Lustful Night

Reminder: Author's Note at the bottom.  Please read.

It was dark in Canterlot.  The midnight bell tolled a minute and a half ago.  Being the only one awake, I strolled through the halls of Canterlot, thinking of nothing in particular.  I was wearing a black shirt, brown pants, white socks, and running shoes.  I have short brown hair, brown eyes, and light skin.  I'm a 22 year-old, highly skilled assassin.  So skilled in fact, my killing abilities are almost superhuman.

  On my way to my room, I bumped into Wild Card Jack.  He is 21 years old, has brown hair, brown eyes, wears a white long sleeved shirt, a black buttoned up vest, black pants, a belt, black socks, and black shoes.  He is a professional thief.  But a different thief at that.  If he catches you being an asshole to someone or vice versa, whatever he pickpockets from you or said asshole, he'll give it to someone who needs it.  If he takes a phone however, he'll take a quick stop to an electronics store and request to have it look like new.  No damages, no data.  Just a brand new phone, new number and all.  And that phone will now belong to someone who needs one.  So don't tick him off.  When he's not thieving, he gambles.  And he's a hell of a gambler too.

In fact, any winning money he wins, he accepts.  Hell, he won't give a fuck if he wins 25¢.  However, if he catches someone cheating, he won't hesitate to blow their cover.  In fact, he'll say it loud enough to get security's attention.  Why is he called Wild Card Jack? Because he keeps a Wild Card from an UNO deck in his pocket.  Some say its a good luck charm, others say he's weird for keeping such a card.  But if you know Jack well enough, you should know that he uses this card as a last resort to any card game he plays.  Seeing him use this card is like getting a royal flush.  It can happen, but the chances are really low.

"Jack, what brings you here this late of night?" I asked.

"I can't stand Chase, right now.  He's been practicing his proposal and I don't think it's leading him anywhere."  Like me, Chase has a mare friend.  In his case, it's Princess Twilight Sparkle.  The two have been dating longer than me and Princess Luna/Nightmare Moon.  He came to a point where he feels like he's ready to propose to Twilight.  Of course, it's obvious that he isn't ready.  Jack, knowing about the relationship I'm dealing with smiled cockily.   "Are you going to propose to her?" He asked.

"Yep" I answered.

"Do you have a ring?" He asked.

"Yes I do."

"Do you have a best man?"

"Certainly do."

"Are you ready?"

"Yes I am."  Jack didn't buy any of the answers I was giving him.

"You're not ready to propose to her, are you?"

"No I am not.  But I'm still in love with her, that's for damn sure."  Jack nodded and patted me on the shoulder.

"I'm gonna hit the hay, see you in the morning."

"Same" I responded.  The two of us walked separate ways.  About halfway down the hallway, I saw Remy Brecht sitting against a stained glass window.  His cap has been lowered to hide his closed eyes.  Remy is 24 years old and an expert gunslinger.  Highly skilled with any gun you give him.  There are some guns he uses that I won't even bother to touch.  Remy wears a white shirt, a black leather jacket, dark jeans, white socks, and black shoes.  The moonlight reflected off of the silver revolver he has holstered on his right side.  Not wanting to wake up a man who keeps a gun with him always, I continued my walk down the hall until I heard voices coming from a room.  I opened the door and sighed.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked.  Chase was shirtless, wore brown pants, and white socks.  His hair looked like he has a bed head, but it's just his style.  He held a black velvet box and was talking to nopony in particular.  Chase is 19 years old and he is a Casanova.  Not the types in the novels and the movies.  But he just charms them with words, comforts them if need be, basically anything that doesn't involve sexual activities.  Which is why he is called Casanova Chase in his hometown.  What a smooth talker this guy.

"I um... I was..." I was not amused.

"Cut the bullshit.  We all know you want to propose to Princess Twilight."

"I do, but proposing is hard" he whined.

"What's so hard about admitting your love to a mare and asking her to spend the rest of your life with her on one knee?" I asked.

"I don't want to sound like a fool when I propose to her.  I want it to be romantic."

"Then make it romantic" I said.

"Can you help me?" He asked.  I rolled my eyes.

"What is this, the theme of Canterlot?" I asked.  "When it comes to love, ask Cale for advice."

"Please Cale.  Princess Twilight means so much to me."  I gave in to the 19 year old.

"All right.  But you better not fuck anything up."

"I won't" he promised.

I made my way to my room and opened the door.  I stepped inside, closed the door, and sighed with exhaustion.  I took off my shirt and tossed it on a chair where my red leather jacket hung.  The scars and scratches I received on my front and back from my battle with Slender are still there.  Princess Luna and Nightmare Moon both think I look more intimidating, but at the same time, they are worried because an average human with these many scratches scars (not to mention how large they are) could not survive this.  The scratches on my back went from the edge of my left shoulder blade all the way down to my waist.  As for the front, I had several scratches and scars.  One scar was close to my heart.  It may not look much now, but the night I received this, if Slender had used a lot of force to cut that portion of my front, he would've punctured my beating heart.  Thank God he didn't.  But he was close though.  A little too close.  I got to my bed and laid on my back, staring at the ceiling.  Of all the fights I've been in, that one with Slender was the most horrific.  Just by thinking about it got my heart pumping.  I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

As I slept, the image of Slender's faceless face and wide toothy grin flashed in my head.  Memories of him slashing at me echoed, though only memories, I feel my own blood spill with each strike he threw upon me.  Ghost children and ghost men surrounded me chanting that phrase over and over again.  "Anything goes, finish him.  Anything goes, finish him.  Anything goes, finish him."  Those slimy tendrils turning into razor sharp spikes, the insanely sharp claws sprouting from his fingers, and his intimidating size.  The foul memory of taking him on and killing him rang through my head.  What's more frightening was that it really happened.