It’s almost seven in the evening when you do your third look over of yourself in the mirror. You mane was combed nicely, your teeth were free of food, and most importantly, you were dressed in “Proper date attire,” as your father would have put it. You had even shinned your best black shoes and had to take an extra two extra showers to remove the smudges of black goo from your coat. So how come, even dressed nicely, you felt as if you looked ridiculous?

“I look… Like a dork.”  You sigh and lean your head on the cold glass of your antique standing mirror. That right there was your problem. You look around the room and sigh. Because of how well off your parents were, they were always insisting on buying you furniture that was “Fancy” and “Respectable”. Often times that meant you ended up with a dresser made from some rare wood, or a mirror with an ivory border and gold leaf detailing, or a bed that was said to once be used in the Canterlot royal palace. Your father had a thing for “Antiquity” as he called it, often saying that the nicer your possessions are, the more people will respect you. He was materialistic like that, and you often had to wonder how your mother, a free spirit used-to-be-punk-mare, ended up falling for such a stiff-lipped stallion like your dad.

“Oh, you just had to know him when he was younger dear”, Was your mothers typical response to that subject. On the other hoof, it was always your mother who tried to push your aesthetic tastes. Whenever your father brought something home for you, be it clothes, or furniture, or god forbid another baby grand piano for you to play, your mother would later pull you aside when your father had left the room and ask if that was really something you wanted.

“It’s ok if you don’t like this dear, really! Your father wouldn’t get upset. When I was a teenager, MY parents wanted me to take up an instrument. They were thinking more along the lines of the harp, or the cello, something classy like that. But after months of begging and pleading and bargaining, your grandfather finally gave in and got me an electric guitar, Sunny Reigns Les Paul, for your information!”

That was your mother for you, always trying to get you to expand your expressionistic palette. But your response was always the same. No matter how she phrased the question, or what stories she brought back from somewhere along the shoulders of memory lane, you always said “I never have any friends over, so what’s the point?”

If this hurt your mother, you never knew. She would always smile, nod, and give you a big hug and a kiss on your cheek. That was your mother, supportive of what you no matter what you chose. But as you stood in front of your mirror, your breath fogging up the glass as you sighed, you began to wish that maybe, just once, you had listened to what she had said and chosen something else, anything else, as long as it was different from the “hoity-toity” air that your room now felt heavy with.  

A sudden knock on the door pulled you from your funk. You look up at the clock on your wall and realize that you had been loathing your room for a good half hour. The show started at eight, and already Rainbow Dash was knocking on your door.

“Oh man, why is she so early? Does she want to talk? Did I get the times wrong? Oh my gosh, did I miss the show and now she’s mad?” You give yourself a few more seconds to panic before fervently shaking your head and slapping yourself.

“Pull it together! Ok, just be cool. Your room is on the second story, so just open your window and tell her the door is locked and you will be right down, that’ll buy you a few seconds. It’s not like she has to know the door is actually unlocked-“

Your train of thought comes to a screeching halt as you hear a familiar click from downstairs, followed by the creak of old hinges as the front door swings open, followed by the “Clip-Clop” of hoof beats.

“Hello? Anybody here?”

Your heart freezes when you hear Rainbow’s familiar voice.

“Hello?  I saw a light on upstairs, hope you don’t mind me comin in!”

Like a lion on the hunt, your heart immediately breaks in a sprint as sweat begins to form junt along your brow. “Umm… Just a second! I'm….” You look around your room for inspiration, and your eyes settle on the small round container of “Black Stallion” shoe polish. Against your better judgment, you go with it.

“I'm shinning my shoes!” Facehoof. You groan as you bite your lip and thump your well oiled shoes against your head, cursing at your brain for lack of creativity Out of all the things you could have said, drying off from a shower, brushing your teeth, even clipping your hooves, your brain had to resort to something that was sure to get you mocked.

“You’re what? What are you doing up there?”

You hear scuttling from downstairs, followed by cursing, and what sounds like something valuable smashing on the floor.

“Umm… Hey, quick question…” You fear she’s about to walk up the stairs. “Do you have like, a dustpan or something?”

You sigh in relief. Crisis adverted. You didn’t even care that something obviously broke downstairs, only that your guest had unwittingly bought you several more seconds of sweet preparation. “Umm… it’s in the pantry in the kitchen, hanging on the wall, next to the ice box!”  You lied. It’s not near the ice box, in fact, it’s hanging on the wall above the kitchens door way.

You hear more shuffling, followed by a thud and more cursing. You turn back to the mirror and begin to addresses your problem again.

“Alright, Rainbow is here. She’s cool, obviously, and I look like I just got hit by the delivery carriage for “Carousel Boutique.” No big deal…. I can make this work… umm… maybe if I do this?” You begin to shake your head in all directions, trying to undo all the work you put into straightening your mane, but after about two whole minutes of ferocious head banging, you end up with only a headache.

“Hey, I hope your parents aren’t to ticked, but I accidentally knocked over their glass sculpture of two Pegasus in flight and I found the Dustpan, but it was above the…. Whoa.”

Your face falls as you turn around to see Rainbow Dash standing in your doorway, looking you over and obviously trying not to laugh. Instantly you know you are over dressed. The cyan Pegasus is wearing orange and yellow streaks of paint under her eyes, and a blue T-shirt that reads “Spitfire” with a minimalist yellow and orange silhouette of a Pegasus flying across her chest.. Her mane is the same as it always is; tomboyishly disheveled, yet somehow stylish.

“Oh man, no way are you wearing that!” She finally lets out a snort and a chuckle as she walks over to you.

“What’s… wrong with it? This is how I always dress when I go….” You were going to say “out” but stopped, seeing as how you hardly ever went anywhere. Sighing, you dejectedly hang your head and look up at your guest with defeated eyes. “I look like a dork, don’t i?”

Rainbow nods. “Yeah, but it’s not that bad. Here I’ll just have to make you about… Twenty percent cooler.” Immediately the young Pegasus sets to work, rescuing what she can of your appearance.

“Alright, first we gotta fix your mane.” She rubs he hooves up and down your neck and head, shaking the finely flattened mat into a messy, grungy look. You can’t help but blush a bit as her movement across your mane makes you tingle. It feels good. You had tussled your own hair before, mostly when cleaning it in the shower, but never before had someone else done it to you, certainly no one as cute as Rainbow Dash.

“Alright, now… ummm.. button down shirt? No way.” Immediately she grips your shirt and pulls it open, buttons popping and falling to the floor with a clatter. “ Hmm… white’s OK I guess but…” She looks around for a moment, and then goes for the small tin of Shoe polish. Opening it up, she tosses the lid to the ground and get a good glob of it on her hoof before coming back to you and wiping it off on your shirt in a big circle, then finishing it off by slashing through it with a big line until the finished result looks like a large, black, “NO” symbol.

“Alright, almost there… just needs one more thing…” Like the lid, she tosses the can of polish aside and takes hold of your black outer shirts sleeves. In one swift motion she tears them off at the seam, lifting your legs so she can slide the remains off and looking proudly at you.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s the same level as Rarity’s work, but I think I did a pretty good job!” She nods approvingly as you turn to look at yourself. Instead of a sophisticated, well groomed young stallion, you find yourself looking at a punked out version of yourself that would most likely have made your mother proud.

“Wow… I… I look….”

“Twenty Percent cooler, in ten seconds flat.” Rainbow dash pat’s you on the back. “Ok now, let’s go! Were gonna miss the show if we don’t hurry!” And with that, the rainbow mane Pegasus zipped into the air and out your door, another clatter and more swearing as she bolted down the stairs.

“Yeah, I’ll be done in just a minute….” You shout after half attentively as you continue to look yourself over in the mirror. The Shoe polish was expensive, Fifty bits a tin, and the black shirt-now-vest had been hand spun from silkworm silk. But for once, you actually found yourself looking in the mirror and liking what you saw. It perhaps wasn’t your “style” per-say, but it was different, new. You smiled as you made your way down the stairs, carefully avoiding a broken picture frame as you trotted down to the living room. You gave the house a quick once over, making sure you didn’t forget to close any doors or windows, and shutting the front door behind you, trotted over to your “Date” as it were.

“Alright, you ready to see the Wonder Bolts kick some cloud!?” Rainbow Dash was obviously waiting on pins and needles, her body shaking as she looked at you with those big, glistening pink eyes.

For a moment, you find yourself unable to break your gaze with her, quickly snapping back to reality and before she notices and responding with a shrug.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Rainbow shakes her head. “Not, “I guess so” ! This is the Wonder Bolts were talking about! You gotta be louder!” She zipped into the air and did a loop-de-loop shouting “Yeah! Wonder Bolts! Woooo!” She looks over at you. “Now you try.”

“Woooo Wonder Bolts?”

She slaps a hoof across her face and muttered, shaking her head again in disapproval.

“Well… come on then, maybe the show will get you more pumped.” She took off in the direction of the town, leaving you behind until she turns around, maybe several meters from you, to see you slowly walking along.

“What gives? You’re not gonna fly?”

Game time. Quickly your mid searches for a believable excuse.

“Uhhh… I… Sprained my wing the other day… gotta keep off it, ya know?”

For a moment, your heart clenches as rainbow just stares at you from midair. Perhaps your excuse wasn’t convincing enough? Or maybe you did something earlier to give it away that your wing wasn’t really hurt. Finally, after several tense seconds of staring and worrying, Rainbow shrugs and zips down over to your side.

“No problem! Happens all the time. If we hurry we can still get good seats.”

Phew! Crisis adverted. You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Sounds good to me… uh… ladies first?”

Again, Rainbow laughs, tossing her mane back as she does so, a few loose strands of red hair tickling across your cheek.  She reaches out with her right foreleg and grabs hold of your left, pulling you along with her.

“C’mon! We gotta hurry!” And with that, Rainbow Dash runs towards town, holding your hoof and pulling you in tow. You can’t help but blush as you nervously follow along.

Next Chapter: The Show Estimated time remaining: 2 Hours, 11 Minutes