Pro at Cons: Schoolfed

“Alright, class – everyone's got their scores, I believe?” - Moon Shine put his hands into his jeans' pockets, as the class murmured acknowledgingly. - “Good. Now, I want everyone of you to spend the rest of the day studying it and practicing it at home. As for now, I dismiss the class for individual rehearsals. I'll see you again tomorrow, after hours in the gym. We'll try the dry run first – see how you're working together. 'kay?”

“Mister Moon, sir – I can't quite understand...” - piped up Pinkie, quizzically observing her scores. - “I see different scores for me?”

“Yes, Pinkie; I've taken the liberty to make it different: one is for tube, one – for theremin and one is for the drums.” - replied Moon Shine. - “Each different melody the orchestra will conduct will require another instrument of you to handle. Think you can do that?”

“Sure as sugar, mister Moon, sir! I'm completely okie-dokie-lokie with that! I ain't failing you!” - the pink-haired girl bubbled, mocking a salute.

“Aight, now, if no questions left – feel free to be dismissed to rehearse. I'll be strolling around and peek occasionally at your rehearsals – of each participant, mind that – so don't be startled and don't mind me, just keep playing. Class, dismissed!” - as the crowd dissipated into the corridor, Moon checked his wristwatch; he had thirty more minutes to go before the recess, so he locked up the study and went for the teachers' lounge to check the curriculum.

“Uh-huh, Social Studies, ground floor, study 1201...” - he muttered to himself, nodding his greeting to the Physics teacher coming by. - “Aight.”

Study 1201 was easy to find – just take to the left, facing the main entrance, and there it was, tucked neatly in the corner of building; he knocked gently, poking his head inside:

“Good day, class. Good day, miss Cheerilee.” - he greeted politely.

“Greetings, mister Moon!” - the chorus of voices droned, and the Cheerilee rewarded him with a slight soft smile.

“Miss Cheerilee, can I have you for a minute? Class, do you mind if I'll steal Miss Cheerilee from you for a moment?” - Moon winked at the students, making them giggle and shake their heads, indicating they didn't mind in the slightest and eliciting a blush on Cheerilee's face; she left the classroom, assigning the students some reading to be done while she's gone, and, darting a glance around, pulled Moon aside, to the darker corner:

“What's gotten into you?!”

“I've dismissed my class for rehearsals and came here to check you out.” - he creased an eyebrow. - “Just checking if you're good.”

“Yeah, I'm fine. I got my pills, so for the rest of the day no more hysterics... At least, until the medicine wears out...” - shrugged Cheerilee. - “So, you good?”

“Just dandy.”

“Good to hear; well, I'd better go. They're about to have a test, and I'd better get them ready.”

“Oh, a test. Got that, ma'am. No more meddling!” - Moon raised his hands submissively, earning a beaming smile from the lady and a peck on the cheek. - “Cya.”

“Sure. Take care!”

“Aye.” - Moon's eyes crawled all across the lady's silhouette, lingering a bit on the waist and below-the-waist area. He tisked at himself and picked up the pace, recalling one more thing needed done.

Vinyl Scratch was found at the library, never parting with her headphones; she was browsing the internet, taking notes for her Biology classes; Moon pondered for a second how could she make heads or tails of what others tried to tell her and if she heard anything at all behind all that around-the-clock booming musical blockade; toying with the thought for a second, he approached the girl, patting her shoulder slightly to achieve her attention: he succeeded, the purple shades turned to him, scanning him head to toes, and, finally, identifying his personality, the next phase of the programm kicked in: he was rewarded with a wave of a hand.

“Vinyl... Vinyl!” - he was articulating every sound very clearly. - “I need you to...” - he was stopped short as Vinyl scribbled something on the scrap of paper with her angular handwriting and presented to him:

“Don't sweat it, Mister Moon – I can read lips fluently. And, as much fun as it is to see, just talk. I'll understand.”

“Nice.” - he remarked, earning a shrug from Vinyl. Wasting no time further, he quickly debriefed her on the situation with the concert and Octavia. Vinyl listened? looked? read? Closely, giving Moon a reassuring nod and a thumbs up once he was done speaking, scribbling something with her left hand:

“I got it, mister; Tavi'll come to your gig tomorrow for rehearsals, and you have yourself a sound engineer. This is gonna rock so hard.” - Noticing the amused gaze of Moon, she smirked and written some more: “P.S. And yes, I am ambidexterous.”

“Alright then. Thank you, Vinyl.” - flashing the DJ a thumbs up, Moon retreated from the library, leaving Vinyl to her business.

Strolling down the hall, he stole a glance at his wristwatch – and that spare second was enough so that his quick gait almost sent im crushing into Principle Celestia.

“Whoa!” - she exclaimed, narrowly escaping the collision, as Moon drifted sidewards, slipping on the polished tiles of the floor:

“Excuse me, ma'am! I didn't see you there...” - he apologized sincerely, picking up a couple of papers that slipped away from the folder Celestia was holding.

“No harm done, Moon Shine, don't worry. I just have to be more careful...” - smiled the lady, her sun-shaped brooch catching a ray of light and bursting into sparkles. - “How're the concert preparations going?”

“Going well, ma'am!” - reported Moon, automatically standing at attention. - “Students are rehearsing their personal performances as of right now, and tomorrow, when the place is set, we will begin rehearsals on the orchestral part, ma'am!”

“At ease, Moon Shine...” - Celestia laughed softly, waving a strand of her nebulous hair away from her eyes. - “No need to be so... disciplined. Have you been in military?..” - Moon could've sworn she gave him a half-lidded look, as if they were sharing a particularly piquant secret.

“No, ma'am. Just a good nurture, I guess.” - shrugged the man. - “I trust that Vice Principle Luna provided you with a copy of a plan I've got her?”

“None that I know of. I'll see to it. So, I won't hold you any further, mister Shine. You may go now.” - Celestia nodded gracefully, accepting the papers. Moon nodded curtly, and took off already, when Celestia called at him:

“Moon Shine! Per chance, have you thought of any name for your orchestral project?”

“As in a band name?” - specified the man. - “No, I didn't.”

“Maybe you'd like to call your orchestra 'Aurora Borealis'? It just came to me. Since it unites all kinds of talents, that contribute each to the whole picture – just like the colors in that magnificent celestial event, they mingle, diffuse and create something... breathtaking.” - Celestia winked at the man, obviusly providing some ever-so-slight hint. - “So, see you around! Ta-ta~!” - leaving Moon dumbfounded, she graciously continued her way down the corridor.

“Aurora Borealis... Hmmm...” - hummed Moon, feeling some double bottom about the thing – but he just couldn't wrap his mind around it. Just as of yet.

Once he got home, a bag of groceries in tow, he was met by Cheerilee, clad in bathrobe; she seemed to just have a shower, emanating the scents of shampoo and shower gel.

“Hello!” - Moon chimed from the door, putting the bag on the floor and dragging the boots off. - “Shower, eh?”.

“Yes, I got here merely half an hour ago,” - replied the schoolmarm, coming closer and hugging the man lovingly. - “Hey, Moon... I was thinking, and... of what happened. Yesterday evening...”

“Now, Cheerilee, don't start that on me.” - Moon Shine gave the lady a stern look. - “What was yesterday remained yesterday. It's water under the bridge – primo, and secundo – such is your nature, and Mother Nature knows best, so one'd better not fook with it if he knows the best for him. Bottom line, stop bitching at yourself about it and just enjoy the evening.” - he exhaled, adding sheepishly. - “Pardon my French.”

“Normally I'd reprimand the language...” - giggled the lady, promptly drying her hair with the towel. - “But this seems legit and justified, so I'll let that slide.”

“That's generous of you...” - however, the buzz of the pager stopped the man short; he cursed, made an excuse and stumbled outside, reading the tiny text on the microscopic screen.

“Fook u. Just fook u...” - he mumbled, spitting into the flower bed with irritation; this truly was unnerving.

He reached for the cellphone and called Rungo, quickly debriefing him on what he was about to do.

Looked like the Annual Canterlot Gala was being transmitted for today's evening. Hence, he had to dispatch Cheerilee somehow – and apply his disguise and muster some efficient diversion, ohmai... Well, for the latter an improvisation could go nice, but the disguise and the dress code... It was downright vexing.

Slithering inside the apartment, Moon started a mundane small talk to Cheerilee, who was changing in the bedroom; he used the opportunity to open the secret compartment and hastily drop whatever supplies he needed for disguising into the briefcase, dumping the contains onto the floor of the compartment haphazardously beforehand; luckily for him, the sound of hair fan muffled all other rattling and churning his actions produced, so he was considered even stealthy; grabbing a suit and packing it up as well was a matter of mere seconds – but he managed to stash the supplies and the suit in the hall wardrobe and close his vault a mere second before Cheerilee left the bedroom, narrowly escaping the magnificent cover blowing.

“Er – Cheerilee, I'll have to leave you for the evening...” - he mumbled, fiddling with his jacket's flaps. - “An emergency appeared, due to the concert Principle Celestia's brewing... Being in charge of this stuff, you know... So I have to hightail there and, well, sort things out... Yeah...”

The lady scanned Moon head to toes, squinting suspiciously; he did his best to retain a poker face, even though he was sweating bullets (“why?!”, the 'conscience' shrieked out, “why are you sweating like a frikkin' freshman in front of the prom queen?! She's what, your momma? Your wife?! You ain't explaining shit! Don't make it worse, mate!!”) like crazy, a chill stream running down his spine. However, after a few torturous moments, Cheerilee smiled softly, nuzzled the man affectionately and replied:

“Alright then, Godspeed; and please, take care.”

“Aye, aye, ma'am...” - standing at attention, Moon saluted his... what was she? A girlfriend? A tenant? A colleague? Romantic interest? - anyway, Moon Shine gave her a salute and kissed her hand in a gentlemanly fashion:

“I'll be back as soon as possible. His Excellence would keep you company, and – well, mi casa...”

“I know: es sui casa.” - replied Cheerilee with a giggle, giving Moon's rear a slight slap. - “Go on ahead already; I'm a big girl. I'll manage.”

“Aight then. Cya.” - stealing one last gaze at the lady that lived in his place, the man strolled out of his house, stealthily grabbing his supplies.

“Aight, sarge – you know the drill...” - mumbled Moon, applying the last touches of the disguise – he looked pretty much the same as he was the Tide Wave, except that he opted for more aquiline profile than just ominously hunch-nosed one and the wig was not black, but noble silver and the contacts were light green; he fiddled with the plastic extenders behind his cheeks, altering them slightly to make the 'cheekbones' less prominent, and, as a final touch, slapped on some sideburns, matching hair in color. - “How do I look?”

“Awful, as usual.” - droned Rungo, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. - “I still don't really get it, cap – what in the heck's name are you doing? What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“Don't sweat it much, solid mate – or your pretty bald skull will heat like a frying pan, and I'll fry you some bacon-and-eggs.” - recommended Moon Shine – now disguised as Mist Veil, philantrope hotshot. - “The days of our glory are gone, my friend; back then, we were the heroes. Now we're either zeroes, either heroes – but the other way around.” - he produced a tiny flask of cologne, spraying some to his neck. - “And it's your choice – to get tossed overboard or to move all the way across. I chose the latter. And I'm content for now”.

Rungo sighed heavily:

“You know, cap'n – back then, we were the honest ones at least. And now?”

“Look at the pros and cons. I mean, pros at cons. Is it that bad to be one?”

“You make it sound legit, even... justified?..”

“There ain't such thing as justice, mate. By now you shoould've known better.” - Moon took a pair of small tweezers and carefully placed something tiny inside his ear, grimacing as the contraption slid all the way down to the middle ear membrane. - “So, back to business. You stay put ; things go hairy, I give the signal. Keep your ears peeled; if I fail to create a sufficient distraction, you kick in. Copy?”

“Copy.”

“Aight then, wish me luck?”

“Go there and break a leg.”

“U'r a bloody charmer, mate...” - Mist Veil shook his head in mock disappointment, making his way to the entrance, desperately trying to mingle with the crowd of the high-class visitors; he straightened his posture, plastered an amicable expression to his face – but then recalled something important he hadn't done: turning around the corner and fading into shadows, he produced a tiny bottle of Apple's finest applejack – it was barely big enough to hold a single drink, but he needed no more: taking a bit into his mouth, he rolled the precious drink inside as if it was a mouthwash, assuring it washed over every nook and cranny; finally, the burning liquid rushed down the man's gullet, warmth spreading on the way – and the reek of alcohol taken was just striking from his mouth; then Moon Veil/Mist Shine/Whatevs dabbed a bit of the strong smelling beverage on his fingertip, promptly rubbing it into his neck, right below the jaw – to add to the already presenting scent of ethylene in his exhale; catching a whiff of himself, the man nodded contently; he already seemed like a tipsy one, so, adding a little slur to his speech and a slight rocking to his gait was an easy part. However, the rest of the drink never went to waste – he downed it in one swing, shuddering at the sheer potency of the brew.

Stumbling into the crowd of snub-nosed ladies and gentlemen, he mingled into the crowd, exchanging greetings nonchalantly, making his way slowly closer to the entrance; the security guards stood there stock still, with stony faces, observing the crowd with well-concealed despise. Moon decided it best not to jump the gun, so he kept at bay, chatting easily with some lady, who addressed him, waiting for the organization crew to announce the beginning of the Gala.

It went really soon, really – a tall, slim lady with long, flowing greenish-blue hair and impossibly green eyes, clad in black formal suit with somewhat tacky plastic flower in the buttonhole stepped out of the building, inviting the crowd inside. The bouncers lifted the silk rope from the stand, stepping away, as the second produced a clipboard with a list of guests, checking in.

“Name, sir?” - he grunted, not even honoring Moon with a glance.

“Mist Veil, fella – I am supposed to be in the VIP list, souno...” - slurred Moon, plastering a smug grin on his face. - “And hurry up, please, I've got no intention to stand here for long.”

“You are on the list, sir. May I see your invitation?” - growled the bouncer, a vein starting to pulse on his temple.

“Mate, I need no invitation. I believe you said I was on the list, so what's ya problem, chum?” - leaning closer to the bouncer and washing him in his alcohol fumes, the man poked his finger into the list repeatedly, applying some force. - “So, you wanna make it ugly, big oaf? Cuz if you wish, I just need one phone call, and your ass is going to be hauled all the way to Syberia, usee? A cruise is on the house, chum – and you can enjoy yourself in the heinos sweatshops, bear wrestlings and whatever else amusings they've got. Interested?”

“Sir, please, proceed.” - obviously striving to remain a facade, growled the security, moving aside.

“Thank you kindly, solid mate...” - Moon grinned smugly, patronizingly patting the guard on the shoulder. - “Here's for your trouble. Get yourself some ice cream...” - dropping a couple of bits on the counter in a negligent way, he strode inside, leaving the boiling bouncer behind.

“Think you're taking your legend... a bit too frivolous?” - chuckled Rungo in his ear as Moon was making his way to the snacks table, pretending he was interested in the spreads.

“Shut it.” - hissed the man, taking a bite of a meats plate; it was good, and the garcon, spotting him, appeared nearby, offering champagne; he took a glass, flicking a bit on the tray, eliciting a whole barrage of gratitude from the waiter, which he waved off nonchalantly; however, as soon as the boy left, Moon grinned at the 'jerk' he heard.

Good. Looks like it's working.

“Ladies and gentlemen, can I have a minute of your attention, please?..” - the mayor clambered up to the stage, grabbing hold of the mic. - “I wish to welcome you all at the Annual Canterlot Gala and wish you all a good time; but, before we start the entertainment, I'd like to review the most spectacular events and personalities of the year; so, allow me to introduce you to...” - Moon lost interest in the ramblings of the authority, observing the crowd; groups were building and colliding into nothingness, business was discussed, attires shown off – much as usual. He felt the small plastic box in his pocket, recalling Rungo's debriefing:

“This is pretty potent shit, so it's better not to be ingested with alcohol, as it's going to multiply the effect threefold; though, just pop it into liquid, drink – and in five minutes you're having a trip down the Wonderland for next five hours.”

As much as he despised the idea of using drugs as a diversion, he had no other choice.

Fire alarm? Nah, the security will probably scatter around the facility, evacuating the guests and localizing the fire source.

Start a commotion? Nuh-uh, he'd be just escorted away.

So, the best alternative was still the magic pill in his pocket. What to spike with it, he pondered idly, observing the room; the garcons were scurrying around with drinks, the crowd minding its own business, irons being in fire...

Wait a sec, flashed in his mind, garcons! He gestured to call one to himself:

“Hey – hey! Son! Come over here, m'boy.” - The waiter obliged instantly:

“Yes, sir – what can I get for you?”

“See that gentleman, over there, boy?” - Moon pointed at a random man, clad in expensive-looking silver-gray suit. - “He's me ol' buddy. Say, you have some of the LaFinesse cognac here or what?”

“I suppose we do, sir...” - the boy mumbled hesitantly, not sure how to be.

“So, we'll make it like this...” - Moon lowered his voice, as if offering the boy a conspiracy to stuff his pockets. - “You go to the bar, get a glass of LaFinesse, bring it to me so I could've checked that it's perfect – cuz me mate deserves only perfection – and you bring it over to him, as a courtesy from an old friend, right?..” - saying so, the man grasped the waiter's hand and put a nice little pouch of bits into his hand. - “We have a deal?”

“Whatever you say, sir! I'll be right back!” - the waiter sprung up, a coin pouch disappearing in his pocket faster than the flower in the hands of an illusionist. - “One LaFinesse cognac, coming right up!”

Moon nodded at him patronizingly, chuckling as the garcon rocketed away, reaching for his pocket and popping the pill inbetween his index and middle fingers; the transparent capsule held transparent spheres of a potent drug, just waiting to wreak chaos at the high-society soiree.

“I can smell the rumor mill firing up...” - chuckled Moon Shine, taking a sip of his champagne. The garcon reappeared near him with a snifter of a brown-golden liquid on his tray:

“As you ordered, sir – one portion of LaFinesse cognac!”

“Lemme see, boi...” - Moon chuckled slightly, well aware, of course, that the LaFinesse was a purely made-up brand, and reached for a glass, cupping his left palm around in, swirling the liquid. “Okay, here goes the hardest part...” - he mused, fanning his right hand above the brim of the glass, dropping the capsule with the first motion, as if checking the smell of the noble drink.

Exhaling internally, he swirled the liquid inside the glass some more, making the capsule dissolve faster, and raised the glass to the ceiling, looking through it; the pill dissolved completely, and he mentally praised himself for a job well done.

“I say, it's perfect!” - praised Moon, putting the glass back to the tray. - “Now off you go, solid mate, and cheer my friend up.”

“Yes sir, thank you, sir...” - the waiter nodded eagerly, taking off to the destination defined. Moon rubbed his jaw, frowning at the look at champagne glass in his hand.

“I did it.” - he said into the tiny mic, done as the tie pin. - “Magics inbound.”

“I hope you didn't spike nothing alcoholic?” - inquired Rungo. - “Cuz it's about to get messy.”

“Darest thou defy your superior of his wits?” - scolded Moon Shine, grinning ear to ear. - “Of course I did. And well, the messier the better. I need some good spectacle, a true eye-candy.”

“Okay then, enjoy the show in somewhat... three minutes.” - replied his accomplice with a sigh. - “And you'd wanna stay back.”

“Oh, I will...” - looking intently at his random victim, Moon pinched one berry from a grape vine, leaning against the marble statue of a nymph, modestly covering her privates with a long, flowing cloth. The marble almost felt warm to the touch, but right now the man was far from enjoying the fine arts – he witnessed as the man in gray suit ingested more and more of his wicked brew, obviously enjoying the fine taste of the noble drink, heedless of what surprise it held.

Rungo was right – exactly as the arrows in his wristwatch ticked past the three-minute mark, the poisoned gentleman bulged his eyes out, shrieked violently, and torn his shirt on his chest. The lady he was talking to backstepped, startled with the sudden outbreak, and the high gentleman yelled on top of his lungs: “I CAN SEE WHAT YOU'RE UP TO, YOU WRETCHED PUPPET OF A GOAT-FEELER!! YOU WON'T HAVE MY POT OF URANIUM NUGGETS!! NO, IT IS MINE!!” - and dashed away, growling, spitting, shrieking and even headbutting a waiter, that wasn't quick enough to retreat in his path. - “I CAN HEAR WITH MY TOES!! I CAN SEE WITH MY TEETH!! YOU ARE A PRICK, BRED FROM THE HERETICAL BOND OF CACTUS AND A NOOSE!!” - he yelled, pointing at the musicians at the stage; they ignored the outrage, however, and kept playing, and Moon praised them internally for their professional attitude; the crazed gentleman, however, kept running in random zigzags across the room, until he dropped to all fours, his eyes bloodshot and mad, baring his teeth, barking and howling, drooling all over the floor; surprisingly fast he scurried forward, startling the chubby lady in a gorgeous green dress, sniffing at her leg; once he made it to the snacks table, he howled out, flipping the table over, jumping on top of it, stomping it down mercilessly; once finished, his attention got caught in the statue that Moon was once leaning against; the drug-poisoned gentleman dashed away to it, clambering onto the pedestal, hugging the marble nymph like his own child, until he threw up with a gusto, covering the bouncer head to toes in a alcohol-reeking muck.

All this carnival took merely twenty seconds, as the poor innocent victim got grasped and escorted away; Moon, however, never wasted a second in creeping backstage and deeper into the building; he could hear the mayor's voice, coaxing the audience, insisting on keep enjoying the evening.

“You missed quite a spectacle.” - chuckled Rungo in his ear. - “It was something.”

“I hope you've got me a footage.”

“Well, yes?..” - intriguingly drawled his accomplice and old friend. - “Okay, you in?”

“Yup, almost there.” - glancing to and fro, acknowledged Moon. - “I can see Mayor's office. Stay frosty.”

“Copy that.” - with that done, Moon leisurely strode down the hall to his destination, inspecting the door; solid wood, good locks... Looks pretty tough to crack.

He pulled the handle: of course, it was locked tight.

“Well, time for some fun...” - he sighed, producing a small – slightly bigger than his middle finger – flashlight, Moon turned it on and grabbed with his teeth, pointing the narrow ray of white light into the lock; next he fiddled with the sleeve, producing two long thin metal objects, pushing both into the keyhole; a limmy and a lever.

Breathing in deep, he closed his eyes and concentrated all his attention in his fingertips, feeling the familiar prickling under the nails.

The limmy stirred inside the lock, as the invisible tip probed at the shafts, pushing it down in time with the slight turns by the lever; the lock was really tough, and it could take quite a time to open it, so Moon had no right to mistake.

Sweat trickled down his temples, as his strife with the lock intensified; he was so caught up in his business, that the sound of footsteps behind never triggered anything in him.

“Pack him, boys.” - the feminine voice ordered softly, starting Moon up with utter shock – and everything went dark and smelling of dust. “I got bagged.” - the last thought flashed through his mind, as something swished through the air and true darkness got over the world.

For how long was he blacked out – he couldn't say. But an ice-cold, taut jet of water quickly brought him back, hogtied, coughing and hacking.

The bag was taken away, and he felt uncomfortable chill in his soaked system; he was stripped down to the waist, hands tied behind his back, him kneeled in some concrete box room. As he managed to blink away the water from his eyes and looked up, a stinging swish of a riding crop landed across his face, making him grit his teeth hard.

“Alright, big guy, now, that you're awake, shall we introduce one another?” - inquired the woman that seemed to be in charge here; blinking away the shooting stars of pain, Moon squinted to see her face in the bright lights of a powerful lamps, facing him intently; he never managed to make out what her face was, but the unmistakable hue of her hair proved, that it was the same woman who invited the guests in in the first place.

“My name is Chryss, and I am in charge of security in this place; but little Peeping Toms like you – and the other naughty boys and girls, as well – soon learn that calling me Queen is the best for them. Queen Chrysalis, mind you.” - the riding crop touched his bare shoulder almost softly. - “And who're you supposed to be, big man?”

“Call me Duke Upyerarse, lady.” - snided Moon, earning another painful lash.

“Feisty. Is good. More fun for me...” - chuckled Chrysalis, licking her lips. She kicked the man up his ribs with her shiny black shoe. Ow.

“So, what was the big idea of snooping? And attempted break and entering... Not good, my little puppet...” - she scolded, lifting Moon's head with her crop. - “What're you up to? We've found a very interesting stuff in your pockets: a micro mic in the tie pin... I guess, there's also a micro speaker in your ear, that right?” - the man never honored the lady with an answer. - “Which makes it two. But that aside, what were you hoping to find in the boss's office?”

“Washroom.” - he grinned, thus getting another lashing barrage. The riding crop went all over his torso, leaving red marks, even drawing blood. Moon groaned loudly, trying to shudder off the stinging pain. - “Whoa, whoa, lady – no need to go so harsh about me, eh. If you like it hard, just call me, I'll give you the number, and we can work it out, if you'll ask nice enough... OOF!” - the sharp heel of her shoe hit him in a very sensitive male anatomy part, making Moon double over in pain and hyperventilate, bulging his eyes out:

“I do like it hard, as you put it... But I despise even the slightest possibility of getting to it with a filthy criminal like you.” - deadpanned Chrysalis. - “So, I want an answer.”

“Uuuh... honey, ur so hot when ur angry... I bet we can have a bloody fantastic time together...” - snided Moon, straightening his posture, grinning smugly at the enraged woman. - “This suit looks great on you, sugarplum, but it just doesn't get that hawt rump right, I say. I bet you'd be so much better without it...” - his further jeering was cut short with fierce barrage of lashing – double against all he was facing beforehand put together; Chrysalis was just seething with rage, the crop whistling again and again, until Moon craned his neck and bit down on the flat ending of the crop, tugging it forwards, almost making the woman trip over her own feet, crop flying away from her hands; spitting out the leather flap, Moon Shine grinned nastily:

“See, hun – I bite. Bet ya'll like it when I'll get to you...”

With fire in her eyes, the lady roared and kicked Moon in the chin with bone-shattering force, throwing him onto his back, leaving him rolling on the floor; she spun on her heels sharply, leaving the room, as the door boomed closed behind her.

Moon waited patiently as the pain in his jaw subsided enough to let him think again and clambered back to his knees, spitting out some blood and feeling his teeth; looks like all were intact. His taunting earned him some time to think of the getaway plan, even though the lashes hurt like seven Hells. He quickly assessed his current position: it looked shitty. Locked out in some strange room, soaked in ice-cold water, standing in the puddle of his own blood, slowly mixing with water, bleeding, whipped like a cream and hogtied.

“Meh, I've had better days...” - he grunted, bending backwards to try and undo the knot on his legs; the first thing his numbing fingers met was a string, that connected the ties of his legs to those on his arms, preventing him from standing up, forcing to remain kneeled; it was damn smart.

However, he managed to find out that he still had a way to get out. A brightly lit highway, really: he was tied with a paper twine.

“Real smooth, guys, thank you...” - he chuckled, overcoming the excruciating pain, pulsing from the bruised groin and overcoming the whole body – partially from the super-inconvenient pose and restricted blood circulation. Bending backwards even more, grunting with pain, Moon managed to fall on the floor and squirmed, putting all he had into straightening his legs, trying to pop the connecting string off; wasn't it for the water, absorbed with the paper twine, he'd have never made it. Grunting with the pain, caused by the ties cutting into his ankles and wrists, he pushed harder, feeling a tear of exertion slide down his bruised face, he pushed and pushed, until the sparks flew under the shut eyelids – and he heard a pop, feeling free to bend again. Huffing and sweating, grunting with the pricking sensation of salt in the wounds, he allowed himself a short breather before trying to commence part two. The hard part.

Since the arms of an average human cannot roll all the way around in their joints, he couldn't just roll his hands around back and undo the knots; so, it was about dragging them all the way down his back and legs to break free. Much like yoga, but way more pressing.

“Oh, I sure wish I would've done yoga before...” - he sighed, positioning himself on his back, legs propped towards the ceiling. Splaying his elbows as much as he could, he tried fitting his bottom through the ring his arms presented; it was exruciating – the bruised body protested, bursting with white-hot pokers of pain. And, to add up, the arse didn't even seemed to budge. He was stuck like that – sweating bullets, with a propped upwards rear and feet dangling in mid-air helplessly.

“Ohshit... Comeoncomeoncomeooon!!!” - Moon hissed, trying to pull down with all he could, gritting his teeth, grinding them, even, desperately striving with his own body against all laws of nature.

After seconds of torture, his bottom slipped through. He exhaled, elated with his small victory, breathing heavily; still, he was stuck in a very, very uncomfortable and awkward pose – tied hands at the knee level, doubled over, butt almost parallell to the ceiling.

“Huff... cmncmoncmooon, bitch...” - swearing got him howhere, and Moon Shine felt a wave of panic wash over him. He was an easy target as of now, heart racing, blood drumming in his ears like crazy war drums, every muscle in his body spasming with pain, every sinew stretched to the limit, and his shoulder joints burnt mad; if he'd have both arms displaced, it'd be no wonder to him, but as of now, he had to break free. Another run with the crazy whip-toting lady was nowhere near his comfort zone, especially being hogtied and beaten mercilessly.

“Guess I'm not asking no lady not to play nice at me in bed ever again...” - he muttered, mustering up all he could for another try. The cold wave of panic subsided, leaving a lingering feeling – and he tried again, tears of pain and exertion flowing from his eyes, as he thrusted maniacally, trying to pull the rest of his legs through the ring of his tied arms.

“Stuck.” - he grimly announced into his crotch, his spine practically roaring out in anger, stretched to the limit, as his hands were stuck at the point of his heels. No matter how hard he pulled, he was just stuck.

“Well, I guess, that's it...” - he muttered, struggling for breath. - “Sorry, Cheers.” - it was almost impossible to breathe in, his chest compressed, and he felt the asphyxia getting to him hard; the flies dashed in his eyes, as Moon tugged again, desperately, trying to get even a shallow inhale, when an idea struck his oxygen-deprived brain: exhale!! Exhale, so that the volume of chest cavity would shrink, allowing to pull legs closer, and thus... probably – break free.

Can't hurt to try, though – and so he did, squeezing the last molecules of air out of his lungs, making a last desperate effort to pull closer...

...and suddenly his legs hit the floor hard, air pouring into his lungs in generous streams with each greedy inhale.

He did it.

He fucking did it.

But there was no time for triumph: he still had to undo the knots.

Raising his numb hands to his face, Moon bit down hard on the string, growled, like a dog, swaying his head sideways, tugging and biting until the string popped loose. He threw it off, rubbing life and blood back into his hands, hissing with sharp pain and flexing his fingers thoroughly; this kept on for quite a decent time until he went down to the legs, undoing the knots and stretching wide and long; massage – and he's good to go, musing on how to escape the place.

Solid concrete walls, two lamp posts in the corners, burning at his cornea with intense white light, a metal door... looks like no weak spots. A riding crop on the floor, abandoned by Chrysalis.

An idea struck Moon, and he rubbed his hands, chuckling ominously.

“Hey! Hey!! Hey!!!” - he yelled, sitting on the floor as if he was still tied up, wires hidden under his butt. - “HEEY!! PEOPLE!! I WANNA MAKE A DUMP!!”

A guard poked his head into the room, cringing: “Do it in ya pants, sucka.”

“Hey! Hey! Yes you – you there! With a face! U no who u messing with, boi?! This suit costs more than your sorry ass can earn in a third-world sweatshop in your life, including both your kidneys sold at the blackmarket, bitch!” - he yelled, hoping that the guard would have the balls to come in. - “And what do I see, you halfwit? I see a momma's boy, living in the basement, crying his ass out on how he never gets laid, wanking at the loli porn I see! Yo momma dresses you, you fancy fanny? That's what I see, cuz no proper man would have a face like that – boi, you headbutted a belt sander or what?” - Moon Shine grinned nastily, spewing profanities at the guard, whose face reddened with anger till it matched ripe beetroot in color; he had seen his words get to him. - “Come on, sissy – I can get you even tied like that! I spit on you, you fartbrain!!” - he hacked and spat, hitting the guard right in the face.

That sent him over the edge. Snoring like a bull, he dashed inside, taking a nightstick out of its sheath – and already swung it over to pummel the man, when Moon grinned:

“Think fast, chucklenuts!” - his hand bolted forward, squeezing guard's testicles hard and tugging downward with substantial power; the bouncer bulged his eyes out, mouth agape in a silent cry of agony, falling to his knees – only to be dropped to the floor with Moon's knee meeting his chin with a power of a coal train. Picking up a nightstick, Moon gave it a couple of test swings, cracking his neck; the guard seemed to squirm on all fours, trying to stand up, when the thick rubber club landed on the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

“Hey, bruh, u need help with that?” - came the voice from outside the cell, and Moon grinned, mocking the voice of the first best he could:

“Yah! C'mere, let's have some!” - and dashed behind the door, watching it open slightly, as the second guard stepped in with a nasty grin on his face. The grin faded, however, as soon as he had seen his 'bruh' laying face-first on the floor, in the puddle of water, mixed with blood – and no Moon.

He hadn't had the chance to ponder at it, however, as the nightstick flew across his face like a baseball bat, knocking the lights of day away from him.

“Score...” - panted Moon, dragging the second unconscious body inside and quickly searching their pockets: he found his cellphone, limmies and wristwatch, and tisked:

“Had yo momma ever told you, that stealing ain't good, boys? That's for my suit, by the way...” - he kicked the unconscious guards in the ribs, hard. - “It really cost me a fortune. Okay, cya, boys... I'm on a date with a certain kinky chick...” - Moon threw the nightstick aside, stripping one of the bouncers from shirt and jacket; he might have his face bruised bad, but he wasn't about to stroll around half-naked. It's unbefitting of a gentleman, and Moon Shine – through and through – was a gentleman. Somewhere deep. Really deep.

Security chief Chryss entered the shadowed lounge, grunting with irritation; the accident with Fancy Pants' sudden amok, the sassy lockpick guy and the whole stuff about the Gala worn her out; she lit a cigarette and headed to a cooler to make herself some coffee, when a familiar voice whispered in her ear:

“Sorry if I'm not bowing, my Queen...”

She reacted instinctively, the way she'd been taught on those self-defence courses she'd aced: a sharp elbow blow to the solar plexus, the shoe hill to the foot and a right hook in the chin – but was startled to feel a hard palm stopping her elbow dead and an arm grabbing her neck in a tight lock; she squirmed to break free, but to no avail: the assailant held her firm.

“Let go... of me... you creep...” - she panted out, feeling helpless – and deprived of oxygen slightly; her attacker emitted an irony smell of blood and sweat, and she felt her stomach sink.

“No. Sorry, but I don't like being hogtied and whipped, sweetie – unless it's consensual.” - chuckled the voice of the sassy lockpick guy, that made Chrysalis freeze. - “So...”

“How did you?..” - she stuttered, terrified, adrenaline rushing in her, heart racing madly. - “It can't be...”

“I can be really persistent, sweetheart...” - taunted her ex-victim; looks like they've traded roles – he was now the hunter, and she was the prey.

“Watchu want?!” - she whined, trying to squirm her elbow free from the expert lock she was in; it didn't even budge. - “You want me?”

“No. I want something else. But if you'd like, call me later, sugarcube...” - a callous, hard palm gripped her cheeks, turning her head to the side, and she faced the bruised, lashed man she left locked up until further interrogation just half an hour ago. - “But yeah, there's something I have in mind...”

“Let's just talk about it... Just – unhand me...” - she begged.

“Listen here, sweet lass – I'll let you go if you promise to behave. And now...” - he weakened the grasp just a bit. - “...you will turn back...” - a little more pressure was taken away, letting Chrysalis move. - “...sit on that there couch and close your eyes. And don't even trouble – the door is locked, and I have the keys. Hand over yours, by the way...” - Chrysalis obeyed, hypnotized with that strong scent of blood and sweat, lingering in the air. - “Good girl. Now, on the couch.” - She did so, sitting down gingerly, gazing awestruck at the rumbling hulk of a man – vengeance incorporated – standing in front of her, dripping blood on the carpet... was he really that big or was it just a play of light and shadow?..

“Good girl...” - he purred dangerously, sitting down near her and gently caressing her hair; his palm caressed her face, eliciting a prickling sensation south of her navel, making her gasp at surprise and blush vividly:

“Now, relax... I'll be gentle...” - with a grin, he inched closer to the fluttering girl, observing her closed eyes, startled face and half-parted lips; putting his fingers around her neck, Moon moved closer, until their lips met; a furious, anger-fueled kiss, that even evolved into a full-fledged bite from him, drawing blood from her delicate lip, while his fingers squeezed her neck gently in just the right spots; Chrysalis panted into the man's mouth, shuddering, her eyelids flattering, as the blood flow into her brain was being restricted, gently sliding her into unconsciousness.

With the last crumbles of strength she could muster, she whispered: “you do bite...” - and blacked out.

“Dog nap. Never gets old...” - chuckled Moon Shine, wiping the lady's blood from his lips and putting her down on the couch, as if she just dozed off; weighing the ring of keys on his hand, he left the lounge, grabbing his belongings and locking it from outside.

Provided with the keychain of security chief, he easily entered the Mayor's office, searching for his ultimate prize – a well-earned one, if burning pain in the whole body meant something; it was soon found, gladly – and he quickly found out why his employer was specific of the fact that he wouldn't peek into the folder: it sported a wax seal on it, that would reveal the fact of opening.

He tugged his tie higher, straightening the pin mic:

“Rungo? You there, mate?”

“Captain! Gog, I've been beside myself. What's up?”

“I got the package; get to the staff exit, pick me up. And get me somewhere where they can patch me up.”

“Copy.” - Rungo hung up, and Moon, leaving the mayor's office, locked it up – and hung the keychain on the handle. Moving to the exit, he felt a smudge of something on his cheek; wiping it with a finger, he figured it was that kinky chick's lip blossom. It smelled – and tasted – of cherry.

“Cherry lip blossom. That's immature... Hot, but immature.” - he chuckled to himself, finally leaving the building and lighting a cigarette. Job was done, and that was all that mattered – and even ovedone, which meant extra pay.

“Man, u look bad...” - Rungo made wide eyes at his friend, as he got in the car. - “What's up? Fought cats?”

“Well, exactly one cat, pretty big one – call it tigress, even – that toted a riding crop.” - he replied, dragging deep. - “Got some booze?”

“I gave up on that stuff long ago.” - replied ex-sergeant. - “I never thought you were into all that sado-mazochistic stuff anyway. Well, new day – new kinks...”

“Shut the fuck up, mate...” - laughed Moon, throwing the butt away. - “And let's go already. I'm sick and tired with this place”.