Confectionaries//Sketches 2 (Moth Pony-Butterscotch x Anon)

PART TWO

>”What will it be tonight, Anon?”
>You scan all of the smoothies listed on the menu.
“’New and exciting flavors added every week,’ huh?”
>”That’s right, buddy! You know what you want?”
“Not sure yet….”
>You wanted to surprise Butterscotch with a new treat, but you were worried that she would dislike it.
>You aren’t sure how susceptible she is to “new and exciting” opportunities.
>But you didn’t want to get her the same old thing she always gets….
>Choices, choices.
>No point in risking it.
“I guess I’ll just get one Sidewinder and one… Tropical Twister.”
>”Excellent choices, Anon. I’ll get right on it!”

>After a few minutes, your smoothies are freshly made and ready to be drunk.
“Alright… here we go, Anon. Two smoothies. That’ll be 4 bits.”
>You happily pay the moth pony behind the register.
“Thanks. Take care!”

>You take the two smoothies and exit the shop.
>Across the dirt road, the sight of Butterscotch looking around your booth surprises you.
>She sees you and begins to squeak nervously.
>”T-there you are, Mr. Anon!”
>You walk past her and take your usual spot by your easel.
“Looking for me, Butterscotch?”
>She huffs and scrunches her face at you.
>”I-I was just… worried you had gone home for the n-night!”
>You laugh as you take a seat, putting a straw in each smoothie.
>Butterscotch squeaks angrily at you, her antennae bouncing in unison.
>”That is not funny, Mr. Anon!”

>You slide the tray of smoothies under your easel.
“Here you go, freshly made.”
>”Which one is mine?”
“Whichever you’d like, Butterscotch.”
>You pull your easel closer to you and put fresh paper on it.
>You peek over and see her eye the tray cautiously.
>You hold your breath.
>”Hmmmm….”
>She picks up the Tropical Twister and begins to drink it happily.
>”Mmmm… wow, this is wonderful!”
>You exhale, happy to know that she didn’t hate it.

“Glad you like it. It’s called a ‘Tropical Twister.’ It has pineapples, mangoes, and a bit of coconut, I think.”
>”I l-love it! I usually get the same old thing. I guess I’m kind of boring….”
>You laugh.
“Don’t say that Butterscotch. You’re far from boring.”
>Loud squeaks and nervous stammer follows your friendly comment.
>”M-Mr. Anon!”
>You reach down for the tray, causing Butterscotch to jump back nervously, squeaking in fear.
>You apologize over and over again, assuring her that you didn’t mean it.
>”It’s okay, I overreacted. I’m really sorry, Mr. Anon. I-”
“Let’s just enjoy our smoothies, okay?”

>After that worrisome situation, the two of you drink your smoothies in an awkward silence.
>The easel was close enough to you to allow sight of Butterscotch’s plush fur, but nothing else.
>Not much help for you at this point, so you decide to return to your nightshade sketches.

>You hear Butterscotch slurp on her smoothie, occasionally letting out pleasant moans of satisfaction.
>You follow suit, being sure to not let your smoothie get warm.
“Mmm…..”
>You smack your lips, putting the smoothie down and returning to your sketch.
>”H-how is yours, Mr. Anon?”
“S’alright.”
>”As much as I like the Sidewinder, I m-must say that this Topical Twizzler is right up there with it!”
“Topical Twizzler?”
>”Mhmm! Topical Twizzler… I wonder why they call it that….”
“Well, they don’t call it that actually. You see-“
>Angry squeaks emit from behind the easel.
>”Mr. Anon! That’s what you said it was called!”
“No, I didn’t! I said-“
>”You are too much of a jokester! You p-play around far too much!”
“Me? No, no! You must have misheard me! You ARE behind an easel after all.”

>Another loud squeak signals the end of your discussion.
>You hear Butterscotch continue to drink her smoothie, muttering something under her breath.
>You sigh loudly.
“Sorry, Butterscotch. There was a communication error, that’s all.”
>”It’s f-fine… I overreacted once again….”
“…”
>”…”
“…”
>”I’m s-sorry, too….”
>You take another sip of your smoothie.
>”Mr. Anon?”
“Yes, Butterscotch?”
>”What is this actually called? No playing around this time.”

>You clear your throat.
“Tropical Twister.”
>Another angry squeak meets your ear drums.
>”Topical Twizzler!? I thought you said that wasn’t it!”
“No, no, no. TROPICAL TWISTER.”
>”Tangible Trigger?”
“TROPICAL. TWISTER”
>”Oh, I got it! Chronological Sister! What a weird name….”
>You groan loudly.
“Repeat after me.”
>”Okay!”

“Tropical.”
>”Gullible.”
“TROPICAL.”
>”Oh, Tropical!”
>Almost there….
“Twister.”
>”Silver.”
“TWIIIIISSSTTTTERRR.”
>”Oh, silly me! Twizzler. Tropical Twizzler!”
>You bury your face in your hands and let out a dissatisfied groan.
>Butterscotch laughs and squeaks happily from behind the easel.
>”Oh, Mr. Anon! Hahahaha! I was just kidding! I heard you from the beginning!”
“…”
>”Tropical Twister. See? I can play around too much as well!”
“…”
>”Funny, right?”
“Ha. Ha. Hilarious.”

>You’re glad to see that Butterscotch frustrating you was her way of becoming comfortable around you.
>Even if it was a bit annoying….
>She finishes her smoothie before you do, letting out a happy squeak followed by a heavy sigh.
>”That was quite nice.”
>You grunt in response.
>Though you are enjoying Butterscotch’s “company,” your focus was back on your drawing.
>You didn’t want to offend her or scare her off.
>You’d rather let her move your friendship forward as she wants.
>”What are you w-working on tonight, Mr. Anon?”
“I’m just doing some practices sketches for myself.
>”Oh, wonderful!”
“Afterwards I’m going to work on some drawings I owe a few of the foals.”
>Butterscotch claps her hooves together.
>”You really do a lot for them, Mr. Anon.”
>You grunt again.
>”It’s… v-very kind.”
>You stop sketching for a quick second.
“Thanks….”

>Butterscotch gets up and stretches her hooves, a few nervous squeaks meeting your eardrums.
>”I-I think I should be going now.”
“Alright then.”
>She squeaks quietly.
“Thanks for hanging out with me for a bit.”
>”Don’t thank me! I-it was…. *mumble mumble*”
“What was that?”
>”N-nothing! I just….”
>You laugh.

“Take care, okay?”
>”Y-you do the same, Mr. Anon!”
>You peek over the easel, seeing Butterscotch walk away and humming a happy tune.
>There is a bit of a kick to her step.

>She must have really enjoyed that Tropical Twist.

~

>The day has been rough on you to say the least.
>Your mind has been racing, and you don’t really know why.
>You only slept for a few hours and you haven’t really eaten anything.
>Maybe you were getting sick…
>You shudder at the thought.

>You skittishly work on a caricature of a young moth pony, hoping it would slow down your mind.
>The reddish foal is fidgeting around, making it difficult to keep your sketch “accurate.”
>You sigh.
“If you could just sit still for just one minute, I could-“
>The moth squeaks angrily at you.
>”I’ve been sitting still for hours!”
“It’s been ten minutes.”
>The moth shakes her head and pouts.
>”Whatever! Just… hurry up.”
>You groan.
>Tough crowd today.

>You begin to wonder if Butterscotch would be showing up anytime soon.
>You had spent a bit of time today making extra lunch food, hoping she would partake.
>A fresh fruit salad with a bit of honey drizzled on top.
>You made enough for the two of you to share.
>Then again… you feel as if Butterscotch may not take kindly to your attempted act of thoughtfulness.
>Maybe you had gone a bit far….
>You were still in the process of getting to know the gal.
>Even though that was like pulling the teeth out of a shark.
>Remember: let her be in charge of your friendship.

>You sigh as you finish the caricature and hand it to the irritable moth pony foal.
>Her antennae droop as she glares at your drawing.
>You knew it wasn’t your best work but….
>”This is stupid. I don’t look anything like this!”
>You groan.
“It’s a caricature, you see. It’s supposed to look a bit silly.”
>The moth pony squeaks and buzzes about angrily.
>”Sheesh, whatever you say. Thanks for nothing.”
>She throws ten bits your way and flies away.
>You angrily pocket the money.

>You sit back and get a new sheet of paper on your easel.
>A small group of young moth ponies stop by.
>They surround you, happily buzzing.
>They all shout in unison:
>”HEY, MR. ANON!”
>You laugh, feeling a bit better already.
>The children always perk you up.
“Howdy, all. Here to pick up your drawings?”
>The kids nod goofily, their antennae bobbing cutely.
>You reach into your portfolio and pull out a handful of separate sketches you had finished throughout the day.
>You begin to hand them out to the children.
>High-pitched squeaks of happiness reach your ears as the kids dance and chat around happily.
>”These are great, Mr. Anon!”
>”Thank you so much!”
>”Wow! Look at that!”
>”You’re the best, Mr. Anon!”

>You smile as the kids flutter around you.
“Anytime, guys. I’m glad I could do these for you. Make sure you take good care of them!”
>The kids are called back by their parents, and eventually leave.
>You are saddened to see them leave so soon, but you were happy that they loved the drawings.
>You watch as the kids show their parents their new drawings.
>”I l-love seeing these foals so happy, Mr. Anon.”
>You turn back forwards.
>No moth in sight.
“Sorry?”

>You hear someone clear their throat behind your easel.
>”I-it’s me.”
>A smile forms on your face.
“I wonder who it could be….”
>”Butterscotch.”
>You chuckle softly.
“No, I knew that. See, I was….”
>”Y-yes?”
“Never mind.”
>You give out a hearty laugh as Butterscotch squeaks in frustration.

>You reach back and pull out your handmade lunch.
“I didn’t get us smoothies today, but I did make us this to share, if you’d like.”
>You open the container and slide it under your easel.
>You see Butterscotch bend down and pick it up.
“I hope that’s okay with you, it’s just a fruit salad with-“
>”T-this looks delicious, Mr. Anon! But I-I can’t eat this…”
“Oh.... Why not? Is there something you don’t like in it?”
>”No, no! I just… I-I… already ate, y-you see.”
>Butterscotch slides the container back under your easel.
“Are… are you sure you don’t want to eat anything? Maybe we could go get-“
>”I’m positive, Mr. Anon!”
>Butterscotch taps her hooves gently.
>”T-thank you, though….”
>You pick up the container of fruit and cover it.
>You’ve lost your appetite once again.

“Well… is there anything I can help you with?”
>Butterscotch lets out a soft squeak, followed by heavy sigh.
>”N-no. No, I don’t need anything.”

>You grab a few pencils and begin to sketch, expecting Butterscotch to leave soon.
>To your surprise, she doesn’t.
>Instead, she sits quietly behind your easel, the sounds of pages turning every few minutes suggesting that she was reading.
>She was closer than she usually was; her fluffy coat of white visible under your easel.
“You doing okay there, Butterscotch?”
>”Y-yes, Mr. Anon. Just catching up on some reading.”
>Reading?
“You… don’t have anywhere to be soon?”
>”Hmm… no, I don’t think so!”
>You continue to sketch as you think about the situation you are in.
>Though you’ve had a rough evening, it makes you laugh to think about how silly all of this really is:

>Butterscotch was mere inches from you, still hiding behind the safest construct ever conceived: your wooden easel.
>You wonder how long it would be before the “Great Easel” didn’t have to come between the two of you.
>It’s clear she was warming up to you.
>Well, at least you’d like to think that.
>You put your pencils down for a minute and stretch your hand.
>Slight cramps, nothing to worry about.
>Though you are starting to feel lightheaded as well….
>Butterscotch seems to notice you’ve stopped.

>”Is everything okay, Mr. Anon?”
>You don’t immediately respond.
>You’re too busy thinking of a way to get Butterscotch to trust you faster.
>Or a way to be able to get her to stop hiding behind your easel.
>There must be something….

>”M-Mr. Anon?”
>You shake your head as you snap back into focus.
>As you come to, you realize that Butterscotch was standing next to your easel, no longer hidden behind it.
>This was… remarkable.
>Her lustrous, lime-colored eyes were full of splendor.
>Her rosy cheeks lightly sprinkled with black freckles.
>The fullness of her body was more noticeable to you now, although her posture seemed to be trying to hide it.
>Even though she was larger than other moth ponies around here, it didn’t subtract from her elegance in any way.
>She stands looking at you worriedly with a gentleness only matched by mares significantly older than she was.
>It makes you ponder whether her inherent matriarchal trait was something that was common.
>All of these small details… your lightheadedness must be talking control of your senses.
>Butterscotch blinks at you, her antennae drooping slightly.
>As remarkable as it was to be able to gaze at her for so long, you notice the look of concern grow on her face.

>Butterscotch nervously waves a hoof at you.
>”Are… y-you okay?”
>You shake your head and rub your eyes, groaning loudly.
“Fine. I’m fine…. Long, long evening.”
>Butterscotch flutters her wings and squeaks worriedly.
>”Did… d-did I do something wrong? I hope I’m n-not bothering you, or-“
“No, it’s not you at all. Don’t worry.”
>Butterscotch gives you another concerned look.
>As hard as it is, you refrain from keeping eye contact with her.
>You’ve finally managed to crack her shell it seems.
>But just a crack… nothing more.

“I think I should head home. I’m feeling sick and-“
>Butterscotch squeaks worriedly.
>”O-oh….”
>You begin to pack up your booth.
 “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. I think I should just rest for the remainder of the night.”
>She gives you another motherly look of concern.
“Maybe I’m still having trouble getting used to this reversed sleep schedule, who knows?”
>”C-can… I do something to help?”
>You shake your head.
“You should go back to reading. Don’t let me distract you or anything.”
>You wanted to further your relationship with Butterscotch, increase your trust and friendship more, but it would be best to continue to take it easy.
>Plus, you truly weren’t feeling well.

>You load yourself up and prepare to walk home.
>Butterscotch picks up her book off the ground.
>She turns and looks at you, her face still showing worry.
>”Please take care of y-yourself, Mr. Anon.”
>You nod.
“I’ll be completely fine, Butterscotch.”
>You feel as if she can tell you’re lying.
>That maybe her maternal instincts.
>Or maybe you’re a bad liar.

>You give her a weak smile.
>Her eyes nervously move around as her cheeks redden.
>You wave to her and begin to walk home.

>”G-good night, Mr. Anon.”

~