Her glass of water, half-filled, the rim glossy from the smudge of her lip gloss, sat alone. It was a simple wineglass; shallow, ordinary and dolled up with a red ribbon as if a piece of fabric could change the fact that there wasn't anything exciting inside.
There were two glasses on the table.
Hers and the empty one.
There are still two glasses on the table.
The cool one that sat unused, growing colder as the hour, now two, went on.
Wineglasses couldn't walk, Fluttershy knew. They couldn't ask questions about why she lived close so the Everfree forest or why her voice squeaked when she tried to order. What did she do for a living? How did feel to be friends with royalty? Can't you get me this one favor? And this wineglass, in her hooves alone, couldn't walk away and trap her in her seat as she tried not to cry.
From the shine of the gloss, Fluttershy could faintly see her reflection. She ignored her puffy eyes, her red nose, focusing on how she must have looked when she arrived. Excited. Anxious. Pink blow-dried hair pinned into a peacock tail. Light make-up applied by Rarity. The front of her dress, a deep emerald green corset with a dash of glittering gems around the waist.
Rarity said she looked like a beautiful young lady ready for a night on the prowl. But again, she might have meant the dress. If the dress shown up alone, would it had a better night? Being made from the dressmaker and full of her natural charm and flair, it probably would have gotten proposed to on the spot.
Fluttershy stared listlessly at the other couples chatting over candlelight, the sweet dulcet strings of the violins serenading all. It was if she was gazing into a scene of a romance novel, guiltily watching the fumbling and confessing of the lovers. The ponies meeting, eating and parting on a far happier note than her abrupt end. Fluttershy placed the glass back onto the table and rubbed her hooves together.
How would she explain this to Rarity? Ah, it wouldn't go well at all. There was no other way to look at this. It was all her fault, being as interesting as a cardboard cut-out.
She knocked back the rest of her glass, left a tip and stood up with utmost grace and dignity she could muster on the spot. The conversations around her stilled, all attention on her. Only the newcomers were curious, wondering why the rest cared about a mare sitting alone in a reserved table. The best one in the house.
But that only lasted a second. Muffled table-jumping gossip filled them in.
Fluttershy inhaled a breath for strength. The servers that had been flittering around the tables with orders and meals paused in their movements. They were all watching her, their eyes like daggers in her back.
The mare exhaled, imagining what would Rarity do in this situation.
There would be no walk of shame. No pity sent her way.
Fluttershy held her head high and walked out of the restaurant on wobbly, clumsy hooves. And then she tripped on the way out, smashing her face into the red carpet they laid out on the walkway. Lifting her head up, she left a mark of yellow concealer, borrowed lip-gloss and green mascara in the shape of her unlucky self. A lavender unicorn quickly walked over her, leaving behind a napkin and a pack of unopened tissues. Fluttershy blinked at such a strange gift, confused and grateful, but the moment she got up, the unicorn was gone.
It didn't matter, did it? She should just go home.
The mare wandered, swaying her way through the nightlife scene that swept over Ponyville. Groups of mares and stallions walked around her, diving into bars and taverns that sat closer to her side of the town. Fluttershy kept going, eyes to the ground before she caught the unmistakable aroma of a Sweet Apple Acres cider barrel being cracked open for the first time.
Her mouth watered. A little cider wouldn't hurt.
The mare followed the smell to the back of a new club called Skipping Labels, walking by mares unloading the newly delivered barrels. The ground shook under her hooves, pulsating with the heavy bass booming through the walls. Fluttershy eyed the back entrance dubiously and made her way to the front, getting into the long line with slight trepidation.
A little cider wouldn't hurt at all.
