![]() Curled up in bed, tossing and turning, shoving multiple pillows over her ears did nothing to curb the pounding, occasionally synthesized beats that emanated through her ceiling. Truly, her playing was beyond compare! At the very least, if she did put herself to sleep she’d get more standing onstage than likely would at night in her apartment.įor the past three months now, Octavia’s sleep patterns were growing more and more erratic. Her music seemed to have that effect on the audience much of the time, it seemed. She was feeling more at peace than she had in a good long time, as if she could drift into slumber right there, playing a gentle lullaby to herself. Oftentimes it seemed the cello played itself, happy to entertain and let its owner’s mind drift into a blissful state where she could ponder freely. It was easy for Octavia to get lost in her own music, especially when playing alone. The gray earth pony stood onstage, dressed exceptionally in her best dress shirt, silk vest, and black trousers, boldly accented by her pink bowtie. They’d rented this particular venue using some of their gala wages and now, on a clear and perfect spring afternoon, an audience of old and young ponies alike was being delighted by the relaxing chords flowing from the strings of Octavia’s instrument as she closed the show with a solo. All four bandmembers, including herself, were more than open to admit they had egos. Octavia couldn’t help but smile at the memory of said discussion. ![]() Frederic Horseshoepin, the leader and pianist, had insisted that they needed to prove themselves and truly demonstrate that classical still “reigned supreme”. (Even as a filly, Octavia was sometimes teased for her love of it.) But today was so very different.ĭespite still getting paid handsomely for their services at the gala, the quartet insisted on holding a free performance solely to make up for the previous events. ![]() It was as if nopony appreciated the refinement of classical music anymore. It was true the Grand Galloping Gala had been an unmitigated disaster for Octavia’s whole ensemble. ‘This could not be a more different environment than the last time I stood on this stage,’ Octavia thought. The audience was for all intents and purposes enraptured at the delicate sounds of Buch’s Cello Suite Number One reverberating off the maroon velvet cushion-lined walls and high ceiling of Ponyville’s small music hall. The performance was going magnificently! Absolutely swimmingly! Octavia Philharmonica closed her violet eyes euphorically as she ran her bow across the freshly tuned strings of her cherished cello. Read the description first, just to know what you're getting into.
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