In Betweenby LateToThePartyChaptersThe Smell of Sugar (Sonata/Pinkie)What Do You See? (Starlight/Trixie)Duality (Sunset/Twilight)Heroes Come Home Too (Fluttershy/Rainbow Dash)Colors (Rarity/Applejack)The Smell of Sugar (Sonata/Pinkie)In any and all endeavors, she rushes forward, heedless of consequence, the wild abandon of untamed horses in her spirit, free from even the clutches of logic and reason. Her smile is wide and comforting, bright teeth surrounded by the expanding, dimpled cheeks, an unmistakable twinkle in her eyes. Her giggle is musical in nature, the bold brassy tones of her symphony, giving life and color to the thudding back beat of her heart. She’s warm. She’s soft. She’s the endless adventures in the sunlit afternoons. She’s the midnight musings on a moonless evening. Sonata parts her lips. Every strand of hair that floated toward her was like a sugar rush, encapsulated in that tiny moment where her flesh tingles and her breath comes in shallow, quickened breaths. She moves her head down, a moment of clarity allowing her to control the operations of her lungs and she breaths, slowly and deeply. The sweet aroma of the bakery, warm and soft, hits her senses, causing her mind to melt. Her eyes are swimming in pink. She pulls away and leans forward. The sun sets and the symphony finishes. They bow their goodbyes and the moon is red. A jewel shatters and Sonata hesitates. She pulls back and she moves to tighten her hold, surprised that when she opens her eyes, there’s nothing. Her room is dark and the only scent that pervades her nose are the blue frosted cupcakes on her bedside table. What Do You See? (Starlight/Trixie)She was front row, center seat. It was always front row, center seat. Make no mistake, she didn’t think the magic shows were good. They were obvious and amateurish. No formal training. She’d orchestrated from careful observation and even by generous standards, Trixie Lulamoon was not very observant at all. Starlight Glimmer was not a fan, not at all, but she came back, all the same. Front row, center seat. The first to come and the first to leave, sneaking behind heavy crimson curtains to spy on the real magic. Trixie runs off the stage, to the greenroom. She huffs in frustration, tears bubbling in the corners of her eyes. Her purple cape, again, littered with scraps of food and drink, thrown at her distastefully. She paces and screams, kicks and throws. She sits and sniffles. Then she lifts her head and walks. She practices and mutters. She thinks, rethinks, and thinks some more. “Come one, come all! Witness the GREAAAAAT AND POWERFUL TRRRRRRIXIE!” She smirks and she falls. She cries and she leaves. The next week, she’s back and Starlight is there, front row, center seat. Always front row, center seat. Always, until the food is replaced by flowers and the jeers turn to applause. She’ll be there. Front row, center seat. Duality (Sunset/Twilight)Does she think of beginnings? Does she think of endings? Does she think of the bad? Does she think of the good? Does she ever wonder where she lies? Does she know where she stands? Does it hurt to be in between? Does that razors edge ever cut? Does she ever fall on that narrow ledge? How does she navigate through the endless mysteries that surround her? How is she always content with the mundane? Is it a passion? Is it a pattern? Is it science? Is it art? Is she a hero? Is she a villain? How does she see herself? “Hey, Twilight. What are you doing over here?” Her voice pierces through the veil of thoughts like an arrow. Her voice seeps through the veil of thoughts like a droplet. She’s looking at me with those eyes between green and blue. They’re deep with secrets and hurts, but they’re honest and happy. “Sunset.” The name escapes and it makes sense. Duality encapsulated, she stands between the dark and the light, and she reaches out a hand. Twilight reaches forward and she’s tugged up gently with a fierce pull. “I was just thinking.” Sunset nods and she shakes her head, subtly indicating a direction. Twilight follows, cutting off her pondering. From behind, she observes the in-between. Heroes Come Home Too (Fluttershy/Rainbow Dash)She always did have a pretty smile. Fluttershy couldn’t forget; how could she? When her childhood was as extensive as Applejack’s orchard, each tree, memories and pictures of that smile, coming to the forefront of her mind in the moments between thoughts, like subtle shadows on a cloudy day. Yet, pictures of the mind, no matter how copious the repertoire, could never compare to the sight of the real thing. Rainbow Dash turned to look at her with piercing magenta and she retreated behind a curtain of hair. The short, rainbow locks were no longer the regal length of their high school days, instead clipped short and swept to the side, lain flat by the silly hat of military officers. No longer did her cheeks puff with the remnants of youth’s chub, replaced by a cut jawline and angled cheeks. Training had done it’s number. The pressed uniform. The straight posture. The undertone in her eyes. Fluttershy didn’t recognize this woman standing a few scant meters away. Then Dash smiled at her. And the sun rose above AJ’s orchard, chasing them under the cool embrace of a beloved green. Shaky, happily, Fluttershy smiled back. “Welcome back, Rainbow Dash.” Colors (Rarity/Applejack)Blues, purples, whites, pinks. Rarity didn’t fit. Amid the worn wooden frame and apple patterned bed covers, Rarity didn’t fit, even with that placid smile as she sat, comfortably splayed, with a book in her hand. To Applejack, it didn’t fit. “Is there something you want to say, darling?” Rarity’s voice was as smooth as the silk she always kept in her work room. “Nah, just thinkin’ is all.” Applejack’s was the burlap sac potatoes came in. The farm girl stepped forward until she was also beside Rarity. Greens, yellows, oranges, reds. Inside her room, on her bed, apples upon apples of motifs, this was where she belonged. A crinkling of paper as the page turned, and Rarity found her nose scrunching. “Applejack, my love, would you be a dear and retrieve my glasses? They’re inside my purse beside your foot. Applejack leaned down to retrieve the purse. White and purple. Glittery. Cute. She reached her callous hands inside, feeling for the plastic spectacles. She pulled it out, stared, and chuckled. She handed it to Rarity. She felt so silly. “Thank you, darling.” Rarity smiled as she placed the glasses on her nose. Applejack smiled. “Red looks good on you, sugarcube.” Rarity winked. “I know.”
The Smell of Sugar (Sonata/Pinkie)In any and all endeavors, she rushes forward, heedless of consequence, the wild abandon of untamed horses in her spirit, free from even the clutches of logic and reason. Her smile is wide and comforting, bright teeth surrounded by the expanding, dimpled cheeks, an unmistakable twinkle in her eyes. Her giggle is musical in nature, the bold brassy tones of her symphony, giving life and color to the thudding back beat of her heart. She’s warm. She’s soft. She’s the endless adventures in the sunlit afternoons. She’s the midnight musings on a moonless evening. Sonata parts her lips. Every strand of hair that floated toward her was like a sugar rush, encapsulated in that tiny moment where her flesh tingles and her breath comes in shallow, quickened breaths. She moves her head down, a moment of clarity allowing her to control the operations of her lungs and she breaths, slowly and deeply. The sweet aroma of the bakery, warm and soft, hits her senses, causing her mind to melt. Her eyes are swimming in pink. She pulls away and leans forward. The sun sets and the symphony finishes. They bow their goodbyes and the moon is red. A jewel shatters and Sonata hesitates. She pulls back and she moves to tighten her hold, surprised that when she opens her eyes, there’s nothing. Her room is dark and the only scent that pervades her nose are the blue frosted cupcakes on her bedside table.
What Do You See? (Starlight/Trixie)She was front row, center seat. It was always front row, center seat. Make no mistake, she didn’t think the magic shows were good. They were obvious and amateurish. No formal training. She’d orchestrated from careful observation and even by generous standards, Trixie Lulamoon was not very observant at all. Starlight Glimmer was not a fan, not at all, but she came back, all the same. Front row, center seat. The first to come and the first to leave, sneaking behind heavy crimson curtains to spy on the real magic. Trixie runs off the stage, to the greenroom. She huffs in frustration, tears bubbling in the corners of her eyes. Her purple cape, again, littered with scraps of food and drink, thrown at her distastefully. She paces and screams, kicks and throws. She sits and sniffles. Then she lifts her head and walks. She practices and mutters. She thinks, rethinks, and thinks some more. “Come one, come all! Witness the GREAAAAAT AND POWERFUL TRRRRRRIXIE!” She smirks and she falls. She cries and she leaves. The next week, she’s back and Starlight is there, front row, center seat. Always front row, center seat. Always, until the food is replaced by flowers and the jeers turn to applause. She’ll be there. Front row, center seat.
Duality (Sunset/Twilight)Does she think of beginnings? Does she think of endings? Does she think of the bad? Does she think of the good? Does she ever wonder where she lies? Does she know where she stands? Does it hurt to be in between? Does that razors edge ever cut? Does she ever fall on that narrow ledge? How does she navigate through the endless mysteries that surround her? How is she always content with the mundane? Is it a passion? Is it a pattern? Is it science? Is it art? Is she a hero? Is she a villain? How does she see herself? “Hey, Twilight. What are you doing over here?” Her voice pierces through the veil of thoughts like an arrow. Her voice seeps through the veil of thoughts like a droplet. She’s looking at me with those eyes between green and blue. They’re deep with secrets and hurts, but they’re honest and happy. “Sunset.” The name escapes and it makes sense. Duality encapsulated, she stands between the dark and the light, and she reaches out a hand. Twilight reaches forward and she’s tugged up gently with a fierce pull. “I was just thinking.” Sunset nods and she shakes her head, subtly indicating a direction. Twilight follows, cutting off her pondering. From behind, she observes the in-between.
Heroes Come Home Too (Fluttershy/Rainbow Dash)She always did have a pretty smile. Fluttershy couldn’t forget; how could she? When her childhood was as extensive as Applejack’s orchard, each tree, memories and pictures of that smile, coming to the forefront of her mind in the moments between thoughts, like subtle shadows on a cloudy day. Yet, pictures of the mind, no matter how copious the repertoire, could never compare to the sight of the real thing. Rainbow Dash turned to look at her with piercing magenta and she retreated behind a curtain of hair. The short, rainbow locks were no longer the regal length of their high school days, instead clipped short and swept to the side, lain flat by the silly hat of military officers. No longer did her cheeks puff with the remnants of youth’s chub, replaced by a cut jawline and angled cheeks. Training had done it’s number. The pressed uniform. The straight posture. The undertone in her eyes. Fluttershy didn’t recognize this woman standing a few scant meters away. Then Dash smiled at her. And the sun rose above AJ’s orchard, chasing them under the cool embrace of a beloved green. Shaky, happily, Fluttershy smiled back. “Welcome back, Rainbow Dash.”
Colors (Rarity/Applejack)Blues, purples, whites, pinks. Rarity didn’t fit. Amid the worn wooden frame and apple patterned bed covers, Rarity didn’t fit, even with that placid smile as she sat, comfortably splayed, with a book in her hand. To Applejack, it didn’t fit. “Is there something you want to say, darling?” Rarity’s voice was as smooth as the silk she always kept in her work room. “Nah, just thinkin’ is all.” Applejack’s was the burlap sac potatoes came in. The farm girl stepped forward until she was also beside Rarity. Greens, yellows, oranges, reds. Inside her room, on her bed, apples upon apples of motifs, this was where she belonged. A crinkling of paper as the page turned, and Rarity found her nose scrunching. “Applejack, my love, would you be a dear and retrieve my glasses? They’re inside my purse beside your foot. Applejack leaned down to retrieve the purse. White and purple. Glittery. Cute. She reached her callous hands inside, feeling for the plastic spectacles. She pulled it out, stared, and chuckled. She handed it to Rarity. She felt so silly. “Thank you, darling.” Rarity smiled as she placed the glasses on her nose. Applejack smiled. “Red looks good on you, sugarcube.” Rarity winked. “I know.”
