//------------------------------// // June Drabble - themunck // Story: Auto's Authentic Anecdotes // by Autocharth //------------------------------// [Bloodlines] Spike and Scootaloo go on a date Humanised Non-canon to Bloodlines.....probably. Silence. It ate away at him, at her, as they sat there. Oh, there was talking going on all around them, the bustle of waiters skirting between tables and the faint sound of hungry nobles eating. But between them was...silence. “Uh…” Spike cleared his throat. “Sorry.” Scootaloo looked up, her small frown vanishing as the fabric she had been inspecting settled back on her lap. “Eh? About what?” He gestured, a sweep of his arm taking in the restaurant. “For all this. I wanted to do something a bit more, you know, cool.” The girl blinked, cocking her head to the side, and Spike felt stupider by the second. He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he could turn invisible. ‘Come on, stupid magic, now would be a great time. Learn invisibility. Now. Learn it. Come oooooon.’ “This place is kinda cool. Look at that lady! She’s wearing so much gold, she probably weighs, like four times as much as normal.” Pointing, Scootaloo blinked in surprise when Spike’s hand shot out and pushed hers down. “Don’t point! That’s Lady Gold Digger. She really, really holds grudges.” Spike shuddered. “Twilight ignored her once when they passed in the hall, and she just wouldn’t let it go.” Scootaloo snickered. “She ignored her? Wow, your mum is-” “She’s not my mum,” Spike cut in. He flushed, and smiled nervously. “Uh, sorry, go on.” Giving Spike an evil grin, making sure he knew she wasn’t forgetting this little button of his, Scootaloo went on; “She must be cool. Dash is her friend, so she has to be cool, but I thought she’d be all….noble-y.” Spike snorted. “Yeah, Twilight’s more ‘shut in scholar’ than noble. Anyway, let’s not talk about her. We’ve spent all that time in the tunnels, but we always…. we never...” “Talk about ourselves?” she finished. Scootaloo twirled a silver salad fork in her fingers, glancing off to the side. “Yeah, I guess. Not much to talk about with myself, I am who I am.” “A pickpocket and tunnel explorer?” Spike asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s all?” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s all. I’m not some fancy noble boy who can do maaaaagic~” He watched her make a face, hands up and fingers wriggling at him. “Funny.” Scootaloo grinned. “I thought so!” She stopped, a frown taking its place as a fish fork spun on the tip of her finger. “Hey, who is your mum then?” ‘Where’s the food? I thought these fancy shmancy places were fast?’ The sorcerous lad played with his overabundance of cutlery. “Well...I’m an orphan,” he admitted after a moment. Her eyes brightened. “Really? Me too!” Scootaloo paused, brain catching up with her mouth, and she flushed. “Uh, I didn’t mean to sound so excited about that. Sorry.” “Don’t worry.” Spike waved it away. “I don’t remember my parents. I was, like, four. There was a fire. I guess the dragon blood skipped my parents. The Princess thinks that’s why I survived.” He said it without pain or worry, a simple fact and little more after so long. Taking a sip of his drink, he watched Scootaloo play with her polished meat fork. Neither spoke, the unexpectedly grim topic of conversation leaving both wondering where to go next. The arrival of food fixed that. “Oooh, look at it! There’s...less than I imagined?” Scootaloo looked under the thin slice of marinated meat, searching for the extra food that was surely hiding. “Also, I need a new fork.” “Just use whichever one, doesn’t matter which unless you’re Blueblood,” Spike said drily. “No…” She laughed nervously. “Uh, I mean, I don’t have any.” He looked up, cocking his head to the side. “What do you mean, you should have...heaps…” Scootaloo smiled, innocent as an angel, as he bore witness her empty side of the table. The water, too, stared. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but Spike could have sworn he heard the faintest of tinkles as she shrugged helplessly, like knives and forks of polished silver rattling within the sleeves of her borrowed dress. ‘...Next time, sewer tunnel date. Definitely.’