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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
Fighter
Snow muffled the sound of Octavia’s grey hooves as she trudged, head down, through the empty back streets of Canterlot’s eighth district. The drifting snow dimmed the light of windows, Hearth’s Warming decorations, and gas lamps along the sidewalk. But Octavia knew her way by heart.
Octavia rounded a corner and came to a stop. Turning, she peered into the darkened windows of Scrollwork’s shop. She could recall the warm smell of wood and the rhythmic scraping as he worked, carving out violins, guitars, and other instruments. She had become best friends with his rambunctious unicorn granddaughter here. She had earned her cutie mark here. She smiled briefly at the thought before turning away and moving further down the street towards her destination.
Her parents had not been as pleased.
Once, when both of her parents had been home for dinner, she had asked why her teachers never taught her anything about art, music, or literature. Her mother had rolled her eyes while her father set down his tableware and turned to regard her.
“Octavia, when you have a better understanding of the value of more marketable goods you will receive instruction in the appraisal of such things.”
“But Father, I mean I want to learn how to do these things. To paint, to sing, to write… Maybe I’ll find my special talent!”
Her father sighed. “Child, your future lies in finance with your mother and I, not rotting away in some gutter. There is no value in creating art. A musician or an artist does not live by the work of their hooves, even a lowly tradespony at least has that. No, it’s by the grace of their patrons who in turn become enriched through the dissemination of these works and the elevation among their peers. The only value in art is as a commodity: a thing to be owned, bought, or sold.”
The next day she snuck away from her tutors, determined to go to a library and teach herself how to be a great artist, musician, or writer. Or all of them.
Her six year old hooves had not made it very far.
She stared into window in wonder at all the instruments on display. There were violins, bigger violins, and really big violins! And other instruments she didn’t know the name of. And a pair of magenta eyes peering back at her from between two of the largest violins. Octavia gasped and toppled over sideways. The store’s door opened and moments later a pair of small white hooves helped her up.
A unicorn filly smiled at her. “Hi! You okay?”
Over the months and years Octavia kept finding ways to sneak away. She had been caught and scolded many times but she would always find a way to spend time down at the luthier’s shop. She learned how to help test the instruments and loved the pure, clean sounds they could produce, and, after a few years, she was able to play most of them reliably.
The day she decided to tell her parents of her intention to audition for the Canterlot Conservatory of Music had been the day her mark appeared. It had been the day her parents disowned her.
Octavia sat on a bench across the street from her foalhood home, looking up at its darkened windows. She had heard that they had moved away to Trottingham after her engagement was announced but only now, with the empty building before her could she finally feel that last tie to her past slip away. A white limb around her shoulder and a kiss on the cheek shocked her out of her reverie.
“Hi, Tavi. You okay?”
Octavia blinked. “How--”
Vinyl hugged her tighter. “Please. I probably knew you were gonna come here even before you did. So, you okay?”
“I--I don’t know. I wish things had been--I mean, they’re gone. They’re completely gone.”
“Does that matter? Do you regret your life? Do you regret… us?”
Octavia shook her head. “Of course not. But I still miss them. They don’t deserve it but I do.”
“You know who missed you tonight? Me, your quartet, and all your friends at the pagent’s afterparty. You’re a fighter, Tavi, and you’ve earned more of a family than they would have ever given you.”
“You’re right.” Ocatvia stood and brushed snow out of her bangs. “Let’s head back to the party.” She turned, and with her heart full, left the emptiness of her past behind.
Octavia rounded a corner and came to a stop. Turning, she peered into the darkened windows of Scrollwork’s shop. She could recall the warm smell of wood and the rhythmic scraping as he worked, carving out violins, guitars, and other instruments. She had become best friends with his rambunctious unicorn granddaughter here. She had earned her cutie mark here. She smiled briefly at the thought before turning away and moving further down the street towards her destination.
Her parents had not been as pleased.
Once, when both of her parents had been home for dinner, she had asked why her teachers never taught her anything about art, music, or literature. Her mother had rolled her eyes while her father set down his tableware and turned to regard her.
“Octavia, when you have a better understanding of the value of more marketable goods you will receive instruction in the appraisal of such things.”
“But Father, I mean I want to learn how to do these things. To paint, to sing, to write… Maybe I’ll find my special talent!”
Her father sighed. “Child, your future lies in finance with your mother and I, not rotting away in some gutter. There is no value in creating art. A musician or an artist does not live by the work of their hooves, even a lowly tradespony at least has that. No, it’s by the grace of their patrons who in turn become enriched through the dissemination of these works and the elevation among their peers. The only value in art is as a commodity: a thing to be owned, bought, or sold.”
The next day she snuck away from her tutors, determined to go to a library and teach herself how to be a great artist, musician, or writer. Or all of them.
Her six year old hooves had not made it very far.
She stared into window in wonder at all the instruments on display. There were violins, bigger violins, and really big violins! And other instruments she didn’t know the name of. And a pair of magenta eyes peering back at her from between two of the largest violins. Octavia gasped and toppled over sideways. The store’s door opened and moments later a pair of small white hooves helped her up.
A unicorn filly smiled at her. “Hi! You okay?”
Over the months and years Octavia kept finding ways to sneak away. She had been caught and scolded many times but she would always find a way to spend time down at the luthier’s shop. She learned how to help test the instruments and loved the pure, clean sounds they could produce, and, after a few years, she was able to play most of them reliably.
The day she decided to tell her parents of her intention to audition for the Canterlot Conservatory of Music had been the day her mark appeared. It had been the day her parents disowned her.
Octavia sat on a bench across the street from her foalhood home, looking up at its darkened windows. She had heard that they had moved away to Trottingham after her engagement was announced but only now, with the empty building before her could she finally feel that last tie to her past slip away. A white limb around her shoulder and a kiss on the cheek shocked her out of her reverie.
“Hi, Tavi. You okay?”
Octavia blinked. “How--”
Vinyl hugged her tighter. “Please. I probably knew you were gonna come here even before you did. So, you okay?”
“I--I don’t know. I wish things had been--I mean, they’re gone. They’re completely gone.”
“Does that matter? Do you regret your life? Do you regret… us?”
Octavia shook her head. “Of course not. But I still miss them. They don’t deserve it but I do.”
“You know who missed you tonight? Me, your quartet, and all your friends at the pagent’s afterparty. You’re a fighter, Tavi, and you’ve earned more of a family than they would have ever given you.”
“You’re right.” Ocatvia stood and brushed snow out of her bangs. “Let’s head back to the party.” She turned, and with her heart full, left the emptiness of her past behind.