Junior Gala: The golden girlsby The FrankChaptersMareBoldThe MomentCarrot dogsBoring? (ReVamp) - LyraBonShe's nice. I am nice. - BonBon.The reviewThere's no such thing as a free lunchMareSeptember. Alsesta Grandeur lived in the part of Canterlot known as “Major’s Folly”. It was a dull two½-roomer on the fifth floor of a very old building. As she entered, Anton, her trusty Doberman raised his head and shook his tail. But he know mother, nothing more affectionate than that, and there would be a promenade later and perhaps one or two biscuits. Alsesta took of her coat, gave Anton a tap on his head, and walked out to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Black. Very black. Ponies with pets often treated them as good friends and told them about their days, and Alsesta was no exception. Anytime something special or out of the ordinary happens, she told him. It was, however, very rare that such things happened. That restaurant down at Palace & Mane being a disaster? Just what you could expect. No hooves. That her boss was an ass, literally? Same as last week. That her favourite Bistro made an excellent Croque Madame? As if they dared to do anything else. So, nothing special, nothing to mention to him. She took a sip of her coffee and frowned. And not only from the coffee. There had been one thing… The boss wanted to release a collection of her best (worst) reviews and insisted on there being a cover picture. And it was not like they could just take a camera there and just take a picture, no no. They had to hire “the best”. Alsesta snorted. The best… yeah, and you could eat hay fries. Photo Finish… She knew of her, of course. It was impossible not to. Alsesta made a great affair not caring about celebrities, and this was no exception. She put down her cup and thought back on her day. “I, Photo Finish, will make this bland pony into a superstar!” “Get your hands off me. Five pictures. Nothing more. And GET THE HAY OFF with that make-up!” ... “Pose! Pose! Pose! Ah, in ze name of ze mutterland, POSE!” “I am Alsesta Grandeur. I do not pose. And you only have one picture left.” … She looked down into her cup. Then at anton. Then she shook her head. No. Nothing. Nothing worth mentioning what so ever. She took the leash and whistled. “Anton! Promenade!” November It had been weeks since a review by Alsesta Grandeur had reached the papers. And why? Because she was incapable of pursuing her craft, that was why! At every restaurant, every café, every Bistro that she deemed to be worthy of her grading eye… there she was. That damn mare! And always with company. Usually a small herd of young, loud and eye-picking ponies. They always burst in while she was sitting there, evaluating. Always order the most expensive and drinking the most. And always toasting to her. It was impossible to get anything done under those circumstances. Once or twice she toyed with the idea that that mare had come for her. As if she was specifically there for her sake. To make sure that she thoroughly destroyed her ability to work. But she shot that idea away. She was too much of a shallow noble bastard to even consider such an elaborate plan. It was probably only by mistake that she ruined her life. She had to admit, at times it had been not completely unpleasant. It was interesting to se how well the staff worked under press. Hey, what was this? An invitation? From… Hoity Toity? To a party? ‘By the recommendation of Photo Finish.’ Very strange. Better not think about it. December Canterlot during winter was awful. But at least Photo had stopped stalking her. Now she could work again without the nuicance of her showing up. Yep. Exactly like she wanted it. But Canterlot was still awful. It had been slightly better when Photo Finish and her posse had been there as a diversion. But only slightly. January This was the third invitation in a month. December had been three, and she expected two more. And February looked like it would be the same. She had gone once, on the 17th of December. It had been disturbing, to say the least. The drinks were to loaded, no taste, only alcohol. The ponies invited had been uninteresting and boring. And that Photo Finish...To loud. She could even be heard over the band. The band. Yeah, no. They had no style. Two hooves, barely. Well, they weren't beyond all hope. That singer... Now there was some potential… She did sing them old Dino evergreens not that bad. It seemed like she and her band were playing tonight as well. What was her name... Oh, yes. Vixen Grin. She even bought the album. "Vixen sings the Frat Pack." She rose, walked over to her stereo and put it on. Soon, the smooth alto could be heard, with exaclty right sauciness singing "Five minutes more." For some time, she just stood there and listened. Photo apparently wanted her there, since almost every invitiation ended with ‘By the recommendation of Photo Finish.’ But then there was the other ponies. The stuck up bastards her brother just LOOOVED to spend time with. They all hated her, and she hated them. She decided to go just to spite them. Photo... She was going to be there. That was bearable. Perhaps she would agree to a dance? One dance, at least. Just to see if she still knew the steps. Yes. February The Neigh Yorker. They had called her. The Neigh Yorker, perhaps one of the largest paper in Equestria had called her. And asked her to come and write for them. She could write her own paycheck, ask for a penthouse, have her own large office, anything. And today then contract had arrived. It was a dream contract, her lawyer had informed her. She could ask for exactly anything (Within the normal limitations of magic and economics of course.). And she sat there on her bed, ready to tear it in part. Alsesta Grandeur was not bought by anypony, and no bits could ever be enough. THEY shouldn't call for her, SHE was the one to inform them that she would come and work for them. And why would she go to Manehattan anyway? The city that was a mish-mash of absolutely everything and swallowed down with to much soda! Canterlot had it’s fine mix of Phrench cuisine and classic Equestrian cooking. Manehattan… even had Saddle-Arabian… She was no speciest, but Saddle-arabian cuisine was… like a dry day in the desert with oil to drink. And there were other foul things, like… Pizza. Why would she go there? Somewhere inside her, she heard a voice. You’re being childish. You hate Canterlot. You hate those snobby nobles. You want new. You want places that hasn’t learned to fear your pen. Here is your chance! She didn’t let go of the paper. She was in control. Never let the feelings decide. She had a good life here. She knew what she had, and what to expect. She didn’t want ‘New’. She had been to Manehattan once. Her brothers wedding. That was enough. And yet, she didn’t tore the paper apart. SHE lives there. Photo, the mare who has made you go to parties for the last three weeks, lives there. The one you always dance the last dance with. And sometimes the last but one. And one time even the last but three... She frowned. Another great reason for her NOT to go. And besides, where would she find an apartment? That she LIKED. ...On the other hand, Brother had moved to Manehattan some years ago…It could be nice to see him more often. And Dandy would know what kind of apartment she wanted. Heck, he even married a builder. She could trust him. And that husband of his… He was bearable. Where did they live? Lower east side or something like that. Not to close to Dandy, say within a 20-minutes walk. Yes. He could probably get her something… And then there was Le Petit Grandeur, her own little oasis in the terrible Manehattan food district. The bistro could use some hands-on direction from their owner. It should probably expand. It DESERVED to expand. Yes, them Manhattanites would learn what GOOD food was. She lowered the contract and produced her pen. Besides, she needed to know how the staff in Manehatten reacted to Photo Finish. Yes. March Anton lay in his usual place. Mistress had been sleeping in today again. It was a hard life, going to parties two times a week, then have a few drinks, dance for a while and then walk home. Wherever she was, always walk home. That took it's tall. And the drinks didn't help. Or the dancing. Or that mare who persisted in accompaning her home. Once the mistress had spent one hour trying to lead her astray. It failed, and that day, she slept til noon. Anton knew all this, becuase mistress told him everything. Anton loved his mistress. Sure, she didn't walk with him as often as before, she was tired. But she looked tired in a good way. Like Anton did, when he had been chasing a particularly tasty rabbit. Apparently, the mistress had found a rabbit to hunt. Or at least, some rabbit that wanted the mistress to hunt her. Those were the best rabbits. Anton yawned, and fell asleep again. It would not be a promenade today either. He remember mistress being grumpy about 'having to go to another bloody party and not have anything to wear except for some glove and a bow-tie.'. Yep. She had found her rabbit alright. April THAT was some experience. She had ponies hitting on her a couple of times, sure. But that was in her youth when colts who only thought with their dicks could be found everywhere. But a full grown mare, acting like a high-school filly? Sure, that dress… She had to admit it was… It had some qualities. And that place could produce edible food. And that band...They had some flaws, but that singer knew her crooning. Alsesta herself had been wearing gloves. Just for etiquette, nothing else. And then, at her apartment… Alsesta shook it off. She was nothing like that mare. Nothing. And she wanted nothing to do with her. Likely story. So why did you agree to come? Why did you dance with her? Why did you follow her home? She stopped in the street. Raised her hands to the sky and screamed in frustration. “YES YES YES I KNOW! I AM WEAK! I AM She… I… I want… but…” She lowered her hands, and sank down on her knees. Her armour was once again broken. And she had promised herself that nopony would ever break it again. She was a failure. But she slowly raised her head again, with a new fire in her eyes. “No.” She said to nopony in particular. Because this time...was different. The armour had been broken with something else than strokes and insults. And the mare doing it… She was...peculiar. Perhaps she could... “Yes.” She lifted her head. “Yes, I can. But not like that.” She rose to her hooves. “I am a warrior. No daddy’s girl. I am in control. Decorum. Style. The proper way. Not like that. Alsesta Grandeur doesn’t do things that way. If she want’s me, she will have to know that.” She turned her head around, up to that apartment she had left minutes earlier. Then she turned around. “I will come back tomorrow. Yes. Tomorrow. Not tonight. I don’t want her to believe anything. But tomorrow… I wonder if she drinks coffee. Perhaps she has no coffee at all? I’d better buy some in case of…” She began to walk home with brisk steps. She had reached a conclusion. She was satisfied. “We start with coffee. And we will do this MY way. Alsesta Grandeur is not somepony’s toy.” July “Lunch with Photo.” “Dinner with Photo” “Coffee with Photo” “Trying to hide from Photo”, crossed out and replaced with “Wine with Photo”. She could even add “Copulated with Photo” if she wanted, but she was not the kind of mare who wrote that down. She bought a new bottle of Whiskey for every time instead. And with today she had five bottles. Alsesta's Calendar was getting filled with those dates more and more… At least four times a week. She even had brought her along on one of her official visits once. She of course praised food that was worth barely 2.4 hooves. Like...Asparagus? REALLY? She shivered. “I am not in love or anything like that…” She paused, and looked at Anton, lying sleepily in his casket. “Anton, what are you looking at? Don’t judge me!” The doberman raised his brows lazily. “Oh, stop it. I saw you leering at that poodle yesterday. You swede. And no, I do not know ‘what poodles are like’! That’s not even a thing. Chauvinist.” Anton only raised his head and looked at her. She sighed. “But this isn’t really about the poodle, is it?” Anton still looked at her. “Alright… I can’t lie to you I guess.” She paused, and pointed a finger at him. “But don’t expect me to pour my heart out to you like a spineless scallop! I’m confused, not dying!” She looked at the clock on her table. “And I’m supposed to meet her in twenty minutes. Look what you made me do! Bad dog! No biscuits for you!” And she was out. Anton yawned. He knew he would get his biscuits later. August Alsesta Grandeur lived in the part of Manehattan known as “Sandwedge Village”. It was a dull two-roomer on the third floor of a rather old building. As she entered, Anton, her trusty Doberman raised his head and shook his tail. But he know mother, nothing more affectionate than that, and there would be a promenade later and perhaps one or two biscuits. Alsesta took of her coat, gave Anton a tap on his head, and walked out to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Black. Very black. Ponies with pets often treated them as good friends and told them about their days, and Alsesta was no exception. Anytime something special or out of the ordinary happens, she told him. It was, however, very rare that such things happened. That restaurant down at 37th & 8th being a disaster? Just what you could expect. No hooves. That her new boss was an ass, literally? Same as last week. That her favourite Bistro made an excellent Croque Monsieur? As if they dared to do anything else. So, nothing special, nothing to mention to him. She took a sip of her coffee and frowned. And not only from the coffee. There was Photo, though… Today was almost one year since she first met her. Over that year, things had changed most dramatically. And no matter how much she wanted to deny it, it was time to take a new step in her life. She had responsibilities, and it was better to start early, so he could get used to it. She looked at Anton and opened her mouth. “Anton… I’ve met somepony…” BoldBold The kettle whistled the same moment I was done preparing the strainer. In the cup I had poured honey, and a whisper of brandy. Some prefer to add it after the water, but I prefer the taste to be there from the beginning. I poured the water in and was instantly rewarded with a breeze of perfection. To be honest, I have never been that much of a tea snob, but I know how I like my tea, and at least when I prepare it myself I could as well afford to have it exactly as I want it. I began to leave the kitchen, as I realized that I almost forgot the most important thing! I turned back, took another cup from the locker, and from the coffee maker I poured an almost pitch-black fluid right into it. Just the way she wants it. Not the way she likes it, though, but I’m not arguing with her about that. I took the two cups and walked to the living room. She sat at her usual table, pen in hand, writing in her notebook. I placed the coffee next to her and gave her a kiss on her forehead. “Coffee, mein engel.” She looked up and stared at me. Then at the coffee. Then at me again. Then she slowly put down the pen and took a zip. A shadow of a bitter frown played on her face but she was back to her normal self soon enough. “Thanks… Fransie. But do you mind? I’m working.” “But of course, engelchen. Do not let me dizturb jo." I stepped away from her and sat down on the sofa, sipping at my tea, and feeling contented with the world. My Tausendschön had taken her usual spot next to me. She was not purring, for a cat she was rather unorthodox like that, but I enjoyed her company nevertheless. My engelchen was sitting right opposite to me, so that I could admire her as much as I wanted. She threw me the occasional irritated glance, but I have known her long enough to know that it is only a mask she’s wearing. I took off my glasses. Ah, at times like this, I wish I had two eyes. More to look at her with. Some of the chefs that has been on the receiving end of her more poisonous reviews are convinced that she is a vampire that catch fire during daylight, always wears a wicked grin as she writes her ‘epitaphs’, and uses the blood of poor sous chefs as ink. Nothing would be further from the truth. She do use a really expensive pen, but that is all. As I watched her, she looked the same as always when she worked. There was no wicked grin playing on her face, no satisfied smile as she wrote another arrow dripping with acid. Her face showed no emotion, save for the occasional time when she looked straight ahead at nothing, searching for an even more precise enunciation. To her, it has never been about “letting anypony have it”. To her, food is art, and the chef is an artist touched by a gift and Celestia have mercy on the poor soul that not use this gift to the nine. Her face was, as always, the perfect image of control. Bonchen once asked me ‘How in the name of Megan I found out that SHE [Alsesta, that is] was gay’. I told my dear filly that when you have been in the fashion business as long as I have, you develop a gaydar whether you like it or not. I took another sip, sighed and began reminiscing back to that first time… Not that we met, because that was too long ago. No, the first time that I knew. I was together with… oh, what was her name? Fleur de Lis’s mentor… Ah whatever. Why did I even date such a freemartin? Sure, dem legs… And that brash attitude combined with no talent and too much talking. Nein, danke. And she was a corpse in the sack too. Surprised, I noticed that my tea had gone cold. I shrugged my shoulder, I could always make more. I looked at mein engelchen again. She took another sip of coffee and she had precisely that face that I remember from that day. I don’t remember the reason, but I know I was there to take her portrait. Oh, mein engelchen... She was so very reluctant. The worst model ever. In part it was because it was me, but mostly because she didn’t like her picture to be taken. She was the hardest object I ever worked with. She didn’t cooperate at all, no poses, nothing! She just stood there. Wearing that face. The face of perfect self control, a mare in total control of herself and a mare that didn’t move an inch without it being her utter and sole will to do so. I was ashamed to admit it, but I was spoiled. Everypony lay down at my feet, I, the mighty Photo Finish! Bow to me, peasants! But she… she treated me like I had been a heap of manure or worse. She was in control, I was only an obstacle in her way. It turned me on furiously. I needed that mare, I wanted that mare, I HAD TO HAVE HER! That day I made a wow that I wouldn’t rest, I wouldn’t work, I dedicated my whole life… not to win her heart, no. To break that control. To completely dominate her. To make her want me so much that she would make herself ridiculous to the whole world! To make her mine… and then keep her on a leash, never to be sure. “Fransie?” For anypony else, it might have been a problem, but for somepony like me, with my contacts? It was easy as sachertorte. At any restaurant that she would frequent, there I was. At every little bistro, café or bar, she would see me. I made myself a bigger and bigger part of her life. With my posse, yes, but how would I ever make an impact on her if I didn't show her what a Queen I was! Offering her drinks, winking, wearing the most distinguished toilets. And she treated me like a mosquito. “Fransie…” Not that I gave up! Instead, I began to use my more ‘distinguished’ contacts to invite her to their parties. Ah, the old fags, how they would stare at me, and ask with completely open content why in Tartaros I wanted them to invite HER. They compelled, but it took its toll. Some time, ‘suck up to someone’ is literal. I looked down at my teacup again, reminiscing on how much of a fool I was. Ah, I don’t want to remember all the embarrassing details. Because she came to the parties, made exactly sure that she didn't enjoy herself, and left. And I was there, forcing her into the centre of the party, making sure she got the message. “Come with me, and I will take you away from here. But you have to do exactly as I say.” “Fransbrötchen…” But she never gave in. She made an affair of always walking home. And always a reply to my attempts, cold, cynical… and wunderbar. ‘Ah, siz band is really swinging! And zat horn-section…’ ‘You know, the definition of a gentlemare is somepony who knows how to play the trumpet but chooses not too.’ … ‘Ah, I juzt love to do ze tango!’ ‘Then I suggest you wait for one. This is a foxtrot.’ … “Just think, mein liebchen… jo could have been anywhere in Equestria tonight, and yet jo are here with me, dancing…” “Yes..it occurs that any other venue, with another band would have been preferable.” … ‘Jo know what would make this night perfect? Jo and me, alone, some wine, a sofa…’ ‘Change the wine to coffee, the sofa to my bed and you and me to just me and I would agree, yes.” I was my brash, loud self, and she turned me away...but every time, I had made a slightly bigger hole in the stone wall she put around herself. Slowly, slowly, I got closer to her. Because when fall came, even she admitted it was nice to take a limo when it was raining. And soon I finally had her there, talking. Three weeks, and seven rides later I did it. I had the whole evening arranged. I wore that red glittery dress with the long slitz and gloves. I even wore my matching eyepatch. I had the place booked to only us and a few selected guest (so she wouldn't be suspicious.), I even managed to hire Vixen Grin and the Foalumbus Foxfire - again. We might have had a bit of a fallout some weeks before when... I accidently beat her up... Anyway! The night was perfect. I wearing my killer dress, she in her usual white shirt and black pants... But she did wear a bow tie and gloves for me. I knew this was the night! I brought her to my place, presented myself to her, promising a night of love and bliss. “Are you even aware that I am in this room?” And she said “no”. Even at that time, when she was 99% mein, she had control. And I realized it finally. I was the fool. I was the one who was obsessed and made a fool of myself. That night, when she left me, I cried. Always in control, always. And there I was, facing the irony of my plan backfiring with a vengeance. I was completely in love, I had made a complete ass of myself and my love was not an inch closer. The leash was around my neck, only for her to take it and I would jump for her. But she didn’t pick it up. She didn’t even look at it…. But the next day she came back, with a package of coffee. ‘If you really do want something from me, then for Celestia's sake, get the right coffee.’ I had no reply to that. 'You DO drink coffe, don't you?" I sniffled, I'm not sure I even answered, but I must have said something as she nodded. 'Good. Now we're getting somewhere. Do you have a coffee maker?" 'Ja', I managed to stutter out. 'Don't cry. ...Milk or sugar? You look like that kind of pony.' 'Ok. And milk, bitte.' That was when I realized that…. “HEY! IDIOT!” I shook my head, being returned to the present. “What is it, engelchen?” She looked at me and frowned which I knew hid the smile she really wanted to show. “You have been staring at the wall for more than twenty minutes. I know that look. It either means you're hungry or you're horny.” I smiled. Ah yes, the beautiful, beautiful irony. That she has no idea how much in control she is. That it is she that steers this relationship and that I long for her embrace every day, desperately wanting more, while she is convinced that SHE is the one who made the ‘mistake of being in love’... “Well, liebchen… I was only thinking about how much Ich lieb dich, aber… zat was two very good suggestions… Ah, decisions, decisions… I zink I will seduce jo first, then let jo take me out.” She stared at me, and rolled her eyes. “You are aware that I need to have this done by tomorrow? Don’t expect me to dress up as Poland and let you invade me!” I smiled at her, and smirked. One day, perhaps she will understand and take the complete control. ...But until then, as it’s all a game of wits or innuendos… I am the champion. I rose from the sofa and walked over to her. I put my arms around her and began to stroke her chest. “No, be Prussian for me. I prefer to take jo by force.” “Oh, shut up,” she ejaculated. But she didn't lift one hand to stop me when I began to unbutton her shirt. Author's Note Inspiration More inspiration Vixen Grin and her Band. The MomentThat moment when everything turned. The Neigh Yorker was one of the largest and most prominent papers in Manehattan, and to a level even in Equestria as a whole. It's editorial office and HQ was placed in a skyscraper at the corner of 9th and 36th, which it shared with a marketing firm, a pizza place and a factory for prostheses. The HQ included the top fifteen floors, starting at seventeen with the reception and ended on thirtytwo with the gym and their very own Thin & Expensive Coffee shop. And on the 27th floor, there was a small office with the name "Alsesta Grandeur" on the door. It wasn’t much to the world, and yet, this was the publication’s food department. Alsesta Grandeur ran her four pages mostly by herself, only with the assistance of a photographer from time to time. In here, she created magic using only a pen and a typewriter. The room was, not surprisingly, sparsely furnished. A desk with the mentioned typewriter, a surprisingly comfortable chair, a waste paper bin and a coffee machine was the whole (if you didn’t count the food bowls on the floor for the large Doberman that usually filled up the room). Alsesta did most of her work at home or on location, but two days of the week she spent here, transcribing her articles or drinking pitch black coffee and looking out over her town. Especially on rainy days. Journalism was a tough business. But she was a tough mare. But that didn’t mean she spent all her time in her room, no. Two days of the week was enough. It was not like they owned her or anything. Today was a full working day, and the smattering from the typewriter filled the room. She had been slacking of some lately due to the antics of a mare who apparently had decided that she wanted to be a part of her life. Four days ago they woke up together in the same bed, and because of that, Alsesta was now spending her third day in a row at her office. She wasn’t avoiding her or anything, it was just… Work. yes. And she had three reviews and two articles to do. She could of course do them next week… But Alsesta Grandeur was not tardy! She had one reason, and one reason only to stay at Fransbrötchens place. That hard mattress of hers had done wonders to her back. Yes. The other things that happened were just a coincidence. Perhaps she should go over to see her on Friday. Or Saturday. Or Sunday. Not to get her hopes up or that she was having some urges, just for the chance to sleep better. Yes. She was halfway through the second review when there was a knock on the door and her editor-in-chief entered the room without waiting for permission. Despite mostly handling herself, Alsesta was technically a part of the staff for lifestyle and housekeeping, and her boss was a mare named Stew What, who didn't know smack about food. And therefore, Alsesta despised her, naturally. "Zesty! Great! Just the mare I was looking for!" "Don't. call. me. Zesty. And, yes, here I am. Now that you found me, please leave." "Zesty, Zesty, Zesty! My mare Zesty! You’re full of surprises! It’s just like you, to not say a word and surprise us just like that! I tell you, the directors are over the top about this! I tell you, there will be a fat bonus waiting for you this month. Four numbers." Alsesta stared at her. "Bonus? For what? ...Did my warning against visiting "The Prancing Windigo" save that many lives from dead tastebuds?" Stew laughed her boasting stupid laugh. "Ha! You know, Zesty, you can be really funny when you put your mind to it. Come on, don’t be modest! You know!” “I can’t say I do, no.” “Alright, alright, let’s ‘pretend’, shall we. Typically Zesty. Well, I’ll say it straight, you saved the day! Or rather, the weekend. Thanks to you, our weekend special will sell like salt stones in June! " Alsesta looked sceptical. "What have I done?" Stew slapped her on her shoulder, rather hard. "Come on now, Zesty! She told us that all about how you persuaded her to do it! To be honest, I almost fell out of my chair when she said your name. How do YOU know HER?" Alsesta stared at her boss with empty eyes. She had absolutely no idea whatsoever what she was talking about. And who was 'Her'...? Her. Of course. Then everything fell into place. There was only three mares she knew of with enough reputation to be referred to simply as "Her”. One was a famous up and coming model. One was a princess... And the third one was the singular reason she had spent three days at the office instead of her apartment. "Holy Saint Megan… Please don’t tell me it is Fra...Photo Finish?" "Mares and Gentlecolts, we have a winner! Do you have any idea how big this is? Photo Finish giving US an exclusive set of pictures? This is a sensation! Clothes by Suri Polomare and modelled by our own star reporters! She will call it 'front page cover extraordinaire'. This is better than our Hearts and Hooves special Q&A with Princess Cadence! Well, gotta run! Can't let her wait! Or ‘She goes!’ She really is something else. Whatever your connection is, be sure to use it again and you might even get a secretary!" And she was gone. Like she would need a secretary. So, Franzbrötchen was in the building now? ...If she worked hard, she would get one article done and then she could take a cart and be gone in half an hour. But somewhere inside her was this nagging wish to look at her. A bit at least. And so, Alsesta found herself in the elevator on its way to the 30th floor where the newsroom was. It was the place in the building with the largest windows and the whole Manehattan skyline behind it. No guess there on where the shoot would take place. She was busy, but five minutes she could afford, just looking. As she left the elevator, she almost walked straight into the shot, and she quickly took cover. Three of her colleagues, two mares and one stallions walked up and down in... clothes. Alsesta didn't care schmuck about clothes, but she had to admit that it didn't look to bad. There was a few curious watchers standing there, including a few of the boardponies. Also, one of the mares was the magazines star-reporter, Say-More Horsh. Alsesta had to admit it was impressive. But there was no doubt about who was the center piece in this business. All attention in the room was sucked into the small mare with the sunglasses and black skirt, surrounded by her assistants and with her camera around her neck. She was dominating the situation with an ease captains of the royal guard could only dream about. Alsesta crouched down behind her hiding place (only now she noticed it was a hibiscus), peeked through the leaves and looked at her. Brash and loud as she always was in private, there was a difference between Fransbrötchen and Photo Finish. Fransie was just loud, Photo barked. "More make up! Too much! Not enough! Too much! Enough! And pose! And pose! Ah yes, I, Photo Finish will create… ze magicks here in zis very room! NEIN! Lower ze arm! No, ze other arm! No ze other arm! Yes! Yes! Yes! NEIN! Zis is not some kind of fashion show! Hold zat position! Zis is ze life here! Ze action! Ze drama! Ze intrigues! Ze passion! YES! Like zat! NEIN! BEWEGEN SIE NICHT! JA! JA! JA! ENOUGH! Where is my coffee? More milk! ENOUGH! NEXT!" Alsesta turned around and left. She had seen enough. "Good thing she keeps that side away from home," she muttered to herself. There was nothing likable in that barking and demanding attitude. Nothing at all. Nothing that made her cheeks blush. No. Nope. And that dress she wore… that provoking combination of black, white and pink, and that really slim skirt, with only a small hole for her tail... combined with some really edgy stockings… Coffee. She needed coffee. Now. Back into the safe and quietness of her office she poured another cup of coffee and sat down. She could still escape. There was the possibility that she didn’t know where she worked… Oh, stop being stupid! Of course she know where I work! Why else would she be here. And arrange a photo session! Just to show off… Stupid mare. Automatically her fingers began to move over the typewriter, only waiting for the inevitable. And after 45 minutes, it came. There was another knock on the door, and again she didn’t wait for permission to enter. Alsesta frowned. "What is it now, Stew..." But of course it wasn't Stew. "Hallo liebchen... Such a nice office jo have!" Alsesta stared at the flamboyant image in the doorway. She wore exactly the same clothes, only the sunglasses were off. She swallowed and managed to answer pretty clear. "Fransie? What are you doing here?" "Ah, why do jo ask? I saw jo before when jo tried to be discreet..." She put a hand on Alsesta’s neck and kissed her forehead. “Jo know why…” Alsesta blushed. "Yes, well... I meant here, now?" "It has been some days, liebchen. I missed jo. I wanted to see jo.” “You could have called.” “Jo haven’t given me jor number. But I knew where jo worked so… here I went.” “Yes, with all your entourage. You could have just come here, you know?” Fransbrötchen placed her hand on her chest in an indignant way. “And let the whole world know that PHOTO FINISH was here only to see ze great Alsesta Grandeur? The scandal! And jo wouldn’t like it…” “Beg your pardon?” “SO! I decided to come here, big style. Zis way no pony would guess that I’m here to see jo…” “You said that I persuaded you to come here!” “And jo did! By not responding to me, jo made me come to jo! What else could I do?” Alesta raised a finger, but found herself without words that descirbed what she felt, and let the hand fall down. “No, I wanted to make an impression! And I wanted... jo." Quick as a weasel she had one hand inside of Alsesta’s shirt and began to unbutton it. She swung her leg over Alsesta and straddled her before she had the chance to react but now she caught Fransie’s hand. "What are you... stop!" "Liebchen... Jo didn’t mind when I touched jo last Saturday...or ze week before… and zat time on ze couch…” Alsesta’s mind had a fight with a completely different part of her body regarding the response. In the end it was a draw and her answer was "Well... no, but... this is my office! You can’t..." "So? Nopony tells Photo finish what to do and not… " "Please, Fransie… I'm not... wearing a bra..." It was true. She had skipped that part of her outfit this morning, knowing she would be indoors the whole day. And she hoped there was some normal decency in Fransbrötchen. Fransbrötchen smiled. There was evil behind that smile, Alsesta was sure about it. "Well, that's good." She leaned forward and whispered, "Because I am not wearing any panties..." She took Alsesta’s free hand and led it in under her dress and between her legs. It was warm and moist. "Fransie... you..." She leaned even closer. "I want Jo, engelchen. I need jo. Please, love me. Love me now." Alsesta stammered. "But... but... this is an office! I... I have nothing to…” "Wrong, mein liebchen. Jo are here. And jor fingers are exactly where zey should be. Just don't move them. I will do ze rest..." … Fransbrötchen left Alsesta 15 minutes later. She sat completely still in her chair, just staring, with one hand down her pants. She kept that exact position even three hours later when the cleaner passed. First she shouted at him. Then she went to the bathroom to wash her hands. Then she got herself another cup of coffee. With lots of milk and sugar this time. Screw decorum! She made her decision, she was going to give it. Might as well do it completely. She walked over to the next office, where she lifted the receiver and rang a certain number. “Hello, Fransbrötchen… It’s me… My number is 487634 and… there is this new Neighapolitan place down at 23rd… I was going to test it tonight and… the table is for two… it would be a waste to not… and the Paper is paying… what? No, it would just be convenient… But... But… Yes, but...“ She looked at the wall in silence, and then, almost whispering she said: “Fransbrötchen… would you like to dine with me tonight?” Author's Note A sexier version of this chapter can be found here. Carrot dogsShe’s heavy. And her hand is cold. How can it be cold? The sun is shining, I observed the thermometer showing 82 degrees. How can her hand be cold? I will place my hand on hers. Only because it is bad if she catches a cold. Yes. The grass is itching. I don’t like grass. Civilized ponies doesn’t eat grass. Except for Foie gras. Ha. I can make a joke. A good, clean, witty joke. So whatever that dimwit mare down at that bistro in NoHo said, I can make a joke. Civilized ponies don’t lie on grass either. Weren’t we lying on a blanket? That’s what I thought. So, where does this itchy grass come from? Did it blow here with the wind? Did some ants carry it here? Why am I even thinking this? Because the grass itches. Her hand is warmer. Good. I can remove it now. If I want to. Anytime. She’s provided for. I have done only what a decent pony would. Let’s just keep it there for a while anyway. It’s not that I have to. But I have no place where my hand is needed more. So I’ll leave it there. Just for now. She might get cold hands again. Stressed ponies gets cold hands. Perhaps I should make sure she isn’t stressed. Just so she doesn’t get cold hands again. Her mane is lean. If I stroke it slowly she will probably not get stressed. And then she won’t get cold hands, and then I can safely remove my hand. Mmm… Better keep it there for a while, better safe than sorry. How does she keep her mane so lean? If she were stressed, she would have a messy mane. Dad had a messy mane. Brother sometimes has a messy mane. Hadn’t it been for Moolers “preciosa” even my mane would be a mess. Not that I’m stressed. But there always has to be an exception to the rule. She has not-messy hair. If I continue stroking it she won’t get a messy mane either. She is smiling. It’s a rather peculiar smile. It’s a smile only she has. Peculiar. She smiles quite often when I’m around. I can observe her peculiar smile as much as I want. Interesting if one was an anthropologist. But I can say it’s peculiar. So, Centaur Park. Ok. Is this it then? A few yards of grass, trees, some hoofball fields, a playground and a zoo. And some ponds. That’s not much. Well, to call it a pond is perhaps an understatement. It is a lake. Small, but a lake. And it’s a rather large lawn… Are they using sheep to cut the grass? It sure feels that way. Teeth-cut. I guess this is all you do here. Lying on the grass on a blanket with a heavy mare on my chest. Or shoulder. More the shoulder, but the chest takes the most weight. Let’s say chest. Chest. Can she hear my heartbeat? It would be interesting to hear hers. Just to see how healthy she is. What was that she said? All of my snuggle sessions in the past? Oh, yes I remember all four of them. Who does she think I am? Don Neighovanni? It’s not like I have a catalogue or anything. There was Storm Gazer. Heh. Gulper I called her. Gulper... bah. Stupid Nickname. Then Bree. And that griffon… She was intense. If only ponies could be a bit more graceful. Snuggling. It sounds like a cheap fish dish that you eat on the turf. Is this snuggling we do now? That is acceptable. She can take it slow at times it seems. I love her. What the... Where did that come from? I don’t… I love her. I love her. Hmmm. I. Love. Her. Then it must be true. I never say things that aren’t true. I am always precise and to the point. Therefore, if I say I am in love, I must be deeply in love. With Fransbrötchen. I love Fransbrötchen. Do I? Yes. Apparently I do. How did that happen? The grass itches still. Coming to think of it, I’d rather eat the grass than have it itch my back. If I had to. The sheep have a point I guess. Why am I thinking of sheep? Is it time for lunch already? I am feeling a bit peckish... When is her lunch break over? We’d better eat before it is. Perhaps she has taken her afternoon of. ‘I go’ and then she is gone. Perhaps. There was a hot carrot-dog stand on the way. She said the food here was great. If that stand is what she referred to, she must be lying. Many words can describe a hot carrot-dog stand but not ‘great’. Except when paired with inconvenience, or nuisance. But perhaps there is a place here I don’t know about? No, no, impossible. I know all about top-class cuisine in Manehattan. If there was some decent place to eat around here, I would know. So, hot carrot-dog… yes, no thank you. What if she likes them? What if she likes them so much that she buys one? Perhaps even one for me? What do I do? And what do I do if somepony sees me, that knows me? The scandal… Perhaps ‘Scandal’ is too much of a word. But debacle. Yes. Debacle. I can’t love somepony who eats carrot-dogs. But if she does, then I do love somepony who eats carrot-dogs. Hmm… that deserves consideration. Maybe I will wait for another day to tell her that I love her. Just in case she likes carrot-dogs. Another good decision made by Alsesta Grandeur. This is good. And it doesn’t itch as much as before. Does she use mustard? Mustard is good… I can love somepony who loves a little mustard. But not to much. If I let her eat one every week… no month. Yes, month. That will be ok. Author's Note Inspiration I like stream of conciousness. Boring? (ReVamp) - LyraBonIt was saturday in the Lyra/BonBon-recidence. Tootsie was busy with her afternoon nap and her one mother Lyra had just gone out for some "extreme Lyre-playing", whatever the heck that was. Her other mom BonBon was standing in the window, facing the street. At the moment she payed no attention to Tootsies light snoring in the next door room. Instead she had been following her wife with her eyes as she trotted along the path towards the east part of Ponyville and she was still standing there, long after Lyra had disappeared from her view. BonBon was staring at an undefined point in the road, but her mind was far away. She was thinking about her mother, or rather, something her mother had said. BonBon didn't like to think about her mother, and even less what she said, but this... It had touched her deep. It had happened a few days ago. Her mother, Franzbrötchen had stormed in through the door, demanded something to drink and crowing to BonBon that she had something important to say. BonBon realized that this fate was unevitable and so she kissed her plans for a nice, free evening on her own goodbye. Then she made coffee and brought a bottle of brandy to the table. She even put on a plate with a fresh batch of champagne-flavoured fudge that her mother liked. Then she tried to look friendly and listening. The important thing she had to say… well... BonBon sighed again. Oh, she could remember every word her mother said... *** “...Und zhen I got a steady grip on her horn, and forced her down on ze mattress, screaming “I vill make sex to jo so hard, jo vill stay sexed until next month!! Und denn, I penetrated her mit die mighty kaiser! Und…” “Mutter!” Bonbon pinched her muzzle, “First of all, why are you telling me this? And second, it’s not “Die” kaiser.” “For me, it is! And I vas not finished! Now…” BonBon laid her hand on the table, gesturing that she’d had enough. And to her surprise, her mother shut up. “Mutter… Stop. I don’t want to hear. You and Alsesta have a sexlife. Good for you. Who would have guessed the old vampire even had organs for reproduction, but since you are with her, She must be capable of having sex. So I’ll ask you again, why are you telling me this? And also, ‘sexed’?” “I actually said ‘fuck’, but I don’t care to be unnecessarily vulgar right now. And I am telling jo zis because I am worried about jo.” BonBon had been staring at the older earth pony for a second. But Franzbrötchen looked absolutely serious. Then a smile begun to play on BonBon’s lips and after a few seconds she had broken into a hearty laugh. Her mother had frowned at her. “Vat is so funny about zis?” Ithad taken BonBon a little while to control herself enough to stop laughing. “Mutter… heh…” She had to wipe a tear from her chin, “You haven’t given a shit about me, not even one day since I was born. And now, coming here saying you’re ‘worried’... Yeah, that’s a lie if I ever heard one.” “Zat is not true! I do care!” “Oh yeah? Where were you on my fifth birthday?” “Fifth birthday? Let’s see… Las Pegasus… no zat was ze year before… Brayverly Hills…” “I think that proves my point. Look, I acknowledge that you are my mother, and that we are related. That’s all. You don’t care about me, and I try to not care about you. And now you are here, saying you are WORRIED? That’s rich.” “Bonchen, I care about ze stuff zat is important. Birthdays und silly placeholders are not. Vhat I care about is jor life. I vant jo to be happy.” “Mutter, that is just… Alright, you know what? I’ll pretend that I give a damn about your opinion. Please explain to me why I’m not happy?” “Jo married zat airheaded green slob und…” “Mutter. Insult my wife and I WILL throw you out.” Franzbrötchen had been staring at her with anger, but BonBon had stared back, with a cold wrath. The staring contest had not lasted long, and in the end it was Fransbrötchen that looked away and shook her head. “...Dummkopf. Alright, I vill not say she is an airheaded, green-furred stupid sloth and I vould definitely not call her a delusional, naive mare-child... “Mutter…” “... But even jo have to admit zat she is boring. And I know jo don’t vant boring.” *** Even now, thinking back to that moment, BonBon felt the anger and surprice as strong as before. Had her mother really called the mare who managed on her own to cover the house in brown paint ‘because of a hen-related incident’ and stood outside her shop with a huge sign “HUMANS! COME OUT OF THE CLOSET!” every Sunday after five boring? And being completely serious? BonBon shook her head. And yes. She had been serious. *** “Now, I do not mean in a mundane, everyday manner. No, I mean zat she is boring vere it counts! In ze bedroom!” It was in that moment BonBon realized that the stove was much more comfortable to look at than her mother. She tried to speak, but all she got out was a low mumble. “...I don’t think I want to talk with you about these matters… how do you even know…” Her mother had interrupted her at once. “Oh, mutter knows! Remember Lightning Dust?” BonBon had frozen. THAT was a name she didn’t want to remember. Her mother had not noticed her reaction, she went on: “Now ZHERE was a mare zat suited my kleine Bonchen! Such fury, such passion… such…” There had even been a warmth and a hunger in Franzbrötchens voice that rary showed. BonBon had made a face, and she had decided it was time to bring her mother back down to earth. “Mutter… Light was a reckless fool who put herself and others in danger. She didn’t care about her personal safety, she… she… “ “Pish-posh! Minor details.” “Are you calling suicidal tendencies MINOR?” “Eh, I had an affair like zat once. He threatened to kill himself every second Thursday if I didn’t give him a blowjob.” BonBon had pinched her nose and breathed hard, trying not to scream. “Why do I always forget that NORMAL is not a word in your vernacular…” “Anyway,” Franzbrötchen had continued without missing a beat, “I distinctly remember hearing ze two of jo on ze nights jo stayed at my place. ‘Are jo going to behave?’ ‘Yes, mistress.’ und SCHMACK! ‘Did I allow jo to speak?’ ‘No mistress.’ SCHMACK!” BonBons cheeks had grew red and she was more than grateful they were alone. The older mare had huffed dreamily. “Ah, I vish I could have joined the two of jo…” “You tried at least two times,” Bonbon had added in a rather grey voice. “Ja. Zat vas ze only time Lightning Dust disappointed me…” “I am surprised you didn’t try to steal her from me. It was obvious you liked her.” “Indeed... she actually had a policy against zat.” “What?” “But zat didn’t stop us from having a vonderful evening in…” “MUTTER!” “Yes yes… my point is, vhen jo vere mit Lightning Dust…jo smiled.” BonBon remembered that she had hesitated for a second. “I smile now. I’ve been with Lyra for… is it six years? I have smiled lots of times...” “Bah. Not as big. And jor cheeks are not as rosy as zey used to be! Just admit it to Mutter, jo enjoyed being her ‘pet’. Jo loved it vhen she vas in complete control! Jo enjoyed all her little perverse ideas. Oh yes, do not try to fool jor mutter. I know.” Zhat vas a time when jo vere really happy, mein kind. Perhaps zat… unicorn...is somezhing special when it comes to her mind, but she is definitely bland in ze bed!” From that point on, BonBon tuned her mother out. *** She had hoped that her mothers rambling would be out of her system by now, but it had been the opposite. She had thought about it ever since. Especially that name she had hoped was erased from her memory. Well, of cource it wasn't. Lightning Dust… BonBon could see her in front of her still. The mint-green fur, that yellow-and-golden-mane and tail, the muscles, that cocky smile... It had happened back in high school. The bold young pegasus mare had flown in like a whirlwind and swooped BonBon off her hooves. Light had experienced a brief affair with the older and more worldly Rainbow Dash, and BonBon became Light’s marefriend rather soon after that. The earth pony had been young and innocent when they met; not so much afterwards. Lightning Dust had shown BonBon all the pleasures that lay beyond vanilla. Bondage, dominance, painplay, powerplay...BonBon had willingly become her happy little subslut, and she had been perfectly content. If she dug deep inside herself, part of that was the reason why she had begun to accept the pegasus’s advances in the first place. She wanted to try, she wanted to be… And Light could make her into... BonBon bit the inside of her cheeks. She hated, more than anything, to admit that her mother was right about something. But those years with Light...yes. She had been happy. She sighed inwards. She had been very happy... but then things had changed, and fast. Their break-up had been messy and BonBon had sworn off love for eternity after that. And then... something happened. Lyra Heartstrings, the filly nextdoor,happened. Sure, BonBon had known her a while; who didn’t? Lyra could survive any manner of teasing. She never fretted about any sneering comments; she just smiled and waved and somehow beared it. And after a while, Lyra and BonBon had become friends. And then…the earth pony fell like a chopped tree for the green unicorn. She was everything Light wasn’t. Considerate. Funny. Loving, enough for a whole town… wacky, completely out of her mind, cute, romantic… ...And so damn vanilla she could be put on toast. But BonBon had accepted it, because she loved every other part of Lyra so much that it wasn’t a dealbreaker. And Lyra WAS good in her limited register. She had magic fingers. And she could write “War and Peace” with her tongue. It was completely satisfying. For anypony else... except for me. BonBon didn’t want to be schmuck like her mother. She lived a completely different life, always planned a had and considering the subject of earlier, she had convinced herself that her mother's “weakness”, as she called it, was nothing that she suffered from. She had the sex she wanted, and was happy with it, she told herself. Yes, she was happy. Right? And yet... Over the years she had tried to drown out her thoughts but they had stayed and now, though her mother's blabbering… they were back, full force. She knew, deep down she knew, how much she was lying to herself. She wanted more, she needed more...she wanted… Oh Celestia, just something!! She wasn’t exactly sure what, but she wanted more! Then, her rational side took command. Not painplay, not again. That had been thrilling in that forbidden way, but she was older and, more important, more comfortable now. She also wasn’t very keen on ageplay. She wanted…she wanted IMAGINATION! That was the only thing Lyra lacked. In bed, that is, BonBon smiled to her self. Oh, Lyra… She could tell the most wonderful stories, leaving BonBon rolling on the floor with laughter, and she could turn housecleaning into a game of war with towel bombs, vacuum cleaning-armadas and napkin grenades. And when she put on that suit… She looked exactly like Haycart Gear in “A Royal Guard and a Gentlestallion”...and with a rose in her mouth… BonBon melted, every bloody time. It was true. She loved her wacky unicorn wife with all her heart and she would fight to the death and beyond to keep her. She was perfect. But in bed… She was happy with licking BonBon and having Bonbon suck her horn. Every time. Every DAMN time... Of course, the earth pony could suggest a few things, but... She had zoned out the day before as well, and when she came back to reality, her mother was gone. She also had stolen the brandy and the fudge. BonBon frowned when she thought about the expensive candy. One day I will spike it with laxatives. She turned away from the window and went for the kitchen. She wanted something sweet to cheer her up. The thought of Light affected her like a bad batch of brownies. Of course Mutter would never understand why she preffered Lyra. Because Mutter didn’t know the biggest deal breaker with Light. BonBon had taken her mood swings, she had accepted the recklessness. And then, the breakdown had come. One day, she found out that Lightning Dust was not really what she said she was. Under the brash surface there was a broken pony. Insecure, afraid, unstable…BonBon was shocked to discover that Light loathed being known as the daredevil. She hated that she had to be rough and confident all the time and...she never really enjoyed sex. The pegasus had always felt hard-pressed to come up with new things constantly, and BonBon was the biggest cause of her stress because the earth pony always wanted MORE. Light had stated that BonBon was demanding and impossible to please. The pegasus wasn’t even a real dom. She had pretended because it fit her hard image and because she wanted to have one up on Rainbow. She didn’t even really love her. The failed relationship with Lightning Dust had left a deep wound in BonBon. So deep that it still influenced their life. Because she had considered asking Lyra to perform… things before. Kinkier things. Wilder things. Lyra wouldn’t mind, she would probably nod and say “Alright, Bonnie!” and wing her way through any kind of kink. But BonBon always stopped herself. Because… What if Lyra said no? What if she thought BonBon was a pervert? Some sick wacko that just wanted to smear jelly on a spatula and jam it up her asshole, singing “WINTER WRAP UP!” Perhaps she would even... No. No no no no… Lyra would NEVER hurt her physically. She KNEW that. Lyra wouldn’t hurt a fly. Lyra would smile, listen, understand... And still, even though she KNEW this, deep down this little piece of “but what if…” stayed in its place. BonBon didn’t dare to talk to Lyra. Mutter had suggested more than a few times that BonBon should take a mistress. Yeah, right. Run a business, find the time to be with your wife, your friends and then add a SEPARATE sexlife to the adventure? Taking several lovers and mistresses was her mothers business, thank you very much. She was nothing like her mother. Nothing. Not that she couldn't do it, if she wanted to! She could probably get some little mare to share a bed with and Lyra would understand, she always did, it would be simple. Too simple. No, BonBon was not Franzbrötchen. She would never put Lyra in that position, and she didn’t want anypony else but Lyra. She loved her oaf, and there was no place left in her heart for any other mare. One point to BonBon, Nil to Mutter... No, BonBon straightened her back. She had made her choice. She was not Franzbrötchen, she was BonBon! She was happy with what she had! She didn't need anything fancy! She didn't need... Oh for the love of sweets... The realisation hit her like a brick, and she sank down in a chair. Automatically she put a piece of toffee in her mouth. Her mother was wrong. It wasn’t Lyra that was boring. It wasn't Lyra that held her back. She was doing it all to herself. Without help at all. It was she that was boring. "...sheiße." Author's Note Haven't I read this before? No, you haven't. Because this is a new version, much better if you ask me. The question we all need to ask ourself. Are we happy, or are we just accepting things as they are? This chapter has a continuation. Because we need to know! Did BonBon dare to ask Lyra the question? Did she dare to bring up her fantasies? Did she dare to wear that little black to bed? How does she look in lacy underwear? And there is an answer. It's called Adventures of a Domestic Mare, but you have to find it yourself. It's Naughty... Also, Support Frog on Patreon for more awesome art! She's nice. I am nice. - BonBon.Author's Note Background: BonBon is Franzbrötchen biological daughter as y'all know. Fransie had her in her late teens. She was not ready to be a mother. Not by far. BonBons relationship with her mother is complicated. "Yes, let's stick to that, and not call it 'disastrous'" Shut up. BonBon and Lyra have a biological daughter, Tootsie "toots" Flute. She is currently around 8-9. Alsesta and Fransie then meets a young orphan the mule filly Minolta. At the time, she is in her early teens. Something connects, and they decide to adopt. BonBons feelings for this? She's nice. I am nice. - BonBon. A new sister. I got a new sister at the age of… whatever. I got a new sister. Happy birthday, well thank you, mutter. Minolta. It’s an ok name. As far as names go. Most names are ok. BonBon, Lyra, Fizzlepop. They work. Minolta is ok. Now where did I put that scissor… ah, there. Life is no picnic for anypony, really. And she HAS seen her share of misery. She is an orphan after all and I know, I KNOW that growing up in an orphanage is really not a bad thing. I mean, Lyra did and she is nooo...oot the best example of a sane pony. And I married her. What does that make me? She is nice. Yes. Nice. And very well-behaved. She is a bit absent-minded perhaps, but really, who isn’t? It’s a common trait these days. We need to get more washing-powder. If they went to the playground, we will need it by tonight. I’ll have to talk to Lyra about going shopping. ...Alsesta of all people, calling herself “mother”. Heh, Tartaros froze early this year. Freezing… It’s only one month until Hearth’s Warming. Need to start working on those candy canes. And fudge. Yes, fudge. Perhaps with some apple-brandy this year. And that rein-deer speciality… PolkaGrizz? Let’s do some of them. And she is such a good friend for Toots! ...Alright, she’s a bit immature for her age. But still. That ain’t a bad thing, fillies these days start to wear makeup and short skirts WAY to young nowadays. Poundcake came into my shop yesterday wearing… I wouldn’t even call it a DRESS! Well, Tootsie is NOT going to wear that as long as she’s under MY roof! Faust, that’s a big spider. Where does it get its food? There’re no flies in my home. Perhaps that’s the explanation. It’s good Toots has a friend that is a bit more conformative to the norm than Scootaloo. It’s good. Rarity has gotten a bit wider over her hips and heck does she look annoyed. I told her that’s what pregnancy will do to you. Yeah. Minolta’s nice. That’s it. That’s the bottom line. She is nice. I’m nice. A lot of ponies say I’m nice. I have friends. I have a wife. I have good business relations. I’m a sound mare with sound values. I’m also nice. All she is is nice. All I have ever been is nice. So why is it so easy for you to love her, when you couldn’t love me? Mutter? Why? I hate her. I hate her. I hate her I hate her I HATE HER! Why can’t she just DIE and leave us alone... *sigh* So. That was that. Time to make dinner. The girls will probably be hungry after playing all day. I think we will have spaghetti. The reviewAlsesta Grandeur laid down her spoon on the napkin next to her. She didn’t wipe her mouth, she didn’t have to. She was a grown mare who knew how to eat. She had just made her way through a three-course meal at The Tasty Treat Too in Ponyville, having been invited there by the owner, a certain Mrs. Saffron Masala. Alsesta didn't have to look at the restaurant owner in question to know that the unicorn was looking straight at her. She felt it in her neck right now and had so felt for most of her meal. She had once or twice considered asking her to stop, but decided against it. It wouldn't change anything. The muleicorn sighed. Yes, she knew exactly what look the owner had on her face, and she didn't like it. At all. There were many ways ponies looked at her in a restaurant. But this was the worst. It wasn't a long stretch to call Alsesta Grandeur a misanthrope. Her faith in ponykind as a whole was low; in single ponies even lower. Yet, it would be far from reasonable to call her an elitist or some kind of besserwisser. Her acquaintances from culinary school had to admit that, as uncomfortable as it was being in the same room as her and as harsh and unsmooth she was, it was hard to say that she was wrong. About food, anyway. Now, as a misanthrope with something of a troubled childhood (“It hasn't made me start drinking to excess or writing porn so stop bothering me about it, Fransie!”), one would think that she would hate a smug, superior attitude and condescending look above everything. That was not true. She didn't really like it, but a smug, know-it-all attitude, at least in a chef, showed the world that "I can do this." It implied a long background in culinary school, a couple of years abroad, some experience of being a bullied intern... in short, the holder of that attitude knew how to walk the walk. The ones who only talked the talk didn't last long. Alsesta’s view of life was simple. If only ponies would do what they were good at doing and just skip doing what they loved, the world would be a much better place. She was not a marksist, by far! A cutie mark was at best a guide: a tip in the right direction, and at worst a blemish in a color that didn't match the fur. However, too many ponies took that belief to far, insisting that doing what you loved was a sufficient reason to do it for a living. And that was why the worst look came from those who looked at her hopefully. With glittering eyes, waiting to know if "you really liked it." Those who hadn't met teachers with stomachs of lead who didn't budge from criticism. Those who never had their craft matched against others in the ferocious hunt for good grades. Those who hadn't spent a few years on the floor learning the ropes, which were impossible to learn without humiliation. “If I really liked it…” bitch, please! Alsesta Grandeur reached for her pen. Time for the second part of her work. She knew what to expect when she would deliver her verdict. And she frowned. It would take a couple of extra minutes. Probably five, even seven if she was unlucky. It wasn't that she couldn't afford to spend the time, but the concept of wasting time on pure unnecessities annoyed her very much. Fransie used to say “it's not as if jo have better zings to do, engel.” But Fransie didn't understand. That was not relevant: if she didn't want to waste time, she shouldn't have to either. Even if the alternative was doing nothing, nothing was still better than a useless waste of time. Ah well, better get this over with. She glanced at the mostly untouched cup of what the restaurant dared to call coffee and turned around. She found the owner pretty much right in her face, staring like a child. "Ehrm... Mrs. Masala. You were...standing right behind me I see. Well, sit down. There are things I need to address at once.” Saffron Masala looked up at her, eyes bright with want. "Yes, Miss Grandeur?" "It's actually Missus. But it's only been a fortnight, so I will not hold that against you. Now, I usually let ponies wait until I publish my review, but now and then I realise there is a need for a few direct comments." "Yes?" Alsesta blinked. There was eagerness and expectation in the mare’s voice. And her eyes had that childish glow. Alsesta had to fight herself not to facepalm. “Sweet Celestia,” she thought to herself, “has this mare not even A HUNCH about this...?Apparently not. Well then, that makes my job much more important.” Alsesta cleared her throath and sorted her papers. Details were crucial. "Yes..." She hesitated. The straight and direct delivery was usually the best approach but... She had considered bringing somepony else along this time. Fransie(♡) was her first choice, but the photographer had been called back to Manehattan on a project. That left Lyra... BonBon had no idea about food. Candies and desserts, yes, but taste was more than balancing sweetness. There was no chocolate bar with the flavor of steamed clams with garlic for a reason. Yes, THAT dinner had been interesting... anyway, in the end Alsesta went alone. The review was not to be contaminated by a lay-pony's opinions. But there still was that lingering thought in the back of her head... "Yes." She repeated again, "To begin with the positive. The rice was excellently cooked and served. I take it you use salt from the Dragon Sea. Good choice." She paused. Mrs Masala seemed to want to say “and…?” But no words came, and the smaller mare began to look uneasy. Alsesta gave her a glance, and changed a grammatical error in her notes. "So…” Alsesta continued after making the correction, “Well, just per curiosity, I have to mention this... I see that you have Eshoofieés book Cooking with Great Taste on the wall." The unicorn mare brightened. "Yes! It's actually a first edition!" "I see. That explains a few things." "Oh? Such as...?" "Well, why you haven't read it, since you obviously want to keep it in mint condition. I think I am safe to say that if you had indeed read it... this dinner would have been drastically different and half the dishes on the menu would not have existed at all. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves…” Mrs Masala seemed to have a protest on her lips, but Alsesta didn’t give her time to answer. "Now for the rest. The tablecloth is slightly dirty. I prefer to read a menu to gain knowledge about today's special, not by looking at what the previous guest had. The lights are rather dim overall and you should do something about the vents." She turned her head, looking at Mrs Masala, for the first time expecting an answer. "I... want the customers to stay in an air of food." "I see. Well, even then, the air of food should be fresh air. Makes the tikka masala taste better too. Very wise of you to take it off the heater, if it were to cook for too long it would be destroyed.” "You... can actually smell that?" Mrs Masala had indeed taken the stew off the oven just before she came in. "Actually, it was a 50/50-guess. What I said about the importance of air was no joke. Now, the food. For drinks I asked for water, not to confuse the tastebuds. Therefore I know nothing about your assortment of alcoholic beverages or soft drinks, though that huge blue, white and red sign over the bar is probably telling the truth. So, the starters. Pani Puri. Now, the puris themselves were too thick, which made them doughy. The potatoes were not cooked enough. The onions were ok, but that was that. And with that you serve me Rumali Roti, and they were dry. While there are tons of tricks chefs use to make old bread taste like new, you didn't use any one of them. That would be a plus if the bread hadn’t been as dry as sandpaper left out in the sun for a week. So... excuse me, can I have a good cup of coffee?" “You have a cup.” Mrs. Masala couldn’t help pointing at the cup standing on the table, filled to about ¾ with coffee. Alsesta hmpfed. “Please, not the stuff you serve. The good stuff that you keep for the staff.” Saffron blinked. Was she really...? "Eh... yes. Of course." "Thank you. Black, please." Saffron walked to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee and returned. Mrs. Grandeur had not changed her face a bit. The muleicorn took the cup and drank. "Hmm.. a mazbout. Interesting. If you would have served me this originally, there would have been two things I could have counted as good. Now, for the main dish. The rice I have mentioned. For the rechado masala fish... no. Too many spices. Way too many spices, all battling each other for dominance. I had to search long and hard to actually taste the fish. It was overcooked.” "But it is supposed to be..." "Spicy, yes. But you should still feel you are eating fish. Not that you are emptying a can of spices into your mouth. I have eaten this type of dish...fifteen times I believe. This is the first time it has looked like this. One of fourteen. I do not think the issue lies with me having visited the wrong restaurants. Also, the hay and spinach salad... Let's put it this way: take it off the menu. Now." The muleicorn took another sip of her coffee while she sorted through her notes. Saffron Masala tried to stop her lips from trembling. It was not that hard; she was starting to feel something completely different, something much more heated. Alsesta Grandeur had found the page she was looking for and turned back to her host. "So, dessert. The Gulab Jamun: now this depends on the way you choose to cook it... is it deep fried?" "Well, of course." "Thank you. I wasn't sure. So, after frying them you are supposed to roll them in sweet syrup. These have been drowned. The fried texture is gone, leaving an unpleasant taste of boiled flour and dry milk. Not to mention the ice cream. There were ice crystals in it." The way Alsesta lay down her pen was implied to say “Re-frozen ice cream in a restaurant? REALLY? That's for grannies.” The younger mare didn't understand the gesture. She was too busy becoming more and more angry. The childlike glow was swiftly draining from Saffron’s countenance. "This is exactly how my father makes his food! He has owned and operated a restaurant since he was young! And...” "Then I am sorry to tell you that your father is a fool." Saffron Masala stared gobsmacked at her guest. She had been prepared to possibly defend herself but not on this kind of level! This... DONKEY! had been nothing but rude to her since she came in and Saffron was not having any more of it. "Mrs. Grandeur! I will have you know that these recipes have run in my family for generations! I myself have run the Tasty Treat since I was seventeen! The Tasty Treat Too is my life, my legacy! This is my dream! This is the family heritage! And here you come, spitting at my dream, my heritage, you...you...llama!" Alsesta curled her lip slightly, but otherwise she didn't seem bothered. "Mrs. Masala. It is not that I question your passion for cooking. It is right in my face actually. What I am questioning is your ability to do it." Saffron put her hand down on the table, causing a slight rumble in the plates. "My food is cooked with love!" "Yes, well, food needs more than love. Correct ingredients, knowing what taste marries what, correct textures... This piece of hay is raw for example. It is very seldom supposed to be raw outside of a field." Saffron splayed her arms and clenched her teeth. "It is not, it has been poached!" "No it has not. It has no taste of being poached." "Does poaching give it a taste?" This was the first time Alsesta reacted. Her eyes got smaller and there was a slight hint of genuine contempt in her voice. "...You did not just ask me that question, did you?" The unicorn met her look with an equally angry face. "It's still tastes like hay." For a while, the two mares stared at each other, not moving a muscle. But in the end, Saffron lost the staring competition as she stuttered out: "I mean... it's hay! Hay tastes like hay! And why are we even talking about the hay! We should talk about the aubergine, the squash, the red pepper... the stuff that tastes!" "Even hay deserves to taste." "Well, next time perhaps you should tell me how you want your hay prepared then?" Saffron replied with a hand on her hip. Alsesta rose from her chair and breathed heavily through her nose in response. "It. Is. Not. My. Job. To. Teach. You. How. To. COOK! I am here to review your restaurant. And before you get the chance to say it, yes I know there is no such thing as the perfect restaurant! For Luna's sake, I am a critic! I know there is always room for improvement, development and more salt. I know better than anypony that tastes change as fashion does. But there's still some kind of basic level. A simple number of things you should expect from a place calling itself a restaurant. You, Mrs. Masala, you and your establishment do not even reach THAT level!" Saffron waved her hand in the air and rolled her eyes. "Oh! That's rich, coming from a DONKEY! The old donkeys I know from home carried water and rubble! What do YOU even know about Calcolttan food?" Alsesta wasn't thrown back. Instead she replied, calm as a breeze. "So, Mrs. Masala. Is that how you want to play this? You believe a racial insult will improve your case against me? Very well, PONY. If I have to prove myself to you, fine. To the kitchen!" But halfway, she turned. "But just so you know. Next time you try to make someone feel shitty about their genes, use the right species. I'm a mule." *** Saffron Masala found the one chair in the whole kitchen that wasn’t stained and slumped down on it. Not only did this donkey spit on her and her dream, she also made a decent Calcolttan dish. Aloo Tikki was not a difficult dish, and yet… Sha handled everything with the utmost care, treating the spices with respect and diligence, and focused 100% on every part of the process. And they tasted pretty much like Gran made them, except perhaps… leaner. Saffron had only taken one bite, but it was not the taste that stopped her from eating. And to add to the blow, the skinny donkey began to speak again. "Now, mind you, Mrs. Masala, that this is also the single dish that I dare to do free hand. I have to much respect for Sandian chefs and the Sandian kitchen to even pretend I can make “Sandian food.” But that is not really the point, you see, this:" She indicated her plate, "This is what you should expect when going to a restaurant. Well-cooked, good taste, best ingredients. However, to make a sloppy vindaloo and throw in some curry, which is basically what you do...well, if you want to be a street vendor in the rougher parts of Little Calcoltta, be my guest. But this is a restaurant, at least according to your terminology.” "I... I..." "You are married. You have, I believe, a foal?” “Two foals.” “Right,” said Alsesta. “If I may so suggest, cook for your family. You say you love to cook. I say, keep that love to a restricted area." Saffron Masala tried to gather her strength one more time and spoke. "But a lot of ponies enjoy a home cooked meal! That is simply what I am trying to give them!" Mrs. Grandeur looked as emotionless as ever. "Ah. That is an interesting misconception. Really, Mrs. Masala, why would any pony go out to have a home-cooked meal? They can get that at home, and that is probably part of the reason why they are going out to. This is not a home. This is a restaurant: an establishment where ponies go to get other ponies to cook for them. They pay you for doing this. At the end of the day... that's it. There is no love to feel. Love..." Alsesta seemed to shudder just by saying the word. "Love is a significant ingredient, but that requires some kind of connection between the chef and the eater. If you are visiting a friend’s home, if you have dinner with your family, your lo...signi... other half, or whatever kind of relationship you are pursuing, you will enjoy the meal much more. If you serve what I just had to your partner..." "Wife." "I know. I prefer to speak in broad terms, that way nopony is left out. Anyway, at the end of the day, ponies pay you to cook for them. They don't care about love, they care about a good meal. So that’s the bottom line of my review. This food belongs in a kitchen, but not this kind of kitchen. I suggest that you let this silly dream die and figure out something more useful to do with your remaining years. Good day, Mrs. Masala. The review will be printed some time next week." Alsesta washed her hands, took off her apron and walked out of the kitchen. In the doorway, she almost crashed into a tall, muscular earth pony mare with a striped purple mane that shouted "edgy". They both gave each other an annoyed stare, and then a light of recognition lit in both ponies’ eyes, which gave way to a mutual dislike. The earth pony’s name was Plaid Stripes, and this was the second time she and Alsesta had crossed ways. Plaid was the first to speak. "What da buck are you doing here?" Alsesta didn't even give her an inch. "I am working. What are YOU doing here?" "I’m Saffrons wife!" Alsesta looked at Plaid in silence, then at her clothes, her hooves and then at the kitchen. "...Figures." And then she left. Plaid Stripes looked after her and spat in her direction. Then she remembered where she was and instantly cleaned the spot where it had landed. And then in that moment she realised something. “Zesty Gourmand” had been here WORKING. Plaid ran through the kitchen, finding her wife in the same chair as before. The unicorn was silent, but the tears flowed down her cheeks like rain from Cloudsdale in April. Plaid kneeled in front of her wife and put her hand on her shoulder. "Saffi, babe, what is it? What did she say to you?" Saffron didn't answer. She turned her head away, but Plaid took her chin and gently turned her head towards her. The smaller mare still was silent, and the tears kept flowing. "Saffi? ...Did she do this to ya?" Saffron didn't answer, truth was, she was still too upset to answer. She had heard her wife, of course, and she also noticed the look in her eyes. She loved Plaid’s bright magenta eyes...she liked to say they were as deep as the sea at sunrise...and now she noticed how they had turned dark. Saffron felt the weight of Plaid’s hand disappear from her shoulder, and she heard fast and determined steps leave the kitchen. Saffron knew what was going to happen. A very small part of her was screaming "Go! Give it to her! Kill her!" But that was a very small part, because Saffron was not that kind of mare. She lifted her head, and looked in the direction where her wife had disappeared. She opened her mouth and murmured, "Plaid... no... Please..." But even if Plaid had indeed heard the low plea, she wouldn't have listened anyway. The earth pony caught up with Alsesta at the entrance, as the latter had just put on her coat. She grabbed Alsesta by the shoulder and spun her around. “You!” Alsesta freed herself. “Don’t touch me.” Plaid pointed her finger right into Alsesta’s muzzle. “Shut up! What gives ya the right to treat other ponies like shit?” “I…” “You come here, being all high and mighty, thinking you know best and all! Well, let me tell ya, sister! This ain’t your show!” “Actually, it is. Perhaps you missed it, but it was your wife who asked me to come here and…” “That’s just making it worse! She invited you! She asked you, and you, you just…” “She wanted me to do a review. And trust me, I treat all the places I review with the same respect.” “The heck you do! I have read your reviews, Zesty Grandeur or whatever your real name is! You take the piss outta any place you visit. What do you know about food? Really? You just sit there with your flashy name, and your flashy column and your flashy family and think you know it all, don’tcha? Perhaps it’s time that somepony stood up to you and your trash talk! ” Plaid took one heavy step closer and grabbed Alsesta by the collar. A hint of something darker passed Alsesta’s eyes, but she only narrowed them. “Don’t. call. me. Zesty. And let. go. of my. coat.” “Oh yeah? You gonna make me, ZESTY?” Alsesta didn’t answer. Instead she put her hands in between Plaid’s and pushed them aside, forcing the powerful mare to loosen her grip. Then she gave Plaid a hard shove in the chest, causing her to stumble backwards and fall over a chair, landing on the floor. “Mrs. Stripes. Even if you don’t agree, I assure you that I demand the same of all businesses I visit: to always do their best in the name of cuisine. The fact that your wife’s best is on par with a standard housewife is not my problem. If you want to dance with the big shots, you need to learn the steps. I take it that you help her? Well, another dash of advice: tell her to hire somepony who actually knows cooking. You want people to come here? That’s not the ideal line of work for a bouncer. Good day.” Zesty turned around and placed her hand on the door. She didn’t get that far though. “RAAAAHHH!” Plaid was upon her in an instant, once again grabbing her by her shoulder and pushing her up against the wall. She raised her fist, aiming straight for Alsesta’s muzzle, but the target managed to duck. Plaid’s heavy fist grazed the older mare’s ear, barely drawing blood. A second blow struck truer: this time plowing into Alsesta’s side. It was pretty much a perfect hit, but to Plaid’s surprise the opponent simply blinked before catching the earth pony’s hand with her own. The bony old arm was stronger than she expected. The situation was locked when Alsesta thrust her face close to Plaid’s, her long muleicon horn pressing dangerously against the younger mare’s temple. “Is this the way you deal with criticism, Mrs. Stripes? Stereotypical earth pony violence? Well, your opinion is duly noted.” Plaid stared into the other mare’s eyes. There was but one feeling she could trace in them, annoyance. Extreme annoyance. Was this mare really made of stone? Was she so completely dead inside that she didn’t even… “I suggest you go and take care of your wife, as I assume she is sad. Perhaps that is the wiser way to handle this situation.” Plaid reluctantly let go of Alsesta and turned around. Alsesta corrected her coat, and went for the door. “Oh, and please inform your wife that I will not let this incident change my review.” “You… you… you…” “Good day, Mrs. Stripes.” As Alsesta left the restaurant, Plaid’s tall frame all but blocked the light from the doorway. “You are never welcome here. Ever again. Do you hear me? Never!” “Mrs. Stripes. That statement implies that I would want to come back here. Good day.” Alsesta heard the door slam shut, and she began to walk with a faster stride. But as soon she turned the corner, she instantly doubled over, and vomited. That blow had landed far harder than she wanted that uncouth pony to know. And that wannabe chef calling her... In a flash, it all came roaring back from her younger days. Things she had hoped she had buried so deep that it would never again rise to the surface. And here they were, as clear as daylight. Stupid, violent, weak-minded ponies... “Well… if it isn’t Zesty Pesty.” “Go away, Bobcat. If I wanted company by your kind I could have sat next to the compost.” “Ah, but why so cold, Zesty? We’re just going to have some good old fun.” “Don’t call me Zesty. And I am not interested in your ‘fun’. Whatever it is, it’s something that cultured ponies shouldn’t do.” “Did you hear that, guys? The half-breed is calling herself a pony. You are not going anywhere, MULE. You are the necessity for us to have that good old fun…” She felt how the rest of the meal wanted to join its friends in the gutter, and she had no strength left to stop it. Alsesta sank down to her knees. She would have to wash her trousers later, but that didn’t matter. She could hear the voices clearer, she even imagined the feeling of a strong grip around her neck, pulling her upwards. “Get up! You think you are allowed to rest now! Fork! You take the first watch. Bucks, you hold her. Bling-bling? The marker, if you would be so kind…There. Now nopony will ever doubt who you are. And now… we are going to let the mule do some mulework! Oldmoney, the leash, please!” In a haze, she tried to obey, only to collapse on her knees again. There was nothing left inside her now, only her muscles doing the movement in case they forgot the last bit of carrots. All the humiliation and fear came back to her. Donkey. Mule. What do YOU know about food? What do you know about anything? She tried to steer away her thought over to more practical questions. Like Fransie. What the hell should she tell Fransie? She couldn’t tell her the truth, Fransie would KILL the meat-headed earth pony and her weepy little wife, and burn the place to the ground. And that was being positive. But Fransie was 200 miles away. 200 miles away I can fool her. I fell, I got mugged, I walked into a dragon migration, whatever. Her side began to ache again, and she almost fell over a second time. Can’t even lie to your own wife. You sad excuse for a pony. One can’t expect somepony to think straight on these occasions, and Alsesta was back in her spiral of negative thoughts. A few tears began to fall down her cheeks. Old tear ducts that hadn’t been used for years, but they remembered all too well what they were supposed to do. Alsesta braced her shoulder against the wall and forced herself painfully to her hooves. The unwelcome tears continued to stream and the bile burnt the back of her throat, but there was no point in staying where she was. Somepony might see her and laugh at her. Or worse, try to help. “We’re going to walk home now,” she muttered aloud. “No stumbling, and no shame.” And with that she straightened her back, carefully sidestepped the pile of vomit and headed for Lyra and BonBon’s house. Nopony would be home at this time of day. Thank the Dawnbringer and all her splendid rays for that much. Alsesta had been lucky. The walk had been short, and nopony had seen her, at least nopony that counted. She sank down on the couch. She was at the edge now, she had to rest. Washing up, change of clothes, all that had to wait. Just a little… just a little… Please… just let me rest… Just a moment. There’s nopony here to see me. “Allie? Is that you?” Fuck you, Dawnbringer. Alsesta looked up, hoping against better knowing she had misheard, that it had come from the open window and that somepony was looking for… Sally or Callie or anypony. But no. It was indeed Lyra Heartstrings that stood in front of her, perhaps the last pony in the world she was ready to meet this moment. The muleicorn made a futile effort to look as she just was casually resting, but the dirty trousers, and the remains of vomit on her chin didn’t help. “Allie? You look terrible! Is something wrong?” Bless your heart, Lyra. ‘Is something wrong’… do you ask a stabbed pony if the knife is hurting her too? But even so, Alsesta was not interested in sharing her experience with anyone, especially not her innocent, soft-hearted daughter-in-law. The few minutes of silence had bought Alsesta enough strength to answer. “No, Heartstrings. Nothing is wrong.” It was low, it was infantile. But she just didn’t want to elaborate. “Are you sure? Because… Allie, are you crying?” Thanks for nothing, Body… “Heartstrings. If I say that nothing is wrong then I mean that NOTHING is wrong.” She heard herself choke on a sob and tried to convince herself that she had simply coughed a little. Lyra was silent for a while, put her head slightly to the side, and then said, “Okay… You know, Allie? When BonBon asks me if something is wrong and I reply NOTHING, she usually treats me with candy until I’m happy again.” The younger mare sat down next to Alsesta and put her hands over hers. “How about if we clean you up a bit, and then get some coffee at Moonbutts? Two grande Frappuchinos with extra whipped cream and hazelnuts? And the large cinnamon buns with the blueberry jam? My treat, the manager owes me a solid. Nopony will bother us, I promise.” Alsesta slowly blinked her eyes and gazed far off into the distance. And then she said, in a thin near-whisper of a voice, “Can I get mine with toffee sauce?” Lyra smiled a warm, friendly smile. “Anything you want, Allie.” EPILOGUE “Saffi? I talked to that grey mare, she won’t be bothering u… Saffi?” As Plaid re-entered the kitchen, she found her wife with her back against her, poking on a plate with some kind of food on it. The big mare was prepared to comfort her, but then Saffron turned around. To Plaid’s surprise, all the tears had dried, and there was a strange light in her eyes. "Plaid. Father has an old saying, दुर्भाग्य से, सबसे बड़ी बेवकूफ आमतौर पर सही है!" Plaid blinked. Her hindi was almost nonexistent, she knew “yes yes yes” but that was it. "And... that means?" "It’s a saying from one of our old warlords. It means ‘The stupid old donkey is usually right.’ And look, here we had a stupid old donkey..." Plaid took a step forward and put her arm around her wife. "Not this donkey. Saffi, baby! Don't listen to her..." But Saffi took one of the items from the plate and almost shoved it into Plaids mouth. "Taste it!" "Uh...What is it?" " TASTE IT!" "Ok, ok…” She opened up, and took a bite. “Mmmm. .. good. Tashty." Saffi waved her arms in the air and stared at her. "Good? GOOD? They are PERFECT! That donkey made them and they are PERFECT!" Plaid swallowed. "...Well...they're not really that tasty now that I think about it..." But Saffron didn’t listen to her remark, she went on, building up steam. "All my life, I have struggled. I have fought horn and hoof for my dream, my vision! And here she comes, a donkey! A DIRTY STUPID DONKEY comes and makes the perfect...and why? Because she has "skill." Plaid decided it was time to open the safety vent. "Saffi, babe! Who defines ‘skill’? The swells? If they’re the kind of people calling it ‘skill’ then who needs it?” "I do." "Saffi..." Plaid put a hand on her wife’s shoulder. "I do! I have love, Plaid! I have PASSION! Imagine, Plaid, what I could do! If I could combine this passion with this skill..." (Saffron swallowed almost an entire cup of hot mazbout coffee in one gulp.) "Then NOTHING would stand in my way!" Plaid took a step back. "Not gonna lie, Saffi, you’re scaring me a little now.” "Says the one who just threatened to beat somepony up! Oh yes, I know. Do not deny it! You can take the heat, pruvi!" Saffron forced Plaid to back up against a wall. "Saffi..." "We close for today! I am angry! And terribly aroused! We will make love right here, in this kitchen where the passion lives!" "Wow...uh, Okay.” “Put me on the counter.” “Sure--whoa! Easy with the underwear, they’re designers! " "Shut up and suck it! I will return to my roots! To Sandia, the land of my ancestors, and there I will learn from the very masters!" "Ah! Oh damn, Saffi easyaaaaaa!" "And when I return, they will all scream my name!" "SAFFI! OH SWEET PRINCESS TWILIGHT, SAFFI!" Author's Note Written by me, The Frank and Mustlovefrogs. We regret nothing. Edited by Somefrogmillionaire. Saffron Masala and her Wife, Plaid Strife in a slightly more happy situation And here's the picture that inspired this story. Beautiful, isn't it? Alsesta Grandeur, armed with her trusty notepad. Lyra heartstrings, pacifist.... eh, you all know Lyra. There's no such thing as a free lunchAlsesta Grandeur breathed through her nose. Her sort-of step daughter Lyra Heartstrings cowered behind her teacup (blackberry with honey and a light touch of cream), occasionally shooting a glance in the muleicorn’s direction. The mare in question kept breathing through her nose as she lifted her cup of coffee (heavy on milk and sugar) and took a sip. Even after she had put the cup down, she kept breathing through her nose. Alsesta Grandeur was the mare to give ‘grumpy’ a face (although she would call it distinguished), but this was bordering on ‘completly pissed off’. Finally Lyra gave in to the pressure of the situation. She had to say something, anything. Just for something to break the awful tension. “I’m… I’m sorry.” For a moment, Lyra felt the situation go from bad to worse. Alsesta shot her a glance. It was filled with her usual contempt, but when she spoke, her voice was resigned. “There is nothing for you to be sorry about. You did not know.” “Yes, but… I should have.” “Yes. Perhaps you should.” She paused and took another sip from her cup. Then she kept it at chest height and looked down at the beverage. “But so very few do. It’s not surprising either. Most ponies are barely even aware of the hardships of zebras and minotaurs. And even if they are, ‘It’s not that bad’ is their usual comment. Pah. What do they know…” She finished the sentence more to her coffee than to the unicorn beside her. Lyra sighed. This had been an awful day. And it had begun so good. ‘The DUDE’ was the most noteworthy restaurant in New Baltimare at the moment. And they seemed so in sync with the world… the esoteric menu, the Q-friendly posters... The fact that THEY… *** It all had started with lunch three weeks earlier, on a Wednesday. Lyra was on her way home from an Anthropology Conference in New Baltimare, but even on her ‘suit-trips’ that she called them, she never left home without her harp and her notebook. So there she sat, with the meal finished, absentmindedly plucking on her harp while she wondered about what she would do the two hours before the train left. That question was soon answered, as a row arose from the office next to the kitchen. Apparently, the pianist had gotten sick, and there was nopony to take the spot for entertaining a group of Scandineighvian business-mares. The director’s desperation was heard all the way into the restaurant. Lyra decided to offer her services and… it had been a success. Her knowledge of old Scandenieghvian folk songs (one of the side effect of dating a comely yak maiden back in ‘73) had come in handy, and it had ended with a three hour-long sing-a-long session. The director had been OH SO! grateful, but due to the fact that Lyra was not an registred musician in New Baltimare, he couldn’t pay her in cash. What he could do, was offer her five free meals at his restaurant, and a table for two at ‘The DUDE’, the new big thing in Equestrian cuisine, that had opened in New Baltimare just one month earlier. Lyra was not that interested in fancy dinners, but even she had heard some of the buzz about the place and decided that ‘it could be fun’. The letter with the date had arrived that following Monday, time being Friday in two weeks, at 17.30. Table 23. Of course she wanted to take Bonnie to a fancy restaurant, and her wife had been excited when Lyra told her about it. However, fate had other plans, because two days before the date BonBon had caught a nasty cold. Lyra wanted to cancel, but BonBon insisted that she should go. Lyra finally accepted, but who should she bring? Unfortunately, nopony was avaliable at such short notice. She had called, in turn, Plaid, Minuette, Moondancer and even Sunset Shimmer! The former three responded with ‘Oh, that would have been great, BUT…’ The last one had fairly teared up with appreciation at the invitation, but still had to decline. She had work, and added something about ‘she didn’t want to cause Lyra trouble’. Lyra wasn’t sure what she referred to but in retrospect, she thought, it couldn’t possibly been worse. After Sunset had declined she had to think for a while to find a candidate. She had called Alsesta as a final shot, and she was convinced she would say no. THAT would have left her with Fransie as the only possible candidate, and her mother-in-law… was…no. Just no. Not even as a hollaback mare. But Alsesta had accepted. There had been a moment though, when the muleicorn had asked where they were going. When Lyra had answered, there had been a silence. “New Baltimare, isn’t it?” And then there had been a long sigh. And another. “...Alright. I’ll come. Good night.” And then she hung up, and that was it. They had met at the New Baltimare station. Some simple exchanges of amenities, and they had taken a cab to the restaurant in silence. It seemed to go well...until they got to the restaurant. It had started the moment they entered the establishment. Lyra had, in surprise, watched how the wardrobe manager went to wash his hands after hanging up Alesta’s coat. There was no doubt it was because of that coat either, because she knew her own jacket had been a bit smudgy (an accident where Toots had stolen herself some half-baked fudge and, while running away from a furious BonBon, had accidentally run into Lyra.) but that had passed without any reaction. When the stallion had touched Alsesta’s coat, however, it was as if had he touched a spider. Well, they got a table, and they were welcomed in person by the manager, one of the most unpleasant stallions Lyra had ever met. “Welcome, Mrs. Heartstrings! I can only hope you will enjoy your stay here at our establishment. I heard from Stirfry how you saved his restaurant, and I am happy to be part of your reward. And you, Miss...” “Mrs.” “Really. Well, Mrs. Grandeur. Your reputation has reached even New Baltimare. I welcome you, and I hope that your sensitive palate will be able to enjoy the sensation of Equestrian tastes that you will experience here.” “I am intrigued, Mr. Footlong.” Lyra looked after him. Equestrian tastes? Lyra wasn’t that well-read into Alsesta’s reviews, but she knew from their previous dinners that Alsesta, for one, was almost stock-conservative in that matter. She was the prime advocate for classic Equestrian cuisine, it was impossible to miss that. She could talk for hours about how it was something to savor and keep. Sure, the Phrench were brilliant in their way, but... Anyway, they had ordered. They had begun with a serving of appetizers. Lyra had chosen the sweet & sour eggplant with homemade flatbread crisps, while Alsesta went with gazpacho shooters with sour cream. They ate in silence. Lyra had to admit that this was indeed delicious, even a step beyond that. She wasn’t much for advanced cooking, but she had to admit, there was something special about this. Alsesta seemed lost in thought. She ate her meal, but one or three times she made a note in her book. Lyra wasn’t surprised; to have her mother-in-law small-talk during dinner… just never happened. Strangely enough, that was a good sign. Lyra had learned that from BonBon one night after having Foto and Alsesta over. “I don’t think she likes me.” Lyra said, as she put down the empty plates in the sink. “Are you kidding? She loves you,” BonBon replied from the coffee machine. Lyra had frowned. “But… she didn’t say a word to me the whole evening!” Lyra exclaimed. “Exactly.” It took sometime for Lyra to understand Alsesta, and she still didn’t get half of her. But she knew as much that her silence was a sign of “I tolerate your presence.” And that was impressive, coming from Alsesta. Then there was the main course. Beet salad with goat cheese and rye croutons for Alsesta, wild mushroom risotto with parmesan for Lyra. Lyra had tried to put some salt on her rice, but Alsesta had stopped her. “No. It will ruin the taste of the onions.” Lyra had no idea how Alsesta could have known that, but she had put the salt dispenser down, and ate her risotto. Then dessert. They had both only drunk water during the meal, but Alsesta asked for a small glass of brandy with her coffee. (Black. She was in a good mood.) Lyra had ordered the mini German chocolate cake and a cinnamon latté. It had reminded her of BonBon, and it was equally delicious. As their plates were taken away, and they sat there, letting the food sink down, the slippery manager walked towards their table. Lyra frowned when she noticed him coming, but figured it was inevitable. Alsesta produced her notebook, and Lyra saw how the stallion shot her an almost… resentful look. Lyra raised her eyebrows. Sure, Alsesta was harsh, but come on! You can’t be that thin-skinned to own a restaurant. “Gentlemares… Have you enjoyed your meal?” “It was delicious! I have never tasted anything better.” Lyra had no reason to lie, the food had indeed been great. The stallion smiled an oily smile, which got stiffer as he turned to Alsesta. “I’m pleased to hear. So… Miss Grandeur?” Alsesta didn’t correct him. “The addition of green chilis to the gazpacho was… interesting.” “Interesting. I see. I am a bit surprised you could sense that.” “It was only chopped, not cooked. Only a fool would miss it.” “Dear me. Well, nopony else has complained.” “I have not complained. I was just stating a fact.” “Ah. I see. Any other sort of ‘facts’ you want to state?” “Yes. The risotto was slightly overcooked.” “Indeed. I tasted it myself. It was perfect.” Alsesta consulted her notes. “No. It had cooked for almost 45 seconds too long. 25 seconds could have been forgiven, since that brings out the extra taste in the mushrooms, but 45 makes the rice sticky.” The manager rolled his eyes. “Pardon me, Miss Grandeur…” “Mrs.” “...I may not have your reputation, but I know what ponies like. Risotto is supposed to be… sticky.” “Yes, but only so much. The point of a risotto is not the sticky rice, is it?” “Well, you would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Miss Grandeur.” “It’s Mrs.” “I doubt that. Let me tell you, Miss Grandeur, that while other establishments might lean on your opinion, ‘The DUDE’ is not like any other establishments. We are the prime of Equestrian cuisine, where ponies can come and enjoy their meals. The fact that some creatures can’t appreciate what we have is… unfortunate perhaps, but for those there’s always a hayburger joint down the road.” “What kind of ‘other creatures’?” Lyra had spoken, with a slight edge in her voice. The manager had used an almost fatherly tone, the one one would use to a child. “Ah, Mrs. Heartstrings… the more simple creatures, those who can’t appreciate pony society, those whose brains are not developed for civil life and those who think they can…” “Just say it, Mr. Footlong.” Alsesta interrupted him. “I can see that you want to. Please, don’t let my daughter-in-law's presence hinder you.” “It’s nothing I am ashamed to say. That a mule would ever consider itself knowledgable of EQUESTRIAN habits...hah! And your daughter-in-law? Her? What a joke.” “Why would that be a joke?” Lyra was a living question mark. “How could a MULE get a UNICORN as a daughter-in-law? How much does she pay you for this charade? Or did she tell you some sob-story for you to bring her here perhaps? Or…” “Mr. Footlong.” Alsesta silenced him. “This is enough. I admit I urged you on, but this was my daughter-in-law’s reward for helping another pony and I will not have you destroy this for her any longer. I happen to know Mr. Stirfry, and I will persuade him to give her another reward as make up for this… unfortunate turn of events. As for you, and your establishment…” Mr Footlong shook his head. “Please! I don’t care the slightest about a mule’s opinion! And even...” “Four hooves.” “Four...hooves?” Mr. Footlong had probably something else on his tongue, but that was drowned in his complete surprise at Alsesta’s words. “The localities are in splendid shape and the atmosphere is rich. Your servers are quick and responsive. I especially enjoyed the slice of grape in my sparkling water. The appetizers, were as I said, interesting, and only a fool would fail to appreciate your imaginative approach to creating new dishes, yet so based in tradition. The salad was crisp, and the slight touch of honey on the beets surprised me in a very positive way. And the coffee was great. But I suggest you get rid of the stallion at the bar. He’s on horse.” Alsesta rose, as Mr. Footlong stared at her in silence. “There is a difference between you and me, Mr. Footlong. I always do my job, even when confronted with people I don’t like. Have a good day; I will recommend this restaurant to all of my friends.” And with that, she turned away, and walked out. Lyra had to run to catch up with her. But she hadn’t gone far. She stood there, two houses away, breathing heavily through her nose. “Al...Alsesta?” Alsesta turned her head. Her eyes were dark. “Coffee. With lots of milk and sugar. Now. You’re paying.” *** And here they were, at Moonbutts, enjoying two hot bevereages. “I’m still sorry…” “Lyra.” The unicorn looked up into Alsesta’s eyes. They were no longer angry, only sad. “It’s my life. It has always been like this. Baltimare was bad, New Baltimare is bad. Canterlot is even worse. Manehattan is… Manehattan is actually something of a safe zone for all of us. The non-ponies. Ponyville as well, to some extent.” Lyra felt the tears in her eyes. “I… I am so sorry! I should have… known.” “Lyra. Stop crying. Try to control yourself. There is no good in crying, and you being sorry won't help anypony.” Alsesta’s harsh words stung, but Lyra managed to suppress her tears. “Good. Now listen. I know who I am, and I know that some ponies will never accept it. Now, don’t you for a second think I approve of this or even ‘pony up and learn to live with it’, however... “ She was silent for a second. “No matter what we do, what we think and what we say... we can’t change their minds. Not the ones who are rotten to the core. Once idiots, always idiots. There is only one thing we can do. Two, to be honest.” “Two? What can you do?” “One. Never stoop down to their level. Always be better than them. Never giving them proof of their prejudice, but always be a good example of good behaviour. That makes them the savages they want to paint us as. And…” She put her own hand on Lyra’s and squeezed it slightly. Lyra looked at Alsesta in surprise. “And two. Find allies that will back you, no matter what.” Lyra stared, then she blushed. But she didn’t move her hand. “If you want, you may call me Allie.” Lyra realized in that second that she had been reviewed the whole evening and been found sound. She smiled. “Thanks… Allie. You may call me… Lyra.” A slight snicker came over both mares. Then they sat in silence again for a while. Then Lyra spoke. “I am impressed, though. Foto would’ve probably thrown a tantrum. And I would… at least tried to give them some payback.” Alsesta smirked. The grim smirk so many restaurateurs had learned to fear. “Oh, I will. Even if I never compromise with my reviews, I have my ways. I will talk to Fransie… and she will take my brother, his husband and Hoity and his little herd of lovers there… next Friday night would probably suit… “ Alsesta took a sip of her coffee and leaned back. “They might seem harmless, but I have seen them in action. They will make that restaurant look like a bugbear Riverdance revue. As I said, get some allies.”
MareSeptember. Alsesta Grandeur lived in the part of Canterlot known as “Major’s Folly”. It was a dull two½-roomer on the fifth floor of a very old building. As she entered, Anton, her trusty Doberman raised his head and shook his tail. But he know mother, nothing more affectionate than that, and there would be a promenade later and perhaps one or two biscuits. Alsesta took of her coat, gave Anton a tap on his head, and walked out to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Black. Very black. Ponies with pets often treated them as good friends and told them about their days, and Alsesta was no exception. Anytime something special or out of the ordinary happens, she told him. It was, however, very rare that such things happened. That restaurant down at Palace & Mane being a disaster? Just what you could expect. No hooves. That her boss was an ass, literally? Same as last week. That her favourite Bistro made an excellent Croque Madame? As if they dared to do anything else. So, nothing special, nothing to mention to him. She took a sip of her coffee and frowned. And not only from the coffee. There had been one thing… The boss wanted to release a collection of her best (worst) reviews and insisted on there being a cover picture. And it was not like they could just take a camera there and just take a picture, no no. They had to hire “the best”. Alsesta snorted. The best… yeah, and you could eat hay fries. Photo Finish… She knew of her, of course. It was impossible not to. Alsesta made a great affair not caring about celebrities, and this was no exception. She put down her cup and thought back on her day. “I, Photo Finish, will make this bland pony into a superstar!” “Get your hands off me. Five pictures. Nothing more. And GET THE HAY OFF with that make-up!” ... “Pose! Pose! Pose! Ah, in ze name of ze mutterland, POSE!” “I am Alsesta Grandeur. I do not pose. And you only have one picture left.” … She looked down into her cup. Then at anton. Then she shook her head. No. Nothing. Nothing worth mentioning what so ever. She took the leash and whistled. “Anton! Promenade!” November It had been weeks since a review by Alsesta Grandeur had reached the papers. And why? Because she was incapable of pursuing her craft, that was why! At every restaurant, every café, every Bistro that she deemed to be worthy of her grading eye… there she was. That damn mare! And always with company. Usually a small herd of young, loud and eye-picking ponies. They always burst in while she was sitting there, evaluating. Always order the most expensive and drinking the most. And always toasting to her. It was impossible to get anything done under those circumstances. Once or twice she toyed with the idea that that mare had come for her. As if she was specifically there for her sake. To make sure that she thoroughly destroyed her ability to work. But she shot that idea away. She was too much of a shallow noble bastard to even consider such an elaborate plan. It was probably only by mistake that she ruined her life. She had to admit, at times it had been not completely unpleasant. It was interesting to se how well the staff worked under press. Hey, what was this? An invitation? From… Hoity Toity? To a party? ‘By the recommendation of Photo Finish.’ Very strange. Better not think about it. December Canterlot during winter was awful. But at least Photo had stopped stalking her. Now she could work again without the nuicance of her showing up. Yep. Exactly like she wanted it. But Canterlot was still awful. It had been slightly better when Photo Finish and her posse had been there as a diversion. But only slightly. January This was the third invitation in a month. December had been three, and she expected two more. And February looked like it would be the same. She had gone once, on the 17th of December. It had been disturbing, to say the least. The drinks were to loaded, no taste, only alcohol. The ponies invited had been uninteresting and boring. And that Photo Finish...To loud. She could even be heard over the band. The band. Yeah, no. They had no style. Two hooves, barely. Well, they weren't beyond all hope. That singer... Now there was some potential… She did sing them old Dino evergreens not that bad. It seemed like she and her band were playing tonight as well. What was her name... Oh, yes. Vixen Grin. She even bought the album. "Vixen sings the Frat Pack." She rose, walked over to her stereo and put it on. Soon, the smooth alto could be heard, with exaclty right sauciness singing "Five minutes more." For some time, she just stood there and listened. Photo apparently wanted her there, since almost every invitiation ended with ‘By the recommendation of Photo Finish.’ But then there was the other ponies. The stuck up bastards her brother just LOOOVED to spend time with. They all hated her, and she hated them. She decided to go just to spite them. Photo... She was going to be there. That was bearable. Perhaps she would agree to a dance? One dance, at least. Just to see if she still knew the steps. Yes. February The Neigh Yorker. They had called her. The Neigh Yorker, perhaps one of the largest paper in Equestria had called her. And asked her to come and write for them. She could write her own paycheck, ask for a penthouse, have her own large office, anything. And today then contract had arrived. It was a dream contract, her lawyer had informed her. She could ask for exactly anything (Within the normal limitations of magic and economics of course.). And she sat there on her bed, ready to tear it in part. Alsesta Grandeur was not bought by anypony, and no bits could ever be enough. THEY shouldn't call for her, SHE was the one to inform them that she would come and work for them. And why would she go to Manehattan anyway? The city that was a mish-mash of absolutely everything and swallowed down with to much soda! Canterlot had it’s fine mix of Phrench cuisine and classic Equestrian cooking. Manehattan… even had Saddle-Arabian… She was no speciest, but Saddle-arabian cuisine was… like a dry day in the desert with oil to drink. And there were other foul things, like… Pizza. Why would she go there? Somewhere inside her, she heard a voice. You’re being childish. You hate Canterlot. You hate those snobby nobles. You want new. You want places that hasn’t learned to fear your pen. Here is your chance! She didn’t let go of the paper. She was in control. Never let the feelings decide. She had a good life here. She knew what she had, and what to expect. She didn’t want ‘New’. She had been to Manehattan once. Her brothers wedding. That was enough. And yet, she didn’t tore the paper apart. SHE lives there. Photo, the mare who has made you go to parties for the last three weeks, lives there. The one you always dance the last dance with. And sometimes the last but one. And one time even the last but three... She frowned. Another great reason for her NOT to go. And besides, where would she find an apartment? That she LIKED. ...On the other hand, Brother had moved to Manehattan some years ago…It could be nice to see him more often. And Dandy would know what kind of apartment she wanted. Heck, he even married a builder. She could trust him. And that husband of his… He was bearable. Where did they live? Lower east side or something like that. Not to close to Dandy, say within a 20-minutes walk. Yes. He could probably get her something… And then there was Le Petit Grandeur, her own little oasis in the terrible Manehattan food district. The bistro could use some hands-on direction from their owner. It should probably expand. It DESERVED to expand. Yes, them Manhattanites would learn what GOOD food was. She lowered the contract and produced her pen. Besides, she needed to know how the staff in Manehatten reacted to Photo Finish. Yes. March Anton lay in his usual place. Mistress had been sleeping in today again. It was a hard life, going to parties two times a week, then have a few drinks, dance for a while and then walk home. Wherever she was, always walk home. That took it's tall. And the drinks didn't help. Or the dancing. Or that mare who persisted in accompaning her home. Once the mistress had spent one hour trying to lead her astray. It failed, and that day, she slept til noon. Anton knew all this, becuase mistress told him everything. Anton loved his mistress. Sure, she didn't walk with him as often as before, she was tired. But she looked tired in a good way. Like Anton did, when he had been chasing a particularly tasty rabbit. Apparently, the mistress had found a rabbit to hunt. Or at least, some rabbit that wanted the mistress to hunt her. Those were the best rabbits. Anton yawned, and fell asleep again. It would not be a promenade today either. He remember mistress being grumpy about 'having to go to another bloody party and not have anything to wear except for some glove and a bow-tie.'. Yep. She had found her rabbit alright. April THAT was some experience. She had ponies hitting on her a couple of times, sure. But that was in her youth when colts who only thought with their dicks could be found everywhere. But a full grown mare, acting like a high-school filly? Sure, that dress… She had to admit it was… It had some qualities. And that place could produce edible food. And that band...They had some flaws, but that singer knew her crooning. Alsesta herself had been wearing gloves. Just for etiquette, nothing else. And then, at her apartment… Alsesta shook it off. She was nothing like that mare. Nothing. And she wanted nothing to do with her. Likely story. So why did you agree to come? Why did you dance with her? Why did you follow her home? She stopped in the street. Raised her hands to the sky and screamed in frustration. “YES YES YES I KNOW! I AM WEAK! I AM She… I… I want… but…” She lowered her hands, and sank down on her knees. Her armour was once again broken. And she had promised herself that nopony would ever break it again. She was a failure. But she slowly raised her head again, with a new fire in her eyes. “No.” She said to nopony in particular. Because this time...was different. The armour had been broken with something else than strokes and insults. And the mare doing it… She was...peculiar. Perhaps she could... “Yes.” She lifted her head. “Yes, I can. But not like that.” She rose to her hooves. “I am a warrior. No daddy’s girl. I am in control. Decorum. Style. The proper way. Not like that. Alsesta Grandeur doesn’t do things that way. If she want’s me, she will have to know that.” She turned her head around, up to that apartment she had left minutes earlier. Then she turned around. “I will come back tomorrow. Yes. Tomorrow. Not tonight. I don’t want her to believe anything. But tomorrow… I wonder if she drinks coffee. Perhaps she has no coffee at all? I’d better buy some in case of…” She began to walk home with brisk steps. She had reached a conclusion. She was satisfied. “We start with coffee. And we will do this MY way. Alsesta Grandeur is not somepony’s toy.” July “Lunch with Photo.” “Dinner with Photo” “Coffee with Photo” “Trying to hide from Photo”, crossed out and replaced with “Wine with Photo”. She could even add “Copulated with Photo” if she wanted, but she was not the kind of mare who wrote that down. She bought a new bottle of Whiskey for every time instead. And with today she had five bottles. Alsesta's Calendar was getting filled with those dates more and more… At least four times a week. She even had brought her along on one of her official visits once. She of course praised food that was worth barely 2.4 hooves. Like...Asparagus? REALLY? She shivered. “I am not in love or anything like that…” She paused, and looked at Anton, lying sleepily in his casket. “Anton, what are you looking at? Don’t judge me!” The doberman raised his brows lazily. “Oh, stop it. I saw you leering at that poodle yesterday. You swede. And no, I do not know ‘what poodles are like’! That’s not even a thing. Chauvinist.” Anton only raised his head and looked at her. She sighed. “But this isn’t really about the poodle, is it?” Anton still looked at her. “Alright… I can’t lie to you I guess.” She paused, and pointed a finger at him. “But don’t expect me to pour my heart out to you like a spineless scallop! I’m confused, not dying!” She looked at the clock on her table. “And I’m supposed to meet her in twenty minutes. Look what you made me do! Bad dog! No biscuits for you!” And she was out. Anton yawned. He knew he would get his biscuits later. August Alsesta Grandeur lived in the part of Manehattan known as “Sandwedge Village”. It was a dull two-roomer on the third floor of a rather old building. As she entered, Anton, her trusty Doberman raised his head and shook his tail. But he know mother, nothing more affectionate than that, and there would be a promenade later and perhaps one or two biscuits. Alsesta took of her coat, gave Anton a tap on his head, and walked out to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Black. Very black. Ponies with pets often treated them as good friends and told them about their days, and Alsesta was no exception. Anytime something special or out of the ordinary happens, she told him. It was, however, very rare that such things happened. That restaurant down at 37th & 8th being a disaster? Just what you could expect. No hooves. That her new boss was an ass, literally? Same as last week. That her favourite Bistro made an excellent Croque Monsieur? As if they dared to do anything else. So, nothing special, nothing to mention to him. She took a sip of her coffee and frowned. And not only from the coffee. There was Photo, though… Today was almost one year since she first met her. Over that year, things had changed most dramatically. And no matter how much she wanted to deny it, it was time to take a new step in her life. She had responsibilities, and it was better to start early, so he could get used to it. She looked at Anton and opened her mouth. “Anton… I’ve met somepony…”
BoldBold The kettle whistled the same moment I was done preparing the strainer. In the cup I had poured honey, and a whisper of brandy. Some prefer to add it after the water, but I prefer the taste to be there from the beginning. I poured the water in and was instantly rewarded with a breeze of perfection. To be honest, I have never been that much of a tea snob, but I know how I like my tea, and at least when I prepare it myself I could as well afford to have it exactly as I want it. I began to leave the kitchen, as I realized that I almost forgot the most important thing! I turned back, took another cup from the locker, and from the coffee maker I poured an almost pitch-black fluid right into it. Just the way she wants it. Not the way she likes it, though, but I’m not arguing with her about that. I took the two cups and walked to the living room. She sat at her usual table, pen in hand, writing in her notebook. I placed the coffee next to her and gave her a kiss on her forehead. “Coffee, mein engel.” She looked up and stared at me. Then at the coffee. Then at me again. Then she slowly put down the pen and took a zip. A shadow of a bitter frown played on her face but she was back to her normal self soon enough. “Thanks… Fransie. But do you mind? I’m working.” “But of course, engelchen. Do not let me dizturb jo." I stepped away from her and sat down on the sofa, sipping at my tea, and feeling contented with the world. My Tausendschön had taken her usual spot next to me. She was not purring, for a cat she was rather unorthodox like that, but I enjoyed her company nevertheless. My engelchen was sitting right opposite to me, so that I could admire her as much as I wanted. She threw me the occasional irritated glance, but I have known her long enough to know that it is only a mask she’s wearing. I took off my glasses. Ah, at times like this, I wish I had two eyes. More to look at her with. Some of the chefs that has been on the receiving end of her more poisonous reviews are convinced that she is a vampire that catch fire during daylight, always wears a wicked grin as she writes her ‘epitaphs’, and uses the blood of poor sous chefs as ink. Nothing would be further from the truth. She do use a really expensive pen, but that is all. As I watched her, she looked the same as always when she worked. There was no wicked grin playing on her face, no satisfied smile as she wrote another arrow dripping with acid. Her face showed no emotion, save for the occasional time when she looked straight ahead at nothing, searching for an even more precise enunciation. To her, it has never been about “letting anypony have it”. To her, food is art, and the chef is an artist touched by a gift and Celestia have mercy on the poor soul that not use this gift to the nine. Her face was, as always, the perfect image of control. Bonchen once asked me ‘How in the name of Megan I found out that SHE [Alsesta, that is] was gay’. I told my dear filly that when you have been in the fashion business as long as I have, you develop a gaydar whether you like it or not. I took another sip, sighed and began reminiscing back to that first time… Not that we met, because that was too long ago. No, the first time that I knew. I was together with… oh, what was her name? Fleur de Lis’s mentor… Ah whatever. Why did I even date such a freemartin? Sure, dem legs… And that brash attitude combined with no talent and too much talking. Nein, danke. And she was a corpse in the sack too. Surprised, I noticed that my tea had gone cold. I shrugged my shoulder, I could always make more. I looked at mein engelchen again. She took another sip of coffee and she had precisely that face that I remember from that day. I don’t remember the reason, but I know I was there to take her portrait. Oh, mein engelchen... She was so very reluctant. The worst model ever. In part it was because it was me, but mostly because she didn’t like her picture to be taken. She was the hardest object I ever worked with. She didn’t cooperate at all, no poses, nothing! She just stood there. Wearing that face. The face of perfect self control, a mare in total control of herself and a mare that didn’t move an inch without it being her utter and sole will to do so. I was ashamed to admit it, but I was spoiled. Everypony lay down at my feet, I, the mighty Photo Finish! Bow to me, peasants! But she… she treated me like I had been a heap of manure or worse. She was in control, I was only an obstacle in her way. It turned me on furiously. I needed that mare, I wanted that mare, I HAD TO HAVE HER! That day I made a wow that I wouldn’t rest, I wouldn’t work, I dedicated my whole life… not to win her heart, no. To break that control. To completely dominate her. To make her want me so much that she would make herself ridiculous to the whole world! To make her mine… and then keep her on a leash, never to be sure. “Fransie?” For anypony else, it might have been a problem, but for somepony like me, with my contacts? It was easy as sachertorte. At any restaurant that she would frequent, there I was. At every little bistro, café or bar, she would see me. I made myself a bigger and bigger part of her life. With my posse, yes, but how would I ever make an impact on her if I didn't show her what a Queen I was! Offering her drinks, winking, wearing the most distinguished toilets. And she treated me like a mosquito. “Fransie…” Not that I gave up! Instead, I began to use my more ‘distinguished’ contacts to invite her to their parties. Ah, the old fags, how they would stare at me, and ask with completely open content why in Tartaros I wanted them to invite HER. They compelled, but it took its toll. Some time, ‘suck up to someone’ is literal. I looked down at my teacup again, reminiscing on how much of a fool I was. Ah, I don’t want to remember all the embarrassing details. Because she came to the parties, made exactly sure that she didn't enjoy herself, and left. And I was there, forcing her into the centre of the party, making sure she got the message. “Come with me, and I will take you away from here. But you have to do exactly as I say.” “Fransbrötchen…” But she never gave in. She made an affair of always walking home. And always a reply to my attempts, cold, cynical… and wunderbar. ‘Ah, siz band is really swinging! And zat horn-section…’ ‘You know, the definition of a gentlemare is somepony who knows how to play the trumpet but chooses not too.’ … ‘Ah, I juzt love to do ze tango!’ ‘Then I suggest you wait for one. This is a foxtrot.’ … “Just think, mein liebchen… jo could have been anywhere in Equestria tonight, and yet jo are here with me, dancing…” “Yes..it occurs that any other venue, with another band would have been preferable.” … ‘Jo know what would make this night perfect? Jo and me, alone, some wine, a sofa…’ ‘Change the wine to coffee, the sofa to my bed and you and me to just me and I would agree, yes.” I was my brash, loud self, and she turned me away...but every time, I had made a slightly bigger hole in the stone wall she put around herself. Slowly, slowly, I got closer to her. Because when fall came, even she admitted it was nice to take a limo when it was raining. And soon I finally had her there, talking. Three weeks, and seven rides later I did it. I had the whole evening arranged. I wore that red glittery dress with the long slitz and gloves. I even wore my matching eyepatch. I had the place booked to only us and a few selected guest (so she wouldn't be suspicious.), I even managed to hire Vixen Grin and the Foalumbus Foxfire - again. We might have had a bit of a fallout some weeks before when... I accidently beat her up... Anyway! The night was perfect. I wearing my killer dress, she in her usual white shirt and black pants... But she did wear a bow tie and gloves for me. I knew this was the night! I brought her to my place, presented myself to her, promising a night of love and bliss. “Are you even aware that I am in this room?” And she said “no”. Even at that time, when she was 99% mein, she had control. And I realized it finally. I was the fool. I was the one who was obsessed and made a fool of myself. That night, when she left me, I cried. Always in control, always. And there I was, facing the irony of my plan backfiring with a vengeance. I was completely in love, I had made a complete ass of myself and my love was not an inch closer. The leash was around my neck, only for her to take it and I would jump for her. But she didn’t pick it up. She didn’t even look at it…. But the next day she came back, with a package of coffee. ‘If you really do want something from me, then for Celestia's sake, get the right coffee.’ I had no reply to that. 'You DO drink coffe, don't you?" I sniffled, I'm not sure I even answered, but I must have said something as she nodded. 'Good. Now we're getting somewhere. Do you have a coffee maker?" 'Ja', I managed to stutter out. 'Don't cry. ...Milk or sugar? You look like that kind of pony.' 'Ok. And milk, bitte.' That was when I realized that…. “HEY! IDIOT!” I shook my head, being returned to the present. “What is it, engelchen?” She looked at me and frowned which I knew hid the smile she really wanted to show. “You have been staring at the wall for more than twenty minutes. I know that look. It either means you're hungry or you're horny.” I smiled. Ah yes, the beautiful, beautiful irony. That she has no idea how much in control she is. That it is she that steers this relationship and that I long for her embrace every day, desperately wanting more, while she is convinced that SHE is the one who made the ‘mistake of being in love’... “Well, liebchen… I was only thinking about how much Ich lieb dich, aber… zat was two very good suggestions… Ah, decisions, decisions… I zink I will seduce jo first, then let jo take me out.” She stared at me, and rolled her eyes. “You are aware that I need to have this done by tomorrow? Don’t expect me to dress up as Poland and let you invade me!” I smiled at her, and smirked. One day, perhaps she will understand and take the complete control. ...But until then, as it’s all a game of wits or innuendos… I am the champion. I rose from the sofa and walked over to her. I put my arms around her and began to stroke her chest. “No, be Prussian for me. I prefer to take jo by force.” “Oh, shut up,” she ejaculated. But she didn't lift one hand to stop me when I began to unbutton her shirt. Author's Note Inspiration More inspiration Vixen Grin and her Band.
The MomentThat moment when everything turned. The Neigh Yorker was one of the largest and most prominent papers in Manehattan, and to a level even in Equestria as a whole. It's editorial office and HQ was placed in a skyscraper at the corner of 9th and 36th, which it shared with a marketing firm, a pizza place and a factory for prostheses. The HQ included the top fifteen floors, starting at seventeen with the reception and ended on thirtytwo with the gym and their very own Thin & Expensive Coffee shop. And on the 27th floor, there was a small office with the name "Alsesta Grandeur" on the door. It wasn’t much to the world, and yet, this was the publication’s food department. Alsesta Grandeur ran her four pages mostly by herself, only with the assistance of a photographer from time to time. In here, she created magic using only a pen and a typewriter. The room was, not surprisingly, sparsely furnished. A desk with the mentioned typewriter, a surprisingly comfortable chair, a waste paper bin and a coffee machine was the whole (if you didn’t count the food bowls on the floor for the large Doberman that usually filled up the room). Alsesta did most of her work at home or on location, but two days of the week she spent here, transcribing her articles or drinking pitch black coffee and looking out over her town. Especially on rainy days. Journalism was a tough business. But she was a tough mare. But that didn’t mean she spent all her time in her room, no. Two days of the week was enough. It was not like they owned her or anything. Today was a full working day, and the smattering from the typewriter filled the room. She had been slacking of some lately due to the antics of a mare who apparently had decided that she wanted to be a part of her life. Four days ago they woke up together in the same bed, and because of that, Alsesta was now spending her third day in a row at her office. She wasn’t avoiding her or anything, it was just… Work. yes. And she had three reviews and two articles to do. She could of course do them next week… But Alsesta Grandeur was not tardy! She had one reason, and one reason only to stay at Fransbrötchens place. That hard mattress of hers had done wonders to her back. Yes. The other things that happened were just a coincidence. Perhaps she should go over to see her on Friday. Or Saturday. Or Sunday. Not to get her hopes up or that she was having some urges, just for the chance to sleep better. Yes. She was halfway through the second review when there was a knock on the door and her editor-in-chief entered the room without waiting for permission. Despite mostly handling herself, Alsesta was technically a part of the staff for lifestyle and housekeeping, and her boss was a mare named Stew What, who didn't know smack about food. And therefore, Alsesta despised her, naturally. "Zesty! Great! Just the mare I was looking for!" "Don't. call. me. Zesty. And, yes, here I am. Now that you found me, please leave." "Zesty, Zesty, Zesty! My mare Zesty! You’re full of surprises! It’s just like you, to not say a word and surprise us just like that! I tell you, the directors are over the top about this! I tell you, there will be a fat bonus waiting for you this month. Four numbers." Alsesta stared at her. "Bonus? For what? ...Did my warning against visiting "The Prancing Windigo" save that many lives from dead tastebuds?" Stew laughed her boasting stupid laugh. "Ha! You know, Zesty, you can be really funny when you put your mind to it. Come on, don’t be modest! You know!” “I can’t say I do, no.” “Alright, alright, let’s ‘pretend’, shall we. Typically Zesty. Well, I’ll say it straight, you saved the day! Or rather, the weekend. Thanks to you, our weekend special will sell like salt stones in June! " Alsesta looked sceptical. "What have I done?" Stew slapped her on her shoulder, rather hard. "Come on now, Zesty! She told us that all about how you persuaded her to do it! To be honest, I almost fell out of my chair when she said your name. How do YOU know HER?" Alsesta stared at her boss with empty eyes. She had absolutely no idea whatsoever what she was talking about. And who was 'Her'...? Her. Of course. Then everything fell into place. There was only three mares she knew of with enough reputation to be referred to simply as "Her”. One was a famous up and coming model. One was a princess... And the third one was the singular reason she had spent three days at the office instead of her apartment. "Holy Saint Megan… Please don’t tell me it is Fra...Photo Finish?" "Mares and Gentlecolts, we have a winner! Do you have any idea how big this is? Photo Finish giving US an exclusive set of pictures? This is a sensation! Clothes by Suri Polomare and modelled by our own star reporters! She will call it 'front page cover extraordinaire'. This is better than our Hearts and Hooves special Q&A with Princess Cadence! Well, gotta run! Can't let her wait! Or ‘She goes!’ She really is something else. Whatever your connection is, be sure to use it again and you might even get a secretary!" And she was gone. Like she would need a secretary. So, Franzbrötchen was in the building now? ...If she worked hard, she would get one article done and then she could take a cart and be gone in half an hour. But somewhere inside her was this nagging wish to look at her. A bit at least. And so, Alsesta found herself in the elevator on its way to the 30th floor where the newsroom was. It was the place in the building with the largest windows and the whole Manehattan skyline behind it. No guess there on where the shoot would take place. She was busy, but five minutes she could afford, just looking. As she left the elevator, she almost walked straight into the shot, and she quickly took cover. Three of her colleagues, two mares and one stallions walked up and down in... clothes. Alsesta didn't care schmuck about clothes, but she had to admit that it didn't look to bad. There was a few curious watchers standing there, including a few of the boardponies. Also, one of the mares was the magazines star-reporter, Say-More Horsh. Alsesta had to admit it was impressive. But there was no doubt about who was the center piece in this business. All attention in the room was sucked into the small mare with the sunglasses and black skirt, surrounded by her assistants and with her camera around her neck. She was dominating the situation with an ease captains of the royal guard could only dream about. Alsesta crouched down behind her hiding place (only now she noticed it was a hibiscus), peeked through the leaves and looked at her. Brash and loud as she always was in private, there was a difference between Fransbrötchen and Photo Finish. Fransie was just loud, Photo barked. "More make up! Too much! Not enough! Too much! Enough! And pose! And pose! Ah yes, I, Photo Finish will create… ze magicks here in zis very room! NEIN! Lower ze arm! No, ze other arm! No ze other arm! Yes! Yes! Yes! NEIN! Zis is not some kind of fashion show! Hold zat position! Zis is ze life here! Ze action! Ze drama! Ze intrigues! Ze passion! YES! Like zat! NEIN! BEWEGEN SIE NICHT! JA! JA! JA! ENOUGH! Where is my coffee? More milk! ENOUGH! NEXT!" Alsesta turned around and left. She had seen enough. "Good thing she keeps that side away from home," she muttered to herself. There was nothing likable in that barking and demanding attitude. Nothing at all. Nothing that made her cheeks blush. No. Nope. And that dress she wore… that provoking combination of black, white and pink, and that really slim skirt, with only a small hole for her tail... combined with some really edgy stockings… Coffee. She needed coffee. Now. Back into the safe and quietness of her office she poured another cup of coffee and sat down. She could still escape. There was the possibility that she didn’t know where she worked… Oh, stop being stupid! Of course she know where I work! Why else would she be here. And arrange a photo session! Just to show off… Stupid mare. Automatically her fingers began to move over the typewriter, only waiting for the inevitable. And after 45 minutes, it came. There was another knock on the door, and again she didn’t wait for permission to enter. Alsesta frowned. "What is it now, Stew..." But of course it wasn't Stew. "Hallo liebchen... Such a nice office jo have!" Alsesta stared at the flamboyant image in the doorway. She wore exactly the same clothes, only the sunglasses were off. She swallowed and managed to answer pretty clear. "Fransie? What are you doing here?" "Ah, why do jo ask? I saw jo before when jo tried to be discreet..." She put a hand on Alsesta’s neck and kissed her forehead. “Jo know why…” Alsesta blushed. "Yes, well... I meant here, now?" "It has been some days, liebchen. I missed jo. I wanted to see jo.” “You could have called.” “Jo haven’t given me jor number. But I knew where jo worked so… here I went.” “Yes, with all your entourage. You could have just come here, you know?” Fransbrötchen placed her hand on her chest in an indignant way. “And let the whole world know that PHOTO FINISH was here only to see ze great Alsesta Grandeur? The scandal! And jo wouldn’t like it…” “Beg your pardon?” “SO! I decided to come here, big style. Zis way no pony would guess that I’m here to see jo…” “You said that I persuaded you to come here!” “And jo did! By not responding to me, jo made me come to jo! What else could I do?” Alesta raised a finger, but found herself without words that descirbed what she felt, and let the hand fall down. “No, I wanted to make an impression! And I wanted... jo." Quick as a weasel she had one hand inside of Alsesta’s shirt and began to unbutton it. She swung her leg over Alsesta and straddled her before she had the chance to react but now she caught Fransie’s hand. "What are you... stop!" "Liebchen... Jo didn’t mind when I touched jo last Saturday...or ze week before… and zat time on ze couch…” Alsesta’s mind had a fight with a completely different part of her body regarding the response. In the end it was a draw and her answer was "Well... no, but... this is my office! You can’t..." "So? Nopony tells Photo finish what to do and not… " "Please, Fransie… I'm not... wearing a bra..." It was true. She had skipped that part of her outfit this morning, knowing she would be indoors the whole day. And she hoped there was some normal decency in Fransbrötchen. Fransbrötchen smiled. There was evil behind that smile, Alsesta was sure about it. "Well, that's good." She leaned forward and whispered, "Because I am not wearing any panties..." She took Alsesta’s free hand and led it in under her dress and between her legs. It was warm and moist. "Fransie... you..." She leaned even closer. "I want Jo, engelchen. I need jo. Please, love me. Love me now." Alsesta stammered. "But... but... this is an office! I... I have nothing to…” "Wrong, mein liebchen. Jo are here. And jor fingers are exactly where zey should be. Just don't move them. I will do ze rest..." … Fransbrötchen left Alsesta 15 minutes later. She sat completely still in her chair, just staring, with one hand down her pants. She kept that exact position even three hours later when the cleaner passed. First she shouted at him. Then she went to the bathroom to wash her hands. Then she got herself another cup of coffee. With lots of milk and sugar this time. Screw decorum! She made her decision, she was going to give it. Might as well do it completely. She walked over to the next office, where she lifted the receiver and rang a certain number. “Hello, Fransbrötchen… It’s me… My number is 487634 and… there is this new Neighapolitan place down at 23rd… I was going to test it tonight and… the table is for two… it would be a waste to not… and the Paper is paying… what? No, it would just be convenient… But... But… Yes, but...“ She looked at the wall in silence, and then, almost whispering she said: “Fransbrötchen… would you like to dine with me tonight?” Author's Note A sexier version of this chapter can be found here.
Carrot dogsShe’s heavy. And her hand is cold. How can it be cold? The sun is shining, I observed the thermometer showing 82 degrees. How can her hand be cold? I will place my hand on hers. Only because it is bad if she catches a cold. Yes. The grass is itching. I don’t like grass. Civilized ponies doesn’t eat grass. Except for Foie gras. Ha. I can make a joke. A good, clean, witty joke. So whatever that dimwit mare down at that bistro in NoHo said, I can make a joke. Civilized ponies don’t lie on grass either. Weren’t we lying on a blanket? That’s what I thought. So, where does this itchy grass come from? Did it blow here with the wind? Did some ants carry it here? Why am I even thinking this? Because the grass itches. Her hand is warmer. Good. I can remove it now. If I want to. Anytime. She’s provided for. I have done only what a decent pony would. Let’s just keep it there for a while anyway. It’s not that I have to. But I have no place where my hand is needed more. So I’ll leave it there. Just for now. She might get cold hands again. Stressed ponies gets cold hands. Perhaps I should make sure she isn’t stressed. Just so she doesn’t get cold hands again. Her mane is lean. If I stroke it slowly she will probably not get stressed. And then she won’t get cold hands, and then I can safely remove my hand. Mmm… Better keep it there for a while, better safe than sorry. How does she keep her mane so lean? If she were stressed, she would have a messy mane. Dad had a messy mane. Brother sometimes has a messy mane. Hadn’t it been for Moolers “preciosa” even my mane would be a mess. Not that I’m stressed. But there always has to be an exception to the rule. She has not-messy hair. If I continue stroking it she won’t get a messy mane either. She is smiling. It’s a rather peculiar smile. It’s a smile only she has. Peculiar. She smiles quite often when I’m around. I can observe her peculiar smile as much as I want. Interesting if one was an anthropologist. But I can say it’s peculiar. So, Centaur Park. Ok. Is this it then? A few yards of grass, trees, some hoofball fields, a playground and a zoo. And some ponds. That’s not much. Well, to call it a pond is perhaps an understatement. It is a lake. Small, but a lake. And it’s a rather large lawn… Are they using sheep to cut the grass? It sure feels that way. Teeth-cut. I guess this is all you do here. Lying on the grass on a blanket with a heavy mare on my chest. Or shoulder. More the shoulder, but the chest takes the most weight. Let’s say chest. Chest. Can she hear my heartbeat? It would be interesting to hear hers. Just to see how healthy she is. What was that she said? All of my snuggle sessions in the past? Oh, yes I remember all four of them. Who does she think I am? Don Neighovanni? It’s not like I have a catalogue or anything. There was Storm Gazer. Heh. Gulper I called her. Gulper... bah. Stupid Nickname. Then Bree. And that griffon… She was intense. If only ponies could be a bit more graceful. Snuggling. It sounds like a cheap fish dish that you eat on the turf. Is this snuggling we do now? That is acceptable. She can take it slow at times it seems. I love her. What the... Where did that come from? I don’t… I love her. I love her. Hmmm. I. Love. Her. Then it must be true. I never say things that aren’t true. I am always precise and to the point. Therefore, if I say I am in love, I must be deeply in love. With Fransbrötchen. I love Fransbrötchen. Do I? Yes. Apparently I do. How did that happen? The grass itches still. Coming to think of it, I’d rather eat the grass than have it itch my back. If I had to. The sheep have a point I guess. Why am I thinking of sheep? Is it time for lunch already? I am feeling a bit peckish... When is her lunch break over? We’d better eat before it is. Perhaps she has taken her afternoon of. ‘I go’ and then she is gone. Perhaps. There was a hot carrot-dog stand on the way. She said the food here was great. If that stand is what she referred to, she must be lying. Many words can describe a hot carrot-dog stand but not ‘great’. Except when paired with inconvenience, or nuisance. But perhaps there is a place here I don’t know about? No, no, impossible. I know all about top-class cuisine in Manehattan. If there was some decent place to eat around here, I would know. So, hot carrot-dog… yes, no thank you. What if she likes them? What if she likes them so much that she buys one? Perhaps even one for me? What do I do? And what do I do if somepony sees me, that knows me? The scandal… Perhaps ‘Scandal’ is too much of a word. But debacle. Yes. Debacle. I can’t love somepony who eats carrot-dogs. But if she does, then I do love somepony who eats carrot-dogs. Hmm… that deserves consideration. Maybe I will wait for another day to tell her that I love her. Just in case she likes carrot-dogs. Another good decision made by Alsesta Grandeur. This is good. And it doesn’t itch as much as before. Does she use mustard? Mustard is good… I can love somepony who loves a little mustard. But not to much. If I let her eat one every week… no month. Yes, month. That will be ok. Author's Note Inspiration I like stream of conciousness.
Boring? (ReVamp) - LyraBonIt was saturday in the Lyra/BonBon-recidence. Tootsie was busy with her afternoon nap and her one mother Lyra had just gone out for some "extreme Lyre-playing", whatever the heck that was. Her other mom BonBon was standing in the window, facing the street. At the moment she payed no attention to Tootsies light snoring in the next door room. Instead she had been following her wife with her eyes as she trotted along the path towards the east part of Ponyville and she was still standing there, long after Lyra had disappeared from her view. BonBon was staring at an undefined point in the road, but her mind was far away. She was thinking about her mother, or rather, something her mother had said. BonBon didn't like to think about her mother, and even less what she said, but this... It had touched her deep. It had happened a few days ago. Her mother, Franzbrötchen had stormed in through the door, demanded something to drink and crowing to BonBon that she had something important to say. BonBon realized that this fate was unevitable and so she kissed her plans for a nice, free evening on her own goodbye. Then she made coffee and brought a bottle of brandy to the table. She even put on a plate with a fresh batch of champagne-flavoured fudge that her mother liked. Then she tried to look friendly and listening. The important thing she had to say… well... BonBon sighed again. Oh, she could remember every word her mother said... *** “...Und zhen I got a steady grip on her horn, and forced her down on ze mattress, screaming “I vill make sex to jo so hard, jo vill stay sexed until next month!! Und denn, I penetrated her mit die mighty kaiser! Und…” “Mutter!” Bonbon pinched her muzzle, “First of all, why are you telling me this? And second, it’s not “Die” kaiser.” “For me, it is! And I vas not finished! Now…” BonBon laid her hand on the table, gesturing that she’d had enough. And to her surprise, her mother shut up. “Mutter… Stop. I don’t want to hear. You and Alsesta have a sexlife. Good for you. Who would have guessed the old vampire even had organs for reproduction, but since you are with her, She must be capable of having sex. So I’ll ask you again, why are you telling me this? And also, ‘sexed’?” “I actually said ‘fuck’, but I don’t care to be unnecessarily vulgar right now. And I am telling jo zis because I am worried about jo.” BonBon had been staring at the older earth pony for a second. But Franzbrötchen looked absolutely serious. Then a smile begun to play on BonBon’s lips and after a few seconds she had broken into a hearty laugh. Her mother had frowned at her. “Vat is so funny about zis?” Ithad taken BonBon a little while to control herself enough to stop laughing. “Mutter… heh…” She had to wipe a tear from her chin, “You haven’t given a shit about me, not even one day since I was born. And now, coming here saying you’re ‘worried’... Yeah, that’s a lie if I ever heard one.” “Zat is not true! I do care!” “Oh yeah? Where were you on my fifth birthday?” “Fifth birthday? Let’s see… Las Pegasus… no zat was ze year before… Brayverly Hills…” “I think that proves my point. Look, I acknowledge that you are my mother, and that we are related. That’s all. You don’t care about me, and I try to not care about you. And now you are here, saying you are WORRIED? That’s rich.” “Bonchen, I care about ze stuff zat is important. Birthdays und silly placeholders are not. Vhat I care about is jor life. I vant jo to be happy.” “Mutter, that is just… Alright, you know what? I’ll pretend that I give a damn about your opinion. Please explain to me why I’m not happy?” “Jo married zat airheaded green slob und…” “Mutter. Insult my wife and I WILL throw you out.” Franzbrötchen had been staring at her with anger, but BonBon had stared back, with a cold wrath. The staring contest had not lasted long, and in the end it was Fransbrötchen that looked away and shook her head. “...Dummkopf. Alright, I vill not say she is an airheaded, green-furred stupid sloth and I vould definitely not call her a delusional, naive mare-child... “Mutter…” “... But even jo have to admit zat she is boring. And I know jo don’t vant boring.” *** Even now, thinking back to that moment, BonBon felt the anger and surprice as strong as before. Had her mother really called the mare who managed on her own to cover the house in brown paint ‘because of a hen-related incident’ and stood outside her shop with a huge sign “HUMANS! COME OUT OF THE CLOSET!” every Sunday after five boring? And being completely serious? BonBon shook her head. And yes. She had been serious. *** “Now, I do not mean in a mundane, everyday manner. No, I mean zat she is boring vere it counts! In ze bedroom!” It was in that moment BonBon realized that the stove was much more comfortable to look at than her mother. She tried to speak, but all she got out was a low mumble. “...I don’t think I want to talk with you about these matters… how do you even know…” Her mother had interrupted her at once. “Oh, mutter knows! Remember Lightning Dust?” BonBon had frozen. THAT was a name she didn’t want to remember. Her mother had not noticed her reaction, she went on: “Now ZHERE was a mare zat suited my kleine Bonchen! Such fury, such passion… such…” There had even been a warmth and a hunger in Franzbrötchens voice that rary showed. BonBon had made a face, and she had decided it was time to bring her mother back down to earth. “Mutter… Light was a reckless fool who put herself and others in danger. She didn’t care about her personal safety, she… she… “ “Pish-posh! Minor details.” “Are you calling suicidal tendencies MINOR?” “Eh, I had an affair like zat once. He threatened to kill himself every second Thursday if I didn’t give him a blowjob.” BonBon had pinched her nose and breathed hard, trying not to scream. “Why do I always forget that NORMAL is not a word in your vernacular…” “Anyway,” Franzbrötchen had continued without missing a beat, “I distinctly remember hearing ze two of jo on ze nights jo stayed at my place. ‘Are jo going to behave?’ ‘Yes, mistress.’ und SCHMACK! ‘Did I allow jo to speak?’ ‘No mistress.’ SCHMACK!” BonBons cheeks had grew red and she was more than grateful they were alone. The older mare had huffed dreamily. “Ah, I vish I could have joined the two of jo…” “You tried at least two times,” Bonbon had added in a rather grey voice. “Ja. Zat vas ze only time Lightning Dust disappointed me…” “I am surprised you didn’t try to steal her from me. It was obvious you liked her.” “Indeed... she actually had a policy against zat.” “What?” “But zat didn’t stop us from having a vonderful evening in…” “MUTTER!” “Yes yes… my point is, vhen jo vere mit Lightning Dust…jo smiled.” BonBon remembered that she had hesitated for a second. “I smile now. I’ve been with Lyra for… is it six years? I have smiled lots of times...” “Bah. Not as big. And jor cheeks are not as rosy as zey used to be! Just admit it to Mutter, jo enjoyed being her ‘pet’. Jo loved it vhen she vas in complete control! Jo enjoyed all her little perverse ideas. Oh yes, do not try to fool jor mutter. I know.” Zhat vas a time when jo vere really happy, mein kind. Perhaps zat… unicorn...is somezhing special when it comes to her mind, but she is definitely bland in ze bed!” From that point on, BonBon tuned her mother out. *** She had hoped that her mothers rambling would be out of her system by now, but it had been the opposite. She had thought about it ever since. Especially that name she had hoped was erased from her memory. Well, of cource it wasn't. Lightning Dust… BonBon could see her in front of her still. The mint-green fur, that yellow-and-golden-mane and tail, the muscles, that cocky smile... It had happened back in high school. The bold young pegasus mare had flown in like a whirlwind and swooped BonBon off her hooves. Light had experienced a brief affair with the older and more worldly Rainbow Dash, and BonBon became Light’s marefriend rather soon after that. The earth pony had been young and innocent when they met; not so much afterwards. Lightning Dust had shown BonBon all the pleasures that lay beyond vanilla. Bondage, dominance, painplay, powerplay...BonBon had willingly become her happy little subslut, and she had been perfectly content. If she dug deep inside herself, part of that was the reason why she had begun to accept the pegasus’s advances in the first place. She wanted to try, she wanted to be… And Light could make her into... BonBon bit the inside of her cheeks. She hated, more than anything, to admit that her mother was right about something. But those years with Light...yes. She had been happy. She sighed inwards. She had been very happy... but then things had changed, and fast. Their break-up had been messy and BonBon had sworn off love for eternity after that. And then... something happened. Lyra Heartstrings, the filly nextdoor,happened. Sure, BonBon had known her a while; who didn’t? Lyra could survive any manner of teasing. She never fretted about any sneering comments; she just smiled and waved and somehow beared it. And after a while, Lyra and BonBon had become friends. And then…the earth pony fell like a chopped tree for the green unicorn. She was everything Light wasn’t. Considerate. Funny. Loving, enough for a whole town… wacky, completely out of her mind, cute, romantic… ...And so damn vanilla she could be put on toast. But BonBon had accepted it, because she loved every other part of Lyra so much that it wasn’t a dealbreaker. And Lyra WAS good in her limited register. She had magic fingers. And she could write “War and Peace” with her tongue. It was completely satisfying. For anypony else... except for me. BonBon didn’t want to be schmuck like her mother. She lived a completely different life, always planned a had and considering the subject of earlier, she had convinced herself that her mother's “weakness”, as she called it, was nothing that she suffered from. She had the sex she wanted, and was happy with it, she told herself. Yes, she was happy. Right? And yet... Over the years she had tried to drown out her thoughts but they had stayed and now, though her mother's blabbering… they were back, full force. She knew, deep down she knew, how much she was lying to herself. She wanted more, she needed more...she wanted… Oh Celestia, just something!! She wasn’t exactly sure what, but she wanted more! Then, her rational side took command. Not painplay, not again. That had been thrilling in that forbidden way, but she was older and, more important, more comfortable now. She also wasn’t very keen on ageplay. She wanted…she wanted IMAGINATION! That was the only thing Lyra lacked. In bed, that is, BonBon smiled to her self. Oh, Lyra… She could tell the most wonderful stories, leaving BonBon rolling on the floor with laughter, and she could turn housecleaning into a game of war with towel bombs, vacuum cleaning-armadas and napkin grenades. And when she put on that suit… She looked exactly like Haycart Gear in “A Royal Guard and a Gentlestallion”...and with a rose in her mouth… BonBon melted, every bloody time. It was true. She loved her wacky unicorn wife with all her heart and she would fight to the death and beyond to keep her. She was perfect. But in bed… She was happy with licking BonBon and having Bonbon suck her horn. Every time. Every DAMN time... Of course, the earth pony could suggest a few things, but... She had zoned out the day before as well, and when she came back to reality, her mother was gone. She also had stolen the brandy and the fudge. BonBon frowned when she thought about the expensive candy. One day I will spike it with laxatives. She turned away from the window and went for the kitchen. She wanted something sweet to cheer her up. The thought of Light affected her like a bad batch of brownies. Of course Mutter would never understand why she preffered Lyra. Because Mutter didn’t know the biggest deal breaker with Light. BonBon had taken her mood swings, she had accepted the recklessness. And then, the breakdown had come. One day, she found out that Lightning Dust was not really what she said she was. Under the brash surface there was a broken pony. Insecure, afraid, unstable…BonBon was shocked to discover that Light loathed being known as the daredevil. She hated that she had to be rough and confident all the time and...she never really enjoyed sex. The pegasus had always felt hard-pressed to come up with new things constantly, and BonBon was the biggest cause of her stress because the earth pony always wanted MORE. Light had stated that BonBon was demanding and impossible to please. The pegasus wasn’t even a real dom. She had pretended because it fit her hard image and because she wanted to have one up on Rainbow. She didn’t even really love her. The failed relationship with Lightning Dust had left a deep wound in BonBon. So deep that it still influenced their life. Because she had considered asking Lyra to perform… things before. Kinkier things. Wilder things. Lyra wouldn’t mind, she would probably nod and say “Alright, Bonnie!” and wing her way through any kind of kink. But BonBon always stopped herself. Because… What if Lyra said no? What if she thought BonBon was a pervert? Some sick wacko that just wanted to smear jelly on a spatula and jam it up her asshole, singing “WINTER WRAP UP!” Perhaps she would even... No. No no no no… Lyra would NEVER hurt her physically. She KNEW that. Lyra wouldn’t hurt a fly. Lyra would smile, listen, understand... And still, even though she KNEW this, deep down this little piece of “but what if…” stayed in its place. BonBon didn’t dare to talk to Lyra. Mutter had suggested more than a few times that BonBon should take a mistress. Yeah, right. Run a business, find the time to be with your wife, your friends and then add a SEPARATE sexlife to the adventure? Taking several lovers and mistresses was her mothers business, thank you very much. She was nothing like her mother. Nothing. Not that she couldn't do it, if she wanted to! She could probably get some little mare to share a bed with and Lyra would understand, she always did, it would be simple. Too simple. No, BonBon was not Franzbrötchen. She would never put Lyra in that position, and she didn’t want anypony else but Lyra. She loved her oaf, and there was no place left in her heart for any other mare. One point to BonBon, Nil to Mutter... No, BonBon straightened her back. She had made her choice. She was not Franzbrötchen, she was BonBon! She was happy with what she had! She didn't need anything fancy! She didn't need... Oh for the love of sweets... The realisation hit her like a brick, and she sank down in a chair. Automatically she put a piece of toffee in her mouth. Her mother was wrong. It wasn’t Lyra that was boring. It wasn't Lyra that held her back. She was doing it all to herself. Without help at all. It was she that was boring. "...sheiße." Author's Note Haven't I read this before? No, you haven't. Because this is a new version, much better if you ask me. The question we all need to ask ourself. Are we happy, or are we just accepting things as they are? This chapter has a continuation. Because we need to know! Did BonBon dare to ask Lyra the question? Did she dare to bring up her fantasies? Did she dare to wear that little black to bed? How does she look in lacy underwear? And there is an answer. It's called Adventures of a Domestic Mare, but you have to find it yourself. It's Naughty... Also, Support Frog on Patreon for more awesome art!
She's nice. I am nice. - BonBon.Author's Note Background: BonBon is Franzbrötchen biological daughter as y'all know. Fransie had her in her late teens. She was not ready to be a mother. Not by far. BonBons relationship with her mother is complicated. "Yes, let's stick to that, and not call it 'disastrous'" Shut up. BonBon and Lyra have a biological daughter, Tootsie "toots" Flute. She is currently around 8-9. Alsesta and Fransie then meets a young orphan the mule filly Minolta. At the time, she is in her early teens. Something connects, and they decide to adopt. BonBons feelings for this? She's nice. I am nice. - BonBon. A new sister. I got a new sister at the age of… whatever. I got a new sister. Happy birthday, well thank you, mutter. Minolta. It’s an ok name. As far as names go. Most names are ok. BonBon, Lyra, Fizzlepop. They work. Minolta is ok. Now where did I put that scissor… ah, there. Life is no picnic for anypony, really. And she HAS seen her share of misery. She is an orphan after all and I know, I KNOW that growing up in an orphanage is really not a bad thing. I mean, Lyra did and she is nooo...oot the best example of a sane pony. And I married her. What does that make me? She is nice. Yes. Nice. And very well-behaved. She is a bit absent-minded perhaps, but really, who isn’t? It’s a common trait these days. We need to get more washing-powder. If they went to the playground, we will need it by tonight. I’ll have to talk to Lyra about going shopping. ...Alsesta of all people, calling herself “mother”. Heh, Tartaros froze early this year. Freezing… It’s only one month until Hearth’s Warming. Need to start working on those candy canes. And fudge. Yes, fudge. Perhaps with some apple-brandy this year. And that rein-deer speciality… PolkaGrizz? Let’s do some of them. And she is such a good friend for Toots! ...Alright, she’s a bit immature for her age. But still. That ain’t a bad thing, fillies these days start to wear makeup and short skirts WAY to young nowadays. Poundcake came into my shop yesterday wearing… I wouldn’t even call it a DRESS! Well, Tootsie is NOT going to wear that as long as she’s under MY roof! Faust, that’s a big spider. Where does it get its food? There’re no flies in my home. Perhaps that’s the explanation. It’s good Toots has a friend that is a bit more conformative to the norm than Scootaloo. It’s good. Rarity has gotten a bit wider over her hips and heck does she look annoyed. I told her that’s what pregnancy will do to you. Yeah. Minolta’s nice. That’s it. That’s the bottom line. She is nice. I’m nice. A lot of ponies say I’m nice. I have friends. I have a wife. I have good business relations. I’m a sound mare with sound values. I’m also nice. All she is is nice. All I have ever been is nice. So why is it so easy for you to love her, when you couldn’t love me? Mutter? Why? I hate her. I hate her. I hate her I hate her I HATE HER! Why can’t she just DIE and leave us alone... *sigh* So. That was that. Time to make dinner. The girls will probably be hungry after playing all day. I think we will have spaghetti.
The reviewAlsesta Grandeur laid down her spoon on the napkin next to her. She didn’t wipe her mouth, she didn’t have to. She was a grown mare who knew how to eat. She had just made her way through a three-course meal at The Tasty Treat Too in Ponyville, having been invited there by the owner, a certain Mrs. Saffron Masala. Alsesta didn't have to look at the restaurant owner in question to know that the unicorn was looking straight at her. She felt it in her neck right now and had so felt for most of her meal. She had once or twice considered asking her to stop, but decided against it. It wouldn't change anything. The muleicorn sighed. Yes, she knew exactly what look the owner had on her face, and she didn't like it. At all. There were many ways ponies looked at her in a restaurant. But this was the worst. It wasn't a long stretch to call Alsesta Grandeur a misanthrope. Her faith in ponykind as a whole was low; in single ponies even lower. Yet, it would be far from reasonable to call her an elitist or some kind of besserwisser. Her acquaintances from culinary school had to admit that, as uncomfortable as it was being in the same room as her and as harsh and unsmooth she was, it was hard to say that she was wrong. About food, anyway. Now, as a misanthrope with something of a troubled childhood (“It hasn't made me start drinking to excess or writing porn so stop bothering me about it, Fransie!”), one would think that she would hate a smug, superior attitude and condescending look above everything. That was not true. She didn't really like it, but a smug, know-it-all attitude, at least in a chef, showed the world that "I can do this." It implied a long background in culinary school, a couple of years abroad, some experience of being a bullied intern... in short, the holder of that attitude knew how to walk the walk. The ones who only talked the talk didn't last long. Alsesta’s view of life was simple. If only ponies would do what they were good at doing and just skip doing what they loved, the world would be a much better place. She was not a marksist, by far! A cutie mark was at best a guide: a tip in the right direction, and at worst a blemish in a color that didn't match the fur. However, too many ponies took that belief to far, insisting that doing what you loved was a sufficient reason to do it for a living. And that was why the worst look came from those who looked at her hopefully. With glittering eyes, waiting to know if "you really liked it." Those who hadn't met teachers with stomachs of lead who didn't budge from criticism. Those who never had their craft matched against others in the ferocious hunt for good grades. Those who hadn't spent a few years on the floor learning the ropes, which were impossible to learn without humiliation. “If I really liked it…” bitch, please! Alsesta Grandeur reached for her pen. Time for the second part of her work. She knew what to expect when she would deliver her verdict. And she frowned. It would take a couple of extra minutes. Probably five, even seven if she was unlucky. It wasn't that she couldn't afford to spend the time, but the concept of wasting time on pure unnecessities annoyed her very much. Fransie used to say “it's not as if jo have better zings to do, engel.” But Fransie didn't understand. That was not relevant: if she didn't want to waste time, she shouldn't have to either. Even if the alternative was doing nothing, nothing was still better than a useless waste of time. Ah well, better get this over with. She glanced at the mostly untouched cup of what the restaurant dared to call coffee and turned around. She found the owner pretty much right in her face, staring like a child. "Ehrm... Mrs. Masala. You were...standing right behind me I see. Well, sit down. There are things I need to address at once.” Saffron Masala looked up at her, eyes bright with want. "Yes, Miss Grandeur?" "It's actually Missus. But it's only been a fortnight, so I will not hold that against you. Now, I usually let ponies wait until I publish my review, but now and then I realise there is a need for a few direct comments." "Yes?" Alsesta blinked. There was eagerness and expectation in the mare’s voice. And her eyes had that childish glow. Alsesta had to fight herself not to facepalm. “Sweet Celestia,” she thought to herself, “has this mare not even A HUNCH about this...?Apparently not. Well then, that makes my job much more important.” Alsesta cleared her throath and sorted her papers. Details were crucial. "Yes..." She hesitated. The straight and direct delivery was usually the best approach but... She had considered bringing somepony else along this time. Fransie(♡) was her first choice, but the photographer had been called back to Manehattan on a project. That left Lyra... BonBon had no idea about food. Candies and desserts, yes, but taste was more than balancing sweetness. There was no chocolate bar with the flavor of steamed clams with garlic for a reason. Yes, THAT dinner had been interesting... anyway, in the end Alsesta went alone. The review was not to be contaminated by a lay-pony's opinions. But there still was that lingering thought in the back of her head... "Yes." She repeated again, "To begin with the positive. The rice was excellently cooked and served. I take it you use salt from the Dragon Sea. Good choice." She paused. Mrs Masala seemed to want to say “and…?” But no words came, and the smaller mare began to look uneasy. Alsesta gave her a glance, and changed a grammatical error in her notes. "So…” Alsesta continued after making the correction, “Well, just per curiosity, I have to mention this... I see that you have Eshoofieés book Cooking with Great Taste on the wall." The unicorn mare brightened. "Yes! It's actually a first edition!" "I see. That explains a few things." "Oh? Such as...?" "Well, why you haven't read it, since you obviously want to keep it in mint condition. I think I am safe to say that if you had indeed read it... this dinner would have been drastically different and half the dishes on the menu would not have existed at all. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves…” Mrs Masala seemed to have a protest on her lips, but Alsesta didn’t give her time to answer. "Now for the rest. The tablecloth is slightly dirty. I prefer to read a menu to gain knowledge about today's special, not by looking at what the previous guest had. The lights are rather dim overall and you should do something about the vents." She turned her head, looking at Mrs Masala, for the first time expecting an answer. "I... want the customers to stay in an air of food." "I see. Well, even then, the air of food should be fresh air. Makes the tikka masala taste better too. Very wise of you to take it off the heater, if it were to cook for too long it would be destroyed.” "You... can actually smell that?" Mrs Masala had indeed taken the stew off the oven just before she came in. "Actually, it was a 50/50-guess. What I said about the importance of air was no joke. Now, the food. For drinks I asked for water, not to confuse the tastebuds. Therefore I know nothing about your assortment of alcoholic beverages or soft drinks, though that huge blue, white and red sign over the bar is probably telling the truth. So, the starters. Pani Puri. Now, the puris themselves were too thick, which made them doughy. The potatoes were not cooked enough. The onions were ok, but that was that. And with that you serve me Rumali Roti, and they were dry. While there are tons of tricks chefs use to make old bread taste like new, you didn't use any one of them. That would be a plus if the bread hadn’t been as dry as sandpaper left out in the sun for a week. So... excuse me, can I have a good cup of coffee?" “You have a cup.” Mrs. Masala couldn’t help pointing at the cup standing on the table, filled to about ¾ with coffee. Alsesta hmpfed. “Please, not the stuff you serve. The good stuff that you keep for the staff.” Saffron blinked. Was she really...? "Eh... yes. Of course." "Thank you. Black, please." Saffron walked to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee and returned. Mrs. Grandeur had not changed her face a bit. The muleicorn took the cup and drank. "Hmm.. a mazbout. Interesting. If you would have served me this originally, there would have been two things I could have counted as good. Now, for the main dish. The rice I have mentioned. For the rechado masala fish... no. Too many spices. Way too many spices, all battling each other for dominance. I had to search long and hard to actually taste the fish. It was overcooked.” "But it is supposed to be..." "Spicy, yes. But you should still feel you are eating fish. Not that you are emptying a can of spices into your mouth. I have eaten this type of dish...fifteen times I believe. This is the first time it has looked like this. One of fourteen. I do not think the issue lies with me having visited the wrong restaurants. Also, the hay and spinach salad... Let's put it this way: take it off the menu. Now." The muleicorn took another sip of her coffee while she sorted through her notes. Saffron Masala tried to stop her lips from trembling. It was not that hard; she was starting to feel something completely different, something much more heated. Alsesta Grandeur had found the page she was looking for and turned back to her host. "So, dessert. The Gulab Jamun: now this depends on the way you choose to cook it... is it deep fried?" "Well, of course." "Thank you. I wasn't sure. So, after frying them you are supposed to roll them in sweet syrup. These have been drowned. The fried texture is gone, leaving an unpleasant taste of boiled flour and dry milk. Not to mention the ice cream. There were ice crystals in it." The way Alsesta lay down her pen was implied to say “Re-frozen ice cream in a restaurant? REALLY? That's for grannies.” The younger mare didn't understand the gesture. She was too busy becoming more and more angry. The childlike glow was swiftly draining from Saffron’s countenance. "This is exactly how my father makes his food! He has owned and operated a restaurant since he was young! And...” "Then I am sorry to tell you that your father is a fool." Saffron Masala stared gobsmacked at her guest. She had been prepared to possibly defend herself but not on this kind of level! This... DONKEY! had been nothing but rude to her since she came in and Saffron was not having any more of it. "Mrs. Grandeur! I will have you know that these recipes have run in my family for generations! I myself have run the Tasty Treat since I was seventeen! The Tasty Treat Too is my life, my legacy! This is my dream! This is the family heritage! And here you come, spitting at my dream, my heritage, you...you...llama!" Alsesta curled her lip slightly, but otherwise she didn't seem bothered. "Mrs. Masala. It is not that I question your passion for cooking. It is right in my face actually. What I am questioning is your ability to do it." Saffron put her hand down on the table, causing a slight rumble in the plates. "My food is cooked with love!" "Yes, well, food needs more than love. Correct ingredients, knowing what taste marries what, correct textures... This piece of hay is raw for example. It is very seldom supposed to be raw outside of a field." Saffron splayed her arms and clenched her teeth. "It is not, it has been poached!" "No it has not. It has no taste of being poached." "Does poaching give it a taste?" This was the first time Alsesta reacted. Her eyes got smaller and there was a slight hint of genuine contempt in her voice. "...You did not just ask me that question, did you?" The unicorn met her look with an equally angry face. "It's still tastes like hay." For a while, the two mares stared at each other, not moving a muscle. But in the end, Saffron lost the staring competition as she stuttered out: "I mean... it's hay! Hay tastes like hay! And why are we even talking about the hay! We should talk about the aubergine, the squash, the red pepper... the stuff that tastes!" "Even hay deserves to taste." "Well, next time perhaps you should tell me how you want your hay prepared then?" Saffron replied with a hand on her hip. Alsesta rose from her chair and breathed heavily through her nose in response. "It. Is. Not. My. Job. To. Teach. You. How. To. COOK! I am here to review your restaurant. And before you get the chance to say it, yes I know there is no such thing as the perfect restaurant! For Luna's sake, I am a critic! I know there is always room for improvement, development and more salt. I know better than anypony that tastes change as fashion does. But there's still some kind of basic level. A simple number of things you should expect from a place calling itself a restaurant. You, Mrs. Masala, you and your establishment do not even reach THAT level!" Saffron waved her hand in the air and rolled her eyes. "Oh! That's rich, coming from a DONKEY! The old donkeys I know from home carried water and rubble! What do YOU even know about Calcolttan food?" Alsesta wasn't thrown back. Instead she replied, calm as a breeze. "So, Mrs. Masala. Is that how you want to play this? You believe a racial insult will improve your case against me? Very well, PONY. If I have to prove myself to you, fine. To the kitchen!" But halfway, she turned. "But just so you know. Next time you try to make someone feel shitty about their genes, use the right species. I'm a mule." *** Saffron Masala found the one chair in the whole kitchen that wasn’t stained and slumped down on it. Not only did this donkey spit on her and her dream, she also made a decent Calcolttan dish. Aloo Tikki was not a difficult dish, and yet… Sha handled everything with the utmost care, treating the spices with respect and diligence, and focused 100% on every part of the process. And they tasted pretty much like Gran made them, except perhaps… leaner. Saffron had only taken one bite, but it was not the taste that stopped her from eating. And to add to the blow, the skinny donkey began to speak again. "Now, mind you, Mrs. Masala, that this is also the single dish that I dare to do free hand. I have to much respect for Sandian chefs and the Sandian kitchen to even pretend I can make “Sandian food.” But that is not really the point, you see, this:" She indicated her plate, "This is what you should expect when going to a restaurant. Well-cooked, good taste, best ingredients. However, to make a sloppy vindaloo and throw in some curry, which is basically what you do...well, if you want to be a street vendor in the rougher parts of Little Calcoltta, be my guest. But this is a restaurant, at least according to your terminology.” "I... I..." "You are married. You have, I believe, a foal?” “Two foals.” “Right,” said Alsesta. “If I may so suggest, cook for your family. You say you love to cook. I say, keep that love to a restricted area." Saffron Masala tried to gather her strength one more time and spoke. "But a lot of ponies enjoy a home cooked meal! That is simply what I am trying to give them!" Mrs. Grandeur looked as emotionless as ever. "Ah. That is an interesting misconception. Really, Mrs. Masala, why would any pony go out to have a home-cooked meal? They can get that at home, and that is probably part of the reason why they are going out to. This is not a home. This is a restaurant: an establishment where ponies go to get other ponies to cook for them. They pay you for doing this. At the end of the day... that's it. There is no love to feel. Love..." Alsesta seemed to shudder just by saying the word. "Love is a significant ingredient, but that requires some kind of connection between the chef and the eater. If you are visiting a friend’s home, if you have dinner with your family, your lo...signi... other half, or whatever kind of relationship you are pursuing, you will enjoy the meal much more. If you serve what I just had to your partner..." "Wife." "I know. I prefer to speak in broad terms, that way nopony is left out. Anyway, at the end of the day, ponies pay you to cook for them. They don't care about love, they care about a good meal. So that’s the bottom line of my review. This food belongs in a kitchen, but not this kind of kitchen. I suggest that you let this silly dream die and figure out something more useful to do with your remaining years. Good day, Mrs. Masala. The review will be printed some time next week." Alsesta washed her hands, took off her apron and walked out of the kitchen. In the doorway, she almost crashed into a tall, muscular earth pony mare with a striped purple mane that shouted "edgy". They both gave each other an annoyed stare, and then a light of recognition lit in both ponies’ eyes, which gave way to a mutual dislike. The earth pony’s name was Plaid Stripes, and this was the second time she and Alsesta had crossed ways. Plaid was the first to speak. "What da buck are you doing here?" Alsesta didn't even give her an inch. "I am working. What are YOU doing here?" "I’m Saffrons wife!" Alsesta looked at Plaid in silence, then at her clothes, her hooves and then at the kitchen. "...Figures." And then she left. Plaid Stripes looked after her and spat in her direction. Then she remembered where she was and instantly cleaned the spot where it had landed. And then in that moment she realised something. “Zesty Gourmand” had been here WORKING. Plaid ran through the kitchen, finding her wife in the same chair as before. The unicorn was silent, but the tears flowed down her cheeks like rain from Cloudsdale in April. Plaid kneeled in front of her wife and put her hand on her shoulder. "Saffi, babe, what is it? What did she say to you?" Saffron didn't answer. She turned her head away, but Plaid took her chin and gently turned her head towards her. The smaller mare still was silent, and the tears kept flowing. "Saffi? ...Did she do this to ya?" Saffron didn't answer, truth was, she was still too upset to answer. She had heard her wife, of course, and she also noticed the look in her eyes. She loved Plaid’s bright magenta eyes...she liked to say they were as deep as the sea at sunrise...and now she noticed how they had turned dark. Saffron felt the weight of Plaid’s hand disappear from her shoulder, and she heard fast and determined steps leave the kitchen. Saffron knew what was going to happen. A very small part of her was screaming "Go! Give it to her! Kill her!" But that was a very small part, because Saffron was not that kind of mare. She lifted her head, and looked in the direction where her wife had disappeared. She opened her mouth and murmured, "Plaid... no... Please..." But even if Plaid had indeed heard the low plea, she wouldn't have listened anyway. The earth pony caught up with Alsesta at the entrance, as the latter had just put on her coat. She grabbed Alsesta by the shoulder and spun her around. “You!” Alsesta freed herself. “Don’t touch me.” Plaid pointed her finger right into Alsesta’s muzzle. “Shut up! What gives ya the right to treat other ponies like shit?” “I…” “You come here, being all high and mighty, thinking you know best and all! Well, let me tell ya, sister! This ain’t your show!” “Actually, it is. Perhaps you missed it, but it was your wife who asked me to come here and…” “That’s just making it worse! She invited you! She asked you, and you, you just…” “She wanted me to do a review. And trust me, I treat all the places I review with the same respect.” “The heck you do! I have read your reviews, Zesty Grandeur or whatever your real name is! You take the piss outta any place you visit. What do you know about food? Really? You just sit there with your flashy name, and your flashy column and your flashy family and think you know it all, don’tcha? Perhaps it’s time that somepony stood up to you and your trash talk! ” Plaid took one heavy step closer and grabbed Alsesta by the collar. A hint of something darker passed Alsesta’s eyes, but she only narrowed them. “Don’t. call. me. Zesty. And let. go. of my. coat.” “Oh yeah? You gonna make me, ZESTY?” Alsesta didn’t answer. Instead she put her hands in between Plaid’s and pushed them aside, forcing the powerful mare to loosen her grip. Then she gave Plaid a hard shove in the chest, causing her to stumble backwards and fall over a chair, landing on the floor. “Mrs. Stripes. Even if you don’t agree, I assure you that I demand the same of all businesses I visit: to always do their best in the name of cuisine. The fact that your wife’s best is on par with a standard housewife is not my problem. If you want to dance with the big shots, you need to learn the steps. I take it that you help her? Well, another dash of advice: tell her to hire somepony who actually knows cooking. You want people to come here? That’s not the ideal line of work for a bouncer. Good day.” Zesty turned around and placed her hand on the door. She didn’t get that far though. “RAAAAHHH!” Plaid was upon her in an instant, once again grabbing her by her shoulder and pushing her up against the wall. She raised her fist, aiming straight for Alsesta’s muzzle, but the target managed to duck. Plaid’s heavy fist grazed the older mare’s ear, barely drawing blood. A second blow struck truer: this time plowing into Alsesta’s side. It was pretty much a perfect hit, but to Plaid’s surprise the opponent simply blinked before catching the earth pony’s hand with her own. The bony old arm was stronger than she expected. The situation was locked when Alsesta thrust her face close to Plaid’s, her long muleicon horn pressing dangerously against the younger mare’s temple. “Is this the way you deal with criticism, Mrs. Stripes? Stereotypical earth pony violence? Well, your opinion is duly noted.” Plaid stared into the other mare’s eyes. There was but one feeling she could trace in them, annoyance. Extreme annoyance. Was this mare really made of stone? Was she so completely dead inside that she didn’t even… “I suggest you go and take care of your wife, as I assume she is sad. Perhaps that is the wiser way to handle this situation.” Plaid reluctantly let go of Alsesta and turned around. Alsesta corrected her coat, and went for the door. “Oh, and please inform your wife that I will not let this incident change my review.” “You… you… you…” “Good day, Mrs. Stripes.” As Alsesta left the restaurant, Plaid’s tall frame all but blocked the light from the doorway. “You are never welcome here. Ever again. Do you hear me? Never!” “Mrs. Stripes. That statement implies that I would want to come back here. Good day.” Alsesta heard the door slam shut, and she began to walk with a faster stride. But as soon she turned the corner, she instantly doubled over, and vomited. That blow had landed far harder than she wanted that uncouth pony to know. And that wannabe chef calling her... In a flash, it all came roaring back from her younger days. Things she had hoped she had buried so deep that it would never again rise to the surface. And here they were, as clear as daylight. Stupid, violent, weak-minded ponies... “Well… if it isn’t Zesty Pesty.” “Go away, Bobcat. If I wanted company by your kind I could have sat next to the compost.” “Ah, but why so cold, Zesty? We’re just going to have some good old fun.” “Don’t call me Zesty. And I am not interested in your ‘fun’. Whatever it is, it’s something that cultured ponies shouldn’t do.” “Did you hear that, guys? The half-breed is calling herself a pony. You are not going anywhere, MULE. You are the necessity for us to have that good old fun…” She felt how the rest of the meal wanted to join its friends in the gutter, and she had no strength left to stop it. Alsesta sank down to her knees. She would have to wash her trousers later, but that didn’t matter. She could hear the voices clearer, she even imagined the feeling of a strong grip around her neck, pulling her upwards. “Get up! You think you are allowed to rest now! Fork! You take the first watch. Bucks, you hold her. Bling-bling? The marker, if you would be so kind…There. Now nopony will ever doubt who you are. And now… we are going to let the mule do some mulework! Oldmoney, the leash, please!” In a haze, she tried to obey, only to collapse on her knees again. There was nothing left inside her now, only her muscles doing the movement in case they forgot the last bit of carrots. All the humiliation and fear came back to her. Donkey. Mule. What do YOU know about food? What do you know about anything? She tried to steer away her thought over to more practical questions. Like Fransie. What the hell should she tell Fransie? She couldn’t tell her the truth, Fransie would KILL the meat-headed earth pony and her weepy little wife, and burn the place to the ground. And that was being positive. But Fransie was 200 miles away. 200 miles away I can fool her. I fell, I got mugged, I walked into a dragon migration, whatever. Her side began to ache again, and she almost fell over a second time. Can’t even lie to your own wife. You sad excuse for a pony. One can’t expect somepony to think straight on these occasions, and Alsesta was back in her spiral of negative thoughts. A few tears began to fall down her cheeks. Old tear ducts that hadn’t been used for years, but they remembered all too well what they were supposed to do. Alsesta braced her shoulder against the wall and forced herself painfully to her hooves. The unwelcome tears continued to stream and the bile burnt the back of her throat, but there was no point in staying where she was. Somepony might see her and laugh at her. Or worse, try to help. “We’re going to walk home now,” she muttered aloud. “No stumbling, and no shame.” And with that she straightened her back, carefully sidestepped the pile of vomit and headed for Lyra and BonBon’s house. Nopony would be home at this time of day. Thank the Dawnbringer and all her splendid rays for that much. Alsesta had been lucky. The walk had been short, and nopony had seen her, at least nopony that counted. She sank down on the couch. She was at the edge now, she had to rest. Washing up, change of clothes, all that had to wait. Just a little… just a little… Please… just let me rest… Just a moment. There’s nopony here to see me. “Allie? Is that you?” Fuck you, Dawnbringer. Alsesta looked up, hoping against better knowing she had misheard, that it had come from the open window and that somepony was looking for… Sally or Callie or anypony. But no. It was indeed Lyra Heartstrings that stood in front of her, perhaps the last pony in the world she was ready to meet this moment. The muleicorn made a futile effort to look as she just was casually resting, but the dirty trousers, and the remains of vomit on her chin didn’t help. “Allie? You look terrible! Is something wrong?” Bless your heart, Lyra. ‘Is something wrong’… do you ask a stabbed pony if the knife is hurting her too? But even so, Alsesta was not interested in sharing her experience with anyone, especially not her innocent, soft-hearted daughter-in-law. The few minutes of silence had bought Alsesta enough strength to answer. “No, Heartstrings. Nothing is wrong.” It was low, it was infantile. But she just didn’t want to elaborate. “Are you sure? Because… Allie, are you crying?” Thanks for nothing, Body… “Heartstrings. If I say that nothing is wrong then I mean that NOTHING is wrong.” She heard herself choke on a sob and tried to convince herself that she had simply coughed a little. Lyra was silent for a while, put her head slightly to the side, and then said, “Okay… You know, Allie? When BonBon asks me if something is wrong and I reply NOTHING, she usually treats me with candy until I’m happy again.” The younger mare sat down next to Alsesta and put her hands over hers. “How about if we clean you up a bit, and then get some coffee at Moonbutts? Two grande Frappuchinos with extra whipped cream and hazelnuts? And the large cinnamon buns with the blueberry jam? My treat, the manager owes me a solid. Nopony will bother us, I promise.” Alsesta slowly blinked her eyes and gazed far off into the distance. And then she said, in a thin near-whisper of a voice, “Can I get mine with toffee sauce?” Lyra smiled a warm, friendly smile. “Anything you want, Allie.” EPILOGUE “Saffi? I talked to that grey mare, she won’t be bothering u… Saffi?” As Plaid re-entered the kitchen, she found her wife with her back against her, poking on a plate with some kind of food on it. The big mare was prepared to comfort her, but then Saffron turned around. To Plaid’s surprise, all the tears had dried, and there was a strange light in her eyes. "Plaid. Father has an old saying, दुर्भाग्य से, सबसे बड़ी बेवकूफ आमतौर पर सही है!" Plaid blinked. Her hindi was almost nonexistent, she knew “yes yes yes” but that was it. "And... that means?" "It’s a saying from one of our old warlords. It means ‘The stupid old donkey is usually right.’ And look, here we had a stupid old donkey..." Plaid took a step forward and put her arm around her wife. "Not this donkey. Saffi, baby! Don't listen to her..." But Saffi took one of the items from the plate and almost shoved it into Plaids mouth. "Taste it!" "Uh...What is it?" " TASTE IT!" "Ok, ok…” She opened up, and took a bite. “Mmmm. .. good. Tashty." Saffi waved her arms in the air and stared at her. "Good? GOOD? They are PERFECT! That donkey made them and they are PERFECT!" Plaid swallowed. "...Well...they're not really that tasty now that I think about it..." But Saffron didn’t listen to her remark, she went on, building up steam. "All my life, I have struggled. I have fought horn and hoof for my dream, my vision! And here she comes, a donkey! A DIRTY STUPID DONKEY comes and makes the perfect...and why? Because she has "skill." Plaid decided it was time to open the safety vent. "Saffi, babe! Who defines ‘skill’? The swells? If they’re the kind of people calling it ‘skill’ then who needs it?” "I do." "Saffi..." Plaid put a hand on her wife’s shoulder. "I do! I have love, Plaid! I have PASSION! Imagine, Plaid, what I could do! If I could combine this passion with this skill..." (Saffron swallowed almost an entire cup of hot mazbout coffee in one gulp.) "Then NOTHING would stand in my way!" Plaid took a step back. "Not gonna lie, Saffi, you’re scaring me a little now.” "Says the one who just threatened to beat somepony up! Oh yes, I know. Do not deny it! You can take the heat, pruvi!" Saffron forced Plaid to back up against a wall. "Saffi..." "We close for today! I am angry! And terribly aroused! We will make love right here, in this kitchen where the passion lives!" "Wow...uh, Okay.” “Put me on the counter.” “Sure--whoa! Easy with the underwear, they’re designers! " "Shut up and suck it! I will return to my roots! To Sandia, the land of my ancestors, and there I will learn from the very masters!" "Ah! Oh damn, Saffi easyaaaaaa!" "And when I return, they will all scream my name!" "SAFFI! OH SWEET PRINCESS TWILIGHT, SAFFI!" Author's Note Written by me, The Frank and Mustlovefrogs. We regret nothing. Edited by Somefrogmillionaire. Saffron Masala and her Wife, Plaid Strife in a slightly more happy situation And here's the picture that inspired this story. Beautiful, isn't it? Alsesta Grandeur, armed with her trusty notepad. Lyra heartstrings, pacifist.... eh, you all know Lyra.
There's no such thing as a free lunchAlsesta Grandeur breathed through her nose. Her sort-of step daughter Lyra Heartstrings cowered behind her teacup (blackberry with honey and a light touch of cream), occasionally shooting a glance in the muleicorn’s direction. The mare in question kept breathing through her nose as she lifted her cup of coffee (heavy on milk and sugar) and took a sip. Even after she had put the cup down, she kept breathing through her nose. Alsesta Grandeur was the mare to give ‘grumpy’ a face (although she would call it distinguished), but this was bordering on ‘completly pissed off’. Finally Lyra gave in to the pressure of the situation. She had to say something, anything. Just for something to break the awful tension. “I’m… I’m sorry.” For a moment, Lyra felt the situation go from bad to worse. Alsesta shot her a glance. It was filled with her usual contempt, but when she spoke, her voice was resigned. “There is nothing for you to be sorry about. You did not know.” “Yes, but… I should have.” “Yes. Perhaps you should.” She paused and took another sip from her cup. Then she kept it at chest height and looked down at the beverage. “But so very few do. It’s not surprising either. Most ponies are barely even aware of the hardships of zebras and minotaurs. And even if they are, ‘It’s not that bad’ is their usual comment. Pah. What do they know…” She finished the sentence more to her coffee than to the unicorn beside her. Lyra sighed. This had been an awful day. And it had begun so good. ‘The DUDE’ was the most noteworthy restaurant in New Baltimare at the moment. And they seemed so in sync with the world… the esoteric menu, the Q-friendly posters... The fact that THEY… *** It all had started with lunch three weeks earlier, on a Wednesday. Lyra was on her way home from an Anthropology Conference in New Baltimare, but even on her ‘suit-trips’ that she called them, she never left home without her harp and her notebook. So there she sat, with the meal finished, absentmindedly plucking on her harp while she wondered about what she would do the two hours before the train left. That question was soon answered, as a row arose from the office next to the kitchen. Apparently, the pianist had gotten sick, and there was nopony to take the spot for entertaining a group of Scandineighvian business-mares. The director’s desperation was heard all the way into the restaurant. Lyra decided to offer her services and… it had been a success. Her knowledge of old Scandenieghvian folk songs (one of the side effect of dating a comely yak maiden back in ‘73) had come in handy, and it had ended with a three hour-long sing-a-long session. The director had been OH SO! grateful, but due to the fact that Lyra was not an registred musician in New Baltimare, he couldn’t pay her in cash. What he could do, was offer her five free meals at his restaurant, and a table for two at ‘The DUDE’, the new big thing in Equestrian cuisine, that had opened in New Baltimare just one month earlier. Lyra was not that interested in fancy dinners, but even she had heard some of the buzz about the place and decided that ‘it could be fun’. The letter with the date had arrived that following Monday, time being Friday in two weeks, at 17.30. Table 23. Of course she wanted to take Bonnie to a fancy restaurant, and her wife had been excited when Lyra told her about it. However, fate had other plans, because two days before the date BonBon had caught a nasty cold. Lyra wanted to cancel, but BonBon insisted that she should go. Lyra finally accepted, but who should she bring? Unfortunately, nopony was avaliable at such short notice. She had called, in turn, Plaid, Minuette, Moondancer and even Sunset Shimmer! The former three responded with ‘Oh, that would have been great, BUT…’ The last one had fairly teared up with appreciation at the invitation, but still had to decline. She had work, and added something about ‘she didn’t want to cause Lyra trouble’. Lyra wasn’t sure what she referred to but in retrospect, she thought, it couldn’t possibly been worse. After Sunset had declined she had to think for a while to find a candidate. She had called Alsesta as a final shot, and she was convinced she would say no. THAT would have left her with Fransie as the only possible candidate, and her mother-in-law… was…no. Just no. Not even as a hollaback mare. But Alsesta had accepted. There had been a moment though, when the muleicorn had asked where they were going. When Lyra had answered, there had been a silence. “New Baltimare, isn’t it?” And then there had been a long sigh. And another. “...Alright. I’ll come. Good night.” And then she hung up, and that was it. They had met at the New Baltimare station. Some simple exchanges of amenities, and they had taken a cab to the restaurant in silence. It seemed to go well...until they got to the restaurant. It had started the moment they entered the establishment. Lyra had, in surprise, watched how the wardrobe manager went to wash his hands after hanging up Alesta’s coat. There was no doubt it was because of that coat either, because she knew her own jacket had been a bit smudgy (an accident where Toots had stolen herself some half-baked fudge and, while running away from a furious BonBon, had accidentally run into Lyra.) but that had passed without any reaction. When the stallion had touched Alsesta’s coat, however, it was as if had he touched a spider. Well, they got a table, and they were welcomed in person by the manager, one of the most unpleasant stallions Lyra had ever met. “Welcome, Mrs. Heartstrings! I can only hope you will enjoy your stay here at our establishment. I heard from Stirfry how you saved his restaurant, and I am happy to be part of your reward. And you, Miss...” “Mrs.” “Really. Well, Mrs. Grandeur. Your reputation has reached even New Baltimare. I welcome you, and I hope that your sensitive palate will be able to enjoy the sensation of Equestrian tastes that you will experience here.” “I am intrigued, Mr. Footlong.” Lyra looked after him. Equestrian tastes? Lyra wasn’t that well-read into Alsesta’s reviews, but she knew from their previous dinners that Alsesta, for one, was almost stock-conservative in that matter. She was the prime advocate for classic Equestrian cuisine, it was impossible to miss that. She could talk for hours about how it was something to savor and keep. Sure, the Phrench were brilliant in their way, but... Anyway, they had ordered. They had begun with a serving of appetizers. Lyra had chosen the sweet & sour eggplant with homemade flatbread crisps, while Alsesta went with gazpacho shooters with sour cream. They ate in silence. Lyra had to admit that this was indeed delicious, even a step beyond that. She wasn’t much for advanced cooking, but she had to admit, there was something special about this. Alsesta seemed lost in thought. She ate her meal, but one or three times she made a note in her book. Lyra wasn’t surprised; to have her mother-in-law small-talk during dinner… just never happened. Strangely enough, that was a good sign. Lyra had learned that from BonBon one night after having Foto and Alsesta over. “I don’t think she likes me.” Lyra said, as she put down the empty plates in the sink. “Are you kidding? She loves you,” BonBon replied from the coffee machine. Lyra had frowned. “But… she didn’t say a word to me the whole evening!” Lyra exclaimed. “Exactly.” It took sometime for Lyra to understand Alsesta, and she still didn’t get half of her. But she knew as much that her silence was a sign of “I tolerate your presence.” And that was impressive, coming from Alsesta. Then there was the main course. Beet salad with goat cheese and rye croutons for Alsesta, wild mushroom risotto with parmesan for Lyra. Lyra had tried to put some salt on her rice, but Alsesta had stopped her. “No. It will ruin the taste of the onions.” Lyra had no idea how Alsesta could have known that, but she had put the salt dispenser down, and ate her risotto. Then dessert. They had both only drunk water during the meal, but Alsesta asked for a small glass of brandy with her coffee. (Black. She was in a good mood.) Lyra had ordered the mini German chocolate cake and a cinnamon latté. It had reminded her of BonBon, and it was equally delicious. As their plates were taken away, and they sat there, letting the food sink down, the slippery manager walked towards their table. Lyra frowned when she noticed him coming, but figured it was inevitable. Alsesta produced her notebook, and Lyra saw how the stallion shot her an almost… resentful look. Lyra raised her eyebrows. Sure, Alsesta was harsh, but come on! You can’t be that thin-skinned to own a restaurant. “Gentlemares… Have you enjoyed your meal?” “It was delicious! I have never tasted anything better.” Lyra had no reason to lie, the food had indeed been great. The stallion smiled an oily smile, which got stiffer as he turned to Alsesta. “I’m pleased to hear. So… Miss Grandeur?” Alsesta didn’t correct him. “The addition of green chilis to the gazpacho was… interesting.” “Interesting. I see. I am a bit surprised you could sense that.” “It was only chopped, not cooked. Only a fool would miss it.” “Dear me. Well, nopony else has complained.” “I have not complained. I was just stating a fact.” “Ah. I see. Any other sort of ‘facts’ you want to state?” “Yes. The risotto was slightly overcooked.” “Indeed. I tasted it myself. It was perfect.” Alsesta consulted her notes. “No. It had cooked for almost 45 seconds too long. 25 seconds could have been forgiven, since that brings out the extra taste in the mushrooms, but 45 makes the rice sticky.” The manager rolled his eyes. “Pardon me, Miss Grandeur…” “Mrs.” “...I may not have your reputation, but I know what ponies like. Risotto is supposed to be… sticky.” “Yes, but only so much. The point of a risotto is not the sticky rice, is it?” “Well, you would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Miss Grandeur.” “It’s Mrs.” “I doubt that. Let me tell you, Miss Grandeur, that while other establishments might lean on your opinion, ‘The DUDE’ is not like any other establishments. We are the prime of Equestrian cuisine, where ponies can come and enjoy their meals. The fact that some creatures can’t appreciate what we have is… unfortunate perhaps, but for those there’s always a hayburger joint down the road.” “What kind of ‘other creatures’?” Lyra had spoken, with a slight edge in her voice. The manager had used an almost fatherly tone, the one one would use to a child. “Ah, Mrs. Heartstrings… the more simple creatures, those who can’t appreciate pony society, those whose brains are not developed for civil life and those who think they can…” “Just say it, Mr. Footlong.” Alsesta interrupted him. “I can see that you want to. Please, don’t let my daughter-in-law's presence hinder you.” “It’s nothing I am ashamed to say. That a mule would ever consider itself knowledgable of EQUESTRIAN habits...hah! And your daughter-in-law? Her? What a joke.” “Why would that be a joke?” Lyra was a living question mark. “How could a MULE get a UNICORN as a daughter-in-law? How much does she pay you for this charade? Or did she tell you some sob-story for you to bring her here perhaps? Or…” “Mr. Footlong.” Alsesta silenced him. “This is enough. I admit I urged you on, but this was my daughter-in-law’s reward for helping another pony and I will not have you destroy this for her any longer. I happen to know Mr. Stirfry, and I will persuade him to give her another reward as make up for this… unfortunate turn of events. As for you, and your establishment…” Mr Footlong shook his head. “Please! I don’t care the slightest about a mule’s opinion! And even...” “Four hooves.” “Four...hooves?” Mr. Footlong had probably something else on his tongue, but that was drowned in his complete surprise at Alsesta’s words. “The localities are in splendid shape and the atmosphere is rich. Your servers are quick and responsive. I especially enjoyed the slice of grape in my sparkling water. The appetizers, were as I said, interesting, and only a fool would fail to appreciate your imaginative approach to creating new dishes, yet so based in tradition. The salad was crisp, and the slight touch of honey on the beets surprised me in a very positive way. And the coffee was great. But I suggest you get rid of the stallion at the bar. He’s on horse.” Alsesta rose, as Mr. Footlong stared at her in silence. “There is a difference between you and me, Mr. Footlong. I always do my job, even when confronted with people I don’t like. Have a good day; I will recommend this restaurant to all of my friends.” And with that, she turned away, and walked out. Lyra had to run to catch up with her. But she hadn’t gone far. She stood there, two houses away, breathing heavily through her nose. “Al...Alsesta?” Alsesta turned her head. Her eyes were dark. “Coffee. With lots of milk and sugar. Now. You’re paying.” *** And here they were, at Moonbutts, enjoying two hot bevereages. “I’m still sorry…” “Lyra.” The unicorn looked up into Alsesta’s eyes. They were no longer angry, only sad. “It’s my life. It has always been like this. Baltimare was bad, New Baltimare is bad. Canterlot is even worse. Manehattan is… Manehattan is actually something of a safe zone for all of us. The non-ponies. Ponyville as well, to some extent.” Lyra felt the tears in her eyes. “I… I am so sorry! I should have… known.” “Lyra. Stop crying. Try to control yourself. There is no good in crying, and you being sorry won't help anypony.” Alsesta’s harsh words stung, but Lyra managed to suppress her tears. “Good. Now listen. I know who I am, and I know that some ponies will never accept it. Now, don’t you for a second think I approve of this or even ‘pony up and learn to live with it’, however... “ She was silent for a second. “No matter what we do, what we think and what we say... we can’t change their minds. Not the ones who are rotten to the core. Once idiots, always idiots. There is only one thing we can do. Two, to be honest.” “Two? What can you do?” “One. Never stoop down to their level. Always be better than them. Never giving them proof of their prejudice, but always be a good example of good behaviour. That makes them the savages they want to paint us as. And…” She put her own hand on Lyra’s and squeezed it slightly. Lyra looked at Alsesta in surprise. “And two. Find allies that will back you, no matter what.” Lyra stared, then she blushed. But she didn’t move her hand. “If you want, you may call me Allie.” Lyra realized in that second that she had been reviewed the whole evening and been found sound. She smiled. “Thanks… Allie. You may call me… Lyra.” A slight snicker came over both mares. Then they sat in silence again for a while. Then Lyra spoke. “I am impressed, though. Foto would’ve probably thrown a tantrum. And I would… at least tried to give them some payback.” Alsesta smirked. The grim smirk so many restaurateurs had learned to fear. “Oh, I will. Even if I never compromise with my reviews, I have my ways. I will talk to Fransie… and she will take my brother, his husband and Hoity and his little herd of lovers there… next Friday night would probably suit… “ Alsesta took a sip of her coffee and leaned back. “They might seem harmless, but I have seen them in action. They will make that restaurant look like a bugbear Riverdance revue. As I said, get some allies.”
