We're not socks, but I think we’d make a great pair!
Twilight Sparkle fumed beneath rainbow-edged dapples of light that glittered down from a fancy overhead chandelier. She hated the bar scene.
Loathed it, really.
Especially here in Canterlot, and especially-especially at ultra-high-society events like the ball she had found herself obligated to attend.
Back in Ponyville? The local bar there was a pleasure. It wasn’t exactly some rustic tavern or small hamlet pub out of a fantasy adventure book, but it captured some of what she imagined the spirit of a place like that was supposed to be: laid-back, cozy on a cold winter’s day or a shady reprieve from the sun of a hot summer afternoon, and most importantly, someplace to be in good company.
But in Canterlot…
Like most things in Canterlot, the bars had a glass-like polish, a gleaming shine that felt like it put an ineffably thin layer of water between her and everything she touched. That smoothness and shine coated everything, every surface, glimmering and glinting with reflections of the lights above until it blinded and bullied with extravagance and excess.
And most of all—most of all—the ponies. Twilight dreaded the kinds of ponies who frequented the bars, even just a small bar area off to the side of a much larger open-air ballroom, here in Canterlot.
But still. The host of the evening was considerate enough to at least make it an open bar, and an open bar, for all she detested Canterlot bars, was just too good to pass up when she needed a drink and a break from the… thing. Event. Soiree? That’s probably what Rarity would call it. And where was Rarity, anyway? She said she’d be right behind—
“Miss?”
“Huh?” Twilight turned and saw a stallion standing behind her. She noted, tiredly, that his façade had the same high polish as everything else around her. It was in the perfectly fitted and pressed tuxedo jacket, the impeccably starched collar with precisely turned down little corners, the shining blue silk bow-tie… and in his face. That smarmy-charmy smile, exuding a look that was half-arrogant, half-amiable, and half-tipsy (somehow, to Twilight’s incredulity, he managed to pack three halves’ worth of expressiveness into one smile) all over his face.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to report you to the Royal Guard.”
“Excuse me?” Twilight narrowed her eyes. “For what?”
“For stealing my heart.” His smile widened slightly.
Twilight’s brain froze for a beat, then ran like a hamster furiously spinning on a wheel, getting nowhere in the effort to decide what on Celestia’s green Equestria to make of this nonsense.
He pressed a half-step closer. “Of course, I wouldn’t have to turn you in if you gave me yours instead.”
Twilight reflexively took her own half-step backwards, away from him.
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” she declared, finally snapping out of her indecision and running with her first impulse.
The grin-smile started to fade. “Oh, don’t like that one? Well, how about this—”
“Do you think I’m dumb?” Twilight interrupted him.
“…Of course not?” Confusion crept across his face. Now it was his turn to take a half-step back.
“Then why would you say something like that?” Twilight demanded. “Frankly, it feels insulting to think you think so little of me.”
“It was a joke!” He said, in a slight tone of protest.
“Not a very good one.” Twilight gave him a dead stare.
“I, um.” He fumbled. “Okay, sorry.” Awkward, heavy seconds passed, and finally he turned to walk away.
Twilight watched him go, feeling a lingering weirdness about the whole exchange.
“Was he bothering you, Twilight?” Rarity’s voice filtered in from one side of the bar. Twilight turned to see her friend approaching.
“Kinda, I guess,” Twilight said. “Just said something stupid, that’s all.”
“Stupid, like what?” Rarity asked, sidling up to the bar next to Twilight.
She recounted their exchange.
“Oh, Twilight, Twilight,” Rarity laughed gently. “That means he likes you. Haven’t you ever heard a pick-up line?”
“Sure, but it’s just, if you’re trying to win somepony over, shouldn’t you be trying to sound smart?” Twilight wondered.
Rarity smiled and shook her head slightly. “That’s not how it works,” she explained. “Not at all. It’s not about what is being said, it’s all about how.”
“And how was something that bad supposed to be said?”
“With supreme confidence, of course.” Rarity gave Twilight a look. “The line itself is bad on purpose. That’s part of the point – to display so much confidence that it shows you can make anything work, no matter how stupid or silly. And sometimes it works, because some ponies find that kind of charisma very charming.”
Twilight took a long sip of her drink, considering this carefully while wheels in her head turned.
“Huh. Alright.” She nodded slowly. “So, can I ask you something?”
“Yes, of course.” Rarity listened.
“Did it hurt?” Twilight asked.
Rarity looked at Twilight curiously. “Did what hurt?”
Twilight smiled and glided in a half-step closer to Rarity. “When you fell from heaven.”
She waited as a half-beat passed, with Rarity in wide-eyed surprise.
Then she felt a sudden tingle of exhilaration when Rarity smiled slyly at her, with just the slightest hint of a blush blooming on her cheeks.
From across the ballroom, a pink alicorn watched the proceedings at the bar, while mingling expertly with the crowd to make it seem like she wasn’t watching at all.
“Oh, I just love it when a plan comes together.” Cadance hummed happily to herself, sashaying over to the breakfast table the next morning.
“Hmmm?” Shining Armor looked up briefly from his morning coffee.
“It was a good night,” Cadance explained without really explaining. “A little scheme I’ve been orchestrating for a while now finally paid off, and your sister got something she desperately needed.”
“And what was that?” Shining Armor asked with slight bemusement.
“Laid.”
Shining Armor choked and spat out his coffee all over his newspaper, to Flurry Heart’s giggling delight.
