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- [Untagged]
- >7:30pm sharp, and you’re already wearing your toga and wreath.
- >Apparently, moth pony society has a few similarities with home, one of those being fancy dress parties; and you’ll be damned if you don’t rock a costume better than you rock your civvies.
- >A year has switched about the way you see things and now you feel no inhibition towards your own libido.
- >In other words, tonight was the night Anon Jr. was going to touch down in this town…
- >… or so you’re forcing yourself to think.
- >Assuming that these weird – if a little adorable – equine aliens are as open minded as yourself is the best way to keep yourself sane, knowing that you’re the only human within a few universes of where you now reside.
- >You sip the sweet drink in your hand.
- >It tastes weird, probably due to how it is effectively fermented fruit, but that seems to be how the moth ponies go about getting drunk.
- >It was definitely a task to get accustomed to it, though the effort is worth avoiding permanent sobriety.
- >A loud clatter and thud emanates from the ceiling.
- >It would appear your housemate, the only moth who trusted you enough to take you in when you walked into town, has finished her shower in the room above.
- >Sepia makes a habit of knocking things over.
- >She also carries the remarkable capacity to knock herself over on occasion, which is what you suspect has just happened.
- “I’m okay!”
- >A call from upstairs comes a few seconds after the calamity.
- >Apparently, she’s okay.
- >She has a skull as thick as her… well… skull.
- >You smile a little bit as you give her time to ready herself.
- >Although she is anything but tactful and socially adept, she has a bit of a vain streak.
- >Perhaps you should have waited a little longer before you got ready.
- >You take another sip, pacing yourself to not be hammered before you arrive but to be relaxed in yourself.
- ~~~~~~~~~~
- >As the old-fashioned clock on the wall strikes eight, you hear hoofsteps navigating the staircase.
- >That took less time than you had expected.
- >The door opens and in steps Sepia.
- >Well lookie that…
- >After hearing her voice for the first time, you immediately thought of Betty Boop a la the thirties.
- >So, when she had asked a few weeks ago what she should wear for Caramel’s birthday bash, you jumped at the opportunity to dress her up just like that.
- >It seemed that Meisa, resident seamstress and proprietor of the upper class, shared your eye for fitting attire and had made both your costume and Sepia’s in impressive time.
- >That shared intuition has paid off, as Sepia looks the best you have seen her since you first met what seems such a long time ago.
- >A black tailcoat, red, tight, legging-shorts, a lace ring around her left-hind thigh, a red bow-tie and, to quite literally “top” it off, a black, small top hat that she wears at the most adorably skewed angle.
- >She looks a little unsure of herself.
- “Am I wearing it right, Mister?”
- >”Of course you are, and stick to Anon, Seps.”
- >So far, a year of constant training has done nothing to change what she calls you.
- “It looks good?”
- >The question rises towards the end, capped with a squeaky crack in her voice.
- >There is an air of bated breath around it.
- >You set your almost-finished drink down beside you, and stand, walking the few feet between you.
- >”It looks fantastic.”
- >You ruffle her hair with a sincere smile.
- >With a sharp blush and snort, she pulls her head away.
- “Don’t ruin my hair!”
- >The petite mare loosens up for a second.
- “B-but thank you, Mis-“
- >”Anon.”
- “-Mister Anon.”
- >Close enough.
- >The small mare spins in a small circle.
- “Does it look okay everywhere?”
- >You scan her lithe frame.
- >It does look very good, complementing her figure to a tee.
- >Meisa really outdid herself.
- >”I think you’re going to be talk of the town, half-pint.”
- “But I’m not a drink.”
- >”No… it’s just… forget it. You’ll knock ‘em dead, Sepia.”
- “I don’t want to hurt anyone!”
- >”I mean… uh… D’ya remember what I talked to you about earlier?”
- >You waste no time in moving the topic forwards.
- “Oh, yes M… Anon. The one about being your, um, wing-mare?”
- >”That’s the one. Do you remember your vows as my honorary wing-mare?”
- >She nods enthusiastically.
- “I gots ta help you court a mare of your choice. Anything that helps is permitted, right?”
- >”You got it!”
- >Stealing another glance at the clock, you look at Sepia with questioning eyes.
- >It’s not a long walk, but Caramel had said to arrive any time after eight.
- >You are keen to get going, as it has been far too long since you have been to a party.
- >Working as a labourer by day, and sitting in this cute-but-stifling cottage by night has been almost maddening.
- >It is time.
- >You throw a coat over your white costume, given how conservative its use of actual fabric is.
- >There is a chill in the air, tonight.
- >And yet, you feel like it’s going to be one of the hottest in your life.
- >Pepped and confident, with your appointed wing-mare at your side, you make your way towards the front door.
- ~~~~~~~~~~
- >Your little duo moves briskly through the streets.
- >The night air is indeed crisp and neither of you are big fans of the cold.
- >You'd expect Sepia, with all that extra fuzz around her chest and hooves, would be good at taking the chill, but apparently she’s worse with it than you are.
- >Something about her being a hawk moth and losing a lot of body heat.
- >She had told you about it before, though you were likely lost in thought at that stage.
- >After all, it had only been recently that the trauma of losing everything you ever knew had become bygone.
- >Trying to lighten the stony mood that the cold brings, you attempt to enthuse about the upcoming party.
- >”Oh man, everyone’s there tonight. It’s gonna be massive!”
- “I don’t think Caramel’s house is much bigger than mine…”
- >The brown mare seems more alien than you do sometimes.
- >”I mean that it’s going to be a big party, like, so many different ponies attending and shit.”
- “Oh my! Of course! I’m super excited! I can show everyone how I dance and talk and stay up much later than normal!”
- >”You can stay up as late as you like, you have your own house…”
- “But I don’t have parties at my house.”
- >”I suppose so… but anyway, I’m thinking we get a couple of drinks first and relax; give the party a chance to get going. The first hour is always pretty awkward.”
- “Not when you have the world’s best wing-mare!”
- >The small mare brushes against your side with a giggle; a giggle contagious enough to force you to smile beneath your palm.
- >Her enthusiasm is admirable, but you can’t help but wonder how useful she would actually be.
- >Nevertheless, you are grateful to have her present; she is certainly an asset in the friendship department.
- >You nudge her back.
- >”If we have enough to drink, who knows? Maybe I’ll be your wingman, hm?”
- “What do you mean?”
- >”There are plenty of stallions attending~”
- >You do your best to infer your meaning in your tone; a practice you should have learned does nothing when speaking with this one.
- “I know, lots and lots!”
- >”Sepia, I’m talking about you courting.”
- >That spawns a silence.
- >Fuck.
- >In all your time with her, you have never seen any semblance of sexuality from the small mare.
- >Perhaps she is prudish, perhaps she is asexual, perhaps she had a bad experience in the past…
- >You don’t want to go stepping on her toes considering how much she helped you find yourself in this strange place.
- >Uh… stepping on her hooves.
- >”I… I didn’t mean…”
- “It’s okay… I just… I don’t really think that’s worth thinking about…”
- >You’re itching to press the issue, but something keeps your tongue in check.
- >There is the possibility of opening some kind of wound.
- >”Forget I said it then, ha. I guess it means more focus on me.”
- >She comes back to life, hopping with a grin and hovering beside you.
- “Ooh! Who do you think the lucky mare will be?”
- >”I haven't given it much thought, to be honest. Who do you think I’d have a chance with?”
- “Mmmm… I don’t know.”
- >She shrugs in mid-air.
- “I don’t know why mares choose who they choose, they just do…”
- >Fantastic help, Sepia.
- “You do a lot of lifting for Meisa, maybe she likes you.”
- >Like a tea-sipper such as her would take a second glance at a monkey who lifts boxes.
- >”Em, she’s sure a looker but… I don’t know, Sepia. I think she might be a little out of my league.”
- “What is your league?”
- >”Uhh, sorta like when you’re not really good enough for someone to notice you, they’re out of your league.”
- “But she notices you all the time! She asks for your help and talks to you and things.”
- >With a roll of your eyes, you see the house coming into view, oddly quiet for the location of the party.
- >”Yeah, but not like that, Sepia. She would prefer to, uh, ‘court’ a handsome stallion like Virgo or something.
- “Nobody wants to court Virgo.”
- >Even Sepia knows.
- >That guy must have an STI or something.
- >You cast your thoughts to the other mares that you have met.
- >There is, of course, the birthday girl herself.
- >She has a flirty fire about her, but that fire could burn.
- >No doubt she’s a tease, however she seems to be the type to get you naked then snap a picture to giggle about with that friend of hers.
- >Golden Carnal, is it?
- >It may have been a good idea to get to know more than the odd few before attending a party with nearly the whole, damn village attending.
- “What about Goldie?”
- >”What about her?”
- “I don’t know, she’s very pretty though.”
- >That she is, although “pretty” is likely the wrong word.
- >She’s hot.
- >”Yeah, I might try it out.”
- “And then you’ll get married and I can be the bridesmaid!”
- >”Ha… Uh, yeah. Don’t get ahead of yourself, sport.”
- “Well, why else would you want to court her?”
- >”Well, uh… I-I…”
- >You stammer as you try to explain that you want to put it in one of her friends.
- >Thankfully, Sepia notices the house coming up on your left, and cuts across you just before you get to the painfully contrived euphemisms for sex.
- >The house is quiet, bar a few lights being on in different rooms.
- >It’s a modest, two-story affair with a thatched roof and an ornate, arched front door.
- >The garden is relatively well kept, to boot, and the gate before the path to the door has a small sign that reads “Caramel.”
- >Caramel had even signed her name with a little love heart at the end.
- >It is definitely Caramel’s house, evidenced by your memory of past visits and the sign on the gate.
- >Except, nothing is happening here.
- >”Uh… Sepia? Are you sure the party wasn't moved to somewhere else?”
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