//------------------------------// // Dinner // Story: Dinner with Rose // by Admiral Biscuit //------------------------------// Dinner with Rose Chapter 4: Dinner Admiral Biscuit After making sure that Apple Flora was headed to the market, I turned towards my house. Once I got there, I wiped my feet on the mat, hung up my painting clothes to dry, and headed into the kitchen. I took off my pants and set them out of the way on the kitchen counter, then got the stove going. As it warmed up, I began to get out the ingredients for dinner. It was going to be simple—I wasn't much of a cook, but a salad, stir fry, and mashed potatoes weren't that difficult to make.  Plus, I had some raisin bread I'd bought at Sugarcube Corner, and, of course, the asters Apple Flora had picked for me. Cute little filly, I thought as I peeled the potatoes. Maybe polite and reserved conversations with Rose weren’t the way to get me to change—maybe it took the blunt statements of a filly to knock me out of my rut. I eyed the bottle of apple brandy. I hadn't touched it yet—I was going to open it after dinner. Everyone I'd asked had said it was really good, and it might be just the thing to kick off a girl's night. While the potatoes were boiling, I threw together a salad, then sliced up the loaf of bread. I'd been forced into a lot of dietary changes when I came here. Lots of fresh fruits and vegetables—everybody knew that they were good for you, but I just never seemed to have the time to get to the supermarket and buy them, although I had always made an effort to try and have at least somewhat healthy meals most of the time. Sadly, there weren't many vegetarian dishes I'd known how to make before. I was learning, sure, but I was still of the mind that a formal dinner required some sort of meat-based centerpiece dish. Maybe it was a result of things like potatoes and green beans and salads being called 'side dishes' in restaurants, as if they weren't good enough on their own. That meant that the only vegetable dish I was really good at cooking was going to be the centerpiece—a vegetable stir-fry. Cooking wasn't like knitting. Precision wasn't really an issue. Sure, maybe there were chefs who measured their ingredients to the micron, but for the average person, close enough was good enough. Not that my attempts at cakes proved my point. But baking a cake was different than making mashed potatoes, especially if you didn't have a box with instructions on it. The best part of the stir fry was the sliced vegetables. I'd noticed that most pony food was served with minimal preparation, which I imagined was a result of not having hands to do fine work. The one fancy restaurant in town did, because they had a unicorn in the kitchen for prep work. True, there were some machines to help out, but most mares didn't own them. A person could make a fortune selling Slap Chops: the design was even hoof-friendly. It would make the stir-fry stand out, I thought. Especially if I used brightly-colored veggies, to highlight the fine slicing. Of course, when it was in the pan, I started to have second thoughts. That wasn't unusual; I'd always had a mild fear of displeasing a guest somehow. I think I got that from my mom. I let my mind wander as I cooked the stir-fry, being cautious to stay far enough back to avoid oil spatters. For months, I'd dithered between paying Rarity to make me an apron or just getting fabric and make it myself; ultimately, I'd done neither. •        •        • The table was set, and I'd just begun mashing the potatoes when I heard the front door open. “I'm in the kitchen,” I called out. “Go ahead and make yourself at home.” “I brought some of my wine,” she announced. “The kind you like.” I heard her hooves clopping across my living room floor. I flicked an errant bit of potato off my stomach and thought about my clothes, still folded on the end of the counter, well clear of the meal preparation. As soon as she saw me, Rose stopped in the archway between the kitchen and the living room and took a step back. “Sorry I'm early,” she began. “I—I'll just wait out here until you're dressed.” “No need,” I said cheerfully. “Oh.” She eyed me suspiciously, before looking at the serving trays on the counter. “Do . . . do you want any help, then? I could carry out the food.” “Sure. I'm almost done. There's some wild asters, if you're feeling peckish.” I waved towards the glass I'd put them in. “Go ahead—eat as many as you want. I won't have more than one.” She bit the head off a flower, and then took the salad and bread to the table. By then, I was done with the potatoes, and transferred them into my last bowl. I saved the stir-fry for last, setting the pan on a folded towel in the center of the table. “It's hot,” I warned Rose as she leaned in for a sniff. “That smells really good,” she told me. “Did you cut up all those vegetables yourself?” I nodded. “That must have been a lot of work.” “It didn't take too long. Go ahead, have a seat. I'll pour the wine.” It was only slightly embarrassing to be pouring wine in drinking mugs—fortunately, that had been all Rose had had at her house, too. The serving dish arrangement left something to be desired as well. My mother had everyday dishes, good dishes, dishes for company, and the 'good' china. Well, she’d told me she had the last; I'd never seen it. For tableware, I owned three plates, two mugs, two bowls, one serving bowl, one mixing bowl, and one set of utensils. “I saw you painting the boutique,” Rose said. “A bunch of ponies in the market were talking about it, too. Some of them were afraid you might fall, especially after Fluttershy left. You can't fly, can you?” I shook my head. “We've—we humans have made machines which let us fly, but we can't on our own. Can't cast spells, either. We're pretty much like earth ponies, when you get down to it.” “No wonder Lily likes you. She doesn't like magic.” Rose stuck her muzzle down in her salad bowl and ate a mouthful, swallowing before speaking again. “Sometimes her and Daisy get in arguments about it. I think it's silly—a mare can't help what she's born as, right?” “No disagreement from me.” I started nibbling on a piece of bread. •        •        • I let Rose have the lion's share of the stir-fry, since she liked it so much. She only gave a token protest, more to be polite than anything. When dinner was over, she helped me wash the dishes and put them in the drying rack. Once that was done, I adjusted the dampers on the stove, and we went into the living room. I brought the bottle of apple brandy with me. Rose and I shared the couch. I’d added some scrap wood under the legs so it would be a good height for me, which meant Rose had to struggle a bit to climb on, but she didn't complain. Rather than use mugs, we just passed the bottle back and forth, because that's what friends do. I let her have the first drink, and she rolled it around in her mouth a little bit before swallowing. “That's really good brandy,” she told me. “Did you buy it just for our dinner?” “It was a gift,” I began, and then told her about meeting Apple Flora. “She comes by the store sometimes,” Rose said. “When she's found a flower she can't identify. It used to happen a lot. She got her cutie mark last spring, when the apple trees were blooming, but it isn't all that long before their blooms are gone, and she wanted to know more about flowers in general. Naturally, she came to visit us. Asked lots of questions, and even helped out in the flowerbeds a bit. We were hoping to take her on as an apprentice. . . .” Rose sighed and took another swig of brandy. “Wasn't she interested?” “Yes and no. It's hard for a farmer to leave her land. Maybe when she's older, she'll reconsider.” I thought about that as I took another drink. I knew ponies around town who had been raised on a farm, and yet ran stores, or did crafts. The miller was a good example. But I guess I didn't know how hard it was for her to move away from her old home and move to Ponyville. I suspected that cutie marks might have been related. From what I'd learned about them, they were like a mark of destiny that ponies got when they were old enough, and had discovered what made them special. The miller had a grinding wheel and a sack of flour. It was hard to imagine how she'd gotten it, but it might have been the impetus for change in her life. Maybe next time I was working at the mill, I'd ask her. “So, after you started your greenhouse, you never felt the urge to go somewhere else? Feel new soil under your hooves?” Rose shook her head. “I put too much of myself into the beds.” “And Daisy and Lily, too?” “Them, too.”  Rose shifted on the couch.  Ponies nearly always sat on their rumps when they were in public, but preferred to lie down in their own homes.  I wondered if she might be waiting for a cue from me.  I could lie down first; that might serve as a hint, but there wasn’t enough room for me to stretch out on the couch. •        •        • It was completely dark by the time we'd killed the bottle. We'd been talking for a couple of hours. I was drunker than I should have been, probably as a result of staying out in the sun all day. Rose had gotten a little cuddly, stretching out on her belly with her muzzle on my leg, but otherwise seemed normal. “You know, we never did have dessert,” I muttered. “I was going to bake a cake, but I couldn't figure it out.” She looked up at me. “Really? It's not hard. All you need is some flour, sugar, butter, milk—“ I held up my hand to stop her. “How did you learn how to bake a cake, Rose?” “I watched my mother. That's how everypony learns how to bake.” “You're going to laugh when I tell you this.” I rested a hand on her mane. “But on Earth, cake mix comes in a box, and all you have to do is add the liquid ingredients. The back of the box has both pictures and written instructions. One box makes one cake.” “What if you don't want a cake? What if you want biscuits?” “You buy a different box.” “I thought . . . “ She flicked her ears down briefly. “That I was a good cook?” I chuckled. “Not really. Stir fry's pretty easy, with hands. Once you've got the veggies sliced, you just stir them around in hot oil for a while.” I shifted under her. “You know what? I've got a great idea. Let's go buy some dessert. How late is Sugarcube Corner open?” “An hour or two after sunset, depending on how many ponies are there.” “Well, let's go.” Rose slid back to let me off the couch. I didn't notice she'd stretched out on the cushions until I was nearly at the front door. “Aren't you coming?” “I—“ She gave me an uncertain look. “I thought you were going to get dressed first.” I gave a dismissive wave. “Apple Flora implied that there are naked drawings of me at the elementary school.  If every kid in town knows what I look like without clothes, what’s the big deal?  Besides, it's a nice night; why not?” No doubt the Dutch courage and the darkness outside had spurred my reckless behavior. At first, I didn't really notice. First, I gave up on shirts, and it hadn't been long after I’d rented my house that I stopped wearing clothes indoors to save wear and tear. And Rose was comfortable, a known quantity, so at first walking on the street had been more like an extension of my living room. But doubts began to creep back in when the first pony on the street noticed us. Well, me specifically. His eyes lingered over my body for a few short seconds, but longer than I was comfortable with. Then they flicked over to Rose, and he smiled. “Rose. Sam.” “Nice night out, isn't it?” “Eeyup.” “Going back to the farm?” He nodded. “Is Sugarcube Corner still open?” I asked. “Eeyup.” “Good.” We continued on. Once we were past, I turned back, to see if he was watching me. Nothing—not even a single backwards glance. I wasn't sure if I should be relieved or offended. All the other ponies we encountered in the street had a similar reaction to Big Mac. They gave me a quick once-over, then continued on with their business. It was almost anti-climatic. I'd built up this picture in my mind of what would happen if I went out in public naked, and none of it was happening. To a fatigued brain stewing in a haze of alcohol, it was just too much to process. I hesitated at the door to Sugarcube Corner. It was dumb; they didn't have shirt or shoes requirements, of course, but it was still enough that I didn't go in right away. In fact, Rose had to lead me. Once again, the collective reaction was a non-event. Pinkie looked up, waved frantically, and greeted us enthusiastically. Rose picked a cupcake, I chose the moistest, sugary-est, frosting-est brownie, and we went over to corner table to eat our dessert. I kept looking around, just to make sure someone hadn't called the cops or something, but aside from a few glances in our direction—and probably not more than anyone else was getting—we ate our food without incident. When we got back to my house, I invited Rose to stay the night if she wanted to. She quickly accepted; I think she'd expected it. She knew right where the bedroom was, of course, but she still paused in the doorway, giving me a look to make certain I was sure. I got in first, turning the covers back for her. She climbed in beside me, curling her back up against my side. “Are you comfortable?  I’m not taking up too much of the bed, am I?” “You’re fine, Rose.”  I pulled the blankets over us, and closed my eyes, trying to empty my mind.  Her tail flicked against my leg a couple of times as she settled in. She fell asleep pretty quickly. I was exhausted—it had been a tiring enough workday, and Apple Flora had pushed my boundaries, and then I'd gone further. Much further . . . but nothing had come of it. There had been no world-ending cataclysm, no accusatory fingers pointed. I put a hand around Rose, and tucked my face into her sweet-smelling mane. I might not have had the olfactory prowess the ponies did, but I could smell the faint odors of flowers and earth. Comforting smells. There was a relief to knowing nothing would come of this. Not unless I were the one to make a move, and I didn't want to. Maybe one day, if there wasn't a way back—who knew? Maybe that would be another social barrier I could overcome, but I didn't have to. No one would judge me if I did or didn't. I shifted around on my pillow, getting myself as close to her as I could, and drifted off to sleep.