Sunlight - a spring warm color that mixes yellows and oranges and blues and slowly fades into existence on the bright white satin sheets like opening credits to a new day. A terrible sight to see if preceded by five hours of the moon and stars' pale greys.

She was looking down at the sheets, as she had been for what felt like something between minutes and days. When the sunlight began to show, she shut her eyes quickly, in an all-too-sudden realization that perhaps a couple hours' sleep would help her manage tomorrow. Today, that is.

It wasn't quite too late to sleep, but her thoughts stewed in her mind for a good seventy seconds before they merged into a dream. The thoughts were disconnected, but whole, and seemed to have some kind of mass, like they couldn't be pushed away. it's your ring and she's yours forever now. be happy with it, she promised you

like promises haven't been broken before. the size of the rocks in your head Scootaloo

shut up and let me sleep and I can talk to her in the morning

don't you'll make her lose her confidence

And her brain ran out of words and set itself cleanly on a backburner, letting its owner drift away.

She was shaken awake, the dreams falling from her and the weight of the fabrics on her suddenly detectable. "What is it morning," she said subconsciously, covering her face with her hands.

"I need to start writing those down," Sweetie replied with a laugh. It made her smile. Internally. Her brain wasn't connected to her face yet. "I got room service, but that's kind of moot, 'cause it's, like, ten or so."

She sat up, or, rather, back against the headboard, and yawned openly, her eyes still closed solid. "I can't eat yet," she mumbled. "Too early."

"It's ten."

"Yeah," she said, rubbing at her face and feeling an arm around her waist followed closely by a body against her side. "I'm not started."

"Well, get started, because we have a pretty full day ahead of us," she heard, quietly, and then felt lips on her shoulder, then her neck. It still sent a little chill down her back, and always would.

She returned the tender of affection that followed - silent, sincere, still. It threw the thoughts from the night before into her head. Had she agreed with herself not to bring it up? Or to bring it up? It probably didn't matter.

She pulled away, and opened her eyes, finally, to be greeted with bright green eyes and a grin. Sweetie was playful this morning.

A smile found its way onto her face, just for a moment, and fell away as quickly as it came. It didn't feel real. It was still her best friend - who was a pianist, who was kind of a dork, who hated mustard, who won a call-in competition once - that was lying on her skin-to-skin and kissing her relentlessly. For the last five on-and-off years, it had been okay; she loved Sweetie, and Sweetie loved her back. But now they were going to be something else. Something official.

And yet this qualm disappeared quickly. With more fervor, she leaned into it, and wrapped her arms around her. She heard Sweetie giggle in a moment, and heard herself return it. Maybe she didn't want it, but she was content. That's what's important, right? She shoved those thoughts with mass to the back of her mind.

"Hey -" she began, pulling away for a moment, "what are we doing today?"

"Mm - well, we're going to eat at a really fancy someplace for lunch, and we're going to learn scuba diving from something like three to five," she said, moving down and laying her head on Scootaloo's chest. "Then there's a huge party I may or may not have planned at the beach down the road and I brought Martin's and really big sparklers," she added in almost a slur as she reached an arm across Scootaloo and hugged her gently. "It's going to be a fun day."

"You brought Martin's?" Scootaloo asked, sitting up a bit more. "Sweet."

"Duh, of course I did. I do every year," she replied, and finally sat up, sliding off the canopy bed. "Let's collect seashells and stuff, too. And do mini-golf."

"If we have the time. You packed us up, lady."

"Well," she replied, and laughed. "We have a whole month to do what we want."

"Yeah," Scootaloo replied. She smiled, more to herself, as Sweetie excused herself to get ready. "Yeah, we do."

The day wasn't quite humid, but it was hot. The year before, they'd gone parallel, not down, and stayed pretty well away from the equator. This year, not so much. The natural sea breezes were likely the only way people could live on the islands, all things considered, and it was the best counterbalance Scootaloo had ever felt.

The 'fancy restaurant' had been in the resort they were staying at, at the end of a sort of museum-slash-hall decorated with centuries of the islands' history and bright gold chandeliers and candlestick holders. It seemed to lead up well, until they hit the restaurant bit. The food was, in a word, unrecognizable; it was certainly memorable, but not by any means a good lunch.

'Hey,' Scootaloo had said, grasping Sweetie's hand. 'It's fine. We have a month.'

Sweetie didn't say anything, and looked away.

Of course, she started right up again after they left, beautiful this and beautiful that. Scootaloo felt herself responding more and more as they walked down the main street, noticing what Sweetie was going on about after a few minutes.

The condos, once various bright colors, had dulled in the wind, and mass-produced met handmade along the facades with constructs made of beach debris and canvas. It seemed like they were in a picture book, complete with pastel illustration. Sweetie was even in a bright yellow sundress, like they'd gone back five decades. Or maybe it was timeless. Regardless, her t-shirt was wildly out of place.

"It's mundane, though," Sweetie was saying, as they strolled past a candy shop, "but I kind of like that. I've seen too much city in the past few years. This is... nice, isn't it?"

Scootaloo caught her glance, and smirked, squeezing her hand but saying nothing. There wasn't anyone else around, not really; there were a couple dozen who were window-shopping down the street, so it wasn't exactly lonely, but it wasn't summer-crowded.

Sweetie smiled, and turned away. "It's nice."

"I don't like you with straight hair," Scootaloo commented after a moment, looking around as though she thought someone was watching, but the sidewalks were bare and the taller buildings had died streets ago. It was just them, an old stoplight, and an empty plot of land leading to the seaside beach.

Sweetie turned to her, and turned to the beach, coming to a stop. "I don't either."

"Do you think the color is enough of a disguise?"

She looked back, and rolled her eyes with a small smile. "You're so demanding," she teased, and a pale green wave flowed over her hair from her open hand, the curls returning shortly after. "If I get caught now, it's your fault."

"Well, thbpt," she replied with a chuckle, and kissed her cheek gently. "You said the mini-golf place was on fourth street?"

"It's still a while down. Odd they don't have more than one, right?"

"Yeah, it's weird," Scootaloo replied, half-attentive. Her mind had fallen back to her questions, and they did nothing but aggravate her. She looked at her ring, which she was still wearing on her pinky. Rose gold. Pink... with her purple hair? She smiled, finding what was probably the intentional coincidence.

"I never asked you whether you liked it," Sweetie began, her voice only just above the light rush of the wind.

"Sweetie," she replied, closing her hand and watching the sun reflect on the stones. "You know."

She felt an arm around her back and laid her head on her fiancée's, her smile refusing to fade. There wasn't anything, on the face of it, to be scared of. It was beautiful, and not in a pastel way. In a champagne and satin way. "It's probably the prettiest thing I've ever owned," she murmured.

"Don't be silly. If that's what you think, prepare your P.O. box," Sweetie giggled, and dragged her back into a walk.

She stuffed her hand in the pocket of her hoodie (which was around her waist by then). "No, it's awesome. I'm -"

Her phone tinkled (or whatever the noise was), and she let out a little nervous laugh. "Sorry. An email."

"You brought your work phone?"

"What? Oh," she replied, her voice falling. "Uh... I forgot to tell you this, too."

Scootaloo stopped, and turned to her. "What's 'this'? 'Too'? I don't understand."

"I know, I haven't told you yet." She paused, looking for words. "Um... do you remember the one teenage girl I said I gave my signature to?"

Scootaloo felt her muscles seize. "You didn't."

Sweetie looked down. "Yeah."

"Agh," she groaned, and put her thumb and forefinger on the bridge of her nose, battling the headache that was sure to come. "I love you, man, but you gotta stop pulling this kind of thing."

"I know, I know. But..." she trailed off. "You weren't there. It was kind of sad. She stutters."

"Celestia, Sweetie Belle, who cares?" Scootaloo cried, putting her hands on her head and forcing herself not to pace. That kind of thing happened way too often, and the fact that she just seemed to disregard the impact it could have frustrated her to no end. "I bet a bunch of little girls stutter, but you can't one-on-one all of them!"

"Yeah, I know," Sweetie replied, crossing her arms defensively. "It was the heat of the moment and everything, but I think... I felt that it was right. I still do." She stopped, and dug her phone out of her inner pocket. "In fact, I bet I'd do it again. Her name is Lily-White, and she wants to play the guitar."

Scootaloo forgot about her attempt to not pace, and began walking a little infinity sign on the ground, her hands still on her head. "What if she talks about it at school? How can you deny it? What if it gets out, and Ponyville gets exposed? You have to think!" She felt the volume of her voice rising, but that happened when she got anxious.

She wasn't paying attention to Sweetie until she noticed she wasn't responding. She looked over - and Sweetie was tapping away on her phone, her lips pursed (classic upset Sweetie Belle) and her face red.

"What are you saying to her?"

"I'm telling her where we are."

"What? No!" Scootaloo shouted, grabbing for the phone and fumbling with it for a second, watching it float in the air like it was in slow-motion before landing face-down on the ground. It wasn't important enough to waste time talking about right then. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I trust her!" Sweetie cried, raising her voice in the first time in... well, in what felt like years. Scootaloo shrunk back a little. She yelled, quite a bit, but she never expected Sweetie to. "She respects me too much to compromise me," Sweetie continued, apparently legitimately angry. That wasn't on purpose. She couldn't figure out, in her muddied thoughts, why that was happening.

"I'm sorry -"

"I mean, wow! I'm the one who needs it, I think I'd know how to keep myself safe," Sweetie continued, her voice lowering to seething levels. Her face was still angry, but her voice was almost calm, aside from the spit consonants. It didn't make Scootaloo any more comfortable. "I made a split-second call. I trust her."

Scootaloo regained composure, shortly. She took a deep breath. "... I'm sorry," she tried again.

Sweetie said nothing, but levitated her phone back to her. "No crack," she murmured, and slipped it back into her pocket.

Scootaloo clenched her teeth. "Listen. You have to start telling me everything. We..." she trailed off, her hand hovering a bit before she tentatively laced her fingers with Sweetie's. "We're gonna get married soon. I need to know this kind of thing."

Sweetie looked away, and looked back, pulling away, her arms folded again. "I -" she began, and looked away. "I want you to trust me. A lot more than I trust her."

"No, Sweetie, I... but..." She paused, her mouth moving uselessly. She saw movement to the right - there were a couple people making their way past, enough for her to stall and frame her words. "Let's move to the side of the road, okay?"

There was a moment as they moved that she caught Sweetie's eyes, the contacts sharp ice-blue, and thought for a second she understood. Perhaps. They leaned up against a brick wall under the shade of a tree behind it and looked at the people as they walked on by. "... Do you really think I don't trust you?"

Sweetie fiddled with the bow on the front of her dress for a moment. "You did say yes," she replied, sighing lightly.

Scootaloo glanced down at her ring. "I did."

"I - I can't have you get scared everytime I do something like this," she managed, finally. "The fame is mine. You can't get all tense over it, okay?"

"But I will. I always will, and you know it."

"At least, when I make a decision, let it go." she replied quietly, firmly. "Sometimes, I just know that what I do is right. You worry too much, and you - you don't have a right to."

Scootaloo couldn't respond. It was true, no doubt. Whenever Sweetie talked about how famous she got, it put her a little on-edge. That fame was what delayed her return home - to her. The fame scared her and put her in situations beyond her. The fame stressed her and made her a target and sometimes Scootaloo felt that it wasn't safe for her so she had to manage it as well as she could. "I know," she said simply.

Sweetie looked over at her. "I'll tell you everything. From here on out. Okay?"

Scootaloo nodded, and looked at the ground herself, her words dying in her mouth. "I'm sorry," she repeated finally, weakly.

Sweetie grabbed both her hands, and swung her back around to her side. "We can talk later, I think. We shouldn't let this ruin the day."

She was dappled by the tree's shadow, and her little smile was showing like it did sometimes when they'd argued before. Scootaloo would be better to her. As well as she could. "Alright."

The phone buzzed again, and Sweetie looked down at it. "She asked why I would tell her that." A pause. "No reason," she said under her breath, and tapped at the screen. "I trust you not to tell anyone."

Scootaloo looked down at the screen, and chuckled despite herself when she saw the conversation.

My name is Sweetie Belle

why would you tell me that?

Proving a point to someone

"I've got an idea," Sweetie was saying, breaching a new subject as they continued their ambling walk. "Maybe I could make an album with, like, every song - or song title, or something, being about an individual part of something. Ooh," she interrupted herself, looking over at her. "I could do it about you."

They were about the same height, with perhaps only a centimeter difference, one-love Scootaloo, but whenever she mentioned her music, she towered over her. Regardless of her personal talent (or lack of), she would definitely say she was a fan. But no fan of Goddess was just afan. Goddess was a cornerstone, and everytime Sweetie brought it up, Scootaloo remembered and felt nothing but power like it was emanating from her. "Nah," she replied, feeling the blush before it even happened. "I'm not a muse."

She never seemed to understand her talent. She knew she worked for it, and people liked it, but she didn't understand that she was a revolutionary. "Of course you are," like it was nothing. "You're my muse."

"...What if people find out?"

"Oh, will you stop with that?" Sweetie groaned melodramatically. "It's been three years, and I haven't been able to write anything about you. Well, I did make an instrumental secretly about you."

Scootaloo swallowed. She said 'instrumental', so it was less terrifying and more endlessly exciting. "Th - thanks," she stammered, and felt the blush more heavy than ever.

"Wow, your face is really red. A lot. You okay?"

"I'm just - thanks," she replied, stuffing her hands into her hoodie pocket.

She heard her laugh, clear and warm. "It was the title track from Grey Ghost."

Scootaloo laughed. "Flattering."

"No, it meant, like, I meant influence. Like a grey ghost. I kept the track calm and smooth, like it was comforting. Did you hear it?"

She shook her head and laughed again. "Sweetie," she said, throwing an arm over her shoulders, "I've heard it. Thank you very much."

Sweetie returned her smile. "It was nothing. You know." She stopped herself, and her smile fell as she looked up. "Oh, no."

"What? Oh." They were right next to the mini-golf, finally - and the main attraction, a huge plastic volcano fountain, was covered with a thick tarp. The old, rusty Gothic gate was padlocked, and the buildings behind them had their lights off. "... Closed for repairs," she said in monotone, with a little groan.

"No! That's not fair! We walked for, like, half an hour to get here!"

"Well, whatever, you know, we can just go get ice cream -"

"No, we can't. This was the plan, and it's going to go the way I want it to." She tightened the front of her dress and walked angrily up to the gate, looking around inside. "We're mini-golfing."

"I don't see how. We're not going to break in." Sweetie glanced back, a gleam in her eye and a playfully insidious smirk. "... Are we going to break in?"

"Fly us over."

Scootaloo licked her lips, looking right and left down the street. Most of the shops around were closed, but there were a few afternoon strollers. "I can't, there are people watching. We're gonna get arrested. This is, like, eight kinds of illegal."

Sweetie groaned. "Fine," she submitted, and looked down the street like Scootaloo did. "We can go around back."

"Sweetie -"

"Oh, just shut up and do it. It'll be fun."

Scootaloo couldn't resist a broken smile when she felt the tingle in her chest. Whenever they did something like this, and they had before, Scootaloo wasn't the cautious one or Sweetie the rambunctious one; they were equals - partners in crime. Quite literally. "You know what, fine. I'll follow you."

They giggled together, a blend of nerve and electric anticipation, as they slid around the back of the gated area, in the shadows of the olive trees around them. Scootaloo held Sweetie tightly around the middle and kicked off, over onto the other side. The extra weight was difficult to manage, but not at all impossible. "You alright?" she asked, cracking her knuckles and looking around again.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I think my foot hit a spike, but it was dull. Practice, practice, practice," she teased, poking at her chest.

"Lose some weight, then we'll talk," she replied with a nasty grin, and pushed her hand away, laughing at her reaction.

"That's messed up!"

"That's the point. What's the plan, Candyman?"

Sweetie cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "You've been waiting years to use that pun."

"Years," Scootaloo agreed, nodding.

"We're going to break into the rental room, get some clubs and balls, and play, and I'm going to win."

"That's a terrible plan." She shivered, jittery, and grinned. "Let's do it," she said, already starting off for the dirty white building with Sweetie quick behind her.

She played with her hoodie strings as she waited on the concrete outside of the door, pulling them back and forth and continually sneaking looks out the gate a couple yards away, watching the unsuspecting passerby and making sure they were staying that way - unsuspecting and passing by.

She heard footsteps from behind her and a shiver ran up her spine, but heard a chipper whisper - "You get the pink one." The ball landed flatly in her lap, dirty and sunbleached after years of play.

"Any problems?"

"No. They didn't even magic-proof the door." She chuckled. "We can be in and out in half an hour, and everything'll be just as we found it."

"Cool," she replied, and tossed the ball in the air, taking the neon green club from Sweetie. "I bet you sixty million bits I'm better at mini-golf."

"Deal," Sweetie said, shaking her hand and grinning. "May the best pop star win."

"Eh, stick it."

"And here it comes, down to the final hole," Sweetie was saying, cupping her hand around her mouth and using a faux-deep announcer voice. They were near the gate, but completely hidden by the volcano and tarp, plus all the ivy nearby. "Sweetie Belle down fifty-four points, giving Scootaloo no chance at all to make it."

Scootaloo flung her club over her shoulder and stared at her, her eyebrow raised. "I'm down two. You're up twelve."

"Well, you're the sportsy one," Sweetie whined, tossing her ball down. "Let me have my fun."

"Sportsy? I jog every day. That's about it," she said, in a comical disbelief.

"Mm, that's why you're so soft," she giggled, and swung at the ball, watching it hit the wall six times before bouncing off the edge of the plastic rock obstacle in the center - odd that they made it plastic.

"Great shot."

"Thanks. Hey, do you want to just give up and go do something else?"

Scootaloo scoffed. "No, I want to beat you down and collect my sixty million bits."

Sweetie spun her club. "Well, do. Then we can go get ice cream and scuba dive."

Scootaloo set her ball down, and stared at it, leaning forwards on her club. The glittering on her right hand distracted her for a moment, and brought those thoughts back full-force. "Um... I kind of want to talk shop."

Sweetie balanced on one of the little brick walls around the washed-out green course. "What do you mean?"

"I have some - some, uh, questions," she continued, and tapped the ball lightly, watching it bounce against the rock and roll towards the tunnel on the right.

Sweetie stopped balancing. "Oh." Her voice was low, saturated with understanding but laced with frustration. Maybe she'd talked enough. "Anything different, now that you've slept on it?"

"More, really," she replied, quietly.

Sweetie didn't reply for a moment, but instead stepped close and put a hand on her lower back, looking out at the course. "Since I'm sharing everything."

"Hm?"

She felt her inhale. "I planned the wedding for a week from today. Before you get angry -" she held up her hands as Scootaloo inhaled fast despite herself and folded her arms "- I cancelled it once I realized yesterday that we might not be ready yet."

Scootaloo tapped her fingers on her arm. "But yesterday all I did was talk about the marriage."

"That's a big part of why I reconsidered. I realized, when I saw you awake pretty late, that you were nervous. And I can understand," she added, quietly, pulling her close. "I'm nervous, too."

Scootaloo looked down. Spot-on again.

"We can do it back in Ponyville, quietly. Maybe in the Apples' basement?" she suggested, with a bit of a chuckle.

A thought came upon her, suddenly, like it was borne from the other, more active questions and concepts floating around in her head. "... I think we should be public."

Sweetie almost pulled away, but rather kept her hand in connection and turned to look at her. She noticed, but didn't look back. Too lost in thought. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what I said. I think, if we get married, it should be public."

Sweetie shook her head for a moment, less negatively and more like she was shaking loose thoughts from her own head. "We... could we do that?"

"I don't know. It would need some precautions."

"I know, and -" She stopped herself, grabbing her club and walking over to her ball. She looked at it, and turned away again, pacing. Familiar. "I don't want to." She was quiet, lost in thought, really talking just to herself. "Since I'm sharing everything," she added, stopping and balancing on the little brick ridge, her voice a barely-audible squeak. "I'm scared."

"Why?" She didn't mean to sound indignant, but caught it on the tail end of the question.

"Everything - it would change, all of it. We would have to, you know, write new rules and stuff and if we mess up even a little bit, we could - we could lose stability." She stepped off the bricks, and looked back down at the ball. A beat of silence fell on the scene.

"... When you were interviewed," she began, a lump in her throat. She didn't mean to say it, but she'd started. "When you were interviewed, I was... well, I was upset that you didn't mention me."

Sweetie looked up at her, her eyes wide in surprise, her mouth hanging open a little. "Wh - I'm - I'm sorry, I didn't - I thought you were against me being personal in the f-first place, I'm sorry," she stammered, walking over to her and going in for a hug.

Scootaloo didn't need it, per se. She'd already dealt with it, and decided it was a stupid feeling, but something wasn't sitting right in the pit of her stomach. Maybe - maybe she wanted to be normal. Maybe she wanted to say to the world, 'Ha, look at me, I can make this work forever'. "It's okay," she managed, hugging back lightly, less passionately.

"If you want us to officially publicize, I'll - I'll get it done, okay?"

"No, no, I'm not sure yet. I think we should, but..." She pulled away, unconsciously rubbing Sweetie's shoulder. "I think you would know better."

Her expression confused her. It was more blank than anything, but there was something bitter, something impressed, something terrified. Something for everything. "Scootaloo?"

"Yeah?"

"For now, um, if we do get married sometime this month -" she began, dropping her voice. "I really don't think we should come out yet."

Scootaloo's mouth went dry, for a moment or two. She couldn't figure out the reason. "I trust you," she said, feeling the words impact Sweetie syllable by syllable. There was a moment where she was aware of herself, standing there, on a closed mini-gold course, in the early afternoon, giving one of the few people she'd ever honestly loved exactly what she wanted. And she leaned forwards and kissed her, tenderly, absorbing all the warmth and love she could from it, brushing Sweetie's hair gently out of her face.

She pulled away after a couple seconds, feeling the words flow out without conceptualization. "Honestly? As long as it happens, it doesn't matter how."

Sweetie tried to suppress it, but beamed. "And I said you had no sense of romance. I'm gonna cry."

"No, don't," Scootaloo said, wiping at her eye clumsily and sensing all that pride slip away back to normal levels. "Don't do that."

"No, I'm going to. Your fault," she added, a couple tears escaping as she smiled even harder. "I'm on a rollercoaster today. I don't think I ever apologized for yelling at you."

"It's fine."

"I - I never actually said where we were, by the way," she interjected quickly. "I just..." she trailed off, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Just go hit your ball so we can get ice cream," she replied with a knowing little smile, pushing her away lightheartedly.

"Do you really think I can make it up?" Sweetie asked with a sarcastic optimism, dabbing at her cheeks again.

"If this hole is worth the game."

Sweetie took two more hits. Scootaloo took three.

It wasn't quite five when they were dried off and changed from scuba diving. As a lesson, it wasn't too intense, but it was an experience. Scootaloo hadn't been in the ocean, except for once, in her life. There was something about being in a mass of material in which time seemed to move slower that really was mystifying. She was so taken aback by everything - the colors, the motion, the shapes of the coral - that she couldn't even really talk about it. They walked off the dock silent.

Sweetie's phone buzzed, and played a jingle, interrupting the general quiet. "Oh, five. Check this out," she said, pulling a box from her other pocket. "Twenty-five bits. Imported."

"Jeez. What are they called?"

"I can't read it. They smell different, though. I'm gonna try one," she said, pulling out her lighter and popping the cigarette between her lips. "We should sit down."

"Right," Scootaloo said, and looked around. "Park bench. Doesn't say no-smoking area."

They sat, in almost the same position they had the day before, as she lit the end and began. The park wasn't as quiet as the street was earlier that day; there were a couple joggers and such nearby, and a businessman talking on his phone just down the way. "When does the party start?" Scootaloo asked.

"Seven. You'll hear it."

"Ooh. Cool," she said, tapping her foot. "Are you really okay, like, as a singer, with smoking everyday?"

"Well..." She blew out. "It means something. As you know. And I don't think I can stop now. But I never do have more than one a day." She stopped, to inhale again. "Also, my voice is insured for 200 million."

"Oh, big numbers," she said, with a surprised laugh. "You sure that's enough?"

"I dunno." She didn't say anything more for a moment, and looked out over the clean-cut grass and fostered flowers. "What's the most romantic thing we ever did?"

Scootaloo's mind went blank for a moment. "That's a question. All I can think of right now is scuba-ing."

"I'm being serious, though, I need to know. Planning something."

"What are you planning?" she asked, grinning and pulling her close.

"Heh. You'll figure it out." She paused, taking a short moment to shift a bit. "I'm gonna tell you anyways. During some point, I'm going to try to one-up the most romantic thing we've ever done, as, like, a challenge."

"... That's interesting, actually."

As far as Scootaloo saw it, the world was ending.

There was something dark, wrong about the pair loading boxes into the back of a beat-up moving vehicle. Why now? How dare they? How dare she? But she kept her mouth shut and her teeth clenched. Those were empty thoughts.

It was a melancholy day already, with no clouds in the sky and a sort of blanketing overcast. Everyone knew Rarity was leaving Ponyville, and it was sad, and it was teary, and there were dozens of I'm-sorries for her father and for the fact that they had to be away for so long, but no one gave a speck of thought to her backseat. No one except Scootaloo and Applebloom. They stood by, watching the procession on the cool green grass lawn, their hands in their pockets or folded uselessly, wondering.

Eventually, after some of the chaos had subsided and most people had left the front of the Boutique, Sweetie walked over, looking down and away, but not at them. She was scared, too, and Scootaloo could only sinfully hope that she was feeling just as empty as she was.

"Hey," Applebloom began, kicking up some grass.

"Hi," Sweetie replied lowly. Scootaloo knew they hadn't seen each other since that afternoon two days ago, and wasn't quite surprised at the awkward result. "I... I kind of want to take a walk through the East Fields. By the glen."

"Let's go, then," Scootaloo said, and Sweetie finally glanced over at her. A cold anger washed over her, why can't you just stay here forever, but it subsided and she allowed herself a small smile. She couldn't help herself.

They arrived at the light birch forest soon after, and hearing the quiet babbling of the stream running through the glen nearby calmed them, to some extent. Loosened them up. In fact, Scootaloo could claim that they'd even laughed a few times. But a while in, the laughter died away.

She looked over at Applebloom on her left, still smirking in a sort of melancholic way, and Sweetie, on her right, who she caught staring back at her. She scowled at the blush that she felt developing, and gave a little sigh.

"Hey, Applebloom," Sweetie said finally, breaking the mild silence that had taken hold.

"Yeah."

She heard a similar little sigh. "I don't want you to feel like - like you're the third wheel, alright?" No response. "Tell me if you do. But, um, right now, Scoots and I have to talk about stuff."

Applebloom looked over. Scootaloo half-expected her to be crying or something. It would have felt right. But no, still a sort of sad smile. "Ah'll meet you back at the Boutique before you leave, okay?"

They stopped as Sweetie leaned in for a hug, deep, rocking. She heard a sob, but it was from Sweetie, not Applebloom. An "I'll miss you", too, however out-of-place it was. They eventually parted, and Applebloom waved a bit before backtracking into the forest.

The air seemed heavier now that it was just the two of them. They were standing too far apart, like it was the mood for a battle more than a conversation. So Scootaloo walked up a bit closer, and motioned silently to continue down the side of the stream.

"... What are we?" Sweetie began as they walked.

For a moment, the question hung dead in midair, the only sound being their quiet footsteps on the soil. "I know - I know what I think about you," she replied, in a murmur, looking over, her hands uncomfortably at her sides. Sweetie was flushed, a cherry red against her pale skin. "I... I'd like to know what you think about me."

An archaic little spring house capped the horizon as they scaled a small hill. She felt a warm hand on her own, applying a light pressure, and looked down. Yesterday, they'd met, and walked rather in the same fashion along the lake across town, but they didn't talk much. That was the first time anyone had held her hand like that, and this was the second. They were close, shoulder-to-shoulder now. And Scootaloo stayed silent, feeling the seconds tick by as she waited for a response.

"Well," Sweetie said, breaking the silence, "I think I'm probably in love with you."

Scootaloo's footsteps slowed, and stopped. She turned, locking unintentionally onto Sweetie Belle's eyes - what was usually a bright, lively green was dulled to a soft ichorous gleam of the same color.

"I know, it -"

Scootaloo cut her off, forceful and almost thoughtless. Words shouldn't have that much of an effect. She felt a hand on her neck, bringing her a bit closer, drawing her into the kiss. It was still new, even two days old. It wasn't fair, how simply, nondescript good it was. It wasn't fair at all.

She felt herself gravitate away, noticing the words jumping out of her mouth. "I didn't mean - I - you - couldn't -" she stammered in a stream of consciousness, their foreheads still together, their faces close.

Sweetie didn't respond, but pulled away a bit and led her over to the barn, sitting down on a pile of what seemed like relatively fresh hay and guiding Scootaloo down, too. Then she resumed, and Scootaloo got lost again.

It'd been a good few seconds before she separated again, her arms now draped across Scootaloo's back, almost gracefully, while she was simply sitting and holding her midsection lightly. She moved her arms a bit upwards, for more of an embrace, and moved them back down, a sudden onset of nerve hitting her.

Sweetie intervened with a giggle, wrapping Scootaloo's arms around her. "... Hey," she began, quietly.

"Yeah?" she replied, not paying too much attention.

Sweetie got a bit closer, kissing her lightly. "So - um, today's it. I leave in about an hour."

Scootaloo said nothing, but returned the kiss, still in the clouds with her thoughts.

"So I was thinking."

"Hm."

"Do you, um," she began, in a near-whisper, and seemed to give up with her sentence. Suddenly, Scootaloo's brain malfunctioned as she felt soft hands slowly fall on her sides - under her shirt. She didn't say anything for a moment, but leaned back a little and looked at Sweetie, whose mouth was open and her eyes were fixated on her stomach. "... Do you mind?" she finished, glancing up.

Scootaloo almost laughed, but was completely in a daze. "Uh... n-no," she replied, raising her hands above her head as the shirt slid off her. And now, there she was, lying under Sweetie Belle, on hay stickles, in her sports bra, with a furious blush.

Sweetie was apparently feeling the exact same, as she'd never seen her look quite as flustered. "I - I've never -"

"Me neither," Scootaloo agreed. She looked away, down the path. "Are you sure, um..."

"Does it matter?"

"I dunno. I guess not," she replied quietly, and looked back, suddenly feeling the familiar push for another kiss.

Sweetie exhaled slowly as their lips parted, but she refused to move any further back. Scootaloo's mind was working, but dully, like a skipping record. Do it. Do it. Do it. With a moment's hesitation, she reached up and fumbled with the buttons on Sweetie's blouse. She felt her fidget for a moment, and paused, confused, before she heard a whispered 'sorry, you can...' and continued.

They were quick and slow, hot and cold. Kiss and stop. Scootaloo was absent, in a world without design. "Are we going to, uh," she murmured as they pulled apart again.

Sweetie's blush grew to cover her nose. "I - it seems like it," she replied quietly, looking down, and back up. "Do I just..."

"I guess, um," Scootaloo replied, her eyes not moving from Sweetie's no matter how much she wanted them to. "I guess just do whatever?"

They did whatever.

"... Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, you know. It was new."

"Not when I proposed?"

Scootaloo made a face. "Well, like, uh, we were on a plane, and it was sort of just a weird... I mean, it was romantic and all, but it wasn't the most, um..."

Sweetie folded her arms melodramatically. "So you like it when I'm terrified."

"Uh, yeah," she teased, poking her in the ribs and laughing as she shied away and giggled. "It was kind of hot, honestly."

"That is odd."

"Whatever," she replied, smiling, remembering. The shadow of the barn, the sound of the brook, the unrivaled joy of the moment. "You almost done?"

"Almost, then we should grab dinner and head over to the party beach."

Scootaloo brought her head a bit closer. "We're not doing a five-star restaurant again?"

"No, no, no, no. We're grease-trapping tonight."

Scootaloo sighed, content, and nuzzled gently against her neck. "I think that afternoon was the first time you told me you loved me."

"I probably did more than once, considering."

Scootaloo chuckled. "That you did."

"Let's eat as we walk. Great idea."

Sweetie playfully punched her shoulder. "Stop. It's fine."

Scootaloo grinned, and balled up the wrapper, jogging over to a trash can nearby and tossing it in. The beach was a long stretch of bright white that navigated the entire east coast, almost four dozen yards thick at the thickest part. It'd gotten to be about 6:30, but she could just make out in the distance a sort of short wall that looked to be moving, bookended by a massive box that seemed to be hanging into the ocean. The party, she presumed.

She turned back to Sweetie, who'd stopped, and was staring at the crowd in the distance. "Oh, whoops."

Scootaloo fixed her hoodie. "What's up?"

"I didn't tell you, did I?"

She turned to look at her, and Scootaloo stared right back, a smile aggressively forcing the ends of her mouth up. She finally let loose and laughed. "Not again," she managed, and continued laughing.

"Okay, don't get mad."

"I don't even care by this point. What did you do."

"But really, don't get mad," she said again, clasping her hands together in front of her almost coyly.

Scootaloo stopped laughing and shook her head. "Fine, I won't get mad."

"Alright. So, uh, I'm going to be performing a bit."

Scootaloo's smile fell away, but not to anger or frustration, to a disbelieving open mouth and squint.

With a quick nod, Sweetie sympathized. "I know, I should've remembered to tell you, but I didn't, and now we're here."

"... What?" She felt herself spit the 't'.

Sweetie sighed, looking back to the crowd. "The band's going to preface me and I'm going to play for two hours. We already have a lineup."

Scootaloo glanced the direction she was looking, where the moving wall of people seemed to have grown. "Did you advertise this?"

"That's part of it. I didn't advertise Goddess was going to play, but I advertised a huge party on the beach. We'll be going pretty well into the night."

Scootaloo took a turn to sigh, and smiled wryly, closing her eyes and putting a hand on her forehead. "Agh. I though we were going to dance."

"We are! We are, definitely. Before I go on."

"But - what about the paparazzi?" She turned quickly, and ran a hand through her hair, trying to somehow release the building frustration through her movement. "This was supposed to be our vacation. They're going to be everywhere. I'm - I'm not mad," she added, putting a hand back on her face.

"That was actually going to be a surprise. We..." She trailed off, walking up to her tentatively. "We're going somewhere else tonight. I already -"

"What do you mean we're going somewhere e- Sweetie, what did you plan? Enough with the secrets, seriously, I want to know everything right now," she interjected, a mixture between incredulous and upset.

"I'm sorry. I thought it would be fun," Sweetie replied softly, looking away. "I have some people packing our stuff and there's already a helicopter on the roof of the hotel. We'll be, um, we'll be taking off tonight for the Cape of Six Suns."

Scootaloo was speechless. Thoughts were ricocheting in her head, and her base emotion was still firmly set negative. But... it did sound amazing. They were still young. They had so much they could do. Why not have this be one of them?

But then the nagging caution returned. They could track you. No more security. People might be angry. People might invade on you, forever.

"... Scoots?"

Scootaloo returned to the land of the living, and her vision caught up with her. Fiancée, standing alone, her hands behind her back like she was a chastised child. What was more important?

"It..." She swallowed. "It does sound like fun." The smile she forced next stopped being forced quickly. She felt lighter.

Sweetie beamed, and it only strengthened her own smile. "I'm glad. Really. Just - again, I'm sorry."

"You know what? We'll figure it out eventually," she replied, before being taken up in a sudden embrace.

"Thanks for not being too angry with me." She'd never heard her sound quite as grateful; her voice was heavy with relief and joy.

"Can't stay mad at you," she replied into her shoulder, hugging her tighter. "Mm, I love you."

"... Your hair smells good."

"Uh, I love you?"

"Oh, love you too," she replied, with a giggle. It was infectious. It took a few seconds, but they stopped, and Sweetie pulled away to look at her, rather deeply, her smile fading (though it felt natural). "What do you want?"

Scootaloo blinked. "I'm confused."

"I can tell you don't like surprises, at least -"

"Surprises are fine, but not we're-leaving-the-country-tonight surprises," Scootaloo replied, sensing that accidental indignance again.

"That's what I was about to say, at least not extreme ones. I thought they were - were romantic. But if not surprises, what... do you want?"

Her mind went blank. "Uh..." She paused, trying and failing to access her mind. "Jeez. I guess I just, uh..."

"Maybe," she began, quietly, "a normal life?"

Scootaloo stopped. That felt - rather correct. "I don't know," she replied finally. "I just want to be with you, you know, for as long as I can."

Sweetie didn't look away, but stared still into her eyes, shifting back and forth between one and the other. "Even at the expense of safety?"

She pursed her lips. Familiar. "What are we getting at?"

"I want to make a decision on what to do. I don't think we can be together as much as we'd like and stay 'safe' and out of the public eye." She chose her words slowly, deliberately. "I think, that if we get married in the next month, we may need to be public."

Scootaloo drew her into a hug again, slowly, thoughtfully, as she noticed other people walking past, chatting with each other. It brought her back to reality, tangentially. "What made you change your mind?"

"This is a hard game, and I suppose I just gave up." She paused, her breath leading into silence. Scootaloo realized she was hanging on her words, as the ambient noises around them seemed to drown out. "Over today, I think I convinced myself that - I mean, I love being famous, and it was a great idea to stay safe, but - but - I can't spend most of every year away from you anymore. It's too long."

She paused, and Scootaloo moved her head a bit further into her neck. "That's why you proposed."

She felt the nod, and heard the near-whispered response. "Here's what we're going to do. We're going to forget about everything while we're on the vacation - no more surprises, no more drama - and when we get back, we're picking up Applebloom and we're touring until wedie."

Scootaloo's smile started small, and grew wide. "Don't try to make me emotional."

"Is it working?"

She hugged her tighter. "Oh, Celestia, yes, it is."

"Can we sex on the beach?"

"Aren't we leaving tonight?"

"We can leave after. I paid the pilot good money. He can wait."

"Fine. Make a note."

They laughed and raced each other to the growing mass of people in the dimming daylight.

The crowd was insane. They'd say later in the papers that more than two thousand people showed up. Two thousand, in a little square in front of a huge bandstand. And for a while, Sweetie was pressed up tightly against Scootaloo, and they were dancing as the sun set over the sea to a rainbow of colour.

The band - she'd forgotten the name - was made up of Sweetie's friends from the high school they'd graduated from, the only friends she really had there. She said she trusted them, and again, Scootaloo allowed her, and while they were talking for the few minutes they had, actually got pretty close to one of them whose name was Atom Split. He was the drummer, like she was once, and they really hit it off; they were both huge on computers and technology, he was witty and funny. A good guy, all-around. And yet, while she was in the crowd, jumping aimlessly to the band with Sweetie, she'd totally forgotten about him.

She rather wondered how no one could tell she was dancing with Goddess, especially considering she saw a few Goddess t-shirts and Sweetie had only colored her hair and eyes. Eventually, during a very momentary lull in the music, she turned to joke about it, and Sweetie was gone.

Then, suddenly, as though on cue, the sound died away, and the lights went out. A couple people screamed over the leftover cheers from the overall crowd, and Scootaloo turned to see, realizing what was coming next with a huge, reckless grin. It was more exciting than anything to hear the crowd's reaction.

Under her breath: "Three, two, one."

The spotlight struck midstage, and the opal-white suit glared against the dark surroundings as the first guitarist strummed an angry chord. The sound picked up slowly, a cheer that graduated to a freakishly animalistic scream. Sweetie was facing the ocean, a fragile but ephemeral form, holding her microphone showily.

One beat, and she'd turned back around, the green of her eyes shining spectacularly as she hit her first note and the music swelled.

Scootaloo was lost. Once again. She couldn't hear any of the words well, over the crowd that was now massing at the base of the stage, but heard the bone-shivering melody from Sweetie and froze where she stood.

Then, Sweetie's piercing eyes found her in the crowd, and she realized how dumbfounded she must have looked, and she realized that this was the first time she'd seen Goddess live, and she realized that Sweetie was giving her a small, covert smile. She covered part of her face with her hands and smiled back, her gaze falling to her feet in some abnormal shyness.

It wasn't two hours, no way. More like ten minutes. The clock would prove her wrong, but it felt like ten minutes. And halfway through, time stopped for a little while, but it still felt like ten minutes.

Time stopped when she heard that familiar bass riff, played better than she'd ever heard it. Dun dun-dun-dun dun-dun-dun dun. She felt a tingle rush through her as the low note drifted through the crowd. Was it really? Would she really?

Yes, she would. "Cloudy though the sky is," and her voice was more passionate than ever, caressing the low ranges of her voice. It was velveteen, but clear and dripping with an authenticity Scootaloo hadn't heard before. She found herself mouthing the words. "It's clearer here below; and send us all through hell and high water like you did all those years ago." The smoke rose around her form, twisting magically into an arc as dark purple lights pounded to the beat behind her. Purple. She was clever.

She wasn't in exactly a premiere spot, but she was close enough to see Sweetie's face, and her eyes, and a guitar tailed by its cord soar through the air and land almost delicately in her hands. As the intermediate bridge's riff started, she heard a soft, echoey, mysterious, familiar voice. "This one's for you."

And with that, it was back to ten minutes.

At the end of those ten minutes, the volume built until it soared, hurting her ears (like she cared). And then, Scootaloo could've expected it, Goddess was gone in a flash of light and smoke, and the crowd was silent for a short, short second before exploding into cheers again.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her wrist and the cool, staticky wash of magic over her. It was all in a second. She was run through the crowd around her, through the jumping, sweaty throng of people - quite literally through them - and off onto the distant white beach, accompanied by a laughter growing louder as the noise from the stage subsided.

The huge black rocks grew in size as they continued, the run becoming a quick jog. When they were far enough away, a form began to appear slowly, like a ghost fading into existence. She dug her heels into the sand and took the immediate opportunity, swinging her around and kissing her forcefully. Maybe a bit too forcefully; she fell forwards, on top of her, and burst into laughter, her ears still ringing and her mind still overloaded with some type of sluggish, molasses-y Victorian romance.

"That wasn't a party, that was a concert!" she managed, a bit loudly, and fell back on her, pinning her and kissing her more passionately than she had in a long time. And under her breath, "That was a concert for me."

"Did you li-"

"Yes, yes, I can't - describe - yes," she stammered, breathing heavily, kissing her again, trying hard to stop and open her eyes.

"I'm - I'm really sweating, I'm sorry -"

"It's fine, just -"

"Celestia, we're totally in public," she somehow put together a sentence as Scootaloo moved down to her neck.

"I don't care. I can't handle it," she said, her voice feeling raw and rough. "I can't believe you would - would do that f-for me."

"And you said you - hey - weren't a muse."

"Well," she said, finally pulling away for a moment and glancing up. "You..." And the words were gone. In the moonlight, there was no pretense to how beautiful she was. "Your eyes," she murmured. Her hair was back to its purple and pink, her eyes were refractive, electric, and their natural bright emerald green.

"Is there something wrong?" Sweetie asked quietly, her smile freezing.

"No, no," Scootaloo said quickly, kissing her tenderly again, running a hand gently through her hair. She wanted to reply, but language escaped her. Instead, she attacked the bright white suit, button by button.

"So we are going to sex on the beach."

"You don't even know," Scootaloo replied, kissing her again, not even bothering to try to keep her mouth closed.

"S-sand's gonna get - get everywhere."

"Mm-hm."

"I forgot the sparklers."

"Mm-hm."

"And the Martin's."

"Sweetie." She paused, and looked up again. "Let me work."

That night, they slept like logs even with the noise from the helicopter.

In fifth grade, they'd learned about the Cape of Six Suns. On the peninsula jutting out from the bottom of Equestria, to the left of the Steeplechase Gulf, there was an inlet formed when a plate shifted over another a couple thousand years ago, and a mountain jutted out in front of that inlet. Some kind of gas rose from the bottom of the sea, splitting light just above the horizon into six parts wherever you stood along the beach. So at sunrise, and at sunset, one could assume what magic happened.

It wasn't quite either by the time they'd made their way out of the new hotel (which was perhaps even grander this time around), but the view was still pretty spectacular, with gold and crimsons and greens bleeding from the sea to the sky and vice-versa on the horizon. Scootaloo was standing in front of the clean glass double-doors, waiting for Sweetie to finish talking to the manager inside.

Sweetie had told her all the plans: they were here for the rest of the month, and they were going to tour and boat and experience everything they could. The date for the wedding was still to-be-determined, but Sweetie had bounced the end of the month off of her, and - well, in all honesty, Scootaloo didn't think it was a bad idea.

She shook the thoughts out of her head as well as she could, and took a landscape with her phone, staring at it as the they returned. It couldn't be too hard to organize, and if they did it right - rather, if they did it at Sweet Apple Acres - there wouldn't be media there at all, and all of Ponyville could attend. In fact...

She glanced over her shoulder to the door behind her, and looked down at her phone, sending the picture to one of her quickdial contacts with a few touches. As expected, she hadn't even raised her head yet before it buzzed in her hands.

"Sup?"

"Whatever happened to hello, kid?"

Scootaloo smiled. "Did you get it?"

"Yeah, I got it. Where you guys at?"

"Down south, along the Gulf. We were on an island, but we're kinda hopping around, I guess."

There was a chuckle. "When are you both going to be back? I haven't seen Sweetie in a while."

"End of the month. And I kind of wanted to talk to you about that," she said, before feeling a tap on her shoulder. "Oh, uh, hold a second." She turned, into a quick little kiss, and held the phone to her chest. "Do you have all the, uh, placements planned for the wedding?"

"Not yours. We were going to talk about that later."

She nodded, and breathed in, taking the phone off her chest and pressing speakerphone. 'It's Rainbow Dash,' she mouthed. "You're on speaker."

"Oh. Hey, Sweetie! How's it going?"

Sweetie smiled. "It's fine. Not a bad time out here."

"We have something we want to tell you," Scootaloo began, feeling the smile in her voice before she felt it on her face.

"... No way."

"Yup," Scootaloo replied. "And I-"

"No way! Are you guys serious? Wow! Sweetie, you better treat her right. I'm assuming I can come. It's not over there, is it?"

Scootaloo laughed. "No, we'll send you details. Anyways, I would be honored if - if you were my best man. Lady. Female best man."

There was a second of silence, and Scootaloo looked over at Sweetie, biting her lip and smiling. "You alright?"

"N-no. I mean yeah. I'm fine," she said, the microphone crackling over a sniffle. "I wanna hug you, but you're so far away."

Scootaloo's smile grew exponentially, and she felt her eyes begin to water. Just a little. Nothing important. "I know what you mean," she responded.

"And I'm still single."

Scootaloo laughed, more in just general joy. "We'll be back at the end of the month," she repeated, and grabbed Sweetie's hand tightly. "I think we're probably doing pretty soon after that. Sweetie has the dresses and stuff on lockdown."

"Are you going to do a dress or a suit?"

Scootaloo looked unsurely over at Sweetie, who looked back and nodded. "We're not sure yet," Sweetie said, "but I know what fits her."

"Can I tell everyone?"

"Y-" Sweetie began.

"Except Applebloom. I want to surprise her face-to-face."

"So do I just tell AJ to not tell Applebloom?"

"I guess, yeah."

Sweetie giggled. "We gotta go, but we'll see you later, Dash. We'll rehearse the ceremony, by the way, so get ready."

"Pft. Alright. Do I do anything?"

"Well..."

"Ah, whatever. I gotta go, too."

"Alright, bye," Scootaloo said, bringing her arm up to Sweetie's waist.

"I'm really proud of you, kid. See you."

Scootaloo tapped at the phone and slid it into her pocket, staring back up at the horizon for a moment and just standing, shoulder-to-shoulder with Sweetie, and grinning probably ear-to-ear.

"... I packed a swimsuit for you."

"I already have one, though."

"I know, but yours is a one-piece." Scootaloo cast an underbrow look in her direction, and she shrunk a bit. "Is that a bad surprise?"

"Are you going to make me wear a two-piece?"

"Well, yeah." She giggled at Scootaloo's reaction. "Show off a bit. I don't think you like you."

"I like me. And one-piece bathing suits."

"And I like you with less on. Let's just go try it, at least."

She folded her arms. "I don't wanna."

"Just do it."

She frowned at her, and it became a smile quickly. "Whatever."

And they did whatever. They did whatever for weeks, in a perfect little paradise of their own design, sunbathing and making a couple friends and exploring sprawling low cities they'd never been and partying like they would die tomorrow because, well, whatever. Whenever Scootaloo saw her, lying nearby, dappled by sunlight and smiling just a little, she had to kiss her. It was just them, together, content.

And marriage was looking more attractive by the moment.