//------------------------------// // Dance With No Schmance // Story: You're Getting Better // by 2Merr //------------------------------// Pinkie leads you through more of the festival, occasionally checking in with other ponies to make sure everyone is having a good time. As you walk, you find yourself resting a hand on her back, absently tracing circles into her fur. She smiles and moves closer, gently leaning into you. After a few minutes of wandering in comfortable silence, she places a hoof on your leg and stops.  “Here we are,” she says proudly.  The “here” in question is a wide, open area on the far side of the festival grounds, opposite from Ponyville. What immediately catches your eye is the bright orange Ferris wheel stylized to look like a pumpkin. It’s not the tallest you’ve seen, but damn if it’s not impressive. Party horse went all out.  “You wanna go later?” Pinkie asks. “It’ll be fun~!”  She went out of her way to get a goddamn Ferris wheel, of course you’re gonna ride that shit. “Hell yeah. How tall is it?” “A hundred feet; almost as tall as you,” she says, giggling at her own joke.  You roll your eyes. “Hardy har.” “I really wanted a giant one,” she sighs wistfully, “but this one was easier to set up. Plus, it was cheaper, which left room for…” She prances over to the left, waving her hoof to present a pair of small tents. “These!” “…Tents?” “That’s what they look like! Buuuut~!” She trots backwards towards one, pushing the flap open with her flank. “Come check out the inside!”  She ducks back, disappearing into the tent before you can respond. You only hesitate for a moment before following. You’re sure it’ll be fine. As long as it’s not one of those dumb magic tents that are bigger on the- Goddammit, it’s huge.  The light is kind of dim, but it’s more than enough to tell that you’ve just stepped into a giant dance hall. The floor is made of polished dark wood, there’s a soft melody playing from seemingly nowhere, and you can see a handful of older-looking ponies doing the horse version of the waltz under two floating chandeliers. Two. Who the hell needs two chandeliers? Just one is already pushing it.  “So, whaddya think?” Pinkie nudges you, wiggling her eyebrows. “Pretty schmancy, huh?” “Very,” you nod. “But Pink Ponk, I gotta ask…” “The chandeliers?” Her expression turns sheepish, her ears doing their best to disappear into her mane. “They came with the tent, they weren’t my idea.” Phew. “Okay, good. You had me worried I would have to send you to rehab to get you de-schmancifed.”  Pinkie bumps you with her hip. “You’d never send me away,” she says with a soft yet confident smile.  “Oh, I wouldn’t?” She’s right, but you want to see where this goes. “Nope! And even if you did, I know you’d come with me. I’d do the same for you, no matter how schmancy you were.”  Despite how ridiculous this conversation is, it still makes you want to hug her. “You’re a silly pony,” you say.  “You’re a silly pony!” Goddammit, not again. How does she always have the perfect comeback? You need to think of something better for next time.  As you stand there, the dancing fancies start shooting irritated looks at the both of you, so you gesture with your head for Pinkie to follow you back outside. You’re about to ask her what the second tent is like, but she beats you to the punch.  “The next one is ever better, come see!” she says, skipping ahead to the other tent.  She slips inside before you can respond, so you kick your body into overdrive and power walk the five steps it takes to get there. Utterly exhausted, you push through the flap and look around.  The interior of this tent is also huge, but it has way more ponies inside. The lights are a rainbow of shifting colors, the music is lively and upbeat, and there’s an almost palpable energy in the air. It’s designed to be a lot less fancy and a lot more dancy, like a nightclub minus the night. Which is just a club. Man, you’re smart.  Pinkie is already grooving from the moment she stepped inside. “Let’s dance, Nonny!”  Hell to the fuck no dot jpeg. “Nah, I’m good,” you answer weakly. “I’ll just watch.”  Okay, that sounded waaaay less pathetic in your head. Pinkie stops and gives you an are-you-fucking-serious look.  “Nonny,” she deadpans. “I know, that was…” You shake your head. “Nevermind. Listen, I’m not a good dancer.” “Neither is Twilight, and look at her go!” She points to a purple unicorn committing a war crime on the other side of the tent. “It’s not about being good, it’s about having fun! Come on, dance with me! Please?”  She starts gently tugging your hand, not pulling you against your will, simply urging you to do the thing. There’s an eagerness in her eyes that tells you this is something that truly makes her happy, and she wants to share that happiness with you.  She got you France fries, for god’s sake, the least you could do is shake your ass for her.  “…Alright, fine.” You smile despite yourself. Pinkie’s passion is infectious.  You let her pull you onto the dance floor, thankfully stopping at the edge of the crowd of ponies. Bless her. You would actually die if you went into the middle of that.  Pinkie goes straight back into groove mode, laughing and swinging to the beat. You sort of stand there awkwardly, not sure how to proceed. You could do the arm thing where you just keep an arm in the air and bounce in place, but that seems like something a cool person would do, so that’s off-limits.  There has to be something you can do that won’t make you stand out. Well, stand out more. You’re already getting side eyes from some nearby ponies simply due to being the biggest thing in the room. Tent. Can a tent be a room?  “Come on, Nonny,” Pinkie laughs, bumping her flank into you. “Show me some human moves.” Human moves. The only other ones you can think of are- Wait… Ponies don’t know what human dancing looks like. That gives you an idea. Sure, it’ll draw more attention than anything else, but at least you’ll be embarrassing yourself on purpose. Your spaghetti DNA gives you an innate mastery of cringey dance moves, after all.  “Okay, Pinks,” you smile nervously. You hope this works. “This one’s called the Sprinkler.”  The only one really watching you at first is Pinkie, and that’s all you care about. Her eyes light up as soon as you start moving, which gives you just enough incentive to not die on the spot. As you transition into the Cabbage Patch, you start to notice a few more ponies looking directly at you. Some of them even try emulating your moves.  Oh thank god, you were right. They can’t tell whether your dancing is terrible, so they can only assume it’s good.  Running Man, then Shopping Cart, then Chainsaw, you present pony land with the full array of humanity’s artistic failings in dance form. Your face is burning red the entire time, but you know that hesitating for even a second would give away your fraudulence, making you look that much dumber. Confidence is the only way to sell it, so you channel Billy Mays and offer more.  Pinkie seamlessly bounces between doing her own thing and mirroring you, somehow making your stiff, jerky movements look complementary to her fluid, graceful ones. Where she really shines, though, is when she’s in her own little world, twisting and twirling like a disco ballerina. Every time your eyes meet, she gives you an encouraging smile and a playful nudge.  No matter what ridiculous move you do, it only seems to make her happier. Not just entertained, genuinely happy. Joyful. Another synonym. She moves like she was born to boogie, dancing around you with such energy and laughter that you slowly stop caring about how you look, surrendering yourself to enjoying the moment. It’s something you thought you would never willingly do, yet here you are. Fucking ponies, man.  No. It’s not ponies, it’s Pinkie. That beautiful, wonderful little horse. She can somehow bring out the tiniest piece of you and make it blossom, even if only for a moment. You wish there was a less gay-sounding way to word that.  As the most recent song comes to a close, you start to lose steam. Pinkie, apparently sensing this, grabs you by the hands and spins with you off the dance floor. She’s laughing, you’re laughing, and you still can’t believe how much you enjoyed yourself. She rears up to hug you, grinning like she just received the best present in the world. She doesn’t say anything at first, just holding onto you for a moment.  “Thank you so much, Nonny,” she eventually says, her soft voice warming your soul. “I’m so glad I got to dance with you.” “I… actually had fun,” you admit.  “Me too.” All that energy from before seems tempered now. It’s still bubbling underneath, but no longer in danger of exploding outward. Pinkie sighs contentedly and releases you, giving you a kiss on the cheek as she does. Your face is already flushed, so your spaghettification is thankfully less noticeable.  “How about we get some drinks and just relax for a bit?” you offer.  Pinkie nods with a smile, tracing a hoof on the ground. “I’d love to,” she says.