In Which Silver Spoon is Pretty
It was exactly thirty-two minutes and seventeen seconds before the end of this lunch break. Diamond Tiara had been five minutes and three seconds late. Five minutes and three frustrating, anxiety-inducing seconds that Silver Spoon would never get back. But a lady did not complain about such things in public, and Silver really was happy for any opportunity to visit with her best friend, so she had chosen not to bring it up.
The two of them sat at a small cafe next to a scenic canal, sitting upon ornate and thin chairs around a similarly dainty round table. Opposite their spot was a view of the shiny skyscrapers of downtown Seaddle, currently bathed in the warm glow of a summer sunset. Silver sipped tea, naturally. Her second cup. Diamond was on her fourth coffee. She’d become a voracious caffeine addict in the last five years.
Thirty minutes, twenty-eight seconds. The clock on the wall was off by a half-second.
“The wedding is set for September,” Diamond said, excitement bubbling just beneath her calm veneer. “It’ll mean a lot to Precious if ‘Auntie Spoon’ could be there.” A quick sip of her coffee. Diamond did everything quickly these days.
Silver whipped out her schedule book. It was the kind of paper monstrosity that would make lesser ponies sob at its sheer heft. Adjusting her glasses, Silver presented her favorite smug smile, the one Pinkie Pie taught her. “I wouldn’t be much of a godmother if I missed the wedding. Exact date?”
Despite being well beyond the filly pageant stage of her life, Diamond could still beam like the sun. “The twentieth!”
The schedule book snapped open to the correct page instantly. Those uninitiated with Silver had occasionally wondered if the thing was magically tuned into her thoughts and intentions. She examined the given week and, pen in hoof, crossed a few things out before writing ‘Precious Diamond: Wedding!' in big, bold letters and circled it for punctuation.
Hmm. She was supposed to be managing a fundraiser event for Mayor Fore Play in Manehattan the day before. No matter. The Mayor would have to settle for an inferior event organizer. She didn’t like that pervert much anyway. That meeting with Captain Gallus the day after to plan the Royal Guard’s annual soiree was a bit trickier. Perhaps she could send him a gift. He had a thing for fried rabbit, didn’t he? She could send a note for rescheduling with a little apology…
“You’re doing it again.”
Silver looked up at Diamond, who was staring across the canal with her chin resting atop a forelock. Glancing between her and the schedule book, Silver put it away, making a mental note to go over the entire month of September with a fine-toothed… quill. “Sorry. Just thinking.”
Diamond sighed. When she met Silver’s gaze, her pale blue eyes held concern. “September’s four months away. Is your schedule really booked that far ahead?”
Adjust an immaculate tie. Pretend to check a completely wrinkle-free suit. Take a sip of only above-average but well-prepared tea. Anything was better than admitting that Silver’s schedule was packed for the next eight months. The wave of guilt washing over her was confusing, but undeniable. “I like being prepared.” Glance at the clock.
Twenty-six minutes, thirty-nine seconds.
Diamond took a pull from her coffee, set the empty mug aside and waved for another. Her concerned eyes never left her friend’s face. “Silver, I’m worried about you. Don’t you ever get out and have fun?”
A lady did not scoff, but Silver came very close to doing so. “And what do you call what we’re doing right now?”
With a deadpan frown, Diamond leaned over the table. “How long has this been in that tome of yours?”
“Three weeks, four days,” Silver primly declared. Her friend’s stare didn’t waver, making her bristle. “What?”
“Don’t you ever have any spontaneous fun?” Diamond thanked the waitress that swept past, taking all the empty mugs and leaving a steaming one full of brown poison in her wake. “Look, the boardwalk’s just forty minutes away from here by taxi. There’s all sorts of fun things we could do over there.”
Silver balked at the very idea. “I have two appointments after this.”
“Cancel them.”
“Cancel?” Silver felt her stomach flop. Those appointments had been in her book for over a month! “On paying customers?”
“I’m sure they can manage without you just this once.” Diamond spoke with the firm confidence of the ignorant.
“They only get to have me once,” Silver countered vehemently. “My job’s important, Diamond. You should know all about that kind of thing. You work for Raven Inkwell, for Twilight’s sake.”
Diamond, entirely unmoved, replied with a dry, “You’re a party planner, Silvie.”
“I’m an event organizer,” she corrected through her teeth.
“Pinkie calls you a ‘party planner’.” Diamond gained a wolfish smile. “And she taught you everything you know, so I’m going by what she says.”
Twenty-two minutes, fifty-one seconds.
“Is there a point behind this?” Taking a calming breath and sipping some lukewarm tea – which officially degraded it to average – Silver reclaimed her dignity and her upturned muzzle. “Or are you planning to blow what little time we have together annoying your best friend?”
“Annoying you is a fun pastime,” Diamond acknowledged with absolutely zero shame. “Especially if it gets you to loosen your tie a little.”
“Don’t even think about it.” Silver ran a hoof down her black tie. “It takes a lot of work to get a tie this straight. I simply couldn’t spare the time to do it again.” A long silence passed between them. A lone eyebrow rose on Diamond’s forehead. Silver sighed. “That was a joke, Di.”
Diamond set her half-empty mug down and sighed. “With you, it’s honestly hard to tell.”
That made Silver bristle. She wasn’t that dry. Even if she were, the mare didn’t have to rub it in. But she bit her tongue and decided it was time for a redirect; this was a silly thing to get angry over. “You know my offer to help plan the wedding still stands.”
At that Diamond groaned and rubbed her forehead. “If it were my decision, I’d take you up on that offer. Alas, Precious is determined to be a Bridezilla about this. She’s barely willing to listen to my suggestions, to say nothing of accepting them. You’d be cheaper, more efficient, and get it all right the first time, but no…”
Silver had to bite her tongue a second time. As amusing as the idea was, she doubted Diamond would appreciate it if she was reminded of her own wedding. Silver had managed to save the whole thing at the last minute, thank Celestia. A pity it was to a filthy philanderer. At least the alimony paid for Precious’s entire tuition.
Diamond abruptly perked up. “Oh, that reminds me. Precious did want one thing, and I didn’t even have to suggest it. I was hoping you could help me.”
Ah, good, back to familiar territory. And with nineteen minutes, thirty-eight seconds to spare. Silver sipped her tea. “Of course. What can I do?”
“We need a professional photographer.” Diamond picked up her mug, her expression crestfallen upon discovering it empty. She glanced at a passing server, but after a moment set the mug down and refocused on Silver. “For once, Precious and I are in complete agreement as to who we want. But we think it would be better if you contacted them, preferably in pony.”
Silver chuckled at the implications. “Somepony one or both of you offended, I take it?”
“No.” Diamond’s muzzle wrinkled as she reconsidered. “I mean, I don’t think so? Let’s face it, I offended a lot of kids when I was a filly. I can’t be expected to remember all of them.”
When they were fillies? Silver only knew so many foals from their days at the Ponyville school house, and only one of them was into photography. “You mean Featherweight? He actually got into photography as a career?” She’d been expecting him to go into journalism.
Unaware of Silver’s mild surprise, Diamond gained a wistful smile. “Yeah, he’s got his own photography business. Won national awards. Still living in Ponyville too. He took over Bulk Biceps’ place after he moved to Califoalnia.”
Silver blinked over her teacup. “Wait, he still lives in Ponyville? Why do you need me to talk to him if he’s practically your next door neighbor?” Her hooves were already itching to grab her scheduler. When was the next time she was going to Canter Valley? Would she have to cancel anything? Move things around? She abruptly did not like where this was going.
“He’d be your neighbor too, if you were at home for more than twenty-four hours in a given month.”
Oh, how smoothly she’d tried to side-line the question. Silver peered at her ‘best friend’, who did not appear the least bit guilty about the attempt. “Di, why do you want me to talk to Featherweight?”
The armor in the diamond’s facade cracked. Just a chip, in the form of the mare paying a little too much attention to her empty mug. “It was Precious’s idea.”
“Di.”
Diamond groaned and pushed the mug away. “Look, I’m too busy. I’ve got my own business to run on top of trying to help Precious prepare for the wedding, Twilight’s got that big diplomatic summit next month which means talking to you don’t want to know how many foreign dignitaries who need things just so when they arrive, and we’re going to Saddle Arabia the month after that. All I’m asking is for you to take a little time to hire Featherweight for us. Come on, Silvie. Please?”
A nice try. A pony who didn’t know Diamond Tiara so well might have fallen for it. But Silver didn’t miss the fact that Diamond had only specified two months of busywork within a timetable of four, and it wasn’t like it took a week to book a photographer. But Silver’s internal clock dutifully reminded her that she was now down to only thirteen minutes left to enjoy some time with her friend, and she would much rather enjoy that time than argue over it. She was reasonably sure she’d be in the area soon anyway, so it wasn’t like Diamond was asking too much.
So, for the sake of putting it all behind them, Silver sighed and nodded. “Oh, very well. I think you’re being silly and not just a little manipulative, but if you really want me to.”
“Manipulative? Me?” Diamond pressed a hoof to her heart in mock distress, tossing her head back as if she’d been struck by an arrow. “My dear Silver Spoon, you wound me.”
Silver giggled at the flamboyant display. “I see someone’s been taking lessons from Rarity.”
“Guilty as charged. Now—”
And so the lunch break went on for another eleven minutes and thirty-eight seconds, until both mares had to depart for their own activities once more. Or so Diamond claimed; Silver suspected she only said so for her benefit.
The train would leave Ponyville in twenty-one hours and twelve minutes. At least six of those hours would be lost to sleep, but that still left fifteen to do... whatever normal ponies did with time off. She estimated spending no more than thirty minutes at Featherweight’s place, forty-five if he wanted to reminisce. If Silver had her way and Featherweight was still… Featherweight, then it would be an hour or more.
Somehow, Ponyville hadn’t changed much in the last thirteen years. Despite having the School of Friendship and Princess Twilight’s private castle (now essentially a royal summer home and still the official town library), the town’s growth was marginal at best. It still had all the air and charm of a quaint, rural community. Silver Spoon often wondered if the princess hadn’t pulled some strings to make that happen, perhaps with strict zoning laws or something. She couldn’t say; she wasn’t a government employee, and thank the royally retired highnesses for that.
For Silver, off days were rare, and off days in her hometown even more so. She dearly hoped that Diamond and Precious appreciated her blowing an hour of one such day to handle some errand she was confident they could handle on their own, even if she was secretly looking forward to it. Then again, Diamond was an infamous meddler. She had a scheme, Silver knew she had a scheme, and she was willing to see this through for the sake of discovering what the scheme was.
At the very least it might provide her with some amusement. After all, off days were… difficult. Silver Spoon wasn’t very good at ‘down time’.
So it was that she found herself standing outside Silver Feathers Photography. Or, as she better knew it, the former home of one Bulk Biceps. It was a two story affair with a distinct Gallopean style, with brown-tiled roofing, a plaster exterior, and lovely wooden accents. The building with its neat beds of summer flowers was picturesque, if Silver could be allowed the contextual pun. She imagined it would fit in nicely in, say, Whales.
The name was curious. Why silver feathers? Featherweight had a cream coat. Maybe named after an investor? She shook her head at the distraction and marched up to the door. A sign had been nailed onto it inviting her to come in at will; she followed its suggestion. A bell above chimed at her passing.
“Be with you in a moment,” called a familiar voice. It sounded a little different, no doubt due to age, but Silver knew it belonged to Featherweight in an instant.
She was in what she suspected was a former living room, spacious with a high ceiling. Pictures lined the walls in a sparse placement, each with a segment decorated to accommodate it. Here was an image of Ponyville’s schoolhouse, the wall painted green and having many children’s drawings around it to accentuate the image. Silver lingered on the picture, which she quickly recognized as her own class just before graduation. The Crusaders up front, her and Diamond to the side and still thick as thieves, Miss Cheerilee grinning behind all the foals. She couldn’t resist a smile.
A door behind the counter opened. Judging by the red light emanating from it, it was probably a dark room for developing photographs. Out of this opening came a pegasus. He closed the door behind him with what could only be described as reverence before turning to his latest customer. “Good morning, and welcome to Silver Feathers!”
Silver’s cheeks split as her smile became a grin. Oh, that was definitely Featherweight. If anything, adulthood rendered him even more gangly, like a potato on stilts with big, floppy ears! His straight-cut hazelnut mane fell just low enough to half-cover his playful caramel eyes, and already he was brushing it from his face in a habitual manner. And that smile! Silver had not confessed it to anypony, not even Diamond, but she’d always thought Featherweight had the cutest little smile.
The caramels widened as he took her in. “Silver Spoon?”
She waved. “Hello, Feather. Long time no see.”
“Silver!” He practically leaped over the counter, fluttering his small wings for the extra lift. “Wow, it’s been ages! I never thought I’d see you in my humble shop.” He moved as though to go in for a hug, but held himself back at the last second.
Silver, seeing no need to stick to formalities with an old schoolmate, made up the rest of the distance and gave him a squeeze. “It’s good to see you, Feather.” It was amusing how his legs made him so tall but his body was smaller than her own, something she could easily feel when up close like this. The awkwardness of it only made her smile more. A pity he seemed so stiff.
Stepping back, she adjusted her glasses. “And why wouldn’t I come here? I’m an event planner, and sometimes I need photographers. Surely someday I’d do a job here in Ponyville that would require your services.”
“In Ponyville?” He shook himself, as if coming out of a trance, and rubbed his pink cheeks. “No way. Silver Spoon only works with the top tier clientele in the cities. I doubt you’d ever come here for business. Except maybe for the school.” A beat, and then, “Uh, unless you are? Like right now? Is that why you’re here?”
Strange, she didn’t recall him being this awkward as a colt. Well, socially. Physically he pretty much defined the term. “Yes and no. I’m here as a favor to Diamond and Precious.”
Floppy ears perked. “Ah, you must mean Precious’s wedding!” Said ears promptly lowered back down, practically slapping the back of his head. “They want me to be the wedding photographer?”
“What’s wrong?” Silver asked. “Too busy?”
“No, no, I can do it,” he hastily replied. “It’s just… We’re talking about the wedding of Precious Diamond. I hear she’s being a terror about the whole thing.”
Maybe this was why Diamond and Precious didn’t want to ask him themselves? No, Precious lacked the self-awareness to know better. Diamond said this was Precious’s idea, but it had to be Diamond Tiara-original. Though that still didn’t explain why she specifically wanted Silver to be the one to ask. Or maybe…
Looking in those caramels, she asked, “Did they already ask you?”
“No.” A stilt leg anxiously brushed the mane from his face. “But I heard rumors they might. I’ve been gliding on still wings ever since.”
“Gliding on still wings?”
“Pegasus phrase,” he offered with a lopsided (and ever so charming) smile. “Like tiptoeing for earth ponies.”
She hummed and began to pace the room, taking in the pictures on the walls. There was a monochrome of an empty Canterlot street. “Do you think you’re not good enough for weddings?”
He followed her with his caramels, turning in place as she moved. “Oh, no, I do weddings all the time.”
Here was a wide shot of Fluttershy’s cottage, the colors bright and vibrant. “Then you don’t think you’re good enough for Precious’s wedding?”
“I think I’d do fine,” he remarked. “I just don’t think Precious is of the right mind currently to accept anything, good or not.”
She came upon an yellow-saturated image of a stallion in a hard hat and a sledgehammer. He’d been captured mid-swing driving a spike into a railroad tie. Other work ponies were behind him, blurred and indistinct, giving the whole image a ghostly feel. “Sometimes clients can be difficult,” she admitted. “In my line of work, you come across a great many who let stress dictate their whims. They become quite the hooffull.”
Featherweight rubbed at his foreleg, cropped tail flicking. “I haven’t had to deal with that much.”
“You’re going to have to eventually.” Silver paused at the counter, eyeing a picture set above and behind it. It was of a spoon, sterling silver, set in a teacup shaped like a flower bud. She knew that teacup well. It was an antique. Curiosity overwhelmed her. “Is this mother’s?”
“Hmm? Oh!” Featherweight took a few steps closer. Only a few. Was he keeping his distance? “She said it was yours.”
“It looks great.” And she meant it. All the pictures on display were great. She had to have an eye for that kind of thing in her line of work, and these truly were top notch. Still… “But why a picture of that old teacup?” A second passed. She looked over her shoulder at him.
“B-because it looked great,” he hurried to supply. Was he blushing?
“You don’t have to be so nervous.” She turned to him with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “You’re really good, Featherweight. I doubt you’d be running such a successful business otherwise. As for Precious, there’s one thing I learned over the years.” She flicked her mane with a smug grin. “The difficult clients tend to be the best clients.”
“Really?” Featherweight cocked his head, his big ears flopping. “Why?”
“Well, because.” She resumed walking around the room, wanting to see more of his art. “The reason ponies tend to get that way is because they’re stressed. They’re trying to get things done, and they feel like they’ll be held responsible if things go wrong. They ride ponies like you and me hard because they’re scared. But if you do a good job, you become reliable.” Here was another monochrome, this one of a pool and a mare caught mid-dive just before hitting the water. “They come to trust you, and so they hire you for more jobs because they know they won’t be so stressed with you doing the work. Then they tell their friends that you’re reliable and those friends hire you, and so on.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smiling at last. At her curious look, he said, “You sound like you’ve got a lot of experience with that kind of thing.”
Silver shrugged. “I’m a workaholic.” No shame in admitting it. “And I got an early start in the business thanks to family contacts.” A little shame in admitting that. She gestured around the room. “What about you? You must be doing well, considering you could afford this place.”
A stilt leg rubbed the back of his head, his face flushing and smile anxious. “I do okay. I guess. I got regular clients and such. But they’re all in Ponyville. I don’t get to work in the big cities like you do. I’m not amazing like you are.”
“Amazing?” Silver chuckled to herself, resuming her slow trek. “Hard-working, sure, but hardly ‘amazing’. And there’s no shame in running a small-town business.” She paused before a large, framed photograph, this one a landscape layout. Silver barely recognized Tender Taps in a field dancing alongside three mares, all in fancy clothes at least three centuries out of date. It looked like they were giving a performance. The lighting on Tender made him stand out, perhaps suggesting he was the centerpiece of the given scene. “It looks like you have a broad clientele.”
“Oh, y-yeah.” Featherweight moved as if to take another step closer, but fell back after a moment’s hesitation. “That one was for a theater troup’s ad campaign.” He rubbed at his floppy ear, flicked it a few times. “So. Um. Shouldn’t we… talk about the wedding?”
What in Twilight’s name was he so nervous about? Silver had been hoping to reminisce a little. It wasn’t often she got to visit with her old classmates, and she’d always liked Feather. Maybe they could have lunch together or something, just for the sake of catching up more. But the poor stallion was clearly troubled by… something, and she didn’t want to impose too much. Repressing a sigh, she turned to him, getting a glance through the door into what appeared to be an office. “Alright, if you want. Why don’t we—”
A pause. A double take.
Floppy ears shot up. His face looked not unlike the sun at dawn. “Y-you want tea? Yeah, I’ll make tea. You love tea! In the kitchen. To the kitchen! Come on, Silver, why don’t we go to the kitchen now?”
Too late. Without being wholly conscious of the act, Silver stepped into the office to get a better look. It had a small desk, filing cabinets, lovely green wallpaper, a heavily curtained window, and examples of Featherweight’s craft all over the walls. All things that her subconscious registered, but none of them could steal her focus. For there, just behind the desk, was a large photograph.
It was of a pony, but not the whole pony. It started above the knees and stopped just above her muzzle, preventing the eyes from being visible. It was taken at a slight angle, such that the pony wasn’t quite facing the photographer. She wore a light, sleeveless white dress with a collar and red ribbon that fluttered in a faint breeze, and her lips were turned in a faint, pleasant smile. Her coat was neatly groomed, and a long braid rested over one shoulder. Around her neck was an intimately familiar pearl necklace, upon which hung an ornate, flamboyant spoon with a red, heart-shaped ruby set in its handle.
Silver reached up to her shoulder and touched bare fur. There was no braid anymore. Her mane was shorter now. Made her appear more professional, or so she liked to think. Yet it was the necklace that truly set the timing. A class reunion. Her only one; too busy afterwards. She’d had the necklace resized. Too small to wear, too precious to give up. The first time she’d spent her own money purely on herself.
Why did Featherweight have a picture of her on his wall? No, in his office, and so big, and in a place of such prominence. Other pictures in here had more artistic flair, or were more professionally done. This one looked like… like a split-second opportunity. It was undecorated; no fancy frame, no special decorations on the wall, no color manipulations. It was just her. Or… mostly her. In a place of prominence.
It dawned on Silver Spoon that Featherweight had specifically invited her to his kitchen. How odd, to invite a potential client into the kitchen and not his office. Also, her internal clock said she’d been staring at the picture for well over a minute and he’d not said a word. She turned away, back to the reception room, and got a glimpse of a face so pink it made her question if he had any blood in his hooves at all.
“I can explain!”
She winced, ears folded back against the volume.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean, I mean I did but—” Featherweight made an exasperated flapping sound with his lips. Not a raspberry, more like an attempt to reset his brain. “I get it must be weird and maybe a little offensive and I know I should have asked first but it’s… Hmm, well you see, I only thought that it would look good b-because you what I mean to say is I’m sorry and I’ll take it down right away if you want me to!”
Was he done? Silver was reasonably sure he was done, but waited for a few seconds longer. Just in case. Plus it bought her time to process everything he’d said in that single-breathed wail of utter embarrassment. And rub her ears; the potato on stilts had lungs. Said stilts were trembling and twisted slightly, as if they all had a different idea of which way to flee and only barely stopped themselves from getting tangled. The big, floppy ears were flopped forward floppily, as if trying to shield his steaming face and anxious, floor-obsessed caramels.
She had no idea what was going on, but she was nothing if not professional. Recovering her smile and pushing down the confusion and odd nervousness – the source of the latter she both could and couldn’t ascertain – she fixed her glasses and spoke. “Calm down, Feather. I’m not mad, and I’m not going to ask you to take it down.”
The caramels lost their floor obsession. Briefly. “You’re… you’re not?”
“Of course not.” She gestured to herself; her plain silver coat and similar mane, her old glasses, and she wasn’t even wearing her suit. “If anything, I’m flattered. This isn’t exactly model material.”
He blinked at her, apparently so perplexed he forgot to be embarrassed. “What?”
She nodded primly. “Yes, flattered. If you think having my picture up on your wall is good for business, I’m certainly not going to argue!”
“I-it’s…” He shuffled in place, getting a little of his pink back. “It’s not that it’s good for business.”
“No?” She lost her train of thought. If it wasn’t for the sake of making his business look good, what was it for? Silver suddenly felt like this, and this alone, was why Diamond wanted her to be the one to come here. Although she still had no idea what Diamond intended her to do with this information. “Well then, why? You said you could explain, so explain.”
Floppy ears flopped backwards. Featherweight’s caramels got really wide, almost comically so. “A-aren’t you here about hiring m-me for a wedding? We should be talking ab-bout that.”
He was cute when he was flustered. Silver couldn’t resist a smile. “In your kitchen, right?”
“Y-yeah. In the kitchen.” He said it with a cringe, which only made Silver more confused. After a moment’s extra hesitation, he turned and led her to a back door. She followed, ears perking as she heard him whispering under his breath, “I’m boned, I’m boned, oh Cadance I am so boned…”
The kitchen was sizeable, with an open floor plan, and all the doors were double-wide. This last fact confused Silver at first, but then she remembered that Bulk Biceps used to live here. Featherweight was polite enough to pull out a cushion for her at the table. As she sat and he started work on the tea, her eyes roamed only to settle on a familiar tea set. It was right in the middle of the table on a round, decorative cloth. The cloth was silver, and the tea set pale blue with silver accents. “Curious,” she said, eyeing the fine pottery. “I used to have a tea set just like this one.”
The clinking of plates by the sink came to an abrupt stop. “Y-you did?”
“Yeah.” Silver leaned forward, resting her chin atop a fetlock as she got a closer look. “Princessware, the Silver Standard line by Wedgwood. It was one of my favorites. Alas, it didn’t survive the trials of one Precious Diamond.” She couldn’t help but grimace; the filly had been anything but repentant at the time. She’d even had the gall to blame the tea set for not being ‘strong enough’. “Where did you even find this? Their production was a limited run.”
“W-well…” There was that stutter again. He hadn’t had that whenever they were classmates. “A decade ago I did this job for a client. Family photo. She had the set, but only kept it for decoration. Said she couldn’t stomach tea anymore. I asked if I could accept it as payment instead of bits.” Featherweight finished at last with preparing the tea – in a metal tea kettle, for shame – and came to sit at the table, his motions uncertain. There was a term Diamond liked to use for that kind of behavior: mousy.
Although she really wanted to ask more about her picture in the office, Silver’s love of all things tea beat it on the list of priorities. “Are you a collector?”
“Not at all,” he replied. He shifted from forestilt to forestilt, avoiding her eyes. “S-so! About that wedding—”
“Oh, no.” Silver’s tail swished across the floor in anticipation. She was on to something, she could feel it. Probably the very something Diamond really sent her here for. “A picture of my mother’s teacup – which she falsely claims is mine. A picture of me in the office. And this tea set, the likes of which I used to bring with me to school and use during the lunch breaks. Daily. I’m a party planner, Featherweight.” Yes, she’d use Pinkie’s terminology for this. It felt appropriate. “Party planners understand the concept of themes. There’s a theme going on here, isn’t there?”
Featherweight’s mouth was held open, as if prepared to offer some sort of retort. After a few seconds of quiet, he let it close. His lovely caramels stared at her, sad and resigned.
Only when the metal (shame!) tea kettle startled to whistle did Silver realize she was standing, forehooves on the table. Sheepishly, she sat back down. At the same time, he rose, collecting the tea. Tone defeated, he asked, “You still take two cubes?”
She didn’t like that tone. It didn’t fit him well, and made her feel guilty. “One, please.” It used to be two though. Back when they were still classmates. She’d never had tea with him. She would have remembered if it were him.
A stone teacup on a plastic saucer was placed gently before her. It had a few extra sugarcubes, just in case. Featherweight sat down with his own, setting the kettle between them and beside the immaculate, unused Silver Standard. Perhaps the limited edition was kept purely for ornamental purposes. She pretended not to notice the trembling in his hooves as she took a sip. White tea, Tribute Eyebrow. Even the lower cost varieties didn’t come cheap. He hadn’t let it seep for long enough, and she suspected the water had been too hot, and all that before considering the abomination that was the metal kettle. But even poorly prepared, it was very nice; the sign of a truly excellent blend.
“D-do you like it?”
She looked through the steam of her cup at him. His caramels darted away like skittish rabbits.
Wait… Was he trying to impress her? Was this the real reason they were in the kitchen instead of the lobby, all so he could treat her with his tea?
Not wanting to embarrass him any further, she offered an honest, “It’s good. A little aged, but a nice quality. If you’d like, I could teach you the best way to brew it.”
This had the opposite effect she’d been hoping for; his floppy ears drooped and he let out a pathetic sound. “I didn’t brew it right?”
“You brewed it fine,” she hurried to correct, careful not to add the for an amateur. “I didn’t mean… I’m an expert. I got my cutie mark while hosting a tea party. No, my special talent isn’t tea specifically, but it’s still an intrinsic part of who I am. So… This isn’t helping, is it?” At his moan, she sighed and set her tea cup down. “You did fine. Honest.”
He said nothing to this, instead staring into his cup as though he might try drowning in it. Silver bit her lip, but knew words once spoken couldn’t be put back in the box. Better to plow on. “Featherweight, did you plan this meeting with Diamond Tiara?”
“No,” he replied piteously. “She promised she wouldn’t say anything—” He shot up, caramels open wide. “I did not say that!”
A lady does not embarrass her host. Silver took a careful, controlled sip of her tea, patiently waiting for him to sit back down. This was trickier than it looked, especially after this unintentional confirmation that Diamond had indeed been fully aware of his decorative… theme. She must have come in to hire Featherweight herself and, recognizing all the Silver Spoon-related paraphernalia, decided to play this little game. Silver might have dismissed that all this was related directly to herself if she’d just seen one thing, but now she was at four of them, arguably five. She couldn’t cast it aside as mere ego anymore.
Featherweight, apparently more flummoxed by her lack of a response than his own outburst, sank back onto his cushion. Wrapping his skinny fetlocks around his teacup, head low, he admitted, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
That much was painfully obvious, not that Silver would openly say so. Instead she kept her manner professional. “So Diamond didn’t tell you I was coming. But she did come here before, I assume. About Precious’s wedding?”
“No.” Featherweight blinked owlishly. “I mean, yes? Wait.” Brow furrowed, he took a sip of his tea. For strength or for calming, Silver couldn’t be sure. “No, she didn’t tell me you were coming, yes she did come here before, but it wasn’t about the wedding. It was for something else.”
Silver nodded. “So we are going to have to discuss the wedding after this.”
Flinching, Featherweight plaintively asked, “Can we skip the ‘this’ and go straight to the wedding, please?”
“No businesspony ever got anywhere by shirking responsibility.” Silver shot him a smile that, hopefully, he would find comforting. “Please, Feather. Why is there so much ‘me’ here? Why are you serving me, a tea connoisseur, expensive tea? I get the feeling you’re trying to make a statement.”
Floppy ears twitched. Hooves tapped his teacup. But his caramels remained locked on her face, studying, thoughtful. Scared. He bit his lip, inadvertently revealing that he still had that cute little gap between his teeth. It made her smile all the more.
Perhaps her smile gave him courage, for he finally spoke. “You know tea and… ‘event planning.’ I see the world through photography. And as a photographer…” The heat came back to his cheeks, enough so that he could probably reheat his tea with them. The caramels couldn’t stay locked on her anymore. “I like taking photographs of pretty things.”
How quickly the tables turned. No photographs were necessary for Silver to know what her face looked like right now. Her hooves wanted to play with a ponytail that was no longer there – yet another reason she’d been cutting her mane short. She tried to find something eloquent to say, but all she could sputter from between her lips was a quiet “Oh” that severely understated her thoughts on the matter.
He was staring at her. He was staring and she was in the spotlight and she was supposed to say something and why did he look so scared when she was the one who felt like the target of the world’s complete and total attention? Tea – precious, glorious, life-saving tea – came to her rescue, filling her mouth and thus buying her the precious few seconds she needed to think of a proper reaction, anything other than a stupid oh.
Tea swallowed. Now-empty cup on its saucer. Deep breath. Now use your words, you silly filly! “I’m not pretty.”
No, no! Wrong words!
“I-I mean…” A trembling leg tried to adjust her glasses, only to knock them slightly askew. “Oh, dear. This is a surprise.” She swore she could hear a teasing, phantom voice laughing somewhere in the aether. It sounded a lot like Diamond Tiara.
Featherweight’s head tilted. Flop went the ears. “What do you mean, you aren’t pretty?”
“Well, I’m not.” A beat. “Right?” She went for her teacup, realized it was empty, put it back down. “I mean, I wear glasses. And I’m such a bland color.” Oh, shut up. “Dating is something that happens to other ponies.” Shut up! “Ponies who aren’t so plain.” For the love of Celestia, shut up!
Featherweight tilted his head in the opposite direction. More flopping ears. Despite the butterflies doing a circus routine in her stomach, the charming sight got a small smile out of Silver. The routine redoubled its efforts when he replied, in a distressingly innocent manner, “I think you’re pretty.” One of his stilt legs reached to toy with one of his floppy ears in demonstration as he smiled with self-deprecating humor. “I’m the one who is all awkward and goofy-looking. There’s a reason I’m always the pony behind the camera.”
The circus routine quieted down as Silver found herself examining the kitchen. Now that she looked, there were plenty of pictures in here. Landscapes. Other ponies. No Featherweight. “You don’t have any pictures of yourself?”
He laughed, though it was a quiet sound. “And risk breaking my camera?”
“Stop that.” Silver reached for her teacup yet again. Seeing it empty a second time, she huffed and poured herself some more. “You’re not ugly, Featherweight, any more than I am pretty.”
Though the heat returned to his cheeks, Featherweight plowed through his embarrassment. “Well, you’re obviously wrong about the ‘pretty’ part, so how can I trust you to be right on the ‘ugly’ part?”
Darn it, there were her own cheeks acting up again! Silver tried to maintain a prim, poised manner as she sipped her improperly prepared nectar. “It would seem we are at an impasse. You cannot prove me pretty, and I cannot prove you cute.”
If blushes were weapons, Featherweight’s would have destroyed the house they were in. “Y-you think I’m cute?”
Oh, Celestia and Luna! What was this, an arms race centered around facial blood circulation? If Diamond Tiara found out about this she’d never let her live it down. Silver coughed over her teacup, trying to get the offending bit of liquid to pick between going down or up. She recovered quickly, which was good because Featherweight was halfway over the table coming to her aid and this conversation was already awkward enough.
“I’m fine,” she informed him, voice cracking a little. Her air passages cleared properly with one last hack. “I’m fine! Just g-give me a second to breathe.”
He flapped back a few paces, forestilts crossed at the fetlocks and buck-teeth chewing on his lip. “Are you sure?”
“I’m…” Deep breath. “I’m sure. And—” Fix her glasses, sit up straight. Copy his feat and power through the heat. “Yes. I-I think you’re cute.” She couldn’t keep her eyes on his caramels as she tentatively added, “I always did.”
Featherweight had nothing to add. He hovered over the table for a few uncertain seconds, then gradually descended to his cushion. Both were silent, sipping out of their respective teacups and utterly failing to look at one another. Silver Spoon couldn’t believe that this fidgety, anxious pony was what she’d been reduced to. She could so easily dominate conversations, coordinating dozens of ponies on tight deadlines with a finesse she hoped her ever-energized mentor would be proud of. Yet here she was, unable to form a sentence. How utterly humiliating!
Finally, blessedly, Featherweight broke the stalemate. “What a pair we are, huh?” He offered up a nervous smile. “We both think the other is something the other thinks they are not.”
Silver managed a weak laugh, glad that the ice was broken again. “And we’ll never be able to convince one another, will we?” She sipped her tea – oh, she could use another sugarcube. She reached for the small pyramid of them on her saucer only to notice a curious look on Featherweight’s features. “What?”
He tapped his forehooves together, brow furrowed in thought as he considered her. Then, abruptly, he lifted a lone hoof. “Wait here, please.” Then he was off, fluttering down the hall behind him before she could answer.
In a moment of shameful cowardice, Silver seriously considered fleeing. Fleeing, and then going to take every last one of Diamond Tiara’s pageant trophies hostage as punishment for putting her in this situation! Only the presence of the tasty tea – thank Celestia, Luna, and Twilight for high-quality blends! – and a genuine curiosity as to where this was all going kept her at that simple table. She passed the time and defeated her tremors by examining her surroundings a bit more. The old fridge and positively ancient stove, along with a cabinet design that was dated before she was born, told her that all of Featherweight’s redesign budget went into that front lobby. Aside from all the expert photography lining the walls, she had to wonder if there was anything other than the front of the building that had been changed after Bulk sold the place to its current owner.
Featherweight knew photography. Going by the kitchen alone, she doubted he knew or cared about such things as interior design. This place could use a mare’s touch…
Celestia, Luna, Twilight, and especially Cadance, that was not the right thought to be having right now.
Silver was just considering the cardinal sin of iced tea so as to cool her head when Featherweight came back. He fluttered like an agitated hummingbird, his stilts clutching close to his chest a small binder. “You…” He shook his head, mumbled to himself, and finally deposited the binder on the table before her. “Just… J-just look, okay?”
His apparent nervousness did well to distract him from her nervousness, for which she was grateful in a guilty sort of way. Pushing her teacup back to make room, she brought the book closer and examined it. It was black, with a thin wood trim on the outer edges. Feeling it revealed the cover to be very strong, possibly also wood, but with a layer of fabric that felt – for lack of a better word – fuzzy. She wasn’t sure what it was made of, but it gave the impression of a pricey book. It wasn’t very big though, only a couple hoof-widths tall and one wide. She cast a look Featherweight’s way, but he was turned from her, staring out the window above the kitchen sink and stiff as a board. Seeing there would be no extra information coming from that direction, she flipped the book open.
It was a scrapbook. The first page had pictures from when they were kids in school. There was her and Diamond Tiara at Sugarcube Corner, enjoying milkshakes. Her in the market, wearing a familiar blue dress and sunhat next to her mother. And here, she was…
She was at her desk in school, pencil in one hoof and chin in the other. She stared at something not-quite ahead, the sun from the nearby window casting gentle rays over her silver coat. Her ponytail rested on her shoulder and her glasses perched high on her muzzle. The pearl necklace was still small and lacking its spoon ornament. She looked thoughtful, like something important was being puzzled in her foalish mind. Her violet eyes seemed oddly bright.
Silver Spoon stared at the photograph. A stray thought, dangerous in its pointlessness, was tossed aside with a firm shake of her head. She turned the page.
More pictures. More Silver Spoon. By a pond. Under an umbrella in the rain. At school. Most of them didn’t have her as the focus. It was more like the photographer was taking a picture of something else and she just so happened to be in the frame. But every few pages, there was one picture that was all her. Here, sipping tea on a picnic table, her mane slightly loose and her posture the epitome of a young lady of high status. There, posing with her friends in their graduation gowns, not quite facing the camera. And then the one she actually remembered, the one he’d requested, of her standing before the family carriage just before going on a vacation, one hoof on the running board and giving him a sweet smile.
There was that dangerous stray thought again.
“It sort of peters out after a while.” Featherweight’s voice pulled her from her rapt study. He was still staring out the window. “You’re not in Ponyville much anymore, so…”
Silver glanced between him and the scrapbook, trying to figure out what to say. “I don’t understand.”
With a sigh, he turned to her. “When you said you weren’t pretty, that… I don’t get it.” He scuffed at the floor, head low. “You are pretty. I always wanted to tell you that. So, uh, I guess now I have.” His goofy ears flopped forward, so big they were able to hide his caramels from her stare.
Silver wanted to push those ears out of the way. Wanted to see his sweet, sweet caramels. Yet she felt glued to her cushion, unable to move. She looked at the scrapbook again. So many images, all of them featuring her. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
He heaved a heavy sigh, drawing her gaze once more. “Look at me. I’m so… so awkward. A pretty mare like you, with a weirdo like me? No.” He shook his head grimly. “Pretty rich girls with big futures and ambition and smarts don’t get with dorky, gangly, poor colts like me. What’s the point in asking?”
All anxiety fled Silver Spoon in an instant at those words. She sat up straight and scowled at him. “Excuse me, but did you already forget the part where I called you cute?” He only looked away, shame plain in his features.
Silver glared and fumed. Her tail flicked as his words repeated in her head again and again. Who had put these ideas into his brain? Why would they? It was cruel, it was wrong, and it needed to be corrected. Yet he clearly wasn’t reacting well to her words, so what else did she have? She looked down at the scrapbook, at all the different images of her.
Two could play at that game.
“I’m commissioning you for a photograph.”
Floppy ears perked as he turned to face her once more. “You… are?” Then he shook his head – his ears made this delightful flapping sound – and regained his composure. Most of it; his caramels couldn’t quite hide the ongoing shame. “I mean, of course. For the wedding, right?”
“No,” she primly declared. “That’s later. This is my commission, for my personal use.”
“Oh.” Now the shame faded completely. There was no room for it amidst his confusion. “Then, uh, what am I taking a picture of?”
She wanting to point a hoof, but that wouldn’t be polite, so she resorted instead to pointing with her narrowed eyes and firm gaze. “You.”
The caramels were briefly, cruelly hidden by his blink. “Me?”
“I do not believe I stuttered.” She turned to take her teacup in hoof. “One picture of a stallion named Featherweight. Two sizes, one small enough to fit in my travel bag and another to go into a scrapbook.” A sip. “Like yours.”
“I— But that’s not— Why would you—?” Featherweight’s rump hit the floor as he sputtered and stared. His caramels seemed to be stuck on something far away as the gears in his silly head ground to a smoking, sparking halt. After a few moments of this he was finally able to eke out a helpless, “I don’t understand.”
“What’s not to understand?” Setting the teacup back down, Silver stood and turned to face him properly, adjusting her glasses as she did. Did they need adjusting? Not the point. “You have pictures of me. Because you think I’m pretty, even though I’m not. It hardly seems fair that I don’t have any pictures of you. Because I think you’re cute.”
The gears, freshly greased by her words, lurched back into motion in his skull, barely allowing him the wherewithal to anxiously answer, “Even though I’m not?”
“In that,” Silver imperiously informed him, “we are in disagreement.” She held a hoof out to him. “I’m getting a picture of you, and I will be the one taking it.”
His hoof paused halfway to hers. It seemed the gears weren’t yet back to full speed. “Why?”
She closed the distance, taking his hoof and pulling him to standing. “Because I want to be satisfied, Mr. Featherweight. That means I’ll want you smiling and happy and cute. Looking like you deserve to have your photo taken. So I will have the camera. I will take pictures. And I will keep taking pictures until I am satisfied.”
His ears flopped back. He really was cute when flustered. Well, cute-er. “Y-you really don’t have to do that.”
She smirked at him. “Are you suggesting the customer is not always right?”
He fidgeted, eyes darting to his hoof. It was still in hers. She had no intention of letting go. “I think your request is going to take time. And, as a very successful businesspony, I’m sure you have a schedule to keep.”
Yes, she did. She needed to be on a train for Las Pegasus. And the morning after for Vanhoover. Those were just the start of her coming week, a week filled with events in need of planning. For a fleeting moment, Silver found her eyes threatening to drift towards the clock on the oven. Twenty hours and thirty-six minutes left of her free time.
She wrenched them firmly back into their proper place, that being Featherweight’s blushing cheeks and lip-chewing buck teeth. His hoof shifted in hers. She still didn’t let go. Nor did she miss the expectation in his caramel gaze. Not a positive expectation of the new opportunity she was presenting him, but the depressed expectation of seeing her surrender to what he no doubt believed was inevitability.
He didn’t think a mare could be interested in him, not long enough for it to matter.
To Tartarus with ‘twenty hours and thirty-five minutes’. “Me and you. Tomorrow for lunch. Trotsky’s cafe. We can discuss the wedding while we’re there.”
Wow, did those caramels get big! “Are you… inviting me on a date?”
Despite the undeniable presence of her blush, she grinned. “Figured that out on your own, did you?”
Ears flopped in different directions as he was once again reduced to a sputtering, roasting potato on stilts. She waited patiently, rather enjoying the sight and sounds. It seemed that sometimes a lady did embarrass her host. Well, some rules were made to be broken. Eventually he managed to ask, “B-but shouldn’t we do the wedding thing today instead of then?”
“And give you an excuse to chicken out? I think not.”
“I-I wouldn’t chicken out!” The sudden outburst, and his own reaction to it, only had her grinning even more.
“Maybe,” she conceded. “Maybe not. But today?” She tugged on his hoof, getting him close enough for an affectionate nuzzle. “I want my picture.”
She considered it a serious point in his favor that the blood rushing to his head didn’t cause him to faint.
Author's Note
In PatchworkPoltergeist's The Silver Standard, Silver Spoon somewhat regularly hints to herself a secret crush on Featherweight. I always thought it was adorable. Nothing ever comes of it in the story, which in turn made me want to write the pairing someday. It's been a year or so since I last read The Silver Standard, but I recently rediscovered the idea in my backlog of potential ideas and suddenly couldn't resist finally giving it a go. This isn't meant to be set in the same AU as The Silver Standard, but I couldn't resist a reference or three.
Pity about the cover art. There just aren't any images out there featuring these two together, much less good ones, and right now I'm trying to avoid spending money so a commission isn't happening. Have a below-basic, slapped together MS Paint screenshot merge instead. It'll do, I suppose.
