Harmony

There was something deeply unsettling about seeing Madrigal anything short of exuberant. It was an incredible relief that it didn’t last. All it took was a mild amount of fashion.

“Mild” was an understatement, given exactly how much attire Viola’s mother truly owned. Octavia still hadn’t quite pinned down the origin of Viola’s fashion sense, borderline regal as it was. It spoke to affluence, and that which was offered to the two Maestras was much the same. Every shimmering fabric and sparkling satin hardly outdid the twinkle in Madrigal’s eyes, resplendent as they were once more. She practically squealed. It was much, much more welcome. By comparison, there was something at least mildly intimidating that came with the realization of one closet costing more than Octavia’s entire life thus far. She almost feared so much as looking at it directly.

If Madrigal had any such qualms, she showed absolutely none. Already, she was fluttering between row after row of styles and garments, fingers kept absolutely anywhere except to herself. “This is incredible! You’re practically like royalty!”

Octavia’s touch was tender and hesitant, by comparison. Fleece was soft. Her skin savored it, trailing one coat delicately. “All of this belongs to your mother?”

Viola shrugged half-heartedly. “She won’t be using it any time soon.”

She’d expected sass, at least. Even a quip about her disoriented reactions would’ve been enough. Instead, Viola was an onlooker, and no attempts to catch her eye were fruitful. Octavia tried thrice over, and each attempt was met only with a turned head and an averted gaze. She tensed.

“We can…really wear whatever we want from here?” she asked, her fingertips still absentmindedly fondling the delicate fabric.

“Yeah,” Viola replied quietly. “I’ll…freshen up and drag some painting or another out of the basement. You two take your time.”

Octavia never got the chance to argue, for how Viola left them in her wake without hesitation. She followed the departing Maestra with her eyes alone, stiffening with discomfort. Given what heavy words had been tossed in her direction minutes prior, Octavia couldn’t particularly blame her. It still didn’t make the sight hurt any less. She sighed.

“How does this one look?”

Madrigal was giving her whiplash, almost. She didn’t exactly hate the energy, although the stark contrast between the two Maestras was almost jarring. Green looked good on her already. Octavia was starting to notice a preferential pattern, endearing as it was.

She smiled. “Beautiful. Goes great with your eyes.”

The Maestra beamed, nearly vibrating with excitement. “Really? Thank you! This is gonna be so fun! I’ve never gotten to dress this fancy before, to be honest. I almost feel like a princess in a--”

She stopped short, her face falling the moment she’d bitten her tongue. Octavia winced.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Madrigal flicked her fingertips against the fraying threads quietly. Her volume matched. “I know that sounds silly, but it…makes me happy. Is that bad?”

Octavia frowned. Her hand settled over Madrigal’s instantly with a tight squeeze in tow. “It’s not bad at all. You’re allowed to be happy. You’re allowed to feel like whatever you want to feel like, princess or not.”

Madrigal shook her head, her curls bouncing along with her. “But Viola said--”

“Viola didn’t mean it,” Octavia interrupted. “Viola was just angry. What she said was wrong, and she definitely doesn't believe the things she said. You’re...fine just the way you are. You’re a wonderful Maestra, too.”

Madrigal’s eyes shimmered dangerously. “You think so?”

Octavia nodded fervently, her braids brushing her cheeks as she did so. “I know it.”

Madrigal blinked heavily several times over. Octavia wasn’t ignorant to the glimmer stemmed behind every motion, particularly given the wobbly smile that settled onto the Maestra’s lips soon after. She did what she could to offer a genuine one of her own.

“I’ll go talk to Viola. You get all fancied up, okay?”

“Mhm,” Madrigal murmured, the soft light tinting her eyes far more welcome by comparison.

Actually getting out of the closet was a trial in and of itself. The entire room was large, and the manor more so still. For a place so empty and vast, it was nearly suffocating. Octavia had been raised in a house infinitely smaller than Viola’s own, and the atmosphere had been nothing short of lively and bountiful at all points in time. This was cold. It was possibly rude to say, let alone think. She couldn’t help it.

Her eyes flickered to every last coat of dust along every last lonely surface for far longer than they should’ve. She’d taken great care to avoid mentioning Viola’s father. She’d never so much as given thought to the Maestra’s mother. Of that, too, she was now afraid to pry. Madrigal was the sole source of warmth in such a dead and isolated room, and sealing her within felt cruel. Octavia liked to imagine her sunshine could be contagious, for what was so desperately necessary. Viola deserved better than this place.

It wasn’t as though she could remember where Viola’s room was in the first place, and it was absolutely her fault for not having explicitly asked. It took her no less than twenty seconds to get lost. It was almost impressive. There was a simultaneous pang of guilt that came with each door she passed, given how lifeless whatever lie beyond was in turn. For a current household of two, this was maddening even from afar.

Octavia made a mental note to ask exactly how four people had once ended up with so much unused space. She made a second mental note to handle a newly-crowned soul of ice with the delicacy and tact it deserved. It probably wasn’t the best time.

“Octavia?”

She almost tripped outright. It definitely wasn’t Viola. His sudden appearance was almost worse, for how he still largely clung to the door overall. Octavia could hardly see him. It was enough to nearly stop her heart.

“God, you scared me. I’m not gonna lie, think I’m lost. I’m…assuming that’s her dad’s room, then?”

Harper smiled. “Yeah. I feel kinda bad about using his clothes, but they’re...really nice. High quality stuff.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow. “So are you gonna let me see you in the high quality stuff, or are you gonna hide behind the door all night?” she teased.

He blushed slightly. “I mean, yeah, I can do that. I’ve just...never worn a suit before.”

The shyness was new. It was endearing, somewhat. “So? I’m sure it looks great! Show me.”

He took his time, his full visage greeting her with an agonizing slowness that nearly made her rush him. He cleaned up excellently. He looked lovely in formal clothing, at that. She made it clear with what playful applause she could. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, his gaze stolen and his brightening blush more than prominent.

“It looks great,” she reassured happily. “Don’t be shy. You look just as good in a suit as you do in regular clothes.”

Harper’s timid eyes flickered to hers for a moment. “You really think so?”

She nodded. “I know so.”

Harper exhaled heavily. “Just...didn’t know what to expect. I thought maybe it wouldn’t be the right kind of thing for me.”

Octavia tilted her head. “It’s just a suit. Didn’t think most guys gave it that much thought.”

He winced. “Yeah, no, you’re…right. Not something most guys do. I guess I’m just a bit self-conscious. I feel like I don’t really deserve to wear stuff like this.”

For as much as it stung simply to hear, she battled to keep her smile. “You deserve to wear nice things, no matter what background you come from. I believe that from the bottom of my heart.”

Harper’s soft eyes met hers in full. She found the smile she was looking for, demure as it was. In the brief moment he opened his mouth to speak, he closed it just as quickly. Instead, it was only a nod that spoke to silent gratitude. It was more than enough.

“I, uh, hate to do this to you,” Octavia added, her voice faltering, “but you wouldn’t have happened to see where Viola went, would you? I kinda…forgot to ask which room was hers.”

Harper chuckled, gesturing accordingly. “You almost had it. Third door down on the right from here.”

“Third door on the right, third door on the right,” Octavia muttered beneath her breath repeatedly. If she lost her way again, his teasing would be the worst possible consequence. “Thanks, I’ll see you in a bit!”

She could hear him laugh as she moved a bit too fast, and that was embarrassing enough in and of itself. Given the way she saw him trail his fingertips along his tie again and again in her wake, she liked to imagine he was satisfied. He deserved it. Dedicated as she was to a different situation entirely, she still brought a smile with her all the way there.

The hesitation she found originated somewhere between facing the Maestra within and ensuring she was in the correct place at all. If she was wrong this time, she was going to scream. She could hardly bring herself to touch the doorknob, and subsequently didn’t--although, in truth, it was largely the discomfort on her shoulders that served as a deterrent. It took effort and a deep breath to engage at all, and she rapped her knuckles against the door apprehensively.

“Viola? You in there?”

She got seconds of silence before she got an answer at all. “Yeah, come in.”

Octavia did as instructed, hesitantly or otherwise. She couldn’t find Viola, at least initially. Her room was practically identical to her mother’s own, and the thought alone was enough to trigger yet the same unease as before. She shook it off as best she could. The closet was much the same, too, and the rustling within was enough of a beacon. It took significant effort to keep her eyes from wandering. This felt invasive, suddenly.

“I…kind of forgot which room was yours. I remember you said we wear the same size, right? And I was supposed to come in here for clothes and stuff?”

“Mhm,” Viola murmured.

Octavia paused. “Thanks again for letting me use your clothes. I’m sorry we kind of just came into your house like this.”

“Don’t be. I offered,” she murmured once more.

“Well, yeah, but still,” Octavia insisted. “I really do appreciate it. The others do, too.”

“Not a problem,” Viola murmured a third time over, distant as it was. Octavia frowned.

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Viola answered, her words taut and sharp.

Invasive or not, Octavia tugged the closet door open regardless. “Viola?”

Viola never once turned around. Even with her back to Octavia deep within, the way by which she brutally wrung the dangling hem of an innocent dress was more than visible. “I’m fine,” she snapped.

“Are you really?” Octavia pressed.

Viola nodded wordlessly.

“Talk to me. Please,” Octavia pleaded.

“About what?” Viola asked, her voice shaking in the slightest.

“About any of this,” Octavia pushed. “The thing with your grandmother, the thing with the Dissonance, anything that’s bothering you. I want you to be able to talk to me about things.”

“I don’t need to,” she insisted, still offering only her back. “I can take care of myself.”

Whether or not Viola could see, Octavia found herself shaking her head anyway. “You don’t have to deal with this alone! That’s the whole point of us being here! Isn’t that why you gathered other Maestros in the first place?”

“Does it really matter if I put other people’s lives in danger?” she finally shouted, nearly sending the dress crashing to the floor. “Does it really matter, if I’m not strong enough to protect myself? If I’m not strong enough to protect anyone else?”

Octavia raised her hands hesitantly. “Vi--”

Her voice wobbled fiercely. “I almost got you killed because of my weakness. When Stradivaria was stolen, I couldn’t help you get it back. I can’t even talk to my own grandmother without getting defensive anymore, and now I hurt Madrigal, who just got done saving our lives.”

“Viola, please--”

When her eyes met Octavia’s at last, they came with reddened cheeks and dried streaks of tears. How long she’d been crying was debatable. Octavia’s heart sank into her stomach, and she let every word in her throat follow in its wake.

“All I do is watch other people get hurt,” Viola nearly whispered. “That’s all I’m good at. Even if I try to avoid it, it just happens. I haven’t even known all of you for a week yet and I’m already putting everyone in danger.”

Octavia’s hands were firmly upon the girl’s shoulders before she’d realized. “That’s not true! You saved my life that night!”

“You saved your own life!” Viola cried back, eyes already glistening once more.

“I would’ve died if you hadn’t told me what to do,” Octavia insisted. The urge to shake her was overpowering. “You’re the one who taught me Maestro stuff. You’re the one who gave me hope again--about my sister, about everything!”

“And what if I’m wrong, huh?” Viola spat. “What if I lead us the wrong way? What if you follow me and we never find your sister?”

The thought absolutely stung. Ignoring it was Hell. “T-Then I’m glad I at least tried! I’m glad I had the chance to try, and it’s a chance I wouldn’t have ever had without you!”

Viola blinked. “But--”

“I know what it’s like to be lonely,” she argued softly. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love more than anything in the world. I know what it’s like to have your whole life torn apart--your whole family torn apart by that loss. I know what it’s like to live with…knowing that if you knew then what you know now, things might’ve turned out different.”

Viola was silent, tears still pricking the edges of her eyes. Octavia pressed.

“But you? You’ve had to deal with that times a thousand, and it’s not right. You’ve fought for answers where others would’ve given up. You fight for what you believe in when others tell you to quit. You know in your heart what you need to do, and you put everything you have into that. I don’t care how long we’ve known each other. I respect that.”

Viola smeared her tears weakly against one shaky palm. “You heard her. She doesn’t think the Dissonance can be stopped. Even with more Maestros by my side, it doesn't matter to her. I really, really thought she'd change her mind. It...didn't mean a thing. I thought she'd believe in me.”

“My parents don’t believe I can find my sister,” Octavia offered. “Why should that stop me? I believe in you, and I believe in the things you believe in--and Madrigal, and Harper. Do you really think they would’ve stuck around for an auction together if they didn’t believe we could achieve something as a team? You really think they wouldn’t have just…left?”

Viola scoffed, wriggling out of Octavia’s grasp. “As if it’s that easy to get Madrigal to give up on something. I mean, she followed us to a completely different city.”

Octavia smiled weakly. “There’s no point in giving up. We’ve only just started.”

Viola embraced silence once more. She threw her eyes upwards, delicately sifting through garments with such focus that Octavia initially believed her to be distressed. Instead, it was with great care that the Maestra presented her with familiar fabrics, lace-lined and azure-tinted as they were. They almost passed for the same. They were splendid, by comparison, if not surely more expensive. Viola averted her eyes.

“This one,” the Maestra muttered, thrusting the dress before her. “I…picked it out for you. It reminds me of what you usually wear, a bit. Thought it’d be nice to see a fancier version. You’d…look good in it, I think.”

Octavia’s eyes widened. She cradled it delicately, fingering the lace experimentally as she did so. “Are you sure I’m not infringing on your style by taking the blue one?” she teased.

Viola shook her head, raising the previously-tortured dress aloft from the floor. “I was thinking about this one. I have a bow that matches. I might have one that matches yours, too, if you want.”

Octavia smiled. “That’s okay. I don’t like taking out my braids if I can help it.”

Viola sighed playfully. “Suit yourself.”

“You good if I change outside? I’ll let you use the closet.”

She nodded. “Fine with me.”

Octavia was beaming in earnest. Black would surely suit her. There was almost an excitement that came with waiting. It was offset more so by the absence of tears, a victory embraced with far more joy--silent or otherwise. Octavia never managed to close the closet door on the way out.

“Wait.”

Her fingers lingered on the doorknob. “What’s up?”

Again, it was Viola’s back alone that she was granted. “I just need to hear you say it. One time.”

“Say…what?” she asked, confused.

Viola paused. “Do you really think we can do this?”

Octavia hardly hesitated. “I know so.”

Viola exhaled. “Then that’s all I need.”

What “it” was hardly mattered. Octavia would’ve agreed, regardless. If it was for her, there was no argument. She’d keep it that way.

Octavia had never worn heels. She absolutely was not starting now, regardless of Madrigal’s pleas as to the contrary. It would’ve made lifting harder, and it would’ve been downright miserable regardless. Either reason would’ve been enough alone.

“It’s not as heavy as I thought it’d be,” she offered.

“I think you’re just really strong,” Harper teased, shifting his weight somewhat beneath the frame. “That, plus you run fast as hell. Anything else I should know about you? You’re putting me to shame, here.”

Octavia blushed. “I-I mean, most kids in Silver Ridge grew up like that. We were all outdoors-y types. I used to help my dad lift stuff in the shop all the time, too. This is actually lighter than most of the things we had to move together.”

It took care to balance the painting upright against the ground. She was grateful when Harper took the brunt of it, for how it would spare her Viola’s wrath if it fell. It wouldn’t be her fault, at least. “I think we’re just a pretty solid team, honestly,” he offered with a grin.

Octavia gave him a smile of her own. She’d stared at the canvas more than she’d intended to, given the context. Viola’s selection was intentional, the subject topical and sensitive. The visage of the violin alone wasn’t enough to make her cry, nor was the unidentified musician who clasped it so gently.

For Priscilla, Viola had clarified softly. That had almost been enough, then.

“I’d say that’s about as musical as we’re gonna get. Do you think we’ll get any money out of it?” Octavia asked.

Viola shrugged. “Probably. My grandfather’s art usually goes for quite a bit. Doesn’t really matter, in this case.”

Harper brushed the dust off his hands as best as was possible. “Should we grab our instruments?”

Viola shook her head fervently. “Absolutely not. Bringing our Harmonial Instruments with us to an event like this is a terrible idea. If we didn’t just outright lose them--literally lost, stolen, anything--we would, at best, risk getting exposed as Maestros. Besides, this absolutely is not the kind of event that’s safe to bring them to. There’s bound to be at least some questionable types in there.”

Octavia’s hands fell to her hips. “Doesn’t that leave us wide open?”

“Open to what?” Viola asked.

“I dunno,” Octavia replied with a shrug of her own. “Dissonance, maybe.”

Viola tapped her foot against the ground. “Bringing them is just as much of a risk as not bringing them. I’m just going to assume that Dissonance isn’t likely to show up in a crowd of people that big.”

She kept her mouth shut, then.

“What’s up with the backpack, anyway?”

Honestly, she had a feeling it would come up eventually.

“I-I mean, we should bring something to bring stuff back with us in, right? In case we, you know…get anything? Bid on stuff? I don’t know,” Octavia stammered.

Viola raised an eyebrow. “You realize there’s other ways of getting things back here, right? Do you think everyone who goes to these kinds of things goes there with…well, that?”

“Well--”

“It doesn’t even match.”

That was fair. Octavia adjusted the straps on her shoulders, the colors strikingly mismatched with her shimmering garments as they were. “Listen, I already brought it out here. It’ll make things easier, I promise.”

Viola stared her down. She stared back, albeit with notably more strain.

“Fine,” the Maestra finally relented, crossing her arms. “Just don’t let anyone mess with whatever you put in there.”

With absolute certainty, above all else, she did not plan to.

Madrigal tilted her head. “How are we getting there, anyway?”

Viola grinned. “You’ll probably like this one.”

It took Octavia a moment to get the point, given how herself and Madrigal shared at least one moment of confusion. For all of the surprises she’d found in Coda thus far, she hadn’t expected to have every last one pinned down quite yet. The clacking came first, the realization came second, and Madrigal’s eyes bursting into stars came third.

The victim of the latter was borderline breathless, actually. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God--”

Harper whistled. “Fancy.”

She’d never actually seen a carriage before. Viola took it with far too much grace, frankly. She outright curtseyed to the rider without a care, and he bowed right back accordingly. Octavia raised an eyebrow.

“Do you do this often? Like, people actually do this?” Octavia hissed quietly.

“Not at all,” she whispered. “I’m not gonna lie, I mostly just wanted to see Madrigal’s face.”

“A pleasure, Miss Vacanti,” the rider offered, straightening up. “Lady Eleanor has informed me that we will be traveling with a party of four this evening.”

Viola nodded, gesturing to the canvas as she spoke. “That’s right. We’ll be bringing this painting with us, as well.”

“Wonderful. Will you require assistance?”

Harper grunted, hooking one foot beneath the frame with care. “No worries, got it!”

Octavia rushed to his side regardless, hands outstretched with a wince to match. “You sure? I can help!”

“It’s fine, seriously,” he dismissed with a smile. “I don’t have to carry it very far. You guys go get settled. It’s gonna be a long night.”

If it fell, it was still on him. She would at least make sure Viola didn’t, gently pulling the girl up and over the steps instead. The latter didn’t resist, sighing softly. “Thanks. It might be a little crowded in here, so I’m sorry in advance.”

Octavia cocked her head. Her words were somewhat more important than the sounds of Madrigal’s utter delight at her side. “Isn’t it just the four of us? There’s enough room for--”

“Four of us plus one,” Harper interrupted, outright raising the frame clear above his head. “Painting’s gonna have to go in there. It’s too big, I’ve got nowhere to put it safely. Could you grab the other end, please?”

Octavia leaned over the railing carefully, struggling not to scratch the canvas along the way. “God, please don’t hurt yourself doing that.”

Viola had a point about the space issue. She really, really hoped the Maestra didn’t mind their proximity. Their knees touched. Their shoulders touched. Everything touched. Still, it could’ve been worse.

Harper swung himself up and over the railing, forgoing the doors altogether. “I mean, how long of a ride are we talking about, here?”

Viola shrugged. “Roughly fifteen minutes, I think. Honestly, I don’t remember for sure.”

Octavia did her best to curb her wiggling, failing almost immediately. The backpack absolutely did not help. “That’s not bad. I think we can deal with the space problem for a bit.”

“Where to, Miss Vacanti?” the rider called, eyes forward and reins in hand.

“The auction house,” she answered firmly. “Front entrance.”

“Certainly.”

One flick of the reins was the only thing severing Octavia from Vacanti Manor entirely. It was daunting, somewhat, given exactly how much of Coda was still shrouded in shadow. Empty or not, she’d at least been growing used to Viola’s abode. The idea of being out in the city at night was mildly intimidating, company or otherwise. She watched it grow further with each passing second.

“Didn’t think this was a real thing. I’ve always wanted to ride in one of these,” Harper said with a smile.

“You and me both,” Madrigal added, still utterly breathless from excitement.

“Okay, let’s go over this again,” Octavia interrupted. “One more time.”

“We’ll take things as they come. If we have to split up, split up. Investigating is our priority,” Viola rattled off. “If we hit any leads at all on anything Maestro-related, we find each other and follow it as far as we can.”

“No telling anybody about Maestro stuff, though, right?” Madrigal asked.

Viola nodded. “Not a soul. Too risky. Like I said, the people who attend these events are not people you want knowing you’ve got something that valuable.”

“Even without our instruments?” Octavia added.

Harper’s eyes flickered to her, briefly. She flinched.

“Even without them,” she repeated. “Honestly, just being a Maestro might be enough to paint a target on your back.”

Harper tilted his head. “What if we see another Maestro, though?”

Viola fell silent for a moment. “On the off-chance that we do get that lucky, just…use discretion. Be really, really careful with who you tell.”

She deserved the harsh look Viola fixed her with, probably. She’d been gambling when she’d met Harper, at least somewhat. It paid off beautifully, and therefore, she did not care. Octavia chuckled.

“And if we get into trouble?” Harper continued.

“Which we probably will,” Octavia muttered.

The elbow to Octavia’s stomach was also deserved, admittedly. She snickered as Viola continued. “If it comes to that, we leave. Simple as that. We’ll regroup somewhere and get out of there.”

The Maestros nodded in tandem. “We’ll be careful,” Octavia said with a soft smile.

Viola sighed regardless. It wasn’t exactly an empty sentiment. Octavia more than planned to be careful, and she assumed the same intent was reiterated threefold. Still, she knew her luck. The trouble comment wasn’t entirely a joke. At this rate, it was becoming a competition, and tonight was an unfortunate chance to enhance her score. She doubted it would take long.