Yes, I know theres a section for author's notes. This is, in my opinion, a bad first half of a chapter, which I hope to have the (much better) rest of up by the new year. I was going to post them both simultaneously, but part 2 ended up being much longer than originally anticipated. So, that being said, keep a watch out for a FAR better chapter to be coming up soon! Just consider them both my Christmas presents to you all, a lot of work went into both chapters. Happy holidays everypony!
The Date: Part 1
Just another hour. One more hour until we have to be there- one more hour until our previously agreed-upon time. I must admit, this is probably somewhere around the 10th first date I've been on. However, regretfully, I must also admit that I haven't been this nervous in such a time that I am currently unable to do much in my own power to keep myself calm, cool, and collected.
Resorting to pacing the floor after I finished getting ready, as I often do anyways, I decided it would even be a good idea to turn the TV on in the other room while I was at it. The background noise has definitely helped me calm down a bit.
Fluttershy has been taking such a long time, what's keeping her? I think to myself in a momentary escape from mental lock-up. I've been ready to leave for an hour now, yet haven't heard a peep from her.
Before we both commenced the typical pre-date rituals, the day was fairly normal. We of course ate breakfast- resulting in me nearly setting the house on fire with a kitchen appliance I haven't used in months- then sat down to watch TV together, as we do quite often. We ate lunch from home as we did with the meal previous, amidst even more of our surprisingly strong conversational skills, then each took our turns showering and getting ready.
I guess most would wonder why there is such a greater focus on getting prepared for a first date. Your typical young adults of today would be satisfied with a hunting trip or drive to a cliff as an acceptable first date, but this is a view that I strongly disagree with. Especially now, since I've been prompted with the task of taking Fluttershy on her first date ever. I am by no means old-fashioned; this is quite different of the current situation. The first aspect of our first date though, even if it can be considered quite cliche, is going to be a nice sit-down dinner. Don't think me uncreative though, this will just be the appetizer to something extremely original that has been nagging my mind for months passed.
While this is often used by some, the call I had to make was for the hope that I could find a cancelled reservation at a 4-star restaurant that subsides on the west side of our nearest city, about 20 miles from my house. The joint never has any openings on the day of communication, unless someone has dropped a reservation and you're lucky enough to call within 2 minutes of the cancellation. I just guess today was my lucky day.
Now- how this ties in to taking time to get ready. Being that the restaurant is so high class, business formal is the minimally required dress code. They like for men to have jackets, but I have never owned one, so I'm currently hoping they'll have an extra in my size in the storage closet. Don't wanna be odd man out.
I decided to go with a commonly used outfit of mine, being a slim, light blue, long-sleeved button-up shirt, with a matching blue tie coated in criss-crosses of different hues of blue. The pants that go with them are slightly off-black, with water-etched plaid squares that you can see should you look close enough, and a pair of black shoes and a black belt to complete the getup.
I take a moment to step back over to the tall mirror in the foyer to look back over the appearance that I had taken nearly an hour and a half to achieve. It's crazy how a clean shave, suave clothing, and gelled-up hair can really make your average guy look halfway presentable. As I rub my jawline with the ends of the fingers on one hand- mainly to feel the smoothness that I have much missed- I also cheat my chest out to observe the leanness that I manage to achieve regardless of constant eating. I'm not by any means conceited, I'm just happy for the high metabolism I've been blessed with that makes most women hate me. Eating a normally portioned meal every three hours and not gaining isn't exactly an easy ability to come by, though I do consider it a blessing and a curse.
Walking back to the kitchen to continue my rambling pacing, my first footstep through the doorway is interrupted by an upstairs door opening. The repetition of light footsteps from small feet reach the stairwell, and eventually the causation reaches the ground floor, stepping into my field of view.
Here's a small disclaimer: the faint of heart should never look at what I am seeing. My own heart is nearly exploding.
Let's take it from the top; pun definitely intended. Fluttershy's hair is being worn half-up, half-down as it was at most of her photo shoots back in her modeling days. A small blue flower clip the same shade as my shirt resides on the side of her bumped-up hair do. Her face is naturally gorgeous as always, keeping just a small amount of bright eye shadow to emphasize her enormous green-blue irises and a light touch of blush to her cheeks. Her pale skin only helps the blush radiate more.
Moving down, her dress is one I bought for her shortly after I found her. Throughout our department store escapades it was the only dress we managed to find that she liked, and after stepping from the dressing room, she made my heart stop for a few seconds even then. Her hair was in its normal style and she was not fixed up in any matter at all, yet I was still stunned silent at her incredible level of natural beauty. Now that she stands here looking ready for a nomination at the Oscar's, I can hardly bring my mind to process that I'm taking her out.
The dress is a single piece, knee length, and is base colored blue with green tints on the straps and stomach belt. Brighter green designs cascade down the soft, satin-esque fabric, some ending in points at the base of the skirt with others ending in swirls at the waist line and above. Sequins are randomly placed to add color emphasis, and I can't help but feel as though Rarity herself would be impressed with it.
Maybe she can see it next time she visits.. I think as my mind's voice finally re-engages.
The pair of shoes she is wearing is quite simple, a pair of multi-strap sandals with a pink butterfly as a centerpiece on each of the two pieces of footwear. In all honesty, I can't even remember where we bought them at. I just know she came edging up to me with them in hand and- shyly- asked if it would be too much trouble to get them for her, if I didn't mind, and if I had enough money left over, and if I didn't- well, the usual drill. I may as well also come out with the fact that she added a faint touch of white spray-on body glitter to her upper chest and shoulders. How she knew where to put it? Beats me. I won't complain though.
Being as impressed as I am at her breath-stealing appearance, I just have to ask, "Fluttershy, did you- do this all on your own?"
She is seemingly taken aback by the question, and my suspicions are confirmed as her hands begin to travel everywhere, covering every single inch of her body and face at least once. "W-why? Did I, did I do something wrong? I mean, I didn't think I did-"
As she continues to scan herself for any possible errors, I can't help but laugh and smile before I reply, the smile never really fading as I speak. "You didn't do anything wrong, nothing at all! How did you even fix yourself up so well on your own? You've never had to do it before as a human."
My reply leads her to a calmer standing, and her hands go back to lock behind her. "I just remembered some of the stuff from my modeling days," she explains, "and I decided to try it for myself and hope it was appropriate fashion here. I would have asked, but, I didn't want to cause you too much trouble."
Can she get any better? I ask myself in a moment of amusement. "Well, you didn't just try. You definitely succeeded- you look incredible," I tell her as I scan her over once more. I will admit, the look is very formal, and could almost be considered too much by a fashion critic, but Fluttershy did beyond an amazing job on herself and there isn't a single complaint I could even hope to scout out on my end.
"Thank- um, thank you.." she shakily replies as my eyes hit the floor for a brief moment. As I look back to her, I see a toothless smile gracing her lips and a faint blush showing through the artificial coloring on her cheek bones. Her eyes are averted far to the side, and the over all image she gives is nothing short of 'd'aww'-inspiring.
A bit of an awkward silence manages to creep into the moment, and I break it by grabbing my keys and telling her we should probably get going. She looks back to me and shakes her head 'yes' before moving, and we both walk out the front door and to my vehicle as I lock the door behind us.
My car, a 2000 Chevy Camaro, is sitting in the driveway beckoning me to replace myself behind the steering wheel. While it's not an overly flashy car, being painted a simple dark turquoise and retaining the standard late 90's body style, it is still loud and proud with the ability to get up and go. The 24-valve engine combined with a high grade cold air intake, which adds only about 20 horsepower in reality, still manages to win many a stoplight drag race against random people that want to feel powerful in taking off ahead of a sports car.
The only issue with this engine is, the sound supression isn't excellent. Like I said, loud and proud. It's obviously nothing compared to a more high-powered engine, but for a larger V6, it isn't anything close to quiet.
We each slouch into the car, Fluttershy practically falling in because of how low it sits, and I turn the key with a quick wrist-flick to start the it up. The first rev that growls through the engine causes Fluttershy to release a quiet "Eep!" that runs a sense of worry through my brain.
Fluttershy isn't used to cars, I realize as we sit idled in the driveway. She has never in the past several months had to ride in one, minus when I brought her back to my house, considering most anywhere she needs to go is easily within walking distance. If it's anywhere out of walking distance, I simply take it upon myself to do the work for her.
Looking for a way to let her know our required means of arriving at the reservation, on time at least, I decide to just tell her. "Shy, we're gonna have to go faster than 20 miles an hour to get to the restaurant.
"H-h-how m-much, f-f-faster?" she manages to stammer out in her moment of light, self-induced terror.
"Oh, not too fast. Somewhere in the means of, like, 70 I guess? Maybe?" I reply in an attempt to make it sound like it's not much worse.
At that, her face loses all of what color it has. Even the blush make-up on her previously rosy cheeks seems to fade. But, rather than objecting to using the vehicle, she instead scrunches down into the seat as she clicks the seatbelt and gulps audibly. She grabs the chest strap of the belt, and clenches both fists around its weavings as if already preparing for an accident.
"Fluttershy, you can trust me, right?" I ask, leaving a pause before the word right. Not removing her fists from the belt, she turns her head toward me and shakes 'yes' while holding the most adorable scared-face I think I've ever seen. She's really good at stuff like that, what can I say.
"Well, okay then. I'm going now," I inform as I shift the car into reverse. There isn't much of a reaction from her as I back from the driveway and onto the road, and she maintains ease through the first 25 miles an hour. I come to the stop sign that lets the road onto the main highway, see that nothing is coming, and turn onto the roadway.
I accelerate much slower than what I'm normally used to, so as not to frighten her from the noise and quick travel, and begin to ease my way toward the 45 mph speed limit. Once the needle locks onto my target speed I look over to Fluttershy, whose body is tensed in about every muscle while she latches onto the door handle with one hand and the center console with the other.
Hoping to comfort her a little bit, I take the wheel in my left hand and use the right to take her hand from the center console and hold it as we travel down the state road. She doesn't object, but remains tensed until we reach the first stoplight. The car finally makes it to an easy stop, where she slumps into visible relaxation with a loud sigh; she may as well have just heard a vet tell her that a sick animal was going to be okay.
"Ahhh- how long do we get to stay stopped for?" she asks in a quiet, relieved tone. Unfortunately for her, however, she asked right as the ever-trolling stoplight turned green.
"I- guess I'll let the car answer that for you," I regretfully answer.
The car takes off again under the control of my foot, and we make it back to 35 miles per hour before reaching the turn onto the parkway. I accelerate a little bit more before making the interstate exit, which is fairly close to the mouth of the parkway, and make it to 55 before the road stretches out into the interstate's right lane. Looking over to her after I merge, I can see that she is totally tensed again: so much so that her head is shaking and a vein is forcing its presence onto her neck.
"Fluttershy," I use her full name, getting her attention, "I'm in complete control of this car. You can trust me." We lock eye contact for a second or two before I look back to the road and continue the operation of the motor vehicle. As I set the cruise on 70, I squeeze the soft surface of her hand to let her know that we aren't going to be going any faster.
As the trip continues, she manages to relax quite a bit before we exit the interstate. The majority of the 20 minute car ride was spent in silence, and the sweat she leaves on my palm as we come to a stop at the base of the exit ramp reminds me that the silence was from just how frightened she was.
I take my hand back so I can turn the wheel easier, and my car leads itsself onto the roadway- which is clustered with heavy weekend afternoon traffic.
We drive along at a steady pace in the right lane of our side of the divided highway, and her getting to see all of the other cars seems to help her out a bit. Fluttershy manages to pull herself up and stare intently at the other cars, and slouches back down when an elderly lady sees and waves at her. I make sure to smile and wave back so that we don't seem rude, and as Fluttershy gets back up to look out my window, a yellow Corvette C6 flies by my side at at least 60 in a 35 zone.
"EEK!" she squeals in surprise and fright as the idiot driver makes his way past us and into the distance.
"Hey, don't worry about that guy," I console, reaching over and rubbing her hand, "A lot of drivers are like that. They're normally the ones that get into single person accidents, so his driving will probably only end in him hurting himself." I end my proverb with a kiss on her hand, urging her to relax as I make the turn into the mall complex.
The mall itself is surrounded by over 20 unattached sit-down restaurants; one of which, being the one our reservation resides at. I pull into the parking lot and have to circle the building twice before finally finding a space, which was actually a previously filled spot. I shut the car off, remove my keys from the ignition, stuff them and my UK Wildcats laniard into my pocket, and move to the other side to open Fluttershy's door. I end up having to help her figure out the seatbelt switch, which she must not have realized is red for a reason, and I pull her up and lead the way into the building.
The restaurant, named Martha's Vacation Home- an obvious spin off of the famous 5-star Martha's Vineyard- is a two story structure with many a fancy decoration on the interior. The inside walls are painted a deep red, with tall velvet curtains hanging down the tall windows. The lighting is fairly dim, so as to give the main floor a more candlelit feel without too greatly restricting visibility, and the tablecloths are all the same red as the curtains. The base level of the restaurant is floored with a gray stone tiling that contrasts the abundance of red quite well. The second floor of the building is hollow in the center, allowing one to see up to the ceiling. It consists of a balcony that stretches all the way around the building, accessible by two staircases on each side that are attached to the walls, and the whole level is strictly candlelit. All lights on the mall side of the restaurant have been removed, due to a generous bribe from the owner to the city's construction regulation staff and mall owner, so that anyone sitting on that side can dine under the stars at night.
Fluttershy and I make our way to the front counter, where a tall, chubby man in a semi-formal business suit asks for the name of our reservation.
"Jenkins, table for two," I tell him, obviously proud of my fancy last name.
"Alright Mr. Jenkins, the table will be ready in about five to ten minutes," he replies in a very high-class tone of voice.
"Thank you sir. Oh yeah-" I remember before waltzing away from the counter, "-you wouldn't happen to have an extra jacket somewhere in the neighborhood of a 38 short, would you?"
He acquires a pondering look for a brief moment, before replying, "I'll see what we have in the storage room."
He briskly walks off, prompting Fluttershy and I to take our seats at the waiting area. The benches are padded, and the backs of the row of seats even seem to have lumbar support, which brings me to a realization. "Wow. Shy, this place is a lot fancier than I remember it."
This is no lie. The couples at every table were dressed just as fancy, if not fancier, than her and I, and nearly every table sported an opened bottle of a pinot noir or some other fancy wine or champagne. The waiters and waitresses have even upgraded to wearing full tuxedos.
"Oh my, this place really is fancy," she states, apparently realizing the same aspects of the eatery that I have.
"It really has improved since the last time I was here, I just hope the price level doesn't correlate to the fanciness level." Did I really just use the word 'correlate' in normal conversation? I ask myself in thought. Heck yes I did, I then answer back to myself in a moment of impertinence.
I take Fluttershy's hand again, which is sure to become routine for me, and continue scanning the joint over until the man comes back to tell us our table is ready. He brings a jacket with him that apparently is a 36 standard, and though it is snug when I try it on, I can tell it looks nice.
"Thanks again, I'll be sure to bring it back on the way out," I inform the man.
"Be sure to do that, or else," he warns jestfully while shaking a large finger, "and you two be sure to enjoy your meal."
"Will do," I reply with a smile. The server that the man showed us to then motions for us to follow him, leads us up one of the staircases, and points us directly to an empty table at the edge of the balcony on the mall side of the restaurant.
How convenient, I muse, I hadn't planned on this at all.
We stand at the small table and quickly notice that it is just as fancy as the others, being completed with a single candle and a large rose in a fancy white vase at the center. Doing my best to be a gentleman, I step over and pull out my date's chair so she can sit down.
"Why thank you," she speaks, honestly grateful.
"Why you're welcome," I retort before pushing her chair back in.
I return to the other side to take my seat at the surprisingly small table, so much so that when I scoot all the way in, Fluttershy's kneecaps end up between mine. I definitely won't complain about this either, though. I start nudging her feet with mine under the table, making the color in her cheeks flare up slightly once again as she starts nudging back, and she starts giggling as we engage in a foot war under the confines of the tablecloth.
"You know, I've really waited a long time for this," I tell Fluttershy before nudging her again.
"Oh- I definitely know about what that feels like," she says nudging back.
Of course, just being that it's me, I can't stop a goofy smile from forcing its way onto my face as I attempt to keep at least my back molars from showing. "Well, I've got a full tank of gas and a whole night ahead," I remind her, "is there anything in particular you wanna do tonight? You know, anywhere you wanna see that you haven't been to yet? It's your first date after all."
"Oh no, it's fine- really. I get to be with you tonight- that's what matters, right?"
I take a moment to revel in the feeling her answer has left me with, and I shake my head yes to her as I nudge her foot again. I open my mouth to speak again, but before I can produce any noise, our waiter makes his way to our table and begins introducing himself. The man is somewhere in his late 20's, seemingly of average height and weight, and has his light brown facial hair shaved into a faint chin strap. His even lighter brown hair is cut very short, and is styled with a touch of gel and a hairbrush to the side of his forehead. The tuxedo he is wearing completes the waiter look, and in a word, he is fancy. Just like this restaurant, and just like the prices are bound to be, I think in mental agony.
"Good evening sir and miss, I will be your server tonight," he begins in a pitch much higher than you would think to see coming from him. I notice quickly that he did not use his name, and upon wardrobe inspection I see that he has no nametag on.
"Good evening to you too," I greet. "If you don't mind me asking, though, what's your name? I noticed you're not wearing a nametag and you introduced yourself with 'server'." It's sort of a southern hospitality thing I guess, even though I don't really live in the south. I've worked in food service before, and it really is a good feeling to have a customer refer to you by your name. Just knowing this, I figured it would be a kindess to ask.
"It's simply not in the employee outlines to do so," he begins, "but I would much appreciate if you called me by my first name, Derek."
Derek? This guy speaks and dresses five star fancy.. and his name is Derek? He's definitely from the city, I speak in my thoughts before saying, "Dude, you're way too fancy to be a Derek."
He laughs lightly at my statement, obviously taking it as a compliment, and Fluttershy copies the same action simply because of her knowing that I'm friendly with everyone.
"Well, what can I get the both of you to drink?" he asks.
Fluttershy orders a water, which is 99 percent of what she drinks on a normal basis, but I figure I may as well have a little fun with it.
"Well, I did notice the sales of your fine champagne products. I wouldn't mind a touch of a nice pinot griggio to begin my meal, how much would the cost of a single glass come to?"
"Griggio?" he inquires to himself, "Lowest price, 8.75."
"Oh. Wow," I say, downtrodden at the expensiveness. "I'm afraid I'll have to turn that offer down good sir. I'm not twenty-one yet anyway-" I add with an eye shift and an exaggerated wink.
Smiling, he shakes his head at me before I order a Coke. As he walks off, I begin to search my thoughts for anything to start a conversation with, but as quickly as I do he is back with each of our drinks. Wow.. nice service.
"Here you are, I'll be back for your orders in just a moment," he informs as he places two rather large menus on the table in front of us. They have at least 5 turns of a page a piece.
"Wow, maybe we can finish reading this before we get to eat," I suggest jokingly.
Fluttershy simply giggles at the sense of humor she has probably grown more than accustomed to by now, and we both commence with reading. On the first page that I open to, I see a highly marinated 12 ounce sirloin steak with a baked sweet potato and salad as a starter. It definitely makes my mouth start to water, but my spit glands dry right back up as I see the $35 price tag attached to the meal. Eh- I wouldn't want to eat that in front of Shy anyway, I remind myself.
I continue to stumble through the pages of the menu, looking for anything creature-friendly, and I finally settle myself to get a dish of their finely spiced penne Alfredo. Who am I kidding, I've always been a complete sucker for Italian food.
Fluttershy ends up settling for a fully dressed salad and a bowl of what is really just vegetable soup, from what I can gather, but is under a French name that I can't even begin to pronounce. Being that we both settled on eating just a little bit, I'm really just hoping that this will be easy on the ole' pocketbook..
* * *
We finish our meals chatting about what else we will end up doing tonight. She, in her unending curiosity, has kept on trying to get me to slip up on what else I have planned for us, but I refuse to budge or give an ounce of leeway.
"Please Evan? Please?" she begs, stressing each plea and staring at me with her large, round eyes as she sticks out her lower lip.
"Nope," I say, turning my head away from the adorableness, "All I'm telling you, is that we're doing whatever else you want to do tonight, and a little secret or two that I got up my sleeve to top it all off," I tell her.
"I just want to be with you tonight. That's what matters most, you said it yourself! So whatever it is you're gonna do. Just surprise me."
"Well, I do have a few of those. Exhibit A: look up."
She listens instantaneously, turning her head and eyes toward the sky , and gasps as her eyes take in the stellar panorama above us. I look up as she does, and think to myself how amazing the view of the sky can be in an area that is normally so light polluted. Without any help from my vision, I find her hands across the table and place my fingers in between hers, pressing our palms together before we both look back at each other.
"Surprise," I say to her softly.
She looks away briefly before turning her gaze back to me, giving me a soft smile before pulling our hands up to rest her chin on. Through her still very existent shyness, she manages to lock her eyes into mine, creating a moment of togetherness for the both of us, and an intense case of tunnel-vision for me. Everything around her seems to fade away to white and gray, nothing in my field of view fully focused except for her and the light reflecting from her luminous pupils.
We sit in silence for a few more seconds, before familiar footsteps approach our table and stop next to us. "I have your bill here, sir."
"Oh, thank you Derek," I thank him, using his name as I had been throughout our visit. He walks back toward the waitering table to grab a payfolder, and as he does, I unfold the ticket to see a near $65 dollar charge for just the two of us. The tip isn't even included, and Shy only ordered appetizers..
Either way, I payed without a worry. I had already assumed that the trip would be quite expensive, and packed the wallet accordingly. Fluttershy and I both stand up after the change is brought back from the meal, and I sneak a 10 dollar note onto the table for Derek to collect when he comes back. He did an excellent job, plus he was extremely fancy- for a Derek.
We both head back down the staircase, and I hand the jacket back to the greeter as I walk by.
"Have a nice night, you two!" he calls out as we walk through the exit.
"Thanks, I'm gonna do my best to make it happen. You too!" I call back.
We make our way back through the large parking lot and to my car, where we both hastily climb back in and get the radio turned on as soon as the vehicle is running.
"Okay. We gotta go back to the house now, but just long enough for us to get changed into some warmer stuff and grab a few things." Even though it is a fairly comfortable 63 degrees out, according to my phone, it is sure to cool off later into the night.
Again, she doesn't hesitate to try to break me one more time. "So, can I at least know what we're doing next?"
"Nope." She still hasn't realized that I'm a stone, not soon to be broken. I want her to find everything out as it happens, so that everything coming is to remain exactly as I want it to be.
"It's a surprise."