>"Oh, darling it is so lovely to meet a musician such as yourself."
>"My associate," she nods toward the monkey at the booth, "and I heard your performance at Rumor tonight."
>Your arm is growing tired from shaking her hoof and you do your best to summon a fake smile in return.
"Oh? T-thank you."
 
>"It seems you have me at a disadvantage. My name is Rarity."
>Rarity.
>You've heard of this pony before. Some kind of fashion designer.
>Word travelled quickly at Canterlot's get-togethers.
>Even though she came from Ponyville, she was the same exact thing
>Trying to fake her way into the good graces of Canterlot's elite.
>Were it not for her mysterious friend you'd probably be leaving
>You grimace and muster a "Nice to meet you."
>She turns to her side and calls back across the bar.
> "Anonymous, be a dear and come over here, would you?"
>Anonymous.
>What a weird name.
>The monkey dude looks over and rises from the table, slowly
>You catch yourself using your hoof to tuck your hair behind your ears.
>"Anonymous, you're familiar with Miss Melody, yes?"
>He shakes your hoof with his weird-looking paw.
>"'No, actually."
>That one catches you off guard.
>It almost knocks you off your barstool and you have to steady yourself.
>"Anoynmous, she was the one we saw playing earlier, at Rumor."
>The human shrugs. "Sorry, I wasn't really listening."
>The mare quickly reaches and smacks him on the back of the head with her hoof.
 
>"Anon! You're addressing one of the finest musicians in all of Canterlot! Please, for once, show some respect."
>She looks at you and places both of her hooves around one of yours in earnest.
>"Please excuse my human friend. He has a tendency to say things he doesn't mean. You understand."
>Human. Is that what he was called? A human?
>You take a moment to disarm the white mare.
"No, no, it's quite all right. I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it."
>You look over to Anonymous and smile
>The human is rubbing the back of his head, but he smiles back at you.
>You notice you've moved your hair behind your ear again.
>You decide to hold you hooves in your lap and resolve to stop fidgeting
"I hate to be rude, but would you mind if I finished my drink? It's been quite a long evening."
>The mare once again breaks into her high-pitched, sophisticated whining.
>"Oh! Of course, dear. Anonymous and I need to be going, anyway. Thank you so much for your time. We'll simply haaaaave to take in one of your concerts in the very near future."
"I'd like that."
>It's a lie. Well, at least kind of.
>"Come along, Anonymous. Let us give Miss Melody some privacy."
>The human smiles and nods at you as he follows Rarity out the door of the bar. "Later, Miss Octagon."
>The bartender has busied himself by putting another shot in front of you. A double.
>He was apparently listening in. And knew you needed it.
 
>The walk home is spent deep in though.
>The human didn't know who you were.
>Nor was he listening to your music.
>Hell, he didn't even get your fucking name right!
>That was…definitely a first for you. You were unsure how to feel about it.
>Angry? No, it would be sort of silly to think every single resident of Canterlot knew who you were.
>Maybe a little disappointed? No, not everyone had an interest in music.
>Or did it actually feel kind of good not to be fawned over for a change?
>You give your head a shake.
>Ridiculous.
>Pfft. You should just ignore it. So some weird alien isn't interested in your music. Who cares?!
>You climb the stairs of your apartment and get inside, stowing away your cello before taking of your white collar.
>You crawl into your bed and try to get comfortable.
>There's nothing on the schedule tomorrow, fortunately, so maybe you can try to get a few things done.
>Your eyes begin to close, but try as you might, sleep doesn't come any easier.
>The experience at the bar is still on your mind.
>Mainly Anonymous.
>Was he Rarity's coltfriend?
>Well, seeing as how he lives Ponyville, your chances of running into them again are slim
>You turn and toss, as if your bed was suddenly made of rocks.
>But if you do run into them again, well, that could be interesting.
 
>You are Octavia
>And you feel like you've been hit by a train.
>Maybe you had a few too many shots last night.
>You're not sure how many you drank after Rarity and Anonymous left.
>But it feels like a hundred.
>Definitely a hundred.
>You groan and put your head in your hooves.
>At least you aren't playing today.
>You roll over and fumble for the clock on your nightstand.
>In your stupor, you drop it and it rolls onto the floor.
>Fuck!
>Leaning over the bed, you paw at it with your hoof
>1 pm.
>Shit.
>The only thing preventing you from staying in bed for the rest of the day is your obvious appetite.
>You haven't eating anything since last night.
>As if on cue your stomach audibly growls.
>And seeing as how you slept through breakfast, you might as well make yourself some lunch.
>Climbing out of bed, you trot into your kitchen.
>Opening up the fridge, you notice just how scarce the contents are.
>Right now, it's only host to a few condiment bottles and a six pack of beer.
>You close the door and fight the urge to vomit.
>You don't even want to think about alcohol right now.
>No matter, you'll just have to go out for some lunch.
>Back in the bedroom, you decide to give yourself a once over before heading out.
>Your normally pristine mane is a bit messy,
>You brush your hair a bit and put on another collar and bowtie.
>You don't really care enough to make yourself look prim and proper for Canterlot today.
 
>The fresh air does you some good
>The warm afternoon sun is pretty forgiving
>And it's nice not to have to lug your cello around for the day.
>Maybe if there's time after lunch, you'll run a few errands.
>Occasionally you hear ponies whisper your name to their friends as you pass, but you try to ignore it
>Your stomach growls again and you up your pace, hoping to get to where you're going quickly.
>You decide to treat yourself to your favorite little bistro
>You get seated right away, but whether it's because you just got lucky or your reputation did the heavy lifting, you're not sure.
>The waiter pony brings you a glass of ice water, some bread and a menu, leaving you a few minutes to order.
>As you read down the list of the menu's offerings, you lick your lips in anticipation
>You decide upon a nice daisy sandwich and then try to relax while you wait for the waiter to get back.
>The water is helping your hangover a bit and you find yourself buttering the bread, more out of boredom than actual hunger.
>Looking out on the street, you can see ponies trotting to and fro, some like they're on daily errands
>While others look like they're out just to be seen by other ponies.
>You take another sip of water to get the bad taste out of your mouth.
>But above the relative calm of the afternoon, you hear someone shouting from down the street.
>"Anonymous, pleassssssse. The hat store on the other side of town is only open for six more hours!"
>Oh no.
>You recognize that whine.
>You lean over in your chair, trying to get a good look of who is making such a commotion.
>You find your answer pretty quickly.
>Anonymous towers above other ponies, making him sort of easy to spot. He's carrying a few shopping bags in his arms, while Rarity trudges through the Canterlot street, like a guide on a jungle trek.
>You pop your menu back up, covering your face and trying to hide behind it.
 
>Oh god, oh god. Please don't let her see you.
>You take a peak behind the menu, just enough to see what's going on.
>As luck would have it, she and Anonymous stop right next to your table.
>It would appear as if you've been found out, but Rarity doesn't see you.
>She simply stops and pulls a map from her saddlebag, horn aglow in magic.
>Anonymous stops right beside her.
>Your heart feels like it's gained ten pounds.
>You can hear your pulse in your ears.
>Rarity studies the map, cocking her head like a pigeon in trying to decipher it.
>She begins to look around, as if to confirm it's accuracy.
>The menu is so close to your face you can't even read it anymore.
>God, you wish she would just move!
>Just then, your waiter returns to take your order.
>"Have you thought about what you might like to order, Miss Melody?"
>Rarity perks up at the mention of your name and turns around.
>You look at your waiter and shoot him the biggest fucking daggers you possibly can.
>His face twists into one of fear.
>"I'll just give you a few more minutes to decide."
>He scampers off back to the kitchen, cowed.
>You feel someone's arms wrap around your neck, followed by that annoying shrill.
>"OH Octavia darlinnnnnng! It's so good to seeeeee you on such short notice, dear."
>You sigh.
"Hello, Rarity."
 
 
>The white unicorn unhands you and takes a step back.
>Anonymous joins the pair of you a few seconds later, standing quietly.
>From your seated position, you have to crane your head a bit to look him in the face.
>He smiles politely, but says nothing.
>You smile back.
>But this time, it's genuine.
>Probably the first time in weeks you can say that.
>You put the menu down, realizing you have no other choice.
>"Anonymous, aren't we lucky to have run into one of Canterlot's finest performers twice in one week?"
>Other ponies begin to take notice of her enthusiasm.
>You hunch over, as it to make yourself smaller.
>God, why can't she just shut up!
>Anonymous answers her question by shrugging. "I guess."
>That one cut you a little deeper than it should.
>You're sick of other ponies feigning interest in your music.
>Or trying to be friends with you.
>So why does it hurt so bad when now that someone isn't kissing your flank all the time?
>The conversation stops dead in its tracks when you hear a strange sound.
>You and Rarity look around, trying to locate it, but it seems like Anonymous all ready has.
>One of his weird hands is holding his stomach.
>He looks down at his pony companion and p
>"Uh, Rarity, do you mind if we stop for lunch before we hit the next store? I'm hungry."
>The unicorn rolls her eyes at him, revealing that this might be a theme with him.
>Rarity hands him a stack of bits and points him over to a store across the street.
>"If you must. Go get yourself a hayburger or some such. But be quick about it!"
>She's sending him away?
>No! God, can this mare get any worse?
 
>You want to object, but that would look odd.
>So you watch, helplessly, as the human jogs off, soon lost in the throng of pony passersby.
>Turning back to you, Rarity begins to jaw at length.
>You don't really register any of it.
>The one thing that was keeping the conversation remotely interesting is now gone.
>Shaking your head, you try to get it out of your mind
>What was wrong with you?
>What was with all of this sudden interest in someone you barely knew?
>Someone who didn't even like your music?
>Your inner monologue is cut off, however, by Rarity's persistent interrogation.
>"I must say, Miss Melody, your taste are eclectic! I see you in that dump of a saloon last night and now at one of the more stylish restaurants in town. You certainly are a well-traveled mare."
"Thanks."
>Hmm, you do have something you'd like to ask, Rarity, despite the fact she's annoying you.
>You need to go about it carefully, though, lest you invite suspicion to your doorstep.
>You let Rarity drone on for a few more minutes, thinking of a way to extract the information.
>Finally, you think of a subtle way to do it.
"Well, it's good to have fans like you and your coltfriend."
>You point with a hoof across the street, indicating the store Anon went into.
>It almost makes you sick to say it, but you need to know.
>You're not sure why you need to know, you just do.
>Are they an item?
>Going steady?
>Just friends?
>Fuck-buddies?
>Rarity sputters, her face scrunching up in disbelief.
 
>"Miss Melody, I'm flattered you think of me as a fan but Anonymous is NOT my coltfriend."
>She spits out the words like a bad taste in her mouth.
>You can feel your lips turn up ever so slightly in a smile.
>Why does it relieve you so much to hear that?
>Well, at least you know now.
>You're not really even sure why you asked.
>The information, though, could come in handy, you suppose.
>But you continue to probe, making yourself sound as uninformed as possible.  
"Oh, sorry. I assumed you were together."
>She shudders, as if you just suggested she roll in mud.
>"Goodness, no. No, no, no."
>Anonymous suddenly emerges from the crowd again, scarfing down a salted pretzel.
>"Back, what did I miss?"
>Rarity laughs, as if she's about to tell him a really funny joke.
>"Miss Melody here was under the impression you were my coltfriend!"
>Anonymous looks down at you, his eyebrows rising in surprise.
>You fight the urge to grit your teeth.
>She didn't have to call you out like that.
>You're really beginning to hate this mare.
>"No, Rarity's not my marefriend. If she was I'd be broke and probably in an insane asylum."
>HA! But on the other hand, you're starting to like this Anon guy more and more.
>You and Anon share a laugh for a moment.
>But you keep it short, careful not to let it go on too long.
>Rarity's face is beet red, huffing as she gives Anon a pretty harsh slap with her hoof.
>It doesn't seem to hurt him so much as it's annoying.
>"Well, I never! As if I would ever debase myself by courting with a ruffian like you, Anonymous!"
>She turns to you, her smile is gone. It looks like you might have enjoyed that laugh a little too much.
>She looks embarrassed.
>"Well, Miss Melody, we must be going. Lots of shopping left to do today! To the hat store!"
>Her hoof catches the sleeve of Anon's suit and pulls, dragging him off.
>He gives you a little wave as he gets hauled off.
>You wave back until they disappear into the crowd again.
>You only stop waving after you notice your arm hurting.
 
>Your waiter finally returns and you put in your order.
>The poor guy is scared stiff, probably after that dirty look you gave him earlier.
>You feel sort of bad, you'll leave him a nice tip to make up for it.
>But as you eat your lunch, you catch yourself thinking about what just happened.
>True, Anonymous didn't seem that thrilled to see you.
>But on the bright side, he didn't get your name wrong again.
>Seeing Rarity again sort of grated on your nerves unnecessarily.
>But you did find out something kind of important.
>So, there's that.
>You enjoy your food and the nice weather, pondering.
>And smiling.
>For once, you're not feeling so jaded.
>Maybe, with Anon in it, Canterlot isn't the boring place you thought it was.
>Maybe.
 
>Seeing Anonymous at lunch has done wonders for your attitude.
>You woke up today hungover and a bit pissed off.
>Now you feel sort of…optimistic?
>It was only a couple of minutes, but it's enough to put you in a good mood for the rest of the day.
>You set about your daily errands with gusto.
>There's a slight jauntiness in your trot.
>So Rarity and Anonymous weren't dating.
>That was a good thing, right?
>One thing is clear: you want to get to know Anonymous more
>You make a silent note to temper your expectations, though.
>Just because he doesn't hound you like other ponies doesn't mean he's instantly your best friend.
>That doesn't bring your energetic mood down, however.
>For the rest of the afternoon, things seem to click.
>You pick up some rosin for your cello, as well as some groceries for the apartment.
>The library got some new scores in, so you checked them out to study later.
>And the dry cleaner's finished pressing your outfit for the orchestra.
>Finally, you arrive at your last stop of the day.
>Canterlot Symphony Hall
>You'd be playing here in a few weeks.
>Timidly, you approach the entrance.
>There's a pony sitting behind the glass ticket window,
 
>You smirk.
"Hello, Quadrille."
>The face looks up, glum eyes peer back at you through the glass.
>Her eyes blink for a moment before she realizes who you are.
>She slides the magazine closed and off to the side.
>"Oh! Tavi! Sorry, I didn't know it was you."
>You cringe.
>Tavi.
>You hate being called that.
>But Quadrille is your friend, or the closest you have to one in Canterlot, so you let it slide.
>"What brings you here?"
>You paw at the pavement with your hoof, looking down.
"Um, are there still some reserve tickets for performer's families?"
>The mare cocks her head, looking at you quizzically for a moment.
>"Yeah, there are. There are still two in your name. Want them?"
>You nod and Quadrille disappears for a moment behind the glass.
>The sound of a file cabinet opening and slamming shut is her before the mare returns to her seat.
>She slides an envelope through the tray at the bottom of the window.
>You open it to reveal two tickets for the concert you're playing at in two weeks.
>Excellent.
>You slide them carefully into your saddlebag.
>Her voice, tinny and low, sounds through the glass again.
>"Hey, Tavi, mind if I ask what's up? You never take the tickets that are put aside for you. I always hold onto them just in case, but, what the special occasion?"
>You aren't entirely sure how to answer that, so your face does by blushing a bit.
>It's difficult to conceal it on your grayish complexion and soon the color of your cheeks matches your bowtie.
>Quadrille's lips turns up in a smirk.
>"Ohhh. I get it."
 
>You dread what girlish things she's cooking up in her brain.
>Vainly, you try to save face.
"I-it's not like that! They're just for a friend!"
>Damn. Way to sound unconvincing, Octavia.
>Quadrille rolls her eyes, propping herself up on her elbow.
>"Uh huh. Sure. Well, I think it's nice that you're inviting a nice colt to your performance."
"Well, the guest I'm inviting isn't exactly a colt, so…"
>Quadrille's eyes snap open from their dreamy look into one of shock.
>You grimace. You might have just made it worse.
>"Octavia Melody, I had no idea you were into mares. Had I known I could have set you up with a fri-"
>Emphatically, you shake your head.
"No, no. That's not what I meant. This guy I'm inviting, he's…different."
>The mare tilts her head in confusion, but motions for you to continue.
>"Different how?"
>You turn on your hooves, making sure the tickets are still safe in your bag.
"You'll just have to wait and see!"
>Quadrille shouts after you, but behind the glass, it doesn't carry more than a few feet.
>It might have been a little mean to tease her, but it wouldn't do well to make out a cheque you can't cash.
>Hell, Anonymous hasn't even agreed to come yet.
>So you need to take things slow.
>Eventually, you end up back at your apartment.
>The day went by quickly, but considering you woke up so late, that was to be expected.
>You still have a few things to do before you go back to bed, however.
 
>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 carefully slide the two tickets into an envelope, seal it and write Rarity's address on it.
>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 him.
>You scribble a polite note, asking her to bring herself and Anon to Canterlot Symphony Hall on the date of the performance.
>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?
>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 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 can practically hear Rarity's voice ringing in your ears as you read it over.
>Fortunately, it seems like Anonymous is coming with her.
>Good.
>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?