He was ready, for the most part, he had done his research. This didn't stop him from adjusting his scarf unnecessarily from his nervousness. Sketch knew what to expect, for the most part. Information wasn't easy to get his hooves on, but that was one thing he kind of liked. If he went, no pony would know. And the best was, Ember was a stranger in a town a long way away from his own. He didn't know her, she didn't know him. From what he was told, he was looking for a door in an alley with a magic torch. Unfortunately, here where many alleys in Cantorlot, and many doors which resided in them. However, a magic torch was proving to be a real trick to find.
After abandoning hope on finding the torch, or finding his way out of this maze of a district, Sketch did the only thing he could, walk. And walk he did, walking till his hooves were sore and then a bit further still. Sketch was glad the night was dark, that way no one could see him cry. He was, in essence, lost. More lost than the time he fell into the storm drains blindfolded. He had only to try to go back home. Though as he walked, his tears changed reasons. They ceased being over how his entire trip was all for not and changed to hope. Like a beacon in a storm, the enchanted torch guided him to safe harbor.
Sketch stood there a moment, behind this door was somewhere he could belong. Working up his nerves, he opened the door and in a metaphorical sense, a new chapter in his life. Inside was an elegant waiting room, a single pony behind a desk looks up to see our nervous protagonist.
"Ah, we have been expecting you, please proceed trough the door ma'am."
"I'm a guy," Sketch replied awkwardly. He wasn't surprised, about half of the ponies he met though he was a girl at first. It did, however, chip away a little at his already fragile self-esteem. But that was why he was here, to, for a night, see if he really was a girl. He had never really understood why so many ponies though he was a mare, maybe it was his muzzle. Or maybe it was his voice. Mannerisms possibly, he didn't know.
"My apologies sir, it was your hair that threw me off." Well, at least he had his answer. His hair was long and curled and was his pride. Sketch like how his curls flowed down his head like lavender and lime rapids made of chalk and received many compliments about it. In fact, once, he was threatened with death if he were to ever cut it. This, however, didn't stop him from thinking from time to time about cutting it into a masculine style. But enough about his hair and his insecurities, he was here for a reason and one reason only. He proceeded to cross the second threshold into the room waiting beyond it.
Seated deep in the room was a changeling. Sketch had never seen a changeling before. The exoskeletoned creature had a lovely shine to her, but Sketch was distracted. This lovely mare had a feature that disturbed Sketch on a deeply unconscious level. The cavernous maws that perforated her legs brought a green to his gills.
"The look on your face tells me I should change forms," said the changeling, "Is there any for you would like me to take?"
"I'm sorry," Sketch apologized to the changeling who he suspected was Ember. "Anything, anything but that," he said ashamed. "Pegasus, girl, please." Ember quickly obliged, rearranging her features to that of an aqua pegasus half a hoof length shorter than Sketch. His sort of reaction rarely happened but it was simply part of the job.
"I am Ember, and as you saw, I am a changeling. What have you come here for tonight?"
"You do, anything, right? I have a bit of a strange request," Ember braced herself, she doubted it was anything that was dangerous, but there is lots of weird that isn't dangerous. "I need the longtime girlfriend experience and maybe. . . Maybe a makeover?" The changeling was relieved that that was it, not some sort of creepy zebra necromancy thing or something like that. She let out a small giggle at how absurd she was being. Sketch immediately did his best impression of a tomato. "N-n-never m-mind, I'll j-jus-st go."
"No, please stay, I was just expecting something like hands, and yet your idea sounds pleasantly mild." At that Sketch began to return to his original colour. "Now, tell me about our night, please."
"I-I was thinking of changing into something comfortable, then a bit of hoof polish, some lipstick, a touch of eye shadow, then cuddle on a couch with a blanket and listen to a record together. . . And. . . Yeah. What should I call you, like this?" He gestured to Ember's new form.
"Call me," Ember wasn't prepared for this, she often played the part of somepony's fantasy, but rarely had she make an identity for herself. Spotting her reflection saved her, a blue-green coat with a two-tone blue mane and tail. "Sea. . . Um, Salt? Yes, call me, Sea Salt. Now, you said you wanted to slip into something comfortable? Oh, and before I forget, what should I call you?" Sketch though for a moment, his real name was Night Song, and that wouldn't do, Sketch was neutral enough. But tonight was girl's night out, so he needed something more, feminine.
After thinking for a long moment, the perfect name came to his lips, "Please, call me Watercolour."
"OK Watercolour, let's go play dress up," Sea Salt winks at him. "Why don't you pick an outfit or two for me and I'll choose one or two for you?"
"Yeah, that sounds good," Sketch, or Watercolour for tonight, said. he then perused the contents of the wardrobe. Sea Salt had a well-stocked wardrobe, from the mundane to the perverted and every shade in between. Watercolour didn't venture too deep into the wardrobe, it seemed the farther you went in resulted in the stranger the attire. For tonight, pajamas and casual would do just fine. The wardrobe was mildly surprising for Watercolour, there was only one or two of any given outfit. It then occurred to Watercolour, 'changeling magic means one size really does fit all.'
"Ok, I have an outfit for you," Sea Salt sings, "Do you have one for me?"
"Uh," Watercolour panicked for a moment, looking around frantically he spots a few different options. A simple sundress with a cherry blossom print on it, a faded blue hoody that looked two sizes too big, faded t-shirts from various bands, shorts in a variety of style and colors and a light green skirt with white polka dots on it. He grabbed the sundress, hoodie, and pair of cut off jeans and the skirt. "Yes, I have them." He turned around and trotted off to find Sea Salt, as he went he remembered underwear and quickly grabbed a few boy shorts.
After swapping clothes the two come from their dressing rooms. Sea Salt in the sundress and Watercolour in an old lavender t-shirt and a plain light blue skirt with a single lighter blue stripe on it.
"You look very pretty, Watercolour."
"Thanks, you do too," he mumbles in response. A slow blush crept to his cheeks, it was the first time someone called him pretty and meant it. For the first time in what felt like forever, Sketch, and Watercolour too, genuinely smiled. He could be himself, he didn't have to hide what he wanted to do, he was, in essence, truly free for the first time.
"Now, I think a royal purple hoof polish and lipstick would look nice on you," she says as she produces a small cosmetic kit from a nearby cabinet. Watercolour only smiled a little in response. He had never had experience with makeup, and to be honest, the idea of intentionally painting himself was strange. As an artist he tried to avoid it, it still ended up happening mind you. Sea Salt opened the cosmetics case, removing a few bottles of hoof polish, a couple of tubes of lipstick and mascara. "Do you know how to apply makeup?"
"Ah, no," was his mildly embarrassed response. He realized it wasn't something to be embarrassed about, which deepened his embarrassment.
"Don't worry, it's easy," she says as she leads him to her couch, "Why don't you put an album on the record player while I get the couch ready for us." Watercolour began looking at the wide collection of vinyl that Ember had acquired over the years. One section was filled with the albums in paper sleeves with sharpie written on them. "Frontier Days," said one such album. It sounded like a good album but right now he wanted some bubblegum pop, something like Cakey Parry or Swiftly Tailored. He found an album titled "Mares Just Wanna Have Fun." Watercolour smiled, this would do just fine, he pulled the record out and put it on the turntable. Carefully he set the needle onto the record, and with that, the record began to sing for the room.
"Mmmm, good choice, haven't listened to this one in a while."
"Um, thanks. I like your music collection," Watercolour said as he trotted to the couch. Sea Salt had moved a nearby coffee table to the couch and had placed the various cosmetics upon the table. She patted the couch next to her, beckoning him to join her.
"Ok, now when painting your hooves you have to be careful about what you touch, the paint dries fast but you can still get it onto other things accidentally. Now give me your hoof, I'll paint your hooves and then you practice on me." He nodded and raised a hoof. His hooves were decently taken care of, he couldn't stand the feeling if they weren't. A few swipes and his front hooves were painted, and just as fast his back ones as well. "Ok, now it's your turn," she says offering a hoof. He had never liked painting on things that weren't flat, but if he was to ever paint his own hooves he would have to start somewhere. Carefully, he picked up the brush and, as deftly as he could manage, he painted her hoof. Taking a look at the polished hoof, he smiled, he only got a little paint in her fur. "Good job there Watercolour, are you sure you haven't painted somepony's hooves before?" Without a thought to the brush covered in hoof polished in his mouth, he shook his head no, sending small droplets of the sand colored hoof polish splattering onto the couch.
"Oh, no! I'm so sorry Sea Salt, it was an accident," he quickly blurts out, dropping the brush onto the couch. 'Oh dear Celestia, I don't want to die today,' he thinks to himself. "I can pay you back I swear!" He quickly lies, mentally leaping from his casket to being in a maid costume and cleaning the Cantorlot Castle's barricades with his toothbrush.
"Oh, don't worry about it, I have an excellent cleaner. You wouldn't believe half of the things that have happened to this couch," she says dismissing his worries with a laugh. However, this only replaced one worry with another, 'what unholy acts has this couch seen?!?!' He turns slightly green at the, though, then forces it out of his mind. Sea Salt picks up the brush with her wing tips, dips it and quickly finishes her back hooves, 'feathered show-off.' It almost immediately occurs to Watercolour that it was his decision for her to have wings. When she finished she was like looking off into the sea from a villa. Like a poem without words. Watercolour may have had more plans for the night, but they both knew, snuggling would simply be the best option. He was drained from the hours of traveling it took to get here mixed with the intense relief that he would not have to con somepony into buying one of his paintings. And, as the record magically flipped itself to the B-side, that is exactly what they did. With a blanket to cover them both and a wing around Watercolour, or maybe just Sketch now. Truly he didn't know himself, but he did know one thing. He was happy, and for now, that's all that mattered.
