The woman sat, absorbed into a book she read as the taxi traveled down the crowded streets of downtown Manhattan. The driver pulled to the curb and coughed, bringing the woman away from her studies.
“We're here,” he announced. Twila looked out the cab's window at the dirty streets and cracked buildings.
“A-are you sure? This hardly seems like the appropriate location for a physical instructor.”
“You said 'Jack's,' right?” he gruffly asked.
“W-well, yes, but—“
He extended a pump finger, tapping it against the glass on the passenger side. Twila followed where he pointed, catching sight of a two-story gray brick building that had seen better days. Directly above the chipped, barred wooden doors was a small neon light. 'Jack's,' it announced, the 'c's' bulb burned out and the rest nervously flickering, like a flame in the midst of a strong breeze.
“Oh,” she said, closing her book and marking her page with a violet bookmark. She ran a hand through her similar-colored hair. “I see.” She reached into her pocket, then handed the man a crisp twenty-piece. “If you wait for a few moments until I wave you off, you can keep the change.”
He looked at the cash, then nodded. “Five minutes.”
She got out of the car, a hot breeze blew her hair over her eyes. Habitually, she used a pale finger to brush it behind her ears once more.
“Maybe I should get a haircut on my bangs sometime,” she said to herself. “Wonder how Spike would react?” She crossed her arms and shut her eyes, lowering her voice slightly to imitate the teenager. “Gosh, Twila, you didn't have to copy the buzz look. You look weird with really short hair.” She narrowed her brow, her voice back to normal. “Yeah. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Spike.”
Twila headed towards the door. A small sign showed its hours of operation. She checked her watch—still plenty of time. The woman glanced at the taxi behind her in reassurance.
“In and out if this is weird. Nothing to it,” she once again said to herself, opening the door and hearing a small bell ring from above it as she stepped inside.
The interior was about as she imagined from the books she had read. Large, with punching bags in the corner, weights. An open mat section Twila guessed was for group stretches. Finally, at the center was the room's crown. A square, roped off ring a few feet up from the ground. Twila approached it, putting a hand to her chin in observation.
It was a worn thing; duck-tape covering cuts on the mat, a few loose springs in the ropes, judging by how easily Twila was able to pull one. A corner was missing a turnbuckle cover, instead coated with more duck-tape and thick bubble wrap. She turned away from it and glanced around the room, surprised nobody was around. She walked deeper inside and noticed three doors. One was open, showing a small restroom, one was marked as 'management,' and the last was unmarked. She approached the 'management' door and knocked, then waited a moment.
No answer. She gave another knock, then checked her watch. With a small 'tsk,' she snapped around and started to walk off just as a door opened behind her.
“Sorry 'bout that, was in the shower,” a woman drawled out in a thick accent.
Twila turned around and paused. Standing before her was a woman rubbing her scalp with a small towel. She stood tall—incredibly tall—in the doorway, towering a head and some inches over Twila, and had the obvious stance of a hard-worked life to her—muscles tensed and stood proud across her entire earthen-toned body. She took the towel and pulled it off her long, blonde hair, then tossed it to the side, rubbing her hands on the track shorts she wore.
“What can I do ya fer?”
“Uh...” Twila trailed off, blinking.
The woman put her hands behind her back and leaned backwards, popping her spine. She looked over Twila's well-pressed slacks and jacket. “If yer here for the Pilates class, I closed that up 'bout an hour or so ago.”
“No,” she responded. “I'm not here for that.”
The woman crossed her arms. “Ah yeah? What ya needin', then?”
“Well... Am I correct to presume you're Jack Apple?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“I hear you offer self-defense courses.”
Jack gave a shrug. “Well, I do boxin' lessons, if that's what yer meanin'.”
“Precisely.” She offered a hand. “Twila Shields. I'm interested in learning how to fight.”
Jack took the hand. Twila winced slightly at her strong grip. “Well, I reckon ya found yerself a teacher, if ya want.” She rubbed at her nose. “Though ya don't really seem the type, ta be honest.”
She nodded. “Nor do I consider myself the type, Ms. Apple—“
“Jus' Jack'll do, sug.”
“Jack it is, then.” Twila took a few steps away and glanced towards the barred windows. “If I may speak freely: I've recently moved here from Camelot, and... well...”
“Somethin' happen'?” Jack asked, narrowing her brow and clenching a fist.
Twila quickly dismissed that idea with a wave of her hand. “No, no, no. I simply had a scare last night. There was a man who was rather... intense in appearance. He approached me and requested directions.” She tapped the toe of her shoe against the wooden floor. “An innocent enough gesture, yet I was fearful he would do something up until the moment he left. My assistant Spike suggested a self-defense course. After investigating both Muay Thai and Judo, I chose to research boxing.”
“Sounds like ya did yer homework.” Jack put a palm to her chin. “Muay Thai's pretty dang effective, 'specially compared ta Potroian boxin'—I mean, shoot,” she instantly lowered her stance a bit and twisted her body a hair to the side, favoring her left, looking so primed to strike that Twila flinched. Jack didn't even notice the violet-haired woman's discomfort, instead she held her hands just a bit away from her angled face, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles started to color lighter. “Like, yer Muay Thai, ya keep yer body a bit more, uh, centered, kinda. Boxin'...” She adjusted her stance a bit, leaning forward just a hair more. “Kickin' aside, they're pretty close. 'Less yer boxin' like peek-a-boo style or somethin'.”
Twila hummed in thought. “You seem incredibly knowledgeable about this.”
“Ya gotta know yer stuff if yer sellin' a product. 'Least, that's what I was always taught back on the farm.”
“Farm?” Twila repeated. “Gracious, Jack. Manhattan's quite removed from the rural lands, where exactly were you from?”
“Mansfield.”
Twila perked up at the name. “Small world. My mentor wanted to send me there for a study. W-well, before the incident, anyway.”
“Lotta people lost homes.” Jack agreed, letting out a defeated sigh. “Farm was on the outskirts enough that we got away with only a bit of damage from the twister, but still... part of the reason why a few of the gals I know went here with me ta make their stakes. Still, tho', profit from the farm ain't exactly shinin', thanks ta a lot of the trade routes dryin' up an' evrythin'...” Jack pulled at an earlobe. “But I'm sure ya ain't here ta listen ta my sob stories—let's get ya started with some basics.” She glanced over Twila's clothes once more. “Ya do got yerself somethin' aside from skirts an' heels, right?”
“W-well, yes. I wasn't sure if you'd be the ideal coach, however, so I didn't bring them.”
“Heels in a dang gym.” Jack rolled her eyes, brushing her nose with a thumb and letting a derisive sort pass through her. “Yer like my best friend. Not a lick-a common sense when it comes ta this kinda thing.” She nodded towards the woman. “Take the shoes off. We're jus' gonna go ahead an' hit the basics tonight.”
“I don't have enough money on me to pay for a lesson.”
“Free of charge, sug. I ain't gonna make ya pay fer this.”
“If you insist,” Twila conceded, bending down and pulling off her shoes.
“Now...” Jack began, “Show me a fightin' stance.”
The woman paused, then stared straight ahead, tilting her palms towards her face and holding out her knuckles towards Jack.
“Huh,” the boxer muttered, moving towards Twila. “Kinda an old-school bare-knuckle stance—ya jus' do that yerself, or that another thing ya studied?”
“Well, it just feels a bit more comfortable. Thought it was a more natural stance.”
Jack seemed to think for a moment, frowning in thought. “Yer close, jus'...” She moved over to the woman, getting directly behind her and wrapping her arms around Twila's.
“What are you—?” Twila began, her cheeks rosy in embarrassment. Jack moved Twila's rigid body easily, without even a moment's pause at the woman's resisting muscles.
“Turn yer body jus' a bit. 'Specially yer head. Lookin' right ahead at someone's liable ta get yer nose broken.” Jack gave a chuckle. “Believe me, I know. I ain't got a bit of a kink in mine jus' ta have a fashion statement, ya hear?” She pushed a leg into Twila's thigh, adjusting her a bit to the side, then grabbed her fists before pausing. “Uh, right?”
“Right?” the woman repeated, blinking.
“Hand.”
“Oh, uh, yes,” she agreed.
“Figured so. I'm a southpaw, but ya teach enough people right-handed stance an' it comes second nature.” Once she had adjusted Twila's hands a bit, she stepped back in front of her and held out her palms towards the woman. “Take a swing at my hand.”
Twila reared her fist back and struck; Jack didn't even flinch, instead seeming to make mental notes on everything the woman did.
“Well, fer starters, yer swing's slow—we gotta improve that.” She rubbed at her mouth. “Yer stance after a swing's weak too—yer overextendin' yer blow, yer footin's off—which won't kill ya in boxin', but if yer ever in a no-holds barred fight, yer gonna get tripped an' pounded.”
“Oh, my.” Twila grimaced.
“Don't worry, sug. I'mma get ya fixed up when it's all said an' done.” Jack ran a thumb across her nose. “Now let's get ta business.”
000
It was a good hour later when Jack finally called it quits for the two. She glanced over at the panting Twila and weakly smiled. “Gets the blood goin', don't it?”
“I think I'm going to be sick,” she said, leaning over with her hands on her knees.
Jack laughed, a smile overtaking her cheeks. “First day's always the hardest. Or maybe the second, since yer still sore from the first—anyway, it gets easier.”
“If you say so.” She rose, running a hand over her brow and through her hair. “I need a shower.”
“Ya can use mine,” Jack offered, cocking a thumb towards one of the doors in back.
“That's quite alright—I'll simply head home and take one.”
Jack nodded. “Ya got enough money fer a cab?”
Twila nodded. “Of course I...” Reaching into a pocket, she didn't feel the reassuring weight of her wallet. Did I leave it in the cab? “I... might not,” she admitted, blanching.
Jack turned around, heading to the stairwell. “Sit tight, I'll walk ya home.”
“But—“ Twila started, as Jack jogged quickly up the stairs. She sighed, leaning against the ring and touching her wrist, checking her pulse rate. Her heart was finally starting to get under control. She relaxed her arms with a groan. Every part of her tomorrow was going to be sore. Jack had worked out muscles Twila didn't even know she had. But at least she was learning something doing this.
The blonde woman came tromping down the stairs in jeans, a buttoned-up denim jacket and a stetson atop her head. “Sorry 'bout that,” she said, moving towards the woman. “Wanted somethin' a bit less revealin' ta walk the streets in.”
“I understand,” Twila replied, moving over and putting on her heels. She took a step and stumbled; Jack caught her in the nick of time, putting a hand around her stomach.
“Woah there, pardner,” she exclaimed. “Almost took yerself a spill.”
“S-sorry,” Twila stammered, holding onto Jack as she righted herself. “My legs are like jelly.”
“Well, keep holdin' onta my arm if ya gotta.” Jack then scratched at a cheek. “Hope ya ain't stayin' too far from here.”
“About three blocks from here, at Golden Oaks.”
“Not a bad place,” she admitted.
“It... has its charms,” Twila hesitantly replied.
They hit the doors, Jack doing a quick turn around to lock them before escorting the timid-looking Twila onward. She vaguely hid behind the giant of a woman, glancing around every building corner.
“Should I ask?” Jack muttered, looking over at the woman.
“I'm a bit wary about this segment of Manhattan,” she explained. “I mean, crime's pretty rampant downtown, after all.”
“A block can make all the difference, sug,” Jack agreed, nodding at a man passing by them. “But don't ya worry. No matter how rough lookin' 'round here seems, it's a good neighborhood with good people livin' in it.” She smiled a bit, gesturing towards a building they passed by. “Heck, 'coupla my friends live 'round here, even. I'll have ta introduce ya to 'em sometime.” She scratched at her cheek. “They're, uh, quite the characters.”
They walked in silence for a few moments, passing a street and up another block. A few men called out a greeting to Jack; she replied with an easy 'howdy.'
“You know quite a few men around here it seems like,” Twila stated.
“Kinda of a friend of a friend deal.” They paused at the end of another block. A blinking 'don't walk' sign flashed against the black night. “That, an' a few people look up ta me fer some reason.”
“Why?” she asked, then paused. “N-not to say you don't deserve it or anything...”
“Well, they respect me fer boxin', fer one.” She tilted her hat back. “An' I've done my fair share of tryin' ta help 'round the community. Growin' up on a farm taught me that we're all in this together, ya know?” Jack then sighed, rubbing at the back of her neck. “That, an' maybe they feel a bit sorry fer me too.”
“Why would they feel sorry for you?” Twila asked, then noticed the light had finally changed to 'walk.' They quickly crossed as Jack shook her head.
“Ain't nothin' really worth repeatin'. Honest.” The blonde bit at her lip and glanced away. Twila had seen some bad liars in her time, but this woman had to take the cake. “So,” Jack quickly continued, coughing into her free hand. “What's a Camelot gal like you doin' 'round these parts, anyway?” She wryly smiled. “Ain't it a bit less, uh, 'glamorous?'”
“Perhaps.” Twila mused, “But my mentor suggested I travel here in order to learn about society.”
“You'll learn all kinds-a things here, that is true.” She glanced up at the sky. “Still, though, bet the 'plane ticket from Camelot ta here musta hurt the wallet.”
“No, not really,” Twila replied with a shake of her head as they crossed over another street. “Princess Celestia paid for my expenses.”
“Ha!” Jack snorted out. “That's rich. An' I got an autographed centerfold of Princess Cadence.”
“I'm not sure my brother would appreciate that.”
Jack's grin threatened to take over her entire face. She glanced at Twila and paused, it quickly vanishing. “Y-yer jokin', right?”
“Of course not!” Twila replied, aghast. “My brother would never let Candance do something like that!”
“N-no... I'm meanin' 'bout Celestia payin' fer yer flight.” Jack shook her head in shock. “Is she yer mentor?”
“Celestia?”
“Who in the heck else?”
Twila blinked. “W-well, yes, she is.”
“The Princess Celestia? Joint ruler of Potroiea?”
“Is there another Celestia I don't know about?”
Jack adjusted her hat. “I don't reckon so... jus', woah doggie. Didn't know I was rubbin' elbows with nobility here.”
She gave a self-conscious shake of her head. “Less nobility, more adviser. Well, my father, anyway.”
The blonde gave a grunt of acknowledgment at Twila's words, then pointed just a bit ahead of them, at tall apartment building. At the front was a sign with a tree. 'Golden Oaks,' it read in peeling off-white paint.
“Looks like yer place.”
“Guess so,” Twila agreed.
“Ya wanna let go of my arm now?” Jack asked with a laugh.
“O-oh,” the woman muttered, looking down at the boxer's strong, rock-hard bicep, and her own arm wrapped tight around it. She let go, blushing. “Sorry, Jack.”
“Ain't nothin',” she drawled out with a wink, then turned, raising her hand in a small wave. “Have yerself a nice night, Twi.”
“Y-you too...” Twila took a few shaky steps towards the front, then pressed down on a small button below the intercom.
“Yeah?” the voice of her assistant, Spike, gruffly asked.
“Open the door—I'll be up to the room shortly.”
“Alright, alright,” he grumbled. Twila heard a click from the door, then Spike asked, “How'd it go?”
Twila glanced behind her at the vanishing figure of Jack. She gave a slow, considering nod. “You know, I think it ended up great.”
“Parry!” Jack barked, jabbing with her glove and striking Twila in the face. The girl stumbled back from the blow, frowning and shaking her head. She wiped at her mouth with the glove, looking over at Jack. Her trainer stood like an unmoving mountain in the center of the ring.
Twila hit her gloves together and raised her hands under her chin. “Again.”
“Hands out a bit further, sug,” Jack lectured, moving towards the woman and pulling her arms out a bit. “Otherwise I could jus'...” She gave a small shove to Twila's arm, nearly hitting the girl's mouth with her own hand. “Don't give 'em that chance.”
“Ok.” She took to bobbing a bit. “Again.”
Jack jabbed lazily once again with her offhand; Twila reacted to the slow-moving blow by punching it to the side, leaving the former farmer open to a blow in the shoulder.
“Good,” Jack praised, a smile on her face. “Parryin', dependin' on yer style, can make-or-break a match.” She pulled off a glove and walked to the end of the ring, bending down and picking up a water bottle. After a quick drink, she continued. “Now, a gal like you? Ya might have better luck slippin' jabs an' crosses, but me? I jus' 'bout gotta parry or roll with the blows—ain't like I'mma small target by any means.”
Twila nodded. “That's true. I can't say I'm aware of a woman taller than you in polite society.”
She raised a brow. “What ya mean by 'polite society?'”
“W-well, I mean average civilization—there have been women certainly taller than you. If I recall correctly, there was a small, remote village in southern Potroiea with a woman that held the record at about seven-seven.”
Jack whistled. “Dang. That's crazy. Where'd ya hear somethin' like that?”
“I read it in a record book,” Twila replied. “I find information like that fascinating.”
“That so?” She slipped her glove back on. “Reckon that stuff can be pretty nifty.”
Twila smiled. “Indubitably.” Jack raised a brow at the word, but shrugged.
“We're gonna work on dodgin' now. Slip past me, sug.”
The two sparred for a few minutes until a chime at the door gave Jack pause; Twila scored a hit as she glanced away, frowning a bit as Jack didn't even react. The student turned and noticed a thin, short woman with a pixie haircut wearing a sleeveless blank tanktop entering. She yawned, reaching up and pulling off a pair of aviator glasses, then putting them in her baggy pants.
“Working hard, hayseed?” the woman asked, her voice scratchy and a hint aggressive as she glanced at Jack with her rose-colored eyes.
“'Bout as much as yer hardly workin', sug,” Jack dismissed.
“Oh, classic,” the other dismissed with a voice laced with sarcasm. She ran a thumb over her nose—Twila frowned a bit at the colored, decorated tattoos that went from the woman's wrists and up to chest, ending just a hair before the top's straps. “Not like I haven't heard that one before from you.”
Jack smirked just as she did in return. The boxer caught herself. “Oh, right, lemme introduce ya: Twila, that there's Dash.”
“Dash?” she repeated. “That seems sort of...”
“It's a nickname, girl,” 'Dash' said dismissively with a wave of her hand.
“Jus' don't know what's so wrong with Isssssabelle,” Jack drawled out with a smirk.
“Can it, Jackie. Unless you want me to make you can it.”
“What ya gonna do: run me ta death?” Jack shrugged.
Twila looked between the two, almost feeling electricity in the air.
“Lookit her!” Dash said with a laugh, running a hand over her multichromatic hair. “She looks like she's about to pass out.”
Jack snorted, shaking her head. “Jus' relax, Twi. There ain't no bad blood 'tween us. We're jus' playin'.”
“Totally,” Dash agreed, moving over towards the ring. “Otherwise the big palooka'd be eating the mat right now.”
“Ya wanna put the gloves on an' try me, girl?” Jack asked, raising her arms above her head and stretching. “'Cause I got a student I'm itchin' ta show off in front of.”
Dash rested an arm on the ropes and gave a deliberating hum. “Nah. Got a date tonight, hayseed—can't let the moneymaker get bruised.” She stared at Twila, then shook her head. “You sure about this one, Jack? Gym clothes or not, she looks kinda...” She rolled her wrist, a word on the tip of her tongue. “...Like a total egghead?”
“She's been doin' good,” Jack grinned, resting a hand on Twila's shoulder. “Been at it fer a good three days now, an' she's already getting' a hang of the basics.” Jack tilted her head a bit, then scoffed. “Alright, I'll bite: Who's the date?”
Isabelle shook her head. “No 'who' here, hayseed. Just me and some quality time with a couple of bottles down at the Zest.”
“Zest?” Twila repeated with a blink. “I read a travel brochure, but never noticed a restaurant or bar named that.”
“We jus' call it that, sug,” Jack replied. “It's actual name is the c'est magnifique.”
“Really?” Twila blinked. “That place seems kind of...”
“High-class for low-class chicks like me and the lovely lady to your right?” Dash guessed with a quirked brow. She stared evenly at Twila.
“What? N-no... I-I mean—“
Dash threw her head back and laughed hard, clutching her stomach with a hand. “Did you s-see that one, Jack? I had her quaking in her boots!”
“Jus' ignore her—what I do half the time,” the boxer replied, ignoring Dash's “Hey!” of protest. “As fer us hangin' at the Zest—we know the owner.”
“Oh you know her alright.” Dash smirked through Jack's death glare. “Wonder if Heels'll make an appearance tonight?”
“I dunno,” Jack said, crossing her arms in thought. “I mean, she has a presentation ta a client tomorrow.”
“You're still keeping track of her stuff, huh?”
“Yeah,” the boxer quietly replied, glancing down at her feet. “Guess I am.” She looked over at Twila. “Anyway—ya should come. I'll introduce ya ta the girls.”
“Well, I was gonna see if you were up for a jog, but since you've got a job to do...” Dash turned and started heading to the door, giving a disinterested wave behind her. “Guess I'll catch you at the Zest tonight instead.”
“Yeah, why not? Reckon spillin' a few drinks tonight won't hurt no-one.”
Dash left, a small chime from the door giving her a farewell. Jack glanced over at her student.
“So, ya in?”
Twila shrugged, giving a hesitant tilt of her head. “I dunno...”
Jack moved towards the other and put a hand on her shoulder. She smiled down at the woman. “I ain't gonna twist yer arm or nothin', but I think you'd enjoy yerself. I know I'd like it if ya came an' met everyone.”
Twila paused, then gave a small, quick nod. Jack beamed, giving her a slap on the shoulders and knocking her off balance from the blow.
“That's great, girl! Ya need directions?”
“I can find it.”
The boxer nodded, then took a few steps back, shaking her arms as she made it to her corner and bouncing a bit on her heels. “Alright. Let's get back to it, sug.”
000
Twila entered the apartment, glancing wearily over to Spike. The boy was sprawled out on the couch in nothing but sweatpants, a giant bowl of popcorn resting on his thin stomach as he watched a movie on TV.
“Busy day?” she dryly asked, raising a brow as she threw her coat on the rack.
“Laundry, cleaning, and I got that letter to Celestia ready for you.” He gave a lazy turn of his head towards the woman. “Spell-checked it too—all good and ready.”
“Excellent. Now I need you to get some clothes on. We're going out tonight.”
He rose with a roll of his eyes, brushing off his sweatpants. “But 'Zombie Assault: The Quick and the Undead' starts in fifteen minutes,” he whined.
“Record it, if you must.” Twila sighed. “I don't understand your fascination with those types of shows.”
“You should give it a shot sometime, Twila,” he replied, tossing the bowl of popcorn onto the counter and heading towards his room. “I got this series I watch—it starts off kinda so-so, but after about three episodes in, it's really good. Tons of appeal even outside of its target demographic.”
“I'm sure,” she replied disinterestedly, then called out to the younger man, “And put on some respectable clothes—we're going somewhere halfway nice.”
“Yeah, alright, mom,” Spike replied with a sigh. Twila smiled slightly, letting a bemused laugh out at his occasionally surly nature.
They had been together for almost as long as she could remember, Spike and her. Through a series of unfortunate circumstances, Celestia and Twila ended up raising him together after his parents died on a diplomatic meeting to Potroiea. She smiled fondly towards his room, where she could hear the sounds of heavy bass and even heavier guitar playing. If she had to guess, he was probably sprawled out on his messy bed, staring up at one of the video game posters on his ceiling and grumbling at having to actually do something now that he had finished his work for the day.
It felt odd saying it, thanks to her being only about six years older than him, but in a lot of ways she was like a mother to him, at least in her eyes. She nagged at him like one, anyway. That thought lead to another for her.
“And comb that front down! It's sticking up so bad people might think you're in a punk band.”
“Fine,” he shot back.
Twila sauntered into her own room and quickly took off her jacket. “Cheer up, Spike!” she called across the hallway, pausing at her reflection in the full-length mirror by her bed. “You might just have some fun—I'll even treat you to a meal.”
Brushing back her short-kept hair behind her ears, she sighed, looking over the woman staring back and giving a hum of disdain in thought over what to wear to complement her body. She didn't consider herself ugly by any means; in fact, there were a few back in Camelot that would call her quite cute. But even then, she wished she had a bit more of a figure to her. Not cute, but beautiful. With a set of sensual hips and curves like Luna. Or perhaps the tall, regal, confident posture of Celestia.
Or the breasts of Jack, a small voice taunted. Twila blushed, quickly tossing the unexpected thought away. Though they were nice—even if Jack did wear a tight sports bra under her tanktop, they still kept a good shape. Twila bet that if the bra were off, Jack might even give Celestia a run for—
“—Are you about ready?” Spike called over to her, knocking at her door and causing Twila to jump a bit in surprise. “Sheesh. If I'm getting drafted into this, I want to get some grub in me at a decent hour.”
“B-be right out,” she called, shaking her thoughts away and quickly going to her closet. She stepped in and quickly came out with a peach colored dress. Shimming it up her body, she went over to her vanity and put a dab of blush on her cheeks, then with a quick slip into a pair of heels and a set of gold earrings she was off. She tossed open her door and stepping into the living room, where Spike stood, clearly impatient but looking sharp in a surprisingly well-cut three piece suit.
“Let's get this over with—thing's uncomfortable,” he complained, tugging at the neckline.
“Because a one-piece dress is the epitome of cozy,” Twila quickly retorted, moving and picking up the apartment keys on the counter. “Don't worry. I'm sure it won't last very long.”
000
They got to the restaurant about forty minutes later—traffic had slowed them down to a snail's crawl across the sprawling city. Twila checked and double-checked her pockets this time to make sure she had her wallet, then stepped out of the cab, briefly amazed at the well-maintained building that greeted them. She and Spike entered, where a brightly lit reception room greeted them. A man behind a podium thumbed through a list of names and gave a curt nod when he found theirs. He made a gesture and another man came, escorting to escort them through a rather open and expansive dining hall. Men and women adorned in well-pressed suits and elegant dresses ate lavishly. The scents alone made Twila's mouth water.
Their escort led them deeper into the room and up a small flight of stairs. It led to a platform that overlooked the rest of the hall, a bar farther back, and a large sofa with a nearby booth, where Jack sat with four women—Twila recognized Dash from earlier. She was leaning forward, her elbows on the table as the others listened intently to her words.
“So I tell him, 'yes, the carpet matches the drapes,' and he's like 'Yeah, I bet. I've seen your old bedroom, young lady—you had orange window curtains with brown flooring.' I tell you man, dads...” She glanced behind her shoulder, her nose-stud gleaming in the light. “Oh, hey. Uh... Twily, right?”
“T-Twila, actually,” the woman replied. Of all the names she could throw out there...
“And who's the kid?”
“I'm not a kid!” Spike shot back, taking a step forward. “I'm a man.”
Dash looked at him. For a brief moment, she kept her composure, then the dam broke: she burst out laughing, holding her gut. “Oh, t-that right? Look how short you are—you're a total manlett if you're not a kid.”
“Ya ain't got much room ta talk 'bout bein' short, Dash,” Jack drawled out. “Glad ya came, Twi. How 'bout you an' yer date pull up a chair.”
“Ew,” Spike said. “She's not my date—that's gross.”
“What he said,” Twila added. “This is Spike, Jack.”
Realization dawned on the boxer's face. “Oh, yer, uh, helper?”
“I prefer the term 'assistant,'” he corrected, moving to the nearby sofa and plopping down next to Dash as Twila moved and took a seat next to Jack.
“Let me introduce ya ta everyone,” the blonde said, glancing over at the still standing woman. “Ya know the chick with tats over there, so...” She pointed at a tanned, pudgy girl with overly poofed pink hair. “That there's Diane.”
“Hi there!” Diane giggled, clapping with so much excitement that her plump belly jiggled in synchronicity with her breasts underneath her pink shirt. She then took to speaking in a frantic, upbeat tone. “You can call me 'Pinkie' if you want, it's about all I wear—pink shirts, pink pants sometimes, pink bras—wait, that's totally TMI. I'm taking that one back.” Her mouth widened into a full toothed grin. “Wow! It's great to meet you! Jack's said so many nice things about you the past few days and I was like 'oh man I can't wait to meet this girl,' and was going to come by and say hello at the gym, but then I got into this scuffle with the Cakes at their bakery—well, not so much a scuffle, but more like a ruffle. Like when you don't want them to change a recipe on their cupcakes since they did them that way all the time back in Mansfield, but they want to change up their ingredients to catch the health nuts that live in Manhattan. Oh, speaking of nuts, do you want some pistachios?” She pulled out a small, rolled up bag of them and held it out to Twila, shaking it.
“What,” Twila said flatly, still trying to wrap her head around the enthusiastic girls words.
Diane giggled. “I like her, Jackie. She's funny-bunny.”
Jack gestured over to a lanky woman with glasses in the corner of the booth. She sat, clutching a purse in her milky-white hands tightly over her skirt. “An' there's Chylene.”
“H-hello,” the girl meekly whispered, hiding into her long light-pink hair and seeming to vanish in the loose clothing she wore.
“She ain't gonna bite, sug,” the boxer said.
“S-sorry. I just am a bit, um, nervous around new people,” the timid girl said, clasping her hands together.
“...And cars, and dryers, and sirens, and whistles, and strong breezes,” Dash added, touching a digit on her hand with every object. “And—“
“—Ain't nothin' wrong with a bit of meekness an' a slice of humble pie, Dash,” Jack answered, tilting her stetson back and resting her arms on the backrest of the booth. “In fact, I'd reckon you could go for a double helpin'.”
“I don't think even two pieces would suffice, dear. She'd require the whole pie,” a cultured woman's voice said. Twila turned around and was greeted by someone that radiated class. She was tall; Not the nightmarish height Jack was, rather, she was tall for a woman, a mere inch or two shy of six feet. She carried the same earthen brown skin Jack did, making the violet eye-shadow and lipstick on her face all the more prominent, and smiled gently towards Twila, resting her free hand at her wide, womanly hips.
“Hey there, sug,” Jack quietly said.
“Bonsoir, Jack, everyone. She looked over Twila once more, putting a considering hand to her chin. “Your dress... it's a Camelot model, is it not?”
“Yes. My mother got it for me for my birthday.”
“How exciting!” she exclaimed, fawning over the design. “The cloth choice is inspiring to say the least, not to mention the particular swirling weave pattern at the arms—wouldn't you agree?”
Twila laughed nervously. “I wouldn't even know where to start. Dresses are a bit away from my area of expertise.”
“Oh, right,” Jack began. “Rare, that there's Twila Shields. A student of mine an' a gal new to the area. Spike's the fella over by Dash—her assistant. Twi, that there's Rarity Belle—she runs this joint plus a clothing business on the side.”
“Unfortunately on the side,” Rarity sniffed with disdain, putting the back of her hand to her brow dramatically. “It's quite disheartening having your dreams put on the back burner.”
“Don't be like that, sug,” the boxer replied with a sigh. “Ya know why this is yer main gig. It's a safety net.”
“One I'm thankful for, Jack, but...”
“We all know yer better than anyone in Manhattan when it comes ta that kinda stuff. But the market's full of 'em in these parts. Ya gotta know names. It ain't Mansfield, sug.”
“Nothing really is,” Pinkie mused from the corner, a small frown on her face.
“Hey man, at least we're all here for one-another. That's the main deal,” Dash retorted, then snapped her fingers towards the violet-haired woman. “Yo, Rare—care to hook me up?” she asked, sticking out her thumb and pinkie and tilting it to her mouth.
“I suppose it is my profession,” Rarity replied with a sigh. “I presume everyone wants a drink or two?”
“Yer profession's the owner, sug. Ya ain't gotta do anythin' ya don't wanna—includes bartendin' fer someone who don't even need it,” Jack said, staring evenly at Rarity.
“No, no, I'll serve—what my friends want, my friends get. That includes you, Twila, what would you like to drink?”
“An iced tea,” she said with a nod.
“One long island tea for the lady—and as for the man?” she questioned, tilting her head towards Spike, who seemed to be waking up from a daze.
“Oh... uh... a vodka,” he quickly stammered out, staring at the woman and blushing.
“He'll take a cola,” Twila corrected. “It'll be a bit before he can legally drink.”
“Heh,” Dash laughed, slapping his shoulder. “You are a total kid.”
“S-shut up,” he growled, then let out a gasp as Isabelle grabbed him in a headlock.
“You gonna make me, kid?” she asked, rubbing her knuckles on his head.
“N-no! Not a noogie!” he whined. Rarity gave a good-natured roll of her eyes and nodded.
“Very well—I'll simply presume you girls will want your usuals, then. Allow me to ghost away for a moment to prepare them.”
“I'll help ya, Rare. I wanna talk ta ya anyway,” Jack concluded, rising and brushing past Twila; she gave a clap on the girl's shoulder and was off, walking side-by-side the fashionable woman.
“Wow,” Spike said, “what a woman.”
“Yeah, not happening, kid.” Dash tilted her head towards the two women marching downstairs. “You don't exactly have the right equipment to play that game.”
“You mean she's pitching for the other team?”
“Bingo.”
He leaned back with a roll of his eyes. “Man. Is there no woman in this town that likes men?”
Dash smirked. “We're a rare breed, seems like.”
Twila moved over to the booth and sat down near Pinkie. “So, are they together, then?”
“Of course they are, silly-billy!” Pinkie exclaimed. “You saw them leave with one-another!”
“I-I think Twila means 'are they a couple,' Diane,” Chylene corrected.
“Oh! Well, no.” She raised a finger in triumph. “Though they were married!”
“Yeah,” Dash added. “That didn't crash and burn or anything.”
“Pretty chummy for being an ex-wife,” Twila commented. Dash sighed.
“Well, there's a lot of history between the two. Grew up together before we all came to Mansfield. You can't just throw that under a bus because it doesn't work in the sack.”
“O-oh my...” Chylene stammered, blushing. “I thought it was because of the a-arguments after they moved out here.”
“It was. Mostly.” Dash shrugged, playing with an earlobe in her fingertips. “I'm not always serious, you know? It was money, man. Broker they got, the more the arguments came.” She reached over to a remote and turned on a TV set above the bar. The screen sparked to life; a boxing match was playing.
“I can tell who was here last!” Pinkie exclaimed in a sing-song tone.
“What a shocker,” the athlete dryly replied. “It's the big dummy's home away from home.”
Dash glanced at her companions and turned up the volume, listening to the announcer.
“...And it looks like the match is heating up! Iron Will delivers a powerful blow to Alston's abdomen and—oop! A haymaker to Alston's skull! He's down and folks, I don't think he's getting up!”
Jack and Rarity came up the stairs, the boxer holding a tray lined with several drinks. She picked up on the crowd's chanting alongside a number count and glanced at the TV, where a huge black man held his arms up and took a quick jaunt around the boxing ring, stepping near a man who was just now coming to and rising off the mat.
“'Nother notch on Will's belt?” Jack guessed, barely glancing at the television as she passed out drinks.
“You even have to ask?” Dash replied, grabbing the long necked bottle of beer and tilting it back to her mouth. “Guy's a freak.”
“Nothing freaky about it. He's jus' good at his job, sug.” She continued handing drinks out, giving the last to Twila, who took it with a nod. “There's a reason he's a world champ—muscle'll only get ya so far.”
“Thanks, Jack. I was really parched.” With that, she tilted the glass back and took a sip.
The drink felt off. A bit more bitter and, in a way, warm than she was used to. Jack glanced at her and Twila frowned, quickly taking another mouthful of the drink. Bad tasting or not, being polite to a host was important—her mother didn't raise her to be rude, after all. She finally bit the bullet and finished her drink, her face held an open mouthed grimace as the heat went through her jaw and down her throat.
“Ya not like it?” Jack asked.
“N-no, it was fine. Great even, thank you.”
The boxer shook her head, giving an easy stare Twila's way. “Come on now...”
She blushed, looking down at her feet to avoid Jack's eyes. “That tea tasted odd,” she admitted.
“We used a different type of vodka than you're probably used to, dear,” Rarity said, crossing her thighs together and glancing disinterestedly at the television screen. “Despite the respectable dining room, I cannot budget for more high-end alcohol like they serve in Camelot.”
“Vodka?” Twila repeated. “N-no, I don't drink.”
“Wait,” the violet-haired beauty paused. “You wanted regular tea?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed.
“Well, you'll have to excuse me, I simply presumed you were wishing for an alcoholic beverage as the rest of the girls are wont to do here.”
Twila sighed, already feeling a strange sense of lightheadedness coming over her. “It's fine. Honest mistake. I just don't take well to...” She blinked, gesturing with a hand. “To drinks.”
“Oh, we got ourselves a featherweight!” Dash exclaimed, cackling.
“Actually, I'd put her at a light welterweight,” Jack corrected. “She's got a bit of meat on her, unlike you, flyweight.”
Dash opened her mouth then frowned, tsking. “Not what I... yeah, alright, whatever,” she conceded with a roll of her eyes.
“Come here an' have a seat, sug,” the boxer said, tapping next to her.
“Sure,” Twila agreed, taking a step forward and plopping down. She leaned back and hummed. “Wow. I'm relaxed.”
“Have ya ever even drank before?” Jack asked, raising her brow.
“Not to excess.” She blinked, laughing. “It's kinda fun.”
“Popping the drunk cherry, aw yeah!”
“Dashie!” Jack scolded. “Watch that tongue.”
“Ok, grandma. I'll be civil.” Dash smirked.
“Grandma?” Pinkie replied. “But Jackie's only a couple of years older than you! And she isn't even as old as Chylene or Rarity! She'd be the mommy of the group. Good old mommy Jack!”
“I'm... not sure if that made sense,” Chylene muttered, hiding her mouth behind her drink.
“Oh, you know Diane. In some roundabout, contrived way, it's crystal clear,” Rarity replied to the taciturn girl, taking a sip of her champagne. Twila snorted, then laughed.
“Mommy Jack?” Twila repeated. After a moment, she giggled. “Would that make you a MIL—“
“—Come on, now,” Spike quickly interjected. “M-maybe we should get you home, Twila. Before you say and do something embarrassing.”
“Why?” she asked, slumping forward and gesturing limply over to the boxer. “I was... just going to tell Jack that she has a great butt.”
Jack paused, blinking. After a beat, she broke out into an almost hysterical cackle. “Oh man, yer smashed.”
“If I said the same thing, you'd scold me,” Dash whined.
“That's 'cause you'd do that ta jus' get me riled up,” she replied with a stern glare.
“Well, I mean, it's true, but come on.”
Twila snorted, laughing as she leaned back onto the chair. “What a hoot! Like a married couple!”
Jack frowned a bit at that, sparing a small glance Rarity's way. Even through her alcoholic haze, the scholarly woman paused, realizing she stepped on some toes.
“S-sorry.”
“It's alright, dear,” Rarity replied, waving a dismissive hand. “It's been almost six months now—we're not quite on pins and needles about it anymore, correct, Jack?”
“Nah,” the boxer quietly replied, shrugging and resting her elbows on her knees. “We're... alright now.” She gave a small shrug once more, putting her hands lightly together and rubbing them. “As alright as we'll ever be, anyway.”
“Jack...” Rarity trailed off, biting her lip as she crossed her arms over her chest. “It still hurts?”
“I think it's always gonna hurt, sug.” She shook her head. “Ya know how it is, probably better than I do even. Ya always could read me like a damn book.”
“I think we all can, bro,” Dash quipped, giving a small shake of her bottle. “You're not exactly subtle.”
“I always thought I had a great poker face. I beat Chylene an' Diane all the time.”
The woman hid further into her long hair. “I... may let you win,” she whispered.
“Yepperooni!” Pinkie agreed, offering a boisterous thumbs-up. “You're looking at the Queens of mercy pots!”
“I don't believe this,” Jack drawled out. “Why?”
“... I just knew you had a competitive streak, a-and might get mad if you kept losing.”
“I do it because the look on your face when you win is fantastic-in-a-basket!” Pinkie nodded briskly, her hair bouncing violently once more.
“Come on, gals. I ain't even that competitive.”
“Bet you a five-piece I can prove you wrong,” Dash said, polishing off her beer and giving a small, pleading look Rarity's way. The woman gave a small huff and rose, heading downstairs.
“Ya must really not like yer money, as quick as yer wantin' ta get rid of it. Yer on, pardn—“ Jack paused, rolling her eye after a moment of realization dawned on her; Dash gave a smug smile and a raise of her brow. The boxer pulled out her wallet from her jeans pocket and tossed the lithe woman a bill.
“Still ain't that competitive,” the giant woman grumbled.
“Oh really?” Isabelle remarked. “Guess that's why a champ like yourself never went world-wide.”
“There were more reasons than that, Dash,” Rarity remarked, returning to the group with a fresh beer for the rainbow-haired woman. “Our... relationship hit a rough spot. She left the circuit to try and fix it.”
“Because you guys did so well fixing it.”
Jack pointed a finger Isabelle's way and narrowed her brow. She opened her mouth, then shut it. After a beat, she scoffed, looking over the balcony to the diners below.
Dash shook her head after a moment. “Sorry, bro.”
“Yer mouth runs 'bout as fast as yer legs. Shame the brain's so slow,” the boxer replied. She ran a hand down her face. “No harm, pal.”
“H-hey,” Pinkie started, looking at everyone with a forced grin. “Let's play a game, guys! I've got one stashed up here—you all like board games, right?”
“Actually, I should take Twila home,” Spike replied. “I remembered she has a doctor's appointment fairly early tomorrow. And I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate her being hungover.”
“I'm fine,” Twila casually replied, tilting her head and wagging a finger at Spike. “Besides, it's just a checkup. I think. Unless I have something.” She looked over at her assistant. ”Spike?” she questioned, a strange juxtaposition of tranquility and worry on her pale features. “I don't have some...” She put a hand to the side of her mouth in a stage whisper. “Sick disease, do I?”
“No, Twila.”
“Whew,” she replied, leaning back in her chair with a laugh. “I don't know what I'd do if I got an infection.”
Pinkie giggled. “I want her like this more. That's better than being a stuffy-wuffy quiet-riot woman in the background anyday.” She reached to her side and tightly hugged Chylene. “We already got one of those mayflowers!” Pinkie shook her head. “I mean wallflowers.”
“Ya got enough cash on ya this time?” Jack asked, her tone teasing.
“She'd better,” Spike grumbled, grabbing the scholarly woman's arm. “Took forever to find her wallet.”
“I'm fine,” Twila repeated with disinterest, standing and nearly slumping into Spike's grasp. The short man let out a yelp of surprise at the weight. Dash sighed and stood, moving and taking Twila's other arm, sandwiching the girl between her and Spike.
“Come on, kid. Let's grab a cab—I'll help you haul her in,” Isabelle said. “Heaver than she looks,” she muttered.
“I know!” Spike agreed with an understanding nod, taking a few steps towards the stairs. “I don't know how someone who looks so much like a girl can weigh this much.”
“Catch ya later, sug,” Jack said, tilting her stetson down. “We gotta do this again sometime.”
“Totally!” Twila shot back with a giggle, looking over her shoulder and tripping down the stairs, sending Spike and Dash falling alongside her.
“...Though we ain't ever givin' ya drinks again.”
