Repairing a Broken Heart Part 2 (A fic I've been semi-forced to do)

 

Part 2

Hey, look, I’m continuing, woo.

            After that interesting encounter with Rainbow Dash, Gizmo decides to return to his work. Rainbow Dash, Rainbow Dash. He keeps repeating the name in his head. He enjoys the name as if saying it sounded like the tender anacrusis of an orchestral composition. Rainbow Dash has basically been the anacrusis of the composition of his morning. For the next few hours or so, Gizmo continues his increasingly beautiful morning at work. Every now and then, her name continues to pop into his mind. The number of times he thinks about her by the hour begins to exponentially increase. He begins to regret not introducing himself and freezing up instead. He sighs and leans back in his seat behind the counter, tapping on the countertop.

            Not too many customers today, nothing more than a few ponies needing a quick fix on their little toys and gadgets and whatnot. He continues to stare into the counter, not paying much attention to anything other than his own thoughts. He hears the chimes ringing as the door to his shop opens. He looks up as his face beams. The one pony he’s been thinking about for the past few hours is now in his shop. In a way, he feels as if she came just to see him, but he knows that probably isn’t likely.

Rainbow Dash enters the shop, carrying a tortoise on her back, looking a little peeved. Gizmo sits up straight, clears his throat, and begins to speak. “Hi there, how can I he-“

Gizmo’s introduction is immediately cut off by Rainbow Dash placing her tortoise on the counter and crossing her arms. Gizmo stays silent and looks at the tortoise, slightly confused. Rainbow Dash, not saying a word, takes out a device that is similar to some form of a helicopter-esque contraption. She places it next to the tortoise as it hides in its shell out of shame. She speaks robustly and to the point, “I need you to fix this.”

“Oh, absolutely, I’ll get right on it, Rainbow Dash.” She tilts her head, confused as to how he knew his name. She then reluctantly replies with an almost harsh-sounding remark, “I don’t remember introducing myself, or saying my name.”

“Oh, you did, this morning, remember?” Gizmo begins to feel nervous, as if he’s been thinking about her too much and would come off as obsessive.

“Oh, yeah! You’re that guy I almost knocked over this morning. How’s it goin’?” She smiles, acting a little more casual now familiar with who Gizmo is. Gizmo’s cheeks begin to feel warm as he pursues in small talk. “I’m doing very well, thank you.”