Chapter Six

“Ramses, this is Redheart.” You say with a little pride, introducing your brother to your date.

“Pleasure to meet you, me ol’ china.” Ramses replied, taking one of Redheart’s hooves and kissing it. Whilst he is bent over, Redheart shoots you a glance - clearly not too impressed.

“Yeeeah, Ram, we’re hoping for a quiet night. Can you put us somewhere where we won’t be disturbed?”

“Weeell,” the chef starts after rising, mimicking you and placing a hoof on his chin, “We have just started preparing the roof of this place ready to add more dining space, and it’s a warm enough night... would you like to be the first to dine there? It’s perfectly secluded.” he finished, giving you a nudge in the ribs and causing another glance from the slightly flushed nurse next to you.

“Yeah, that’ll do fine.” you reply, trying your best to hide your excitement of being alone with Redheart.

Out on the roof, the sunset has finally succumbed to a dark, clear night - the type with wonderfully crisp air and subtle updrafts and your favourite to fly in. The few clouds in sight are very high up, and you can tell that the weather teams won’t need to do much more to ensure a beautiful sunny day tomorrow.

Ramses vanishes, leaving you on the rooftop with Redheart for a few minutes, before a unicorn member of staff arrives, bringing a table awkwardly up through the recently-painted set of double doors leading to the roof. Bobbling along behind him, you see a pair of chairs, which are placed facing each other at the table, and a pegasus holding a wicker basket lands softly on the roof-top with the gentle clink of cutlery against porcelain.

From the basket he removes a table cloth, and then a small stub of a candle kept in a clear jar. As the waiter lays the items on the table, you realise that whilst the pale white moonlight more than adequately illuminates the scene, the candle lit by the unicorn waiter adds to the ambiance and romance of the night, the air cool to the touch, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. The final things to be pulled out of the basket are a pair of menus, some glasses, and a jug, which is then filled by water squeezed from a cloud nearby.

The waiter helps Redheart to take her seat first, and then does the same for you, the red cushion of the chair warm under your backside. He then moves to pass you a menu, which you turn down, and wait politely for Redheart to make her choice.

“So, I noticed that you and Ramses sound different, why is that?” she asks, her eyes darting between your own and the menu held in front of her. Pouring yourself some water, you think about your answer for a little while, reminiscing over old memories.

“He’s originally from Coltstone, in Shetland. We were both adopted.”

“Oh, oh gosh, I’m sorry - I...”

“It’s alright, you’re not the first to ask, and probably not the last.” you reply, smiling over the table at her whilst she blushes, “to me, he’s as good as a blood relative.”

“So, did the two of you grow up in Cloudsdale?”

“Yep. When I was taken from my folks, I met him at the home. Our foster-parents were Mr and Mrs Shake.”

“As in Five-Dollar and Strawberry Shake?”

“You’ve heard of them?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“I worked at the home briefly, during my training - I don’t think I’ve seen them for almost ten years now! Are you still in contact?”

“Well, mom passed about two years ago, but dad’s still holding up alright - he’s not able to keep fostering anymore though. Ten years... they’d have been living in Canterlot at that point, was that where you trained?”

“Yes...” Redheart replies,

“So you were there when...”

“Yes. The invasion.” she says, stopping abruptly and breaking eye contact with you for what feels like the first time of the night, “I was drafted into the medical core. I hadn’t even finished my first placement.”

“I lost a lot of good friends that night. Too many, to be frank.”

You look down at the table cloth, and then back up when you feel Redheart place her hoof on yours.

“Do you want to change the subject?” she asks, the concern visible on her kind face.

“Please.” you reply, turning your head slightly, so that Redheart can’t see the single tear drip from your eye. “Have you chosen what you’d like to eat yet?” you ask, noticing the menu in front of her closed. She nods, and you wave the waiter over, who had been stood at the edge of the rooftop, admiring the skyline of the city at night.

Redheart gives her order first, choosing pasta stuffed with diced tomatoes and basil in a balsamic glaze. You request the meal that you normally have prepared for you - a simple spiced asparagus dish, one that Ramses had first invented when the pair of you had been living together in Cloudsdale. Times had been difficult then, having moved out on your own for the first time, before you had even joined the Royal Air Force on your way to becoming a Wonderbolt. You also order a bottle of Marelot, to subtly compliment the flavours of the tomatoes in Redheart’s food - another thing that your brother had taught you.

The unicorn vanishes downstairs, leaving you and Redheart alone on the rooftop, the candlelight flickering in a gentle breeze. Staring across at the mare, you can tell that she’s thinking about something difficult.

“What’s on your mind?” you ask,

“Well,” she begins, “Would it bother you if I was say, only thirty years old?”

“If I’m honest, I did wonder how old you are... would it bother you that I’m fifty, if you were thirty?”

“You’re dodging the question, Thunder.” Redheart replies, with a gentle laugh.

“No, it wouldn’t bother me at all, Redheart.” you reply, grinning, “Would it bother you that you were on a date with a stallion twenty years your senior?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve heard that older stallions tend to be more mature, and don’t do silly things like throwing themselves off of high-up clouds or trying to fly into low orbit.”

“Wow, these older stallions you heard about sound kind of dull.” you reply, with your own small laugh.

“Hmm, you’re probably right.” she replies, hoof still on yours, her eyes not moving at all, almost daring you to look away. You see something move in the corner of your eye, and a moment later an empty ice bucket is placed on a curled iron stand, an open bottle of wine resting within, airing. The waiter looks at the two of you, both unmoving, as if taking part in a staring contest, and with a sigh he sniffs the cork himself before trotting off once more. Redheart’s other hoof idly rises and pushes her loose pink mane back over her shoulder, except for one small strand that she simply prods. “You know, this is probably the most romantic thing anypony’s ever done for me.”

“I don’t like to do things in half measures.”

“You promised me a night I wouldn’t forget, and I get the feeling you’ll be true to your word.” Redheart says, her eyes darting to a set of small pots floating towards your table, followed by another pot of six-inch-long breadsticks. Realising what Ramses had done, you start to blush in a way that you hadn’t for at least twenty years.

“Thunder? You’ve turned bright red, what’s wrong?” Redheart asks, looking puzzled.

“I knew he’d do something like this...” you reply, “They’re something Ramses likes to call ‘Kiss Sticks’, the idea is that we feed each other until, well, we kiss.”

“Hmm, well, I don’t see why we couldn’t at least try one or two? What are the different dips?” Redheart says, with a light laugh to cover her own slightly reddening cheeks.

Recovering from the surprise, you take an experimental sniff of the first dip, discovering the scent of tomatoes and herbs - obviously salsa. The other two yield mint yogurt, and a cheese and chive mixture. The waiter vanishes, and you pick up the first stick between your lips, the dry texture almost irritating on your tongue, but bearable.

“You know, this reminds me of an old movie - ‘The Lady and The Mule’,” Redheart starts, watching you carefully place your forehooves on the table as you maneuver your head to dip the end of the stick in the sweet tomato salsa, “Have you ever seen it?”

Unable to talk, you simply nod, causing a dollop of salsa to drop from the breadstick onto the pristine white tablecloth. The movie in question was one of the classics - a tale of forbidden love between a noblemare of Canterlot and her blue-collar working mule, and the scene that Redheart was talking about was considered one of the most romantic ever committed to celluloid. You fuzzily remember the pair of them meeting in secret, behind a restaurant, dining under the stars and sharing a plate of spaghetti - he had let her have the last tomato, gazing into her eyes with delight as she ate it. The scene ended with them eating the same strand of pasta, and of course, meeting in the middle with a gentle kiss - something most young stallions tried with their first date when you had been young, but probably not something done often anymore.

With the memory of the film in your head, your eyes remain fixed on hers as she opens her mouth, accepting the bread stick and leaning in close enough for your lips to meet. The tang of fresh tomato on her tongue causes Redheart to give a brief and obviously unexpected moan of pleasure, her sense of taste overcome by the fresh and gently spiced dip combined with the texture of the crisp bread stick. Pulling back, you can see a smile on the mare’s face, her eyes having fluttered closed as she savours the flavour.

“Mmm,” she purrs, her eyes opening again, “That’s so... fresh, it’s amazing!”

“Yeah, all of Ram’s stuff is fresh. Those bread sticks were probably baked this morning.” you reply, smiling and proud to be able to call the chef your brother.

“So,” Redheart says, her hoof on yours once more, whilst she stands and leans towards the pot of sticks, eyes at half-mast, “I guess it’s my turn to feed you?”

“I guess it is...”

“Which dip would you like, Thunder?”

Thinking for a moment, you decide to choose the mint yogurt. Nudging the pot towards Redheart with your hoof, you stand again and watch her dip the end of her stick in it, before opening your mouth just enough for the mare to feed you. The yogurt is cool and smooth on your tongue, with the mint adding a pleasant sweetness. Swallowing, you notice that Redheart doesn’t back away, lingering into the kiss, her lips soft against your own.