“I need to borrow your boat.”
Silence, followed by the indifferent flick of a newspaper.
A sigh. “I said, I need to borrow your boat.”
Again, silence.
“Hey.” The sound of a bag of bits landing on the table. It lands next to a pair of crossed yellow legs.
The rustling of a newspaper as it lowers enough for two opal eyes and one raised eyebrow to peer over the top. “Do I want to know where you got that?”
A whine. “C’mon, cut me some slack. It won’t be long, and we’re not gonna do nothin’. Just crack some coldies and watch the sunset.”
The eyebrow climbs higher. “You two on a boat, in the dead of night?”
That gets a cough and a flush of red across pale brown cheeks. “Aw Crikey, it ain’t gonna be like that.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
The table bucks as a sudden weight throws itself onto it. The newspaper lowers more so tired eyes can gaze in unamusement at the pony-shaped, tan and scarlet pile that has thrown itself onto the table.
A groan escapes from the annoyance.
“You neeeeever let me use iiiiiiiiiit!”
“I let you have it last week and look what you did.”
“I was gonna clean it, but I’ve been flat out like a kangaroo drinking.”
“Shame.”
The newspaper rises again, and the pony-pile senses that it is running out of time.
“C’mon Lofts, I promised Rolly I’d take her out tonight.”
“Then take her to the canteen again!”
“And end up on the booze bus?”
“Sure. Just bail yourselves out this time.”
A sigh. “What’s it gonna take?”
The newspaper falls and concern flashes across opal eyes. “You being straight with me for once?”
They fall quiet as the market continues to shift around them.
“Yeah. Reckon I owe you that much,” mutters the pile. “You’ve saved my hide enough to earn it.” A quiet inhale followed by a nod. “Yeah. I’ll be straight with ya.”
“Holly, I don’t want to see you with her.” The words are quiet and weighed with concern.
Lips are pursed and a cheek is chewed. “I’m not gonna. I can look out for myself, y’know.”
“I don’t like her.”
“I know! I… I wish you did.”
A head is hung in shame, and, for a moment, guilt washes over them. “Me too.”
A ring of keys is tossed across the table, caught in one hoof. “Lofts! You’re the best!”
“Don’t beach yourself.” Hooves turn in sand as one moves away. A brief pause before a frantic, scrambled shout. “Oh, Holly, wait, wait!”
Hooves return to the booth. A blue scarf is passed from one to the other. “Here. Happy birthday.”
“Lofts…” An embrace, warm and full, and a laugh that’s bright and joyful. “Thanks! I’m never taking this off!”
A blush, on the other pony now.
Holiday blows a kiss and winks before prancing off into the market.
Lofty watches her go.