"Good morning, Miss Golden."
The voice pervaded her not-quite-awake, not-quite-asleep daze. There had been nothing but the weightless sensation of comfort, warmth, and darkness; however, as soon as she heard her valet's voice, full awareness crashed in on her like a physical blow.
Golden's eyes snapped open just as Dusty Might threw the curtains back. The first hint of sunlight was barely peeking over the horizon, illuminating the room in low light. "And what, exactly, is going to be good about today's morning, noon, or night?"
Dusty sighed. His shoulders sagged before he rolled them back into place, turned his head, and fixed her in his usual, unwavering stare. "You agreed to the charity auction."
"Yes, but I don't have to enjoy spending a day with a total stranger." She draped her foreleg over her face and turned her head away. In a bitter mumble, she added, "I thought my time would have been worth more than merely two-thousand bits."
As he walked past the bed, she heard Dusty snort. "From what I could tell, the stallion was already regretting it."
The memory of the stallion's face as he approached the stage stirred a twisted amusement within her. It was a look she'd seen before: the thrill of getting what you wanted, and the fear of its consequences.
She could hardly fault a pony for being intimidated by the prospect of spending a whole day with her.
"Well, then." She moved her foreleg to smile at the ceiling. "I'll simply have to ensure he has a wonderful time. Then, when others hear of how today went for him, next time I'll be the top-bit mare on auction."
Dusty sighed, in the middle of laying out prospective jewelry on the bed for her to wear. "Please stop making yourself sound like a hawked ware for sale."
Though she said nothing in response and looked over the selection with an impassive expression, inwardly she rolled her eyes.
This had all been her current stallionfriend's idea. Platinum Suit loved charities, and when she'd been approached to participate in one, he was enthusiastic about it. He was such a good pony that way.
She still couldn't decide if that was something she admired, was envious of, or hated.
In the end, this was just a publicity stunt and nothing more to her. She shouldn’t care that all the bits went to funding medical research. She couldn’t possibly care that more and more soldiers were coming home with injuries that their hospitals weren't prepared for.
A good pony would care about those things, and she knew better than to think herself one.
Her horn lit up and she levitated a silver filigree choker to adorn her neck with its elaborate yet delicate little swirls and curls.
Dusty went over to the closet and started to pull out a matching dress, but Golden cleared her throat.
"That won't be necessary. I shall go au naturel today."
He looked at her over his shoulder, one half-lidded eye barely visible through his disheveled mane. "As you wish."
When she reached the doorway, she stopped to look back at him with a toss of her mane and a playful smirk. "Don't wait up for me. I might be out late, if I come home at all."
"I'll see you tonight, then," he said, his gaze turning from hers, a lack of amusement—a lack of anything—in his tone. "Unless you're announcing that you would like for me to inform Platinum of the end of your relationship."
Her mouth twisted into a frown. "You're no fun at all, you know that?"
Dusty's shoulders rolled in a shrug. "It's not in my contract to be fun."
"That could be changed," she muttered, striding forward and closing the door behind her with a light flick of magic.
Normally, a stallion would pick her up from her condo for their date, where she would make him wait while she feigned perfecting her already-perfect image.
This time, however, was different. She needed to impress this pony with how good she was, how selfless she could be in going to him rather than he to her. The trick to becoming something was to get everypony to believe you already were.
Opinions and perceptions that fueled gossip were everything in her world. They were the difference between what was and what was.
As she made her way through the cobblestone streets of Canterlot, she turned heads and stirred hearts. She held her head high as she moved past ponies who saw her as the poster mare for the new modeling movement.
Every journalist praised her for having the strength to present herself as she was, shedding the guise of Au and returning to her roots—literally, in the case of her mane and tail.
Someday, she was certain she would actually be the good pony they all thought she was.
Shaking the thoughts from her head with a swish of her tail, she strode up the steep stairs that led to a simple condominium. It was near the castle walls, which made sense, really. A pony who could afford to throw thousands of bits on a single day could surely afford to live here.
Before she could knock on the door, however, it was practically flung open and a harried face stared back at her. Not only were his eyes as wide as could be, but his pupils were the size of pinpricks.
"Good morning, Forest Shadow," she said smoothly, offering a hoof. He didn't take it, but he did stare at it. That was enough, she supposed, so she lowered it again. "Are you ready?"
The question seemed to snap him out of his stupor as he blinked rapidly. "Ready?" A quivering laugh escaped him before his mouth flapped a few times. "As ready as a pony in my, um, position could be expected to be, I guess?"
He was nervous. How sweet. It was a shame he couldn't hide it as well as she did, what with the trembling he displayed and the light sheen of sweat matting the green of his coat. Her own nerves were well contained within an aura of confidence.
"Very good, then." She turned and started back down the steps. "Let's get breakfast."
"Breakfast," he repeated, disbelief clear in his voice as he hurried to follow alongside her. "Just like that, you and me, getting breakfast."
Golden looked down at him with a slight angle of her head. "That is rather the point of today, isn't it?"
He just huffed in response, his wide eyes darting around at all the ponies looking at them.
She pressed, "What did you think today would be like?"
"Huh?" He glanced up at her and his ears went flat against his cropped blue mane. "Well, uh, honestly?" He swallowed audibly. "I just sort of thought you wouldn't show."
Her own ears went flat and he winced as if she'd struck him before she even spoke. "What sort of pony do you take me for?"
"A beautiful one," he blurted out, then quickly amended, "No, I mean, a busy one. I mean, not that you're not beautiful. You are. But I meant that, you're busy. Because you're beautiful?"
She was torn between flattered and vaguely annoyed. That was all she was, wasn't it? Her looks. A model's career was based on appearance, so much so that everything else had to be sacrificed. This was the price she'd paid: to be beautiful meant to be nothing else.
The rest of the walk continued in awkward silence until they arrived at La Petite Pâtisserie. It was a quaint little Prench bistro that was never busy, which made it perfect for enjoying a croissant or a crepe in relative peace.
Forest took a seat at the iron wrought table Golden expectantly stopped by. Her brow raised and, with only mild disappointment, she pulled out her own chair to sit across from him.
"I try to avoid eating here too often," Golden explained while she crossed her hindlegs and looked out at the quiet streets where ponies milled about. "I don't want it to become popular."
Forest shifted, trying to get comfortable. She doubted he ever would. "Why?"
"Because then I'd lose having it to myself."
His lips pursed and he nodded as if he understood. Once again, she doubted he ever would.
The owner herself came with menus—and the usual praise and gratitude for Golden's patronage. Once they were alone again and the awkwardness had dragged on too long, Golden cleared her throat and looked over the menu with her best impersonation of a pony who cared for small talk. "So, do you do this often, then?"
At the sound of her voice, Forest visibly tensed up and met her gaze with his best impersonation of a frightened deer. "What?"
"Pay mares to spend time with you."
The silence that followed was only between them; within her mind, she was screaming. There were mental champagne flutes splintering against mental walls, and her face was subsequently buried into the folds of her favorite blanket.
Forest just stared at her with an understandable look of dismay and embarrassment.
Finally, Golden tapped her menu against the table and looked at anything but him, heat burning her cheeks to a golden orange. "I'm sorry, that came out... absolutely wrong. I meant, do you do charity auctions. Often. Like this."
The sound he made in response was something like a strangled whinny.
It matched the sound she was making in her head quite well, actually.
"Forget I said anything," she muttered, raising a hoof to press an aching spot between her brow. "Please."
The owner came back—Golden was much too important for a mere server to attend her—and greeted them both with a bright, insincere smile. "Have we decided on something for today?"
Golden glanced at Forest, trying to assess his readiness. Had he even looked at the menu?
He gave a small shrug and an attempt at a smile. "Whatever you recommend is fine."
Her ears perked. "If you're certain." She leaned back into her seat and smiled up at the owner. "My companion will have the pain au chocolat and a citron pressé. I will take a plain crepe and some sparkling water, merci."
"Very good, Mademoiselle! I will have it to you tout de suite." The owner bobbed her head as she took the menus and hurried off again.
Golden realized, idly, that she didn't know the owner's name.
She didn't care.
"So, um, what did you order for me?"
She flashed him one of her winning smiles. "A chocolate croissant and a Prench lemonade. You'll love it."
Forest idly drew his hoof along the edge of the table. "Oh."
They returned to the tentative companionship they'd found in not speaking. It was good that he didn't seem to mind that she was being a terrible date.
Of course, just getting to be with her was its own reward, wasn't it? Not many common stallions could say they'd had breakfast with Golden.
And, she thought with no mild dismay, lunch. And dinner.
A long day laid ahead of them, it seemed.
She shook herself from the dread that clung to her flanks and planned her second attempt at small talk. Think through her words, consider any implications, and—
"What do you normally do after breakfast?" Forest asked, not meeting her gaze.
Golden blinked. He was going to speak first? That was a pleasant surprise. "It differs from day to day, of course. It depends on my social obligations, or where might prove most valuable for my career and image."
"Oh," was all he said in a small, almost disappointed voice.
Something crawled up the back of her neck. Irritation? Indignation?
"What do you think I do?" She kept her lips from curling into a sneer. "Spend whole days at the spa? Sit in luxurious dresses and drink fine wine?"
The look he gave her told her that her tone was getting dangerously offensive, so she did her best to imitate a playful laugh.
"If only I could," she continued with forced cheer. "No, I'm afraid my career requires that I maintain a constant image."
The owner came back with their plates, and she flashed a grateful smile that was, for once, sincere. Food meant an excuse to stop talking.
Forest watched as a tall glass of ice, a pitcher of water, and a little bowl of sugar cubes were set in front of him. He watched with clear confusion as the mare squeezed an entire lemon into the glass, chirped her desire for them to enjoy, and trotted off.
When he started to lift the glass for a sip, Golden's magic flared to set it back down. He squeaked, "Huh?"
"Do you prefer pure lemon juice?" She quirked a brow.
His head shook just slightly. "No, but, isn't this the see-tro press-ay that you ordered for me?"
Golden almost laughed. She raised a hoof to gesture at the pitcher and sugar. "It is a citron pressé, and it's incomplete. Think of it as a deconstructed lemonade." When he just stared, she hesitantly clarified, "As in, do-it-yourself?"
"What?" His nose scrunched up. "You pay to mix your own lemonade?"
"That's how it's done in Prance." She dismissed his confusion with a wave of one hoof. "It ensures it's as fresh as can be, and you get to decide how tart or sweet you want it."
He nodded, though his expression was still skeptical. His gaze flicked up to her meal and the skepticism was replaced with curiosity. "Is that all you're going to eat?"
"I have a figure to keep," she explained simply as she cut a tiny triangle out of the unadorned crepe. As a filly, she would indulge in cream and strawberries and chocolate. She was no longer a filly.
"Oh." He nodded again and turned his attention to mixing water and sugar into his lemon juice.
While they ate and drank in silence that was only extremely awkward, Golden tried to plan ahead. She needed a way to spend time with him that didn't require conversation, but what was available on short notice? Shopping would likely be a bore. The library? Could she convince him that going to the library was a normal activity for her?
Her ears perked straight up as an idea struck her. Oh, she was brilliant. Devious, too.
"Next, we'll go to an art gallery," she said as casually as she could as she cut another piece off her crepe.
Forest looked up from his half-devoured chocolate croissant. "An art gallery?"
"Yes." She smiled, mostly to herself. "I find it... relaxing." And straightforward. She'd been to so many art showings in her life that she had every line memorized. Oh, what a lovely impressionist piece. Aren't the brush strokes on this one spectacular? This one is so evocative. Truly, it makes one think.
"That sounds nice," he replied in a tone that sounded only barely convinced and every bit uncertain.
She waved a hoof. "Don't worry. The curator owes me a favor. We'll be undisturbed by paparazzi."
Whatever he had been nervous about, she realized it hadn't been that, because now he looked entirely unconvinced. He audibly swallowed and mumbled, "Okay." His gaze flicked over the plate and glasses and curled his forehooves against his chest. "I'm, uh. I'm ready whenever you are."
Golden blinked, then shrugged and downed the rest of her sparkling water. She pretended it was champagne as it tickled the back of her throat. "Then, shall we?"
His head tilted as she rose from her seat and started to walk away. "Don't we have to pay?"
"Pay?" She laughed, shook her head, and kept walking. "Hardly."
The clattering of his hooves as he hurried to catch up almost made her laugh again. "Wow! Wow. You just get what you want for free?"
Her jaw twitched as she clenched her teeth to bite back the response that almost leapt forth. Nothing is free. Instead, she replied, "There are, occasionally, perks to this life."
"Occasionally." He huffed, expression one of awe and wonder. "It must be amazing..."
Far from it. She swallowed the bitterness rising up from her chest and just kept moving forward. The sooner they got to the gallery, the better.
"Hello!" a voice called from above, growing nearer. "Ms. Golden Pants!"
Golden inclined her head to see a pegasus with a cross-chest satchel flying toward her. "Oh, a courier." She tossed her mane over her shoulder and looked at Forest with a bemused arch of one brow. "This happens to me a lot."
Forest simply rounded his lips in understanding.
The courier landed on the ground and gave a bright, cheery smile. "Your friend, Velvet Step, has gone into labor and—"
All conscious thought left Golden as she turned in the direction of the hospital and started to run.