//------------------------------// // Day 5: Fleur De Lis/Big Macintosh (romance/slice-of-life/uplifting/drama) // Story: March-makers // by ObabScribbler //------------------------------// Title: A Challenge Worth Taking: Part 2 Pairing: Fleur De Lis/Big Macintosh “Honest, Fleur, it’s fine.” Big Mac decided not to push her hooves away but it was difficult not to flinch as she fiddled with his bowtie for the umpteenth time. “Apologies, mon bien-aimé, but it was lop-sided and it bothered me.” It would not do to roll one’s eyes at one’s marefriend when one’s marefriend was already a bundle of nerves. Instead, he raised a hoof and placed it over hers. Her delicate white oval vanished underneath his and he was struck once again by how much this relationship should not work. Usually he banished that thought with a swift buck to a tree. No trees here though. The only wooden things were the tables and doorframe. He doubted the posh Maid of Dee pony at the entrance would appreciate him smashing the furniture just to work off his agitation. “It’ll be fine,” he said instead. Fleur was wound tighter than a coiled spring. He could feel her leg quivering. “I do hope so.” “His opinion really means a lot to you, don’t it?” She turned her face away. Big Mac heaved a sigh. “I promise I’ll try not to embarrass you.” She turned back, jaw dropped. “You will do no such thing! You will be yourself, and if he does not approve … well then, he can go … go boil his head in a pudding pot!” For emphasis, she brought her other hoof down on the table, rattling the glasses and cutlery. “Who can?” Fleur’s pale coat seemed to lose what little colour it had. She whirled in her seat, not removing her hoof from under Big Mac’s and so turning to face the speaker in what amounted to a spectacular display of her own flexibility. “Fancy!” Fancy Pants gave a roguish smile that instantly made Big Mac want to buck a tree. Several trees. Really tough, big ones that could withstand much force. “My dear, you look ravishing as always,” Fancy said easily, air-kissing Fleur. “As do you, mon ami. As ever, you have broken the hearts of so many merely walking through the doors without stopping at their tables.” “Oh gag me with a spoon,” said a nasally voice that came from slightly beyond Fancy Pants. Fleur seemed to hesitate. “Svengallop … so nice of you to join us mon … ami.” That last word did not come easily, Big Mac could tell. The lanky stallion in a cravat and glittering waistcoat practically stalked up to their table and glowered at Fleur with undisguised dislike. “Charmed. Truly,” he deadpanned. “And this must be your new beau?” “Oh. Yes. Fancy, Svengallop, this is Big Macintosh Apple.” “Howdy.” Svengallop narrow his eyes. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” “Now, Sven, you’re being unconscionably rude,” Fancy Pants interjected. “No, really, I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere recentl-” Svengallop cut himself off mid-word and gasped, “Apple! Ponyville!” “Eyup.” “You’re that obnoxious home-breaker of a mare’s brother!” He lowered his head like he was a billy goat about to head-butt Big Mac. “Applejack! That was her name. Applejack Apple!” Just one good, tough tree. That was all he asked for. Was that too much? “Eyup.” “That interfering nag ruined my –” “Sven!” Fancy Pants’s voice cut across the other stallion’s like a knife. “That’s enough!” He frowned. “We came here tonight to have a nice dinner with Fleur and her boyfriend, not to make a scene.” “But-” Svengallop started but again stopped himself. He made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a sneeze and dumped his body unceremoniously into the chair Fancy Pants pulled out for him. Fleur was twitching. Big Mac rubbed her back briefly, a solid presence by her side. She turned to face him and he saw the unhappiness in her eyes. Apparently she wanted to see Svengallop as much as he did. The memory of Applejack’s tirade about Coloratura’s former manager was still fresh in his mind. Nopony who ticked off his sister could be good. Yet big Mac was a stallion of his word. He had promised Fleur that he would have dinner so her best friend could check him over and he would dang well do just that, annoying primidone tagalong or not. “Sven, you’re being very rude.” Svengallop folded his forelegs against Fancy Pants’s reproof. “I have a right to be.” “This is neither the time nor the place.” He sniffed. Fancy Pants slid into the chair next to him. “So sorry, my dear. He hasn’t been quite himself since he ah, trip to Ponyville.” “His sister made my best client kick me to the kerb,” Svengallop sniped. “She did?” Fleur asked Big Mac. “More like she helped a pony remember who she was under all her make-up an’ mane extensions an’ somepony I won’t mention made one mistake too many in takin’ her loyalty for granted,” Big Mac replied. Sven sniffed so loudly it was a wonder the tablecloth didn’t shoot up his nose. Fleur seemed to consider Big Mac’s words. A slow smile spread across her face. “It is never a good thing to take anypony for granted.” “Nnnope.” “I always liked the Countess. Perhaps I will invite her over sometime.” Her smile turned wolfish. “We could do each other’s manes. Paint our hooves. Talk about boys.” Sven fizzed in his seat like a shaken up bottle of cider. “She goes by Rara now, from what I can recall,” Big Mac supplied. “Rara?” Fleur said the word several times, as if turning it over with her tongue. She clapped her hooves together. “I like it! It is fun to say!” Big Mac smiled. Fleur’s delight was like standing next to a warm fire. It still amazed him that this refined, fun-loving, high-society mare could possibly show any interest in a careworn country pony like him. Yet it was him she had crossed the Grand galloping Gala to ask to dance, not any of the other equally refined stallions there. “Excusez-moi, but may I have this dance?” “Say what?” “Je m'excuse, I did think I was clear. Ah, the music, yes? It is for dancing? I would like for you to accompany me onto the dancefloor.” “You’re … talkin’ to me?” “Why of course! You are all alone in this corner. I would be speaking to who else? The ficus tree?” “I … what?” “Ce n'est pas bien. Maybe my Equestrian is not as good as I did think-” “Nnnope, nope, nope! Sorry, it’s my fault, I just … you’re really talkin’ to me?” “Perhaps I am misunderstanding something here, yes?” “I’m just surprised, is all.” “Pourquoi? Uh, I mean, why?” “Well … ‘cause you’re a lady. A mighty fine one at that. You probably come to this shindig every year an’ got a pedigree a mile long. I’m a plus-one.” “A plus-one?” “I’m my sister’s guest. She got invited and I’m her tagalong.” “Tagalong. This is a funny word. But does it matter how you gained entrance to the Gala? You are here now, oui? Does you being a, ah, plus-one means that you are unallowed … no, that is not the word. I apologise. Uh … disallowed? Prohibited! Oui, does it mean you are prohibited from dancing?” “Um, nnnope. I guess. But ain’t you better off askin’ one of these here other fine stallions instead of me? Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but where I come from this ain’t the kinda dancin’ we go in for. When it comes to ballroom … I ain’t much of a dancer.” “Then this is marvellous! I am not a good dancer either. I have tried to learn many times, but je suis un mauvais danseur! I remain terrible.” “I reckon you couldn’t be as bad as me.” “Shall we see?” “Uh … sure. I guess.” “Magnifique! Then may I have this dance, Monsieur Tagalong?” “Sure … what’s Prench for ‘Miss’?” “Mademoiselle.” “Oh. Okay. Then sure, mamzell … uh…” “Fleur de Lis.” “That there’s a right pretty name, mamzell.” “Why thank you!” He could still hear the orchestra if he tried. He could especially hear the square dance they started to play after a brief conversation at the punch bowl and the sound of Fleur’s laughter as he tried to teach her how to do-si-do and she kept tangling up in her own long, elegant legs. “This is amazing! I have not have so much fun at the Gala in such a long time! Last year I only was covered in green slime and the year before a lot of animals got in from outside and a bird pooped on my head. Heh, such a funny word: pooped. But this! This ‘square dancing’ is so much more fun than being pooped or slimed on! And did you see Princess Celestia? She was dancing too! Il était une merveilleuse soirée!” And so here he was months later, meeting whom she had described as ‘the only pony whose opinion really matters’ – at least to her. Fancy Pants smiled genially across the table. “I don’t know about you ponies, but I could use a drink right now.” He picked up his menu. “How’s the wine list?” “Uhh…” Big Mac struggled with a fitting response. “Unremarkable.” Fleur intercepted the question. “Though I do know that they serve an excellent vintage of …” She caught his eye and gave one of her more brilliant smiles. “Apple cider.” “You don’t say?” Fancy Pants was looking at the menu and seemed to miss their silent exchange. “Well then, if you recommend it my dear, I shall have to try some. Waiter?” Svengallop sank lower in his seat as the waiter trotted over. “Of course, because what I really want this evening is something made from apples.” “You’d prefer something else, love?” “Gin and tonic.” “Three apple ciders and a G&T my good sir,” Fancy Pants said without missing a beat. “Charge it to my tab please.” “Yes sir, Mr Pants.” The waiter nodded and backed away a few steps. “A big G&T,” Svengallop added. “And don’t skimp on the G!” “Uh … yes sir.” “You cannot have a good time without alcohol singing in your veins, Sven?” Fleur leaned forward, balancing her chin on one upturned hoof. “C'est triste. So sad.” “You can’t have a good time unless you’re rolling around in the mud with the pigs, Fleur?” he shot back. Her chin slid off her hoof abruptly. Big Mac stood up. “Nnnnnope. Now that’s enough. I ain’t about to let you insult her or me or my family one whit more just ‘cause you’re in some kinda snit over sumthin’ that ain’t got no place at this here table.” Svengallop did not say anything or move for a moment. Finally he uncrossed his forelegs and placed both front hooves flat on the table. “Oink. Oink.” That was it. If a tree didn’t spontaneously appear for him to buck, right this second, he would going to get arrested for – “Vous êtes un poney horrible!” Fleur shrilled. “Pourquoi ne pourriez -vous pas être civil pour une seule soirée?” Other diners looked up at the shrieked Prench, ears flicking forward in interest. It wasn’t often a spat broke out at such a distinguished establishment. Fleur glared at Svengallop so hotly, his mane should have spontaneously combusted. “One single evening! That was all! You had to hold your vicious tongue for one evening, but you could not even do that! It always has to be about you, Svengallop, does it not? But this is not about you! This is about me and the stallion I love!” She grabbed Big Mac’s hoof and jumped off her chair. “And quite frankly, we are too good for this … this …” She clearly struggled to find the right word and frustration erupted from her in a string of what were clearly invectives Big Mac could not understand. “Suivez-moi, Macintosh! We are leaving before I do something I may or may not regret but would most certainly get into trouble for.” “Now steady on there.” Fancy Pants got to his hooves. “Fleur, be reasonable.” At the audible snigger beside him, he whirled on his own partner. “Sven! Your behaviour tonight is atrocious! Quite frankly I’m ashamed of you.” For the first time, Svengallop actually flinched. He looked up at Fancy Pants with something akin to dismay. “Fancy, I –” Fleur pointed her perfectly formed nose in the air. “Your efforts are appreciated, Fancy, but we are still leaving.” She tugged on Big Mac. And then again when he didn’t move. She looked over her shoulder at him, surprised. “Macintosh?” He shook his head. “If you leave now, darlin’, it’ll cause a mess of trouble.” She frowned. “He is being so awful –” “I know that.” “You said yourself –” “I know that too. But I ain’t about to leave over it. You said it yourself: this evenin’ ain’t about him, it’s about you an’ me. He can try all he likes to spoil it, but what’ll he get? One evenin’ of makin’ everypony around him uncomfortable an’ embarassin’ the pony he loves. You an’ me? We’ll be fine. He ain’t got no power over neither of us unless we let him. I’ll admit, I lost my temper just now, an’ that ain’t an easy thing to make me do. But if we leave – if you leave – that’s storin’ up trouble for the future.” He leaned in and planted a bold kiss on her mouth. “Please stay. For me?” Her eyes searched his face. Then she nodded, only a little shakily. They both returned to their seats. Fancy Pants regarded Big Mac across the table. Very slowly, he gave the bigger stallion a nod. There was a lot in that nod. Big Mac wasn’t the fastest of thinkers, but even he could tell he had just passed some sort of test. The waiter reappeared with a tray of drinks. “Is everything all right over here?” “Marvellous,” Fancy Pants replied. “Well, maybe not marvellous, but at least partway there.” His horn glowed, distributing the glasses to the three other ponies. “A toast, I think.” “Oui,” Fleur agreed. “To … love?” “That sounds like an excellent thing to toast. Don’t you think so, Sven?” He raised his glass. Slowly, Svengallop did likewise. “To love,” he deadpanned. “To love!” Fleur smiled, her hoof finding Big Mac’s under the table. Big Mac grinned. “To love.” And then he toasted so forcefully, his glass shattered in his hoof.