An Affluent Zebra

"So how did you meet Ariss? You guys have pretty similar names, and it looks you two get along well enough." Ronnie asks, trying his best to not look awkward as they walk a sloped ramp back into the depths of Canterlot, away from the windy edges of the wall, trading a sprawling view of plains for a dense, medieval urban center.

"Zebra phonetics dictate most Zebra's be named with a Z. It's a cultural practice. Apparently, Griffon phonetics dictate most Griffons be named with a G. Ariss chose to break that mold and changed her name when she moved from Griffonia, as amusingly close as it is to mine. I met her during my second time coming to Canterlot. After realizing what Mister Banks... 'gets up to' the first Event of his I attended, after becoming a partner with him, I decided I'd rather not stick around as awkwardly as I did the first time. I still had some time to waste, so I started wandering. Wanted to see the view... and ended up finding Ariss' cafe. I keep going now, every time I find myself in Canterlot. She's been quite accommodating, though the Griffonian preference for teasing is ever present. They're a species that enjoys picking on their friends. Builds character, or so she says." Zharris explains -- Ronnie does his best to listen, but she gets ahead of him while she's speaking, and the way she heads down the slope is far more interesting to watch than how he does it. A lot more hip-twisting.

"Still surprised me when you ordered eggs. I really thought all Ponies would just eat..."

"Lettuce? Hay? Grass?" Zharris guesses, grinning.

"All of the above, yeah. Leafy greens and plants." Ronnie admits.

"As I've said, that mindset works for Equestria, but not quite everywhere else. I'm excited for you to see Farasian dishes -- I think the cuisine will surprise you. We've a lot less treats and sugars than Equestria, though they're no slouch in the taste department."

"But you look forward to Equestrian food...?" Ronnie squints.

"Of course. It's like a treat, though best eaten in moderation for those of us who aren't the Equestrian complexion." Zharris bumps his leg, nodding forward.

...

"Well that is certainly... quaint."

"Ouch."

"Oh, I mean it in the best way, of course."

"And what about it makes it... quaint?" Ronnie gestures to the glass-covered display of the small clothing shop they've stopped in front of, stood to the side of the road as a few late-morning bustlers make their way to work around them.

"Well, you can see they went with a tri-stitch, rather than a double. Getting a thicker material for..." Zharris starts explaining Farasian and Equestrian methods of securing fabrics, choices of which thickness to use for certain weathers, advantages of each, and overall skill of the craftsman. Or craftspony.

Ronnie, of course, does his best to listen, but his eyes inevitably wander. They've been doing that a lot more lately, mostly settling on the striped object of interest always somewhere in, at least, his peripheral view. He had a feeling no matter what he saw in Canterlot, his eyes were going to pretty consistently pick the same thing.

That dress was just working for her. As polite as he may be, the longer he remained in Zharris' company, the harder it was to not look at her in certain, shapely, hip-shaking lenses.

"...Though I can understand why they'd choose that for the embroidery. It certainly makes it pop. But all in all, I call it quaint as it's clearly a side piece. Something simple to sell. There's no... passion, no experimentation." Zharris surmises, looking up at him.
"What do you think?"

"Not sure if I can sniff out if someone was passionately making a pair of pants or a hat or not, but it looks alright." Ronnie shrugs, unsure. How would a pony wear pants, anyway? Like a person on the back two legs? On the entire underbelly, on all four legs? Only the front two?

"Pants?" Zharris snorts. "You'll never catch a Pony wearing those. They despise such. Best sold to Minotaurs or the like."

"...Huh. Well, want to go inside and take a look?"

"Hardly. No offense to the craftspony, but flair is their only form of fashion here, especially in the big cities." Zharris objects, pointing to another stand in the same display. Unlike the first, it was a far more complex design, with a lot more pop.
"The rural, tourist pony might take the first. But that dress was made to catch the eye of a wandering noble. And that's the fashion game here in Canterlot. Color. Splash. Eye-Catching designs. New trends, or well-captured old trends. Canterlot is so perpetuated in showing off to themselves, nothing is truly out of fashion if you've the boldness to wear it." Zharris continues, before starting back down the street again.

"Hm." Ronnie hums, hands clasping behind his back as he trails after her.

He wouldn't have minded seeing her in either of those outfits, but he respected how hard she played this fashion game.

...

Zharris hesitates outside of a bakery they're in the middle of passing, before upturning her nose and continuing forward.

She only pauses when she realizes Ronnie has stopped beside it's door, crossing his arms.
"Oh, no. I've had enough treats for this trip." She calls back, trying to push forward.

"Not even going to look?" Ronnie calls after her, to which she shakes her head.

"You are free to do so, but I shall wait out here. If I go inside, I'm afraid my resolution will crumble. The smell is already too tempting, out here."

"Alright, just a moment then. I wanna see what kind of stuff they make around here..." Ronnie goes to duck inside, about to leave Zharris to her own, outdoor means.

"Mister Harrelson. You mean to leave me all by myself, in these cold Canterlot streets?" She huffs loudly, giving him a look.

Cold? It's warm out.

"You could just... come in and look, you know. And not deprive me of your company." Ronnie counters, matching her pouty lip.

"And you'll take the blame when I inevitably crumble and buy a baked good? Or two? Or three?" She returns, frowning.

"You're a big mare. You can spend your money how you like." He grins, ducking inside.

Zharris huffs alone, outside for a moment, before the inevitable smell of crispy, flaky treats tickles her nose from the crack in the door.

It's not too long until she joins him shortly.

...

"And how will we communicate? Letters?" Ronnie asks, digging through his little paper bag for a powdered donut.
"I'd love to just give you my phone, but... no reception. And they kind of confiscated most of our one-sided technology at the border, so... yeah, letters. If they'll even let them through in the future."

"Mm-mnonmometh." Zharris' muffled words fail to pierce through a mouthful of buttered croissant, before swallowing and wiping her mouth with a napkin.
"Letters, most likely. They'll have to be inspection by the inspectors stationed at the Portal -- so try to keep things tame, if your words are anything like your hands." She tsks playfully.

"Zharris." Ronnie huffs, hand to his chest.
"I suppose I'll do my best, but no promises." He retorts, Zharris snorting -- right as a few other ponies pass by them, Zharris quickly hiding behind a hoof.

After a few moments, and a turn down the next street, the pair slip into a fit of chuckles and laughter, nearly dropping their treats.

"Oh..." Zharris sighs, getting out the last giggle.
"It's a shame we've both such a short time together. You're enjoyable company, Ronnie."

"Yeah, I take it trying to stay on this side of the portal is a little... dicey, to say the least, at least for now."

"I've yet to hear of anypony attempting such in either direction, yet." Zharris nods in agreement.
"I've a ferry ticket that I've all but pushed my wiggle-room on with this extra day, I'm afraid. If I spent another day in Canterlot after this, Zabra would very likely chew me out for slipping in my responsibilities."

"And I could never ask that of you. Plus, I can't leave Jiggles alone for too long. He gets lonely. And loud." Ronnie jokes -- though he's entirely serious. Jiggles was no stranger to getting him a noise complaint or two on some of his longer shifts.

"I expected returning to your career as a Fighter of Fires to take priority." Zharris adds, giving him a look.
"I'm certain there's yet more mares in distress in need of carrying."

"Nope, just Jiggles. You ever need to be carried though, feel free to ask. I could probably free up some time for you." Ronnie winks, before treating himself to his powdered confection.

Zharris rolls her eyes.
"Best be careful with your promises, Mister Harrelson. They only continue to stack up against you, all to my advantage." She warns, though it falls of playfully deaf ears.

She watches him happily crunch down, a soft smile sat on her face. She wasn't kidding when she said she'd collect one of them. No matter how many trials it might take, she wanted to pursue this strange avenue the pair had ended up walking together. Certainly a far cry from anything traditional... and perhaps guided by interests in being pet again, she wasn't going to let one of the few citrus connections she'd found slip away.

Ronnie, blissfully unaware of just how deeply Zharris is staring into him, goes to offer her a powdered donut.

The way she slowly bites it from his hand was anything but platonic.

...

"Looks like they've about rounded everypony up to go." Zharris notes wistfully, leaning against his leg.

They'd taken a moment to clean up after their little binge, having made the rounds through some of Canterlot'a larger streets, until they wound back up in the decorated, uppity noble sector of the city, watching the bustle of the Banks estate from a short distance. The sun hung directly overhead, the hours they'd spent from morning to noon passing without notice.

"So they have. Might have to go in a few minutes, here." Ronnie comments, leaning down to scratch at Zharris' neck.

Most of the other Firefighters had gathered up their belongings into the truck, and were idling around it in various states of dress. And while several of the ponies had ferried themselves off, either in carriages waiting for them or through meager walks of shame to their neighboring mansions, a few had stuck around and were conversing with some of the other humans. Seems like Ronnie and Zharris weren't the only pairs that had found an interest in each-other, though their circumstances might differ.

"Would writing to your Station be acceptable?" Zharris asks, looking up to him. Her chin squishes against his leg, her large, near-sparkling eyes watching his face with a tinge of looming sorrow.

"Probably would get processed easier than writing to me personally." Ronnie agrees. Now that the entire Station has been through, they might keep better track of... Ronnie has no clue. He just wants to actually get whatever letter Zharris sends.
"I spend a good chunk of my time there anyway. You know, job and all. You write me first, include all your address details and such?"

"Certainly. I'll make doubly sure you can respond. I'll visit myself if I have to." Zharris assures firmly.

"I'll do what I can on my side, too. I think the Chief should have some connections after this, since he knows who to talk to about these things now."

The two continue to stand just to the side watching. Neither wanting to make the first move in parting from the other, hoping to delay exiting the others company for as long as possible. It's a futile effort that's doomed to end poorly amy moment now -- but neither is willing to give up the scant few moments they might be able to scrape together.

Each wants to see the other again, despite the looming odds against those efforts. Casual dating seems almost impossible in the face of the hurdles that await them, yet they're willing to persevere.

But the inevitable looms nonetheless. Ronnie can see the Chief waving him over, finally noticing him -- as a voice calls for Zharris from up the street, another Zebra trotting towards them both.

"Looks like our time is up." Zharris reluctantly pulls herself from leaning on Ronnie, staring up at him.

Without any words, Ronnie kneels down, carefully cupping each side of Zharris face.

"I'll see you soon, yeah?" Ronnie says quietly.

"Each day will be much colder without your presence, Ronnie of Earth. Hurry back." She whispers, leaning forward.

The Zebra approaching them almost skids to a stop, jaw slack, as Zharris' lips carefully press against Ronnie's. It's a tense, nervous kiss that tastes a mixture of their breakfast and ensuing treat, all combined to surprise Ronnie, his eyes widening.

But nervousness turns to confidence, the pair renewing their efforts as they press further into each-other when neither reacts poorly. Zharris' hoof reaches up to rest against the back of Ronnie's hand, as he continues to softly cradle her face.

A distant whistle, followed by an equally distant slap and 'ow', returns them to the world around them as they pull apart, each taking a lengthy breath.

The Zebra has reached a few feet from them, awkwardly looking away as he waits.

"Miss Zharris. We, uh... need to go. When you're done. The train to the coast is leaving soon." He dutifully reports without eye-contact, hooves tapping the ground.

"Thank you, Zabra." She nods, pressing her forehead to Ronnie's.
"See you soon, Mister Harrelson... distance won't keep up apart for long." She reassures quietly, smiling at him through the fervent blush that streaks across her cheeks.

"See you soon, Miss Zharris." Ronnie rests against her, trying to calm the nerves he hasn't felt since he was a high-school boy.

Neither wants to break the embrace, but time is not the ally of their desires, the pair finally parting. Zharris treads towards the station on the edge of Canterlot to return to her home across the water, while Ronnie crosses back into the estate under the cheeky glare of his fellows.

It felt like an unfair, insurmountable obstacle that had been placed between them. Not only a portal, between worlds, but an ocean of distance, and a wealth of bureaucracy stood between each of them seeing the other again.

But Ronnie wasn't worried. As strange as finding feelings for an alien species might be, there was no doubt in his mind.

He wanted to see her again. He wanted to hold her again, to hear her voice, her laugh. To see that excitable, playful side that slipped through.

... Bugtholomew and Bugjamin. The names kept repeating in his head, so he wouldn't forget. He needed a book about Earth bugs. She'd love that.