Pas de Deux

by Dafaddah

Rating: teen
Tags: Romance, Drama, Fancypants, Fleur de Lis, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 3696

Fleur and Fancy Pants are an item - right?

Fancy Pants and Fleur Dis Lee were made for each-other: the perpetual playcolt and the sultry supermodel. Now, they've been going out for over a month. Has she fallen for this stallion? Is he finally ready to settle down? Can true love blossom in the high-pressure world of Canterlot's social elite?

With thanks to special guest editors KingMoriarty and PresentPerfect!
For Estee's Swift Selections contest, category: Slice of Life
PS - Yes, I was forced by a contest to do another shipfic!

Published 2016-07-01 04:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2016-07-01 04:10:01 UTC

Lui, Elle, Elle et Lui

Lui

What are you doing here, Fancy? My distorted visage looked back at me in stern disapproval from the silvered side of the ice-bucket on the very properly set table. You’re breaking your most fundamental rule: dating the same mare for more than one month! They’ll say you’ve lost your touch. They’ll say you’ve lost your youth and are preparing to settle down!

I took another sip of my tonic – no gin, of course – and glanced around the elegant confines of the Gilded Spoon. It was yet another boîte on Restaurant Row, each one decorated in the latest and most exquisite fashion, each one boasting a "three-hoof rating" given by that calamitous food critic Zesty Gourmand, and each one indistinguishable from its equally uninspired neighbours! I steeled myself for another evening of ‘flawless presentations of flavorless pretensions, eaten not so much by ponies to feed their bellies, but more so at other ponies in order to feed their own egos!’

How I wish I had thought up that quip myself! I’ve repeated it often enough that many likely think me its author, but indeed I was not. It was her. The mare for whose company I prepared to breach my own self-imposed standards of superficiality: Fleur Dis Lee.

I smiled. Would anypony believe me if I said I enjoyed her company because of her ability to make me laugh? Still, it’s true! Her biting wit is sharp as a steel blade, such a contrast to the image of the vapid socialite that she so effortlessly projects. In fact, it was this very quip of hers that first brought her to my notice. Until that moment, I had dismissed her as just another tiresome debutante, trying to catch the eye of suitably upper class colt.

That colt was me, of course, the archetypical eminently eligible stallion. The good catch. What a farce! If all these ponies who saw me thus only knew what I truly thought of the games society ponies played, and how I cultivated the image of being an idle philanderer to gain distance and freedom from those tiresome dames and their soporific offspring.

And free I was, until a single phrase delivered sotto voce, with a sweet smile under deep, knowing eyes proved to me that I wasn’t alone, that there was another who played the game brilliantly, but was not a slave to its pretensions. Another pony who saw the tragic humour in our beautiful, tawdry state.

I looked around me at the ponies sitting primly at their tables, nibbling mercifully tiny morsels, and couldn’t help but chuckle. Here I am, pretending to drink, in anticipation of pretending to eat, in a whole herd of ponies pretending to be having a good time! What a deliciously unintended jest!

My humor was unfortunately short lived as my pesky conscience could not, as usual, restrain itself from ruining my good mood. And what other pretenses will you commit tonight, Fancy?

Up until the present moment, there had always been only one answer possible to this query: All the pretences that are necessary, of course!

But this evening, with this mare, such an answer felt somehow... inadequate. Merely thinking of it left a bitter taste in my mouth, one that even a few sips of tonic could not wash away.

The face on the ice-bucket grew even longer. This is becoming serious! Perhaps it’s time to end this, Fancy. Is that why you are here tonight? To break it off before you grow too attached? The stallion’s face on the ice bucket was looking very serious indeed. Sadly, I had come to the conclusion that I was in great danger of falling for this mare, and that was one risk a stallion such as I could ill afford.

And so it was in this uncharacteristically somber state that I waited until... she made her entrance!

Let me be clear about this. She did not come-in, show up, or merely enter the room. Nothing so coarse or ordinary. No, she made her entrance!

As usual, she was precisely, exquisitely, fashionably late, and this evening wore a very simple white gown, daringly translucent in all the right places. She was nothing short of the classic image of a goddess! Heads turned. They always did, and why shouldn’t they? Only one word had I ever found to describe her: regal. Hers is the otherworldly grace and beauty of a princess. Her every gesture enchants the eye and is a joy to watch, her every movement is locomotion become art. All these things I had seen before when our paths had crossed, but I hadn’t truly seen them until that one little joke opened my eyes.

And yet, she wasn’t a goddess, nor a princess. In fact, she was born of a relatively minor house and, despite her parents' immense fortune and her own stellar career as a supermodel, was often dismissed as a low-class upstart and called names far, far worse by the envious ladies of more high-bred families who at most could aspire to a mere shadow of her charms.

The diners spoke in hushed tones as she approached in languorous, almost feline, nonchalance. Hungry eyes feasted on each step. Jealous eyes glared in impotent rage. In the parlance of the social elite, she took possession of the room, filling it, transforming and elevating it, simply by being present.

It could have been, perhaps it should have been, a moment of unbridled vanity, yet it wasn’t. Unlike so many leading socialites under such circumstances, Fleur Dis Lee did not scan the crowd to see how many gazes she had captured, nor did she use the moment to reward an ally with a share of the limelight or publicly snub a rival. No, instead of all that, she looked at one and one pony only: me!

Upon her face she bore a smile, a delicate, fragile glint of brilliant white almost lost in the alabaster of her elegant, narrow muzzle. What surprised me though, is that it was the sad smile of a true friend come bearing bad news, the smile of an intimate, a smile that had no place in the jaded world of Canterlot’s upper crust.

My resolve crumbled. A true friend! How many true friends do you have, Fancy?

I knew then that I could not – would not! – push this mare away. Coward! accused the stallion on the ice bucket. But I no longer cared for his opinion. She was here!

Elle

He’s just a colt like any other, Fleur! I lied to myself, and entered the restaurant.

He was immediately visible, as usual. His studied elegance – and subtle touches of humor – shone like a beacon in the sea of deadly serious fashion one-upsponyship that was Restaurant Row. To the other diners in the restaurant he was Equestria’s most debonair and gossiped-about play colt. A name to be dropped as proof of being part of the “in” crowd, sure to be followed, with a frisson of disapproval, by a comment on his dining with that most shameless of hussies: moi!

He was exactly the type of colt I had been dating since I entered my majority and was introduced to society. Both used to being the object of pursuit, we had simply ignored each other in our respective boredoms, until one night when, in a moment of clarity, the glimmer of something different in this particular stallion’s eye prompted me to make an offhoof comment about the food. It was only a few words that I can’t even remember, but as we locked gazes and exchanged knowing smiles, I grew certain that not only did he understand my feelings, he wholeheartedly shared them! We talked like old friends the entire rest of that evening, his smile never once faltering.

Our subsequent dates had been a fun mix of gleefully playing up to our images of upper-class enfants terribles when in public, and of quiet, honest talk when circumstances allowed us moments of privacy. Throughout it all, he had been undeniably good company, and an island of calm in the jungle of Canterlot’s over-competitive noble families.

Today though, he seemed uncharacteristically serious. I wondered what could have affected his normally easy-going demeanor. Still, I couldn’t help but be flattered when a very genuine smile lit his muzzle once he turned his monocled eye towards me. I felt an unexpected warmth at this greeting.

Imagine that! I thought. The relentlessly courted heiress-supermodel, swayed by the playcolt’s charms!

Speaking of Fancy’s charms, have I mentioned what a delicious accessory his monocle is? While out on our second date, he admitted to me that his vision was perfect in both eyes. I asked him why he wore the monocle and he replied: “Why, so that ponies with poor vision can see me!” I laughed to tears at the Grand Galloping Gala, usually the most boring evening of the entire year!

The memory was a very dear one. Its sweetness drew a smile from my lips as I approached our table.

The thought made me pause. Not his table, our table.

My smile faltered a moment. Was it our table? Did I want it to be our table? He’s not just a colt like any other, and you know it! I remonstrated myself. Still, had we somehow passed that threshold? Had we become... a couple?

Couple.

I feared that word. It had not been good to me, as my history of failed romances clearly attests. It had so many implications, and for me most of them were sad. I looked at him again. Couple was when the joys of discovery faded. Couple was when the weight of expectation grew to bind and chafe, as in every long-term relationship I’d ever experienced.

I felt a sour taste in my stomach. I had fooled myself before. I had even believed myself in love. But all those... dalliances had ended in tears, or anger, or worse, regret. All those special someponies driven away by one betrayal or another, the most bitter of course my own. I knew myself well, and I had no illusions that my own stormy temperament and my fear of boredom were the cause of most of these break-ups. Was a pyrrhic end all that was left to be written of our story?

The pain I experienced at the thought made me realize that he was certainly far more than just a colt like any other. Grab a hold of yourself, Fleur! I composed myself and stood before the table.

Ever the gentlecolt, he stood and held my chair as I sat down. I went through all the customary motions, trying not to let my internal turmoil show. He then resumed his place as the waiter asked me for my choice of beverage.

“Tonic water, please,” I replied.

Fancy smiled, as if this was the best order I could ever have placed. My heart skipped a beat. Goddess! How could I have gotten in so deep so fast?!

Elle et lui

“I’m so glad you could make our rendez-vous, Fleur.”

She responded with a sweet smile and a delicate shrug of alabaster withers. “How could I refuse another date with Equestria’s second most eligible bachelor!” She touched a hoof to her lips. “Although it would almost be worth it just to see Duchess Sternhoof’s reaction. Tell me, which do you think would shock her the more, my hubris in showing up and pursuing a stallion so far above my station, or my standing you up and failing to honor my obligations towards my betters?”

He laughed and leaned in over the table as if to conspire. “Knowing my aunt Sternie, her well partitioned brain would experience no difficulty in cohabiting both thoughts, along with five other impossible things at the same time, and all before breakfast!”

She smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Aunt Sternie? I didn’t know you two were so close!”

“She's merely a blood relation,” he replied, waving a nonchalant hoof, “much of it diluted by the occasional gardener or chamber maid, no doubt.”

Her own laughter rang, a sound of crystalline delight.

He tilted his head to one side and regarded her through his monocle. “How I love your laugh, my dearest Fleur.” The expression on his muzzle became far more earnest. “Would that I could hear it every day.”

Her expression abruptly sobered. “Would you?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“Yes,” he nodded. “I would.”

She carefully took a sip of her tonic, not meeting his gaze.

“I’m sorry, Fleur! I didn’t mean to become tediously serious so early in the evening.”

“No,” she said, looking back up. “Maybe it’s for the best, as I did have something important on my mind.” She leaned back, her muzzle low again, her expression unreadable. “I’ve reached a point in my life when I’ve learned how little a pony can rely on her senses and how much of what we experience is mere artifice.”

He nodded. “I think we both understand this truth far better than most of our peers, Fleur. But I should like to think discerning ponies such as you and I also see more as a result of this understanding. We see beneath fashion and convention into the hearts of ponies, do we not?” He laughed. “And given the circles which we frequent, I’ve no doubt you see beyond the monocle and have discovered the shameless high-society dilettante beneath!”

She remained serious. “As to what I’ve discovered, well, I must confess to the strangest impulse, my dear Fancy.”

He considered a moment before responding. “It's been my experience that strange impulses are often born of hidden truths. Please, do go on, Fleur.”

“I...” She looked back with a sad little smile. “I feel a need to protect you.”

“You do?” His brow furrowed. “And from what or whom would a stalwart lad such as myself need protection?”

“Why, from me of course!” she arched an eyebrow.

His expression softened. “How interesting!” He gestured to a nearby table where four aged matriarchs gazed in their direction with open disdain. “There’s no shortage of mothers out there who think me a danger to all young mares! Perhaps you’re the one who should be apprehensive.” He chuckled and looked down at his drink, but brought his gaze back up when she failed to join in the laugh.

She batted an ear. “Unlike those mothers, I have seen what lies behind the monocle, Fancy. I’ve seen who you are and what you do when you aren’t being the playcolt, when you aren’t being watched.” Her head tilted as she spoke.

“And what would that be, dear Fleur?”

The sad little smile was back. “Something I have a hard time imagining being myself: a nice pony.”

He laughed. “Now, now! Such calumnies! Why, I don’t think anypony has ever accused me of being nice! Upon reflection, I don’t think anypony in my entire family has ever been called nice.” He frowned and shook his muzzle.

She chuckled. “Still, it’s true. With these very eyes, I’ve seen you be generous with your time and your words.”

His brow furrowed. “Really? I certainly can’t recall it! Can you name even a single time I did something without it being for my own selfish pursuits?”

Fleur bit her lip as she considered. “Hmmm... how about the time you helped that designer mare from Ponyville get noticed?”

He waved a hoof. “Pish, posh! Any foal could tell Rarity has talent. Giving her a hoof up was merely the proper thing to do, nothing more.”

Fleur sighed, then grinned. “Helping a talented up-and-coming designer was proper. But forgiving her for crowning you with a bag of feathers, now that was undeniably nice!”

Fancy Pants pursed his lips. “Have you considered that perhaps I did it to learn something about you?”

Her eyes widened. “Truly? And what did you deduce from the experiment?”

“Only that Fleur Dis Lee likes it when ponies are nice.” He crossed his forelegs and leaned back in his chair, sporting a smile. “And in my reckoning, that places her most solidly amongst the nice ponies herself!”

Fleur looked down. “If only that were true.”

“But it is!” He straightened up and leaned closer over the table. “I have also enquired about the modeling agency you set up. Despite it winning many contracts, it still is barely breaking even. It would appear that you’re paying all those models you’ve hired quite a tidy sum for their talents!”

Her ears bent back. “Those mares were being paid a pittance! And nopony gave them the least credit for how much effort and skill it takes to be a model, a fact that I know far better than most!” She sniffed and looked over her muzzle defiantly. “Besides, it's not as if I need the money.”

He chuckled. “So, now that we have established we share that most lamentable of character flaws, niceness, are you still so terribly concerned about me?”

Her expression remained serious. “I am. But you’re the object of my concern, not its cause.”

Her horn glowed briefly as she straightened her already perfectly laid out cutlery. “I’ve discovered many things as I’ve climbed the social ladder. One of them is that the higher I’ve climbed, the less respect I have for the company I keep” – a quick smile of apology graced her lips, but not her eyes – “present company excepted, of course! Still, birds of a feather flock together. What does that say about me?”

His smile faded. “It says hardly anything! We both know what we seek is...” He frowned in mild dismay. “I must admit, I don’t really know what I’m seeking. Is that such a terrible thing?”

She turned her gaze away from his. “Tell that to the broken hearts I’ve left behind.” She took her napkin and carefully re-pleated it into a precise triangle. “I’ll tell you what I seek,” she said sadly. “Perfection in others when I am far from perfect myself.” Her voice took on a breathy edge, rising in both pitch and volume.

“I dispense and chase illusions all day long. How fitting that is” – she hid her face in her hooves – “when all I am is a nightmare dressed like a daydream! Sometimes, when I wake up, I’m afraid to face the mirror, because I... I sometimes hate the mare I see there! I... I’m not a good pony like you Fancy–” She was brought up short when he took her hooves into both of his. She glanced around and saw the other diners staring in their direction.

“Fleur!”

She gazed into earnest blue eyes.

“Fleur darling, please know this: I could never hate you!” he whispered. “And, what you’ve said...” He cast his eyes down and swallowed. ”I... I have an admission of my own to make.”

Her eyes widened as he carefully placed her hooves on the table and pulled back his own.

“Before your arrival this evening, I had already decided to end our relationship. And for the most callow of reasons. I feared our growing closeness, and as usual I had no thought but to seek an escape.”

She sat unmoving in her chair, tears beginning to pool in her eyes. “I knew I couldn’t hide what I really am from you for long,” she said with a sniffle. She made to rise, but he grabbed her delicate fetlock in his massive hoof, holding her in place. She settled back into her chair.

“You misunderstand! It wasn’t you I sought to escape, Fleur. Rather it was myself.” Pain darkened his countenance. “For you see, Fleur, I had given up.”

She tilted head. “But, why?”

His grip on her foreleg remained desperately tight. “I have been so lonely, for so long!” He finally raised his eyes and they locked gazes. “It’s taken me years to build these barriers I’ve set between myself and other ponies. But you” – the edges of his lips curled up ever so slightly – "were such a delightful surprise! I let my guard down. I let you grow close, and I berated myself for it. But when you came into this restaurant tonight, I... I realized that I don’t want to be alone any longer.” He gazed deeply into her eyes. “Can you forgive my cowardice, Fleur?”

Eyes wide, she stared at him, twin tracks of tears on each side of her muzzle. “You still want to be close to me, after all I have admitted to being? After the mess I’ve made of all my other relationships?”

He nodded. “These last few weeks, with you, I have been a better pony, a pony whom I would like to be. I still don’t think most other ponies would call us nice, but perhaps, just perhaps, we can continue this relationship, and try to be each other's better angel.”

She placed a hoof over his limb that still clung desperately to her other hoof. Her tears fell freely, though a brilliant smile lit her face. “No stallion has ever wooed me by saying that I wasn’t a nice mare, and then offered to help me become one. But then, no stallion has ever asked me to help him become nicer either! From the bottom of my heart, I would like that very much, Fancy.”

They clasped hooves and gazed into each other's eyes for a timeless interval. Simultaneously, they noticed the whole restaurant staring at them. They disengaged and sat back properly in their chairs.

“So shall we ditch this place and find some real food to eat?” asked Fleur. “I’m starving!”

Fancy nodded. “There’s an excellent restaurant I would like to introduce you to called Pony Joe’s. It was soundly dismissed by Zesty Gourmand as a total disaster of both decor and cuisine! Shall we give it a try?”

Fleur nodded. “Sounds heavenly!”

Fancy Pants threw a few bits onto the table, more than enough to cover two glasses of tonic several times over.

Together, they left the Gilded Spoon, its hungry ponies, and all its pretences behind.