Junior Gala: The golden girls

by the frank

Bold

Bold

The kettle whistled the same moment I was done preparing the strainer. In the cup I had poured honey, and a whisper of brandy. Some prefer to add it after the water, but I prefer the taste to be there from the beginning. I poured the water in and was instantly rewarded with a breeze of perfection. To be honest, I have never been that much of a tea snob, but I know how I like my tea, and at least when I prepare it myself I could as well afford to have it exactly as I want it.

I began to leave the kitchen, as I realized that I almost forgot the most important thing! I turned back, took another cup from the locker, and from the coffee maker I poured an almost pitch-black fluid right into it.

Just the way she wants it. Not the way she likes it, though, but I’m not arguing with her about that. I took the two cups and walked to the living room. She sat at her usual table, pen in hand, writing in her notebook. I placed the coffee next to her and gave her a kiss on her forehead.

“Coffee, mein engel.”

She looked up and stared at me. Then at the coffee. Then at me again. Then she slowly put down the pen and took a zip. A shadow of a bitter frown played on her face but she was back to her normal self soon enough. “Thanks… Fransie. But do you mind? I’m working.”

“But of course, engelchen. Do not let me dizturb jo."

I stepped away from her and sat down on the sofa, sipping at my tea, and feeling contented with the world. My Tausendschön had taken her usual spot next to me. She was not purring, for a cat she was rather unorthodox like that, but I enjoyed her company nevertheless. My engelchen was sitting right opposite to me, so that I could admire her as much as I wanted. She threw me the occasional irritated glance, but I have known her long enough to know that it is only a mask she’s wearing. I took off my glasses. Ah, at times like this, I wish I had two eyes. More to look at her with.

Some of the chefs that has been on the receiving end of her more poisonous reviews are convinced that she is a vampire that catch fire during daylight, always wears a wicked grin as she writes her ‘epitaphs’, and uses the blood of poor sous chefs as ink.

Nothing would be further from the truth. She do use a really expensive pen, but that is all. As I watched her, she looked the same as always when she worked. There was no wicked grin playing on her face, no satisfied smile as she wrote another arrow dripping with acid. Her face showed no emotion, save for the occasional time when she looked straight ahead at nothing, searching for an even more precise enunciation. To her, it has never been about “letting anypony have it”. To her, food is art, and the chef is an artist touched by a gift and Celestia have mercy on the poor soul that not use this gift to the nine.

Her face was, as always, the perfect image of control.

Bonchen once asked me ‘How in the name of Megan I found out that SHE [Alsesta, that is] was gay’. I told my dear filly that when you have been in the fashion business as long as I have, you develop a gaydar whether you like it or not.

I took another sip, sighed and began reminiscing back to that first time… Not that we met, because that was too long ago. No, the first time that I knew. I was together with… oh, what was her name? Fleur de Lis’s mentor… Ah whatever. Why did I even date such a freemartin? Sure, dem legs… And that brash attitude combined with no talent and too much talking. Nein, danke. And she was a corpse in the sack too.

Surprised, I noticed that my tea had gone cold. I shrugged my shoulder, I could always make more. I looked at mein engelchen again. She took another sip of coffee and she had precisely that face that I remember from that day. I don’t remember the reason, but I know I was there to take her portrait. Oh, mein engelchen... She was so very reluctant. The worst model ever. In part it was because it was me, but mostly because she didn’t like her picture to be taken. She was the hardest object I ever worked with. She didn’t cooperate at all, no poses, nothing! She just stood there.

Wearing that face.

The face of perfect self control, a mare in total control of herself and a mare that didn’t move an inch without it being her utter and sole will to do so. I was ashamed to admit it, but I was spoiled. Everypony lay down at my feet, I, the mighty Photo Finish! Bow to me, peasants!

But she… she treated me like I had been a heap of manure or worse. She was in control, I was only an obstacle in her way.

It turned me on furiously. I needed that mare, I wanted that mare, I HAD TO HAVE HER!

That day I made a wow that I wouldn’t rest, I wouldn’t work, I dedicated my whole life… not to win her heart, no. To break that control. To completely dominate her. To make her want me so much that she would make herself ridiculous to the whole world! To make her mine… and then keep her on a leash, never to be sure.

“Fransie?”

For anypony else, it might have been a problem, but for somepony like me, with my contacts? It was easy as sachertorte. At any restaurant that she would frequent, there I was. At every little bistro, café or bar, she would see me. I made myself a bigger and bigger part of her life. With my posse, yes, but how would I ever make an impact on her if I didn't show her what a Queen I was! Offering her drinks, winking, wearing the most distinguished toilets. And she treated me like a mosquito.

“Fransie…”

Not that I gave up! Instead, I began to use my more ‘distinguished’ contacts to invite her to their parties. Ah, the old fags, how they would stare at me, and ask with completely open content why in Tartaros I wanted them to invite HER. They compelled, but it took its toll. Some time, ‘suck up to someone’ is literal.

I looked down at my teacup again, reminiscing on how much of a fool I was. Ah, I don’t want to remember all the embarrassing details. Because she came to the parties, made exactly sure that she didn't enjoy herself, and left. And I was there, forcing her into the centre of the party, making sure she got the message. “Come with me, and I will take you away from here. But you have to do exactly as I say.”

“Fransbrötchen…”

But she never gave in. She made an affair of always walking home. And always a reply to my attempts, cold, cynical… and wunderbar.

‘Ah, siz band is really swinging! And zat horn-section…’
‘You know, the definition of a gentlemare is somepony who knows how to play the trumpet but chooses not too.’
…
‘Ah, I juzt love to do ze tango!’
‘Then I suggest you wait for one. This is a foxtrot.’
…
“Just think, mein liebchen… jo could have been anywhere in Equestria tonight, and yet jo are here with me, dancing…”
“Yes..it occurs that any other venue, with another band would have been preferable.”
…
‘Jo know what would make this night perfect? Jo and me, alone, some wine, a sofa…’
‘Change the wine to coffee, the sofa to my bed and you and me to just me and I would agree, yes.”

I was my brash, loud self, and she turned me away...but every time, I had made a slightly bigger hole in the stone wall she put around herself. Slowly, slowly, I got closer to her. Because when fall came, even she admitted it was nice to take a limo when it was raining. And soon I finally had her there, talking. Three weeks, and seven rides later I did it. I had the whole evening arranged. I wore that red glittery dress with the long slitz and gloves. I even wore my matching eyepatch. I had the place booked to only us and a few selected guest (so she wouldn't be suspicious.), I even managed to hire Vixen Grin and the Foalumbus Foxfire - again. We might have had a bit of a fallout some weeks before when... I accidently beat her up... Anyway! The night was perfect. I wearing my killer dress, she in her usual white shirt and black pants... But she did wear a bow tie and gloves for me. I knew this was the night! I brought her to my place, presented myself to her, promising a night of love and bliss.

“Are you even aware that I am in this room?”

And she said “no”. Even at that time, when she was 99% mein, she had control. And I realized it finally.

I was the fool. I was the one who was obsessed and made a fool of myself. That night, when she left me, I cried. Always in control, always. And there I was, facing the irony of my plan backfiring with a vengeance. I was completely in love, I had made a complete ass of myself and my love was not an inch closer. The leash was around my neck, only for her to take it and I would jump for her. But she didn’t pick it up. She didn’t even look at it….

But the next day she came back, with a package of coffee.
‘If you really do want something from me, then for Celestia's sake, get the right coffee.’
I had no reply to that.
'You DO drink coffe, don't you?"
I sniffled, I'm not sure I even answered, but I must have said something as she nodded.
'Good. Now we're getting somewhere. Do you have a coffee maker?"
'Ja', I managed to stutter out.
'Don't cry. ...Milk or sugar? You look like that kind of pony.'
'Ok. And milk, bitte.'
That was when I realized that….

“HEY! IDIOT!”

I shook my head, being returned to the present.

“What is it, engelchen?” She looked at me and frowned which I knew hid the smile she really wanted to show.

“You have been staring at the wall for more than twenty minutes. I know that look. It either means you're hungry or you're horny.”

I smiled. Ah yes, the beautiful, beautiful irony. That she has no idea how much in control she is. That it is she that steers this relationship and that I long for her embrace every day, desperately wanting more, while she is convinced that SHE is the one who made the ‘mistake of being in love’...

“Well, liebchen… I was only thinking about how much Ich lieb dich, aber… zat was two very good suggestions… Ah, decisions, decisions… I zink I will seduce jo first, then let jo take me out.”

She stared at me, and rolled her eyes. “You are aware that I need to have this done by tomorrow? Don’t expect me to dress up as Poland and let you invade me!”

I smiled at her, and smirked. One day, perhaps she will understand and take the complete control. ...But until then, as it’s all a game of wits or innuendos… I am the champion. I rose from the sofa and walked over to her. I put my arms around her and began to stroke her chest. “No, be Prussian for me. I prefer to take jo by force.”

“Oh, shut up,” she ejaculated. But she didn't lift one hand to stop me when I began to unbutton her shirt.

Author's Note:

Inspiration
More inspiration
Vixen Grin and her Band.