A journalist and a biologist walk into a cafe . . .
This was it, there was no turning back now. All he had to do was keep his professionalism for a few minutes, and his entire expedition to the Zebizi river basin was fully funded. No more asking for loans from his family, or begging the old socks at the universities for grants. It would be an expedition, funded for him, by him. Glorious independence at last. That thought alone gave Blaire Skim the confidence to step out of his element and into the darkened interior of the café.
The instant he entered, his senses were assailed by the noxiously sweet smell of specialty brews. He nearly gagged as the stench clung to the roof of his mouth. Realizing he must be acting rather rude, Blaire straightened, adjusting the collar of his faded denim shirt. The long sleeved button up had been on more expeditions than he cared to recollect, and yet had somehow remained semi-presentable. That was good enough for him, after all, it was his "lucky horseshoe" so to speak, and Celestia knew he could use some luck right about now.
Gulping, he took a few steps inside the quiet shop, keenly aware of the loud echo of his hooves against the polished earth tone tiles. He glanced around at the ponies seated at the tiny round tables and over-stuffed reading chairs. Most ignored him, but a few tracked his progress with a wary eye. Blessedly, he did not have to look for his contact very long, as he came to greet him.
The light brown unicorn could have been his doppelganger except for the wildly styled yellow mane and ridiculously impractical glasses perched on his muzzle. He flashed him a toothy grin, holding out a hoof. "I'm Trenderhoof, but do call me Trend."
A little nervous, he took the hoof in return. "Blaire Skim."
Trend laughed in an over the top manner that would have rivaled any of his family's stage laughs. "Charmed." He motioned to a table in the far corner of the shop, and Blaire followed suite. His eyes darted to Trend's overly fashionable sweater, and the quill tucked behind his ears. Well, he definitely fits the bill of a fashion reporter. He just hoped the unicorn would be interested in what he had to say.
Blair took a cautious seat, focusing on the large notebook placed in front of Trend beside his coffee. Obviously misreading him, Trend pointed at the cup. "Would you like some?"
"Uh . . ." Blaire was far from the café type, but decided it was better to be polite. "Sure, I'll take some black coffee."
Trend nodded and flagged down the waiter. The midnight blue stallion shot them a small smile, scrawling something on a notepad. He held it up for them to read, 'What can I get you?'
"My acquaintance would like some coffee, black." Trend raised an eyebrow at him, "I'm assuming you like it strong?" Blaire jerked a nod, and the writer clapped his hooves together. "As strong as you can make it."
The unicorn nodded, walking away again. Blaire watched him for a moment. In his travels, he had met a lot of mutes, but never so close to home. The latest, a native guide for his trek in the Amanezon jungle, only communicated through a series of clicks and complex hoof gestures. After spending over a month alone with the earth pony, he had failed to discover much more about him then the fact that he knew every hoof path in that jungle and could pin down a jaguar using nothing but his teeth and a nearby vine.
"Blaire?" Trend was looking quizzically at him, and Blaire realized he had been daydreaming. Chuckling, the unicorn leaned back on his chair, eyes boring into him like lavender headlamps. The attention was making his hooves sweat even worse. Trend removed his quill with his magic, tapping it absent-mindedly against the notebook. "You look familiar. Have we met?"
Blaire could not help but grin. He had heard that line time and time again. Unconsciously, he ran a hoof through his short cropped mane. "You must be getting me confused with my brothers."
The journalist raised an eyebrow, "Brothers?"
"Uh-huh." He chuckled, staring at his reflection in the smooth tabletop. As one of the Skim stallions, he sported a distinct long muzzle and facial hair. Thankfully, his "beard" was just a bit of stubble under his chin, nothing close to his father's. Blaire looked back up at Trend, shooting him a grin. "Yup. I'm the fourth of five brothers." Sure enough, Trend shot him that ever familiar look of surprise that anypony could have so many brothers.
Blaire tapped his hooves in a nervous tattoo. "You're probably confusing me with Flim and Flam. They pretty much look like me, but with lighter coats and red stripes instead of green ones." A familiar, sickening pull of the stomach came with the mention of Flim and Flam. They had been gone from the circus for years now, but that did not slow the pain any. His big brothers had meant the world to him, and they just up and left without even saying goodbye.
"You're related to those con artists?" Trend's glasses nearly fell off his muzzle as he gaped open mouthed at him.
Blaire grimaced, but nodded. Of course they had heard rumors of Flim and Flam's conning, but there was nothing they could do. After all, they were full grown stallions, and had their own lives to live. He just wished they had the common sense not to drag the family into their sullied reputation. "Yeah, needless to say, Mother's not pleased with them." That was the understatement of the century. Not a week passed where the mare did not bring up Flim and Flam's names, generally prefaced by a string of choice words.
The sound of hoof beats drew their attention to the waiter. Without ceremony, he placed the cup of coffee in front of him and slunk off. Blaire rolled his eyes, levitating it with his green magic. The stuff was indeed strong, just the way he liked it.
His companion eyed Blaire's coffee as though it were violating the sacred code of the café. His eyes turned to him in that disconcertingly way of his. "So, Blaire, that's an unusual name. Is it an alias?"
"Nope." Blaire could not count the number of times he had been asked such a question. "I come from a really old unicorn family. Colonel Blaire Skim, commander of the finest royal guard in centuries, and consulting magician to her majesty, Celestia herself." He snorted a laugh, "I'm named after him."
"Interesting. Well then," Trend cleared his throat, turning his attention to the notebook at last, "Let's get started, shall we? I need you to tell me some stories from your adventures." He raised an eyebrow, "I imagine a field biologist of your caliber has a number of stories you'd like to share with the public."
He hopped up and down, too excited to control himself. "Oh, yes. I've got plenty. Which expedition do you want to hear first?"
Trend sighed, tapping the quill against the paper. "Dazzle me."
"You're going to love this one." Blaire cleared his throat, leaning in closer for effect. "This is how I discovered the monster of lake Tailou . . ."
