Chapter 1: Ablutions
Piercing Gaze woke up alone, as he had most of the time over the last year. He woke confused. He felt that he had overslept, and that this was a very bad thing. He looked blearly at his bedside, blinking the sleep-dust from his eyes. It seemed too late and too early -- but if he'd overslept, why hadn't any of his assistants awoken him? The hands of his bedside alarm clock came into focus -- one in the afternoon. Normally, he rose at noon. Had he overslept an hour?
Then his brain focused and he remembered just what was happening this night. The Summer Sun Celebration. And an Equestriad Celebration at that -- those came only once every four years. This night, everyone who could possibly afford to do so would stay up all night, and watch Celestia's Sun rise on the longest day of the year. And while they were waiting, they would want to eat, drink, enjoy music and song, watch performances of every conceivable variety.
It was the biggest night of the year for anyone in the entertainment business, because it lasted all night, from sunset to sunrise. On this one night, Piercing would make something like a quarter of his whole year's expected net. He needed to be in tip top shape, ready to deal with any emergencies, for a problem could not only mean major public embarrassment, but also mean the difference between profit and loss for the entire year.
So, on the advice of Red Ink, his partner and business manager, he'd given himself an extra hour of sleep in the morning. He didn't like doing so. It smacked of laziness, and Piercing hadn't gotten almost to the top of the theatrical profession by literally lying down on the job. Still ... at his age he was no longer as alert after missing sleep as he had been when he got into the stage life. Red was right. He'd needed the extra rest today.
He sat up as the alarm started ringing. At least his good sense of timing hadn't deserted him. He turned off the alarm with one fumbling hoof, nearly knocking the clock off his night-table in the process, rolled to his hooves and staggered into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and stepped into his bath-tub, drew the curtain. The hot water caressed him with its wet warmth, and he sighed in relief as the heat began to unknot all his muscle cramps. There were more of those at 42 than there had been at 22, when he'd first met Red.
Though of course at 22 he hadn't had his own bathroom with hot and cold running water. He and Red had been attached to a traveling show, basing out of caravan wagons, playing a different town every week. They were lucky when they had the luxury of a bathroom -- most of the time it was portable tubs and ladles of cold water for hygiene, when they even had the time for it. When they did get to stay over at a hotel, at one of the bigger towns, it often didn't have hot water baths -- back then, they were still uncommon save for the prosperous.
Now, of course, hot-water baths were common throughout Equestria -- and Piercing was prosperous. His own talent -- particularly the one for which he bore both name and cutie mark -- was in part responsible for that. So was Red Ink's business acumen. Neither of their talents would have done them much good, though, without a heck of a lot of hard work. At least half of success in any business -- and the stage was a business, though not exactly like any other -- was hard work. That was something all the true professionals knew.
He soaped, washed, and enjoyed the decadence of hot running water just a little bit longer. Then with a sigh at pleasure ending he turned off the water, padded out of the shower and toweled-off. Wiping off the steam from his mirror, he began the necessary maintenance to his mane and coat, both very important on this night of nights. His appearance was not the primary source of his charisma, but it contributed, and ultimately he still had to sell himself, simply at a higher level than when he was doing mind-reading and card tricks on stage personally.
Piercing liked the looks of the stallion in the mirror. Dramatic black mane and eyebrows against his light-gray coat. Handsome face, firm muzzle, and above the muzzle his expressive dark-brown eyes. Above those, his short but thick horn. A bit stocky, but a large muscular kind of stocky, even if he was going a bit to flab these days. He'd have to get off his rump more -- these last few years he'd been spending too much time just sitting in his office, instead of running things more hooves-on. Another effect of growing age, he sadly supposed.
I look like a full Pony, he thought, unless you know exactly what to look for. Most people know what I am, of course ... I'm famous in my home town. But when Ponies look at me, they think "Unicorn." Not "Onager." And that helps me deal with them -- though sometimes I feel a little like some kind of disguised creature, like the buzzing dybbuks in the Old-World tales.
And certainly, they don't think "mule." I don't look the part. Though I am, in both senses. The line ends with me, as I've known since I turned 21. It shouldn't matter. I never wanted foals, anyway.
Not much.
He stepped out of the bathroom, sufficiently groomed for the moment, and opened his wardrobe. The nice clean white shirt-front, jacket and topcoat with tails awaited him. He dressed, careful attention to every detail, readying himself for the big night.
As is pretty much everyone in the business, all across Equestria, right now. Everyone at the Hippodrome. Everyone in every theatre. Everyone on the road.
Everyone ... including her.
For a brief moment the vision of her fragile, sharp-featured, brilliant blue face, her dark flashing eyes more alive than any he'd ever seen outside a mirror, framed in hair so pale-blue that it sometimes seemed white, was before him. Her imagined expression was sarcastic, mocking ... teasing ... irresistible.
He winced, and banished the image. He needed no distractions tonight. And thoughts of her were nothing but distraction.
Still, as he checked his case to make sure that he had everything he'd need for the night, he could not entirely avoid the obvious questions. Where was she performing tonight? he asked himself. She obviously was performing; she'd perform if you gave her a board to stand on and an audience of three half-asleep foals. Had she found a good gig? Was she playing to a good crowd? Did she have a good contract? Was she safe and happy and ...?
No.
This was pointless. He didn't know where she was. The last he'd seen of her had been a glare of utter horrified disgust on that pretty little face, the indignant swish of that long, lovely tail as she almost galloped out his door. The next morning he learned she'd pulled up stakes, trotted off with that little caravan stage of hers in tow. He'd neither seen nor heard from her again.
Why can't you just accept the obvious conclusion, Piercing? he asked himself. She hates you. Give it up. Just find some more mare-friends. Yehveh knows they go gaga over you.
Of course, he'd already tried that. A month or so after she left. And he'd given up a few months' later. Why? He knew the answer.
Because none of them can hold a candle to her. Either on or off the stage. The most talented stage magician I've ever seen. Class and moxie, in one adorably perfect package. The kind of fire, inside, that no one could fake.
Yeah, Piercing, he pointed out to himself, but she was never really yours! Not your mare-friend. Not anyone's mare friend. You were just pals, that's all.
Friends. A closer friend, on just a few weeks' close acquaintance, than he was with ponies -- both mares and stallions -- that he'd known for years. And they were attracted to each other. There was a term for that.
Soul-mate, he thought.
And I blew it. On a stupid impulse.
And that's that, he told himself. Over. Done. Finished. End of last act, curtain closed. No point stretching out the last bows. The audience didn't much like your last act, anyway.
He picked up his case, headed for the door.
Tonight, he told himself, At the after-party, I'll be surrounded by hundreds of deliriously-celebrating citizens of Baltimare. Some of whom are bound to be female, willing and experienced enough to know what they want. You, Piercing Gaze, are going to forget about Trixie Lulamoon the good old-fashioned way.
As he stepped out the door, his optimism rose, and he managed to convince himself that, this time, it would work.
Chapter 2: Perambulations
Chapter 2: Perambulations
Piercing's townhouse was a mile away from the Hippodrome. He did not bother hailing a cab. He wanted to lose some of the flab anyway, and the way from house to theatre was dry and well-surfaced, so he did not fear damage to his attire.
At almost four o'clock, the Sun still rode high, and the streets of Baltimare were drenched in golden light under a clear blue sky. One of the nice things about living in a big city was that the local Weather Patrol was thoroughly professional: they'd never mess up any days as important as the ones during the Summer Sun Celebration. He remembered from his days on the road that this was something not to be counted on in those little hick towns. The day was warm, but that was only normal for even late June in a Baltimare summer.
His walk was an easy downhill grade, from the low hills of the Northwest where his townhouse sat, down to the Hippodrome. He went halfway down the pleasant, tree-lined street of neat brownstones and turned right onto Guitar Street. He ambled past rows of nice apartment buildings, some of them with small stores downstairs, the streets singing with the laughter of colts and fillies at play and growing numbers of people granted early release from work for the holiday. For them work had ended for the day; for him, it was about to begin for the night.
Here and there, onagers and ponies called out or waved to him. He was a famous figure in Northwest Baltimare. The population here was mostly Germane and Lippans Yehvist, like himself, and despite his unicornish looks they knew him for one of their own, who had made it very good. He smiled and waved back, sometimes addressing them by name. He knew many of them, and liked almost everyone he knew here. They were good folk, one and all.
He turned south onto Eutaw. Two blocks east of him was the Susquehattan Railroad. He could hear and smell a locomotive on the tracks; as he passed Mad Sun Street he looked left and saw boxcar after boxcar rolling by as the big freight train headed for the harbor. Fortunately the breeze was from the north, blowing the soot downtown and preventing it from soiling his clothing. Around him were small factories and industrial supply stores, many of them closing down early, disgorging neat onager clerks and burly earth pony workers to mingle in the warm afternoon.
He passed the rail depot, and soon Mare College was on his right. The streets were full of students, excited and happy about the coming celebration. He saw three mares in earnest discussion, whether about abtruse philosophy or the latest phonograph record was impossible to tell from his position. One of them was a knockout, a tall pink number with long blonde mane. He smiled appreciatively and tipped his hat to her as he trotted by.
A bit further down, a stallion with two footballs as a cutie mark was posing as he described some game play to a gaggle of appreciative mares, who blushed and giggled as he made some witticism. Everyone was trying to look sophisticated, adult. They all seemed like colts and fillies from his vantage point.
Was I that silly back then? he asked himself. Probably not. They're still playing at life -- they were born to wealth and they're going to college to take their places in a world made for their benefit. I was already apprenticed to Dondo when I was their age.
He remembered Dondo with some annoyance, because he'd been a blowhard and a cheapskate, but also some fondness, because it was from Dondo that he had first learned to be a professional stage magician. Dondo had very little true magic -- less even than Piercing, who was but a very weak mage himself -- but he had been really good at the patter and he knew how to emphasize the little he could do to make it a lot. Mostly card tricks, a few mind-trick predictions -- the same sort of thing that Piercing did to this day when he performed. Though Piercing knew that he was better now than old Dondo had been at his best.
Piercing himself had been pretty green back then, and he hadn't fully realized just how little Dondo was paying him for his assistance. It wasn't until Piercing had met Red Ink --- then going by his Lippsch name Russer Tinte -- that Piercing had learned just how much better he could do working directly with another troupe. In return, he had given Red some pointers on self-presentation that had made him a much more effective negotiator. It had been the start of a lifelong friendship.
He walked past Lexical. The street was a bustling marketplace, lined with shops and stalls, and the merchants were all making money hoof over hoof. The ponies of Baltimare were buying food, drinks, streamers, balloons, party favors, presents of all sorts for their own Summer Sun Celebrations. The air was already one of festival, though the official holiday wouldn't actually start until sundown.
I love this city, he thought to himself. I'm so glad I'm not on the road any more.
Years on the road together, him and Red, with Top Date's traveling show, building their skills and self-confidence, and with Red's help putting away a steady surplus of bits in the bank and other investments, until they finally had enough gold to start their own traveling show. More years on the road, running their show, before they returned to Baltimore to work at the old Billbuyer, then finally moving to their own theatre. The Gosling, which was old and creaky and small, but which saw their first successes.
And now -- their new theatre. Almost brand new -- just constructed two years ago.
The Hippodrome.
It reared up proudly before him as he reached the corner of Eutaw and Baltimare, its white and tan marble facade rising six stories high, supported by its steel-frame construction and decorated with scrollwork and statues. The Hippodrome took up half a block and could seat 3000 patrons on lovely plush red velvet, making each of them feel like the nobility at Canterlot (as his promo brochures so proudly said). With multiple exits and extinguishers everywhere, it was as safe as any indoor theatre could be from fire's ancient bane..
The Hippodrome belonged one hundred percent to himself and to Red: they'd made sure to finance it with loans rather than stock for just that reason. And this Summer Sun Celebration he would finally be able to pay off all but a fraction of the principal.
It was the wife he'd never have, the foal he'd never have, and he loved the Hippodrome with a passion that was true and sincere. And the Hippodrome, he very much believed, loved him back.
He could have walked in through the side door, but he wanted to make a grand entrance. This lovely lady deserved to be treated properly..
So he strode through the front door, into the vast lobby. He was welcomed warmly by the lobby staff, and bidding them happy hellos in return. The lobby was of course mostly empty right now, but streamers were being put up, a big sign saying "Happy Summer Sun Celebration 1000!" already hung in place, and the tables for the feast already being pushed into place. He breathed in the scent of the freshly-cleaned red carpets, drank in the sight of the gold scrollwork on the faux-ivory panelled walls and the sweep of the grand staircases leading up to the balconies and private boxes.
He walked up to his office with a bounce in his step and a song in his heart, all his sad musings forgotten. Now he was in the Hippodrome.
Now he was home.
Author's Note
Piercing loves his work.
Before the Return of Luna, it was common to count years from the Years of the Sun(YOS) -- the Banishment of Luna. Afterwards, most Equestrians switched to the older count from the establishment of Harmony (defeat of Discord). YOS 1000 is YOH 1500.
Chapter 3: Distractions
The Hippodrome's business offices were to the right side of the main lobby, accessible through a brown wood-paneled door with a frosted-glass window and a sign in gold paint below the window, which read (not very imaginatively) "BUSINESS OFFICE." Piercing opened the door, the little bell on it jingling as he did so, and stepped into the familiar surroundings of his main office: a large room with desks, a couple of type-writing machines, and file cabinets lining the walls.
"Hello, Mr. Piercing," said the cute, compact little ivory-colored unicorn sitting at one of the type-writers. Her intelligent brown eyes peeped out at him from under her curly reddish-blonde mane. She had a worried look on her somewhat plump, wide-muzzled face.
"Hi, Goldie," replied Piercing. "So what's the problem?"
Golden Quill had been Piercing's secretary for the last five years, and his office manager for the last two of these. She was cool-headed and smart as a whip, and if she looked worried, there was a reason.
"She's in your office," Goldie simply said.
"Who is?"
"Some mare, name of Scarlet Sheaf. Says Gleisner Pfenning sent her over." Goldie leaned in, said in a low tone. "I don't trust her. She looks on the make. I've got Fleeter watching her."
Piercing wrinkled his brow, considered the possibilities. One thing struck him as odd about the situation.
"Why is she in my office instead of in the waiting area right here?" he asked Goldie.
"She just came in, asked which office was yours, and then barged right in. I'm thinking of calling up some of the hooves to get rid of her, but I wasn't sure whether or not she was some ... friend of yours."
Piercing's mind automatically supplied numerous synonyms for the unflattering concept Goldie was avoiding saying instead of "friend." He sighed. They were all quite possibly true of this particular mare, because he in fact did not know her, and the likely reasons for a strange mare to behave so forwardly toward a stallion with money and a useful position in the business did not encourage him as being benign.
There was one other thing wrong with the picture.
"You let her in just because she wanted in?" he asked Goldie. This did not match his image of Goldie, who though small was strong-willed and not exactly shy about expressing her opposition to courses of action with which she disagreed.
"I ... well ..."
Piercing fixed a very direct look upon her.
"Yow!" Goldie said, blinking and turning away. "Ok, boss, it was Fleeter. I was away for a minute and I had him cover front desk." She blinked repeatedly and then looked at him reproachfully. "You really ought not to do that to your friends," she scolded.
"Sorry, Goldie," Piercing apologized. "I just knew you wouldn't have let yourself be pushed around by some stray chippie. Thanks for the heads-up." He flashed her a dazzling smile.
"Ah, g'wan," Goldie said, smiling back and flipping him a hoof..
Ready for anything, the master of the Hippodrome Theatre prepared to confront whatever terrifying creature had ensconced herself in his office.
***
Piercing opened the door on an interesting tableau.
Fleeter Hooves, his office assistant, was tangled up on the floor with a very young and very attractive earth pony mare with the brightest red mane and tail he'd ever seen. over a fairly normal-looking light amber coat. That and the red sheaf of wheat emblazoned on her flank would have made her identity as Scarlet Sheaf obvious even if she weren't the only mare in the room.
For a moment, a mildly-shocked Piercing wondered if Fleeter's young-stallion sexual frustrations had somehow collided with some sort of hormonal surge or poorly-thought-out-plan on Scarlet's part, leading them to (incompetently) attempt sexual congress right on his office carpet. Then the pile of scattered pens and paper clips around them, coupled with the presence of several such items in their hooves, made it obvious what had actually happened. Fleeter had simply been clumsy, and Scarlet was helping him clean up the consequences.
Piercing sighed, and smiled down at them.
"I can explain, Mr. Piercing," stammered Fleeter, his normally blue-furred cheeks turning almost as red as Scarlet's hair. "See I was getting Scarlet a cup of water, and then I sort of spilled it, and I was trying to mop it up when ..."
Scarlet, for her part, coolly got up. Smiling at Piercing with slightly-parted lips, she revealed a set of excellent teeth. She batted her long eyelashes at Piercing and seated herself on his red velvet couch.
"It doesn't matter, Fleeter," said Piercing. "You can clean that up later."
Fleeter got up, bumped into Piercing, apologized, and started walking toward the door.
Scarlet leaned back on the couch, draping herself artfully. She winked at Piercing, and parted her lips again, licking them slightly with a delicate tongue.
"On second thought, Fleeter," decided Piercing, "perhaps it would be good if you told Goldie to get me the files on pre-purchased tickets for the Celebration by seating zone, and bring them in here."
Scarlet looked noticeably disappointed, and straightened herself into a more normal posture.
Piercing stepped over to the couch and regarded the young mare. Despite her rather-obvious behavior, she seemed a very young mare -- Piercing would have estimated 17 or 18. He smiled at her in what he hoped was an avuncular fashion and said, "So, Miss Scarlet?"
"Yes," she replied, in what seemed an attempt to sound simultaneously seductive and aristocratic, and missing at both marks, "Scarlet Sheaf. I'm quite thrilled to meetcha." The ineptly-done upper-class accent changed to typical Balmarish elided consonants at the end of the sentence.
They shook hooves. Her hoof did a sort of pulsing massage to his, and she tried to extend the contact a bit too long -- Piercing could feel her hooves' suction persisting even as he pulled his hoof away. Despite the absurd forwardness of her actions, Piercing found this physical contact slightly arousing, and he judged it better to sit back behind his own desk. He was glad that Scarlet knew that Goldie was coming in, and unless she had some very incorrect ideas about his relationship with his office manager, this meant Scarlet wouldn't try anything too embarrassingly overt right now.
"I'm Piercing Gaze," he said calmly, "the co-owner and manager of this theatre, as I'm sure you're already aware. So what brings you to my office this fine afternoon?" He was pretty sure he already knew the answer.
"Oh, Piercing," she said in a rush, "I've always wanted to be an actress! Shine on the stage, have my name up in lights. I'm very talented and I want to be in your show!"
Sure enough. Why couldn't life be a bit more surprising? He remembered a year ago when another aspirant had interviewed at the last moment for his Summer Sun Celebration, and dazzled him with her talents instead of trying to smother him with her admittedly-attractive physical charms. And she'd succeeded, too ... he was still dazzled.
Ah well. They couldn't all be Trixies. Actually, he was pretty sure that there was only one ever made of that model.
He sighed.
"All right, Miss Scarlet," he asked her. "What can you do?"
She started to get up from the couch, walk over to his seated form ...
"On the stage, I mean," he amended.
She looked shocked for a moment, then realized that he wasn't asking her to literally perform an indecent act in public.
"Oh," she said, collecting her composure. "Well ... I can dance really well ... I can sing ... I've been in school plays and got the lead part once ..."
Peircing Gaze examined her narrowly. She seemed to be honest about this, at least.
"You told me Gleisner Pfenning sent you?" He knew Gleisner well -- a penny-ante promoter who sometimes rented out stages to produce shows of dubious quality, and had a sort of side business farming out his more talented performers as a theatrical agent. Gleisner's reputation was not evil, but neither was it entirely savory. In particular, he sometimes had a nasty sense of humor.
"Yes," she said. "He said that you were his good friend and that he could get me into your show," Scarlet admitted, looking a bit uncomfortable. "He told me that all I had to do was ... be nice to you." She blushed a bit.
Piercing revised his estimate of her age down a year or two.
"And were you ... nice to him?" he asked.
Her face went completely red, and she looked at her hooves. She said nothing.
"Enough," Piercing said. He didn't want to torture the poor filly by making her tell him the whole sordid story.
Goldie knocked on the door, a bit more loudly than was absolutely necessary.
"Wait a moment, Goldie, please," he called out.
He turned back to Scarlet.
"Listen to me," he told her, fixing her with his gaze. She looked up, of course -- everypony did when Piercing did what he was doing now. "Listen very well, because I am being completely honest with you.
"You may have talent. You may not have talent. But when somepony in the business asks you to 'be nice to them' that way, just turn around and walk out that door. Because if you have talent, then you can get yourself noticed by somepony else for what you can do on stage, not on a casting couch. And if you don't have talent, then all that's going to come out of being nice to jerks is that you are going to get used, again and again and again, until whatever fire you had within you that made you want to be special on stage is burned out.
"Do you understand me?"
She swallowed hard and nodded. Her eyes were moist.
He hadn't hypnotized her. He knew how to do that, but only with her consent and careful preparation. What his gaze and voice did was to command attention, and sometimes let him see a little into another pony's character. He could even use it on a whole audience in the proper setting -- this was one reason he had been a successful showstallion. It was a minor magical talent, but a very useful one in his profession.
"Now go home and practice your act," he told her. "Bring anything special you need to show it on Wednesday."
"Wednesday?" she asked.
"Yeah," he replied. "That's when we do auditions. Wednesday, 3 o'clock -- better show up an hour early, so that you have time to get prepared."
She looked at him in utter disbelief.
"What?" he asked. "I didn't say I was rejecting you for the show. I haven't even seen what you can do yet -- and I don't have time for it right now. You get a chance -- just like anypony else."
She squealed, ran over to him and hugged him. He felt a little bit uncomfortable being hugged by this much attractive female flesh, especially given what he had just told her.
"Oh, thank you!" she said. "Thank you thank you thank you!"
Piercing revised his estimate of her age down by another year.
"Eh, hon," he said, "I haven't really done anything for you yet. Just giving you a chance to audition, that's all. The rest is up to you."
"Thank you anyway," she said, planting a kiss on his cheek and then trotting happily off toward the door. She shot him a look over her shoulder.
"You know," she said, "You are a very nice and handsome stallion." She winked at him.
He chuckled. "Ah, get outta here fer now. See you Wednesday."
She made her exit.
Goldie's head peeked around the doorframe, looking suspiciously in and then out at the departing Scarlet. She walked in, holding a file of papers in her mouth. She went over to him, put the file down in front of him. He opened them, looked through them. He saw that there'd been a rash of last-minute cancellations in a section sold to the military.
"What happened there?" he asked Goldie, indicating the cancellations.
"Oh, that?" Goldie asked. "Some sort of last-minute military and naval maneuvers. Whole fleet and garrison's mobilized." She snorted. "Betcha they're not happy about having to miss out on the Summer Sun Celebration."
"You'd win that bet," he said. "Eh, I hope that we can fill those seats. Probably will -- there's always turnaways on a night like this."
"Yes," said Goldie. "So -- ?"
"So what?" asked Piercing.
"So what happened with Little Miss Flirty?" she asked him.
Piercing drew himself up in what he hoped was a properly pompous manner and said: "Miss Golden, that question is not precisely within the normal purview of an office manager to her employer, and ..."
She shouldered him. "Come on, boss!" she said. "Give!"
Piercing laughed.
"Oh, that?" he said. "The usual. She wanted to be in the show, thought that she could fling her theoretical virtue at my hooves and have me trample all over it as the road to stardom."
"And you weren't tempted?" she asked him skeptically.
"You know me," he said. "I don't mix my business with pleasure. Too dangerous. And if I made a mistress out of one of my performers and favored her over the others, that would make the kind of resentments that could rip the whole troupe apart.
"Anyway, she was just a kid. Maybe a bit of an unwise kid, but nowhere near as grown-up as she was pretending to be. I'd never take advantage of somepony like that. You know me better than that."
"Yeah," Goldie said, looking at him fondly. "I do. But there's one thing you should fix before you go out to face the rest of the staff."
"What's that?" he asked.
"Your cheek." She pulled out a kerchief and rubbed his aforementioned body part vigorously, showed it to him.
Scarlet lipstick.
"Heh," he said with a sheepish grin. "She kissed me.".
"Yeah." said Goldie. "You probably deserved it, too."
He looked down at the carpet, saw the spilled pens and paper clips.
"Oh, get Fleeter back in here to clean this up now, please?" he asked.
"Sure thing, Boss," Goldie said, trotting out with just the most subtle swish of her reddish-blonde tail. "Gotta keep things looking professional."
The door closed, and for a moment Piercing was alone with his thoughts
Yep, he agreed. Professional.
Even if it's sometimes lonely.
Author's Note
While researching the issue, I found to my surprise that the 19th century age of consent in Maryland was 10. It's 16 today. So if I'm going by the Maryland analogy, Scarlet Sheaf is probably not jail bait.
Though it would still be a bad idea for Piercing to accept Scarlet's sexual offer, for all the reasons he mentioned to Goldie.
