Title:           Table for Two 19: Petit Fours
Author:          Fillydelphian
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/pi72UZbk
First Edit:      Saturday 8th of June 2013 03:54:50 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Saturday 8th of June 2013 03:54:50 PM CDT

>Em takes a long drink of wine. The chatter from the surrounding tables is contrasted uncomfortably by Rose's silence and prying stare.
>The florist rests her head on her hoof while Em avoids her gaze.
>”So,” she finally says. Em sets her glass down slowly. “Are you going to tell me what that business with Amber Waves was all about?”
>With a sigh, Em pushes her mane out of her face.
The PR team is convinced that Anon's a liability.
>”I know.”
They want me to cut ties with him to save my campaign.
>”I know, I was there when Waves told you that.”
Then what are you asking for?
>Em becomes defensive. She pulls her wine glass closer to her body.
>”I want to know if you're actually considering it.”
Rose, this job is my life. I can't just roll over and let it be pulled out of my hooves because of some scandal.
>Rose's expression hardens.
>”Are you serious?” she asks.
Completely. This is too important to take lightly. It's a tough call, but I wouldn't be Mayor if I couldn't make tough calls.
>Em taps her hoof on the table, agitated. Her red-maned friend scowls.
>”So that's it, then?” she starts derisively. “You're just going to cut the boy loose for the sake--”
--Of my campaign, which I might not even win at this rate?
>Rose narrows her eyes.
Honestly, Rosie...You never jump to conclusions like this. Don't tell me you're getting soft.
>The florist rubs her temples.
>”No, I suppose not. Just the way you were talking made it sound like you were about to make a really terrible decision.”
I know.
>Em smirks and takes a sip of wine. Rose cracks a smile and feigns a gasp.
>”...Kill you for that.”
1/
 
>Em raises her glass to Rose.
You aren't the only one.
>”So what is your plan, then? You really think having Anon around is going to hurt your chances that much?”
>Rose watches her friend with concern, despite Em's joking.
The PR team knows what they're doing. I trust their data, just not their analysis. On top of that, I'm almost certain there's a bad egg in there, so I've been taking their advisement with a grain of salt since this scandal broke.
>”You think somep0ny is undermining you?”
It's a possibility. You've seen the looks I get around town nowadays. You really think my whole staff would be unanimously in my corner on this?
>”No, that makes sense.”
Anyway, with how things are as of now, I think my best course of action is to embrace it. Most of the local businesses are on my side since I pretty much brought them to Ponyville in the first place and my administration is the one that put Ponyville on the map as something other than a curiosity. We have actual tourists now, for Celestia's sake.
>”That's got to count for something.”
Exactly. The new business and culture and the like should nail down the younger vote. Go progressive It's a solid platform and it isn't far off from what I've always run on, anyway.
>”You just have to work in the part where you're involved with Anon?”
I think you mean 'embracing the tenets of harmony and tolerance by not letting his and my differences get in the way of love.'
>Rose leans back and giggles. “That is shrewd, Em. Did you just come up with that?”
Do you think my constituents will agree?
2/
 
>The florist drops her smile and thinks for a moment.
>”It's a stretch, if I'm honest. I mean, it's true, but I don't know how well it will counteract the damage the media has already done.”
>Em looks around the restaurant slowly.
You're right. I'm clutching at straws, really. That's the best I could do so far.
>”It was pretty good, considering.”
>The waiter comes around with the pair's food.
>”I mean, with everything that's happened, I'd say you're still in a decent spot, right?”
>Em pokes at her pasta, her expression growing more sullen.
If I'm being optimistic, I'd say it's a 50/50 split in Filthy's favor right now. I'm depending on the young vote and we both know how reliable they are.
>”Long road ahead, then.” Rose takes a bite of mushroom, trying to power through the awkward  atmosphere that has descended over the table. “At the very least you've got Anon to walk it with you.”
>Em twirls the long noodles on her fork.
>”...Why don't we change the subject?”
That would be lovely...
3/
 
>Earlier that day.
>You look up from the paperwork in your office and see the clock about to strike five thirty.
>With a satisfied grunt, you get up and walk out into the kitchen.
>A unicorn floats a large pot of broth across your path with Ginger walking alongside him.
>The Sous takes a whiff of the liquid and says something to the unicorn before breaking off and coming over to you.
>”Ready for service, Chef?” she asks cheerfully.
As ever. Shouldn't be too rough a night, either.
>”You sure you don't want me to run things?”
You did service last night. I'll handle it.
>Ginger feigns disappointment. “I guess I'll settle for being your assistant tonight.”
Sounds good. Now go make sure your station is prepped.
>The mare adjusts her hat and smiles widely.
>”Yes, Chef!” she shouts, trotting off toward the counters. You watch her enthusiasm and feel a warmth in your chest.
>The last couple days have been nothing short of nerve-wracking and you're glad to see somep0ny remaining optimistic.
>You walk calmly to your station and inspect everything from the stove-top to the cutting boards.
 
>Before long, the doors open up and the restaurant re-opens for dinner.
Table sixteen: Two salad, one ceviche, one onion soup!
>”Yes, Chef!” You nod to yourself as you listen to the kitchen's response.
>Ginger patrols the kitchen, periodically coming to your counter with updates.
>Where Whooves tends to leave you to your own devices except to chat, Ginger takes a much more hooves-on approach to her duties, giving you a near-constant stream of information on the kitchen.
Table Five: up!
>A waiter whisks the plates away. You notice Ginger's golden mane out of the corner of your eye.
Yes, Ginger? What is it?
4/
 
>You don't look up from your work.
>”I just noticed something, Chef,” she says slowly, sounding concerned.
What's that?
>”Where's Copper Pot?”
>You stop what you're doing and turn to her.
The kitchen colt?
>”Yeah, the one I was in charge of. I feel terrible saying, but I just realized he isn't in the kitchen. Did something happen?”
>Your knife clatters as you put it down on the counter.
Short version is that he isn't working here anymore.
>”What!?” Ginger balks. “What do you mean?”
>You take a slip from a waiter.
Table Ten: one linguine, one ravioli, one squash!
>”Yes, Chef!”
>”Anon!” Ginger hisses.
I mean what I said: he doesn't work here anymore.
>”He wouldn't just quit! I just taught him how to make a proper red sauce!”
>You rub your temple roughly and turn back to the counter.
He didn't quit. He came in this morning with a note from his dad saying he couldn't keep working here.
>”You're joking.”
Dead serious, Ging. Old stallion apparently didn't want his son learning any bad habits from me...or some garbage like that. Kid was really broken up about it.
>”I'll bet. He loved it here.”
>You grab a series of plates from cooks as they shuttle them out to you and put them up on the counter.
Table Twenty Two: up!
>”Are you okay, Chef?” Ginger asks quietly.
I'm fine. Get back to work. We can talk later.
>”Alright, alright,” she sighs, heading back into the kitchen.
>You stretch to relieve the crick in your shoulder and start plating again.
Table Two: Up! Table Twelve: One linguine, one spaghetti, one risotto!
>”Yes, Chef!”
>As you work on arranging garnishes on one dish, you listen to the sound of your team toiling behind you.
>Your thoughts wander.
>They wander back to the visitor you had that morning.
5/
 
>Em rolled out of bed after groggily knocked her alarm clock off the end table.
>You let out a loud groan as you found the sheets pulled off of you. Em had absentmindedly caught her hoof on the corner and tumbled over into a bookcase.
>She looked up from her heap and you couldn't help but laugh at the image. The mare grumbled, swatting an open book from atop her head.
Are you okay?
>”Just fin-eep!” she yelps when you reached down, tugged the sheets and dragged her back towards the bed.
>With another loud cry from the mare, you grabbed her waist and pulled her up on top of you.
Sure you didn't bump your head?
>Em mumbled something too quiet for you to make out and let her eyelids droop slightly as she rubbed her cheek on your shoulder.
>The clock read seven in the morning and the two of you spent the next five minutes looking out the window at the slowly lightening sky.
 
>One hour later.
>A steaming mug of coffee sat on the table in front of you in the kitchen. Em had left only a minute earlier and you were relaxing in the quiet.
>You had just opened the newspaper to read when there came a loud knocking at the door.
>A Guard stood outside when you opened the front door. You noticed Em standing at the end of the walk, looking back at you with concern. You gave her a nod and she turned and went off to work.
>”I hope this isn't too early, Anonymous,” the Guard said.
Not at all. What is it?
>”News on the fire case. May I come in?”
Sure.
>You led the stallion inside and walked to the kitchen.
Coffee?
>”No, I shouldn't be long.”
6/
 
>The stallion pawed lightly at the carpet in Em's hallway. He didn't follow you into the kitchen, instead electing to stay near the door.
>You took your coffee to him and leaned against the wall.
So what news?
>”There's nothing,” the Guard replied.
>You knotted your brow and stared at the Guard quizzically.
What do you mean, 'nothing?' There's got to be something. What in Tartarus did you even come here for if there's nothing?
>”Captain sent word down this morning. There just aren't any leads. We've exhausted all our options.”
>You balled your fist.
You ponies haven't even been at this for a month. You told me it was arson not a week ago, and now you're telling me you've somehow managed to lose the case? What kind of operation are your superiors running here?
>”Anonymous, please calm down. The presence of accelerant was the last lead we've gotten.”
Not a single suspect?
>”As I told you, Captain's shutting the investigation down. Case is cold.”
The twice-damned fire took longer to go cold than your case.
>The stallion shifted his weight nervously.
Now, I know you guys wouldn't let something like this happen because of anything in recent news...
>You tightened your grip on the coffee mug.
...so it must be a case of incompetence.
>”Now that isn't fai--”
I really don't care about your excuses for not doing your damn job. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get ready to do mine.
>You stalked over to the door and opened it for the stallion.
7/
 
>”Chef?” Ginger asks, pulling you back to reality.
>You look around.
>She stands next to you with a plate of pasta.
>”You alright? You looked like a robot for a minute there.”
Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry. Something up?
>”Table Nine wants a new ravioli. The last one was undercooked. I know you usually take the returns yourself.”
Right. Thanks.
>Ginger lingers while you start getting out what you need.
>”Are you sure you're okay, Anon?”
>You glance at the familiar sea of tables on the other side of the counter from you.
I'll manage. Take over plating while I'm on this.
>”Yes, Chef,” the mare replies. She clicks her hoof on the tile floor and gestures to the kitchen to bring plates to her.
8/
 
>The dish to prepare is one of your seasonal favorites: butternut squash ravioli with garlic-sauteed zucchini.
>You take a deep breath and let the noise fade so you can concentrate.
>A pot is filled with water and put on the stove to heat up. The ravioli are pre-cooked during prep to cut down on line time during service.
>The prep cooks start by roasting squash and then pureeing the flesh with nutmeg and shallots. Once the filling is finished, they lay about a tablespoon's worth on a square of hoof-made pasta and lay a second square on top to seal the filling inside.
>You spend the time it takes for the water to come to a simmer pulling the zucchini out and adding halved cloves of garlic.
>When the water is ready, you drop ten ravioli into the pot and stir so the pasta doesn't stick.
>Next you take a wide pan and pour a coating of oil in to heat. Once it begins to shimmer, you drop in the zucchini and listen intently to the loud hiss it produces.
>You give the pot and the pan a stir and start melting butter in a small saucepan.
>After a little heat, the butter begins to brown, signaling you to add a generous helping of crushed sage and black pepper.
>The aroma is released and fills your nose.
>You turn the heat down and let the butter absorb the flavor of the herbs.
>With a satisfied grin, you turn the heat off on all three burners at once and drain the ravioli.
>Ginger turns her head when the smell wafts to her station. You nod to the Sous and bring everything to her to plate.
This one's all yours. Let the kitchen know I'm back on plating.
9/
 
>You head to your office at the end of service.
>As you busy yourself writing the shift notes, you hear a knock on the door.
>Ginger peeks her head inside.
>”Chef?” she says quietly.
Yes?
>”I'm heading out in a few minutes. If you're going to be finished soon, do you want to go get a drink?”
>You pause and look up at her.
Know what? I'd like that. Can you wait around five minutes? I just need to finish the shift notes.
>”Yes, Chef.” You can hear the happiness in Ginger's voice. It's contagious.
 
>The pair of you make it to the bar just before midnight.
>You walk down the row of stools until you find two free ones.
>A gruff stallion eyes you both when you sit down.
>”What'll't be?” he asks directly, in a deep gravelly voice.
>”Tequila Sunrise for me.”
Give me a Salty Dog.
>The bartender grabs several bottles and starts working.
>Ginger watches him intently and licks her lips eagerly when he sets the glasses in front of you.
>She takes a sip of her drink and glances at your glass.
>”What's in your drink, Anon?”
Salty Dog? It's gin and grapefruit juice.
>The mare scrunches her nose.
Hey, you asked.
>”I know. It just sounds like such an old-stallion drink.”
Don't worry. It is.
>You take a drink and savor its bite.
>”What kind of cocktails does she like?” Ginger suddenly asks.
Hm?
>”The Mayor.”
Oh. She's not really a cocktail kind of mare. Usually has a whiskey or brandy or something like that.
>”That makes sense...”
What, did you think she was more into Mai Tais or something?
>”Kind of. She seemed like a sweet drink kind of mare when I met her.”
10/
 
>An hour later.
>Ginger and you sit at the bar quietly for a couple of minutes.
>As she finishes her third drink, Ginger pipes up again.
>”Hey, Anon?”
Yeah?
>”Do you ever wonder what you would've done if you hadn't become a chef?”
Every once in a while, I guess. Probably would have ended up on the street, if I'm honest.
>Ginger gasps and wobbles in her seat.
>”No...you're serious?”
Well, maybe not that extreme, but I know I wouldn't be where I am now.
>”What did you do before cooking?”
I never told you this story?
>The Sous shakes her head, suddenly looking intrigued.
Oh, yeah, I was complete wash-out before I started cooking. Not much in the way of job opportunities for an amnesiac alien with an attitude problem.
>You drink the last of your glass and smirk.
What about you?
>Ginger fiddles with her empty glass.
>”Well, you know...I'd probably be waiting tables or something while I 'wait for my writing career to take off.' This job really was like a fresh start for me, even if I didn't see it that way when I took it.”
Funny how life works that way, huh?
>”Sure is, Chef. But I'm thankful. I wouldn't do a thing differently if I had the chance, would you?”
>You pause and think.
No way.
11/
 
>Two weeks later.
>You stand at the back of the Town Hall auditorium listening to the very end of Em's debate with Filthy Rich,
>When they finish their concluding remarks, the audience rises and begins to file out past you.
>Against the flood of bodies, you push towards the stage.
>You pass Filthy on the stairs and exchange cold glares.
>He walks out of the hall without a word. Em is standing just backstage with a couple of her PR team.
>One of the ponies looks up at you and taps Em on the shoulder. Em turns and smiles at you as you approach.
>”Anon! What are you doing here? I thought you had work?”
I had Ginger and Whooves cover my shift. It's your last debate, after all. I wanted to see it.
>“I hope it wasn't too dry for you. The PR team and I were just discussing our next course of action.”
It's getting really down to the wire.
>A proper-looking stallion clears his throat.
>”Ma'am,” he says, keeping his voice down. “We--”
--You're Amber Waves, right?
>You extend your hand.
Rose told me about you. Head of PR?
>He seems to hesitate before putting out his hoof and shaking your hand.
>”Er, yes. Yes I am.”
Nice to meet you. Making sure my mare keeps her job, are you?
>”Anon!” Em hisses, kicking your leg.
>”We're doing our best.” Amber shifts his weight slightly.
Glad to hear it. But do you think she can step out for a bit? There's a pony I'd like her to meet and she's only in town tonight.
>The stallion looks between the other ponies.
>”I...suppose? It's really up to Madam Mayor if she wants to cut this meeting short.” He looks to Em. “Ma'am?”
12/
 
>Em knots her brow. “It's alright. We'll continue this tomorrow morning. It's getting late anyway. Thank you for your effort tonight, everyp0ny.”
>You smile and lead her out to the front doors.
>Once out of earshot of her colleagues, Em looks up at you.
>”So who is this pony I'm meeting?”
Ponies, actually. You already know one, though.
>You come up to the front doors and push them open.
>Leaning against the wall and conversing with Pinkie Pie is--
Fleur de Lis, meet Em. Em, Fleur.
>Fleur trots over with Pinkie following behind.
>”Lovely to finally meet you,” Fleur says. She puts forth a delicate hoof and smiles. Em returns the gesture.
>”Likewise.”
>”Anon's told me so much about you. I'm really happy to get a chance to talk to you face to face.”
I thought, since Fleur's in town and all, we could get together, the four of us? There shouldn't be too many ponies at Prongs this time of night.
>”A double-dinner-date?” Pinkie chimes in.
A double-dinner-date.
>The pink mare beams before retreating slightly.
>”Do they have cake?” she asks cautiously.
>”I'm sure they have plenty of sweets, but promise me you'll have something for dinner first?” Fleur answers chidingly.
>The pair of mares appear to briefly stare each other down.
Sound like fun, Em?
>Em watches the scene, looking confused.
>”Of course.” She calls to Fleur and Pinkie, who have dissolved into giggles. “Shall we?”
>”Ehehehe...Yeah, yeah...Lead on,” Fleur replies. She and Pinkie follow behind you and Em.
>The bespectacled mare whispers to you. “So they're seriously together?”
Seems that way.
>”Fascinating how tastes change, isn't it?”
>You look back. Pinkie bounds along the path while Fleur takes graceful strides with her long legs.
You can say that again.
13/
 
>The Cervidasian restaurant is softly lit on your approach. A cold autumn wind starts to blow and your group hurries inside to escape it.
>Fleur stops to appreciate the gilded text over the door reading “Prongs.”
>”What a nice place,” she says to herself.
>You come to the hostess.
Four for dinner.
>The mare looks over your group, then back to you.
>”Right this way.” She heads into the dining room, weaving between tables and chairs. “Is a booth okay?”
Perfect. Thank you.
>You wait for the three mares in your company to sit before you slide into the booth.
>The waitress appears shortly after you pick up a menu.
>”Can I start you off with some drinks?” she asks.
>”I'll have a glass of Merlot,” Em replies.
>”A glass of the Pinot for me, thanks,” says Fleur.
If you've got an IPA on draft I'll have that.
>”Do you have pineapple juice?” Pinkie asks. Everyone turns silently to look at her. The pink mare's eyes dart around, confused.
>”You know? I'll have that instead,” Fleur tells the waitress, who nods and walks off.
>Em leans forward over her menu.
>”So how did the two of you meet?” she asks.
>You can make out a faint tinge of pink in Fleur's cheeks.
>”Well, it's funny you should ask. In a way, we have you two to thank,” the model replies.
>Em raises an eyebrow. ”Oh?”
>”Yeah! I was going to talk to Anon but he was in a bad mood and wouldn't talk to me,” Pinkie says.
>Em smirks and stares at you.
>”Oh really?”
It was right after our big fight. I was in a bad mood.
>”I see,” Em nods.
14/
 
>”So I ran into Pinkie here in front of the restaurant right as Anon was stalking off in a huff,” Fleur continues. She looks to her side at Pinkie. “She seemed like she needed advice, and I was in a helping mood.”
>”She helped a lot...” Pinkie muses.
>”We spent a good three hours just talking. It was really great. I mean, I didn't expect anything to come of it at the time, but I got back to Canterlot and after a while I actually started thinking about it. Then I decided to check up on her and sent a letter.”
>Pinkie lowers her head slightly. Fleur goes on. “At first I thought something had gone wrong and my letter hadn't gotten there, because I didn't hear back from her for two weeks!”
>”I was nervous!” Pinkie interrupts, blushing deep red. “I had all butterflies in my tummy for a week...” Fleur pushes her lightly with her hoof.
>”So that's what happened. We kept sending letters back and forth until I finally came down again to visit.”
>”That's so sweet,” Em replies as the waitress brings your drinks.
Sounds like something out of one of your books, Fleur.
>The model shoots you a faux-glare. “You're one to talk, mister 'secret-affair-with-the-Mayor.'”
>Em takes a smug sip of wine. “She's got you there, sweetie.”
Don't take her side!
>Pinkie giggles and you know your attempt at wit has backfired. You take a drink of beer and look over the menu.
15/
 
>The waitress returns a few minutes later to take your orders.
You know, I never asked what you're doing in Ponyville this weekend, Fleur.
>Fleur savors her juice for a moment before answering.
>”You remember that commission I had your friend Rarity do a while back, yes?”
Yeah, I do.
>”Well Fancy took quite a -please forgive me- fancy to the design and asked for more. I could have had them sent for, but I decided to pay a visit to my favorite ponies instead.”
>She glances at Pinkie again.
>”And besides, it's been a slow couple of weeks. We're between shows and Fancy hasn't booked me for any shoots until the end of the month. Perfect time to get away for a little while, don't you think?”
>You turn to face Pinkie, who has already finished her drink and is in the process of flagging down the waitress for another.
I hope you're keeping up with her, Pinkie.
>The pink mare giggles in response, eying Fleur subtly.
>You notice more confidence in her than she carried before and smile to yourself.
 
>The food arrives ten minutes later and conversation shifts.
...couldn't believe how much work she put in. Converted the whole shop into a haunted house in a matter of hours.
>Pinkie waves a hoof bashfully.
>”It wasn't that big a deal. You did most of the legwork,” she says.
Don't be so modest. All I did was stand in a cupboard.
>Em raises her eyebrow.
>”So that's what you were doing before the party? I can't believe you never told me.”
>You nudge her suggestively.
I can't believe you never asked about the costume.
>Em huffs and turns to Pinkie.
>”You see what I put up with?” she asks, pointing a curry-laden fork at you.
16/
 
>Pinkie quickly takes a bite of vegetable tandoori.
>There's a weighty pause as her face scrunches up and tears start welling up in her eyes.
>Em knots her brow.
>”Was it something I said?”
>Fleur puts a hoof on Pinkie's shoulder.
>”What is it, hon?” she coos.
>Pinkie's face turns red. She starts trying to fan her face with her hooves.
>”Did you get a pepper?” Fleur asks.
>Pinkie nods her head rapidly.
>”I told you not to get something so hot.”
>”Mm mmhmm mhmmmmd!” Pinkie replies, keeping her mouth clamped shut.
>”You really should have,” Fleur agrees. “You know how you are with spicy food.”
>You'd swear smoke is about to start pouring out of the party pony's head. She seems to calm down somewhat, finally swallows, then grabs her juice and downs the glass in one massive gulp.
>Em snickers loudly at the scene. You try to hold your laughter back as Pinkie stares at her plate.
>”Sp-spiicccyyy....” Pinkie pants. Fleur slides her plate between herself and Pinkie.
>”Here,” she says.
>”Are you sure?” Pinkie asks, her tongue hanging out of her mouth.
>”It's too much food for me.” Fleur pauses. “Besides, I'm saving room for dessert.”
>Pinkie perks up at her remark. Fleur shoots you a wink, leaving you confused.
17/
 
>The four of you finish your food shortly thereafter. When your waitress brings you the dessert menu, Pinkie snaps to attention.
>Fleur sighs at her reaction.
What's that for? You two are like two peas in a pod with sweets.
>”I know,” Fleur replies. “That's the problem. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep my diet around this mare? This morning I woke up and she was making pistachio baklava. It took all I had not to jump on the baking sheet!”
>The waitress clears her throat.
Oh, right. Sorry. We're going to split the panjiri and ice cream.
>”Would you like to split something, Pinkie?” Fleur asks.
>”Can we have the Jalebi?”
>”Of course,” the waitress answers. She takes the menus and trots off, returning not five minutes later with two plates of sweets.
>Pinkie and Fleur look at the Jalebi curiously.
>”...You didn't know what these were when you ordered, did you?” Fleur examines one of the morsels.
>”Nope!” Pinkie happily grabs one of the twisted morsels and takes a bite.
>Em watches the scene while chewing the nutty panjiri.
>”What even are those things?” she asks you.
They're interesting. First you take some batter, which is just flour and water and some sugar, and then you squeeze that into hot oil to fry into those crazy coils.
>You watch Fleur's internal struggle as she debates eating the oily, sugary coils.
Anyway, then you take those out of the oil and you soak them in sugar syrup.
>Fleur visibly holds herself back.
Finally, you sprinkle some lime juice, rose water, or whatever else you want over them. They're really good.
>With an evil grin you watch Fleur break down and eat three in one bite.
>”That was mean, Anon,” Em says.
18/
 
Want to know about ours?
>Em takes a bite and thinks for a minute.
>”Whole wheat flour, butter, sugar, almonds, walnuts, ginger, cardamom, pistachios, and a few things I can't quite place...”
That'd be be lotus seeds. I'm not surprised you couldn't place them. I didn't think a restaurant in Equestria would even have them.
>”Eight out of nine. Good enough.”
If you don't want to hear about it, just say so.
>You munch on one of the panjiri, savoring the many complimentary flavors.
 
>The group leaves Prongs around ten.
>Fleur and Pinkie split off and head to Sugar Cube Corner, leaving you and Em to walk home together.
>”Fleur seems nice,” Em says, rubbing her cheek on your hand.
I'm glad you like her.
>”She's pretty.”
I know. Pinkie's a lucky mare.
>Em pulls her head away from your hand.
>”What's that supposed to mean?” she asks, suddenly sounding agitated.
I mean what I said. She's a pretty mare. I'm happy for her and Pinkie.
>Em narrows her eyes and opens her mouth as if to say something.
>You don't give her the chance, scooping her up in your arms and placing a finger on her lips.
Don't be jealous. She's got nothing on you.
>She smiles softly. You carry her the rest of the way home.
19/
 
>When you cross the threshold, Em's expression hardens and falls.
>She looks up at you slowly, like she's looking for words.
>”Anon?” she starts.
Yeah?
>”Are you worried about the election?”
>You put her down on the kitchen counter so she's at eye-level with you.
I don't know anything about politics, Em. I'm only worried if you're worried.
>She bites her lip. “But I could actually lose here... What if I lose, Anon? What then?”
>The mare looks on the verge of tears suddenly. You wipe the moisture off her cheek.
You won't.
>”How do you know?”
>You shrug.
I don't. But I know you'll do your damnedest to win.
>”I've been doing that, Anon, and the polls are still split...”
The debate went well, though, didn't it?
>Em scowls.
>”As well as it could have, I suppose. At least Filthy's reigned in his moral grandstanding recently. Honestly, we were expecting a wash. The young ponies don't come to the debates, so the audience was mostly for Filthy. Our little meeting tonight, the one you interrupted, was for us to figure out how to rally back from the dabate.”
>You hop up and sit on the edge of the counter next to her as she takes a few deep breaths.
>”I don't know, it just hit me on the way over, you know? I could actually lose this...”
>Her chest heaves a little under your arm when you pull her into a hug.
Shh... It'll be fine.
>”But how do you know?”
>You rest your head on hers.
I don't. I just believe it.
End