Love Isn't An Open Door

by Regina Wright

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe, Romance, Random, Slice of Life
Length: 1456

Evening Glimmer writes romance novels. Twilight Sparkle spies on ponies. The two are not related in any form or shape. Cutie marks are common everywhere.

Evening Glimmer writes romance novels. Twilight Sparkle spies on ponies. There is no relation.

Vaguely inspired by Twilight Sparkle's Secret Shipfic Folder. VAGUELY.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-12-12 05:30:02 UTC

Today, Fluttershy cries...

Hunched over her private table with her quill scribbling away, Twilight reluctantly stared at Fluttershy's broken face. Her quill paused as Twilight considered the word, 'broken'. Was it too clean? Was it too raw? Was it... Her left ear twitched and flattened as Twilight tried to follow her train of though. Was it too cliché?

Maybe...

Twilight corrected herself.

She was staring into the shell of a mare, panting and heaving as she fell apart into absolute sorrow. Twilight snickered. It's good enough. Her quill resumed writing. Shamelessly, Twilight took in Fluttershy's trembling shoulders and the many empty wine glasses that sat next to her. Waiters hovered nearby, prodding her with all sorts of insincere small-talk, “Would you like a re-fill? This one is on the house. Chin up, he'll be coming soon.” and “Dagger, my boyfriend used to be late all of the time. It's not that much of deal. You know how stallions are.”

Fluttershy silently sobbed. The entire restaurant, La Sera Mare, was on edge as the minutes wore on, then the hours that followed. All eyes flickered to Fluttershy's flushed face, red and angry and drunk... and the chair next to her that remained empty.

They were waiting...

And she was waiting...

And Twilight was writing...

'Oh, where was the stallion that would never arrive?' Twilight wrote in a fervor, getting caught up in her own reverie. What a wonderful line. Not good enough for her actual drafting but something might be put on the back of a book. It's something that any mare could say but it doesn't make for good writing. The line just didn't sound personal enough. In fact, the line was just a little too patronizing for her tastes.

'Oh, where was the stallion that has yet to show?' She wrote and snorted and sighed.

Twilight thought of the answer and then thinks no more of it.

The stallion isn't exactly relevant, is he?

Some patrons left. Perhaps they had errands to finish or a early morning to look forward in the morning. But most stayed, making excuses and buying just a little more to keep their seats. Twilight looked over her own table and the several mugs of coffee drained clean and waved her hoof for another one.

At times, Fluttershy tried to leave her chair but her hooves would rock the table, the glasses leaped for the polished floors and the waiters earned their wages by defying gravity and spinal damage as they dove in and out silently with their prizes. Fluttershy swayed left and right, her audience unconsciously followed. Twilight followed with her quill and moves her head along for good measure. Everyone was waiting for the climax.  Fluttershy was waiting to pass out. And Twilight... Twilight looked down at her bulk of her written material and thinks... And thinks... Not yet.

'Oh, what would Fluttershy do?' They think, she thinks and Twilight doesn't bother writing that down.

It has already been implied, hasn't it?

“Can I have another drink?” Is what Fluttershy does instead. Everyone's in an uproar and yet they cheered her on with their unflinching stares and sour murmuring. A patron offered to pay and the rest clap for their own. It's a real show, alright. “I'll pay.” She softly asks, her words slurring and sputtering as she wipes at her face.

“It's already on the way, Miss.” A waiter replied sounding as smug and bland like the others but he paused. His eyes watched Fluttershy right herself back into her chair, prolonging her battle. Something in him must have gave way as he moved towards her. Slowly entering beyond the space of “Do you need something?” to “Do you want to talk? You look upset.” The waiter's mouth opened to speak, to breach, to aid but another taps onto his shoulder, reminding him of his place.

Twilight snorted but her pen continues. How disappointing?

He rejoined the others still hovering, circling. Whatever individuality he had is gone. Dressed uniformly in their white collars and bows, they practically are the same waiter. He has rejoined the audience once again. All he can do... All they can do... All Fluttershy can do is sigh. The story has a script, you know, they know and Twilight knew.

Her quill reached the end of her parchment and she pulled the paper up from the table to read the passage she just wrote.

'Ripple Coy quivered as she drunkenly mustered up the strength to glare at the waiters fiddling over her. She didn't need their sympathy or their pity. Her hoof slid across the table, knocking several empty bottles of free wine as she tried to reach for another glass. Was she ugly? Was she disgusting? Ripple bit her lip and crumpled as she hid in her long, magenta locks and silently screamed as the world spun.

A waiter said, it didn't matter who, “It will get better.”

Another, “There's always more fish in the sea.”

They always said that. That's how she knew they were lies.

Her belly grumbled as it swelled with liquor and she hiccuped. It sounded better than her sobs.

Ripple leaned back into her chair, hair parting as tears swept down her spotty face.

“Why won't you love me?” She whispered, looking for someone who heard.

Nobody would answer.

Ripple cried.'

Twilight twitched in place as her tail wags in pleasure. She had gotten enough raw material for her next book! She sucked in a shuddering breath and stretched, flexing bones and easing aches. Fluttershy was still crying. The restaurant was still watching. Waiters drifted here and there. And Twilight rolled her eyes, waving again for her next cup of coffee.

The story that isn't a story that is a story that isn't a story has been going on too long. Especially, if she can't get decent service any more. La Sera Mare was only good for its coffee, cookies and drama provoking scenes and Twilight had already gotten all that she needed.

She lit her horn, sending a signal and releasing a spell. To the restaurant’s surprise, a stallion busted through the front doors, wrapped in bandages and frantically telling a strange tale. He's carrying a bouquet of wilted daises in his mouth and such an earnest look on his face that nobody cares what he's said. Certainly, the day has been saved as this dashing stallion hardly hesitated in taking his seat across from Fluttershy.

It was quite a sight that Twilight greedily devoured.

The spark in Fluttershy's eyes as she tried to clean herself up. The stallion ducked his head, apologizing and begging for her forgiveness. Fluttershy ducked her head as well but Twilight imagines she's grateful he's shown up at all. That's how this story is supposed to go, after all. The stallion said something witty to brightened the mood and Fluttershy laughed a little too hard. Twilight allows herself to smile, packing her saddlebags and getting ready to go. She would get all the details from Rarity later.

If Twilight had to estimate how long this relationship would last, she would give it three weeks at the most. Three weeks is the longest any relationship could last without Twilight's stimulation through letters and suggested dates. Not that both parties are aware of her guidance. Love is blind, after all. But Fluttershy would have her fun and feel better in general until the relationship fell apart. Maybe, a little justified too because Twilight thought she should have a chance of being the 'dumper' instead of the 'dumpee' this time around.

And then Twilight thought to herself as she gets up and walks to the front doors, leaving a set of bits and bills on the table, “What is Love?” She asked to no one and gets a set of hushed replies in return. Twilight ignored them as she focuses on her own musing and their scattered words echoed through her consciousness.

'Love is like making a sweet cookie...'

'Love is what makes the world go round.'

'Love isn't something you find. Love is something that finds you.'

'Love is like an open door. Whatever is on the other side will always catch you by surprise.'

Is love a burst in unresolved feelings, of likes and dislikes and smells and touches? Of nerves signals igniting under hormones running loose through the muscle and tissue and brain? Is it of deep sighs and longings and passion?

'Love conquers all; let us all yield to love!' The books said. The girls said. That is the message written over and over in every great tale of love.

No, they are wrong.

“All conquers Love,” she says and that's all that there is. “Let us yield not to love.”