Sam's still trying to fit in, and Rose is still trying to help her, but the human and the pony don't always understand each other's culture.
It's been a week since Sam spent the night at Rose's house, and the two have grown closer. Rose helped plant flowerbeds all around the house, but a surprise visit to check on the flowers on laundry day puts a slight strain on their budding friendship. Now Sam's forced to make some choices she's not quite ready for.
Laundry Day A Sam and Rose Story Chapter 1: Laundry Admiral Biscuit
This isn't fair, I thought. Even after a night of sleep, my whole body ached. I’d spent a whole day working with Holly Sweep, and while the chimneys in Ponyville had benefited from our work, I hadn’t. I'd washed myself off as best as I could with cold well-water—back on Earth, a hot shower would have been the cure for the soot and aching muscles, but I didn't have indoor plumbing, and it was too late to go to the river.
I'd skipped dinner, deciding instead that the bed was a more pressing priority . . . but I'd had trouble falling asleep, and then I woke up way too early to a charley-horse in my left leg.
As I lay there trying to massage my calf and relax the aching muscle, a rooster began crowing. My body had decided that a rooster meant it was morning, and I knew I wouldn't be getting any more sleep, as much as I wanted it.
Stupid sun isn't even up yet. I slid out from under the covers, the morning air chill against my bare skin.
I put on my robe and made my way to the kitchen, getting the fire in the stove going again. The convenience of having a coffee maker was yet another thing I'd taken for granted; now I had to do it the old-fashioned way.
I used the outhouse while the water was heating up, and and by the time I got back, the kettle was already whistling cheerfully to me, and the stove had made the kitchen a good ten degrees warmer. The morning was beginning to look a little brighter.
I put the grounds in the French press and let them begin performing their magic upon the water, while pondering my morning plans. I didn't have to work today, so I could get caught up around the house. Breakfast would be a good way to start my day off.
By the time I'd laid out my supplies, the coffee was ready and I poured a mug. I'd stopped using creamer when I was introduced to the cow who provided it. The ponies didn't think that was weird, but it crossed a line for me.
At least the chickens can't talk, I thought as I cracked an egg into the cast-iron skillet. Two slices of bread went beside the pan, directly on the surface of the stove. I'd burned multiple loaves of bread before some pony took pity on me and showed me how it was done.
I had just enough time while breakfast was cooking to fill my stockpot and put it on the stove. Some homes have stoves with built-in water boilers, but I wasn't so lucky.
I stood at the counter to eat my breakfast. I had chairs, but they weren't terribly comfortable for me. When I could afford new furniture, I'd have a carpenter make some to my dimensions.
When I finished eating, I washed my plate and fork using the hot water left in the kettle, then put them in a drying rack.
I got the laundry tub out, put it on the counter, and filled it with a little cold water and soap, before carefully transferring the water from the stockpot into the tub. I threw my dirty clothes in, pushing them around until they were soaked through, and then refilled the pot and put it back on the stove.
I reset the dampers, and tapped my foot impatiently, looking at the clothes on the counter. They'd want to soak for a while to loosen up the dirt before I finished them. I could wipe down the kitchen counters . . . but up in my bedroom, there was a half-finished Daring Do book, and I could read a chapter or two, then attend to my laundry.
I hung my robe neatly on a peg in the bedroom, put my comforter on the floor, and sat Indian-style, with the window at my back, letting the early-morning sunlight warm me, and began reading about Daring Do's latest conflict with Dr. Caballeron.
• • •
I was wringing out the last of my shorts when I heard a knock on the front door. All of my clothes were being washed—laundry was a once-a-week proposition, and I didn't have any extras. My robe was still in my bedroom. I wasn't expecting company, so. . . . “Just a min—“ I started, before the front door opened. It wasn't locked, because there were no locks.
“Morning, Sam,” Rose said cheerfully as she stepped inside. “I came by to see how your flowers were doing.”
I heard her hooves clopping across the floor, coming closer and closer to the kitchen. Instinctively, I looked around for something to cover myself with; aside from an oven mitt and soaking wet clothes, I had nothing.
“Lily and Daisy are working at the shop, and it isn't a market day.” She stepped into the kitchen and looked at me brightly, just as I moved to put the counter between us. She probably couldn't see anything that she normally wouldn't, but I felt extra naked knowing that I wasn't wearing my shorts.
“Laundry time,” she observed, spotting the washboard leaning in the tub and my shorts and underwear sitting on the counter in a wet lump. “Do you want help?”
“I've just got to hang up my clothes,” I said a little too quickly. “Outside, so they can dry.” Chill out. She's seen you naked before. It's no big deal. It still didn't feel right.
“O-kay?” She stretched the word out, her ears drooping slightly.
“I guess I could—“ I turned to look at the door to the backyard. “I'll just—“ I needed some excuse to go up to my room and grab my robe. Unfortunately, while I was dithering, Rose came around the counter and opened the back door.
“They won't hang themselves,” she said brightly.
I took one more look through the living room, where I could just see the bottom few steps of the staircase. I could pretend that I think the clothespins are upstairs. I turned my head to face Rose, my excuse on the tip of my tongue, but she already had the box of clothespins in her mouth. Too late I remembered I'd already set them on the counter.
“I can't just go out there like this.” I motioned down at my nude body.
Rose furrowed her brow. “It's just your backyard; who's going to care? You don't wear your clothes when you sleep, do you? Don't you go to the outhouse like that at night?”
No. I put on my robe. “You're right.” I took a deep breath and began transferring my laundry into a wicker basket. It had been a gift for spending a week out in the willow beds, cutting and bundling for White Withy. It was also, when held in front of my body, a bit of a shield for my nakedness.
Crossing the threshold from my house to my backyard was one of the hardest steps I'd ever taken. While I'd had months to get used to being unclothed around my own home when nobody was there, and I'd managed to get over it at Rose's—helped by a lot of wine—this was a different animal. Every bit of conditioning I'd received as a child was screaming at me to not do it, that I would be arrested or stared at or worse. When my left foot came down on the dirt path, it was like stepping on lava, and if Rose hadn't been looking back curiously, I would have bolted back into the house and slammed the door behind me.
But after that first step, nothing changed. I took a second step, and the birds didn't stop their singing, nobody jumped out from the bushes to take advantage of me . . . the world just kept on turning, completely oblivious to my mental crisis.
I wasn't ready to go frolicking around the backyard, though. It was obvious that the only way through this little episode in my life which I totally wasn't ready for was to hang up my clothes as quickly as possible, and then get back inside the house where I would be safe. With that thought in mind, I hastily covered the rest of the distance to my clothesline, and began hanging up laundry with a vengeance.
Rose pointed to a pair of panties. “How come you never wear just these? They look kind of nice and satin-y.”
“They're meant to be hidden,” I said. “Don't you have, um, underdresses?”
“Yes, to make the outer dress keep its shape,” she said. “A lot of fancy dresses are like that.” She skeptically regarded my panties. “But I don't see how those would help make your pants look more . . . filled out.” I had to remind myself that the way she was looking at me and my underwear was no different than a child’s innocent curiosity, but it was still awkward.
“It's a human thing,” I said. I wasn't going to get into a conversation about underwear with her. I'd already done that once with Rarity, who at least was kind enough to not ask why, once we'd established that I was adamant about the need. I picked up the empty basket, shielding myself once again, and made tracks back into the house, Rose trotting along on my heels.
Eschewing my usual rule of not sitting in my chairs naked, I primly crossed my legs, took a couple of deep breaths, and regarded Rose silently. I could tell by the way she had her head cocked and her ears pointed that she knew I was upset, but she didn't know why. I waited until the third tail-flick, running my hands absently through my hair as I tried to figure out how I might explain it to her.
Had it been a child on Earth, it would have been no problem; I could have either used my 'adult voice,' or perhaps given a more detailed explanation, but how to explain it to a pony who was more or less my own age? I tried to remember what I'd told her before, but I couldn't remember what we had and had not discussed.
“It's nothing you did,” I said lamely. “It's just kind of the custom where I come from to not go outside without clothes. Anywhere. Ever.”
Her ears turned in my direction. “That . . . that's dumb.”
I gave her a half-shrug. “We just have different rules on personal privacy than ponies, that's all.”
“Tailors in your world must be rich.” She put a hoof over her mouth, blinked at me, and then changed subjects. “Who braided your mane?”
“I did.”
“Really?” Her eyes brightened. “All by yourself?”
I nodded.
“How come? Are you going to a party tonight?”
“No, I just do it before sleeping if I washed my hair. It helps to keep down the tangles.” If I hadn't been distracted by Daring Do and laundry, I'd have brushed it out by now. “And it gives it a bit of a curl.”
She moved around behind me, taking a close look at my handiwork. It wasn't anything fancy, just a plain three-strand plait.
“It's really pretty.” She moved alongside me, and gently nuzzled my thigh. “Do you think—“
“Would you like me to braid yours?” I reached out and put my hand in her silken mane.
Rose nodded eagerly.
“All right. Wait here; I'll get some combs and hair ties.” I climbed out of my chair and headed upstairs. All my beauty supplies were in my bedroom, neatly stowed in a vanity. Not that I had too many of them. All the things I'd taken for granted in my apartment, gone in an instant when I was thrust into a new world completely destitute. I was fortunate I had what I did.
As I gathered up my grooming tools, I looked over at my robe. I could put it on, claim I was cold . . . but I just had a feeling that I would lose whatever slow progress I was making if I did. She’d see through the excuse anyway; I hadn’t been wearing it in the kitchen. Hopefully, when I was doing something inside my own house, I'd be able to put it out of my mind.
“Sam?” Rose called out tentatively from downstairs. How long have I been staring at that stupid robe?
“I'm on my way.” My eye went to the comforter, still spread across the floor where I’d been reading. There was my salvation; I could put it on the floor and cover myself with it. She’d understand that I didn’t want my butt to get cold.
Positioning ourselves was a bit of an ordeal; I finally wound up stretched out on the floor with Rose on her rump between my legs, her tail draped across a thigh. I had to lean forward just a bit to work on her mane, but it wasn't too bad.
I started off gently with the comb. I should have expected that her mane would be well-groomed, but my experiences in working with animals—limited though they were—had predisposed me to expecting scratches and bites when I enthusiastically worked out a tangle.
Rose gave an occasional wince, and flicked me with her tail, but she otherwise remained still and silent throughout the process.
As I combed, I thought about how I was going to braid her mane. It wasn't as straight a line as a real horse's, but it wasn't like a human's, either.
When I could put it off no longer, I separated her hair into three long strands, figuring I'd work in the neck-hair as I went. At least I'd seen a few ponies with braided manes—there was a little silver filly I saw around who habitually wore pigtails.
I worked in silence, my fingers performing the familiar weave. I left it loose—I didn't want to make her uncomfortable.
“Is this something humans do for each other?” Rose asked when I was halfway done.
“Sometimes,” I told her. “We have professional hairdressers, but most girls know how to do simple braids, at least. Some boys do, too.”
“It feels strange, but nice.” She wiggled her rump against the floorboards. “Your fingers are like little combs.”
“They're handy for all sorts of things.” I finished with her mane, reached beside me for the tie, and looped it around the end of her hair, knotting it with practiced ease. It was a lot simpler when I could see what I was doing. My own hair was almost long enough to pull the braid in front of my face when I was done, but not quite there yet. Maybe in a couple more months. . . . “There's a mirror up in my bedroom. It’s probably on the vanity.”
Rose got up on her hooves and headed upstairs, while I leaned back and collected my thoughts. As I'd hoped, once I'd gotten involved with her hair, all other concerns had fallen to the back of my mind; now that she was gone, my unease resurfaced. I was still naked, and my brain said that I was surely sending all sorts of unintentional social signals. Rose was a nice mare, but I wasn't into girls, or mares. Not that way—I hoped I wasn’t making her think I was.
If I told Tenderheart about this, would she think I was making progress, or would she see it as a setback? Was it the actions which would send up red flags, or the way in which I described them? I'd know in a couple of days.
Baby steps, Sam. I ran my hands over my bare legs, resisting the urge to curl up in the fetal position and tune out the world.
I could almost hear the lightness in her step as Rose trotted back down the stairs. I'd half expected she'd say something about how good her mane looked, but when I glanced up at her, I could see why she hadn't. She had the small hand mirror from my vanity held in her mouth.
She set it gently on the blanket, leaned up against me and nuzzled my cheek, before throwing caution to the wind and giving me a kiss. “It looks really pretty, Sam,” she said, oblivious to my blush. “I feel like I'm going to a garden party or a gala.”
“Thanks.” I brushed a small strand of her hair that I'd missed behind her ear. “I could do your tail, too, if you want.”
“Um. . . .” She turned back and looked at her tail, and I saw her ears droop a little bit. I didn't need her to tell me that I'd just stepped on a cultural land mine, but I had no idea what it was. I'd seen plenty of horses before with braided tails—heck, it was easier than dealing with the mane.
Although, now that I thought about it, I hadn't seen any ponies with braided tails.
“I—“
“I've never had my tail braided before,” Rose said, a little bit too loud. “It's, er, you know?” Her voice trailed off as she continued regarding it warily. “Is it a human thing? But you don't have a tail . . . do human stallions have tails?”
“No, humans don't have tails. We haven't for a long, long time.” I put my hand on her back, and she spun around to face me again. I could see a faint blush through her coat. “If you're not comfortable with the idea, I don't have to. I just thought you'd like them to match. Don't ponies sometimes braid their tails when they're wearing fancy clothes?”
“Sometimes,” she said, now on more comfortable ground. “Most nice dresses cover it almost completely, though. It's not real common. Rarity says some of the unicorns in Canterlot do it when they wear short skirts.” She looked at my free hand with a slight bit of distrust. “But. . . .”
“I don't have to. I get that you're uncomfortable with the idea, even if I don't know why.”
“No.” Rose stuck her muzzle against my chest and took a deep breath. “It's not fair.” She moved back away from me, carefully setting her hooves to avoid stepping on my legs. I watched in bemusement as she went a few lengths away from me and started pacing around. Her ears still hadn't come back up to full height, as she worked through whatever hangup she had that I'd caused. I didn't want to press her on the issue, but if I couldn’t come up with an answer, it was something I was going to ask Tenderheart next time I met with her. Hopefully she wouldn’t get all squirrely.
“How do you want to do it?” she asked quietly. “Do you need me to sit on a chair or something, so you can reach?” Her ears lowered even more.
“As long as you're not sitting on it, I can braid it on the floor, with you lying down or standing, it doesn't matter. But look, I don't have to, okay? I can put away the brush and we can think about what we want to have for lunch, if you want to stay.” I leaned down and massaged my calf—it was starting to cramp up again.
“What are you doing?” Rose looked at me with interest. I suppose the concept of kneading one's muscles would be a bit foreign to them.
“Cramp,” I said. “It happens—it's no big deal.”
“I get those sometimes,” Rose said quietly. “A soak in a hot tub helps after a long day. I heard you were out sweeping chimneys yesterday.”
“I'm sure the gossip got around.” I stretched out my leg, and pulled the blanket back up, to where it was at least providing the barest illusion of modesty. “Seems anything I do, everyone else knows about it as soon as I do.”
Rose moved back a little bit closer to me. “I haven't said anything about . . . when you helped in the greenhouse, and that night.”
I let out a sigh. “Shoot, Rose, that's not—I'm not worried about that. It's not really an issue. It happened, and that's all.”
“It didn't seem right.” She moved back close to me, and laid down between my legs, her backside towards me. “Sometimes a mare just . . . does something that other ponies might not really understand.”
She twitched her tail as she spoke, and I reached my hand down and held it by the base. Rose jerked at the contact, before laying her head on my right leg.
I moved the brush gently through her tail, paying close attention to tangles. Maybe pony tails were more sensitive; maybe I'd pulled too hard while I was doing her mane, and she had been too polite to say anything. It was impossible to be sure.
I kept a close eye on her, trying to gauge her body language. She was still tense, but she wasn't showing any outward signs of annoyance or fright. I wondered if ponies had something that instinctively relaxed them. You could scruff cats, and a lot of domestic rabbits turned strangely compliant when they were on their backs, but I couldn't think of a single thing that might be relaxing to a pony.
And here you go, treating her like a dumb animal, I chided myself. You can talk to her.
“So,” I said, moving my brush towards the base of her tail. “You said you came over to check on my flowers? How are they?”
“Oh!” Rose turned her head to look at me. Oddly, she had a slight blush on her cheeks. “They're . . . a little too wet. Have you been watering them?”
“A couple of times,” I told her, smoothing the brushed part of her tail over my leg.
“You should stick your muzzle in the soil, and feel how wet it is, before you water them. Some ponies who aren't careful make the mistake of watering their flowers too much, and drown them. I think—“ She twitched her tail as I hit a small knot— “they know they have to eat every day, and think the flower does, too, but a plant's not the same as a pony.”
“Am I being too rough?” I lifted the brush out of her tail and set it aside. “Really, I don't have to.”
“It's okay.” She looked away from me and rested her chin back on my leg.
“Rose!” I'd never gotten the chance to practice a proper 'mom' voice, but it’s probably instinctual. Her ears flattened—I guess their 'mom' tone was similar to a human's.
“Your feet look really soft,” she said. “I never noticed that before—doesn't it hurt to walk around?” She reached out a hoof and traced it over the top of my foot. I knew the diversion tactic; I'd babysat before.
“Why does tail-braiding bother you, Rose? You're going to tell me before I go any further.” I punctuated my words by setting the hairbrush down and crossing my arms.
She was trapped. She knew it and I knew it. Sure, she could get up and leave—that was always an option—but she was too polite to do so. She knew she'd pushed my limits earlier in the day, and she was obligated now. I could see it in the way her head drooped on my leg. Without saying a word, I picked the brush back up and began working on her tail again. I was nearly at the root.
“It's because . . . because it's a thing that only close friends or lovers usually do.” She slumped across my leg. “Or professional ponies, like at the spa or the mane stylist.” Her tail twitched under my brush, slapping against my thigh. She sighed—she knew as well as I did that that wasn't the whole answer. “Because . . . you've got to get up under my tail.”
I almost laughed at that. If I hadn't been focused just then on the brush hitting another tangle, I probably would have, and that would have been the wrong thing, and we would have had to spend days or weeks building things back up to where they had been. I was no expert at anthropology, or ponyology, I guess—but I was wise enough that a moment's reflection led me to not question her statement.
“I don't,” I assured her. “I can do it just fine from here.”
I continued brushing in silence. I wasn't sure how that was a big deal to her—after all, it wasn't like she ever covered those parts; anyone who was curious could just walk around behind her for a while and get an eyeful.
As weird as it seemed, that actually got me to questioning my behavior, and how she'd see it—or any other pony, for that matter. Bizarre, maybe. But I wasn’t their species, and I still didn't think I was quite ready to plunge headfirst into their nudist lifestyle.
Her tail was satisfyingly brushed, so I sorted it into three strands and began braiding, my mind still mulling over her words. It was peaceful and almost hypnotic to move the plaits of hair through my hands, lacing them together in a familiar pattern. I was nearly at the end before I noticed Rose was looking at my hand intently, watching my fingers work with undisguised fascination..
I paid her no mind, continuing my work in silence. Once I reached the end, I looped a tie over her tail, and before I could think about the potential consequences of my actions, rubbed my hand along her back, from mane to tail. “All done.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon kind of re-establishing boundaries. It was hard to explain, but we'd both gone through something which was psychologically traumatic, and needed time to work things out in our minds.
Neither of us said much, and it was better that way. I made a quick lunch—nothing special, but enough to fill both our bellies. When I went to wash the dishes, Rose stepped outside, saying that she had to weed the flowers. I doubt that was true—I can't imagine that she'd checked them in the morning and failed to do so—but I let her have her little excuse. It was just as well; I needed a bit of alone time to unwind, myself, and doing the dishes was a nice mundane task which required no mental engagement whatsoever.
I'd finished by the time she came back in, and had wiped off the kitchen table and counter as well, just for good measure.
“Are they weed free?”
She nodded eagerly. “Is . . . do you think your laundry is dry? I could help you with it.”
I glanced towards the back door thoughtfully.
“Or . . . I could get it myself.” She swished her tail, and glanced back at it. I smiled—I wondered how that must feel to her? It wouldn't be moving the way she was used to. “Because you . . . don't have shorts, and it's outside.”
“Are there any other ponies near my backyard?”
She shook her head. “I didn't see any when I was in the flowerbed.”
I could go upstairs and get my robe, or wrap my blanket around myself. I looked back at her neatly-braided tail, and I wondered how she'd felt when I did it. How would I have felt, if I'd had a tail? How much trust would I have had to put in a friend—a close friend—to have her hands back there? I wouldn't have liked it at all; I'd probably have been practically trembling in fear.
“Okay.” The funny thing about favors between friends was that the ledger never added up. It shouldn't. Before I could think myself out of it, I grabbed the laundry basket and pushed the back door open.
I'm not so prideful to claim that I wouldn't have slammed it back shut if I had seen some pony looking over the fence. But Rose hadn't been lying; there was no one about. And taking laundry back off the line was a fairly quick affair—pull off a pair of clothespins, put it in the basket, repeat as needed. No problem.
Rose followed me out the door, her movements a lot more certain than mine. I kept the laundry basket in front of me like a wicker shield, and headed for the furthest end of the clothesline.
I tossed clothes and pins alike into the basket, since I'd be sorting them once I got inside. Rose stood beside me, one ear roving and the other staying focused on me. I couldn't help but wonder if she was feeling useless at her inability to help—I'd hung the line to suit me, and it was beyond what an earth pony could reach.
It didn't take long before I was back inside. Once I'd put the first pair of shorts on the counter to fold, Rose sprang into action, reaching into the basket and lifting out clothes with her mouth, and dropping the clothespins in their box.
I tried not to laugh the first time she came up with a pair of panties in her mouth, but I couldn't. She'd grabbed them by the waistband, and the expression on her face reminded me of a puppy sitting in the middle of the shredded remains of a couch with an innocent look on its face.
Naturally, she didn't get it, and her questioning eyebrows just made it funnier. I took the panties and set them on the counter, but it was too late. I already had the giggles, and they weren't going to go away any time soon.
And poor Rose just didn't get it.
• • •
We spent the first half of the afternoon in the backyard, just reading. When we'd put away my clothes, Rose had noticed that I had a Daring Do book she hadn't read yet—it was the one I was currently reading, but I loaned it to her anyway, and took a different book from the set. Like Nancy Drew, there wasn't a particular continuity to the set. Daring did seem to learn from one adventure to the next, but it wasn't like Harry Potter where one story naturally directly followed the other.
She lay on the blanket with the book between her forehooves, and I sat more upright. Lying on my belly and reading seemed like a great idea in theory, but in practice, it got uncomfortable pretty quickly.
I was midway through Daring's escape from the temple when my leg cramped up again. I muttered some curses under my breath at it, and shifted position on the blanket. Rose turned her ears in my direction, but kept looking at her book. I thought she hadn't noticed, but a moment later, she put the ribbon between the pages and turned to me. “Your leg isn't better.”
“I know. I'll be fine.”
“You should go to the spa. You can sit in the hot tub, and that will relax the muscles, and then if you're not feeling better, Lotus or Aloe can give you a massage.”
I can't afford it, I thought. My bits were rationed carefully—I didn't have steady work, and I needed to save money for some warm clothes in the winter. Private spa time was expensive. Once I saved up enough to buy a hot water heater, I'd have my own home spa; until then, I'd just have to do without. “I'll be fine, Rose. This just happens sometimes.”
“I don't like seeing a pony—person—suffer. Nopony does. You need this.”
“It's fine.” The pain in my calf put a lie to my words, and I unconsciously leaned forward to knead the muscle. “It's . . . it's a human thing.”
“Don't be stubborn.” Rose glared at me, a slight flash of anger crossing her green eyes. “Aloe and Lotus will give us a good price.”
“I—“ I couldn't think of a single excuse which wouldn't sound hollow.
“Please. You made me lunch—“
“That was nothing.”
“—and braided my mane and tail.”
“And you weeded my flowerbeds and helped me put away my clothes.”
“I just. . . .” She looked away from me, and fixed her gaze on my fence. “I don't like seeing you in pain. It's not right.” Her voice got quieter as she continued, until she was speaking almost in a whisper. “I'll pay—and if you want a private tub, I can pay for that, too.”
“Rose.” I had a distinct memory of my mother and grandmother sparring over who would do the dishes—not who was forced to, but who had a better reason to. It was like a weird reverse-obligation, and I felt like I ought to be enough of an adult to understand, but I really didn't. “I am not going to the spa on your dime—your bits.”
• • •
“Two,” Rose told Aloe. “And can we get a private tub?”
“No.” I wasn't going to give her this victory. “We'll take a public tub.”
Conflicting emotions went across Rose's face. On the one hand, she'd just saved a lot of bits, and like most of the ponies in this town, she was fairly miserly when it came to that. On the other hand, she was sure I wasn't quite ready.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.” I nodded my assent. I can keep my panties on. I'll get some stares because I don't have a cutie mark, but I can live with that.
Rose took the pencil in her mouth and signed the ledger. Most ponies didn't carry their bits around with them, so the last few days of each lunar cycle were reserved for paying off debits and collecting payments.
Aloe glanced between Rose and I, but didn't say a word. I let Rose lead me to the communal hot tub. I'd hoped it would be empty, but of course that wasn't the case. A stallion sat by himself on one side of the tub, while two pairs of mares were opposite.
I am sure there is a social rule about how close the mares can sit to the stallion, I thought. With significant, but unspoken, variations.
Of course there weren't any changing rooms. It stood to reason that Aloe and Lotus would expect their clients to show up nude, and I was undoubtedly a constant thorn in their side as far as that went. So I just gritted my teeth and unbuttoned my pants, sliding them down my legs with my eyes closed.
I half-heartedly folded them and put them on a bench, then nodded at Rose.
Of course, all eyes were on us. The quiet conversations had stopped the moment I showed up, and they had yet to resume. Five pairs of eyes were locked on me as I followed Rose to the deck surrounding the tub. I kept my head down, not wanting to see their stares.
Rose was slightly downcast, and I wondered if I'd been unfair to her. The gossip machine in Ponyville might be gearing up for an all-night session: Rose had her mane and tail braided, and was with me at the spa.
But there was no way out, now. We'd committed to our course, and we had to see it through.
I let Rose get it the tub first, and wade over to a bench. The mares clustered closer together, but kept their distance. I paid them little mind; my very existence caused all sorts of havoc on their typical social structures. I followed Rose into the soothingly warm water—which was only deep enough to just cover my panties—and followed her across to a seat.
I stretched my arms over the edge of the tub and slid down as far as I could, until just my head was above the water.
“Do you have hot tubs?” The 'on Earth' wasn't said, but implied.
“Yes.” I nodded.
Rose seemed satisfied with the answer. I stretched my legs out, letting the heat work its magic on them. The water had a slightly mineral smell to it, but it was different than my tap water at home. I wasn't sure if that was the heat, or if the spa used different water than the rest of Ponyville. They probably added salts to it or something.
I let my eyes wander over the room. It wasn't much of a crowd—there were the seven of us in the tub, a couple mares laying on chaise lounges while Lotus worked on them—and that was it. Rose's earlier reluctance to tail-braiding seemed oddly out of place as I watched Lotus put curlers in a mare's tail. She didn't get all twitchy . . . but then again, it was probably a regular experience for her. I dug at my memory to remember who she was. I'd seen her around town before, and she had a stall which sold something. It wasn't a food staple, of that I was sure, even if she was an earth pony.
Her companion, a mint-green unicorn, noticed that I was staring, and pointed a hoof in my direction, before looking back down at the newspaper she was reading.
“Sam?”
“Rose.” I focused on the mare next to me.
“Do your clothes protect you from the water?”
“No.”
She nodded. “It just covers you, and that's all?”
“Yeah.”
She fell silent, thinking over the concept. Two of the mares got up and waded across the tub, climbed out, and began drying each other off. The stallion watched them with vague interest before glancing back at me.
I gave him a small smile, and then looked back at Rose. She had her eyes closed, and a look of pure contentment on her face.
She had the right idea. I sat up slightly higher in my seat, and looked back at the stallion. He smiled politely, but didn't say anything.
This would be easier with a bottle of wine. I hooked my hands in the waistband of my panties, and before I could re-think my plan, I slid them down to my ankles. The stallion looked at me curiously, but didn't budge from his spot, nor did he look down in the hopes of getting a glance through the water. Rose didn’t notice, either.
The feeling was weird. I felt vulnerable—but at the same time, I felt invulnerable, as if I'd managed a trick so great, nobody knew they'd been fooled.
I pulled my panties off my legs and balled them in a hand. I am making progress.
