Chapter 13: (Don’t) Blind the Messenger
Under a much different form of adrenaline than Applebloom had been some time earlier, one that wasn’t laced with the nauseating poison of overpowered liking somepony a lot, Scootaloo zigzagged over the trees in graceful loops and corkscrews, not anything that would impress the Wonderbolts but simply a showy byproduct of letting her elation run its natural course. It was this same happiness that fueled every flap of her diminutive wings, and with the chance at seeing the Wonderbolts perform again, she didn’t particularly care if anypony saw her aerial acrobatics. Even should Pipsqueak see, she was out of range to be hit by whatever dastardly charm attack he’d no doubt pull from his bandanna, and the thought of stunning him from a distance pushed her mirth further as she added even more finesse to her smooth motions until finally landing lightly at the farmhouse’s doorstep, folding her wings in a manner most ladylike, and then boisterously playing an enthusiastic bongo solo on Applebloom’s front door.
“Applebloom! Come on out! I’ve got some super awesome news!” Receiving no response within a generous allotment of half a second, Scootaloo gave an encore with her somewhat unrefined percussion skills that was rudely interrupted as the door swung open in answer to her call, but it was not a ribbon with which she was met, but a vest.
“Well, if it isn’t the blushin’ bride t’ be!” Braeburn exclaimed, beaming down at a filly who had gone from smiley to scowl in about as much time as she had allotted to having the door opened.
“I’m not getting married!” Scootaloo declared, packing the statement with as much blatant finality as could be mustered to stave off further advancement along such preposterous lines of thought. Was I clear enough? Not... getting... married! Not for a really long time, if ever.
“Of course you’re not!” Braeburn continued, nodding his comprehension and prompting a victorious though labored sigh of relief from Scootaloo. “Can’t get married without a pretty dress. That just wouldn’t be proper!”
“Don’t say dress...” Scootaloo said quickly, cringing as memories best left unconjured began to poke at her defensive perimeter. “Look, can you please just tell me where Applebloom is? I need...”
“Help pickin’ out a weddin’ dress, I understand,” Braeburn interjected with aggravating understanding layered within a sandwich of cluelessness. “Unfortunately, I don’t know where little Applebloom ran off to. She was just here, and we were talkin’, and then she and Applejack just took off. Honestly...” Braeburn muttered with a sigh, shaking his head and giving the filly an imploring look. “It’s one thing t’ see others being rude, but when your own family dashes off with no warnin’? It just ain’t right. If you find either of ‘em, tell them I say t’ be on their best behavior for dinner, would you kindly? Granny Smith told me tonight is going to be extra special, and I just can’t bear the thought of Applejack ruinin’ Applebloom’s special night.”
Entirely convinced that Braeburn wore his stetson as a means of hiding the fact that there was indeed no head, and by proxy no brain with which to view life in a manner close to rational, Scootaloo silently gave Applebloom her condolences and Braeburn some “proper” salutations before trotting towards the barn. If her little foray into inanimate infidelity earlier that morning had been any indicator, it was the most likely place she’d be. In transit, Scootaloo had a deliciously mischievous idea that, should she do anything more with it other than simply fall to the ground laughing at the mere thought, would have raised enough chaos to waken Discord were he not already awake and quite merrily enjoying a timeshare between a cozy chaos zone of his own design in the Foal Mountains east of Canterlot and the royal city itself. Logging it away and confident she wouldn’t find cause to use such an underhoofed and borderline traitorous plot, she regained her composure and swung open the barn doors to find Applebloom that Applebloom’s stress levels were far higher than Scootaloo would have guessed.
“Woah... I think she used an entire bottle,” the filly remarked to herself, gingerly stepping around the splatters. “Applebloom, are you in here?” Receiving no response save the echo of her own voice, Scootaloo hovered low and searched around, but the barn was quite devoid of ponies. "Must be having a rough time of it. I wonder where she’s... oh, duh,” Scootaloo chuckled, spying a few gray feathers stuck in the glue that pointed the way to her next destination. “Guess it’s time to pay Rumble’s house a visit. Poor Rumble... Applebloom has to be pretty down if she’s willing to waste a whole bottle of ‘pink gold.’”
Contrary to Scootaloo’s assumptions, Applebloom was in stellar condition, all things considered. Walking into Rumble’s house and not being instantly set upon by two high maintenance mares with an increasing affection for their new “little sis” was an odd, though refreshing, experience for her as she trotted in after Rumble. After a bit of small talk with Thunderlane and his reassurance that, as far as it concerns him, the ladies would be on their best behavior for the evening, Applebloom followed Rumble into the hallway where he swung open a door leading to a dark staircase. While most basements are full of clutter, dust, and keepsakes that serve little purpose, even Pinkie Pie would have been impressed by the filly’s grin that stretched ear to ear as Rumble flipped on the lights and introduced her to a wonderland of tools.
“Gosh, just look at the size o’ this hammer! Ah bet even Big Macintosh would ‘ave trouble liftin’ that thing, let alone swingin’ it! Oh, now what’s this here? Ah ain’t even seen a tool like this. Ah wonder what it does? Well, come on, then! Fess up, what’s yer name? Wait, hold that thought! Whoa, nelly!” While some colts may have found it minorly distressing to see their primary romantic interest merrily trot the fringe of mental instability at the sight of a veritable treasure trove of tools and miscellaneous pony technology, Rumble found Applebloom’s tendency to spaz over the mundane as charming as it was amusing, so he simply watched from the entryway. After making a full sweep of the room, Applebloom continued to interrogate this, that, and the other gizmo, until she swung around with a rather large wrench clenched happily in her jaws and found Rumble staring straight at her.
Dang it, ah knew somethin’ was off! Ah’m doin’ it again! Turning around and dropping the wrench with a loud clatter, she hopped from the workbench and studiously studied the floor, searching the cracks in the concrete for an out. Finding none, she chanced a glance at the colt, only to find herself transfixed by the gentle arrows of adoration. He’s smilin’, but he ain’t laughin’. Anypony, even mah friends, would be laughin’ at me fer actin’ so strange. Thanks, Rumble. “So,” she began, clearing her throat and motioning to all the wonders around her with the sweep of her hoof. “What is all this stuff?”
“Huh?” Rumble murmured, blinking once as daydream shifted to reality.
“Well, there’s got t’ be a reason you got so many tools,” Applebloom reasoned. “Ah mean, ah don’t even know what half o’ these things are, an’ that’s t’ say nothin’ of all the other gears an’ such layin’ about. Where’d it all come from?”
“It’s my parents’ stuff,” Rumble began, trotting over and eyeing the room with moderate disinterest. “They can fix just about anything, really. Thunderlane isn’t shabby either, but it’s more of a hobby, something to do with his spare time rather than a passion like it is for my parents.”
“Free time? He has that?” Applebloom chuckled, picking up on a strange vibe coming from Rumble but unable to put a hoof down on what.
“Nuh uh!” Rumble laughed, hopping onto a bench and kicking his legs over the side. “He hasn’t really tinkered around down here since things stabilized with him and the girls. This used to be where he’d come to blow off steam.”
“What about you?” Applebloom inquired, a growing excitement welling within the filly as an idea began to take form. “Since yer parents are so talented, ah bet yer great at makin’ stuff! Ah mean, there’s no tellin’ what kind of amazin’ stuff you could build with all this!” It wasn’t just the cessation of his kicking legs that tipped Applebloom off that she’d just struck a nerve, but the suffocating silence that followed her all-too-excited proclamation.
“Not a failure like me...” Rumble said quietly, staring sullenly at the ground. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried my hoof at making even the simplest of things, but it never turns out the way I want it to. My parents travel around, helping ponies and fixing everything with a smile, and all I’ve ever done is break things!” Applebloom wished she could speak in his defense, but if his “repairs” to the roof of her clubhouse was any indication, she could only imagine if he opted for a bigger project. Even more than simply cheering him up, Applebloom was forced to realize three things: Rumble wasn’t the spitting image of perfect she’d crafted him to be in her mind, he was indeed breakable, and she really didn’t like hearing him yell. Raised volume was something she’d dealt with plenty on the farm, between Applejack’s shouting and Granny Smith’s inability to regulate herself, but for some reason, seeing Rumble upset was far worse.
“All my life, it’s been other ponies picking up after messes I never wanted to make! I’ll never be something my parents can be proud of, no matter how hard I try... I hate it!” Applebloom couldn’t help but flinch as Rumble slammed his hoof down on the bench, the sound reverberating and echoing throughout the basement. Applebloom scrambled to find something, anything she could say to prove it wasn’t so, but how could she? She’d only met the colt a week back, and in that short time he’d busted a roof and fallen from a barn, and she was as new to him as she was to romantic relationships.
Ah’ll take a mallet t’ my own head if ah just sit here doin’ nothin’! Come on, think! Painfully slow seconds ticked past, but as Applebloom lifted her gaze to a colt already regretting the vehemency with which he spoke, she approached without a plan, sat down beside the colt, and acted without the faintest notion what she would do. “Ah ain’t gonna say you don’t break things, ‘cause you do.” ...great, that’s a wonderful way t’ make ‘im feel better, Applebloom. Oh, ah hope ah didn’t just ruin everythin’... Rumble had been expecting empty praise or well-meaning comfort, not being slapped with brutal agreement, but at the same time, he found it to be an almost cathartic change of pace. While he gave no outward sign, Applebloom’s first attempt had at least halted the progression of his frustration, and he sat ready with open ears to hear what she had to say.
“Ah don’t know what it’s like t’ always be breakin’ everythin’, Rumble. Ah can only imagine how much it must bother you...”
“Uh huh...”
“Can ah tell you a secret?” Confusion, Rumble noted, was also a good deterrent from self-loathing and other such forms of unnecessary misery, and he sat quiet a few moments before nodding once and answering in turn.
“Uh huh.”
“It’s not somethin’ ah talk about, but...” Applebloom began, pausing with a sigh before committing to whatever path her heart was leading her down while her mind continued to play dumb. “Sometimes, ah feel really outta place in mah family. Don’t get me wrong, ah love ‘em all, even Braeburn, but ah’m the only one ah can think of whose talent doesn’t have anythin’ t’ do with apples. Ah can’t even cook, hardly! Generations an’ generations o’ farm ponies, an’ what do ah have on mah flank? Mallet an’ a paintbrush.”
“But... isn’t that an apple blossom with them?” Rumble inquired, glancing at her cutie mark as discretely as an interested colt could.
“It is,” she admitted with a faint grin, scooting closer and holding her hooves in her lap. “Rumble, all ah’m tryin’ t’ say is that bein’ different from what you want t’ be don’t make you a failure. You’ll find somethin’ t’ be passionate about, an’ if yer parents ‘ave a lick o’ sense, then they’ll be just as happy fer you as you are t’ know where you belong.” And then, as quickly as her encouragement seemed to be coming, it stopped, and Applebloom fell silent, wishing she had more to say but unable to find the words.
Thunderlane had probably told Rumble the same thing a hundred times, but somehow, hearing it from Applebloom seemed to finally make the connection. It didn’t remove the guilt from having an endless string of blunders form the timeline of his existence, but maybe if he could find his talent and use it to its fullest, he could make up for his accident prone nature. Applebloom couldn’t have begun to fathom just how much Rumble held against himself, or how his misperceptions had driven him to exhaustion more than just a time or two, but as Applebloom’s words breathed life into the heart of a colt who wanted nothing more than to help, and was yet was seemingly cursed to wreak destruction, Rumble found a measure of solace in her honesty and a gentle hoof upon his own.
“You really are good at fixing things,” Rumble said softly, a smile spreading ever wider as a restored perspective and good ol’ farm pony logic brought brought with it a sense of freedom so sweet, not even the most scrumptious of cupcakes could compare.
“Uh huh!” Applebloom quipped, elated and slightly perplexed that her entirely off the cuff oration had actually served a purpose. “Rumble, ah...” Ah, uh... gee, yer mouth is right close t’ mine. Unaware that Applebloom was in the midst of tempting tantalizing thoughts of taboo and romance, Rumble was having quite a difficult time staying grounded, and in a fit of spontaneity and excitement, he swept her from the bench and held her tight, spreading his wings and flying a short distance, spinning once before crashing into a nearby table, collapsing on top of the bashful filly and laughing like crazy.
“W-what... what’s that look for?” Rumble chortled, beaming ear to ear and standing over the Applebloom with his wings spread wide. “You just made me really happy, and I couldn’t control it. Are you hurt?” Were her thoughts not currently in forbidden territory, the unfurled wings would have simply been an observation rather than a misconstrued point of interest.
Ah didn’t mean t’ get ‘im so riled up, honest, sis! How as ah supposed t’ know sweet talkin’ worked both ways? Mah poor cheeks are probably redder than a robin...
“Hey, are you ok?” Rumble pressed, still smiling as he leaned a little closer.
Just a little stretch, an’ ah could... could kiss ‘im... oh, Celestia, there ain’t no way Applejack would approve! Hay, ah’m not even sure ah approve! Whatever happened t’ takin’ it slow, huh? He should at least take me on mah first date before ah... my, he’s dreamy. Dang it! Rumble, stop yankin’ mah heart cables! “Yer... yer, uh...”
“Uh huh?”
Pretty dang oblivious! Oh, come on, somethin’s got t’ give, or ah’m liable t’ be the one gettin’ frisky. Can’t somepony help? Her plea never was verbalized, so it wouldn't be right to say she was forced to eat her words, though they did make quite the odd flavored hard candy as her unspoken wishes were unexpectedly granted in the timely arrival of an ecstatic friend.
“Applebloom, Rumble, I...” Scootaloo started, racing down the steps and stopping cold as she took in the scene. Applebloom lay on the ground, her hooves timidly pulled to her chest and her cheeks a brilliant crimson hue, with Rumble’s muzzle dangerously close as the colt stood over her with wings fully spread. If Scootaloo’s subsequent outburst hadn’t tipped Rumble off that he had just scored an “F” for appearances, the sputtering and fake dry heaves would have. “Ugh, that’s disgusting, you two! I can’t... you... It’s not a race, you guys!”
“No, wait, it ain’t like that, Scootaloo!” Applebloom protested, scrambling to her hooves as Rumble yanked away and flushed deeply, unable to make eye contact. “Ah just made him really happy, an’...”
“I can quite clearly see that!” Scootaloo interjected, pulling a face and shuddering. “I think I’m gonna be sick... That’s it, it’s time for an intervention!”
“Uh uh!” Rumble pleaded, not wanting to cause any trouble for Applebloom. “I wasn’t even thinking about anything dirty!”
“You’re right, there’s totally nothing pervy about being a hoof length away from my friend’s face with your wings... no, you know what? Intervention! I’m telling Applejack!” Applebloom didn’t pause to see if Scootaloo was planning on making good on her threat or not; if Applejack caught wind of even a rumor of Rumble getting “excited” in that way, especially with just the two of them alone in an isolated place like a basement, there’d be far too much explaining to do. With one deft movement, Applebloom snatched, aimed, and threw the wrench she’d been toting earlier with pinpoint accuracy.
“Uh... don’t you think that was a bit much?” Rumble asked as Applebloom trotted over to a nicely dazed Scootaloo with a smug grin pasted on her muzzle.
“The polite thing t’ do when a filly saves yer life is t’ say ‘thank you,’ Rumble,” she quipped, tossing the wrench away and helping Scootaloo into a sitting position amidst much groaning. “Now then, fer the last time, Gabby, me an’ Rumble weren’t doin’ anythin’ questionable, so there ain’t nothin’ t’ tell mah sis, got it?”
"Gabby? Don't tempt me. I was thinking 'Farm Filly Caught in Love Triangle Scandal: Colt Spurned by Craft Cuddling' would make a great headline on my way over to the barn, but now, I don't even want to think about what it would be..." Scootaloo paused, gleaning a small amount of comfort from Applebloom's sudden influx of embarrassment. “You didn’t need to brain me,” Scootaloo muttered sullenly, rubbing her forehead and eyeing Rumble with lingering suspicion. At least, until she realized that he was doing the same thing, a hoof placed tenderly over the remains of the lump he’d received the first time he startled Applebloom. “Huh, at least I know you’ll keep him in line.”
“O’ course ah will,” Applebloom agreed, casting a fond eye at her still blushing colt of interest. “Ah ain’t no floozy. Now, what’re you doin’ here, anyhow?”
“Storm’s getting me VIP tickets to the Wonderbolts Derby in Canterlot, and said I could invite as many friends as I wanted. You two in?”
“As if there’s even a doubt? Ah’d love to go t’ Canterlot! The castle is an amazin’ work of architecture, an’ ah think there’s a great big tool shop somewhere in the shoppin’ district... oh, say you’ll come too, Rumble. Please?”
“Sure!” Rumble readily agreed, grateful for a change in subject. "That sounds like loads of fun! Are we just going for the race, or are we staying around for a little while afterwards?”
“I’m sure if I talk to Storm, he’ll let us stick around for the day,” Scootaloo replied, her excitement returning as her temporary headache receded. “Ok, time to tell the others. Oh, and Applebloom?”
“Yeah?”
“Save the kissing for Canterlot. It’s a better scene than this musty place.” Fleeing at the risk of being poleaxed by another flying wrench or other nearby tool, Scootaloo left in a hurry and a flurry of laughter and feathers, racing from the basement while Applebloom was forced to ponder the possibility.
Actually, she’s right. Canterlot is such a beautiful town, ah bet there are all kinds o’ pretty places that would make a good scene. Goodness, ah better be on mah best behavior, or ah’m liable t’ prove Scootaloo right. “C-come on, Rumble,” she began, desperate for a change of scenery to spark fresh, and platonic, thoughts into her mind. “Let’s head back upstairs an’ find somethin’ else t’ do. All these tools are makin’ me fr... uh, distracted. Right, distracted.”
“Uh huh.”
“You’re not helpin’ much, ya know that.”
“Uh huh!”
“You’re handsome.”
“Uh... wait, what?” Rumble asked, stopping at the top of the stairs as Applebloom sauntered a short distance away before turning around and shooting the stunned colt a playful grin.
“Nothin’.”
“But... you said something!”
“Uh huh.”
“So tell me what it was!”
“Nuh uh!” Thunderlane glanced up as the duo raced circles around his spot at the table, arguing back and forth about nothing at all and loving every minute of it. Unable to turn down a filly’s distress call, Thunderlane heeded a chuckling filly’s cries for help, with Applebloom watching from the tabletop as a simple chase quickly turned into brother versus brother wrestling, with Applebloom gleefully shouting out encouragement until her mind worked out an anomaly set aside on the backburner.
Wait just an apple-pickin’ minute. “Save the kissin’ fer Canterlot?” Why the hay is Scootaloo even thinkin’ about that? Could it be that she’s finally startin’ t’ warm t’ the idea o’ romance? If she is, then it could only be Pipsqueak. It wasn’t just the idea of Scootaloo being romantic, but even more the fact of her acceptance that struck Applebloom as such a hilarious impossibility, and while she wasn’t the nosiest pony around, she could very solidly justify an afternoon spent snooping after the filly as “revenge” for her interruption of her time in the basement. “Thunderlane, let yer brother breathe. We’ve got some sleuthin’ t’ do!”
“Well,” Ruby began, rising to her hooves, “seeing how most everypony has left for one reason or another, I think I’m going to go try to track down Silver Spoon. Maybe we can raise some mischief and get her to open up a little more. You know, dastardly things like cleaning somepony’s house or cooking them a meal. Horrible, uncouth things like that.” She shared a good chuckle with Spike and Sweetie Belle, the only ones still present as they too stood, casting one more glance around the park before accompanying the filly on her way towards town.
“How’s that going, by the way?” Sweetie Belle asked, recalling the condition in which they had found the haughty earth pony. “She still seems pretty quiet in class, but you two seem to be getting along.”
“You can come and talk to us during recess, you know,” Ruby offered with a rueful grin. “Anyways, it’s slow going, and I swear, I have yet to meet somepony more confusing, but she’s beginning to warm to the idea that fun can be had without tearing somepony else down. I even got her to help me pull weeds a few days ago!”
“Whoa, really?” Sweetie Belle exclaimed in utter disbelief. “That’s... I can’t even... how much did you pay her?”
“Not a single bit,” Ruby replied, triumphantly allowing herself just a moment of pride. “I’m telling you, she’s a completely different pony once you pry her away from Diamond Tiara who, I might add, is still more rotten than sour milk a month past its prime.” There was a notable lack of enthusiasm in her last statement, leaving both Spike and Sweetie Belle quite positive she was speaking from a recent experience. “Yes, I ran into her. No, I controlled myself and didn’t smack her. Yes, she was a giant pain in the flanks. No, I don’t think I’ll try talking to her again for a while. Yes, I may have thrown a rotten tomato covered in... something at her when I was taking out trash from Uncle Shiny’s tavern. Oh, and yes, Silver Spoon was present, and I swear I heard a giggle.”
“Sounds like time well spent to me,” Spike surmised, snickering as they came to a stop. “Thanks for coming by this morning. It was fun hanging out as a group again, even if it didn’t last very long because somepony had to start a little drama.”
“Hoofshakes don’t count as holding hooves, ok? Sheesh!” Ruby groaned, rolling her eyes and trotting away. “I’ll see you two later! Don’t kiss too much, now!”
“She’s just gotta tempt me like that,” Sweetie Belle muttered, pouting a little as she contemplated what they could do to fill the afternoon. I wish I could treat him to a nice meal or something to make up for that horrible dinner I made, but I don’t really have a lot of money and the tavern isn’t even open. I’m sure Applejack has some treats, but she probably has her hooves full trying to get ready for tonight. Hmmm... Inspiration, Sweetie Belle again discovered, was much like song lyrics in that they cannot be forced, and thus take time. Ditching her grandiose notions of making things up to Spike then and there, she settled for a rare foray into practicality, turning to Spike with a shrug. “Spike, how would you feel about lunch at my house?”
“Nauseous,” Spike stated flatly, holding his serious expression to meet the filly’s pained indignation for only a few moments before giving her a loose hug and a reassuring chuckle. “That sounds good, Sweetie Belle. Er... you can make a sandwich, right?”
“...anything that doesn’t involve a stove is fine,” she admitted, shoving him playfully while doing her best to view the situation in a comedic light. It really wasn’t her greatest moment ever, but even amidst the less than tantalizing aroma of bile, Spike had still managed to pull off an adorable sweetness when he had asked her out that she couldn’t fully comprehend. A little idle chatter, a short walk, and they soon found themselves feasting on sandwiches in the comfort of Sweetie Belle’s room. Spike paused with his hoagie heaped high with an assortment of spring vegetables halfway to his mouth and gave Sweetie Belle a look as she spontaneously erupted into giggles.
“What’s so funny, Sweetie Belle? Do I have something on my face?” Spike inquired, gingerly pawing at the area around his muzzle for any spare leftovers.
“I was just thinking about the first time I asked you to hang out up here,” Sweetie Belle replied, to which Spike averted his head and muttered something she couldn’t quite catch. “Oh, come on, it was cute how nervous you were!” Sweetie Belle pressed, scooting closer. “I was like, ‘Come sit with me,’ and you were like, ‘W-with you? Like, on the b-bed?’” Such teasing had been commonplace before things had taken a turn for the romantic between the two of them, and it startled Spike how much of a breath of fresh air it was.
Whoa, haven’t had a good back and forth for a while. Feels like forever... Sure, me being tongue tied, like, all the time sure hasn’t helped, but still! Finishing what remained of his meal in a single bit, Spike shuffled around on the carpet and gave Sweetie Belle a sly grin as he adopted a haughty air of superiority that was about as transparent as well shined glass. “Yeah, I remember. I sure was glad I wasn’t the one with a white coat, though. Your cheeks were like ripened roma tomatoes after I brushed your hoof climbing up!”
“At least I still had the ability to move!” Sweetie Belle laughed, shoving the dragon playfully. “You were so stiff, you fell over when I poked you! Pipsqueak would have flipped if he were here, though it’s probably for the best that he wasn’t; he probably wouldn’t have treated a zombie dragon quite so nicely as he does Scootaloo.”
“Hey, I was responsive! Kind of...” Spike shot back, adopting a rueful smile and cringing at having lobbed Sweetie Belle such an easy opportunity. There was a soft thud as the filly suddenly sat straight up, her eyes bulging and unblinking as she slowly fell to the side. “Ok, ok, I was really messed up, ok? Being invited to a hot girl’s bed kind of does things to a guys brain, you know...” Perhaps divulging too much information in a less than articulate fashion, Spike covered his mouth as Sweetie Belle shrugged her feigned zombification and sat upright once more, unsure of whether to be flattered, miffed, or just plain mushy.
“...’hot girl,’ huh?” Sweetie Belle sneered, a wicked grin spreading across her muzzle as she moved closer. “Well then, how would such a guy respond if such a filly should do... this!” Springing suddenly, Sweetie Belle leapt upon Spike, pinning his claws spread wide and standing over him with a sensuous, teasing leer. How the perils of attraction do seem so magical to those wrapped in love’s spell! Alas, her ruse had its desired effect in that Spike was summarily robbed of breath, but as a familiar flush rose to lavender cheeks, so too did one filly’s chest burn as her own heart skipped hoof in claw with his.
Ok, keep it together, Sweetie Belle. This is a joke. A gag. Nothing romantic about... about being this close to his mouth... or pinning him to the ground. Just... normal stuff?
Ugh, again? Why do things always go this direction with us? Just when I thought we were going to have some real fun, too... The flush began to fade as Spike’s cheeks as hidden frustrations took their place, and Sweetie Belle was shocked not just clear speech, but playful prodding as Spike sought to shift things back towards normalcy. “Are you really sure you wanna take up wrestling? Rarity wouldn’t approve of something so ‘uncouth.’”
There were a number of traits Sweetie Belle had learned from her dear sister, and stubbornness seemed to be the strongest. Determined not to be outdone, and quite worried that she was losing her ability to strike her coltfriend dumb, Sweetie Belle pressed things further as she closed her eyes halfway, leaned in closed, and flexed what little magical knowledge she had to lift a piece of paper nearby, causing a faint lavender glow to shine from her horn. Spike lived with a married unicorn couple, and he knew exactly what the pale aura meant; it meant that his freedom of lucidity had been revoked, and he swallowed hard as he admitted defeat.
“Y-you win, S-Sweetie Belle.” Nopony moved. In fact, Sweetie Belle had succeeded in not only winning their little sparring match of sorts, but had landed herself in such a position where much of her willpower was being spent on boring things like breathing and keeping her hooves locked so she didn’t fall face first onto... face. Is she... really considering it? Again... Spike would find the next day that his subsequent laughter had not gone unnoticed, but he simply couldn’t withhold the joyous cachinnation of ironic release to accompany Sweetie Belle’s sonnet of sorrow with yet another timely interruption.
“Sweetie Belle, guess...” Scootaloo shouted, throwing open the door and again finding herself on the receiving end of the cruelest of punishments. “Augh, my eyes! Sweetie Belle, what’re you... with your horn glowing and everything? I... what is wrong with everypony today?!?” The kiss never happened, much to Spike's relief. In fact, within a few seconds time, the room once occupied by two flustered ponies was left desolate, one pegasus fleeing for her life from one ballistic unicorn, all while one dragon failed hard at placating the wrath of a scorned starlet. Were Sweetie Belle a tad more learned in the mystic arts, Scootaloo would surely have been grounded in a most abrupt and painful manner, but alas, the young unicorn was merely able to send out a few glittering sparks of deadly frustration and watch her invasive friend fly away, heading for no destination in particular, just one that didn’t involve life-threatening filly rage.
Like aromatic cayenne pepper being gently lathered into a gaping wound, cordial laughter rang out like a serenade at a funeral, and Sweetie Belle whirled to find Applebloom and Rumble slowly making their way over, hardly able to stand and leaning on each other for support as their raucous laughter mingled with that of her dragon. Remiss and filled to the brim with not-so-amiable indignation at not only being deprived for the umpteenth time, but also mocked as well, Sweetie Belle stomped her way over and thrust her face close to Applebloom’s, growling softly and alerting the pair that they may wish to regulate their breathing a teeny bit better if they wished to continued to breathe at all.
“Oh... come on, now... don’t get... so huffy!” Applebloom wheezed, her chest heaving as she wiped blissful tears of merriment from their place huddled in the corners of her eyes. “Ah can only laugh... ‘cause the same thing happened t’ me... just a little while ago!”
“Wait... wait just a minute, here!” Sweetie Belle exclaimed, horrified and quite possibly even further vexed than she was before. “Scootaloo is going around ruining everypony’s special moments?!?”
“We were having a moment?” Spike murmured, wisely choosing to speak softly so as to not direct the beast’s wrath upon himself.
“In her defense, ah think it feels a bit more like ‘repeatedly gettin’ her snout shoved into romantic mush,’” Applebloom answered, placing a slightly trembling hoof on the filly’s shoulder. “Ah ain’t laughin’ at yer ruined moment, Sweetie Belle. Honest, ah’m not! It was Scootaloo’s reaction to it that made trailing her worthwhile.” Applebloom proceeded to explain why it was that Scootaloo was callously traversing the town in search of tenderness to destroy, which Sweetie Belle gave due thought.
Tickets to Canterlot? That’d be amazing! I guess I can almost forgive her for ruining my moment, but she needs to learn. I don’t care what the universe has to say about it; I’m going to get my kiss, it’s going to be romantic, and it’s going to be totally special and perfect! That, and Rarity is going to hear about this later... Maybe she has a way to get around fate? “Applebloom...” Sweetie Belle said slowly, an innocent smile playing at her lips as she released her hold on Spike and rose. “You said she was going around telling all her friends, right?”
“Uh, yeah, that’s right....”
“I know exactly what to do!” she exclaimed, clapping her hooves excitedly before throwing up her hoof as Applebloom, Rumble, and Spike responded in turn, not knowing what they were agreeing to but confident that, if nothing else, Sweetie Belle had some good ideas. With a gleam in her eye and the sweet, sweet taste of a genius plot, Sweetie Belle declared their next course of action with unbridled excitement laced with the tantalizing venom of undiluted vexation. “Cutie Mark Crusaders Vengeance: Yay!”
Another day spent with a filly who was as energetic as she was adept at re-writing moral code became another day Silver Spoon spent questioning her values. Picking weeds had only been the beginning in a chain of menial chores she wouldn't have fathomed touching with a ten foot pole not two weeks back, but with every window wiped, every massive stack of papers sorted, and the soot cleaned from her hooves after a rather necessary investigation of the inside of the Cake's horrendous oven, Silver Spoon found herself not just ok with her disgusting tasks, but actually walking away with a strange sense of fulfillment that pushed bafflement to new heights. However, bafflement wasn't the only puzzlement that Silver Spoon battled within herself, and she found herself staring once more at a pony she would never have thought to give a second glance, but now found herself unwilling to look away.
What is it about her that I find so... Attractive. She refused to let the sentence finish forming in her mind, but her denial just made the tug worse. "H-hey! Watch what you're doing!" Silver Spoon barked as Ruby accidentally trod upon her tail. For a moment, Ruby simply stared at Silver Spoon who was straining to keep her glare intact, all while berating herself for responding with such volatility in the first place.
"I'm too tired to even try to correct your volume. Shout away, I guess..." Ruby replied collapsing a respectful distance away and rolling onto her side. Sheesh... I just can't seem to keep her happy. It's like... the happier she gets, the harder she snaps. So much for being talented at helping ponies...
She’s doing it again... that thing where she let’s me have my way, but it only makes me feel even worse. How, Ruby? How do you spend all of your time doing stupid, grimy work for nothing and still have the patience to deal with me? And why the hay does make me feel... feel so... Again, Silver Spoon was forced to diverge from the path her thoughts had taken, if only because too many words came to mind, each one as comforting as it was accusing to a filly struggling to understand seeds of desire that she didn’t want to bloom, but if her feeble attempts were likened to a basket starving the sapling of sunlight, then Ruby was the careful gardener, pulling away the covering and watering the new life like every other she cared for.
Ruby let slip a silent sigh as she felt the weight shift on the bed, preparing herself for some self-righteous justification or other prissy mumbo jumbo that she, quite honestly, didn’t care to hear. Her patience wasn’t limitless, she was tired, and Silver Spoon had been particularly sassy that afternoon, leaving her quite ready for a nap. What she was given, however, was more rejuvenating than even the deepest of sleeps.
“I... I’m sorry.” Genuine. Ruby didn’t believe that Silver Spoon was half as much a pain in the rump as she acted, but it was for that very reason that her muttered apologies and double-edged praise, in short supply though they were, felt more like further banter than an honest admission of fault, but there was no mistaking the authenticity within her quiet, frail voice.
“What... did you say?” Ruby replied, sitting up and daring to believe the excitement coursing through her heart. Breakthrough alert! Grab the fireworks and ready the balloons! Oh, please, please, please be what I think she said!
“I said ‘I’m sorry,’ ok? You know, that thing you say when you do something stupid and hurt somepony else? I do know the phrase,” Silver Spoon huffed, folding her hooves across her chest as her automatic response slipped out, only to be accompanied by downcast eyes that showed she knew she got it right the first time. Disregarding the veil of sarcasm, what Ruby heard was an honest admittance of regret from a filly recognizing that her actions had an effect on others, and it was nothing short of monumental, a moment of pride and triumph for Ruby that made every stubborn squabble and exasperated sigh worthwhile.
“Self-awareness... consideration of others... acceptance of consequences? Silver Spoon, do you have any idea what this means?!?” Ruby squealed, grabbing the filly’s hooves and shaking them wildly.
Don’t think about it. Just don’t think about it... Silver Spoon glanced at her hooves. She thought about it. “Uh... it... um...” Great. Could I be any more obvious?
“It means you have a heart! I knew it! Hah! You’re totally a pony and everything!”
“Oh, very astute. What tipped you off?” Silver Spoon shot back, her thoughts temporarily stabilized by Ruby’s declaration.
“Gonna be like that, huh, Spoony? I’ll take care of that!”
Spoony? Further contemplation of the emotional rush that resulted from being tagged with such an endearing label was forestalled by an elated tackle of epic proportions, landing them both in a heap on the floor. Ruby knew that Silver Spoon found physical contact with her abhorrent, and thus immediately removed herself from her furry, silver-coated pillow, unwittingly sparing the filly a mountain of embarrassment and leaving Silver Spoon to readjust her spectacles and finish her thoughts. “Don’t call me that.”
“Call you what?”
“That name.”
“Oh, Spoony?”
“Yes, that.”
“I dunno. I kinda like it. Rolls off the tongue a little easier than your full name.”
“Well, I guess your tongue is just going to have to get its exercise, then,” Silver Spoon declared, quite confident she had squelched the problem with a solid comeback... right up until Ruby degenerated into aggravatingly dainty titters.
“Oh my... it’s a bit soon for that, don’t you think, Spoony?” Ruby teased, wincing as the expected shouting blared in her ears, pushing her cachinnation further.
“I didn’t mean it like that!” Silver Spoon shouted out of sheer desperation, racing over to where Ruby lay laughing uproariously. “Do you really think for one second that I’d ever even do something like that?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, and there was no taking it back.
“I'm not really sure what to say to that, Silver Spoony,” Ruby chortled, putting a little effort towards calming down due to the filly’s attempts to make her cheeks match Ruby’s coat. Spoony sure gets worked up easily. She’s loud, but it’s kinda funny if I’m not dead tired. “You’re constantly surprising me,” she continued, her snickers easing as she sat up and caught her breath, “but it’s none of my business who you like. Filly, colt, or both: it doesn't make a difference to me either way! You’re my friend, and that’s all that matters!” She’d expected sarcasm, a jibe, an airy dismissal, or some other prissy, lofty response that maintained her position as queen above the lowly pauper, but as good as she was at reading others, Ruby was missing every blaring signal Silver Spoon was sending off. Tears, however, are hard to misinterpret.
That... that was all I wanted to hear from you, Diamond Tiara. Why couldn’t you just... One drop trickled down, leading a path for the rest as the filly began to shut down, burdened by the weight of abandonment. How you manage to constantly dredge up everything I don’t want to face without even trying is beyond me, Ruby. Why? Why the hay do I have to be like this?!? A hoof came down gently on her shoulder, but with everything bottled inside threatening to breach the outer wall, Silver Spoon whirled, knocking the hoof away and redirecting her anger where it had no business being. “Don’t...”
“Ok,” Ruby whispered, rubbing her hoof and averting her eyes from those that blazed with malice. “I’ll let you have some time alone. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” Silver Spoon wanted to speak, to apologize, to beg forgiveness of the one she knew she was using as a proverbial punching bag as she worked towards piecing her life back together, but nothing came out save a choked whimper. She’d done it again, and the empty room she now faced as Ruby gently closed the door behind her was greater than she deserved.
It’s worth it, but that doesn’t make it not hurt... Ruby looked down at her fore leg, showing a faint redness where Silver Spoon’s hoof had made connection, pondering for just a moment if she was following the right path. A rueful smile slowly eclipsed her frown, bringing with it a calm, quiet laughter of acceptance: she helped ponies. Reasonable or not, it’s just the way she was, and she was content to continue on just as she always did, and as she strode into the kitchen where her mother Berry Punch sat reading a book and idly sipping on some juice, the words “I’m sorry” that she’d framed in her mind gave her all the push she needed.
“Mom? If somepony is sad, which one of Shiny’s drinks would be best for cheering them up?” Ruby asked, trotting over and cracking open the fridge.
“I thought I heard some shouting,” Berry mused, setting down her novel and giving her daughter her full attention. “How sad? Sullen, depressed, snobby sad?”
“Closer to ‘weeping buckets of tears’ sad, actually,” Ruby replied, eyeing the well-stocked appliance.
“Hmmm... well, I’d say a drop of moonshine would do anypony good, but that’s running low and Silver won’t be able to make any until the next Zap Apple harvest. Oh, and I don’t know how Silver Spoon’s parents would feel about their daughter getting a little tipsy,” Berry chuckled, standing and walking over. “Shockberry juice tends to make you pretty giggly, but if they’re really sad, I’d go with something more traditional. Here, try the maple soda.”
“Pour a glass for me too, if you could,” Ruby asked, gratefully accepting her cup and taking a seat at the table to recuperate before facing the storm. Whether it was the carbonation or the sweetness, she couldn’t say, but sipping her drink didn't last, and she quaffed most of hers down within moments.
“Awww, that’s my girl,” Berry Punch teased, shooting her daughter a wink as she sheepishly ceased her efforts to coax that last, finite drop of carbonated bliss from the bottom of the glass and folded her hooves in mock indignation.
“It’s not my fault Shiny makes such tasty drinks,” Ruby defended, holding her scowl for a few more seconds before breaking into a grin. “I’d better get back. Time to put your guess to the test!”
“If there’s one thing I know, it’s drinks,” Berry asserted, taking another sip of her juice. “Go on, sweetie. It’s rude to keep a lady waiting.” Wrapping Silver Spoon’s cup in a soft, pink aura, Ruby set about doing just that, pausing outside the door before quietly letting herself in to find the filly right where’d she’d left her.
“Here, drink this,” Ruby said quietly, taking a seat beside her and floating the glass over. After several moments of holding the drink at ready, Ruby decided that maybe she needed a little more coaxing, and launched a dual pronged assault the skillfully blended pointed jesting and tender care. “Oh, I forgot. You probably have ponies who do that for you.” Silver Spoon slowly turned, her lips parting as she began to speak before finding them occupied with the rim of a cup. “Don’t speak, just drink,” Ruby urged softly, tilting the glass back a little more.
How can a single act that’s so stupidly simple... make me feel so... cherished? No lavish comfort or pampering could come close to comparing to the wealth of gratitude Silver Spoon held for such kindness, and unwilling to let it end, her hooves remained firmly planted on the floor. Ruby slowly floated the cup back over as the last sip was taken, and for a time, the two simply watched each other, one in confusion, the other in adoration. “I’m really... I’m sorry, Ruby. You didn’t deserve that...”
“Dang, what’d my Uncle Shiny put in this stuff?” Ruby pondered, puzzlement stamped on her muzzle as she inspected the now empty glass. “I mean, I knew it tasted good, but I didn’t know it cured the dumbs.”
“I...” Silver Spoon started, taking it upon herself to stifle the protest before it began. “I might have deserved that... I guess...”
And so the silver begins to shine a little brighter... It’s always the hardest jobs that bring the greatest satisfaction, and you’re going to take forever to polish, I bet. I swear, Diamond Tiara left so much junk for me to clean off... “I might be able to accept your apology... I guess...” Ruby replied with a cheeky grin, matching Silver Spoon’s reluctant tone and letting her laughter ring out as a lifesong for them both. Questions answered lead to questions raised: Silver Spoon was still terribly confused, but she grew more convinced with every interaction that Ruby was key to finding the answer to every query trapped within her mind.
“Ruby! You have some guests at the door!” Berry Punch called out, catching her daughter’s attention.
“Send ‘em in!” Ruby called back, leaping to her hooves. “Oh, don’t look like that,” Ruby said, shaking her head as Silver Spoon adopted an air of indifference. “My friends are just as nice as me, Silver Spoon. Maybe not as good looking,” she teased, tossing her mane and unwittingly flustering the other filly as Sweetie Belle and her entourage of three others tumbled into her room, bursting with excitement enough to share. “Sweetie Belle? Ok, she’s too busy laughing. Applebloom, what’s going on?”
“Scootaloo’s been watching ponies get pervy an’ now we need you t’ do the same!”
“Uh, what now?” Ruby replied, vaguely amused and quite curious as to why she was being asked to join in such a questionable pass time.
“Your friends have quite the, uh... interesting hobby,” Silver Spoon murmured, forcing Ruby to stifle a giggle of her own as Spike raised a claw to capture their attention, taking a few gasps for air before giving them the full rundown on Scootaloo’s emotionless destruction of tender moments.
“So basically,” Sweetie Belle chimed in, standing next to Spike with a wicked glint in her eye, “the moment Scootaloo comes in, we need you and Silver Spoon to make it look as saucy as possible.”
“You want us to what? You can’t be serious.” Silver Spoon’s adamant refusal was purely one sided, a fact that couldn’t well be denied with any shred of serious belief; she was practically breathless with laughter at Sweetie Belle’s scheme. “While you ponies may have lower standards, I would never do something so...”
“Oh, come off your... your pedestal, Spoony!” Ruby giggled in between gaping mouthfuls of much needed air.
“I told you not to call me that!” Silver Spoon shot back, her reproving glare only tickling Ruby further. “Hmph, I suppose such behavior wouldn't bother a filly of your class...”
“Yup!” Ruby chortled, picking herself up and beaming back at the crowd of ponies that had gathered in her room. “Sweetie Belle, we are so in! Here, hide in my closet.” Leading Sweetie Belle, Spike, Applebloom and Rumble over to the double doors, Ruby opened them and stared blankly as a murmur of surprise and wonder swept over her audience.
“Ah had no idea you had so many prizes an’ such. What is all this?” Applebloom asked, her eyes darting from page to page of certificates and photos. Silver Spoon was similarly entranced, her protests of her involvement in a scandal most uncouth laid aside as she was bombarded by the smiling faces of no fewer than fifty ponies, all with a certain pink unicorn beaming by their side.
“Ruby, what is... ‘Certificate of Outstanding Public Service?’” Silver Spoon read, turning her eyes from the pages and looking back to Ruby, currently shifting nervously as she stared at the ground, with baffled wonder. “I don’t... understand.” With a sigh, Ruby looked at the wall that was her inspiration in the darkest of times, and encouragement in the face of adversity, spending a few moments in silent contemplation before nodding slowly, both to herself and the rest that were gathered.
“I... don’t help ponies for recognition or fame,” Ruby explained in a quiet, nervous voice. “Mayor Mare has tried more than once to present these awards to me for all the help I do around Ponyville, but I’m not doing it to be noticed. Those pictures are all of ponies I’ve helped in some way or another, and that’s payment enough. I know they appreciate it, so why do I need an award?” Making her way through the miniature crowd, Ruby gazed upon her legacy with genuine thanksgiving. “Really, I’m not sure who helped who the most...”
“That’s really neat, Ruby!” Rumble quipped, and soon Ruby was blushing under a slew of praise and congratulations. She knew they meant well, and since they were her friends, it didn’t bother her near as much as it would have, but it was exactly the sort of thing she sought to avoid.
“Ok, ok, I got it. I’m a great pony and all that,” Ruby interjected, waving a hoof to forestall any further adoration. “In exchange for helping you guys out, you gotta promise me you won’t go spreading this around. Seriously, I’d get sore from all the ponies patting my back!”
“Ah won’t tell a soul until you’re ready t’ let the world know, Ruby, but you ain’t got no reason t’ hide. Nopony could look at that an feel anythin’ other than a great heap o’ respect!” Applebloom declared, raising a cheer and bringing a faint flush to the filly’s cheeks.
“Thanks, everypony. Now, you should probably...” Ruby started, falling silent as the sound of somepony knocking on the front door caused an immediate hush. “Positions! Hurry, go go go!” Ruby hissed, shushing the giggling quartet as they piled into her closet. “Silver Spoon, I need you up here on the bed. Snuggle up close, and I’ll take care of the rest.” No argument, no attitude, no anything that Ruby would have expected came from the filly, who simply turned and stared back at the unicorn who couldn’t even begin to guess how she had pushed the tumultuous state of an unsure heart towards breaking point.
I can’t remember a single pony who has ever said “thank you” to me. Have I ever said those words, and actually meant them, to another besides Ruby? I don’t think so... Slowly, she climbed onto the bed, her thoughts deepening with each step. Am I appreciated? Have I ever done anything worthwhile? Do I have... even a single picture to show for it... Silver Spoon slowly sank to her haunches. I... don’t want to keep going this way. I want to learn. I want to be wanted... appreciated...
“Spoony? You ok?” Ruby’s inquiry was met only with the soft sensation of the filly pressing gently against her side, addling Ruby further and raising more than a few questions in her mind. Ok, well, this is different. I thought she said she wasn’t going to help? Dang it, I need to ask Twilight if I can use magic to read minds! That’d be so helpful... It needed to be saucy. It needed to be scarring. It needed, Silver Spoon decided, to seem genuine for maximum shock value, and thus she refused to fight the blush rising to her cheeks.
“Hey, that’s pretty good,” Ruby whispered, nodding as she levitated something out of sight to give her horn a radiant glow. “Just like that.”
Every word of praise, every stupid, sweet smile... Hoofbeats sounded their rapid approach, and with her tumultuous emotions reaching crescendo, Silver Spoon closed her eyes and reaffirmed within herself one of the few absolutes she could believe beyond a shadow of a doubt. I want to change. And I... want you to be the pony to teach me, Ruby. As the door swung open in Scootaloo’s third abrupt and final unannounced entrance of the day, the faint pink aura around an unprepared unicorn filly’s horn pulsed just a little brighter as something soft and gentle pressed against her cheek.
It was a poignant moment for all. Ruby, for example, experienced the faintest glimmer of comprehension with every odd blush Silver Spoon seemed to display on a daily basis, her sudden spaz attacks at the slightest prolonged physical contact, and the dreamy stares Ruby had rightfully interpreted as the filly simply having a lot on her mind, though the understanding that it was because of her set in about as fast as the heat attempting to immolate herself and her unexpectedly romantic acquaintance. Silver Spoon, while admittedly not taking the most stealthy approach, had seen a prime opportunity work out some of the mounting tension within herself under the guise of a clever ruse while simultaneously proving that she was also willing to give a little in her friendship with Ruby. For the first time in a very long while, the filly felt clean. Free. Alive. And Scootaloo... well, Scootaloo was having a bad day.
Having spent the entire trip to Ruby’s house telling herself over and over again that she would finally obtain solace from the horrendous curse of romantic bombardment that seemed to be following her everywhere she went, starting lightly with Applebloom’s little tryst with Rotty and quickly accelerating towards insidious and beyond with Pipsqueak’s flagrant disregard for dignity, Rumble’s suave pioneering of Applebloom’s heart and, as it appeared, soon to be body, and Sweetie Belle’s umpteenth attempt at a kiss, this time involving a provocatively glowing horn amidst a room awash with saucy intent. And so, as she swung open the door and all too prepared to bask in the sanctuary that was a room where romance was never even a possibility in her mind, what she faced were two furiously blushing fillies, one casting the room in a dancing pink light, and one with her muzzle ever so delicately pressing against a rosen cheek. Scootaloo stood in the doorway, her hoof on the door and her eyes attempting to mimic the ever expanding universe that she was absolutely convinced was out to get her.
What was she to do? Presented with an utterly incomprehensible scene of sensuous romance where she ardently believed it would never be found, Scootaloo’s jaw slowly reached for the floor the circuit breaker to mental fortitude, and neural function overall, was severed as with an axe. Scootaloo’s mind snapped. Like a twig.
“Hey you two! Kissing, huh? Right! Kissing. Kissing with lips. Lips are soft! Wonderbolts derby! You’ll be busy to come, well? Right! Kissing busy. Bye!” While Scootaloo’s mind froliced through a wondrous beach where the shore was made of fragments of glass, lapped by the molten tongue of a lava sea drenched in the gentle light of a dying sun, her hooves carried away the broken spirit of a tomcolt filly away from from the blushing duet and into the kitchen where Berry Punch was again forced to set down her book to witness a most curious scene. Reaching absentmindedly for the nearest bottle, Scootaloo popped the cork and chugged a startling amount without hesitation.
“Scootaloo? I wasn’t aware that Grace let you drink,” Berry began, adding amused to confused as the filly delicately set the bottle back in its place, stood stock still a moment before turning and flashing the mare a winsome smile.
“Kissing!” came the enigmatic reply, and having said her piece and drunk her fill, Scootaloo was fueled for the journey home. Three steps. Four would be one more than the filly had taken and two would be one shy of the proper number before Scootaloo’s hooves gave way, caving out from under her as unintentional imbibement of alcohol took its toll. “Funny jelly, feel like legs! Walking. House! Yay~!” Prying herself off the floor and operating entirely off of nervous energy akin to adrenaline but only supplied in the face of horrors too harrowing for the mind to comprehend, Scootaloo tottered over to the door and started on her way home, away from the kissing, and the kissing, and perhaps also the kissing. Oh, and the kissing. Can’t forget the kissing!
Back inside, one unicorn filly was attempting to reconcile within herself that every denial towards the authenticity of the kiss she’d been given was about as solid a defense against a dragon’s flames as a solitary slice of swiss cheese. Ruby, while perhaps not quite as broken as Scootaloo, slowly lifted a hoof to her burning cheek as she opened her mouth to speak, though what escaped was a quiet noise that perfectly described her addled state.
“Hngh?”
“What? You said you wanted it to look saucy,” Silver Spoon giggled, blushing furiously and acting as nonchalant as possible in order to save her own hide and conceal her secret on the off chance she hadn't made it glaringly obvious. Ruby would have commented, or at least tried, but after an utter lack of screaming and pointed absence of dry heaves and other expected signs of social discomfort from one orange pegasus, Sweetie Belle and the rest piled out of the closet to find themselves feeling every bit as out of place as they had hoped to inflict upon Scootaloo.
“Uh... Ruby, you can stop using magic now. Scootaloo is gone.”
“Huh? I’m not using magic.”
“Your horn certainly thinks you are,” Sweetie Belle began, snorting at her friends attempted prank. “I’m not gonna fall for that, you know.”
“B-but I’m not using magic!” Ruby stammered defensively, becoming painfully aware that the bed was still bathed under pink light as the dawning silence of fearful comprehension descended among her friends and their eyes which grew very, very wide.
“Well, Ruby, it’s been interesting, but I do believe it’s time for me to head home!” Silver Spoon declared, ditching her stunned audience and pausing at the doorway, batting her eyes a little as she flirted with the unknown, and also with the filly gaping wide eyed and glowing upon the bed. “Bye~ Ruby! Don’t have too much fun without me~!” A wink, a gallop, and Ruby was left with too many questions and no answers for Gabby Gum’s interrogation. A nervous squee was all Ruby managed to get out as Sweetie Belle hopped onto the bed and showed a little bit more of her inner Rarity as she thrust her face close with gleeful interest in business not her own.
“Ruby? Tell... me... everything!”
“Scootaloo? Ahoy, look out!” Pipsqueak called out, waving enthusiastically and staring in puzzlement as he noticed an inordinate amount of sway in her step. I wonder what’s going on? Normally, she’s really, really coordinated, but right now she’s... His thoughts paused as Scootaloo passed by, taking a few steps before forgetting that walking involves all four legs, not just the back two, landing her face down in the dirt and giggling up a storm. Slightly worried for his crew member, Pipsqueak immediately trotted over and sat waiting for her to discontinue her quite successful taste test of the earthen road, but as nearly a minute stretched by and Scootaloo found herself quite content to let the ground lavish its affection upon her, her blurry vision was given new sight as Pipsqueak gently tipped her over and offered a helping hoof.
“Are ye feelin’ well, lass? Do ye need help gettin’ home?” A full ten seconds passed as the colt’s distorted voice sunk in, penetrating deep inside and stirring something within the filly’s heart.
Captain? Captain! I should hoof the kiss. “Kishing...” Scootaloo accepted the colt’s invitation, grasping the offered hoof gently and giving Pipsqueak the most blatantly amorous leer he’d ever received. If that wasn’t enough to tip the captain off that his crew member was currently in harpy mode, the sensation of having his hoof enclosed within Scootaloo’s mouth was.
“T-that’s a b-bit more than h-holding hooves, lass!” Pipsqueak stammered, lasso’d by the strings of his own heart and quite incapable of doing much else but pondering with wonder the fiery sensation that had engulfed his face. Uh oh, the Siren is back! Evasive maneuvers! Nothing happened. Hull breach! Bailout! Again, his commands to move failed. Line by line, he tried every prompt he knew and even a few that, admittedly, didn’t make sense, but nothing seemed to be able to get his legs moving again. At least, not until his commodore approached him unawares and reprimanded the colt for his lack of manners.
“No, no, ye’ve got it all wrong, lad...” Gale chortled, trotting over and greeting the overwhelmed colt currently afflicted with a most potent charm hex. “Everypony knows it’s the colt who kisses the lady’s hoof. Come on, then: do it proper.”
“Y-ye don’t know what ye be askin’, Cap’n!” Pipsqueak shouted back, temporarily halting Scootaloo’s suckling for a moment before she shifted slightly and began again. “I’m a pirate! I like adventure, not flirtin’ with death! Do ye even know what befalls sailors who dare tempt a harpy?”
“Manners, lad. It ain’t proper to call a lady such things. Now, go on. Ye won’t die, ye ‘ave my word.”
I’m not gonna die, I’m not gonna die... Like a baby deprived of a bottle, Scootaloo’s merry stupor shifted to tragic bereavement as her painted hoof popsicle was cruelly snatched away. Pipsqueak cringed as an infantile wail rent the air, setting the stage for his grandstanding debut as debonair extraordinaire. “Scootaloo! Shhh, it’s ok!”
“Kishing! Kishing~!” the filly whined, her speech heavily slurred as she grasped feebly towards the colt. With a jovial tone of “...what the hay?!?” permeating the air, Pipsqueak caught one of Scootaloo’s limp hooves, swallowed hard, and hesitantly brought his muzzle towards its fateful destination. “Kishing...” Contact was about to be made when Pipsqueak caught a heavy whiff of her breath and the traces of wine contained therein.
Wait a second... “Have ye been into the grog, lass? Ye smell like ye’ve had a barrel t’ yerself.”
“Yum!”
“Haharr, what a relief!” Pipsqueak laughed, his pirate’s mind put to ease by such a laudable excuse for excessive affection. “I knew ye weren’t just fallen fer the captain, lass.” Not that I’d mind, really. I wonder what she'd think about that? “An up and coming rogue like yerself? Huh, doesn’t bare thinkin’ about. Yer a tricky one, look out! C’mon then, let’s get ye home.” No longer concerned with the filly drooling down the side of his neck and secretly not entirely opposed to her affection, Pipsqueak supported the filly and started their tottering journey back towards her house, leaving his bemused captain with but one thought on his mind.
“...I feel right sorry fer Storm. Oh aye, they may take their sweet time gettin’ there, but the moment those two realize they’re already in love, it ain’t gonna be the lad’s hoof that’s gettin’ all the attention.”