If Your Teapot Had A Sex Drive...
When it came to perspective, Fleur generally got to experience the so-called 'wisdom of the herd' from the outside. This usually meant doing her best to puzzle out just how much of an oxymoron was present in any given example while pretending that she'd been standing somewhere near the center all along. Somepony would begin to pass along a piece of false knowledge with an opening like 'Well, you know what everypony says!' And then the Protoceran would have to stand in place and politely nod, all the while hoping that the Equestrian propensity to repeatedly state the obvious was going to lead into being given actual details regarding the newest piece of idiocy.
The herd believed itself to know a lot of things, and having so many extra minds to draw on still didn't seem to lead into anything approaching actual thought. When it came to true observation, Solomon Short had been rather obviously capable of outclassing an entire herd -- and there had (just as obviously) been only one of him. Most of what the herd convinced itself was knowledge arrived in the form of a sonic wall: repeat the same 'fact' enough times, and maybe you could keep reality out.
And when it came to what the herd thought it knew about animal companions...
'The pet is a mirror of the pony.'
That little nugget of pyrite had been readily delivered into cottage custody and because the herd seemed to believe that 'facts' were delivered on subscription, it arrived a few times per moon. And no matter how many times the words were repeated into Fleur's pretending-to-be-interested lofted ears, they continued to be wrong.
...mostly wrong.
The part about pets and ponies looking alike pretty much never held up: the mane was generally going to be a problem, and numerous animals encountered issues with the frequent wing requirement. Where you generally saw the first hints of reflection was in personality, because companions typically learned from the one who was most dominant in their lives and when that happened, certain aspects of behavior could be treated as a model. An ideal to aspire towards, because the animal lacked the capacity to recognize that they were making a horrible mistake.
Take Thistle Burr, and one persistent rumor claimed there was a financial incentive for making the attempt. Namely, if another settled zone managed to both lure the stallion away and got him to stay there, then Ponyville would gladly make a donation to their region: more than enough to cover the upcoming regionally-filed complaint form printing costs. Some of those funds would have been provided by citizens, the rest was supposedly a permanent part of the mayor's budget and no matter how much the total amounted to, it wasn't enough to bribe the rest of the continent into taking the chance. Because the payment might have been impressive, but the price was Thistle Burr.
He was, in many ways, a pony of utter consistency. Name something, and Thistle would find a way to hate it. He was rather naturally against the tyrannical control exerted by the Diarchy. Rainbow had been an early enemy: just about everypony in the settled zone was a potential contributor to the Almost Killed Her total -- but Thistle hadn't even managed to completely exit the train. It was easy for him to hate the Bearers. And in what had been a fully literal case of guilt by association, he'd been more than capable of extending the tail lash of disdain to Fleur.
Thistle filed endless complaints with Town Hall, along with sending letters to the editors of multiple newspapers: with the latter category, he boldly signed his name because a stallion who felt the government controlled everything was also fully confident in its ability to track down where Anonymous Stallion actually lived. And when it came to those who tried to offer him words of reason, pleas which might somehow find a way to get through... he didn't know what they had to say, but it made no difference anyway. Whatever it was, he was against it.
(He would always counter any arguments intended to make him see the error of his ways, and do so with utter vehemence -- but if anypony truly wished to see Thistle's temper, or even get him to stand against them -- all they had to do was talk about personally getting rid of whoever he disliked. After all, they were his to hate.)
And Thistle had a dog.
A border collie. One which seemed to actively enjoy barking, growling, and taking snaps at anypony who wasn't Thistle. Fleur had gotten to experience that close up, because he brought his canine to the cottage. He'd done so for years, because why shouldn't he put Fluttershy through having to deal with that pet? (And until Fleur had stepped in, he'd done so while regularly skipping out on the bills.) The pegasus could understand the collie, speak with it and just like the pony, it didn't want to listen.
It also maintained borders. Constantly. Thistle's personal variety of full disagreement hadn't quite reached the madness known as Sovereign Citizen, but the collie had already dedicated its yard patrols to a constant defense for The Kingdom Of Loathing. And multiple ponies had said that with Thistle as its owner, there was no other way that the canine could have turned out.
There were times when the pet did reflect the pony. Other pairings offered more of a contrast.
Take Rainbow and Tank. (The tale of how the two had come together was one of the few Bearer stories which Fleur had been told without censorship or getting 'classified' involved -- and they'd still had a long talk about never bringing any innocent animals that close to quarry eels again.) The tortoise was remarkably calm. His default response to anything was blinking. This was sometimes followed by movement, and anypony waiting for that to wrap up was probably going to wind up setting aside a few calendar squares. Withdrawing into the shell was considerably faster, but tended to not reverse itself for a while. He was even-tempered, had never been known to snap, and when it came to speed... he got there when he got there. Tortoises generally did.
The fastest pegasus in the settled zone, partnered with one of the slowest animals on the planet. Just about nopony understood how that pairing stayed together -- unless they'd had the chance to see the one true commonality: an unending determination to reach the final goal. For Rainbow, that had started as the Wonderbolts and with Tank... keep up the plodding pace for long enough, and he would eventually be there at her side.
(With the other Bearers... Winona was just as much of a workaholic as her pony. Gummy always came across as being slightly off. A year-plus of having to deal with Angel eventually put Fleur in mind of an angry publicist who was forever trying to control access to his client. Opal was either aggressive, standoffish, or a combination of the two. And she'd seen Owlowiscious a grand total of three times, for a combined observation period of less than four minutes: the strigiforme preferred to hunt for himself, did so at night and during the day, usually tucked himself into a shadowed corner of the tree. Unobserved, unknowable, and barely there. And when it came to herself... Fleur felt she was a little too much on the large side to ever truly be compared to a shrew.)
It was possible to see Rainbow and Tank in each other, although doing so usually took some exposure and quite a bit of squinting.
And then you had the utter opposites.
Warmly, "Hello, Killer."
Bright green eyes stared up at Fleur from the examination table, then executed a languid blink. The tom's sleek black-and-white body stretched: something which started as a dip at midspine and then rippled its way in all directions. This was followed by a sound like fine-toothed clockwork cranked at both over and underspeed. At the same time.
"So this won't take too long," she told the feline. "Not that you ever mind, right?"
The purring stepped up in volume, intensity, and vibratory rate. Portions of the table were now lightly shaking in sympathy.
"Talking to a cat," sneered the bow-wearing pegasus in the room, because that one didn't allow much of anything to pass without commentary.
"So?" Fleur carefully set the trap.
It wasn't spotted. "You've been living here so long," the grayish blue mare snorted, "your mark is getting mixed up. Imagine, thinking you can talk to cats..."
Almost sweetly, "So what's your excuse?"
Flitter's teeth instantly pushed against each other. The little internal war quickly ended at stalemate. Killer simply wandered a little farther forward on the table, stared up at Fleur, and let the purring become that much louder.
With Flitter... for a good portion of the settled zone, she would be one of the ponies whom newcomers heard about long before meeting her: this was usually because those with previous experience would be trying to offer warning. She sometimes struck Fleur as being the sort of mare who was happiest when everypony else was miserable: in what the Protoceran felt to be the most hoped for case, that misery would have descended on a tide of Flitter's recently-spoken words. Flitter enjoyed sentences which could kick, and tended to exit the area well before anypony decided to let their hooves offer a response.
She was part of the weather team, and Fleur assumed this was despite popular demand. She used her off-hours to happily trot around Ponyville (because there were more victims to be found at ground level) while making commentary on the scenery, the residents, and Current Events: the nature of the settled zone meant that when it came to the final category, she never ran out of material.
Flitter always knew how to do everything better than whoever had actually done it -- if that action had already been taken. She also came with a host of alternative options, all of which could no longer be put into play. She had advice regarding new ways of looking at the world: those who made the mistake of listening tended to wind up staring at the interior of their own skulls. Flitter liked to shake ponies up --
-- and the Protoceran had decided it was a dominance game. One where the sole active player had very little concept of what the actual moves were supposed to be.
Which, as far as Equestrians were concerned, didn't really matter. In the eyes of the herd, Flitter could be casually cruel, frequently thoughtless, and came across to the majority of ponies who hadn't been able to avoid her the second time around as an utter bitch.
She was also on her second cat.
It was rare for ponies to choose a cat as their companion. Part of that scarcity came from the natural reluctance to deal with predators. Dogs managed to make up for it with a combination of servility, open adoration, and a general willingness to eat whatever their pony put into the bowl. Cats, however... they tended to be aloof. Many would treat their pony as exactly that: theirs, and since my kneading woke you up, servant, go fetch me a drink. And when it came to eating, they would take what they'd been given. Sometimes. Followed by going on the hunt anyway, and proudly showing their pony exactly what they'd found. Some of it would still be wriggling.
Most ponies wouldn't consider bringing a cat into their residence, and Flitter had a cloud house. That meant finding one of the few unicorns who could cast the permanent version of the cloudwalking spell (which had a weight limit, and adult ponies were well over it), paying for the enchantment, going through moons of rigorous vapor edge training, and adding all of those factors to everything else which had to be done during the first year -- which in Flitter's case, included teaching Killer how to walk on a leash.
Why had she chosen a cat? In Fleur's opinion, it was for the pleasure of seeing the reactions when she went out in public with what had been intended as an open, shameless predator.
The pleasures of being with a predator.
Fluttershy had chosen...
...Fleur didn't feel like she should think about that one too much.
Killer had been picked from his litter because he was healthy and ready to be trained. But as much as anything else, he'd been claimed because Flitter had believed his presence in the settled zone would put ponies through disturbing thoughts. And she'd been absolutely right.
It was just that the unsettling new concept which had been echoing within Ponyville worked out to 'I think I might want a cat.'
Killer was the rare young adult feline who'd kept just about all of his kitten curiosity, and it turned his default response towards the new into 'Who's that?' And having asked himself that question, he would then stretch out his leash in the name of investigation. Slipping it had been mastered before he'd reached his first half-year.
He was utterly fascinated by foals. Killer would jump into any unattended pram, curl up next to the infant, and decide this was his to protect. The foal generally responded to the presence of a cuddly vibrating heat engine through falling asleep, while parents typically needed to be on the receiving end of a rather hasty explanation.
The feline seemed to have an unerring instinct for recognizing when any given animal was somepony's companion, and accepted their presence accordingly. Stray birds got stared at. An avian in the cottage could perch on his head without a care. He'd once been found standing guard over a mischief of pinkies, and Fleur was still trying to work out why any long-term Ponyville resident who initially heard that story needed to be told it was the term for a group of baby mice. Up to six times, until the shaking went away.
The mare, by contrast...
...when it came to Flitter, it was possible to do a lot of contrast. For example, Fleur sometimes compared her to Joyous. Both mares had decided that their source for veterinary services was going to be the cottage -- but Flitter came to the grounds because trying to make that potential house call came with a few problems. A significant percentage of the population was attracted to Joyous -- a pegasus mare who had real trouble with allowing others to speak with her. And there had been ponies who were interested in Flitter, but that state typically only maintained until she talked back.
(Fleur wasn't entirely sure as to exactly what the intermittent relationship between Flitter and Cloudchaser was, and had tentatively decided it had been based in the ability to occasionally put up with each other. Conversations might not even be involved.)
But for the truest contrast -- a word which existed one hoofwidth away from 'conflict' -- Killer, perhaps in spite of his mare's best efforts, loved the world and everypony in it. Flitter... did not.
Those who came across Killer would generally exit the encounter with questions regarding what they truly wanted as a pet. Just about anypony who spoke to Flitter for a few minutes would start to wonder if there was any way to change their tastes in a partner. On the species level.
But the pegasus cared about the feline. You didn't reach your second cat unless you truly felt that way.
(She never talked about what had happened to the first.)
Flitter truly loved Killer.
It didn't change the fact that she was an utter bitch.
The session was fairly standard: check Killer's paws, make sure his teeth were fine, examine for general health and any changes in condition. The majority of cats, when being prodded on that level, would need to be wrapped up within a great length of cloth: that way, only one pointy (and immobilized) end was available at any time. Killer generally let Fleur know that she'd gone a little too far with a head tilt, yawn, and slight decrease in purr volume.
She did occasionally need to use her field for levitating him back to the examination table. There were a lot of ponies and animals in the waiting area, and he hadn't met some of them yet.
Flitter watched. She seldom let Killer out of her sight for very long.
"I wanted Fluttershy," the pegasus eventually said. "Not you."
"She's busy." Killer could be managed by anyone with knowledge of the basics and the willingness to hoof-stroke fur every so often. The hognose snake in the side room was more of a specialty case.
With an undertone of mutter, "She's always busy."
She's busy because I'm the one who usually fills out the appointment book. And when I saw Flipover and Killer were going to be here on the same day, I decided she needed to deal with the hognose.
Fleur, by contrast, had taken the snake.
"You're welcome to reschedule," Fleur calmly offered. "But since I'm already halfway through, that would mean charging you for two visits."
The non-muttering got a little louder.
"I need to schedule for next moon anyway," the pegasus eventually said. "Book me on the way out."
That got Fleur's attention. Flitter was exceptionally cautious about Killer's health -- 'paranoid' also would have been fair -- but to have a mere single moon pass between appointments...
"Any particular reason?" Fleur wasn't seeing any signs of trouble, but the pegasus was with the feline every day --
"-- reproductive health check," Flitter evenly stated.
The unicorn very carefully failed to blink.
"Because if that works out, then he's going to start fathering kittens soon," the pegasus casually added. "You do have some idea of how many ponies have been asking me about that, don't you? They're hoping his personality is in the blood. And if there's a litter, they want to know about it. Adopt. It obviously won't be in time for the cottage's so-called event, but..." The wings spread slightly, refolded. "I've been scouting for queens. Good matches." With a small snort, "Obviously not Opal..."
Queen. In this case, it meant an adult female cat of breeding age. It was a word which Fleur hardly ever heard used in Equestrian -- and when the rare term did appear, it more typically did so with a snarl.
"So I need to make sure he's capable and ready," Flitter continued. "To have children." A thin smile appeared, then precisely aimed itself at Fleur. "So many children..."
Don't react.
It had the potential to be an attack. But Fleur didn't know whether Ponyville was aware that she and Fluttershy were trying. They hadn't exactly been talking about it in public, and... actually, she wasn't sure how many of the Bearers knew. The group was certainly aware that they were having sex (and in Twilight's case, arguably didn't want to know that much), but it was possible that everypony hadn't been informed about the visits to Dr. Mester's office.
Still... there had been scant times when Flitter seemed to have a little extra information. The contrasting majority usually had her make something up and watch to see if anypony jumped.
The unicorn rebaited the trap.
"He does provide a good example," Fleur admitted.
Flitter's rib cage swelled with breath and pride. "Of how wonderful cats can be --"
"-- of just how much sex you can get from having a great personality."
There was a certain degree of hiss in the air. Fleur briefly wondered if Flipover had made a break for it, then identified the source as an exhale being pushed out between tightly-clenched teeth.
And there's another contrast.
One of you is getting laid.
"I'll make sure you two are booked on the way out," Fleur promised. "Ponyville could use a few more Killers running around. If they're properly trained."
The cat purred. Fleur worked. Flitter, temporarily silenced, watched.
"How's the schedule for the rest of the day?" the pegasus eventually asked.
"Full for a few hours," Fleur admitted. "Even if you could come back, we can't squeeze you in." And I'm not going to add you to the end of the day. There's too much else going on. With not-so-faint guilt, I still haven't opened that letter. Maybe if we wrap up a little early...
Flitter was watching her. Fleur shrugged. "Next moon would be easier --"
"-- so you're stuck inside for a while?"
Part of escort training had concerned small talk. It was just that with Flitter, tiny syllables had the potential to sport a considerable degree of edge. "Yes. Which isn't the worst thing, with this weather schedule. At least you've got the waterproof saddlebags for him --"
With just a little too much casualness for ready belief, "-- still giving Caramel dating advice?"
That's a switch.
Actually, that's more of a razorwhip.
Flitter was a pegasus who possessed a degree of physical attractiveness and accordingly, she'd been through the opening stages of The Caramel Experience. It had just been one of the rare times when the stallion had been the one who'd called it off and as with everything else in the mare's life, that offense hadn't been forgiven.
Spring the trap. If something had happened...
"Here and there." It wasn't exactly a secret.
"So you won't see him for at least a few hours."
"I wasn't planning to see him at all today --"
Smugly, as wing joints shifted into a ready position for getting out of the way, "-- so what's your advice for your not-coltfriend on dating the griffon?"
I can't turn my tail towards anything for five minutes...!
Getting the chance to reorient, make her excuses, clear the cottage, and gallop for Ponyville had required nearly four hours.
It hadn't been enough time for the weather to change. The Bureau had scheduled something which the schedule insisted upon describing as a 'spring mist': the actual effect was like constantly moving through the impact spray of the world's largest waterfall. A single hoofstep outside, taken for checking on the state of the clouds, would leave you somewhat damp. Any short trip quickly led to saturation. Moving for Ponyville at her best hoof speed while having left the back-mounted umbrella behind because the canopy just caught the air and created drag...
At the highest levels, humidity created trickles in the lungs. Fleur arrived in Ponyville with tiny streams flowing out of her fur. Tributaries dripped from her mane and tail. And to make matters that much worse, every now-slowed hoofstep she took through the town, in full sight of the gaping spectators who were heading back from work, risked bringing back the wet look.
If I wasn't stuck at the cottage...
Would she have heard about the matter so quickly if it hadn't been for the cottage? She wasn't sure. Flitter had insinuated seeing the two together on the previous day, and that didn't leave a lot of time for notifications. But she'd still been trapped within the pages of the appointment book, and that meant she'd essentially received the right news during hours when she couldn't do anything about it.
The calendar had moved past equinox (and that much closer to the Square): Sun had reclaimed the majority of the clock. But she'd been stuck at the cottage long enough for lowering to become a factor, with cloud-occluded grey fading from the sky as indigo began to close in. Streetlights would be activating themselves at any moment and no matter what she did, Fleur would be returning to the cottage under Moon.
Where is he...?
The candy shop was typically open at this hour: some commuters liked to pick up a few sweets on the way home. But Caramel didn't work every shift, and Bon-Bon adjusted his hours to suit what she felt would be the periods of heaviest sales. He was potentially at the shop, but that wouldn't maintain for long: everything would clear down shortly after hoof traffic from the last major train trotted by. And that would be happening fairly soon.
The shop, his home, a bar, just strolling the streets...
...being carried off by talons and paws --
She had to start somewhere. The shop was closest.
Fleur, in spite of her beauty, had a number of body issues. It was actually fairly common for those who'd grown up in Protocera: when you had a griffon's heart, then something deep down was occasionally going to wonder why nothing else matched. There were times when her own skin felt like an ill-fitted prison, and far too many dreams continued to question where her wings had gone.
She knew she was a pony. It just didn't feel like what she should have been.
...under one of the other hooves, being a unicorn meant that when she came across a shop which was on the verge of closing up for the night, she had a biological advantage for poking her head in.
There was music in the warmly-lit shop, and none of it was coming from a gramophone. Soft notes drifted out through a small gap in the kitchen doors.
Bon-Bon looked up as the door's overhung bell rang. Her teeth released the tray before she backed away from the display case, and the cream-hued body didn't straighten until she was fully clear.
"Hey, Fleur," offered a rather nasal voice: Bon-Bon was horrifically susceptible to seasonal allergies, and spring brought her to the point where anypony who didn't like her current tones was advised to wait two minutes. "Good timing. This is when we sort out whatever isn't going to be sold tomorrow. I can let you have --"
"-- Caramel," Fleur quickly cut in.
The earth pony went to her most natural move. She frowned.
"We could do a hooftap routine over the candy type," the confectioner said, "but I'm guessing you want him. Right?"
Perhaps a little too hastily, "Yes."
The improvised song continued to weave through the shop. Notes were occasionally counterpointed by the fading sounds of what had started as a distressed infant's sobs.
"I let him go about fifteen minutes ago," Bon-Bon informed her. "He said he'd spotted someone outside and wanted to go talk."
"...someone," Fleur just barely repeated.
Powerful shoulders shrugged. "Yeah, that stood out. Spike's 'somepony', everypony knows that..." Which Fleur recognized as a sort of honorific, and a very consistent one. "Maybe Zecora went by, or there's cattle away from the tenant areas. Could have been Cranky. I didn't get a look." Another shrug. "Not sure which way he went, either. So unless you're chasing, did you need any --"
A filly softly giggled. A sound of nearly pure joy, emotion which had to exist without words...
"I have to tell him something," Fleur quickly said, kicking all four legs into reverse. "I can't stay."
"-- you're sure you don't --"
Her horn cleared the gap. The door closed, and Fleur rapidly turned.
I could wait for him at his house.
...I could gallop all over the place and just hope to spot him.
Or I could gallop all over the place on the way to his house --
-- levitate? Try to get the view from overhead?
There were ponies on the street, and they were staring. She was sure there were going to be deliberately-soaked manes flooding the streets for the next two weeks.
Try going towards the restaurant district. He usually passes through there if he's trotting with a-- female. Creature of habit --
The hunt ended less than half a block away from his house.
He was standing quietly in the street. Looking up. And Fleur tried to track his line of sight, spot whatever he might be looking at, but...
Check the appointment book. See when Thistle is due in.
I know Fluttershy always tries to take him because she feels dealing with that dog just about requires a talent. But I need to speak with him. Area of expertise: he should be proud to boast about his techniques. Who knows more about filing complaints with Town Hall?
Not enough streetlights in this part of town. Additionally, while some do shine up in order to benefit passing pegasi, that lighting is insufficient. The settled zone clearly needs to install extra devices, or somepony could get hurt.
Somepony like whoever decided to put in this few in the first place.
He was looking up, and -- she couldn't spot anyone. Only what might have been a recent, tiny, self-sealing disruption in low misting clouds, with too little light to tell if that one potential hint of a departing feather had been brown.
Fleur carefully slowed down, brought her legs to a normal walking pace. Caramel didn't seem to notice the sound of an approach. He just continued to watch the darkening sky.
"Hey," she carefully said from four body lengths away.
His entire body tensed: she'd startled him. And then Caramel turned to face her.
His eyes were wet. Then again, his entire body was wet. That was just the weather schedule.
"This isn't your usual hour," the stallion openly noted. "Is something going on?"
You tell me.
And he could do so without words.
Fleur's talent lanced forward.
...and there it is.
That piece isn't half-formed any more. It's starting to contour. The edges are developing tabs. Protrusions which could fit some of the existing sockets.
The colors are brighter. Not just intensity: there's a little glow to it. Recent.
Fresh interaction.
Hope.
She had to distract him. Quickly. Take charge of her charge, and get him refocused before any of the intensifying hues had a chance to truly solidify.
"It was just a long day," she told him. "The sort of day where..." And sighed. "...I'm here. Leave it at that."
"So something is wrong," he quickly responded. "Is there anything I can --"
wrong track, wrong track
"-- it's hard to talk about, Caramel. I'd rather just --"
"Try," he suggested. And waited, as his tail dripped and the most recent manestyle continued to collapse in the non-rain.
She put a little effort into the sigh. Tried to think of an excuse. Something easily dealt with and dismissed, so they could move on to the next topic.
"There's just times when it's hard to be at the cottage," Fleur voiced. "And I don't mean it's hard to be with Fluttershy. The cottage. It's... something separate. I could almost swear it has a mind of its own, especially on the worst days. And I just don't want to be there for a while, and I --"
Which was when she became aware of exactly what she'd said.
Words died. Syllables withered. Thoughts mostly crashed into each other.
Fleur blinked a few times. This cleared some of the mist away from her eyes, collecting it into small flowing streams. Nothing else was accomplished.
"The candy shop can feel like that," Caramel quietly told her. "On a bad day. But it's easier for me to take a break than it is for you. I guess it just -- builds up."
There really weren't enough streetlights in this part of town. The glow around the scant available specimens turned the mist into half-suspended drifts of tears.
Fleur took a breath.
"Anyway," she said (because that was easier than thinking about what had been said before), "I told her I needed a night out. And, you know... it is spring. So I thought we could hit the bars together." With a small smile, "After we go inside your place for a minute. We dry off, each get an umbrella, and then we'll go on a hu -- search. This is the sort of night where ponies don't stay outside for very long. The bars are going to be packed, and with all the new mares in town --"
Multiple older pieces dimmed.
"I'll pass."
And then she was staring at him. The streetlights weren't enough to let him notice.
"It was a long day for me too," Caramel said. "I understand needing a night out, Fleur. But I'm tired. I don't know if I'm going to be good company."
He's resisting.
He's resisting.
Since when does he --
"If you just need some time away," the stallion told her, "then why not give the cinema a kick? That'll be good for a couple of hours. And I don't think you've been in for a while." With the faintest of laughs, "I hope you'll understand if I don't go along for that. Things don't end well when we're in the cinema together. Historically, I mean."
-- I'm losing control --
"It doesn't have to be bars or the cinema," Fleur quickly argued. "We can think of something else --"
"-- the only thing I can think of right now," Caramel broke in, "is going to bed. I know it's early, but -- I'm tired, Fleur. You needed to get away from the cottage. I feel like I understand that. And I want to talk about it under Sun, when we're both a little fresher. But tonight... I just need my bed. So I can be more awake when we do talk about it. And..." The smile was barely visible. "...going to bed really isn't something we should ever be doing together."
"Caramel --" had been meant as an opener. It also bought time while she tried to think of something to follow it with.
"You can use me as an excuse," he decided. "Tell Fluttershy that I was busy. 'Busy sleeping' is close enough. And you went to the cinema. She'll accept that."
"We should try something," formed the start of her final push. "The prettiest mares are going to be out tonight. Especially since the wet look might be coming back --"
An old tab parted from a socket.
"Honestly, Fleur?" the stallion began. "If you want the full truth of it, right down to the center jewel? Right now, I just feel tired of looking. Of mares. Like... I need my own kind of break. So I'm going to bed." With that little smile, "But come by when you can. Or I'll see you when I pick up Shimmy's medicine. And we'll talk about the cottage. Good night."
He turned away. Began to trot.
She needed to warn him.
She had to inform him about everything to beware of about Gilda, while telling him nothing about herself.
She needed words.
And by the time she realized there weren't any, his door had already closed.
She remained in the street for a while, as chilling water dripped from her coat. Ponies occasionally went by, pausing to look at her before fully passing. None of them worked in Emergency Speech Delivery.
He's willing to experiment to keep a partner. Would it go that far?
She... wasn't sure.
...I don't get it.
Resisting. In a passive way, defiance.
I thought I trained him better than that.
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I see? Part of the Chain is "control", and Fleur's losing it. Did Gilda just luck out? Or has a good talent for finding the right shatterpoints?
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Typo:
Other pairing offered more of a contrast. > Other pairings offered more of a contrast.
Oh Killer. He reminds me of a long gone and much beloved cat, Buddy. He was an ex-community cat (outside homeless cat, but not feral), who was found to be too sick to stay outside by the people managing his colony. So, he was adopted as a senior kitty, with arthritis and severe dental problems. He loved everybody in the whole world. He even loved the vet. He shed more than any cat I've ever met. Because of his dental problems (one problem tooth wasn't pulled because the vet was sure it would break his jaw), he preferred human-provided food, but was still a prolific hunter. He'd give his trophies to us. Dead mice... all in a line. Sometimes in closets. Or shoes.
But pets were tolerated. He'd bask in the sun by the birdcages without ever thinking of getting to the inhabitants (which made it a nasty surprise when his successor turned out to have expensive tastes in canaries). Multiple hamster escapes were survived unscathed, and it was not by the hamster's merits. At all.
Sigh. Considering the life he led, I'm sure he got more time that he was owed. I still miss that cat.
PFFFFFAHAHAHA....Classic Fleur and her artistic flair for insults. Incredible.
Killer reminds me of my sweet calico kitty Calypso who passed away last August. We'd had her for 21 years and she passed peacefully in her sleep.
Thank you for reminding me of her. ❤ Cats are special, you wouldn't get another one if you didn't feel that way. What a beautiful sentiment. This chapter hit me pretty hard in the feels, to bring back a classic phrase.
Then it kinda takes a turn toward the end there. Fleur pushing the boundaries of acceptable friendship when she talks about having "trained" him to not "resist" her...I love Fleur as a character but that's kinda fucked up. It makes sense though given her backstory and history. Manipulation comes naturally to her.
Thank you for the update Estee!! I'm so so glad to see you continuing this story.
What's ah, happening here? 😂
Did you mean cat?
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She's thinking of Flitter as the snake.
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I think it was the passive part of resisting she looked down on, if you are going to resist, face it head on. Also, I think she meant training as in teaching him, not manipulating. It has already been said that a guardian's responsibility to their charge is to get them to the point where they become their equal or even surpass them.
Fleur,Carmel not your pet you cant domesticated him, in this regard your worse the fluttershy brother
Oh what has Gilda put into your head so soon, Caramel ?
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No, I think wolfstorm has the right of it. Fleur may know in theory that a guardian is eventually supposed to get their charge to the point where they are independent and can stand up for themselves, but this may be the first time it's actually happened to her. I think this is the next step in her growth, learning to let go as one of her charges starts making choices for himself.
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My smooth brain couldn't make the connection. Thank you 😊😅
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Wasn't part of AF1's storyline about Fluttershy moving from Fleur's charge to her guardian? Also, in this story when she was talking to her therapist, didn't the doctor tell her she needed to move up and share Fluttershy's link?
Flitter is looking for a mate for Killer and definitly not Opal. Which of course means that Killer is gonna find Opal at just the right time. Because Cats. Thats what they do.
Then Rarity kills Flitter. Might make for a good story.
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Rarity and Flitter as involuntary cat-in-laws...it's too hilarious to not happen!
Man, considering that the last time she admitted to be from Protocera was from the confines of a jail cell during one of the worst moments of her life, it's gonna take a miracle for her to admit it to Caramel. She's really gotta do it soon though because at this rate whatever Gilda is doing is gonna work
👍
Huh, a conspiracy theorist with at least some common sense. Amazing.
Really? Baby mice are pinkies that travel in a mischief? Learn something new every day. Now, the question is what does a group of Pinkie Pies travel in?
Oaky, I'm confused and concerned here. Does Fleur mean she "trained him better" than to show her defiance, or that she "trained him better" than to show defiance passively?
A situation where being fully honest is the only real way to go.
Yep, Fleur is not gonna have a fun time with this.
"Other pairing offered more of a contrast"
"Other pairings offered more of a contrast"?
Thanks for writing!
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Oh, that one's already been spotted, I see. Thanks!
I see it's specced into Seal Clubber. Disco Bandits are classier. And I suppose this makes Fleur the Naughty Sorceress.
That's certainly how the writers treated him.
I was getting concerned myself before I reached the end of that sentence.
Always nice to see Flitter use her bitchiness for good, even by accident.
Ah. And Fleur is trapped in a cage of her own making. The only way to get to Caramel is through direct, open conversation, something she's so against she literally can't conceive of it. The wisdom of the herd may be an oxymoron, but it still reflects a virtue Fleur doesn't understand: Communication between equals. In a word, Honesty. The herd shares what it knows and is stronger for it... in theory. (Honesty isn't truth, but it's the next best thing.) And "that griffon is two tail strands away from complete insanity" is definitely the kind of thing that needs to be shared. Yes, it opens up awkward questions about Fleur herself, but she has to ask herself what's more important: Her secrets or Caramel's well-being.
Let's hope she recognizes the choice is even there before it's too late.
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Well, no. :D