Nightmare at the Gala(Con)?

Part 3: At the Gala

You feel a bit like an idiot as you stand there in the Theatersaal lobby. By now you're almost convinced that she isn't gonna turn up. The whole thing was probably just a strange joke on her part.

Still, you've fished the suit out of your backpack, which is only slightly crinkled as a result of it, and changed in one of the restrooms. Maybe you should have gone to the Gala Party with Takagi, instead of waiting here for a mystery date that is unlikely to even show up.

Yet the Gala Evening was one of the things you had been most looking forward to, when you first decided to come. It was supposed to be a nice evening with your girlfriend. After the break-up, you still held onto that, figuring that maybe you'd meet someone along the way.

“Well, looks like I'm going alone after all.” Well, with 80% of the brony fandom made up of guys, you won't look too much out of place. It could still turn out to be a fun evening.

Just as you resolve to go in alone and make the most of it, someone addresses you. “You're early.”

You turn around and can't really believe your eyes. There she is. The mysterious beauty in the Nightmare Rarity cosplay is just standing there, running one hand through her luscious hair. You can't believe she actually came.

Although you haven't really come to grips with her uncanny similarity to the woman from your dream, you smile nonetheless and offer her your arm. “Shall we go in?”

She looks at you and then walks right past you, not even acknowledging the offer. Huh? Did you say something wrong? Is she mad at you? “Don't just stand there. Come along.”

“Right.”

You follow her in and take a moment to marvel at the room. You'd been in here before for the opening ceremony, the panel and the cosplay contest. The only reason for you to attend the latter was actually to see, if your date would be there. It seemed strange that she'd go to such lengths to create this Nightmare Rarity costume and then not take part.

At any rate, the room looks totally different from before. There's tables with snacks and drinks laid out on white tablecloths. A dance floor is in the middle, and up on the stage a classical quartet, all dressed up formal, is playing some music. The cellist is even cosplaying as Octavia. You crane your neck to get a better look at the chandelier that has been hung from the gallery up above. It was definitely the right decision to come here. You could have a straight-up party with modern music any day, but this really feels like the Grand Galloping Gala it is modeled after. Feels like Princess Celestia herself could walk through those doors at any second.

Your sense of wonder evaporates, however, when you spot your date looking across the floor with a slightly bored expression. “Uhmm, wanna dance?”

“No.”

Just as well, you think. Although you took some dance classes as a kid in preparation for your cousin's wedding, you're probably not all that great at it. “Wanna get something to eat?”

“No.”

This wasn't going well at all, as far as dates went. “Okay, what do you wanna do?”

“…”

“Maybe we could just talk for a bit?”

“What about?”

What about? How should you know? You don't have the foggiest idea of who this woman is, much less her likes and interests.

Just then a red-haired angel descends on the edge of your vision, bringing salvation from the awkwardness of the moment, and holds out a tray with some glasses on it. “Champagne?”

You blink several times. “Ranko?” What's more, she seems to be wearing a french maid outfit. You've always been a sucker for those. “You look really cute in that.”

“I do hope you enjoy the view,” she replies with a sour expression. “It's because of you that I have to wear this ridiculous thing.”

“Because of me? Why?”

“None of the other volunteers wanted to, so my boss basically blackmailed me into it. He said, if I wanted to have any hope of getting to see M.A. Larson's solo panel tomorrow, I had better take one for the team.” She grabs the edge of the skirt and tries to pull it down, although there really isn't enough cloth there to cover all of her thighs. “This thing has gotta be two sizes too small for me.”

She seems really unhappy about it, although in comparison to her attire from earlier, it is downright modest. Well, the cleavage is about the same, but this one at least covers her mid-rift in frilly, aprony goodness.

“Are you gonna take some champagne or not?”

“Oh, right.” Seeing that your companion has already gotten one of the tall glasses, you also take one by the stem.

Now, what would be a good toast? That might break the ice with her. Just as you start to raise your glass, Nightmare Rarity tilts hers back and drinks it down in one go. Then she puts the empty glass back onto Ranko's tray.

“Well, cheers,” you say dryly as you take a nip. It's fruity and bubbly, but there's something off about the taste. “Wait, is this non-alcoholic?”

“Well, duh! We've got teenagers here, so we can't serve the real stuff,” Ranko points out. She looks around conspicuously and then whispers while jabbing her thumb in the direction of a certain table. “I'm pretty sure someone spiked the punch, though. Probably their idea of an in-joke. But you didn't hear it from me.”

Hearing that, your date immediately makes her way over to the table indicated and fills a cup from the bowl. Just like the non-alcoholic champagne, she chugs it back in one go. Then she fills her cup again, and again.

“Three months, huh?” Ranko asks with a raised eyebrow. “Normally I have a pretty good bullshit radar for guys trying to get into my panties. But you're good. Really had me going there.”

Oh, crap! She's totally gotten the wrong idea. “No, you misunderstand. I only met her today, just after you left in fact.” And you were initially gonna ask Ranko, although you can't very well say that with your date within ear-shot.

“Uh-huh.”

“It's true! I only met …” Realizing that you missed something fairly important, you turn around  to the mystery woman. “Ehm, sorry about that. What did you say your name was again?”

“I didn't,” she simply responds and goes back to drinking punch.

Ranko looks at her and then back at you. “Are you sure she's all there in the head?” she asks in a whisper.

“I don't know,” you say, looking back at that mysterious woman, of whom you can't seem to make sense of. “Actually, I think I might have dreamed her up.”

“Huh!?” You can't really blame Ranko for giving you a look, as if you'd just dropped your pants and whipped it out in public. It does sound kind of insane, when you put it into words like that.

While you're wrestling with how to best explain this, you can see a man approaching Nightmare Rarity. With his blonde hair and white tux he almost reminds you of Prince Blueblood.

“Hello there, beautiful. All alone here at the Gala?” he asks.

She pretty much ignores him and continues to drink.

“Hey, don't give me the cold shoulder, honey.” Then he squarely places a hand on her hip. “What's your name? You and I could have some fun together.”

Grumbling, you prepare to walk over there and tell this guy to lay off, but then something unexpected happens. Nightmare Rarity very lightly closes her fingers around his wrist.

Crunch!

“Ahhhhhh!!!” The guy screams as if he was being roasted on a spit.

Your date, on the other hand, seems to not even notice the man writhing in pain and screaming bloody murder at her feet, and she's not relinquishing her iron grip either. Instead she dunks her cup back into the bowl with her free hand and gives you a cross-eyed smile. “Hey, this stuff is pretty nice.”

* * *

In the end it took three staff members to get her to release that guy. Then she passed out drunk and now she's resting with her head in your lap as you sit on the curbstone in front of the venue, pondering what to do.

Next to you someone else is also pondering her lot in life. Ranko's been sitting there for the past ten minutes in a far too familiar posture, namely with her head hanging low and resting in the palms of her hands. They must have kicked her out right after you. She didn't even have time to change out of her maid outfit.

“Why?” she finally asks. “What have I ever done to you? Did we have some kind of feud going on in an earlier life? Why are you so hell-bent on destroying me?”

“Hey, it's not my fault. It's really not fair that they held you accountable, just cause you were the staff member closest to us. There's nothing you could've done.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” she spits out acidly. “But after earlier today, they figured that we knew each other, thinking we were trying to pull some kind of prank on them. They didn't even listen to me. Took my pass, took my room keys, and now I'm here.”

To be fair, she does share a little blame for knowing about the spiked punch and not doing anything about it. But you're smart enough to know that this isn't the right time to point that out to her. “They took your room keys?”

She sighs. “Yeah, they didn't want me anywhere near the other volunteers anymore.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Sleep in my car, I guess. It's either that or driving through the night to get home.” Casting a sideways glance at Nightmare Rarity, she adds: “What are you gonna do about your psycho girlfriend?”

You look at her sleeping features. You'd have any reason to be mad at her, but she looks so innocent right now. “Well, I can't just leave her here. I've got a two-bed hotel room at the edge of town. I'll take her there for now.” You give Ranko a sincere look. “You know, it is big enough for three. I can sleep on the floor.”

You're prepared for a harsh answer, but it seems like she's genuinely considering it. “Beats re-enacting a cheesy 90s pop song, I guess. Besides, I'm not really sure that I can leave you alone with her.” Standing up, she brushes the dirt off her maid outfit. “Wait here. I'll bring my car around. We can put her across the back seat.”