//------------------------------// // The Challenge Offered // Story: Dancing // by bahatumay //------------------------------// There is nothing quite like seeing the spark of understanding appear in somepony’s eyes; when the clouds of confusion give way to the bright sunlight of enlightenment. Twilight Sparkle understood it. Miss Cheerilee understood it. And now, the cutie mark crusaders understood, too. Their Cutie Mark Crusader Cutie Mark Interpretation Agency, LLC (that's what it said on the sign over the door, though none of them knew exactly what those last three letters stood for) had helped many young ponies in Ponyville with understanding the symbol that the universe had seen fit to brand upon their shoulders. The fact that their latest client who had come for help understanding his cutie mark had brought them a token of appreciation hadn't hurt, either. “Bye, Truffle Shuffle!” Apple Bloom called through the window. Truffle Shuffle waved goodbye and cheerfully scampered off. Sweetie Belle surreptitiously loosened her belt. “I vote he comes back more often,” she said. “His food is delicious.” “Yeah, it is,” Apple Bloom agreed. “This is one of those times where I'm really glad to help somepony understanding their talent. Not just eating; but cooking for others!” Scootaloo tossed her napkin up and it landed directly in the trash can. She pumped a fist triumphantly. “Sweet,” she cheered. She turned back to the other two. “It was alright, I guess.” “I'm kinda surprised to hear that, because you've been living off bagel bites and pizza rolls for so long I thought you’d forgotten what real food’s supposed to taste like.” Apple Bloom laughed. “Don't diss the bagel bites,” Scootaloo warned her. “I bet Celestia herself eats them.” “I bet she doesn't,” Apple Bloom returned. “And how would you know?” “Princesses don't eat junk food, featherbrain.” “Princesses can eat whatever the heck they want,” Scootaloo retorted. “It's part of the whole ‘being a princess’ thing.” “That doesn't prove she does,” Apple Bloom scoffed. “But you can't prove she doesn't!” Luckily, their bickering was cut short as the bell over the door jingled. Somepony was coming in. Sweetie Belle quickly put on her winningest smile. “Welcome to the CMCCMIA, LLC!” she said excitedly. Scootaloo leaned over towards Apple Bloom. “You know, we need to shorten that,” she whispered. Apple Bloom shrugged. “I think it's got a nice rhythm to it,” she whispered back. Their newest client looked up at them, his eyes narrowed and his expression slightly challenging. “So you help ponies understand their talents?” he started. “That's right!” Sweetie Belle said with a wide smile. “Sometimes it's what's inside, not just what's outside.” “Alright. Let's see how you do with mine. My special talent is ballet dancing. Stupid, girly ballet dancing.” He crossed his arms defiantly, but he was definitely embarrassed about this, if his ears burning pink and his twitching, swishing tail were any indication. In unison, Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom looked back towards Scootaloo. Her eyes flicked between them. “What?” she asked. “That just sounds like something up your alley,” Apple Bloom shrugged. Scootaloo mumbled something that sounded vaguely like putting her hoof up somepony else’s alley before straightening up and looking over at the colt. “Look, maybe it's ballet dancing. Maybe it's not. Let's start with seeing what we're working with.” The colt defiantly tugged up his shirt sleeve. Scootaloo puffed her cheeks out and then exhaled slowly. “Nope. That's definitely a set of ballet slippers.” He tugged his sleeve back down. “Told you,” he groused. This was now Apple Bloom’s territory. “It's important to remember that first appearances aren't everything. Why, we once helped this pony who thought his cutie mark was for his bad luck. Turns out it was for him bein’ the greatest rodeo clown Appleoosa’s ever seen!” He stared at her flatly, and held up a finger. “Ok, two things. First of all, I'm not a rodeo clown.” He put up a second finger. “Second off, that's not my problem.” Apple Bloom cocked her head. “It's not?” “No. Here's the thing: I like it. I'm good at it. I just don't… like doing it.” Apple Bloom cocked her head, not quite understanding. “You mean you like it, but you don't like it?” she guessed. The dam broke. “It's a girly thing!” he howled, clenching his fists against his thighs. “Ballet is a thing all the fillies want to do, and I'm a colt! I'm supposed to like football and sports and farting and stuff like that!” “Fillies can like football, too,” Sweetie Belle protested. “I used to play with my dad all the time.” “You're not helping,” Apple Bloom hissed. Scootaloo waved them both down. “Look. If you keep thinking like that, yeah, you're gonna hate it. Think about it this way: You're on stage with some really good looking mares.” Sweetie Belle froze. “Unless you don't… actually… like mares,” she added. “That's ok, too.” He snorted, blushing and still looking down. “Yeah. I like mares,” he muttered. “And you wear tights tight enough to show your whole package,” Scootaloo continued. He hesitated, pondering this. He glanced down towards his belt buckle, as if imagining this scenario playing out. Apple Bloom fought the urge to facepalm. “Really?” she hissed at Sweetie Belle. “That's what's gonna convince him?” “Yeah, colts are weird; but I doubt it'll be that easy,” Sweetie Belle whispered back. Sure enough, the allure of exhibitionism did not fully win him over. He crossed his arms again. “Yeah, but it's still ballet.” “There is nothing wrong with ballet,” Scootaloo protested hotly. “Oh, yeah? You do it, then,” he challenged. Scootaloo folded her arms right back. “You know what? I will. Publicly. And if I do, you quit whining about it and accept your cutie mark.” The colt smirked. “Deal. Name your time and place.” Scootaloo thought for a moment, and then her mouth curled up in a triumphant smile. “How does the yearly Ponyville Variety Show sound?” The colt’s jaw dropped—that was definitely a public event—but then his eyes narrowed. “Fine. You're on.” “Be there,” Scootaloo warned, “because if you're not, I'll…” Her eyes narrowed. “I'll tell Pinkie Pie to sign you and me up for the couples dance that evening.” He briefly shuddered, less at the thought of dancing with Scootaloo and more at the thought of an overly-exuberant Pinkie Pie hunting him down, bouncing along, finding him, and then literally dragging him behind her out for that dance. “I'll be there.” And with a little spit and a handshake (and an incidental grimace from Sweetie Belle), the deal was set.