While this is the "breakup" scene, technically it was written first -- but the few readers on /gtpone/ wanted to see how it started, so I wrote the other one later. To which I think the exact response was a breathless "WOW you really set a tone with this!"
Although cuckchan thought it meandered aimlessly and had too many spelling errors co create a discernible story.
I honestly don't think the self-appointed editors in the FiM thread speak English -- all their advice is flat-out wrong.

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> Roasting Hops tried to put her champagne glass back down without breaking it.
> Or let her thumping heart break her ribcage.
> "Anon, it's been so long."
> She discreetly eyed the places she remembered him keeping his sharp implements.
> They were covered by clothing; they weren't drawn. He wasn't here to kill her.
> Yet.

> Anon sat himself in the small pony seat across from the green mare.
> Roasting Hops looked around, without moving her nose, for Upper Crust.
> No sign of her date yet. She was early, after all.

"Roastie. You're looking great."
> Roasting Hops tried to read Anon's face.
> Pain, fear, hope, even something that was probably nostalgia or love all registered there.
"I guess you found your way out of the restroom finally?"
> She was surprised to hear that without the level of insult she expected.
> "You mean the one in Manehatten?" The human nodded.
> The pair were talking in Trottingham, at the moment.
"Feels like it's been a century since I've seen you."
> ThatsBecauseItLiterallyHas.ogg

> Roasting Hops focused on her heart rate.
> She hadn't had to look normal in … about a century.
> Just like old times.
> Except where it's totally different.

> "I totally didn't expect to see you again. Like, after the argument last time."
> There hadn't been one.
> She'd gone to powder her nose and crawled out through the window.

"I've been thinking a lot about how we separated."
> He barely moved. Still coiled like a snake, eyes following her face,
> they flicked to follow her hooves as she brushed her orange curls out of her way.
> She needed all the eyesight she could get. If this turned violent …
> "And working out, Anon. You don't look a day older."
> Don't mention it directly. Don't start this fight.
> She'd seen him drop royal guards like they were rotten hot-potatoes.

>  Roasting Hops tried to sip her champagne.
> She barely noticed that she cracked the flute as she slammed it back to the table.
> "I suppose you're here to talk about our future."
>  Still, his body didn't move as he replied

"I'd be just as happy to talk about the past."
> Finally he relaxed a little, his attention roving beyond Roasting's form.
>  Anon eyed the plates on the table.
"In the future, your boyfriend is meeting you."
> He raises his eyes to yours, a hurt look coming to the fore.
"Pony stallion?"
> You nod.

> "Anon I …"
>  never liked having your weird, gangly legs wrapped around me?
>  Never wanted to date a cold blooded killer?
>  Want to know what the effing tartarus caused us both to stop aging?
"I'm not here to force you into anything, Roastie. If you want to split up, let me know."
> There's a tear forming, now falling.
> But his expression has softened. He's said his piece; he's found his peace.

> "I was afraid." Her heart was thumping again.
> They had been Quicksilver for a decade and a half, and she never wanted it.
"I would have gone legit, for you. I thought that's what that dinner had celebrated."