Rosting Hops' breakup

>Roasting Hops tried to put her champagne glass back down without breaking it.
>Or let her thumping heart break her ribcage.
>"Anon, it's been so long."
>She discreetly eyed the places she remembered him keeping his sharp implements.
>They were covered by clothing; they weren't drawn. He wasn't here to kill her.
>Yet.

>Anon sat himself in the small pony seat across from the green mare.
>Roasting Hops looked around, without moving her nose, for Upper Crust.
>No sign of her date yet. She '''was''' early, after all.

"Roastie. You're looking great."
>Roasting Hops tried to read Anon's face.
>Pain, fear, hope, even something that was probably nostalgia or love all registered there.
"I guess you found your way out of the restroom finally?"
>She was surprised to hear that without the level of insult she expected.
>"You mean the one in Manehatten?" The human nodded.
>The pair were talking in Trottingham, at the moment.
"Feels like it's been a century since I've seen you."
>ThatsBecauseItLiterallyHas.ogg

>Roasting Hops focused on her heart rate.
>She hadn't had to look normal in … about a century.
>Just like old times.
>Except where it's totally different.

>"I totally didn't expect to see you again. Like, after the argument last time."
>There hadn't been one.
>She'd gone to powder her nose and crawled out through the window.

"I've been thinking a lot about how we seperated."
>He barely moved. Still coiled like a snake, eyes following her face,
>they flicked to follow her hooves as she brushed her orange curls out of her way.
>She needed all the eyesight she could get. If this turned violent …
>"And working out, Anon. You don't look a day older."
>''Don't mention it directly. Don't start this fight.''
>She'd seen him drop royal guards like they were rotten hot-potatoes.

> Roasting Hops tried to sip her champagne.
>She barely noticed that she cracked the flute as she slammed it back to the table.
>"I suppose you're here to talk about our future."
> Still, his body didn't move as he replied

"I'd be just as happy to talk about the past."
>Finally he relaxed a little, his attention roving beyond Roasting's form.
> Anon eyed the plates on the table.
"In the future, your boyfriend is meeting you."
>He raises his eyes to yours, a hurt look coming to the fore.
"Pony stallion?"
>You nod.

>"Anon I …"
> ''never liked having your weird, gangly legs wrapped around me?''
> Never wanted to date a cold blooded killer?
> '''Want to know what the effing tartarus caused us both to stop aging?'''
"I'm not here to force you into anything, Roastie. If you want to split up, let me know."
>There's a tear forming, now falling.
>But his expression has softened. He's said his piece; he's found his peace.

>"I was afraid." Her heart was thumping again.
>They had been Quicksilver for a decade and a half, and she never wanted it.
"I would have gone legit, for you. I thought that's what that dinner had celebrated."

>The other couple. She remembered now.
>They had met a pony stallion taking his lady friend out for a date.
>''Human'' lady friend.

> Her eyes fell to the table, noting the weave of the tablecloth's silken pattern.
> Would it really have been that easy?
>"Now that I'm not a filly, I'm sorry I hurt you, those years ago."
>When she looked up, Anon was crying freely, though his expression was motionless.
>Cold, like the snake decorations of his dojo from the human lands.

>"Anon, you can write to me. Maybe … in enough years, I'll be available again."
>"But for now, I have a coltfriend, and he's"
>''Right over there,'' politely waiting and looking out of place for it.

>OhCrapOhCrapOhCrap
>Anon's going to follow my eyes,
>then kill the competition,
>so that I'll be available NOW

>He follows her gaze and sees Upper Crust, looking out of place.
>Roasting Hops can't breathe.
>Anon looks back at her, and uses a quick head-tip to point at Upper Crust.
>Roasted Hops nods, once.

>Anon sits up straight, wipes his tears away.
>She realizes she had been holding her breath.
>She has read his body language; there won't be bloodshed over this.
"Can I … hug you?"

>Anon is almost choking, his tears still flowing.
>Humans are so strange some times. With their emotional displays especially.
>Roasting scoots her chair back from the table, hooves only lightly on its surface

>Anon jumps up, and steps around the table to embrace her.
>His sweat is fresh. Showered, then hustled through a job.
>The smell is identifiable. ''Too'' familiar.
>A picture of nights spent in ditches, hovels, and broken-into cellars.
>She isn't sorry to have a home.
>But she's sorry to have hurt the stallion, human though he is.

"I just wanted to save you. You seemed so scared, that first night."
>He means when they met, she realizes.
>"That was the morning, Anon. I was too drunk in the night to know …"
>He steps back, broad, flexible hands still on her shoulders.
"What did you think we were going to do? In my motel room and us both drunk."
>She didn't remember. She shrugged.

>Then she did. Her father had written a letter exculding her from the will.
>The family alcohol was wine, and he wouldn't tolerate a beer drinker.
>Aloud, she told him "I needed somepony to hug me. -
> "I guess I didn't care what else they touched."
>Like her sense of survival.

>He tried to smile, failed.
>Anon stood up, towering over her, then turned and walked out.
>Just like that. No odd gait, no looking back, no sniffling.
>But if the past century had taught her anything, it was she (and he, it seemed) was immortal.
>They could amend their fences later.
>If no one killed her.
>Or Anon.