Two hours later…
Acute voices bounce around in your ears as you hold your head in your hands, elbows propped up against the table. Periodically, vibrations run up your forearms when Genevieve knees the table to the right of you, absolutely hammered in her own right. What started out as a simple drinking challenge to everyone from Gen had turned into a test to see just how many drinks you could down after she tapped out, unable to go on, while you were only just crossing the barrier from tipsy into drunk.
As it just so happened, griffons had a much higher alcohol tolerance than ponies, and that gave Gen a bit of an ego when it came to drinking games. While everyone else had more or less gotten fairly drunk with just one or two glasses, Gen was still going strong, boastful as ever. Meanwhile, you were right there with her, outpacing her by the time you had gotten to your fourth glass. Given that your liver was more adapted to processing alcohol, you’d assumed that you’d be able to match her and then add about half a glass on top of it to claim victory. What you did not expect was for your liver in particular to be an absolute tank of an organ. Glass after glass, you transformed your victory into a crushing ego check.
At last, here you sit, delightfully absent from everything in your life but this table and these people.
A comforting weight against your left side reminds you that Rarity is still there, leaning fully into you, head cradled against your shoulder. She wasn’t wasted like you and Gen were, but she was still somewhat inebriated, which was a rare sight.
“I’m just sayin’,” Gen slurred, knocking the table on accident again. “You need to jump his bones, s- stu- Starry… dude seems like he’s all over you.”
Opening your eyes, you notice Starry, who had stopped after about half a glass, absolutely burning up with embarrassment. Something about a colt she’s into, you think. For the past five minutes or so you’ve just been trying to level out so you don’t embarrass yourself, so rejoining the conversation is a bit jarring.
Your own mindfulness erodes as you try to think of something to say to join the conversation.
“Does this guy…”
One of your hands rests on the table, and you feel it moving even though it’s stationary.
“Does he give obvious signs or is he, like… good at hiding it?
Starry shakes her head. Either that, or she nods; you don’t really care anymore, to be completely honest.
“He, um, used to be really good at stealing glances and sneaking in compliments here and there, but lately it’s been easier to catch him,” Starry explains, grinning simply from the memory of the guy tripping over himself for her.
You gently strike the table in response, eyes wide with epiphany.
“Then you shhhh… should try to talk to ‘em about it.”
Deciding that your head is too heavy, you resolve to lean forward and rest it on the table. To you, it doesn’t matter if it makes it harder for Starry to hear you.
Rarity shifts to lay her head across the back of your shoulder, which puts her muzzle very close to your ear. You can feel the heated breath heaving through her nostrils, her heavily tipsy state taking its toll.
“Trust me, Starry, you… ya don’t wanna leave it be, ya know? You just think about it forever and it fffffffffucking suuuucks.”
A hoof finds its way into your side, causing you to scrunch your torso in reaction.
“Language, darling,” Rarity instructs, the proximity of her words causing you to shudder.
“Ow. I’m sorry, hon.”
A startlingly quick realization of what you just said nearly rips your brain in half as it races to the forefront of your mind. Despite the thirteen glasses of alcohol, you are as sober as a judge. Involuntary, all your muscles tense and you freeze; the mistake slips through your expression for but a moment before you return it to neutral.
She isn’t reacting, though. In fact, she hasn’t even flinched. You pray to God above that she just didn’t notice or something.
“He has a good point, though,” Rarity continues, picking her head up to more clearly converse with Starry. “The back-and-forth game is fun to play, but only to a fault. At some point, it’s best to just get it all out in the open and see how your potential partner feels.”
“She’s right,” Weaver chimes in as she sets her glass of water down. “Believe it or not, that’s how my husband and I ended up together. Both of us had been playing hard to get, and one night, we both just got tired of it and confessed. Been with that goofball for going on twenty five years now…”
Everyone at the tables goes “awww.” You try to as well, but your mouth is currently contorted by the table that your cheek is laying on.
“Chase your stallion, Starry,” Serene dictates, more drunk than everyone except for you and Gen. “A broken heart is mendable rather quickly, but a longing heart will always wonder what could have been.”
You pick your head off of the table and sit back up, leaning into the leather-backed seat.
Truer words, Anon.
“Hey, you… you’ve gotta teach me how to speak that poetically under the influence, Serene. I feel like an idiot right now.”
He laughs heartily, rocking back from the heaving convulsion.
“Perhaps one day when we meet again, Anon,” he replies with an air of sincerity that isn’t lost on you. “I’m still keen to read a manuscript from you, you know.”
You smirk heavily, color rushing to your cheeks as you bat a hand at him that comes crashing down into your lap.
“Told ya that was just a hobby of mine, it’s nothin’ to get worked up about.”
Rarity scoots closer, pressing into your side with enough force to halt your downplaying.
“Dear, as somepony who’s probably read over a thousand novels in her lifetime - most of them romance, but that’s besides the point - I can say with confidence that the ‘short little nothings’ you sometimes leave around the boutique often match the passion that I put into my own work.”
Serene points a hoof at her, looking at you with an expression of ‘I told you so.’”
“See? She agrees with me.”
You relent, briefly looking down at Rarity with the faintest hint of adoration in your eyes before returning your gaze to Serene.
“I guess we’ll be in touch, then.”
A satisfied look crawls across his face as you take a sip from your glass of water.
“I’ll have Starry set up a regular method of correspondence for us,” he says, gesturing to his assistant.
Rarity, who’s still pressed against your side, suddenly tenses up and looks around the room for something.
“Oh dear,” she begins, sounding worried. “Is there a clock anywhere nearby? Anon and I have to catch the train back to Ponyville tomorrow at noon, and I don’t feel like dealing with sleep deprivation on top of a hangover; it makes my curls sag.”
Weaver angles her head to an odd degree, looking at the top of the pillar at the circular bar’s center where a clock resides.
“Don’t worry,” she begins, doing her best to soothe your unsettled fashionista. “It’s only 11:28. If you get up at 9, you still have plenty of time to get back and relax before you get some rest.”
Rarity heaves a sigh of relief, resting a hoof on your leg.
“Good heavens, I was seriously worried for a second there,” she breathes, visibly de-stressing.
She casts her gaze at you, and in your drunken state, you would describe her expression as caring.
“We’ll probably leave now, if that’s the case,” she says. “He’s going to be fighting a nasty hangover in the morning, so we need all the time we can get.”
She caps off the sentence with a throaty chuckle, rubbing your arm with her hoof. The motion is so relaxing that you almost shut your eyes then and there, but you hold out for her sake. You didn’t want her to have to drag some half-conscious idiot back to your hotel.
“In that case, it was an absolute pleasure meeting the two of you,” Serene states, shaking hooves - and hands - with both of you. “I do so look forward to seeing the two of you again! I’ll keep in touch via mail until then.”
You point a finger at him jokingly, winking for effect.
“You better, Serene. I’m looking forward to it.”
Starry waves at the two of you, which you return in delight. You hope she snags that stallion she’s after, they deserve each other.
“I’ll walk you both out,” Weaver offers, sliding out of the booth. “Gen? Are you going to… oh.”
A short glance to your right reveals that Gen’s head is lolled back, beak wide open. The gentle, rhythmic rising and falling of her chest is all you need to discern that she’s fast asleep, and probably has been for the past few minutes. Poor chick sowed the wind and reaped the whirlwind.
“Ah, just let her know we said we’d see her later; I don’t wanna wake her up.”
Weaver nods as she helps Rarity out of her seat. On shuffling out, her initial stance is a bit wobbly; she’s likely more tipsy than she thought she was when she was sitting down.
It does not bode well for you who, despite regaining some semblance of proper speech, is still properly plastered. You begin your seat-wide journey slowly as you scoot to the edge. Other than a little dizziness, you feel somewhat decent. So far, so good.
That is, until your ass leaves the chair, and the world tilts sideways. You clutch the table for support, and somehow, it helps you stay upright amidst the nauseous chaos. Rarity even reaches out with her magic to give you support, which gives you the rigidity you need to right yourself properly.
Taking your first step away from the table is precarious, but with the next one, walking begins to feel normal, if a bit labored. You breathe deeply, looking down at the two concerned mares gawking up at you.
“I’m… good to walk, I’m pretty sure.”
They both look like they don’t believe you, but Rarity retracts her magic nonetheless.
Waving one last time to Serene and Starry, the three of you start to leave through the door you came in from.
Before you get too far away from the table, you can just barely make out Serene’s voice above the crowd.
“Sweet Celestia, he needs to just ask her out already.”
“Thank you so much for inviting us here, Weaver,” Rarity says gratefully. “I think I speak for both of us when I say we had an amazing time!”
“It’s my pleasure,” Weaver reciprocates, flashing a toothy grin at both of you. “You fit in quite amicably with us, and it was a genuine joy to get to know the two of you. I’m sure we’ll all be sending gilded letters back and forth soon enough!”
A round of laughter rings throughout the empty hall, and if joy was palpable, it would fill the space to bursting.
“I hope we all see each other again soon. I’m not sure how busy you guys are, but I bet it’s safe to assume it’ll be a while?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Weaver admits, a small sigh escaping her nostrils. “For the next few months, I’ll be inundated with important projects, but that can’t stop me from sending letters, now can it?”
You offer a smile to the mare who returns it gingerly before glancing at a clock on the nearest wall.
“Well,” she continues, pawing the ground with her hoof. “I suppose I should let the two of you go before it gets any later. I certainly wouldn’t want to be the cause of a sleepless night.”
You wave her worries off, still feeling very wobbly from all of the alcohol so it comes across as you just kind of flailing your arm.
“Don’t sweat it, Weaver. You have a good rest of your night, alright?”
“I certainly will,” she replies, toothily grinning at the both of you. “Ta-ta for now, you two!”
With a wave of her hoof, she glides back into the otherworldly club, music becoming muted as the door seals itself shut, marking the end of your escapade. To your side, you hear Rarity shuffle as she looks up at you.
“Well, you look like you’re still having fun, aren’t you?” She prods, playing at your nigh-drunken stupor. “Come to think of it, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you quite this intoxicated before.”
You begin your pathetic stumble toward the elevator doors, the length of the hallway feeling more like five hundred miles instead of fifteen feet. You weakly hold onto Rarity to steady yourself, but you can feel the world swaying around you, irrespective of your simple wish to be sober again.
“Being hammered can be fun-“
A slight bump in the rug threatens to trip you, but Rarity catches you with both her magic and her body as she leans into you diagonally to support your weight.
“-but I don’t think I’m ever drinking like this again.”
She fills the empty air with a brief, steady hum after your stumble. Rather than a melody, it’s a single, drawn out note of contentment that vibrates through your torso; a serenade for the soul. A delicate silence hangs over the both of you as every word you could think to muster catches in your throat.
Really, what is there to say? Whatever your drunken mind could come up with would spoil the moment. You hold your tongue, preserving the gentle peace as you head into the elevator, guided by Rarity’s weight against you.
You’re not sure why, but even if you scarcely remember anything tomorrow, you’re going to remember this moment.
Rarity presses the ground floor button before you can realize you’ve just been standing against the wall, staring into space.
“Sorry, rares…”
“It’s quite alright, dear,” she replies, chuckling as she comes to be by your side. “A lady knows how to take charge every now and then.”
You shuffle a bit, leaning more into the wall of the elevator. Relinquishing the responsibility of having weight was nice.
“No, no, well I mean, yeah, but…”
A heavy sigh escapes your lips. A frown takes hold of your features as you look right at Rarity, who’s already meeting your gaze before your head turns.
“I’m sorry I let myself get so drunk. This was supposed to be your night, and I got carried away, and I didn’t mean to, you know, use your achievement as an excuse to get shitfaced…”
Once again, your eyes become glued to the wall. She catches you off guard, pressing into you just as the elevator starts to descend.
“First of all-”
A hoof assertively pokes into your side, and you crumple sideways slightly in response.
“-Language. Second of all, this was your night, too. I don’t care whether or not they deemed you a plus-one, you had every right to be here with me, and I won’t hear another word about it.”
A few moments pass as your lackadaisical gaze turns to deep thought. You turn to find Rarity still staring up at you, a stern expression in place of her usual elegant smile. After a wave of nausea from simply turning, you sit next to her and manage to squeak out a coherent sentence.
“You really mean that?”
“Anonymous,” she begins, almost flabbergasted, “why do you think we were invited here in the first place?”
You scratch your chin for a moment, genuinely unsure in your intoxicated state.
“It’s because Weaver was impressed with your ensemble at the show, wasn’t it?”
“Partially,” Rarity replies. “She thought my designs were of exceptional quality, yes, but my designs alone weren’t what spurred her to connect with us.”
You feel her hoof press into your side again, albeit much more gently this time.
“She wasn’t completely sold on my ideas until /you/ walked down that runway.”
You barely even have time to register her implication before she continues.
“If you hadn’t been my final model, Weaver never would have reached out to us after the show.”
You turn to face her fully, a dumb smile plastered all over your face. She meets you in kind with her own far more composed grin.
“So thank you, Anon. There’s nopony I’d rather have as my partner.”
Where words failed before, even your mind cuts short of functioning now. You try to think of something witty to say, but it’s fruitless, and your gaze stays locked with hers. Eventually, her smile drops slightly, and a noticeable blush fades into existence as tangible moments pass between the two of you. A rising heat in your cheeks lets you know that the same is more than likely happening to you.
As the tension reaches a snapping point, the elevator shudders, catching the both of you off guard. A resounding chime of a bell indicates that you’ve reached the ground floor, and you can’t help but feel disappointed as you both straighten yourselves out before standing up.
As the door opens, your unusually forward mind won’t let you just move on without addressing what just happened. Mama ‘non didn’t raise no bitch.
“You really are a natural flirt, aren’t you?”
You can hear the smile on your face. Also audible is Rarity’s almost comedic sputtering, which draws out a hardy laugh of your own.
The walk back to the hotel is painted with carefree laughter from both of you.