The end of day is upon the humble town of Ponyville and things come to an ease as the sun makes a slug’s pace behind the horizon of lush grasses at Her Majesty’s beck. However, despite the time for bed approaching, one filly’s thoughts refuse to let the creeping twilight coax her anxieties to rest.
She applies herself with haste, lest she be spotted in this place that held for her so many memories, few of them fond, and a hoof-full of relations. The schoolhouse, it seems like the perfect place of operations, but here certainties wane as time goes by. At this hour nopony has reason to visit this institute. They shouldn’t show, therefore she shouldn’t be found. But, a lot of those things that simply “shouldn’t”, seem to happen in this town anyway. Her's is a small scale endeavor, though. Hopefully the cosmos will spare her any tribulation in favor of more monumental game. Plus, it’s not like she's up to no good. With quiet breaths and vigilant eyes she continues her innocent works.
Propped against the building's peeling paint a hoof-held mirror lies in a defeated slant, allowing her to keep track of her progress. To her side is a saddle bag, clumsily splayed along the grass with its maw agape. Next to the sac, an assortment of the cosmetic paraphernalia, chemicals and instruments alike, all nestled in a decorative carrying case except for one container of gel-like substance that was scooped out ravenously before being flicked aside. The goop had been applied nearly 10 minutes ago and she is now taking off the prescribed wrappings, clips and tubes that she has snapped and connected in place as the jar has instructed.
Her tiny hooves begin to feel pinched as she plucks out the last few pins from her mane. Bare hooves are terrible for manipulating the “finer” appliances; the unicorns will never know the pain. One final clip and her mane falls loose in damp, frizzy noodles. With a shake of her head the locks are out of her sight and that’s when she realizes how dark it has gotten, she is going to have to rush things. At least her mane is ready. She bent down to check herself in the mirror and what she sees nearly makes her faint. Perhaps she should have waited the full 20 minutes as instructed on the container. She looks at the horizon, the sun is just about to walk out on her.
Already off to a bad start, her plan's first pothole. With a gnashing of those pearly teeth she reaches one hoof into the saddle bag as the other goes to work on her torso. She yanks a comb and flank drape out of the pack in one move and starts to bring her mane to a presentable conformity as she combs with a rigorous tempo that makes her wince as it yanks all the way to her scalp. Meanwhile the other hoof has accomplished its objective and detached the latches to a saddle she had been wearing upon her arrival to this probably secluded and probably safe area.
The sun is no more than a fleeting curve of orange-red by now. She reaches to put on the drape before remembering one more detail and dives her head into the bag to pull out a wax paper sheeting with imprints on it. She looks in dismay and then buries her head into the pack once more. Horseapples! I thought I brought two! She pulls her head back out and- Horseapples! Now she had to comb again. Two hooves take up their own tasks once more as she combs her mop-top and rips the plastic wrap off the wax paper with some assistance from her teeth.
The sticky peeling of adhesive is heard followed by the slapping sound of her applying the imprint upon her flank. Then she throws the drape over her rear, sliding her tail through the hole as she chucks the comb, cosmetic case and saddle into the pack along with the mirror. And then she is off to meet the colt of her drea- Shoot!
Another detail had slipped her mind. She makes a u-turn that causes the air around her to pop and arrives at the saddlebag where she has to dig up everything she just put away in order to reach the cosmetic case. She practically pries open the plastic chest and after a hectic scan she finds what she is looking for, grabs them and drops the case into the sac, not caring what was just rendered unfit for future use. The accessories are put in place and the world around her becomes a rosy red.
She tosses everything back into the pack and then remembers one last detail. Details! Details! Details! A tentative hoof rises to her face and makes one last subtraction; the world around her now looks a little worse.
And she is done.
Celestia spares one last one moment before the crude edge of the Everfree Forest cleaves the last thread of sunshine to breach the horizon. Her heart pumps in threatening beats, but she has to suppress the tremors that rack her limbs and the cold sweats waiting to breach her brow. Tonight she will put to rest, these feelings that have hassled her for over a month. Win or lose, it all ends tonight. No more hiding how she feels.
With a valiant breathe, she gallops toward the dim glow at the heart of town, the vibes of celebration about to reach a fever pitch. If only for one night… she’ll have him… if only.
…………………..
The town is alight with shades of pink and everywhere a pony goes their eyes are sure to be smothered with the sight of hearts and decorative pegasi wielding bow and arrow that also adopt the heart motif. Heart's and hooves day, after dark (but still perfectly PG).
Alas not everypony is so lucky to have a companion, a handsome youth colt or a pretty little filly. Two in particular are mingling by the town fountain, away from the lanterns’ glow and the joyous rhythms of music. Usually they hated the thought of being drowned in all things pink and frilly where ever they went, but on this night it was a sad sight to see two colts out in the dark like this. One, stocky in stature, finally breaks the dragging tune of his lanky friend’s humming.
“Um, Snails?” Snips says warily.
Snails snaps out of his euphoric swaying and turns to his short friend with a tired, blank expression. “Yeah bud?”
“I think we should give this a rest. Ya know what I mean?”
Snails takes a moment to ponder that last statement and replies, “Nope.”
“Dahhh!” after a sharp sigh Snips points, “I'mm talking about that!”
Snails looks at the letter in his hoof. It's folded with care and held shut by a heart shaped sticker that he has obviously peeled and then replaced after reading it.
He remembered the day he had found it lying in his cubby before their first lesson had commenced. Snails wasn’t the top pick among all the fillies at his school, nope that honor goes to Pipsqueak, even little fillies have a taste for the foreign charm. That being said, he was ecstatic when he found out that he had a secret admirer. It was a well welcomed shocker.
It was meant to be kept as a private joy, something between him and his best bud. However life, young or mature, is not without its down slopes.
Then lunch came. Snails didn't want to leave the envelope unguarded for even a second, so he kept it clenched in his hoof throughout recess. Clumsy as he is, it was no surprise that Snails had the butter-hooves to actually drop the most important missive of his life. What followed was even less of a surprise. Who better to snatch up the heartfelt parchment than Diamond Tiara and her right hand filly. He didn't think anypony could take greater joy than he did when he had first read the love note. Silver Spoon proved she could come pretty close as she preached the contents to the entire playground. No surprise at all was the turrets of laughter that pelted the poor colt for the next hour-long minute.
And now, here they are loitering by the town fountain, while every colt and filly who meant something to another, is making sweet memories. Dinky, Pipsqueak, Strike and Tootsie Flute are all there with somepony. Even Featherweight, FEATHERWEIGHT has found some filly to take out on the town. Finally Snails speaks, “Pretty sweet ain’t it?”
Snips shakes his head in a submissive bow. He then hops upon the fountain’s wall so that he can meet his friend at eye level. Boy does Snails make him fell small. “No it ain’t sweet it’s a prank."
Another pause followed by, “I don’t think it’s a joke”, and like that he goes back to humming.
“Oh yeah. Then why is there no name on it?”
“Cause it’s a secret, I mean duh Snips,” Snail replies as if it's so simple.
“It’s not a secret it’s a hoax! Somepony just wants us to stand out here like a couple of dimwits all night. And when we go back to class tomorrow, guess what’ll happen.”
Tomorrow is pudding day at lunch. “Pudding…,” Snails starts to drool.
Snips smacks himself, “Shoulda expected that. We’ll be laughing stocks, for the millionth time.”
“Hmmmm…. I only counted 34.”
“Whatever, so let’s save ourselves the trouble and get outta here. Come on let’s do something awesome so this whole night won’t turn out to be a bust.”
Snails mulls it over for a bit and then responded, “Okay.”
“That’s more like it. Now let’s get outta here, times a waitin'.”
Snips makes a gallop away from the flowing water jets, until he realizes that he doesn't hear anypony following him. He turns to see Snails once again rocking his head side-to-side to the buzzing tune of his own humming.
“What are ya waitin’ for, let’s go!” Snips calls.
“We can go when I tell my admirer, ‘kay?” back to humming.
“THAT’S IT!” Snips stomps his way back to the fountain and hops back up on the wall. Fiery glares are best administered at eye level. “No beating around the bush. Snails nopony is gonna show up, because every filly in class thinks your… well…” it's hard to be a good friend sometimes, harder to be an honest one, “kinda slow, get it?”
Snails holds true to his bored façade while answering matter-of-factly, “Actually I’m the second fastest colt in our grade after Scootalo… guess that makes me the fastest colt, eh?”
“Look," Snips tones tastes a noticeable downturn, "I-I don't think any of the kids at school would want to date us... and I’m sorry pal, but I can’t think of how to break it to ya…. That's why it's always been you and me, ya know….” Snips looks into the fountain’s waters as Snails contemplates what was just said.
Finally he answers, “You wanted to be my date to the festival?”
“What- NO! Ah screw this I’m outta here. When you’re ready to admit I’m right I’ll be at the hoop-la stand.”
Snips hops onto the pavement and starts to make his way toward the festivities. Snails cranes his head back to watch his friend walk off toward the pink lights, calling out with a “’Kay, see ya later pal.” And he is now alone.
Eventually his neck gets tired of the swaying and his head begins to ache for his own humming. With an easy slump, he sits upon the wall that required a leap from his diminutive buddy. Taking a moment to look at the clock that is fixed to a lamppost, he registers the time, seven thirty, it has been over half an hour and there is still no sight of this mysterious filly. But still he waits patiently. On the outside he seems to be disinterested with everything around him, but beneath the lackadaisical face Snails takes a very deep interest in all things around him. At times like this he would let his mind come to a transcendental clarity that turns the flow of time to that of molasses. He felt so right in this state, everything he perceives becomes so slow and… manageable. All the stimuli: sight, sound, smell, and the rest, are pieces and tools with which he may create and ponder life in the untouched recesses of his mind.
At this moment he chooses to undergo a time-killing activity, some entertainment to help tolerate the wait. Now the only question is what medium would be of use. Then he remembers the fountain, jettisoning a myriad of water droplets that all collect in the main pool, each creating a little plop as it hits the collection. Jackpot.
Every drop of water is clear as a bell in his meditative trance, but there is far too much torrid commotion beating the water's surface at once to produce a proper symphony, no matter how slowly he chose to perceive them. Though he can appreciate things as they were naturally disposed, he will have to do a bit of clean up.
He closes his eyes and begins to fabricate a filter. It’s a far more precocious technique than imagination. Rather than envision, he feels the tool as his mind’s components become somewhat of a paradox, an ethereal significance. His consciousness is the filter, and with hooves of an abstract identity, he begins to segregate the cacophony of plops. Most don’t make the cut, forbidden to solicit a response in his picky brain. Maybe they are the wrong pitch or the right pitch at the wrong time, whatever the case, they are muted. And done.
Clean up is over, all the right drops of water, creating an all too familiar tune. And now there is nothing to do but sit back and wait for his admirer as he enjoys the wet musings of the Winter Wrap Up Them-
“Hey there good lookin’!”
Snails’ eyes snapped open and everything is brought to a close. The water drop orchestra, the mental sifter, the slowing of time, everything! The extensive time he’s spent in his little zone had only taken five minutes through reality’s cycle. But, the clock is the last thing on his mind. In fact there is something much better to look at right in front of him.
His eyes are met with a rosy pupil that rests above the perfect button nose of a filly of grey coat. She giggles with a toss of her golden mane that is combed together in a healthy lock and falls over her left eye in a sensual flutter. He notices that its more wavy and a bit discolored near the roots, but only for a moment as he admires the elegant slope of her tiny neck. He looks further on, but not intentionally of course, along her back upon which sat a colorful saddle trimmed with lacy frills. Further back still, still not intentionally of course, he's just a tall colt, he so happens to notice her rump covered in a flank drape. Odd to wear both a saddle and drape, most mares go with either/or. And finally a brief glimpse at her perfectly blonde tail, more straight than her mane. His admiration stops with a wiggle of her cute behind, and he snaps out of it, but is still quite star struck.
He's rewarded with another of her mellifluous chortles, "Do you like what you see, handsome?" She does a once around letting her tail brush the tip of his snout.
Well there's only one answer for that, "Duh....."
She gleams at him with a pearly smile, "D'aww. I bet you say that to all the fillies."
Snails feels it deep in his skinny gut, this night is going to be way better than pudding.
