Nightmare at the Gala(Con)?

Part 2: Would You?

You've been following the Show Cast panel with Nicole Oliver and M.A. Larson with interest for the past hour. Now you're in line to ask a question and it looks like you just might be able to.

There's only two other people in front of you now, and off to your side you spot somebody you've already met today.

“Ah, Phillip. How's it going?” Ranko asks cheerfully. Now that she's not sitting behind a table, you have the chance to admire her cosplay more fully. The tight top with the Yu-Gi-Oh 5D's logo on it already showed off her assets quite well. But those hot pants take the cake. You don't know what it is, but there's something about the combination of this skimpy outfit and the thigh-high socks that almost drives you crazy.

“Hey, Ranko. I'm doing fine. Are you working here?”

She nods. “I'm here to make sure that nobody asks anything inappropriate. You know, keep it PG, don't ask about anything that hasn't aired yet. So what's your question?”

“Oh, yeah. I wanted to ask M.A. Larson, since he wrote the episode about Twilight becoming an alicorn, how he felt the other writers had capitalized on that concept in Season 4 and whether he would have gone in a different direction with it.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh? That's a pretty good question. You're pretty clever.” Then she grins. “You might have even won our match earlier, if you hadn't spent so much time, looking at my boobs.”

You jump slightly and begin to blush. “Gah … I … Well, your outfit is pretty distracting, you know.”

“Are you saying that I couldn't win without using cheap tricks? I'm up for a rematch anytime.”

You think about that for a moment. “Pass.”

The woman in front of you asks her question. You've only seen her from behind, but she seems to be dressed as a human version of Nightmare Rarity, judging from the white streak in her hair. “What is love?”

You look over at Ranko, who simply shrugs. Seems like the questions don't have to make sense, as long as they follow the other rules.

Even the panelists look at each other in confusion for a moment, before Mitch Larson tries to give an answer. “Well, we've seen Cadence and Shining Armor. So love in the My Little Pony universe is magic. Just like friendship. It would be nice, if we could explore that concept a little further at some point.”

“What about Spike and Rarity?” the woman adds.

“Oh, Meghan talked about that at another convention,” Nicole Oliver then jumps in. “Spike's a child, so we can't really build a real relationship between them. Sorry. Does that answer your question?”

“…” Obviously not, but she walks away anyway. That was odd.

Finally it's your turn, but as you approach the microphone, the moderator cuts in. “Just a heads-up. Time's almost up, so unfortunately this is the final question.” Then he gives you a nod.

“Okay.” There's a dreadful noise coming from the speakers. You are too close to the mic. “Eh, this is a question for M.A. Larson.”

He sits up straight and gives you a big grin. “Last question. Better make it a good one.”

Oh, man! You wish people would realize that a statement like that never actually helps make the question better. But you're fine. You've got a good question. Even Ranko said so. . . . Unfortunately you've completely forgotten what it was all of a sudden.

As you flounder around, trying to remember, you look over at her. She's simply giving you a questioning glance. Ah, forget it. You'll just come up with a new question on the fly. Let's see what comes to mind.

So, like an idiot, you point at Ranko and ask: “Would you do her? Cause I'd do her.”

* * *

Outside the theater, you look at the redhead in front of you, who is sitting on a bench and holding her head in her hands. “I can't believe they threw us both out.”

You feel really bad for her. While the audience was erupting in laughter, another staff member came up and politely asked both of you to leave. You really don't know what to say, so you simply hold out one of the cups of coffee you just got as a peace offering.

She glares at you, even as she accepts the cup. “Why didn't you just ask your original question? Now they'll think it's my fault for not checking thoroughly.”

“I'm really sorry. I just drew a blank,” you reply, sitting down next to her. “But I'm pretty sure he was gonna say 'yes,' until that moderator intervened. That's a nice compliment to get from M.A. Larson, isn't it?”

“Well, yeah,” she grumbles, “under different circumstances perhaps. The only reason I took the volunteer job, was to see him. Now they're never gonna let me into his solo panel tomorrow.”

“So you came here to see him? Are you a writer or something?”

She nods. “I didn't have the money for a ticket. But volunteers get to watch the panels in their off-time.”

Now you really feel bad. At a loss of what to say, you decide to change the subject. “You're pretty good at that card game. How long have you been playing?”

“I dunno,” she responds, staring moodily into her cup. “About 18 hours or so, I guess.”

“I see.” Wait. What? You stare at her. “You only learned how to play yesterday?”

“Of course not. I looked up the rules in advance. Since I have no con experience, I had to put something on my volunteer application. So I said that I knew the CCG very well. But I didn't have a deck, until I got the box of starters in the staff meeting yesterday.”

“That's pretty impressive. Judging by your cosplay, you probably played Yu-Gi-Oh quite a bit, huh? Maybe that's a game I can beat you at.”

“Hm, dream on, virgin. You'd just get distracted again.”

There's that word again, and you decide to set the record straight. “I'm not a virgin, you know! I just broke up with my last girlfriend three months ago and I haven't had any since.”

Ranko blinks. “Wow, TMI, Phillip.” After a bit of an awkward silence, she glances in the general area of your crotch region. “Three months, huh? You must've at least masturbated during that time.”

Geez, now who's just blurting out embarrassing stuff? Then again, you do like women who are forward like that. “Nope,” you give the honest answer.

With a grin, she leans in closer to you. The scent of her hair tickles your nose. Smells like cinnamon. “Well, that explains a lot. You sure that your equipment is even functional at this point?”

“Wha-?” You jump slightly as she puts her hand in your crotch and then freezes.

“S-sorry, that was out of line,” she says, pulling back immediately. Is she blushing? And she's opening and closing her hand while looking at it, almost as if she can't believe something.

You should just ask her. What have you got to lose at this point? “Uhm, Ranko. Would you … ?”

“Attention, please,” an announcement begins to play over the speakers. “The My Little Pony Collectible Card Game Beginner's Tournament is starting now at the Classic- and Boardgames Room.”

“Huh?” Ranko looks up with a horrified look in her eyes. “Oh, no! I'm a judge! I'm gonna be late.” Without giving you a second glance, she gets up and runs in the direction of the stairs.

You sigh as you look after her. You were just about to ask her, if she would attend the Gala Evening with you.

After you finish your coffee, you suddenly realize that someone has been looking at you the whole time. It's that woman who was at the panel. She's wearing a violet evening dress and her glittering hair is the same color, except for one white streak. But the most eye-catching thing about her isn't the, admittedly juicy, cleavage. It's her blue eyes that seem to have slits for pupils. Are those contacts? She's really gone out of her way for this Nightmare Rarity cosplay.

Then it suddenly hits you. She looks exactly like the woman in your dream. Could this be coincidence? Either way, her staring is getting uncomfortable, so you get up and approach her. “Uhm, excuse me. I can't shake the feeling that we've met somewhere before.”

She says nothing. Duh. She must hear that a hundred times a day. Although it wasn't actually meant as one, as far as pick-up lines go, that was one of the worst.

“Can I help you with something?”

Her eyes wander up and down your body, mustering you, seizing you up. If you weren't uncomfortable before, now you definitely are. “Yes, I suppose you'll do,” she finally says.

“Do what?”

“You'll be my date for the Gala Evening.” It wasn't a question. It was a statement. As she turns on her heel and begins to walk away, she adds without looking at you: “Meet me here at eight, and do something about your dreadful attire.”

As you stand there in front of the theater, dumb-founded, there's only one question on your mind. “What the hell just happened?”