The only enjoyable thing about the Grand Galloping Gala was the jelly.
As ponies waltzed and drank and chatted around him, Hughbert Jellius stood by the buffet and nursed a small container of the stuff. This year was even worse than most, he thought, as he brought the jelly up to his nose and sniffed. Raspberry, a bit on the sweet side, and the texture—he dipped his tongue in—far too rough.
He wrinkled his nose. Hardly any better than name-brand grocery store fare. He'd found better at farmers' markets. Still, free jelly was free jelly. He tilted his cup back and let it slide down his throat. He savored every inch of its passage, his eyes falling closed and his shoulders going slack.
“Is that stallion… drinking jam?” asked a pony behind him.
“Eugh, Jellius,” said another. “Yes, it seems we'll never be rid of him.”
“Is he… ill?” asked the first pony. “Or perhaps from some far off land?”
The second pony scoffed. “No, nothing like that. Just another idiot with disturbing tastes and too much money. Come, let's find another table before my stomach turns.”
Hughbert ignored them as he finished his cup and set it down on the table. He was used to those kinds of comments. He looked around and found himself mostly alone, his neighbours already relocated. He turned back to the buffet, refilled his glass, and found a seat.
The Gala. Year after year, always the same. He licked at his jelly and scowled at the view. Clusters of ponies too rich for their own good, filling the air with noise, occasionally picking at their dry, flavorless food. He had been to funerals less depressing than this. It made him want to return to the buffet and shut out the world like he usually did every year.
A brighter, more pleasant sight caught his eye. Princess Celestia and Princess Twilight standing at the base of the stairs, and Princess Twilight's friends milling around them. Hughbert was reminded of the previous Gala, and he smiled despite himself. The disaster they'd caused had upset him at the time—he had spilled some of the best jelly he had ever tasted all over his jacket—but looking back, he almost wished they would do the same again this year. Then again, Discord was apparently invited, so maybe they wouldn't have to. He had another lick.
Out of the corner of his eye, something bright, green and vaguely gelatinous caught his attention. He turned his head in time to see Discord himself standing in front of a closed door, and a gooey green trail leading up to him. It almost looked like—
He shook himself. Maybe his therapist was right. If he was seeing jelly everywhere, then maybe his hobby was getting out of control. He was starting to have trouble finding stores with enough stock for his purposes, and even more trouble convincing them to sell him every tub at once. Sometimes he felt a bit guilty, depriving other ponies of Equestria's true ambrosia, but he was fairly sure nopony appreciated it nearly as much as he did. And that was the problem.
He looked down at his cup, empty once again. He licked his lips, wondering why he was even there. He had much better jelly at home, and he could enjoy it without weathering the sneers of those less enlightened. He stood and slid his chair back under the table, then turned for the door. He took a few steps, then quickly nipped back over to the buffet. He glanced around, then grabbed a small stack of paper cups and filled them to the brim.
For the road, of course.
The doorpony gave him an odd look when Hughbert went to retrieve his coat. Hughbert stared right back at him, juggling the cups as he struggled into the garment. It only took him a minute or so; he'd done this many times before. Hughbert gave a final nod to the doorpony, then trotted out to the courtyard, past the gate, into Canterlot, and toward his home, polishing off a cup every few blocks.
With each step, he felt better and better about his decision to leave.
It wasn't until the next day, when the newspaper arrived, its front page filled with news of the 'Smooze Incident', that Hughbert realized his mistake.
Fortunately, money came with connections, and with the right connections, a pony could get in touch with just about anypony else.
Hughbert spent most of the next day preparing himself for his first d—no, not a date. His first… outing—in years, arranged courtesy of Discord himself. The less said about that meeting, the better.
He cleaned the rooms adjacent to his front door, recycling a dozen or so jelly tubs of various sizes, and then moved said recycling bin to the side of his house where it couldn't be seen from the front step.
He stared at himself in the mirror, eventually deciding that the bit of fuzz on his chin looked more scruffy than trendy, and found an old razor to shave it off. As he groomed, he thought up some small talk. Jelly was an interesting, diverse, and dense topic, but normal ponies liked to talk about more than just one thing, and he was determined to seem normal for at least one evening.
He searched his wardrobe for an appropriate shirt or jacket, tossing aside his gala suit—too formal—and his old jelly inspecting uniform—why did he even still have that? It took him the better part of an hour to give up. He was sure the Smooze wouldn't mind if he showed up in just his fur. It was just a date, no matter how casual it was meant to—grr, not a date, not a date!
He cursed Discord for putting the word in his brain.
Why had he even agreed to this? He didn't need friends. And he definitely didn't need a coltfriend. Smoozefriend. Whatever. All he needed to be happy was his jelly.
And how did he even know the Smooze was jelly? He could be any number of semi-solids. Green mayonnaise, for example. He gagged at the thought.
There was a knock at the front door. Hughbert nearly dropped his cup, catching it at the last moment before the contents spilled over the edge. He took a breath, set the cup down on his dresser, and headed for the lobby.
He caught one final look at himself in a mirror as he passed a bathroom. He paused, turning and inspecting his coat, making sure that his hair was lying flat. He shook himself. This wasn't a date. Just a nice outing with a new friend.
He strode up to the door purposefully, grabbed the knob, and twisted.
The newspaper had included plenty of pictures of the Smooze, but seeing it in person was one of the strangest experiences of Hughbert's life.
It stood slightly taller than him, and just a bit wider than his barrel. Its green surface flowed perpetually toward the ground where its bulk widened, spreading out to barely the width of a penny before sucking back in toward the Smooze's center. Hughbert could faintly make out the other side of the street through its skin, and that view was further distorted by a number of bubbles floating deeper within.
At a glance, Hughbert guessed that its consistency was closer to gelatin, but the trail of slime leading up the road toward his step suggested that it was much stickier than that. He was intrigued.
The Smooze cocked its head, and Hughbert realized he'd been staring. He stepped back, cleared his throat and said, “H-hey! It's good to, uh, meet you. You're Smooze, right? Or, um, is it the Smooze?”
The world may never know, because whichever it is, the gelatinous creature didn't answer. Its head stayed cocked, and for the first time, Hughbert noticed an indentation in its face that looked like a mouth. A mouth turned up in a smile.
“I guess I'l take that as an 'either works'.” He chuckled, trying to dispel the awkwardness. “Well, since you're here now, shall we get something to eat?” He paused. “Do you eat? Sorry, I'm sure you eat.” He stepped out and closed the door behind him. “I don't really eat out much, but this is Canterlot, so I'm sure we can find someplace nice.”
He led them away from his embarrassingly opulent mansion and toward the other side of lower Canterlot. He'd eaten somewhere around there once with his parents, and he remembered the area being packed full of restaurants. With some luck, maybe he could find one where they hadn't heard of him yet.
“So,” he said as they walked, “you're one of Discord's old friends, right? That must be pretty crazy.”
The Smooze oozed along.
Hughbert glanced over, and for the first time noticed that it was wearing a hat and bowtie. He suddenly felt underdressed. He bit his lip.
“I'm sorry, is Discord an awkward topic? I've just never really met anyone as exotic as you before, and now all I can think of are exotic topics.” He laughed. “You can't get much more exotic than the lord of chaos, am I right?”
The Smooze cocked its head again. Was that a bad thing?
“Heh, anyway, um, yeah! Canterlot! You come here often?”
The Smooze slurped a bit as it passed over a bit of uneven pavement.
Hughbert winced. He decided to take that as a yes. “Yeah, I live here. Gotta say, it's not all it's cracked up to be. But they say that the grass is always juicier on the other side and all.” He frowned. “Grass isn't very juicy though. At least I don't remember it being very juicy. I haven't eaten grass in a long time. I mostly eat jelly nowadays. Along with a number of other things, of course. I don't only eat jelly.”
They crossed an intersection, and a mare across the road took one look at them, screamed, then turned and galloped away.
Hughbert glared at her departing form, then turned back to his new friend.
The Smooze didn't seem to take notice and continued bubbling along.
“You must get that a lot, huh? Not that you should have to put up with ponies like that, but…” Hughbert sighed. “Would you rather not talk? I can shut up if you want.”
The Smooze was silent.
“Yeah, that's probably for the best,” Hughbert said, and followed its example.
It was a pleasant night, the air warm and fresh, and a faint mountain breeze blew every now and then, making the tense, silent walk somewhat bearable. The screams rose and fell with each block, bystanders finally catching their wits only for more to notice them and raise the call. The Smooze didn't seem to mind. Before long, Hughbert had almost convinced himself that they were screaming at his presence, not his friend's.
He chose a normal, unassuming little restaurant, although by Canterlot standards, unassuming meant that nothing on the menu cost less than thirty bits.
A fresh chorus of screams rose and they stepped inside, although these ponies seemed a bit quieter than those outside. Screaming with their inside voices, Hughbert supposed. Nopony galloped out of the restaurant at least.
The Maitre d' was a little grey unicorn with a sharp face and suspicious eyes. When his eyes fell on Hughbert, he wrinkled his nose, then he looked over at his guest and blinked. “The blob? From the Gala?”
“His name is Smooze, actually,” Hughbert said. “Table for two, please.”
The Maitre d's mouth tightened. He nodded and led them toward one side of the room that was mostly empty. As Hughbert squirmed into a chair, the Maitre d' leaned in close and whispered into his ear, “We don't serve jelly here, so if you intend to make a scene, do it now and get out.”
He forced himself not to sneer, and kept his tone level. “Thank you, sir. Could we have some bread and water for the table?”
The unicorn straightened and glanced back over at the Smooze, who was eyeing the place setting with great interest. He cleared his throat and said, “Certainly, sirs.” He spun on his hooves and trotted away. Hughbert had a feeling they wouldn't get any bread or water.
Across the table, the Smooze still seemed intent on the silverware in front of it. It leaned down, opened its mouth wide, and gobbled a knife and two small spoons whole. Hughbert watched as the utensils sank into the green depths of the Smooze's body, becoming less and less visible until they seemed to dissolve entirely.
He gulped. Was the Smooze acidic or something? That wouldn't do at all. Caustic jelly was no good at all for swimming.
“You… um, metal, huh? Or is it silver specifically?” Hughbert asked.
The Smooze leered at a fork.
“Okay, that doesn't really tell me anything.” He bit his lip as the Smooze continued to make slurping sounds, the fork disappearing. It smacked its lips. “I guess I'll find out when we get our orders, huh?” He glanced around, then realized their menus were already sitting in front of them. He really didn't eat out much. “What are you getting?”
The Smooze twisted, becoming taller and thinner in the process, until his mouth was pointed at the table behind them. Hughbert watched in amazement as Smooze stretched out, his lips extending like a pair of tongs, grabbing a paired knife and fork, and retracted, depositing his catch into his mouth. Maybe it was just the strange proportions of his body, but Hughbert thought the Smooze became a little bit bigger as he did.
“Uh,” he said, glancing around to make sure no restaurant staff was looking their way, “I'm sure the food will be out in no time. No need to eat all their cutlery.”
The Smooze belched, and its breath reached right across the table.
It smelled like lime. Subtle lime too, not overbearing like in candy or jello pudding. Hughbert breathed in deep, savoring and evaluating the scent, then realized what he was doing. He sat back and stared down at the table. For the first time, he felt as weird as other ponies thought he was.
For the next half-hour, he tried to start a conversation in vain, but other than the occasional slurp or gurgle, the Smooze was ever silent. After a few failed attempts, Hughbert gave up, instead simply staring—mesmerized—at the gently stirring fluid at the Smooze's center. The ripple of tides, bubbles circling one another, popping, and forming again, the faint glow just beyond its actual contour… After staring for a few seconds, he couldn't look away.
A pony in a dark, clean-pressed suit stopped at the head of their table. He didn't bat an eye before reciting, “Have we decided upon an entrée, gentleponies?”
Hughbert jerked and pawed at his menu. He hadn't even looked at it yet. He scanned the entries with panicked eyes.
“Steamed Jelly and Pine Nut Drippings topped with Pan-fried Strawberry Jelly,” he blurted, his eyes moving far faster than his brain.
The waiter was nonplussed. “Steamed Pumpkin and Pine Nut Drippings topped with Pan-fried Garlic Jerky?” he asked, somehow reciting the entire sentence without a hint of inflection.
Hughbert waved a hoof, glancing over at the Smooze. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”
“And you, sir?” the waiter asked. When the Smooze didn't answer, he tried again. “Er, M'am?” He looked to Hughbert for support.
Hughbert shrugged. “His name is Smooze.”
“Smooze? Your order?”
The Smooze smiled at the waiter, his lips parting just enough to bare his gooey insides, then leaned over the table and snapped up Hughbert's cutlery. He left a thin layer of slime when he straightened.
The waiter blinked, slow and purposeful, then turned and marched toward the kitchen.
Hughbert swallowed. “I think we might be in for some trouble.”
The Smooze gurgled in what sounded like agreement.
Hughbert couldn't help but grin. “I'm starting to think you're more trouble than you're worth,” he said as he brushed a leg over his side of the table, sweeping away the worst of the slime. It clung to his foreleg, soaking his coat. He bit his lip—they were in public—and quickly brushed the goo off on the chair beside him.
He hadn't realized before, but the Smooze's hat and bowtie really helped to define its figure. The way it moved, flowing, shifting, never stopping, reminded him of his own personal ambrosia. Almost a pony, but jelly, the two married in perfect harmony into one being. He fought back familiar stirrings in his stomach. He'd never had a date nearly as compelling.
“My apologies, sir, but I must insist you depart post-haste.”
The Smooze's smile fell in an instant—and for the first time, Hughbert understood exactly what it was feeling.
Hughbert spun, fixing the Maitre d' with wide eyes. He hadn't noticed his approach. “Pardon?” he asked, his dry mouth stumbling over the word.
“And your bill will include the cost of three complete sets of silverware,” the Maitre d' added, sweeping his eyes over their table and its neighbour. “This is a respectable establishment, and your presence is deemed unsuitable. We hope you understand the necessity of—”
“Really?” Hughbert asked. He was suddenly on his hooves, standing in across from the unicorn. Sit down, sit down, screamed his brain. “Well, I'll have you know that I find your service unsuitable!” He took a step forward, and the Maitre d's eyes widened. “How dare you judge us? We aren't bothering anypony, and I am happy to pay for our meals”—he turned and looked at the empty space around his date's seat—“regardless of said meal's contents.” He stomped a hoof, his nostrils flaring. He'd never been so sure of anything in his entire life. “We will stay until our order is filled, and we will pay for every quarter-bit of it!”
The Maitre d' stared at him, his mouth falling open.
Hughbert turned to the Smooze. With a soft, friendly tone, he said, “Don't worry. I know what it's like to be judged for what you are.”
And for a second, Smooze smiled again, big and wide.
Hughbert decided that smile was worth whatever abuse the Maitre d' had in store for him.
“I'm sorry,” Hughbert said as they trudged back toward Upper Canterlot. He trudged, anyway. The Smooze just sort of… smoozed.
“I didn't think they'd actually kick us out,” Hughbert explained. “Impassioned speeches about friendship and stuff are supposed to just, you know, work out.”
Night had fallen while they were inside, and now the stars and moon were the brightest lights in the sky. Hughbert appreciated the ambience. Anything for a momentary escape from social interaction with…
“Sbbblrgggr.”
Hughbert sighed. “I know. But I was sure he'd back down after all that.”
“Phhhhbfteerb.”
“You're right. I… I honestly don't really know what I'm doing.” Hughbert stopped and spun to face Smooze.
“Kkkkkkkleqt?”
“Yeah, I know. I should have been upfront with you. You deserve better.” Hughbert looked both ways, then stepped into the road. “I guess I'm just not used to all this. And I barely even understand what you're saying.”
“Sreiiiiiiiphteerrrrb.”
Hughbert nearly tripped over the curb. “Really? But this has all been such a disaster.” In retrospect, it was strange how he could suddenly understand the slurps and glurps of his date, but in the moment he couldn't question it. "Please don't lie.
The Smooze shnerbled as it gobbled up a stray quarter.
“Haha, yeah, I know what you mean,” Hughbert said, almost breaking into a skip. “Jeez, we've got so much in common.”
Smooze looked at him. Even though it didn't have eyes, Hughbert knew exactly what expression it carried.
“I… really? That seems kinda…” Hughbert trailed off as Smooze whppphllled again. “Come now, he wasn't that rude.”
“Fffffbllrrrt.”
Hughbert's face betrayed him, breaking into a wide smile. “He was, wasn't he!” He threw back his head and laughed, ignoring all the screams around them. “Smooze, you're a real character.”
They traversed the city, winding their way back toward Hughbert Jellius' apartment.
As they turned a corner and stepped onto Hughbert's street, he turned and asked, “Hey, uh, I know tonight's been a bit all over the place, but… I'm still kind of hungry. You?” He waited for a response. “Yeah, me too. Wanna… I dunno. Wanna head back to my place? I normally just do jelly and jelly-based products, but I think I've got some other stuff in my freezer.”
The Smooze smiled. It was smiling before, and it continued to smile after, but Hughbert decided the smile was for him.
“C-Cool. This way,” he said, gesturing forward. “I mean, of course you know the way. You've already been there, but…”
Smooze slithered closer, nearly touching him.
Hughbert's eyes widened as Smooze pressed against him, the perfect texture of slime against skin…
He jerked away, walking on the other side of the side-walk. “Home, yes. Definitely home!” He bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. “I'd love to have you there.” He inhaled. “I mean, have you for dinner. But if you have somewhere else to be, I understand totally. I know I'm not a very appealing pony, and—”
Smooze smoozed closer, pressing against him, its slime covering Hughbert's mouth for a split second.
He sputtered. “Heh, uh,” he gasped, “hehe…”
He stopped in front of his house and gestured. “Again, I totally understand if you've got somewhere to—”
Smooze slid past him, and only quick reflexes saved Hughbert's hoof from being enveloped in Smooze's bulk. He almost wished they hadn't. Hughbert doubled his pace, intent on opening the door for his coltfriend.
“Sorry, Smooze, I probably wasn't really listening to you, but what do you eat again?”
“Gluuurph.”
“Shiny? Really? That seems—oh, no, of course there's nothing wrong with that,” Hughbert said, raising a hoof to his chest. “Trust me, I understand what it's like to have abnormal tastes. In case you haven't gathered, I have something of a pentient for—”
Smoozie pooled on the ground, its hat and bowtie inverting. “Aggglllerphleeeem…”
Hughbert blushed. “It's not all I eat—”
“Tllceeerphhhh.”
“Maybe more than half, but I'd be dead if not for good old hay and carrots,” Hughbert retorted, glaring after it as it slithered up to his door. After a few seconds he smirked, chortled, and trotted up to let them both in. “Don't eat my keys,” he said as he unlocked the door. “They're just aluminum. Probably not even worth a snack.”
He cracked the door open, and Smooze bounded past him, the frame rattling in its wake.
Hughbert shook his head. “Mama always said I'd find somepony even weirder than me,” he muttered as he trotted in after and kicked the door closed behind him.
He got Smooze settled into his granddad's old armchair in the parlor, then darted into the kitchen.
He cracked open the fridge and stuck his head inside, breathing slow, deep, and stressful breaths of the cool air. Find food, cook food, serve food. How hard could it be? What did it matter than he'd barely used a microwave before? If Smooze would eat metal cutlery, it would definitely eat his cooking. He just had to… cook… something…
He raised his head and flicked his eyes from one shelf to another. Jelly, jelly, freezer-burned pizza, expired jelly. He wrinkled his nose. Jelly old enough to pass as marmalade… he stepped back and slammed the door closed. Something, anything. He staggered around his kitchen, opening drawers and tossing cabinets. At this point, he'd settle for canned soup.
There was a slurp from the parlor.
Hughbert froze. He'd left his date all alone, without any refreshments or entertainment. His heart suddenly in his throat, Hughbert turned and grabbed the closest food-shaped item and raced into the hall.
“Sorry, sorry!” he said, pirouetting around his great uncle's intricately carved Zebrican-wood end table. He set whatever he was holding down on a coaster, then straightened and beamed. “While you're, uh, waiting.”
Smooze smiled, but Hughbert could see some uncertainty in it. He looked down and bit back a curse.
He'd brought out an empty bronze goblet. He'd left it out hours ago, before their date, and never used it.
“Sorry again,” he yelped, already scrambling back toward the kitchen. “I'll get you some jelly for that, don't worry.”
This time he didn't allow himself time to be picky. He ripped open the fridge, grabbed the first non-expired tub his eyes landed on, and raced back to the parlor, the tub precariously tucked under one leg.
“Okay, here we—”
He froze. His tongue stopped moving halfway through one word. In another situation, his expression might be mistaken for lewd.
The goblet's foot stuck out from Smooze's mouth like the end of some strange instrument. He watched as his date opened its jaws and tiled its head back, the goblet sliding into the green void. For the first time, Hughbert saw exactly what happened next.
Smooze grew.
He nearly dropped the tub. “You… you get bigger?” he asked, taking an subconscious step forward. “Is that—” He swallowed, bringing a hoof up to dab at his jaw, where a bit of drool had escaped. “Is that what you eat? Metal?”
Smooze actually nodded. It nodded so low that its mouth reached the floor, and it gobbled up some stray bits hidden in the carpet.
Hughbert took a tentative step forward, dropping the tub onto the end table. “You're still hungry, huh?”
“Phsshhhleffr.”
Hughbert bit his lip, then nudged Smooze with a hoof. “Come with me. I've got something to show you.”
He led it through his house, up two stories, and through more doors than any sane pony would deem reasonable. He stopped in front of what at first glance appeared to be a broom closet. The door was short. Almost too short Hughbert himself. Its paint was chipped and spotty, and stray flakes crunched underhoof as they approached. But the hinges shone of polished steel, and when Hughbert bit down on the handle and swung it open, there's wasn't a sound to be heard.
He reached a hoof inside and groped around until his hoof caught a loop of string dangling from the ceiling. He tugged.
The room all but exploded into light, the meager bulb in the ceiling bouncing off hundreds of medals, swords, broaches, boxes, and hundreds of other antiques. They were stacked in rows on shelves reaching up to the ceiling, far higher than the door had hinted. He turned. “Behold! The Jellius family trash-heap.”
Smooze didn't have eyes. Smooze didn't talk. Smooze didn't have a discernible face other than an adorably expressive mouth. But in that moment, Hughbert knew that Smooze was looking at him just like he'd been looking at it just a few hours ago. Enchanted, enraptured, enamored.
Herbert stepped out into the hall, clearing the doorway. “Have at it, Smoozie. It's all yours,” he said.
Smooze rushed forward, its mouth wide and hungry, but it stopped just as it passed, considered him for a moment, then puckered its lips and gave Hughbert a chaste kiss on the chin. Then, without wasting another second, it attacked the room.
Hughbert didn't even have the presence of mind to appreciate the gluttony. He brought a hoof to his chin, tracing over the point of contact. He shivered. Heirloom after heirloom disappeared, Smooze growing with each mouthful. It filled the air with sucking and oozing sounds and the mounting scent of lime.
Every few shelves, Smooze glanced back, as if making sure Hughbert hadn't changed his mind. Each time he nodded, doing all he could to keep his legs from shaking.
Smooze ran out of room to grow in there before it ran out of food. Hughbert had to step back to keep his hooves dry. He squinted into the mass of rippling, welcoming green jelly.
He trembled again. He licked his lips, but his mouth was too dry for it to make a difference.
“I… I know we just met,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “and I understand completely if you don't feel the same, but…”
A wave swept over Smooze's surface, and a ripple of jelly lapped at Hughbert's hoof reassuringly.
“T-Thanks. I needed that.” He cleared his throat. “I'll just come and say it then… Can I t-touch you?”
Smooze rolled toward him, bulging through the doorway and pooling in the hall. Its body covered Hughbert's legs up to the hip.
He gasped, the jelly immediately working its way through his coat and against his skin, caressing every inch of him. Like being hugged from every angle and position at once.
“More.”
His paradise mounted as the Smooze formed up around him, covering him from his toes to his shoulders. As his joints and muscles relaxed, his nerve endings sparked with sensation. Each subtle movement worked the jelly in deeper, and strengthened its grip. It was binding, sticky, and ubquitious, but Hughbert had never felt so free.
“Please,” he whispered, crouching down until the Smooze covered his back and reached toward his neck. “All of it. I need it all.”
The world around him rumbled as Smooze pulled itself together into one mass, towering toward the ceiling and spreading across the hall.
Hughbert screamed as his head was submerged, but Smooze's ooze did a good job muffling the sounds of his pleasure. He writhed. He kicked backward, spinning himself around. He stuck out his tongue, tasking the strong lime musk of his new reality. His hooves quivered. His tail tried to whip, trailing slowly through the jelly like an anchor through water. His eyes strained open wide. He nearly gasped again, and barely caught himself before inhaling a mouthful of goo.
Time started to lose meaning. The world pulsed in rhythm with his own frenzied heartbeat, the heavens rippling with emerald light. A swim in any old tub of jelly was one of the finest pleasures in Equestria, but The Smooze was rapture itself. Hughbert could feel the life in it, and somehow he knew the Smooze could feel the life in him, too.
He shuddered as it mounted to a head, hooves kicking gently. The taste, the sight, the sounds… the feel. It was too much. Tremors faded to twitches which faded to nothing. The green sky darkened around the edges, and the pounding of his heart seemed to come from miles away. His head drooped, the soup around him forming a perfect pillow.
He let go.
The world shattered around him, and he jerked to his senses. He opened his mouth and gasped, his lungs suddenly burning. “W-wha—where…” He looked down, where the his green sanctuary broke around his neck. “Did… how did you know when…” He coughed, clearing a bit of ectoplasmic goo from his throat.
Smooze gurgled happily. Hughbert couldn't see its mouth from where he was. He didn't need to anymore.
He sagged in Smooze's grip, his heart still fluttering. “What does this make us?”
Smooze sucked at the walls in contemplation. “Gggsshhllrrr?” it suggested.
Hughbert chuckled. “I don't know about that. I guess we can stick to 'friends' for now.” He sighed, bringing a hoof to his mane and brushing the worst of the ooze from it.
Smooze rumbled, and a fresh wave of it broke over his head, saturating his mane all over again. He giggled and patted at his friend with a hoof. “Ready for round two already?” He shook his head. “I need a minute, big guy. Why don't we try dinner again? You can fill me in on what happened at the Gala. You just missed me that night, you know?”
He shook free and snickered at the sight of his Smooze-coated legs. He must have looked like almost as much of a monster as the Smooze itself. He led the way back downstairs. He couldn't wait to see where the next few days might lead. This was the start of something beautiful, he was sure.
After all, there was so much more to his new friend than jelly.