Past to present [COLLAB]

Being well known in her industry had its perks, so Rhondine wasn't surprised to find a gilded invitation in her mailbox. The Fairy Masquerade was beyond her expectations. Buns and dolls alike were wearing gorgeous outfits, dancing and gossiping while drinking champagne. 

Rhondine had made sure to dress for the occasion to fit in with the other high society buns. She fluffed up her luxurious fur, put on her best pearls and applied make up. She had even made her mask herself, with deep purple velvet and pearls. 

Dressed in her bun best, Rhondine didn't look at all out of place with all the buns of higher societal ranking. Perks of being a bun with class, she supposed. 

Currently she was stood near one of the champagne tables, a flute in her hooves as she admired the other buns outfits. They all looked so elegant. 

Harlow had just gotten himself a drink from the bar, a sinnamon whiskey was about to hit the spot. He had spent some time at the party greeting some familiar faces and even spoke to Angora and Hops. He was parched. 

Every bun in the party had been dolled up, as they should be. Harlow took a brief look at his old suit, it still fit and that was what mattered. He was not one to keep up with the latest fashion. After all, it was his connections and good deeds that had landed him here. Free food and drinks, he had thought to himself when he agreed to attend.

His eyes landed on a lovely bun standing near one of the tables. It couldn’t hurt to get to know some new names in the top one percent of Burrowgatory. He sauntered over to her and grinned, “Hi there.”

Lifting her head up, Rhondine noticed a rugged looking bun approaching her. There was something charming about him that made her compelled to get to know him. “Hello there, hun. What does a guy like you want with a bun like me?”

Looking him over, it was clear he wasn't a regular member of the high life, with his suit that looked like it had seen its fair share of uses. With the plants that were growing in his horns, Rhondine's first guess was that he was a farmer or a gardener. 

He contemplated on whether he should make a sexual joke out of her question, but rapidly decided against it. In his younger days, he may have done that, not anymore. “Could not pass up the chance to meet some new faces,” he said politely, “I am sure we don’t know each other, even with the mask, which is beautiful by the way.” He raised his glass towards her face. A guy like you? Harlow let that ring in his head for a bit. “A guy like me, I’m sure as you’ve noticed, is rather out of place here,” he chuckled.

“That may be so, but your presence is more pleasurable to me than anyone else's tonight.” Rhondine answered honestly. This bun was very charming and sweet, both being qualities she liked. Plus a few compliments didn't hurt her opinion of him. “And thank you, I made it myself.” She adjusted the mask and subtly fluffed her floof, smiling at him. “Can I get your name, hun?”

Chuckling with her response, he had to give it to her, it was fast and witty. “Made it yourself?” He leaned back and marvelled at the craftsmanship. “Well damn. I would have thought you purchased it from a custom designer, perhaps you are a designer?” Harlow decided to take a guess at her career.

She asked for his name and without hesitation, he answered, “Harlow, miss. May I have the pleasure of knowing yours?” He finished with a slight tilt of his head.

“Rhondine, and the pleasure is all mine. Unfortunately, your guess wasn't right this time but you're more than welcome to keep guessing. Crafting things is more of a hobby I picked up from a dear friend.” She answered with a smile. Harlow sure knew how to treat a lady and Rhondine found herself enjoying his company immensely. 

One of the buns working for Angora approached the pair, offering flutes of champagne. Rhondine took one in her hoof and saw that Harlow had done the same. “I don't usually drink, but exceptions can be made for special occasions, and special buns.” She winked at Harlow before taking a sip. 

Her response to his guess only intrigued him more. “Well, well, well…who is Rhondine then?” He clucked his tongue, looking into the distance like he was in thought. 

When the drinks came by, Harlow grabbed his cup without much hesitation, keeping one ear on the conversation. He nodded thanks to the staff before turning his attention back to her. “You don’t drink? I would almost say it's the wrong party,” he joked, “What brings Madam Rhondine here then?” He tilted his glass to take a sip.

“Oh you know how it goes, meeting buns and keeping up appearances.” She responded, taking another sip. “Though I will say my night got significantly better once you approached.” It was a bit cheesy to say, but Rhondine truly enjoyed Harlow's company. 

“As for your question from before, she's a former singer who now works as a house mum. What about you? Who is Harlow?” Rhondine wanted to know if her assumptions earlier were correct or not. Either way, she'd be learning more about him. 

He knew that house mum meant that she was in the sex industry or something similar. Harlow nodded as she spoke, it was a lucrative business, especially considering the culture of the city. Before he answered, he did a slight bow, “A mere farmer, my lady.” Whether she believed him or not was up to her. It was not uncommon for some people to lie at parties like these. 

“You mentioned being a singer,” he raised his glass for a sip, “Did that not work out for you?” 

“I had a feeling you were, the flowers gave it away. Either that or a gardener.” She smiled, pleased that her guess had been correct. Harlow brought up her former career and her smile morphed into a sadder one. 

“I got too old for it. I used to sing at a nightclub, but one day I was deemed ‘too old’ to be attractive to the patrons so I was fired and replaced with a younger girl,” Rhondine told him, pausing to take a sip of her drink before continuing. “But that's in the past. I like my job and treat my girls as if they were my own. But enough about me, tell me more about yourself. I want to know you more.”

Harlow had forgotten that he had flowers in his horns, something he often did. They felt no different from an arm or a leg that he hardly noticed them. “Ah,” he raised his glass, “I suppose they would give me away. You have me caught.”

Rhondine’s past career was clearly an intimate story, Harlow respected that she shared it, regardless. “Gardening has always been easy for me. I guess you could say I have a ‘green thumb’. It came natural to me to start up a farm once I acquired a large plot of land.” It had been some time since anyone asked him about his humble beginnings. “It calmed me and humbled me from the young brat I probably was,” he finished with a laugh.

Rhondine chuckled lightly. “Aren't we all brats at some point?” She pointed out before finishing her drink. A glance over at Harlow showed that he was also finished as well. 

“Are you any good of a dancer, Harlow?” Rhondine asked her companion, setting her empty glass down on a nearby table. She walked towards the dance floor, gesturing for the other bun to follow. Even if he wasn't a good dancer, it would still be fun. 

He tilted his glass at her, “Touché,” he said before taking a sip of his drink. While he was still mid sip, Rhondine had requested for him to join her on the floor. A bit of nervousness filled him as dancing was not his forte, but he thought, What the heck. Chugging the rest of his sinammon whiskey, he sat the glass down and walked over to join her. “What dance do you have on your mind?”

“How about a simple waltz? It's not difficult once you get into the rhythm of it.” Looking around at the other pairs of buns that we're dancing, they were doing something similar. A waltz was a good beginner dance while also being elegant and refined. Rhondine helped Harlow put his hands in the right places and walked him through the steps. It was a slightly rocky start but he started picking it up rather quickly. She was pleased with his progress. 

A waltz was probably something Harlow could work with. with a nod, he joined her lead and followed through the steps. Her nurturing side could be felt as she demonstrated patience on Harlow’s frequent missteps. They danced slowly, even if it was not as per the current rhythm, but as the song went on, Harlow improved. By the end of the song, he was able to do the dance without Rhondine leading him as much. Though he considered himself old, he was glad that this old bun could still learn a new trick or two.