//------------------------------// // Celebration // Story: Frivolity // by Scramblers and Shadows //------------------------------// Frivolity Celebration Pinkie scampered down the dimly lit road, chill winter air rushing past her, bouncing a little on every eighth step, mind a flurry of anticipation. She had wanted to be away earlier, but work at Sugarcube Corner had kept her. Three hours and twenty-four minutes earlier Rarity would have received a telegram, which would have said one of two things. Either she would be happy and need somepony to celebrate with, or she would be – how awful! – miserable and need somepony to cheer her up. No matter what the outcome, Pinkie had to be at Carousel Boutique. A friend's happiness depended on it. She hammered on the door as soon as she arrived, loud enough to make ponies in nearby houses to peer out their windows. “I'm coming, I'm coming! Don't worry!” called Rarity from within. Pinkie stood waiting, buzzing a little, hope and worry coiled around her throat. If she didn't find out soon, she might explode. The door opened, bathing Pinkie in warmth and light and joy, and there stood Rarity, backlit from within. Her expression was unreadable in the shadow, but her stance was cheerful and confident, her ears up, head cocked slightly. “Pinkie! Oh, my. Come in, come in! To what do I owe the pleasure, my dear?” Pinkie pronked into the room. “Hi Rarity! Didja get it? Well, didja? Didja?” Rarity closed the door. Her smile grew. “I did indeed!” she said. Her composure wavered, then shattered, and she leapt up and down on her hooves. “I did! I so did! Look!” She galloped across the room, picked up a slip of paper with her aura and sent it flying into Pinkie's mane. “Oh dear. I do apologise! I may be just the slightest bit overexcited.” Pinkie searched through her mane for a moment and, with a clink of glass, retrieved the telegram, and read: Dear Ms. Rarity, Yes. Designs perfect. Negotiations open next week in Manehattan. Further details and formal request to follow by mail. Flaxseed Co-operative “Ooh,” said Pinkie Pie. “Fancy!” “I'm going to Manehattan!” said Rarity with a little squeal. “I'll get to walk down Morgan Boulevard, sit in the warmth sipping a sidecar or a daiquiri! I'll be at the highest of social events in East Riding! I'll be working with some of the most influential ponies in the business! I'll … Wait. Pinkie, what are you keeping in your mane?” “Oh, oh, I know this one!” said Pinkie. “A spool of cotton, a rubber chicken, some ice, some spearmint chews for Gummy, a –” “No, no, none of those. Something made of glass, I think.” “That's just the champagne I got to celebrate, silly!” Pinkie pulled a bottle from her mane and offered it to Rarity. Smile growing and eyes glistening, Rarity inspected the bottle. Yes! She was impressed. “You got this for me?” she said. “And it's vintage too! How did you ever … ? Pinkie, darling, wait right there! I'm going to get some flutes. We absolutely must have this right away!” Calmer now, but still with a jig in her step which made her tail bounce, she trotted over to the kitchen. Pinkie watched her all the way. Soon they were settled on the floor with a glass each and the foaming bottle beside them. “I'm so pleased you came by,” began Rarity. “I was going to tell the girls about it tomorrow at lunch, but to have you drop by was such a nice surprise.” “Aw, no biggie! I was just there in the kitchen baking away and singing when it hit me – 'Rarity is getting her telegram today!' – and so I knew I had to come over to see if you got accepted, and then I realised I had to get some champagne to have if you did, but I had some champagne I bought earlier just in case, and –” “Darling, take a breath between sentences, remember? I don't want you passing out again.” “Can do!” Pinkie Pie took several deep breaths. Then she realised she had forgotten to drink any of her champagne and emptied the glass in one draught. The bubbles stung her throat, and she shivered. “Pinkie!” chided Rarity. “We drink in sips.” She topped up Pinkie's glass. “Oh, yeah. Oops.” Rarity flashed Pinkie a grin which make her breath catch in her throat. “But since it's your champagne, I think we can overlook the occasional minor breach of etiquette.” Rarity downed her own glass, remaining elegant throughout, and then refilled it. “You've been dropping by quite often lately,” she continued. “Any reason? There isn't anything on your mind, is there?” Pinkie fumbled her glass and splashed champagne all over her muzzle. “Anything on my mind? Nope! Not at all, no sir. I … Have I been here too much? I'm not annoying you, am I? I can try and stop it if you want.” “No! Never in a million years would I ask you to stop coming here. Hold on, let me get that for you –” Rarity dabbed at Pinkie's muzzle with a handkerchief. “– I like your company. I just wanted to make sure there was nothing else on your mind.” “Nuhuh. I'm peachy! Peachy as a peach. A pink, fluffy peach with streamers and glitter.” “I think I'll stick with my peaches normal and … uh … peach,” said Rarity. And, more quietly: “My ponies, however, I'm quite happy to have pink and fluffy and bedecked with streamers.” “Good! 'Cause otherwise I'd have to go and dye my mane or something, and then I might get mistaken for a different pony, and everypony would be wondering where Pinkie had gone, and I'd be trying to tell them, but soon some rich and mysterious pony would mistake me for his long-lost niece. And then things would get complicated!” “Yes,” said Rarity. “Very true.” Ears pinned, she looked away and gave a very slight sigh. Pinkie's throat tightened. Had her digression annoyed Rarity. Oh, foolish, foalish, silly pony. “You all right, Rares?” she asked, voice softer. “Hm? Yes, yes, I'm fine. Don't worry, dear.” “Hey,” said Pinkie, peering at the telegram and trying to engage Rarity again. “Why does it say 'negotiations open next week'? Don't you already have the contract?” “Oh, no no no. Not at all.” Rarity perked up again. “The co-operative comes from a very traditionalist Earth pony clan. Reputation and social connections are a big thing for them – originally it was to protect them from being manipulated by richer unicorns during the early days of Equestria. Obviously that's not relevant now, but the traditions are still there, so before anypony gets into a close association with them, they have to spend some time building relationships within the co-operative. “I'll spend a month in Manehattan talking designs, potential clients, manufacturing methods, that sort of thing. But – and this is the important part – I'll be attending several important social events. Purely for business reasons, I assure you. “In short, all I need to do to actually get the contract is what I already do by second nature: Deftly manoeuvre the currents of reputation, alliance, and status, and generally charm the horseshoes off of everypony!” She refilled Pinkie's and her nearly empty glasses. “Pardon me if this is intrusive, but shouldn't you already know this? If I'm not mistaken, the rock farming communities of East Riding are mostly associated with the co-operative. You did grow up on a rock farm there, didn't you?” “Yep!” Pinkie nodded. “But I was just a little pink filly when I left. You know when you're eating a delicious trifle and you think to yourself 'ohmigosh this is so super delicious!' because the cream and the custard and the jelly go together so well and it's just the best thing ever?” “ … Yes?” said Rarity Pinkie took a gulp of champagne. “Well, my mom and my dad and me aren't really like the cream and the custard and the jelly. We don't go well together. Or form a tasty treat when placed in a bowl!” Rarity's eyes widened. “Oh, Pinkie,” she said. She raised her hoof to Pinkie's face and brushed a few strands of her mane back. Pinkie's heart leapt at the touch. “I know how that feels,” Rarity continued. And, without her accent for a moment, “Boy, do I ever.” Pinkie felt a lump rising in her throat. She took Rarity's hoof and slowly moved it aside. “It's okay,” she said. “I'm not sad about it. I don't argue with them … We just don't talk much. You don't need to worry about me.” Rarity smiled, her hoof still resting against Pinkie's. “I think I will anyway. Just in case.” She looked down. “More champagne?” Pinkie's head was fuzzed, and her bounce was softened, but she nodded anyway. Rarity refilled the glasses. Even her aura was beautiful, Pinkie realised. “Hey!” said Pinkie. “How about some music?” She jumped up. “We're celebrating! We need to be all dancey, not all mopey!” “Quite true!” said Rarity. She downed half her glass. “Well? You have a couple of LPs stashed away somewhere near here, surely?” “Oh, Rarity.” Pinkie chuckled. “Of course I do! But … it's your celebration. You're the celebree! It should be your music.” “Well, if you say so,” said Rarity. “Hold on, let me just …” She tried to stand, stumbled, and Pinkie grabbed her hoof to stop her from falling. “Oh, thank you! How embarrassing.” “Not at all, miss!” Pinkie doffed an imaginary top hat. Rarity stifled a squeal and ended up giggling instead. Swaying, she trotted across the boutique, pulled aside a section of carpet, and opened a hidden hatch. “I keep my best records down here,” she explained, “where Sweetie Belle won't ruin them.” Horn glowing, she pulled out several discs. “Any preference? How about some jazz?” “Sure!” said Pinkie. She was too busy watching Rarity's rear to worry too much about the choice. Moments later the sounds of saxophone and piano flowed from the phonograph. Rarity walked back to Pinkie. Her mane was slightly off kilter, a twang of disorder in a sea of engineered beauty. “Hey!” said Pinkie. “Let's dance! Come on, it'll be super fun!” “Oh, Pinkie.” Rarity giggled. “That's not how you ask! I'm a lady. You need to ask me properly!” “Oh yeah,” said Pinkie. She rubbed her chin. “Uhhh …” Rarity rolled her eyes. “Offer me your hoof. No, right hoof. Yes! Now say, 'May I have –'” Rarity was cut off by a small burp. “Oh my,” she said, looking away. “I do beg your pardon.” “Oh, oh, shall we compare? How about –” Rarity was staring at her. Pinkie stopped herself. Her right hoof was still in the air. “Oops! I mean: May I have this dance, Miss Rarity?” Rarity took her hoof. “I'd love to.” “Whee!” Pinkie danced, and Rarity yelped. “Pinkie!” “What?” “Slow down! Please?” “Okie dokie!” The ponies danced, stumbling and swaying and out of time with the music, stopping on occasion to to drink some more champagne – this time directly from the bottle. Mane growing more dishevelled with each swing, Rarity looked into Pinkie's eyes, and Pinkie found herself getting bolder and more exploratory with her touch, and pulling Rarity closer. Pinkie couldn't tell how long they had been dancing – it might've been minutes or hours – when Rarity's hooves slid out from under her. She tumbled forward, into Pinkie's chest, and Pinkie sank to the floor with her. “Oh, uh, sorry,” said Rarity, muffled. She pulled back. “S'okay,” said Pinkie. “I …” Pinkie swallowed. Rarity's face there in front of her, inches away, a stray strand of purple hanging across Rarity's nose. She felt Rarity's warm breath on her muzzle, saw Rarity's gaze moving from her eyes to her mouth and back again. Rarity was right there. She had to. She just had to. But what if Rarity didn't like it? It might make her retreat, might ruin the friendship. It might make Rarity unhappy. And that was something Pinkie hated to think about. But she couldn't let the opportunity slip by! Seizing opportunities for happiness no matter how slim was the whole meaning behind Pinkamena Diane Pie. But … Rarity kissed Pinkie Pie. Rarity's nose brushing against her. Rarity's lips against her own, soft and warm and wet, tasting of champagne. Rarity's perfume, sweet and subtle, as she pulled away. Oh. “That is what you were going to do, isn't it?” said Rarity softly. “You froze, so I decided to take the initiative.” Her eyes widened. “That … is what you wanted, right?” Pinkie tried to answer, but nothing came to mind. Her heart was hammering. She leant forward, brushed the errant strand of Rarity's mane aside, and kissed her. “Yep!” she said when the shock has subsided. “I wanted to but I didn't, and then you did instead, so it's okay, and then I did, and it was so fun! Wanna go again?” Rarity smiled. “Hush, and kiss me again, you silly, impetuous creature!” They spent the next few minutes in each other's arms kissing and nuzzling and stroking and occasionally nipping. When Rarity's hoof sidled downwards, Pinkie stopped her as gently as she could. “Nuhuh,” she said. “It's … uh … can't ice the cakes before they … um .. come out the oven?” Her cheeks warmed, and she looked down. Rarity put a hoof under Pinkie's chin and lifted till Pinkie met her gaze. “It's okay, darling,” she said. “We don't have to rush.” She kissed Pinkie again. A few minutes later, as wonderful as the moment was, Pinkie started to get bored. She extricated herself from Rarity's hold and, after a last nuzzle, jumped up and stretched. “Hey,” she began. “Mhmm?” said Rarity, still sprawled on the floor with her eyes closed. “Woohoo! I'm so super glad I came round and celebrated with you!” She pronked around Rarity giggling. “I'm glad too,” murmured Rarity. “Might I ask, though: How can you go jumping about after all that champagne? I can barely …” “My head is all fuzzy inside, but that's okay 'cause it's all fuzzy outside too, so there's balance, and that means I don't fall over!” “Oh … Well, fair enough, then.” From within the balanced fuzz, a small, chill worry flew out and glanced off the inside of Pinkie's skull. Not now! Worries, worries, worries. Always intruding on fun. She stopped pronking. “Rarity?” “Yes?” “Do you wanna have some more super fun celebrations later? We could celebrate when you finish a new dress, or when the postman comes, or when Opalescence is a good kitty and washes herself, or when –” “Yes! Yes, Pinkie, you needn't concern yourself. This isn't a one-off, I assure you. Unless you want it to be, of course.” “Ohhh, no no no no no no no no! I really want to celebrate again! And maybe we can even … celebrate more energetically.” “I think I should like that,” said Rarity. “Like with balloons and cake!” “I, uh … suppose so?” “Woo!” As the night progressed, they talked of small nothings, cuddled some more, and finished off the champagne. Pinkie suggested getting more, but Rarity, summoning a few shreds of sense, suggested they settle for water. They both had to be up at a reasonably hour tomorrow, she reminded Pinkie, and look halfway presentable for lunch. After some chiding from Rarity, Pinkie had reluctantly given up trying to blow bubbles with her water and settled for just drinking it. “I was thinking,” said Rarity, stifling a yawn. “Given that I will going away to work with a traditionalist Earth pony group, I may need a … cultural guide, shall we say? My etiquette is perfect, of course, but even so …” “I know! How about Applejack? She's really knowledgeable about Earth pony culture! I bet she –” Seeing Rarity's expression, Pinkie stopped herself. “I mean, um, I could be your guide! 'Cause I'm an Earth pony! Can I be your guide, Rares?” “I would love you to be my guide, Pinkie Pie.” Rarity yawned again. “Yes, the two of us together in Manehattan for a month. That would be lovely,” she murmured, leaning forward to kiss Pinkie's nose. Pinkie wanted to leap up and dance around the room again, but she didn't for fear she might disturb Rarity. And she was feeling a little tired herself, though she didn't want to admit it – what if she went to bed and woke up tomorrow to find it was all a dream? Wouldn't that be awful? Pinkie jumped up, almost spilling her water, and twirled twice. “Sweetie … sweetie, what are you doing?” asked Rarity. “Just checking to see if anything changed!” said Pinkie. She dropped to the floor again. “Nothing did, so it's okay!” Rarity blinked, then shrugged. “Good,” she said quietly. “So long as you're happy.” “Super happy! Still!” Smiling, Rarity nodded. “I think it may be time for bed. A lady must get her beauty sleep, after all. Especially when she finds herself seeing somepony.” Pinkie stood first and helped Rarity to her hooves. “Would you like to join me, Pinkie?” said Rarity as Pinkie led her upstairs. Pinkie imagined spending the night beside Rarity, holding her, being held, and joy flickered through her. She wanted to jump, to leap, to bound. She wanted to break out a pink and white banner emblazoned “YES!” in giant capitals. But … “Ohhh, I can't! I want to, but … I need to be back home tonight or else Gummy might get hungry and lonely. And what if being hungry and lonely makes him all evil? Like Nightmare Gums or something! I gotta make sure.” Rarity was silent the rest of the way up the stairs. As they entered her bedroom, she said, “All right. I understand.” She gave Pinkie a final nuzzle, and then retreated. Leaving Carousel Boutique, Pinkie smiled and smiled. She bounced even more than she had on her way there. Rarity liked her! Rarity liked her! Not some boring old Canterlot aristocrat, no. Her. Pinkie. And she was such a good kisser. Just recalling it made Pinkie shiver. Her mane still held some of Rarity's scent. Rarity was a good kisser, she smelt wonderful, and … And and and and and she liked Pinkie! But why? She stopped for a moment and shivered again, this time at the freezing air. Then she pushed a tangle of her mane in front of her muzzle. “Brrrrr!” she said to herself, breaking into a gallop. “Brr brr brr! Silly Pinkie, waiting about the cold like this! You'll catch your death just in time for going away with Rarity!” Back at Sugarcube Corner, her bed was warm and snuggly. But empty, And not as warm or snuggly as Rarity's bed would be right now. Pinkie rolled over and found herself face to face with Gummy. Gummy blinked. His breath still smelt of tinned protein paste, and after wrinkling her nose, Pinkie popped a spearmint chew in his mouth. She had previously considered getting him a toothbrush, but ended up breaking down in giggles every time she was halfway to the shop. “What do you think?” she asked Gummy, rolling onto her back and holding Gummy in front of her face. “Can I be her prince? Why does she want a prince who's pink and squidgy and bit chubby? Will she mind if I don't want to celebrate straight away?” Gummy blinked. “I guess so,” said Pinkie. “But what if …” Gummy blinked. “You're right!” said Pinkie. “I just have to ask her, and then it'll all be okay.” She pulled Gummy close to her chest and cuddled as hard as she dared. His eyes went askew. “Aw, Gummy. You're best friend a squidgy pink prince could ask for!” She tucked Gummy in beside her turned the bedside lamp off. In the dark she whispered to herself. “Once upon a time a little pink filly walked from the gates of a rock farm. She was as happy as happy could be, and she wanted to spread that happiness to every pony she met …” And sleep took her before she could go any further.