“Come on, Caramel. Time to get up.”

A soft groan escapes my mouth and I roll over, hoping for the comfort of the bed to take me back away into the dreamland of sleep.

The voice is now accompanied by a hand gently shaking my shoulder. “Caramel. We’re supposed to make the theater by nine-fifteen.”

It was always like this. Every time we have to go somewhere, I’m the one who ends up running late. Or not remembering the time I’m supposed to get up. Or Ace forgetting that he was supposed to command me to wake up when he does. This time, I’m sure it’s me just plain tired and not really wanting to do anything.

“Caramel, rise.”

The command is gentle but firm. Without thinking, I throw the sheets and blankets off me and swing my legs off the bed. I’m only in a pair of blue, elastic-waist shorts from last night and my brown mane is a disheveled mess. I push myself off the bed and am standing completely straight by the time I gain control over my own body again.

By the time I’m standing up, I’m staring the white stallion straight in his bright blue eyes glaring hard at me. He’s already dressed and ready to go, a white shirt covering the intricate black tattoos on his chest and his mane brushed so that it looks wild in front with a straight back. He’s got a pair of black slacks and black leather shoes on, and I can see his black vest and top hat hanging over a chair nearby.

“What time is it?” I manage to ask through a yawn.

“About eight-fifteen,” Ace replies simply. “I’ll need you to shower for tonight. Get in; breakfast is on the way.”

I don’t need telling twice. I’ve soon gotten around the queen-sized bed and into the hotel’s bathroom, hanging a towel over the shower door before undressing and stepping inside. I turn on the water and I’m soon drenched in a warm shower that soaks my mane and coat. An ear flicks out a bit of water that got inside, and for a moment I stand in the shower with closed eyes, thinking.

My name is Caramel. I was born and raised in Ponyville, where I did a bunch of odd jobs. I had a group of “friends” that I hung out with, but they always made fun of me. Like how slow I was or how stupid I was. I’m not athletic or that smart, working mostly with my hands instead of my brain, but I didn’t like it all the same.

About a year ago, Ace of Diamonds came. He’s a travelling magician who came to Ponyville on one of his tours for a change. And, surprisingly, he’s also an Earth pony like me – not a unicorn, like that one haughty, powder blue mare that came through twice, once nearly destroying the town. But Ace is different. He’s got a weird way of operating, but he’s definitely talented, doing actual magic and not just slight-of-hand.

Funnily enough, it’s because of the only slight-of-hand trick in his arsenal that I’m sitting here. Ace of Diamond’s specialty is cards, and he used a deck of them to slowly place me under a hypnotic trance. He commanded me to meet with him later, and when I did he made me an offer to travel with him for decent pay as his assistant. It paid better than my old job, but I had to be placed back under his trance and leave Ponyville.

Not such a bad offer, considering work sucked and my “friends” teased me more often than not.

So, for the past year I’ve been travelling around as his assistant and rather close partner. Behind closed doors, Ace is rather warm if he’s not tense like he is before a show. We sleep in the same bed, with Ace always keeping at least one hand and one hoof over me. I pay nothing for my travel expenses; they are deducted somewhat from my pay and Ace takes over for the rest.

But this morning, the morning before a show, he’s on edge. We’ve hardly been in Baltimare for thirty-six hours. Almost all of yesterday was spent looking at the theater where he’s supposed to perform with Ace in a good mood about the setup. Now, it’s time for the ritual. For the next three days, he’s going to be irritable, cranky, and nitpicky.

Not towards me. He always stresses that. He’ll shout expletives at everypony who gets in his way or does something wrong, then turn to me and say “I’m sorry. That wasn’t meant for you.”

Well, it’s something.

A sharp rapping at the bathroom door startles me out of my reverie. “Are you done in there!?” Ace yells.

“Nearly,” I call back. “I just have to wash my mane.”

“Breakfast is here,” Ace calls through the door. “Hurry up!”

I quickly place a little soap in my hand and rinse my mane. A few minutes later, the water’s off and I’m toweled. The bathroom door is open, but the bedroom door is closed and Ace is not in sight. I quickly close the window before slipping into a pair of blue jeans, brown casual moccasin hoof covers, and a white collared shirt, my usual attire for the night of a show.

When I open the bedroom door, Ace is sitting down at a table in the small dining area. The table is set for two. I sit down and examine the meal before me: scrambled eggs, three strips of hay bacon, home potatoes mixed with onion and pepper, fresh fruit, two pieces of buttered wheat toast, a cup of coffee and a cup of orange juice each. Ace is putting a few ice cubes into his coffee cup. It’s usual for Ace to have a big breakfast; it’s entirely likely that he won’t be stopping to eat until right before the show starts once we get to the theater, and he needs as much as he can.

I, however, get a lunch break. He treats me like an employee, and I get paid like one and get breaks like one. He, however, is his own boss and works from sunup till sundown. I offer him all the time to come with me on break, but he never does.

I sit down and Ace joins me, his coffee now to his liking. He passes me a set of silverware and we’re both eating shortly. It’s not the best meal, but it’s hard to mess up and certainly filling; I won’t need a break until almost four. We eat quietly for a while, the window next to us opening up to Baltimare’s harbor and letting in the salty smell of the sea with the early morning breeze.

“You know what to do?” Ace asks me in between bites.

I nod. It’s been done so often that I know it almost like the back of my hoof. “This theater’s a bit smaller than the old one, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, they’ve made a few changes since I was here last,” Ace says indifferently. “It only fits three thousand ponies instead of five thousand. But I’ve been told we have a full house tonight, including the box seats.”

“Big night for you,” I tell him. “First time this whole tour we’ve had a full house.”

“Eh.” Ace waves it aside as though it was nothing. “We didn’t fill Canterlot or Manehattan, but the former can get seven thousand and the latter can fit ten thousand ponies.”

“Just… trying to make light of it,” I say feebly, trying to avoid eye contact.

For the first time this morning, Ace’s look softens into a warm smile. “It’s not your fault,” he says, a slight tender note in his voice. He runs a hand through his mane, making it actually look messy instead of the carefully-teased look it had, and nervously taps a hoof on the floor. “I’m just… I’m just stressed.”

I’m never stressed. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because I’m just cool, calm, and level-headed to begin with – I never struck out very hard whenever the ponies in Ponyville teased me – or if it was because of him essentially hypnotizing me into relaxation once a week.

But who entrances the hypnotist? I have no real magic ability – my cutie mark, a trio of horseshoes like the ones I wear on the bottom of my hooves, means luck, and I have no horn or special powers like Ace does – so when part of my job as his assistant is to help him out during these times, I’m kind of at a loss of what to do.

These moments of self-doubt are quick and don’t last long. The warmth leaves after a few moments and his face is hard once again. “Finish your breakfast,” he tells me. “We’ll have to leave almost immediately.”

I return to my own food, replaying the various stages of set-up that will be completed over the course of the day. As soon as we’ve finished, Ace picks up his jacket and beckons me to gather my own things. Ace takes the breakfast dishes as I pick up a simple watch Ace bought for me and put it on. Ace places the dishes outside the door and we leave the hotel.

It’s a short walk to the theater. Baltimare is one of Equestria’s older cities, built around a rather pretty downtown area filled with shops and the historic theater in which we will perform. Ace leads me down a fifteen-minute walk down tree-lined streets until we hit the theater, then goes down a side alley to a back door.

We enter into a small break room, where the appearance of Ace causes the employees inside to go into shock for a few minutes. Soon, they’re surrounding us and babbling almost incoherently to Ace.

“Where’s the manager?” Ace asks calmly.

They all go silent. It isn’t long until someone’s left the room to go get him.

An orange unicorn comes into the break room a few moments later, his hair a deep brown like mine and wearing a black, longsleeved button-up with blue jeans. He extends a hand to Ace, who shakes it.

“Morning, Janus,” Ace says.

“Good to see you again, Ace of Diamonds,” Janus replies, a small, determined smile on his face. ‘I see you finally got an assistant.”

Ace motions towards me. “Janus, this is Caramel. I recently found him in Ponyville working a dead-end job. I needed the assistant, he needed better work.”

I extend a hand towards him. “Pleasure,” I say.

Janus nods and shakes my hand. “Good to have the extra hand. My own workers will do as much as they can. Just tell me what you need and we’ll have it done.”

“First off: stage preparation. We’ll need to get the projector working for Ace’s card trick.”

“Alright.” Janus looks over to the crowd of employees still surrounding us. “Lens Flare! Camera Eye! I need you to get the projector started up and link it to their camera. Ace, your room is number 4, second door on the right. If you need anything, ring the bell.”

Two ponies nod and quickly run out of the room. Ace nods in turn but does not move. “Very well. I do have two requests. One: I will need a twelve-pack of standard-sized water bottles, preferably chilled in ice. Two: I will also need a small glass of water and a couple of aspirin; I’m afraid I drank too much last night.”

“It will be the end of you,” Janus says with a slight chuckle.

Ace turns to me. “Caramel, go with the two stage hands and help them set up the projector. Then, meet me in my room. One of the stage hands can help if you get lost.”

I nod and set off in the direction that Lens Flare and Camera Eye had gone. I walk out and make my way to the back of the stage, pulling out one of the boxes of equipment that had been brought the previous day. Out comes a stand, a large table topped with green felt, and a small wireless video recorder.

Lens Flare is soon with me holding a chip, which I insert into the camera. On the stage in front of a large red curtain, a screen begins to lower with a mechanical whirring. Lens Flare helps with the table and within half an hour we have the lights set to where they will be during the show and the screen is showing the green felt. I place a few cards down on the table and we adjust the settings so that the image is clear. Once the camera is correctly adjusted, Lens Flare turns the lights back on and helps me roll the table back stage, while Camera Eye manages the screen for a little while longer.

I follow Ace’s directions from earlier and still almost get myself lost. I only recover when I hear Ace yelling.

“I said I needed twelve!” Ace shouts. “Twelve bottles of water! Celestia damn you to Tartarus!”

“I’m sorry, Ace, sir,” the stage hand protests. “They only sell six packs of the brand you requested.”

“Then buy two!” Ace says, no longer shouting but still growling. “And get me that aspirin!”

“Yes, sir!” The stage hand backs out of the room nervously and bolts down the hall in the opposite direction I’m coming in.

I approach the open door cautiously. Ace is still grumbling. “I can’t believe it. It’s a simple direction that shouldn’t need that much explanation or have that much confusion…”

I turn the other way and leave the backstage area, finding the manager’s office where Janus is sitting under a decal of two masks with faces, one smiling and one frowning. He looks up as I enter. “Camera working?” he asks.

“Camera Eye and Lens Flare are fantastic,” I tell him. “We have it set exactly to Ace’s specifications.”

“Ah, and how is he? I heard him from here not long ago.”

“I was wondering if you had some aspirin,” I request. “It’s not so much for drink as he says, but to calm his nerves. He’s been stressed out all this morning.”

“And what of my assistant?”

“Likely going back to the store.”

Janus shrugs and pulls out a bottle. He gives me two white pills and fills a paper cup with water from a dispenser. “That should do it,” he says. “How long have you been working for him?”

I shrug. “About a year, now,” I tell him.

Janus nods. “I’ve worked with Ace for somewhere around seven years now,” he starts. “Don’t think badly of him. He’s smart and has a good heart, but he places himself in a lonely position. I dare say he wishes to reach out to someone, but never gets any response.”

“Supposedly, that’s half the reason he hired me,” I confess. “I was hired to be as much his companion as his assistant.”

Janus nods again. “It’s probably not my business to ask just how close you are.”

I shrug. “It’s not too much of a deal. There is some intimacy, mostly on his part. It doesn’t go very far. I think he just likes the fact there’s someone else with him.”

Janus pulls out a lighter and a cigarette. He takes his time with the cigarette, placing it in his mouth and lighting it before breathing deeply and exhaling a small cloud of smoke. “He doesn’t open very easily,” Janus muses. “I remember once him opening up to me. Ask him about it now, and he’ll act like it never happened.”

I nod, unsure of what to say after that. “I shall try to keep that in mind, sir.”

Janus waves me farewell with a single hand.

By the time I return to Ace’s room backstage, the other six pack of water bottles have been delivered along with a small canister of ice, where four bottles are sitting. Ace is leaning against a small dresser and mirror, rubbing his head as though he’s in pain. I knock on the door a few times to alert him of my presence and he looks up to see me.

“Camera’s all set up?” he asks.

I nod. “Camera Eye is set for the projector and screens, and Lens Flare has received the schedule of lighting and is currently setting up the lighting above the stage.”

Ace nods, then looks up to me with an appreciative smile as I place the water and aspirin in front of him. “I think I might have scared the other one off,” he chuckles.

I almost nod but restrain myself to avoid setting him off. “Probably. Is there a reason you wanted me here?”

Ace takes the two pills and drains the glass of water before standing up from the chair. He walks to the backstage area behind the curtain and I follow him.

“There’s only one more show location after this,” Ace says as we head behind the curtain. “It will be in Canterlot itself. Since we’re close, I was wondering if you want to go back to Ponyville. Say hello to a few old faces.”

“With all due respect,” I tell him, heading to one side of a large wooden table, “I did join up with you for a reason.”

“Yes,” Ace says thoughtfully, taking his position on the other side. “But I kind of took you out of there fast and without warning. I can’t help but wonder if, even with the trances I have placed on you, that you could have thoughts of home.”

I lift the table with Ace and we carry it to position right behind the curtain. The table serves a special purpose; Ace can summon items if he knows where they are. Placing them on the table creates the area where they can be taken from easiest.

“Not really,” I say as we gently set the table down. “I like this life. When I think about it, I always find it better than what I had before.”

“Hypnosis is not without its limits, Caramel,” Ace replies almost as soon as I finish. “There is always some doubt remaining no matter how intensive and continuous it is applied. It is in our basic nature as ponies.”

“That being said,” I commented, “I still prefer it with you.”

Ace smiled and came over to me. He gently caressed my cheek with a hand. I could feel myself relaxing into it, my muzzle gently nuzzling his hand. “I’m glad you do,” he says quietly. There’s no one else around to listen, but it feels intimate, close, something that is rare during these hectic hours before showtime.

Almost as quickly as the warmth came, it leaves. “Caramel, before you set up the stand, can you bring me a cup of coffee from the break room? One creamer, one packet of sugar, and, if it’s fresh, one ice cube.”

I give him a slight bow. “Certainly.”

Afterwards, Ace’s usual needs have me working down to the wire. I bring him his coffee before leaving to finish setting up the supplies for Ace’s act, clean the front stage, manage cleaning the aisles along with Janus, monitor the arrival of the programs, consult with Soundwave about the music and microphones (including pulling Ace out from his backstage room to check his mic), and finish my pre-show set up by making sure all the appropriate ponies were in the right spot.

I go backstage at four and find Ace putting on his jacket and looking into the mirror.

“All is ready and accounted for,” I tell him. “Doors will be opening at five.”

Ace hardly reacts; he’s too busy looking at himself in the mirror. “Good. Go ahead and break until five. There are a few small eating places nearby if you’re interested.”

“Ace… I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.”

The answer was short and curt. “No. I have no time.”

“Do you… want me to bring you something?”

“No. Thank you, but I’ll be fine until afterwards.”

I nod slowly. “Oh, okay. Just… if you wanted to…”

Ace turns around and smiles at me. He gently adjusts the collar of my shirt. “I’ll be fine. You take your break. You have money?”

I nod and turn around to leave as he goes back to looking at himself in the mirror. I head out the main entrance of the theater and find a sandwich shop less than a block away. I order a small salad with lettuce, tomato, cucumber, daisies, and daffodils, a rice and noodle soup, and an egg salad sandwich. I sit on the patio and eat as the sky above Baltimare turns a bright orange. In less than two hours, the show will be underway.

I finish my meal early and manage to save half my sandwich and a few bites of salad. I get a to-go box and leave the sandwich shop after buying a small bag of potato chips. I take the bag with the leftovers back to the theater, and head in the back entrance to the employee break room before heading to Ace’s room backstage.

Ace is sitting in the chair again, drinking a small glass of alcohol. I can smell the whiskey on his breath when I enter the room, and hear the ice clinking against the glass before I even notice the glass in his hand. He looks at me, then at the bag.

“What’s that?” He motions with the glass to the bag in my hand.

“Half a sandwich, some salad, and a bag of potato chips.” I set the bag on the table in front of him.

Ace looks confused at my gift; an eyebrow raises in question.

“It’s for you,” I tell him. “You look whiter than normal, and it probably won’t be a good idea to go out there with whiskey on your breath.”

Ace, for a moment, looks at the bag disdainfully. But apparently base instincts take over and soon the bag is open and he’s eating the sandwich almost ravenously. I watch him, wondering if he needs me for anything else.

When Ace is finished, it’s five o’clock. The doors will be opening soon. I watch Ace push aside the empty box and bag and pull two discs out from a drawer nearby, marked with the numbers ‘1’ and ‘2’.

“First CD goes in at five thirty,” he instructs. “Keep it playing until show time starts. At seven, switch disks, and set the second one up to play. It will be the length of the show, after which the sound technician may do as he pleases.”

I nod and take the disks from Ace. “Yes, Ace.” I turn to leave.

“Caramel, stop.”

I freeze where I am at the sound of Ace’s gentle, authoritative voice.

“Caramel, look at me.”

I turn around to see Ace looking at me almost mournfully, his eyes looking a softer blue than usual. He pulls out a small bottle of cologne and lifts my arm, spritzing it under my arms and across my chest. He sets the cologne aside and places his hands on my shoulders and stares me straight in the eye.

“You ready?” he asks me.

An absurd question, one he should know by now. I nod.

But almost as soon as I’m done nodding, Ace unexpectedly pulls me in. His arms wrap around my back and hold me tightly to him, almost possessively. I feel the gentle touch of his muzzle gently nuzzling my neck and shoulder as I carefully reciprocate as though afraid of startling him.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

We remain like this for a minute before he releases me. The mournful look has changed to one of determination and an almost cocky grin. “Let’s do this,” he tells me.

I smile along with him. “Ready when you are.”

As I leave Ace’s room, Janus meets me backstage. With his help, a wireless headset is attached to communicate with Lens Flare on lights and a few stagehands hiding to operate the curtain and move items used for Ace’s act on and off stage. I arm myself with a program, annotating it with the times it will take for each section. I go up to a back room of one-way glass where Camera Eye and Soundwave are at two different computers.

“Are we ready to go?” I ask.

“All systems are go,” Soundwave replies. “I just need whatever music Ace wants. I’ve got some here if necessary.” The CDs get passed over and Soundwave places them into her computer’s drives, loading up the first CD in one window and preparing the second CD in another.

“Projector is warming up,” Camera Eye said. “Should be ready in five minutes. Camera 1 showing the main stage is ready and Camera 2 on his table is waiting in the wings. Screen will be coming down closer to the start of the show.”

“Alright. Let’s have it come down at sixty seconds to start.” I check my watch. “Let’s start. Soundwave, play CD 1 from track 1.”

An upbeat house track starts playing in the main hall as I focus my attention to the headset. “Lens Flare, are you ready to go?”

“Lights in the auditorium are at medium power,” Lens Flare replies through the earpiece. “Overhead stage lighting and beams are in position. Shouldn’t have any mid-show technical problems.”

“Alright. All systems are green. Ace, are you ready?” “Yes.” His voice is a low, soft whisper in my ear. “On your cue, Caramel.”

I check my watch. Preparations are done, but there’s still an hour and a half until the start. Time to play the waiting game.

Yes, I’m not an assistant in the traditional sense. I take up more of a backstage technical role in comparison to the usual on-stage guinea pig. Ace is charismatic enough he doesn’t need them. Once he gets on stage, he’ll soon have the audience mystified and mesmerized. An awestruck silence will fall across the room, and he will have their rapt attention from the moment he steps into the lights to the moment he goes backstage.

I step outside the booth into the main lobby for a bottle of water. Already, the fact that he’s an Earth pony has the guests simultaneously questioning and intrigued as to how the evening will go. Some are already pointing at the posters in the main hall, which, to me, have given him something of a large forehead when he’s not wearing the pitch black fedora he enjoys on his hair, deep red the color of the diamond suit that makes up his name. It won’t be long before he has them enraptured and commands their entire attention.

I know what you’re thinking. I may be under a light trance due to Ace almost constantly, but that’s not what I mean. I simply mean Ace’s talent will be quite the spectacle and show.

That being said, he does perform hypnotism as a trick. But none to the extent he did to me.

At half past six, I make my way back to the technician’s booth. The CD has a few tracks left on it and Soundwave is doing a last minute sound-check, while Camera Eye is placing the main camera into position and drawing down the screen in the back.

“Soundwave,” I order, “Lower the music just a little bit.”

“On it.” The music in the hall lowers just a little bit as ponies start pouring in and finding their seats. “Not by too much since we’re trying to keep it heard.”

“It’s a cue for Ace more than anything,” I tell her. “Not long now.” I direct my attention to the headset. “Are you ready down at the curtain?”

“All ready. Ace is getting himself ready. He’ll give us the cue to go on once you give yours.”

“Very well.”

The minutes pass slowly as we wait for go time. But, at six fifty-nine exactly, I set my headpiece and and whisper quietly. “Lens Flare… you’re on.”

“Got it. Dimming and focusing.”

The lights in the main theater go dim and Camera Eye flips on a few lights in our booth on. Soundwave switches the CDs and a low, pulsing electronic track starts playing, rising in volume and intensity. Camera Eye presses a button that causes a little red recording light to shine on the camera just outside our booth, and places another hand over the button for the camera to project on the screen.

I speak quickly and quietly into the headset as a pre-recorded intro starts playing over the speakers. “Thirty seconds, Ace. Backstage crew, get ready. Lens Flare, focus the main lights towards the stage at the cue on the speakers.”

“Showtime…” Ace purrs in the microphone.

The pre-recorded introduction finishes and the audience bursts into applause as the curtains draw back to reveal the white stallion. The lights focus on him and the camera begins to show on the screen, a larger version so that his image is showing to the entire crowd of three thousand ponies in the theater. A knowing smile without teeth covers his face, and his ice-blue eyes hold a manic gaze over the audience.

They’re already mesmerized simply by his looks, by the well-defined chest and his lithe figure as he walks gracefully and deliberately back and forth across the stage. Aside from the slight bump towards the front of his head hidden by the top hat he’s wearing, he’s rather handsome and knows it. When he speaks to begin his opening monologue, his voice is an almost enthralling whisper and the entire audience goes silent. Within minutes of appearing on stage, he already has the audience at the edge of their seats as to what he could do.

Times like these I cherish. Not because of his looks, but the knowledge that I’m one of the few that gets to see it outside of the shirt. It’s my job to make him look and sound his best out there, to make sure that the only thing he worries about is that he remembers his act and the motions he has to make. But I always smile inwardly at the knowledge that there are some things these ponies don’t see behind closed doors.

And so begins nearly two hours of Ace on stage doing what he does best. Every once in a while, the assistants tell me what they hear and see and I give instructions to Soundwave, Camera Eye, and Lens Flare to adjust what’s necessary. I’ve been doing shows for the past eight months almost continuously – three weeks per city before moving on to the next one – and we’re nearing the end of a season. I’ve learned to train my own ear and eye to pick up on the slightest motions and sounds that indicate something’s wrong.

But the first show of Baltimare goes without a problem. It isn’t long before Ace is bidding the enraptured audience good night. He takes a theatrical bow as the audience erupts into applause. He stays on there a few more moments with a grin on his face. The theater suddenly becomes very dark, but his ice-blue eyes and grin remain on-stage like a Cheshire cat. By the time the lights come back up moments later, the curtains are closed and Ace is gone. One by one, the theater-goers break free from their trances and head for the entrance, none of them entirely believing what they saw as though it was a dream though thoroughly enjoying themselves.

I stay back with Camera Eye and Soundwave as things finish up; Soundwave plays some of her own music as the audience leaves, and I go over the recordings with Camera Eye. Lens Flare has brought the lights back in the theater to full power and notes he’s heading to Janus before checking out for the night.

When I come out of the booth, Ace is surrounded by a group of fans. He’s giving autographs and taking pictures with a few of the lucky ones who stayed around long enough for him to come back from behind the stage. His responses are short and curt, but no one minds. He’s there and speaking to them, and that is enough.

But as soon as he sees me coming out of the booth, he states that it’s time for him to go and that he really can’t take any more time. He comes to me and I follow him back into the closed auditorium and to his room backstage, where he closes the door and plants his lips on mine and throws his arms around me.

I don’t argue. It’s as much routine as it is relief or passion. Once the first show goes well, he’s never as stressed; his kiss is as much one of triumph at clearing the largest hurdle as it is the biggest show of thanks he can give me. He never says a word after shows until we’ve gotten back to the hotel; the gentle caresses of his hands against my shoulders, back, and hips, and the warm, sweet breath from his mouth say more than any word can that first night.

Dinner at nearly ten o’clock is a relatively simple affair. We order room service – simple salads and sandwiches like the one I had for dinner, and a pack of cookies for dessert. We’ll be staying in this hotel suite for three weeks, but the first weekend neither Ace nor I have time to buy groceries.

Once the dinner dishes are cleaned out, Ace is in the shower. We typically spend an hour doing whatever we want. I’ve taken up reading, and will spend some of the money Ace gives me on books. I pick rather large ones – short story compilations, thick informational books, long novels. Ace will scribble in a journal for a while before turning on our room’s television and watching news or whatever late night program is on.

By midnight, both Ace and I are in the bedroom changing for the night, both of us wearing nothing more than shorts. When we get into bed, we become a tangle of hooves and arms, wrapping ourselves close to the other.

“Caramel?” Unlike usual, Ace’s mention of my name is not a command. It’s a gentle whisper, a question to see if I haven’t already started to sleep yet.

“What?” I ask him.

“Thank you again.” My head’s too buried into his chest to see his face, watching my hand stroking the soft coat covering the finely-toned body, but I can hear the soft, approving smile in his tone. “I know I get a little stressed out. But you… you’re a relief. The sandwich helped more than you think.”

I shrug. “You never eat,” I tell him. “You should come out to lunch with me sometime.”

Ace takes a hand and strokes my mane. “Perhaps tomorrow,” he says. “For now, Caramel, relax… relax and listen…”

And I fall into a peaceful state as I become lost in Ace’s soothing hypnotic cadence. Tonight he will reinstate the trance he placed on me one year ago, gently numbing my body until I feel nothing but his body pressed next to mine, hearing nothing but his whispers in my ears. Any doubts I may have had about leaving my former life are pushed to the back of my mind.

I like it here, strange and demanding as it sometimes is.

Author's Note

small blind = forced bet played by the player directly left of the dealer, usually half the minimum bet of the table