Room For Rent

Lucky looked himself over in the mirror, turning this way and that, giving his mane a little bit of a push with a hoof.

He had never really liked how he looked. Green from hoof to mane. Green coat, green mane, green tail. All various shades of dark green. Even his cutie mark was green: A four-leaf clover.

Humming thoughtfully, he pushed his mane out of his eyes again, before frowning deeply. His mane was nowhere near as styled or pretty as Spitfire’s. But it would have to do.

He glanced at the clock on the wall, looking at the time, nodding to himself. He turned on his hooves, heading for the door.

Spitfire jerked slightly at the knock on the door, her wings giving a slow flex and clench as she tried to work out the nervousness. She slid a bookmark in her book, and then placed it aside. She rose to her hooves, and tiptoed over to the door, carefully opening it.

“You look nice, C.J.,” Lucky said, looking her up and down.

Spitfire gave an awkward grimace. “I uh… I didn’t do anything different.”

“I noticed,” Lucky said generously, smiling at her brightly. “Is that your natural colouration?”

“Uh… My mane highlights are a brightened a little bit,” Spitfire admitted, rubbing a hoof through her mane self-consciously. “But other than that, yeah. All-natural.”

“You lucked out,” Lucky said with a slight nod, looking her up and down again. “You look exactly like Spitfire!”

Spitfire facehoofed, giving a long sigh. “You’re not going to let this drop, are you?”

“Not until you admit you’re a cosplayer!” Lucky said with a happy smile, head tilting slightly to the left. “Now, you ready?”

“Why wouldn’t I be ready?” Spitfire asked with a long sigh.

“Because you’re female,” Lucky pointed out calmly. “Notoriously bad at being ready for dinner-dates and whatnot!”

Spitfire glowered at him. “You realise this is going to suck, right?” she asked bluntly. “The moment they hear that the great Spitfire is in the building, they’re going to all go stupid and ruin my lovely evening with my eccentric, incredibly dense landlord.”

“It’ll be fun, c’mon!” Lucky said cheerfully, turning on his hooves and heading downstairs.

Spitfire gave him an awkward stare, before shaking her head and following after him, closing the door behind her.

“Do… do you think… think that you… could possibly s-slow down?!” Lucky asked between ragged pants, wings beating hard at the air, sweat pouring down his forehead.

Spitfire glanced back at him, looking chagrined for a moment, giving a sheepish smile as she slowed her pace. “Sorry, used to setting the pace in training flights,” she explained.

“Sweet Celestia you’re fast,” Lucky panted heavily. “You should totally try out for the Wonderbolts. The whole Spitfire-worship thing you got going… you’d be able to meet her!”

An awkward silence stretched between them as Spitfire looked away.

“You ever been to this restaurant before?” Lucky asked once the silence had started to get deafening.

“Can’t say I have,” Spitfire admitted, frowning slightly. “I try to stay out of public.”

“Don’t want people catching on that you’re not really Spitfire?” Lucky teased.

Spitfire gave him a long, blank stare.

Spitfire and Lucky back-winged to a neat stop in front of the restaurant. Lucky was a little bit less ordered than Spitfire in his landing, and paused for several long moments to compose himself, panting faintly.

“You gonna be okay?” Spitfire asked, concerned.

“Just not used to Wonderbolt speeds,” Lucky admitted, breathless.

Already, ponies were starting to stare.

Lucky grinned as he noticed the ponies staring, and waved a hoof at Spitfire excitedly. “Spitfire! This is Spitfire!”

The ponies stared at him, and then Spitfire, and then at each other, before guardedly going back to their conversation.

“What are you doing?” Spitfire hissed. “Is this some kind of show to you?!”

“Shhhh,” Lucky pressed, placing a hoof over Spitfire’s mouth to keep her from talking. “Must let everyone know that Spitfire is in the building!”

“You are an asshole,” Spitfire growled, glowering at him, before pushing past him roughly towards the front door of the restaurant. “Let’s just get this over with.”

A few minutes later, Lucky and Spitfire were seated on one of the balcony seating areas, overlooking a very picturesque view of the ground far below Cloudsdale.

Lucky peered around the table, and then waved for the attention of a waiter. “Waiter!” he called.

A waiter picked his way between the tables, coming to stand in front of them, glancing sideways at Spitfire, his curiosity obviously piqued.

“Who is that?” Lucky asked, pointing at Spitfire with a goofy smile.

Spitfire shrank down in her seat, grimacing.

“That would be Spitfire,” the waiter said, confused.

“Yes!” Lucky said, grinning from ear-to-ear. “That’s Spitfire! I’m totally on a date with Spitfire! Make sure everypony knows!” he said with a rapid, earnest nod. “Look, are there any photographers around that can take some pictures?”

The waiter looked guardedly from Lucky, to the rapidly receding face of Spitfire as she tried to hide under the table. “I uh… I believe I might have seen one or two in the lobby earlier, chasing after Sapphire Shores.”

“Make sure they know that Spitfire is here!” Lucky said with an earnest nod, before leaning over closer to conspiratorial whisper to the waiter: “She’s not really Spitfire, she’s a cosplayer… just… play along and I’ll make sure there’s something in it for you.”

The waiter perked up at that, giving a sudden bright smile. “Oh, oh yes! Indeed! I shall see that they are notified, sir. What will you be drinking tonight, sir?”

“I’m rather fond of the red wine,” Lucky said.

“And you, Madam Spitfire?” the waiter asked, turning to her.

“Just water, please…” Spitfire mumbled awkwardly.

“I will return with your drinks,” the waiter said, stalking away rather hurriedly.

“I’m going to kill you,” Spitfire said bluntly.

“We haven’t even had the photo-shoot yet!” Lucky said happily, bouncing in his chair slightly.

Spitfire just groaned faintly, hiding her face under her hooves. “Wake me up when it’s over.”

“Here’s the cameras!” Lucky gushed, pointing with a hoof towards the two photographers who had been directed towards them. He waved them over with a hoof. “C’mon! Come get some pictures of Spitfire!”

The two photographers gave dubious glances back and forth between Lucky and Spitfire as they arrived at the table, and one of them gave a half-hearted snapshot of the awkward-looking Spitfire half-hidden behind the table.

“Excuse me, but… are you the… real Spitfire?” one of them asked carefully, giving Lucky a suspicious stare.

“Yes…” Spitfire said, giving a resigned sigh.

Lucky pursed his lips, waving his hooves angrily. “Look, C.J., do you really think that Spitfire herself would just say ‘...yes...’ in the most resigned, completely lame way possible? It’s Spitfire!” he hissed, glowering at her. “Now try it again, with more passion this time. ‘Yes!’, this is how a Wonderbolt Captain talks!”

Spitfire gave him a long, perplexed stare. “U-uhh… Yes! Yes! I am the real Spitfire! Why do you even ask? Isn’t it obvious?”

“Better!” Lucky said with a bright smile.

The two photographers looked between Lucky and Spitfire, and then exchanged a glance, before they both turned and walked away.

A silence stretched out between them as Lucky read the menu.

“How did you do that?” Spitfire asked, her voice squeaking slightly. “H-how?!”

“Magic,” Lucky said, grinning at her and wiggling his hoof in a mystifying fashion.

“That… that was… that was amazing,” Spitfire whispered. “They just… walked away! They didn’t even take any pictures!”

“Miss Spitfire?” the waiter asked as he returned, placing the water down in front of her. He bowed carefully. “May I have your autograph?”

“Certainly,” Spitfire said automatically, taking the pen the waiter offered and scrawling her signature across a napkin for him. The waiter took the napkin, stuffing it into a pocket of his vest and then placing down the glass of wine he carried in front of Lucky.

“Are you both ready to order dinner?” the waiter asked, looking between them.

“Sure are!” Lucky said with a grin, “You ready, Spitfire?”

Spitfire sipped at her glass of water, chasing a pea across her plate with a fork. “I… I don’t believe you pulled this off.”

“Pulled off what?” Lucky asked simply, finishing off the last of his mashed potato, an ear perking up at her.

“You convinced everypony around us that I’m some sort of… cosplayer!” Spitfire whispered ecstatically. “I haven’t been able to have a dinner out like this without being molested in years. Even the waiter when he asked for my autograph… he just… he acted like he was doing it to be nice, not because I’m famous!”

“Well, you are a cosplayer, so that helps,” Lucky said airily, waving a hoof dismissively.

Spitfire gave a long, exasperated sigh. “So… why do they call you ‘Lucky’? What’s your special talent?”

“My special talent is… luck,” Lucky admitted, frowning slightly down at his plate. “Absolute, unadulterated luck.”

“That’s… a really odd talent,” Spitfire said, frowning slightly. “Not really marketable.”

“I also sell good-luck charms,” Lucky said with a slight grin. “They really work!”

“You know that lucky charms are just a device predicated on twisting confirmation bias to scam the gullible, right?” Spitfire asked, giving him a long, flat stare.

Lucky held up his hooves. “Hey, hey, slow down with the big words! Anyway, they really work with me! I’m lucky myself, right? So lucky charms work when I make them! I call the concept ‘transient luck’.”

“Transient luck?” Spitfire asked blankly. “Short-termed?”

“Erm… doesn’t ‘transient’ mean ‘transferred’?” Lucky asked after a moment.

“No, ‘transferred’ means ‘transferred’,” Spitfire corrected.

Lucky’s ears splayed back, and he gave a sheepish smile. “Well! Transferred luck, then! I am stupidly lucky. All the time. Every time. I can’t turn it off. And so… the way I see it: If I made a lucky charm for somepony, it has to work!”

“No, no it really doesn’t,” Spitfire responded, mystified. “Even if you are lucky, why would it transfer some of that luck?”

“Because I’m so lucky!” Lucky said with a grin, watching her intently for a long moment. “Wouldnt it be really unlucky if I made a charm for someone and it didn’t make them lucky. Because then they’d be sad at me… or mad at me. Or they wouldn’t give me repeat business!”

“That… makes a twisted kind of sense,” Spitfire admitted, frowning slightly. “So… how do you know you’re lucky?”

“Little things,” Lucky said, frowning slightly. “Big things, too. Everything, really. You, for instance.”

“Me?” Spitfire asked, blinking once.

“Well, think about it. I won the lottery. By accident! I was buying myself a soda, and they didn’t have any change. So they gave me a two-bit lottery ticket instead of change. And I agreed because I was thirsty. So thirsty. For no good reason. Anyway, that was the winning ticket. Won so many bits. What are the odds, huh?”

“Pretty damn low,” Spitfire admitted.

“And then, when bills started piling up, I found the one roommate willing to pay twelve months of rent in advance for a single room, that is neat, tidy, quiet, never seen, never heard. Before yesterday, I didn’t even know who was in there. And you’re absolutely smoking hot and you agreed to have dinner with me and my crazy scheme to convince the waiters and ponies around that you’re a cosplayer actually worked,” Lucky rattled off, giving her a long, flat stare. “And that is luck. All of that.”

“Not all of it,” Spitfire said with a slight shrug of her shoulders. “I didn’t agree to dinner because it was luck.”

“I would argue differently,” Lucky challenged. “Name one thing in our meeting that wasn’t pure luck.” He sat back in his chair, grinning smugly, hooves crossed in front of his chest.

“I vaguely remember you holding my mane for me as I threw up violently. And I remember you helping me to scrub vomit off the floor for what was an hour or two of retch-inducing hell. Was that luck?”

Lucky opened his mouth to respond, looked puzzled, and then closed it again, frowning deeply. “...Touche.”

Spitfire gave a triumphant grin at that, watching him intently. “That wasn’t luck in the slightest. And coming up with this elaborate web of lies and deceit to convince everyone I’m a cosplayer… that’s not luck, either.”

“Whatever you say, C.J.,” Lucky teased.

Spitfire narrowed her eyes at him, but smiled faintly, taking another sip of her water.

“So, I guess this is good night, then?” Lucky asked, panting faintly, flexing his wings. They were standing in front of the door to her room. “Don’t want a goodnight kiss?”

Spitfire looked thoughtful, before frowning at him deeply, eyes narrowing. “I was going to say ‘yes’, but then I realised I’m only saying that because you’re really lucky.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Lucky chirped with a wry smile, moving to close the door. “Goodn—”

Lucky was cut off as Spitfire took a step forwards and gave him a firm, yet soft kiss, right on the mouth. His wings automatically sprung upwards in surprise and delight, and his cheeks warmed slightly as he kissed her back tentatively.

Spitfire pulled back from the kiss, placing a hoof over his mouth. “Now now, this was just a goodnight kiss. Down boy.”

Lucky gave a chagrined smile, swallowing thickly and trying to fold his wings down against his back.

Spitfire gave a mischievous little smile. “You’re cute when you’re all flustered. It’s nice to see some cracks in that perfect composure,”

“So uh… will I see you again?” Lucky queried.

“Not tomorrow, I’m afraid,” Spitfire said, frowning slightly.

“Why is that?” Lucky asked, a little bit too quickly.

“I have a…” she trailed off slowly, eyes narrowing at him. “You… already know, don’t you?”

“I checked the Wonderbolt schedule,” Lucky admitted with a slow smirk. “Spitfire has a show tomorrow, so obviously, you can’t be seen anywhere, or people would start to suspect that you’re just a cosplayer!”

“Yes, that’s entirely it,” Spitfire said, rolling her eyes. She shook her head, looking him up and down once. “Day after tomorrow. Midday. I’m dragging you out to the lake and making us lunch. I expect you to be here.”

“Would you come searching for me if I didn’t show?” Lucky simpered.

“With your luck? I’d do it with a leash and collar,” Spitfire said bluntly.

Lucky perked an ear upwards, bowing slightly. “I am a very lucky pony,” he said with a smirk. “Goodnight, C.J.”

“Goodnight, Lucky,” Spitfire said, gently closing the door. She smiled to herself as she flicked the lamp on and curled up on her bed to finish the newest Daring Do book.