//------------------------------// // Spoons - Curify // Story: SpikeDash Group Collab // by Vexy //------------------------------// Rainbow Dash always observed me as I stood by the stove, cooking her favorite meal. She’d always lean back in that cloud chair she made herself, smirking at me as she commented on how good my cooking was. “Spike, you’re amazing at cooking!” I sigh as I stare down at the pot I used to cook her food in. Inside is the famous dish of her desires, the smell just as delightful as it always had been. I take a look at my right claw, the lucky spoon I usually use in my grasp, stirring the mixture slowly to create the right tone I want for this creation. “You always move your wrist in an odd way. It’s… interesting.” It’s true. Whenever I move my arm to stir the contents in the pot, I flick my wrist because of a long term injury I sustained after an entire bookcase landed directly on the joint, making me unable to move it like I used to. Flicking my wrist to move the spoon around the pot, I remember her comments before tasting the dish. “You know, Spike,” Rainbow Dash would begin as she took her cyan colored spoon in her right fore hoof, guiding it to her mouth and gently blowing on it an attempt to cool the food off. “I always feel my heart flutter when I receive a bowl of this soup…” I’d always ask her why she said that. “Because it’s made by you!” she would shout, her brow slanted and her magenta pair of eyes gazing up at me. It would always shock me when she said this. A dragon like me apparently able to woo a mare like her with simple cooking. While holding her bowl in her fore hooves, she would follow up that simple statement with a long winded rant. “You can’t tell me that you don’t feel awesome when you receive something from your special somepony?” At this moment, she would either lean back and bring the spoon to her mouth, or she would hop off her perch and approach me, glaring at me with an angered yet hurt expression. Regardless of the movement, she would continue her rant like so, “I love it when you give me the bowl of soup with my own spoon you gave me when you first presented me with this meal.” She’d always glance down at the bowl of soup, the spoon laying slanted in the bowl. The secret rainbow mixture with a bit of hay and lettuce: the ingredients needed to create this masterpiece. “You said to me that you would never make this for anypony else. It’d be only for me.” She’d look back up at me with moisture in her eyes. “And that’s something I will cherish forever and ever!” Now, I’m standing here, stirring up the mixture once again, using that same old pot with the same old wooden spoon, flicking my wrist the same way; the spoon sliding along the edge of the pot. I can’t stop myself from making this recipe. Dash wouldn’t want me to stop. She’d just sit there and ask for more, which I would kindly oblige, pouring her an extra bowl or two. She wouldn’t scarf it down like she does with her hayfries. No, she would sit there and eat it properly, using a spoon and gently bringing it to her cyan muzzle. If Rarity saw her do this, she’d have a fit. She only shows me the proper mannerisms because my cooking means so much to her. Poor Rarity. As I chuckle at the thought, I turn off the stove and let the pot cool for a bit. While I let it sit, I bring my gaze to my left, the picture of her sitting there, her cyan spoon in her mouth, her countenance in complete bliss. Her spoon lays right beside it, having been cleaned recently due to having a bit of dust on it. If there was dust on her spoon, she’d have my neck. "Spike!" she would holler. "Get your hindquarters in this kitchen and get the dust off my spoon!" That mare drove me up the wall whenever she said that. But I knew she was meaning well, if she lost that spoon, she’d be heartbroken. Shaking myself out of memory lane, I pull myself away from the spoon and pull out a wooden bowl from the cabinets below. This was the same exact bowl Rainbow Dash would use when feasting upon my creations. Whenever I tried to give her a different one, she’d sigh and shake her head. I’d ask her why and she’d just say, “Because this is the bowl you gave me the first time.” Picky, yet symbolic that mare was… I sigh and pull out a ladle, the spoon of all serving spoons. I place it gently in the pot, not wanting to have it collide with the bottom. Then I pull it out and place the contents I collected into the bowl, the liquid slowly leaving its steel confines with a sloppy landing. I take the bowl and leave it on that cloud chair in front of me. It’s not like she hasn’t been late for the past few years… “I’m sorry, Spike,” a voice suddenly says in my head. “But we heard about Rainbow Dash’s accid—” Then, my eyes widen. I did it again. I look at the bowl. How could I be so mindless? I look at my claws. Is there something wrong with me? I look at the door. I need to take a breather, that’s all. I sigh and open the door, peering back into ou—my home before locking it and leaving the premises. There, around that cloudy chair of her’s, lies a complete circle of wooden bowls, waiting for the pony who loves them most to consume their contents. Unfortunately, that pony would never come.