Alsesta Grandeur laid down her spoon on the napkin next to her. She didn’t wipe her mouth, she didn’t have to. She was a grown mare who knew how to eat. She had just made her way through a three-course meal at The Tasty Treat Too in Ponyville, having been invited there by the owner, a certain Mrs. Saffron Masala. Alsesta didn't have to look at the restaurant owner in question to know that the unicorn was looking straight at her. She felt it in her neck right now and had so felt for most of her meal. She had once or twice considered asking her to stop, but decided against it. It wouldn't change anything. The muleicorn sighed. Yes, she knew exactly what look the owner had on her face, and she didn't like it. At all. There were many ways ponies looked at her in a restaurant. But this was the worst.
It wasn't a long stretch to call Alsesta Grandeur a misanthrope. Her faith in ponykind as a whole was low; in single ponies even lower. Yet, it would be far from reasonable to call her an elitist or some kind of besserwisser. Her acquaintances from culinary school had to admit that, as uncomfortable as it was being in the same room as her and as harsh and unsmooth she was, it was hard to say that she was wrong. About food, anyway.
Now, as a misanthrope with something of a troubled childhood (“It hasn't made me start drinking to excess or writing porn so stop bothering me about it, Fransie!”), one would think that she would hate a smug, superior attitude and condescending look above everything. That was not true. She didn't really like it, but a smug, know-it-all attitude, at least in a chef, showed the world that "I can do this." It implied a long background in culinary school, a couple of years abroad, some experience of being a bullied intern... in short, the holder of that attitude knew how to walk the walk. The ones who only talked the talk didn't last long.
Alsesta’s view of life was simple. If only ponies would do what they were good at doing and just skip doing what they loved, the world would be a much better place. She was not a marksist, by far! A cutie mark was at best a guide: a tip in the right direction, and at worst a blemish in a color that didn't match the fur. However, too many ponies took that belief to far, insisting that doing what you loved was a sufficient reason to do it for a living.
And that was why the worst look came from those who looked at her hopefully. With glittering eyes, waiting to know if "you really liked it." Those who hadn't met teachers with stomachs of lead who didn't budge from criticism. Those who never had their craft matched against others in the ferocious hunt for good grades. Those who hadn't spent a few years on the floor learning the ropes, which were impossible to learn without humiliation.
“If I really liked it…” bitch, please!
Alsesta Grandeur reached for her pen. Time for the second part of her work. She knew what to expect when she would deliver her verdict. And she frowned. It would take a couple of extra minutes. Probably five, even seven if she was unlucky. It wasn't that she couldn't afford to spend the time, but the concept of wasting time on pure unnecessities annoyed her very much. Fransie used to say “it's not as if jo have better zings to do, engel.” But Fransie didn't understand. That was not relevant: if she didn't want to waste time, she shouldn't have to either. Even if the alternative was doing nothing, nothing was still better than a useless waste of time. Ah well, better get this over with.
She glanced at the mostly untouched cup of what the restaurant dared to call coffee and turned around. She found the owner pretty much right in her face, staring like a child.
"Ehrm... Mrs. Masala. You were...standing right behind me I see. Well, sit down. There are things I need to address at once.”
Saffron Masala looked up at her, eyes bright with want. "Yes, Miss Grandeur?"
"It's actually Missus. But it's only been a fortnight, so I will not hold that against you. Now, I usually let ponies wait until I publish my review, but now and then I realise there is a need for a few direct comments."
"Yes?"
Alsesta blinked. There was eagerness and expectation in the mare’s voice. And her eyes had that childish glow. Alsesta had to fight herself not to facepalm. “Sweet Celestia,” she thought to herself, “has this mare not even A HUNCH about this...?Apparently not. Well then, that makes my job much more important.”
Alsesta cleared her throath and sorted her papers. Details were crucial.
"Yes..." She hesitated. The straight and direct delivery was usually the best approach but... She had considered bringing somepony else along this time. Fransie(♡) was her first choice, but the photographer had been called back to Manehattan on a project. That left Lyra... BonBon had no idea about food. Candies and desserts, yes, but taste was more than balancing sweetness. There was no chocolate bar with the flavor of steamed clams with garlic for a reason. Yes, THAT dinner had been interesting... anyway, in the end Alsesta went alone. The review was not to be contaminated by a lay-pony's opinions. But there still was that lingering thought in the back of her head...
"Yes." She repeated again, "To begin with the positive. The rice was excellently cooked and served. I take it you use salt from the Dragon Sea. Good choice." She paused. Mrs Masala seemed to want to say “and…?” But no words came, and the smaller mare began to look uneasy. Alsesta gave her a glance, and changed a grammatical error in her notes. "So…” Alsesta continued after making the correction, “Well, just per curiosity, I have to mention this... I see that you have Eshoofieés book Cooking with Great Taste on the wall."
The unicorn mare brightened. "Yes! It's actually a first edition!"
"I see. That explains a few things."
"Oh? Such as...?"
"Well, why you haven't read it, since you obviously want to keep it in mint condition. I think I am safe to say that if you had indeed read it... this dinner would have been drastically different and half the dishes on the menu would not have existed at all. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves…” Mrs Masala seemed to have a protest on her lips, but Alsesta didn’t give her time to answer.
"Now for the rest. The tablecloth is slightly dirty. I prefer to read a menu to gain knowledge about today's special, not by looking at what the previous guest had. The lights are rather dim overall and you should do something about the vents." She turned her head, looking at Mrs Masala, for the first time expecting an answer.
"I... want the customers to stay in an air of food."
"I see. Well, even then, the air of food should be fresh air. Makes the tikka masala taste better too. Very wise of you to take it off the heater, if it were to cook for too long it would be destroyed.”
"You... can actually smell that?" Mrs Masala had indeed taken the stew off the oven just before she came in.
"Actually, it was a 50/50-guess. What I said about the importance of air was no joke. Now, the food. For drinks I asked for water, not to confuse the tastebuds. Therefore I know nothing about your assortment of alcoholic beverages or soft drinks, though that huge blue, white and red sign over the bar is probably telling the truth. So, the starters. Pani Puri. Now, the puris themselves were too thick, which made them doughy. The potatoes were not cooked enough. The onions were ok, but that was that. And with that you serve me Rumali Roti, and they were dry. While there are tons of tricks chefs use to make old bread taste like new, you didn't use any one of them. That would be a plus if the bread hadn’t been as dry as sandpaper left out in the sun for a week. So... excuse me, can I have a good cup of coffee?"
“You have a cup.” Mrs. Masala couldn’t help pointing at the cup standing on the table, filled to about ¾ with coffee. Alsesta hmpfed.
“Please, not the stuff you serve. The good stuff that you keep for the staff.”
Saffron blinked. Was she really...? "Eh... yes. Of course."
"Thank you. Black, please."
Saffron walked to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee and returned. Mrs. Grandeur had not changed her face a bit. The muleicorn took the cup and drank. "Hmm.. a mazbout. Interesting. If you would have served me this originally, there would have been two things I could have counted as good. Now, for the main dish. The rice I have mentioned. For the rechado masala fish... no. Too many spices. Way too many spices, all battling each other for dominance. I had to search long and hard to actually taste the fish. It was overcooked.”
"But it is supposed to be..."
"Spicy, yes. But you should still feel you are eating fish. Not that you are emptying a can of spices into your mouth. I have eaten this type of dish...fifteen times I believe. This is the first time it has looked like this. One of fourteen. I do not think the issue lies with me having visited the wrong restaurants. Also, the hay and spinach salad... Let's put it this way: take it off the menu. Now."
The muleicorn took another sip of her coffee while she sorted through her notes. Saffron Masala tried to stop her lips from trembling. It was not that hard; she was starting to feel something completely different, something much more heated. Alsesta Grandeur had found the page she was looking for and turned back to her host.
"So, dessert. The Gulab Jamun: now this depends on the way you choose to cook it... is it deep fried?"
"Well, of course."
"Thank you. I wasn't sure. So, after frying them you are supposed to roll them in sweet syrup. These have been drowned. The fried texture is gone, leaving an unpleasant taste of boiled flour and dry milk. Not to mention the ice cream. There were ice crystals in it."
The way Alsesta lay down her pen was implied to say “Re-frozen ice cream in a restaurant? REALLY? That's for grannies.” The younger mare didn't understand the gesture. She was too busy becoming more and more angry. The childlike glow was swiftly draining from Saffron’s countenance. "This is exactly how my father makes his food! He has owned and operated a restaurant since he was young! And...”
"Then I am sorry to tell you that your father is a fool."
Saffron Masala stared gobsmacked at her guest. She had been prepared to possibly defend herself but not on this kind of level! This... DONKEY! had been nothing but rude to her since she came in and Saffron was not having any more of it.
"Mrs. Grandeur! I will have you know that these recipes have run in my family for generations! I myself have run the Tasty Treat since I was seventeen! The Tasty Treat Too is my life, my legacy! This is my dream! This is the family heritage! And here you come, spitting at my dream, my heritage, you...you...llama!"
Alsesta curled her lip slightly, but otherwise she didn't seem bothered.
"Mrs. Masala. It is not that I question your passion for cooking. It is right in my face actually. What I am questioning is your ability to do it."
Saffron put her hand down on the table, causing a slight rumble in the plates. "My food is cooked with love!"
"Yes, well, food needs more than love. Correct ingredients, knowing what taste marries what, correct textures... This piece of hay is raw for example. It is very seldom supposed to be raw outside of a field."
Saffron splayed her arms and clenched her teeth. "It is not, it has been poached!"
"No it has not. It has no taste of being poached."
"Does poaching give it a taste?"
This was the first time Alsesta reacted. Her eyes got smaller and there was a slight hint of genuine contempt in her voice. "...You did not just ask me that question, did you?"
The unicorn met her look with an equally angry face. "It's still tastes like hay."
For a while, the two mares stared at each other, not moving a muscle. But in the end, Saffron lost the staring competition as she stuttered out:
"I mean... it's hay! Hay tastes like hay! And why are we even talking about the hay! We should talk about the aubergine, the squash, the red pepper... the stuff that tastes!"
"Even hay deserves to taste."
"Well, next time perhaps you should tell me how you want your hay prepared then?" Saffron replied with a hand on her hip.
Alsesta rose from her chair and breathed heavily through her nose in response. "It. Is. Not. My. Job. To. Teach. You. How. To. COOK! I am here to review your restaurant. And before you get the chance to say it, yes I know there is no such thing as the perfect restaurant! For Luna's sake, I am a critic! I know there is always room for improvement, development and more salt. I know better than anypony that tastes change as fashion does. But there's still some kind of basic level. A simple number of things you should expect from a place calling itself a restaurant. You, Mrs. Masala, you and your establishment do not even reach THAT level!"
Saffron waved her hand in the air and rolled her eyes. "Oh! That's rich, coming from a DONKEY! The old donkeys I know from home carried water and rubble! What do YOU even know about Calcolttan food?"
Alsesta wasn't thrown back. Instead she replied, calm as a breeze.
"So, Mrs. Masala. Is that how you want to play this? You believe a racial insult will improve your case against me? Very well, PONY. If I have to prove myself to you, fine. To the kitchen!"
But halfway, she turned. "But just so you know. Next time you try to make someone feel shitty about their genes, use the right species. I'm a mule."
***
Saffron Masala found the one chair in the whole kitchen that wasn’t stained and slumped down on it. Not only did this donkey spit on her and her dream, she also made a decent Calcolttan dish. Aloo Tikki was not a difficult dish, and yet… Sha handled everything with the utmost care, treating the spices with respect and diligence, and focused 100% on every part of the process. And they tasted pretty much like Gran made them, except perhaps… leaner. Saffron had only taken one bite, but it was not the taste that stopped her from eating. And to add to the blow, the skinny donkey began to speak again.
"Now, mind you, Mrs. Masala, that this is also the single dish that I dare to do free hand. I have to much respect for Sandian chefs and the Sandian kitchen to even pretend I can make “Sandian food.” But that is not really the point, you see, this:" She indicated her plate, "This is what you should expect when going to a restaurant. Well-cooked, good taste, best ingredients. However, to make a sloppy vindaloo and throw in some curry, which is basically what you do...well, if you want to be a street vendor in the rougher parts of Little Calcoltta, be my guest. But this is a restaurant, at least according to your terminology.”
"I... I..."
"You are married. You have, I believe, a foal?”
“Two foals.”
“Right,” said Alsesta. “If I may so suggest, cook for your family. You say you love to cook. I say, keep that love to a restricted area."
Saffron Masala tried to gather her strength one more time and spoke. "But a lot of ponies enjoy a home cooked meal! That is simply what I am trying to give them!"
Mrs. Grandeur looked as emotionless as ever. "Ah. That is an interesting misconception. Really, Mrs. Masala, why would any pony go out to have a home-cooked meal? They can get that at home, and that is probably part of the reason why they are going out to. This is not a home. This is a restaurant: an establishment where ponies go to get other ponies to cook for them. They pay you for doing this. At the end of the day... that's it. There is no love to feel. Love..." Alsesta seemed to shudder just by saying the word. "Love is a significant ingredient, but that requires some kind of connection between the chef and the eater. If you are visiting a friend’s home, if you have dinner with your family, your lo...signi... other half, or whatever kind of relationship you are pursuing, you will enjoy the meal much more. If you serve what I just had to your partner..."
"Wife."
"I know. I prefer to speak in broad terms, that way nopony is left out. Anyway, at the end of the day, ponies pay you to cook for them. They don't care about love, they care about a good meal. So that’s the bottom line of my review. This food belongs in a kitchen, but not this kind of kitchen. I suggest that you let this silly dream die and figure out something more useful to do with your remaining years. Good day, Mrs. Masala. The review will be printed some time next week."
Alsesta washed her hands, took off her apron and walked out of the kitchen. In the doorway, she almost crashed into a tall, muscular earth pony mare with a striped purple mane that shouted "edgy". They both gave each other an annoyed stare, and then a light of recognition lit in both ponies’ eyes, which gave way to a mutual dislike. The earth pony’s name was Plaid Stripes, and this was the second time she and Alsesta had crossed ways. Plaid was the first to speak.
"What da buck are you doing here?"
Alsesta didn't even give her an inch. "I am working. What are YOU doing here?"
"I’m Saffrons wife!"
Alsesta looked at Plaid in silence, then at her clothes, her hooves and then at the kitchen. "...Figures." And then she left. Plaid Stripes looked after her and spat in her direction. Then she remembered where she was and instantly cleaned the spot where it had landed. And then in that moment she realised something. “Zesty Gourmand” had been here WORKING. Plaid ran through the kitchen, finding her wife in the same chair as before. The unicorn was silent, but the tears flowed down her cheeks like rain from Cloudsdale in April.
Plaid kneeled in front of her wife and put her hand on her shoulder. "Saffi, babe, what is it? What did she say to you?"
Saffron didn't answer. She turned her head away, but Plaid took her chin and gently turned her head towards her. The smaller mare still was silent, and the tears kept flowing. "Saffi? ...Did she do this to ya?"
Saffron didn't answer, truth was, she was still too upset to answer. She had heard her wife, of course, and she also noticed the look in her eyes. She loved Plaid’s bright magenta eyes...she liked to say they were as deep as the sea at sunrise...and now she noticed how they had turned dark. Saffron felt the weight of Plaid’s hand disappear from her shoulder, and she heard fast and determined steps leave the kitchen.
Saffron knew what was going to happen. A very small part of her was screaming "Go! Give it to her! Kill her!" But that was a very small part, because Saffron was not that kind of mare. She lifted her head, and looked in the direction where her wife had disappeared. She opened her mouth and murmured, "Plaid... no... Please..."
But even if Plaid had indeed heard the low plea, she wouldn't have listened anyway.
The earth pony caught up with Alsesta at the entrance, as the latter had just put on her coat. She grabbed Alsesta by the shoulder and spun her around.
“You!”
Alsesta freed herself. “Don’t touch me.” Plaid pointed her finger right into Alsesta’s muzzle. “Shut up! What gives ya the right to treat other ponies like shit?”
“I…”
“You come here, being all high and mighty, thinking you know best and all! Well, let me tell ya, sister! This ain’t your show!”
“Actually, it is. Perhaps you missed it, but it was your wife who asked me to come here and…”
“That’s just making it worse! She invited you! She asked you, and you, you just…”
“She wanted me to do a review. And trust me, I treat all the places I review with the same respect.”
“The heck you do! I have read your reviews, Zesty Grandeur or whatever your real name is! You take the piss outta any place you visit. What do you know about food? Really? You just sit there with your flashy name, and your flashy column and your flashy family and think you know it all, don’tcha? Perhaps it’s time that somepony stood up to you and your trash talk! ” Plaid took one heavy step closer and grabbed Alsesta by the collar. A hint of something darker passed Alsesta’s eyes, but she only narrowed them.
“Don’t. call. me. Zesty. And let. go. of my. coat.”
“Oh yeah? You gonna make me, ZESTY?”
Alsesta didn’t answer. Instead she put her hands in between Plaid’s and pushed them aside, forcing the powerful mare to loosen her grip. Then she gave Plaid a hard shove in the chest, causing her to stumble backwards and fall over a chair, landing on the floor.
“Mrs. Stripes. Even if you don’t agree, I assure you that I demand the same of all businesses I visit: to always do their best in the name of cuisine. The fact that your wife’s best is on par with a standard housewife is not my problem. If you want to dance with the big shots, you need to learn the steps. I take it that you help her? Well, another dash of advice: tell her to hire somepony who actually knows cooking. You want people to come here? That’s not the ideal line of work for a bouncer. Good day.”
Zesty turned around and placed her hand on the door. She didn’t get that far though.
“RAAAAHHH!” Plaid was upon her in an instant, once again grabbing her by her shoulder and pushing her up against the wall. She raised her fist, aiming straight for Alsesta’s muzzle, but the target managed to duck. Plaid’s heavy fist grazed the older mare’s ear, barely drawing blood. A second blow struck truer: this time plowing into Alsesta’s side. It was pretty much a perfect hit, but to Plaid’s surprise the opponent simply blinked before catching the earth pony’s hand with her own. The bony old arm was stronger than she expected. The situation was locked when Alsesta thrust her face close to Plaid’s, her long muleicon horn pressing dangerously against the younger mare’s temple.
“Is this the way you deal with criticism, Mrs. Stripes? Stereotypical earth pony violence? Well, your opinion is duly noted.”
Plaid stared into the other mare’s eyes. There was but one feeling she could trace in them, annoyance. Extreme annoyance. Was this mare really made of stone? Was she so completely dead inside that she didn’t even…
“I suggest you go and take care of your wife, as I assume she is sad. Perhaps that is the wiser way to handle this situation.”
Plaid reluctantly let go of Alsesta and turned around. Alsesta corrected her coat, and went for the door. “Oh, and please inform your wife that I will not let this incident change my review.”
“You… you… you…”
“Good day, Mrs. Stripes.”
As Alsesta left the restaurant, Plaid’s tall frame all but blocked the light from the doorway. “You are never welcome here. Ever again. Do you hear me? Never!”
“Mrs. Stripes. That statement implies that I would want to come back here. Good day.”
Alsesta heard the door slam shut, and she began to walk with a faster stride. But as soon she turned the corner, she instantly doubled over, and vomited. That blow had landed far harder than she wanted that uncouth pony to know. And that wannabe chef calling her... In a flash, it all came roaring back from her younger days. Things she had hoped she had buried so deep that it would never again rise to the surface. And here they were, as clear as daylight. Stupid, violent, weak-minded ponies...
“Well… if it isn’t Zesty Pesty.”
“Go away, Bobcat. If I wanted company by your kind I could have sat next to the compost.”
“Ah, but why so cold, Zesty? We’re just going to have some good old fun.”
“Don’t call me Zesty. And I am not interested in your ‘fun’. Whatever it is, it’s something that cultured ponies shouldn’t do.”
“Did you hear that, guys? The half-breed is calling herself a pony. You are not going anywhere, MULE. You are the necessity for us to have that good old fun…”
She felt how the rest of the meal wanted to join its friends in the gutter, and she had no strength left to stop it. Alsesta sank down to her knees. She would have to wash her trousers later, but that didn’t matter. She could hear the voices clearer, she even imagined the feeling of a strong grip around her neck, pulling her upwards.
“Get up! You think you are allowed to rest now! Fork! You take the first watch. Bucks, you hold her. Bling-bling? The marker, if you would be so kind…There. Now nopony will ever doubt who you are. And now… we are going to let the mule do some mulework! Oldmoney, the leash, please!”
In a haze, she tried to obey, only to collapse on her knees again. There was nothing left inside her now, only her muscles doing the movement in case they forgot the last bit of carrots. All the humiliation and fear came back to her. Donkey. Mule. What do YOU know about food? What do you know about anything? She tried to steer away her thought over to more practical questions. Like Fransie. What the hell should she tell Fransie? She couldn’t tell her the truth, Fransie would KILL the meat-headed earth pony and her weepy little wife, and burn the place to the ground. And that was being positive. But Fransie was 200 miles away. 200 miles away I can fool her. I fell, I got mugged, I walked into a dragon migration, whatever. Her side began to ache again, and she almost fell over a second time.
Can’t even lie to your own wife. You sad excuse for a pony.
One can’t expect somepony to think straight on these occasions, and Alsesta was back in her spiral of negative thoughts. A few tears began to fall down her cheeks. Old tear ducts that hadn’t been used for years, but they remembered all too well what they were supposed to do.
Alsesta braced her shoulder against the wall and forced herself painfully to her hooves. The unwelcome tears continued to stream and the bile burnt the back of her throat, but there was no point in staying where she was. Somepony might see her and laugh at her. Or worse, try to help.
“We’re going to walk home now,” she muttered aloud. “No stumbling, and no shame.” And with that she straightened her back, carefully sidestepped the pile of vomit and headed for Lyra and BonBon’s house. Nopony would be home at this time of day. Thank the Dawnbringer and all her splendid rays for that much.
Alsesta had been lucky. The walk had been short, and nopony had seen her, at least nopony that counted. She sank down on the couch. She was at the edge now, she had to rest. Washing up, change of clothes, all that had to wait. Just a little… just a little… Please… just let me rest… Just a moment. There’s nopony here to see me.
“Allie? Is that you?”
Fuck you, Dawnbringer. Alsesta looked up, hoping against better knowing she had misheard, that it had come from the open window and that somepony was looking for… Sally or Callie or anypony. But no. It was indeed Lyra Heartstrings that stood in front of her, perhaps the last pony in the world she was ready to meet this moment. The muleicorn made a futile effort to look as she just was casually resting, but the dirty trousers, and the remains of vomit on her chin didn’t help.
“Allie? You look terrible! Is something wrong?”
Bless your heart, Lyra. ‘Is something wrong’… do you ask a stabbed pony if the knife is hurting her too? But even so, Alsesta was not interested in sharing her experience with anyone, especially not her innocent, soft-hearted daughter-in-law. The few minutes of silence had bought Alsesta enough strength to answer. “No, Heartstrings. Nothing is wrong.” It was low, it was infantile. But she just didn’t want to elaborate.
“Are you sure? Because… Allie, are you crying?”
Thanks for nothing, Body… “Heartstrings. If I say that nothing is wrong then I mean that NOTHING is wrong.” She heard herself choke on a sob and tried to convince herself that she had simply coughed a little.
Lyra was silent for a while, put her head slightly to the side, and then said, “Okay… You know, Allie? When BonBon asks me if something is wrong and I reply NOTHING, she usually treats me with candy until I’m happy again.”
The younger mare sat down next to Alsesta and put her hands over hers. “How about if we clean you up a bit, and then get some coffee at Moonbutts? Two grande Frappuchinos with extra whipped cream and hazelnuts? And the large cinnamon buns with the blueberry jam? My treat, the manager owes me a solid. Nopony will bother us, I promise.”
Alsesta slowly blinked her eyes and gazed far off into the distance. And then she said, in a thin near-whisper of a voice, “Can I get mine with toffee sauce?”
Lyra smiled a warm, friendly smile. “Anything you want, Allie.”
EPILOGUE
“Saffi? I talked to that grey mare, she won’t be bothering u… Saffi?”
As Plaid re-entered the kitchen, she found her wife with her back against her, poking on a plate with some kind of food on it. The big mare was prepared to comfort her, but then Saffron turned around. To Plaid’s surprise, all the tears had dried, and there was a strange light in her eyes.
"Plaid. Father has an old saying, दुर्भाग्य से, सबसे बड़ी बेवकूफ आमतौर पर सही है!"
Plaid blinked. Her hindi was almost nonexistent, she knew “yes yes yes” but that was it.
"And... that means?"
"It’s a saying from one of our old warlords. It means ‘The stupid old donkey is usually right.’ And look, here we had a stupid old donkey..."
Plaid took a step forward and put her arm around her wife. "Not this donkey. Saffi, baby! Don't listen to her..." But Saffi took one of the items from the plate and almost shoved it into Plaids mouth.
"Taste it!"
"Uh...What is it?"
" TASTE IT!"
"Ok, ok…” She opened up, and took a bite. “Mmmm. .. good. Tashty."
Saffi waved her arms in the air and stared at her. "Good? GOOD? They are PERFECT! That donkey made them and they are PERFECT!"
Plaid swallowed. "...Well...they're not really that tasty now that I think about it..." But Saffron didn’t listen to her remark, she went on, building up steam.
"All my life, I have struggled. I have fought horn and hoof for my dream, my vision! And here she comes, a donkey! A DIRTY STUPID DONKEY comes and makes the perfect...and why? Because she has "skill."
Plaid decided it was time to open the safety vent.
"Saffi, babe! Who defines ‘skill’? The swells? If they’re the kind of people calling it ‘skill’ then who needs it?”
"I do."
"Saffi..." Plaid put a hand on her wife’s shoulder.
"I do! I have love, Plaid! I have PASSION! Imagine, Plaid, what I could do! If I could combine this passion with this skill..." (Saffron swallowed almost an entire cup of hot mazbout coffee in one gulp.) "Then NOTHING would stand in my way!"
Plaid took a step back. "Not gonna lie, Saffi, you’re scaring me a little now.”
"Says the one who just threatened to beat somepony up! Oh yes, I know. Do not deny it! You can take the heat, pruvi!" Saffron forced Plaid to back up against a wall.
"Saffi..."
"We close for today! I am angry! And terribly aroused! We will make love right here, in this kitchen where the passion lives!"
"Wow...uh, Okay.”
“Put me on the counter.”
“Sure--whoa! Easy with the underwear, they’re designers! "
"Shut up and suck it! I will return to my roots! To Sandia, the land of my ancestors, and there I will learn from the very masters!"
"Ah! Oh damn, Saffi easyaaaaaa!"
"And when I return, they will all scream my name!"
"SAFFI! OH SWEET PRINCESS TWILIGHT, SAFFI!"