//------------------------------// // The Love Hangover, cont. // Story: A Lady Fit for Royalty // by Fillyfoolish //------------------------------// Between my hooves was one smiling, snoozing, lavender princess. The morning was still young – no doubt if I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep I could keep her there, smiling. I could feel her warmth, smell her, all but watch the rhythmic expansions and contractions of her chest with each peaceful breath. Never mind how she got here. I recall her staying over after the breakup, yes, but I swear we engaged in nothing improper of ladies. Unless we did, and I was so inebriated I lost all such memories. Even lost the memory of beginning to drink. But a little red wine on a mare as large as I should not cause trouble. All I remember is dozing off alone, and dreaming of the princess: her smile, her lectures, her gentle tap-tap on my door at midnight, her pleading face looking for cuddles from a cherished friend, her nuzzling as she fell back into a content nightly rhythm. I stared at her form. Perhaps some dreams come true, in the hazy night fog where the threshold of dreamscape and reality is blurred to the morning after. I allowed myself to take one whiff of the Twilight-scented air, and with a smile, delicately untangled my hooves and exfiltrated myself from my bed. Once up, satisfied she was still asleep, I curled my lip and stared at her from the distance, resisting the urge to bend over and place a kiss on her forehead. What? I said resisted; I promise nothing happened. I am far too proper to violate a pony’s consent so vilely. But a lady can fantasize. About stallions. Whatever. I cracked open the door and head to the washroom, running water and a comb through my mane to ensure a perfect coiff by the time my darling… my friend who happened to be upstairs sleeping in my bed awoke. I proceeded to the kitchen and opened the breakfast cabinets with my magic, grabbing my mason jar of rolled oats and the containers of nuts and cinnamon to its sides. Adding bowls, spoons, and a supply of water to the telekinetic floating pile, I set to work preparing a pair of meals over the a magic stove. I hummed and I worked, soon hearing rumbling above, creaking boards, a blunt clip-clop of hooves descending the stairs as my platonic friend with whom I have no romantic feelings emerged. “Good morning, Twilight,” I called. Grunt. I took that as, ah, good morning to you too, Rarity. Another set of tapping hooves and Twilight appeared in front of me. I looked up and beamed. “Restful night, I hope?” Play it cool, Rarity. Play it cool. Twilight rubbed her eyes. “I’ve had worse.” She looked down to the bottom of her hooves. “And it was kinda nice to sleep with you.” I sputtered. “I could have sworn we did not – what with my ladyhood or something – how could I forget an experience like that? – maybe we would need to redo it to jog memory – not that there is anything to remember, Celestia forbid.” “Not like that!” Her eyes bloomed. “I didn’t mean it as a euphemism.” “Oh.” I wasn’t sure I cared to analyze the Freudian subtext. “That’s good to be certain of.” “Yeah.” She looked over to the side, twirling her hoof around a messy lock of her mane as she burned pink. “You did kiss me, though.” I blinked. Dear princesses, I really have no such recollection. “Please tell me you’re kidding.” “Um…” Twilight’s eyes finally met mine. “I’m pretty sure you were asleep.” Lovely, sleep-kissing hardly paints a clear picture of my sanity. “But you kissed me on the cheek. You were mumbling something I couldn’t make out between the kisses.” “Kisses?” I squeaked. “As in, multiple plural kisses from my lips to you?” Twilight grew from pink to red. “Yeah, must have been some dream you were having.” Some dream indeed. “I am truly sorry, Twilight. I had no idea, I promise.” But if my dreams were anything to go by, perhaps I did. “Hm.” Twilight bit her lip. “Would it be wrong if I confessed on some level I maybe liked it? Being kissed, I mean. Even if you were asleep and dreaming of some stallion, and I just happened to be in the way of whatever you usually kiss while asleep.” Oh dear Celestia indeed. “I’m, ah, sorry.” Yes, I knew it sounded silly, but stars, what could I say? Admit I had feelings – no, even if I admitted to myself I did, and even if we did kiss under admittedly bizarre circumstances, and even if that conversation sent a ladylike tingle in– never mind that trail of thought. “Don’t be.” She flared crimson. “I just… Time Turner nad I had a moment or two, but it’s different with a stallion than with a mare, I guess.” She bit her lip. “I never paid much attention before, but the past few weeks – and with last night – I’m starting to think I might be a filly– might like mares.” If I could pay bits to wipe off the embarrassment from her cheeks with a delicate conscious kiss, I would have in a heart beat, no shame in saying so in the privacy of my own thoughts. I loved Twilight. As a mare loves her mare friends; space or no space should not make or break the world. Maybe no space would not be so bad. Oh, how simple it would be if I weren’t trans. Or didn’t care about proving my ladyhood at every elite junction, with a homophobic judge, transphobic jury, and power-hungry executioner looming in the Canterlot shadows. Looming in my own mind. Lips tight – no, don’t give me that look. Tight-lipped I nodded. “Thank you for confiding in me, Twilight. I know first-hoof how hard it can be to come out.” “Hard? Wait.” Her eyes sunk. “Oh no, oh no, oh no! I assumed because you were… because of your past you would be accepting automatically, but then again, you’re straight yourself, and maybe you wouldn’t, and now this does seem harder than it had a minute ago, and…” I reached my hoof around her, pulling her into a hug as the oats on the stove softened. “It’s okay. Of course I accept you, dear. I love you, and I promise if you’re gay or maybe bi, either way it doesn’t have to change anything.” Yet to me – perhaps it changed everything. Nevertheless I nuzzled her. “Twilight, look at me.” She complied, and I saw a film distorting my reflection in her pupils. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay. I understand it is not always easy, but no matter what happens, I will be here for you.” She nuzzled back, and at once I felt her cheeks were boiling. I suppose mine were too, along with a few other select regions of my body. I sighed. “You’re wonderful just as you are, dear Twilight. No, scratch that – you’re perfect exactly as you are.” As she thanked me and tightened the hug, I found myself pondering the mental gymnastics for me to extol the virtues of homosexuality to her of all ponies, while simultaneously beating myself for the same attraction. I had my reasons no doubt – she, a princess in every sense, needed not to prove anything about herself to anypony. She – born as I became – is accepted on account of she is, not despite. Some of us lack that luxury, or at least the wisdom to recognize it in ourselves. Perhaps some day it would not matter, perhaps some day I could be true without risking my celebrity status up Saddle Row. Move to Manehatten, rebrand towards the Bridleway crowd instead? A nice thought, but not here, not now. Not without Twilight. I pulled back from the hug, or at least attempted to: she would not let go until a moment too late. Though I heard nothing, I noticed her eyes were mistier than before, but her lips smiled. “Thank you. I… I love you too, Rarity.” I returned the smile, if only to distract from the waves dancing through my lips. I returned my focus to the oats, and noticing a decent consistency, I stopped the heat with a spark of magic, and distributed the oats to the pair of bowls. Her eyes danced. “You didn’t have to.” “Oh, but I did. You’re my guest.” Before I let her disagree, I continued, “Besides, there are few things I like more than helping y– helping my friends. Though I’m done yet.” “You’re not?” She cocked her head, and I couldn’t help but smile at her adorable confusion. I scraped the last bits of oats into the bowl, then sprinkled over crushed nuts, finally drizzling cinnamon atop each bowl. I brought the bowls and silverware to the adjacent dining table, setting the two side-by-side, and took the seat behind the uglier of the bowls. She instinctively sat to my side. “I’m done now, darling.” “wow.” She stared at the dish. “Usually I just have oats dry. There’s too much to do in the morning, especially now that I chair twenty-three committees.” “Dry?” I gasped. “You didn’t even heat them?” “No time.” She shrugged. "And adding water without cooking is worse than it sounds. Trust me." I flashed my tongue. “Oh, I trust you plenty, Twilight, but you might underestimate how bad that sounds to someone with a finer culinary appreciations.” She giggled. “Well, time to appreciate the finer things in life then!” She ducked her head over her bowl to lap up the meal. “Thishtastes–” She swallowed. “This tastes amazing. Thank you.” I levitated my spoon and took a tiny bite of my own breakfast. I swallowed delicately and said, “Of course, love.” I blinked. “Friend. Darling. Dear.” I was acutely aware that she lacked any such meal grace, but we were one-to-one faux pas to faux pas by that point. I imagine that is another snobbish ritual that her wings let her break and my past commands I follow. But nopony said I can’t enjoy watching her smile.