With the soft, but luring lights emanating from the newly opened restaurant, ponies from nearly every direction around the restaurant were drawn to its doors, other ponies following them too, interested by where the lights led them. From off in the distance, on a hill north of the small town, both Celestia and Luna overlooked Ponyville, giving each other a small nod as they prepared themselves for what they were about to do.
____________________________________________________________
Outside of Patrick’s home, Patrick and Jake walked outside of the front door, the latter hopping around excitedly in his t-shirt and black blazer, the former having the artwork of Led Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti on it. Patrick settled for a red-button up shirt with khaki pants. Jake leaned forwards as they approached the street from the driveway.
“Clear!” he shouted, hopping excitedly on the asphalt.
Patrick continued to walk briskly to the street, checking himself for any oncoming traffic in the otherwise quiet and lifeless suburban street.
“Remind me not to give you any more ‘pre-dinner cocktails’ before we go out anywhere.”
“Come on,” Jake rasped jestingly, “you don’t really think that the place is going to have a bar, do you?”
“They apparently have a lot of human food on their menu. Why wouldn’t they have any booze.”
“Either way, I’m having fun tonight, without making an ass of myself in front of my old pal, of course.”
“I certainly hope so…”
The two stood closely together on the street, looking up at the cloudless night sky and the stars seemingly matted in it.
“She said to close your eyes until you’re told to open them,” Patrick instructed.
“Wait…” said Jake, turning to him. “What?”
Just then, the colors around the two began to glow brighter, as if a large light was fading in around them. Just then, Jake began to moan with discomfort, feeling a touch of weightlessness to his body.
“Calm down and just close your eyes,” spat Patrick.
As Patrick calmly relaxed his body, Jake breathed loudly and restlessly as light tried to bleed through his eyelids. The heat began to tingle their skin as a strong breeze blowing down on both of them. A loud whoosh was soon accompanied by darkness once again, leading Jake to shoot his eyes open as he found himself standing in front of Celestia and Luna themselves on the hill overlooking Ponyville. Jake gasped as both alicorns approached them, Celestia standing before Patrick and Luna before Jake.
“Please close your eyes,” Luna instructed sternly.
Jake clamped his eyes as shut as they could go. Both princesses lowered their glowing horns down on the men and gently prodding them into their chest. Both men gasped at the metallic sensation being filled into their chests, only for it to shortly end as the two princesses pulled away and stepped back.
“You can open them back up,” Celestia said.
Both Patrick and Jake looked up at the two alicorns, unable to believe their own eyes as their mouths hung open, much to the light amusement of Celestia.
“What did you two do to us?” Jake asked nervously.
“It’s to ensure you can return home after your meal so you don’t wind up stuck…” Luna tried to awkwardly explain, “like your friend.
“Huh? How the hell does that work?”
“We can talk about it on the way there,” Celestia answered. “I’m sure you’re all famished.”
“Well,” Patrick chuckled, approaching the two alicorns, “he could certainly use something in his stomach. Patrick Falwell,” he greeted with an outreached hand.
“A pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh,” Celesta giggled, cordially extending her hoof for him to shake.
“And you must be Jake, right?” Luna asked, reaching her hoof to him. “Charmed.”
“Yeah,” huffed Jake reluctantly, finding it within him to shake the alicorn’s hoof with his hand, “I guess you could say that.”
With Celestia and Patrick’s greeting finished, she stepped towards the town down the hill.
“Come,” Celestia said, stopping. “I certainly hope it’s not overly busy.”
Luna, Patrick, and Jake followed Celestia down, keeping their eye on the alien, yet old-fashioned town just up ahead.
____________________________________________________________
“Two ravioli and a horseshoe at the pass!” called Crème Fraiche as both Spic Span and a white, bulky, short-maned stallion with a carrot and a celery stalk crossed in an X brought out the respective dishes to the window.
Crème Fraiche placed the meal ticket in between the two plates of ravioli, which Peter took along with the horseshoe, placing it all on a plastic tray before scanning the plates and their contents with his eyes and finger.
“Great,” Peter sighed happily. “Service please.”
A dark-fuchsia unicorn mare in a vest and red shirt took the tray and carried it into the dining room, which was fully populated by gleeful ponies at tables as they watched the wonderful-smelling food roam by, anticipating their own meals to come. The waitress passed the bar, where Berry Punch was expertly mixing and pouring a yellow and a clear martini for a mare and her stallion companion, much to their delight.
Passing the front door to a second door to the outdoor area, where more ponies were sitting and looking outwards with shocked expressions, Celestia and Luna walked inside with Patrick and Jake, the latter two floored by what Peter had managed to create.
“Peter,” Patrick huffed. “Holy god…”
The ponies inside the restaurant now turned to see the princesses and two more humans standing there, adding a new pressure into the place. The sudden murmurings of “princesses” and “humans” in the dining room alerted Peter into looking outside, seeing Celestia and Luna themselves, along with his dad and friend.
“Oh man,” gasped Peter, feeling his legs failing to keep him up. “Oh man, oh man, oh man…”
“Peter?” Crème wondered. “What’s wrong?”
Hearing her voice, Peter shot to his feet, turning to face his staff.
“Alright, everypony!” he shouted, bringing every eye of every cook to him. “Our very special guests are here. Be prepared for me to call their order at any moment.”
At his station, Spic Span gulped nervously as he eyed back and forth between Peter and his spaghetti cooking in his pan.
“When I call their order, just remember that you’re cooking for the princesses themselves, so I want you to cook whatever they order the best you’ve ever cooked it before! Got it?”
“Yes chef!”
The cooks all spun back around, managing their dinners once again. Peter walked over towards Spic Span as he jerkily managed his pan of pasta, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. The stallion gasped and turned to him, turning back to him. Peter benignly pinched a single noodle from the pan and chewed it, quickly analyzing the flavors.
“It’s perfect,” he said to the pony. “Don’t worry, you got this.”
Stepping back towards the pass window, Spic Span followed him, the handle of the pan firmly in his mouth. Peter turned to Crème as Spic Span began to plate his dish.
“Take the kitchen for a bit,” he said. “I need to see to my guests.”
“Take as much time as you need,” Crème said with a promising nod.
Peter walked out from the door just as Spic Span delicately wiped down the rim of his plate.
“Here’s the spaghetti, chef,” he said with relief.
“Thank you,” Crème replied, lifting the plate to her face and inspecting it closely.
____________________________________________________________
“I can’t even begin to tell you how honored I am to have you here,” Lyra gushed at Celestia and Patrick. “I’m certain that Peter and the rest of the cooks will cook nothing less than their best tonight for you guys.”
“We look forward to it, Lyra,” chuckled Celestia.
“Let me show you to your table!”
Lyra floated a stack of four menus to her side and led the alicorns and humans into the dining room at a longer, open table with four seats all prepared for them. Just then, Patrick and Jake noticed Peter as he began to reach their spot. Jake let out an exalted chuckle while Patrick began to well up. Peter, as composed as he could, made his way to his approaching father. Lyra and the princesses winced with heartwarming glee as they watched the father and son hug each other.
“Peter…” rasped Patrick, fighting his breaking voice.
“Pop,” Peter replied.
Pulling himself away, Patrick looked up and down, eyeing his son in his full chef’s garb.
“Look at you,” he said. “Just… look at you.”
“Yeah,” Peter said in flustered agreement, “I know.”
“I think you should get back to the kitchen now…”
With the realization suddenly hitting him, Peter suddenly leapt backwards, weaving his way through the tables while keeping his eyes on his esteemed guests.
“Right,” Peter rambled, sorry, thank you. L… Lyra will be taking your orders!”
Patrick and Celestia chuckled as Peter strode back into the kitchen, watching as he had a brief conversation with Crème Fraiche before she returned into the kitchen.
“She’s certainly come a long way too, hasn’t she,” Celestia mused to herself.
Peter gave one more look to Celestia, Luna, Patrick and Jake as they took their seats, Lyra approaching them with a notepad and pen at the ready. His calm and appreciative smile was broken yet again by a waitress handing him yet another ticket for order. Shaking his head back into concentration, he faced the kitchen and his small group of cooks.
“Order up!” he shouted. “Two Caesar salads and a truffle-parmesan hay fry!”
“Yes, chef!” they all called back, two of the proper cooks preparing their bowls and ingredients.
Peter nodded and punched his palm, pumped by the rush the night was giving him. From the dining room, Patrick watched with pride and honor as Peter visibly took control and commanded respect from his cooks.
“And for you?” Lyra asked him.
Flopping back straight in his chair, Patrick took another quick look from the menu.
“I think we can do an order of chips and salsa for the table, can’t we?” he asked.
Looking to the others at the table, Jake nodded vigorously.
“Well,” Luna giggled, “I think we have our answer. Yes, some chips and salsa would be wonderful, Lyra.”
Lyra scribbled with happy prose as her ears twitched in anticipation for the rest of Patrick’s order.
“I think I’d like a Sparké Salad to start, and then I will have an order of Charlotte’s Pizzoccheri.”
“Excellent choice,” Lyra complimented, etching the final letters into the ticket. “I’ll go order your drinks, and then your aps should be right up.”
“That will be splendid,” assured Celestia. “Thank you, Lyra.”
“No, thank you, your majesty,” she replied with a bow.
Celestia, with no time nor mind to argue, chuckled and let Lyra walk off to the bar. Jake sat up in his table, looking up to Celestia.
“So,” he asked slowly, as if morbidly confused, “you’re a princess, and you ordered ‘hay’ fries?”
“Why?” she cloyingly responded. “Did you want to try one?”
“Actually… kinda.”
“Hmhmhm… I don’t think so.”
“Why not? What does hay taste like on your world?”
“Judging from Peter’s first reaction, probably the same as it does on yours.”
Imagining it himself, Jake squirmed back into his hardly-noticeable slump.
“I’m sure you’ll be quite happy with your selection,” Luna promised.
Jake shrugged in concurrence, just as Lyra walked by once again, a longer ticket held in her magic aura. Handing it to Peter through the pass window, he glanced over it, continually eying her as she stood by and waited.
“This is the princesses’ table?” Peter wondered.
“Yes,” Lyra confirmed. “They ordered their aps and their entrees at once.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure that they get everything in succession.”
“Awesome. You’re doing great, Peter!”
“We’re doing great,” he corrected with a wink and a click of his tongue.
Lyra bounded away from the pass window and back to the entrance. Peter breathed in tightly as he turned to his kitchen.
“Alright,” he called out, “the princesses’ table has ordered. I need one truffle-parm hay fry, chips and salsa, pickle and okra fries, two grilled romaine, one Sparké Salad, one rainbow salad, three Charlotte’s Pizzoccheri, and one crusted mushroom medallions! You have all of that?”
“Yes, chef!”
As several chefs eagerly and intensely grabbed their proper bowls and utensils, then scattering off to the walk in fridges and pantries for their ingredients, Spic Span, gulping with arresting nervousness, ran to the pantries as well.
____________________________________________________________
In the bar, Berry Punch placed a large, frosted mug filled with frothing cider onto a plastic server’s tray beside three glasses of wine, each of them a whitish-gold. With the drinks ready, Lyra grabbed the tray with her magic and carried it from the bar’s counter and into the dining room. Her eyes met with Celestia and Patrick’s, whose acknowledgements of her arrival were filled with excitement and longing for their alcohol.
“Two Cabernet-Sauvignons,” Lyra listed off, lifting two of the glasses and placing them before the two alicorn’s on the table. “One Riesling,” Lyra continued, giving Patrick the final glass. “And one hard cider,” she concluded, landing the mug on the table before Jake with a heavy thunk.
“Right on,” Jake breathed appreciatively with a snazzy point.
“Your appetizers should be out momentarily,” Lyra promised. “Enjoy yourselves.”
“You’re too kind, Lyra,” Celestia responded, bringing her glass to her lips.
The subsequently beaming Lyra giddily walked back to her welcoming booth with a spring in her step. With a slightly impatient glance to the pass window, Jake took a sip of his cider, his eyes prying themselves open as he savored the impossibly sweet and refreshing taste.
____________________________________________________________
Set from the mouth of a jade-green pegasus with dark-brown hair, a medium-sized basket of corn tortilla chips with a small bowl of thin, tomato salsa was placed on the pass window beside a similarly-sized basket filled with fried okra halves and slices of pickle surrounding a dish of herbed ranch dressing. Running back, the pegasus grabbed a metal bowl with small, thin hay bundles dressed with parmesan cheese and parsley, tossing them before dumping them onto a plate.
“Almost done on those fries?” called Peter.
“Yss, chff!” the pegasus responded, ladling a creamy sauce from a small metal can into another small dish.
“Please don’t talk with your mouth full!”
The pegasus placed his ladle aside and carried the plate and dish out to the pass with his mouth, Peter taking it from him as the pegasus stood obediently.
“Yes, chef!” he responded. “Sorry, chef.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Peter calmly said as he handed the other plates to Lyra through the window. “Just be more mindful next time.”
“Yes… chef.”
“Good.”
Peter then turned back as Lyra made her way off with the three plates on a plastic tray, carrying them straight to the expectant Jake, Celestia, Luna, and Patrick. With a confirming nod, Peter turned back to his kitchen.
“Garden Fresh,” Peter called back to a fuchsia unicorn mare with a netted brown mane, “how are the salads coming?”
“Just give me five more minutes!” she called back.
“Good job! Spic Span, you got those pizzoccheri in the oven?”
“Uh…” Spic Span stammered, standing before an oven, “yes chef!”
“Awesome! Keep it up everyone! First night is always the worst!”
Spic Span jerked himself back to the window of the oven, watching the three small crocks of pasta inside, the cheese barely beginning to melt.
“Come on…” the sweating stallion whimpered, tapping on the oven’s door handle.
____________________________________________________________
Jake’s fingers pinched three pickle chips as he scooped ranch out from the disk in the basket. Inserting the food and the fingers in his mouth, Jake tenderly closed his lips around the tips, cleaning his fingers of any excess dressing. Patrick and Luna, along with a couple well-dressed ponies nearby them, looked at him with slight disdain while Celestia merely chuckled in amusement.
“Dear lord,” Jake grunted. “This is amaze-balls!”
“You’re quite hungry, aren’t you?” humored Celestia.
“Oh yeah. Humans tend to be this hungry when have drinks.”
The princess continued to laugh, much to Luna’s bemusement.
“Sister,” Luna hissed.
“Relax,” Celestia said, lifting a sauce-covered hay fry to her mouth. “I think we can admit that the food is very good…”
Celestia threw the fry into her mouth, some of the sauce having dripped onto her lower lip. With an quaint slurp, she lapped it from her lips, earning more unsavory looks from Luna, and to a lesser extent, Patrick.
“And I think we can admit that we are very hungry,” Celestia concluded.
Patrick shrugged in relenting agreement, grabbing a tortilla chip from his basket and scooping some salsa from the bowl with it. Luna too grabbed a hay fry and dipped it in the truffle aioli. Both of them took their bites at the same time, smiling with pleasure once the food hit their tongues.
____________________________________________________________
Four salads, two of which were Peter’s grilled romaine, another with brightly-colored fruits vegetables like a rainbow, and a final one with blue-cheese, olives, and bruschetta over spinach, were lifted by Garden Fresh to the pass to Peter, allowing him and Lyra to examine them over once more.
“Perfect,” Peter said. “Service please.”
Lyra took all four plates and placed them on a tray, carrying them out to Celestia and Patrick’s table. Peter smiled through the pass window as he saw all four of his guests happily look upon the arrival of their next course.
“Sorry,” Spic Span mumbled from the back of the kitchen. “Pardon me…”
Peter turned around, his eyes widening with horror as the earth pony walked towards Peter and the pass window on his back hooves, a crock carrying the pizzoccheri on a hot-pad on each hoof.
“Spic Span!” shouted Peter. “What the hell are you doing?”
His body freezing up at Peter’s voice, the two crocks sliding off the pads and falling to the floor. The resulting crash and cracks of the crocks hitting the floor alerted everyone, and when they saw Spic Span at the center of the spilled pasta and pierces of porcelain, Spic Span trembled frantically, his limbs hardly able to support himself. Peter breathed in heavily, trying to compose himself the best that he could, turned to Crème Fraiche, who approached him from the side of the kitchen.
“Crème,” Peter spoke in a hushed tone. “Please take control of the pasta line and the rest of the kitchen for a second for me.”
“Uh…” Crème stuttered, frightful of what would inevitably transpire. “Yes… chef.”
Peter walked towards the back, shooting a commanding glare at Spic Span. It seemed to do the trick, as Spic shamefully walked behind Peter to the back of the kitchen towards a walk-in freezer. The other cooks stared at the two of them, wanting the best view for their confrontation.
“What are you waiting for?” shouted Crème Fraiche. “Do you want him to yell at you next?”
With her voice shooting fear down their spines, the cooks went back into their routines as normal. In the back, Peter opened the door to the walk-in, where paper cartons of ice cream sat on metal racks. Motioning Spic Span in, the pony walked in, allowing Peter to come in and close the door behind him.
“Alright,” Peter said to the calmest of his ability, “what happened back there?”
“I’m sorry, chef!” Spic Span said with a submissive bow. “I put in the pizzoccheris too early! I didn’t want them to burn, but I didn’t want them to go to waste either!”
“Then you make another batch, Spic Span. That, or you take them out and wait until the timing’s right!”
“I’m sorry! It was too late when I realized my mistake, and I should have told you that we ran out of the grappa liqueur for the pasta!”
“Wait… so, we ran out of a key ingredient and you didn’t tell Crème or I?”
“I felt so bogged down, and so many of them were being ordered, and I put it at the back of my mind!”
Peter managed to put his hand over his mouth while pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Is the third pizzoccheri still in the oven?” asked Peter.
“Yes!” Spic Span barked quickly.
“Give me a second, then.”
Peter stepped out of the walk in, his door propping the door open.
“Crème!” shouted Peter, making her head peer around a corner. “Did you take that last pizzoccherri out of the oven?”
“Yes!” she called back.
“Keep it under a lamp until I decide what to do with it. Also, if you can, tell the wait staff that we have run out of pizzoccheri!”
“Yes, chef!”
With a nod, Peter stepped back into the walk-in and closed the door.
“If you want to fire me,” Spic Span said, “I completely understand.”
Peter sighed at the pathetic sight of the blubbering mess of pony that sat before him. Kneeling down, he gently put his hands on the pony’s shoulders, allowing him to look into Peter’s eyes.
“Listen,” Peter said. “I took care of it already, and I’m sure if I told my pop and the princesses that there was a small accident in the kitchen, they’d be completely cool with it.”
“You… think?”
“I know.”
Spic Span still began to tilt his head down, still ashamed of his actions.
“Spic Span,” he said, “when I gave out my acceptance letters, do you know how many other chefs I had to turn down in the end?”
“No…” he responded.
“About fifty,” he said. “You were one of the lucky few I put my trust in because I saw and tasted your potential. Now, before we step back into that kitchen, I want you to take a deep breath, and I want you to be the cook that I hired and that I know you can be, alright?”
Spic Span looked to Peter with wonder, but once Peter held his hand up and raised it, the pony took a steady breath, already feeling life reenter his veins.
“Ready?” he asked.
Spic Span gave out a smile and nodded.
“Yes, chef,” he said.
“Good. Please make me three of your ravioli. I’m certain it will be just as good a substitute.”
With Peter opening the door back up, Spic Span burst out from it. Crème Fraiche, seeing his feverous approach, stepped aside from the pasta station and gave him control once again. Peter then walked up to the pass, looking to the set-aside pizzoccheri.
“Mediallions, chef!” called the rasped female voice of a grey earth pony with jet black hair, her dish brought to the pass.
“Thank you,” Peter said, then turning to awaiting Lyra. “Bring out the pizzocherri,” he told her. “Tell them there was an accident and we could only salvage one. I’m bringing out the pasta chef’s own signature dish as a compensation.”
“I also told her about running out of the pizzoccheri,” Crème Fraiche butted in.
“Excellent. You got that Lyra?”
“No problem,” Lyra answered, grabbing the plate of mushrooms and crock of pasta.
Peter watched with scrutiny as Lyra handed Jake his mushroom plate beside his cleared salad plate. As she placed the one pizzoccheri at the table, the three others at the table looked rightfully confused, making Peter visibly uneasy. As Lyra explained everything, the expressions of Patrick and the princesses softened into smiles, clearly forgiving towards the situation. Peter sighed, turning back to Spic Span working hard at his stovetop.
“How much longer on the ravioli?” asked Peter.
“Just five minutes, chef!” Spic Span confidently called out.
“Alright,” Peter breathed, now able to comfortably oversee the rest of his kitchen.
With a glance back, Peter watched as Patrick, Celestia, and Luna took their first bites from the shared crock. Patrick looked back to the window, setting his eyes and unquestionable smile at his son, raising a hand with pinched fingers up as thanks. Peter turned back to his kitchen, pumping his fist and elbow back in celebration.
____________________________________________________________
With the night growing later and darker, the dining room was already less than a quarter full, most ponies choosing to sit at the bar and enjoy a late drink. With the bus-ponies clearing the plates from Celestia and Patrick’s table with a hefty piles of golden bits sitting at beside the check, Peter stood before Celestia, Luna, Patrick, and Jake, the latter leaning against a chair.
“Thank you so much for letting us come,” Celestia said to Peter. “The dinner was delicious.”
“And that ravioli you brought out for us was really good!” Patrick said.
“Thanks,” Peter said, “but in all honesty, I wasn’t the one who made it.”
“Was it Crème?” Luna asked.
“Actually, why don’t I bring him out?”
Peter turned his head to the pass window where Crème was waiting for any and all future orders.
“Crème!” he called. “Bring out Spic Span!”
With a nod, Crème ventured forth into the kitchen.
“Be careful,” Peter warned. “He’s a touch sensitive.”
A few moments later, Spic Span crept out from the kitchen door and into the dining room, his legs looking heavier to carry as he tried to approach the princesses.
“You…” he stammered, forcing a bow before her presence, “Your majesty…”
“You were the one that cooked the mushroom ravioli?” Celestia asked.
“I… Yes, I… I was.”
“I have to say, sir, excellent job!”
Hearing her words, his legs suddenly felt as light as a feather and his smile was bright as the sun.
“Thank you so much, Princess!”
“Please,” she chuckled, “you call me Celestia.”
“Yes, your… Celestia!”
Luna, Patrick, and Jake joined Celestia in laughs, the former human approaching him.
“Very good on that,” Patrick said. “I assume you also made that pizzoccheri?”
“Yes, sir?” the pony answered.
Patrick smiled looking back up to Peter.
“You’re lucky to have found him,” Patrick said. “Some of the best pasta I’ve ever had.”
Spic Span’s gaze softened as his ears drooped in sheer humility.
“You know how to get to Twilight’s?” asked Peter.
“Of course,” Celestia answered. “We’ve been there once or twice before.”
“And you’re totally fine just giving us all that money?” Jake asked.
“Like I’m going to need it here anymore,” Peter chuckled.
“Right, right…”
Peter and Jake approached each other and gave each other a firm quick hug before stepping back away.
“Take care, man,” Jake said.
Peter than turned to Patrick, and after a brief, but awkward standstill, the two approached each other and gave one tight, final hug.
“I can’t even begin to tell you how proud I am of you,” Patrick said.
“Pop,” Peter giggled, “I know.”
With a couple pats on the back, Patrick rejoined Celestia’s side.
“You two are always welcome to visit again,” Celestia said. “Just say the word and we’ll let it happen.”
“Looking forward to it,” Patrick said. “Get back to work, Peter.”
“You know it, Pop,” Peter replied with a salute.
With a light conversation, Celestia, Patrick, Luna, and Jake walked to the exit, where the exhausted, but gracious Lyra awaited them.
“Have a good night,” she said. “Please do come again!”
Peter, knowing there was nothing left to say or do, walked back into the kitchen, Spic Span eager to join his side.
____________________________________________________________
Peter stumbled into the library with aching feet and his chefs jacket open, revealing his white, sweaty tank top. He continued up the stairs from the library, sliding his jacket off and grabbing hold of it as he made it to Twilight’s study. As he made his way to the next stairs, he let the jacket slip from his fingers and go to the floor. Once he took the first creaky step up the next flight, he lowered his body slowly down onto his back and seemingly passed out right then and there, an ecstatic smile upon his face.
Twilight’s shadow peered over the edge of the banister to her bedroom, seeing Peter lying calmly there. Smiling happily at his visibly gladsome expression, she charged her magic horn, lifting both him and his discarded jacket from the floor. As he continued to rise, Twilight’s magic pulled his black pants and tank top off, leaving him in his underwear and black socks, throwing the dirty clothes beside her bed, she floated a clean large t-shirt and a clean pair of sweatpants, unfolding them and slipping them onto Peter’s body.
Walking back to her bed, Peter continued to sleep as his body was gently pulled in and down onto Twilight’s bed. As if by instinct, he rolled his body onto his side, facing the empty half where Twilight plopped herself down. As her magic disappeared off of Peter, her magic lifted a large comforter over the two of them. Scooting in, she lovingly pecked Peter’s forehead, placing her arm over his and around his back.
“I’m so proud of you, Peter…” she whispered as her eyes closed.
Surrendering to sleep, her magic aura vanished around her horn, allowing the covers to flutter down, covering them both in its warmth.