Author's Note

I'm trying a bunch of new stuff in this story, so critique and comments would be even more welvome than usual. Thanks.

The Restaurant (Chapter II)

“Do you ever dream?”

Another question my dates never fail to articulate. So curious, how single-minded curiosity can be. I sip my wine, feigning to ponder the question deeply. It would not be wise to deprive him of his originality. Besides, the topic is among my favourites. Might as well make the most of it.

“Yes, I do.”

For a while, only the wind whispers around us. The air is chilly, but the cloaks offered by the house keep its bite away. Cy’ told us they’re made of the wool of rare sheep that live on the mountaintops of Canterlot and who shed it only once in their lifetime – when they die. The cost is equivalent to a small village, I hear.

“Umm… Can you see in them?” he continues.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Right.”

The gaels do the speaking for now. One, two, three, four, five…

“What do you dream of then? And how?”

Six. Will you look at that: the new record. He really has broken quite a few of them by now.

“Smells. Tastes. Touches.” Of your lips fondling the curve of my neck; of your wings sliding against mine. The shower in the morning took a quarter hour longer than usual. Such a waste of lust.

“Nopony ever asks what I dream of,” says Cy’, her mouth full of bread. For a minute, I had almost managed to forget that she is dining with us.

I smile at her pleasantly. “That would probably be because they already know. Or can you honestly say that you’d ever miss an opportunity to party, especially in your own head?”

They both chuckle at that. She practically howls. The waiter flies to us.

“Would you wish to have the dessert now?”

“I swear, I can’t eat another bite,” says Freight. There’s a sound of his hoof patting something, perhaps his own belly.

“That’s what you said when the spring rolls arrived,” notes Cyclone.

“My point exactly.”

She smacks her lips. “Suite yourself. I’ll have the strawberry cake, please.”

“And for you, miss Snowdrop?”

“More wine.”

“Certainly.” He flies away, leaving us on our private little cloud. I wish he was back already.

“Strawberries, at this time of season?” says Freight. “Gosh, you sure weren’t joking when you said that they have everything here.”

“Everything worth having, as it says on the door,” says Cy’.

“Yeah, like the view,” he goes on. “Will you just look at that mo–”

Cy’ coughs loudly. It’s not the first time tonight that she has.

“Could you describe it to me?” I ask, ignoring his blunder.

He pauses. In the silence, past the wind, I can swear I hear fervent flailing of hooves. Is she… signing at him? Why?

“It’s like… an orb of silver. Uhh… like your eyes, really. They share a certain… nobility.”

If I wasn’t sure that it’d be ridiculous, I might think she was guiding him. That would be ridiculous, indeed. Not an option, not in the slightest. However… what he said does sound suspiciously sweet to my ears. And it’s no secret to Cy’ that I have a soft spot for compliments on my eyes.

“That’s… very nice of you.”

“I’ve never seen eyes like yours, to be frank,” he continues. “At first you’d think they’re all grey, devoid of color. Blank like a winter morning. Nothing could be farther from the truth. They’re not dead, they’re… sleeping… dreaming…”

My mouth dropped slightly open, I realize.

“So full of different shades,” he says with a steady voice, as if he was reading out loud. “Changing constantly, fluctuating like a river of clouds, but yet softer than that. Deep enough to drown into.”

Motherbucking buck. She is helping him.

“And your eyelashes are like–”

“–strands of black hay, drifting in the wind?” I venture. That’s how Cy’ described them once, the first time we kissed.

“Oh, here comes the dessert!” she says loudly right before Freight’s lines turn into mumbling. He was that close of saying it, I could swear. Now she’s writing something on paper, it sounds.

“A sudden stroke of inspiration?” I ask innocently. She wasn’t expecting that I could hear the pen, I can tell.

“Ahh, yeah, just had to get it down. Hahhah, well noticed.”

“Could you read it to me?”

“Sure, sure… Right when I finish it. Tomorrow, maybe.”

“Of course. I forgot you never show an unfinished work.” I look at Freight. “Cy’ writes poetry, among other things.”

“Oh? I had no idea.”

“Then you haven’t payed very good attention. She has been scribbling all night, by the hear of it.”

They’re both very quiet. Is it my imagination, or can I hear Cy’s lips moving?

“I… thought she was… uhm… Sawing? No no no no, uh, drawing. Yeah, just drawing something, I don’t know, I ignored it.” He chuckles politely. “I mean, who am I to judge, eating on her expense at the Cloud Royale and all that.”

“Aren’t you the real gentlecolt!” laughs Cy’. I laugh with her, longer than her. I stop only when the waiter arrives with my wine, not a second too early.

I take a long sip.

At the end of it, I laugh some more. They don’t join me.

“Anyway…” I continue, wiping tears from the corners of my eyes. “We were talking about dreams.”

“Right,” he says. “The other night, I had this–”

“As I said, my nights are made of tastes, sounds and feels. They contain stories, detached scenes of my past life, and everything else that you two might dream about, too. The only difference is the lack of visual material. However, the weight of that difference should not be underestimated.”

“How so?” he asks.

“My dreams are sharper, and often very consistent. I used to mix them with memories all the time. Compared to yours, they are decisively more authentic or, it could be said, more real.”

“Uhm… I don’t think it makes sense to compare dreams like that. You can’t show them to others, nor watch other ponies’ dreams.”

I focus on my wine and on the leftovers of the salad. The temptation to start counting again is strong, but there’d be little point. Nopony else has ever made it this far.

“Right?” he finally adds.

“Yes?” I ask innocently.

“Yes, she has seen other ponies’ dreams,” says Cy’, to my great annoyance. “And shown her dreams to another pony.”

He is quiet for a moment. “No way… Unless… No way…” He chuckles nervously. “Do you mean you’ve done that with Princess Luna?”

I smile affirmatively before Cy’ can ruin even that for me.

“That’s…” he begins.

“Immoral?” suggests Cy’, munching her cake. “Unethical? Wrong? Evil?”

Apparently she is trying to message me something. The trouble is, that something is not obvious to me, even if the fact might sound insane. Cy’ can play the role of annoying, spoiled bitch so well that it can’t be real. But what is, then?

“Strange,” finishes Freight. “So the stories are true? Princess Luna can travel in ponies’ dreams, and she does?”

“It’s certainly true that it’s a story,” I reply.

“Have you seen my dreams?” he suddenly blurts. Cy’ laughs heartily.

“If I had, would I tell you? Would that be something I’d like you to know?”

“I…”

“She’s asking if your dreams are worth a secret,” says Cy’. Gosh, she really is trying to get under my coat tonight. “Are they?” she continues sharply.

“If they were, wouldn’t that be a secret, too?” he says.

A clever answer. So far, he has come up with plenty. Makes me wonder how many of them were Cy’s hoofwriting.

Perhaps every single one?

It would make sense, in a very twisted way. She’s the one who hooked us up in the first place. She brought us here to repay for the rudeness she isn’t any more ashamed now than she was yesternight. If I found a single angle in where she stands, I’d say she is building something. But there is no angle. You can’t build without angles.

Right?

“Good colt!” exclaims Cy’. It sounds like she is patting him with a wing. “If Snowy wasn’t at it already, I’d ring you myself.”

Is that it? Playing Cupid is her new sport? Or merely another feint?

Is she trying to steal him from me?

No, That's Stupid

She Is, That Clever Bitch