Bookends of the Working Week
It was dark and cold and wet and the middle of April. All of these things are important in their own respects: Scootaloo hated the dark, the cold, and the wet, but loved April more than life itself.
She glanced around at the black yard, shadow-shapes of greenery forming clustered rows along the short fence line. The city was shouting its city noises somewhere in the distance, but the hotel she was currently skulking about was uptown and the shouting was downtown, and it added another layer of discomfort to the whole affair - muffled sound.
She funneled her frustration into an irritable little message on her phone: where are you? it's 11:15
The bright screen hurt her eyes for a moment as she stared at the question and promptly deleted it. She would show up. It was like saying the sun would rise tomorrow - if it were untrue, something was seriously amiss.
She was already totally ready for her - had spent the last couple dozen hours on-and-off daydreaming about it. It caught her entirely by surprise when she got the call last Thursday. Hey, I'm coming up to Canterlot on April 3rd, and I was thinking... To say there was no hesitation on her part was a gross understatement. There was practically negative hesitation. Ever since she'd left a couple months ago... well, things hadn't gone downhill, but they weren't at the peak they had been. But she said she'd find a way to make time for weekends, and this was happening, so what's a couple months in a bit of a rut?
A breeze blew through the little fenced-in area, and she wrapped her arms around her and jiggled a bit in place. Cold was not good for cloudwalkers. Thus, migration was a thing.
Suddenly, she heard a thump and a crack across from her, at the fence on the opposite end of the small yard. "Celestia," she said, shivering. "I'm jumpy."
She saw a form move, slowly rising at first to all fours and then oddly - almost unnaturally - to a standing position, the moonlight shining on the back of the figure's hood and obscuring the face.
She stared at it, her eyes confusing it for the background (as eyes tend to do in the darkness). "S - Sweetie?" she stammered, taking a step back.
The figure began to approach, taking careful steps across the thin layer of mud on the ground, each step a 'squelch' gradually increasing in menace.
"... Who is this?" Scootaloo managed, barely a squeak. That fluttery feeling had turned into an intense coursing of adrenaline.
The figure appeared to look at the strain of light from the city shining past the blockage of small trees, right in front of its path. Its hands slowly raised to its hood and it stepped forwards into the light.
"Sup."
"I'm going to actually murder you."
Despite herself, a grin took over her grimace and that flutter took over the fear. Sweetie's too-familiar face was rosy and alive and a bright white smile only complemented it. "Do you develop these things in your free time and test them out on me?"
"Absolutely. I have my manager set aside time," Sweetie giggled. "I broke the fence."
"Was that what that was?"
Sweetie laughed. "Whoops. How did you get in?"
"I can fly."
Sweetie closed her eyes and put a hand to her head. "Why do I attempt conversation?"
She shrugged. "I dunno." Conversation was great and all, but that flutter was really driving her to skip the niceties.
Sweetie flipped her hair out of her face. "Do you think anyone saw you?"
"Nope. We're clear."
"In that case, I miss you," she replied softly, stepping forwards into a full-body kiss. There it is.
Scootaloo knew she was a weak person. Her weakness was ultimate, glaring, and exploitable. Her weakness was always ridiculously warm, the touch of her skin always soft and dry, her smile always bright. Sweetie was just... filling to her. She could raise her out of that rut and put her on top of the world with a smirk and a wink.
They stopped for a moment, their lips only barely touching one another's, moving a bit as though they were confused by the separation. And then she was back into it with a gentle sigh, running her frozen fingers through that voluminous hair, down the back of that familiar body. There was that flutter again.
Sweetie finally pulled away. "Wow, you, uh..." she began, catching her breath, "you really wanted to get that one out, huh?"
"What?"
"It's been something like thirty seconds."
Scootaloo stared blankly.
"We did almost a solid kiss for, like, thirty seconds."
"... I don't, uh -"
"Let's just go up to the room."
The acidic red face of the alarm clock read 1:07 AM. It wasn't like that first night she returned. Nothing would be like that first night. But this could give that first night a run for its money.
Sweetie had played a jazz record. A real record, 33 1/3, 60 years old. They hadn't really taken very long at all, but there was a lot of buildup and a lot of settling down. The record played until they'd reached the edge of sleep and had shut itself off, and there they were, 1:07 AM, content, sleepy, warm - and Scootaloo was deeply reluctant.
"Tomorrow night?"
Sweetie was tenderly running her hand down the length of Scootaloo's arm, which was resting on her stomach. She nodded, half-conscious.
"But that's it?"
Sweetie turned her head slowly, her sharp green eyes looking her over, her mouth a little open in the middle of a contemplative breath. "I... you know I don't do this on purpose."
"I know," Scootaloo said, and was about to say 'but', but thought better of it. "... Yeah," was her final answer, and she rolled slightly on her shoulder and kissed her on the neck with a bit of romantic flair.
"Scootaloo... listen," Sweetie whispered, rolling to her side and curling up close against her. "I'm popular. You know that."
"Of course. I'm not trying to blame you -"
"No, listen. I'm getting more popular, too. It's not going away like I figured. The contract was because I thought I'd burn out, you know? Safety net."
Scootaloo brought a hand up to stroke her cheek gently. "You were such a naïve child."
Sweetie smiled, a little coyly. "I was, yeah. But I bet I can find some way to get out of that contract. It's risky, and legal, and I might be burning bridges, but..."
She glanced up to the ceiling, her eyes meeting the jagged crack over the bed they'd made fun of earlier. "I don't want... our..." she stuttered, her lips pursing only barely visibly. She turned her emerald gaze back to her. It was a lot softer. "I love you. I just - I love you, Scoots."
She was drawn into a deep, skin-to-skin embrace, and returned it. If only there were words she could say anymore. "You have no idea," she whispered back.
They fell asleep under the pillowy bedcover in the arms of the other, that reluctance dying away to the contented bliss of that abstract thing that it was so lucky they shared.
"Are you awake?"
She snorted and sat at attention. Maybe she'd been dozing off staring at the little blue bowl of cereal in front of her, still untouched. The hotel they were in had a continental breakfast, but it was all foreign and so she just got what looked like cereal. At least it was actually cereal. Maybe. She hadn't touched it. "I wasn't not awake," she kind of replied.
Sweetie raised an eyebrow. They were black now, with the rest of her hair, and it was all straight. It kept catching her off-guard. "You heard what I said, though, right?" she asked, interrupting the thought.
"Yeah, but say it again so I can take every word to heart, love of my life," Scootaloo replied with a drowsy slur, and leaned forwards on the table, putting her head in her hands.
She rolled her eyes. "Warm-up starts at 5:30, so let's do something before then."
"Warm-up?" She thought of skating, martial arts, multiplication exercises, and the band she and Sweetie and Applebloom used to have. She didn't know how to warm up for any of them. What was this about warming up -
"I have the second concert tonight."
Scootaloo stared harder. "I totally blanked."
"I know. Sometimes thinking is hard in the morning. But we're up early to crank out some entertainment before I have to work."
"So what did you have in mind?"
"Well," Sweetie said, looking out the window over the sloping cityscape, "we're in Canterlot. There's something to do."
Scootaloo blinked. "You didn't plan anything."
"I'm not a planner."
"I mean - Sweetie, so many things can get complicated without a plan. Is it going to rain today?" she asked pointedly.
Sweetie turned back to face her. "I know where you're coming from, Scoots. I do. But there's nothing this city can throw at me that I can't manage." She grinned (a little smugly). "I live and work in the middle of San Prancisco. And I'm me. Getting around quick and quiet is practically in my job description."
Scootaloo nodded. "Have you ever wondered why the names of most of our major cities somehow reference horses?"
Their eyes locked for a moment.
"No."
"Well, we can probably get balcony tickets to some kind of stage thing."
"Mm."
She heard Sweetie unfold the map again. "But I want to do something where - like, the entertainment is between us and not at the front of the room, you know?"
Scootaloo wiped off her face. "River cruise."
"What river? We're on a mountain."
"I know nothing about this place."
She snorted. "You should know we're on a mountain. Are you done in there yet?"
"Are you done planning yet?" she replied, leaning against the counter.
"Scoooots -"
"Then no."
She heard a sigh, and smirked. "Okay, I got it. Do you like... um, how about..."
The door creaked as she opened it. "We can just stay in, you know. I like staying in."
Sweetie was at the small table by the window, surrounded by piles of pamphlets. "I can figure something out, though," she replied weakly.
"Or," Scootaloo began, collapsing in the chair across from her, "we could just hit the street and do whatever we see. You can get us around, right?"
Sweetie pursed her lips, as she was apt to do. "I mean... we could, yeah. We don't have all that much time to do anything else. Just... you know, I wanted to do something exciting."
Scootaloo felt a little smile pull at her cheeks. She reached out across the table for her hand, and grasped it gently. "I don't care what we do," she said softly, "as long as it's we."
Sweetie returned the small smile. "You're sweet."
"You're lucky to have me, I know."
She giggled. "But - I mean, whatever you want to do, we'll do it. That's why this weekend is happening. It's yours."
Scootaloo rose, and offered her hand. Sweetie's small smile grew to a real one, half-amused and half-loving, and she took it. Scootaloo drew her into a short, contented kiss. "Grab your coat."
They both stared with confused squints at the heavy wooden sign above them, its blue paint weatherworn and chipping but nonetheless readable: MARINA.
Scootaloo turned to give her a moderately surprised look, and shrugged. "It's close."
Sweetie pushed her hair out of her eyes. "I mean, I knew there was a lake. I could have guessed. Can you row?"
Scootaloo scoffed. "I think you can do at least a little -"
"No, I mean can you row. I don't know how."
Scootaloo grinned, and patted her back lightly. "Alright, I'll do it. You're so convincing."
"No, I didn't - that's not what I -"
"Do you want to row?"
Sweetie made a face, and returned the grin. "No."
"Well, then, happy birthday. You get to sit for the next hour," Scootaloo replied, throwing her arm across her shoulders.
In a few minutes, they'd rented a snubby little red canoe - or whatever it was - and pushed off with some help from the dock-hands. It was an overcast day, perhaps a little breezy, and there weren't many watercraft on the marina. They made their way slowly to the center of the lake and Scootaloo finally tossed the oar into the boat with a defeated sigh.
"What?"
"It just - it takes it out of you, man."
"Does it?" Sweetie asked, and smiled an uppity little smile. "I wouldn't know. Ow!"
"How does my foot feel on your shin? I wouldn't know."
"It feels kinda like this."
"Ow!"
Sweetie giggled and cautiously crawled over, dragging her forwards by her hoodie strings into a kiss.
"Hey - you're gonna tip the boat over."
"Mm-mm," she murmured, and dragged her down to the hull until she was leaning against her seat and Sweetie was leaning against her. The kiss had gotten forceful, and though there was that thought in the back of her mind objecting, she didn't think she was all that against it.
Their lips parted for a moment. "You're... fragrant."
"I appreciate that sincerely," Sweetie replied softly, and chuckled, placing a gentle hand on the back of her neck and drawing her even more forwards. In a moment, she separated again. "... Do you know how romantic you are?"
Scootaloo raised an eyebrow. "Very, hopefully?"
"Totally. From what I understand in my, uh, musical endeavors, you're pretty above-average."
"Well," Scootaloo replied, "I appreciate it sincerely."
For a second, she didn't say anything, and Scootaloo became familiarly caught in her eyes. She leaned in again, but Scootaloo stopped her softly and put a hand just as softly on her cheek. "Before... before anything happened between us, I remember," she began quietly, "once we were out to dinner with some other people, and you..." Her voice weakened, to her own surprise. She cleared her throat. "For a moment, I caught your eyes in the lamplight, and they... like, they glinted, like gold." Subconsciously, she stroked her cheek just slightly, just enough to watch her expression change. "You had to ask me what was wrong before I stopped staring."
It was impossible to get over that face. Before she finished her thought, she had to kiss her just a little. "What I'm getting at is, I can see how you think I'm extra-romantic."
Sweetie nuzzled against her hand and pressed it loosely to her lips. "I'm lucky to have you, you know." There was another second of silence and stillness, as the vessel bobbed hypnotically on the water. "Even as little as I do."
Scootaloo wrapped her arms around her. "Yeah," she whispered. "It's a bummer."
Sweetie giggled, and leaned close for another kiss. She'd slumped down to lay entirely against the hull, with Sweetie (a little uncomfortably) on top of her. That didn't matter, of course. All that mattered was the gentle motions and pressures of the embrace. Eventually, as will happen, they ran out of steam and settled into a close hug and sweet nothings.
A little bit of lazy drifting along the foot of the mountain, then they returned the boat and had lunch nearby on the shore.
The concert hall was huge, practically a stadium, and ringed by thick stone columns buffed to shine even in the overcast weather. They were near the middle of the city now, close to the castle, and it wasn't quiet at all anymore. They were rather skittish, keeping close to the short wall bordering the sidewalk and looking at either the ground or one another. It was the first time Sweetie was so out in public with Scootaloo in arm, and they still weren't sure how they felt about it.
"This is it," Sweetie said when they'd gotten close, stopping and looking over at her. "Are you gonna come watch?"
"Why would I not?" Scootaloo replied with a smile. "Do I get a front-row seat?"
Sweetie scoffed, grabbing her hand and leading her forwards. "You get a balcony seat."
They crossed quickly around to the back of the building and in through what looked like an emergency exit. The inside so far didn't seem at all what it looked from the outside - they were in a dusty little concrete hallway, forced to the middle by cardboard boxes and other clutter on either side of them. "So, wait, there's no security back here?"
"Oh, I told the guys to leave it unlocked," Sweetie replied in passing and led her through that hallway and another, until they reached a small, dark carpeted room only lit by what looked like holiday lights along the moulding. "Speaking of the guys, do you want to meet the guys?"
Scootaloo looked over at her, an eyebrow raised. "Is that the best idea?"
Sweetie chuckled. "They're my band," she replied, reaching for a nearby door.
In a strange little anxious movement, Scootaloo grabbed the handle first. "Wait, wait. Do they even know your name?"
Sweetie stared at the door for a moment, and glanced back at her. "I mean... you know, they're my band."
Scootaloo opened her mouth to reply, but held her tongue. Of course, she wasn't an expert on the situation, but Sweetie had talked at length in the past about her anonymity and how important it was that she keep her friends and family out of the whole charade.
"I could introduce you as a friend," she was saying, "and you could check out some warming up. It's funny sometimes what Sleeves does on the guitar, he starts to slowly increase the pitch until..." She trailed off. "You're probably right," she admitted, her voice dropping.
"Sweetie," Scootaloo replied, taking her hand off the handle, "eventually I'll probably get involved in all this, considering..." She stopped herself. She was going to say we're in this for the long haul, but she didn't want to think about what that entailed. "But, um," she continued lowly, "not yet. I'm not... I don't have a good feeling about it."
Sweetie nodded, and smiled as though to defuse the conversation. "No, I know. I should start thinking about this kind of thing more, especially if we do this more often. Which we will," she added with a nudge. "I just..." She paused. "I just want to share it with someone I know sometimes. Especially you."
Scootaloo ground her teeth a little. She didn't want to be the bad guy or the stick in the mud, but it just didn't sit right. "... I want to, Sweetie."
"I know. It's - it's fine. We'll work up to it."
Scootaloo reached for her hand. "I didn't mean to be abrasive."
"You know," she began in a hush, taking her hand and squeezing it gently, "I respect that you didn't change your mind because I insisted."
Scootaloo blinked. "Really?"
"Yeah. It's just... I wouldn't have thought about that, but you did, and it was for my sake. I respect it."
"Well," she began softly, "for what it's worth, I don't want to tell you your business. But I'm glad you listen to me." She glanced up and gave a small, apologetic smile. "... I've never seen a show of yours before, by the way," she mentioned after a moment, trying to break away from the subject.
"I know," Sweetie said, and reached for the handle again. "I'll go get the ticket." She stopped for a moment, and leaned into a short kiss. "I love you."
Their lips touched lightly again. Scootaloo smiled, and reached a hand up to stroke her cheek (as she was wont to do). "I love you more."
She stepped back and grinned. "Lame," she chuckled, and poked her forehead. "Wish me luck."
"Do people say 'break a leg' for music?"
"Don't jinx me."
It was hard to waste time for an hour and a half, especially in an empty theater that she wasn't entirely sure she was allowed in at the moment. So she spent a little while marveling at how high the balcony was and how comfortable the seat was, and was promptly reduced to total mental vacancy. So she let some thoughts wander for a bit.
The first one was a report she'd been avoiding for a week, a nag that tended to surfaced randomly but one that she pushed away quickly. It was replaced quickly by little nothings about Sweetie - no full thoughts, just little wisps of ideas. She heard once on the news that Sweetie's live shows were ridiculously energetic, and from the clips that she'd seen, she'd likely agree. Seeing it live, close, and at the angle she was at would probably be an entirely new thing, though.
After long enough, people began to stream in. She examined them half-consciously as they began to converse and take their seats, and listened half-consciously as the chatter began to build to a steady, staticky background noise.
"Excuse me?"
She jumped at the word, and turned to face the source - but recognized the voice even before her eyes confirmed it. "Oh," she murmured. "Princess."
For a moment, Princess Celestia, dressed in a bright white evening gown, her colorful hair flowing magically behind her, appeared not to recognize her. Then, behind her stepped Princess Luna, in a dark blue mirror to her sister's dress, and cocked her head. "... Scootaloo?"
Celestia started. "Scootaloo?" she reiterated, and stared for a moment. "Oh. Oh, Scootaloo! That's right. It's been a while, Scootaloo," she began, reaching an open hand out.
She blinked, still processing. The Princesses? Here? For Sweetie's concert? She gazed blankly at the open hand, and then bounced back to reality and took it. "H-hello. Why, uh... are you...?"
"Why would the Princesses attend a concert, rather then attend to their executive duties?" Celestia finished jokingly, and smiled her genteel smile. "We jointly believe that regality should have some connection to their country's popular culture. It's surprised many before you, believe me. But..." She reached into her small handbag, decorated with complex curls of gold weaving. "I do believe we rented this entire balcony. Didn't we, sister?"
"I thought so. Then again, you're welcome to join us for the show," Luna added, and sat first on the far end with a welcoming smile.
"If - if I'm intruding, I'll go, it's no problem," she stammered, and suddenly remembered the ticket and reached into her hoodie pocket. "I don't know if this means anything, but Sw- Goddess gave me this," she said weakly, and held it out to Celestia, who leaned in to look carefully at it.
"... Yes, that's definitely this balcony. Well, regardless," Celestia replied, taking a seat next to her sister, "we certainly weren't about to chase you away. Come, take a seat, relax."
"Thanks," she mumbled, and sat down uncomfortably next to the Princess.
For a moment, she thought that perhaps she wouldn't have to speak to either of them, that maybe she wouldn't run the risk of digging herself into some awkward hole. Then, Celestia turned to her. "So, how do you know Goddess?"
Scootaloo glanced over at her shocking pink eyes and decided to instead direct her answer to the audience below. "Um... don't you know who she is?"
"I do," Luna mentioned with a giggle and leaned forwards to join the conversation. "I always tease her with the information, but I'm never going to tell her."
"It's been on the tip of my tongue for months," Celestia laughed, her laugh melodic and more airy than Scootaloo would have expected.
Scootaloo swallowed, giving a polite laugh. "Well, we've been friends for a while, so we - we still keep in contact and all that."
"No, you'll give it away!" Luna cried, and smiled expectantly at her sister.
"Oh, Sweetie something. Oh, of course," Celestia sighed. "Why did that take me so long to remember?"
"Aw," Luna groaned theatrically, and laughed as Celestia shook her head with a sour smile.
Scootaloo smiled, too. The nervousness was slowly falling away. "Sorry."
"No, it's quite alright, Scootaloo," Luna said. "There are plenty of other ways I can tease her," she added with a cheeky grin.
At this, the lights began to dim, and the chatter died away abruptly. "Ladies and gentlemen of Canterlot," began a crisp voice from the loudspeaker, "Goddess and ensemble."
Ensemble? Scootaloo thought. I thought this was... a pop concert. Perhaps the theatre, originally designed for stageplays, should have tipped her off. This was very much not a pop concert, and her mistake was reinforced as the curtain rose to reveal Goddess - Sweetie - towards the side of the stage, surrounded by four instruments on stands and four other people, all on their own instruments.
She looked over at Celestia, her hair glowing faintly in the dark, and back at the stage. "Is... is this jazz?" she whispered.
"No one knows," Celestia whispered back. "She doesn't tell anyone."
Scootaloo didn't usually listen to music. She didn't have any music players and didn't go to many concerts. She didn't have t-shirts of her favorite bands and usually didn't have anything to talk about when her friends brought up music. But she could watch Sweetie play forever.
First, Sweetie introduced her act, and then picked up the saxophone - Scootaloo didn't know which kind. There was surprisingly little tune, and swells and decrescendos were unexpected, but it gave way to something much more harmonic as Sweetie switched her saxophone for a clarinet. From there on out, it was planned and it felt like it, probably to the smallest rest in-between songs. At some point, maybe a half-hour into the performance, she had her guitar out and the mood had completely changed; then she leaned into the microphone and sang.
She sang slowly and lowly about some things that made no sense and some things that made too much sense and wove her words so harmonically and perfectly that it seemed as though her voice was created to sing those words along with that music. It grew high into allegory and dipped low into monologue, until there was no instrumental and until there was no singing. Just speaking. Sweetie thanked the audience, and then the curtain fell.
For a moment, the audience didn't react. They couldn't. Was it a work of genius? Was it average? Was it madness? But, as soon as applause rose from the back, it spread like electricity through neurons and the entire theatre was standing in applause. Scootaloo, too, though she was still rather trying to wrap her mind around it, and doubted she was alone.
She turned to Celestia, to excuse herself and go talk to Sweetie, but was suddenly preoccupied. "What was that?"
Celestia, still applauding, smiled down at her. "A concert."
She blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion, and then remembered she knew the source. Knew her very well, in fact. And with that, she took her leave and went to find said source.
The middle of April, still, cold and dark and wet. She had stepped silently out of the theatre and walked around the back, over a woven-wire fence, and waited around the door they had entered, waited in the cold and dark and wet and all the while snippets of the concert echoed in her head.
In maybe fifteen minutes, Sweetie slipped out of the door, looking behind her. "Oh," she said, turning, "hi, Scoots. Did you like it?"
Scootaloo hadn't prepared an answer. She hesitated, putting her hands into her hoodie pockets. "... I actually - I don't know," she replied. "I - I mean, you're really good, but... I don't think I get it, Sweetie."
Sweetie smiled after a moment - a small, amused smile. "That's fine. It was kind of quirkbait, anyway."
"I don't mean to... I don't know what that means."
"Oh, it's like, when I play in Canterlot, I have to bring something new to the table or people will think I'm losing my edge. I'm baiting them. With quirk."
"Don't you think that's underplaying it?" Scootaloo asked, stepping closer. "It was still good, you know. I could tell you put a lot of time into it."
She shrugged. "So does everyone else. It's not important. I'm glad that you saw it, you know," she added, taking her by the hand.
It was too beyond Scootaloo, and she felt herself flush. "... Can you - can you teach me about your music?"
Sweetie laughed. "What?"
"I just want to - I want to get into it. I wanna appreciate it, Sweetie," she said, her voice low. "I... kinda feel bad."
