Rainbow's Cloudsdale Tour and Meet and Greet #2

 

Bow brightens, puffing out his chest. “That I was! Served under Princess Celestia for over thirty years. Fine times, keeping the peace in Equestria.” He launches into stories of his days in the royal guard, regaling you with tales of chasing off threats to the kingdom and keeping unruly citizens in line.

 

Windy listens fondly, interjecting details here and there that Bow glosses over in his enthusiasm. Dash slowly emerges from her hiding spot, drawn into the conversation. Though still blushing, she can’t resist bragging about her own stunts and accomplishments in her time with the Wonderbolts.

 

The conversation flows easily between the four of you, Bow and Windy swapping embarrassing stories of Dash’s youth and Dash recounting her daring tricks and rescues. A warmth blossoms in your chest as you take in the lively discussion and closeness between them. It’s clear how much they care for each other, despite Dash’s earlier embarrassment.

 

As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting an orange glow over Cloudsdale, Bow yawns and stretches his wings. “Well, it’s getting late. I should start making dinner.”

 

Windy nods, stifling her own yawn. She turns to you with a bright smile. “Will you be staying for supper, Anon? We’d love to have you.”

 

You glance at Dash, who gives you a tiny nod. “I’d be happy to, if it’s not too much trouble.”

 

“Nonsense!” Windy says, swatting your arm playfully. “Any friend of Dashie’s is welcome at our table.”

 

Bow claps his hooves together. “Wonderful! Hope you like hay stew. Windy’s specialty.” He winks at his wife before heading into the kitchen.

 

Windy giggles, following after him. “Don’t listen to him, I just heat up the stew. Dashie, would you give Anon the tour while I help your father?”

 

“Sure Mom,” Dash says, rolling her eyes fondly. Windy disappears into the kitchen, leaving you alone with Dash.

 

She grins at you, some of her earlier embarrassment fading. “Ready for the grand tour?”

 

You smile back. “Lead the way.”

 

Dash springs to her hooves, beckoning you to follow her deeper into the house.

 

Dash leads you down a short hallway to a bright blue door. “This was my room growing up,” she says, pushing the door open.

 

The room is cozy and cluttered, filled with memories of Dash’s fillyhood. Shelves along the walls are crammed with trophies, ribbons and medals from various flying competitions.

 

The bed is a simple cloud mattress, unmade as if Dash leapt out of it in a hurry. Action figures of the Wonderbolts, royal guards and what appeared to be a multitude of monsters in all sorts of snarling shapes and poses arranged in battle formations take up a table's surface against one wall.

 

Dash digs through the mess that was her closet, emerging with a toy lyre clutched in her teeth. “Look, it's my old lyre from flight school! I used to drive my teachers crazy playing this during lessons.” She plucks at the strings, the instrument letting out a discordant twang.

 

You pick through a chest, finding a set of antique-looking toy armor. “These were my favorite. I used to pretend I was a knight, fighting dragons and saving ponies.” Dash giggles. “I was such a dorky little filly. Some things never change!”

 

Other items catch your eye - stacks of comic books, a hoofball glove and ball, a toy sword. Clearly the makings of an imaginary quest. You imagine a young Dash embarking on all sorts of youthful adventures in the safety of her room.

 

“I can’t believe my parents kept all this stuff,” Dash remarks, hovering at your shoulder. “I guess I was pretty spoiled. But I wouldn’t trade my fillyhood for anything.” She sighs, gaze going distant. “Things were so much simpler back then.”

 

The walls are plastered in posters of famous fliers and a bulletin board displays photos of a young Dash with various friends and family.

 

She floats over to a shelf crammed with awards, running a hoof over the engraved plates. “District junior speed champion, four years running. Fastest filly under ten. First place, Cloudsdale Air Show freestyle aerobatics two years in a row.” Pride glows in her voice as she lists each achievement.

 

You pick up a framed photo from her desk, showing a filly Rainbow Dash clutching a trophy nearly as big as her, grinning around a mouthful of missing baby teeth. “First place, Cloudsdale Pegasi Youth Games. I was eight, I think? Still the proudest day of my life.” Dash drifts over, peering at the photo over your shoulder. “Mom cried for hours after that race. Even after all I’ve done since, I don’t think she’s ever been prouder.”

 

You find yourself staring at Rainbow Dash, mesmerized by her enthusiasm and the way her vivid mane sways as she recounts memories of her achievements, the relics of her childhood. The usual brash confidence she exudes seems to melt away, revealing a glimpse of the filly she once was. The light from the window haloes her lithe figure, highlighting the toned muscles of a lifelong athlete under her cyan coat. Her mane is tousled and wind-blown, her coat sleek and shining. She moves with an easy grace, wings fluttering to help her drift across the room.

 

How did you never notice how beautiful she is? Not just her mane, or the hopeful curve of her smile, but the steel in her gaze as she stares at old trophies, re-living victories won and obstacles overcome through sheer force of will.

 

Dash glances over, an eyebrow raised. “What?”

 

You open your mouth but no sound emerges. What could you possibly say? That she is the most stunning thing you've ever seen, and you're half convinced this is all a dream? That the ache in your chest from wanting her, to have her close and know her completely, steals your breath more than her beauty ever could?

 

Instead you shrug and hope the burning in your face isn't too obvious. "Just thinking."

 

She floats closer, head cocked as she scrutinizes your expression, her playful grin drawing your attention. “Oh? About what?”

 

Before you realize what you're doing, you find yourself also drifting closer, drawn as if by gravity. Her eyes flick up to meet yours and in that moment you're struck again by their depth and vividness. The urge to kiss her, to taste the lips that shape her joyful grin, is suddenly overwhelming.

 

You swallow hard. To hell with it.

 

You lean in and capture her lips with your own.

 

For a moment she freezes, stunned. Then she sinks into the kiss, parting her lips with a quiet sigh.

 

Her mouth tastes of clouds and sunlight and something electric, like the air before a storm. You slide your hands into her mane and she whimpers, pressing closer.

 

When you finally break for air she searches your gaze, pupils blown wide. “I thought...I mean I wasn’t sure if you...”

 

“I know,” you whisper. “Me either.” And then you kiss her again.