Charmant

by Harvest Moon

Rating: everyone
Tags: Romance, Comedy, Random, Equestria Girls, Slice of Life
Length: 1495

People love Sunset Shimmer. People get crazy around Sunset. They would do anything for Sunset. Except leaving her be, of course.

There's just something about Sunset Shimmer. Some quality of her voice, of her stride perhaps. Maybe it's her radiant smile, the way sunlight gets caught in her strands of beautiful red and golden hair, the way she seems to walk about with some sort of serene grace. She speaks one word, and crowds part like the sea. People share opinions, quite heated opinion, on what's exactly Sunset's secret. People would do anything to spend time with Sunset, to buy her gifts, to compose sonnets about her, write her name in the sky, commission fireworks and name literary prizes after her.

Nobody ever takes time to wonder what I, Sunset Shimmer, think about all this.

Cover by jonfawkes, who makes some terrific Sunset drawings, go check 'em out!

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-09-27 20:05:42 UTC

Suggestion

The sky over Trottingham was a fair mixture of clear blue and the occasional white cloud, covering just enough to detach it from a nice day; it was an average sky, a normal sky. This was an important fact. The people on the streets were talking to each other, maybe even thinking of each other, and they brought themselves about with little care in their eyes, little care about the fact that I was there. It was a normal street, filled with normal people on any normal day.

I tried to show it as little as I could, but I was giddy, my heart beating onto my chest as a high-speed anvil, drawing happy golden sparks. In a bold move, I even took off my helmet, having left my motorcycle a few blocks behind, and walked without a care in the world, with people not even noticing me. Yes! It took the better part of three hours to drive from Canterlot to here just to get some stupid groceries, but for once, for once, I would be able to pay for them my way!

I never felt so happy and proud of myself as when I walked into the bakery, the strong, warm scent of bread filling my nostrils with promises of a hearty snack on my way home. There was even a line! I haven't been in a line for, well, I don't know exactly, months! I put myself in the queue, enjoying this little, normal fact of life with heated passion. I was in a queue! Like any other normal person. Nobody here knew anything about me, not in Trottingham. Even news about a raging she-demon destroying a school, and all the other craziness involved came to Trottingham as a boring echo of the world that was, well, not Trottingham, so it wasn't important. Three people now in the queue. I took a step towards the counter, feeling the smile splitting my face; I produced a green bill from my purse. I was going to pay for this, I was going to pay for this. I was going to pay for bread, and there was little these people could do to stop me. My fists, crumbling the bill, shook with anticipation. Two people in the queue. Any moment now. Any moment.

Feeling confident, I even looked around the store; shelves filled with bakery products, and even a few pastries! They couldn't be as good as Pinkie's but maybe I could buy a few of them? Biting my lips in excitement, I opened my black wallet and counted the money inside. Cotton filled my mind. I wasn't sure whether I could afford something. The anxiety of having to make a choice felt like sweet syrup stilling from my chest. I had to make a choice, either bread or pastries. This was wonderful, this was...

"Who may I serve?"

I blinked, and found myself in front of the counter. I took a confident step forward. This was going to be so exciting! So exciting that it might even feel normal!

"Me," I said, holding up my hand with the bill, "I have money, I came to a bakery and I came to buy loafs!"

My heartfelt declaration fell on dead ears. The girl at the counter looked at me with a strained smile. I might not even be the oddest customer this month, but I was sure I have placed at least third.

"Would you like any particular kind? We have rice flour and-"

I tuned her out, just bobbing my head up and down as she explained all the different kinds of bread in the world and how each of them would improve my day and my diet. I forgot about most of what she said, being just so giddy by the fact that she was treating me just like any other unexperienced, slightly-weird, evidently foreign schoolgirl. This was fantastic! The girl finished by pointing out at a leaf fashioned like a braid. Hey, I liked this one.

"I'll take that one, please."

"Good choice! That would be 1.99, please."

I put the crumpled bill on the counter with a final, satisfied gesture. Then I smoothed out the paper, trying to give it a more professional look. This was an important moment after all. The girl put my broad loaf – fashioned like a braid! This was important! – inside a paper bag, and then she smiled again and passed me the bread over the counter like she would do to any other, normal, usual, customer. I lifted my arms to receive the boon. This had been fantastic.

"Thank you and have a nice d-" Our eyes met. She had brown ones, nicely highlighted by a tasteful use of mascara. Not as skilled as, say, Rarity, but it looked nice. And then I saw a spark dawning in those eyes. The girl froze, arms still in the air, my bread loaf, my very precious braid-shaped bread loaf still held in her arms. The girl blinked, then a blush painted her cheeks, and a different kind of smile, definitely not the kind of smile she would use with foreign, slightly-weird, customers dawned on her lips. The kind of smile I rode here from Canterlot to escape. No. No, please no.

"You know what," she said, her voice dropping a few octaves, turning into a sweet whisper, "this one's on the house." She took a pen and wrote something on my bill. No, no, please not this again. Take the damn bill!

"This is yours," she said with a wink, putting the bill into the paper bag with the bread. That was unsanitary, and I didn't need to read the characters on the paper to know she wrote her number. It always started like this. I gulped, heart feeling like lead. I could still save this. I had to save this.

"No, please," I said as I rummaged through the bag to retrieve my bill. There it was. Numbers on it, and even a small heart at the end. Damn. "Please take my bill. I came here all the way from Canterlot to but this!" It took me a half second to understand why that had been a poor choice of words. The spark in the girl's eyes flared, and she leaned on the counter, playing with the first button of her working blouse.

"Why, you must be tired. May I invite you for-"

No. I took a step back, holding onto my braid-shaped loaf like a lifeline.

"Nonono, thank you very much, but no. I-"

"Miss, you are blocking the line."

I turned to see an elderly woman, crouched over her cane, looking at me through glasses as thick as they were wide.

"I'm sorry, I was just leaving."

"Oh, it's no matter," the old woman said with a casual smile and a roll of her eyes, "I was just thinking that if there's any problem, I would be more than happy to help you. Is there anything I can do for you?" The woman leaned forward, a spark of hope in her eyes. "Anything at all?"

No. No. I took a few more steps backwards, until the treacherous shelves stopped me. I only came here to do a normal thing! Buy some dumb bread! Not this again!

"I can buy you more bread, if you wish, or-"

She was stopped by the girl at the counter, bashing her hands on top of it.

"Hands off, nanny! I saw her first!"

I took a tentative step towards the exit.

"Bah, you don't know the first thing about servicing a woman like that, young lady! Isn't that true, dear?"

I lost the rest of the conversation. I ran through the door and into the welcoming air outside. I head shouts behind me, but I just ran. I ran and ran, losing myself through roads I didn't know, brushing against people. I didn't even turn to excuse myself. I was infectious. I was the problem here. Prickling behind my eyes, I at last stopped only when every breath seemed to burn through my lungs, and I found myself at junction, still holding onto my braid-shaped bread. I looked around. Lost. There was a coffee bar at a nearby corner, though. I could still look for a way back with my cellphone, but heavens forbid were I to turn it on. How many messages was I supposed to find? But I really needed to get back home. I couldn't risk making Trottingham into another Canterlot. With a wince, I turned my phone on.

Nothing.

With a frown, I hit the ON button again. Dead. That's my punishment for listening to all that online music on the highway. I didn't even bring with me my charger, so I was stranded here. The coffee shop at the corner called me. I was bound to find someone inside able to help.

But I had to make some preparations first.