Rose Tinted

Rose-Tinted
By Chistery

Pinkie Pie huffed to herself, "Ridiculous …"

And really it was.  The Grand Galloping Gala - a party of enormous proportion with thousands of ponies in the castle grounds and the surrounding hills, a network of stars and celebrities and great lighting and outdoor areas and fine marble dance halls - had no streamers.  No balloons.  No pin-the-tail-on-the-pony, or the lesser pin-the-scales-on-the-dragon.  Hardly any large cakes!

This wasn't a party; it was a bunch of fancy dresses and stallions in tuxedos and tiny flutes of champagne.  Pinkie was starting to chomp at the bit for some sarsaparilla.  The thin brittle smiles she saw plastered on the neuveau riche of Canterlot was starting to chap her cupcakes.

She hovered close to the buffet bar in the main hall.  The outdoor areas only had some light finger sandwiches and hors d'œuvre, but here at least in the main hall there were some real cupcakes.  Careful not to get frosting on candy-themed gloves, the irony escaped Pinkie.

The smallest tasty crumbs did not.

She chased cupcake after cupcake, guzzling punch, never feeling full.  Pinkie felt a little alone without a good rack of banners and streamers.

So stood the Party Pony of Ponyville in "the greatest party ever," a staggeringly quiet vision in pink and candyfloss.  If her pillbox hat had any decency it would droop in sympathy with her situation.  Instead it stayed pert and proud.

It did not help that once or twice the rose filly was asked "Oh, what is this you're serving tonight?" - her polite reply being the cucumber-and-cream-cheese sandwiches on the far end were great, though the lobster rococo was a little rich.  (And intended for the dragons in attendance …)

Darting her eyes about the room, she caught glimpses of Applejack's hat, the very tip of Twilight Sparkle's cowl.  If she listened very carefully above the rabble, she could very nearly make out where Fluttershy stood; the crowd in that direction was very politely waiting for her to stutter out where she found that Rarity Original.

They all had their parts to play.  She supposed if she couldn't be a party planner, she could help the help and … direct others to the crescent rolls.

"Heya, Pinkie Pie," came a rounded giggle at her side.  Pinkie started, eyes darting to see -

A slim blue figure.  Looking from gold-shorn legs up, Pinkie took in a fine three-gem broach and a long flowing dress of a thousand colors with cloud-magic trim.  Two lightning-bolt earrings hung at equal measures from from a bright winning smile.  A permed rainbow mane fell easily over smoky rose eyes -

Pinkie gasped, "D-Dash?"

"Lady Prism Radiance Windemere Silverhoof by name," the bluebird trilled haughtily, batting her eyes. Leaning a little too close, a stage-whispered "But you can call me Dash," eked out before Dash broke into into a snicker and a lip-glossed smile.

The energy was infectious; Pinkie began to rock on her hooves.  She caught a whiff of bubbly above the orange blossom perfume the filly was wearing, the smell of rain … "H-have you been drinkin- enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah!  I'm … I'm feeling good, you know?  No need to prove myself, see, everyone already thinks I'm awesome with the dress - everyone's friendly …" she gestured with a robin's egg wing, taking in the whole of the room.  Dash's face tilted, smiling and conspiratorial, "The pink blush they're serving on the other end of the hall is really tasty. You should try some ..."

The rising giggle in her voice reminded Pinkie of all the parties back in Ponyville.  Back there Dash's laugh was a little more hoarse, ragged, open, but it echoed the fun Pinkie wanted ...

"I don't know, Dash, I'm having a- a superrific great good time without it-" Pinkie protested lamely.

"Come on, it'll be fun! It reminded me of you," came the plea, rolling sweet as sarsaparilla down Pinkie's ear.  Dash was getting a little close, perspective now blush-wine tinted … "It's like soda, kind of.  Light and bubbly and pink … and sweet."

"Thanks, I guess," Pinkie bit off quickly.  She thought should feel uneasy and all-too-sober, yet she only felt nervous and a little hot under the lace collar.  Knowing the difference made it worse.

Pinkie could hardly smell the cupcakes over Dash's perfume; it was like a citrus grove after a clean rain - a grove tipsy and laughing and happy and right there and full of adventure.

"Just … Just try it," Dash pleaded.  There was a just-us-friends crinkle in those pink eyes, a wrinkling of that cute nose, "Please?"

The pinkest pony in all the land bit her lip.  Turning her eye to a sad tray of finger sandwiches and her several empty punch glasses, she bravely stammered, "O-okay."

---

Pinkie Pie found herself not dragged, but gently shepherded across the floor. They passed many gentlecolts and ponies of a certain age, fillies of tender nature, many ponies of a certain class or status - pulled along by a bright bolt of color in a sea of tuxes.  Hoof to hoof it must have looked ridiculous.  A giant pink cake of a pony bustled along by a rainbow cloud with bells on?

Only at the Gala -

"Here, the table's just up ahead," Dash threw over her shoulder and long flowing mane, "You will FLIP."

Pinkie's eyes went wide.  This table had been crowded, so crowded she hadn't bothered.  Now she knew why.  Silver service trays were loaded down with champagne, ales, meads, shiraz, lemon wedges, and -

"PEANUTS," whispered the walking pink cake.  Pinkie Pie sidled up against the table, attempting to surreptitiously grasp a hoofful of sweet salty honey caked goodness.  Her mouth watered.  Rainbow Dash was looking the other way; just a few wouldn't ruin her appetite for fun.

Hoof nearly there, hovering over the crystal bowl, a clipped and polished blue hoof touched hers gently.  A shudder ran up bubblegum skin.

"Don't eat those," came the voice again, chiding and a little low, "You'll ruin your palate."

Pinkie turned to find Dash holding a flute of pink bubbling … something.  

"Is that-"

"Just try it.  I tell you, you'll like it," Dash insisted.  Her breath smelled of strawberries, now that Pinkie had time to take it in.  A blue hoof held out a quietly fizzing glass.

Pinkie took it with some trepidation, remembering the last time she'd tried alcohol. It had been bad mead on the far end of town when Big Mac heard she was coming of age.  She'd been sick for hours and could hardly stand malt powder for weeks.  But now her friend - her very good friend - was trying to show her a good time.  It was a gift.

What could it hurt?  Pinkie liked bubbly things.  She was one. The frilly pink filly closed her eyes, hoping.

"Okay, here goes-" and the rim found its home on her lips, tipping back it touched tongue.  It was clear and crisp.  It wasn't dark or sickly sweet like sarsaparilla; it tasted like very clear barley tea at Fall Festival.  It tasted like Strawberry Cordial on Winter Wrap Up Day.  There was something sharp involved, like lemons or a crisp kiwi.  The bubbles packed a punch; she could feel it in her nose and couldn't help but giggle.

It wasn't cupcakes.  It was better.

"That's … that's nice!"  Pinkie Pie laughed, feeling a warm flush in her face.  Her eyes opened again, to see a proud and relieved expression wash over Dash.

"Like strawberries?" the blue slip of a pony mused.  She reached for another glass from the silver service, noticing Pinkie was going through that glass rather quickly.

"Yeah, like strawberries!"

"The color suits you," Dash murmured to herself, taking the empty flute away, replacing it with a full one.  It was so nice to see Pinkie try new things.

The blushing pony took another sip, enjoying the warm feeling coming from such a fizzy-cold drink. "You know Dash, I wasn't … I wasn't having a very good time."

Dash stopped sipping from her own glass.  "You, not having a good time?  What a laugh!"

"Yeah, well, I had a good enough time," a gulp, "until Twilight told me all about formal decorum, _{whatever that is}" the angry pink tart swigged down the bitterness and gained steam, "and rules and the proper way to waltz and talk and breathe and eat cake-"  Pinkie snapped with an exasperated emphasis on cake, "Is this really how they party here in Canterlot?"

The rainbow filly nodded wistfully.  She briefly considered her own run-ins with rulemongering and what it'd done to Pinkie Pie's spirits, but didn't want to scowl. She decided to drawl "Biggest party in all of Equestria …" came out a touch darkly.

"I mean, it's a party but it's not my party.  I like making big big super spectacular awesome parties with balloons and friends and lots of dancing.  I don't see any of that," she finished a little more smoothly.  Pinkie dangled the statement as low-bearing fruit, as if to hope for the sudden appearance of a marching band and a plate of hot sandwiches with au jus and emergency rations of streamers.

She balanced on her other front hoof, looking like a homesick filly in a schoolyard.  The too-big dress aided the impression.  "I mean … I guess it'd be fun for a big bunch of rich ponies."

Dash startled.  Pinkie was the queen of "giggle at the ghosties."  This reservation and anxiety wasn't her.

The weather pony scrambled to think of something positive to say, and posited after some pause, "You're right.  This isn't a party.  It's a dumb rich guy convention!  I used to go to all these things so much I never knew what a party was until …"  the rainbow-themed filly stopped, reaching for the right thing to say.  Suddenly she remembered the first time meeting Pinkie, tiny bits of icing in her hair and all. Emboldened by the memory, she finished with a flourish, "'-- 'til I came to your shop and you put up a banner and just … gave me a cake!"

Pinkie laughed high and pure.  Dash sipped, victorious.

"You remember how angry Mrs. Cake was?  I had to work so hard to make up for it!"  Another gulp.  The point of drinking the wine wasn't the wine by now; The taste was still there, but Pinkie most savored the light airy sensation creeping through her limbs.  She felt light on her heels, and now Rainbow was here with her.  Visions of invisible ink and spring-loaded potato chips floated in her mind among the suds.

Dash sipped quietly, smile not leaving her face - remembering very clearly of paying Mrs. Cake under the table to cover the party costs.  She'd have Words with her back in Ponyville. At least Pinkie was a little more cheerful-

"But you were worth it, Rainbow Dash," Pinkie cheered.

Unbidden, blue wings burst full-form away from their lace moorings.  Dash very quickly finished the glass in hand, praying no one had noticed.

---

The conversation kept rolling.  Topics were sparkling, like the shandies and wine spritzers that appeared at their elbow by sorcery.  They touched on cider and the nice sun Canterlot had enjoyed that afternoon and the stars and all the things Applejack wanted to do in the Big City.  Dash mentioned her family in a certain way, a little testily.  Pinkie hoped to visit her cousin second removed down at the bake shop.  Subjects came to include the smaller and more intimate, eventually turning to swizzle sticks on the table, the funny look on Hoity Toity's face when rejected by a young stud on the far end of the hall …

The candles began to dim; a glimmering kind of magic.  A twilight descended in the hall.  Couples were slow-dance-trotting, others were whispering sweet nothings in the proper ear.  An old couple of mares on one corner were laughing, sharing a table-service cheesecake.  Dash could just barely make out the sparkle of a matching set of diamond rings.

Many empty flute glasses littered the out-of-the-way table; they held just the faintest leavings of blueberry and peach and strawberry. Both ponies had settled into an easy comfort.  Rainbow Dash hazarded throwing a hoof over Pinkie's shoulders, enjoying the light and fitful giggles from her friend.

Dash settled into a lean into Pinkie, feeling cozy against pink curves and candy-themed lace.  The smell of pink bubblegum had mixed with all those wonderful sweet drinks.  In the candlelight, a pink face, tipsy, grinning from ear to ear, gorgeous …

Pinkie smiled, raising the latest full glass to the candle, then to Dash's eyes, and back down - "That's funny," the cake maker hiccuped, "Your eyes are strawberry wine-colored.  I always called them just silly old pink.  I like pink.  I am pink, I have a pink in my think …" as she trailed off into a song beneath her breath.

Dash gave her friend, her very good friend, her very dear and sweet and wonderful-smelling and and funny friend, an appraising look.  Her mind bubbled and boiled, a fire stoked beneath a bucket of fine wine and heady perfume.  She drained the nearest half-flute of bubbly, tasting something like pears through the haze.

"Ssssso Pinkie.  You have a stallion back home?  I never see you with anyone," Dash managed.  Not slurring was a special trick; she reckoned the Sonic Rainboom was easy by comparison.  The wild-maned pony didn't much know where this train of conversation was going, but then again she never was one to think ahead.

"I date and all, but no, I mean there was one stallion who asked me a while ago to go out but I didn't want to go to the buffet, I'd had enough that day and -" the sentence lapsed into laughter.  It was a wonderful ringing sound.

"Ever been kissed?"  Dash not-slurred; it was a small miracle she became terrified after asking.  Her heart leapt into her throat somewhere near her broach, pounding blood away into her face.  Blue wings quivered like an orchestra set to play.

The half-second pause and the quick sideways glance of those clear blue eyes felt like forever.

"Y-yeah, but not very well," the pink pony said a little quietly.  Strawberry was her color; with the flush she looked very much like a crimson berry.

"So, uh, um …" The bold voice faltered, "You want to?"

A blur of pink - and suddenly Dash tasted bubblegum and warmth.  Dash was surprised, then relieved, then simply there.  She was there with the girl from those afternoon daydreams, that one behind the counter with the nice smile and cute laugh.  The one from the cake shop, the first person to greet her with those little icing flecks in her hair -

It tasted wonderful and warm.  She tasted like strawberry wine.  Dash found her hooves wrapped around Pinkie as well as she could, holding her just so.  There were nibbles and long slow circles along her back, scritches in her wings-

It wasn't cupcakes.  It was better.

Pinkie broke away, slowly, biting her lip, "I do like that.  It's like strawberries."

Dash threw caution to the wind, gaze darting to the exit.  Eight glasses of wine fueled her courage now.  It was getting late.  The worst the famished bubbly-pink-girl-full-of-bubbly could say was "no" ...

"You want to feel like strawberries …?"