An Evening Among Stars


                                            >“Oh, dear… is this really happening? Are we actually about to do this?”

                                            >You check your tie as you leave the bustling streets behind and draw closer to the entrance of what has to be the most luxurious hotel in Manehattan.

                                            >Gilded statues line the walkway to the lobby, complete with a red carpet and a dejected-looking butler at the door ushering people inside.

                                            >A quick look at the skyscraper looming above you, and your nerves start to take hold. You’ve had a taste of luxury here and there in your life, but nothing even remotely close to this.

                                            >You thumb the invitations in your pocket to make sure they’re still there. Fluttering the edges of the thick card stock back and forth on your fingers gives you some sense of reassurance that, yes, you do belong here.

                                            >Well, technically you’re a plus one, but still.

                                            >Pushing aside your apprehensiveness for a bit, you turn your focus to Rarity, who’s preoccupied with checking to make sure her dress isn’t off in some way that escapes you.

                                            >You’d told her a couple times before you arrived that she looked, in your words, “impeccable.”

                                            >None of that staunched her tide of uneasiness, however, and you’re sure she’s checked her makeup at least twelve separate times since you both left the boutique.

                                            >As your walk up to the doorpony nears its end, you gently rest a hand on her withers, drawing her attention away from a frill that looks as good as any other on her dress.

                                            >She looks pensive, but those blue eyes are on you; you decide not to waste the opportunity.

                                            “Hey. You look lovely, rares.”

                                            >A bit hamfisted, but it looks like it worked a bit. A dainty smile spreads across her face, reserved in the face of what awaited the both of you inside, but present nonetheless.

                                            >“Oh, hush, you,” she coos, shifting her gaze to your matching ensemble. “What’s that, now, eight different compliments since we left? You’re just brown-nosing at this point, darling.”

                                            “It can’t be brown nosing if it’s the truth, can it?”

                                            >You gesture toward her dress, eyeing it up and down. At a glance, it’s hard to tell it isn’t jet black, but a lengthier examination would show that it’s actually an incredibly deep midnight blue.

                                            >Interspersed throughout the piece is what looks like glitter, but in reality, is actually reflective gemstones that have been reduced to a size almost invisible to the eye apart from their shimmering reflections.

                                            >The idea had come to her about a month ago after hearing about one of Twilight’s friendship lessons.

                                            >She had even named the dress after it during the sketching stage; The Lifted Veil, she calls it.

                                            >A testament to looking beyond surface appearances.

                                            >You come away from your millisecond-long train of thought, refocusing on Rarity in the present time.

                                            >Her dainty smile transforms into a full ear-to-ear grin, and you swear you see a twinkle in her eye for a fraction of a second.

                                            >“Well, if you say so,” she almost play-sings, both of you coming to a stop as you find your place in line to have your tickets punched. “I still can’t believe we were invited, though. I mean, I’ve been to plenty of socials and balls before, but the Cosmos? Quite a few of the most high-society ponies I've ever met have never even set foot here!”

                                            >Your brow furrows as you smirk at the mention of ‘high society.’

                                            “The ponies that you’re referring to are the snooty type, aren’t they?”

                                            >She harrumphs, nose slightly upturned in purposefully exaggerated haughtiness.

                                            >She motions as if to say something, but stops, seemingly toiling in thought. What starts as heavy contemplation quickly gives way to visible surprise as she seemingly wracks her brain for a poignant response.

                                            “Let me guess…”

                                            >You put your chin into the crook of your hand, feigning deep thought. In reality, you already have a confident guess as to the names she’s more than likely thinking of.

                                            “Trenderhoof, Zesty Gourmand, Rosy Bottoms, aaaaaand… Blueblood?”

                                            >Her eyebrows dart up as she casts her gaze at you, seemingly impressed.

                                            >Surprise melts into another wide grin as she somewhat bows her head in laughter that somehow manages to be unrestrained, yet composed at the same time.

                                            >“Have you been committing my couch drama to memory?” she asks inbetween laughing fits.

                                            >It’s your turn to chuckle as you think back to the many nights you played couch counselor for her, often with half-gallons of ice cream at your side.

                                            “Only the more dire sessions. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

                                            >You release a contented sigh as you deign to continue the original conversation.

                                            “Those four are all their own unique brand of jerk, though. Thread Weaver didn’t seem like that when she gave us our invites after the show awhile ago, she seemed more… grounded, for lack of a better term. Hopefully the same is true for the rest of the guests.”

                                            >You take one last glance at the top of the monolithic building in front of you before you pass under the covered entrance.

                                            “Besides, I heard the group who runs the place tend to keep their invites corporate. You know, executives and such.”

                                            >Only two couples in front of you now; you move up slightly.

                                            “That’s about all I was able to glean from people around town, though. Other than that, everyone I’ve asked has no clue what goes on up there.”

                                            >A nervous smile takes hold of her features as the last two couples breeze through, leaving the doorpony as the only thing left between the both of you and your evening.

                                            >“I suppose we’re about to find out for ourselves, aren’t we?” she says somewhat breathily as she takes the final step up to the counter with you.

                                            >You gingerly take the tickets from out of your pocket, turning them over in your fingers and holding them out to the stallion, who looks absent-minded as he scans the card until he notices the namesake of the penthouse on it.

                                            “Two for the Cosmos, please.”

                                            >Suddenly, he looks lively, and flashes a wide grin at the both of you as he gestures to somewhere within the main lobby.

                                            >“Of course!” he rings out, putting on his best customer service voice. “Your elevator will be the fourth one on the left as you walk past the main desk. We hope you enjoy your tryst in the Cosmos, and have a pleasant evening!”

                                            >You both thank him at the same time, your voices melding as one for a brief moment before you pocket the tickets once more and traipse into the lobby together, left hand still resting gently on her withers.

                                            >To say that the hotel is a hotbed of the finer tastes would be an understatement. Wherever you look, you spot some sort of luxurious component of architecture.

                                            >Marble pillars are spread sparingly and symmetrically throughout the open space, going up just past your point of view into the ceiling, so as to give the impression that they went on forever to someone who was keeping their eyes forward.

                                            >The floor is laminated concrete tiling, and at its center lays a pattern of a moon within a sun, both monochrome and with different intensities so as to stand out from each other.

                                            >Fixtures, tables, and the reception desk are all either made of black rock quartz or give off a similar impression with swirling charcoal gray veins just barely standing out to you from where you are.

                                            >Gold trim is also present on some of said fixtures. Surprisingly, it’s applied in a tasteful capacity that doesn’t make you curl your toes in mild disgust.

                                            >A hoof tapping against your leg snaps you out of your stupor, and you look down at its origin.

                                            >Rarity’s looking up at you with a mix of anticipation and attentiveness.

                                            >“Where’d you go, darling?” she asks, continuing toward the elevators. You check your pocket square for any creases and, finding none, you follow suit.

                                            “Sorry, I was lost in everything for a minute. I was expecting luxury, but I didn’t think it would be quite this…”

                                            >“Lavish?” she offers.

                                            “That’s one word for it, yeah. It feels like I’m trespassing, honestly.”

                                            >She nods in agreement as you cross the room together, making your way around small gatherings of ponies here and there.

                                            >“I’m glad it’s not just me,” she admits, giving off a chuckle that has the corners of your own mouth rising at the sound of it. “Honestly, I feel a bit out of my element here, as it were.”

                                            >She openly sighs, nerves untensing slightly with the knowledge of your solidarity.

                                            >“Which is silly, right? I’ve accomplished things that should have been far more nerve-wracking than this, but here I am, jittering like a filly on a sugar rush…”

                                            >You nod, sharing the sentiment wholeheartedly. You haven’t noticed until now, but your hands are starting to clam up.

                                            “If you need to come back to baseline when we’re up there, come find me, okay? I’ll probably just be at the bar or something if they’ve got one.”

                                            >You reach over and rub her neck reassuringly, and it feels like she leans into it.

                                            >“You know I will, darling.”

                                            >You two weren’t always this close with each other.

                                            >Rarity’s relationship with you started as purely business, but over time, she grew to enjoy your company when you were helping with the other models and trying on her ensembles yourself.

                                            >That came to a head one day when she asked if you wanted to grab lunch together during your break, which you accepted right away.

                                            >It went well, and suddenly, you two had become fast friends and were hanging out almost all the time, even outside of work.

                                            >Ah, but that’s a tale for another time.

                                            >Pulling yourself from your daydreams, you arrive at the enclave in the back of the lobby and head straight for the fourth elevator.

                                            >Its call button gives off a resounding click as Rarity presses it in, and the two of you wait for it to arrive in comfortable silence.

                                            >After about a good thirty seconds of waiting, the elevator finally arrives.

                                            >When the doors open, you’re greeted by your reflection staring back at you, mimicking your movements as you step aside for Rarity to enter first.

                                            >“Thank you, dear!” she chimes as she meanders past you into the back of the elevator, stopping just in front of the mirror before facing you again.

                                            >You follow close behind, taking your place in front of the button panel, eyeing it up and down.

                                            >For the most part, it's a fairly standard looking panel.

                                            >The top button, however, looks more like a window into space, with no number attached to it.

                                            >Cocking your head at it, you notice that the cosmic patterning moves in tandem with your point of view, creating an enchanting parallax of stars that seem to go on endlessly, as if you’re staring into the heavens themselves.

                                            >Gingerly, you push it inward, half expecting your finger to be sucked into the vacuum.

                                            >You’re only a little disappointed that it’s just a button, and the elevator doors close in front of you, deafening the roar of voices from outside.

                                            >You turn to your left to find Rarity eyeing her reflection up and down, checking for imperfections one last time before the big moment arrives.

                                            >Mimicking her, your gaze turns to your mirrored self. No stray lint anywhere, no wrinkles in the suit or undershirt, the tie is all straightened out… your ensemble looks good enough to pass your inspection.

                                            >Your face is what draws your attention last. You roll your head around here and there, inspecting how you look from all angles.

                                            >The elevator lights aren’t exactly very forgiving, but then again, you’re your own worst critic. Before long, that old pit in your stomach widens, and you feel your mind start to mold its thoughts around it.

                                            >They’re going to stare. You know they will. They always do when they first see you, at least.

                                            >The news of your initial arrival in Equestria was a relatively well-known topic throughout Ponyville and Canterlot, but beyond those two towns, no one was really aware of you. As a result, in your initial travels abroad, you garnered quite a few stares, and even some younger kids asking you what you were.

                                            >The looks and prodding questions were always innocuous, of course. Mostly, anyways.

                                            >Because of that, a feeling of hyper-awareness still hangs over you at every show you’ll ever model at, every shoot you’ll attend, a tick that’s hardened to your matches gorging itself on your doubts.

                                            >“Anon?”

                                            >You turn your attention to Rarity, setting aside your oncoming cloudy disposition.

                                            >Her eyes meet yours, and you bear witness to a sea of uncertainty.

                                            >“Do… do you feel like we’re in over our heads a little bit?” she chokes out, straining to let the words leave her system.

                                            >The words catch in your throat before you can blurt them out. In her shared nervousness, you find an odd comfort that helps to ease the tension of the elevator ride into heaven.

                                            >Seconds pass before you speak.

                                            “Are you nervous too?”

                                            >You almost whisper it, seeking validation from the only mare who can give it to you at this point in time.

                                            >The only one who you want to receive it from, to be completely honest.

                                            >She heaves, letting her head slump slightly as the tumultuous breath she’s been holding leaves her parted lips.

                                            >“I feel I’m about to walk into a manticore’s den,” she relents, seemingly taking solace in the fact that she’s not alone. “I honestly don’t know why I’m so nervous about this.”

                                            “Tell me about it. The longer I think about it, the more I feel like I’m gonna lose my lunch…”

                                            >She eyes you nervously from your stomach to your eyes for a second.

                                            “... and before you ask, no, not literally.”

                                            >You chuckle, half in response to her reaction, and half out of habit as some of your nerves leave you.

                                            >She joins you in quick order with a dainty laugh of her own, and the air in the elevator suddenly becomes a bit lighter than it was when you entered.

                                            >As the laughter dies down, you turn around and lean against the hand railing, relaxing a bit for the first time since you’ve been here.

                                            >Your grin is palpably large.

                                            “We’re a mess right now, huh?”

                                            >“If we are,” she begins, turning to you, “we’re well put together for a couple of messes, wouldn’t you say?”

                                            “Only because we’re wearing outfits that you poured your heart into.”

                                            >She bats a hoof at you dismissively, and you get a whiff of her perfume; higher notes of roses and jasmine, with a slight musk at the base note to top it off.

                                            >Something about it hooks you instantly, but you can’t quite place what scent it is that entrances you.

                                            >You’ll have to ask her what perfume it is later, maybe get some of your own. Why not, after all?

                                            >“I won’t tell you to stop, dear, but you should know you’re stroking my ego at this point,” she goads, striking a proud pose with one lifted forehoof and fluttering her eyes at you.

                                            >You think about going for the low hanging fruit, but the last time you made a sex joke in front of Rarity, she swatted you with a newspaper and called you uncouth.

                                            >She was blushing and flustered the whole time, of course, which made it worth it.

                                            >Before you can make up your mind about it, the elevator begins to slow its ascent, catching both of you off guard.

                                            >You push off of the railing and straighten your suit jacket out one last time.

                                            >Taking a deep breath, you smile down at Rarity as the elevator comes to a complete stop.

                                            “Ready, rares?”

                                            >She takes a breath of her own as you both throw on some bravado for good measure.

                                            >“As I’ll ever be, darling.”

                                            >Allowing her to go first, you both stride out from the elevator and into a short-looking hallway leading to your right.

                                            >There’s nothing particularly special about the architectural design of the hallway, but the floor underneath you has the same space-parallax effect that the elevator button had.

                                            >The cosmos move underneath your feet as you stroll down the hall, and you can’t help but stare in wonder along with Rarity, whose eyes comb the spectacle with wonder.

                                            >“May I see your tickets, please?” a deep, almost booming voice calls out from the end of the hallway, catching you off guard.

                                            >Breaking from your wilful hypnosis, you look up and see a well-dressed, stocky unicorn stallion waiting by the door for the two of you to approach him. His gaze seems to be affixed primarily to you, which you aren’t surprised by in the slightest.

                                            >You wonder if the organizers informed him he’d be seeing something like you. Judging from his stoic face, they must have; if they didn’t, he was taking it in stride remarkably well.

                                            >While closing the distance, you deftly pull the tickets from your breast pocket once more, possibly even more gracefully than earlier. It’s mundane moments like these where you feel Rarity’s runway training takes hold the strongest, like her grace is now hidden in your everyday actions.

                                            >Rarity sticks close to you as you flip the tickets over in your fingers once more, verifying your access to whatever lies beyond the oddly mundane black door.

                                            >With a quick once-over of the tickets, he smiles at the both of you.

                                            >“Enjoy your tryst in the Cosmos, and have a pleasant evening, you two,” he says, parroting that one doorpony from earlier.

                                            >Without another word, his horn alights with an amber glow, and the door handle is enveloped by the extension of his magic.

                                            >The anticipation built up inside you reaches its summit, and what feels like ages pass as the handle takes forever to turn.

                                            >You feel your hand brush against Rarity’s side; whether or not the gesture was born from your volition or hers, you have no way of knowing.

                                            >The contact, though innocent and brief, gives the lightning in your nerves a proper path to ground.

                                            >As the door handle reaches its lowest angle, you find yourself not wondering, but hoping it’s the same for her.

                                            >Time returns to its normal cadence as the door swings open.

                                            >Having lived in Equestria for a while, there are times when moments laden with magic pass you by as you become accustomed to the world around you and its daily happenings.

                                            >This is not one of those moments.

                                            >Walking in after Rarity, your attention is immediately seized by the windows, which dominate most of the walls of the main room.

                                            >Rather than looking out over the skyline of Manehattan, you find yourself setting your sights upon a veritable ocean of stars suspended in darkness. When you pay closer attention, you notice that some stars have incredibly miniscule differences in color as well as size.

                                            >In the middle window of the wall farthest from you, the usually distant moon is so close that you’re able to make out individual rock formations on its surface, yet still view it in its entirety.

                                            >The endless expanse is so full of visceral, minute details that for a minute, you really do believe that your elevator ride has deposited you somewhere in space.

                                            >Even though it’s more than likely just the parallax effect you’ve seen twice before but on a larger scale, you elect to suspend your disbelief for the night and proudly lean on the notion that you’re spending an evening out in the stars.

                                            >The interior design follows that of the front lobby of the hotel apart from the actual layout of the room. Booths are scattered about here and there, positioned respective to the circular bar at the center of the sprawling room.

                                            >Apart from the booths, there’s group-style seating near the windows that offer a view into the facade of space, complete with a coffee table at the center of each group.

                                            >To your right, a staircase leads to an upper floor just above where you had emerged from, overlooking the entirety of the room. Your guess is that it’s some sort of V.I.P. area reserved for the owners, given that pretty much everyone in this lounge is a very important person.

                                            >Light jazz is playing from somewhere, but you can’t quite place where. As a result, it feels as if the music is a soundtrack to the happenings of the room; there’s even a discrepancy between instruments in your right and left ears despite not wearing any headphones.

                                            >The space is absolutely alive with chatter, and it clues you in to how many ponies there actually are. Almost every booth is taken by at least two individuals, and there are plenty more standing in groups, holding conversations that mix in with the ubiquitous cacophony.

                                            >You’re so busy selling your soul to the otherworldly situation that you just barely manage to recall that Rarity is there with you.

                                            >Turning to her, you find that she’s taken with the spectacle just as much as you are, if not more. Her look of genuine amazement darts from point to point in the room, never quite settling on one thing to truly set her eyes on.

                                            >You gently tap her withers to get her attention.

                                            >She looks back up at you with that same expression of wonder on her face, and for a second, you forget what you were even going to say. Luckily, she takes the initiative.

                                            >“Sweet Celestia! Can you even believe this place?” she exclaims, gesturing to the grand display in front of you.

                                            >You break out of your trance to try to form an adequate reply, a dumb smile still resting on your lips.

                                            “Are we in a dream? How the hell are they making the outside look like space?”

                                            >She shrugs, bemused laughter escaping her lungs.

                                            >“I’m not even sure, but good heavens, the view, and this music… It’s so much more than what I thought it would be,” she expresses excitedly, eyes scanning the room one more.

                                            >Coming down from the high of initial exposure, you endeavor to find your hostess.

                                            “We should probably try to find some seats, or better yet, see if Thread Weaver is nearby.”

                                            >Rarity turns to you once more, but before she can form her reply, a silky voice breaks out from a few feet to your right.

                                            >“No need to go looking,” it says, coming closer.

                                            >Redirecting your gaze to the origin of the voice, you find a slender, dark gray unicorn mare with white, done-up hair dressed in a sleek, black gown that sports ruffles at the shoulders. In her hair is a pin holding it up that’s adorned with her cutie mark: a single white thread passing through the hole of a needle, turning into a symphony of brilliant colors on the other side.

                                            >“I saw the two of you come in. Anonymous, you’re quite the beacon, did you know that?” She goads, winking at you for effect.

                                            >You chuckle, gesturing to yourself as you do so.

                                            “I get that quite a bit, believe it or not.”

                                            >She turns to Rarity, and they exchange a brief, delicate hug.

                                            >“Oh, it’s so nice to see you again, Thread Weaver!” Rarity exclaims happily, severing the embrace. “Thank you again for the invites, this place is amazing!”

                                            >“Only the finest scenery for the finest individuals in the world,” she offers in response, almost like a tagline. “You can both just call me ‘Weaver’, by the way. My full name’s a marathon to get through in casual conversation.”

                                            >She shifts slightly to face you and offers her hoof. Bending down ever so slightly, you take it in earnest and gently shake it, a smile written across your face to accompany the gesture.

                                            >The action lasts but a moment, and yet it’s full of character for someone like her. An elite, yes, but one whose loftiness doesn’t skew her personality.

                                            >She looks back where she came from before turning to face the both of you again.

                                            >“I hate to do this, but before we get properly started with the celebrations, there’s someone over in my corner who wants to speak with you, Rarity,” she relents, looking displeased with the fact that business followed her into the den of heaven. “Does the name ‘Serene Script’ perhaps ring any bells for you?”

                                            >She says that last inquiry rhetorically; it’s likely that everyone in the room knows who that is.

                                            >“The famous playwright??” Rarity almost yells in surprise, a look of disbelief plastered on her face.

                                            >“The very same,” Weaver replies, giggling at Rarity’s near-outburst. “He heard that you were coming and wanted to speak to you, but wouldn’t say why.”

                                            >A frown takes hold of you, unsure of what to make of the ordeal. Surely this must be good news for Rarity, though, since Weaver seems to be jovial about the whole thing.

                                            >You drop the suspicion almost as fast as it arrives, and you’re left wondering why it was even there in the first place.

                                            >Rarity looks as if she can hardly contain herself, a beaming grin shining out amidst the moody lighting. She nearly whips her head in your direction, looking happily overwhelmed, one forehoof raised.

                                            >“Remember what you said earlier about keeping me at baseline?,” she asks, just loud enough for you to make out what she says over the dull roar of the room. “I think I need to take you up on that offer sooner than anticipated, darling.”

                                            >Despite her effort to keep what she says restricted to your ears only, Weaver overhears her and emits a throaty chuckle in response.

                                            >You wink down at Rarity and flash a runway-winning smile, bastion of baseline tranquility that you are.

                                            >Or that you try to be, at least.

                                            “I’ve got you, Rares.”

                                            >You watch her unease melt away as the words leave your mouth. Contented, she nuzzles your side, humming as she does so. Briefly, as she rubs up against your side, you catch a faint blush gracing her cheeks.

                                            >That’s definitely new.

                                            >She’s been physically affectionate before, of course. Back at the boutique, she would share hugs aplenty in the face of good news, or during a good cry. Occasionally, she’d even boop you, and then laugh as you booped her back.

                                            >This feels different, though. Hugs and playful boops are one thing, but nuzzling can be considered a romantic gesture if done in the right context.

                                            >Perhaps she’s just caught up in the moment?

                                            >This is Rarity you’re talking about, though. She’s a hopeless romantic, there’s no such thing as a social slip-up when it comes to her…

                                            >...You sound like Twilight.

                                            >Keen to put the thought on the backburner for now, you idly rub her neck in an effort to return the gesture.

                                            >She breaks from the contact, ready to get down to brass tacks concerning the mysterious playwright.

                                            >“Lead the way,” she confidently proclaims to Weaver, who wordlessly begins guiding you two to the booth she came from.

                                            >You take the opportunity to look over the crowd spaced out across the room to see what kind of faces are present in the mix.

                                            >When you comb over them, you’re met with more than several pairs of eyes, all pointed squarely at you.

                                            >A keen sense of self-awareness creeps its way under your skin, but surprisingly, it doesn’t completely get through to you.

                                            >Unlike the judgemental stares of snobby Canterlot nobility, these gazes seem more curious than anything else, as if you’re the most interesting thing in the room to them, which is saying a lot considering the scenery.

                                            >You can’t quite pin down how it makes you feel, but if you had to simplify it to the point where the emotion becomes watered down, you’d say that it actually felt nice.

                                            >A short walk later, the three of you reach Weaver’s semi-circular booth, which seems to be slightly set apart from the others in the immediate vicinity.

                                            >Already seated are a sky-blue pegasus stallion with a lengthy, well-kept mint green mane, a caramel earth pony mare with short, black hair, and a female griffon with deeply purple accents in her plumage.

                                            >They’re engaged in jovial conversation when you arrive at the table, and like clockwork, their discussion is cut short when the griffon’s eyes fall on you. The other two follow her gaze, and look surprised for a second when they see you.

                                            >Weaver seems to have given them some advance notice of you, though, because their initial stupefaction gives way to warm expressions all around.

                                            >“Good Goddess, Weaver, you really undersold the whole “exotic” aspect,” the griffon on the right starts, eyeing you up and down.

                                            >A dumbstruck frown overtakes Weaver’s features as she processes the comment.

                                            >“Don’t be rude, Genevieve,” the pegasus chastises pompously, rolling his eyes at the griffon. “You just met the gentlecolt, for Celestia’s sake.”

                                            >The mare to his left simply offers you a polite smile, which you return in kind.

                                            >You chuckle inwardly at the friendly display. Already, your opinion of this group is off to a great start.

                                            >Weaver motions to both you and Rarity with her hoof in an introductory manner.

                                            >“Everyone,” she begins, a hint of theatrics in her voice. “I’d like to introduce Rarity, fashionista extraordinaire from Ponyville, and her otherworldly model and assistant, Anonymous.”

                                            >Your slight smile inadvertently widens at such a boisterous introduction. You and Rarity bow your heads slightly to address the three of them, and the two ponies return the gesture while the griffon waves.

                                            >“Rarity, Anon,” she addresses the both of you, gesturing to her friends. “From your right to your left, this is Genevieve, Serene Script, and his assistant, Starry Spotlight.”

                                            >“A pleasure to meet the two of you,” Serene greets, notably a little tipsy already. “Our gracious host here was just regaling us with the tale of your latest batch of runway ensembles, Rarity.”

                                            >She bats a hoof in the air, bashful in the face of all of the sudden praise. A blush ever so slightly graces her face, and the shy display warms your heart.

                                            >“Only good things, I hope?” She inquires, nervous to hear what Weaver had been saying.

                                            >“She was pretty much singing your praises for the better part of ten minutes, so yeah, I’d say only good things,” Genevieve chimes in, taking a hearty swig of her drink after doing so. Setting her glass down, she looks over at Serene impatiently. “Can you make your secret little offer already? We came here to leave business behind, and I’m already two cups down, so you’re killing the mood for me.”

                                            >Serene side-eyes her, annoyed beyond measure.

                                            >“It’s gravely important!” he exclaims, gesturing dramatically to the sky. “Besides, unlike you, I know the value of subtlety and suspense.”

                                            >He says that last bit with a shit-eating grin on his face.

                                            >You know friendly shit-talking when you see it thanks to your few encounters with Rainbow Dash and Applejack at the bar in Ponyville, so their banter doesn’t worry you in the slightest.

                                            >“You two can take your seats if you’d like,” Weaver offers, taking her own spot next to Starry.

                                            >You oblige her, sliding in next to Genevieve so that Rarity can have the outer seat in case she needs it.

                                            >She cozies up to you rather closely, a hair’s breadth away from being right up against you.

                                            >Thanks to ponies’ quadrupedal anatomy, their head levels don’t change when they sit. As a result, whenever you sit down next to Rarity, she’s only a few short inches away from being eye level with you.

                                            >Something about the idea of being able to look right into her eyes quickens the pace of your heart, and you let out a slightly unsteady breath to release some tension. Rarity, as attentive as she is, picks up on it almost instantly.

                                            >“Feeling alright, Anon?” she inquires quietly, placing a hoof on your forearm while turning her head to look at you.

                                            >You gaze straight into her eyes, and your quickening pulse turns into a raging bonfire. You feel your face go flush, but you can’t do anything to lessen the rising heat in your cheeks, so you try to save face instead.

                                            “I’m okay, no worries. Forgot to breathe for a second there while I was caught up in everything.”

                                            >“If you need to get away,” she begins, nudging your side to convey her seriousness. “Let me know, alright dear?”

                                            >You raise an eyebrow as the corner of your mouth turns upward into a smirk.

                                            “Flipping the script from earlier on me, are we?”

                                            >She raises her own eyebrows and looks away coyly, eyes focusing on nothing in particular.

                                            >“Maaaaybe,” she teases, side-eyeing you playfully.

                                            >Christ, you’re going to have a heart attack. You really should set aside some time in the future to figure out the way she’s making you feel.

                                            >For now, though, the butterflies subside as she turns back to Serene, eager to hear what he has to say.

                                            >“What’s this I hear about a ‘secret offer’ for me, darling?” she inquires, her attention fully directed at the regally-composed playwright.

                                            >He adjusts himself in his seat, leaning forward as he does so to fully emphasize the oncoming proposition.

                                            >“Well,” he begins, sounding confident as he sets his hooves on the table. “I’m sure you’re aware, but it’s been some time since I’ve announced any upcoming stage plays.”

                                            >He shifts in his seat a bit, a bit more upright than he was when he started.

                                            >“It’s not due to a lack of effort on my part, however; in secret, I’ve been putting pen to paper like mad, and I’m almost ready to announce to the world that I’ve written a new play. I’ve been able to keep the knowledge of its existence limited to familiar faces that I usually always work with, but for the production of the stage play, I want to branch out and let new blood take the reins, so to speak.”

                                            >Finally, he climactically brings his hooves down onto the table, his own excitement bubbling over.

                                            >“Thus, when Weaver began elevating your skills to lofty heights with her praise earlier today before the gathering, I knew I had to do a bit of research, and I must say, I was thoroughly impressed, miss Rarity.”

                                            >Rarity beams at the compliment, and you can feel her forehooves twitching on the booth’s cushion just to your right. She tends to do that when she gets excited and feels she can’t channel it quite yet.

                                            >She usually takes compliments in stride; she knows what’s coming, it seems. Even you do.

                                            >“Why, thank you,” Rarity replies, bowing her head slightly to acknowledge the outpouring of praise.

                                            >“Which is why,” Serene continued, “I've decided to offer you the position of lead costume designer in my new production, if you so choose.”

                                            >Even though she was expecting it, Rarity still looks dumbfounded at the proposition. Her disbelief is almost palpable as Starry Spotlight takes the lead from Serene.

                                            >“You don’t have to decide right now, of course,” she reassures Rarity, holding a hoof out in comfort. “Pre-production is still at least half a year away, based on mister Serene’s projected timeline of reveal. Take all the time you need!”

                                            >It takes a second for Rarity to come out of her state of shock, but when she does, she shakes her head in disbelief before composing herself.

                                            >Out of view from everyone, you feel her hoof rest roughly on top of your hand. In times of importance, she usually does this to channel any excess energy she’s got so that she doesn’t lose it out of excitement or stress.

                                            >You squeeze back, doing your best to let her know she’s got this.

                                            >“B-before I say yes,” she starts, uneasy at first but quickly regaining noticeable confidence. “How much creative control would I have?”

                                            >“As long as your vision stays true to what I’ve written, you’ll have almost total control,” Serene replies quickly, obviously excited that Rarity is interested enough to ask questions.

                                            >Rarity contemplates for but a moment before making her decision. You’re surprised that she doesn’t say yes straight away, but you remind yourself that appearances are everything with matters like this.

                                            >“In that case, I would be honored to be your director of costume design,” Rarity replies, still absolutely beaming from the news.

                                            >“Excellent!” Serene exclaims, ecstatic that his choice wasn’t in vain. “I’ll have Starry send you a copy of the manuscript as soon as possible so that you can get a head start on the more creative aspect of the ordeal.”

                                            >For a few moments, there’s nothing but silence at the table; no one present is really sure how to segue from what just happened, it seems.

                                            >That is, until Genevieve leans back and downs the rest of her drink without so much as a flinch.

                                            >“You can freak out if you want, you know,” she encourages, throwing a genuine smile Rarity’s way. “I’m pretty sure no one here will judge you for something like that.”

                                            >With verbal permission given, Rarity lets out a squeal as she reaches over and nearly crushes you in a giant bear hug.

                                            >With how hard she squeezes, it’s hard to believe that your organs aren’t flying out of your mouth. You do your best to return the hug in earnest, but even though you’re no slouch, your strength pales in comparison to that of Rarity’s when she’s high on life.

                                            >After what you swear is the cracking of your ribs, Rarity finally releases you, giggling as she shakes Serene’s hoof.

                                            >“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much, this is such an amazing opportunity!”

                                            >“You’re going to wow everypony with your talent, Rarity, I’m sure of it,” Serene replies, delighted that it went so smoothly.

                                            >“Well,” Weaver chimes in, “now that we’ve got a proper reason to celebrate, why don’t we set business aside and get down to drinks and idle chit chat, hm?”

                                            >That doesn’t sound so bad to you, especially now that you’ve settled in.

                                            “I can grab the drinks,” you offer, straightening up for the task. “What’s everyone’s poison?”

                                            >Genevieve laughs heartily, sitting up and looking enthused.

                                            >“I like you already,” she says, looking parched. “I’ll take a Neighgroni, please and thank you.”

                                            >“I’ll have a Prench 75, if you will,” Weaver asks.

                                            >You look over at Serene and Starry, curious about their drink of choice.

                                            >“A Manehattan for me,” Serene says, batting a hoof at you. “Cliche, I know, I know.”

                                            >“Double shot whiskey sour, please,” Starry blurts out, seemingly eager for some alcohol in her system. “It’s been a stressful week.”

                                            >You look to your side and find Rarity already looking straight at you, eyes piercing your own.

                                            “Any special requests?”

                                            >She places a hoof under her chin and looks down at the table, deeply debating what the introductory drink of the night will be. A few brief seconds later, her gaze returns to you.

                                            >“Only that I come and order with you,” she offers happily, never breaking eye contact.

                                            >You gesture toward the bar with your arm, ready to follow Rarity out of the booth.

                                            “Lead the way, then, Rarity.”

                                            >She scooches out of the booth in one unbroken motion, making room for you to follow after her.

                                            >Standing up, you find that your attention isn’t drawn to the crowd in the slightest anymore. Whereas before you might have felt lines of sight burning holes in the back of your head, your sole concern lies in fetching drinks for your newfound company.

                                            >That, and the mare that slowed down so she could walk beside you.

                                            >You’d been slowly growing feelings for her over time, but tonight, she’d thrown accelerant on your already steady blaze.

                                            >You decide to sit on it, but only for the rest of the night. Waiting for a while longer to be absolutely sure was tempting, but you don’t exactly get anywhere by sitting on your hands, do you?

                                            >Anxious or not, the thought returns to the shelf as you reach the bar.

                                            >One of the bartenders, a unicorn mare, notices the two of you approaching and matches you from across the bar.

                                            >“What can I get for you two tonight?” she asks, corners of her mouth upturned slightly.

                                            >You look down at Rarity, waiting for her to order her drink.

                                            >‘Ladies first,’ your eyes say.

                                            >With a flutter of her eyelashes and a coy grin, she turns to the bartender.

                                            >“I’ll have a Manehattan to start, please.”

                                            >Without a word, the bartender flashes a bigger smile at Rarity before looking up to you, expecting you to have your order ready to rattle off.

                                            >Rattling off your friends’ orders is an easy matter.

                                            >You, however, have no idea what you’re getting.

                                            >After a few seconds of poring over the menu and failing to decide on any one thing, you feel the heat of a lightbulb flickering on near the top of your head.

                                            “You should choose for me,” you offer to Rarity. “Something you’d look at and think ‘oh, yep, that’s Anon.’”

                                            >One eyebrow raised, you can see the gears in her head turning as she brings a hoof up to her chin.

                                            >“Are you testing me, dear?” she inquires, looking you up and down as she ponders a fitting drink.

                                            “Maybe just a little bit.”

                                            >A throaty chuckle colors your words. Before long, a look of realization washes over her.

                                            >“He’ll have a Dark and Stormy,” she delegates. With naught but a nod, the bartender sets to work, taken by her craft.

                                            >You raise an eyebrow at the satisfied-looking fashionista.

                                            “What made you pick that?”

                                            >“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” she goads, smugness radiating off of her.

                                            >Not to be one-upped, you taunt her right back.

                                            “Why’s that? Is it something you’re embarrassed to say?”

                                            >You punctuate your prodding by over-exaggerating your raised eyebrow, as well as pulling your other one down.

                                            >Giggling, she props a hoof up on your side, looking up at you with lighthearted amusement.

                                            >“Not particularly,” she admits, flicking her hair out of the way of one of her eyes. “I just think it would be more fun to watch you fruitlessly wonder about it all night.”

                                            >You cast an expression of mock offense down at your best friend, and she meets it with her own.

                                            “How dare you, playing with a poor man’s feelings for fun…”

                                            >Playing up the spectacle, you bring the topside of your hand up to your forehead, looking to some distant upper corner of the room with your eyes closed.

                                            “I never knew you for a heartbreaker, Rarity.”

                                            >Her giggle breaks into gentle laughter, which delights you to hear.

                                            >“Perhaps I just enjoy knowing that you mull over things I’ve said, hm?”

                                            >That single sentence, though delivered benignly, drives all heat from your body straight to your cheeks, and you know right then and there that anyone could see your blush from a mile away.

                                            >You absolutely despise how easy it is for someone to fluster you.

                                            >It makes this innocent little flirting game you’re playing with Rarity lean all the more in her favor.

                                            >Before either of you can speak on it, however, the bartender slides out from a gap in the counter while magically carrying an ornate tray with all of your drinks on it.

                                            >“Would you show me to your table, please?” she inquires, shutting the barrier behind her.

                                            >With a nod, you both show the mare back to your party, sliding into your previous spots while she passes out the drinks.

                                            >As the bartender leaves, you all take hold of your glasses.

                                            >“What shall we toast to tonight, hm?” Weaver inquires, getting a whiff of her drink shortly after.

                                            >For a few moments, the table is silent.

                                            >“To prosperity, the future,” Rarity begins before looking up at you again, “and to wonderful friendship.”

                                            > “I can get behind that,” Genevieve replies, her beak curved into a wide grin. “Now let’s get wasted already, yeah?”

                                            >With raucous laughter, you all bring your drinks forward, the resulting clinking sound ringing out across the room as you knock back your alcohol.


                                            *Two hours later*


                                            >Acute voices bounce around in your ears as you hold your head in your hands, elbows propped up against the table. Periodically, vibrations run up your forearms when Genevieve knees the table to the right of you, absolutely hammered in her own right.

                                            >What started out as a simple drinking challenge to everyone from Gen had turned into a test to see just how many drinks you could down after she tapped out, unable to go on, while you were only just crossing the barrier from tipsy into drunk.

                                            >As it just so happened, griffons had a much higher alcohol tolerance than ponies, and that gave Gen a bit of an ego when it came to drinking games. While everyone else had more or less gotten fairly drunk with just one or two glasses, Gen was still going strong, boastful as ever.

                                            >Meanwhile, you were right there with her, outpacing her by the time you had gotten to your fourth glass.

                                            >Given that your human liver was more adapted to processing alcohol, you’d assumed that you’d be able to match her and then add about half a glass on top of it to claim victory.

                                            >What you did not expect was for your liver in particular to be an absolute tank of an organ. Glass after glass, you transformed your victory into a crushing ego check.

                                            >At last, here you sit, delightfully absent from everything in your life but this table and these people.

                                            >A comforting weight against your left side reminds you that Rarity is still there, leaning fully into you, head cradled against your shoulder. She wasn’t wasted like you and Gen were, but she was still somewhat inebriated, which was a rare sight.

                                            >“I’m juuuuust sayin’,” Gen slurred, knocking the table on accident again. “You need to jump his bones, s- stu- Starry… dude seems like he’s all over you.”

                                            >Opening your eyes, you notice Starry, who had stopped after about half a glass, absolutely burning up with embarrassment.

                                            >Something about a colt she’s into, you think. For the past five minutes or so you’ve just been trying to level out so you don’t embarrass yourself, so rejoining the conversation is a bit jarring.

                                            >Your own mindfulness erodes as you try to think of something to say to join the conversation.

                                            “Does this guy…”

                                            >One of your hands rests on the table, and you feel it moving even though it’s stationary.

                                            “Does he give obvious signs or is he, like… good at hiding it?

                                            >Starry shakes her head. Either that, or she nods; you don’t really care anymore, to be completely honest.

                                            >“He, um, used to be really good at stealing glances and sneaking in compliments here and there, but lately it’s been easier to catch him,” Starry explains, grinning simply from the memory of the guy tripping over himself for her.

                                            >You gently strike the table in response, eyes wide with epiphany.

                                            “Then you shhhh… should try to talk to ‘em about it.”

                                            >Deciding that your head is too heavy, you resolve to lean forward and rest it on the table. To you, it doesn’t matter if it makes it harder for Starry to hear you.

                                            >Rarity shifts to lay her head across the back of your shoulder, which puts her muzzle very close to your ear. You can feel the heated breath heaving through her nostrils, her heavily tipsy state taking its toll.

                                            “Truuuuust me, Starry, you… ya don’t wanna leave it be, ya know? You just think about it forever and it fffffffffucking suuuucks.”

                                            >A hoof finds its way into your side, causing you to scrunch your torso in reaction.

                                            >“Language, darling,” Rarity instructs, the proximity of her words causing you to shudder.

                                            “Ow. I’m sorry, hon.”

                                            >A startlingly quick realization of what you just said nearly rips your brain in half as it races to the forefront of your mind. Despite the thirteen glasses of alcohol, you are as sober as a judge.

                                            >Involuntary, all your muscles tense and you freeze; the mistake slips through your expression for but a moment before you return it to neutral.

                                            >She isn’t reacting, though. In fact, she hasn’t even flinched.

                                            >You pray to God above that she just didn’t notice or something.

                                            >“He has a good point, though,” Rarity continues, picking her head up to more clearly converse with Starry. “The back-and-forth game is fun to play, but only to a fault. At some point, it’s best to just get it all out in the open and see how your potential partner feels.”

                                            >“She’s right,” Weaver chimes in as she sets her glass of water down. “Believe it or not, that’s how my husband and I ended up together. Both of us had been playing hard to get, and one night, we both just got tired of it and confessed. Been with that goofball for going on twenty five years now…”

                                            >Everyone at the tables goes “awww.” You try to as well, but your mouth is currently contorted by the table that your cheek is laying on.

                                            >“Chase your stallion, Starry,” Serene dictates, more drunk than everyone except for you and Gen. “A broken heart is mendable rather quickly, but a longing heart will always wonder what could have been.”

                                            >You pick your head off of the table and sit back up, leaning into the leather-backed seat.

                                            >Truer words, Anon.

                                            “Hey, you… you’ve gotta teach me how to speak that poetically under the influence, Serene. I feel like an idiot right now.”

                                            >He laughs heartily, rocking back from the heaving convulsion.

                                            >“Perhaps one day when we meet again, Anon,” he replies with an air of sincerity that isn’t lost on you. “I’m still keen to read a manuscript from you, you know.”

                                            >You smirk heavily, color rushing to your cheeks as you bat a hand at him that comes crashing down into your lap.

                                            “Told ya that was just a hobby of mine, it’s nothin’ to get worked up about.”

                                            >Rarity scoots closer, pressing into your side with enough force to halt your downplaying.

                                            >“Dear, as somepony who’s probably read over a thousand novels in her lifetime - most of them romance, but that’s besides the point - I can say with confidence that the ‘short little nothings’ you sometimes leave around the boutique often match the passion that I put into my own work.”

                                            >Serene points a hoof at her, looking at you with an expression of ‘I told you so.’”

                                            >“See? She agrees with me.”

                                            >You relent, briefly looking down at Rarity with the faintest hint of adoration in your eyes before returning your gaze to Serene.

                                            “I guess we’ll be in touch, then.”

                                            >A satisfied look crawls across his face as you take a sip from your glass of water.

                                            >“I’ll have Starry set up a regular method of correspondence for us,” he says, gesturing to his assistant.

                                            >Rarity, who’s still pressed against your side, suddenly tenses up and looks around the room for something.

                                            >“Oh dear,” she begins, sounding worried. “Is there a clock anywhere nearby? Anon and I have to catch the train back to Ponyville tomorrow at noon, and I don’t feel like dealing with sleep deprivation on top of a hangover; it makes my curls sag.”

                                            >Weaver angles her head to an odd degree, looking at the top of the pillar at the circular bar’s center where a clock resides.

                                            >“Don’t worry,” she begins, doing her best to soothe your unsettled fashionista. “It’s only 11:28. If you get up at 9, you still have plenty of time to get back and relax before you get some rest.”

                                            >Rarity heaves a sigh of relief, resting a hoof on your leg.

                                            >“Good heavens, I was seriously worried for a second there,” she breathes, visibly de-stressing.

                                            >She casts her gaze at you, and in your drunken state, you would describe her expression as caring.

                                            >“We’ll probably leave now, if that’s the case,” she says. “He’s going to be fighting a nasty hangover in the morning, so we need all the time we can get.”

                                            >She caps off the sentence with a throaty chuckle, rubbing your arm with her hoof.

                                            >The motion is so relaxing that you almost shut your eyes then and there, but you hold out for her sake. You didn’t want her to have to drag some half-conscious idiot back to your hotel.

                                            >“In that case, it was an absolute pleasure meeting the two of you,” Serene states, shaking hooves - and hands - with both of you. “I do so look forward to seeing the two of you again! I’ll keep in touch via mail until then.”

                                            >You point a finger at him jokingly, winking for effect.

                                            “You better, Serene. I’m looking forward to it.”

                                            >Starry waves at the two of you, which you return in delight. You hope she snags that stallion she’s after, they deserve each other.

                                            >“I’ll walk you both out,” Weaver offers, sliding out of the booth. “Gen? Are you going to… oh.”

                                            >A short glance to your right reveals that Gen’s head is lolled back, beak wide open. The gentle, rhythmic rising and falling of her chest is all you need to discern that she’s fast asleep, and probably has been for the past few minutes.

                                            >Poor chick sowed the wind and reaped the whirlwind.

                                            “Ah, just let her know we said we’d see her later; I don’t wanna wake her up.”

                                            >Weaver nods as she helps Rarity out of her seat. On shuffling out, her initial stance is a bit wobbly; she’s likely more tipsy than she thought she was when she was sitting down.

                                            >It does not bode well for you who, despite regaining some semblance of proper speech, is still properly plastered.

                                            >You begin your seat-wide journey slowly as you scoot to the edge. Other than a little dizziness, you feel somewhat decent. So far, so good.

                                            >That is, until your ass leaves the chair, and the world tilts sideways. You clutch the table for support, and somehow, it helps you stay upright amidst the nauseous chaos.

                                            >Rarity even reaches out with her magic to give you support, which gives you the rigidity you need to right yourself properly.

                                            >Taking your first step away from the table is precarious, but with the next one, walking begins to feel normal, if a bit labored.

                                            >You breathe deeply, looking down at the two concerned mares gawking up at you.

                                            “I’m… good to walk, I’m pretty sure.”

                                            >They both look like they don’t believe you, but Rarity retracts her magic nonetheless.

                                            >Waving one last time to Serene and Starry, the three of you start to leave through the door you came in from.

                                            >Before you get too far away from the table, you can just barely make out Serene’s voice above the crowd.

                                            >“Sweet Celestia, he needs to just ask her out already.”

                                            …

                                            >“Thank you so much for inviting us here, Weaver,” Rarity says gratefully. “I think I speak for both of us when I say we had an amazing time!”

                                            >“It’s my pleasure,” Weaver reciprocates, flashing a toothy grin at both of you. “You fit in quite amicably with us, and it was a genuine joy to get to know the two of you. I’m sure we’ll all be sending gilded letters back and forth soon enough!”

                                            >A round of laughter rings throughout the empty hall, and if joy was palpable, it would fill the space to bursting.

                                            “I hope we all see each other again soon. I’m not sure how busy you guys are, but I bet it’s safe to assume it’ll be a while?”

                                            >“Unfortunately, yes,” Weaver admits, a small sigh escaping her nostrils. “For the next few months, I’ll be inundated with important projects, but that can’t stop me from sending letters, now can it?”

                                            >You offer a smile to the mare who returns it gingerly before glancing at a clock on the nearest wall.

                                            >“Well,” she continues, pawing the ground with her hoof. “I suppose I should let the two of you go before it gets any later. I certainly wouldn’t want to be the cause of a sleepless night.”

                                            >You wave her worries off, still feeling very wobbly from all of the alcohol so it comes across as you just kind of flailing your arm.

                                            “Don’t sweat it, Weaver. You have a good rest of your night, alright?”

                                            >“I certainly will,” she replies, toothily grinning at the both of you. “Ta-ta for now, you two!”

                                            >With a wave of her hoof, she glides back into the otherworldly club, music becoming muted as the door seals itself shut, marking the end of your escapade.

                                            >To your side, you hear Rarity shuffle as she looks up at you.

                                            >“Well, you look like you’re still having fun, aren’t you?” She prods, playing at your nigh-drunken stupor. “Come to think of it, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you this intoxicated before.”

                                            >You begin your pathetic stumble toward the elevator doors, the length of the hallway feeling more like five hundred miles instead of fifteen feet.

                                            >You weakly hold onto Rarity to steady yourself, but you can feel the world swaying around you, irrespective of your simple wish to be sober again.

                                            “Being hammered can be fun-“

                                            >A slight bump in the rug threatens to trip you, but Rarity catches you with both her magic and her body as she leans into you diagonally to support your weight.

                                            “-but I don’t think I’m ever drinking like this again.”

                                            >She fills the empty air with a brief, steady hum after your stumble. Rather than a melody, it’s a single, drawn out note of contentment that vibrates through your torso; a serenade for the soul.

                                            >A delicate silence hangs over the both of you as every word you could think to muster catches in your throat.

                                            >Really, what is there to say? Whatever your drunken mind could say would spoil the moment.

                                            >You hold your tongue, preserving the gentle peace as you head into the elevator, guided by Rarity’s weight against you.

                                            >You’re not sure why, but even if you scarcely remember anything tomorrow, you’re going to remember this moment.

                                            >Rarity presses the ground floor button before you can realize you’ve just been standing against the wall, staring into space.

                                            “Sorry, rares…”

                                            >“It’s quite alright, dear,” she replies, chuckling as she comes to be by your side. “A lady knows how to take charge every now and then.”

                                            >You shuffle a bit, leaning more into the wall of the elevator.

                                            >Relinquishing the responsibility of having weight was nice.

                                            “No, no, well I mean, yeah, but…”

                                            >A heavy sigh escapes your lips. A frown takes hold of your features as you look right at Rarity, who’s already meeting your gaze before your head turns.

                                            “I’m sorry I let myself get so drunk. This was supposed to be your night, and I got carried away, and I didn’t mean to, you know, use your achievement as an excuse to get shitfaced…”

                                            >Once again, your eyes become glued to the wall.

                                            >She catches you off guard, pressing into you just as the elevator starts to descend.

                                            >“First of all-”

                                            >A hoof assertively pokes into your side, and you crumple sideways slightly in response.

                                            >“-Language. Second of all, this was your night, too. I don’t care whether or not they deemed you a plus-one, you had every right to be here with me, and I won’t hear another word about it.”

                                            >A few moments pass as your lackadaisical gaze turns to deep thought. You turn to find Rarity still staring up at you, a stern expression in place of her usual elegant smile.

                                            >After a wave of nausea from simply turning, you  sit next to her and manage to squeak out a coherent sentence.

                                            “You really mean that?”

                                            >“Anonymous,” she begins, almost flabbergasted, “why do you think we were invited here in the first place?”

                                            >You scratch your chin for a moment, genuinely unsure in your intoxicated state.

                                            “It’s because Weaver was impressed with your ensemble at the show, wasn’t it?”

                                            >“Partially,” Rarity replies. “She thought my designs were of exceptional quality, yes, but my designs alone weren’t what spurred her to connect with us.”

                                            >You feel her hoof press into your side again, albeit much more gently this time.

                                            >“She wasn’t completely sold on my ideas until /you/ walked down that runway.”

                                            >You barely even have time to register her implication before she continues.

                                            >“If you hadn’t been my final model, Weaver never would have reached out to us after the show.”

                                            >You turn to face her fully, a dumb smile plastered all over your face. She meets you in kind with her own far more composed grin.

                                            >“So thank you, Anon. There’s nopony I’d rather have as my partner.”

                                            >Where words failed before, even your mind cuts short of functioning now.

                                            >You try to think of something witty to say, but it’s fruitless, and your gaze stays locked with hers.

                                            >Eventually, her smile drops slightly, and a noticeable blush fades into existence as tangible moments pass between the two of you.

                                            >A rising heat in your cheeks lets you know that the same is more than likely happening to you.

                                            >As the tension reaches a snapping point, the elevator shudders, catching the both of you off guard.

                                            >A resounding chime of a bell indicates that you’ve reached the ground floor, and you can’t help but feel disappointed as you both straighten yourselves out before standing up.

                                            >As the door opens, your unusually forward mind won’t let you just move on without addressing what just happened.

                                            >Mama ‘non didn’t raise no bitch.

                                            “You really are a natural flirt, aren’t you?”

                                            >You can hear the smile on your face.

                                            >Also audible is Rarity’s almost comedic sputtering, which draws out a hardy laugh of your own.

                                            >The walk back to the hotel is painted with carefree laughter from both of you.