Gardens Breathing Room [Dio & Ghostie; Closed]

[GhostGirl]

The Gala. Here she was, at the one place she'd never wanted to be, purely at the insistence of her troupe members. They'd stuffed her into a blue dress that Spotlight wouldn't stop saying complimented her coat and contrasted her eyes and mane to the point that she was "simply striking," whatever that meant. She had to admit, it was a nice aesthetic. The high collar suited her (it gave her somewhere to shrink into when necessary), and the mesh overskirt was a nice touch.

It hadn't taken long, though. Ghost Writer, as expected, had become stressed by yet another crowd. She had been brushed up against one too many times by ponies she didn't know, although she knew they didn't mean to, and she'd lost control of her heart rate. Her initial reaction was to pin herself to her companion's side, which she did momentarily. Then she remembered who she was with: Double Tap. It was horribly unprofessional for her to stand so close to him, even if she was near panicking. She peeled herself away and gave him a look that said "get me out of here."

That, at least, was what led up to Ghost Writer sitting at the edge of the garden, waiting for Double Tap to come back with drinks. He'd pulled her out of the crowd and away from everypony to somewhere she could catch her breath. The fresh air was exactly what she needed, and the garden was beautiful. Dim pinks and oranges at the horizon gave way farther up the sky to blues and purples and greys as the sun set, and Ghost slowly calmed down. It bugged her, though, that she was pulling her escort away from what he had said a while ago that he found enjoyable.

"Maybe I shouldn't have come to the Gala at all..." she muttered under her breath.

[Dio]

Double Tap had started the drink run with 2 drinks floating in front of him and one shot in him, picked up from the far bar at the front of the ballroom. By the time he’d reached the second bar at the back of the ballroom (which he’d somehow missed on his way in), he’d consumed yet another shot and picked up one for the road in addition to the Hoofington Pale Ale and some fruity girly drink the bartender had recommended for Ghost Writer. Double Tap was not ordinarily one to indulge so heavily in drink in public, but the night was wearing his patience thin.

Spotlight was even more of a diva than she usually was, this being the Gala after all. What better place was there for a showmare to fluff her feathers and shake her flank and attract all sorts of the type of attention that only Spotlight could desire? After several instances of this, Double Tap had decided to wash his hooves of the matter. He wasn’t Spotlight’s agent and she could manage her own publicity, however bad it turned out to be.

But with the end of one problem came the beginning of another. Ghost Writer, bless her heart. Taps shook his head, taking a deep breath and dwelling on the warm fuzzy feeling of drink in his belly. He couldn’t blame her for being the way she was. He could instead blame Spotlight who had somehow sweet talked her into coming against her better judgment. Though Double Tap supposed he was not without fault. After all, he’d given Ghost Writer plenty of subtle encouragement about socializing and making nice with their potential audience and patrons.

The truth was, he was looking forward to seeing her in a dress, though he’d never say it. Their relationship was supposed to be strictly professional. Anything more and things could get… complicated. Double Tap had already been around Spotlight enough to know that complicated was the last thing he needed, especially in as tightly knit a group as the Traveling Players. Thus he made his way back outside, drinks in tow, hoping that the bit of relaxation in drink would keep him pointed in the right direction.

“I hope you don’t mind me grabbing something for myself while I was out…”

[GhostGirl]

Ghost Writer stood and turned toward Double Tap as he approached, and tentatively accepted her drink as it was offered to her. "No, no, you're welcome to get whatever you want." Her voice shook a little still; she wasn't quite calmed down from the crowd yet. Lifting her drink, she sniffed at it, made a face, and took a small sip. It wasn't pleasant. It was far too sweet for her taste. She'd been hoping for a nice tea or a colta-cola, but she supposed that might have been too much to ask for at an event like this. Scrunching her nose, she set her drink down on a nearby ledge and watched Double Tap.

"Not that I don't appreciate your efforts to get me something to drink... it's just not my cup of tea, so to speak." She shifted from hoof to hoof and glanced around, her gaze landing on the garden. The sun was still sinking, and more and more stars were beginning to light up the night sky, the moon having nearly fully chased away the last tinges of light on the horizon. The light wind carried the scents of a myriad of flowers upon it, and Ghost could just barely see the beginnings of the night blooming flowers peeking out of their bushes and stalks. "I need to stretch my legs after being crammed into that ballroom for so long. Would you mind a walk?"

[Dio]

Double Tap involuntarily made a face at Ghost’s rejection of the beverage, but checked himself with a half-feigned sneeze. Half-feigned being because what started as a feigned sneeze rapidly became an actual sneeze from a passing bug buzzing its wings on his muzzle. Admittedly, he deserved it. He should have remembered that Ghost didn’t drink anything other than tea or Colta-cola. He wasn’t supposed to change her and any thoughts to the contrary were moot.

“I need to stretch my legs after being crammed into that ballroom for so long. Would you mind a walk?”

Crammed. Into. That ballroom. That was an oxymoron if he’d ever heard one. Intentional satire perhaps? Taps admittedly had no idea what made Ghost Writer tick, so it was difficult to say. Still, Writer had never come off as one to snark, so deduction would-- Double Tap caught himself staring off into space as he considered Ghost Writer’s question. Perhaps the drinks had been a bit much. Nah.

Double Tap took the shot and floated his pint glass next to his head as he came up beside Ghost Writer. “Sure. Though I still don't get how you can be crammed into a ballroom…”

[GhostGirl]

The mare made a face at Double Tap as his train of thought ran off the tracks and into the forest down the hill, which became a look mild bemusement at his statement as he drew up beside her. She thought for a few seconds on how best to word her explanation, starting into the gardens as she did so. As she thought, she opened and closed her mouth a few times, wording the beginnings of sentences. Finally, she spoke.

"It's not meant to be taken entirely literally, Double Tap. The ballroom itself was not my problem. It was the sheer amount of ponies in the ballroom. They were brushing up against me and bumping into me and generally unsettling me. I mean, it's not their fault, but there were simply too many of them. I couldn't take it." Her voice quavered a bit as she spoke, though she spoke slowly and carefully. She took a few deep breaths and glanced at her companion.

So far, Tap had proven to be relatively understanding of her difficulties. Spotlight had tried to force Ghost Writer out into the open, hoping she would adapt quickly, nevermind that it simply didn't work like that. Double Tap, on the other hand, had never tried to force Ghost Writer into anything. So far, all he'd done was invite her out for meals or drinks, generally in a small group. He didn't show dismay when she refused, and he seemed genuinely delighted when she accepted. She wasn't sure, however, how much longer he would keep his patience with her. Everyone seemed to stop trying eventually, and she would retreat back into her shell after being declared a failure once again.

She hoped he would understand again this time.

[Dio]

“It’s a party,” he replied absent-mindedly, completely oblivious to Ghost Writer’s facial response. “Of course there are going to be ponies all over the place in the ballroom and as far as I know they love bumping into each other.”

That was Double Tap’s view of it anyway. Having worked the pocket theater circuit and trolled the underbelly of Canterlot’s hole in the wall club scenes long before linking up with the players, the stallion was used to being up close and personal with the less than personable. The gala was actually a welcome change from the usual miasma of tobaccosmoke, sweat, grime, and spilled drink that had come to be a staple of his night life. Being around ponies who didn’t smell like dirty laundry, as boring as most of them were, was pleasant.

“... I couldn’t take it.”

Not knowing immediately how to reply, Double Tap instead indulged in his drink. At that point, Taps was certain Ghost Writer had seen her fair share of pocket theaters and smoke-filled establishments. No theater troupe owner and director would be worth her salt without having gone through the humbling experience of starting up with nothing. How was being around clean ponies any less pleasant than those sinkholes from the old days? Double Tap found himself less confounded than curious, though that may have been the drink talking.

“Surely being among the gala folk is better than being drowned in pipesmoke and sweat and grime like back at the Pack Saddle theater?”

[GhostGirl]

Ghost considered Tap's question carefully. She stayed silent for a few moments as they walked, mulling over her exact response. There were a lot of factors, but the most important was probably... Yes, that was it.

"No. It's not better. The ponies that attend big things like galas? They're stuffy. They're stuck-up. They're rude and snotty and snooty and arrogant and entitled. They were born with silver spoons in their mouths. They've been given everything they've ever needed or wanted, never had to really work for anything... Never heard the word 'no' in response to a request. Every luxury has been afforded them since the day they were born, red-faced and bawling loud as anything. Everypony bent over backward to comply to their every demand, and they expect that of us, too! They judge us. Any of us. All of us. Each other. They'll act as though they love everypony, even us, and behind our backs they snicker to each other about how they think 'her dress is horrible or his bowtie is askew or he really needs a manecut or she's obviously dyed her mane, you can see her roots.'"

Ghostie screwed her face up in frustration. That explanation had been longer than she expected. Then again, she was a writer. If she felt passionately about something, she could expound upon it for hours.

"The ponies in hole-in-the-wall places, smelling of smoke and reeking of a long day of work? They put up no fronts. They're purely honest with themselves and each other and us. They don't pretend that they're better than us, they don't act like they're better than us. They don't judge us or each other. They're just there to unwind and have a good time. To relax. The ponies here? They're here to be tense and angry." With a sigh, she glanced at Double Tap. "I don't know if that makes any sense to you. But that's why I don't like these events."

[Dio]

“I guess I just assumed you preferred clean and refined to loud and obnoxious…” Double tap trailed off as Ghost Writer continued.

For as quiet as she was, she could certainly carry on about certain things. And then it hit him. Double Tap never heard Ghost carry on about things unless she genuinely felt for them. Double Tap wasn’t a stage actor by trade, so his opinion was by no means expert, but it was still perfectly apparent that Ghost’s soliloquy was not acting. Taps had been around Spotlight enough to know dramatic posturing when he saw it.

"The ponies in hole-in-the-wall places, smelling of smoke and reeking of a long day of work? They put up no fronts. They're purely honest with themselves and each other and us. They don't pretend that they're better than us, they don't act like they're better than us. They don't judge us or each other. They're just there to unwind and have a good time. To relax. The ponies here? They're here to be tense and angry."

“Well, I never really thought about it that way,” he said, tapping a hoof on his chin. “The punk scene was fun for brews and crews, but I’d have to wash myself several times over if I planned on doing anything civil the next day.”

The unicorn lifted his hat and tucked his mane, more out of a need to do something with his hooves than to actually straighten anything. “I guess I kind of ignored everypony else in the main ballroom for a chance to live it up without paying a single bit. But I suppose I get what you’re saying.”

He rambled on, but the genuineness of Ghost’s response still struck him. In the time they’d worked together he’d rarely ever seen her open up, unless opening up involved yelling at spotlight to pull herself together or at Taps himself to get his flank out of bed and into the prop cart for setup. That sort of rawness was professional in nature. This… was something else entirely.

“So if you don’t like upscale and classy, what do you like when it’s party time?” he asked, deflecting the unspoken question with another. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of the office when you’re not directing...”

[GhostGirl]

Ghost glanced to one side, mentally kicking herself for sharing so much with Double Tap. She was supposed to lead the troupe. She was in charge. She couldn't get too close with anypony. She had her letters to her brother when she needed to let things out and that was supposed to be it. Then again, it was nice to talk to somepony about things. Actually talk. And she figured if she could trust anypony, it was probably Double Tap.

Her ears flicked as she listened to Tap's comments. He was definitely more laid-back than she was. Sure, there were times he felt more comfortable, but he wasn't as likely to be stressed out as she. Truth be told? She envied him. The way her brain was wired, she just couldn't relax around high society. She'd been taught that she had to act a certain way, speak a certain way, carry herself a certain way so that ponies in high society would look upon her and think she was worth anything at all.

"So if you don't like upscale and classy, what do you like when it's party time? I don't think I've ever seen you out of the office when you're not directing..."

His question was more direct than Ghost was expecting. Ponies rarely wanted to know much about Ghost. They learned she couldn't handle crowds and was quiet and that was it for them. She took a minute to think, her hoofsteps even and soft.

"I like quiet. I like sitting down with a cup of tea in fall and watching other ponies talk and laugh. I like board games. I like sitting in silence and read a book while someone else is next to me reading their own book. I like finding a nice corner in a hole-in-the-wall cafe and watching ponies come and go. You asked about party time, but... I don't party. I can't interact with more than two or three other ponies at once before I start to feel like they'd enjoy themselves more if I weren't there, and that I should go home already. And that's usually when I leave." She sighed. It was a long sigh, filled to the brim with "why am I even talking about this?" Then she spoke again, "Sorry... I'm sure you don't really wanna listen to me go on about how much I hate being out with other ponies."

[Dio]

Any other pony so reserved would likely get a ribbing about from Double Tap, though never to their face. Further compounding the matter was that Ghost Writer was his boss. Adding complexity to the compounding was that fact that Double Tap would rather not poke fun at her, at least not in the usual manner. Double Tap’s ear twitched involuntarily at the thought.

Double Tap wasn’t too fond of reading. Even manuals on stage construction and dance craft were only given a cursory glance while he put things together. Ghost Writer on the other hoof loved reading, probably more than she liked talking with others from the sound of it. Coming from anypony else, Ghost’s love of pony-watching and listening would border on voyeuristic, but having been around her for long enough, Double Tap knew she meant nopony harm.

Double Tap was growing concerned over his own concern with Ghost Writer. He was never involved. His job was to build the stage, make jabs at Spotlight, and take naps between rehearsals. It was a carefree, simple life for a carefree, simple stallion. Complexity was not what he needed.

"Sorry... I'm sure you don't really wanna listen to me go on about how much I hate being out with other ponies."

“If you hate being out with other ponies, then why did you even come out with me?” he blurted.

Well. That just made things complex.

[GhostGirl]

Ghost Writer froze in her tracks. Her brain, however, did not. It raced forward. She stumbled over sentences in her head. She struggled to remember words. She strained to determine what she was supposed to say.

"I don't. That's not. It's just that." The words fell out one after the other and she stopped again, slowly composing herself. "I don't 'hate' being out with other ponies. It's just not comfortable for me. It's like wearing a saddle that's a couple sizes too small, or holding aloft something just barely too heavy for far too long." She danced on her hooftips. "I'm not comfortable with Spotlight or in crowds like these. They want me to be something I'm not, Double Tap. I'm not comfortable anywhere that I'm expected to keep up a rhetoric amongst ponies with whom I cannot relate in the slightest."

She stilled once more. Things were becoming more and more complicated. Double Tap was supposed to be a pony in her employ. He was not supposed to be her confidante. He was not supposed to be her friend. He was just supposed to work for her and travel with the troupe.

"I'm more comfortable with you."

Complicated.