In terms of Golden Glass’ ideal, today was the perfect day to go out for tea.
He’d started it with a fresh groom. The stallion had his fruity orange mane brushed and tied into an appropriate coiffure, while his beige coat had been diligently scrubbed and trimmed of any unwanted hair. Topping it off, he had his hoofs cleaned and wiped down with Valenta’s Premium Hoof-polish (arguably the best in Canterlot). Dressed up tight in his favorite verdant double-pressed suit, Golden exited his house with a wide grin and trotted towards Restaurant Row.
A few friends had recommended him to try one of Canterlot’s newer establishments. Misha’s Manor was only a year old, but it’d gained quite a clientele with its exotic dishes, exotic design, and equally exotic staff. Imagine it – a whole café served by thestrals! It was such an original idea, and Golden loved original ideas, no matter how revolutionary or scandalous they were.
He shuddered upon recalling the furore that erupted on its opening day. That was certainly memorable.
Controversies aside, the place had managed to stay afloat for a year. Since then, public attitudes had relaxed, and it was steadily gaining interest – and perhaps, popularity.
Golden spared a glance at his pocket watch: 18:45 – perfect timing!
Using the last few minutes of sunlight, Golden observed and admired the establishment’s architecture, with its earthy black-oak designs and volcanic basalt tiling. The edifice exhibited sharp edges and pointed designs, bearing witness to the thestrals’ unique heritage.
Jumping up and down with glee, Golden trotted up to the set of ornate double doors and pushed it open.
A loud, jolly tune blasted in his ears, and a small crowd jammed and jigged to the boisterous music. Between clumsy steps and raucous cheers, thestral waiters zipped about with trays of foreign food and drink. His nostrils stung from the bitter scent of Abyssinian incense, but they were soon soothed by a warm aroma of sweetleaf and turmeric. Rusty candelabras burned low and dim, facilitating a dark but cozy climate to sustain this little world.
On top of that, thestrals! Thestrals everywhere!
Such a unique place… mused Golden.
“Good evening, sir!” greeted a female attendant. “How can I help you?”
“O-oh, uh…” Golden stammered, suddenly remembering why he’d come here in the first place.
“It’s my first time here, miss, so I’m not sure where to start…” He offered an embarrassed chuckle, to which the waitress giggled (adorably!).
“It’s alright, sir, that’s the usual reaction of a first-timer! Say, why don’t you take a seat while I bring you a menu?”
Golden hastily nodded, face flushing keenly as she departed. She had such a cute voice…
He shook his head, trying to clear his addled thoughts. Focus, Golden. He came here to have a nice cup of tea.
Straightening an aberrant crease in his suit, his eyes wandered around the place in search of a seat – at least, that’s what he told himself. In all honesty, he couldn’t get enough of all the fancy bits and bobs that adorned the walls. On one edifice hung an assortment of whispering-plants and sage-flowers from the far Eastern lands; on another were displayed statues and statuettes of porcelain, sitting on a hardy shelf protruding from the stone wall. On yet another, he noticed some hanging piece of art, though it was too far away to clearly see.
It also happened to be next to a vacant seat. Talk about perfection!
He trotted towards his target. The table in question was really just a long pine trunk carved into the wall, with stools serving as seating – almost like a bar top. As Golden took his seat, he noticed the lack of patrons on this side of the building, save for one or two.
Well, no matter; he preferred to enjoy his tea in quiet, lonely meditation. Except that “quiet” wouldn’t be on the itinerary today, an account of the dancing.
“Here’s the menu, sir!” chirped the thestral waitress from earlier.
Golden smiled. “Thank you, miss.”
“I’ll come ‘round in a bit. Take your time!” she bade, before scurrying off to attend to other patrons.
Golden scrutinized the menu in his hoof. Aside from the pretty floral designs adorning the paper, the prices were rather hefty. 12 bits for a simple cup of matcha, 18 for standard Canterlot black, and 24 for a set of either. Why, he could get those downtown for less than half! Not to mention the assortment of croissants (including meat options for griffons!) and pastries (seriously, chocolate yogurt pudding?) – all of whose prices never fell beneath 12 bits.
Golden furrowed his brow. Should he burn 24 bits for just a simple set of black Canterlot standard? Especially when his maid could’ve brewed one for him at home…?
“Excuse me, sir, are you ready to order?”
Golden looked up to see the waitress again, eyes wide, pen and paper at the ready, offering him her widest smile. His breath hitched somewhere up his throat. She was trying her best, could he really refuse her..?
He withheld a tiny sigh. 24 bits it was.
“Miss, give me a Canterlot standard tea set. Four bags strong, please,” he ordered, coloring his voice with a bit of diplomacy to hide his true feelings.
“Sure thing! Anything else you’d like to add?” she inquired, her chirrupy voice indicating she’d not suspected anything.
“Uh, no, that’s all. Thank you,” finished Golden with a smile. The waitress bowed and took back the menu with her leathery wings.
“Hey, miss, may I ask how… old you are?” inquired Golden.
“15, sir!” she answered with a cheerful flitter in her voice. Golden smiled.
“You’re doing a good job – and I really like your smile, keep it up!”
“Thank you, sir!”
Once she’d gone out of sight, Golden exhaled like a deflating balloon. 24 bits… gone.
They’d better serve him their best.
In the meantime, why not a round two of observing and admiring all the priceless artifacts on display?
The piece of art he’d seen earlier hung right next to him, and he seized the chance to scrutinize it more closely. It was more akin to a scroll – a hanging scroll, indeed, depicting an intriguing subject. A thestral stallion lay in a rather odd position, hindlimbs tucked beneath his bottom and upper torso raised up. He closed his eyes in serene calmness, forelimbs grasping a small china cup. Whatever liquid it contained inside possessed a yellow hue with a slight verdant tinge, and Golden decided to interpret it as some medicinal drink… choosing to ignore its uncanny resemblance to certain fluids that came from a full bladder.
Golden beheld the scene with an eagle’s eye, evaluating the line weight, the relatively light-hearted color scheme, and mayhaps the subject himself; he had a shiny blue mane tied into a funny ponytail, was clad in nothing but his brown-gray skin, and was sitting on what looked like a grassy hill.
Not concrete enough. The work as a whole appeared too vague, too detached. The line work could definitely use some improvements. And the artist should really trim off some of the abstract patterns; it was rather excessive and distracting.
“Excuse me, sir! Black Canterlot standard?” chirruped the waitress. Golden turned and nodded with an ah as she set it before him.
“Hope you enjoy it!”
“I will, thank you, miss.”
Golden observed the tray in front of him. It held a dainty, porcelain cup nicely warmed up, a steaming pot sitting behind it, and a little jug of milk arranged in a triangular setting. A small dish of colorful biscuits and dark sweets occupied the rest of the tray. Overall, an acceptable presentation.
Now, did it taste acceptable?
He proceeded to fill his cup three-fourths full. “Here’s hoping for the best…” he whispered in prayerful fashion, and took his first sip.
His tongue immediately picked up a strong, oak-ish flavor, wonderfully thick and earthy. It was richened by an intriguing aftertaste of sweet nuts and bitter leaves. As the scalding liquid made its way down his throat, Golden shut his eyes in reverence and awe, allowing his taste buds to fully know and absorb the palette of flavors.
Now this was good tea.
He picked up a biscuit and plopped one into his mouth. Eh, standard oatmeal bake with confectioners’ sugar – albeit much softer and moist than the ones he’d received for Hearths’ Warming. Still, it was common food.
But the tea? Oh, it was truly lovely!
He took another sip and moaned in blissful satisfaction.
“I see you’re enjoying yourself intensely, sir.”
Golden opened his eyes upon hearing the crisp, alto voice. He turned to see a thestral mare seated at the same table, sending him a wry smile. He offered a diplomatic one in kind.
“Indeed, I am. It’s the best tea I’ve ever had in ages.”
The thestral nodded as he took a third sip.
“Aye, you sounded as if you were making love.”
Golden spat up the precious liquid with shrunken eyes and flushing cheeks, eliciting an explosive flurry of laughter from his less-than-polite neighbor.
“My… haha! My a-apologies, s-sir!” stammered the thestral. Swooning with giggles, she pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to a shell-shocked Golden, who accepted it with the fluid movements of a granite statue.
“T-t-thank you… k-k-kind miss…” stuttered Golden as he offered it back.
“Please, please, keep it!” bade the thestral. “It’s the least I can do to repay you for the trouble I’ve caused.”
“O-oh, thank you.”
“Uh, excuse me, waitress! Could you please get us a tablecloth? We’ve made a mess here!”
“Right away!”
Huffing and panting, Golden watched as the thestral received the cloth and wiped up the puddle of tea that’d shot out from his mouth. His cheeks heated up at the thought of such indignity…
“Now, now, sir, there’s no need to panic. I was just fooling around,” explained the thestral after she’d finished her cleanup.
“I did not really sound like that… Did I?”
“Oh, no, no!” she emphasized. “It was just a joke, sir. Thestral humor, heh!”
His mind now addle-free, Golden produced an offended pout. “I was not aware that thestral humor was so crude…”
“Trust me, that was just the beginning!” grinned the mare. “But anyways, forgive my manners! I’m Starry Night!”
She offered a hoof towards Golden, who shook it with a calm sigh.
“I’m Golden Glass. Pleased to meet you, despite the rather unusual introduction.”
“Ah, it happens to some of my friends. Just my disposition,” Starry offered. “Your first time at Misha's?”
“Mm, yes. It was recommended to me a few times. And besides, thought I’d try someplace new.”
A content sigh escaped Golden’s lips.
“It’s fascinating, this place. The architecture, the design, the trinkets and objects they keep here…” He turned to his cup. “And above all, the tea they serve is of the highest quality!”
“Heh, highest quality?” chortled Starry. “I didn’t know kai Kantarlot was considered ‘highest quality’ when it’s literally sold everywhere.”
A second pout etched its way onto Golden’s snout, his smile devolving into a fierce sulk.
“By the Keeper’s flames, dare you imply that black Canterlot standard is common fare?”
“Trust me!” grinned the thestral. “There is so much more beyond Canterlot’s black-as-crap brews! By the Watcher’s stars, you haven’t drunk real tea, my friend.”
“Then enlighten me, O Mighty Thestral…” bowed Golden, drawing out the last three words with mocking reverence.
“Hah, yes, yes, worship me,” chuckled Starry, receiving the adoration with all the power of a mortal.
“Of course not,” raised Golden as he hastily uprighted himself. “So, what is real tea, as you, my darling, so adamantly put it?”
Starry’s fanged lips curled into a sinister grin. She seized Golden’s cup, turned it upside down, and poured the liquid out. Every last drop.
Golden’s eyeballs burst into tears as he watched his 24 bits splashing into a mere puddle onto the floor below. Before he could muster any protest, Starry turned the cup right side up, filled it with her own pot of tea, and offered it to a still-frozen Golden.
“Before you say anything, try it first, please,” suggested the thestral.
Golden’s hoofs trembled like a colt’s rattle-toy as he received the cup. He gazed at the greenish-yellow water, wondering if he should really trust her word.
Besides, its color strongly resembled urine…
Dammit! This foreign tea had better be worth more than his 24 bits – even if it did taste like piss. He was not going to let that money go to waste.
Holding his breath and sending a quick prayer, he cautiously took a little sip.
A cohort of five flavors immediately bombarded his tongue. Bitter tones of raw, organic almond attacked his taste buds, its toxic power tamed by the sweetness of pure vanilla. A competing force of warm cinnamon joined the fray, aided by a hint of honey and barley rice. A petal of magnolia sent a lovely nectarine undertone to sweeten the already-rich aftertaste deposited around his mouth and tongue.
Golden’s eyes widened to dinner plates as the liquid sank down his throat and into his stomach. He suddenly found it hard to breathe, his mind and body screaming in approval of this newly-tasted tea. It was as if his esophagus and digestive tracts were applauding!
“I… I… I have no words to describe this… drink you’ve offered me, Starry.”
Said thestral gave a sly grin. “Didn’t take you long, huh?”
“You gave me a fright there, Ms. Thestral!” yelled Golden. “What, pouring out 24 bits’ worth of black tea and then telling me that there were better ones out there? This surpassed my expectations!”
“Hah, looks like my gamble paid off! I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Tell me, who’s the brewmaster of this concoction? Is this his latest recipe? Oh, by Heaven, I must meet him!” inquired Golden with the speed and excitement of a certain pink pony.
Starry gave a slightly embarrassed chuckle.
“Uh, well, he’s been dead for about 800 years now.”
Golden’s excitement screeched to a halt.
“And that’s not really his recipe. It was just an improvement on the original, which probably came around 2000 years ago.”
Starry watched in amused silence as Golden slowly deflated into something resembling a flaccid balloon.
“If it may be of any consolation, he is technically still with us. There” – she stretched forth a leather wing towards the hanging art piece – “forever immortalized in Master Dorsha’s painting.”
“What, that garish portrait?” exasperated Golden. “Oh, I swear by the Keeper, that is not a painting. That is wasted canvas and oil.”
“It’s actually ink and watercolor,” gently corrected Starry, trotting closer to the portrait.
Golden straightened himself and stood beside Starry, clicking his tongue. “Well, I’m not concerned with what medium was used. I’m concerned that it’s not a proper representation of such a great brewmaster. Perfection is key, and this is anything but perf–”
“You know, it doesn’t need to be, Golden.”
That comment was totally unexpected. It dropped an invisible weight upon the pony’s mouth. No matter how much his tongue itched to express his sharp and witty criticisms, it just wouldn’t make a sound. His coat began to shiver at the icy change of mood, and with nothing else to say, he watched Starry gazing at that imperfect portrait in solemn observation, her eyes clouded with… sentiment.
“When Master Dorsha painted this a long time ago, he wasn’t intent on capturing a perfect likeness of his subject. He simply wanted to capture his memory, to preserve his legacy, afraid that it would be lost to time. To that end, I believe he’d achieved his goal.”
A wistful breath expired from her fanged lips as she turned to face Golden.
“This is the only surviving portrait of perhaps the greatest batpony to have ever lived. To ponies, he was known as Leafy Green. To us batponies… he was called Lyr, a name that implied inner strength.”
“Inner strength…?” wondered Golden, his tongue having found some courage at last.
“A strength that empowered him to preserve our tea culture,” continued Starry. “Through war, persecution, ups, or downs, he maintained that precious facet of batpony identity – even at the cost of his own life.”
Golden already knew the answer wouldn’t be pretty. He asked anyway, perhaps in an effort to make up for his earlier averseness.
“What happened?”
She clicked with a frown.
“Accused. Beheaded. Left to rot in pieces in some dirty waste hole.”
Her tongue stopped there. Golden himself would’ve rather finished it with A most dignified end, no? than that… particular sentence.
The silence spoke loudly.
Starry’s voice held a conviction. One that caressed Golden’s conscience with the brawn of a scourge. His hoof scraped the ground, ears flicking about as all his ideals, all his opinions melted in the fervor of the thestral’s wisdom.
A wisdom he’d do well to learn from.
“I apologize, Starry, for my aloofness. I did not know the significance of his portrait to you and your kind. I’m sorry.”
A fluid, silky touch made a landing on his shoulder. He cautiously brought his gaze up to meet Starry’s forgiving one. They beheld each other in a silent duet; the former prayed the Keeper that he’d not seriously offended the latter.
She raised her hoof and slapped the bloody Tartarus out of his flanks.
“It's alright, Golden, we’re cool!” she chirped.
“By the Keeper’s flanks, you nearly scared me! Again!” shrieked Golden. Merciful heavens, did this mare have no manners?
“Moonbuttocks, that face is priceless!”
No, it seemed she had none. That casted serious doubts on her ‘wisdom.’
But was that his issue? No, Starry’s problems will be dealt with by Starry herself, and Golden’s by Golden himself.
But now, time to continue enjoying tea; it’s what he came for, after all. Golden seated himself and poured a fresh cup, moaning as the repertoire of wonderful flavors made themselves known in his mouth again.
“Ugh, still back at that crappy brew? I thought I’d convinced you, Golden!” exclaimed that annoying thestral.
He huffed. “Sorry, but I adhere to the worship of Black Canterlot Standard. This is the highest quality of tea one could ever afford themselves to. Any other belief is heresy.”
Golden’s mouth twisted into a dirty smug as Starry hissed, screamed, and ranted in her native tongue. What an adorable mare.
Author's Note
16/10/23 - This fic is currently unedited. I apologize for any spelling mistakes, incoherent sentences, or generally bad writing. The current ending might be rewritten.
17/10/23 - Ending rewritten. Slight changes to some sections.
21/12/23 - Some major editing towards the middle section. Special thanks to Nebbie for the help!
