Ask Me To Promise

It happens at a cafe.

She's sitting at a small, round table, nursing an iced tea. She wanted boba, but thinking about the food and drink she and Twilight shared hasn't gotten entirely comfortable for her yet. She manages about half the time, which is, she supposes, some form of progress.

And then, the car. The blaring horn. The screech of rubber on asphalt, swerving out of control the next block over.

She swears it's right beside her. In that moment, her body and mind are yanked back by years to the day, watching the facetime view flip to the sky as a shrieking voice calls out.

Her blood runs cold. She doesn't notice her hand is trembling, crushing the plastic in her grip until tea and ice begin to spill. Her throat closes up and she can't breathe, can't think, can't move, only shake and shudder and gasp with choking breaths for air that's fled her lungs and-

"Sunset Shimmer?"

A familiar voice grazes her ears, distant like a call from down a well. Deep, honeyed, softer than she remembers. Its hand rests on her shoulder, but retreats when Sunset nearly jumps out of her chair.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you," the voice says. Sunset tries to place it, but the overwhelming tide of adrenaline and cortazol blind her to everything outside her own inner world. "You seemed unwell. May I sit?"

Sunset's lips flap open. Words attempt to form on her tongue, but a deathly croak leaves instead.

"Hm. I'll take that as an 'I don't, for now', if you're anything like Sonata."

A woman who, in Sunset's memory, looks older than she should walks into view. The wild mane of hair nearly precedes her. She scrapes the metal-framed chair back, and plops into the seat with a chuff.

"Adagio?" Sunset whispers.

"How astute." Adagio grins, but it falls into a half-hearted pout before long. "I don't remember you having short hair."

Sunset's shrug arrives as a jerk. "I don't remember you having bags under your eyes."

Adagio looks offended, placing a palm to her chest. A breeze picks up from the east, ruffling her honeyed curls and mid-tan windbreaker. "You wound me, Sunset. Have I touched a nerve, perhaps?"

Sunset doesn't say anything. She considers standing up and storming off. Why the fuck is she letting this evil siren cunt talk to her anyway?

"Wait, don't go." Adagio's hand moves as if to stop her, but pulls back halfway through. "I wanted to speak with you. You didn't..."

"Seem well?" Sunset snaps. "Yeah. You said that. I didn't ask for your help. What plans do you have anyway, huh? Wanna fucking hypnotize me off a cliff because of your stupid fucking gem or something? Get over it! It's fucking gone! You're never getting it back and you never will and you never stood a chance because that's fucking life, it bends you over the desk and fucks you raw until you can't even stand anymore! Fucking get over yourself already, Christ!"

Sunset's face burns bright as a flame. Belatedly, she unclenches her fists, lets her chest fall. Beyond the pounding rush in her ears and the harsh, animal breathing, the silence of the tables around her is deafening.

Adagio doesn't look angry, somehow. Despite her losing her mind, screaming at the top of her lungs in the middle of a busy street.

She sits back down, face flushed with shame. She tries to cover it with her biker gloved hands, the curve of her hunched spine quaking like bristles. Shortly after, the previous chatter reasserts itself, voice by voice.

"I'm sorry," she rasps.

"I take it that wasn't meant for me."

Despite herself, Sunset manages a weak, bitter laugh. "How astute."

"You spilled your tea, by the by." Just outside Sunset's view, Adagio stretches with a groan and resounding, cracking joints. Sunset tries not to cringe. "I'm feeling rather parched. Mind if I buy us some drinks?"

Sunset shrugs. "Fuck it. Why not."