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You can do this, Soarin. You’ve got this.
The cerulean pegasus before him stretched nimbly on the cloud above him, and Soarin nervously flattened his mane. Rainbow Dash probably didn’t even see him yet, which somehow only made him even more nervous.
You’ve got this in the bag. You’re an athlete, she’s totally into you.
Soarin puffed himself up, not even realizing that he was holding his breath before slowly raising into the air. He then released his breath, quickly dropping back onto the grassy knoll.
“I can do this,” he muttered under his breath, his blood pumping so rapidly that he could hear it in his ears. He was in his physical prime, of course she would find him attractive. Everything was in his favor, and he only had to keep repeating such things to himself in the vain hopes that they were true. It was more out of outright terror of allowing what he really thought to overtake him, which was that she was going to laugh in his face because he wasn’t even close to being on her level.
Soarin shook himself firmly as Rainbow Dash began stirring to take off again, and he forced himself to dart into the air before he either lost his nerve or tried talking as she sped off. Again.
“H-hey!” he croaked as he flapped mightily, struggling to keep himself level.
Brilliant. You sound like you just ate a cactus.
Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow, gradually backing away from the edge of the cloud, and Soarin saw that he really had caught her just before she took off.
“Oh, hey!” Dash grinned friendlily at him, blowing a lock of multihued mane from her face. “Come to watch me train?”
It was obviously in a joking manner, but her one quip made Soarin’s face turn a violent shade of off-pink. Mostly because that was exactly what he had done, but could never actually admit it.
“No, no,” Soarin lied quickly, desperately clearing his throat. “I-I was, uh… just passing by.”
“Oh. See you, then.”
“Wait!” he yelped, straining to look less like a sweaty, creepy pegasus that had been following her for the past hour and a half and more like a suave, competent stallion. “I-I, well – er-hem! Nice… cloud, here,” Soarin said far too loudly, the heat growing in his face as the fit of stuttering finally overpowered him.
“… Sure is,” Dash nodded slowly, giving him an odd look. “Hey, see you later, Soarin. Try to take a water break, or something, eh? You look kinda like you’ve been out in the sun too long,” she grinned again, and did a swift backflip off the surface of the cloud before diving in a rapid spiral, and finished with a graceful swoop through the air away from him.
Soarin stared after her for a long moment, before punching himself repeatedly in the head.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
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Soarin swirled his hard cider in a little circle, watching the last dregs swirl around at the bottom. He let out another long, quiet sigh, unable to quite bring himself to finish it off. The dingy light in the bar glinted warmly off of the glass bottles behind the pub’s counter, and the place was small and cozy, but Soarin couldn’t quite shake off the oppressive feeling of his own failure.
“Lad. ‘Nother?” the lime green bartender grunted at him with a voice like gravel, and Soarin shrugged halfheartedly. He didn’t even notice when a stallion silently sidled in to the barstool next to him, humming cheerfully.
“I don’t care,” Soarin slurped his drink before slamming the mug back onto the counter bitterly. “Se-seriously, I don’t-I don’t care, it doesn’t even bother me. I’m not, but I would be if I did, but I don’t. So… there,” he rambled mainly to himself, wrapping his hooves protectively around his drink.
“Sounds like you’ve got yourself a problem there, mate,” the tan stallion in a small blue cloak nodded to the embittered pegasus, making him jump. Soarin blanched and stared at the earth pony, not in the mood for talking.
“Gee, what gave it away?” he growled, wiping his face. Stupid, stupid Soarin. He mentally kicked himself once again, the friendly buzz hardly lightening his mood.
“Oh, I’ve been around the block a time or two,” the stallion had a lilting, easygoing voice and a relaxed manner, and just seemed very genial. The thick mane of inky blackness sat like a natural fountain over his head, and he oddly had no Cutie Mark. He stuck a hoof out to the pegasus, and said “Th’ name’s not important to you, pal; I just like helping anypony that needs it, and I’m totally not saying that because I have to.”
Soarin snorted, and introduced himself in a similar manner. “And my name’s known pretty much everywhere, and I don’t think you can help me unless you can make a mare fall head over hooves for me.”
The stallion ran a hoof over his stubbly chin, and hummed thoughtfully.
“Well,” he grinned, pulling something out of his cloak. “I don’t think I could stomach walking around with love potions, even if most of them weren’t the two-bit colored water and cheap tricks you could get on a street corner. What I do have, however-” he showed Soarin the small vial full of milky white liquid, balancing it carefully in his hoof. “-is a dandy little thing that could solve your problems if you use it right.”
“… You spooged in a bottle?”
Soarin could have sworn that he heard a muffled snort from behind the counter, but the bartender didn’t even look their way.
“No,” the stallion frowned, pulling the vial back. “But I do believe very strongly that there are no coincidences, and that this was meant to belong to you.”
“No thanks,” Soarin deadpanned. “I’m not into that kind of thing.”
The stranger facehoofed loudly, stuffing the bottle into Soarin’s hoof.
“It’s an invisibility potion, you blithering dolt,” he glowered at him. Soarin blinked, completely thrown off by the sudden display of generosity.
“Whoa, really?” Soarin asked, much more interested. “Where did you get something like this?”
“I stole it from a dragon.” The stallion quipped blandly.
“Dude!”
“It’s a joke,” he frowned, wondering if he were making the right decision after all. “All you need to know is that zebras are very, very nice and I am seriously indebted for approximately twelve hundred and seven years.”
Soarin stared down at the vial for a few seconds, before glancing back up at the pony.
“… Okay, what’s the catch?”
“No catch!” he answered cheerfully, drawing up and trotting toward the bar’s rickety wooden door. “Just another day of doing good deeds for you wretched miserable mortals!”
And with that, he was gone. Soarin blinked repeatedly, staring at the spot that he had just been. Perhaps he had drank a little more than he thought, because he could have sworn that he hadn’t even seen the stallion open the door. Maybe he just missed it because of a trick of the light.
“… Huh,” Soarin looked around the empty bar after a while, his mind abuzz. He threw a look to the barkeeper, who was busy absentmindedly scrubbing the already spotless counter. “Any idea what that was about?”
“Not a clue,” the lime colored stallion answered immediately. “Loki isn’t exactly a regular in the Eight Bits.”
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