Diktat

by Merc the Jerk

Rating: mature
Tags: Spike, Rarity, Adventure, Princess Celestia, Pinkie Pie, Sex, Human, Applejack, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Romance
Length: 153305

After a year of silence and peace, Jack Apple and her partner Rarity are thrust once again into a trial that tests them to their limits. Going from their home and across the sea, they may find that their true foe sat among them the entire time.

Jack is a woman that's seen her fair share of nasty business over the years. Though a farmer by trade, circumstances have put her to doing things above and beyond her passion in life on the land she cultivated and nurtured. These very circumstances now take her far from the safety and comfort of her home and family. Traveling across the sea with her partner Rarity to the old country to aid against a threat to the nation she loves and cares about, she may soon find that the true threat to the future lay not in a shadowy figure, but in a woman she respected throughout her life.

Edited by SleepIsforTheWeak, JakeTheGinger, and Trevor Rain. Huge thanks to them, if they hadn't helped, I'd still be piddling around on chapter 1.

Published 2017-09-26 01:30:10 UTC
Last updated 2018-02-03 19:42:57 UTC

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The four figures stopped their hike abruptly when the one at the front raised a fist. She guided them to a swell in the land and, then nodded her head east through the sparse woodlands they were in.

“In there,” she said quietly, looking over the mound of earth towards the entrance of a cave a stone’s throw away from their position. Its jagged frame a rising decoration in an otherwise flat stretch of land that went on for miles. The others could tell she was excited; all day she had been leading the group in a hurried pace, pacing back and forth whenever they paused their hike for any reason. Even now her golden, hawk-like eyes were wide open and jumping erratically in their sockets, soaking up details that the others could only dream of.

The only man of the group stepped forward to her, the dry, dead autumn leaves crunching underneath his boots. Sparing the woman only a glance, he turned his focus on the cave. His gaze was cautious, but relaxed: a dogcatcher cornering a feral. Strapped to his waist were two identical axes, and he rested both hands on the haft of the left one as he looked at the cave. It was an easy pose, almost an arrogant one, but also one ready to snap into action the instant that the ordinary became something more.

“Are you sure?” he finally asked.

“You think I’m stupid enough to miss something like that?” the woman snapped, her golden eyes turning away for just a moment to stare up at the Norfolk man before returning to the cave’s entrance.

“Relax, Gilda. He didn’t mean it like that,” the shortest one of the group, a sky-folk, quietly said. She took off her helmet and held it in her hand, the gauntlet she wore clanking quietly against her head guard, and gave a small brush of her multichromatic hair, tucking a few errant strands behind her ears and brushing off the sweat at her brow from the heat of the heavy plate mail she wore.

“Isabelle, I—”

“What sorta thing we lookin’ at anyway, Will?” The fourth member of the group asked. She was a tall, broad-shouldered woman with heavily bronzed skin, and an obvious and deep scar running from the corner of her mouth and stopping a few meager inches before her earlobe, unintentionally giving her something that resembled a garish smirk despite her obvious unease. She took a breath and licked her dry lips, squinting at the mouth of the cave and into it, beyond it, as if trying to see through its depths.

“Ain’t that the mystery of it, Apple,” the man replied. There were deep lines in his ebony face and they danced and creased deeper when he spoke, showcasing his age. The full, almost oversized muscles protruding from his bare chest, however, indicated that he was still near his prime. He raised a brow to the woman. “Jack. Think about what it’s done so far and what people say it looks like.”

“Quiet. Wisp-like,” the tall earth-folk answered, counting off the examples they had heard from the villagers on her fingers.. “Shadow-man?”

“Interacted with things. Can’t be a shadow-man,” he reminded. “Keep going. You’ll need to know this stuff, otherwise your life’ll be rough” He looked towards Isabelle and Gilda. “That goes for you two as well.”

“Had a physical appearance, so no phantom…” Jack put her hands on her hips, staring at the ground in thought.

“Night-hag?” Isabelle offered. Though it was a rare occurrence for something smart to come out of her mouth, when she did decide to dust off her brain and chime in on ideas, the girl could match their brainy friend Twila from time to time.

“Sounds kinda like one, from what the town’s saying,” Gilda agreed. The griffon-folk pulled back the string on her wrist mounted crossbow, checking the device over, before adjusting her sleeve to hide the weapon. She moved on to her larger model, unstrapping it from a loop of leather at her hip. Giving a small rotation to a crank at its side, she chambered in a bolt. “So the ugly shit’s not gonna be a problem, really. They’re dream invaders. Must’ve just brought the kids here to enhance its area of influence.”

“So the best way to hurt ‘em…” Jack hummed. She reached into her satchel, pulling out a book and thumbing through it with a furrowed brow. A few pages in, she looked up at Gilda.. “Rosemary oil on yer bolts,” she instructed. Replacing the book, she took to rummaging one of the smaller compartments at the front of the satchel until she pulled out a small vial, popping the cork open with her teeth. In a practiced motion, she reached behind her to grasp the hilt of her sword, giving it a pull. The sword didn’t budge. Nearly swearing in embarrassment, she snaked her hand farther down and unclasped the snap over the guard of the weapon, then, with a pull, lifted the greatsword free of its half-scabbard. Tilting the vial over the thick, oversized blade, she gave the edge of the weapon a small coat of the brown liquid.

“Heads up, Dash,” she said, corking the vial and tossing it to Isabelle.

The woman caught it in one hand easily, and wordlessly applied it to her short sword—her silence a miracle if there ever was one—before handing it to Gilda.

“You gonna let us do all the work again?” Dash asked the archer with a cocky, easy smirk.Just like that, the miracle died.

“You gonna move your ass out of the way when I ask you to?” Gilda snapped back and flashed her teeth at the woman in a gesture that was not a smile. “I mean, I could shoot through you if you’d like.” Done with applying the oil on the last of her bolts, she corked the empty vial and tossed it back to Jack.

“Cut the talkin’,” Jack replied, gesturing towards the cave. “Let’s go.”

They crept low towards the entrance, leaves and twigs crunching underfoot to join the sound of Isabelle’s platemail gently clanging together. Jack lead and the others followed wordlessly behind. Dash, then Gilda, and lastly Will, whose experienced eyes soaked up every detail to their approach. He judged their distance from one-another, their speed, the positions of their hands, the soft autumn wind and the draft it could potentially create in the cave—everything. Everything and anything that could mean life or death or maiming.

He was already planning exactly what they needed to improve on. It was a list that was growing shorter every day as he assured them with pride, but it was still a list.

Finally reaching the wide mouth, Jack stopped dead in her tracks, not taking her eyes off the entrance. Its dark shadows dug into her, pushed her back. One foot took a half step hesitation before before her mind caught up to the action and she grinded it into the ground. Every breath beside the gaping maw was a struggle. Ignoring her feeling of dread, Jack rattled off orders, as she was wont to do with the group.

“Usual. I’m on ground. Dash, wings high. Gilda, to my right, over shoulder. Will…”

“Help out anybody that needs it. I know,” the man in question agreed. “Easy enough, Apple.”

She held out a palm and counted down from three with her fingers. When all she had was a tightly clenched fist, she lunged forward, her larger frame doing nothing to stall her fast movement as the others approached behind her, forming a defensive wall at her back.

They passed through the darkness that hung like a veil over the entrance, the effect no mere trick of light, but rather an actual result of the malignant taint the creature held. Entering through that aura of decay and desecration, the earth-folk froze, looking dumbly at the scene before her. Gilda and Dash nearly plowed into her back.

“What the hell?!” Dash exclaimed, shaking her head. “Hayseed! What’s gotten into—” Looking past Jack, the woman went slack-jawed as she absorbed every detail of the single room of the cave. Every splatter of blood, every crackle of burning meat popping over a fire, the medley-scent of sweat, urine, and, the most obvious, fear.

“Oh my God.” Dash stood as frozen as Jack, overwhelmed at the carnage.

“Girls! Focus!” Will called out, disgust evident on his face, but refusing to react to it at the moment. “Apple! Get behind me!”

She ignored him, gritting her teeth so hard her jaw popped. Her hands trembled. Quaked. All she could hear was her own heartbeat racing and pumping blood. Her breath, hot, ragged. Her eyes twitched frantically in their sockets, every jerk etching more and more of the horror before her into her mind; and, at the far wall of the cave, staring at them, the creature responsible for it. Unable to control herself she shouted and lunged forward.

“Apple! Get back here!” Will barked. She paid him no mind, clearing the distance before he could even finish his sentence. She rose her sword up, the blade catching light from the sputtering, fat-fueled fire and giving it all the deadly promise of an executioner’s axe.

“Apple!”

Jack drew in a breath, jerking awake.

Looking up at the familiar worn wooden ceiling of her room, she relaxed a bit, though her heart remained pounding in her chest. Finally, once her body got over her flight-or-fight instincts and her heart dulled down to a steady thump against her ribs she shifted, throwing her legs off the bed and rising to a sit at the edge. She rubbed her dark brow with a hand, stood, then walked a few slow steps towards the wall, leaning against the frame of the room's window and staring out at the red sun overlooking the wheat fields blowing behind a wooden fence line.

“Bad dream?” came the mumbled voice of her partner. Jack glanced over to the bed, where a woman with pale skin and violet hair lay on her side, not even facing Jack.

“Somethin' like that,” Jack agreed, turning to look out the window once more.

“Mmm.”

She was silent for a moment, unsure if they needed to continue to talk, or if silence was the right thing to do. Finally, Jack gave a small run of her fingernail across the border of the window and shrugged.

“I wake ya?” Jack questioned, changing the subject.

“You were mumbling in your sleep.” Reaching up to her sleeping mask, the pale woman took it off and tossed it onto a side-table. Jack saw how red her eyes were and frowned.

“Sorry, Rarity. Go on back ta sleep now.”

Rarity ignored her words. “What was it about?”

“We can talk 'bout it later.”

Rarity yawned, the late night she had earlier obvious by her normally vibrant face being sunken-in and her eyes unfocused.

“Or we can talk about it now and save us both a large amount of pointless prodding. Seems like the wisest course at this Godforsaken hour.”

Jack let out a small exhale, giving a quick, wry smile to the woman.

“Alright, alright.” Hanging her head down, she broke her gaze away from Rarity. “What else could the dream be 'bout? Last outin'.”

The woman took Jack’s words in and, after a moment, nodded. “That was not your fault, Jack. Honestly, we discussed that as soon as you arrived home. There was nothing you could have done different.”

Jack's expression fell further; she looked down at the wooden floors. “I know, but...”

Rarity shifted a bit, rising to a sit. “But nothing, Jack. You did everything you could.”

“Maybe that’s the problem. I did everythin’ right, an’ it still turned out like that. Was supposed ta help that town out, not leave ‘em with more heartache.”

Jack moved towards the dresser and rummaged through a drawer. She caught sight of the image of three apples on the back of her right hand and frowned, ignoring it to quickly grab a set of clothes and tucked them under her arm.

“Guess it’s a bit earlier than normal, but I reckon I’ll hit the shower an’ get started on the day.”

Rarity watched her leave, a thoughtful expression on her face as Jack stepped out into the hall and shut the door behind her.

Finished with her shower, Jack tromped down the stairs and found Rarity sitting at the dining room table, sipping at a black coffee and reading the newspaper, a not-uncommon practice for the soul-folk. The uncommon aspect, however, came in the form of her apparel choice. A set of overalls and a plain shirt underneath rolled up to her elbows.

“What are ya doin’?” Jack asked. She noticed a cup of coffee on the placemat beside Rarity’s and sat down in front of it, taking a slow sip of the beverage.

Rarity folded the paper up and set it aside neatly. “If you have so much to do that you’re leaving this early, it’s only natural I give a hand, oui? No need to tackle the load when I’m perfectly serviceable.”

Jack let out a small snort, finally starting to distance herself from her rude awakening.

“Guess I owe ya one. Know ya ain’t a fan-a it.”

“One, seven. Frankly, who has time to keep track of favors nowadays?” Rarity commented with a casual wave of her hand. “I’ll expect something nice for our anniversary, that’s all.”

That finally got a tired smile from Jack. “How ‘bout we finally get yer shop paid off? Seems like a good use fer what bits come our way.”

Rarity gave a long pause, sipping at her drink again. “The gift that keeps on giving. An excellent choice, Jack Apple. There may be hope for you yet.”

Jack took in a breath, the scent of the coffee steering her towards something resembling her normal attitude. She rested a cheek on her fist and looked at Rarity with a faint smile; after a beat, Rarity dropped her aloof act, smiling warmly in return.

“So, what’s on the ol' agenda?” Jack drawled out.

“Well, after I put you in a better position than you are now, a bubble bath and painting my nails. Eventually I need to plan out a dress—I should be capable of doing that here, I’m simply planning a design to execute, so I have no need to visit the shop today.”

“That’s good.” Jack took another sip of her coffee. “I hear there’s a new act at the club tonight. What ya say ‘bout us hoofin’ it over there after yer done an’ I got my stuff squared away?”

“It is blues night, isn’t it?” Rarity remarked, putting a hand to her chin and leaning on the table, her long hair dropping its tips into her coffee. Jack reached forward, cupping Rarity’s cheek and tucking the woman’s hair behind an ear before Rarity could realize her own mistake and start whining.

“Eyup. Figure ya might like that.”

“It does sound wonderful, but, I wonder if you recall our obligations today?”

She cocked her head; Rarity took that instantly as a ‘no’.

Rarity blew on her coffee and took another drink. “Diane and Spike are coming to our humble abode and staying the night.”

“Hell, I did forget,” Jack said, rubbing the top of her head. After a beat she paused, realizing she was missing something. She rose to a proper sit, looking left and right; Rarity seemed to read her mind and, after a beat, the tailor lifted a hand, which took on a blue illumination, sparking like a dull flame enveloping her palm. Another moment and down the stairs, levitating and enveloped in the same aura Rarity channeled within her hand, came a beaten and worn Stetson, which flew over Jack’s outstretched hand and landed askance on top of her head, covering her eyes with its wide brim.

“Very funny,” Jack dryly remarked, pushing the hat back with a fingertip.

“I thought so,” Rarity agreed, not bothering to hide a playful smile that stretched all the way to a design of three diamonds upon her cheek.

“Soul-folk, I swear,” Jack muttered, then continued in a more normal tone. “So when they comin’ by?”

“Around noon, I would imagine. Can never tell with trains.” With a backward tilt of her head, she finished her coffee and stood. “That said, I suppose it’s best we get this miserable morning out of the way before they arrive.”

Jack followed suit, finishing off her own drink and rising to a stand. “Alright, sug.”

As they prepared to head outside, Rarity stopped, putting a hand on Jack’s own.

“Are you sure you’re alright, darling?”

Jack’s thoughts turned back to her sleep, back to how she had been feeling ever since she had arrived back home and, after a beat, she gave a slow nod.

“Ain’t perfect,” she openly admitted, looking into Rarity's eyes. A small smile quirked to life. “But what is, yeah? I’ll get better, don’t give up on me yet.”

“You’re the last person I’d ever give up on.” She took Jack’s hand. “Now, really, why are we still here simply talking when there’s work to be done? I swear, you have to be one of the biggest sloths I know.”

Jack snorted, letting Rarity guide her out into the sunny morning.

The clatter of plates and bowls filled the air as lunchtime on the farm commenced. Mac left the kitchen and rounded the corner leading to the dining room, a platter of food in each hand as he went towards the table. The giant man sat both down and sniffed the air, silently appreciating the aroma of pork chops before he turned around, nearly crashing into an ebony-skinned woman wearing a loose-fitting robe.

“Sorry, Zecora,” he mumbled out, giving the woman an apologetic pat on her shoulder. Zecora shook her head, tilting it upwards to give him a small peck on his collarbone.

“I’m easy to miss, I don’t mind at all,” Zecora replied cheerfully. The herbalist winked, then continued, her rhyming tongue dancing and playing over the words she spoke. “It’s what I expected, joining into family that’s tall.”

“That’s quite the truth,” Rarity remarked from her seat, her cultured, posh accent contrasting sharply from the others in the room almost as much as the well-pressed summer dress she wore. Giving an absentminded tap at the table with a finger, her red nails shining elegantly, she continued her thought. “I have a feeling one day your sister will be just as tall as me, if not more towards Jack’s height.”

“Don’t tell her that. She might get a big head,” Mac drawled out, heading back into the kitchen. Zecora laughed, following behind her husband.

Rarity smiled, then looked over at the two other occupants in the dining room. “I’m sure Jack will be inside in a moment, she’s simply tending to a few of the cattle. One had a hard birth from what she told me this morning.” Furrowing her brow in thought, she shrugged towards their guests. “I’m not well-versed in regards to farming, but I assume it will not be too much longer for her.”

Diane nodded, her pink, curly hair bouncing at the gesture. “Don’t worry! I’m pretty good at waiting! I make it a game! Like the quiet game, only I don’t lose it as often as I do the quiet game, I’m pretty sure people cheat when they play that with me; I’m all winning, then suddenly my mouth is like ‘nuh-uh, sistah!’ and then the next thing I know I lose.”

Spike looked first to the woman, then to Rarity, whose perplexed expression matched his own. “What she said. Mostly. I think?” he stammered out, looking to fill the brief quiet with any type of words.

The screen door creaked open and a few sure, booted steps came from the entryway, followed by the sound of two thumps. A few seconds later, Jack came plodding in, wearing her socks and a weary look on her face. She forced the best smile she could muster on seeing their guests, moving over to the table to give a slap to Diane’s shoulder and a casual tousle to Spike’s green hair. He glared at her, brushing it back with a palm as soon as she stopped.

“Howdy, you two.”

“Hi Jackie!” Diane chimed out, grinning so fully her dimples winked. “How you doing?!”

Jack gave a slow bounce of her head. “Alive. Ya know how it goes.”

“Totally,” Spike agreed with a nod.

Rarity looked towards Jack, seeming to want to say something. After a beat, though, she simply held out her hand to the empty chair beside her and Jack dropped heavily into it, clasping Rarity’s hand.

Once Mac and Zecora returned and they divided up the meal, Rarity leaned forward onto the table, beginning the conversation once more as she rested her head on a hand.

“How fares the boutique in St. Charles, Spike?”

“Doing good,” he replied enthusiastically. “I mean, of course it’s closed for a few days while Diane and I are on vacation and your sister’s there, but it’s been steady. I was gonna send you a restock list when Pinkie and I got back to the shop.”

“And you’re still enjoying it?” Rarity asked. “Because, while we’re not well-to-do in the strictest sense—unless I ask for money from my father—I can easily hire someone to watch over the store.”

He took a drink of water to wash down a bite of his meal. “I’m still having fun with it. Between doing that and acting as a secretary for Twila, I’ve been pretty busy.”

“If you ever need some time off, inform me. We can always redirect fashion emergencies to Mansfield, after all. I’m not afraid of a workload!” Rarity cut into her porkchop, popped a piece into her mouth, and let out an unladylike grunt of approval, obviously pleased with Mac’s handiwork. Once she swallowed and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, she looked towards the pink-haired woman. “And Diane, we see one-another fairly often, despite my occasional departure from school, but how has life been the past few weeks? Have you been enjoying the visit with your family? How did they like meeting Spike?”

Pinkie’s smile stretched across her face. “Oh they loved meeting him! I think he got along really well with them.” Reaching over, she took to ruffling Spike’s hair amid small protests from him. “And it was nice to catch up with the family, y’know?”

“I understand completely, dear.”

Rarity glanced to a glass of water and quickly took a mouthful. Looking to the cup for a long, long moment, she frowned, staring at the ripples her interference created.

“Somethin' up, Rare?” Jack asked.

The woman looked up to her partner, breaking away from her trance. “Nothing, honestly. Was simply thinking of Stephanie. Hopefully her and your sister are not wrecking the shop.”

“Aw, what’s the worst they could do?” Jack paused immediately after asking the question. She quickly added on, “I-I mean, ya got yer high-end stuff at the shop here now, anyway.”

“I swear, if I have to call the fire department one more time…” Rarity muttered out, taking another bite of the meal. Zecora offered a bit of a smirk at that as she polished off her drink.

There was a lull in the conversation , before Diane turned to a new subject.

“Kickin’ Will’s butt yet, Jackie?” she excitedly asked, looking with a bit of adoration towards the farmer.

Jack paused, both of her cheeks full of food. Struggling to chew her mouthful, she finally swallowed. “That ol’ warhorse? Good damn luck, might as well be fightin’ Luna.” Her humbleness faded after a moment and she added, “Sparrin’ the fella is a lot less one-sided. Still got a way ta go.”

“It must be such a rush though. Fighting, I mean,” Pinkie added.

“It’s…” Jack shifted uncomfortably on her seat. “Sparrin’ ain’t too bad. Started likin’ it quite a bit lately. But fightin’ fightin’? Life or death? It’s somethin’ else.”

“Oh… I guess it would be.”

Mac spared his sister a sympathetic glance but, like the man was prone to do, said nothing, instead frowning and wiping at his mouth with a sleeve.

Before the situation could become awkward, Rarity rose up. “I believe we're due for some tea,” she announced, running a finger along Jack's shoulders on her way to the kitchen. Jack reached out, giving a brief squeeze of the soul-folk's hand as she walked off.

The room grew quiet. Jack absently picked at her food and stared at the table. Pinkie watched the woman’s actions until she couldn’t stand the heavy silence any longer.

“Hey, Jack. You alright?” she asked.

“Hangin’ in there,” Jack automatically parroted, a hair annoyed at how often that question seemed to be popping up as of late. Then she looked towards the ceiling in thought. “Well, I’ll be alright after I clean up shop a bit more. Hear frost is headin’ in next week or so, an’ I wanna make sure the garden’s ready fer it, on top of doin’ some more with the cattle. Ain’t no rest fer the wicked.”

Pinkie grinned. “Praise it, sista. But at least you can have some home cooked meals during what little downtime you get!”

“Things like that never hurt to eat,” Spike said with a grin. Pinkie nodded in instant agreement.

“A man after my own heart!” she chirped, putting a hand on top of his head and squeezing it.

Jack smiled at their antics , but it was a tired, distracted thing—fatigued, just like the rest of her. Despite several hours still to go within the day. This time when Spike looked at her, his concern was obvious.

“Are… are you sure you’re ok, Jack?” he questioned. After a long, considering moment, the earth-folk nodded.

“Alive, at least. It’s…” She shook her head. “Rough. It’s been rough.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Pinkie asked, tilting her head, her expression gaining a mature edge to it, an uncommon sight from the girl.

“It’s jus’ nightmares gettin me a bit down. Ain’t the first time. I’m usually better at hidin’ ‘em.”

“Why hide them?” Spike asked. Jack’s answer never came; right then Rarity returned, a tray full of drinks.

“Remind me to get more teabags,” Rarity remarked, putting the tray down and taking her seat.

“Eyup,” Jack agreed, her hand gladly wrapping around one mug of ‘no-further-discussion’. She sipped at the warm beverage, keeping her mouth occupied.

Spike considered trying to get an answer from Jack but relented, instead focusing on his own drink.

The talk turned idle, relaxed, and laughter filled the room throughout the end of the meal. Finally, Pinkie scooted back from the table, giving a pat at her stomach.

“I never thought I’d say it, but I’m stuffed!” she exclaimed. “You know how to make food that keeps with you.”

“Yeah. I won’t need to eat for a while. At least until dinnertime at this rate,” Spike grinned, showcasing the pronounced canines of the dragon-folk.

“Ain’t that jus’ a miracle,” Jack drawled out, tossing her fork onto her plate and wiping at her mouth with a sleeve. “Guess I should get back to it, gotta check the fence-line.”

“I’ll come with,” Spike offered. “I’m sure Diane and Rarity have some stuff to catch up on.”

Pinkie gasped. “He’s a mind reader!” she exclaimed, putting a hand to her cheek in shock. “I got some hot scoops on the gossip scene at St. Charles.”

“I would imagine more along the lines of drama, dear. You know how a university town is.” Rarity stood, giving one more wipe to her mouth with a napkin.

“I’ll hit the bathroom and we’ll hop to it!”

“Very well, I’ll be out at the back-deck when you’re ready.”

When Pinkie came to the deck, she was surprised to see Rarity focused over a sketchbook, looking towards the rolling hills in the distance, then down at her handiwork. Diane craned her neck over the tailor’s shoulder and looked at the image on the sketch pad.

Rather than the sweeping golden fields of wheat, or the small herd of cattle in the distance, she was instead greeted by a woman and an elegant, pinched-in dress. Rarity lifted her pencil from her work, looked once more towards the horizon, and the faintest flash of magic enveloped her finger, changing the carbon point of the pencil from a soft brown to an off-blue, which she used to color in the trimmings on the dress.

“Wow,” Diane marveled. “That’s neat.”

Rarity proudly smiled. “Jack thought the same, the first time I did it in front of her,” she answered with a chuckle, continuing her sketch. “Granted, the revelation came after she bought me a set of colored pencils as a gift.”

“So you’re using some of the colors on that?” Pinkie asked as she pointed to Rarity’s sketch.

“Yes.” She nodded. “The way the land lays here can complement and contrast very well with the weather. It is far more effective than one would think at first glance.”

“Weather makes that much of a difference?”

“Naturally.” She gestured towards the distant hills. “From here I can see the transience of nature alongside its unchanging tendencies in the same way a lady wearing different garments retains the same figure.”

“So the hills are like boobies and the weather and things on the hills are like a bra,” Pinkie said, nodding sagely. “I get it.”

Rarity seemed ready to correct her, then sighed. “Close enough,” she dryly agreed. She blindly gestured behind her with a magically-illuminated hand and a squat door opened to Pinkie’s side. A mini-fridge sat there, within it several bottles and cans.

“A bit early for spirits, would you like a root beer instead?” Rarity questioned, not looking towards the woman as her aura focused around two cans on the bottom shelf.

“Sure!” Pinkie enthusiastically replied. The blue aura lifted two cans out of the fridge and shut the door; the cans lazily swam through the air, one coming to a small table next to Rarity, the other landing gently into Pinkie's waiting hands. Wasting no time, she cracked open the can and took a long drink, the carbonation tickling her nose enough that it crinkled on reflex. “Thanks.” Her grin widened. “Now if I can just get some ice cream to go with this, I'll be set!”

“I’m sure we can make some homemade ice cream before you and Spikie depart tomorrow,” Rarity offered.

“That’d be great! Nothing beats homemade food.” She moved to a chair next to Rarity's own and plopped down, staring towards the horizon. “The Cakes say it's because you put love in 'em. So I make sure to put a little bit of my lovin’ into everything that goes in my oven!”

“Love and too many calories,” Rarity remarked, giving her stomach a small squeeze through her shirt.

For the first time since she arrived, Diane took stock of Rarity’s body. The tailor still had a quintessential hourglass and womanly frame, with wide, seductive hips and a pair of breasts that more than complemented her. Only now, however, there was a bit more. A sort of leanness to her Diane could tell from the simple way Rarity carried herself around, not to mention the muscle that would occasionally twitch to life as she used her magic to alter, change and erase the beginnings of an attractive high-end piece.

“I’m fortunate I’m working more physically than I had previously, otherwise I’d be traveling to the chunky side,” the tailor admitted.

“Chunky? You?” Pinkie gasped in disbelief. “Never. Ever. Couldn’t happen. It’d be like if the apples stopped growing on all the trees here.”

“Well, minding my figure was far easier when I was able to simply eat a salad or such. Now that I’m surrounded by people with far larger appetites...” She gave a small rise and fall of the fingers at her stomach, as if to say ‘it is what it is.’

“Think of it like a challenge!” Pinkie beamed at her, her pearly whites almost glinting in the sunlight.

“I suppose I've never balked in regards to a challenge. After all, I married one,” Rarity remarked, intending it to be a joke, but bordering a bit close to truth.

Pinkie craned her neck, measuring the woman. “Is everything alright between you two?”

Rarity was silent for a moment. “As alright as it can be,” she finally said. “I love her and I love what surrounds her, her family, our home. Though I never expected a farm would suffice for me, I've grown to love it, too. Tranquility and a place away from the public eye are hard things to find.” Her delicate face twitched into a frown. “Though I worry for her when she's out on the road. Only natural, I suppose, but... I've grown competent in protecting myself. I wish I could do the same for her, offer some restitution to the times she guarded me.”

“She didn't do it expecting favors back, Rarity,” Pinkie countered with a rise and fall of her arms. “I wouldn't worry about it.”

Rarity wryly smiled. “Oh, you know me, darling. If I see a loose thread on a garment I feel compelled to work it. I'm simply finding a thing that leaves me incontinent. Other than her traveling—which I am proud of her for, I might add, despite my complaints—we are quite alright.”

“Ok,” Diane replied, trusting Rarity's word. She didn't have much experience in long-term relationships, so she decided that well enough was going to be the best answer she received. “Never would have guessed you'd enjoy the farm, though.”

“That makes two of us. I suppose I still detest the nitty-gritty, to borrow an expression from Jack. Unless I'm specifically requested into helping with the... physical labors of her job, I prefer being an observer, you see. It's hell on my nails,” she then added under her breath, “I suppose sparring with Macintosh and Zecora house the same issues, but at least I'm gaining a necessary skill that way.”

“Sparring. Now that is something I never expected to hear Rarity say,” Pinkie said, giving a little belch from the drink.

“She would never have considered it, until Dmitri nearly ruined my life.”

Pinkie deflated. “Oh, yeah. I'm sorry about...”

The soul-folk gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Don't worry about it, darling. It's the past. Sometimes my thoughts turn to it, but I suppose that's true of any moment in your life that held impact.” Suppressing a yawn, she looked over at Diane. “And how are things with Spike? I meant to ask you that when we first stepped out here, my manners must have left my thoughts, I'm ashamed.”

“We're ok,” Pinkie stated, then looked down at the ground. “Well, except for one tiny issue.”

“Oh?”

Pinkie nodded to herself. “Yeah. Lately he's been wanting to get a little,” she giggled, “frisky.”

“That seems to be an area of expertise to you, darling. Not to say that you're a woman of ill reputation, mind,” Rarity quickly added.

“No. I get you.” She rubbed at her nose. “It's just... Spike's pretty young. I don't want us to get ahead of ourselves.”

“It isn’t something you should rush,” Rarity agreed with a slow nod. “But… If I may share a secret?” she asked.

Diane had already performed the gestures. “Pinkie Promise,” she said, nodding seriously.

“Mmm.” She looked at the design of the deckchair for a second, before continuing. “I actually had my first about three years earlier than Spike’s age now, and considering he's of-age by most of the standards of the world...” She raised her brow towards Pinkie. “That is, I’m assuming Spike’s still a…?”

“Completely. He told me he's never done anything like that.” She let out a breath of air, turning and righting herself on the wicker chair. “I just have a hard time I guess. I see him and I'm reminded of all the stuff I do with kids and you know I don't wanna think about that trying to get in the mood. I think he's ready, well maybe not quite ready ready, but close to ready ready, you know?”

“I think?” Rarity said, the words leaning more towards a question rather than a concrete answer.

“And I don't wanna make him wait too long. That's not fair for him either, since he's been really super-duper patient with me, like 'Spike having to write out an itinerary for Twila before a diplomatic meeting' patient.” Defeated with her words, she sighed. “This stuff's kinda hard, Rarity. I think I remember why I like hookups better sometimes.”

“Perhaps you are aware more about dragon-folk than I would, but their anatomy ages differently than our own, if I recall correctly from Twila’s, er, spirited discussion of his race. His appearance might be as you see it for a long, long time.”

Rarity turned to look dead-on at Pinkie. “Telling Spike why you two can’t with a reasonable explanation would solve a lot of your woes.”

“I guess.” With a sigh of defeat, she let her head limply hang down, her curly hair forming a pool of pink on the ground. “I just dunno anymore, Rarity. I thought I’d be way better than this, instead I’m just flailing about, with barely a clue...”

“That’s what love is,” Rarity said. She rose to a sit and leaned over, putting a hand on Pinkie’s leg in a comforting gesture. “Flailing about, then flailing about some more.”

“Thanks—it’s felt like I’ve screwed up a lot lately.” Pinkie blinked her red eyes a few times, taking a deep breath. “I’m okay. I’m fine.” Calm again, she rolled onto her side, glancing at Rarity.

“You only think you’ve screwed up, darling. I am personally my own worst enemy in that regard.”

A warm smile appeared on Pinkie's face. “You know what? I think I'm the same way. Maybe tonight we should try something. Maybe not all the way, but…”

“Something is usually better than nothing,” Rarity agreed. “Either way I'm sure he'll appreciate the step.”

Satisfied with her conclusion, Pinkie finally snapped up to a stand. “I think I'm gonna go swimming!” she cheerfully exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly.

Rarity raised a brow, then looked back to her sketchbook. “Well, you enjoy yourself out there, darling. I think I’ll take a raincheck regarding the pond,” she promptly replied.

“Aww, laaame,” Pinkie whined, pouting. “Swimming alone is so boring and the pond’s really pretty and clean.”

She shrugged, returning her focus more to her work. “You could ask Jack to join you. I’m simply too tired to swim today. “

Pinkie leaned forward, patting Rarity’s head. The soul-folk wasn't sure if she should smile at the act of affection, or scream at how her hair might get frizzed up. She decided on a middle ground and instead just paused.

“Thanks for the talk.”

“Naturally, dear. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Spike walked alongside Jack as she wandered the fence line surrounding the fields.

It was a beautiful autumn day, warm despite being early October. Jack said weather like this during these kinda months were called ‘Norfolk Summers’ by northern Cabello. Iron Will had told Jack it was a bit of a joke among the tribe of giant people in the frozen lands, considering pioneers from Europe, inexperienced with the newland’s weather, would routinely underestimate the harsh, wet winters, and suffer for it.

Joke or not, Spike was grateful for the warmth. Being a dragonblood had a lot of benefits. The affinity he shared with full-blood dragons when it came to colder weather was not one of them.

The ‘hmm’ Jack muttered out was enough to draw his attention away from his thoughts and pull his gaze from the apple orchard in the distance, the crop looking bountiful to his untrained eye.

“What?” Spike asked. Jack approached a fencepost and squatted by it, running a hand over an object embedded into the stout wooden pole. A rounded, palm-sized bone-white stone with a strange, intricate white marking over it.

“Ward’s on its last legs,” she answered, running a finger over the dull markings.

Spike waited for an answer. Being offered none, he raised a brow. “Meaning?” he asked.

“Meanin’ it’s a good thing I brought spares.” Reaching into the back of her jean pockets she pulled out a stone, one with the same sort of design and markings gracing it. She then brought a knife from a sheath at her side and pried out the dull stone embedded into the wooden post, then quickly hammered the spare in with the pommel of her blade. Spike felt a brief vibration in his hands and feet—the same sort of feeling that soul-folk gave him when they channeled powerful magic. Before his eyes the stone sparked, the white symbols turning a silvery-blue.

Nodding at the job, Jack pocketed the used-up trinket and sheathed her knife. She looked to Spike, then pointed to a thick patch of woods no more than a stone’s throw in the distance.

“Keeps most things away from the cattle an’ crops. Zecora made ‘em.”

“Things? Oh! Like coyotes?” he asked, putting a fist to his palm at the realization.

Jack snorted. “I wish. Coyotes, wolves, damn rabbits, deer, they still run the place.” She rolled her eyes, but still carried a small, good natured smile as she complained. “That gal talks ‘bout the natural order more than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“Then…?”

“Stops the unnatural order, as it were. Timberwolves. Drop Bears. Skunk Apes. That kinda deal. We don’t get anythin’ that major compared ta the horror stories ya hear ‘bout Everfree or what cousin Braeburn says he gets at the Everlost desert out west, but it never hurts ta be safe.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Spike admitted, looking between the stone and the densely packed woods. “Surprised more places don’t do that. Would be a ton better than what we do at Camelot, I bet.”

“Then what would yer soul-folk do fer jobs? Get their hands dirty farmin’?” She smiled, walking back to Spike and giving a rub of his hair. “Kiddin’. Soul-folk got their jobs. I got mine. Ta answer ya, though, barrier spells like what yer talkin’ ‘bout work a lot better fer a city that big. Zecora knows all the nitty-gritty, I don’t, but way she describes it—” She suddenly paused, moving down the fenceline. A broken wire caught her eye and without even a slight flinch, she took the two ends of the split wire and twisted them together, turning them with the ease of winding an old-fashioned alarm clock. Spike knew earth-folk could be tougher than the other tribes of folk, but it always seemed like the Apple clan took it to the next level. Mac was like a four-hundred pound gorilla that towered over everyone but the race of Norfolk, and Jack was much the same, built out of hard muscles and stubborn streaks that made mules look agreeable.

“What was I sayin’?” Jack asked herself. “Ah yeah. That ward wouldn’t really work. Guess it worked fine havin’ jus’ one at the shack Zecora lived in back in her hermit days, but we need five by the forest jus’ because we have more people an' animals.”

She continued down the line, Spike following after her.

“Plus, I think ain’t many sure how ta make ‘em. Zecora says that there are a few tribes in Africa an’ Madagascar that still practice brewin’, but it’s a dyin’ trade. Lot more medicine an’ doctors around ta treat things, less havin’ ta work the land for potions.”

“That sucks,” Spike said. Jack rubbed the back of her head, giving a small glance to the boy as they walked.

“Sometimes. But ya gotta understand, sometimes somethin’ better comes outta it. Zecora says most-a modern medicine comes from her kin. Their shaman do a… pilgrimage or somethin’—a rite of passage fer ‘em—an’ they seem ta walk all over the place. It’s because of them shaman that we have it so good now. Knowin’ that her tribe helped most-a the modern world? I figure Zecora would see that as somethin’ ta be proud of.”

“I never thought of it like that,” he admitted. Looking up, he noticed Jack was already several paces in front of him so he sighed and widened his steps in an attempt to keep up.

“Hope some day people like me an’ Will get outdated too.” She ducked under the branches of a willow, chuckling a bit as it snagged her hat and she put it back on her head. “Not the farmin’, mind. That ain’t somethin’ I’d ever want outta style.” Giving a gaze Spike would call ‘guarded’ if it came from anyone not as open as Jack, she asked: “think that’ll ever happen?”

“There’s always going to be monsters, I think.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Just some of them aren’t as easy to spot or solve.”

She sighed, a bit disappointed in the answer, but deep down knowing at least the boy was being honest.

“Ya got that right. An’ dealin’ with those kind…”

“Not all progress is good. There’s something to be said about the old ways sometimes,” Spike added as an afterthought. “Tried and tested, you know? Your way works.”

“An’ here I was thinkin’ I’d be givin’ you words of wisdom.” Jack did her best to smile at the boy. “Hell, kid, yer somethin’ else. Ya an’ that girl make a great pair.”

“I’m not a kid,” he countered, frowning. “But, thanks.”

“Treat her right,” Jack said, slowing down to let him catch up. She slapped his back, making Spike stumble a hair. “It’s how ya keep ‘em. That means sometimes doin’ things ya ain’t thrilled by,” she rolled her eyes and added under her breath, “like goin’ ta damn fashion shows.”

“I don’t like cupcakes,” Spike blurted out, looking seriously at Jack, “and she always makes a ton…”

“Things we put up with.” Jack shook her head in mock disgust.

“You said it.”

“Come on, Spike,” she said, continuing down the way. “I’ll tell ya ‘bout a few hunts I did with the girls and Will while we’re movin’.”

Peace

Pinkie sat down by the edge of the lake, dipping her legs into the refreshingly cool water. She splashed around a little, then her head turned as she watched Jack meander forward.

“Hurry up, slowpoke!” Pinkie called out, running a thumb over the lining on the blue and white back of the swimsuit she wore, sticking her tongue out in concentration until she had got the offending piece of clothing adjusted.

She wasn’t sure when it had happened, exactly, but she had put on some weight. On the bright side, it seemed to hit all the right places, giving a swing to hips that were childlike a year ago. Though she had been disappointed in how many bottoms she had to throw away, at least a few shorts still fit, which was a miracle, because if she had to get rid of the Wonderbolts shorts Isabelle had bought for her a few years ago, she would have cried.

“Comin’, sug, comin’,” Jack replied, marching lazily along as she took in the late afternoon air. Reaching the water’s edge, she kicked off her boots and undid her jeans, revealing a conservative black bottom of a swimsuit, then unbuttoned her top and tossed it next to her jeans.

Lastly, she gently pulled off her wedding ring, placing it on top of her other clothes. After giving a small stretch, the earth-folk ran a thumb under the top’s strap, her breasts going in tandem with the movement, then joined Pinkie, sitting down at the water’s edge.

“Took me ferever ta find this thing,” she commented, looking down at the bikini. “Ain’t really my kinda clothin’ choice, so I had it buried under a lotta crap.”

“Suits ya,” Pinkie said, kicking up some water. “Or should I say, ‘swimsuits’ ya!”

Jack gave a weak chuckle at the joke, but shrugged. “Nah. A one-piece works a lil’ better fer me nowadays.” She tapped a finger to the fist-sized scar on her stomach, the wrinkled, off-white thing drawing the eye sharply from her dark body.

The woman picked up on what Jack didn’t even need to say. “Scars make ya look tough though!” Pinkie grounded her teeth together and let out a growl. “Grrr, don’t mess with this farmer or she will mess you up.”

Jack kicked at the water absentmindedly, frowning a bit at that. “That ain’t always what I want, sug. There’s a time an’ a place fer lookin’ tough.” She looked over to Pinkie. “There’s this boy Bloom’s age. He came over when I was around. Intimidated the hell outta him with my face.”

“You can’t think it’s your fault, Jackie,” Pinkie said, carefully submerging herself into the water. “Kids are scared by lotsa things—they’re just kids. Can't always be sure what’s gonna make one laugh, cry, get mad… anything.”

“Guess that’s true. Reckon I’ll give ya that one. Hell.” She snorted, dropping down into the water. “Adults are the same way, ain’t they? Never sure when one’s gonna bend, when one’s gonna lash out like a snake.”

“Some,” Pinkie agreed. “But mostly bullies. And you’re not a bully.”

“Lashin’ out ain’t always bad, sug. Dash has done it a time or two, same with me an’ Rare. Sometimes if ya see somethin’ ya know ain’t right, ya gotta stand up an’ bite.”

Diane smiled. “And that’s why your scar isn’t gonna matter in the long run, Jackie. You’ve got that whole ‘pretty on the inside’ thing going, yeah? I can see it just from Bloom. What are you always telling Bloom to be? Not a diva, or a rich girl, you’re telling her to be a good girl—the best she can be.”

Jack slyly grinned, grabbing Pinkie’s hand, then sweeping the girl’s feet, sending her underwater. With one easy tug, she hoisted Pinkie back up, sputtering and dripping.

“I don’t care ‘bout the swimsuits an’ dresses an’ crap. Yer right there, sug. But I do care ‘bout bein’ approachable. Know the difference?” she asked, giving Pinkie a small pat on the back.

Pinkie coughed out some water. “Blegh. I getcha. But if you weren’t approachable, I wouldn’t have been your friend for as long as I have. You remember the train ride? The first one ever?”

“What? Headin’ ta school?” Jack questioned. “Yeah. Ya were playin’ some sorta game, an’ I was dreadin’ the whole thing.”

“I didn’t walk away though, did I?” Pinkie poked Jack on the nose repeatedly. “Huh? Huh?”

“It was a train ride. Where would ya have walked to?” she countered with a grin.

“I think I could’ve found another seat, Jackie,” Pinkie said, swimming around the farmer.

“Maybe.”

Diane looked at her for a long moment, a frown on her face. “It’s ok to be a bit sad sometimes.”

Jack sighed at that. “I ain’t got no real right ta be. I got a good life, married, my family an’ friends are some of the best people in the world. It’s jus’... hell, I dunno. I think some-a what’s been goin’ on at the side’s gettin’ ta me a bit.” She gulped in a deep breath and dove, vanishing for several long moments before rising.

“With Will?” Pinkie continued, not missing a beat in the conversation when Jack surfaced.

“With Will,” Jack agreed.

“Have you tried talking to him about it?”

“An’ tell him what? That I ain’t cut out fer it? That I don't wanna do it no more?” She pursed her lips, then shook her head, swimming over to the end of the pond. “I can’t do that. That ain’t the truth. It’s jus’... this one got me, that’s all.”

“Well you should… it helps sometimes if you talk about it, Jackie,” Diane encouraged.

Jack seemed to take in the other for a long, long moment. “Rarity knows,” she finally said, letting a hand glide over the water, skimming the surface. “Maybe that’s all who needs ta hear ‘bout it.”

“Earth-folk are a lot alike,” Diane commented. She gave a thinking tilt of her head. “Bottling everything up. It’s not fun. I’ve seen enough to be sure of that, Jackie. My family’s never been super talky either, no matter how much I blab on and on about things so I get it. But talking is important. I mean… you have a really great place here now because of talking, dontcha? Talking with Rarity and all that, right?”

“I mean… that feels a bit different don't ya think, sug?”

Diane shook her head. “Nah. It’s kinda the same. I mean, I care about you, just like Spike does. And so if something’s been making you sad, or, or something like that, I’d like to hear about it. Maybe it’d help you.” She cracked a grin, pointing proudly to the three balloons on the back of her right hand. “I mean, if ol’ Pinkie can’t help you, who can? I got a knack for smiles, after all.”

“Ain’t really somethin’ ya can get smiles from, sug. It’s jus’...” Jack exhaled a long, deep sigh, keeping afloat in the water with lazy, casual brushes of her powerful arms. “It was a hard one. Probably the first time in a long time I’ve felt helpless.”

“I understand what that’s like.” She swallowed. “Remember when you were out there, trying to save Rarity, with Dashie alongside you? I was back with Twila and I couldn’t do anything for you. Even Chylene was more useful than me. And that hurt, ‘cause I wanted nothing more than to help you out anyway I could, but I just couldn’t. So,” Pinkie rubbed at her arm.

“So I know, you know?”

Jack gave a slow nod of her head, taking Pinkie’s words to heart. “Are ya wantin’...?” Jack slowly asked, cocking her head. “Ta hear some of it?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t, silly,” Pinkie encouraged, a sad smile on her face as she measured Jack. “I want to hear if it’ll make you feel better.”

Jack shifted a bit, moving to the edge of the pond and sitting on a stone under the water, her height letting her head peek out like a dark brown island amid a sea. “Jus’... tell me if it’s too much. Rare it, uh, wasn’t somethin’ she liked hearin’.

“Ya hear 'bout boogeymen, right?” Jack questioned. “The kind folk tell their kid they’re gonna meet if they don’t do their chores an’ eat their vegetables? Lil’ made-up monster.” She narrowed her brow. “That’s what I saw last time I went with Will.”

Pinkie let out a big gasp. “Was it under your bed?!”

The farmer’s expression remained serious as she pressed on, ignoring the question. “Hear how Cloudsdale academy, an’, hell, most of St. Charles, have themselves a layline underneath the ground? It ain’t anythin’ earth-folk like us care too much ‘bout, but fer soul-folk, it’s got a sort of… amplification, I guess ya could say. Makes magic more potent.”

“Like a tap of power?” Pinkie wondered. “So they, y’know, take a cup from the tap and that makes their magic have much more ‘oomph’!”

“Ya don’t drink it. It’s more like an invisible force. Like…” she hummed. “Like when the ground has itself a good batch of fertilizer. Ya can tell from what grows there that it’s stronger than a field without fertilizer, right?”

“Yeah! All the trees are much greener, taller and stronger. Plus all the fruits are tastier!”

“Exactly. Laylines are like fertilizer fer a soul-folks mind.” She brought a knee to near her chest and wrapped a hand around it. “An’ there were these soul-folk kids there. Lil’ guys and girls jus’ ‘fore they got shipped off ta get trained in magic at one of those fancy schools.” Jack shook her head. “Kids kept hearin’ ‘bout a Bloody Bones. A fella that’d come ta take children away in the dead of night if they didn’t mind their family. Guess enough got it in their heads that he was real that a monster got summoned, their nightmares an’ imaginations givin’ him form.”

“Go on,” Pinkie said, nodding encouragingly.

“By the time we got there, two kids had been taken from their homes in the dead of night. Later, when we found their bodies…” Jack’s neutral frown twitched dangerously, showing her somber thoughts. “Christ. It ain’t fit fer civil discussion.”

Pinkie gave a small bounce of her head in agreement. “A lot of life isn’t. But we talk about it, though, ‘cause what are you gonna do otherwise? Just ignore something and hope it’ll go away?”

“Wish that worked,” Jack said, her frown quirking into a wince.

For a long while there was silence. Jack’s lips eventually turned subconsciously into a snarl as she shut her eyes, seeming to be in deep thought. Finally, Jack muttered out, “We trailed the boogeyman thinkin’ it was somethin’ else—somethin’ that don’t usually kill. We enter the cave it was at an’.... the bodies? They were missin’ eyes. Their teeth were broken—Will guessed a hammer or somethin’, thing had thumbs, I guess so he coulda jus’...” She gave a small swing of an imaginary claw hammer to demonstrate. “Worst part was, hell, worst part was a couple of things.” Leaning her head back, she shrugged. “They were alive when it happened, judging by all the thrashin’ around the bodies had done earlier. An’ they were skinned after they were killed. Head ta toe.” She clenched her hands tighter to her arms, digging her fingers into her bicep, leaving small crescents from her nails. “I’ve seen a manticore dig inta a guy’s gut before, but nothin’ prepared me fer that.”

Pinkie went dead silent, her face losing all its rosy color that her cheeks usually possessed. She hauled herself up on the side of the bank and closed her eyes, grimacing and breathing heavily. She swallowed a few times, shivering with each one, exhaling deeply when the last of it had gone. Then the color had returned, as well as her strength—her fingernails were dug into the dirt. Her eyes were sparkling yet her face was twisted, deep frown lines forming. “They were just kids…”

“Jus’ a couple-a kids,” Jack weakly agreed, looking towards Diane. “That… that really got Rare, that they were jus’ a pair-a youngins. Got real bad ta me too, seein’ it an’ talkin’ ‘bout it.”

“At least…” Pinkie deflated, going back into the water until only her head was above it. “At least they’re in a better place now, right?” Then she took her head under the water for a few seconds. When she re-emerged, the water made for a clever mask.

“With God,” Jack said in a simple agreement.

“Think I’ve had enough of swimming,” Pinkie abruptly said. Then she mustered the effort to give Jack a short little laugh. “Getting all pruney.”

“Reckon it’s close ta dinnertime,” Jack replied in an attempt to change the subject. “Though I ain’t very hungry now.”

“Ditto,” Pinkie replied quickly, climbing out and rubbing at her eyes. “Just… one last thing?”

“Yeah, sug?” Jack asked, easily hoisting herself out of the water and moving over to her clothes, tucking them under her arm. She put on her ring and debated on her boots, before deciding to just go barefoot for the moment.

Pinkie gave Jack a gaze that could kill. “What about the monster that did it? Did you…?”

“I wouldn’t of told you shit if I hadn’t,” the farmer replied. “There wasn’t much left to collect after I was done with it. I scared Gilda and Dash with some of what…” She trailed off and swallowed. “Will understood, I think.”

“Okay… what did he say?” Pinkie said, displaying a level of seriousness unseen to Jack before.

Jack looked away from the girl, instead focusing on her house in the distance. “The same thing I thought. That it deserved to scream as much as the kids did.”

Pinkie nodded then looked down the path, seeming like she was miles away. She started walking. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Jack joined her, the thick callouses on her feet letting her match Pinkie stride for stride. “Can ya be honest with me?”

Pinkie blinked, turning her head. “Mm?”

“Do ya think any different of me after tellin’ ya that stuff?” Jack asked, giving an absent rub at her shoulder.

“If I was there,” Pinkie started, going quiet for just a moment. “And saw those kids? I think I would’ve been angry enough to do the same.” She quickened her pace, muttering, “Maybe worse. I dunno.”

“Guess noone really does know, ‘til they’re in that kinda boat.” She sighed as they walked down the path, running a finger over the fence line. “Only thing ya can do is...” Jack seemed to search for her words before giving up. “I guess live life as it comes.” She put a hand on Pinkie’s shoulder. “Though I hope ya never have ta deal with somethin’ like that. I really do.”

“Me too.”

They quickened their pace across the fields, Jack’s long strides effortlessly keeping up with Pinkie’s carefree bouncing steps. A short while later they reached the farmhouse and the two paused near the porch, sniffing at the savory smells of dinner wafting out of the house.

Pinkie stood on her toes to get closer to a window and took a whiff of it the scent. “Mmmmm. Smells good!”

“What happened ta not bein’ hungry?” Jack questioned, cocking her brow towards the girl.

“Fast metabolism,” Pinkie answered, patting her flat stomach. “I’m always looking and moving forward, Jackie. No sense getting stuck in the past.”

“That’s… a good way ta look at things,” she replied with a rub of her neck. “Come on, then. Let’s see what they got fixed up fer us.”

“Okey dokey,” Pinkie chirped, skipping inside.

They came to the dining room and instantly their mouths salivated. Pork tenderloin with, if Jack’s sense of smell wasn’t lying to her, a brown sugar glaze, corn on the cob, fried okra, and scalloped potatoes. In the center sat half a dozen rolls, so fresh heat still was rising off of them.

Pinkie was already in her seat before Jack could even move towards the table, rhythmically banging her knife and fork on the table, eyes dead set on that pork. Spike came from the other room to the table shortly afterward, giving an almost nervous glance toward the fork in the woman’s hand. Almost instinctively, Pinkie put down her fork and stroked Spike’s cheek gently, smiling at him.

Mac looked up from his own empty plate, glancing to Zecora as she brought a butter dish from the kitchen, with Rarity trailing right behind. The violet-haired beauty smiled, giving a small squeeze to Jack’s arm as she sat next to her.

“Who’s turn is it?” Mac asked.

“Jack’s, I’d say. We had Rarity’s just the other day,” Zecora replied, matter-of-factly.

“Again?” Jack replied with a grumble. “Though I jus’ did it.” Regardless of her complaints, she shut her eyes and clasped her hands together. “Bless the food here ta the nourishment of our bodies, bless the friends here ta join us fer fellowship, an’ bless our loved ones, here, an those unable ta make it.” She paused, then quickly added. “An’ give us the strength ta keep lookin’ ta the future, instead of always lettin’ our past keep us back. God’s name we pray, amen.”

A chorus of quiet ‘Amen’s’ went by the Apple clan, then Mac looked towards Pinkie.

“Best get ya some, ‘fore it gets cold,” he drawled out. “Rare’d tan yer hide if that happens.”

“That was only once,” Rarity remarked, taking a sip at a glass of water. “I’m sure the sandwich Jack had instead was a lesson she didn’t forget.”

“I think my hide’s already gonna be tanned from staying out in the sun all day!” Pinkie cheerfully replied, looking down at her chest. She put a clean napkin over it, in the vain attempt to preserve some modesty. Granted, it was doubtful whether she really cared enough; half of her pork was gone already.

“A healthy tan is nice. Though if you’re not careful, you’ll end up as dark as Zecora over here,” Jack replied with a grin. Zecora chuckled.

“Do you think she’d have the power? To be outside for that many a-hour?” the african asked in her rhyming speech.

“If there were things to do, of course!” Pinkie reached over and ruffled Spike’s vibrant hair. “I think Spike prefers vanilla though.”

“Guess I’m outta the runnin’ too, then.” Jack sighed. “Up ta you, Rare. Good luck.”

Spike blushed, looking down at his meal. “I like vanilla, caramel, even chocolate. But I like Pinkie the best.”

Rarity laughed, tearing off a piece of roll. “How charming!” she exclaimed with a grin. “That’s just the sweetest thing I think he’s ever said.”

Even Pinkie was blushing now, the color matching nicely with her hair. “He’s got a lot more where that came from.” She leant towards the boy and planted a kiss on his warm cheek.

Spike boyishly grinned, rubbing the back of his head at Pinkie’s actions.

“Jack could stand to learn a thing or two from him,” Rarity replied. “All this time and she’s still a terrible flirt.”

“Hey, I’m jus’ ‘bout like that Casanova fella nowadays. I’ll give ya when we first met, but not now.”

Rarity didn’t change her flat expression for a moment, resting both her hands on the table. After another pause, Jack flinched, jerking from the table.

“What are ya doin’ with yer foot there?” Jack asked.

“What do you think, Casanova?” Rarity countered, raising her brow.

“An’ how did ya get flexible enough ta even reach that far up when ya were sittin’ right by me?” the earth-folk questioned, finally returning to her chair.

“I practiced back in my day,” Rarity casually replied, taking another drink of water.

Spike whistled. “That’s some nice legwork,” he commented to Pinkie.

“I wonder ‘bout y’all sometimes. Weird,” Mac said neutrally to the table, rubbing at the rough shave-job on his chin.

“Well, you’re a big guy,” Pinkie commented. “So that’s your ‘weird thing’,” she continued, wiggling her index fingers.

“That a fact?” he drawled out. “Didn’t know that made me weird.”

“Taller than average though, right? Much taller. So you’re past the norm, which means…” Pinkie thrust a finger towards the man, “You’re weird.”

“Ya forgettin’ Norfolk?” Jack asked. “Mac ain’t exactly Iron Will here.”

“Well he’s not Norfolk is he? Duh,” Pinkie uttered, rolling her eyes.

“Pinkie…” Jack trailed off, exasperated. Finally, she sighed. “Yer so… you, sometimes.”

Pinkie hummed a delightful note, happily munching away at her food. Giving Jack a innocent look, her hand found Spike’s and held onto it.

“Ya ever get the mail, Jack?” Mac questioned, reaching over and taking another cob of corn.

“Nah. Got wrapped up with some odds an’ ends. It can wait ‘til tomorrow. Probably jus’ some bills.” the farm-woman shook her head. “Ya figure we’d have this school thing an’ hospital bills dead as a doornail by now.”

“Well, if someone would use some of my family’s money,” Rarity remarked.

“Yer dad covered the weddin’,” Jack replied, as if that explained everything. “‘Sides, yer tailorin’ business takes care of most of the monthly dues as-is.”

“Still stubborn, as usual,” she said. “But let the floor know I offered.”

“Noted,” Spike said with a nod.

“I saw it,” Mac agreed.

“I’ll remember it,” Pinkie contributed.

“It seems we’re to be taken for a ride, holding out for our blonde Apple’s pride,” Zecora teased.

“When I end up the punchline ta y'all's jokes?” Jack grumbled, putting another piece of pork into her mouth.

“It’s only your turn for now. Whenever Rarity gets dirty or something, then it’s her turn,” Pinkie said sagely, nodding in Rarity’s direction. “Fair’s fair!”

“An equal opportunity punchline. That’s the Pinkie way,” Spike dryly replied.

“That’s me!” Pinkie quipped, grinning at everyone around her.

Author's Note

We're finally back in business and starting the show. I mean, I'm not that far behind with a sequel I mentioned a while back, only, what, three years? Pah, child's play.
The remaining chapters should come out every Friday from here on out, with, perhaps, multiple chapters a week if I can get around to them. Glad to be posting something here again, and, hopefully, it'll have been worth the wait for y'all. See you in short order!

Stirrings

After dinner, Rarity and Mac cleaned up, leaving Jack to join Zecora for a few moments. The African walked outside to the shed sitting nearby the barn and opened the door, letting Jack step inside with her.

It was a small thing, hard, packed dirt, with only a few rugs inside for flooring and some threadbare shelves attached to the walls lined with bottles. Zecora walked to the center of the room and sat down on one of the rugs, reaching for the main centerpiece of the shed—a large, cast-iron cauldron.

All three of the Apple clan had told her that she could practice her brewing inside, but the woman had refused, instead moving most of the tools and supplies that had occupied the shed out to the barn and claimed this spot as her own.

Jack sat opposite the cauldron. On any other day, Bloom would be right there alongside the medicine woman, bewitched by the craft.

If that girl was going to get her mark in anything a little on the strange side, Jack bet good bits that it’d be this right here. She was enthused by the trade, and had a surprisingly decent hand at it.

“As the sun retires to his den, it is time for us to begin,” Zecora announced. She reached for the rope securing her robe in place, untying it and letting it fall to the floor. Sitting there, clad in a heavy strap of cloth around her breasts, she put a hand to her rounding stomach, the pitch-black tribalistic sun upon her torso becoming more captivating every day.

Jack undid her shirt, revealing her stomach as well. Though she didn’t understand the significance, Zecora insisted anyone joining her during her ritualistic brewing do the same. Jack assumed it had to do with where Zecora’s tribe held their marks, but never pressed the issue. The medicine woman humored all of Jack and Mac’s little rituals and prayers as it were. It was only fair they did the same.

“We need another ward,” Jack stated, reaching to her pocket and showing the dully marked stone she had picked up from the fence. “Then notes, I guess.”

Striking a fire under the pot, Zecora rose, moving to an ever growing collection of bottles along the shelf. Selecting one, she added it to the pot alongside a pitcher of water. The smell that soon wafted and filled the shed reminded Jack of a sort of glue.

Muttering something in her foreign tongue, Zecora dipped a thin brush into the mixture and applied it to the smooth stone. The rock seemed to drink in the mixture, it vanished into the rock before reappearing, far more pronounced in coloration and giving a slight illumination to the room.

“Jack, the job is done,” Zecora announced, handing it to the farmer. The rock tingled in pulses in her hand, the spell Zecora infused into it reminding Jack of an electric heartbeat. Zecora raised a brow. “Still interested in notes before you run?”

“Of course,” Jack agreed, pulling out a small pocket notebook, its edges showing sign of constant use, and a pen at the ready.

“Oils for the beast or tonics for the heart? Tell me, Jack, where should we start?”

“Oils. I ain’t got the touch fer brewin’ the real complicated junk like you an’ Bloom do yet. Plants though? I can at least get oil from ‘em an’ mix ‘em.”

Zecora moved to the jars and began pointing them out one at a time, the routine practiced and simple for both of them.

“Acacia flower and its yellow bloom, can put a soul-folk in a meditative mood.”

Jack made a few quick notes in the notebook, looking up when Zecora held a flower towards the farmer. Jack took it, made at least a passing facsimile to the thing in her notebook, then handed it back to Zecora.

“So it’s a way ta put a magic user ta sleep?” Jack surmised.

“A sort of half-sleep comes due. In it, they’re still with you. The herb when ingested, more akin to a trance—a sedative, neutered magic, a way to relax.”

She finished writing, then looked up with a nod to “Alright. What we have next?”

“Lime on a weapon or drank in a tea, can be a strong combatant to beasts of the sea.” Zecora reached to another bottle and opened it, fishing inside. “Though for its truth strength to come forth to you, mix with a morning glory and drink in the brew.” She put a finger to Jack’s forehead and gave a small hum, a habit she did around the farm to get someone’s undivided attention. “Take care though not to drink too much, as too much glory can lead to death’s touch.”

The earth-folk nodded, adding a few more notes to the book.

Their talk was routine, usual, comfortable for Jack. Herbs, plants, roots, how they could help, how they could harm. It might not have seen like much to a soul-folk, maybe not even that much to a sky-folk, but to Jack and Zecora, it was a way for them to stand tall alongside the others, another proof, if Jack were to use a term her mentor was fond of, that wings and spells didn’t make a man.

So she sat with the medicine woman and was taught.

“Night Jackie! Night Rarity! Night Mac! Night Zecora!” Pinkie cheered, waving at the group in the living room.

After Jack and Zecora had returned to the house, they all started up a friendly game of cards. Pinkie had came out ahead, surprisingly enough, while Jack was just thankful they weren’t gambling for real.

“We’ll be on yer heels soon enough,” Jack replied, throwing her cards down on the coffee table in disgust.

“At the rate Jack is playing, we may be in bed before you, even,” Rarity dryly quipped, sipping a bloody mary and leaning back in her chair.

Pinkie skipped upstairs and slipped into the guestroom, going over to the chest of drawers where her clothes were packed. Hurriedly, she took off her swimsuit and slipped into a white shirt that cut off at the midriff, and a pair of light blue boxers. Putting away her two-piece neatly, she rocked on the balls of her feet and waited for Spike.

Their room was a simple one. Chest of drawers, mirror, window, a single bed. Pinkie had brought a pink sleeping bag too, but after talking to Jack and Rarity, she had decided she wouldn’t need it.

Rolling her shoulders, she threw herself on the bed, whispering out, “Wheeee!” The mattress bounced up and down from her impact, although thankfully the floorboards didn’t end up groaning in protest.

Spike came in from the hallway a few minutes later, flossing at his teeth.

“They kicked me out of the bathroom,” he explained, working to finish the chore as quickly as he could. “I know sharing one bathroom with one girl sucks, I can’t imagine Mac dealing with four.”

Pinkie had her hands rested behind her hand, but she pointed a finger at Spike. “By ‘they’ you mean Rarity, right?”

“Yeah,” Spike sheepishly admitted. “She said Jack had clothes all over the floor of their bathroom.”

“That’s why I brushed my teeth when I went to the toilet.” A pause. “But not at the same time.”

“Finally met your match on multitasking, huh?” he answered with a smile. “Reminds me of when I was little and tried to eat cereal while taking a shower.” Spike scratched at his nose. “Didn’t think that one through.”

Pinkie giggled, failing to keep it even remotely quiet. “What did Twila say?”

“One of the few times I’ve ever seen her speechless,” Spike answered, a hint of pride in his tone. “When you leave a dictionary drawing a blank, well, you must of done something.”

“Her eye twitches a lot too when that happens,” Diane added sagely.

“And her jaw’s so open you can stick a fist inside!” Spike added with a grin.

Pinkie giggled, leaning back onto the bed. After a beat, Spike gave a self-conscious glance at the woman, then sat on the edge of the bed.

“You look nice,” he said, then glanced away.

“I think so too. And you’re pretty nice yourself,” she said in a sing-song voice. He cracked a grin.

“Who else would reply like that?” he questioned with a rise of his hands. “You’re something alright.”

Pinkie gazed down, smiling fondly at the three balloons on her hand, her mark a picture perfect expression of how she felt right now: lighter than air. “Guess I am. At the very least, I’m pretty good at being different.”

“You know, I’m not exactly normal either,” Spike said, his emerald green eyes and their slitted appearance hinting at the draconic nature of his bloodline. “So it works pretty well.”

“I never said I didn’t like different, did I?” Pinkie smirked, prodding Spike on the nose.

“That makes two of us,” he said. “Enjoy your time with Jack?”

“Yep!” Diane instantly agreed, her smile dipping only for a scant beat as her thoughts turned towards Jack’s brief melancholy. “Did the swim thing! What about you?”

“Acted like a gossip girl to Rarity. She hasn’t seen Twila for a few weeks, and I was telling her about some of the court duties she’s going through.”

“Bet you enjoyed that,” Pinkie smirked.

He tilted his head. “What? Talking about Twila? I mean, the only thing really going for her right now is some of her work putting her next to Celestia.” He scratched the back of his head. “O-or do you mean the, uh, talking to Rarity thing?”

“Don’t lie,” Pinkie almost purred, stroking a finger down Spike’s jaw line. “I know you still have the hots for her.”

The boy took the pink-haired girl’s hand in his own and gently squeezed it. “Diane,” Spike quietly said, his tone surprisingly serious. “You know I’d never hurt you. Yeah, she’s… great still, but you are too. You’re even better.”

Suddenly Pinkie pulled back, yanking Spike fully onto the bed. “Sweet little guy,” she remarked, bringing him to her and giving a peck on his mouth. “I think someone conned their way to the bed tonight, instead of the sleeping bag.”
Though he didn’t want to push his luck, he gave an unsure tilt of his head. “Now, uh, sleeping, or…?”

“A little cuddling. That’s all. Give you a bit of a chance, just not all the way yet.” She offered a mischievous grin, running a thumb under the strap of her bra. “Thought that some of the way might be pretty good for you, Spikie, going by what some said about me.”

“You’re on,” he replied, a grin coming to his own mouth. “I’ve heard I’m a pretty fast learner. I mean, it wasn’t about this, but you—”

Pinkie shut him up, bringing the boy’s lips down to meet her own and throwing an arm over his shoulders.Though the surprise was evident on his face, he quickly followed his instincts, reaching to caress Diane’s thigh and then, a bit more boldly, reaching behind her to give a hard squeeze to her thick asscheck, prompting a snorting giggle from the woman. By the time they broke the kiss, Diane held a full, pleased grin.

“Wow,” Spike said to himself, looking down at the woman in surprise. “That was…”

“I’m sure you’ll be a fast study,” she giggled out out.

“Ya reckon they have ta be so loud?” Jack complained, mostly to herself. She crossed her arms under her breasts and glanced over to the wall connecting their bedroom with the guest bedroom.

“I can hardly hear them, dear,” Rarity remarked with disinterest, not even looking up from the book she read. Jack shook her head and sighed, laying back onto her pillow and trying to focus on the ceiling.

“Besides,” Rarity continued, turning a page on her book. “It’s nice, in a way.”

The other turned, laying on her side to look at the soul-folk. “Nice?” she repeated. “How ya figure?”

“Well… Spike is happy, Diane is happy, a little noise this evening is a worthy sacrifice for that, would you not agree?”

Jack eventually nodded. “Guess so.”

Rarity finally shut her book and turned her head to look toward her partner. “I’m sure Macintosh was in the same situation as you are not even a few months ago.”

“I like ta think we ain’t that obvious when we…” She gave a rise and fall of a hand. “Ya know.”

The tailor took off her glasses, putting them on top of her book and having her smile turn devilish.

“Oh, I know.”

She brought her hand to Jack’s and ran a finger along the deep scar on the farmer’s cheek. A small spark of regret came to her, but was promptly taken care of moments later when she rolled over to put her forehead against Jack’s.

“Their relationship is different than our own. Considering Spike’s age and how we came to know one-another, it’s going to take a lot more talking, a lot more questions, and…” She flicked her gaze to the wall by the guestroom. “More noise to reach where we are in life.”

“Maybe.” Jack shut her eyes, taking in a breath. A good breath, one that took her worries and put them to the side. A breath mixed with the sweetness of the orchard outside the cracked open window and the scent of the sturdy wood the house was made of. But more important, more captivating to her right now was the scent of Rarity’s shampoo and the slight tinge of Rarity’s own musk made from her sweat. The farmer smiled warmly and kissed Rarity on the lips.

“Besides, they’ve been together for quite a few months now. ” Rarity said, brushing a strand of hair away from Jack’s forehead. “I would argue it’s about time, frankly.”

“I reckon yer right.”

“I reckon I am too,” Rarity said in a tone mocking Jack’s drawl, trailing her finger down the earth-folk’s chin, then neckline.

Jack raised a brow, looking down at Rarity’s hand, then back up to her.

“Yer in a good mood.”

Rarity let out a hum, kissing the other’s cheek and rolled further over on the bed until she straddled Jack. She put her arms down beside the farmer’s broad shoulders.

“Well, look at the woman I’m sleeping with. That would put anyone with taste in a good mood.” And look she did. She stared down at the farmer for a long, long moment, soaking in the woman’s body.

“Charmer,” Jack answered, an embarrassed smile on her lips. She looked away, shuffling a bit and running a ghostly, delicate touch of a finger up Rarity’s arm that broke the tailor’s skin into gooseflesh.

Though it was uncommon for her to admit it to anyone but the woman underneath her, Rarity loved this side of Jack. The womanly side. The side only she got to really see. The way that the taller woman turned, contorted, writhed under Rarity’s more dominant hand. The way she looked up at Rarity with such trust in her eyes whenever they made love. It did everything to offset the woman’s thick muscles and scars, transforming her into something pure and feminine.

The scars hurt Rarity, at times more than Jack, she thought. Though none were as obvious to the eye as the one on her face, giving one side of Jack’s mouth a near-permanent smirk, they were still a reminder to Rarity about how she wasn’t there a lot of times. And a lot of times when Jack could of needed her.

“Do you ever get tired of leaving?” Rarity suddenly asked. Jack looked up to her wife, then to the side.

“Do ya even need ta ask? Of course I do, it’s my home.” She brushed her hand up Rarity’s arm once more, this time there came more force to the expression; the tailor felt Jack’s thick, leathery callouses scratch her. “But…”

Rarity waited, allowing Jack to collect her thoughts.

“I shoulda died, back when Dmitri took ya.”

“Jack.”

The earth-folk shook her head. “I shoulda died. What ya did worked, but I ain’t sure if it should've.” She sighed, frustrated at herself. “It’s hard ta explain, but I think I got a reason why I’m still kickin’. I think God gave me a purpose. Somethin’ bigger than the farm. Somethin’ that,” She narrowed her brow, looking through Rarity in thought, trying to find an answer a million miles away. “That I knew’d be hard. An’ I knew it’d be keepin’ me away from here. Away from you. An’ that hurts, but I gotta make sure people are safe. That I help take care of the people that need it.”

“But we need it here too, Jack.”

Jack flinched, wounded. “I know. An’ I try. I try ta be here for the farm, for the family,” She gave another rub to Rarity’s arm. “For you. I can’t jus’ walk away, though.”

“Why not?”

Jack stiffened a bit. “Did ya not hear me? Ya know why I can’t.”

Rarity rolled off of Jack and stared up at the ceiling before finally continuing her train of thought. “If I lost you, I don’t know how I would react.”

“You’d move on. We both know that. Yer stronger than me. Somehow you’d get through it.” Jack wryly smiled. “Ain’t like me. I’m scared ta death of ya goin’ before me.”

“Jack, do not sell yourself short like that ever again,” Rarity remarked sternly. “You are impossible to replace. I have no interest in thinking about it, but there’s nobody else I’d wish to grow old with, and you’re the only one I’d ever want someday as a mother for my child.”

The earth-folk gave a little nod at that, then paused. “A… A what now?” Jack said, briefly thrown for a loop.

Rarity scoffed, seemingly indifferent to her partner’s surprise. “Must I repeat myself?”

Jack shuffled a bit in the bed, looking her over for a moment before speaking again. “Well, considerin’ that when we first got married I thought you were dead set against the whole kid thing, yeah. Maybe ya should repeat yerself.”

Rarity felt a fleeting smile come then fade. “I suppose I saw you were quite apt at multitasking. I could be much the same someday.”

“There’s a difference between holdin’ down two jobs, an’ a kid.” She smiled despite the lecturing words. “But ya know what? I know you’d make a bang-up mom,” Jack added.

“I like to think I’d have my moments, yes,” Rarity replied. “We both would. Together. But together isn’t what’s been happening lately. What’s been happening is I’ve waited for you. I had no qualms at time, and you do the same for me when I’m at school or tending to the shop in St. Charles, but it’s different. I’ll always return, yet, yet… one day I might wait for you and you might not come back.” She let out a frustrated sigh. ”The worst thing would be I’d know nothing of it until that minotaur you galavant around with would tell me. I want us to be partners, Jack, not making busywork hoping to God you haven’t gotten yourself killed.”

“Will’s a Norfolk, not a minotaur, Rare. An’...” Jack kept quiet. What Rarity said was mostly true, she had no real argument against that fact. Rarity hesitated, seeming to want to add something, anything, but keeping her thoughts tucked within her heart.

A silence came to the room, though unlike their normal moments of peace, this one felt dangerous. Like if they treaded too far in either direction, they would be swallowed by a beast.

“Yer mad at me,” she said, rather than asked.

“I do not know,” Rarity admitted. “Perhaps simply frustrated. Or scared.”

“I’m scared sometimes too.” Jack spared a glance over to her partner. “What can I say ta make it better?” she sincerely asked.

“What I want you to say would be a lie.” They were silent yet again, before Rarity sighed. “That you won’t leave. That you will be around when I am.”

“Ya know I can’t. I told ya why.” Jack put her hands over her stomach. The arguments now were different than when they were just dating. It was softer. More of actual conversation than just yelling. Their voices weren’t raised and their tones weren’t harsh, but Jack still felt a pit in her stomach all the same. She didn’t want to hurt Rarity, never had, but sometimes that wasn’t enough.

“I know it’s selfish,” Rarity replied, frowning as she put an arm behind her head. “I know what you’re doing is a necessity, at least to your own viewpoint, yet…”

Jack let out a small laugh, not without some humor behind it. “The heart wants what it wants. I know.”

“And I want you.”

Jack turned on her side once more. “Wish I could say what ya wanna hear.”

The silence came once more, this time holding less tension. Less edge. Each knowing the conversation wasn’t through, but maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Rarity bit her lip, flicked her eyes towards Jack, then winced.

“We’re looking at this in the wrong light. Jack, I could come with you,” Rarity blurted out, the statement so abrupt that they both paused, whatever they had on their lips gone.

Jack said nothing, but, as they were coming to learn in their marriage, sometimes a look said it all.

“I’m serious,” Rarity protested, the way her mouth opened up and the way her brows arched childish looking enough that Jack smiled fondly at her, brushing the expression away before Rarity asked what was so funny.

“That’s what makes me worried.” Jack rose to a sit, realizing it was going to be a long night if this kept up. “Because even though there’s all that dirt an’ grime, I know you’d do it.”

“You don’t understand how hard it is waiting for you. How painful. Perhaps I didn’t until recently, but now, more than ever, I want to be by your side. If something were to happen, I’d wish to see it first hand. I want to protect you as much as you did me.”

“Rare. Yer smarter than that. Know what takes care of me?” She reached over, putting a hand to the soul-folk’s. “Knowin’ that the best gal in the world is there fer me when I get back.”

“And I wish to be there for you during too. Is that honestly so bothersome?” Rarity let her free hand rise and fall with a slap on the side of her hip.

“Yer never bothersome, darlin’. Don’t think that fer a second, even if I do complain ‘bout some of yer stuff now an’ again. I don’t want ya hurt. When I’m with Will, Gilda, Dash, we ain’t there fer a playdate. We got a job an’ that job’s got risks.”

“And it’d have less risks if a soul-folk were there, would it not?”

“Well—”

“Would it not?” Rarity interrupted. Jack frowned, not liking being lead but complying for the moment.

“There’d be some perks, yeah,” she finally, reluctantly, agreed. ”But what’s gotten inta ya? Why now?”

“Because if the worst were to happen and I saw it, I’d be able to live with it easier.” Moving her other hand over, she put it on top of Jack’s. “I would believe there was nothing anyone of the people you travel with could of done. Do you understand?”

“They do everythin’ they can. Dash has had my back since day one, sug.”

“Dash is not the one I’m concerned with.”

“Gilda,” Jack said, rather than guessed.

Jack couldn’t blame Rarity for having ill will towards the woman. If things had played out even slightly differently, the griffon-folk would of got Jack killed, not to even mention what Rarity was expected to do for Gilda’s employer.

“Gilda,” Rarity agreed, her nose curling up in distaste. “I do not approve of William’s actions at times, but I know he means no harm. The griffon, however…”

Reaching forward, Jack put a hand on Rarity’s wrist. “Was I dumb? Givin’ her a second chance?”

The tailor sighed, looking towards the foot of their bed. “I suppose it depends on the day you ask me, Jack. I do not truly know.”

“Neither do I. It’s why I can’t get mad at ya fer thinkin’ like ya do. But I think if I didn’t, then I woulda regretted it. Jus’ like how if I didn’t go out there an’ do what I can fer people, I’d regret it.”

The conversation died, neither sure what to add. As Rarity reached over to put her sleeping mask on, Jack spoke up again.

“Rare.”

“Yes?” she questioned, turning over to come face-to-face with a stern expression from Jack.

“If I agreed ta take ya with me, would ya do exactly what I say?”

“Of course.”

“Pinkie Promise?”

Rarity did the gestures and Jack visibly relaxed.

“When Will calls me, as long as ya ain’t go no clothin’ shit ta take care of…”

“I’d appreciate you refrain from that sort of crass language when speaking of my profession, dear.”

“Clothin’ stuff,” Jack corrected, “next time… you’ll see. Gilda ain’t a bad girl. She has my back jus’ as much as Dash.”
“I hope you’re right.”

Jack nodded, moving closer to Rarity and wrapping an arm around her.

“Me too.”

The evening winds blew gentle on king Frederick as he stared out of his chamber window, collecting his thoughts.

It had been a hard fight today at German parliament. Though his mind was still sharp, his age showed. It was getting harder and harder for him to connect with the youthful faces under his lordship. Their views, wants, desires, all of it seemed so alien to him. Yet, somehow, he remained well-loved on the island-country, perhaps due to his earnest nature, perhaps it was because their fathers and mothers loved him, so the children did as well.

Tapping a quail pen into a vial of ink, he began writing a correspondence letter to Napoleon the 3rd, the current king of the French isles.

President, he corrected himself, already crumpling his letter into a ball and throwing it into a wastebasket.

Such an odd word to him. He was always raised to be a man that respected the altar as much as the throne, so now, with some of the world adapting to a reign selected by the people, rather than a lineage of blood, he found himself unable to comprehend why the movement was being encouraged. A king gave power to his people, inspired them. A president, an everyman thrust into a position of power, would do no such thing. With no backbone, no man to inspire them, the people would surely be just as inadequate.

So he took another sheet of parchment and began to write once more, this time more mindful of his wording.

The war between the countries had gone on far too long. Any war was a bad one—he had served as a soldier during the great war against the English, when the third generation of nobles left in charge of the throne after the rightful heirs had traveled to the New World had gone mad with power—so he knew firsthand the travesty of it, something his successor could stand to learn.

His younger self might of stipulated that French would forgo their rights to a cluster of islands off their coast, but sensibility came with his age. He knew stretching his hand that far would only lead to more war and more civil unrest.

Lighting up a cigar, Frederick rose, moving past the window and to the door leading to the balcony. Opening it, he stepped outside, looking over the lands.

The castle, his castle, was always one of his favorite places to think. The view from the castle walls that overlooked the western seas inspired him. He wasn’t a poet, an artist, a thinker, but the sight of the waves crashing below him against the rocks moved him. Let him forget of the troubles of old age, the aches and pains it brought to him, both mentally and physically, and instead just be for a few minutes.

His bedroom door opened. Instinctively his grip tightened on the banister he stood by, but he relaxed soon enough, knowing how it was just from the even footsteps approaching him.

“Here once more, I see,” the curt voice of his wife, Victoria spoke. He let out a huff of a laugh and wryly smiled.

“Like clockwork, isn’t it?” he asked her.

“Could set a watch and wallet on it,” she agreed, moving to join him. Frederick spared a small glance her way.

It had been forty years ago when they had said their vows, he a strapping young man, she, a girl fresh out of adolescence. It was an arranged marriage, a unification between England’s new monarchs and Germany’s, a way to signify to the public that the war had truly ended between the countries.

Fredrick would of had it no other way. Victoria had proven to be a shrewd diplomat, able to extract information and relay it to him with ease. Likewise, she had shown a sincere devotion to the German people he reigned over, a sentiment many in her country didn’t have.

His respect had deepened into an admiration of sorts, then, finally, love blossomed between the two. It was why he could barely listen to the younger generation. Their talk about love at first sight had no merit in the real world.

Fredrick's smile grew wider as he took in her silvery-grey hair and crow’s feet.

“I thought you were playing bridge tonight,” he said, tapping his cigar against the banister.

“Bethany came down with a chill, we rescheduled,” she answered. Looking over her shoulder, she glanced at his writing desk.

“And how are the savages in France?”

He paused for a brief moment at her word choice, but shrugged soon enough.

“Our differences are being put to the side. Mostly. It still has a potential for disaster, though. A troop of our guards bombed a ship filled with clergymen not even a week back.”

“Because they were riding with no colors on their ship in known lair of pirates. Besides, it hardly seems as dreadful as what the French did to one of our missionaries.”

“That was an individual act, Victoria. You of all people should know judging the many for the individual is woefully ignorant.”

She stared at him, Frederick wasn’t sure, but he thought there was a small spark of something… strange in his wife’s eye. A moment later, she let out a low laugh.

“The only thing ignorant is attempting to reach an agreement with them. The French will just take it as a sign of weakness.”

“Weakness? They know how strong our standing army is. If anything, offering an olive branch stops a massacre of their people.”

“I have my doubts that warm words will be enough. You know how the younger generation are. Sometimes strong-arming your views is the only answer.”

He leaned forward on the balcony, looking down at the image of a scepter on the back of his hand. His mark. Found when he was declared the leader of the country.

“Not this time,” Frederick replied. “This time we put away our swords and listen to the people.”

“You should've listened to someone else, Frederick,” Victoria replied, her tone colder.

“Victoria?” he questioned, turning to face her. She adjusted herself, stepping to the side, blocking the way between him and the doors.

“You’ve had experience against enthrallment spells. I assume that’s from your days in the guard?” she asked, unmoving.

“”You’re not Victoria, are you?” he questioned, knowing the answer before it even was fully asked.

“Oh, Frederick. I’m a little bit of everyone,” she replied, her eyes taking on a sickening green and her smile showing too-sharp teeth.

“Victoria’s dead, isn’t she?” he asked, a stone in his stomach aching worse than any sickness he had in his years, but him staring eventually at her, wanting to stand tall in what may be the last moments of his life.

“Of course,” she agreed with a nod, as if it were simple business they were discussing. “An overdose of Barbiturates after finding out of the death of her husband.”

“Ties up loose ends.”

“You’re taking this remarkably well,” the woman said, Victoria’s cream skin began to fade, almost melted off, revealing the first hints of a tar colored chitinous shell around her forehead.

“I’m an old man. Dying’s just a part of living.” Still staring at her transformation, he took a deep pull of his cigar. “Plus, my death will do nothing. The parliament was pushing for peace between the countries anyway. I assume that’s why you’re here.”

She, or rather, the creature she was turning into, took a small curtsy. “Astute. But you’re a figurehead. Your death will prompt retaliation.”

Smirking, he dropped the cigar, crushing it underfoot. “The damn kids don’t give a shit about me.”

A small splash of sickly green magic came forth, blinding him briefly. Standing before him was now something only vaguely woman. A black, disgusting insectoid with wispy green hair that fell over her beastal face. The dress she wore was misshapen, maligned with the rest of her body, making it almost comical in appearance.

“We’ll see,” she replied, her voice raspy, threatening. The sound of a hearse’s wheel along a cobblestone road. Snapping forward, she pushed him before he could react. He pinwheeled his arms backwards as he tumbled off the guardrail, managing to snag the sleeve of the creature’s dress. It tore off from his weight and he plummeted.

Fredrick didn’t scream. He fell like a ragdoll, limp and unmoving, the scrap of cloth in his hand snapping and twisting as the wind battered him.

The last seconds of his life were like most of the others he spent, his mind wandered to other matters. How his children were faring, his dogs, his country, how beautiful the castle looked above the rocky shores of his homeland.

And his last thought, Victoria. He was coming home to her. The thought made him weakly smile even as his head cracked against the stone, splitting the back like an overripe melon.

The creature watched him fall, stared at his body as the waves lapped against his bare feet, tugging at his corpse, then turned, returning into the bedroom. Catching glance at the desk by the window, she took the letter the man had been working on and crumpled it in her hands, her sharp claws tearing through the paper within seconds. With that out of the way she shut her eyes and concentrated. A wave of magic trembled through her body, rising from her feet to the top of her head, coating it. She felt her face, her snout, punch in, becoming petite, her teeth were ground in, becoming less beastial, her catlike eyes dilated, rounded, becoming warm and caring orbs of blue. Her skin softened and paled, becoming a healthy color of bronze. Her hair retreated, turning a pale blue color and forming into a bun at the back of her head. A few more minor alterations to her chest, hips and height happened in mere seconds before she was finished, a brand new shell for her to use.

She looked in disdain at the ruined strap of her dress, but decided to press on regardless. She’d be out, long before they found Victoria’s body in the lounge, let alone Frederick's body dashed upon the rocks. If she was fast enough, she might even make it to the next galleon heading to France before they started to look for the king’s killer.

With a cruel smile not matching her homely appearance, the creature tromped down to the foyer and was out of the castle in a matter of minutes.

Partners

The school hall had been completely transformed from its normally empty auditorium and into a lively area swarmed with guests in the upper and lower floors. Tables were covered in expensive cloths, plates and cutlery and, of course, food of all types. In the corner came a slow cello playing something melancholy, the groan of the instrument expanded across the room and over the mummers of the crowd through amplifying magic the conductor carried with each gesture of his baton. A less magical sight that served the same purpose were nearby the auditorium’s stage. Speakers and a microphone, though still housing the innate magic responsible for electric currents, were designed for the non-magically inclined, if the need for an earth or sky-folk to speak to the massive room came about.

Celestia, one never for glam or extravagance, didn’t sit up high at the seats reserved for her and her sister on the other side of the room, rather, she sat at a humble table nearby the stage, a glass of wine in her silken hands. She wore a white dress, done in a Greek style; a single piece of long, billowing white cloth, with a belt hung high, just below her full breasts, and before the start of her wide, sensual hips. On seeing the group enter, she raised her glass toward them and threw a bare arm to the back of her chair as unseen winds continued letting her pastel hair gently dance behind her.

The woman’s sister, Luna, sat next to Celestia, looking every bit uncomfortable as Celestia was in comfort, due to her her obviously militaristic, stiff posture and hauberk adorning her body. She rose from her seat on seeing the group, showing first a stylized gorget with a gem at the center of the metal neckguard, and then, once Jack’s eyes traveled from her neck to Luna’s hips, Jack was far from surprised when she caught sight of a shortsword tied at the belt of Luna’s garment. Luna put a hand to her breast and bowed, traveling towards the group as Celestia moved away, heading toward a door that Jack knew from experience lead to a stairwell that, in turn, lead to the back of the stage.

Twila returned the gesture Luna offered gracefully and approached the all-folk, breaking from the group and meeting Luna towards the middle of the room.

“Prin—” Twila stopped herself. “Luna,” she corrected, remembering well Luna’s dislike of Twila addressing her by title. “ A pleasure to see you again.”

“Hail to thee, Twila Shields,” Luna addressed. “Warm days and pleasant nights to thine companions as well.” She gestured to where she had sat a moment ago. “Willst thou join me at the table?”

“Of course.”

They traveled to the small table Luna shared with Celestia and sat as Luna did the same.

“So, are the festivities about to begin?”

“Indeed. Mine sister was waiting for either thee and thine companions, or upon the clock striking nine, whichever arrived to her first. A simple few words she shall speak, then the floor shall be open to the lovers and their partners.”

“Ah, I see.”

Twila turned to Luna, right as her friends began making their own conversations with one another, shuffling a bit away from the opening leading inside.

“It’s good to see you again,” the girl said, grinning so wide there came dimples to her cheeks.

Luna warmly smiled to Twila. “Mine journeys hath kept me away from lovely Camelot for far too long, verily. I am anxious to spend at least a few moments of respite at home.”

“Did you have a nice time, at least?” Twila asked.

“As good of time as one can have, living the life of a knight-errant. Mine travels took me across many a distant land, and left me fatigued. However, the reward was worth the weariness set within mine bones. The beasts plaguing the Norfolk’s eastern front have been culled.”

“I knew you could handle it,” Twila remarked. “In any case, I’m sure this party is a welcome relief for you.”

“The respite is indeed a relief, as thou say. Though my mind questions why creatures seem to be plaguing our lands in far greater numbers. ‘Tis not something I’ve seen since the days of mine father and his first journey across Cabello.” She frowned, pointing to Twila. “Years prior, attacks such as the one I stopped would happen only once every decade, at worst. Now, Iron Will and the brave warriors that accompany him have to be ever vigilant, ‘lest we become overwhelmed by monsters. Something… ‘tis out of balance, ye, I bet mine sword hand upon it.”

Twila leaned forward, placing both her hands on the table. “Then let me help! I’m sure there’s some ancient text I can dig up. Or if you prefer a more action orientated role, my magic can surely suffice against most standard threats.”

Luna leaned forward herself, putting her pale hand on top of the woman’s. “Nay, brave Twila. If Celestia is the mind of Cabello, and I am the arm, thou art the heart. We need thee at the capitol, prepared to speak to the people if things grow more awry.”

“But…” Twila slumped down in her chair. “That’s hardly a proactive role. I’d hate to simply stand aside and look pretty for the crowds, while you two do all the hard work.”

“Diplomacy is far from simply looking pretty. I…” She gave a tilt of her head in thought. “Have naught the tongue or patience for the matter. Research at Camelot if ‘tis thine wish, but keep thine main goals in mind.”

“With due respect, I’m beginning to wonder why you gave me this title in the first place. A ruler must be strong, correct? Strong rulers do not wave to crowds for only obligation, or sit for days on end reading.” She looked around the school hall, frowning. “I’m still studying magic as it is!”

“Mine sister is the one that gave thee your title. And a ruler becomes strong, it is not simply born within them, no matter who may say as such.” She tapped the table in thought. “Twila. Keep to thine studies and thou will become a better ruler than I could ever hope for.”

“That remains to be seen,” Twila replied, laughing to herself.

“Believe, Twila.” Luna reached over, giving as motherly of a pat on the woman’s head as she could. “As thine friends and family do to thee. As myself believes in thee. As mine sister believes in thee with every pump of the heart that beats betwixt her breasts.”

Twila closed her eyes, letting the words sink in for a few seconds. “I’ll try. I’ll try to, Luna.” Opening her eyes, she glanced at the Nightwalker. “I apologize for my outburst.”

“Thou are forgiven. If that is thine definition of an outburst, then I dread to think of when you catch me upset,” Luna replied with a small smile. She looked behind her, towards the stage. “I believe Celestia is about to bless the floor for the dance. You should find a partner for it, Lady Shields.”

“And you as well.” She stood up, scanning the dance floor. One person in particular, was evidently not present. Or at least not in her sights. “Where’s Will?”

She smiled. “I had thought the fool would remain up north, but he travels to here as we speak. We shall see him in flesh incarnate within the hour.”

“You sure you’re going to be okay here until then?” Twila asked, straightening her dress. “I’m sure I could save a dance for you, if you wished.”

“Perhaps later. Thine first one should be for someone special, after all. I’m sure it will make their night, seeing a woman of such beauty in their arms.”

“You spoil me with such gracious compliments.” Twila smiled, heat coming to her dark cheeks. “Have a lovely evening.”

“Thou as well, child. Thou as well.”

Twila gave her a little curtsy, then stepped onto the dance floor, just in time to see Celestia began her speech. The all-folk cleared her throat, almost instantly commanding the attention of everyone in the room. A warm, welcoming smile was there to greet them, her words gentle, yet still demanding respect.

“Good evening, everyone,” she addressed the crowd, beaming out at them all, “First of all, I would to thank you all for attending the party. It's good to get away and embrace revelry at times, for many, myself included, work takes precedence over play and sorrow over joy. Tonight, I ask that you embrace your inner child.”

Jack clasped her hands in front of her. Inner child, she thought, bemused.

It wasn’t a foreign concept, just one she could only half relate to. Her childhood was great those first years she could remember. But those memories were tainted a bit by losing her mother and father all but back-to-back a spell down the way. It was like a pleasant summer day being hit by a harsh, unexpected thunderstorm.

It didn’t hurt near as bad as it did when it first happened—she knew she’d see them again, once she laid down for the last time—but it was still something she didn’t like to dwell too hard on.

Rarity looked over to her; Jack smiled.

Inner child, Jack thought again. Though this time, her thought turned for a small beat towards Rarity’s desire.

It was a sort of strange mix of elation and terror that visited her thoughts when she thought of a kid, Rarity’s kid. It was a plunge off a cliff in the middle of the night. You hoped you hit water more than anything, but you couldn’t know, not in the slightest, until you hit.

She was kind of grateful that Mac and Zecora were having theirs on the way. Maybe some time with it might teach her the basics. She wasn’t stupid on kids by any means—Bloom was raised right after all—but it’d be the first attempt without her granny around.

An’ yer gonna pay fer every second-a hell ya gave me, girl, she could almost hear her grandma’s voice in her head. Her voice from when she was healthy, before sickness ate away at her, and the image of the older woman, her hands at her hips and nodding her head almost as fast as she waggled her finger when she lectured Jack. The farmer had to bite a lip to keep for laughing out loud; an effort that rewarded her with a single loud snort of laughter.

Celestia's brief speech continued, snapping Jack away from herself. “To start the festivities, we will open the floor with a slow dance. I suggest everyone to find someone close to your heart, whether you can dance well or not. May your evening leave behind many happy memories.”

The audience politely applauded as she gave a small bow.

Seeing Celestia was finished, Jack looked to her friends, grinning. “Well? Y’all better get a partner.” She took Rarity’s hand. “I already got mine.”

“Who?” Rarity asked, following after Jack. “Please tell me it’s not Chylene.”

Spike looked to Pinkie as the group splintered off further. “W-well, you wanna maybe—”

He had no time to finish his sentence, Pinkie grabbed his hands and swung the boy round and round. “Of course I wanna dance!!”

“Awesome. Ok. Yeah, let’s do this,” he said, psyching himself up.

Celestia, meanwhile, returned to her table and sat down next to Luna, her smile wide as she took another glass of wine to her mouth.

“Thou hath been imbuing spirits all evening, sister. Are ye trying to lose thine sense of balance?” Luna remarked.

“It’s fine, Luna. We don’t get the opportunity to relax like this often. Live a little,” she replied, giving a small raise of her glass for emphasis.

“Nay. T’would be folly to be a drunkard this evening. I am thine guard and protector.”

Celestia’s smile dipped slightly. “Luna… you don’t have to always be ‘on.’ I’m able to protect myself just fine. I insist, at least get a little rosey-cheeked.” She leaned over, giving a small touch of Luna’s pale face. “You look like a ghost among the living. Have you been eating well?”

“Over my journey, we had very little time for hot meals. Most of it was composed of trail rations and dried meats.”

“Then get some food and relax!” Celestia exclaimed. “No wonder you look sickly.” She pointed towards the buffet on the other side of the room. “Eat. I’ll be fine.”

“But—”

“Do I have to make it an order?”

Luna sighed, rising despite herself. “Very well.”

“And get me a slice of pie while you’re up.”

“Cherry?” Luna guessed.

Celestia grinned. “You know me so well, sister.”

“And thou know I the same,” Luna agreed, reaching and giving a small squeeze to Celestia’s hand before heading towards the table. She paused, turning her head. “But when we discuss business later on, I demand I am there.”

Celestia’s smile faltered further. “Of course. You’ll be the first to know.”

“Then with your leave…” Luna bowed, heading towards the buffet.

Twila watched her go and took in a breath. She moved, taking Luna's seat when the all-folk was out of earshot. “Is something going on?” she questioned, facing her former mentor.

Celestia smiled. “There’s always something going on, isn’t there, Twila?”

Twila let out a familiar little groan. “Yes, there is. But from that conversation, I get the feeling you left unfinished business behind.”

“Business that’s yet to be started, actually,” Celestia carefully replied. She looked down thoughtfully at her glass, her smile dying once more. “Would you like a drink?”

Twila held up a hand. “It’s fine. I can get one.”

Celestia gave a small gesture of her hand, and a bottle of champagne appeared—materialized—from the table, rising up from the linens like a flower blooming. She looked at the label.

“From Carcassonne, when I was a young girl about your age.” Celestia snapped her fingers, and a glass appeared in much the same way the bottle did moments ago. “This reminds me of something…” she said, slyly grinning towards the woman as she poured a drink. “Maybe of a child I was tutoring who snuck into the castle’s wine cellar one night when she thought nobody was around.”

Twila felt heat at her cheeks. “I was curious! Every adult made wine sound so grown up, I just had to try…” She reached over for her glass, swirling its contents slightly. “Thank you.”

“The hangover you had was punishment enough.” Celestia laughed, the sound far more informal than Twila was used to seeing on a daily basis working with her. Normally it was a dainty thing, just enough to show she was pleased. This, however, was a hearty thing that threw her head back amid her dancing hair. “And now I’m sharing a drink with you. I can’t believe it.”

Twila couldn’t help herself; only the most cold of people failed to smile at that laugh. “My life’s definitely been a whirlwind of change. I still don’t know what’s going to happen next. A far cry from my solace in studies,” she said, grinning as she took a sip of her wine and hummed approvingly.

“Life is a far cry from academics,” Celestia agreed. “I’m glad you see that now. While studies are important, some of the most important things in life are illogical, random things. Friendship. Anger. Love. If you approach them simply from an academic standpoint, many of them can be arguably boiled down to chemical reactions.” She took a drink. “If you only view one side of the situation.”

Twila looked back at her friends, dancing away together. A fond smile appeared on her lips. “I never thanked you enough for opening my eyes to the other side of things. When you sent me here, I didn’t understand why. After meeting Rarity and Diane I started to understand a bit more.”

“I’m glad I’ve been able to do that for you, Twila. I want to see you successful and happy, after-all.” Celestia poured more champagne into her glass, laughing. “This is a good vintage. I can already tell I’m going to overindulge tonight.”

“You?” Twila scoffed out of disbelief. “Overindulge? I’d shudder to imagine how many units it would take for an all-folk to get affected by alcohol…”

“Ask how much it takes Jack to get drunk. We have about the same metabolism as an exceedingly healthy earth-folk.” She reached over, putting a hand on Twila’s. “You need to remember that we’re not gods, no matter what people consider us. We can get drunk, we can get hurt, and we can overuse our magic. Remember that, please, Twila.”

The touch of her hand brought such feelings of warmth to the woman that it took nearly all of Twila’s strength not to hold it in return and helped her from focusing on Celestia's remarks about overusing magic. It had happened to Twila before, and was a part of the change that turned her into an all-folk. But getting reminded of her near death experience tonight wasn't what she was hoping for. Instead, she focused on a different angle of the woman's words. “I admit, it’s difficult to think of you anything less than perfect. Maybe not a god, but…” She trailed off, fumbling for her glass and taking an awkward sip.

“I’m not perfect,” Celestia said instantly, then smiled once more to the woman. “You can ask my sister about my numerous flaws, like drooling on the pillow when I fall asleep.”

A giggle let itself loose from Twila. “Really? That’s… kind of cute.”

“A pity Luna never saw it that way. When we were children and shared a bed, there were many mornings I’d wake up to her beating me with a pillow for that very reason.” She looked toward Twila and leaned forward, cupping a hand at her mouth in a whisper. “But that’s fine. She peed the bed until she was nine.”

That little tidbit nearly caused the wine in Twila’s mouth to burst free. She swallowed harshly, looking at Celestia with wide eyes. “You can’t tell me that! That’s a private sibling matter!”

“Oops,” she answered with a laugh, her eyes sparkling as her smile widened further. “See? it’s this wine. It’s letting my lips grow loose around friends.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her bridged hands. “Maybe you should let me in on a secret to call it even.”

“I..." She paused, the only secret coming to mind the obvious. The sight of the woman stalling her words. "I don't know," she finished lamely.

"Ah, I see. You'd rather not share. I understand." She smiled, raising a glass toward Twila. "I can respect your reluctance."

"Sorry."

She waved a hand. "Think nothing of it. What manner of mentor would I be if I hurt you?"

Twila draw a hair of courage from within her and blurted out, "Even if it's about you?" She gasped, swearing internally at the sudden action.

Celestia tilted her head. "About me?" she repeated. "Is something the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter, and that's the problem." Twila rubbed her temple. "Can we change the subject?"

She gave a slow nod, sipping again at her wine. "Very well," she stated, casually dismissing the entire conversation. Twila looked flatly at her.

"What? You're not even a bit curious?"

"Of course I am. But If you don't wish to share, I won't press the matter. It will come to life soon enough if it's something you need to express."

Twila looked at her own glass and downed her drink in a single swallow. "I have feelings for you," she stated, bluntly, the approach so different from her typical approach to words and her life that Celestia paused, a hair taken aback.

“Feelings…” Celestia didn’t need Twila to elaborate. “I see,” she said neutrally, looking down at her drink. She rolled the wineglass thoughtfully with her finger and thumb, watching the drink slowly spin. “That leads to questions, if I may.”

“Ask away,” Twila said, breathing deeply in order to keep her composure; something she had actually picked up from Spike, as she watched him practice his fire breath.

“I… you mentioned earlier that you thought of me as perfect. Are you sure that you don’t...” She glanced thoughtfully towards the ceiling. “Could you just be having these feelings for the idea of me?”

“Perhaps if I was only a citizen, whose only glimpses of you were from propaganda and royal events. But I’ve seen more of you than that. And what I've seen, everything, I've liked. You make mistakes and say the wrong words sometimes, but that doesn't stop you from being perfect to me.”

“I’m, admittedly, afraid of how you feel.” She thought for a moment, trying to clarify herself. “I’m afraid that I somehow cultivated these feelings in you. That they’re not something you grew to naturally.” She met Twila’s gaze. “I want you to be your own woman with your own decisions. Can you look me straight in the eye and honestly say how you feel again?”

“Okay,” Twila said, closing her eyes to prepare herself. “I can.” When they opened, she found herself gazing right into those crystal clear eyes of the all-folk. If eyes were the window to the soul, then the all-folk’s had incredible depth. Nearly everything spoke from them. The beauty and joy of life. The wisdom of years. The loss and isolation she had felt. Every emotion spoke of hundreds of others, of days, both good and bad. It was enough that Twila swallowed, her nerves making her shiver.

"I-I think with some time I could see you as a lot more, Celestia. If I have a chance."

Celestia sighed, not a thing of dismissal, or relief, but something of some mild trouble as she considered her words again, feeling like the conversation was a maze, the tale of the labyrinth housing creatures the Norfolk were said to resemble in the days of old. “A few years ago, I would have dismissed this entirely. But I’ve said time and time again now: you’ve become a woman. A woman able to make her own decisions in life. And if one of those decisions is pursuing me, well…” She leaned forward, giving a quick squeeze of Twila's hand. “I'll need time. There may be a possibility. I won't swear to it yet, but I will try to see of growing to care about you in a different way than I’ve had in the past. I’ll need to stop remembering the sweet young girl with her eyes in a book all day, and instead focus on the beautiful, kind, brave woman she grew up to be sitting in front of me.”

"You make it sound like I'm wanting to date my mother," Twila stated flatly, the long-suffering expression on Twila's face making Celestia laugh, breaking the degree of tension she held.

"It's simply a strange circumstance. I am your senior by a generation and more." She gave an unsure tap upon the table. "Yet, you're closer to me than any near my age. We can consider this. I won't dismiss instantly. That's the best I can offer."

Twila stared, surprised at Celestia's acceptance. She finally beamed at her. "A chance is all I want. Yes. I'll very much agree to those terms."

"And you'll agree that if things are too bizarre for me...?"

"No hard feelings." Twila nodded. "I just wasn't expecting this."

"Neither was I. I thought you might have had a crush on one of your peers, not myself."

The younger woman rubbed the back of her head. "Well. Ok. Now that we got that out of the way, how about we go on the floor?"

Celestia smiled. “Are you suggesting we dance?”

“What else? We awkwardly shuffle about?”

“Considering it’s me dancing, that sounds more like the truth.” Celestia rose, holding her hand out to Twila. “Do you know how to lead?”

“My mother taught me a few things but I’m no expert,” Twila replied, rising and taking Celestia’s hand. “I thought you would know more than me.”

“I’ve had my share of partners through my years. Though they were men. When I was younger, the men and women ratio in Cabello was far less skewed. It was rare to see two women together,” Celestia explained. “I just assumed someone of this generation would be more comfortable leading.”

“Well, we can see where the music takes us, right?” Twila suggested, walking with her to the center of the room.

Celestia chuckled. “At the very least, I’m glad you’re learning not everything needs to be planned.”

Spike glanced over at Celestia and Twilia as he held on desperately to Pinkie, the woman’s pulls and tugs as they danced nearly throwing him down time after time. Once he finally had a moment to pause, he shook his head.

“Did you—” he began, only for her to interrupt.

“Catch me!” she cried, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and leaning onto him.

His reactions were spot-on and he caught her, stumbling back, nearly crashing backwards into Twila’s side, but managing to right himself just in the nick of time, leaning forward and shuffling a few steps to gain his balance again. “Caught,” he replied proudly. “What’s my prize?”

“This,” Pinkie said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “There’s more for you if you take me over to the drinks.”

“At your service!” he proclaimed, carrying her towards a table in the corner lined with snacks and drinks. His arms shook, but he kept steadfast in his resolve, taking one step, then another, finally pausing to suck in a breath, the drinks so close, yet so far away. “You’re kinda heavy,” Spike said, then, with a nervous grunt that halfway resembled a laugh, he added, “in the best way possible.”

“Well I’m taller than you, so that’d probably do it,” Pinkie replied, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah… you’re taller than me,” he said reluctantly. He gave a small toss of her to adjust his grip, then pressed on, finally coming to the drinks just as his arm gave way and flared to life in a cramp. “Y-your humble chariot brought you here.”

Pinkie stretched her arm out, grabbing a glass of punch off the table, a few ice cubes floating about in there. “What do you want, Spikey?”

“Do they have orange soda?”

“Down there!” Pinkie said, pointing at a collection of glasses filled with fizzy orange liquid.

He walked over to one and lifted the arm that hurt less, grabbing a cup and swallowing the drink down in one pull. “Man, that’s good,” he said, pleased.

“Excellent! Now, back to the dance, my noble steed!” Pinkie ordered, wiggling her legs about. She raised her glass to her lips, keeping one pinkie finger held up.
Spike looked around briefly, before settling on some grapes resting on a platter. “Want a few before we start up again?” he asked.

“Can I feed you some?” Pinkie pondered.

Spike blinked, surprised. “W-well, I was gonna suggest that exact thing for you. But if you wanna feed me instead…”

“I wanna do it. So just close your eyes…” Delicately, Pinkie put her fingers on Spike’s eyebrows, then dragged them down, forcing his eyes to close shut. Next, she picked up a grape and delicately put it into his mouth.

He laughed a hair and she put a finger to his lips, silencing him. Fetching another grape, she this time put it at her lips and leaned forward, meeting Spike’s lips with her own. As they kissed, she brought a hand to the back of his neck. The ice cubes from her drink dropped from her hand, going down Spike’s back.

Spike clenched forward, his eyes shooting open as they traveled down, He reached to his belt and shook his pants hard, flinching away from the cold as much as he could. One came out, then another, but Spike still jerked erratically, before finally reaching down into his briefs and pulling out the last offender, throwing it down on the ground.

“N-no,” he said with a mask of calmness. “That’s great, wonderful, even. Couldn’t be happier that you did that.”

Pinkie hopped off him, taking to spinning around on one foot. “Now, are you scared that you won’t be able to top me? Want to call it quits on the war?” She put her other foot down, stopping instantly and grinning down at him.

“If you’re scared you can’t top this somehow, we can let this count as your prank.” He returned the aggressive grin up at her. “But you’ll regret keeping it when I do mine.”

“You soooo sure you can prank me properly?” Pinkie said, pointing her thumb at her chest. “You’re talking to the gal that dressed up like a chicken on Hallow’s Eve!”

“Twila has some stories to tell of me, let’s just say that. Ask her about the ‘lead incident’ sometime.”

“Maybe I will,” she replied, turning her gaze to Twila, dancing slowly with Celestia. Then she looked at Rarity and Jack, who were dancing in a similar manner, except theirs had a lot more passion. “It’s good to be back here, y’know? I love visiting my folks ‘n’ all but… blah, don’t belong there.”

“They seemed nice enough,” Spike said. “A little…” he struggled to find the right words to not offend her. “Plain, maybe?”

“They’re rock solid,” Pinkie said, knocking her fists together. “And I’m cotton candy.” Demonstrating, she reached up to her hair, pulling the long strand that went down her face. Upon letting go, it rebounded back and her whole hair seemed to bounce.

“You are pretty sweet,” Spike agreed. He jokingly put a strand of her hair in his mouth, before pulling it out. “But you’re pretty tough too. Don’t think otherwise.”

Pinkie’s gaze lingered on Jack, before going over to Dash and then Gilda. “Maybe. But I’m not like the Three Musketeers over there.”

“There’s different strongs. Rarity’s strong, and she’s not hunting monsters like them.” He wrapped her up in an embrace. “And you’re the same way.”

“Soooo I’m not Chylene then.” Pinkie giggled quietly, conspiratory. “I’m kidding. She’s a great gal.”

“She is. And in some ways she’s tough too. Just… not at first glance like you.” He gave a small push to her bicep. It yielded to him, but not as much as her more sedentary looks would suggest, her strength evident in the ease she carried herself. “Earth-folks, I swear.”

“Not all of that’s magic, y’know. I mean, most of it is.” Pinkie tensed her arms up. “But I did my time back home. It was hard work, lemme tell ya. Cows sometimes always don’t agree with ya so you gotta give ‘em a bit more than a nudge to get them going.” She slapped her own bicep and this time, it did not falter.

“Think you could out-muscle Jack?” Spike asked with a grin. Then, sheepishly, added. “Also, that’s, uh, kinda hot.”

“Didn’t think you’d be into that kinda thing!” Pinkie chirped. “And nah, Jack could still totally kick my butt any day of the week, I bet.”

“What’s wrong with liking muscle?” Spike asked, looking around the dance floor to make sure they weren’t watched, before giving a small rub to the back of her thigh, enjoying the feel of it tensed up and taut. “It’s… I don’t like it too much on Jack, since it’s always kind of obvious just from the way her arms curve, but, it’s like another side of you, I guess.”

“I’m full of surprises, Spikey. I take after my Granny Pie for that. And my Granny Pie from her Granny Pie,” Pinkie elaborated. “Most of the time, I only need to be happy, party gal Pinkie. And that’s a good thing ‘cause that’s the side of me I like the best!”

“I like that side too.” He kissed her on the chin. “I could say I like every side of you, though. Every angle, even.”

“Even my sad side?” Pinkie asked, almost neutrally even, as she kissed Spike’s forehead.

“It’s one of the few times I can say stuff to make you feel better, instead of the other way around.” He stared up at her eyes. “I might not look it, but I am a man, Diane. I like being able to help where I can.”

“D’aw,” Pinkie cooed, bending down and rubbing her nose against Spike’s. “You are so good to me, Spike. You know that?”

“Of course,” he replied with a smug grin. “I’m a ladykiller. I know how to treat my girl right.”

“Don’t get too cocky now,” Pinkie said teasingly. “You still haven’t slain a big bad monster in my name yet.”

“That’s more Jack’s area of expertise.” He shuffled on his feet, blushing. “You haven’t done things for me yet either. I’m still waiting for a home-cooked meal and a song about my greatness. Maybe then we can talk about monster-slaying.”

Pinkie feigned a huge shocked gasp, putting a hand to her mouth. “Why I oughta… sure I can cook, but you can’t cage this free spirit! No sitting at home wearing just an apron for yoooou!”

“Then don’t expect me to go around killing monsters. I’m a gentleman,” he countered just as easy. “Though I bet you’d look nice with an apron on…”

“A tight-fitting one, with ‘Kiss the Cook’ on the front?” Pinkie asked.

“Or a frilly one that sits low on your chest,” Spike replied. “Either one’s… I need to stop thinking about it.”

Pinkie grinned. “Self-control counts for a lot, trust me. I’d be a really fat piggy if I didn’t have it in me.”

“Would you call yourself… ‘Plumpy Pie?’” he questioned.

“Ew, no,” Pinkie shot down. “Piggy Pie!” she almost squealed, snorting like the mentioned mammal.

Spike giggled, his grin covering his face cheek-to-cheek at her mannerisms. “Piggy Pie it is. I’ll remember that name if your metabolism ever craps out.”

“Hopefully it never will~” Pinkie sang. She instantly dropped it the next second. “No, seriously. My doctor said baaad things would happen if it did.”

“Well, even if you do get fat, I’ll still like you,” Spike said. “Pinkie promise.”

Before he knew it, Pinkie had grabbed his hand tightly and was staring deep into his eyes. “Do the motions.”

He did just that, crossing his heart with a finger, then gesturing to his eye.

The moment he pointed at his eye, she relaxed instantly. “That’s better.”

“Just my word not good enough?” he asked with a half-smile.

“It is. But Pinkie Promises always mean something special to me. I get everyone to do the motions ‘cause it means they know what’s coming if they even think about breaking them.” She snorted, then suddenly beamed and patted Spike’s head.

“Ok, ok, you don’t have to treat me like a dog, Pinkie,” Spike pouted, crossing his arms.

“Oh, so you don’t wanna be my bitch?” she whispered, giving a wicked smile his way.

“H-hey,” Spike stammered out, blushing. “Why do I have to be the bitch? I’m not even a girl.”

“You really think I’m a sub?” Pinkie questioned, cocking an eyebrow. “C’mon.”

“I…” Spike stopped, stroking his chin. “You got a point there.”

“Exactly! But we should really move on,” she said, rolling her wrist.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’m out of my depth of knowledge on the subject. So, uh…” He grinned. “What are we doing tomorrow at the shop?”

“The usual. Better check all the stock and stuff. Make sure we’re up to date after being away for soooo long.” Her hand grasped another drink of punch and she downed it in no time, licking her lips.

“I’ll put in an order for necklace parts too. If I remember right, I was gonna do it before we left, but someone distracted me.” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to waste four hours playing ‘Zombie Sword Mayham 2’ with you.”

“I bet you did, though,” Pinkie said.

“I just was gonna do one life. Not my fault we got so far thanks to me being so good.”

“I totally carried you!” she exclaimed, walking along the buffet table and getting herself an assortment of treats upon a plate.

“Uh-huh. A ‘man-at-arms’ carrying a ‘vanguard?’ Try again, Diane.” Spike followed after her, grabbing a plate and filling it with crackers and meats.

Pinkie stared down at Spike, her eyebrows wiggling. “You seriously implying a newbie could carry me at that game?”

“This newbie can carry you at everything,” Spike countered.

“Aah, a dragonkin’s ego,” Pinkie said, smugly eating a cupcake.

“And an earth-folk’s stubbornness.”

Jack lead Rarity across the dance floor, Rarity pressed against Jack’s chest as the farmer guided them through a surprisingly complex tango. She moved through the crowd, sweeping past and around the the people as if she had a sixth sense to where they were and her dress swayed and blew with every turn of her waist.

Rarity let herself be dipped and came back up, smiling at Jack as the farmer continued their ballroom poetry.

“Better than doin’ it in the livin’ room listen ta the radio, I bet,” Jack said, grinning.

“That has its own charm, to be fair,” Rarity remarked, moving her hand to the small of Jack’s back. Jack twirled her around to where Rarity’s back rested against Jack’s chest and continued their dance.

“Sorry I ain’t taken ya out ta dance in a while,” Jack said. “Between everythin’ goin’ on… ya know.”

“I understand,” Rarity replied. She gave a small squeeze to Jack’s hand. “I do not help the matter, considering how often I’m away for my studies or a fashion show.”

“Ain’t we jus’ a pair of idiots? Always off on our own.”

Rarity chuckled, reaching up behind her to give a small stroke to the side of Jack’s face. “I wonder which one of us is more foolish?”

“Well, yer the one that sure as heck didn’t marry up,” Jack remarked with a raise of her brow. “At least I could lie an’ say I married fer money.”

Rarity chuckled. Jack turned her around once more to face her as they both took in the guests.

“It’s funny to me,” Rarity said, looking over Jack’s shoulder towards the dancing crowd.

“Mmm?”

“I assumed that we were the odd couple out of the dancing group, I suppose.”

Jack gave another dip to Rarity and gave a small look around her. “What? We ain’t?”

“Well, Spike and Diane seem peculiar. Not to mention that our Twila finally acted on her feelings.”

“About damn time,” Jack said, catching sight of the very person leading Celestia through a simple box-step. “Was gettin’ tired of that ‘will she or won’t she’ crap.”

“Not to mention that I just saw Gilda dancing with Chylene.”

The earth-folk laughed. “Alright, now that one is weird.”

“Well, you watch out for Chylene,” Rarity remarked. “If Gilda does even one thing to upset her…”

Jack sighed, then nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out.” Throwing her arm out, she spun Rarity, then brought her back in close. “I don’t think there’s gonna be an issue though, sug.”

“Not if you’re around, no.” Rarity gave a quick peck to Jack’s chin. “Despite being a rude oaf, you’re a dependable oaf.”

“Comin’ from someone as priggish as you, I reckon I’ll take that as a complement.”

“Priggish?” Rarity paused, a look of bewilderment on her face. “Do you even know what that word means?”

“‘Course I do,” Jack replied, then added under her breath, “I bought another word-a-day calendar.”

“Oh. That’s what’s on your nightstand,” Rarity remarked. “I should’ve guessed.”

“Figure it’s about like the farmer’s almanac I saw ya readin’ the other day.”

Rarity froze, taken aback. “T-That was simply to read the weather forecast! It’s far better at predicting the weather than the anchorman.”

“Yeah. Been readin’ it too: figure by the time we get back, perfect time fer some corn. Plant it an’ it should be ready jus’ in time fer some hot soups come first frost.”

Rarity shook her head. “No, darling. Corn wouldn’t work; frost takes it too easily. You should really consider cab—” her eyes widened and she flinched, pulling a hand away from Jack for a moment to cover her mouth as Jack threw her head back and cackled.

“Cabbage? Eyup. Reckon yer right,” Jack finally said through her last snorts. Rarity rejoined Jack after a scathing glare.

“Not a word to anyone about this,” she warned.

“Sure, sure. I hear farmer’s wives tend ta have a hell of a temper,” Jack replied.

“It’s like you want to live in that dress, Jack.”

Jack brought Rarity closer and looked down at the woman, offering a coy smile. “Well, it’s at least easy ta take off…” She cupped the back of Rarity’s head. “‘Specally when the prettiest girl I know gives me a hand.”

“Just a hand?” Rarity held her own devious smile as she gave a small run of a fingernail over Jack’s blonde locks. “I thought you were at least fairly partial to my mouth.”

The earth-folk bit her lip, wincing a hair in embarrassment. “Alright. Ya win.”

“There’s no beating me on flirting, dear.” She let her hand travel south for a brief moment, giving a ghost touch to Jack’s backside. “Though my flirts tend to end up promises.”

Jack laughed, then gave a small, content sigh. “Ya reckon we’ll still be like this when we got ourselves a… ya know?”

“Something like this,” Rarity replied, their dancing once more turning dynamic, fluid. “We’ve both changed from before we met, have we not?”

“I know so,” Jack agreed with a nod.

“You’re willing to, er, ‘gussy up,’ as it were, and I am willing to dig through the dirt at times.” As she was thinking for a moment, Jack swung them across the dancefloor; Rarity let out a small laugh at the action as Jack easily twisted the soul-folk in the air before delicately putting her back on the ground.

“But we’re still the same in a lot of ways,” Jack said.

“As much as anyone can be over the years,” the other replied. “What I feel is that the others, save maybe Spike and Diane, do not understand is that a relationship is always evolving, so they shouldn’t worry over every spat that happens. Marriage is not a stationary thing. It’s a beginning, not an end.”

Jack looked to the side. “Ain’t sure what ya mean by it not bein’ stationary. I reckon it’s pretty solid, Rare. I love ya; ya love me. At least, I hope ya do.”

“Of course I do. And that’s not going to change,” Rarity sternly said, grasping a bit tighter to Jack. “But the dynamic can be altered. Why else are you wearing a dress right now?”

“Ta keep ya happy,” Jack answered as if it was obvious.

“Exactly. And when I make a faux paus, I tend to pay for it just as well.”

“A what now?”

“A mistake,” Rarity replied flatly.

“Oh. Yeah. Like the time I was sick an’ ya tried ta help milk, but ya ended up gettin’ a bull instead of a cow an’ Mac had ta—”

“Exactly that,” Rarity dryly interrupted, then added, “Thank you for reminding me.”

After a beat, her face warmed up to its usual radiance. “A child will be the same way. An altered dynamic. It will be different, of course, you’ll have new roles, as will I, but that won’t change our core. I will still love you—even more than I do now—I’ll still see you as the strongest woman I know, and…” Sparing a glance around them to spot onlookers and finding none, Rarity embraced Jack and gave a small, gentle run over the farmer’s cheek with the tip of her tongue. Jack shivered at the motion, feeling a warmth at her lower stomach.

“I’ll still find you irresistible,” Rarity sensually finished, giving a predatory lick of her lips.

The music ended and Jack swallowed, just now realizing how sweaty she had gotten.

Going by her even, steady breath, it sure as hell wasn’t from exertion.

Crossing Paths

Celestia looked down at Twila, smiling as the woman led her through their dance. But like all good things, the music ended, and Celestia gave a small step away, curtsying.

“That was exquisite. Your skill at dance almost matches your abilities in study, Lady Shields,” Celestia said with a joking smile. “Thank you.”

“It was honor to share the moment with you, Princess,” Twila replied, giving her a little bow. “But if you think I’m skilled at any dance other than this, you’d be sorely mistaken.”

She chuckled. “As modest as ever. You really have grown into a woman we all can be proud of.”

“It seems like you’re trying to out modest me,” Twila batted back, chuckling to herself.

Celestia held out her hand to Twila’s, her expression fading a moment as she guided the woman back toward the table. “...If, if we were to pursue something, there will be a lot of things said about you. About us.”

“Paparazzi, you mean?” Twila exhaled with dread, sitting down. “They’ve already been somewhat of a sticking point for me.”

“Paparazzi, the nobles, and, perhaps even the commoners.” She shook her head, a genuine frown on her face. “We can’t pretend you weren’t a former student of mine. It’s going to raise questions—legitimate questions—about us.”

“And from their own view, refusing to answer any would be a sign of weakness. Or that we’re hiding something. Some people can never be pleased…” Twila propped her elbow on the table, resting her head against her hand.

“They would be the least of our concerns,” Celestia said, bridging her hands tightly together as she looked at Twila. “As soon as less scrupulous people hear of this… they’ll see another opportunity to hurt not only myself, but the nation.”

“You’re worried about them using me to get to you,” Twila guessed. “I’m capable enough to deal with a lot of would-be threats and I’m not reckless enough that I don’t know when to retreat and hide.”

“Which is why I almost lost you during the Dmitri fiasco,” the all-folk countered. “Do I need to elaborate?”

As much as she tried to hide it, Twila flinched. “And I’ve learned from that. I wouldn’t want to go back to a time like that again.”

“And I don’t want you to either.” Celestia extended her hand across the table. “But your confession came at an interesting time, Twila. There was a matter I needed to address to your friends here anyway. Doubly so now that you’re…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “If you could gather them in about five minutes time for me and have them meet me behind the stage, I’d like to discuss with them a few things.”

“Very well,” Twila said, getting off her chair and neatly pushing it under the table. “I’ll see you there.”

The newly minted all-folk set about her task, rounding up everyone that was needed. Once done, she reported back to Celestia and they went to the stage, where, for lack of a better word, the crew was assembled. Isabelle, Gilda, Jack, Rarity, Spike and Diane, alongside Chylene, who stood a hair timidly off to the side nearby Gilda. Luna observed them all as they offered a few curious words to one another. Beside her stood Iron Will, looking casually at the people surrounding him.

Twila and Celestia shared a glance before Celestia coughed, drawing the group's attention. She gave a small curtsy in her dress.

“I apologize for your wait, and for pulling you away from the dance. You can rejoin it after I have a moment of your time.” Celestia addressed. “We needed to call your attention regarding a situation.

“Now. I brought you all here to discuss a matter with you.” Celestia clasped her hands behind her back, taking to pacing. “We can all recall what happened a few short years ago involving a certain Dmitri Dorcus, correct?”

Jack took in a slow breath, a wave of emotions washing over her recalling the monster—no, monster was too nice. The devil. The coward that tried to take Rarity away from her. The abomination that nearly killed Jack. Though she normally was reluctant to say it, Jack was glad he was dead, slain by her own two hands and never coming back.

Hearing no answer, Celestia continued. “That situation was a wake-up call for my sister and myself. We had nearly lost the country through subterfuge and our own carelessness. If it wasn’t for every single one of you, Dmitri might of won.”

“I didn’t do shit,” Gilda snapped, drawing Jack’s attention. The griffon-folk took a step towards Jack and clasped a hand on the farmer’s hard shoulder, giving it an aggressive shake. “This bitch, though? This is your gal.”

Jack couldn’t say she liked the language, but eventually, the farmer shook her head. “I jus’ swung where I got pointed. Dash an’ Twila really took care-a the heavy liftin’.”

“You did more than I did, Jackie!” Pinkie chirped, moving to Jack’s other side and giving a pat to the farmer’s free shoulder. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“In some way or another, all of you are responsible,” Celestia chimed in. “The humbleness from all of you is astounding, however.” She began pacing, raising a finger up as she lectured. “But to return to point, and why I wanted to speak with you all: I wish to make this nation safer. And, after months of our finest researchers investigating reports, ancient journals, and second-hand accounts, I believe we found a way.”

“Is this going to involve archaeology? An expedition?” Twila asked, eyes shining brightly with curious optimism.

“An expedition. For some of you,” Celestia clarified. “For the others, we’ll require something different.”

“What ya need, highness?” Jack asked, getting straight to the point.

“More things than we care to ask, Jack of the Apple clan,” Luna admitted, stepping forward to speak. “I shall say my piece, then mine sister will speak her own. Two sides of the same coin, each a necessity during these fateful hours,” she stated.

Will gave a whisper to Gilda. Overhearing it with her all-folk senses Luna gave a plain, long-suffering look over to the man. Jack couldn’t help the small smile that came to her; they might not act like it in public, but she had seen firsthand what they were like together away from the prying eye.

Reaching into a satchel at her side, Luna pulled out a piece of cloth, torn and frayed at one side.

“Mayhaps thou could enlighten the room as to what this is, William? Since thou art so eager to get to the 'good stuff' as ye put it.”

Will approached the cloth reluctantly. “Are you trying to make an ass out of me? You know I'm more about weapons than anything.” He brought it to his face; his nostrils flared but he said nothing to this and instead ran it over his fingertips, thinking of a response.

“Texture feels weird. Off. Like silk, but...” Thinking this aloud, he then ran a thumb over a large tear to the cloth's side. “Sleeve of a robe or something, I think. Torn, not cut. Angle makes me think someone pulled it off that was either small or falling.”

Luna nodded. “Thine observations speak truth.” She turned to face Dash. “Lady Isabelle of the Ritter lineage, please offer thine input.”

Jack crossed her arms, waiting with curiosity at Dash’s comments. The sky-folk didn’t look it or act it, but she came from a long line of detectives and some of it had ran off on her. It’d explain how she was always getting better grades than Jack did, at least.

Finally coming to a conclusion, Dash scratched at her cheek. “Think they were trying to make a German weave in the cloth, but kinda messed up the pattern. And the color seems a bit off. Was it waterlogged at one point?”

“Mayhaps,” Luna evasively replied. “The details shall be shown once the cloth makes the rounds. I wish to not influence thine words, as it were.”

“Alright, alright.” Dash passed it on as Jack thought, curious as to what, exactly, the princesses were getting at here. Gilda offered a comment Jack didn’t catch, but she could guess an idea on what it was as it made the rounds across a few other people before coming to Rarity.

“This is more than a simple piece of cloth, Gilda,” Rarity remarked. “Will was correct. It is a silk variant. One I've worked with in the past, as luck would have it, Tomb Fiend.”

“O-oh my,” Chylene stammered out. “That sounds...”

“They ain't as bad as they sound,” Jack drawled out, “probably the only time I'll ever say that 'bout a monster.”

They were bloodsuckers, the size of a bigger house cat and they swarmed, using larger numbers to take down bigger prey. Thing was, though, they weren’t venomous; unless you were sick or elderly, you wouldn’t get taken down easy. Hell, fire—not even a raging one, but a spark—tended to make them scatter. Will said they were decent eating, like an uglier tortoise, but Jack decided some lines didn’t need crossing.

“Moving away from the disgusting things that create the silk, Fiendsilk is a fantastic exotic material for design. It's a shame procuring it is so troublesome.” Rarity sighed with disappointment.

“A difficulty procuring it? How so?” Luna asked, the all-folk putting her arms behind her back.

“They're endangered, of course. Though there are packets here and there of the beasts, they're mostly native to Cabello's western coast. The amount of papers I have to sign in order for me to receive some from a provider of mine is frustrating, to say the least.”

Luna smiled. “As usual, a variety of minds makes a variety of results. Mine sister's assumptions on the matter seem correct.”

Jack raised a brow. “Now, with all due respect, yer highness, but Mac taught me ta never assume anythin'. It—“

Luna's eyes sparked as she recognized the expression. “Oh! I know this one.” She raised a finger. “It makes an ass out thee and myself.”

The earth-folk’s shoulder's slumped in defeat. “I... I was jus' gonna say it gets ya in trouble,” she muttered.

The revelry died moments later. Luna's smile bled out and she made sure everyone was paying attention.

“The cloth you examined, friends, was in the hand of king Fredrick, the leader of the island of Germany. Or, rather, the former king of Germany. He fell off the balcony in his bedroom. The body was found hours later, bloated from the waters he landed within. That cloth the only thing still within his dead hands.”

Rarity looked down at the fabric and winced, quickly stepping forward to give it back to Luna, then wiping her hands in disgust.

“I think I know where this is headed,” Dash said, putting her arms at her hips.

“I hath no doubt that thou made a connection,” Luna agreed.

Jack raised a brow, looking between the two. “How 'bout ya spell it out fer us less brilliant types.”

“If that cloth was from the person that killed them, the stuff is regulated to the point where even Rarity has to write down all the ins and outs of scoring it, and there weren't any reports about a rich set of clothes like that being stolen around the time of the murder, then we might be able to see who it was sold to,” Dash shrugged. “Seems easy to me, hayseed.”

“Why us, though?” Jack asked, ignoring the jab and turning her attention to Luna. “I ain't sayin' I won't help, but this seems like somethin' the guard or police would deal with instead.”

Several agreeing nods went through the room, but Will shook his head.

“I'd take my students over any guard. We work good together.”

“Familiarity is a strong guardian in and of itself, ye, William,” Luna agreed. “I know thou and mine sister would be ones I would take to my side over fifty well-trained strangers.” She turned to Jack. “As for thine statement, Jack Apple, daughter of Johnny, thine view is true in a normal situation. However politics—“ Luna's nose wrinkled in disgust— “hath forced our hand upon a troublesome path indeed. Germany sits at the brink of war with the island of France.”

“Over the king slaying,” Dash guessed. “Bet your blue-collar boys think that the frenchies were responsible for his death.”

“A correct assumption,” Luna agreed with a brush of her hair. She looked towards her sister, who gave a slight nod for the Nightwalker to continue. “According to one of our spies, a popular theory is that a soul-folk had changed into a gnat or cricket and infiltrated the castle.”

Rarity looked to Twila, then Luna. “A gnant? That cannot be possible, can it?”

“While we may hath the ability to alter our bodies, shape-changing to an animal? Verly, tis' beyond my own ability, mayhaps mine sisters as well.” Luna agreed.

“I've never seen the need, personally. I don't think I could, though,” Celestia answered.

The group unanimously turned to Twila. The soul-folk gave a brush of the star-shaped mark on her cheek, a bit embarrassed at the attention.

“It's theoretically possible. But not probable.”

She continued on for a long, drawn out moment, expanding on the idea and offering more insight. Jack’s head hurt until she all but tuned it out. She never was one with a big imagination, and hearing all this talk about possibilities was stupid considering the truth was something far more simple nine times out of ten.

Jack saw that she had finally stopped talking and blinked.

“A 'no' woulda been fine with me,” the farmer muttered out.

“I thought the princesses would appreciate an in-depth analysis.”

“I did, Twila, thank you,” Celestia said, beaming with pride at her student.

“If it's so impossible, why is that even a theory?” Rarity questioned, tilting her head.

“War and rumors of war bring mankind to the greatest of paranoia. A fact Luna and I can attest to.”

Luna gave a wordless nod in agreement.

“We're getting off track. I'm sure the girls want to get back to it,” Will said, cocking a thumb to the dance floor behind the stage's curtain.

“My apologies,” Luna said, bowing towards the group. “To make a long story short—“

“Too late,” Will interrupted, not phased in the slightest by Luna's glare.

“—The reason we cannot afford troops to investigate is twofold: a majority of our soldiers are making haste to France to help quell the riots, any that did not receive orders to travel eastward have been instructed to help guard the country's borders and docks. The scant few not doing this are the personal guard of Celestia, myself, and Mi Amorie Cadanza of Spain.”

“Who?” Jack questioned Rarity. The tailor put a hand to Jack’s collarbone and leaned into her, speaking in a low whisper.

“A noble, one that Twila has had connections to over the years as a friend. Not to mention her brother has been courting Cadanza.”

Jack looked flatly at Rarity. “Hold the damn phone. Twila has a brother?”

Rarity blinked. “Of course, dear. You’ve met him a time or two.”

“Have I?” she asked, scratching at her brow in thought. “I dunno. I don’t remember Twi talkin’ none ‘bout him. But maybe I have.”

“He has a very distinct face, I’m sure the next time I’m able to point him out, you’ll realize who it is.”

“If ya say so.”

Will let out a belly laugh towards something beyond what she heard; Jack swore to herself, unbelieving that she missed so much of another conversation during her question to Rarity.

“You can smell magic too, I bet,” Will said, finishing a sentence that Jack would never hear begin.

Gilda looked perplexed. “Can't everybody?”

“No,” Chylene said.

“Nope!” Pinkie cheerfully chimed in.

“Only the real strong stuff,” Jack added in with a degree of uncertainty as she returned to the tail end of the conversation. Though regarding smell, she was pretty sure she could. At least, from what she could tell. Strong magic seemed to all but burn her nose, same with certain monsters that lurked around—you’d be mad not to be able to smell them.

“The point is proven,” Luna concluded, taking the floor once more. “Which returns us to a previous juncture in the conversation: if the beast has connections, then it's plausible they will have record of soldiers and will most assuredly see to traveling to a less-used port in a smaller town. Such a town would be within the western side of Cabello, which just so happens to be a locale that deals with our silk. Not to mention that after the king slaying, many such commercial ships were delayed, limiting the potental transit routes our murder would hath open for their blackened heart."

“That's gotta be it. And it's probably why we'd be a good call going instead of soldiers. if they randomly saw some guards around in the middle of fuc—“ Dash caught herself, minding the royalty in the room. “—uh town. Freaking town. It'd be all the more reason for the thing, whatever it is, to bail.”

“Which is why we're sending someone they wouldn't expect,” Celestia said. The Daywalker's motherly gaze turned to Gilda.

Gilda’s jaw dropped. “You're kidding. Me?”

“Gilda?” Rarity hissed out, her expression almost mirroring the griffon-folk’s own.

“Thou,” Luna agreed. “Thine record makes ye perfect for the job. Dozens of misdemeanors, warnings, even a felony charge that, while dropped, remains accessible on thine records.” Luna offered a smile to try and remove the tension. “If anything, they may approach thee to do work.”

“And, going by my record, I could just join them,” Gilda said. Jack raised a brow but said nothing.

“But you won't,” Celestia warmly said.

Gilda seemed to pause. She finally came around and shook her head.

“No. I won't.”

“Then who better to search the town and ask questions?” Celestia cheerfully asked, clapping her hands together as if that sealed the deal.

“By herself?” Chylene stammered out.

“Isabelle is helping out too,” Luna said. She beckoned Will over, then gestured towards the door leading to a stairwell. Gilda followed behind, giving a small nod to Jack on their way out. Dash and Chylene left as well, leaving the group at half mast.

“Sendin’ the best and brightest off already, huh?” Jack joked.

“Well, they’re going to have a rather difficult time with their own worries. No need to further complicate things, considering your job will be just as difficult.”

“And what, pray tell, would that job entail?” Rarity questioned. Celestia crossed her arms under her breasts and glanced to everyone.

“Are you all familiar with the Holy Grail?” Celestia questioned.

Pinkie cleared her throat, taking a step forward. “It’s the really shiny gold mug that everyone who’s anyone wants to drink out of, right?”

“I don’t really know its color, Diane,” the princess remarked.

“Heard it’s what Jesus drank out of at Last Supper,” Jack remarked. “Accordin’ ta the stories.”

“Perhaps he did,” Celestia answered. “A few records indicate just that. Some others mention a Celtic ceremony where a group of soul-folk that called themselves ‘druids’ performed hundreds of master-level spells.”

“I’m to presume this grail is the key to why you’ve pulled us aside?” Rarity questioned.

“Correct. The grail, if we can find it, holds a tremendous power. They say the man who drinks from it would walk among the gods themselves, if the person who drinks from it is considered worthy, they would gain near omnipotence and omniscience,” she said, then gestured out toward where Luna had departed. “Tragedies like the assassinations you just heard about would be a mere thing of the past.”

“Provided the person who drunk from the grail acted justly,” Rarity said.

Celestia looked towards the tailor. “Yes,” she said simply. “I gave a solemn vow to my father to always uphold Cabello’s people and the laws that govern it. If I were to get the grail I would act.”

Looking between the two and the serious expression on Rarity’s face, Jack decided to quickly ask another question. “How do ya expect ta find it?”

“My mother, Guinevere, was searching for it during the latter part of her life. Until recently, I thought her research was lost to the sands of time. Recently, however, we found new evidence to suggest that she was close. Very close to finding it.”

“What was it?” Twila asked.

“A journal. I thought it was of my father’s. But I was wrong. It was my mother's and she spoke of tracking the location of the grail. She had traced it to western Scandinavia according to the journal.”

“That was years ago; Guinevere died before I was born even. Sounds ta me like it’d be a damn needle in a haystack tryin’ ta find the thing. It could be anywhere by now,” Jack said.

“It could. But it’s not.”

Rarity looked to the Daywalker. “And you know this how?”

“My mother’s notes offered a rudimentary tracing spell. Though my father was more renowned for his exploits, my mother also trained under Merlin.” She looked to Twila. “Many of the lessons she taught to me I taught to my own students.”

Twila smiled, waiting for Celestia to continue.

“She had a spell to trace the grail—rudimentary, far from pinpoint—but I followed her notes and can promise the grail is at least still on the continent.”

“How did she discover a spell like that?” Twila questioned. “I know tracing the magical essence of a person is possible from that distance, but an object?”

“What are precious metals used for in magic?” Celestia asked the woman.

“An enhancer that increases potency, usually.”

“Precisely. Though her magic aptitude, she searched through the laylines that crossed the world. Mother found one instance of a grail-shaped object with magical properties nearby.” Celestia crossed her arms in thought. “I lack my mother’s savant ability with magic, but I channeled the spell myself. Though an exact location eludes me, the grail is still somewhere in Scandinavia, owned, buried or otherwise.”

Jack stood tall, putting her hands behind her back and locking her legs at either side in an almost militaristic pose. “When ya need me?” she asked. “I’ll need ta ride back home ta get my gear, but I can leave tonight.”

“What?” Rarity asked the farmer.

“Ya heard her. She needs me fer this.”

Rarity stared at Jack for a long moment. Finally seeming to come to a conclusion, she stepped to Jack’s side, looking squarely at Celestia, challenging her.

“Then you’ll need my assistance as well.”

Jack seemed ready to protest, then shook her head. “Should I even start with ya?”

Rarity let out a small huff. “I would not recommend it.”

“It might be dangerous.”

“Do not take me for stupid, Jack Apple. I am well aware of the risks. Why else would I be traveling with you? Someone has to make sure you don’t get your foolish self hurt.”

Jack took in a breath, then reached to clasp Rarity’s hand. “I ain’t leavin’ ya behind if yer that dead set.” Looking over to Celestia, she added one simple word: “Right?”

“Would it stop you if I said ‘no?’” Celestia asked with a raise of her brow.

“Would it be treason ta say ‘too damn bad?’”

Celestia smiled. “Only if I ordered it. And, frankly, I’m demanding so much of your time I should be bending over backwards to accommodate you. But, knowing I’ll have Jack the Ripper as my right hand woman for this does ease my heart.”

Jack the Ripper. It wasn’t a name Jack liked hearing, but it was a nickname she had earned after the fiasco with Dmitri. After they had saw her handiwork on his body, after they had saw her talent with a sword—talent, rather than skill: Jack still felt like she was nowhere near ‘skilled’ yet, and had just lucked out—the papers had taken to calling her that. The name held a power to it, one that discouraged bandit raids around the country’s isolated towns and hamlets.

She couldn’t be everywhere, but the rumor of her and her name coming to deal retribution was enough to if not outright kill bandit attacks, then slow them down enough that the army, police, or even the royal guard could travel from their stations and lend aid to the populace of the towns. Cabello had its share of spoiled apples, but Jack was grateful that it was less than one could expect from the amount of people in the country. Realizing once again that she was zoned out and not answering Celestia, Jack offered a stiff bow to the all-folk.

“Thank ya, grace.”

“Wow, good luck, guys,” Spike said, reaching up to scratch at an ear.

“That’s not everyone traveling with me. We’ll also have a more… unorthodox addition.”

She stared at Spike; he paused, still mid scratch, and his jaw dropped.

“Wait, what?” he squeaked out.

“I have no expectations of you having to fight, but men from before my time, maybe even my father’s time, worshiped dragons. They lived in a sort of coexistence with one-another. The dragons would help pillage other island countries like England in exchange for a share of the loot. Their arrangement worked so well, the soul-folk among those ancients created doors that only dragon blood could open.” She smiled at the boy. “If the grail lies within a crypt, you may be our best hope at getting it out without months of excavation.”

“If Spike’s coming, then I am too,” Twila said, stepping up close to the boy.

“Twila.” Celestia put a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t let that request through.”

“What?” Twila demanded, brow furrowing. “If this is the time you actually start giving me actual royal duties...”

“It is indeed,” Celestia agreed. “I’m traveling to Scandinavia and Luna has an important role of her own to fill.”

“Well,” Twila looked from Spike to Celestia, then sighed quietly. “I know you’ll take better care of him than I can, at least. But regarding these duties, I’m not sure I will ever be as efficient as you are.”

“You’ll learn.” She smiled sweetly at the woman.

Two hands suddenly pressed down on Jack’s head; Pinkie pushed down and lept over Jack, throwing her legs to either side to clear Jack’s head and very nearly kicking Rarity in the face. “But what about me?!” she asked, landing right in front of the farmer.

“What about you?” Celestia questioned, tilting her head. “I thought you would be perfect for assisting Twila here. You’re just the woman to bring a smile to her face. She could use that now, Diane.”

“B-But,” she stammered, her gaze drifting away to the young man beside the group. “Spike’s going to be out there too.”

“Do you know what we might see there?” Celestia cautiously asked. “I mean no insult, but this won’t be a game. Do you have an idea how to defend yourself if it came to it?”

Pinkie folded her arms across her chest, her fingers tapping her arm impatiently. “You really think I don’t have some tricks up my sleeves?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know you’ve never taken a combative role at the academy.”

“Would ya trust my word?” Jack offered, stepping in. “If she ain’t ready, then Rare an’ I can get her ready.”

Celestia measured the farmer, a raise of her brow and a thoughtful frown came to her as she took stock of Jack’s stance and expression.

It seemed like days before Celestia continued on, but, finally, she nodded. “You’ve shown your strength. I’ll believe whatever you decide on.”

“One second!” Pinkie cried, holding up a hand. “There’s one more opinion I want…” She walked over to her date, crouching down and holding his hands. “Do you want me along, Spike? It might seem like a silly question but ya gotta be sure.”

“Why would you think any other way?” Spike asked, looking down at her. “Of course I want you with me. If you’re cool with it, anyway.”

“I just thought you were gonna go all over-protective on me,” Pinkie responded, smiling and ruffling his hair. “‘Cause we both know it’d totally be the other way around.”

He blushed. “I… uh, appreciate it?”The young man coughed and approached closer to Celestia and Jack. “When are we leaving, by the way?”

“Two days time. Is that adequate?”

“But Rarity takes at least three days to pack all her things!” Pinkie exclaimed, grinning innocently.

“I’m sure if we rush her, we might get it down ta fifty hours,” Jack answered, doing her best to keep her voice neutral.

“Some of us like to prepare for every scenario,” Rarity said with a dissatisfied turn of her head.

“Bein’ scared yer purple pants ain’t gonna match a shirt ain’t no scenario,” Jack countered. “An’ how many changes of underwear ya need? Jesus.”

“If that’s the case, we should hurry up and get ready,” Spike quickly said, getting between the two.

Pinkie cleared her throat loudly, tapping her foot on the floor. “But there’s still a party going on.”

Twila nodded at her. “She has a point. Celestia all invited us here for more than business reasons, I imagine,” she said, smiling up at her former mentor.

“Of course. It was a brief unpleasantry in what I hope will continue to be a lovely night for you all,” she agreed. After a beat, she winked at Twila. “In fact, I think I could go for another dance””

Twila’s smile widened and she gave a bashful laugh. “O-oh, really? Great! What are we waiting for?” she asked, taking Celestia’s hand and walking off the stage.

Jack and Rarity exchanged a half-smile with one another. “Well, when in Rome…” Jack remarked, taking Rarity by the hand and following dutifully after the Daywalker and her former student.

Spike looked to Pinkie. Pinkie looked to Spike. Finally, out of nowhere, she jumped towards him, exclaiming in one sudden breath, no real pause to her words, “Spikiecatchme!”

He let out a surprised yelp at her weight filling his arms and his legs gave out, tilting them both flat onto the stage floor.

Author's Note

For anyone curious about the missing pieces of the conversations in this chapter, well, I'm doing a story that's concurrent with this timeline centered around Gilda, hence the splitting of the two groups. I was originally going to go back and forth between each party in one story, but it got pretty dumb pretty quick, not only from size, but from the fact each serve as two separate genres, with this being more straightforward and centered around a theme, and Gilda's more a character piece and Lovecraftian vibe. I got a good groundwork on it already, so don't worry, won't be a 3 year gap before I post it. Just thought I'd share.

Mentor

“Aaand up towards the sun!” Pinkie chanted, stretching her arms in the direction of the sky above. A few all too puffy clouds drifted harmlessly in the sea of blue but the sun took dominance, illuminating the grass of the school’s field so it almost looked emerald. She took a few deep breaths and held her position, her cheeks expanding as they filled with air.

“Then doooown to my toes!” The girl swung towards the ground, her fingertips wiggling as they almost reached her white trainers. The rest of her kit was simple: blue shorts that cut off at the knee and a white tank top.

“Ya ‘bout done stretchin’?” Jack called, a small figure in the distance from the woman. “We’re ready fer ya here.”

“Coming!” After a few more timed breathes and stretches, Pinkie was jogging her way towards Jack.

“Okay, here!” she said, before taking a swig of flavored water from her sports bottle.

“Alright.” Jack wiped a sort of sappy, off-white resin from her hands onto her pants. From behind, both of them heard a small gasp of horror from Rarity, but they ignored it for the time being. “I got a dueling seal slapped onta the ground—ya know how these work?”

“Nopey dopey!” Pinkie replied, shaking her head.

“Come here then,” she instructed. “An’ listen. This is serious, Diane, alright?” Jack turned, marching a bit away, where a ring about thirty feet across made itself shown on the ground. “What I smeared onta the grass here. It’s a sorta, uh… suppression, I guess. Basically makes non-living material not kill ya. I dunno the details: I’m sure ya ain’t too keen on how spells an’ the like work either.”

Demonstrating, she stepped inside the ring and pulled out a dagger from a side sheath. Gritting her teeth, she shot it forward, plunging it squarely through her right hand. Turning her palm, she showed the exit wound to Pinke, then grasped the handle. With a sickening wet sound, Jack pulled it free. Blood and a small indention in her palm was the only evidence of the grievous injury and, after a moment, the indention filled out, returning her skin to a more natural appearance.

“Hurts like hell,” she warned, wiping at the sweat at her brow, but flexing her hand in demonstration. “It’s how we learned live combat with Will.”

“If it wasn’t for the extreme pain, that’d be kinda funny!” Pinkie offered, pointing at Jack’s palm. “You were kinda like putty for a bit.”

“I don’t like ta think ‘bout it,” Jack remarked. “‘Specally if ya get hit in the heart or brain. Shuts ya down fer a bit.”

“Oh.” Pinkie went silent, looking down at her tank top. “Can I have some gear, please?”

Jack nodded by Rarity, where a chest sat. “Pads an’ the like in there. An’ what ‘bout a weapon? Given thoughts on ‘em? God willin’, ya won’t even touch it while we’re doin’ all-a this. God willin’, none-a us will. But...”

“Well, let’s see whatcha got…” She waltzed over to the chest and, with a grunt, opened it right up.

“Could get Gilda here, show ya the ropes on a bow or crossbow. It’d be safer. If anythin’, I’d almost prefer it over ya havin’ ta work close,” Jack said it to Pinkie, but during all of it, she glanced to Rarity.

“This was both of our ideas, Jack. I don’t like the thought of having to do it, but if I must, I’d rather fight to where I’m close by,” Rarity remarked. “Someone has to be able to drag you away if something were to happen.”

“I don’t want ya ta like it, sug. It ain’t you. But…”

“I’m never going to be helpless again,” Rarity tersely answered. “Sometimes a silver tongue won’t cut it.”

Jack thoughtfully looked down at her hand. “Ya weren’t helpless. Yer never completely helpless. Jus’...”

“Didn’t have the right skillset?” she offered with a wry smile. “I’ll accept that answer.”

“Hm… this is a confuzzling conundrum…” Pinkie said to herself, staring at the weapons on offer. Some of them flew right by her eyes, her hands working by themselves to juggle a variety of blades; two knives, a small axe and even a shortsword. She handled each of the weapon’s different weights perfectly, throwing them and catching them time and time again without injury.

Taking her eyes off her juggling, she stared at Jack. “What do you think?”

“Thought ‘bout a war hammer? A mace? Somethin’ ta use a lil’ muscle?” Jack offered.

Rarity looked between the two. “I’m no expert, but I think Pinkie might do well with throwing knives or axes, personally.”

“Only if she can hit a target nine times outta ten. Bouncin’ that stuff along ain’t gonna do a lick-a good when somethin’ is pissed and runnin’ towards her an’ she can’t hit it.”

Pinkie stopped her juggling, throwing each weapon into the ground so it got stuck blade side. “We can never know until we try, Jackie!”

“Guess that’s true. We can start ya off on a stationary target.” She moved away and returned with a spear, which she jabbed into the dirt. After a moment of considering what to use, she looked over to Rarity. “Got twine or anythin’?”

“Why did I guess you’d need something like that today?” Rarity pondered out loud, reaching towards the purse at her side and tossing a needle and thread Jack’s way.

The farmer made a quick run to the weapons, grabbed a small cudgel, and made a cross with the spear, giving several runs of the thread across the two sticks to brace them together. Then, without pause, she unbuttoned her shirt and threw it over the creation, turning it into almost a makeshift kite.

“Wish I woulda known we’d be doin’ somethin’ like this. Paintin’ a haybale woulda been a lot less work,” Jack said, crossing her arms over her bra. She turned to Pinkie. “Throw. Maybe from ten, twelve feet away. See how many go through the shirt.”

“Please tell me you’ll throw it away after she’s done ruining it,” Rarity bemoaned.

“I could. But I’d be lyin’,” Jack replied with a quick smile. “Jus’ think of it as doin’ a favor fer yer best customer when ya get around ta sewin’ it up.”

Pinkie took a few sharp knives with her, going back a few paces. Narrowing her eyes, she focused on the shirt and only the shirt. She flipped a knife in her hands, getting a feel for its weight. She had to concentrate yet in the fray of a fight, there wouldn’t always be time for that. So she simply lined up the shot, then threw all her knives in rapid succession.

They flew across the field and ripped into the shirt, with the exception of one that landed behind it. They teared through its fabric with ease, leaving nicely sized holes. They were a little all over the place but at least, were the shirt being worn by a real person, they would’ve likely hit vital organs.

“Again,” Jack said neutrally, crossing her arms as she observed Pinkie. “While yer movin’ side-ta-side.”

“Already?!” Pinkie whined, going over to pick up the knives.

“Again,” Jack agreed with a nod.

Pinkie spared a glance at Rarity as she pottered back to her throwing spot. “Your wife is a harsh mistress.”

“And you see her in a good mood right now. Imagine what I deal with when she’s upset.”

Pinkie shivered, standing back in place. Getting back into the right frame of mind only took a few moments and before she knew it, her legs were moving side to side for her. She threw the knives, getting more bolder with each throw, to the point where she was jumping. More knives missed their mark this time, but the shirt still received some fresh new holes.

“Not good enough. Again,” Jack instructed with a bark.

Pinkie growled, tightening her fists and almost stomping back to the knives, performing the dreary task of gathering them all up again. She got back into position and repeated the cycle, her throws a lot harder than prior. By now the shirt was nearly in tatters, ravaged by the ire of a woman without much patience.

“How many ya hit with?” the farmer asked suddenly, watching Pinkie.

“I dunno! I wasn’t counting!” Pinkie cried, then swiveled towards Rarity. “You know?”

“Six. Four misses,” Rarity answered.

“Those four misses could be life or death. How many misses do ya think ya’d have in an actual fight, Diane?” She marched towards the shirt and gave a slap at their makeshift dummy. “People—monsters—can move. If yer missin’ almost half yer tosses on a stationary target...”

“But you were the one telling me to move about all crazy! Who does that when they’ve got a perfect shot lined up?” Pinkie protested.

“When they’re tryin’ ta avoid perfect shots. Think yer gonna always have range advantage over someone?”

“Jack,” Rarity started, looking towards the woman. “You don’t need to—”

“This is serious. Ya gotta think ‘bout this sorta stuff. If ya don’t, yer jus’ gonna get hurt.”

“Well of course it’s serious,” Rarity snapped, crossing her arms. “But easing her into it would help a lot more than brushing everything she’s done right so far to the side. You weren’t like that when I wanted to learn.”

Jack’s frown broke. She looked at Rarity with surprise. “Of course not. That’s because yer—”

“What, Jack Apple? Delicate?”

“Yer strong.”

“Then what? A soul-folk?”

“No.”

“What? Because I’m a lady?”

“Because yer my wife,” Jack said, as if the answer was obvious. “I ain’t gonna browbeat ya when yer jus’ wantin’ ta know the basics.”

“That doesn’t matter here,” Rarity replied, pointing a stern finger Jack’s way. “I don’t necessarily like this. However, I want to learn it just as everyone else learns it. So treat me like Pinkie.” She glanced over to the woman in question, pausing for only a moment. “I wish to duel her.”

“What?” Jack asked, taken aback. “Rare—”

“No. You and Dash have done it, have you not? Why can’t I?”

“I don’t wanna see ya hurt.”

“And I don’t wanna see Jack see me hurt you!” Pinkie said, crossing her arms over one another to point at both women.
Rarity said nothing, staring defiantly up at Jack, she moved away, entering the ring. “Sounds like a challenge to me, Diane. I’ll show you I’m not a delicate flower when necessary.”

“Rare,” Jack said. “Why ya doin’ this?”

Rarity rolled her eyes, stretching an arm over her head. “Shouldn’t the answer be obvious to you?”

Jack stepped forward; Rarity glared harshly at the woman, freezing her in her tracks.

“You’re fighting the winner and judging this one. Do I make myself clear?” the soul-folk said with authority.

Jack hesitated, but finally relented, rubbing anxiously at her neck. Finally, she looked towards Pinkie. “Go easy on her,” she instructed.

“Go all out!” Rarity called in return.

“Goddamnit, Rare,” Jack said to herself, nervously swallowing. She stared at the woman like a mother might watch her child’s first bike ride. “Diane,” Jack said to the girl next to her. “Yer call. Even if she’s pullin’ this… hissy fit, ya don’t have ta fight her.”

“Jack,” Pinkie began, placing both her hands on Jack’s broad shoulders. “Rarity’s had more training than I have. If anything, you should be telling her this. Silly.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, but made no move toward the tailor.

“Are you about ready, Diane?” Rarity called out in a sing-song tone. “I’d also consider armor if I were you.”

Pinkie went over to the leather armor pieces, getting strapped into a large chest piece. “Can I put it on first?” she asked, plonking a helmet on her head. Next came the fingerless gloves, following by the knee pads and shin guards. Her weapon of choice was the war hammer. Not an especially graceful thing, she gripped it in one hand, grunting as she put another on it to help accommodate with the weight.

She slung the hammer over her shoulder for support. “This takes me back to the days on the farm. Good thing that gave me experience in heavy lifting!”

Rarity glanced over as Pinkie armed herself and, with one small twirl of her palm, Rarity gestured a finger down at her feet. Instantly, a set of translucent boots came to life. She trailed her finger up, creating greeves, knee guards, thigh and codpiece. A belt sparked to life and a sheath filled a slot at her waist, housing a noble looking saber. As the rest of her ensemble formed at her torso and pauldrons came into existence, she withdrew her sword, giving it a small flourish to get used to the weight in her hand. Finally, a helmet appeared on her crown and she looked over at Jack briefly before pulling the near translucent visor down over her face.

Pinkie took one glance at her shabby armor and another at Rarity’s. “I’m starting to think this is one sided.”

Rarity didn’t hear her, Jack was already at her side like a hawk.

“Now, ya gotta make this quick,” she instructed. “Ya know yer magic don’t last too long when focused like this. An’ one thing I’ve noticed—”

“Let me handle this, Jack,” Rarity said. “I know you mean well, but please.”

She looked towards the tailor before slowly nodding. “Alright. I was jus’... alright.”

Rarity sighed. “Just make sure neither of us step outside of the circle, darling.”

“Watchin’ y’all like a hawk.”

She stepped back, looking between the two. “Alright. How we normally do this is either first ta fall three times, or when ya... “ She thought of her words and decided not to mince them. “Kill the other, technically.”

“Very well,” Rarity said, watching Pinkie evenally. “Let’s see how you do against a moving target, after all.”

The woman forced a smile on her face. “Yep! Haha, should be fun. Fun in a bun!”

“It might be a welcome exercise,” Rarity agreed. “Don’t worry, Jack,” she said without looking at the woman.

“Hard not ta,” the farmer admitted with a sigh. Raising a hand, she looked at both the woman, then brought it down in a chopping motion. “Begin!”

Pinkie tightened her grip on her war hammer, narrowing her eyes at Rarity. She tried to ignore the cold drop of sweat that rolled down her face and the way her legs were shaking by themselves.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Rarity encouraged. “My sword can’t even chip a nail. Your hammer can’t technically hurt me either. Not that it will feel… pleasant, but…”

Pinkie brought the hammer over her hand, using both hands to swing it down at the ground with all the force she could muster. She stumbled a little, but mostly kept her balance and the weapon hit the ground with resounding force. A big thump resounded, kicking up dirt and grass into the air.

“Er… yeah…” Pinkie agreed, lifting the hammer from the ground.

Rarity extended her saber out, lifting her free hand behind her and turning her body to the side. “Let’s dance.”

“You go first,” Pinkie quickly uttered.

Rarity took a step forward, a small hop, and thrusted her blade slowly towards Diane, judging the other’s reactions.

It seemed that Pinkie did indeed have very good reactions, for the very second Rarity moved an inch, the woman swiveled around and started running across the field, screaming her lungs out.

“P-Pinkie?” Rarity stammered, frozen like a statue as she watched the woman have a panic attack. She looked to Jack, Jack looked to her with an unsure shrug and Rarity sheathed her weapon. “Diane, darling. It’s fine. You’re fine.” Rarity approached her, her hands held peacefully at her sides. “Don’t be scared.”

Before anyone had any say in the matter, Pinkie stopped fleeing and had spun around, the flat side of the mace being thrusted right towards Rarity’s stomach at high speed.

It connected with a loud thump, cracking square into Rarity’s stomach. Two things happened at the same time. Rarity slumped over onto the ground, gasping for air, and Jack stepped towards the two.

Jack was furious, scowling and trembling, her fists clenched so tight she could feel a raw ache in her bones. “What the hell are ya doin’ ya stupid bi—”

“Jack,” Rarity wheezed out. She rolled her head to the side and wryly smiled. “Not easy just watching, is it?” With a grunt, she rose to her knees, then pushed herself up, nearly falling onto her back. “S-sometimes, it hurts more than getting hit yourself.”

Jack’s anger flicked off like a light. She stared at the tailor.

“Do you understand why I’m doing this now? Why I want to learn what I can?” she asked. “It’s not for just my sake. I want to be there when you…” She trailed off, rubbing at her gut and shaking her head.

Reluctantly, Jack stepped back, letting Rarity catch her breath for a moment as she stared down Diane.

“That was a mistake,” Rarity said, gritting her teeth. Unsheathing her blade once again, she assumed a fencer’s pose. “The only one that’s going to happen today.”

“Sorry if that seemed sneaky,” Pinkie said, sparing a split-second glance at Jack. “But I thought about some of the monsters from story books, and some of them are really sneaky and mean.”

“It’s fine,” Rarity neutrally answered. “I hope you have more in you than a cheap shot, however.”

“I guess we’ll seeeeeee!” Pinkie sang, pivoting around on one foot, turning clockwise towards Rarity and bringing along her mace, powered by the momentum.

Rarity long-stepped backwards from the blow, then launched herself forward, thrusting her blade directly for Pinkie’s heart.

Pinkie let out a fast gasp, ducking down and crouching so that the blade barely went past her head. She dropped her hammer for the time being, grabbing some throwing knives attached to her belt and throwing them for Rarity’s legs.

Rarity gave a gesture from her palm and a burst of air erupted, throwing the knives feebly to the sides. She clenched her fist and twisted it, pulling it towards her. Pinkie felt a hard tug from her armor, as if it were being magnetized towards Rarity.

“Magic’s no fair!” Pinkie grumbled, reaching out for her weapon but only just missing it, the tips of her fingers feebly touching the handle. She dug in her feet into the ground, hoping that would somehow stop the force upon her.

Rarity grit her teeth, straining against Pinkie’s resistance, a part of her wishing she had been as diligent on her magical study as Twila was. An idea came to her and she threw her palm out, reversing the woman’s polarity, throwing her backwards.

Her gambit worked, throwing Pinkie along the floor like a discarded plaything. She bounced and tumbled along the ground, making high-pitched noises of pain and discomfort in the process. When she finally stopped, she put a hand to her head and slowly stood up, swaying slightly.

Rarity charged forward, her eyes like a hawks as she lunged for Pinkie during her moment of weakness, thrusting several pokes towards the woman, before one deep thrust. It was over in seconds, the strikes puncturing Pinkie’s armor like a kitchen knife through paper. Her face consorted in pain and after the last hit, she fell to the ground hard.

“She, uh, out?” Jack asked. Rarity looked down at her, giving a small poke at Pinkie’s shoulder.

“Ooooooow…” Pinkie wailed, clutching at her chest. “Mercy. Uncle. Give me a white flag.”

“Guess that decides it.” Jack pointed down at her. “I know it ain’t yer…”

“Yes, yes,” she replied dryly, gesturing down her body to dispel her ethereal armor. “Administer endorphins so she stops hurting quite as bad.”

“Thata girl.”

Rarity gave a small gesture with her ring and middle finger, before pressing them against Pinkie’s temple. A small wave of pleasure settled through Pinkie's body, drawing her mind away from the aches and pains the faux-injuries gave her. They still sat in the back of her mind, but, at least, were a few miles away, as opposed to right beside her.

She sat up, blinking a few times. Grabbing her helmet, she removed it and threw it off to the side without looking at the thing. “That was garbage.”

“What was?” Rarity questioned, blinking.

“Me,” she responded, heaving herself up and going over to collect the war hammer.

“You just need practice. Perhaps Jack and myself were too zealous having you fight. Jack ran through dozens of drills before entering the ring like this.”

“She’s right,” Jack agreed. “Yer jus’ now gettin’ used ta the feel of yer weapon. I never shoulda tossed ya to the wolves so quick.”

“Uh-huh,” Pinkie muttered, chucking the hammer over to the other weapons. It landed with a clatter.

“Come on, sug. Don’t be like this. Don’t suit ya.”

“But I’m supposed to be an earth-folk,” she replied, staring at the three colored balloons on the back of her hand. “All tough and stuff. This should just come naturally to me. At the very least I’d be able to take a beating, like a pinata.”

“Ya don’t jus’ pick that up.” She turned her cheek towards Pinkie, showing the scar line that made her mouth turn into an almost sickening grin that stretched to near her earlobe. “Know what I did when I got this?”

“Probably something real tough and brave,” Pinkie said, looking down at Jack’s own mark.

“I howled. It hurt so bad I thought I was goin’ nuts.” She swallowed. “Mighta done jus’ that if I hadn’t had Rare ta take care-a.” Looking to the sky, she gave a tilt of her head. “Ya don’t jus’ come outta the womb tough as an earth-folk. Jus’ like how them sky-folk ain’t all ‘bout speed like Dash. Ya learn how ta be tough, sug.”

“Maybe.” She hummed thoughtfully, looking back at her mark. She flexed her fingers. “But if you look at my family, all of them are super tough. And they got rocks for marks so you know it. I love my balloons but you can’t have balloon rocks. They’re totally the opposite things! And don’t even think about putting a rock inside a balloon.”

“Ya know what happens when ya squeeze a rock hard enough?” Jack suddenly asked. “Crumbles, don’t it?”

“Not without damaging what crumbled it back,” Pinkie pointed out.

“How ‘bout with a balloon?” She looked over to Pinkie. “Ya twist some an’, sure, they can pop. Those that don’t? Ya can make ‘em anythin’ ya want ‘em ta be. A dog, a horse, even a carousel. Changin’ that much? Gotta be tough somehow, don’t ya think?”

Pinkie shook her head. “No, just flexible. Even the most complicated best balloon animal out there would still pop easily to just one pin.”

“Flexible can be tough an’ strong too. Rare couldn’t lift half-a what we do on a given day, I bet. More than she used to, goin’ by the muscle I’m seein’ on her now. But muscle ain’t all she is. She’s flexible. She’s strong in her own way. Yer strong in yer own way.”

Placing her hand down to her side, she turned to Jack. “But not in a way that can save me from a big bad monster. Not in a way that can save Spike, like you can with Rarity.”

“Yer right there. But…” She raised a hand, letting it fall. “Guy still might need savin’ in a different way.” She put her hands on Pinkie’s shoulders. “Things weren’t always good fer me back when I was in school. But ya gals… helped me pull myself together. That might be the kinda savin’ I’m meanin’.”

“Maybe. But from what Celestia said…” Pinkie gazed back at the school. “This is going to be a whole different kettle of fish. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Y’know?”

“Well, yeah. It ain’t gonna be easy, sug.” Jack stared at the school too, crossing her arms. “I believe in ya. I believe in ya an’ Rarity with everythin’ I got in me.”

A small smile found its way across Pinkie’s lips. “That at least makes me feel a little better. Thanks, Jackie.”

“Yeah. No problem. An’ sorry if I came across rough. Ya jus’ gotta know this ain’t no game is all. Nothin’ against ya, sug.”

“I know that. But that doesn’t mean we can’t fun along the way.” Pinkie put her arms behind her back, puffing out her chest. “Morale’s important too!” she announced.

“She’s right there,” Rarity agreed. “Motivation, inspiration, you throw that out the window and you’re left with nothing to your art, be it quill, needle, or blade.”

“Alright, alright,” Jack agreed, forcing a smile to her face. “I got some things ta learn when it comes ta leadin’ too.” She clapped, turning her attention back to Pinkie and Rarity. “So let’s take it from the top, girls. What ya say?”

After the sparring, Jack retired to a place she knew she wouldn’t be disturbed.

The dusty building, a borderline shack still stood just outside of the school yard, a sight that pleased her. Inside still housed a boxing ring, punching bags, and a set of weights.

She gave a nostalgic smile to the place. Back while she was still at school this was one of her favorite spots on campus. Isolated, quiet, and filled with things she could understand compared to the theories and formulas of the schoolrooms. It was perfect for her.

Moving to one of the punching bags, she gave it a small push and listened to the chain that held it to a loop on the ceiling creak in protest.

Behind her, the door opened. It came as a bit of a surprise to her—though there were jocks every now and again, it was rare enough that it tended to give her pause. She turned, catching sight of who walked through the doorway.

Iron Will entered, ducking his head to make it through the door. The Norfolk walked wordlessly to her and took a spot he had many times during their conversations; he sat down on the mat of the boxing ring, resting his meaty arms on the ropes.

Jack joined him, hopping up and all but mirroring his pose.

“Glad I found you,” he said. “Had a feeling you might of been here.”

“Thought I’d jus’ check out the place, see if anyone’s been messin’ with it.”

“You’ve seen some of the wimps: you really think they’d come here to throw a punch or lift anything bigger than their lunchbox?” Will asked, like usual, a cocky grin on his face.

“Well, most-a them,” Jack agreed. “Though considerin’ what a few did ta me, can’t dismiss ‘em all.”

“That’s true too. Can’t dismiss ‘em all.” He cracked his knuckles and his grin turned to a warm smile. “I hear you were training a few people earlier today. Planning on replacing me soon?”

“An’ have ta deal with Dash an’ Gilda? Sorry, yer on yer own.”

Will chuckled. “Figured that’d be your answer.”

He kept quiet and looked down towards the floor.

“Were ya needin’ somethin’, Will?” Jack asked, bringing him back to attention.

“Nah, Apple. Just checking up on you.”

She raised and lowered her hands. “Better than the usual times we chatted in here.” Glancing over to the man, she then looked forward, saying nothing more.

“Something’s on your mind,” Will said. He pointed a meaty finger to her face. “Your left eye twitched a bit.”

“The what now?” Jack asked, tilting her head. Will flashed a thumbs-up.

“Simple. When you hesitate in just about anything, your eye flinches. How else can I predict your feints?”

“‘Cause you’ve been ‘round the block?” Jack replied. Will laughed again.

“No, Apple. Part of fighting isn’t reflexes. Part of it is planning. You’re…” His brow furrowed. “I don’t want to give you a big head; that’s how good men end up dead. But I’ll say this: you’re fast enough now that just reflexes only let me dodge the occasional blow. What I have to do against you is about body language. The angle of your feet, how clenched your fist is, your eye. It tells me how you’re coming, how to anticipate it.” He snorted. “And it tells me when you’re not saying something.”

Jack mirrored the action with a bemused snort of her own. “Jus’ thinkin’. Thinkin’ that I have no idea how ya handle a lot of this shit.” Will stared at her so she continued, “how ya can handle the bodies, how ya can handle us, how ya can handle a-all of it.” The earth-folk gestured towards the door. “Tried ta teach Diane a bit an’ it didn’t work out fer me.”

“Not the best student?” Will guessed.

“She was good. Might even have a better knack at it than me. Problem was I was too harsh on her. Made her run drills over an’ over again, but gave Rare a free pass.”

“That’s a good sign.”

Jack blinked. “It is?”

“A good leader always questions how well they’re doing. I’ve lost a lot of sleep thinking about you, Dash and Gilda.”

“Why? Yer a great leader.”

“Better than the princesses even, right?” Will asked, throwing a thumb to his chest. Jack looked at him, unsure what to say as he again laughed. “How’s that for a loaded question?”

“Up there with the ones Rarity asks,” Jack admitted, looking plainly to him.

He raised his finger up. “Ronnel, as usual, Jack.”

Ronnel. The Norfolk had some interesting philosophies, that was one of them. The word itself simply meant ‘wheel’ in their language, but also described a set of beliefs most of Will’s race held between them. The ability to continue along the path that had been laid out for them, traveling along it with a sense of stoicism and acceptance.

She wryly smiled. “Ronnel.”

Will leaned to the side, giving her shoulder a small push. “You don’t need much more advice. Or at least the advice I can give.”

“That ain’t true.”

“Of course it is. I’ll always be around to give you advice, but you don’t need it now, aside from some of my barks about combat.” His gaze softened further and he turned to stare at her. “It’s… I see you, Apple, and, even though I’ve only known you for a few short years, I can say that I’ve trained stronger, quicker and sharper students, but none had your heart. That’s why you’re my personal protege.

“Dash and Gilda are coming into their own, but you? You’re going to be the one that leads ‘em someday when I’m dead or out of the business.” He moved closer and smiled at Jack, reaching to tuck one of her bangs behind her ear. “I’m proud of you. You remember your ancestor’s face and carry their lineage with pride, Apple. If I had a child half as impressive as you...” he trailed off, giving a half-smile to the woman.

Jack gave a small quirk of her lips. “Ya gotta promise me somethin’: ya ain’t gonna die or retire too quick on me.”

“I’m too dumb to die, Jack. Something we got in common.” He hopped off his usual perch. “You’re gonna have to promise me something too: even if it’s hard, you need to do the right thing. You got the strength and training to do just that. But, more importantly…” Reaching over one more time, he tapped at her heart.

The earth-folk hopped down herself and nodded. “‘Course, Will. When do I take the easy way out?”

He smiled paternally to her. “You don’t, Apple. You’re almost as bad as me.”

“There are worse people to be,” Jack said.

A bespeckled man pushed the glasses he wore up his brow as he skimmed over a listing adorned upon a scroll. Satisfied, he gave a look over to Celestia and Luna, who sat upon their thrones within the mythical hall of Camelot, Luna resting her head upon a fist, nearly asleep, Celestia herself bored as she finished the last of a goblet of wine.

“Frederick,” Luna addressed, not bothering to open her eyes. “Art thou done with thine notes of today’s events? I feel a hot bath and an elderberry ale is within order, if mine duty is complete.”

The man nodded. “Yes. No—” he paused, pointing a finger at a line towards the center of the page.

“Princess Luna, may I inquire once more to your trip to the Norfolk lands? I see there’s a discrepancy of about eighty bits on the paperwork you submitted. Did you forget to fill out a receipt?”

Luna sighed, leaning onto her fist even harder, looking very much like a slug as she didn’t even bother to open her eyes. “Back in the days of war, we cared not for every bit within our coffers. ‘T’was a far better time despite the violence, methinks.”

“Is there anything remaining for me that needs discussed, Frederick?” Celestia interrupted.

Frederick blinked, then looked over the listing. “No. Smooth sailing on your end. You at least know how to mark down personal finances. Your sister could learn a lesson from you.”

The Nightwalker groaned audibly, slumping deeper into her chair as Celestia maneuvered past them, a taunting smile on her face as she found blissful freedom within her grasp as her heels clicked on the marble flooring. At the pearl-white room’s massive doorway that lead away from the castle’s throne room, she put a hand on the golden gate and pushed, opening the massive door without much strain. Stepping through, she nodded at the guards that stood at attention on either side and they did much the same.

Walking through the hallway, she turned, heading down and taking a right, then out another, more humble door, where a guard sat reading a novel. She caught Celestia out of the corner of her eye and snapped to attention, all-but throwing the book to the ground in a panic as she offered the Daywalker a shaky salute. Celesia laughed, returning the gesture before stepping through the door.

Though she had half a mind to return to her quarters to sleep and prepare for her trip, she decided that a moment’s time alone in the air would do her good. She stepped out onto one of the many balconies overlooking the sweeping majesty of the castle-town of Camelot and took a breath of air, holding in the scent sweet of the snow-tipped peaks of the mountainside the castle held itself flush to.

Giving a bit of a cautious glance behind her, Celestia leaned over to check the other balconies that littered the side of the castle, at one point tools of defense that held bastilas, now decorated, refined pieces of architecture. she smiled.

Not a guard around.

With a familiar tingle, she felt the magic within her spine spark to life and two majestic white wings appeared behind her in a glow of soft light. She gave a curious flex of them; though magical in design akin to sky-folk, they tended to be at least slightly more within the physical realm, holding substance and texture that the sky-folks wings did not have.

Satisfied at their weight and appearance, she gave a slow leap upward.

Her wings fluttered, catching her weight, then began to move her, gliding her through the air with ease. Though the guards would sometimes have a conniption fit when she flew without supervision, Celestia ignored their pleas, instead focusing on herself for this single piece of entertainment that she held not ran by committee.

She looked over the cable-cars at the end of the city, mere red dots from where she flew, like small insects dithering to-and-fro from the ground up to the mythical City-Upon-The-Hill.

With a flex of her wings, she darted forward, heading to the cars, intending to distract herself from her more pressing issues for the moment.

It was strange. Even after all these years of reigning over the people below her, she felt like she was still a mere shade of her father. He always seemed to hold in his heart what the best course of action was, there was no room for hesitation. Every action was a calculated response that strived to better the lands, no matter what the cost to him personally. He was the quintessential man with the weight of the world on his shoulders and Celestia wanted to grow up to be much the same. To hold the men, women and children below her walking in the streets, to cradle them in her hands, make their lives as easy as she could.

That didn’t always happen. She wasn’t naive enough to believe that there would ever be complete peace, that there would be no suffering here, but stopping as much of it as she could personally lifted her heart to a far better place.

Her thoughts turned to Twila, a relationship she was still trying to step through.

She had trusted the woman. Had trusted her statement that she saw Celestia for everything, good and bad. That alone made her breath a sigh of relief.

There was also a few considerations of her own regarding herself. Celestia had never considered women as potential mates. During her time, it wasn’t simply dancing that two women were virtually unheard of. You would on occasion hear the rumors, of course, but never anything so brazenly obvious as within the dance hall at Cloudsdale. Never someone such as Jack married to Rarity. Those things were just something that didn’t happen. Now, however…

As she flew down the market square she was assaulted by the scents of meats, sweets, and dozen other treats. Her mouth watered involuntarily and she half considered stopping to get a bite, before deciding that flying seemed better for her right now.

Yes. It wasn’t something that happened then, but now, now she could pursue that sort of relationship if she wished.

Do you wish? she questioned herself.

The answer didn’t come for a long moment, not until she came towards the edge of the castle-town, the massive walls that separated it from the earth below creating a sanctuary high above the clouds.

Twila was a beautiful woman. Vibrant, full of life. Celestia could see her eventually coming to care for her. It wasn’t necessarily a feeling she shared at the moment. True, she cared for her as one would a friend. As she did her own sister. But as a romantic partner? That was yet to be. But there was hope in her that something such as that would happen, and if there was hope, there was a want. It never hurt to try.

That settled in her mind, she traveled towards the cable-cars. She made it to the side of one and did a quick scan inside, shutting her eyes and letting magic look for her.

Her eyes changed, instead of looking at the world as how she normally did, it became an odd, dark thing, with the only color within emanating from the magic coursing through the veins of the people and of the layline buried within the earth below.

As she expected, she sensed within the cable-car one soul-folk, one earth-folk, and a smaller presence. A child earth-folk of about six or seven, going by its size. Judging by the way their veins were positioned, only the child was paying attention, observing the night sky with a sense of wonder.

There could be a lot to be learned by children. Their ability to see beauty even in something as miniscule as a plastic bag, the sense of joy they held, their trust. They were all admirable qualities, ones adults should hold more within themselves.

So with that in mind, she decided to do something childlike.

Canceling the magical sight she used once she saw where the youngest was looking, she swooped in low, creeping towards the window. Then she sprang up, putting her fingers into her mouth and stretching her cheeks out. For added flavor, she went crossed-eyed.

The boy flinched at first from surprise, then, seeing her expression, he squealed in delight, clapping his hands and pointing toward the window just as Celestia took off again, gone before his parents could react.

Grinning, she flew to the next cart, ready to do the same to the single solitary passenger riding within the car. When she saw who it was, however, she paused, the prank forgotten.

He was a young man, no older than thirty, with blue hair and a shield graced his cheek in the form of his mark. The coat her wore was decorated with badges, all from campaigns he served in and, later on, lead, and he held himself with a pride that would seem haughty for others, but for him was a simple extension of the grace both him and his sister held.

Lewlin Shields. An up-and-coming general of the Cabelian military. The man and his sister seemed destined for greatness. Twila with her ascension into becoming an all-folk, Lewlin for his advanced ability to lead and plan battles on-par with Luna herself. Though their expertise lay away from one-another, when they worked together, there was no puzzle they couldn’t solve.

Knocking at the door, Celestia had clearly startled the man; he had already rose, a spell gathering strength in his hand, until he saw who it was. The princess offered a friendly wave to him in response to the brief fright. Raising a brow, he walked over to the cable-car’s door and tugged it open, letting Celestia step in.

“Odd place for an evening stroll,” Lewlin commented after shutting the door behind her.

“Can you think of one place aside from the castle that isn’t odd for a princess to be in?” Celestia countered, taking a seat.

“Point taken.”

Lew returned to his seat and relaxed a hair, tilting his head back in thought.

“What brings you to Camelot?” Celestia questioned, “Weren’t you traveling with the guard to France?”

“My division departs in three day’s time. Twila requested to see me tonight. She said it was urgent.”

“Twila’s here?” Celestia asked, surprise on her face. “She never said she would be.”

“You know how she is. All those lists, but forgets about the people aspect. It probably slipped her mind. In between the news of her responsibilities.”

“You seem nonplussed by the news,” Celestia remarked. Lew shrugged.

“I expected her to reign eventually, your highness. It was just a matter of time. At least this way she can maybe work out the kinks that come with commanding the country.”

“And do you suppose that’s why she requested your presence?”

He shook his head. “I think it’s several factors, your highness. Tension over her upcoming trial, wanting to visit with me. And I hear rumor that she might have found a boyfriend. She has a lot to talk about.”

Celestia bridged her fingers together. After a minute, the all-folk smiled. “Did she say much on the matter of a boyfriend?”

Lewlin once again gave a shake of his head. “Nope. But it’s a big brother thing. I can tell. Just the way she spoke to me over the phone.” Giving a cheery smile, he brushed his hair back, the loose ponytail he held leaving a few errant strands free to form around his face. “He better just make sure that he doesn’t hurt her. You might not know, Celestia, but big brothers are the protective type.”

“I can imagine.” Looking out to the night sky, her smile slowly faded. “I’m sure he’ll do his best with her, if what you say is true. Twila’s quite the special woman. Whoever has her would be a lucky person indeed.”

“Damn right she is. And they better treat her with respect.”

“I’m sure with time they will.”

Departures

A few days later, the group traveled to the coast, to the lively port-town of Baltimore. As Twila stepped off the train and onto the station, she offered a smile to the others as she inhaled the salty sea air and raised her arms around her, gesturing to the area around them.

“Gorgeous. It’s a shame we all can’t spend some time together here,” Twila said, putting a hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun and catching sight of seagulls flying lazily towards the town’s docks in the distant lowlands below the hill they stood on, shops and stalls lining the downward slope down the entire street. People came and went into the buildings and the low rumble of conversation echoed throughout town. From their vantage point on the hill they could see, splitting off the main road, a residential district to their left, and a park to their right.

Celestia approached the newly crowned all-folk, her smile growing with every step deeper into the oceanside city.

“Twila,” she addressed, “Does the town hold up to your memories?”

“I think a lot has changed, like with any big city,” she answered, looking at various new shops and buildings that had been erected. “But, as with the best places, it’s still got it’s old charm to it. But maybe that’s just me being nostalgic.”

“It might inspire you to alter your Dreamscape a bit,” Celestia offered. “Though it’s lovely as it is. I should visit it again some time.”

Dreamscapes. A world within the minds of soul-folk and all-folk that could be visited with a simple amount of concentration, each one built and modified by the owner’s will. It was lucid dreaming taken to the next level; it allowed Twila to practice devastating magic with no fear of destroying the area around her and, when she entered the study she had created, she had access to thousands of tomes of spells, all sorted by name and effect, all accessible within a moment’s meditation. It was her place. Well, usually. There were ways for guests to arrive if the owner allowed them entry. Celestia was on the very short list of people that could do just that.

“My door’s always open,” Twila quipped at the woman. “Well, the metaphorical one anyway.”

“Always good to hear. Perhaps I’ll take you up on that offer at some point.”

“Though… seeing you in person is nice too.”

She held her hand out to Celestia, after a moment, the Daywalker took it, but her focus turned first to Spike, then to Jack and Rarity.

“Until everything is resolved, we should keep this low-key,” Celestia remarked, still not meeting Twila’s eyes.

“I understand. We don’t want to appear vulnerable to potential enemies.”

Celestia smiled, squeezing the woman’s hand. “I knew you would need no explanation.”

They stopped as a horse-drawn carriage cut across the road, with several others following it. The decorations at the side and lavish coloration told Celestia it was the mayor of the town and, if they had any time, Celestia would have liked to visit with her. Sadly, time was a resource they lacked at the moment, so, as the group continued downward, the Daywalker looked towards Twila, who promptly began to speak again.

“It’s fine,” Twila answered with a shrug. “It would be a distraction, when there’s so much more I need to focus on right now, and some worries I have in my thoughts.”

Celestia made a guess. “If it’s about Spike, we’ll keep him as safe as we can.”

“How can I be sure of that if I’m not there?” Twila asked, almost a demand.

“I’m there,” she replied instantly as they came to the docks proper. As she expected, a selection of Cabello’s finest warriors stood at the large open gates of the port-town, verifying a long line of passengers waiting to get into the city. On seeing the ruler of the lands, they offered a quick salute, which Celestia promptly returned as they passed by.
“I’ll die before a strand of hair is touched on his head,” Celestia added, her humorous smile gone for the moment as she said the words.

Twila held Celestia’s hand a bit tighter. “That’s not really a good compromise either…”

“It’s the best I can offer.” She looked over at the other girls and Spike. “They’re my responsibility.”

“Maybe you can save his skin. That I’m worried about, although with you it’ll be less likely that…” She swallowed grimly. “But what about his mind? It’ll be the first time he’ll be away from me for any extended amount of time. And on a whole other continent at that!”

Celestia put her free hand to her hip. “There was someone about ten years ago that was in a similar situation to your own.” She waited for a moment then, with a small smile, continued, “Do you not remember when you went to London with your family?”

“Yes, I recall it fondly,” Twila said, lightening up just a little. But then a confused frown appeared. “Spike was with me at the time.”

“But I wasn’t.” Celestia’s smile widened. “Do you understand?”

“Not really,” Twila deconfirmed. “I had my family around me at the time and we were on vacation. Not some sort of monster hunt.”

“I was still a bundle of nerves. I had hundreds of scenarios play through my head of your ship sinking, of pirates, of a sort of attack on England. And you know what happened? You made it back home to me.”

“Hopefully the tea I gave to you calmed your nerves a bit,” Twila said, no longer looking so stern.

“Seeing you and your family safe and sound calmed my nerves far more.”

“Oh, I know it did. I just hoped you liked the gift I sent you,” she replied.

The all-folk nodded. “I liked it very well. Honey tea was always a favorite of mine.”

“Good. I don’t expect you to bring me back anything except him home safely. Please,” she stressed.

Celestia reached towards the girl, cupping Twila’s chin. “Without a scratch,” she promised.

“Thank you,” Twila said sincerely, giving Celestia a smile and then turning away. Going over to Spike, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah. I think,” he answered. “I’m a little nervous, but…” He gave a scratch to his cheek. “I’m in good hands. It’ll be like a vacation for me and Pinkie at least.”

“A vacation?” Twila’s brow furrowed, as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not sure that’s the best mindset to be having when you go into this. This is serious, Spike.”

“If I think about how serious it is, I get nervous. I think Diane’s got the right idea. Just kind of bounce and sing your way through all of it.”

“Diane’s always been… different,” Twila said, after a calculated pause.

“You’re one to talk on different,” Spike countered. “Or does everyone become an all-folk overnight?”

Twila let out a deep sigh, rubbing her forehead with her index and middle finger; a tried and tested motion for the girl. “I didn’t exactly want to become an all-folk. But that’s not what I really meant, anyway. Pinkie’s on a different level from all of us.”

“Well, it’s a level I can appreciate.” He grinned. “I know it helps me from getting down, at least.”

“Just…” Twila pulled the boy into an embrace. “Be careful. Please,” she pleaded.

He instantly returned the hug, clenching her tightly against him. “Yeah. That’s my line. Don’t get hurt while I’m gone, ok?”

“How am I going to get hurt?” Twila asked, chuckling to herself. “Get a nasty paper cut on my thumb whilst looking through royal documents?”

“Well… you’re close to a lot of people, Twila. Someone targeting you instead of Celestia or Luna?” He gave a quick wave of his hands. “B-but maybe it’ll be nothing. I just know someone has to worry about you.”

“Everyone who’s staying here can do that. You need to focus on being careful, okay? And I want to say…” She stopped, kneeling down so she was face level with Spike. “I’m proud of you, Spike. You’ve grown up so much lately, turning into such a smart, kind young man. Diane’s lucky to have you.”

Spike’s smile widened. He shook his head, looking away from her. “You know how to make a guy tear up, don’t you?” Finally meeting her again, he added, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I know.”

“Sooner we set out, sooner we get back, y’all,” Jack said.

“She’s right,” Rarity agreed. “Delaying it will only delay our return.”

Rarity first offered her hand, then decided instead to embrace the woman.

“Do try and be careful, dear. I can only imagine what could happen to you.”

Twila let out a small laugh, accepting the hug. “Don’t worry, Rarity. It’s not like I’ll be doing anything exciting.”

Jack stepped forward next, giving a light slap to Twila’s shoulder.

“That don’t mean we ain’t gonna worry. Jus’ how we are.”

“You big softie,” Twila said, moving to give the giant woman a hug.

Rarity and Jack broke away from her and began towards the ship without another word, prompting a look between Spike and Pinkie.

“Man, they’re so business I’m surprised they don’t have a pocketful of cards,” Pinkie said.

“But Rarity does,” Spike countered, scratching at his chin. “We had to ship a stack of fifty cards just two weeks ago.”

Pinkie reached for Twila, giving her one last hug, then skipped up the plank leading to the ship’s side.

Spike did the same, then chased after Pinkie, leaving Celestia and her student standing together.

“There is going to be a world leader meeting in two weeks. I suppose I’ll see you then,” Celestia said. Twila blinked.

“Uh, you will?” she asked. The Daywalker paused.

“Oh, that’s right. I suppose you’ve never seen them, seeing as how I tended to assign you tasks during the events. Well, a courier will be sending you a message with the exact time, but you’ll know for certain when we’re ready for you, trust me.”

“I do.”

Celestia laughed, patting Twila’s hand. “Get some rest where you can. I don’t want you overexerting yourself.”

“Of course.” She warmly smiled. “See you soon.”

“I’ll be back before you miss me.”

Jack leaned against the bulwark of the ship, watching as the last traces of the continent were swallowed up by the red, sparkling tide of the evening sunset.

“Surely you’ve heard the expression, ‘red at night, sailor’s delight?’” Rarity asked, approaching and joining her partner as Jack took in the view.

“An’ I see why. It’s pretty,” Jack said.

Rarity closed her eyes, sniffing the air in appreciation. Jack felt the ship rock a bit stronger under her feet and briefly felt her legs tremble under her, but stood tall again in moments.

“Wasn’t expectin’ anythin’ like this a few days back.”

“It came as quite the surprise,” the tailor agreed. Leaning against the bulwark as well, she sighed. “I’m already dreading the catch-up I’ll have to do for my clients.”

“At least there’s Pommel ta give a hand.”

“Mmm. In theory. But she’s still learning. Any sort of advance designs I’d wish to handle personally.” She crossed her arms. “Did you have any reservations?”

“Headin’ away from the farm fer this? Always do. But if ya got a job, ya work it.”

Rarity shook her head. “No. I already knew of your feelings on that, Jack. Rather, I mean what we’re doing for Celestia.”

At that Jack raised a brow. Another wave rocked the boat and she stumbled a bit, still unadjusted to the motion. “What ya mean by that?”

“What else? The grail. Do you think this is the right thing to do?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? It’s Celestia. Somethin’ like that fer her? Makes sense in my book, sug.”

Rarity gave an unsure look towards Jack. “What makes her deserve something like that?”

The earth-folk paused, her mouth open and her head tilted.

“Humor me,” Rarity encouraged with a gesture of her hand.

With a world-weary roll of her eyes, Jack obliged. “She’s the leader of Cabello,” the farmer flatly said.

Rarity shook her head. “You of all people would not simply be satisfied with a title, no matter how grand. Humor me.”

“Alright, alright.” Jack narrowed her brow in concentration. “She’s an all-folk, so she knows her stuff, would know how ta use somethin’ like the grail ta help people.”

“Or effectively hinder them,” Rarity countered.

“What are ya gettin’ at?” Jack suspiciously asked.

“That she’s human, Jack.” Rarity shook her head. “And humans make mistakes, do we not? Does the thought of giving something so potent, so powerful, to a person not frighten you?”

“Not if it’s her, sug. When has she ever let anyone down?”

“She hasn’t. Yet.” Rarity crossed her arms. “And perhaps she never will. But she, as you said, is an all-folk. She’ll have quite a few years to do just that.”

Rubbing her face, Jack sighed again. “What, then? Should I not have helped?”

Rarity half-smiled. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s far from an easy decision.”

“If there’s one woman in the world I’d want usin’ it, it’d be her. Besides,” Jack continued, “Figured you of all people would be thrilled ‘bout this.”

“How so?”

“She goes through with this, gets the grail? Ya know how easy she could stop monster attacks? How quick bandits would stop messin’ with folk under her care?” She moved close to the tailor, putting a hand at Rarity’s neck. “How I wouldn’t need ta be away anymore? Yer smart. Smarter than me. Ya gotta know this.”

“There might be a cost to that, Jack,” Rarity replied, neither embracing nor pushing Jack away.

“‘Might,’” Jack repeated.

“Do you wish to gamble our child’s future on a maybe?” she questioned, crossing her arms.

“Come on, now. That ain’t fair,” Jack disagreed, no heat behind her tone. “If we didn’t take chances on maybe, well, life wouldn’t be near as good as it is now.”

Rarity sighed, leaning into the farmer. “I know, darling. And that’s why I’m so divided regarding the whole thing. I understand the positives, but if the worst happens, then who could stop her? Certainly not you or I. Perhaps not even Twila or Luna.”

“We’re jus’ gonna have ta trust her. Trust that she knows better than us. It’s all we can do.”

“And that’s what frightens me about it.” Staring at the ocean, Rarity frowned. “It was easier when we were dealing simply with Dmitri, was it not? Someone we could simply hate.”

“It was easier when we didn’t have ta fight anythin’ at all. Celestia’s not the bad guy here, Rare. Ya know that.”

“I do,” Rarity agreed. “But if she does gain that power...”

“Then that means she’ll be able to protect the country from anythin’ that gets thrown its way.”

Rarity stared out into the ocean. “I do not think we need something like that, Jack. I wish you’d understand that...” She looked down at her hands on the railing of the ship, seeming to want to add more.

“Talk, sug.”

“That people, magic or no, we can do extraordinary things. You yourself proved that. I firmly believe that faith moves mountains, darling, but, well, I don’t see God coming down to help us shovel the things we could do on our own.”

Jack exhaled. “I don’t get ya sometimes, Rare. While back ya didn’t want me anywhere near this kinda thing. Now yer jus’ bout encouraging it.”

“Because we’re strong. Together. I don’t want you to be alone during this.”

Jack looked at her. Though she had always respected Rarity, it was things like this that made her respect her even more. She let a small, grateful smile cross her lips and she pulled in Rarity close.

“Yer the most stubborn thing I’ve ever met.”

Looking towards the water, a small quirk of a smile came to Rarity. “Well, if you’re surrounded by mules, eventually you pick up a trait or two from them.”

The swaying of the boat, while an unfamiliar sensation, felt strangely cozy to Pinkie. She lay there in bed, awake even if her eyes were closed. Her arm hung lazily off the side, moving with the boat’s gentle motions. If she didn’t have anything to do today, she could’ve stayed in there forever. But people were wanting to see her, no doubt.

Plus her stomach was grumbling way too loudly.

Forcing herself up with a grunt, she sat at the end of her bed, rubbing her eyes. Flicking all that nasty sleep out of her eyes, she stood up and did the morning ritual of a yawn stretch. Shaking her arms loosely afterward, she stepped over to her wardrobe.

Opening it up, she tossed some clothes out and stripped herself of her sleeping ones. Spike wasn’t present in the room so she took her time with it. She slipped on her underwear just fine, yet when it came to her shorts…

“Huh?” She tugged up at them, the fabric stretching around her waist, barely being able to get around it. “Uh oh.”

She left them be, the buttons undone so she didn’t feel so constricted. She put on a plain white shirt, which was to be accompanied by pink suspenders. The article of clothing, however, started to stretch as Pinkie attempted to pull it down over her belly.

“No!” she panicked, tugging at the shirt. It didn’t budge further. “No no no!” She poked at her stomach, her belly button fully visible.

Clenching her fists, she zoomed over to the mirror and checked herself in the full. Waist fully exposed, her clothes at their limit, she could only come to one conclusion:

“I’m getting tubby!” she wailed, falling onto her bare knees.

A knock came at her door. “You ok in there?” Spike asked. “Breakfast should be served soon.”

“I don’t want it!” Pinkie cried out.

“You always want it! What’s wrong?”

There was a silence . Before Spike could move or repeat the question, there came three words.

“I’m getting fat!” Pinkie shouted

“Why do you say that?” he asked, stepping into the room. Pinkie pulled her shirt down lower, trying to cover her gut.

“Just look!” she exclaimed, pulling down yet again on the shirt in a desperate attempt to cover more of her body. “They don’t fit! My gut as run amuck!”

There came the faintest quirk of a smile at Spike’s lips before he let it die.

“Maybe you should take a look at your shirt tags?” Spike offered, doing his best to look innocent.

“How is that gonna help?!” she snapped, flailing her arms in the air.

“Trust me,” he encouraged, leaning back a bit from her hands.

“Fine…” Pinkie grumbled, putting an end to her flailing about and adjusting her shirt so she could see the tag. Upon reading it, she narrowed her eyes. “Wait a minute… this is two sizes too small…”

“Gotcha,” Spike said, grinning widely. “Way you were acting, I thought you were Rarity for a second.”

Pinkie’s head snapped instantly towards Spike, a vicious glare coming his way. “Spike. What did you do?”

“Swapped some of your clothes with a smaller size when we packed—Don’t worry, got your actual sizes back in my cabin. Though about doing the underwear too, but figured I’d play nice.”

Pinkie continued to leer at him, silent. Spike finally gave a nervous chuckle.

“What? I thought it was a good one.”

Without warning, she suddenly leaped towards Spike, tackling him down to the ground in a hug, giggling and ruffling his hair vigorously. “It sure was a good one! A doozie, in fact!”

“See? I got a few cards up my sleeve. This little challenge’ll be a cinch!”

“Just you wait, mister. You’ll get yours just yet,” Pinkie warned, standing up. Grunting and shuffling uncomfortably, she looked down at Spike was a pained expression. “Can I have my normal clothes back now? I’m starting to chafe real bad.”

“Sure. I’ll get them.” He stared at her, coyly grinning. “First I think you should take those off, though.”

“Has this been your plan from the start?” Pinkie asked, although she took off her shirt and threw it at Spike’s head regardless.

Pulling the clothes off, he offered an even wider grin in response. “Maybe.”

“Well, I think your next plan should be getting me some breakfast. I think I’ve earned it after that scare you put me through,” she lamented, putting on her best pout.

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. “Guess you earned a little treat from me.”
He turned, and, once the door shut behind him, Pinkie gave an easy shrug to herself.

“Like candy from a baby,” Pinkie said, grinning.

Spike quickly made his way across the ship, traveling by the railings until he got near the stern. Entering a door, he came to a well to do mess hall and, after moving past a few sailors, he went down a small set of stairs and into a kitchen.

“Let’s see... “ Spike said to himself, looking at the refrigerator. “Ham. Pancakes. A glass of milk. That sounds about right.”

A set of footsteps came from behind him as he finished frying up the ham and flipping the last pancake onto a plate.

“Early to rise?” said an amused voice. “I thought without Twila to keep your schedule, you would have had more rest.”

Spike smiled at the playful tone and turned, looking up at Celestia as he finished putting a small drizzle of chocolate sauce onto the pile of pancakes. “Normally I’d get up at the crack of noon.” Shrugging, he offered a small glance to her eyes. “Just thinking, I guess.”

“I suspected as much,” Celestia said, giving a tug to the golden cuffs of her white robe. “This can’t be an easy experience for you.”

“I’m not scared,” he blurted out. “I just couldn’t sleep last night. So... that’s why I’m up.”

The all-folk raised an eyebrow. “It is always better to face your issues head on, than to try and bury them away within you.”

“... Maybe it’s a little weird,” Spike admitted with a sigh. “I mean, I’ve stayed away from Twila longer than this—she did have that week in the girl scouts—but… every hour puts a lot more ocean between us.”

Celestia nodded. “The pain of separation is never an easy one, I know that much. But what if I told you to perhaps view this as an opportunity for the both of you?”

“I’d say I don’t know how it is. But you’ve been around a lot long longer than Twila or me.”

“Indeed. And in my view, I see this as a chance for the two of you to grow into your own.” A hint of a grin appeared on her lips as she said, “You’ve always wanted to grow up, haven’t you?”

“Grow up or... “ He thought for a moment. “Keep up, at least. I don’t ever want to be worthless, I guess.”

“You shouldn’t judge your worth on the expectations of others, Spike,” Celestia gently reminded.

“Still feels nice being useful. Isn’t that part of the reason we’re all traveling? So you can help the country more?” He rubbed an earlobe. “And Twila too now, I guess.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, solemn.

“It’d help out a lot. The Grail.” Spike smiled. “So it’s a good call, us all heading across the sea.”

“As I said, it’s an opportunity. For all of us.” Celestia grabbed a white mug, then went over to the coffee machine and made herself a quick brew. A sense of welcome relief became apparent as she took in a whiff of the smell.

“Still a javahead I see,” Spike remarked. “Ought to be careful. It can stunt your growth,” he lectured.

“For the average person, perhaps,” Celestia replied, hiding a smirk behind her mug as she took a sip. “Are the others awake?”

“Pinkie is,” he said, giving a small lift to his plate. “I’m doing a bit of maid service for—butler,” he flatly corrected. “Butler work for her.”

“Butler? I see.” Celestia barely managed to suppress a grin. “Well, I won’t be one to stop you from enjoying each other’s company. Cherish it whenever you can.”

“It’s hard not to enjoy it. She knows how to make everything a bit of a party.” He grinned. “It’s risky to open my sock drawers even. Scared confetti will pop out.”

“I admit, she is one force of nature I will never try to understand or control. But she means well and the world would be a much darker place without her,” she replied, holding her mug with both hands.

Spike nodded in agreement. “I agree. Girls like her are what the world needs more of. More of her smile, her voice, I wouldn’t mind more of her brea—” He caught himself, remembering who he was talking to. “I wouldn’t mind more of everything she had,” Spike finished instead.

“Well I won’t keep you,” Celestia said. She looked over at Spike, grinning devilishly. “I only ask you try to keep the noise down.”

Heat flooded his face; he nodded and sharply turned, heading out and back to Diane’s quarters.

Celestia watched him go with a smile, grateful that Diane was serving as his mentor in his current walk of life. She had a way about her that was both childish and, at the same time, mature. They had the makings of a good pair, as long as things continued as they were. In fact, in some ways, they complemented one-another almost as much as Jack and Rarity.

Thinking of the two reminded her of her upcoming duties for the world’s meeting and she polished off her coffee and headed back to her quarters. It would do no good to anyone if Jack and Rarity were the only ones prepared for the coming days.

Jack let out a stifled grunt, gagging. She clutched the rim of the toilet bowl with trembling hands, sweat pouring down her face. Spitting into the water, she took a breath to steady herself.

“Are you alright now?” Rarity asked from behind the woman.

“Give me another sec. I think.” She shook her head.

“If you’re through vomiting, I’d prefer to let go of your hair and get away from it.” Grimacing, she looked away from the bowl.

“I dunno what happened. Was feelin’ jus’ fine before we left shore.” She spat again, feeling miserable all the way into her bones.

“Do you get seasick?”

“I dunno. I never been on the ocean bef—” Jack stopped midway through the sentence, leaning farther into the rim of the toilet and letting out wet gag.

“Don’t you dare get it on my feet!” Rarity squealed in alarm.

Storms

The meeting with the order came in the painfully early morning as Celestia watched the sun barely peek over the choppy sea water thrashing against the ship’s hull. Taking in the clouds in the far-off horizon, she could tell something was coming.

It wasn’t here, yet, but whatever it was made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

You’re being paranoid, she thought to herself, clasping her hands behind her back as she looked out the porthole then paced towards the center of the room.

A part of her agreed. The other part of her knew better than to doubt her sense. She had survived the Crusades as a pre-teen thanks to her instincts, had survived the Three-Tribe conflicts and Griffon Wars due to much the same. So she kept the encroaching menace in mind, but did not let its thought consume her. Rather, she took a seat in the middle of the room, cross-legged, and concentrated.

The waters brushing the ship were in-time with her breathing and each slap against the boat dulled the world around her. The light from the windows was muted as she concentrated, drawing her breath in and out.

The groaning protests of the ship turned to whispers as she focused, simply breathing.

In. Out.

The conversations out on deck she heard with crystal clearness vanished, becoming the protests of ghosts.

In. Out.

In came the sound of silence. Out came her worries and reservations as she entered her Dreamscape.

Like usual when she entered the world that lived within her mind, she was greeted by the sound of roaring water.

Like usual, she took in a breath of crisp mountain air and took stock of the waterfall she stood near, its waves tumbling down the precipice of the mountain she stood on and crashing majestically into the lake before.

A normal travel into her Dreamscape would entail a march across the mountains and to the forests below, or stripping nude and meditating underneath the icy waters, or, on rarer occasions, trying her hand at painting the noble and majestic scenery before her.

But, this was not a normal trip to her respite from the kingdom’s rule. So she pulled herself away from her normal Dreamscape—it vanished in the literal blink of an eye and easy gesture of her hand—and left her world a white, featureless void.

Channeling her innate power, she breathed life to the empty land, creating a wide oval table surrounded by chairs. Around this came a room. Windows popped into existence, bathing the area in the gentle glow of sunset over a field as soon as the vague concept poured into her. Once finished with this, she created a few dim overhead lights to complete the glow. There was now light.

And it was good.

Finished with this, she glanced across the barren room and with her will, created paintings tucked away in beautiful wooden frames. Replicas of everything from Matthias Grünewald to Raja Ravi Varma and even a copy of Cabello’s own Thomas Sully. Though the last one she briefly reconsidered; she loved his work, but the picture she subconsciously chose to present was of her father, standing tall astride his horse as he guided refugees to nearby Camelot.

Though, with that being ancient history, even before the Three-tribe conflict, most wouldn’t see it as a slight. Hopefully.

It seemed strange to her, being host for the world council, considering how young Cabello was compared to many of the lands, but her grasp on magic was the most potent out of all the leaders of the civilized world, so there was little argument over this matter of convenience. Entering the Dreamscape was far easier than a physical gathering of the leaders, and as such, her world worked on being neutral ground.

Granted, actual signings of bills, treaties, and laws remained right where they should be: in the physical realm. Convenience regarding discussion was all well and good, but Celestia felt the Dreamscape meetings should never outright replace physical encounters in front of the physical public.

A part of her considered conjuring a butler to allow the leaders the opportunity for a drink, but she decided against it.

Seeing no reason to delay any farther, she put a finger to her temple and concentrated, envisioning her sister’s milky, pale skin and deep blue eyes.

Luna, she thought.

As she knew from being on the receiving end on more than one occasion, Luna would of heard that, sounding exactly like Celestia whispered her name.

It was a technique very few had mastered despite its seeming simplicity, mainly due to the immense magical reserves it took to not only cast magic from the Dreamscape onto the physical world, but to project it as a sort of beacon to the target, allowing them access to the individual’s Dreamscape. Many couldn’t manage even one step, let alone two.

A thrum filled the room and a pinprick of a black dot appeared on the far wall. It grew and widened, first to be a baseball, then to a beachball, finally stopping at Celestia’s shoulder. From the ball of summoned energy came a gauntleted hand, then after it pulled its way through, a boot. Finally, the Nightwalker herself, Luna, appeared, giving a dust off her pauldrons, then pulling the dark, starry hair she wore behind her back forward, free from the portal’s grasp.

Celestia was hardly surprised at the full plate Luna wore. Luna had always favored practical apparel that rewarded you for planning ahead. Celestia herself was more of a fan of comfort when she wasn’t heading into combat.

“Hail, sister,” Luna addressed, kneeling in front of Celestia.

“Arise,” Celestia automatically replied. Though she was grateful that Luna had finally began to assist her in diplomatic affairs, it being less of a leader’s role and more of a personal knight to Celestia was less than stellar, especially considering that it was the Dreamscape. Unless you channeled yourself into dangerous situations, lost control over what you wished to appear, you would have to be foolish to die here.

Didn’t stop Twila, she thought.

Though she didn’t have the opportunity to save her most faithful and true student in her hour of need, only being there to protect and nurture Twila’s body back to health, Luna’s explanation of what occurred was enough to let Celestia know that it was serious.

Luna rose from her kneel, looking expectantly at Celestia.

“How doth thine travel fare, dear bloodkin?”

The elder gave a wink. “Well, aside from the lack of our personal chef at Camelot, I’d wager it’s better than the mornings at the throneroom by a large margin.”

Laughing, Luna gave a genuine smile that spread over her beautiful porcelain face like a warm fire, a stark contrast to the dark and grim armor covering her body.

“Mine apologies, Celestia. T’would seem I afflicted thee with a curse of mine own wanderlust.”

“No curse, Luna. I’ve always appreciated the road. I just prefer to be where I can be readily found when the country has a need.”

“A more proactive role of finding problems before they escalate would be more ideal,” Luna said.

Celestia raised a brow. “Why do you think I travel to Scandinavia?”

“Point taken.”

Once more putting a finger to her temple, Celestia mentally called forth another name.

In short order, two entered through a portal; a young woman with almond eyes and ebony-black hair. The other was at her arm—a wizened, decrepit old man with a horrifically lined face that showed his years.

Even then, Celestia knew the wrinkles and sagged face didn’t show all the years under his belt.

He walked to the table and after a long moment of adjusting his trembling and failing body, he sat. The young woman obediently sat beside him, saying nothing and lowering her head, seeming to tune out the world around her.

Luna moved first, turning to face the man she performed an action she would not do for anyone else at the meeting, save for her sister and Twila: she dropped to her knees then bowed, tapping her forehead to the ground. Celestia smiled, then mirrored Luna’s action.

A mere five or ten years previous and Celestia knew the man before them would have done the very same to both of them. Now, however, all his strength allowed was a stiff bow of his head to the two of them.

“Well met, Nobunaga,” Luna addressed.

Nobunaga, leader and unifier of the Japanese tribe and the man responsible for Japan not being a part of China. But, despite those deeds, the one Celestia respected most was that he was one of, if not the last living non-all-folk that had fought in the Crusades—a war so severe, urgent and necessary that it brought, albeit briefly, unification to the world’s religions and erased country borders in order to forge a joint army against an onslaught of hellish devils and monsters from the icy north, lead by a mysterious man named Tirek.

The losses that man’s own ruthlessness caused were impossible to describe. Friends, family, partners, they died and their bodies were buried in mass graves—there was no time for individual ones. Celestia still remembered having to help with disposal, due to having more skill in medical arts: one of the few actually effective ways to fight the spread of war diseases and poxes that came with handling improperly cleansed bodies—but their sacrifices were not in vain. Celestia herself had watched from her position of a platoon of archers as her father Arthur Pendragon, his honest and most dependable ally Lancelot at his side, alongside Richard the Lionhearted and Nobunaga lead a successful charge against Tirek and the fleet that acted as his personal guard. Though only vaguely out of her childhood and the faint grasping of adolescence, Celestia still vividly remembered Richard hoisting the wicked man’s dead body and throwing it into the ocean.

“The child of night and light meet once again,” Nobunaga said, the strange accent of the Asian tribes guiding his every word. Though his body had been ravaged—decimated—by time, his voice remained almost as strong as the days of that bloody conflict, and his mind still was as powerful as Norfolk steel.

“I’m sorry if we interrupted anything. Scheduling for everyone is, obviously, difficult,” Celestia said to the man. Nobunaga smiled.

“I was simply visiting with one of my descendants over tea.” He reached over, giving the girl at his side a weak squeeze. She opened her eyes, being drawn back to the conversation. “No need to remain a mute observer, Oda.”

“Emperor Nobu—” she began.

“Grandpa,” he corrected. “Though technically you should add a few ‘greats’ there.”

“Grandpa.” She looked across the room. “This is a private meeting. I’m only here to allow you entrance into the Dreamscape.”

The downside of Dreamscape meetings. An earth-folk or sky-folk couldn’t enter them without assistance from a soul-folk. This meant physical contact in the real world in order to be summoned into this realm.

“The meeting has not started yet, child. This is a moment of rest before a necessary and laborious chore.”

“Chore indeed,” Luna complained to herself.

Nobunaga chucked. “Still as curt and honest as ever, Pendragon. I hope your child is much the same.”

“Someday we’ll see,” she replied.

He turned to face the Daywalker, his brow raised in an almost comedic fashion. “And for the elder?”

Celestia tilted her head, smiling as she thought of what Twila’s reaction would be to the question.

“Perhaps a few years down the road. You know I don’t have enough time to properly raise a child,” the all-folk answered.

“No,” he agreed. “Rather you have to spend time and babysit a group of adults, yes?”

She chuckled. “In a few moments, I suppose that’s true.”

“Well, consider the idea. I would like to see one last Pendragon enter the world before my tale ends.”

“Thine constitution matches mine William’s. Thou hath many days and stories ahead,” Luna chimed in.

“I suppose we’ll see.” He took in a breath, preparing himself.

Celestia continued the motion she had previously; putting a hand to her temple and bringing forward someone else. From the portal this time came Twila who, as Celestia all but expected took a deep, invested stock of the paintings along the walls before even approaching the group.

The all-folk paused as she took stock of Twila.

The girl seemed distant. Not emotionally, but physically. Distorted, small flickers made her appearance translucent, static-filled, rather than flesh incarnate.

“Are you alright?” Celestia questioned her former student. Twila flinched, then offered a nervous chuckle.

“Better than ever!” she remarked with false enthusiasm.

“Are you sure? The castle life isn’t boring you any?”

“Castle?” Twila repeated, then jumped a hair. “Oh, right! Castle! T-the castle I’m staying in. Right now. While we’re talking.”

Celestia looked plainly over at Twila for a long, drawn-out moment.

“I’m at Innscraft!” she blurted out in a panic.

“She wanted to aid our group. In part due to her representing thine chair, I was obligated to follow her orders,” Luna explained. “I take full responsibility.”

“In part. What was the other part of your reason, sister?” Celestia questioned.

“I understand her wish to help an issue personally. T’would be abhorrent, leaving a personal friend to a fate such as that.”

“What of the throne? Is it held?” The all-folk put her hands behind her back, her pose rigid and unflinching as she measured the two. She had expected Twila to step away from the throne, even if for a bit, and had assumed the questioned she asked would have a reasonable answer, but had to make sure that Twila had taken necessary steps.

“My brother Lewlin Shields sits at the throne. You won’t find a better man for the job.”

Celestia nodded. “Acceptable answer.” She tilted her head. “But that doesn’t explain why I see Luna just fine, but you…”

“I’m at a cafe with Chylene. There’s interference—I think there’s some lead in the roof.”

“Lead?” Celestia repeated.

Lead in most buildings made no sense. It acted like a magic dampener, fizzling out weaker spells and fatiguing most soul-folk that went near.

“I don’t know why,” Twila answered. She pushed up her glasses. “But I’m going to do my best to find out.”

“Well, be careful.” Celestia’s brow arched in concern. “If something is amiss, summon Luna or Will at once.”

“Of course.” She nodded. After a beat, she smiled gently across the table. “You be careful too.”

“Though I am glad thine two had a moment together, I would rather we press on,” Luna admitted.

“You’re right. Pardon me.” Celestia gave a small, apologetic bow.

Putting her finger to her temple, Celestia called down more to her, hailing from all walks of life. The French, the Germans, Italian, Swiss, Chinese, even a representative from the southern continent, Macon. Dozens more arrived until there wasn’t a free seat in the house.

They spoke amongst one-another, some in the common English tongue, others in their native speak. Though Celestia knew many languages from her many years of life, she still wished she recalled the Babel spell taught to her by Merlin the Bearded centuries ago, if only to see if the foreign words were directed at her.

Seeing no other reason to stall, she cleared her throat. All eyes fell onto her at the action, most with a quiet admiration or respect. A few, either from their limited time speaking to the all-folk or those that had found themselves on the wrong end of Excalibur, with trepidation.

“A good morning for many and a good evening for others,” she addressed, giving a polite bow to the congregation. “We have many matters to attend to, the most pressing, of course, is the assassination of two dear members of the council: King Frederik and President Napoleon. Our prayers go to their families and subjects and I ask that you join me for a moment of silence.”

The all-folk bowed her head and the others around the room followed suit. She wasn’t the most religious—she believed something was after death, but had always thought the answer wouldn’t be found while her feet still walked the earth—she didn’t wholly believe in Jesus or the God Jack, Rarity or, as she was surprised to find out, Luna, did. Nor did she agree with her student's thought of this life being the end. That was a foolish stance in and of itself to her, but she would never state her view that bluntly to Twila.

With the moment passed, she rose her head as the others did the same.

“I suppose we discuss now what their death entails,” Celestia said.

“It entails questions,” a young man said, rising to his feet to look at Celestia. It took a moment to put a name with a face, but when Celestia did she nodded, satisfied with the knight before her.

“William Marshall, second-in-command of England’s army. How does my father’s homeland fair?”

“For now she’s healthy. For now,” he repeated. “Though I fear for how long, if our mysterious assassin targets my liege.”

“And just where is your liege, whelp?” a portly man with a beard questioned. Celestia gave a warning glare to the man, which he pointedly ignored.

Marshall brushed his brown hair behind his ears. “That’s hardly relevant, Mir Mehrab. You—”

Mehrab laughed. “Or maybe he sent a boy in his place so we wouldn’t see the guilt on his face.”

The knight grit his teeth, his eyes sparked with anger.

“What?” Marshall growled out. Mir Mehrab shrugged.

“Disrupt the two warring countries with a tragedy, sweep in and take them while distracted and put them under your banner. Whoever did the killing must of been worth a pretty bit of coin, allowing such an expansion of your country.”

Marshall reached to his side, grasping the scabbard of a broadsword.

“Quell thine temper, William Marshall,” Luna addressed, her tone even, but warning. “Though I share thine contempt of the man, thou shalt treat mine sister’s land as if the hallowed ground of a church. Am I clear?”

His hand rested on the scabbard of his saber for a long moment before letting out a tsk and letting his arms loosely hang at his side.

“There’s no need to upset our young friend, Mir Mehrab,” the new leader of the French, president Jacques-Charles Dupont, offered. “Considering it’s extremely possible a murder has an agent, be he mine or my German associate that took on the throne recently. The English, at least this time, are innocent.” He put a hand to his chin in thought. “My guess is an organization lying in wait for our country to be weakest, then they’ll spring forward into a coup d'etat, taking power for themselves.”

“That is indeed troubling if that’s the case,” Celestia agreed. “However, I have a theory that we’re being played by a third party, unassociated with any country.”

“A theory?” Mehrab repeated. “Or a fact? Why guard your words around us? Are we not good enough to hear the full truth?”

“Because I’m not sure of the complete story myself. One thing I’ve learned over the years is to not let go of a piece during a game of chess until you know for certain you’re satisfied with how things will turn out,” Celestia countered.

That was the truth, but, there was another piece she didn’t mention in the puzzle.

With a few exceptions, any face staring back at her could be involved in this, or even worse in her eye, be an unknowing accessory to who or whatever performed the murders. So she said nothing, keeping any thoughts on the matter to herself. The less they knew that she knew, the less the creature could know.

“I can promise after I return to the throne in Cabello, I’ll answer everything I need in order to appease you. Until then, facts need checking and answers need found.”

Looking down, she mentally checked off the list of conversations the council needed to have, then turned to face the ground once more. “Now, to put that matter to the side for a moment, we move on to economics. Alexous: I hear Byzantine has a few issues with debt to foreign powers…”

It took longer than Celestia cared for, but business with the council finally concluded after long hours of debate, proposals, and more than one remark of how the meetings were handled. Celestia’s answer was always the same on that last bit of information: if they didn’t like it, she be happy to let someone else try and host a meeting with that many people at once.
Finished, she finally left the Dreamscape and opened her eyes.

Though almost half a day had passed within the land of her mind, time moved far slower out in the real world. The hours of business within her had only came to about half-an hour real time. She rubbed her eyes in fatigue all the same and decided to get a cup of coffee in an attempt to wake up further.

As she stepped outside, Celestia froze.

That feeling struck her once again. That sense of wrongness of an impending disaster, the foreboding feeling sending such a wave of trepidation through her that she leaned back against the walls of the ship's cabin and sucked in a breath, sweating and trembling for a time until, finally, the storm within her quelled and she walked on shaky feet to continue her morning.

Later in the day, in the crimson glow of dusk, would come the real storm.

Craftsmanship

Rarity stood by the bow of the ship, taking in a moment to appreciate the beauty of the ocean, an action she had not been able to do for the past few days thanks to Jack.

Though, frankly, who doesn’t know they get seasick? she wondered with a roll of her eyes.

At least the earth-folk was asleep now—medicine she had kept down kept her down. Rarity hadn’t realized a side-effect of the pill Jack had swallowed included drowsiness—and with her traveling partner asleep, she took the time to herself to think, to plot to… to not roll her eyes at the sparse decorations of the ship. The bare-chested mermaid at the bow reinforced the tacky nature of the ship. They could've at least went with something more presentable. An eagle, perhaps? Or a swan? Perhaps a trout—well, if trout lived in saltwater. Taking a freshwater fish out into the ocean would be bad luck. Probably. One of the seamen they were traveling with said that women on a ship were bad luck in the first place, so perhaps a trout would make a terrible choice, doubling their misfortune.

Turning away from the decoration, she put her thoughts into what work needed to be done. The most obvious, of course, was to contact Ms. Pommel at the shop, check inventory with her and see if there were any orders that Rarity could work on while on the road, as it were. She didn’t take two suitcases worth of fabrics, dyes and gems for no reason, after all. Saving the world or not, one had to make time for their passion.

So, you’re saving the world, then? she questioned herself.

With no obvious answer at hand, Rarity sighed.

Celestia’s approach to keeping the peace, despite the woman’s virtuous heart, keen intelligence and impeccable fashion sense, was something Rarity disliked. Celestia was still a human being, and human beings made mistakes, even with the best, noblest intentions in mind. Jack was being obtuse about the situation, unable to see what the issue was with Celestia gaining power.

It was like Jack forgot all the laws she skirted, toyed with, or outright broke in order to protect her. If there was some person able to watch over everything, then Jack would be just as guilty in the eyes of the law as the instigators.

But would the situation have even happened if there had been someone like Celestia watching?

The thought gave her pause and she felt her lips tighten upon not having a clear-cut answer.

Leaning against the railing of the ship, Rarity frowned, frustrated. She was a proactive woman—one had to be if one had grand dreams, after all—and so the thoughts constantly battling within her like two stray mutts over a piece of meat was maddening with no outlet to express herself with.

Oh darling, she chided herself, you have an outlet for just such a thing.

That she did now, and she moved across the wooden deck of the ship and to the bedroom to do just that. Opening the door, she saw Jack, still in bed, the sheets thrown about across the floor from her tossing and turning in discontent, and still within a troubled sleep, judging by the grimace the earth-folk carried. Rarity put the back of her palm to Jack’s forehead.

No fever.

Pleased with this, Rarity rolled the blankets up over Jack’s body once more, then, after brushing the woman’s blonde, beautiful bangs away from her face, she planted a kiss on Jack’s forehead.

It dawned on her more what she was doing; Rarity realized with a small blush that she was acting more a mother than a wife to Jack at the moment.

Emotionally, they’re not so far apart, darling, she tried to convince herself. At their peak, their paragon, they embody the lady, after all: knowledgeable, gentle, delicate, impeccable bedside manner, and faithful to whoever they dedicated their lives to.

She coyly smiled, watching Jack’s chest rise and fall with each breath, the mermaid from the ship’s deck looking pathetic in comparison to every movement of Jack’s body, unrestrained by her usual clothing.

The farmer was mesmerizing to Rarity, mentally, of course, but also physically in her own way. Though she was not conventionally beautiful, Rarity had grown to appreciate Jack’s body and now saw her broad shoulders and narrow hips belonging to a seductive dance of flesh that the tailor only barely managed to fight against joining, Jack sick or not.

Admittedly, the wife gets the better deal, considering her dedication sometimes comes with more, er, fringe benefits.

Putting aside her unladylike thoughts on what they could be doing if Jack were on solid ground and promising to revisit them with the farmer when they found dry land, she moved past Jack, towards their equipment. They all hoped they would have no real use on the trip, but it was reliable security.

Rarity’s eyes first came to focus on Jack’s armor.

There was a sense of pride that swelled in Rarity as she looked at the armor, at her own handiwork.

It was a practical beauty, with minimal room for weakness, housing pauldrons, a gorget, knee guards, gloves—a full suit. Within its layers were chainmail—a gift from a metal-working companion Rarity had collaborated with for many-a year regarding jewelry and bangles. Though he had, admittedly, raised a brow when she had first requested it—magically enhanced chainmail, the power within it dulling the elements, dampening and cooling the heat generated within, alongside dispelling the chill of winter.

Rarity trailed a finger down, feeling its texture, smooth, hard, and so deeply-oiled no sun would crack it, past its chest, scarred and stitched back with precision, over the shortsword, still easily sheathed diagonally across the stomach, a testament to Jack’s width and height, down to the groin, where a fur loincloth sat over the crotch, the one fashion statement Rarity insisted on—what was once a solid piece of leather now sat an opening similar to a coin-purse, tied together by string, for the less… glamorous aspect of life. It was too risky on the field to completely remove her bottom just to use the facilities, so Rarity had made a few changes to the original piece that had existed beforehand.

At the back of the armor was a half-scabbard. The weapon Jack carried was too large to unsheath properly during an ambush, so Rarity had made one for Jack that held only the last quarter of the weapon, with a simple strip of buttoned cloth supporting towards the handguard.

It was funny to her: she didn’t know why exactly the armor drew her in this much this morning. It wasn’t like she never saw the thing in the house, after all.

You have time invested into it to, do you not? she asked herself.

It was true. She had slaved over the suit almost as much time as Jack had worn it, had stitched up every tear into it, had performed every improvement, listened to every comment Jack made on it, created it as a testament that even an article of war, a paragon of practicality, could have some standard of beauty, of uniform design.

Giving it one more appraising look, she felt content with its appearance for the moment and moved a few steps over, where the second part of Jack’s equipment sat.

Jack’s sword. Durandal. A gift from Iron Will. It was a beast of a blade, standing as tall as Jack’s temple and made, from what Rarity understood, generations ago, even before Arthur’s time on earth, using a metal-folding technique the Norfolk had practiced throughout history. Even by the Norfolk’s standard, the sword was made by a master; despite the immeasurable years the blade had to hold within it and the countless battles, the weapon held no nicks, scrapes or cracks. It remained as steadfast and single-minded as Jack herself.

If Rarity hadn’t seen first-hand the results of the fights Jack went on, the idea would be almost painfully romantic: a gallant lady-knight, a divine blade blessed by the hands of a master and, of course, the innocent princess that stole the knight’s heart.

But she had seen what battles did to Jack, the earth-folk now snapping to attention the instant loud or unnatural noises sprang to life around her, or how she withdrew at times after long days away from the farm and talked about the creatures she had seen and work she had done only when forced. Rarity was becoming quite adept at gauging Jack’s thoughts and how she needed to express them. The soul-folk only tended to quiz Jack when she thought the farmer needed to get something out.

Even with the occasionally antisocial behavior, Rarity knew her and Jack were lucky. She had heard more than one tale of soldiers returning to home changed completely. Her Jack, no matter how much she changed superficially, would never have her core altered. Rarity wouldn’t swear on much, but she would swear on Jack.

She pushed herself away from the greatsword and moved to her own weapon.

It had been a few months into the marriage that Rarity decided on training with a blade. Jack had been reluctant, but not outright refusing. The earth-folk seemed to understand why Rarity wanted it. They had both been so lucky last time, they couldn’t afford to be complacent now by assuming they were invincible.

Rarity took grasp of the saber locked within its blue sheath and pulled, drawing it with the song of metal meeting metal as it escaped the rim of the sheath.

Jack had been a wonderful teacher, instructing Rarity on parries, feints, proper one-handed stances and striking motions. Thrusts, admittedly, Rarity had to perform independent study on—Jack’s use of heavier weapons limited her skill at thrusts—but other than that, Jack had succeeded at making Rarity respectable with a sword.

She took the weapon and turned, intending to head back upstairs, when she was stopped by a mirror. As she expected, a part of her bangs were out of place and with an irritated tsk, she brushed it back, making it look magnificent once more.

Running her eyes over the mirror, the soul-folk took stock of her body.

Lean was a word that she never thought she’d describe herself with, but lean was what she had became. Her stomach showed more than a hint of definition, as were the muscles on her arms and legs, no doubt from the work she had done on the farm, alongside the training Jack had gave her with a weapon. The thought came with an indifference that would've left her younger self flabbergasted.

But she had no reason to really be disgusted by what she saw. The leanness did nothing to adversely affect her womanly grace. Her breasts remained as pert and proportioned as before, and the muscle definition had seemed to enhance the curve and widening of her voluptuous hips from her waist. If anything, perhaps, the tone fit with her height. Though she was far from a giant compared to all of the Apple kin, a woman, a soul-folk woman at that, hardly ever reached five feet and six inches, yet here she was at a hair’s breadth over six feet. She, truthfully, was envious of Chylene. The sky-folk was the perfect height for a model or whatever you wished to do as an exceptionally talented and well-presented woman. Rarity herself, while she could wear heels, she knew there was only so much she could do in order to keep her elegance.

That thought brought her to who Chylene was dancing with the other night.

Gilda.

Rarity was trying to remain neutral on the woman, but it was difficult. She had every reason to not trust the griffon-folk. Every reason. Yet…

Yet if Jack was willing to forgive her transgressions, she should too.

She sighed.

There you are once more, thoughts swimming about with no answer, she thought, irritated.

Unable to stand her neutrality on several subjects, she returned to the deck, blade in hand.

Grasping it, she clasped it with a practiced hand as her other held lower, cupping at the pommel and with a flick of her wrist she swung, cutting in an arc across the air. It was foolish, but she liked to imagine the issues giving her trouble, the small things like taxes, filing forms for gem acquisition when she was unable to find her own, having to do physical labor around the farm, and the big things like her reason for standing here now, everything was lined up. All her problems meticulously cut with the precision only someone used to pin-point accuracy with their hands could accomplish.

“You were honestly the last person I thought I’d ever see with a weapon,” a familiar voice said. Rarity turned her head, catching sight of Spike.

“Mmm,” she wordlessly agreed, paying him no mind as she continued the motion of her sword, graceful and elegant even while watched. The boy had watched her work for years, ever since Twila and herself entered the school for soul-folk magic training together. Rarity trusted the boy and his views in almost the same level as Jack’s. She trusted the boy and, as she chewed her lower lip in thought, she decided to ask him a question.

“What do you think of being out here, darling?” Rarity questioned

“Well,” Spike thought for a moment, putting his hand to a chin. Rarity, for a brief flight of fancy, felt an overwhelming sense of affection for the boy.

Man, she corrected herself.

She had always seen him in a way she had assumed Twila had: a younger brother or even so far as to be almost a son, depending on what day you asked them, and right now she had a sort of swelling pride as she looked at him. The closest thing she could relate it to was the when one of her pieces was shown on a walkway in Manhattan. The thought of an inconspicuous concept within her mind growing to be something that awed the world was something that pleased her greatly about her job. In the same way, Spike had grown and matured into a good man, naive—as seemed to be the trend with the friends Rarity held—though he was smart enough to know when he was.

“Celestia should know what to do with it, uh, shouldn’t she?” he finally questioned. “If it helps the country, I’m for it.”

“Mmm,” Rarity answered. “I… perhaps I’m simply too jaded as of late.”

“And maybe you’re right to be,” Spike replied with a shrug. “I don’t know. I just know her personally, I don’t know if her, uh, policies are good.”

Rarity slowly paced across the deck, a frown on her face. “I have no doubt that she’s a good woman, Spike. But…”

“But you don’t want anyone hovering over what you’re doing. You’ve never been one to just, you know, go how people tell you to do. And Celestia with the grail would do just that.” He scratched at his hair. “Or could. I guess it’d just depend on how she wanted to do things.”

“I see,” Rarity remarked. She continued her motions for a while longer, twisting, countering an unseen specter, striking out with thrusts and disorienting blows until, finally, she was spent and she sheathed the sword, wiping at the sweat on her face. “Oh, heavens. I should get a shower to freshen up. I’ll see you later on today, darling.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “See you then.”

Stepping downstairs, Rarity vanished, leaving Spike alone. He wandered to the starboard side of the ship and took a moment to himself.

Rarity had seemed… disappointed wasn’t the right word for her look. Rather, Spike thought that maybe she was more disheartened. Before Rarity had Jack, Spike would of probably followed after the soul-folk until she’d finally give in and admit she had a problem, rather than this sort of evasiveness she was fond of doing.

Now though? She had someone. Someone really special. Spike thought that if it was anyone else, anyone he knew that wouldn’t go to the ends of the earth for the woman, he’d be bitter. Not for himself, at least he didn’t think, he had Diane, one of the best girls in the world, but for Rarity not striving for the cream of the crop in partners. She was a perfectionist in everything else, she damn well better do the same for love.

There came footsteps nearby. Spike turned towards them. Just past the mast stepped out Celestia, looking towards the boy with a warm smile. She moved to join him, stepping with an almost impossible grace across the rocking ship.

“I hope the ocean is treating you well, Spike.” The all-folk beamed down at the boy.

“Better than Jack,” he quipped back. Celestia chuckled.

“We all have our weaknesses.”

Spike shrugged after a beat. “Well, you might not after the grail.”

The all-folk said nothing at that and instead moved to the railing. Spike followed suit.

“I don’t know what it will bring, really,” she admitted, brushing her long hair behind an ear. Spike always was reminded of sherbert ice cream when he looked at her hair. It was vibrant and beautiful, but not as vicious on the eyes as Dash’s rainbow-hued hair and complemented Celestia’s sun-kissed skin. The only thing stunting her mystical beauty was the troubled expression on her face.

The all-folk continued, “if the druidic legends tell the truth, then immortality, magic channeling that ignores the limitations of the physical, perception that borders on omniscience, it’s all possible.”

“What if it’s all just stories?” Spike questioned, letting his shoulders rise and fall. “What if the grail is nothing?”

“It has to be more than relic. It has to house power within it. The spell I cast stated that much.”

“And if it’s black magic?” Spike asked, turning to face her fully. “If it’s necromancy?”

“Then we need to take it with us all the more.” Celestia clasped her hands behind her back. “If it falls into the wrong hands, we’ll have a lot more to worry about than a mere assassin of flesh and bone. Putting it under lock and key seems the best answer we have.”

Spike smiled, a bit relieved his better was able to quell his fears with such ease. “You’ve thought this through.”

“As well as I could when flying by the seat of my pants.”

Celestia suddenly looked towards the horizon and gripped the railing tight enough that her hands trembled.

“What’s wrong?” the boy asked. She shook her head.

She was silent for a time until she finally took in a breath. “A feeling. I’m just being paranoid, surely. Don’t pay any mind to it.”

Spike debated on challenging her, but decided against it. She knew better than him on what was what so instead he nodded.

“Besides. I’m sure a certain woman is waiting for her man in the cabin.”

At that Spike blushed, shuffling a bit on his feet. “W-well, maybe I should go and check up on her,” he mumbled out.

“Good. I’m sure she’d love to talk with such a bright and well-mannered man as yourself.” Her smile turned coy. “At least, I assume talking is what you two do during free time.”

Spike looked down at his hands, unable to meet the Daywalker’s gaze. He instead rubbed the back of his neck.

“Usually,” Spike finally stammered out, already taking a few steps away. “I guess if you insist I pay a visit…”

“Of course,” Celestia answered. “I’m making a quick round of the ship, then I think I’m retiring back to my room to read.”

As he left, Celestia’s expression changed from a serene smile to a concerned frown.

The warning she felt within her had not passed in the hours since the meeting. Rather, the small pebble of worry within her had grown to a palm-sized rock; her breathing had increased in pace, only slightly, not enough for most to spot, but enough that she worried. Now, no matter how much she tried to, she couldn’t deny something came fast approaching. Celestia couldn’t blame it on nerves or exhaustion from hosting that many people in her Dreamscape. She could, but it’d be a lie.

Despite the beauty of the morning and the quiet, tranquil waves, something was wrong and now was the time to act.

Setting a course, Celestia marched to the wheel of the ship, where a middle-aged man stood, attentive and focused, his stance prideful and in its own way majestic as he observed his world. Captain “Salty” Mcree.

Strangely enough, the Captain got the nickname before even deciding on becoming a man of the sea; he favored foods with exotic spices and salts piled high on every sort of meat. Celestia remembered the last time she had tried a stew the man made, she thought she was going to die from dehydration.

“Mornin’, your highness,” Salty addressed.

“Hello,” she replied. Normally she’d be more than interested in catching up with the man, ask about his children and how travel was faring, but now seemed like a time of urgency, even if there came nothing in sight.

“Salty,” Celestia addressed, “Anything regarding foul weather ahead?”

“Bet my watch and wallet it’s smooth sailing for at least two days. Maybe a storm on the third day. Right now, though the current and how the fish are behaving tells me all that I need to know,” he said, tapping at the wheel.

“And how are navigations being handled?”

He raised a brow, but decided to humor her.

“Got the first mate verifying our directions. Star charts are up to date, sextant sets us to Scandinavia within a week’s time.”

“I see.” Celestia wanted to pressure him further, question food supply, the magic wards that gave the ship freshwater, find some justified reason for her maddening paranoia, but decided against it. An overzealous mind searching for a problem was just as bad as a complacent one and so she took a step away from the wheel of the ship.

“If there’s any change, please let me know. I’ll be in my cabin,” Celestia said.

“Of course, majesty,” he replied with a nod, not taking his hands off the wheel as they made their way across the ocean.

Spike returned to the cabin, rubbing his head. After the curious talk with Rarity, he really did want to wind down some and looked across the cabin.

“Pinke?” he called out.

A paper airplane flew a lazy loop, prodding right up against Spike’s nose. He followed its trajectory, seeing Pinkie lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Heya Spikey,” she said.

“What you up to?” he asked with a smile, moving to sit beside her.

“Nothing,” came the grumbled response. “There’s nothing to do on a boat like this. There’s no buffets, no karaoke machines, no swimming pools, nothing!”

“Well, it wouldn’t be fun if it was just us. All the buffet food would just go to waste.” He gave a small press to her cheek. “Not even you could clear a huge table like that.”

Pinkie rolled over, giving him a playful smirk. “I could try.”

“And why would anyone put a swimming pool on a boat? Why put water on top of water?”

“Are you saying you actually enjoy getting salt water in your mouth?” Pinkie asked, wincing at the mere thought of it.

Rather than continue that conversation, Spike moved to the bed and plopped down next to her. After a beat, he cut to the chase.

“I had an odd talk with Rarity a second ago.”

She blinked, looking over to him. “Huh?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, bridging his fingers behind his head. “She seemed… maybe not sad, but distracted, I guess.”

“Do y’know what about?”

His shoulders rose and falll. “This trip, kinda. And Celestia.”

Pinkie rose, resting on her elbows. “Celestia?”

“Yeah. Rarity’s I guess a bit… reserved on Celestia getting the grail. It’s weird for her to think like that, but it’s more or less what she said.”

“She doesn’t trust her with it?” Pinkie asked, her brow raised.

For every bit Pinkie’s brow raised, Spike’s narrowed in thought and he once more gave a shrug of his hands. “I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe she doesn’t like the idea of anyone having something like that on-hand. I didn’t get her worries. Celestia’s the best person I know, what could she do that has Rarity so worried? Her policies can’t be that bad, going by the woman behind them.”

Pinkie’s gaze drifted upwards, towards the ceiling. “Maybe I should ask her… I mean, there is the whole ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ angle but this is Celestia talking about so surely—” With a sigh, she concluded, “Rarity is a complicated woman.”

“Totally,” Spike instantly agreed. “But it’s Celestia. There’s nobody else that matches up to her. Why would you try and take away her chance to make things right with the country?”

“Nobody’s perfect, Spike. Not even her,” Pinkie countered. “And she really seems to want this grail badly, even when everything else is going on… maybe Rarity’s just being a worrywart but let’s not make any rash judgments on both sides just yet.”

“You don’t think she’s just being a bit silly over it?” Spike questioned. “I dunno, Diane. It’s just… I know she’s not perfect, but she wouldn’t hurt a fly. Would she?”

Pinkie rolled over, looking Spike in the eyes. “Do you think I’d ever hurt somebody?”

“Never,” Spike replied, meeting her gaze.

“If I felt like you were ever in danger from someone, I would. And I’d do it again, if I had to. I wouldn’t enjoy it very much but… sometimes you gotta get a bit dirty to get the dishes clean, you get me?”

He sat for a moment longer, but after a beat, nodded. “I think so,” he agreed.

“I’ll pick Rarity’s brain later,” Pinkie said, resting her hands behind her head. “Celestia’s always going to be a mystery so no use talking to her about it.”

“Maybe you’ll have more luck. Rarity’s still a mystery to me sometimes, even after all these years,” Spike said, a touch resentful. He sighed, crossing his legs. “You guys are hard to figure out.”

“We sure are a colorful bunch, aren’t we?”

He frowned. “That’s… one way to put it.”

A knock came to Celestia's door a few hours after she had returned to her room to meditate. The door opened after a moment. It was the captain, his face was hard, solid concern as he walked to her.

“Majesty,” he said, giving a small bow. “Something has come up.”

Without a word she rose and followed him onto the deck. The instant she saw, she knew this was what was causing her feeling of foreboding.

A cloud. Black. Ebony-black, was on the horizon. She stared at it and, at first she merely called it a trick of the light, her eyes weary from today’s exertions. But no. There was more to it.

“What do you make of it?” Salty asked, “Suppose we’re in for a storm?”

“That’s no storm. At least not in the way you think of one,” the Daywalker answered, already stepping away from the ship’s railing, her mind a whirl of gears.

“Majesty?” Salty asked.

“It’s been lifetimes ago since I’ve seen one, but I know it is one.” She pointed at the man, then pointed across the ship. “Get every able man on board for briefing. Only people integral to keeping the ship moving are excused.”

“Ma’am,” he answered with a salute, running off.

Celestia gave a gesture over her body. Within the beat of a heart, she became clad in a majestic set of off-white ethereal armor and clenched a gauntleted hand open and shut. Satisfied with it, she put her hands behind her back and waited.

Judgement

There came a knock to Rarity’s door as she stepped out of the shower, still drying her wet hair. She looked over at the door, debating on answering it and just when she was going to ignore it and change, the knocking came again, this time louder, more urgent.

Jack groaned from the bed, putting an arm up to her forehead and Rarity let out a word under her breath that was far from ladylike.

“Coming,” she announced to the unseen specter, giving a quick pat down of her body. The third set of knocks came as she slid on a pair of panties.

“For the love of everything sacred and divine,” she spat under her breath, covering her chest with the towel and stomping towards the door. “I swear, if this isn’t some sort of emergency…”

Throwing open the door, Rarity came face-to-face with a young sailor. He averted his gaze at her and muttered out, “Celestia needs everyone up on deck as soon as possible.”

“Oh,” Rarity said, a tad sheepish. “I’ll be right up.”

“Her too,” the sailor said, looking towards Jack. “She specifically said every able bodied man.”

“Jack’s seasick,” Rarity replied. “Whatever the princess needs, I can provide.”

He seemed to mull it over for a long moment before nodding. “Very well.”

After making herself presentable, Rarity and the sailor traveled up to the deck. The weather had changed in the short time since Rarity had went down into the quarters; the air had taken on a quiet, anticipatory tone, like the world itself was holding its breath in fear. In the distance, coating the entire eastern horizon, was a black, nightmarish thundercloud. Even from here, she could see the streaks across the cloud, signifying rain, and could almost feel the electricity from the lightning.

“Where’s Jack?” Celestia asked, approaching Rarity.

“In bed. The seasickness has her incapacitated,” Rarity explained.

“Are you sure? It might be a necessity to wake her,” Celestia said, her tone so serious that Rarity stopped dead in her tracks.

“Whatever could be that much of an issue, princess?” Rarity questioned.

The all-folk shook her head. “A monster attack approaches. One I fear we’ll need her expertise for. I’ve only battled against them a few times in my life and each encounter...”

Rarity went blank. “A monster attack? Here? This is civilized waters. The route never has issues like this, save for the occasional Merfolk raid.”

“It bewilders me as well, Rarity. If I had known such a thing were to happen, I would have never let you and Diane travel along.” Celestia swallowed. Though she was keeping a respectable front, Rarity had enough years under her belt dealing with clientele and the upper crust of society to know one thing:

Celestia was scared, possibly even terrified.

Leaning close, Rarity spoke low, making sure the conversation was private amid the sailors on deck. “What are we dealing with?” she asked.

Celestia remained silent for a moment before saying a single word that filled Rarity’s stomach with dread.

“Kraken.”

“What?” Rarity asked. Celestia nodded, gesturing out toward the horizon.

“You feel it, don’t you? That storm… it’s magical. It’s a herald. A precursor to the beast’s arrival. We’ll see it before the sun sets, that much I can guarantee.”

“And what do we do when that happens?” Rarity crossed her arms and shivered. It wasn’t cold out; in fact the storm on the horizon made the ship the perfect temperature. If she had remained blissfully unaware of the upcoming danger, she might of spent an hour or two on deck reading a book.

“That’s why I gathered everyone I could here. I’ll be issuing orders in a moment. I’ll ask again: is Jack capable to battle under her condition?” She looked to Rarity, then glanced once more to the storm, biting her lip in thought.

Rarity brushed her bangs to the side in nervous thought.

“Damn it,” Rarity swore, the words uncharacteristic for her, but a sign of her worry. “I’ll try to rouse her. This is serious.”

She ran off once more to the ship’s interior as Celestia turned to face the others on-deck.

“Men,” Celestia addressed. At her words, the sailors turned to look at her, awaiting the all-folk’s instructions. “I know this isn’t normal for you, nor is it normal for me, but within a few minutes, we are going to have to fight. A fight at its most basic level: a fight for survival. If any of us are to live after what’s fast approaching arrives, every able-bodied man is going to need to do exactly what I’m about to say.”

With the men still silent, she continued.

“We’re going to need several of you all as distractions while I channel a spell that I hope is enough to let us break the beast.”

The sailors saluted.

“By your grace!” one exclaimed.

Celestia looked past them towards the storm. “We need every lifeboat and javelin we can collect for this. I can’t promise you all will return whole, but if we work together, maybe we can minimize casualties.”

The group seemed to collectively nod, standing at attention as Celestia continued.

“Two, three in the rafts at most, one man steering, the others throwing javelins. If my assumption about the beast is correct, than we’re facing an adolescent. The youths are smaller and more inclined to act aggressively without provocation. As such, they’re more easily distracted than an elder.”

Looking at the men, she sighed. “I promise… buy me some time, and I should be able to protect the ship.”

“For Cabello!” one roared, “for her sovereign queen!”

Though she herself preferred the title princess, in honor and respect of her mother and father’s legacy, she took the words to heart, bowing her head in respect to the sailors. “May the light shine on your path, now and forever.”

Rarity sprinted downstairs, taking the steps two at a time, her mind blinded briefly as a single thought flooded her mind.
Kraken. Kraken. Kraken, she repeated within herself, the word feeling as deep as a religious mantra.

She threw open her door and ran to Jack, shaking her.

“Jack, darling. Get up!” she barked. The farmer flinched, her expression changing from neutral to troubled, then, finally, sleep was pulled from her and she grit her teeth, looking with bleary eyes to her wife.

“Rare? What…?” she trailed off, taking in a breath.

“The medicine, has it helped any?” the other asked, already taking the sheets off the bed and grasping Jack’s wrist, pulling her to a sit.

Still not following, Jack dumbly nodded. “A bit, I guess. Why?”

“Celestia says there’s a monster attack coming. We need you.”

At that, the farmer broke fully from sleep and she nodded, letting Rarity pull her out of bed. Her legs buckled underneath her, but Rarity caught her before she fell, straightening her up and moving to directly face Jack.

“Can you manage?” the soul-folk asked, worry lining her face.

Jack swallowed, her throat dry. But she nodded, finally.

“Not much choice. Help me out,” she instructed, cocking her head to her armor.

Rarity moved briskly to it and grabbed the individual pieces for Jack as the farmer stripped down. Jack reached over to the nightstand and picked up a silver cross necklace, which she promptly donned around her neck.

After her granny died, Jack took to wearing it when she traveled. It was the old woman’s, and it made Jack feel as if her granny was there watching over her. Though she kept it for spiritual reasons, there was a practical sense to the accessory too: the undead feared silver. It reacted to the magical aura produced by the beasts of the night, oftentimes blinding them. Though Will had said even a strip or ball of silver would do the trick against the monsters, Jack felt the cross held more power within it, something Dash always gave a bemused snort at.

Either way as she donned it, she took in a breath, trying to fight through her sickness as Rarity began putting the armor onto the farmer.

“Did she say what it was? A Merfolk? A Drowned man?”

“It’s,” Rarity tugged at Jack from behind, pulling the armor closer to her skin. “It’s a kraken.”

“A kraken.” Jack froze, unsure. “How does she expect us ta fight somethin’ like that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hell,” Jack said to herself as Rarity donned another piece of her armor on for her. “Guess we’ll jus’ do what we can.”

“I expected nothing less from you.”

“Spike!” Pinkie called across from the deck. The dragon-child paused, looking behind his shoulder. The earth-folk approached him, her face etched with concern.

“Where are you going?”

He raised a single finger, pointing out to the ocean. “With the sailors,” he said.

“Spike, that’s crazy talk, you’ll just—”

“Get in the way?” he crossly asked, tilting his head.

“Get hurt,” she answered, “I know you want to help, silly, but we’re out of our element here.”

“Every sailor here is out of their element. They’re not soldiers or the guard,” Spike countered. “I can make a difference out there, Diane.”

“Or you get yourself killed in your macho man dick-waving contest,” Pinkie blurted out.

Spike flinched, then balled his fists up. “That’s not why I’m doing this,” he hotly countered, “do you not get that I’m finally able to do something to help, and you think I’m doing this just to look good for you? Diane, don’t.”

“I’m worried about you, dum-dum!” Pinkie exclaimed. “What if you get hurt?! I’d feel awful about it!”

“Well I’m sorry, ok?” Spike retorted, “you’re not getting me to change my mind here, even if it does hurt your feelings.”

He snapped back around and took to quickly walking, catching up with the other sailors.

Pinkie looked to him, frowning. “If that’s the way you wanna play,” she muttered out, sneaking behind the boy as he traveled towards the rafts.

By the time that Jack made it upstairs, the sky had taken a dark, ominous hue. The storm that, moments ago, was a troubling threat in the distance, had gained traction, overtaking the once-beautiful day.

“What the…?” Jack managed to trail off, astounded at the nightmare she stepped into. Wind howled, stumbling her almost as bad as her sickness as the ship rocked hard against the rugged waves.

“Quickly, Jack!” Rarity called out, taking her wife’s hand and moving them both towards Celestia.

“Thank the heavens you’re awake,” Celestia remarked on seeing the farmer. “It won’t be long before the creature arrives.”

“What do I need ta do?” Jack asked

“In a moment, I’ll begin channeling a spell that may disrupt the beast. During the process of casting it, I cannot be interrupted, even if the creature attempts to attack me directly. The spell will take longer to cast than I prefer—I have a barrier spell on the ship which is draining my abilities. Hopefully that will stop the creature from just splitting the ship in twain. Jack, you have to guard me.”

“And I?” Rarity questioned.

“Assist Jack in every capacity you can.” Thunder rumbled overhead and Celestia worryingly looked up, dropping down to her knees and clasping her hands in her lap. “I have to start the spell, now. Jack, I trust your judgement on orders, direct the men if they falter.”

“W-what? Princess, I ain’t got—”

“Nobody has an idea. You’re the closest thing that does. Just focus and stay calm. Trust in yourself.”

With that, Celestia shut her eyes and took to soundlessly speaking words, the way her lips moved reminding Jack of her sister reading a book, forming the words as she looked over the pages but never actually saying them.

Reaching to the satchel at her side, Jack pulled out a vial and uncorked it, coating her greatsword with it, then tossing it Rarity’s way.

“And this is?” the tailor questioned, sniffing the vial and gagging at its potency.

“A lil’ concoction. Lime, rosemary, grounded silver are the main ingredients. They’ll act like a poison against this thing—sea monsters can’t stand lime.”

Rarity nodded once the practical aspect of the vial was explained and withdrew her saber, coating it in the poison. She turned to look at Celestia.

“I certainly hope you know what you’re doing, your highness,” Rarity said under her breath, turning to face the oncoming storm.

Spike had got to the raft and set down into the water when he saw it through the blinding rain that chilled him down to his very being. At first he thought the rise of the ocean amid the foamy mist of the rain was all it was, a heavy tide sweeping the horizon and fast approaching the ship. Then the so-called tide rose, far and beyond what a mere surge of the sea would entail, and water began pouring off from where Spike believed the waterline to be, revealing clammy, brown-orange, rubbery skin. Its size was impossible, a height that stood easily the length of the grand hall within Camelot. The creature opened and shut the hundreds of eyes adorning its body, reminding Spike of a disfigured child waking up from a slumber as it took in the world around it.

The man Spike rode with on board the raft stared up, open-mouthed and speechless at the colossus before them. The torrents of water falling down its body finally slowed down enough to let other noises reach Spike’s ears. The clamor of the other rafts, the sound of his heart beating and screams—screams came in unison—everyone, it seemed, let out a panicked yell at the beast, Spike included—and the beast responded in kind, opening its beaked mouth the size of a train cart and bellowing back at the insects. Spike saw dozens of tongues twisting and writhing within its gaping maw and Spike froze, knowing that he should take action, but not knowing what action to take. The krakken decided for him. The maw—the maddening, tongue-filled maw opened again and the appendages stood straight at attention, springs within an incomprehensible machine to Spike, coiled and ready to launch.

He hated it when he was right.

The tongues propelled forward, faster than a bolt across all directions, beyond where the dragon-blood could see through the inky dark.

The tearing of wood and screams he heard echoing everywhere around him said all that was needed to on where they went.

The man he rode with twitched, his hands trembling at his side as he let out a small gasp, trying to draw air.

Piercing through his neck was a feeler that seemed to realize it was being watched: it danced and swayed for Spike as it crawled through the man’s flesh. Finally a few inches free, its tip opened, spreading into five distinct parts like a flower bloom, the exposed veins within reeking of decay and the sea, before it pulled back, still holding the spread-open bud and taking the near-dying—

Dead, he’s already dead I can’t do anything because he’s already gone.

—dead sailor with it, pulling him along like a ragdoll through the air.

The beast rose from the water in the distance—Jack could just barely make out its towering silhouette of the beast amid the rafts below. It bellowed, the noise and the screams it drew from the sailors so painfully loud that even from their distance, Jack and Rarity flinched.

“What in God’s name…?” Rarity trailed off.

Whether it was a sound that somehow came to her above the rain and chaos, the effects of combat training and in-field experience with Will and the others, or, perhaps even a spark of divine intervention, Jack felt the sudden urge to act. She dove for Rarity, tackling her at her side and knocking them down just as a long tendril shot forward, its speed almost ungodly as it crashed against the deck and, surprisingly, the tip of the tendril simply bounced off.

Celestia let out a small hiss, but remained otherwise serene within the meditation.

Once more proving to be a doer rather than a thinker, Jack was up on her feet as soon as the object hit and didn’t hesitate to bring her greatsword to hand and swing, cleaving the object in two.

“What?” Was all Rarity could stammer out, rising after a moment’s pause.

“Part of the krakken, gotta be,” Jack deduced, clenching her teeth and willing the gears in her head to turn.

Spike watched the sailor fly through the air and towards the kraken's maw, alongside dozens of other bodies embedded in its hooked tongue, many dead, others howling as they were drug, clenching fruitlessly at their arms, their legs, their stomachs, wherever the tongue had embedded itself. As it loaded man after man into its mouth it froze, seemed to be stunned by something, before bellowing, in obvious agony from something and it thrashed its massive body about while its eyes twitched and swirled in its sockets, convulsing. From the sea rose one of its arms and it lifted it high, the appendage well over its already huge head, and slammed the arm down into the water in pain and frustration, summoning a tide from the impact.

The boy yelled, clutching the sides of the raft for dear life amid the churning waves. It was to no avail, however, when another wave came down, the force flipping the raft as if it were plywood and throwing him with a yelp underwater.
Another leg of the creature swept beneath the waves, twisting and disorienting him as the force spun him head over heels. Gasping in surprise, he watched with a growing sense of panic as his precious breath was stolen from his mouth, the bubbles at least showing him the direction to the surface. He struggled upward, feeling every pulse within him beg for air, for release.

“The screams…” Rarity trailed off.

“They’re horrible,” Jack agreed, watching what she could see through the darkness. “There’s nothin’ we can do, sug.”

“We should be out there,” Rarity said. Though, admittedly, she wasn’t sure how much she meant that—there couldn’t be much they could do that the sailors couldn’t do better. Aside from one ghastly attempt Jack made to showcase gigging to her, Rarity had never handled a spear or javelin. Likewise, while she might have the strength to force a rowboat along quick enough, stamina was still a lofty goal, unachieved. She’d be a burden out on the water like she was now and she grimaced, wanting to go but knowing she had to stay.

Jack said nothing, merely letting her arms fall to her sides, the greatsword still ready to snap out and strike anything their way, but relaxing her body for the moment, while they could rest.

Truth was, Jack wished Gilda was here. Gilda and Dash both, but the griffon-folk especially. Gilda could arm and fire one of the ballistas on the ship in a heartbeat—Jack didn’t have a clue how to work one and even if she did, she didn’t trust herself not to accidentally hit someone—she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if that happened.

Spike swam for the surface, clawing and struggling up for everything he was worth. Just as he almost broke free of the ocean on his shoulders, the beast shifted, the water around its legs kicking up and forcing the dragon-blood down. Still he swam, trying to summon his last ounce of strength to pull himself free but, as the ache in his lungs turned from painful to unbearable and took to cramping in his chest he let out a choked gasp. His vision blurred, then dimmed as weakly pawed upward and soon after, his sight faded completely.

The appendages launched, this time directed, directed towards the thing that hurt it, and they rained down upon the ship in a volley of arrows. Rarity tucked a pinkie into her palm and rolled her wrist; her hand became enveloped with a light blue aura, the soul-folk’s magic springing to life and quickly summoning a sphere around Celestia, Jack and herself. The abomination’s tongues bounced off the dome, creating a ripple with every impact against the shield that vibrated and distorted the surface of the spell, but not piercing it.

Jack stepped beyond the dome’s safety once the first volley ended, chopping and swinging against the invading objects, dismembering them as a scythe against wheat. One came too close for comfort, snapping up with the speed and movement of a snake—Jack caught it in her palm, unflinching as the tongue opened and spread into five parts, trying to strike and snap at her, opening and shutting itself in an attempt to bite the earth-folk.

Rarity had been around Jack long enough to know when an idea sparked to life within her—the way her hands would twitch and the way her knees would bend just so, and right now, it was clear she had a plan.

Pulling the creature’s part back, Jack reentered Rarity’s protective shield. The soul-folk’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the writhing, snapping thing, but she kept her complaints to herself, both because strong emotions, especially when spoken verbally, could cause her magic to become unstable, resulting in her shield dispersing, and because at least she wasn’t holding the garish thing,

Jack reached into her pocket, pulling out a corked vial. Popping it open with her teeth, she poured the concoction down into the thing’s innards.

As soon as the liquid made contact it went wild, convulsing, throwing itself side to side, snapping itself open and shut, trying to dispel the poison it imbued—Rarity could already see blisters forming where the oil had touched, and the creature had already turned an off-white, greenish tint at the head of the tongue—Jack threw it outside the bubble and it lay lethargically on the deck, only able to tilt upward as the others grew wilder on their assault, furious at Jack’s action.

“What are you doing?” Rarity asked. Jack offered a thin smile.

“Pissin’ it off.”

Spike drew in a breath, pulling the air in him so frantically and urgently that his lungs hurt. There came a reassuring palm on his cheek,

“There you are, silly-billy,” Pinkie said with forced cheer. She tried to smile. “I-I thought I lost you. This isn’t the time for hide and seek.”

Spike felt his lips tremble, but he did his best to hold it off, instead tightly hugging the pink-haired woman.

“Spike,” she said, briefly turned serious as she rested her chin on the top of his head.

The moment died as the beast bellowed. It was furious, the tantrums it had thrown earlier were nothing compared to now. It screamed in blind fury once more, this time churning the water as it swam for the ship, hellbent on snapping it like a twig.

“Steer,” Spike ordered, moving from Pinkie and grabbing a spear. “We’ve got a job to do.”

The kraken blasted towards the ship, Jack’s breath quickened with every foot the beast gained on them. Bringing it close was a double-edged sword. She might be able to get a few hard swings to it up close, likewise the sailors, what few survived the kraken’s wrath, would be safe from its rampage.

On the other hand, she might not be strong enough to conquer a beast that big, lime in its bloodstream or not. Not to mention the ship; it might not even stand the monster’s attack.

“Keep Celestia safe,” Jack instructed.

“As if I had any other plan,” Rarity countered, then shook her head. “How on earth are we going to…?”

“I dunno! We stall it as long as we can!” So saying, the farmer moved through Rarity’s protective shield. She held her weapon high, standing an immovable object to an unprecedented force.

Rarity stood behind her, watching Jack stand at the railing of the ship, a hard rock battling against the tide. She knew Jack was terrified, her attempt at commanding the tailor didn’t fool Rarity for a moment, nor did the dry swallow as she stepped out of the relative safety of Rarity’s dome spell, but the fact the earth-folk was willing to do the job nobody could or would do?

It made Rarity speechless at times. It was obvious she loved the woman—she wouldn’t have even considered marriage with Jack if she hadn’t—but until recently she never realized that she loved Jack enough that she was willing to fight alongside her step for step, even if it seemed hopeless, even if Rarity herself was so terrified the saber in her hand trembled and shook like she was an elderly woman preparing to sew. But it was no exaggeration that she owed the earth-folk her life several times over now and a member of the Belle family didn’t let such a thing go ignored.

With that in mind she canceled the spell at her hand and made a quick rechannel over Celestia’s body, sealing the kneeling soul-folk safely—safer, at least—away within a wall of magic.

She stood by Jack, the earth-folk’s earlier proud stance softer as she caught sight of Rarity.

“Get back in there, I got this,” Jack warned, cocking a thumb behind her.

“You could tell me the truth instead, Jack Apple,” Rarity answered, her heart beating so hard in her chest she thought she would die right then and there. “What are our odds. Honestly.”

Exhaling, Jack shook her head, watching the creature close the distance. They had a few moments. Not many, but a few.

“Captain probably won’t be able ta get us out in time,” Jack explained. “That thing matches our ship’s size, maybe up ta a pounds more. I ain’t sure how strong those things are. Hear full-grown can snap these things like pullin’ wings off a june bug. Maybe we’ll have more time if it’s a teen. Maybe.” Jack looked over to Rarity, her face lined with worry. “I’m sorry I got ya involved in this, sug. I really am. Wish ya were back home.”

Rarity gave a flat expression. “I chose this,” she rebuked, pointing sternly at Jack. “Do not act as if I followed you like a lost dog.” Swallowing, she let out a huff, attempting to keep her regal mannerisms and tone in check despite her fear. “Besides. We’re not dead yet. So save the apologies for tonight. I’ll want two, no, three glasses of wine, a shiatsu massage, and a warm bed to dispel this dreadful rain.” She gave an aghast raise of her free hand. “My poor hair cannot stand this injustice.”

Jack knew Rarity was trying to comfort her in her own way. A promise of normalcy after the storm they found themselves in. And it was the comfort and a promise whispered by the tailor that always helped soothe her panic and kill her dread dead in its tracks.

“I don’t even know what a she-aught-sue massage is,” Jack sheepishly admitted.

“I’ll show you so you know how to give me one. Tonight. I promise. For now though, we’ll simply deal with what’s coming.”
A thin smile came to Jack. “Promise,” she quietly agreed.

The krakken came closer, clearing the length of a football field in a matter of moments and now close enough that the conversation died in its tracks. In a way, they had everything they needed to say to one-another, in another way, they said it all with their silence.

As Jack watched the creature finally come into a close-enough view for her to see its features, rather than suggestions the shadows gave to her, she could see it was grinding its teeth in anger.

She gripped her sword tighter, daring the monster to make its move.

“It’s close to the boat!” Pinkie called out, her breathing labored from rowing and her adrenaline high finally dying.

“I know,” Spike tersely replied, looking towards the creature as it stood, no more than a larger passenger train’s length away.

“We got to do something! If we don’t—”

“I know, Goddamnit!” he yelled. “Let me think!” The shout seemed to give Pinkie pause. She looked at him as he took a moment, just a moment to go over options.

There had to be something he could do. They were out of time—the sailors, what few remained, wouldn’t get close enough to the beast for the javalins to be effect before Jack or Celestia or, worse still, Rarity, was killed, not to mention the ship. If it sank, all of them were good as dead out in the rain with no supplies.

It came to him what he could do, what he should've done earlier when he had fallen into the water—he was terrified then, was still terrified now, but now at least he held a semblance of rational thought and insight. Spike picked up a spear and reared back. A normal man wouldn’t hit from this far, even the strongest earth-folk or Norfolk would just make it, and make it off target, odds were.

A dragon-folk, though…

His instincts slowly sparked to life as his mind seemed to grow feverish and painfully hot. The sound of the rain increased in volume. But, rather than deafening him as a waterfall would, he simply heard though the constant murmur of a storm and heard the individual drops of rain around him. In front of him, he could hear Pinkie’s heartbeat drumming in its mortal cage, every breath she took in her panic urgent. He could smell her too, and that was a part of why he rarely took this form. The smell was hard to deal with, hard to resist. She smelled like pleasant summer evenings. She smelled like wine. She smelled of spices, of meats, of candy. She smelled of desire, of want. Of his need.

He tuned it out as best he could, though it left a dull throb within him, cooled off, but not completely absent, her form always at the back of his mind. Another time and he might have relished her just a little longer, just a little more in-depth. Now, on the other hand…

Now he focused on the distinct pop and crack of his biceps and forearms adjusting as they became objects of concrete, a well-built foundation to place a house on.

His entire arms took on a green coloration, gaining muscle mass and turning his normally limp body rigid, overflowing with strength. The arms then hardened, growing leathery, from there came purple scales, giving his body a sort of reptilian sheen. His hands followed this process, adding sharp claws to his fingertips before he caught himself and took in a breath, slowing the transformation process to a crawl, preventing himself from turning fully draconic. Though he was in control, mostly, while in that, some thoughts were more tempting. Some, like what he wanted to do to the woman beside him, were downright maddening when he was fully controlled by his bloodline, but they could be held back. There was an even more important reason why he held back his transformation. He didn’t want Pinkie to look behind her and cringe at his appearance. The thought of scaring her? Of making her afraid of him? It made him hurt.

The process had concluded as he had finished his thoughts. He gave a squeeze of his hand, feeling its power course through him.

And with that power, he reared back and threw.

The krakken came to the boat and brought its arms free from the grasp of the ocean. The torrent of water from the creature’s raised arm poured downward upon the two, slipping Jack and dropping her onto her back. Rarity spat and sputtered at the action, but managed to stay upright.

There came a crack from the mast and Celestia let out a sharp cry of pain; Rarity looked behind her. Celestia still sat, shielded from what they faced. However, her arm was beaten, bruised. It trembled, trying to grasp, but ultimately hanging limply to Celestia’s side. Rarity’s eyes widened in alarm, making a connection only a soul-folk and their knowledge of spells, no matter what their level of magic was, could.

It would take a lot out of Rarity, but it was urgent she get the krakken off the ship, and get him off now, if Celestia had active the spell Rarity thought she did.

The soul-folk put her index and middle finger at the base of her saber and stretched her fingertips a few inches up the metal; as she did this, a blur of speed shot from beside her. Jack, up and charging towards the only thing her sword could even attempt to hit at the moment.

Rarity’s magic was at its limits; to stop herself from overwhelming her innate power, she took in her breath and relaxed her mind. The ethereal, magically powered armor she wore vanished, leaving her only in a button-up shirt and leather leggings. Vulnerable.

Still refusing to retreat despite her worry, she gripped the sword in both her hands and swung.

As the blade traveled its vertical arc, her magic stretched and then detached from the blade, launching across the deck and striking the kraken's leg, just as Jack ran to the ship’s mast and sprang off it, swinging overhead at the apex of her jump.

Jack hit and hit square, the length of her blade drawing a deep cut into the beast’s tentacle. It screeched, bellowing in agony at the wounds. The monster gave up on anything resembling finesse and brought its massive tentacle downward at Rarity, too fast for her to dodge, too massive to simply withstand.

The heavy footsteps of Jack pounded over the rain and the beast’s indignation. She appeared before Rarity, her form braced, already anticipating the monster, the flat of her greatsword up and ready to absorb the blow before it could hit the seamstress.

Seeing the earth-folk gave Rarity a brief renewal and her burst of energy let her make a gesture not seconds before the blow would have crippled Jack despite her strength, but rather, an instant, no more than an eye’s blink. A shield spell flickered to life, absorbing most of the impact. Even then, the blow making Jack’s legs nearly buckle; she braced and remained standing despite her shaking body, holding against it with every ounce of power she could muster.

Rarity, meanwhile, felt an agony she never had before tear through her head. Her weapon fell to the deck with a clatter and she dropped to her knees, clutching at her forehead. Her brain felt like it was a red-hot poker, scalding, the pain nearly blinding her. There came a hot trail that rolled from her eye down a cheek.

It’s not a tear, the small, rational part of her warned, the whisper urgent in its attempt to break her away from her pain. You know what it is, dear. You’ve heard the speeches back at the academy, you’ve seen Twila’s end result. Act. Now.

Rarity dabbed a finger at her cheek regardless of the voice, confirming her fears. Blood.

When a soul-folk pushed themselves beyond their magical limits, when they fought through their fatigue and continued using spellwork when their bodies couldn’t physically handle it, the magic within them turned their strength into weakness. Their magic when taxed would, for lack of a better word, cook their brain and kill them.

Rarity couldn’t do magic anymore. If she did, there was an absolute guarantee she would die. The unofficial rule of thumb back at the soul-folk academy was that one eye was your body’s last, desperate warning to you, an ultimatum: stop or die. If both eyes bled… Twila was the exception to the rule, exceptions Rarity could count on one hand and one finger. She couldn’t afford to die here, at least not like this.

Closing a fist, her pulse beating so hard in her temples she thought her eardrums would rupture, Rarity canceled her magic, dispelling the enchantment from her blade, the shield protecting Celestia, and, reluctantly, the ward guarding Jack; it all faltered and failed at once, gone like a thief in the night. The soul-folk fell face-down onto the deck and numbly lost consciousness.

“Rare!” Jack cried out, looking over her shoulder as she struggled against the beast’s leg. Rather than lifting it up and slamming it down like Jack had anticipated, it simply pressed down harder on the farmer, intent to mash her like a man would an ant. Her legs buckled and she dropped down to a knee, her sword and strength the only thing standing between the kraken and Rarity.

Putting everything she had into her, she fought against the weight, every part of her body cramping against the increasing pressure, bones popping and creaking in protest to her action, her eyes wide and burrowing hatred against the creature, yet it still wasn’t enough. Her strength was losing, the beast gained scant inch after inch and with her power fading so to did any chance Rarity or herself would live.

Right before she faltered fully, the beast let out a shrieking wail and its leg lifted. Jack stumbled forward, landing on her hands and knees. Looking up at the krakken, she froze.

Protruding from one of its dozens of eyes was the head of a spear, the wooden handle barely visible amidst the blood and liquid mess of its ruined eye. As Jack watched, the creature flinched and turned from the boat. Another spear was embedded into its back, no more than a foot of the wood visible. It prepared to chase after its unseen attacker right as Celestia opened her eyes.

Gone were the normally kind violet eyes of the ruler of Cabello. Instead they were replaced by two orbs of white light so blinding that they illuminated the ship in their incandescence. Jack felt a sense of comfort take her heart and a hush fell over the area, even the kraken in its limited intelligence was quelled to calm.

The all-folk rose and began speaking, her arms spread out in an almost messianic posture—inviting, welcoming. The words made no sense to Jack, but the power every syllable held in its tone and inflection let her know that they were words of power—the tongue only all-folk held full mastery over. The language that allowed spells beyond those of any average soul-folk, the speech of kings, as Twila had put it a time or two.

And from Jack’s own experience with those words, she could understand what Twila meant.

Thunder rumbled above as the rain ended and the clouds seemed forcibly torn asunder, letting a large hole of pure light from the sun shine down upon the ship.

If Jack had blinked, she would have missed it.

From the heavens, as sure and as instant as God’s own judgement, came a blinding bolt of light, slamming into the kraken and disintegrating it, its body black ash. In the same second even that ash being destroyed. And, to Jack, not even that word described what happened—it was if the beast’s existence had been removed, taken away and revoked. The water around where the monster had stood wasn’t even stirring from its sudden displacement.

On finishing the spell, Celestia’s eyes, seconds ago brimming with righteous judgement and indignation, returned to normal. She stared up, looking miles away as the clouds slowly gathered back. The wounds her body held and had somehow obtained during the encounter with the beast made her sink down, the fatigue obvious on her ageless face from the injuries and magic.

“Call in the sailors,” she commanded quietly, seeming to acknowledge Jack without looking towards her, “we’re free to depart now.” With that, Celestia collapsed.

Scars

“So, she’s gonna be ok, right?” Jack asked. The sailor scratched at her neck, rising to a stand from the bed she had knelt by.

“Dunno how different all-folk are to soul-folk, but I’d imagine she’ll just sleep this off.” She gestured at Celestia’s arm. “Though when I checked her over I was surprised at some of the wounds. Magical drain aside.”

“What’s surprisin’ ‘bout ‘em?” Jack asked, tilting her head. “Looks like normal things ta me. Fractures at the forearm, shoulder, an’ maybe a hip, goin’ by the swellin’. Some cuts, debris, I guess.”

“Not a bad summery,” the sailor agreed, rubbing at the mark at her cheek—an anchor with a fish Jack couldn’t identify—”but what debris? Our girl’s still full-a pip and vinegar, no damage to the hull, deck, or mast even after a kraken attack. Besides.” She moved the blanket off of Celestia and gestured at the all-folk’s sternum. “I’m not a doc proper—our actual one is at port, I’m just a ‘prentice of his, but look at that cut.”

The cut was a nasty thing, inflamed and, though the scabbing already showed the healing process, it was still a deep appearing blow to Jack that made her wince slightly on looking at it.

“Thing looks like it was internal and just ruptured out. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a transferal spell she cast on the whole ship.”

Jack only knew a vague idea on magic, but she remembered Rarity doing something similar to her years ago. It was a spell that lived up to its name, transferring a mental and emotional pain over to the caster, soothing the one being channeled. Though she had never heard of a physical transfer. But, then again, she had never known there was a magic spell strong enough to vaporize a kraken from existence either. All-folks, when given the chance, seemed to operate on a whole different level than soul-folks. Something like transferring wounds was probably child’s play to Celestia.

“As fast her body’s healin’, though, she’ll be back and fit around time we pull ashore. It’s a bleedin’ honor seein’ how fast all-folk wounds heal, especially when it comes to mental injuries.” The sailor whistled. “Glad she’s on our side.” Nodding to Jack, she pointed outside. “Get on out there, woman. No need to waste the day with me.”

“W-Well… if yer sure I ain’t got nothin’ I can help with.”

“Go on,” the sailor replied. “She ain’t the first cunt I’ve watched over durin’ a voyage. She won’t be the last either.” A pause. “When I say that, I mean—”

Jack gave a raise of her hand. “I understand what yer meanin’. Don’t worry.”

Taking the doc’s advice to heart, Jack left the room and stepped onto the deck.

The sun nearly blinded her in its brilliance, causing her to wince as she took it in. It was hard to believe that yesterday the ship and sea were choked by darkness and rain, harder still to believe they made it through the kraken attack in one-piece. Moving to the starboard side of the ship, she leaned against the railing, for the moment in thought, reflecting. After Celestia had dealt with the monster, the sailors had returned to deck, along with Pinkie and Spike—Jack had thought they were on-board during the attack, the fact she had nearly lost them without even knowing…

It was bizarre to her, the meticulous nature the sailors took when it came to the death toll. Names were called on roster, those that didn’t make it had a check mark put by their name—their lives summed up by one tick—and they discussed what needed done with them, since there were no bodies for a funeral. Letters would need to be written, letters of condolence for anyone with next of kin, letters for any businesses they were part of, the apprentice doctor issued death certificates for them and at the moment they lay in a folder in her office, not forgotten, but, judging by the sailors Jack had interacted with, at least pushed to the side.

Can ya blame ‘em? she asked herself, her green eyes narrowing, Dwell on death too much and ya become frozen by the thoughts. They’re all grievin’, away from eyes, though, jus’ not in the open.

“Hey,” a voice addressed her. She twitched in surprise, looking over to her side. Spike stood by her, shuffling on his feet. Last night was hell for him, judging by the bags under his eyes and the way he seemed to stare off into the distance. Jack knew the expression all too well.

“Hey, sug,” Jack replied.

“You’ve got some mail.” He held out an envelope with her name on it. She cocked her head.

“Dragon-folk, remember?” he asked, pointing at his reptilian eyes. “As long as the person knows me, they can send things to me no matter where I’m at as long as magic is around. Have a letter for Rarity too. Is she up?”

“I let her sleep in,” Jack said, tearing into the envelope. It was from Bloom and, after a quick scan of the letter, making sure it wasn’t urgent, Jack put it into her pocket. Bloom just seemed excited for the Sisterhood Social that happened in Mansfield every year, about how her and Stephanie were going to participate in the event with Zecora and Mac. Jack assumed that they had taken turns and used Zecora as their partner in the events in lieu of herself and Rarity being there. Unless Mac had a taste for drag she didn’t know about.

Or Zecora and her potions got to the boy, that was always a possibility too, Jack thought, holding back a laugh.

“Oh,” Spike answered, the pause long enough that Jack had forgot about him at her side, she was embarrassed to admit. “I see.”

Sug,” Jack said, holding her hand out to the boy. ‘Somethin is off with ya. Yer lookin’ more down than a snake in a wagon rut.’

“How do you handle it?” Spike asked. He bit at his lip. “Taylor Mckenzie,” he said. Jack waited patiently for him to continue. “That was the name of the sailor riding with me on the rowboat. I didn’t know him, but, you know…” He drew in a shuddering breath. “He died and I’m still here.”

“You think you should’ve died instead.” Jack said, rather than asked. “Look at me, Spike.”

He did as she asked; the earth-folk put her large, calloused hands to his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

“Ya did everythin’ ya could. I didn’t see it, but I know ya, sug. I know a boy like you, it must be tearin’ him ta pieces. Keep on keepin’ on. That’s the only thing ya can do now.” She nodded, confirming something to herself and trying to smile as warmly as she could. “Ronnel, Spike. It ain’t gonna make sense ta ya, but it helped me a lot. That, an’ friends. A group yer part of, sug. Anytime ya need ta talk. Ya ain’t gonna feel better today. Ya ain’t gonna feel better tomorrow. But yer gonna feel better someday.”

Spike pursed his lips. She thought he’d stay like that forever before he finally gave a slow, considering nod.

“Ok,” he quietly agreed.

“She’s right,” the voice of Rarity agreed. The two paused, surprised at the soul-folk’s sudden appearance. She stood nearby, a hand at a hip and one eye behind a black eyepatch.

“Ya look like a damn pirate,” Jack drawled out, pointing to the woman’s ensemble.

“Don’t remind me,” Rarity replied, giving a roll of her good eye. “It’s only temporary, thankfully, but still a hindrance.”

“What’s with the eyepatch?” Spike questioned.

Rarity put her hands behind her back. “Well, Spikie, you weren’t aware of what happened last night to me, I assume.”

He shook his head. “By the time I got back and with everyone running around…” He seemed to want to add on more, but refrained, instead doing his best to offer a smile. “But I asked Jack and she said you were alright.”

“Scared the shit outta me,” the earth-folk admitted, looking at Rarity, “but when the doc said she’d be alright an’ gave the ok ta take her back to our room, well, thought nothin’ else needed said.”

“Well, darling, I was frightened myself,” Rarity replied, then turned to Spike once. “But to make a long story short, I overused my magic.”

Spike grew alarmed, stepping towards Rarity and putting a hand at her arm. “Are you alright?!”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

“When Twila had hers, she was crippled for weeks it seemed like. How are you—do you need a cane to help support you? I can get you a cane.”

Rarity tapped at her temple. “I’m a mere shade of Twila’s magical prowess and mental capabilities, dear. I burned out far quicker than her, but natural recovery for me will be much faster than her. Less internal magic to return into my body. It’s easier to fill up a shot glass in comparison to a milk jug, oui? And the effects of overindulgence can vary. I had a far milder symptom, is all.”

“I ain’t one ta call bein’ blind in an eye ‘mild’, darlin’.” Jack said, a bit harsher than she would have liked. She sighed in irritation, unsure who she should be mad at, Rarity for being so casual about it, or herself for putting Rarity in the situation in the first place. Either option didn’t feel correct so she looked down at the deck in thought as Rarity put a gentle hand on the farmer’s shoulder, rubbing at the fabric with a deceptively strong thumb.

“Only a temporary blindness. Besides, there are worse things. A lot worse, Jack. The fact I’m up not even days but hours after it happened should attest to that.” She put a finger to the farmer’s chin, bringing Jack’s gaze up to her own. “Listen for a moment,” Rarity commanded. Her face was serious, the embodiment of nobility and grace in its stern continuance. “Jack. If it meant saving you from anything like we saw last night, I’d exchange an eye without hesitation. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Jack finally said, so quiet even Rarity could barely hear it. The tailor chuckled, giving a playful run of her fingertip along Jack’s scarred cheek.

“Good,” she answered, the angelic gaze she held seconds ago replaced with her usual coy half-smirk, her eye dancing with a scheme and a dream only she seemed to fully know. “Spike, darling, I’m going to guess my mail is from Ms. Pommel?”

He looked down at the handwriting. One downside of dragon-folk mailings: most didn’t bother filling out return addresses. He didn’t always need them, but it was the damn principle. After a moment's thought, he nodded.

“It’s hers,” he agreed. Rarity put her hands behind her back and took a few steps away.

“Orders, I’m going to readily assume. Be a dear and take it down to my room, if you’d be so kind. I’ll start the outlines on the patterns she’s requesting aid for upon the evening.”

The boy nodded and, with an encouraging smile from Jack, was off, heading downstairs.

“Think he’ll be alright?” Rarity questioned.

“Ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ that boy,” Jack replied, moving to lean against the ship’s railing. She grabbed a net that sprawled over the railing’s top and rubbed her fingers over the tightly woven hemp.

“Your own wounds?” Rarity spoke up, sitting beside her, “how are they?”

“Nothin’ that’s killin’ me,” Jack said. Rarity offered a raised eyebrow and a thin half-frown so the farmer sighed, rolling her eyes. “Alright. Had a dislocated shoulder an’ a fractured shin—neither one I realized ‘til after the adrenaline wore off. Shoulder’s fine now, popped that back inta place myself. Shin I wrapped up good, so…”

“It could have been worse for all of us,” Rarity remarked. “You’ve been injured by far more human things in the past, but were able to shrug this off so incredibly well. It’s a true blessing.”

“Had you an’ Celestia there. If it weren’t fer ya both, I woulda died, don’t doubt that fer a second.”

Rarity chuckled, a hair darkly. “And we’re so laissez faire about it. Spike seems to be the only one even slightly upset, does he not?”

“Maybe Diane too. Ain’t seen her since last night.” Jack put a hand to Rarity’s arm. “An’ we’re like that because… hell, I dunno. I don’t wanna say we’re used ta monsters at this point, but in a way we kinda are. After seein’ you an’ the others were alright, I jus’ kinda put it outta sight outta mind.”

“Indeed,” Rarity agreed. “The sailors that lost their lives, I feel terrible for them, yet can’t find it within myself to grieve. Having the people that mean so much to me intact…” She wryly smiled. “We’re selfish, are we not?”

“If you are, I’m even worse,” Jack answered.

“Pish-posh, Jack. You doing what you can for the towns that need it tell me that’s a lie.”

“Well, the quarterly stipend helps too. We sure ain’t livin’ like queens, but it’s givin’ us a nice nest egg.”

Rarity laughed. “I know you. You’d do it for free if the situation called for it. Quite foolish, really.”

“Yer right there. I’m a dyed-in-the-wool fool.”

Reaching over, Rarity took Jack’s hand in her own and they sat there, the need to talk for the moment nonexistent. Finally, Rarity squeezed Jack’s hand.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in sparring? With your shin and all.”

Jack rolled up the leg of her jeans, showcasing her bandaged leg. “I tested it a bit this mornin’. A lil’ sore, but the wrap is doin’ the trick. I can move alright on it. But are ya sure ya wanna?”

“It’s the only way I’ll improve,” she confirmed with a nod. “I’ll gather our weapons if you’ll do the honor of a seal.”

Nodding, Jack went towards the front of the ship and reached into her back pocket, producing a pouch of the ground silver and magical enchantments that made Norfolk combat seals effective. She gave a liberal sprinkle in a circle and stepped within it. Putting a finger into her mouth, she bit down hard and grinded it in between her teeth, hissing in pain. When she pulled her digit out and wiped away the blood, Jack nodded, satisfied that it remained in working condition, sore as hell, but the skin was already healed up, looking a bit bruised, but in otherwise perfect working order.

Now if this stuff could patch someone up as good as it stops it in the first place.

It wasn’t long at all before Rarity showed up, her saber in one hand, Jack’s towering blade cradled under her armpit. Jack took Durandal from her and ran her fingers along its handle as Rarity moved to the far end of the circle.

“Seal’s fine,” Jack said; Rarity nodded, expecting as much.

“Jus’ don’t step through the markings.”

“I know,” Rarity agreed.

“An’ how’s yer eye?”

She reflexively reached up, touching the eye patch. “Tender, but I’ll manage.”

“The rest of ya?”

“Jack,” Rarity said, her tone approaching a warning, not there yet, but close.

The earth-folk froze. “Sorry.”

“I appreciate it, despite everything, however…”

“It’s jus’ hard, sug. I’m tryin’, though.” Jack grimaced, but got into position, her blade held sure and true in her two hands. Rarity turned her sword to its side, putting herself into a striking stance.

There came silence between the two as they prepared themselves; Rarity measuring Jack, thinking of ways to approach her, Jack holding rigid, her feet planted in a defensive stance and the sword extended from her center.

Realizing Jack wouldn’t make the first move, Rarity let out a tsk, dashing forward and giving an experimental flick of her sword towards Jack’s cheek. In a blur of motion, Jack snapped the greatsword to the side, deflecting Rarity’s strike with the pommel of the sword. She stepped forward and Rarity moved, anticipating a shoulder-to-groin cleave from Jack’s part. But, strangely, it never came.

Rarity pushed her advantage forward, swinging her sword for Jack’s side; the farmer caught Rarity by the wrist and twisted the blow effortlessly to the deck, scraping the wood underneath them with the tip of Rarity’s weapon. Again Rarity anticipated a strike that never came; this time she stepped back, growing a bit cross.

“What we’re fighting is going to try and kill me,” Rarity said. “Holding back does me no favors and feels insulting.”

“How is it insultin’?” Jack snapped back. A pause. “An’ who said anythin’ ‘bout holdin’ back?”

On Rarity offering nothing more than an annoyed stare, Jack sighed.

“Ya don’t get it. This is hard, sug.” She tilted her stetson back on her forehead. “A lot different from when I was teachin’ ya how ta swing. This is…”

“This is us both attempting to kill one-another,” Rarity finished. “I understand that, darling. It’s a far cry from easy for myself. In fact, if it weren’t for the seal, I wouldn’t even attempt a thing such as this.”

“When I was on my way ta Dmitri, I saw ya,” Jack blurted out. Rarity waited for her to continue and she did, hesitantly. “He tried ta get me in a spell. It was an illusion. Of you.” She lowered her weapon, looking askance as she thought. “I couldn’t… even when I knew it was an’ illusion. I couldn’t hurt ya. Jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout it made me sick.”

“Jack…” Rarity’s weapon was briefly forgotten as she approached the woman. With the natural ease of fitting into a familiar glove, she took Jack’s hand, running her fingers over the farmer’s rough palms, the callouses making the earth-folk’s digits feel like cured leather.

“When we first were together, these hands… as wide and hard as they were, I thought they were tremendously strong. And they are, in their own way. But I see more now.” She put the farmer’s hand in between her breasts, resting it there until Jack felt the faint thumping of Rarity’s heart.

“Now I see they’re not things to hurt people. They’re hands to cradle and shelter the whole world and everyone that needs help.” Rarity looked warmly at her. “And that’s why I trust you, darling. Why I’m not afraid to train with you. You’ll do exactly what’s needed, no more, no less. I know you won’t hurt me.” Reluctantly releasing her hand from Jack’s, Rarity moved to the other end of the arena, her sword at the ready

This time on seeing Rarity’s small nod, Jack swallowed, her heart throwing itself against her ribcage but she ignored it, raising her weapon.

The soul-folk charged forward, thrusting wildly; Jack moved like a woman possessed, twisting, contorting, narrowly avoiding every strike Rarity attempted to land on her. In a blur of motion, the earth-folk grabbed Rarity by the wrist and turned with her, flipping the tailor over her shoulder with one hand and down onto the deck. A moment before impact, Jack adjusted herself, dropping her weapon to grab the back of Rarity’s head and catching her in her arms.

Rarity looked up at Jack and gave a small half-shrug.

“...I suppose we can’t simply call that one a ‘draw’, can we?” Rarity offered.

“Ya had me on the ropes.”

They moved back into position and began once more. Rarity was more cautious on her approach, circling Jack’s range, tempting Jack to attack. Jack offered nothing, keeping her stance guarded and matching Rarity step-for-step. Finally, Rarity thrusted; Jack hit the attack away with the pommel of her sword and shoulder-charged the other, stumbling Rarity backwards and, while she was off-balance, Jack stepped forward, clasping down on Rarity’s armed hand and putting her hand against Rarity’s neck. Pausing like this for a moment, she relaxed her grip and stepped back, the round going to Jack once again.

“Keep goin’?” Jack asked. Rarity moved back to her starting position and entered her stance once more.

“I’m not leaving this damnable circle until I get one legitimate strike on you.”

Jack smiled. “Guess it’s a good thing our schedule’s clear.”

The trip remained blissfully uneventful after the attack. Celestia’s condition remained unchanged. She slept, only vaguely aware of her surroundings. But within that sleep, Celestia dreamed.

The all-folk sat in a chair within her Dreamscape, overlooking a chessboard in front of her. Finally deciding on a course of action, she moved a knight over her pawn, landing it in the center of the board.

“Knight as your first move. Interesting,” her companion remarked, his tone and appearance youthful despite the years he carried. He leaned forward, scratching at his shoulder-length hair, its golden sheen beautiful as it floated much like Celestia’s, dancing in an unfelt breeze.

“Well, I like keeping you on your toes, father,” she replied.

Arthur Pendragon moved a pawn forward, then leaned back in his chair. At his side sat his trusted companion, Excalibur. Also at his side, his dog.

Celestia eyed the weapon for a scant moment, then returned to the game before them, moving a pawn forward.

“I’ve always enjoyed the view here,” he admitted, giving a half-nod toward the scene below them from the height they rested at, the misty mountains in the distance like usual, brought Celestia to tranquility as the gentle thrum of a waterfall a scant mile away left just enough background noise to not leave the silence oppressive. “Though why you’ve never bothered to dream up a cabin eludes me.”

Another piece fell into place; he looked expectantly at Celestia, his gaze something a compassionate god would hold in Celestia’s mind—stern, judging, but warm and forgiving.

As a child she had feared him, Arthur had never spared the rod when Celestia misbehaved and the all-folk had carried resentment for him. Over time, however, the resentment had turned to respect and respect had turned to love, but those early years had shaped her, for better or worse she still didn’t know.

“I’m stuck inside most days,” Celestia finally answered, “I prefer some fresh air on occasion.”

Another move, their positions on the board were simply a prelude, the calm before a battle.

“Imagined fresh air,” he remarked with a small scoff.

“So are you, father,” she answered. “You’ve been dead and buried for years.”

“Maybe,” Arthur admitted, moving a bishop across the board. “Unless you died fighting the kraken and this is the afterlife.”

“I’m sure if I made it to heaven, I would be doing more than playing chess with my father,” Celestia said, moving to take a pawn with her knight then pausing, realizing the piece would be lost by Arthur’s bishop. Instead, she moved another pawn.

“Point taken,” the king admitted. “I’d have at least a more active nightlife if this were heaven.”

“That’s the truth,” Celestia muttered under her breath.

Her father was a good man and hailed by many as the best king to ever walk the earth. He was brave, passionate about the good of the people, honest, and a notorious adulterer. He remained faithful to Guinevere in heart, as he always told Celestia, but saw a meeting of flesh all but a necessity on the campaign trail to keep him focused. Perhaps it was a ‘man’ issue, a way of thinking from a bygone era, or simply the person her father was, but the trail he took left dozens of women in his wake.

Just dozens? she pondered as she moved her rook, then pushed the thought away, more than a hair disgusted.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, moving his queen. “Defeating the kraken was a feat fit for the Pendragon bloodline.”

“I’m just ashamed the death toll was so high. We lost a quarter of the sailors, according to what little I heard the nurse speak during the night of the attack.”

“In order to win a battle, pawns sometimes have to be cleared. Even in this game, you hold onto them too dearly.” So saying, he moved a bishop and took her rook. “It makes you forget the larger picture at play.” He reached over, putting a hand on hers. “Sacrifices are never a goal to be had, throwing a man’s life away is one of the greatest sins a general or king can make. But at the same time, getting yourself killed is far worse.

“During the Crusades, people searched for meaning, for hope. I’m proud that the Pendragons were there to rally the countries together to repeal Tirek. People need the guidance of absolute authority at times. Dark times especially. Knowing that they serve someone with power and moral authority gives them strength, courage, and conviction. When you have moral authority and the power to enforce your principals, the world you oversee will be one step closer to the utopia every king that stands for his people should strive for.”

She nodded after a moment, understanding his words.

“And Celestia?” Pausing a beat himself, he finally let a smile come to his handsome face. “I’m a figment of your willpower here, but I can say with certainty that Arthur Pendragon loved you.”

She returned the smile, looking down at the game once more. “And I loved him too.”

Jack stood with Spike, focusing on the distant shoreline.

They had been out to sea for weeks now, and just the thought of being on land was enough for the both of them to embrace, energized and excited despite the ungodly hour they found themselves in.

Though the pre-dawn fog and light, Jack squinted, trying to will definition to the land they approached and only succeeding at giving herself a headache.

Spike spoke first, taking the words out of Jack’s mouth.

“Please, God, let them have some sort of restaurant,” he muttered under his breath.

While the ship did have coffee at any given time and a few cooked meals during the voyage, the meals were few and far between in order to not waste fuel, only occurring every Sunday and once or twice through the week. Any day the kitchen wasn’t active they ate cured and salted meats and rations like the guard ate, so the thought of a steak, of a hamburger, tenderloin, or chicken was almost too much to handle.

“Ya said it,” Jack agreed, clasping him on the back. “Get yer stuff.”

Jack took her own advice, moving back to her room and beginning the arduous task of loading what they’d need for the road into a burlap sack, then took to donning her armor. Rarity stirred from the bed with a small moan; she reached up to her sleeping mask and lifted it to her forehead. Jack took the opportunity to look at her wife.

Though there was a bit of color returning to her dead eye, judging by how only Rarity’s left seemed to track her movements, the tailor still remained blind in one. She had been secretive about it—always hiding it behind an eyepatch or her sleeping mask—but it seemed to be healing, so Jack didn’t make a fuss about it.

“We’re a couple hours from shore,” Jack explained, donning her chestpiece. Rarity stretched her arms like a lazy cat and leaned back onto the bed.

“Mmm,” she muttered out. “Wake me when we’re a couple minutes from shore, if you’d be so kind.” So saying, she put her sleeping mask back on.

“Alright,” Jack replied, finished with her packing. “I’ll get ya a bag ready—one bag. An’ don’t blame me if I get what yer wantin’ ta wear on the road wrong.”

Rarity seemed to consider this and, finally, sat toward the edge of the bed, obviously groggy, her hair disheveled and—though Rarity would kill her if Jack pointed it out—a dab of drool on the corner of her mouth.

Jack snorted a laugh and moved over, giving Rarity a small peck on the forehead.

“Reckoned you’d see it my way,” she drawled out. Rarity took of her mask and rose, tromping to the bathroom.

“I finished some designs for Pommel last night—burned the midnight oil to do it,” she said, yawning again.

Jack raised a brow. “Dunno why that girl can’t do things without ya holdin’ her hand the whole way.” Putting her stetson atop her head, she called herself ready and leaned against the chest of drawers.

The sound of water came from the bathroom and Rarity let out a small gasp; Jack tensed up, but relaxed when the other spoke again.

“Damnable water heater,” she spat out. After a beat, Rarity continued, “and Ms. Pommel is a pleasure to work with, darling, it’s just, well, most of my business involves clients interest in a Rarity Apple-Belle exclusive. Pommel is a marvelous seamstress in her own right, and the best secretary money can buy, but…”

“But she ain’t you,” Jack finished.

“Precisely. It’d be like your cousin Braeburn selling zap apples on his homestead. They’d be delicious, I’m sure, but wouldn't have your farm name backing them.”

“Guess so. Jus’ don’t wear yerself thin. Those white-collar types can afford ta wait on occasion.”

There came a laugh from the bathroom. “And they can also afford my exuberant fees for working on their designs while on the road as well.” Jack could almost imagine the smirk on Rarity’s face.

“Ya wicked devil.”

“You have to be as a businesswoman, dear. Being a saint is a good way to go bankrupt.”

Vigil

The ship pulled into port just as Rarity finished packing—she had managed to get two bags for the travel, a sign to Jack that she was too soft on the soul-folk—and the group froze when they all made it to deck and saw what greeted them.

It was small for a port town, and quaint enough that Rarity’s brow twitched automatically and even Jack had to pause.

The village, for it was too backwoods to even be called a town, looked to be a good twenty or thirty years behind even Mansfield. There were no streetlights, no paved or cobblestone roads, only muddy dirt, and only a few scant buildings weren’t simple homes made from wood.

“It… uh… sure is somethin’,” Jack said, trying to force a smile to her face. Rarity meanwhile, had her mouth open, speechless. The captain spoke up.

“Lobole is a quaint place. Only sprung up about two years ago as an alternative port to Freya. Since we want to be fairly inconspicuous, Celestia had decided to land here instead, considering Freya is one of the hearts of western Scandinavia.”

Rarity scoffed. “And this is clearly the colon.”

“Rare,” Jack hissed out.

“Well, from what little Celestia mentioned, what you all seek is closer here than at the capital. We’re at least a two-day hike to Freya.” The captain popped his knuckles and sighed. “Guess there’s no point stalling. We’ll need on the road soon.”

Spike cocked his head. “You’re leaving us?”

“We need to resupply before we haul everyone back,” the captain explained. “Not to mention mailing off notifications to next-of-kin.”

“Wouldn’t taking the ship be easier?” Jack asked.

“To transit, yes. But then we’d have to deal with customs, dock fees, and explaining why we’ve such a skeleton crew and why we’re hauling no freight.”

Pinkie blinked. “Those are good reasons.”

“What ‘bout Celestia? She stayin’ on the ship?” Jack asked.

“There’s an inn here. It might do her some good to get off the boat and into a solid bed.”

Jack scratched at her chin. “Alright. Spike, Diane, y’all get her room ready. I’ll check out the place with Rare.”

“Do you think we’ll have issues?” Spike asked. The earth-folk shrugged one shoulder.

“Jus’ a feelin’. Every lil’ town has issues. An’ goin’ by what I see…” She gestured towards the hamlet in question.

Rarity caught on. “Or don’t see,” she agreed.

The streets were all-but deserted, save for a few men in the distance watching a road that ran off east, and a few men nearby reluctantly hauling a net loaded with fish onto the dock.

“Get two rooms,” Jack instructed the boy, still watching the town cautiously. “Maybe I’m jus’ paranoid. If everythin’ is fine, go ahead an’ rest up, keep an eye on Celestia. Anythin’ odd…”

“Haul ass to the boat. Or haul ass to you and make them wish I had hauled ass to the boat,” he said.

Pinkie giggled. “That’s a lot of butt hauling!”

“Surely there’s nothing so terrible here,” the captain offered. “I’ve been here a year or two ago and had no complaints, despite, of course, it’s more rustic nature.”

“Jack’s farm is rustic, this is backwards,” Rarity mumbled to herself.

“I believe ya,” Jack said to the captain, ignoring Rarity for the time being. “Jus’ cautious.”

So saying, she broke from the group, Rarity following suit beside her. When they got closer to the men watching the eastern road, Jack came to a few conclusions. The first being that, save for one man, they were all untrained in combat by the way they stood and even the way their equipment sat at their sides—even Rarity had more training under her belt. Their equipment was another point Jack noticed. It was hastily assembled shambles, obviously not part of any actual military organization, but rather a frantic conscription; plows made into makeshift swords, hoes turned into improvised spears. The last thing Jack noticed was how equipped they were against magic. They wore bracelets of lead and each had a ball of silver around their necklines.

That ain’t so unusual, Jack thought, briefly thinking of the silver cross necklace she wore under her armor, or, hell, even the combat style Will taught her to help negate magic. It clearly was the only real positive the armor of the men seemed to hold.

One in the group turned to face Rarity and Jack, his armor and stance suggested to Jack that he was the leader, the only one that had a stance that seemed to imply he’d snap to action in a moment’s notice. Stepping forward he looked at them, or, rather, down at them. He actually had a few inches on Jack—an oddity for all but the Norfolk and some select earth-folk.

He opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by one of the other militiamen.

“What we got here, guv? A little bird with a butterknife?” one jeered with a thick, backwards accent, pointing to the greatsword at Jack’s back.

“Be downright impressed if the bleedin’ tart could swing it, let alone hold it,” another called out.

“Ploughin’ gobshite, what’re you bloody doin’ here?”

“Enough,” Rarity warned, taking a step forward to put herself between the group and Jack.

They grew silent when they noticed the mark of three diamonds at her cheek, its location identifying her instantly as a soul-folk and they stood, briefly stunned as they let that soak in.

“A fuckin’ witch!” a bald man announced, his voice almost panicked, “I thought we got rid of you lot weeks ago!”

In a blur of motion there came a stone from the crowd; it flew, coming nearly into contact with Rarity’s face, only a reflexive slap inches away from her nose saved her from a bloody lip or, God forbid, a chipped tooth.

Jack’s eyes widened first in shock, then anger. She gripped the handle of her sword just as Rarity held a hand behind her, stopping Jack before she could unsheath the colossal weapon and draw blood.

“A moment longer of your time, darling,” Rarity whispered behind her and turned to face the unruly mob.

“A soul-folk, perhaps, you’re correct on that regard, I suppose. But no witch. Nor am I a ‘fucking’ one, as your friend so eloquently called me,” Rarity said, her voice unraised, but the tone bitterly cold.

“They’re one in the same!” another man from the crowd called out. “Burn your crop, kill your women, make-away with your children! Whole lot types!”

“She ain’t,” Jack growled out.

“What are you?” yet another called out, “some bumbling oaf that robs bodies for that witch’s ungodly necromancy?”

“Jack,” Rarity warned again, then returned to the issue at hand as she looked over the crowd, her expression distant and unreadable. “I do not know the first step about necromancy, components, gestures used, opportune time of day. I barely have time for normal magic—being a seamstress, one does not take breaks from the art of the dress—you gentlemen would know quite a bit more about necromancy than I.”

Finally, the man in charge turned his hand to the crowd. “This can’t be the one,” he said. The group’s mood shifted in a heartbeat at his verification, save for one.

“How do you bleedin’ know?” he asked.

“Tall one’s obviously Cabellian or a Norfolk. The soul-folk’s accent doesn’t match any in our parts. Besides, if it was her, we’d have good odds of being dead already.” He returned his focus to Jack and Rarity, giving them both a stiff bow. “My apologies. We’ve been having an issue recently here.”

“With your vulgar men, or something greater?” Rarity dryly questioned.

“One of your boys mentioned a necromancer. That right?” Jack quickly asked before the man could respond to Rarity.

“To put it bluntly: yes. We believe so.”

“We can help,” Jack offered.

“With all due respect, I have enough rookies under my wing. Going by what you’re wearing, I’m sure you know how to handle a drunk or two, but a necromancer is on a whole different level.”

“Saint's blood,” Jack said. The man paused, so Jack continued. “Rosemary oil, garlic, snapdragon. Mash it inta a paste, dilute it more with honing oil. That’s Saint’s blood. Acts like a poison ta undead, even can spook werewolves. Almost as good as a silver weapon against ‘em.”

“How do you…?” he trailed off.

“It’s my job. I hunt monsters.” She paused. “Well, I’m a farmer every day I can get away with it. This is more a side project fer when I’m needed, but I ain’t the type ta split hairs.” She held out her hand. “Jack Apple.”

He took it. “Captain Daniel Crown of Freya.” To Rarity he gave a bow and took her hand, pecking the back of it with his lips. “And I apologize again for my men’s actions, lady…?”

“Lady Rarity Apple-Belle,” she replied, giving a small curtsy. “Charmed, earlier foolishness notwithstanding.”

“Captain,” Jack addressed. “Before we get too far ahead of ourselves, I wanna know some information. Who the necromancer is, what undead she typically uses, her mark, motivation.” Reaching into the satchel at her side, she produced a notepad.

“I haven’t seen the necromancer myself. I made the conclusion it was one by recent events and eyewitness testimony.”

“Events?” Jack repeated.

“Mmm. Four bodies this week alone. A death toll of ten this month. All partially devoured, all locals.”

“Any soul-folk been questioned?”

“Questioned and anyone without a solid alibi exiled to the next town over. Few of them didn’t make the trip.”

“Exiled. Fer that?” She narrowed her brow. “What the hell? What kind of circus ya runnin’?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” he snapped back. “It’s either get rid of some bad apples or risk spoiling the whole batch. Most of the men without allies were layabouts anyway.”

“You work together,” Rarity countered. “Bad apples or no, they would have helped if you had let them. Very few people, righteous or not, wish to see their life and livelihood castrated.”

Daniel shook his head. “You think too highly of them.”

“No. I’m a realist. People rise to a challenge or they die. Very few wish for the second option, Captain. Even the scum would have attempted to help this garrish place.”

“An’ scum can sometimes be good folk too,” Jack chimed in. “If they get the chance.”

“A bit idealistic, but there is a grain of truth there, I suppose,” Rarity agreed then gave a brush of her hand. “But enough discussing semantics. Their blood is on your hands, after all. Not mine or Jack’s. Let’s return to the present.”

“Lets,” he agreed, his expression more stern than it was before.

“Take us ta the bodies,” Jack ordered.

The man lead them to the town graveyard, where several fresh piles of dirt and wooden crosses greeted them. He offered the names of the fresher victims, then gave them space to work, heading to check on his men and the roadblock they put up.

“This is ghastly,” Rarity bemoaned, looking to be nearing a shade of green as she put a shovel into the fresh-packed dirt. “My shoes are caked with dirt, I think I chipped a nail, my hair’s an embarassment to be on my head because of the humidity and I forgot my lipstick in one of my bags. It’s the worst possible thing.”

“An’ yer diggin’ up a corpse,” Jack added.

“And I’m digging up a corpse!” Rarity wailed, tilting backwards and putting the back of her hand to her forehead as she nearly swooned. Jack rolled her eyes and offered her hand.

“Let me. Go sit somewhere, sug,” the earth-folk stated.

“You don’t deserve this either,” Rarity replied.

“I want ta so you don’t have ta.” When Rarity gave her the shovel, Jack smiled. “Besides, it’s a reward fer keepin’ yer cool with those assholes from earlier.”

“They’re scared,” Rarity quietly said, her intentionally over dramatic nature discarded instantly as the conversation became serious. “Petrified, and hoping to blame something that they could rebuke for this mess. Believe me, I was ready to fight the whole time I dealt with the brutes, but gave them exceptional leeway due to their losses.”

Rarity turned, her back facing Jack as the farmer began her morbid task of unearthing the victims.

“So, ya really buy inta the whole ‘sink or swim’ approach, don’t ya?”

“Mmm?” Rarity questioned.

“‘Bout how people survive or they die.”

“Well, darling, you simply need to look at history. Either people stand on their own two feet, or get swallowed by the tide, be it war, disease, or act of God.” After a beat and a reassurance to herself that Jack might understand her trepidation, she added on, “That’s what Celestia doesn’t understand. You coddle the populace, make sure they never have to truly worry about tomorrow because someone will always be there to make it better and you’re left with people unable to rise on their own.

“By Celestia gaining the grail, she may very well doom the nation in a few generations by killing their ability to be self-reliant.”

Jack paused, resting her hands on the end of the shovel. “It’s a narrow path,” she agreed after a long consideration. “But I don’t think anyone’s completely self-reliant. We try our damndest ta be, but I know if I didn’t have people I could fall back on, ta do the right thing?” She spared a quick look to Rarity’s back and got back to shoveling. “I wouldn’t be able ta handle half of what I do if I didn’t have you an’ my family. Not ta mention all our friends. They help me rise when I get kicked down, ya know?”

“There’s a difference,” Rarity argued, turning her head to look at Jack. Her eyes widened as the earth-folk’s work unveiled a coffin; she quickly turned her back to the farmer once more. “We’re all in the struggle together. Having an outside force just… brushing her hand over our trials, it’s sickening.” She shook her head. “You know as well as I the value of hard work, sacrifice, commitment to a goal, darling.”

“I also know we woulda died if Celestia hadn’t helped out on the ship,” Jack countered, putting the spade of the shovel under the lid of the casket and popping it open. She grimaced at the smell and even from where Rarity stood, Jack heard the sound of the tailor gagging.

“What in the—no, no, I won’t look,” Rarity muttered to herself, shielding an eye with her hand. “Please put him up quickly, I’m going to vomit.”

“Her, actually.” Jack knelt by the body. It was gruesome; the bugs had already started in on it and the face was lined with larvae. Even though it disgusted Jack, she kept calm. It was a lot like when they got a calf that died at the farm. The way the bugs got to it, started their work before you could even blink—ruthless in a way, efficient in another, like most of nature and the beasts that ran the show.

And speaking of beasts…

Jack looked over the body, relaying what she saw to Rarity.

“Deep lacerations at the arms. Set of three talons, looks like. Farthest from the thumb looks weak, not as deep as the other fingers.” Another pause as she lifted up the woman’s shirt, grimacing. “Deep bite mark. Guessin’ it killed her.”

“How can you tell?” Rarity asked, looking towards the gate of the graveyard, wanting more than anything at the moment for them to be done with the morbid investigation.

“Not jus’ a bite like a dog gettin’ ya. She’s missin’ a good chunk-a her side an’ a rib’s been splintered.”

“Oh.”

Jack reached into her satchel, pulling out a book. Flipping through the pages, she finally came to one in particular.

“Bite’s bigger than normal, from somethin’ not quite human. Lil’ more like a muzzle.” She held out a palm a few inches in front of her mouth to demonstrate to herself.

“A snout? How garish,” Rarity remarked, almost as disgusted at hearing that as she was with the smell she was enduring. Almost.

“Let me check the others. I might have an idea on what made this.”

She went to work digging through the other caskets until she was satisfied with what she saw. Each seemed to have the same sort of bite pattern, usually on the torso, save for one man who had a leg taken from him. Each had the bite be the cause of death. Before long Jack shut the caskets and tried her best to return the corpses to as much peace they could find.

Moving to Rarity’s side, they headed to the graveyard’s entrance.

“Ghoul,” Jack said to the soul-folk.

Rarity raised a brow. “I’d assume so. We’re dealing with a necromancer, after all. She’s bound to have zombies.”

“There’s a difference between zombies an’ a ghoul. Ghoul’s are wolves ta a zombie’s dog. Faster, meaner, an’ feral. They’ll go after anythin’ that has a heartbeat an’ tear inta it. If a necromancer is able ta control somethin’ that wild…” Jack rubbed at her chin in thought. “I’m a bit worried now. We’ll really need ta get as much information as we can. We need ta talk with the captain, see ‘bout rustlin’ up an eyewitness.”

A few sailors had stuck around to give a hand with moving Celestia’s body. Pinkie had talked to the innkeeper, distracting him to make the whole operation seem less suspicious. The two rooms were ordered without much issue and soon Celestia was lying in a warm bed to herself.

“Thanks,” Pinkie said to the sailors, as they put the all-folk down. “Back to the boat for you, huh?”

“The road,” one corrected. “We’re heading to Freya to take care of resupply for the ship. Not to mention letters to the next-of-kin.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pinkie said, her voice sounding more hollow than before. “You gonna be okay, right?”

“Well, we’re alive. That’s about what you can ask for, when it’s all said and done.” One stiffly looked to the woman. “We’ve lost men before. But like this… it was an experience.”

Pinkie made a soft hum in agreement. “Be careful out there.”

“Of course.” With a nod, the group was off and down the stairs. Spike watched them go with a shake of his head and moved over to a chair in the corner of the room.

“Guess we’re babysitting, huh?” he asked, cocking his chin Celestia’s way.

Pinkie didn’t respond, her demeanor losing its luster the moment the sailors had left. She paced about the room, looking for something. “Any candles about?”

“There’s an oil lantern by your head, if that’s what you mean.”

Pinkie flicked the object, and it gave off a small creaking sound. “No, that won’t do. I need something better, more special.”

Spike’s interest was a bit more peaked. “Special?” he repeated, leaning forward. “For what?”

“Just something I gotta do,” Pinkie said, opening drawers and the wardrobe. When her searches ended up fruitless, she left the room and bounded down the stairs, coming back later with a good handful of candles.
“Can you light these?” she asked, holding them just under Spike’s face.

“Uh, sure,” he replied. With a small breath, the dragon-folk lit them easily with his magic. “What are they for?”

Pinkie stepped over to the small fireplace in the room, kneeling down and placing each candle next to one another. “Everything’s been so crazy recently that I really haven’t had time to…” She swallowed. “Time to think.”

“I don’t know. Thinking too hard on it’s been something I’ve tried to cut back on. It paralyzes you otherwise.” He rose, rubbing awkwardly at his arm but moving to join her regardless.

“I talked to those men on the ship. They were my friends, Spike,” she told him, focusing on the candles. “I can’t just forget about them, pretend they never existed.”

“And if you think about them too hard it’ll drive you nuts. Jack talked to me some about it,” Spike countered. “I know it’s hard.”

“Well somebody needs to care about them. Might as well be me,” Pinkie said quietly, adjusting one of the candles very slightly.

“That’s what their families are for.” He tilted his head back in consideration. “We gotta appreciate them, of course. But you think too hard on it, on how maybe it should have been you, and—” Shaking his head, he shrugged. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

“Then maybe don’t say anything,” she snapped.

Spike narrowed his brow. “I was just trying to help. I’m sorry I’m too stupid to do that, I guess. Sorry that I can’t just say something and make it all better for you. Just because I didn’t talk that much to them, doesn't mean this is easy for me either. I watched them die, Pinkie.” He thrust a finger at his chest. “They’re gone, and part of it has to be my fault.”

“You don’t think I know any of that?” Pinkie asked, turning around to face him. “I watched you nearly die! How the heck do you think that makes me feel?! If you had,” she hesitated, wiping her eyes, “had passed, I wouldn’t even be here right now, doing this! So I think it’s not too much to ask that I give them a little time because it could’ve been so much worse!”

“Fine,” he answered simply. “But is it going to be just a little time? Are you sure it’s not going to eat at you after this? Because it sure as hell was eating at me.”

“I-I dunno!” Pinkie stammered. “I mean, things got bad for Jack and Rarity a while back but I wasn’t actually there. I didn’t see any of it! But on that boat, those men, with so much to give to the world…” She closed her eyes, shaking her head and gripping her knees. “They were just gone in a flash, like they never mattered at all.”

“A heartbeat,” he agreed, “here and then gone. I guess I didn’t realize how fast something like that can happen.”

Pinkie gestured to the candles. “I think they deserve more than a heartbeat.”

Giving an unsure nod, he moved back to his chair and sat. “Do what you need to. But if I get to thinking on it… I can’t,” he said, looking down to his hands.

Pinkie nodded, staying still.

She could’ve done better. Found some petals, or something. Maybe there were even photos of the crew onboard. Each of them had a story to tell, they would’ve been worth something to at least one person in the world. And just like that… gone. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t walk away from that, like the others had. She wasn’t strong like they were.

A tear trickled down her cheek and was quickly wiped away; if she couldn’t actually be strong, maybe she could pretend. She already had enough practice doing that anyway.

A little while later—she didn’t count the minutes—she rose. One by one, she snuffed the flames out with her fingertips, then moved over to Spike.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he responded in kind. “Are you feeling better?”

“A bit. How about you?”

“I’m fine. I think.” He let his hands rise and fall onto his lap. “I hope.”

“Well, I think I’ve given them enough time.” Pinkie leant over, placing her hands on Spike’s. “But I’ve got the rest of my life to spend with you.”

He squeezed her palms in response. “I’m lucky,” he said. “Luckier than most.”

“I’m luckier.” She took in a deep breath, thumbs running over Spike’s hands, as if seeking every corner of them. “If you hadn’t made it, I—be more careful. I love you too much to handle you being ripped from my life like that.”

“I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I wasn’t expecting that night to turn out like it did. The way Princess Celestia explained it, it sounded like it’d be, well, not a cakewalk, but something a lot more approachable, I guess.”

Pinkie nodded, staring at the resting form of the all-folk. “It would’ve been a lot worse if she hadn’t intervened like that. She saved us.”

“I knew she would,” Spike said. “She’s never let us down.”

“Not yet,” Pinkie replied. She scooted over, attempting to fit into Spike’s seat. “Cuddle.”

He brought her to his chest, and then some, as her head stood over his easily when she sat on his lap. Regardless, he leaned her into him, giving a rub to her side.

Pinkie hummed appreciatively, still looking at Celestia. “What do you think she’s dreaming about?”

“It’s hard to say with all-folk, isn’t it? Maybe she’s thinking about her past. Or maybe she doesn’t dream.” He gave a small smile. “I hope she’s dreaming, though. Something great.”

“Yeah,” Pinkie agreed, rubbing at an eye. “Hope I get a good dream tonight too.”

“Speaking of, I’m glad there’s a second bed in this room. It would be weird sleeping with her. That hasn’t happened since I was a baby.”

“Speaking of, thanks for reminding me.” Pinkie poked Spike on the nose. “I need those baby pictures.”

“Not a chance,” he dismissed. “I keep those under lock and key.”

“No fair.” Pushing herself off Spike, Pinkie made her way to the second bed. She slipped off her boots, socks and jacket, before falling right onto the mattress.

“You’re turning in early,” Spike said with a small smile. “Not that I mind watching.”

“Seeing her resting made me all sleepy,” she replied, curling up. “Plus it’s been a long day ‘n’ all.”

“It’s been a long day and it’s not even halfway over.” Rising, he kicked off his shoes and landed next to her, looking up at the ceiling. “Though I don’t know what else we’d really need to do.”

Pinkie’s stomach made a loud rumble, right on time.

“Eat,” she said, coupled with an embarrassed laugh.

“Oh yeah. I haven’t really wanted to eat much since the Kraken, but you might be hungry.”

“Very.” She stretched out, her tummy revealing itself. “Too tired to go get something myself, though.”

“I can get us some if you want to rest.” He reached forward, giving a rub to Pinkie’s stomach. “Though if I keep bringing you food in bed, you’re gonna end up plump afterall.”

“The day I turn plump is the day—um, the day that… the daaaaay—” She pouted, waving a hand. “Too tired to come up with anything good. But I won’t get plump! Besides, it all depends on what you bring me.”

“Well, I doubt this place is going to offer salads. I’ll see what I can do, though,” he answered with a shrug, stepping out the door.

Pinkie’s gaze wandered around the room before lingering on the burnt out candles by the fireplace. She sighed, then turned, peering over at Celestia. Even her, serene as she looked while asleep, just reminded Pinkie of the boat. So she rolled onto her back, resigning herself to stare at the ceiling. The room felt a lot smaller than it had been before.

There was a small knock, and Spike returned, a plate in tow.

“Ever eat mutton?”

“You know I’ll eat anything,” she replied.

“Well, good, because that’s what you’ve got. Mutton and rolls.” So saying, he put the dish down onto the bed. “Don’t get too used to this breakfast in bed deal, by the way.”

“I really appreciate it, Spike.” Drawing him closer, she gave him a soft peck on the cheek. “There, now you know.”

He smiled at the action and moved to sit at the foot of the bed.

“Hey,” Spike said, looking towards the door. “Everything ok?”

“Mmm?” Pinkie mumbled, a roll in her mouth.

He gave a lazy circle of his hand. “The boat trip. Things alright? We didn’t have much time to talk about any of it.”

“I’ll be okay,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “Just need some good food. Maybe some air later, y’know? Go outside, do something. I’ll go stir crazy if all we’re gonna do it sit here until the others come back.”

“What is there to do? You saw how this place looked.” He gave an exaggerated shrugged. “I’m amazed they had food, honestly.”

“Great.” Pinkie rolled her eyes, stuffing some of the mutton into her mouth. It wasn’t something to savor.

“Besides, I don’t want to leave Celestia unguarded. I don’t think the locals are violent, but…” Grabbing a roll, he wolfed it down.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Pinkie agreed with a sigh. She looked at Spike very briefly, then shied away.

He knew what she was doing and shook his head with a flat glance.

“Come on, what?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Pinkie. I don’t like it when you are keeping something serious from me. That’s not how these things are supposed to work.” Spike gave a small tap to her wrist as punctuation.

Pinkie drew her arm back. “Well if I told you I’d only make you feel awful. And then that’d make me feel sad. And then that’d make you feel even sadder—it’s just a terrible cycle!”

Leaning back, he laid down once more on the bed, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It’s better to get whatever it is out in the open. That’s the only way for a relationship to work. I’m an adult now, I can take what you’re gonna tell me.”
“It’s just…” Pinkie put the plate to the side, hugging her knees. “When you went all dragon-y…”

“Say it. Please,” Spike encouraged, putting a hand to her arm.

“You gave me a look. It was only a second but I saw it and I can’t forget it. It looked like you just wanted me, like you were really hungry or something and if there hadn’t been a kraken there you might have—” She cut herself off, slowly shuffling around to hide her expression from him.

“Oh,” was all he said. No denial, no attempt to butter her up, no indigent counter. Just a quiet, two-letter word. “I scared you, huh?”

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s hard sometimes,” he replied. “Knowing I’m weak. Knowing I can’t put my all into something. Knowing Jack and Twila and even Rarity now can outdo me if I don’t keep things in check. But I gotta.” Unsure of what to do, he brushed his green hair away from his brow. “I want to say I’d never hurt you like that, but I don’t know. I don’t want to find out, either. Cabello doesn’t know much on me—my people, I guess—since I’m just bastard blood. Doesn’t happen often, for obvious reasons.” Pursing his lips, Spike exhaled. “So I’m sorry if I freaked you out. You have every right to be scared.”

“I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of the you that lurks within you, and what he might do to me.” Pinkie stared at her palms, flexing her fingers. “I’m not sure I could even do anything to stop him.”

Spike to put his hands to his head in resignation. It was true. Spike knew that the princesses could easily stop him, maybe even Jack. But Pinkie? Not a chance, and that’s what hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I hate what I am, I do, but I don’t know how I can change it. But, as long as I don’t open the door, he can’t come out.”

Pinkie reached over, drawing Spike close to her chest. “Never hate yourself. We all have our nasty sides, all we gotta do here is some research. That’s all, it’s no different from anyone else. Even me.”

“Your nasty side can’t claw out a throat,” Spike said with a bit of harshness. After a moment, he took to giving a hesitant rub to Pinkie’s arm.

In return, she placed her hand over his. “Maybe Celestia can help you.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “I’ve never really asked her. Guess you can’t count out all-folks until you try ‘em.”

“I’m sure she’ll know something, unlike me.” Pinkie placed a hand to her forehead, sweeping back her messy fringe. “I can’t really do anything. You think you’re weak? I’m, like, ten times worse.”

“Nobody expects you to know how to fight, Diane. I don’t know how to either. Nothing wrong with that.”

“You’ve at least got your cool dragon powers. Me? I’m probably just going to be a burden.” She sniffed once, then frowned, seemingly gaining some resolve. “Not that I’d want to go back. At least when I’m here with you guys, my friends, I can give you all some support. Even if it’s just a smile on a bad day, every little bit helps.”

She looked at Spike and, despite her innocent and childlike smile across her lips, her eyes hinted at a person who was far wiser and maturer than she let on. “There’s a lot of really weird, strange and dangerous stuff in our world. But I’ve always thought there’s nothing more powerful than a simple smile.”

“You know. I think you might be onto something there,” he agreed. Despite the stress of the last few days, he felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Diane could go off on odd tangents, and following her train of thought would usually take you all over the countryside. But at the end of the day, she was more right than it seemed at first glance.

There was nothing more powerful than a smile.

Hunted

The farm past the outskirts of Lobole was a modest thing, simple, but, to Jack’s appraising eye, effective, judging by the way the crops were growing. They wouldn’t win any world prizes, but they clearly had a lot of blood, sweat, and tears poured into the soil.

Though the thought of blood took Jack away from admiring the farm and to the reason they were here by the entrance of the barn, talking to a grey-haired man of well over eighty.

“Well, let’s see,” he started in a reedy voice, coughing once to get rid of the cobwebs and shutting his eyes in thought. “T’were ‘bout a week ago. I had just finished tending the horseradish when I heard some commotion from the road. Dog was going crazy and even some of the cattle were spooked. I think it might be some kids out there causing a ruckus, maybe neckin or trying to rustle up cattle—had both happen a month ago, only two days breaking it up—so I get my crossbow and creep along towards ‘em.” He paused, scratching at his head. “W-wasn’t plannin’ on hurtin’ ‘em, just a bit of a show.”

“I understand,” Jack said, quietly encouraging him. “What happened next?”

“I get over to where I can see and…” He shook his head. “‘T’weren't no kids necking. No rustlers either. T’were... “ He raised his hand in a small gesture. “Bigger than you, by a good two, three feet. With a big, toothy maw and antlers. It was over by the road, gnawing on…” The man frowned. “Eve. It was eatin’ at her and all I could do was watch.”

“If you had acted you would have died too,” Rarity consoled.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “I hope so, at least. It lets me sleep at night, knowing there was nothing that could have been different.”

“So what did ya do when ya saw it?” Jack asked.

“Ran back into the house, locked the doors and hid down in the basement. Didn’t come back up until dawn.”

“So it… it didn’t try ta chase after ya or nothin’?” the farmer questioned, seeming a bit bewildered by his story. “An’ what ‘bout yer livestock?”

“Livestock was fine, same as the dog. And as far as I know it didn’t come after me. I’m not as spry as I used to be, figure if someone were to chase me, I’d be caught quick enough.”

The questioning continued for only a few minutes more before the two of them bid good day to the old farmer. As they walked the dirt road leading back into town, Rarity couldn’t help but notice the deep lines of thought across Jack’s brow.

“Do you not trust his replies?” she asked.

Jack twitched, getting pulled away from her musings. “I trust him.” Scratching at her chin she looked towards the soul-folk. “But there are a few things that need ironed out. Do ya think he had bad vision?”

It was Rarity’s turn to think. After a beat she shook her head.

“His vision cannot be any worse than my own, I would assume. He was not wearing glasses and I doubt such a backwards place as this has contacts.”

“”It’s not that backwood.”

Rarity offered an unconvinced raise of her brow.

“Alright. It’s pretty backwood. Makes Mansfield look like Camelot,” Jack admitted.

“Do you think perhaps he was simply confused of the facts?” Rarity asked, getting back on track.

“He didn’t seem confused. Seemed like he knew left from right.”

“Then what, pray tell, is the issue, Jack?”

“Fact the ghoul didn’t try ta eat him. Or the dog an’ cattle, fer the matter. Single target killin’ ain’t what necromancers use ghouls for. They’re there ta sow chaos, tear inta a crowd, raid villages. That means ta me one of two things, ain’t a one of ‘em good.” She crossed her arms below her breasts. “We’re either dealin’ with a necromancer so powerful that she can command ghouls ta act not in their nature—someone like that jus’ existin’ would scare me ta death, sug.”

“What’s the other meaning?” Rarity pressed.

“Other thought I had was that this was no ghoul. It’s somethin’ that might jus’ be worse.”

Rarity swallowed. “Worse?” she repeated. “What do we do if it’s worse?”

“Same thing we’ve been doin’. We get more info.”

The captain had just stepped out of the small inn when Jack and Rarity got back to Lobole. Without preamble, Jack approached him.

“I need ta know ‘bout anythin’ happenin’ in town,” Jack bluntly said. “Beyond this whole necromancer business.”

“This is a small town, Jack. I don’t know what it’s like where you’re both from, but here we don’t have things happen,” he replied.

“Every town’s got some things. Where I’m from is a safe place, but even then we have gossip.” She offered a bit of a reassuring smile. “Every town that has women folk does.”

“I hope you’re including yourself when it comes to gossiping, darling,” Rarity said. Jack offered a small, neutral laugh in reply.

“Well…” The Captain tilted his head back. “There was a few drunkards that got thrown out of the bar for pinching the ass of the barmaid. That hardly seems relevant.”

“There’s gotta be more,” Jack coaxed. “I wouldn’t be askin’ if there wasn’t.”

“One of the women miscarried. I think from the stress of everything happening.”

“Are ya sure it wasn’t before all-a this?” the earth-folk pressed, her face taking a grave expression.

“Positive. It was just after the second incident.”

Jack adjusted the stetson atop her head. “Alright. Rules out another monster,” she said.

“How many monsters do you know of?” Rarity asked.

“‘Bout the same amount of corn variations an hybrids ya can do with it. Though I like learnin’ ‘bout one more than the other,” Jack replied matter-of-factly. She returned her focus to the Captain. “Anythin’ else?”

“Well, there was a hunter…”

Jack put a hand to her mouth, listening.

“It was before all of this, though. Almost two months prior. I wasn’t sure if it’d be relevant, but Sunderland, one of the community’s hunters, he left with a group of four a few days prior to an out of season snowstorm—worst one I had seen in my years. Snow so dense and ice so thick you could barely function. Sunderland came back almost a month later, banged up, malnourished, sickly, a broken arm and, worst of all, a party of one. Said the others had died out on a mountain pass—when I asked what he was doing there, as the pass was horribly out of the way, he said he felt called to it—you know how soul-folk can be.”

“Almost as bad as earth-folk,” Rarity countered, brushing her violet hair behind her ear. “At least sky-folk understand the necessity of spells in order for society to function, earth-folk don’t trust anything but their own two hands.”

“My own two hands never blinded me,” Jack countered, giving a small glance to Rarity’s eyepatch. Before they ended up in a heated argument, Jack decided to fall back a hair, holding out her hand and stopping Rarity. “But it’s got its uses. I’m alive ‘cause of magic. It’s jus’ a fire. Needed fer a lot, but ya gotta make sure ya don’t get burned.” Putting her hand down to her own hip, she rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “How’d he get the injuries?” she asked the man. He shrugged in response.

“I only overhead of the incident. I was out on patrol on the road leading to Freya at the time. You’d have better luck asking the doctor who treated him or the man himself.”

“Point us to the man,” Jack said without hesitation. “I wanna hear this straight from the horse's mouth.”

The road to the hunter’s home took them through the lowlands of the area, a road that dropped down and lead into a marshy, boggy thing that lead off into the distance, where it picked up just a hair on a hill and faded off past a turn. Rarity looked at the puddles in the upcoming road and winced.

“Absolutely deplorable,” she bemoaned.

“Place has seen better days,” Jack admitted.

A few steps further in Rarity let out a squeal; Jack, knowing she had her primary weapon in its travel sheath and as such all but impossible to pull out from behind her, instantly reached down by the sheath at her stomach and pulled out a shortsword, taking up a combative stance with it. Only to see the tail end of a snake vanish behind a clump of grass. Jack paused, then shot a narrowed glance at Rarity, one the tailor returned with her good eye.

“Do not act like snakes are not disgusting, Jack Apple,” the soul-folk said with a sniff.

“Ain’t my favorite, but don’t do that right now,” she replied, giving one more glance around before sheathing the weapon.

“How can I not? This place is vile and, and disgusting and filled with snakes and probably spiders and, ugh, frogs too, I bet. Not only that, but there’s water on the road and I’m positive it’s going to ruin my boots and—what are you doing?” Rarity asked, briefly distracted as Jack approached.

Without preamble, she plucked Rarity up off the ground and held her bridal style.

“Now at least yer boots’ll be fine,” Jack offered, some cheer and forced enthusiasm in the words.

Rarity seemed hesitant, debating on what to say or if it was necessary. After a while, she nodded.

“Thank you,” she finally replied, putting an arm around the earth-folk’s neck.

“The least I could do, hon. I’ve put ya through more than ya deserve; only fair I spoil ya a hair when I can.”

“We’ve both been through our fair share. More than most, I’d imagine,” she agreed.

“You’ve givin’ up a lot for me too. I know this,” she lifted her arms and swept it across the wetlands to demonstrate, “ain’t somethin’ ya had in mind. Same with the farm.”

“The farm is fine, Jack. It serves as a moment’s respite from my hectic work schedule. But this, I’ll admit; this land is a far cry from the suites and glamor of the stage. Frankly, if I may be curt, it’s complete…”

“Shit,” Jack finished.

“Not the word I would use, but precisely.”

“Ain’t no need ta beat ‘round the bush with me, sug. Ya don’t need ta sugarcoat it.”

Rarity mulled it over, then looked to Jack with a surprising amount of empathy.

“Darling, how can they live in such a hovel? This place is horrible and that’s not even considering the necromancy. I wish there was more we could do for the town.”

“We’re doin’ somethin’.” Jack adjusted Rarity in her grip, holding the woman in her wide palms as she walked them through the mash, each puddle along the way seeming to want to drag her down.

“We’re givin’ the town its soul back. Place’ll be a lot livelier, people’ll start goin’ back ta normal, doin’ their routine. An’ fer the most part, routines shape a place. Who knows? By the time it’s done, Lobole will make Freya look like a shanty town.” She smiled down at the soul-folk. “Evolve or die, as ya put it. An’ I think this place has what it takes ta evolve.”

“You actually listened to me earlier?” Rarity remarked.

“An’ agree with some of it.”

They crossed the marsh and began climbing the terrain, entering into a canyon made of two rises of earth, as if a great shovel had dug out a path through a former hill, wide enough to fit a wagon and a person, albeit barely. About a quarter up, Rarity coughed.

“You can let me down now,” she said. Jack followed the order, placing the soul-folk back on the ground.

The two reached the apex of the gorge and both paused, briefly stuck dumb.

The walls had changed, their left had gradually turned to a slope, climbable compared to the sheer walls from before, their right had all but vanished, sharply dropping off into a valley far below, with trees and a single river snaking through the land. Though the sky was grey overhead and threatening rain. Each paused for a moment, taking in the sight.

“It’s pretty,” Jack stated, the words so obvious they might as well went unsaid.

“I suppose every place has at least one scenic local, perhaps.” Rarity shut her eyes, seeming to commit it to memory. “Though in larger cities, perhaps, it’s a man made design, oui?”

“Camelot sure didn’t get its mountainside castle through twiddlin’ their thumbs, that’s fer sure,” Jack agreed with a small laugh.

“I’ve always wanted to see the sights in Paris. My family was originally from there. From what my father said about mother was that they met under the Eiffel tower on New Year's eve after both their blind dates were no-shows."

“I can’t even think ‘bout yer dad bein’ from France.”

“Nobody assumes he’s a foreign diplomat either. It’s that blasted straw hat, it’s practically glued upon his head,” Rarity grumbled. Her expression turned warmer. “Perhaps we should go at some point.”

“Sometime,” Jack agreed. Rarity hesitantly put a hand to Jack’s stomach.

“A birthday gift for Daniel, perhaps?” Rarity offered.

“Who’s Daniel?”

Rarity looked down at Jack’s stomach, then back up to the earth-folk. Jack felt her heart skip a beat but she kept her expression playful.

“Daniel?” Jack repeated, “ain’t no way ya came up with that already. We ain’t even tried fer a kid yet, let alone have we…” She stumbled a bit on the word, heat coming to her cheeks and pulsing to life at her temples. Rarity offered a laugh, bringing her hands gently around Jack’s waist.

“Well, darling, I assumed Pierre would be a definite no. I thought it’d be better to go ahead and throw my second choice out first—you do despise Pierre, correct?”

Jack offered a disgusted look but wrapped her arm around Rarity’s shoulders regardless.

“What kinda dumb name is Pierre? Yer askin’ him ta get beat up at school.”

“Says the woman legally named Jack. You have no authority on what makes a successful name.”

“My name’s great,” the earth-folk defended. Rarity let out a single snort. “What? It is.”

“I’m sure it is. For a third of Cabello’s total population. I still do not understand why your folks—family—” she quickly corrected, “chose Jack.”

The earth-folk smiled a bit. “Well, ma an’ pa had decided that I’d be Jack or Jonathan if I were a boy, Ashleagh or Amelia if I were a girl. I got born an’ ma, never havin’ the best set of eyes, sees me fresh outta the womb an’ some of the umbilical cord droppin’ past my leg. Pa was a joker; after she saw that an’ called me a boy, he didn’t correct her throughout ‘til right before signin’ the birth certificate. Ma, after callin’ me Jack a few times prior, decided that the name fit me anyway, girl or not.” She laughed. “That, an’ I bet it was in part ta get back at pa fer makin’ her look like a fool in front of the doctors. They were the competitive sort.”

Rarity felt a smile tug at her cheeks. She embraced it until it became a full-on grin.

“What?” Jack asked, her own expression mirroring Rarity’s after a beat of looking at the soul-folk.

“The story. It was cute, darling.”

“Not that cute,” the farmer replied.

“Though it makes sense, your parents being like that. You inherited their nature.”

Jack tilted her stetson back and warmly looked below them.

“I always was the fiery one ‘tween Mac an’ Bloom, that’s fer damn sure.” She turned to look at Rarity, her green eyes twinkling in amusement. “Tell ya ‘bout the letter I got on the ship?”

Shaking her head, Rarity turned to face Jack, following at her side as the earth-folk turned on down the path once more.

“So, I guess you an’ me missed one hell of a sister social….” Jack began.

The hunter’s home was tucked away in a small corner of the world, miles away from the town and resting inside a hill that had been hollowed out. Passing by the worn and rotting wooden fence on the outskirts of the hunter’s property, Jack approached the wooden door at the side of the hill and knocked.

There was silence for a long, long moment. Just when she was going to knock again, the door opened a few scant inches, still sealed by a chain lock from the inside. On the other end of the door, a few inches of a sickly looking young man could be seen.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

Rarity, knowing someone who liked honey in their ears when she saw it, stepped forward, giving a touch to Jack’s shoulder and curtsying at the small opening.

“Rarity Apple-Belle of Cabello, behind me is my partner, Jack. Am I correct in assuming you’re Mr. Sunderland?”

He regarded them with a suspicious look. “True, that,” he simply answered through the crack.

“Well, Mr. Sunderland, we need a moment of your time. May we come in?”

“Is this about the beast?” he asked with disdain.

“Correct. We’re gathering information on it and it’s imperative we hear your statement.”

The hunter licked his gums and, after a beat, shut the door. There came a click and then the door opened fully, revealing him.

He was a man Jack would call a shotglass; shorter than both herself and Rarity, maybe an inch over the Princesses’ height, but the man held power in his obvious muscle, his biceps visible and thick in the sleeveless jerkin he wore.

All these vests and jerkins and here I am with jeans waiting for me in our travel bags, Jack thought. Though a small smirk came to her that she quickly hid under a palm when she realized that if she noticed their old clothing, Rarity was probably close to an aneurism, knowing that communities in the old world were this behind regarding fashion trends and materials.

They made their way inside and Sunderland turned, locking the door. Though Jack still trusted people with her whole heart, she still felt her hand rise up to rest at the hip near the handle of her shortsword, its weight a reassurance. Rarity seemed to notice both Jack and the man’s behavior; she gave a small, understanding nod to Jack, then addressed the man.

“Expecting unwanted company?” Rarity asked.

The hunter gave a half-shrug. “With due respect, you’ll understand when I tell you about the beast.”

So saying, he brushed past them and into the kitchen, where he turned on an oil lantern and hung it onto a nail drove within a wooden beam. He sat at a stool beside a wooden table and Rarity joined him on a stool opposite of him. Jack, meanwhile, took her greatsword off of her back and sat atop the counter next to a gas oven so old her granny would have called it an antique.

“It was a little while back,” the hunter started. “There was supposed to be a heard-a elk up north a ways from town, day’s travel by foot. We wanted to stock up the town for winter and give our leather workers more inventory. Me, Francine, Richard and Lindsey, we packed for four days travel, just four days.” He held his fingers out to demonstrate, as if confirming the number to himself and them.

“Day two we find traces of the herd, we got bows and spells ready and we’re raring to use ‘em. Day three rolls around and we’re still tracking their movements, they went further north, almost at a hard gallop.” He looked between the two. “Day four we find them.” Tapping the table, he said one word that made Jack and Rarity pause. “Dead.”

“A predator?” Jack questioned. He let a snort of laughter out.

“Yes. But we only really found out later. At the time, it just looked like they died of hypothermia, all in a pile, no visible injuries. Just… dropped like flies.”

“What happened?” Rarity asked. The man, a sky-folk as the faintest edge of his mark under his jerkin suggested, pointed to Rarity’s own mark.

“Francine, she was a soul-folk and she sensed something. Maybe sort of like a rabbit sensing a hunter. Gets this dazed expression on her and takes off farther north, sprinting like she was possessed. It’s all I could do to fly after the daft wench. She finally stops and it’s at the base of this jagged rise and at the foot of it was this crystal. And I don’t just mean a normal thing. I mean something almost as big as the inn’s lobby.” Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. “There’s this thing inside the crystal. Something that I can’t see clearly, but I know it’s pretty big and I know this… thing, whatever it is, is a problem. I remember just standing near it made my stomach do flips. Francine, she moves even closer, touches the crystal. She,” he raised a hand, then lowered it back onto the table. “She overused her magic, channeled something huge into the crystal. Next thing I know the crystal’s erupted and Francine is…”

“Then what happened?” Jack enquired.

“What didn’t?” he asked with an unamused laugh. “Shards of the crystals hit Francine, punched holes into her like popping out the cork from a wine bottle. Just dozens of chunks getting…” Sunderland shivered, putting his hands on the table to try and steady them, but failing.

“I’m not sure if I blacked out, or if it was just as sudden as drawing a breath, but next thing I know, snow.”

“Snow?” Jack repeated.

“Snow,” he agreed. “It took over everything. It was like we got dropped right into a fucking blizzard. I couldn’t see any of the blokes. I couldn’t even see where Francine’s body was lying from where I stood.

“I ran. I didn’t know where the others went, but at the time I didn’t care. I was terrified and couldn’t navigate—I’ve been a hunter for years and I’ve never gotten as lost as I did then. I couldn’t tell north from south, the sun never appeared in that hell. I just…” Drawing out a shuddering sigh, he buried his face into his hands.

“You poor dear,” Rarity said, reaching over to give a sympathetic pat on his hand. “It’s a miracle you made it back to town.”

“There’s more to the story, ain’t there?” Jack questioned, giving an apologetic frown to Sunderland. “Keep goin’, sug.”

Swallowing, he finally rose his head up and clasped his hands tightly together, already, they were turning white at the knuckles with the force of his grip.

“No. You’re right. There’s more to it. As luck would have it as I was running away, I stumbled onto the mouth of a cave. Managed to get in it before the weather got even worse. I don’t know if it was luck, fate, maybe we just got herded there, but Richard and Lindsey showed up, one after the other. We all get to talking, try to figure out what to do. The blizzard kept on getting worse. The kind of weather that if we stepped out into, we’d die.”

Sunderland rubbed his neck. “We lasted a day in the main mouth of the cave, then it dawns on us that maybe we might starve in there. Richard, though, he lucks out. Or, I think lucks out. It might have been better if we had all died in there. Anyway, Richard finds a small crawl space, no bigger than two feet tall. We take it and—either of you been in caves before?”

“Few. Used ta spelunk ‘em with some of the boys back home,” Jack agreed. Rarity, meanwhile, scrunched her nose up in distaste.

“Stepping into something like that? Heavens no. I can not even imagine what it would take to go into one, what with all the bat guano and dirt. Detestable.”

He chewed on their replies for a second. “Well, Jack would know, but Mrs. Rarity, caves like that get dark. That sounds stupid, but it’s true. We entered into the back of the cave, maybe thinking we could get some traveling done while sheltered from the storm.”

“Tryin’ ta find another exit, I hear ya.” Jack nodded. “Sounds like a dumb plan, but what other option did ya have?”

“None. The snowstorm was brutal. Considering it was warmer inside a damp cave than outdoors, that should say something. Anyway, we walked like blind men through the caves, at first we’re thinkin’ we’re only going to explore for a few minutes, figure light a match or two, nothing major. That plan changed when after another hour the snow only seemed to pick up. Thankfully Lindsey was the most cautious out of all of us and had packed a glow stick for an emergency light source.”

“Glow stick?” Rarity repeated, looking over to Jack, who shrugged in response.

“Cabellians,” Sunderland muttered to himself, briefly free of the dread and fear he held in his heart as the conversation took a turn towards the more mundane. “As you can tell, a lot of the more rural areas in the country aren’t as advanced as your land of milk and honey. Flashlights are a tool of the military—parts and production for them are too scarce for the common man to have one. Glow sticks and oil lanterns are what we use. They’re tubes about six or so inches long and they got two liquids in ‘em sealed off by wax. Glowshroom oil and water.” He shook his hand quickly across the table in demonstration. “Break the wax seal in the center of the tube and they mix together, creating a chemical reaction between the two. Gives off a luminescence, enough of one that we didn’t kill ourselves tripping and falling, at least.” Shuffling in his seat, he seemed to mull something over, as if rehearsing a line for a play, glancing to the side then back down at his hands after a moment.

“I left ‘em,” Sunderland said. “I lost ‘em when I had the glow stick. Guess they were just lagging behind. We were all hungry. I don’t know how many days it had been since we ate. Can’t, can’t imagine how hungry they must have been.” Wanting to say something, then deciding against it, he continued. “Though I lost ‘em, I made it out at least. And a few close calls climbing down a ledge the cave’s opening put me at, but…”

“But you’re leaving some information out,” Rarity remarked. “That simply will not do.”

Sunderland said nothing, Rarity pressed on.

“I’ve made enough business deals in my time to know when I see it, darling. The way you are fidgeting and the way your eyes dart and prance about? There is more to your expedition, and I’ll be damned if we are to leave here without information. It could be integral to our survival.”

“What happened to Richard and Lindsey had nothing to do with the beast!” he snapped, jerking to a stand so quick that Jack rose as well and clasped at her sword. He took in a calming breath and sat back down. “Don’t press the issue.”

“Monsters can make you addled in the head if you’re not careful,” Jack said. “We’re still figurin’ out what kinda monster it is, exactly. Any information ya can give might be important.”

He mulled it over for a long, long moment, his eyes as narrowed as his pursed lips as he searched his thoughts.

“Hungry. That’s what we all were. It… we weren’t in the cave for days, we were there for weeks,” Sunderland defensively spat out, guarding himself from their accusations before they even uttered them. “The glow stick lasted a day and a half. After that we were walking blind, save for the matches we’d light every once in a great while.” He rubbed at his chin in thought, his eyes staring a thousand miles away. “One night we all grouped up together to sleep. Buddy system, you know? I nod off.” Once again, Sunderland paused. He rubbed at his brow and his voice broke a bit as he continued. “I hear something. Something loud and wet near me. I ask them what’s going on and I realize: it sounds like they’re eating, just chowing down on something. I get pissed, thinking that they didn’t get me a fair share, so I turn to them and light a match.”

His face paled. He buried it into his hands and let out a choked sob. “Lindsey. Lindsey and Richard both. Gods above.” Pointing at his shoulder he shook his head. “They were eating each other. Both at once. Gnawing and chewing, one on a shoulder, another eating at a bicep. They were eating each other!” He shot up, slamming his fists to the table. “And their teeth. They were sharp, jagged things: bigger and sharper than any man’s had any right to be and, and their eyes were wild. Feral. Soulless. I got up—shot up—and was running before I even processed what was happening. I just knew, I knew that they’d come after me next. They did.” He stood, trembling for a long, long moment, before slouching down back into his stool again. “I ran. Ran harder than I ever had in my life. I could still hear them coming behind me that entire time. I cracked my head so hard against stone I bled, I tripped and fell and broke a toe, but somehow I followed the noise of wind and ended up at another entrance of the cave.”

Jack seemed like she recognized something from his story but said nothing, so Rarity encouraged him.

“Then what happened?”

He scoffed. “What else? The blizzard had died down while we were trapped in that hellhole so I ran. Ran until I found the main road and ran some more. Ran until I found a farmer and his wife taking a wagon to the next town over..”

“Were ya hungry?” Jack asked, looking evenally at the man.

“Of course I was hungry! What difference does it make?”

“The farmer and his wife. Ya thought about eating them.” No question, a statement.

“What kind of sick fu—”

“Sunderland. Answer it.”

“Don’t you think—”

“Say it!” Jack barked, loud and sudden enough that it made Rarity flinch and Sunderland scowl.

“Yes! Alright? I thought about it, I even started to think about whether I’d cut them into pieces first or just dive right into a leg or breast!” he shouted, slamming his fist onto the table. This time Jack didn’t react to his outburst, instead nodding at his confirmation. Tears brimmed in his eyes and he rubbed at them. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand how hungry we were. I still think about it when I sleep. What might have happened if I had got pushed just a bit harder, had stumbled on the farmer just a little later. It makes me disgusted.”

“The dreams’ll slow with time. Ya were cursed,” Jack said, moving away from the counter. “Sleep near some crushed angelica herb an’ salt. That’ll speed up yer recovery.”

“Cursed? Hell,” he swore. “But I’m gonna be fine?”

“Eventually,” Jack agreed. She offered her hand. “I think that’s all we need. Thank ya kinda fer yer time.”

“That thing. What caused all of this? Am I better off knowing?” he asked, taking her hand in his own briefly.

“Maybe. Jus’ know that by this time tomorrow, we’ll have taken care of it.”

With a few short goodbyes from each of them, Jack and Rarity left the man’s home. The farmer lifted her hat up and brushed a hand through her hair.

“Eating one another… horrible,” Rarity muttered out. Jack put a hand to hers and the soul-folk squeezed it tightly. “Darling, what could cause that?”

Jack looked over her shoulder at the door. Seeing that it was clear and that Sunderland had closed it behind them, the earth-folk spoke.

“Was thinkin’ a banshee. Dash told me once that they can have muzzles sorta like we saw. Figured if it wasn’t a ghoul, it’d be a banshee fer sure. But…”

“But?” Rarity questioned.

“This ain’t what a banshee does. The hunger, the snow.” Jack’s composure faltered. Though she readily admitted she was still learning, she had confidence in her abilities. The expression she held at the moment seemed vulnerable, as if she thought her best might not be enough here, that her inexperience may lead to disaster. “I, we’re in some serious shit, Rare.”

“Jack, darling, tell me what it is, I’ll let you know if it’s serious.”

She took a step away, then slowly turned back to the soul-folk.

“I think it’s a wendigo.”

Rarity paused. “You’re acting as if I should know of them.”

“Ya probably don’t. That’s fine. Let’s see…” She put a finger to her forehead. “Dash has an uncle an’ he does a lot of stuff like Will an’ us do, only more along exorcism, rather than huntin’. He told us about ‘em once. Will had heard of ‘em, but never saw one, same with the rest of us. But what he said...

“There’s a legend ‘bout ‘em. Was a king that lived in gluttony durin’ a time of famine for his people. A beggar one day approached the castle he lived in, askin’ fer a loaf-a bread. When the king rebuked the beggar, he cursed the king, that his kingdom would fall to ice and that no meal would sate his hunger.”

Rarity rolled her eyes as they took to walking down the road. “Why does everyone have to overreact in these tales? You would think a simple assassination or coup d'etat would do, over damning a civilization.”

Jack gave a bounce of her head as they tromped across the dirt road. “No kiddin’. Makes yer catty moments look like some sort of Buddha zen in comparison.”

“I do not get ‘catty,’ Jack,” Rarity warned, tilting her nose up in defiance at the very thought. “A lady is entitled to express her opinion, after all. I simply tend to be more direct now.” Finished with her lecture, she gave a look toward the earth-folk. “So, I presume he became the wendigo, or that a large herd—”

“Colony, actually,” Jack corrected.

“Whatever. When did you learn proper English? This colony came to him?”

“Supposedly he became one. Though with it jus’ bein’ a story, can’t tell how much is fact,” Jack started to count on her fingers. “What facts we got are that they’ve been around since the Norfolk existed, accordin’ ta Will, they’re efficient, intelligent, an’ ruthless. Intelligent enough that we can rule out a necromancer even.”

“Good. Two versus one tips the scales to our favor.”

Jack shrugged. “Wish it stacked ‘em more. These things, sug… I hear they’re somethin’ else.”

Rarity reached over, giving a small tap to Jack’s arm. “And so are you. There’s a reason some back home call you ‘Jack the Ripper,’ after all. Frankly, the wendigo should be frightened of you, rather than what I’m seeing at the moment.” Rarity tucked a stray strand of her violet hair behind an ear and glanced again to her partner. “Now, how do we go about besting the beast? What are its abilities? Weaknesses?”

Jack offered a stiff smile. “Right ta business with ya.”

“Naturally. Dramatics and conversational flair can wait between serious work, not during.” She let out a chuckle. “Or do you think I act overwrought during my sewing? No, darling, I save it for after the fact.”

Reaching a hand up to her own chin, Jack gave a quick pull of it, popping her jaw. “Hell. They’re fast. Faster than almost any natural beast. An’ from the stories Dash’s uncle said, their skin is like leather an’ protected. Hard ta cut. We gotta aim fer their heart. Other parts might regenerate, I guess—even Dash’s uncle wasn’t totally sure on that. It might be the older ones that do that. I’m jus’ goin’ by memory an’ second-hand information here.” She scowled. “These things were supposed ta be extinct, did ya know that? There’s been only three sightings in the past twenty years.”

“I assumed as much, judging by how all your information seems to date back to antiquity and stories.” Rarity crossed her arms and tapped at a bicep in thought..” But I know you can cut metal with your sword, so if we can just let you have one good strike, that’s our best bet.”

“Fire too, from what Dash’s uncle said. They’re supposed ta not like fire. Their heart is made of ice or somethin’ like ice. So if we burn that…”

Rarity gave a proud smile Jack’s way. “And you said this would be difficult. Though I myself lack Twila’s own borderline inhuman abilities with magic, fire is one trick I can certainly conjure. Is there anything else I should know about them?”

“Sunderland talked about the weather. I’m guessin’ they can alter it with their magic, especially as close as we are ta a layline.”

“And a hearty meal beforehand and afterwards,” Rarity chimed in as they took to walking back towards town. “To make sure that what influenced Sunderland and his company does not adversely affect us.”

“Meals an’ a lavender bath after should make sure the curse doesn’t have a chance,” Jack agreed.

“You don’t need a curse to coax me into a lavender bath, darling,” Rarity said. “In fact, I would say one would do you well.”

“Ya sayin’ I stink?”

Rarity coyly smirked. “Terribly so. I think you might need a hand cleaning up when we’re through.”

“I can handle it myse—oh,” Jack suddenly realized. “You mean it like that.”

Rarity sighed, though not without a spark of amusement in the action. “Yes. Like that.”

They walked on down the path. Though it was past dusk by the time they got back to the village, nothing in the dark came to attack them. If the creature was around and if it was smart, then it was smart enough not to show itself to them. In retrospect it made sense. The corpses didn’t have the look of anyone trained for fighting. A smart thing wouldn’t leap at the very first thing it saw, no, it’d be meticulous, careful. Not driven desperate by hunger, not killing to live, but hunting for sport. The wendigo had to be avoiding the patrols, targeting people only when they were by their lonesome.

Jack felt her mouth twitch in a frown. One thing was for sure: if it wouldn’t come to her, she’d come to it, and she had an advantage, one it took Rarity to remind of her of.

She had no reason to fear the wendigo. If she couldn’t outrun it, she’d outmuscle it. If she couldn’t outmuscle it, she’d outthink it. If none of that worked? She’d make something work, because that’s what a predator did. There was no giving up, no possible forfeit. She had struggled to a victory so many times now. She had no reason to fear the thing.

The wendigo, though? The wendigo had everyreason to fear Jack the Ripper.

Cycle

Jack and Rarity’s room was quaint, much like the town, with no electricity to be had and instead of foam or cotton, the mattresses were filled with down and covered with a heavy quilt atop it to stop the feathers from poking into their bodies.

Despite the misgivings, the rest of the room was adequate for Jack and even acceptable to Rarity—though the involuntary twitch of one eye told Jack it was a bare pass, considering the other options of sleeping outside or on the boat.

Jack knelt by a small stone fireplace, striking a flint to tinder over the wood and swearing under her breath with every spark that failed to ignite. Finally, with a roll of her good eye, Rarity rose from the room’s single chair, putting the nail file she was using over onto a nearby stand, and sauntered over to Jack. With a mere snap of her fingers, a small blue flame the size of a lighter’s sparked to life from her fingertip. She brought her finger to the wood and it roared to life, illuminating the room in the glow of her magic.

“Couldn’t have jus’ done a normal fire, could ya?” Jack asked, rising up from the floor.

“I simply wished to give the room a more unique aesthetic, dear. I believe I accomplished that in spades,” Rarity answered, already returning to her nails. Jack moved towards the room’s window, noting with a bit of a frown at how much air came through the cracks compared to the ones back home.

By the northern road there was a glow of torchlights. Several men stood watching the town’s outskirts, a few somber-faced and unflinching, others joking and throwing their heads back in laughter.

“The patrol is probably the only reason the wendigo hasn’t started attackin’ the town proper,” Jack realized. “Fire an’ crowd.”

“You do enough and you’ll eventually do something correct by sheer chance, I would imagine,” Rarity commented, blowing indifferently at her nails.

Jack laughed a bit. “Hell, you gave ‘em more respect than I did, that’s fer sure.”

Walking across the room, she went to the opposite corner and took two steps down into a stone floor. She ran a finger across the rim of a large wooden basin.

The tub was well-crafted and sanded, though primitive to the Cabellians and their ceramic and metal ones. Water here came from a hand pump, and heat was regulated by ventilation below the flooring, with a nearby crank to adjust a set of heavy shutters below the system to heat and cool the water to the users want. It was a bit of a paradox to her—something simple being almost more complex than the complex—but she just chalked it up to the power of ingenuity.

Something felt missing tonight. Jack’s mind scrambled for the answer, but it was eluding her. She even went as far as doing a mental checklist of what she had brought here: some clothes, her armor and sword near the fireplace, a book on the off chance she had some downtime. Nothing was coming to mind. It finally came to her. What was missing wasn’t a physical object, and she sure as hell was glad it was absent, for at least the moment.

“I usually get pretty jittery before I actually try an’ fight somethin’,” Jack admitted. “An’ it jus’ dawned on me here. How I’m feelin’ right now? Ice cold.”

“Nothing worse than a frigid wife,” Rarity replied without missing a beat, blowing on her nails. “I should have brought some polish. Of all the things to forget, I forget the worst,” she complained under her breath.

“Shut up,” Jack automatically answered, a ghost of a smile on her lips despite herself. Taking a few steps around the room, she turned back to Rarity with a shrug. “I don’t like ta think of this as routine, ya know? Farmin’ should be my mainstay, adventures like this—” she gestured out the window to demonstrate. “—are the exception ta the rule.”

“They are,” Rarity agreed with a nod, finally satisfied with her work. “Though it’s far from an accurate comparison, this is akin to a fashion show for me. They happen on occasion, but the meat and potatoes of our occupation—to use an idiom you would be fond of—doesn’t change. I still live for the dress, the suit, the thrill of accessories, the creation and the respect it earns me. Your purpose, despite the occasional foray into combat, is a farmer, a family woman and, in a sense, a housewife, non?”

Jack smiled. “Ain’t sure if I’d call myself a housewife, but between the two of us I usually am the one packin’ lunch fer ya, ain’t I?”

Rarity finished her nails and stood. “Speaking of lunch, please consider something beside a sandwich when I am at the boutique. If I have to eat bologna or ham one more time in the next few months, we’re going to have some words.”

“Well, come back home on yer lunch break an’ we wouldn’t have this problem,” Jack countered, turning to face the soul-folk.

“That’s quite the walk, I can’t do that during business hours. You know that. It’s the same reason I do not see you coming to my work during your busy seasons.”

“It ain’t the same; you can tell yer clients ta wait a bit. My crops on the other hand won’t harvest themselves, sug.”

Rarity let out a tsk. “While people may wait more than crops or cattle, word of mouth can affect my business quite a bit. Being prompt brings more clients, which, in turn, lets me flex my creative muscles with one-of-a-kind pieces. Delaying my work is the same as you delaying yours aside for situations like this.”

Deciding that Rarity was in the right this go-around, Jack let out a tired sigh. “Yeah, yer right. Or right enough.”

“Naturally,” Rarity agreed. She moved towards the bed and stripped down, then slid under the thick quilt. Jack followed the soul-folk’s example after killing the light in the oil lamp and, once she slid under the cover as well, Rarity snaked a hand underneath Jack, resting it at the earth-folk’s hip. They settled down for the evening together, the warmth from their bodies and the fireplace dispelling the chill outside. In what seemed instants before Rarity nodded off, Jack spoke.

“I’ll keep ya safe,” she said, staring up at the ceiling.

Rarity paused, the words taking a moment to register. Then she rolled over to stroke Jack’s forehead. After giving a quick peck to the farmer’s brow she curled up against the larger woman, holding Jack’s back against her body.

“I know you will,” Rarity finally replied.

Sleep came and the night was soon nothing more than a distant memory.

They stood at the edge of the world, atop a jagged peak. The bodies of the slain littered the ground, some comrades, others beasts, denizens of shade and nightmares. But what drew everyone’s attention was the battered and beat man before them. He glared across the fields of corpses, the hatred emanating from his stare gave pause to everyone present, save for a group of four men nearby. The largest, a man well over six feet in stature, reached for the man and grabbed him roughly by the collar of his cloak. Easily lifting him up in one arm, the stronger of the two came face-to-face with the other.

“There’s not much left to say, is there?” Richard spoke, still easily hoisting the man in his hand. He took a step forward, carrying the man like a lesser would a bag of luggage, taking him near the edge of the cliff.

”Only the necessities,” the battered man replied, still holding a strong voice despite the wounds along his arms and torso, bleeding freely onto the earth and pooling, not soaking into the ground, as if the world itself wanted to keep his taint away from it. He smiled, his teeth sharp and feral as he looked at Richard, then turned his gaze over to King Arthur, Nobunaga, Lancelot, then searching the crowd, seeming to be emboldened when he caught sight of Arthur’s daughters. “I’ll make a prophecy,” he said. “I’ll be gone during your reign, during your petty battles over wheat and islands, so enjoy it while it lasts, but I will return. And your children, your children’s children, well…” He rolled his tongue in his mouth, seeming to savor the thought. “Let’s hope they haven’t been cowed to weakness through years of peace. And let’s hope that my own lord doesn’t awaken during those times. He would slaughter you like a wolf among lambs, peasants.”

Rolling his eyes, Richard the Lionhearted looked behind him to his liege; Arthur gave one motion of his head and Richard pulled the decrepit man towards him and then with one mighty push, he threw him past the cliffside and down into the murky water below. There was no applause; those present were too weary from the months of combat reclaiming their lands from the creatures to really feel anything but a quiet relief as Tirek sank, his blood leaving a grim marker when his body had impacted.

“A swifter death than I would have liked,” Nobunaga muttered out, his hand on the curved blade of his people at his side, his narrow body and almond eyes giving him a stern presence as he looked at his comrades.

“Drawn and quartered would have been my preference. Some justice for Aglovale,” Lancelot agreed, his hands resting at his spear, his palms relaxed for the first time in a long, long time.

“A simple hanging would have sufficed. The less extraordinary the death, the less likely he becomes a martyr for the doomsayers and crazies,” Richard disagreed, turning his head and spitting on the ground.

“None would follow a monster such as that,” Nobunaga replied, thinking carefully of his words—it was only through soul-folk magic that he had such a head-start on speaking the civilized tongue, his troops still relied on his own language, a barrier that had been painful to overcome for a long while, but now that they were at the end, seemed a distant, almost fond memory.

“Your idealism is refreshing,” the King finally spoke; the others instantly silenced themselves out of reverence for him and Arthur crossed his arms in front of his golden breastplate. “But we shouldn’t take any chances. It’s better this way; drowning, believe me, is an agonizing way to go. Same with bleeding out. Keeping him around until we could get a rope and a spot to hang him would be foolhardy. The less that man was around us, the better. Who knows what kinds of witchcraft he could curse us with?”

There came a silence from the group before they glanced back at the crowd.

“What now?” Lancelot asked. Arthur offered a small, fleeting smile.

“Bury the dead. Then? Try to go back to our lives.”

Jack stirred in the bed, turning and twisting under the quilt for a few, fleeting moments before awakening, coming face-to-face with an already awake and alert Rarity. Though Rarity would, on rare occasions, beat her to the punch, those moments were few and far between. So it was only natural that the first words out of Jack’s mouth were not ‘good morning.’

“Bad dream?” she asked instead.

“I don’t know,” Rarity admitted. She rose to a sit, the dream still on her mind as she stared into the remains of the fire. “Good or bad, it was vivid. As if I were really there.”

“Same,” Jack agreed. “Like I was right there fer the ride when this fella got tossed off a cliff.”

“Tirek,” Rarity answered, looking over to Jack with a sense of confusion.

“Tirek.” Jack rubbed at her chin. “Tirek, Lancelot, Nobunaga, King Arthur. I never even heard their names bein’ said, but I knew ‘em. Magic?”

“None I cast.”

A knock at the door stopped their conversation; Jack offered an unsure glance to Rarity before rising to answer it, a pillow in front of her to keep her halfway decent.

Spike stood before them, not even phased by Jack’s appearance.

“Celestia woke up,” he said, cocking a thumb towards the all-folk’s room. “She requested everyone.”

A moment later, Jack and Rarity had dressed and came to Celestia’s bedside. The all-folk remained a bastion of grace and composure, her hands resting at her hips and sitting tall and straight in the bed, but her expression was clouded, holding no small amount of worry within it.

“I’m glad to see you’re all still well,” she addressed. “Pinkie told me that some of the sailors weren’t so fortunate.”

“A lotta dead,” Jack agreed. “But a lot alive because of ‘em. Damn brave men.”

“The bravest,” Spike agreed, looking at his hands in thought.

Celestia gave an agreeing nod and adjusted herself a bit in the bed. “They will be missed. Words cannot do any justice to them, but when I return to our sovereign soil, perhaps I can at least offer condolences to their family. But, as much as it pains me to say, we need to press on and discuss an issue. Spike and Diane both awoke from a dream remarkably similar to a vision I had in my dreamscape moments before waking up involving a man being executed.”

“Tirek,” Rarity promptly answered. “And your father, King Arthur was there.”

“And Lancelot,” Spike added, “with a few names I didn’t know, but knew.”

On seeing the boy pause and struggle with expressing himself, Jack quickly nodded. “Yeah. It was like I knew ‘em in the dream, but when I woke up I had no idea who they were, ‘side from the name.”

“Friends. Friends of my father, technically, but I considered them esteemed allies during their time.” Celestia seemed almost wistful as she finished and looked past the others in thought. “When I think back on the Crusades against the hellspawn, it reminded me of the necessity of unification, of cooperation. It’s such a shame how muddled the history became, how… messy diplomacy can be with no common goal shared between all those present.” Celestia took in a breath, letting her shoulders rise and fall. “I despise how diplomacy can be changed with a simple stiff breeze. I hate how some of the countries let greed and a lust for worldly goods cloud their judgement on what their people wish. It’s…” She grasped her bicep in a hand, squeezing it.

“Are you ok?” Diane asked, leaning forward and putting a hand on Celestia’s bed.

The all-folk promptly bobbed her head. “I was lost in thought. Please, forgive me.” She returned her gaze to the rest of the room. “The dreams. All-folk don’t have dreams as often as the other races. When we do, they tend to be more like visions. Prophecies may be a bit much, but they tend to offer vague advice within their depths.”

Jack crossed her arms. “So this thing was advice fer Tirek or—what was his name—Sombra, the god he worshiped or somethin’?”

Celestia’s expression turned dark and there was a spark of emotion Jack never expected to see in the princess's eyes.
A spark of wild, childlike fear.

As soon as it appeared, it vanished and Celestia vehemently shook her head.

“Sombra is never returning,” Celestia rejected, almost too eagerly, denying it without even a second of inner consideration. Calming, regaining herself in but an instant, she pressed on. “Tirek is dead. I was there when he was thrown into the water. Plus, it’s been a lifetime ago. More than a lifetime ago. He’s nothing to worry about.”

“Then what else could these visions, if they are, be about?” Rarity questioned. “Some knowledge would be marvelous, considering that a vision for all of us may affect all of us and that includes the plans for Jack and myself today.”

“Plans?” Spike repeated.

“Plans makes it sound like we’re jus’ goin’ shoppin’,” Jack said. She gave a small rub at her cheek. “The town’s been hit a lot over the month by a wendigo. We’re puttin’ it down.”

“I’m coming as well,” Celestia said, attempting to rise only to let out a weak hiss of pain and slump back onto the bed. She tried again and managed to swing her feet over the edge only to have a hand stop her from rising.

“Like ya are? No. Ya ain’t comin’ with,” Jack said, letting go of Celestia’s shoulder. “Ya ain’t worth nothin’ without some rest, save yer strength.”

“Jack. You don’t know wendigos. I need to help you fight it if it's anything beyond an adolescent.”

“Jack doesn’t need your help,” Rarity countered, offering a glance to the woman in question, then returning her focus to Celestia. “I know she can handle this. You trusted her enough to take her halfway across the world as a guard, trust her with this, Princess. She’ll find a way. We’ll find a way.”

Celestia bowed her head and shut her eyes. Jack wasn’t sure if she was thinking or merely resting. It was hard to tell a lot of what occurred around the that crossed Celestia’s mind. Not that Jack was the smartest of the bunch, mind, but even Twila, the brainiest of the brains, seemed perplexed when it came to Celestia. Granted, maybe that was because the girl was head over heels with the ancient woman—Jack knew from experience what that did to figuring out someone.

Still though, when Celestia looked at her and Rarity, Jack could already tell what her judgement was. The stern, deadly serious expression could only mean one thing.

“Be careful,” Celestia warned.

“I can come,” Spike offered.

“Not against that,” the princess rejected instantly.

“But—”

“No,” she emphatically said. “The wendigo would prey on you especially, Spike.”

There was a rare flinch of anger in Spike’s face. “I’m not that weak. I’m probably stronger than Jack, even.”

“Dragon-folk usually are when they leave their humanoid mannerisms and appearances behind. But that strength can become a weakness.” She pointed at the man. “What the wendigo can do to someone like you mentally… I’ve seen it, long ago.”

There was another moment of near-defiance, but then Spike nodded. “Fine,” he curtly answered.

“Have no fear, darling! We’ll return in due time with the matter behind us,” Rarity said, giving a wink Spike’s direction.

“And when you get back, we’re gonna have a party! A big one with ale—that’s what they drink here, right?” Pinkie quickly asked Celestia. On the all-folk’s confirmation, Pinkie lifted a fist up. “Ale!” she exclaimed.

Jack smiled but said nothing, turning to head out the door. Rarity spoke for both of them.

“Well, I would be partial to a hot meal as well alongside a drink. Just something to consider,” she offered with a small smirk. After a beat her expression died and she gave a raise of her hand. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

Returning to their room, they got ready, Rarity donning a loose-fitting shirt, leather slacks and gloves, then, once she had secured her saber to her belt, turned her attention to Jack. Without a word, Rarity tended to the woman, brushing her hair behind her back and helping the earth-folk don her own equipment. Finally ready, the pair went downstairs and out the door.

It was about an hour after Jack and Rarity had left when Celestia was able to rise and she did it with a small grunt of pain, stumbling forward until she caught herself on the back of a chair.

“Careful,” Spike warned, moving to her side and holding her. The all-folk looked warmly down at the boy.

She had known Spike for almost his whole life. She, then eventually, Twila’s blood parents had raised him to the best of their ability and even now there came a swell of pride looking at the dragon-blood and the concern that came to his eyes despite their slitted, reptilian nature. Smiling, she gave a squeeze of his shoulder.

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

After another moment making sure she was being truthful, he let go of her and she took another step forward, this one with more confidence. Still, to be on the safe side, she made a clawed expression with her hand and gave a rise up to her waist. From the floor, rising as if there was nothing below them but an empty void, came a wooden cane, which she took into her palm and tested, poking at the wooden floor curiously. Satisfied, she leaned on it and made a few steps towards the door.

“Should you head out like you are?” Spike asked.

“I need to eventually. Now at least lets me out of the room. And I’m sure Diane is—”

“Yesletsgothankyou!” a blur of pink hair exclaimed, already out the door and bouncing on her feet in the hallway. “Where we going?” Pinkie asked. “Outside?”

“Do you want to?” Celestia pondered. Pinkie nodded, looking akin to an overexcited dog with her hands at the collar of her neck. The all-folk chuckled.

“Very well. I’m sure Spike will have no objections.”

“I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs,” he agreed, then lowered his voice, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. “but do you think it’s smart, being seen?”

She reached forward, giving a small rub at Spike’s hair. “In some ways, yes, in some ways, no. Caution is important, yet it can keep you frozen. Besides, anyone that wished to do harm would still be looking in Cabello, I believe.”

The three went down the stairs, Pinkie throwing her arms out and letting out a ‘whoosh’ from her lips; Spike and Celestia shared a look, shared a smile, then followed behind her. The earth-folk ran hunched-over and threw herself on the countertop of the bar, making the plump barkeep let out a surprised yelp at her sudden appearance and nearly dropping the mug he held onto the floor; a gesture from Celestia caught it in midair, enveloping it with her magic. He took it without a word and looked over at the pink-haired woman.

“Tonight we’re gonna party!” Pinkie exclaimed, thrusting four fingers out under his wide nose and grinning broadly. “We’re gonna need four casks of ale!”

“Four?” he repeated, looking between the three of them incredulously. “That’s a lot for three.” Done with polishing a mug with a cloth, he put it up and wiped his hands on his apron.

Pinkie let out air from her lips, flapping them like she was a horse.

“Well, duh, it’s not for us. It’s for the townsfolk!”

The barkeep gestured a meaty arm behind her and Pinkie turned. Save for a single man in a wide-brimmed hat collapsed onto a wooden table, the bar was empty.

“You’re missing something, if you were wanting to do that. Place hasn’t been active since the attacks. People are too scared to get out of their houses.”

Pinkie gave an easy shrug. “That won’t matter, tonight’s the last night you worry about that wendy thing.”

He stared at her and she gave a tap onto the counter. “Four casks, not a drop less.” With a wink, she stepped towards the door and Spike quickly went after her. Celestia gave a small bow of her head at the barkeep, then walked briskly after the two.

Pinkie dragged Spike behind her as they took in what few sights the town offered, the few houses scattered in a crescent across the area, the docks—Pinkie pointed out towards the horizon and Spike only just managed a nod before they were off again, heading towards a road that ran parallel to the ocean before fading off into the distance. Pinkie put a hand to Spike’s waist and affectionately squeezed the boy. Celestia watched them with a twinkle in her eye as they went about their business and there came a thought that made her smile bitterly.

Spike’s parents were much like him and the girl.

He was a young man named after the tale of Icarus. A sky-folk, timid, whipped and hen-pecked constantly by the girl he settled down with, but would do absolutely anything for her.

Spike’s mother, on the other hand…

Fafnir was her name and she was a dragon through and through. One of the old, ancient races that had existed since history’s inception. Like most of the bloodline, she was haughty, greedy, arrogant, and had caused more than her fair share of trouble in Camelot during Celestia’s father’s reign and even her grandfather Uther’s reign within the land of England. Despite these traits she had proven a noble ally to the Pendragon namesake, seen as one of their most trusted advisers alongside Merlin the Star-Swirled, and, after rescuing Icarus from a storm that had gotten out of hand, had a heart the grew softer the instant Icarus was around.

In her true form she was a sight to behold; large as the cabin to a train and violet scales that held a shimmering, almost alien beauty within them, mixed within green scales that matched the shaggy mess of Spike’s hair, and a wide maw that seemed to be perpetually caught mid-smile.

In her altered form she was just as beautiful, with fair skin that matched Luna’s and eyes so dark and black that her slitted pupils were almost invisible. There were magics in the past that had changed one's appearance before, of course, one could alter gender, height, the color of one's hair, it was a field of study that many soul-folk spared no expense on. But they were temporary things, things that, depending on the user, could last mere hours at best.

A dragon and their seed, pureblood or bastard mixed between two different species, could change between man and dragon as needed and stay that way. In the old times dragons would stay in a human appearance for days on end in order to travel without drawing attention—though in the old times soul-folk learned quickly how to dispel such disguises in a classic case of a better mousetrap to best a better mouse—and some of the first steps in the school of alteration came from the study of the dragons.

Spike and Pinkie had stopped their goofing around, at least for a moment, and had turned their attention to some of the scant few people out in the open, taking time to talk to them.

Though Icarus and Fafnir never married due to the stigma of them being together, Celestia knew they had cared for one-another as much as any couple she had seen in her long years on the earth.

Which made what happened all the more shocking to Celestia.

Fafnir had traveled with Celestia’s father on more than one occasion. Though monster attacks were far less frequent than they seemed to be now, they still were an issue; Arthur said it was a reaction to the Crusades, that the monsters had been permanently stirred awake due to the amount of magic used from both sides. Celestia saw that as a possibility, but hoped that wasn’t true, that man was responsible for the beasts thanks to the simple crime of protecting his countrymen, but she knew life was never fully about what should be, wishing for something got one nowhere. To think pragmatically, as basely as one could, there was a lot in life that boiled down to the strong reigning over the weak. Was that necessarily bad? She thought it depended on who the strong was.

Her father had been the strongest man she knew. Physically? Perhaps not, the Norfolk could match an all-folk’s strength and even extraordinary earth-folks sometimes could rise above their limits and stand toe-to-toe with them. Morally, though, Arthur was the embodiment of what a leader needed to be. Unafraid of ridicule, a man of stone in the public eye, but compassionate and merciful to those that deserved it. The strong leading the weak wasn’t bad, if the strong made others live by a noble example.

She strived to do just that. With the grail in hand she would remain a bastion of hope and strength to those that served Cabello. Already she stood an unspoken threat within the world council, a warning to the malcontents that sat upon their ill-gotten thrones that those that stood for righteousness were not to be trifled with, and that actions would have consequences if carried through.

In an ideal world, even that threat would be unneeded. In an ideal world, Luna would distance herself away from war, as it was outdated. William, the old fool, perhaps would have settled down, content to drink his days away and write poetry. Jack could settle down and live the life she strived in earnest for whenever she wasn’t risking her life fighting monsters.

Twila wouldn’t have to worry about naysayers as they tested their relationship, seeing if it was something feasible, something both of them wanted. Likewise, there would be no fear of her sitting on the throne with as much respect Celestia herself or Luna drew.

Sadly, this wasn’t an ideal world. It was a cruel one at times where brave men and women threw themselves into danger and where she had to be on the watch for any sort of suspicious act around her—the kingslaying reinforced this in an exceptional way—it was a world where a boy like Spike grew up too fast it seemed, and a girl like Diane could sometimes be crushed, her spirits mashed underfoot like a weak dandelion rising from muddy snow.

That brought her back to the start of her thoughts. Fafnir. The dragon had been pried away from her treasure horde to assist Arthur on observing a beast near London.

It was the first and she hoped the last time she saw a dragon go berserk. The creature was intelligent, more intelligent than any of them had envisioned and knew which one of the group had a weak mental fortitude. All it took were a few suggestions, a few whispers, and the feral aspect of Fafnir took hold, transforming to her true self and, before anything could be said or done, she lunged for Icarus. The man was dead before she had even finished biting into him.

Arthur himself would have died to Fafnir, if it weren’t for his daughter's’ actions. The strength of the Pendragons proved true that day, Celestia and Luna saved their father at the cost of Fafnir’s life. She had left behind money for the coffers; generations of gold that helped fund the voyage to the new world, and a large egg.

It was years later that it finally hatched and the boy arrived into this world. Though he was originally to be named Quetzalcoatl by his late mother, Celestia saw the boy had a canine tooth when he first appeared out of the shell and so, to see that the boy would fit into society, Celestia had Christened him Spike.

Though she had relinquished him at a fairly young age to Twila’s care in order to teach the soul-folk of compassion and and dedication, she still recalled the nights when he was an infant, reading him stories, cradling him, nursing him. She had come to understand what people meant by maternal instinct; even now, she could feel a motherly fondness for the boy, something that she didn’t see leaving anytime soon.

It left for Twila, did it not? That thought made her stop and look down at her feet in consideration.

She had at one point felt something similar for the girl. That was truth and anything less would be a lie. But that had vanished as the soul-folk had entered adolescence. Her maternal feelings for the girl were replaced by a sense of deep camaraderie, a feeling of belonging that only their situation could have spawned: the relationship of a student and teacher and the relationship of two friends blended together until Celestia wasn’t sure where one role for the girl ended and another began...

Though for all she had known of Twila, Twila’s feelings for her were a new beast.

There had never been a consideration for romance between them. In Celestia’s mind the thought had never even crossed: she had been born in a man’s world, where two women together was almost non-existent. Now, with men being a minority, it wasn’t uncommon.

The world had moved on from when she was young.

She was reminded of this more with every sunrise. Where was once walking, travel by wing or spell, there came wagons. From there, trains, rafts across Cabello’s rivers, a few earth-folk with ingenuity were devising a flying machine. As for if it would ever happen, that was a mystery, but the fact that they were trying was something that astounded her.

“So, you in charge of the other two as well?” a man in a well-made set of armor asked, rounding the corner of the inn. Celestia sensed no hostile meaning behind his stance, nor his voice, so she remained at a casual stance, watching Spike and Pinkie.

“Other two?” she echoed.

“Mmm. The blonde one and the soul-folk.”

“Oh. In a way I am,” she agreed. “They’re as much my responsibility as any.”

“They’re quite proactive, I’ll give them that. They either know what they’re doing, or are laughably unaware of it.”

“I would imagine both,” Celestia replied with a small smile. “The blonde one, as you put it, has more under her belt than most. The soul-folk is, however, untested. But I have confidence in her abilities, otherwise I would have forbidden her from traveling here.”

“Can the same be said of them?” the man questioned, looking as Pinkie climbed up a pole and Spike watched from the ground, seeming to be in a panic as Pinkie walked across a beam at the top of the pole.

“I need them for other reasons aside from war. Though, with due respect, our business is our own.”

“Of course.” He nodded, obviously nonplussed. “I’ll respect your secrecy, as long as the threat to this town is quelled, whatever it may be.” He moved over a bit, looking at the still-docked ship. “Your group is small for such a ship. And the dock records showcase the ship registered to Cabellian royalty. Are you perhaps Princess Luna?”

Celestia laughed. “If only I were. No, I am the elder, Celestia.”

“My apologies. We don’t see images of your people often.” He gave a small bow to her.

“I am far less traveled than my sister. Some days I wonder if she’d prefer an exile over staying around the castle.”

“I’ve heard of her grace’s work in Russia and some of the tales within Germany. She does well in her travels.”

“I’m proud of her, she carries on the will of our father. I remain more vigilant regarding our country’s affairs instead.”

“No shame in that. You have to take care of your own needs before the ones of others,” he agreed. “If I knew Frea needed my aid, I would be gone from here in a heartbeat.” He stood for a moment longer at her side. “I assume that very need is what takes you here, Princess. Nobody plays a savior on a whim.”

She gave a small nod of agreement. “This land holds something that may be of great use to us. Though don’t be quick to assume: this item is going to be used with Cabello’s people in mind. Always with their benefit in mind.”

He looked her over and, making a judgement, shook his head. “I don’t know what you’ve tracked down that would draw your attention like this, Princess, but the phrase the road to hell is paved with good intentions may be fairly true in this case. Excuse me.” With that remark, he left into the inn.

Celestia watched him go and, though she stood, holding herself as if she were a paragon of tranquility, her thoughts rushed like a storm within her. Doubts at his words, reassurances that she was on a righteous path, the fear of disappointing her people, the fear she may be damning herself by holding such doubts in her heart and not embracing her convictions—everything danced within her. And, seeking a respite from the chaos and the sudden fatigue that swept over her, she left, heading inside, then up to her room once more to rest.

Hunter

The road leading deeper into the country proper was pleasant, when it wasn’t detouring into marshlands, and Jack and Rarity took the walk in stride, neither saying much, neither seeing much. As dreadful as the marshes and lowlands looked—and smelled; the scent of putrid, stagnant water and the near overpowering scent of mildew—the lay of the land gave them excellent view every direction they looked, the road rising above the terrain by a few feet—and so when Jack paused to look at a set of prints in the dirt, neither gave much concern over being ambushed.

“Think those are…?” Rarity offered, giving a look over the marks in the ground.

They were peculiar things, bizarre to not only Jack’s experience with hunting animals from her youth, but even now, when she hunted creatures far more ominous. Normal tracks, even for creatures that were considered monsters, had some meaning, some sort of goal. Cloven hoof to grip, clawed end to tear into flesh, what few aquatic monstrosities she had encountered had flippers to swim easier. The point was, there was some purpose to the digits.

What she saw had no purpose.

The things were mere nubs, no bigger than two of Jack’s fingers, and had the slow approach to a new area a dog might, with the footprints embedded deeper into the dirt every once in awhile, as if he were smelling his prey and on a prowl, even veering off track a few places and into the lowlands below.

“Looks like stilts,” Rarity said.

“Sorta,” Jack agreed. She touched one and thought for a beat, noting several others nearby.

He frequented here.

“Pretty deep. Thing’s heavy. They were right ‘bout it bein’ big.”

The soul-folk gestured around them. “If he’s so large, I have my doubts he’s present.”

Jack nodded in agreement. “Maybe out huntin’, maybe he’s more active ‘round dusk. I dunno. Guessin.’” She thought for a moment, scooping up dirt and rubbing it between her fingers. “Maybe we’ve got too much of a crowd. All-a its meals have jus’ been people on their lonesome when travelin’ the road.”

“Aside from Sunderland’s crew,” Rarity replied.

“Aside from ‘em,” Jack agreed.

“Then we need to reduce our party further.” She gestured ahead, where, perhaps a half-mile away, a hill sloped past the road and down into the marshy pit. “If you wait there, I can serve as bait.”

“Bait?” Jack repeated, incredulous. “Are ya nuts?” She raised her hands. “This ain’t no game, Rare. If yer out here with me, it’s with me.”

“Jack. I do not ask for much when it comes to our arrangement, correct?” Rarity asked, looking to the woman. “We discovered compromises, had our… spats, for lack of a better word, but one thing never changed. I trusted you. I trusted you to do your best to care for both of us.” She sighed. “But it’s changed somewhat. I want to be as dependable as the most dependable woman I know, darling. And some of that involves me in some degree of danger. To which I say, ‘so be it.’” Punctuating the statement with a rise and fall of her hand, she met Jack’s eyes once again. “I’m not afraid anymore. Not as I once was.”

It came slow, but Jack pursed her lips and nodded. “I know. Yer jus’ gonna have ta remind me time ta time. It’s hard thinkin’ of ya like this.”

Rarity smirked, giving a small rattle of her saber. “I find myself rather dashing in this, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jack’s smile was warmer, genuine; she let a single dry chuckle out. “Ya know how ta wear it, that’s fer sure.”

“And if I know how to wear it, then I know how to use it.” She brushed her hair back, looking to Jack like a rose; beautiful, but holding thorns. “You can count on me.”

Jack turned, looking to the hill, then back to the soul-folk. “If—if,” she emphasized, raising a finger up, pointing sternly at the tailor. “Ya see anythin’ outta the ordinary. Ya get ta me, ok? Don’t engage it, don’t run towards town, come ta me.”

Rarity saw the nerves behind Jack’s harder words. The worry. So, instead of lashing out at Jack and her insistence on treating her like a child, Rarity reached forward, resting a gloved hand to the guard at Jack’s neck.

“I’ll be careful. I promise,” she agreed.

The other accepted the answer and, with a hesitant step back, headed towards her ambush point.

Rarity watched her go. Despite, or perhaps because of the farmer’s worry about her, Rarity felt the beginnings of a smile flutter to her lips. It was one of those things with Jack that Rarity loved and hated at the same time. The earth-folk cared deeply about her, it was as obvious as the sun resting at her back, but the care, while endearing, lead to her being overprotective, concerned when there was no need to be.

Perhaps, Rarity pondered as she moved over to a half-dead tree in one of the few spots she could see that was halfway dry, it was because of how they came to be together.

There had been men and a smaller handful of women that she had been courted by. They had quite a bit more in common with her than Jack did, came from noble houses all across the world, even back in Rarity’s former family estate in France, and had a far greater interest within her own profession and passions.

Granted, those suitors didn’t save your life, Rarity thought.

There was that, if she were to admit. But there was more to it. She was not some prize Jack earned, some trophy. No, Rarity had saw something within Jack that the others didn’t have, something she still was trying to figure out and might never fully understand.

But, that was fine with her. She was not like Twila, needing to delve and solve every mystery. She was content with what Jack had to offer, content to let the days go by amid talks of people, history, music, food.

Jack, however, still seemed to hold some tension within her. Perhaps not tension that she wasn’t good enough for Rarity—the woman had her pride in her land and family, she had the pride only people who worked their hands to the bone could appreciate—rather, Rarity thought Jack at times was afraid of losing her, of losing the life they had made. Of losing her interest, of being too detached to her profession, of death itself. Jack, to the soul-folk’s eyes, held this fear. And, coming from Jack’s position, it was a reasonable one—not that Rarity would ever leave, that was ridiculous; she had made a commitment and she was sticking with it, good day or bad—but, rather, the fear was sort of a juvenile one, and Jack was a juvenile lover, never really holding an interest in romance until Rarity had come along, and Jack’s own fears were mirrored by how Rarity had felt years ago with the first man she had ever laid with.

She had feared losing him at the time, she saw him as her prince, as a dashing man riding atop a pure-white stallion. Eventually she had come to the realization that he was a fraud, a scheming man after her family’s estate and position in the aristocracy. In a way, Jack not giving “two shits”—her words—about political positioning and that the farmer absolutely detested asking for money or aid from Rarity’s father were small, simple things that solidified Jack as a partner she could hold pride in having, the occasional spat or disagreement be damned.

Turning her thoughts away from the earth-folk, she sat down on the ground, grateful at her traveling clothing. If she was wearing something more elegant like the dress she had in her second bag, she would either be bawling her eyes out on how it was coated in mud, or furious at Jack for taking her out to a place like this.

The thought of clothing lead to another thought of clothing. Not that that was irrational for her; she had a profession that was centered around it, after all, and she once again consulted a mental checklist, running through names of clients and their desire.

Mr. Potager: a tweed overcoat—though why a man of his stature uses tweed of all things is beyond me. Professor Jubilee, one scarf for her son in cashmere—boy gets dreadfully cold come wintertime according to her. A—
Rarity paused, her ears twitching. Something seemed off. Like something was missing.

The insects, she realized. The insects had silenced, leaving the area not just quiet, but borderline mute. The wind blew from the west, rattling the tree limbs above her.

There was a sense of wrongness here, one that either just happened, starting as her mind had began to wonder, or one that she simply had either subconsciously denied during their walk and it just now was alarming her. Either way, now that she was aware, the world seemed sat, an enraptured audience watching a play.

She hadn’t realized it, but she had stood in her nervous state and her hand reached down to the sheath of her blade. Her breath quickened and she paused, sickening realization coming to her when she noticed that there came vapors from her mouth; the temperature had dropped around her, well over twenty degrees, maybe more; her body trembled at the shock of the change and it trembled in—

He’s watching.

The thought came to her with the sharpness of a knife; she recoiled, no longer just breathing quickly, but close to hyperventilating.

Around her the world seemed to darken and dim, as if the sun was being encased within an eclipse. Her hand found purchase at the handle of her sword and she withdrew it, the metal of the scabbard ringing out and buying her the faintest of reassurances.

He’s watching, she thought once again, the words… she wasn’t sure if they were her own or not. Her eyes widened and she looked once more at the road.

In the distance was a large, hunched-over figure. Hairy, with three large claws at its hand, and sinewy legs, the skin on them peeled off towards the base of its feet, as if it had been stripped of its fur and skin with a butcher knife. From even as far away as it was, Rarity’s stomach churned at its sight. It easily was taller than her, taller than Jack, taller than even Macintosh and, even in the distance it stood at, Rarity knew one thing.

It was watching her.

It moved forward—jerkily didn’t even begin to describe it, it moved with the speed of a light, no real motion in its legs, it was there and it came forward towards her in the same fashion taking multiple photos with a camera results in a strange still animation of the subject, frames hidden from the wait between shots making the images glimpses into nightmares.

It continued this jerky, half-frozen snap forward until it was twenty feet. Fifteen feet. Ten feet in front of her. She trembled and, instead of shouting, she could only whisper out a weak “Jack,” to herself.

It stared down at her, Rarity could smell the disgusting, pungent breath of the beast, stare at its doglike maw, look at where its eyes should be and only spotting a wall of flesh. She sucked in another panicked breath and it shook its head, its scraggly black matted fur shaking and spreading God knows how many bugs and diseases across the air.

Blind? Is it blind?! Rarity questioned, this time the thought completely hers and a semblance of sanity came to her, at least for the moment. She tried to move, but was frozen in place, panic setting her like a statue in front of it. Hearing her shuffle about, he looked—looked—in her direction and Rarity met his face.

Her mind was filled, polluted as she stared up at the monster. Her, nude, bathing in a sea of maggots, their bodies writhing in time with her. Just as sudden as the beast itself, another thought came to mind, snapping her vision to a set of heavy carpenter nails. She leaned forward and, without hesitation, slammed her palm down on the things, drawing blood as pain flared to life from her hand all the way down to her shoulder. Pain from the mere vision felt so real, so bewitching, that she looked to her hand to check its damage. But, there came worse fates. The beast reaching down to her blind eye and popping it like a grape, its watery holdings trailing down a cheek like a slimey tear. Her feet, cut from her body by its claws, all while it laughed—it laughed. Her, straddling Jack, not just wanting her, but taking her despite Jack’s shrieking, pleading protests, Rarity’s hand, Rarity’s fist so deep within Jack that it was fully concealed inside her folds, her other hand at the earth-folk’s Jack’s neck, squeezing so hard that the neck let out an audible pop as Jack’s windpipe collapsed.

A spell. Illusion, that, that has to be it, she frantically thought, the revulsion of what she was seeing, of Jack’s pleading eyes slowly fading away as she lay broken and dying, driving her nearly mad.

I have to break from it. I have to.

She could feel her grasp on sanity cracking, the visions she suffered through too much for her, too much to bear with, and if she faded here she wasn’t sure if she’d come back.

Rarity needed something, something to dispel the illusion. Twila might have been able to use a counterspell, reflect the magic, even if it did originate from a beast, and arise, ready to go to war.

Rarity was no Twila. She was a soul-folk, true, but no master of the elements. If anything she was closer to Jack. And, knowing Jack and knowing the aftermath of the earth-folk’s encounters with magic, be it from beast or man, there was one escape, one last-ditch way to flee and rid yourself of an illusionary spell.

Pain.

It took everything she held to fight through the visions, visions that only grew more debased with every scene shown. What was once Jack in her vision was now Rarity’s own sister and she felt the urge to vomit overwhelm her as her hand reached down to Stephanie's inner thigh and began an insulting creep upwards. Holding no time left, she shook her head violently to return her gaze toward the wendigo and brought her dominate hand over to her weaker hand. Without any hesitation she sucked in a breath and grasped her pinkie and twisted upwards.

The crack from her digit hit her almost as hard as the flare of pain that erupted from her hand—she screamed not only from her self-inflicted injury, but from a culmination of what the beast had done to her, and, as she briefly looked down, she screamed at the unnatural angle of her digit. Despite the revulsion she felt at what she did to herself, it worked. Whatever thing the beast had tried to do to her mind, the tuggings and twistings and sickness he had tried to implant there had fallen back; not only that, but though the chill remained, the world around her had returned to its brightness and, past the creature, Rarity could see the hill where Jack surely waited.

Though she had broken free of the creature’s mental attack, Rarity still had to deal with it physically. It stood, quieter than a creature of that size had any right to be. Only a few slow breaths dispelled the appearance that it was nothing more than a garish statue. She took a step to her left and it shot forward so fast Rarity let out a yelp, hopping to the side and tripping just as it lashed a claw where she had been seconds ago. When she landed onto the ground from her fall it cocked an ear towards the noise and lunged again; Rarity rolled to a knee and rose, sprinting with everything she had towards the hill with the beast in hot pursuit.

She was quick, the time learning how to fight had paid off for her, she didn’t stumble anymore as she made her way through the field, her feet sure and true even as she hit potholes and vaulted over small dips, even clearing a tree stump without breaking stride.

The wendigo was, however, quicker.

He came from behind, Rarity could hear every thud of its steps as it galloped after her, first as fast as a horse, then, when she had still barely managed to keep her distance, picking up speed even quicker; she wasn’t sure if it was even going as fast as it could, or if it was just toying with her.

Up ahead, Jack had rose to the top of the hill, her sword drawn as she looked over to the two. If the silver cross she wore at her neck twitching and pulsating didn’t give her an idea as to what was happening, the sight of Rarity told her everything that needed to be said. Rarity nearly cried in relief on seeing Jack and just as she tried to call for help, it happened.

The wendigo let out a triumphant bellow that seemed to rumble the countryside and raised a claw, bringing it down with the speed of a lightning bolt.

Rarity stumbled forward as pain roared to life in her back. Acting on instinct, she tucked and rolled to the side just as it pounced. She landed on the ground with a pained hiss just as Jack stepped forward.

“Piece-a shit!” Jack screamed, charging at it. On hearing the noise, it turned to face the earth-folk, briefly forgetting Rarity.

Jack’s blade swung, arcing across the sky, the thick slab of metal letting a low-pitched whistle as it cleaved the air asunder. Right when the blow would have clashed against the beast’s side, a sheet of ice arose from within its body, growing over the impact point like a second skin and absorbed the impact, thudding against it like her blow met solid concrete. The impact of her blade against the barrier sent up shockwaves through her arms and she hopped back from the beast, swearing under her breath as the ice retreated into its fur.

“It sees through sound!” Rarity called out, rising to her feet. Adrenaline dulled the pain of her pinkie and the wound to her back—the fact that she was able to rise reassured her that her injury wasn’t severe.

She hoped.

“On it!” Jack shouted back, reaching to the shortword at her chest. Pulling it out she threw it at the wendigo; it reacted as she expected, easily hearing it and batting it away.

“Come on!” Jack called out, slapping a hand against her chest, feeling the first faint pricks of anger bubbling to surface. Not enough to overwhelm her, yet, but enough that her nerves were retreating from her thoughts, and her hand gripped her sword with more than a hint of anticipation now.

She had always had a temper, but it was kept in check by her fear of scaring off the people closest to her and her general good nature. But when the spark came, it could erupt into an inferno. Will had saw that in her, saw a way to harness it into a force to be reckoned with.

Jack rose her greatsword into a striking pose, bringing it to her shoulder and charging forward across the marshy ground, her feet splashing stagnant water upward with every step. The wendigo returned the favor, sprinting after Jack.

Snow had began to fall amid Rarity’s attempt to breath and remove her emotions. Now wasn’t the time to put on the mask of a princess, of a prima donna. Now was the time to empty her mind and quell the fear she held, to ignore the chattering of her teeth as a cold, frigid wind blew over her body. If she didn’t calm herself, the magic within her wouldn’t come out, or worse, wouldn’t come out properly. Finally, a small orb of fire graced her palm, which she brought to the guard of her weapon. It swallowed the weapon in its orange hue, then took on a different property, seeming to be almost liquid, coating the base of the weapon like it was a crimson and orange oil. She adjusted her hand to where only two fingers covered the blade proper, and swiped it across the length of the sword, coating the entire cutting edge in the spell. Her magic cast, she crept forward, watching the wendigo’s back intently.

Jack’s weapon clashed with the creature’s side, its face, biceps, legs, nowhere seemed vulnerable to her blows, every strike was to no avail thanks to the wall of ice that guarded its body with every swing. Even with the oil covering her weapon, it wouldn’t mean shit if she couldn’t land a solid hit. Scowling, she swung once more, nearly overextending into the wendigo’s swing. She backpedaled away, blocking its mouth with the flat of her sword as it attempted to bite her, before disengaging enough that she could take a second to observe it. It stood before her, showing no signs of weakness, no sign of fatigue even after her strikes.

If you can’t outsmart them, Apple—and you and I both know you can’t—outfight them! Will barked in her head, commanding her like he had so many other times during their time training together. She nodded despite herself as she rolled her wrist to adjust the grip on her sword and prepared to engage it once more.

Before Jack could approach, Rarity struck from behind, her quiet movement rewarded as her sword pierced its back, the tip of the weapon protruding from the front, the flames spitting from the weapon keeping the ice at bay.

The bellow the creature made was one of pain and anger, but not one of weakness. Rarity’s blow had been true in many ways, but had missed his heart and so, now enraged, he turned and swung his clawed hand towards Rarity; the soul-folk ducked and moved to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow, but having to abandon her weapon to do so.

The snow turned into a flurry, seeming to leave the three in an endless field. The road a mere twenty or so feet from their position was lost to them, in another world amid the sea of grey, bulbous clouds that formed in a whirling circle around them.

A harsh wind blew, nearly toppling over Jack as she held a hand at her brow to make out the monster and her wife amid the worse-growing conditions. As she did, the creature seemed to melt, fade from existence, the wind and snow taking bits of the wendigo with the breeze until it had vanished, Rarity’s sword clattering to the frozen ground. Jack swore, listening intently over the howl of the wind. Though most of the creature’s abilities came as a surprise to her, she knew one thing for certain: a predator like that, once it did decide to engage, wouldn’t retreat. It was here, somewhere, she had to find it, find it before it got her or, God forbid, Rarity, and with that in mind, Jack pulled out her cross, intending to use it as a way to track the wendigo.

Rarity, meanwhile, realized that, as the creature vanished within the snow, it explained how the hell the damn monster had been able to get to her and cast its illusion spell. If it was able to travel with the elements, then it was no wonder it had managed its feat while she was thinking of other matters, and why Jack had not spotted it herself.

But if it was through magical means, then Rarity should at least have decent odds of sensing it.

Swallowing, the soul-folk shut her eyes and again concentrated, letting the tingle of magic ebb throughout her body, the power she held flowing to her senses, her eyes, her ears, at her forehead.

Zecora had called the place the ‘third eye’, a place where her people said that magic was most prevalent, the core of the user. Rarity was far from sure on it being her ‘core,’ but she did know that it was the ideal location to focus to when tracing magic was necessary.

And right now that trace of magic let her not pinpoint the wendigo’s location, but gain an approximation of it.

Where it was made her snap her eyes open.

“Jack!” Rarity called out towards the distance, the blizzard nearly obscuring the other and nearly muting her cry.

Jack had turned on instinct before Rarity could so much as breath a second word to her warning, bringing up her sword just as the creature grew from the ground, forming and arising as if standing up from a deep pool of water, and struck at her.

The blow against her weapon caught at the blade’s guard, and the beast yanked upward, throwing Jack’s sword through the air. It flipped back behind her, landing embedded into the ground some feet away.

Rarity sprinted forward now that the beast had made itself apparent, alongside the way she dropped down, taking her blade once more in-hand, and stared in alarm when she saw the earth-folk’s weapon embedded a few feet in front of her.

The beast snapped a claw in a horizontal arc; Jack took a long step backwards to avoid it. It continued its assault, trying to cut into her with every wild, feral strike of its hands.

It drew blood across Jack’s bicep, across her stomach, her thigh, but, instead of weakening, Jack seemed to go faster, stronger, anticipated its attacks. Her head felt like it had a painful cold, a red hot heat was starting to take over, one she was familiar with. One Will had changed from a timid spark within her to a roaring inferno and as she danced with the beast, she couldn’t help the toothy smile that stretched across her face, the garish scar at her mouth turning her expression into something that bordered on nightmarish.

On its next strike, an overhead slash aimed at her head, Jack acted. The cross she held she snapped forward, thrusting it at the beast.

Though Will, not being a man of faith, had always did his best to remind his girls that silver was what hurt and frightened otherworldly creatures, due to the purity of its chemical composition acting as a strong opposite to the necrotic magic that surrounded creatures such as the wendigo, Jack felt like the cross she carried was stronger than any mere rod made of silver, and she felt a certain satisfaction when the wendigo howled, covering where its eyes should be in an attempt to shield itself from the silver.

Right on cue, the material reacted, first taking on a small glow as it vibrated so hard Jack had to brace the hand holding it with her other palm, then that glow grew stronger, illuminating the cross in a white even purer than the snow at her feet. The illumination grew bolder still, covering Jack’s hand in a light so bright she took to squinting and the cross vibrated in her palm—she had to force it to face the creature, it reacted as a magnet pressing against its same polarity would, and it did everything possible to escape her. Finally, she braced her entire body in a half squat and the cross let out a high-pitched squeal as the reaction finally happened full-force. A light that seemed to have weight to it came from the silver in a mist that swam towards the beast and the monster howled when it came into contact, the silver burning and making it seem frightened for the first time throughout their encounter—Jack scowled when she realized just how short the battles could be. They felt like centuries during the engagement, but when the reality dawned on her that they had only been fighting for minutes, well, it put things in perspective.

It prostrated itself in a pathetic attempt to escape the light and her judgement, but she held no pity, as soon as the light fell away from it, she knew it’d be after her again, only this time, it’d be enraged at the audacity Jack had, using such a weapon on it.

And the light would fall soon. Even Will, with the strength of the norfolk race within him, could hold a silver piece reacting against a creature for a scant thirty seconds. Even if he could hold it longer, the light and reaction it held against the undead when exposed in the open air away from the dark of a pocket or under clothing could damage the user. In fact, even in the seconds Jack had held onto the silver, if she hadn’t been wearing thick gloves, it would have burned her and would have burned her badly across her entire hand from the mist it expelled.

Swallowing, she acted while she still had the advantage her trump card allowed; she let the cross go, it flew off from the creature as if it were thrown away, rather than discarded, and then, before the beast could rise from the knee it dropped down to, Jack grasped a forearm of the creature in her palms, then twisted her torso and her muscles came to life. Though it clearly was larger and stronger, Jack dropped herself to a knee to gain a bit of leverage and its body cleared her own, briefly going airborne as she used what leverage she could from the position they were in and her own God-given strength to shoulder-throw the wendigo. It let out a surprised bark as it slammed into the ground, shaking the whole world around it with the impact. Jack rose up only to nearly sink down to a knee again as pain roared throughout her body at her feat of strength and she clutched her side, grimacing.

The beast was up on its feet fast, faster than seemed possible after such a throw down, and with Jack clearly out of commission for a few precious seconds, Rarity took control. All it took was a thought, a channel to her free hand and her magic roared to life as five long, silk-like ethereal ropes erupted from within her palm, rocketing to the beast and ensnaring its biceps and waist.

Letting out a low exhale, Rarity felt the twinge of her powers once more surge and the translucent bindings seemed to vibrate. At her palm flames sputtered, then quickly grew in intensity, climbing up the ropes with a hunger that mirrored the wendigo’s, before clashing against the beast’s back.

It shrieked, howled in agony as it thrashed against its bindings and Rarity held against its movements as best she could, struggling in vain as a pull from its powerful shoulder made her stumble forward, the panic that swept her briefly making the magic she was channeling flicker. Swallowing, nearly crying in exasperation, she took in another breath, willing her magic to stay and for her heart to stop slamming against her ribs.

“Jack!” she cried out once more.

The woman in question was already charging forward, sprinting like a creature possessed, towards her greatsword. The wendigo, seeing the farmer making a run toward the weapon, seemed once more to fade, the silken rope Rarity had created going slack as the monster’s body was swept away once more by the snow. Seeing no more purpose to the spell she was channeling, Rarity pulled her hand back and the ropes retracted into her palm.

This time, the soul-folk didn’t need to make an approximation on where the wendigo would reappear. She could tell, could sense it simply by observing the battlefield, how Jack was running, how her arm was outstretched, unobservant for the scantest of moments as she lunged for their key to victory. She knew the monster would attack Jack and, this time, as she dug her feet into the ground and took off at a dead sprint towards the farmer, Rarity knew that she was Jack’s best hope on remaining unscathed. This time there would be more than a simple call-out to the earth-folk.

The instant Jack had managed to grasp the weapon, the wendigo appeared from the ground. A swing of its paw to Jack’s face caught her by surprise and she stumbled from the blow, landing flat on her ass, her face bloodied from its claws, but only a few scratches. Before she could move, could even consider a counterstrike, the beast slammed his wicked claws downward towards her.

Only to come up empty, fruitlessly burying its paws into the snow.

Rarity had swooped in just as the wendigo raised its claws for a killing blow and, with every ounce of focus and energy she had left, she had dove on top of Jack and channeled a spell.

Twila had all but mastered the art of teleportation and was capable of doing it across lengths that most would call exaggeration. Rarity, on the other hand, floundered with the ability, only capable of scant feet on average, no more than the distance of a couch at her best. But today, whether it had been seeing Jack vulnerable against the monster, or, perhaps, her own powers were finally starting to become more refined, when she held Jack, there came a brief enthrallment within her, a feeling that she had no real weight, and, when she felt an intense pulling sensation from her bones, the beginning feeling of a teleportation spell being channeled, she knew she had done well.

Jack let out a gasp as her eyes adjusted to a new sight. She was some ten feet away from where she had lay seconds, instants ago. As she tried to process how it had happened, she saw Rarity, breathing hard and clutching at her chest, sweat caking her body and knew, even if she hadn’t seen anything aside from the briefest glow of magic from Rarity’s palms and the faintest spark of something within the soul-folk’s eyes, Jack knew, she knew Rarity had saved her.

Gripping her sword so tight her hands trembled, Jack left Rarity’s side and approached the wendigo, intending it to be the last time she would see the abomination.

“Not enough tricks in the world ta save ya, ya piece of shit,” the earth-folk growled out, welcoming the pit of anger that seemed to want to overtake her whole body. Hearing noise, the wendigo snapped its head forward, lunging it at Jack. This time, Jack offered no adjustment to her position, instead she slung her weapon to a shoulder and braced her body, then, with the same motion one might have striking the flint of a lighter, she ran her thumb along a small gear within the handle of the sword. Instantly, the side of the weapon took on a snaking line of blue across the flat of the blade and Jack grit her teeth as the sword increased in weight, bending her knees and making her arm clench and tighten at the influx.

Durandal let out a groan as weight flooded its core and Jack spat to the side, glaring daggers at the beast.

It wasn’t often she used the sword’s ability. It was normally exclusively used for things the sword couldn’t pierce. Damn thing hurt her swinging it. With the magic sealed within it activated, it was more a heavy slab from the railing of a train line than a sword proper; inelegant, brutal, vicious. It was her solution to many of the things she couldn’t cut and, right now, that seemed to be the wendigo.

The beast’s mouth snapped shut, only a jerk back stopped it from taking Jack’s nose off. Jack hopped backwards, once more on the defensive as its claws worked furious strikes against her. Unlike earlier, though, Jack could see that it was tiring with every swing that came her way. Jack, meanwhile, was already starting to feel her second wind kick in and she bared her teeth at the beast just as it faded into the snow, the blizzard increasing with an even more potent fury, stopping Jack from seeing mere inches in front of her.

Jack went into a swinging stance and scowled, knowing exactly what it was going to do.

She was on the bits; it appeared mere seconds later to her right, no more than five feet away, and it reared its head back, sucking in a breath. Jack knew what was coming this time too, she just didn’t care, she didn’t flinch, the rage she swam in did everything to quell her normal reaction and instead she marched forward as a black cone erupted from its mouth, the coldness of it not lost on her even before it impacted against her armor

Instantly the leather she wore froze, and the skin underneath her protective covering grew painfully numb from the cold, she could hear it crack her hands and forearms, could feel what seemed to be knives plunging themselves into her bones.

Magic, even something as alien as a monster’s spell, was a force like any other. In most cases, it was ruled by counterspells and finding the right way to utilize them. A battle of wits and cunning.

Jack was not an intelligent woman by any stretch of the imagination. Though she could hold a certain sort of animalistic cunning during a crisis, it was a far cry from intelligent. No. the way Jack had to learn how to fight magic was the same way Will had to learn how to fight magic.

By not winning the chess match, but by flipping the Goddamn board over.

She let out a bellow and slammed her fist hard against a breast in her rage. The influx of emotions, raw, primal ones, affected the magic that tried to insidiously damage her body. As soon as her rage exploded out, the magic vanished, water off a duck’s back. Her hand, though agonizing in its pain, wasn’t suffering from any real adverse effects now.

The technique of the Norfolk wasn’t an easy one to master, it required, for a scant moment, a complete abandonment of thoughts, of concerns, of the self in a way, but she had picked up on the technique and had shown to be adapt at it, the only one in her group aside from her teacher able to conjure the necessary emotions to negate conjuration and alteration spells—illusion schools were still a distant dream for the technique, but some day—and as she stepped forward, an executioner carrying an axe to a man on the chopping block, she snarled, spittle dribbling down her chin as her eyes glared pinpricks at the beast and it swung one last, almost desperate, time. Jack easily ducked under it and snapped her body to the side, the sword still resting at her shoulder and swinging with the motion of her torso. The pommel snapped around and cracked against its temple. It recoiled from the blow and clutched at the side of its caved-in head. If it was a person, she would have felt a lot of things on seeing its slow bewilderment bloom to dread as it realized it was dying, none of them really good.

Monsters, though…

Grabbing the weapon in both hands she rolled it off her shoulder and, using as much inertia as she could to avoid putting weight on her already strained body, the greatsword came over and onto its face. A barrier came up to block it, Durandal struck against it and in one hard swing, it shattered into small pieces and the weight of the weapon continued, crushing directly into the wendigo’s skull. It caved in and the wendigo dropped like a sack of potatoes, landing onto the ground with a whimper before becoming still, the occasional errant twitch from the damaged nerves of its smashed-in brain the only movement Jack spotted.

The farmer felt her knees give way and she dropped to the ground, breathing heavily. The downside of when she had to use her abilities to deflect magic was that it took a lot out of her when she finally got a clear head again, and right now she was half-tempted to sleep here, a few scant inches from the cooling corpse of the monster.

Common sense came to her soon enough and she instead rolled the creature onto its back and stood, then took her sword and rammed it through its heart. Jack wasn’t sure if it’d regenerate like a troll, but at this point she was expecting everything and hoping for nothing. When the wendigo made no more motion for her, drew no breath, she finally let out an exhale.

By now, Rarity had limped towards Jack and they stood for a moment, observing its corpse.

“Just like that,” Rarity said, quietly amazed. Jack was too tired to laugh, but she did offer a single huff of air.

“Jus’ like that,” she agreed, a bit unbelieving herself at the situation. She had been the victor on more than one occasion with the group, but it never got any stranger. It was like harvest time on the farm: you finish it and you can’t believe just how sudden everything stops. Granted, farming was the far better deal, she never saw tomatoes that tried to kill you before you picked them, same way with the apple trees.

Finally rubbing her shoulder, Jack turned to look at the soul-folk.

“A few more things, then we can go back.”

Rarity sat down on the road, wincing as she did so. Jack rounded behind Rarity, pausing as she looked over the other for the first time since the battle.

At the tailor’s back were three deep lacerations, going from shoulder, down to near the spine and were still bleeding, soaking the cloth they were behind.

“Jesus, Rare,” Jack said under her breath.

“Is… is it bad?” Rarity asked, looking over her shoulder.

“Looks bad. But not fatal.” She seemed to pause for a moment, hating what she was going to need to say. “Gonna need stitches.”

Reaching into her satchel, Rarity produced a spool of thread, a needle tucked deftly within it.

“Mmm,” was all Rarity said as she handed it to Jack.

Taking the thread, Jack went to work, sewing the wound shut and doing her best to ignore Rarity’s pained hisses every time the needle punctured her porcelain skin.

“You have no need to apologize,” Rarity suddenly spoke up as Jack finished stitching up one of the cuts.

Jack blinked. “How did ya—”

“Know that you were going to say it?” Rarity guessed, her laugh cut short as she let out another hiss when Jack took the needle to her tender flesh. “Because I know you, Jack. And I know seeing me hurt, even if it’s trivial—”

“This ain’t trivial,” Jack interrupted. “It coulda got ya deeper, coulda cut ha further along, coulda jus’ ate ya. No damn shit I feel bad about all-a this!”

Rarity looked up to the sky, sucking in breath as Jack took to working on the third cut.

“Jack. It could have, but it did not. I’m alive and, at the absolute worst case, I’ll have scars.”

“An’ ya don’t think that’s bad? I know yer appearance—”

“My appearance is an asset, not my profession. Even if the marks heal ugly, there is always makeup, or creating designs that hide my blemish.” She reached her good hand behind her, resting it at Jack’s knee. “It is not your fault I got injured. And do not even consider regretting taking me. If you hadn’t, then you would have died,” she said plainly, not sugar-coating the words in the slightest. “This is simply a lesson in humility.”

“Rare,” Jack weakly breathed out.

“It’s ok, Jack,” she once more reassured, giving a gentle, almost motherly smile as she looked off into the distance. “So don’t cry. I do enough of that for both of us.”

Jack sniffed. Her eyes burned, but after a moment of furiously rubbing at them, they dried up.

“Excellent,” Rarity said, sweat decorating her face from dealing with the pain of being sewn up. Holding her broken pinkie upwards, she added on with a weak chuckle, “now here comes the worst part. If you would do the honors.”

Jack frowned. “From experience, it hurts like a bitch, sug.”

“I hardly expected a massage. Just get it over with.”

Moving to her front, Jack knelt down to Rarity’s face and took her hand. Jack gave a small rub at Rarity’s palm and took the stetson off her head.

“Bite this,” Jack ordered, holding the brim of the hat towards the tailor’s mouth.

“What?” Rarity said, balking at the object. “That thing is filthy.”

“Rare,” Jack said, her tone stern.

“Fine.” Leaning forward, she took the leather and daintily put it between her teeth, keeping her lips as far away from it as possible.

“On three.” Jack exhaled. “One…”

She took Rarity’s pinkie and in one deft twist, set the bone back in position. Rarity howled, her scream muffled within Jack’s hat as tears not only came to her eyes, but quickly took to running down her cheeks. Jack once more felt her own eyes water at Rarity’s pain, but pushed it to the side, knowing there was still some work to do. Reaching to the medical supplies in her satchel, she got gauze and a small splint. Though she wasn’t the best nurse, she did know enough to dress an injury—had actually known a little of it even before she had gone on the warpath, as it were. Mac and Bloom were damn klutzes sometimes, Jack had learned how to patch someone up pretty quick around the farm because of it.

It took a long while, but Rarity eventually stopped her wailing and sat, letting only the occasional choking sob out. When she finally seemed calm, Jack took the hat back.

Teeth marks not just spotted the stetson, but Rarity’s canines had put small pinprick punctures into it. She said nothing, merely reaching forward to give a small, apologetic brush of Rarity’s hair.

“I’m fine,” Rarity muttered out. “I’m fine.”

“Jus’ fine,” Jack agreed. Waiting until Rarity was a bit less dazed, she stood, offering her hand to the tailor. “My cuts ain’t that bad. They’ll close up on their own. What we need ta do now is get ya back ta the inn an’ inta some warm, clean sheets. How’s that?”

Taking Jack’s hand, Rarity exhaled. “I would like nothing more.” She stood and nearly toppled over, Jack caught her and the soul-folk offered an embarrassed chuckle. “I suppose that left me a bit more startled than I like to admit.”

“Ya did good. Better than good. First time with a monster is…” Jack thought for a beat, biting a knuckle out of habit. “Well, fact that yer standin’ is great. Know my first time out with Will, I pretty much fell down and stayed down fer at least a few hours afterwards. Thing left me shakin’ so bad I couldn’t even unscrew my canteen fer a drink.”

“It was terrible.” Rarity leaned into Jack. “Are they always that…?”

“No,” she simply answered. “Most times ya don’t even have ta fight that hard. Sometimes ya do. But usually ya scare somethin’ the group runs inta off. Lot of monsters are more like corpse eaters, not predators. Ya show ‘em ya mean business an’ they’ll run.”

“Then, hopefully, next time we’ll manage a bit better. Together.”

Jack shook her head. There swelled a feeling of pride as she looked down to the woman. Regret at the woman’s injuries, of course, but knowing that she was willing to do it when necessary, that she stuck by her word of wanting to be by Jack’s side, that she wanted to be reliant on herself just as much as she was reliant on Jack, well, it made her heart swell with respect when it came to her wife and Jack offered a small laugh, her battered body already feeling better than it had before.

“Next time fer sure.”

Heritage

He had managed to sneak through the castle, gathering supplies, acquiring what money he could for his trip and now, as he stepped outside and into the castle courtyard, it dawned on him how serious the situation was.

When he left here, there was no safety net, no turning back. It was him versus destiny, for better or worse.

He made his way through the moonlit courtyard, taking in the sights, absorbing them for what might be the last time, before coming to the castle walls.

They were everything that one would expect from England: Tall, strong and thick things with almost no chance of the unskilled surmounting it.

Galahad, however, was quite the opposite.

As he approached the walls, all it took was a press of his hand against the wall and a brush of his fingers against its hard granite surface and magic took care of the rest, creating a vision of the busy road on the other side of the wall, where what few wandered on this godless hour continued to do so, none the wiser as his spell went off. Before he stepped through the portal and through to the other side, a voice spoke up behind him.

“You know, in my day we just used a hole behind one of the brushes in the garden maze,” his liege commented. Galahad instantly snapped around, dropping to a prostrate position. “Arise, Galahad,” he said in the same beat, used to the young knight’s habit.

“Of course, my liege,” he agreed, snapping back to attention.

“Though I wonder if ‘liege’ is the correct word for me now,” he pondered.

“Sir?” Galahad questioned, looking towards the king.

“You’re disobeying a direct order. We both know what you’re out here for.”

Galahad stood, not flinching at the accusation, but not jumping in defense of himself. Swallowing, he gathered up his words and his courage, before finally facing the king.

“May I speak freely, Arthur?” he questioned.

“Speak not as a knight, but as a friend, Galahad, and I shall listen not as a king,” he agreed.

Nodding, Galahad crossed his arms and stared up into the heavens for but a moment longer, a shooting star out of the corner of his eye feeling like an encouragement from his mother.

“My father was a rash one, was he not?”

“Verily,” King Arthur agreed. “Brash, aggressive, but a noble soul none-the-less.” His gaze judged Galahad, and judged him fairly. “A soul you’ve inherited.”

“If, indeed, my father lives through me, then you understand why I must go.”

“Galahad, it is not a vision you saw. It was a dream.”

“Arthur, I trust your observations with my heart and soul more oft than my own view upon the earth. But would you dismiss the wise men divining the birth of the king of kings from the stars above?”

“It’s impossible, Tirek died. Your father threw his body into the ocean almost twenty years ago.”

“I’ve seen him,” Galahad countered, thrusting his fingers into his chest. The soul-folk stared at Arthur. “I’ve described him down to the letter to you and you still doubt it’s more than a mere flight-of-fancy of the mind?!”

“I am just stating that caution is the wiser course. Magic, especially divination, is not a woman to trifle with. It could mean anything, you realize?”

“Tirek was approaching a golden grail carried by a woman clad in pure, snowy samite. With every footstep he took, decay grew more rampant, until he clasped the grail in his hands and the world grew dark. Even the machinations of fools could understand the implications,” he countered. “I was given a task—a divine task—I have to stop him before he finds the grail!”

“And how do you propose you’ll do such a thing?” Arthur replied, his patience wearing thin at the man.

“Ask your wife. Guinevere has been more than kind assisting me, as has Merlin. They’ve been able to isolate the grail to a country in the east. It’s now only a matter of scouring the land to find it there. It’s only you that seems to have doubts to the validity of my beliefs.”

“If I acted on every flight of fancy that came to mind, we’d be at war with half the world.”

“This isn’t a flight of fancy! This isn’t a whim! This is a calling!” Galahad snapped back, his tone rising. “Why can you not see that? Do you think I’m unworthy of such a thing?”

Arthur was a man that, when displeased, it was an obvious thing. But it was a quiet thing, a solam disappointment rather than something full of sound and fury and, though Galahad had angered him, he pressed on in his same careful tone.

“I believe you to be acting too hastily, ready to spill blood and swing at something obscured in rumor or shadow. I was the same at your age. I’ll ask again: reconsider. Stay here with your wife and child. Do not go tilting at windmills or ghosts you wretched fool. You’re a beacon to many people here. It’s rare to see a soul-folk with your mastery of power. My daughters would be eager to be your student alongside their tutelage from Merlin. You’re like my own son, I don’t want you to throw your life away.”

Galahad took in another breath, his outburst making him feel ashamed. Though their ages were like the sun and the moon, Galahad considered the all-folk one of his closest friends, their ranks be damned. When you served with someone in the line of combat, rank and state of living did nothing to get in the way of how you treated the people you knew and so he stepped forward, offering his hand.

“You forbade me from pursuing this vision as a knight of the round. ‘Tis true. Yet I wonder, do you forbid me as a father over his son? Will you not let me form my own path?”

Arthur sighed, looking towards the few torches struggling against the night. Finally, his hand met the young soul-folk’s.

“I do not. Leave here at peace, Galahad. Those above know you’ve earned that much in service of me. But know that you will not have the aid of the knight of the round until your return. If you so chose your own path, you will not have me carry you.”

“I will return and I will return with the head of that wicked interloper. My prophecy will not come to light. I swear it.”

With that he turned, stepping through the portal, neither realizing that it would be the last time they ever were to meet.

Knowing her

Author's Note

Like my last story, this is an optional chapter with sex between a romantic partner. Just wanted to let people know that wanted to skip a chapter like this.

Knowing her

Saying Jack awoke with a jolt was giving her too much credit. Rather, it was like a slug, how she was roused from the dream and she lay there for a long moment, wondering if this was yet another aftereffect of the magic, or one of her own instigation. Beside her, Rarity snored, lying in a pool of drool and unkempt violet hair. Last night had clearly been not-good to her. Or, depending on who was asked, too good. Either way, Jack’s thought of the dream was briefly turned from as she laughed a bit at Rarity’s clearly unladylike position, before the earth-folk rose and walked to the room’s tub.

Turning the water on, Jack stripped and wandered over to the window as the tub filled. She leaned against its stone frame, taking stock of the too-early morning.

Thankfully, she knew her limits last night, so there was no hangover, no pain begging her to go back to bed. Rather, the only thing stopping her from retiring again were the thoughts that swam in her mind. The dream she had woken up from, and the slow dawning on what they were doing for the princess may not be right. That thought had at first been a mere dismissive thing, a fly landing in an ointment that you could simply pick up and throw to the side. That fly had turned into another creature entirely and had burrowed into her brain so deeply that she was simply going through the motions when it came to considering their next goal, rather than a genuine want to help and improve Cabello.

It was almost a shock when she felt hands snake behind her and wrap around her bare stomach. But seeing the ring on those slender fingers dispelled any sort of wariness from her and she instead met Rarity’s hand with her own.

“Bad dream?” Rarity asked, all but mirroring Jack from the other day.

“I don’t know,” Jack replied, playing Rarity’s part from yesterday. “Don’t know ‘bout a lot of things lately.”

“Mmm,” Rarity replied. Though she still held the markings of a rough night of sleep, she glided as elegantly as the first day Jack saw her over to the bathtub, where she stuck her hand into the water and gave a curt, satisfactory nod. “Perfect timing. Come here, Jack.”

Raising a brow, the earth-folk did as instructed; Rarity turned her back to the woman.

“Do help a lady, would you?” Rarity asked over her shoulder, lifting her hair up.

Jack approached, her hand going to the back of Rarity’s cream-colored bra and pausing.

The back of the bra was spotted with blood and Jack looked over the wound that ran over Rarity’s back.
Her stitching job could have been better. It was uneven, just effective enough to work, and there were a few spots, once Jack had taken and slid Rarity’s bra off, that still clearly held a congealed look about them, Rarity’s blood clotting and her natural healing being what stopped the bleeding, rather than Jack’s handiwork. The farmer trailed one of her thick fingertips down the wound and Rarity flinched.

“Ya took the gauze off,” Jack commented.

“I couldn’t sleep with them on me. They constricted my chest.”

Jack said nothing to this, understanding from personal experience how true that really was.
Regardless of the wound, Rarity’s back was a beautiful thing, curvy, with a thin layer of muscle underneath her delicate features that Jack now not just looked over, but reached to touch, taking a hand to the taut contours of Rarity’s lower back.

Finally, Jack came to Rarity’s panties and she hooked her thumb underneath them and gave a slow pull of them downward, lowering her body as she did so until she squatted, eyes level with Rarity’s backside. Rarity stepped over the clothes and Jack worked her way up, cupping, gently squeezing Rarity’s ankles, her calves, her thighs, until she rose to a stand and gave a kiss to Rarity’s neckline.

“You’re quite affectionate this morning,” the soul-folk teasingly said, her smile as warm and beautiful as the midday sun as she turned to face Jack.

The earth-folk smiled herself, the expression gentlier than Rarity’s, tender in its appearance. In a way, more womanly than the soul-folk’s own reaction.

“Well… yer somethin’ ta look forward to,” Jack finally answered.

Rarity’s smile widened further and she sauntered to the bath, making sure Jack was watching, then rose her leg over the side of the tub, straddling the rim. After another pause, she finally lifted her other leg and sank into the water, letting a groan of contentment out. “Well, Jack. Are you joining me?”

Jack blinked, dispelling what she could of her haze as she took in Rarity’s body. Nodding mutely, she approached the bath and easily stepped over the barrier.

They sat together, the water lapping against their bodies as Jack adjusted herself, her larger frame not doing any favors when it came to the tub. Rarity laughed, resting against the wall of the tub and gave a tap of Jack’s thigh with a foot.

“Showers seem to suit us better, non?”

“Eyup,” Jack agreed. “They’re a little less awkward fer us.”

“For you, I believe you mean to say. I for one am not some gigantic freak,” Rarity huffed with mock frustration. Jack chuckled.

“Ya ain’t no midget. Besides, we both know ya like it.”

“Well enough, I suppose,” Rarity agreed, “in the same way a man appreciates surmounting a mountain.”

“Yer jus’ after the peaks.”

Jack looked over the woman. Even though it was a sight she had seen for the past few years now, it still sent small electric shocks of want to her heart as she took stock in Rarity. The woman’s sensual confidence, even now obvious as her body was cocked just so, her hips intentionally angled, Jack knew, even without looking at Rarity’s coy smile, that they were laid out just so the farmer would get the perfect angle of them and follow their natural curve to Rarity’s shapely ass. Jack followed the line of Rarity’s body, up her toned stomach and to the woman’s full, palm-sized breasts. Jack looked at them for a moment, watching Rarity’s nipples being lapped by the water’s edge, reminding Jack of two buoys keeping afloat and the thought broke her briefly from her lust.

“Should I even ask why you’re grinning like a fool?” Rarity questioned with a raise of her brow, the expression so plain that Jack laughed and reached forward, putting a hand down in the water to give a squeeze to Rarity’s ankle.

“Because I’m the luckiest damn fool that walked the earth,” Jack replied. The soul-folk moved in the water, swinging around to join Jack’s side. With ease she lifted Jack’s arm up and over to rest across the width of her back, then moved in closer still, resting against Jack’s side and looking towards their feet.

“You’re due for a pedicure, I hope you know,” Rarity lectured, using her big toe to swipe across the nails of Jack’s toes, their ends obviously worn and rough.

“I’ll add it ta my list-a chores,” Jack replied.

“A pedicure is far from a chore, dear. It’s a treat,” Rarity answered, clearly in disbelief at Jack’s response.

“Sittin’ down an’ havin’ someone touchin’ my feet ain’t somethin’ I’m a fan of.”

“You don’t like people touching your feet?” Rarity blinked, either genuinely surprised or doing a fantastic bluff. “You should have said something. Considering all the times I’ve…”

Jack trailed her hand down to Rarity’s waist. “Yer the exception. I don’t mind ya touchin’ me. Yer, you know.”

“I do.”

They lay together for a moment longer before Jack looked towards the window.

“Sug?” she asked. “Are ya… happy?”

“Now that I’m taking a bath after all this dreadful adventuring, I’m far more content, yes,” Rarity answered.

“Nah. I mean with us. The whole setup we have. Ain’t like we’ve said much about it, ya know?”

Rarity paused, briefly at a loss for words. “Darling, may I speak freely?” Seeing Jack’s nod, Rarity squeezed Jack’s palm. “I have not said much on it because there’s not much to say. I’m content at where I am on a personal level. I love your home, your family—though if I have to look at the peeling wallpaper in the upstairs facilities one more time I’m going to burn the place down—” Jack let out a snort of laughter and Rarity pressed on, “I still see myself as quite the socialite, mind, and I’ve yet to accomplish what I wish in regards to my enterprise, but…” There came a faraway look to the soul-folk and she smiled at something only she could see, “But peace of mind is quite the accomplishment. The acres, as dirty as they can be, are a part of me now too. They’re an eye in the midst of a storm, you see.” She turned, rolled over to a position they were quite familiar with now: Rarity straddling Jack, the farmer’s hands resting at the soul-folk’s sensual hips. Smirking, Rarity leaned down, kissing Jack on the forehead.

“Like yourself, I might add,” Rarity said. “Though I must ask what’s gotten into you. You’re the last person to ask a question like that without context.”

Jack nodded, leaning back against the rim of the tub. “Diane an’ I were talkin’ last night an’ she asked if we fought a lot.”

“Well, no relationship is perfect. There are times when I want to smack you upside your head. Likewise, I assume.” Though Jack said nothing to this, the small spark of humor in Jack’s eyes gave Rarity a wide grin. She turned introspective for a moment, leaning in closer to the earth-folk and smelling her scent. “Jack. There are times like that, but there are times that are better. Times when it feels like I can do anything if you’re there beside me, or waiting for me. You’re like the end result of a long day at the office: A lot of work and long hours, but the end product was worth the difficulties, something so beautiful that even the garb of royalty pales in comparison.”

“Sappy as hell. But, I feel the same way, sug,” Jack agreed. Rarity kissed the bridge of Jack’s nose.

“Then that’s all that needs said on the matter.”

Rarity’s kisses came to Jack’s lips, which started tender, appreciative even, before they grew hungry; Jack’s mouth clashed against the soul-folk’s like thunder. Rarity, her hands exploring Jack like she had so many other times, running them over the woman’s legs, her hips, her stomach, all while breaking away from kissing Jack’s mouth to travel over the woman’s neck, trailing down her partner’s body with the skill of an artist as her hands crawled, homing in on Jack’s wanting flower. Her thumb ran over the patch of blonde hair above Jack’s nether lips, then brought a finger to her entrance. Jack tensed up subtly and Rarity let out a low chuckle at the action as she trailed around Jack’s sex in a slow, circling motion, the water stirring gently in slow circles.

Though Jack was always the more reserved between the two, her mannerisms still befitting a shy bride within the bedroom, there had come a subtle change to her. She no longer simply let Rarity do every aspect, she reacted more and right now, she bit a knuckle already at Rarity’s exploration, but her other hand found purchase at Rarity’s shoulder and she grasped it gently, far more gently than her calloused hands should have allowed. Rarity hissed regardless and Jack froze.

“Aw hell. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. If I recall correctly, I’ve done the same to you before,” Rarity answered, reaching to Jack’s arm and moving it lower, to her hip. Pressing on, unperturbed as to Jack’s action, she once more returned to Jack’s maidenhood. Though normally she preferred to make the act last longer, she knew that they would be traveling in short order, so time was a commodity that would soon vanish. With that in mind, she pressed a teasing finger into Jack.

Jack drew a breath and gave a weak bite to Rarity’s collarbone, wordlessly encouraging Rarity to go deeper, giving a gentle rub to one of Rarity’s breasts as her breathing quickened in anticipation.

Rarity happily obliged, taking first one finger, then two into Jack, the water making the action different from their usual, the routine action housing a new layer, one that Jack seemed to relish, judging by her tilted back head and pleased contortion of her body, jerking up to reach Rarity, an attempt to bring them even closer together. Rarity took her free arm and wrapped it behind Jack’s lower back, then crawled forward, taking her mouth and trailing it up, stopping at Jack’s nipple. Smiling, she leaned forward, taking her mouth to it and gently scraping her teeth against Jack’s flesh.

The effect was instant; Jack loudly gasped and cradled Rarity’s head, pushing the woman further into her own tit-flesh, encouraging her, almost wordlessly begging Rarity to continue farther.

Jack’s breasts were large things bordering on cumbersome on her muscular frame, and served to draw eyes when they weren’t hidden under a shirt or armor.

It only made sense that a simple woman would have such a simple ‘go to’ spot on her body. No hidden point at the thighs, nothing at her stomach, no, it was the woman’s breasts. Rarity smirked, changing from gnawing on a nipple to suckling on it like an enthused babe. Jack’s entire body clenched up, Rarity’s skill at the action nearly enough to send her over the edge, and had once or twice through their marriage, her skill enough that Rarity sometimes didn’t even need to bother with Jack’s flower in order for Jack to have a climax.

Rarity stopped for a moment, her expression coy as she pulled away from Jack’s pillows.

Jack’s euphoria fell back a bit, the edge she was so close to slowly fading from her grasp. She looked up to Rarity.

“Forgetting someone?” she questioned, then, to demonstrate, brought a hand to the side of her well-toned stomach and trailed it down to the soft curve of her hips, then moved it inward, resting them near the gates of paradise, a finger just at the side of a narrow strip of violet hair.

Though she had traditionally remained meticulously shaved, Jack had asked her at one point to try and let pubic hair grow a bit and Rarity had reluctantly obliged. Now though, as Jack leaned forward and gave a reassuring run of a thumb over the strip and there came a soft, teasing, tickling press into her flesh, she was glad she did.

Jack’s finger traced Rarity’s walls, then thrust into her, drawing a pleased flinch from her wife. They worked together, establishing a rhythm to a song they had both sang multiple times during their years together, each exploration of the others body a symphony of well-earned pleasure.

Knowing their song was close to its end, Rarity once more pressed into Jack’s breast with her mouth and began to vigorously pump the woman’s tit with her face. Jack’s fingerwork stopped as Rarity continued her assault, the pleasure of Rarity’s actions leaving her a moaning, pleased mess, but that was fine with the soul-folk; as usual she took a dominate role, adjusting herself ever so slightly, then bucking her hips into Jack’s rigid fingers, humping away at the digits without any thought of class entering her mind at the moment, grinding her lower lips against her partner with a zeal only the woman below her could bring forth.

Jack sucked in a breath and her entire body tensed as Rarity lightly bit down on her chest, the chocolate-colored nipple a delicious treat that she couldn’t help but indulge herself on.

Her climax happened seconds later, one leg jerking out and touching the other end of the tub, the other snaking around Rarity’s own limb, pinning the soul-folk close to her as she rode her orgasm, her raised brow, her open mouth and lidded eyes a beautiful paragon of femininity despite her scar and Rarity felt a warmth of affection for Jack, a warmth that brought herself closer to the edge.

Now that Jack had finished, she focused a bit more on Rarity’s current need and shifted and twisted in the tub until she was on all fours and pressed up her face against Rarity’s stomach. Smiling, Jack licked Rarity’s torso then sucked in a breath and dunked her head underwater.

Jack took her wife’s sex and began work with her tongue, riding the contours of the soul-folk’s vagina and then moving up a hair, lapping at Rarity’s clitoris. Rarity let out a cry of enjoyment, pushing the back of Jack’s head deeper into her folds, feeling her own climax approaching.

All it took were a few more eager laps of Jack’s tongue and a pair of fingers to delve into Rarity’s wanting organ before the woman loudly came, her pleased gasp making Jack subconsciously flash a smile, pleased at another job done and done right.

Rising above the water, Jack took Rarity and brought her close to her side and after a deep kiss, Jack shut her eyes, relishing the afterglow as much as Rarity clearly did, each forgetting, briefly, why they were out here; the chaos that they survived yesterday, the potential nightmares of tomorrow. For now, they found shelter from dark skies in the same way they had so many times beforehand.

Together.

Oath

It took too much effort for Pinkie to drag herself out of bed. Her head was clouded by aches, a thin layer of sweat across her skin. Definitely, she’d overdone it last night. It was something she needed to do, though. At the very least, she had craved the chance to drink the pressures of the present away.

Still, she was dressed. Looking across the room, she saw Spike slumped in a chair, head rested on his hand. Slowly, painfully, she got up and crept over to him. Brushing back his green hair, she gave him the softest of kisses on his forehead.

“Thanks, my special little man,” she whispered.

She then left him, tip-toeing past Celestia and out of the room. As always, the all-folk looked as serene as ever. Like a living art piece.

Carefully she went, down the stairs. Her clothes felt dirty, sticking to her from the night before but in the frozen morning air, they would do. With the wendigo dealt with, and fog clinging to the buildings around her, it was almost as if the town had heaved a collective sigh of relief.

On she went, to the edge of town, her gut feeling like someone had put a lead weight within. She took in deep breaths, trying to shake off that sickness. The hangover would persist but if she could prevent herself from throwing up, that was a victory.

Stopping in front of a thick tree, she dove into her pockets and grabbed her throwing knives. It’d been a while since she’d last practiced and Jack and Rarity’s escapade with the wendigo only reminded Pinkie that she needed more training.

Pinkie threw each of the knives at a fast rate. The tree was an easy target but in her hungover condition, she was pleased that at least each weapon had embedded itself in the tree’s bark. Now she was beginning to get consistent, at least when standing still.

So she took them out of the tree and started throwing them again but while moving side to side. Since her body was not in the mood for fast movements, she just walked, but tried to vary the distance and times she changed direction.
A small collection of knives ended up sitting at the base of the tree.

“Not good enough. Again,” Jack’s words drummed through her mind.

“Sorry,” Pinkie said, picking up the knives and trying again.

“This is serious. Ya gotta think ‘bout this sorta stuff. If ya don’t, yer jus’ gonna get hurt.”

Pinkie nodded and tried again, spitting on the ground when she got too many misses. Back she went to pick them up and try again, only to miss, go back, then try again.

If any of her friends had told her that Rarity would be capable of besting her in a fight, Pinkie would’ve just laughed with them. Yet what was once a joke had become stark reality. Rarity was the perfect partner, independant enough to bloom into a beautiful flower but always unrelentingly loyal and loving. She’d realized that being with Jack meant she had to take up certain responsibilities, even if Jack didn’t approve of them. One of them was getting stronger, so she could take care of herself and Jack, if it ever came down to it.

The knives clattered to the ground, a memory flashing through Pinkie’s mind. Spike’s—no, those eyes. Reptilian, cold… hungry. They had pierced through her, seeking only the joys of her flesh. Rarity was with a dangerous woman but one that would never lay a bad hand upon her. Pinkie was dating someone who could turn into a monster and rip her heart out.
It was a risk, being with him. She knew Spike would give it his all not to give in to the monster inside, but that was never a guarantee. Was being with him worth the cost of her life?

She grabbed the knives and stood up. Life was full of risks anyway, what was one more? This was her responsibility. To be stronger so she could save herself. It was one she was willing to take on.

If only that was the end of it. Could she save Spike from himself? If he lost control, would she be able to take on Jack to protect him? Celestia? Even if she could, would she?

Maybe she could run, if things ever came to that. Bait the monster to follow her. A life on the run was worth it, as long as it meant Spike was safe. He was worth it.

Sighing, she slumped up against the tree, hugging her knees. She was afraid. So afraid of what might happen to her and to him. A normal person may have left, gone back home, away from this madness.

But Pinkie was never normal to begin with and now, she was deeply in love. Spike was the very same. His heritage had meant he was always different from everybody else, an outsider to society. Not an outcast but somebody without a sense of belonging.

She was almost the same. A full blooded earth-folk, just like Jack, but… different. She thought differently and acted differently from anyone else she knew. Even her own family back on the farm. They were all strong miners with a good work ethic. Pinkie? She wasn’t strong like them, nor did she ever fit in right with the farm. She wasn’t hated but she was definitely not cut from entirely the same cloth.

In Spike, she had someone who understood all that. A person who could listen if she needed it, a person who could tolerate—no, embrace her differentness. All his other charms, like his looks, his good humor, his laugh, his smile, his well-mannered yet gentle personality… all parts of the complete package that she was so deeply in love with.

If he wasn’t worth risking her life over, she had no idea what would be.

Blocking a cough with her hand, she rose to a knee, then brought herself up. Then she started moving and practiced, again and again, until Jack would approve.

“Early for training,” a woman’s voice commented.

The knives fell to the ground once more, Pinkie’s hands fumbling thin air. “Oh, u-um,” she turned, blinking a few times as she saw Celestia standing before her. “Princess?”

“Good morning, Diane. Couldn’t sleep?” she inquired, clasping her hands behind her back.

“Hangover,” Pinkie muttered, attempting to brush down her unkempt hair. “Needed some air.”

“You did drink your fair share last night,” Celestia agreed with a laugh.

“Sure was fun, huh?” Pinkie asked, smiling. “Hope you enjoyed it. I know I did.”

“Was needed. Not just for us, but for the men and women living here. In a way the turnout we had was concrete proof that the village has started to regain hope. And you were part of that. Thank you, Diane.”

“Aw, shucks,” Pinkie said, her smile turning coy. “I didn’t do much. Jack and Rarity did the hard stuff.”

“Sometimes it’s harder to put on a brave face after the fact than it is to accomplish what they did. Not to discredit them. To defeat a wendigo was an impressive feat, especially for an earth-folk.”

“Jack’s one tough cookie.” Pinkie glanced at the mark on her hand. A trio, similar to Jack’s but hers were just mere balloons. “Not sure there’s anything she wouldn’t try and take on.”

“Considering the incident with Dmitri, I’m inclined to agree. I almost wish she would join the guard full-time. We could use more women like her.”

“Good luck with that. She’s way too close to her family to join something as impersonal as that,” Pinkie said, crouching down to collect her weapons.

“I expected as much. I’m surprised she decided to assist Will in his hunts, honestly.”

“I really should ask her about that… but if I was gonna guess, she just likes taking matters in those strong farming hands of hers.” She shrugged. “Whatcha doing out here, anyway? You should be having a nice lie-in!”

“If I’m honest, I heard you and it woke me. All-folk ears, after all,” Celestia said, giving a point to them in demonstration. Even at that information, she still held a serene smile, indifferent to the fact that she was disturbed.

“Oh, sorry,” Pinkie replied sheepishly. “But that still doesn’t explain why you followed me out here.”

“Curiosity, mainly. There are not many points of interest here, so I came to see what caught your eye.”

“I told ya,” she turned, focusing on the tree again and avoiding the all-folk’s gaze. “Had to get some air.”

“You could have opened a window. I wouldn’t have minded.” Celestia looked once more to the tree herself. “Does my presence bother you?”

“No! It’s not that it’s just…” Pinkie’s speech devolved into mumbles, as she threw a knife at the tree.

“Could you do that again?” Celestia kindly asked.

“What? The knife thing?” Pinkie replied, twirling one in her fingers.

The all-folk nodded her confirmation.

“Um, okay.” She threw another knife, which struck the tree without incident, or anything particularly flashy occurring.

“Your form is good, considering the new introduction to armaments,” she complemented. “I’m sure with practice you’ll become quite adept.”

“Thanks,” Pinkie said, throwing a few more. “I’m nothing like Jack, or even Rarity, though. I don’t think it’s gonna help if,” she swallowed, “if things get bad.”

“Does that matter?” Celestia questioned, seeming to not understand her worries. “Your talents lie elsewhere. We’ll protect you.”

Pinkie fiddled with a knife in her hand, fingers running over the blade. “Never a guarantee of that.”

“It’s the duty of the strong to protect the weak. As long as I draw breath, that is something I will do.”

Biting her lip, the knife in Pinkie’s fingers was flipped around faster and faster. “What if you had to protect someone who was weak against someone else who was weak?”

“Why would they be fighting?” she asked. “There would need to be a good reason for it, wouldn’t there?”

“If one of them wasn’t themselves, maybe,” Pinkie answered.

“Spike,” Celestia said, rather than asked.

Pinkie flinched, the knife’s blade cutting her finger, drawing a small amount of blood. “Mmm.”

“Dragon-blood are…” the woman paused, her words stalled as she thought things through. “They can be frightening.”

“Yeah,” Pinkie quietly agreed.

“What needs done is separating the boy from the beast. Spike himself, he’d never hurt you. Just keep that in mind.” She gave a small tilt of her head. “What prompted that thought, Diane? Did something happen? Has he been acting aggressively?”

“The kraken. He tapped into it—the beast. Then for a split-second he just gave me this look. Like he wanted me, as a treasure. And despite everything that happened, I remember that most vividly.” Pinkie sucked the wound on her finger. “Wish I didn’t.”

“I know Spike. He wouldn’t have transformed unless someone’s life was in danger.” Crossing her arms, she sighed. “Dragons, in their true form, are creatures with a base emotional drive. Happiness becomes hedonism, righteous indignation becomes wraith, and love can become simple lust. Spike, being a bastard blood, will have these traits lessened, but not completely eradicated, within him.”

Pinkie grunted, plucking knives out of the tree. “I’m not going to leave him. Not for the world, and not for those traits either.” Sighing, she rubbed at her arm. “I just want to be safe with him. And for him to be happy with me, and never worry about losing control.”

The all-folk looked at the woman and wryly smiled. “That’s the goal of every relationship, isn’t it? Being safe with another. Though it’s harder for some than others. And remember than no matter what, he cares for you.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Pinkie snapped back. “Of course I know he cares, I love him! But that monster inside, it isn’t him, and it doesn’t care about any of that!”

“Then don’t let the monster out,” Celestia replied easily. “Tell me, how often have you seen him like that before this trip? Before your life was in danger?”

“None but that was way different! We’re not in St. Charles anymore, not even I can pretend things are just totally gonna be normal while we’re here! People have died already, good people!”

“You think I don’t know that?” she countered. Though it was gone as soon as she asked, there was a spark of, not harsh enough to be anger, but exasperation, perhaps, in her eyes. “But ‘here’ isn’t going to be for much longer. We’ll need Spike's assistance for one thing, perhaps, and then that’s all. We’ll have the grail and we can go home. You can go home, back to normal. Back to safety. I’ll make sure of it.”

“But what if whatever you need him for is too much for him to take. What if he does lose control?” Pinkie asked, giving Celestia an unflinching stare. “I need to know, what then?”

Celestia’s silence spoke volumes. The stance she held suggested exactly what would happen in the worst case. “Spike… he’s a son to me. I held him in my arms, I took him to breast. I told him he was going to grow up and be one of my proudest accomplishments. But if it means the safety of the group, if there’s no way to bring him around. I’ll protect you. It’s my burden, mine and my sisters, to do what the common man cannot.”

“I can’t let you just kill him! Even if that means I’ll be in danger, that’s a risk I want to take!” Pinkie cried, stepping forward.

The princess stared at Pinkie before nodding. In a way, she expected the answer—was perhaps even slightly pleased with the other woman’s outburst and rejection. Just as easily, Celestia replied.

“If it is, then why worry about what the future holds? Take the risk. Don’t be afraid of him or what might happen. Live the moment, love the moment. That’s all you can do with a partner and all you can ask for in life.”

“There’s just one problem with moments,” Pinkie said, quieter now. “They end. And I never want ours to.”

“Diane.” Celestia put a hand on the other’s shoulder. “There’s always an ending. Believe me. But spending your whole life dreading it is no way to live. Even all-folks meet an end eventually.”

Pinkie nodded, gazing downward. “Is there anything you can do to help him?”

“Other than being a shoulder to cry on? No. If anything, you may be the better odds on helping him. He needs someone to understand him and accept him now more than ever.”

“I can do that, if nothing else.”

Celestia warmly smiled. “And you worried about being weak. You’re doing something none of us could for him.”

She blinked, looking up at the all-folk. “Huh?”

“You’re making him strong. You’re giving him a chance to walk on his own two feet. None of us have that power, Diane.”

“Well…” Pinkie giggled to herself, heat rushing to her cheeks. “He is my special little man.”

Celestia shared the same small laugh. “And I’m sure he feels the same about you. He’s loyal almost to a fault. He’ll take good care of you.”

“Has so far. He put me to bed last night after I, um…” She trailed off, into some more embarrassed laughs. Celestia shared them, her hands at her hips and her mouth in a full-toothed grin.

“At least you woke up in the right bed.”

“Don’t even joke about that! Who else could—eugh, no way!” Pinkie started making her way back to the inn, shaking her head. Celestia smiled, pleased that she had revived Pinkie’s mood and took to walking after her.

“Oh, I’m sure the innkeeper wouldn’t have minded the company, or myself, even.”

“No way!” Pinkie repeated in protest, making Celestia tilt her head back in laughter.

Dark

“They’re callin’ fer us,” Jack said, already dressed up in her armor, looking as handsome to Rarity as a soldier in uniform.

“Go ahead, darling,” Rarity replied, looking over her hair with a conjured mirror, the blue illumination of the frame strange and flickering, casting otherworldly shadows on the walls. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

Jack watched as the soul-folk began the arduous motion of applying eyeliner in sure, even strokes across her lashes and seemed to consider saying something, but instead brushed it off, giving a nod as a reply before she left the room and the telltale sounds of her footsteps went down the stairs.

Hearing her leave, Rarity breathed a sigh of relief. Not that Jack was gone, but that she finally had a second to herself—there was a clear difference between the two concepts to her and there was a necessity for clarification in her eye.

Alone gave her a moment to think. Think selfish thoughts.

She wished Jack and herself were back home, that Celestia had not drafted Jack for assistance—Why Jack? Rarity wondered. William or Gilda or Isabelle would have been just as effective in regards to a personal guard and it would have left the farmer to investigate that town in Cabello. A job Jack and herself might very well have finished by now, and they would be back home and listening to jazz albums and drinking tea. Neither would have to put up with this abysmal country, or questioning Celestia’s worth in regards to the grail. Rarity wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

The thought made her frown deepen. Curious, she gave a gesture and conjured a second mirror, this one behind her and levitating to where she could see its reflection from the mirror she was currently looking at.

The marks across her back were obvious, three wide gashes hastily stitched up and doctored to the best of Jack’s albeit limited abilities. It would be a miracle if they didn’t scar. The thought of having scars, visible, garish ones made her feel off-kilter. She should be aghast at her body, her beauty being marred as such, and the thought of what the upper crust would say on noticing her marks mortified her—they already questioned her newfound musculature, which she lied about, claiming yoga as the culprit rather than swordplay. If they discovered these, what could she do? She could lie, admittedly, claim something as innocent as falling from a horse was the guilty party, but what could make three claw marks so perfectly down her back? No stone or branch, that was for sure.

Not to mention the reaction if Jack found out Rarity lied about the wound, she’d be…

What, exactly?

Rarity paused, moving to put on lipstick. Debating among all the colors she brought, she decided on a deep cherry red, then moved onto her nails.

Jack would be nothing more than a little pained, if Rarity had to guess.

Pained that it was her fault that Rarity got hurt, pained that Rarity had to lie to not feel as bad about her injury, maybe pained at the fact Rarity had to lie in order to fit in.

She wished Jack understood why she did everything in her power to appear high-end among the elite, why she spent so much time researching just what tickled their fancy, what drew public interest. Anyone else she had been with had some knowledge of the cliques that ran Manhattan, the starlets of Camelot, the musicians of the shores. Anyone else she had been with had known the value of a silver tongue. Not Jack.

Jack had, on more than one occasion, made an ass of herself at parties, had talked and told crass stories, had gotten into a fistfight at one even. She did not care in the slightest for almost the entire clique Rarity had attached herself to.

That was not a bad thing, she mentally defended Jack despite the admonishments.

And that was true, the fistfight was centered around Rarity’s honor—an ex that she had left on rough terms spoke poorly of her, so Jack took him outside and showed what happened when years of hard labor met years of art school. The stories, too, were not as crass as some things that were said there, but rather than innuendo-filled words and mannerisms—lovemaking devolved into mere conquest —Jack instead spoke fondly of her sister and her first attempts at Macintosh, herself, and her grandmother toilet training the girl.

Jack drove her wild and she was sort of grateful for it. Jack was freedom to her through her simple ways. Beautiful and unafraid, as powerful and dynamic as a volcano, as friendly as a spring day, and a less-seen side as gentle as a moonlit field. A soft side that only the closest to her knew of. Her vulnerable side. The side Rarity had the pleasure to see during the days of idle on the farm, the side she saw when Jack would talk to Bloom. The side when they made love. It was this quiet, only seen occasionally part of her that let Rarity harbor something within herself that was much the same. A part of her only a select few could see. The part that put aside formalities, put aside the delicate mannerisms a lady should have and instead was a hard thing, able to stand right alongside Jack through her trials. Granted, the trails were usually dirty, and, as much as she hated to think of it, her hands were far from clean now, another thing that separated her from the elite she so tried to emulate.Even then, for Jack, Rarity wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty, to walk the same trails as the earth-folk.

She just needed a bath afterwards.

See? That’s what introspection grants you, dear, she reprimanded herself. No great discovery about yourself, no hidden revelation regarding Jack. It’s simply treading old ground. You’re still your majestic, graceful self, with a few new beauty marks, that’s all.

Finally done with her makeup, she gave a look over her face once more, and then concentrated her magic to her body. The cast around her broken finger seemed to recede into her skin, gone within seconds of channeling her magic. Likewise, the wounds on her back closed up, becoming red scars, then fading to white lines, before vanishing completely off her body, letting her back become unblemished.

The illusion spell would need to be reapplied throughout the day, but at least this way she felt better about her situation, having a sort of makeup on that only a soul-folk could manage. The others wouldn’t have to know about her injuries this way, and she could have something to concentrate on during their travels.

Nodding to herself, she finally moved to the door and shut this part of her life closed.

000

Rarity tromped downstairs into the main lobby of the inn, where a few scattered men and women sat by the counter. Despite it being a mere ghost of last night, the place was already livelier than it was yesterday morning and, as she headed towards the door, the people there spoke to her, thanking her, raising their mugs as they passed by, even the barkeep gave a nod of respect her way and, as she made her way to the cooler air outside held, she felt a smile creep her way. Jack was already outside waiting for her amidst the group and she gave a concerned look Rarity’s way.

“Sug, ya ok?” Jack asked.

“As fine as I can be, considering what we’re about to do,” Rarity agreed, dismissing the worry on Jack’s face. “I hate walking on dirt roads, it gets my boots filthy.”

“I’ve got a whole list of travelling songs for the trip!” Pinkie said, suddenly standing next to Jack, her arm over her shoulders. “And campfire songs for when we sleep under the stars! It’s gonna be so much fun!”

Celestia smiled. “I hope so, Diane. I’m sure you’ll make the travels fun.”

“I’ll keep our spirits up! You just worry about keeping our bodies safe,” she replied, winking.

Celestia’s smile widened. “Sounds like a fair trade.”

“Soooo…” Pinkie trailed off, darting her head about. “Where’s the horses and cart?”

“Town this small? I’d reckon not, sug. We’d have ta go ta Freya fer ‘em. Hell,” she gave a gesture around them. “Do ya even see a stable?”

“You mean we’ll have to walk?” Pinkie asked.

“Is that a foreign concept to you, dear?” Rarity questioned. “You’ve walked from St. Charles to the school before. Just think of it like that. Only we, um, have no idea when it’s ending.”

Pinkie threw her hands up in the air, waving them in front of Rarity. “We can’t make a lady like yourself walk all those countless miles! That’s madness!”

“Madness is a lady like myself slaying monsters. A walk sounds refreshing in comparison,” she countered, tilting her nose upward. “Frankly, I’ll walk over riding horses in the first place. They’re almost as filthy as cattle or pigs.”

It was a lie, she loved the horses back on the farm, but it made her feel better complaining regardless.

Pinkie sighed, her fringe flicking up as she exhaled. “Fiiine. But you lot better be quick! There’s no time to waste!”

With one last look over the town, the group departed.

000

Though the air had taken on a chill compared to mere weeks back, the group made their way through the fields of the countryside with little effort. The hours bled away, taking them miles away from the town and civilization in general. Nobody talked much, not until evening, when they set up a meager camp and ate some bread and cheese Spike had got from the innkeep.

Pinkie clapped her hands together, looking over the little spot where they had set up. “Great work, everyone! We made some real good progress.” She paused, frowning. “I think.”

“Yeah, uh, jus’ when are we gettin’ there, Celestia?” Jack asked. “I don’t mind walkin’ when I need ta, but usually I know where I’m headin’ when I’m doin’ it.”

Dabbing at her mouth with a napkin, Celestia shut her eyes. Right when Jack thought the all-folk had taken to ignoring the question, she opened her eyes again, the faintest spark of magic fading from them.

“If we keep up this pace, I would believe we’ll be there in two days time.”

“And do you know where ‘there’ is, exactly?” Rarity asked, rubbing at her foot as she sat by the fire Spike had constructed.

“That I do not know. I believe it may be underground, judging by its elevation being lower than the lowest point we crossed today. But as for what sort of underground, that’s a mystery.”

“Oooo, spelunking! Maud and I used to love doing that when we got the chance!” Pinkie said fondly.

“Yer sister?” Jack asked. “Can hardly keep track of yer kin.”

“They like to keep to themselves, so I don’t blame ya.” She flashed Jack a cheeky grin, pointing to herself. “Betcha didn’t know I’m a twin, either.”

“Darling, I’ve known you longer than Jack and I didn’t know that.”

The only thing Pinkie could offer Rarity was a shrug, along with the words, “You never asked.”

“Ya know, half the stuff ya say I ain’t never asked ‘bout, then ya keep the twin business close ta heart.” Jack chuckled. “Full-a surprises.”

Suddenly, Pinkie perked up, exclaiming, “Surprises! Right! We need to sort out whose doing watch duty when so we don’t get any nasty surprises. Those ones are the worst.”

“I’ll take third,” Celestia remarked. “Typical attacks happen at about four in the morning. It would be best if I handled them.”

“We ain’t doin’ much guard duty if yer the one watchin’ over us,” Jack remarked. “Me an’ Rare can do it instead.”

“And I’ll just snatch first watch if you all don’t mind…” Pinkie slipped in.

“Very well,” Rarity agreed. “As long as you wake us up at the slightest disturbance.”

“When should I watch?” Spike asked.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. There’s usually one person that gets a full sleep. Yer jus’ the lucky dog that has that happenin’ tonight,” Jack answered.

“Aw dang it, I didn’t realize that would be a thing!” Pinkie cried, kicking the dirt.

“Always tomorrow, considerin’ we’re a few days out, goin’ by what Celestia is sayin’,” Jack offered.

Pinkie nodded at her. “Then tomorrow it’ll have to be!”

Bedtime came for the group, and it was without preamble that they split, each retiring to a meager bedroll, save for Pinkie, who sat by the fire, taking her job surprisingly seriously. While her eyes were hard at work watching for beasties, her hands made themselves busy juggling her knives.

A snap from a twig drew her attention over to the shadow.

She shot up immediately, holding an arm back, ready to throw a knife, while her free hand was outstretched in front of her. “Who’s there?!”

“Jesus,” Jack breathed out. “Relax, Diane. It’s me.” She came out from the shadow to join Pinkie, looking alarmed at the woman’s reaction.

“Oh!” Pinkie giggled, dropping her stance. “Sorry! But I like to take my job very seriously. Were you doing some business in a bush or something?”

“Passin’ water count as a business?” Jack questioned, raising a brow.

“Well if you just wanna be blunt and saying peeing, sure…”

“Oh. That’s what ya meant by business.” Jack rubbed the back of her head in embarrassment. “That shoulda clicked with me.”

“Nah, I’m sure you’re just sleepy.” Pinkie sat down, resuming her playful handling of her knives. “Good thing there’s a snuggly bedroll with your name on it!”

“Not fer long. Got watch soon.” Jack moved to sit down, her back to the fire as she looked out to the blackness of the evening.

Pinkie blinked, putting her knives away. “That time already?”

“Gettin’ there. Ain’t much fer sleepin’ right now anyway.”

Pinkie frowned, shuffling closer. “What’s up?”

“Nothin’ that ya need ta worry about.”

She just laughed, waving a hand at Jack. “Silly, you know you’re not going to hide from me now that you spilled the beans.”

Jack remained silent for a long, long time, mulling her words over. Finally, she shrugged. “I don’t want ya ta think anythin’ less of what we’re doin’ or who we’re travelin’ with. Jus’ gonna keep my mouth shut. I shouldn’t have said nothin’.”

“So you’re just gonna brood away and let your thoughts nibble at you, like rats on cheese, until one day it all gets too much and you’ve got a million holes in you?” After a brief silence, she coughed into her hand. “Talk to me, Jackie.”

“Do ya really think the grail’s the smart thing ta go for? Do ya really think we should bother with it?” Then, adding on in a lower tone, “Do ya think Celestia should have it?”

“Why shouldn’t she? Who else could have it?” Pinkie asked, tilting her head.

“Nobody. Nobody should have the damn thing,” Jack said. “An’ why? Because she’s human. An old as hell one, but a human.”

Diane narrowed her eyes, struggling to get to the crux of it all. “So? What’s your point?”

“My point?” Jack repeated, a hair exasperated. “How ‘bout we all make mistakes. That good enough? How ‘bout what she thinks is right might not be right ta us now? How ‘bout if we don’t get the damn chance ta mess up as a society, we ain’t gonna amount ta nothin’.”

Pinkie’s eyes widened and she nodded. “Riiiight. I get it. You don’t want us to take the easy road, right?”

“I ain’t sayin’ we need ta go uphill both ways in the snow, but if I hadn’t gotten kicked down enough, I wouldn’t have became the woman I am now.”

“Well, I’m not the authority on this kinda thing but who's to say if this Jack next to me is better or worse than another Jack, who never experienced that kinda thing?” Pinkie asked, shrugging her shoulders.

“I do. I say it. If I had jus’ grew up another pampered punk, I wouldn’t know shit ‘bout takin’ care-a people. Of my family, my friends. I wouldn’t know what sacrifice fer other people was. I wouldn’t know none-a that. An’ that ain’t nobody I wanna be,” Jack argued, though her attention never broke from the line of woods they were by, as if she dared something to even attempt attacking her.

“I know what you’re saying, and I kinda agree but…” Pinkie hummed, twiddling her thumbs. “There’s gotta be a limit to how much you gotta suffer, right? Am I any less of a person than you ‘cause I’ve never had to save anyone from some big scary monster?”

“No. Yer you. I’m me. I jus’ know what I woulda been without rough patches ta get my damn head on straight.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Jackie. The Jack I knew long ago still knew what hardship was. Farm work couldn’t have been easy after all!” Her voice dropped quieter, just barely above a whisper. “And looking after Bloom all those years… you think that wasn’t hardship too?”

Jack’s brow narrowed as she looked at a quick flicker of something within the darkness. On finally realizing it was simply a raccoon, she continued to talk. “I never thought of it like that too hard. Watchin’ her grow up all these years? It’s a privilege. It was hard, but it’s jus’ like farm work, ya reap what ya sow.”

“Exactly!” Pinkie suddenly cried. “What you sow. I’m sure you didn’t have to take such an active role in Bloom’s life but you did it anyway and you learnt from that, right?”

“Do ya really think it’s the same thing? A kid teaches ya humility. Somethin’ like the grail…?” She shook her head. “No. I was dumb before. Never really thought ‘bout what could happen.” Crossing her arms, Jack narrowed her brow. “But the hell can I do ‘bout it now? Nothin’. Nothin’ aside from tryin’ ta talk her out of it, an’ she’ll think I’m Goddamn crazy if I do now.”

“She’s not a tyrant, Jackie. And she isn’t a stuck up noble either. She’s your friend.” Pinkie gazed over at the all-folk, serenely asleep. “You should be able to talk to her like any other.”

“Should. An’ I’m gonna. But…” Reaching down, Jack picked up some dirt and ran it between her fingers. “Ya ever get somethin’ stuck in yer head that ya know ya gotta do? No if ands or buts?”

Pinkie ran a thumb against her chin. “You mean like planning parties? ‘cause I always know I need to do them for friends.”

“An’ what happens if someone stuck a finger in yer face and said ya couldn’t? Even though ya think they’d make yer friends happy?”

She sat in silence for a few moments, her brow furrowing in thought. “I suppose… I’d just do it anyway and ignore the one party pooper.”

Jack offered a wry smile. “Well, I think me an’ Rare might be the party poopers here, sug.”

“Well, I, uh…” Pinkie fumbled with her words a bit, before coming to a single question, “You’re not gonna back out and go home now, are you?”

“Celestia’s a good woman. I know that, you know that. If she wasn’t, I wouldn’t have come here in the first place.” Jack’s brow creased with thoughts, clearly caught between a rock and a hard place. “An’ it’s… she’s a responsibility, ya know? Ya don’t jus’ give up on a job because it’s hard.”

Pinkie flashed her a small smile. “You’re good person too, for keeping on trucking with this.” Her expression then shifted, adopting a serious stare that was rare on the girl. “But you need to figure out when you’re gonna spill the beans to her. It’s gonna be reeeal easy for her to tell when your heart isn’t in it anymore. And I know you, Jackie, you’re the worst liar I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ll talk ta her soon. I promise. Jus’ gotta think, ya know?”

“Guess you got the perfect time to do that now.” Pinkie stood up and crept over to her bedroll, slotting herself in like a card within a deck. “Juuust keep watch too, got it?”

“Got it.”

“Have a good night, Jackie.” Giving her a wave, Pinkie then laid her head down and wiggled her way closer to the resting form of Spike.

Jack looked down at her hands. The worn and calloused things that had seen so much in so little time, then back to the darkness that threatened to swallow their meager light. No words would be said that night, and no sleep would let her quell the conflicting thoughts circling in her head.

Perspective

Morning came and they were off, on their feet minutes, not hours after the last in the group awakened.

The sky above them was a grey thing, resembling a huge expansion of concrete as the clouds choked the sun and the mood of the party was effected as much by the weather as it was by their walk. Their travels ate the hours like a beast and took them across more lowlands and though sickly shrubbery, the cold killing off all but the stoutest of the plants, before finally taking them parallel to a stream, the ground nearby up an incline, and therefore, while not dry, drier than the miserable marsh they traveled through earlier. Celestia rose a hand up.

“We’ll rest here for lunch, if that’s fine with everyone. I’m sure most of you aren’t used to this pace,” Celestia offered. “While our mission is urgent, the grail isn’t moving. Catch your breaths.”

Jack nodded and broke away from the group, heading to the stream down the slope of the land. Rarity followed suit soon after and Celestia sat where she stood, crossing her legs and putting her hands to her knees.

“Man, I’m thirsty. Found a stream just in time, my canteen is dry,” Spike said. He grabbed Pinkie’s wrist. “Come on, let’s go down there.”

Pinkie looked to Spike, then back over to the all-folk. She smiled wide at Spike. “No, that’s ok. You go ahead, I’ll be there in just a minute!”

He gave a curious raise of his brow, but nodded at her wish, tromping off and down the slope. When he was out of earshot, she moved to the all-folk and plopped down on the ground, resting on her arms.

“Something I can do for you, Diane?” Celestia pondered, not bothering with opening her eyes.

Pinkie scratched casually at her cheek. “No,” she answered. “Just wanted to see what you were doing.”

“Collecting my thoughts,” she answered, opening her eyes and offering a warm smile to Pinkie. “You know how easily they can be scattered to the winds.”

“You said it!” Pinkie agreed. She rocked back and forth on her hands, a wide smile still on her face as she looked at the all-folk.

There was no doubt in Pinkie’s mind that Celestia was sincere, even the smile the all-folk held oozed a beauty that she couldn’t even begin to think about and beauty, real beauty, the kind that makes you stop and clutch your heart, was something internal that showed on the outside, rather than being just pretty with a diseased core.

“Princess… what’s the grail do?” Pinkie asked. A rather innocent question, but one backed by hearing Jack’s thoughts last night. Maybe she was just paranoid of a changing system, maybe there were actual things to worry about with the grail, whoever had it.

“I don’t know,” Celestia answered, her smile fading as she thought. “The legends say its power is something incomprehensible to the average man, though. I’m hoping they’re not over exaggeration.”

“You think it’s a weapon?”

“What else could it be? Besides, weapon is a rather broad term, Diane. Many things can be a weapon, physical or mental.”

“A mental weapon?” She frowned, scratching at her head. “What, like… mind control or something?”

“Well, there is that. But it could be as simple as creating an understanding between two people. Or, perhaps, illusion spells. Considering what they can do just by tricking the brain, that would be feasible too.” Celestia looked to Diane. “The truth is, I have no information really to decide what it is. Only the research from my father, a few scattered half-truths of its origin, and a handful of visions from Sir Galahad clue me in on its contents.”

Pinkie nodded, lifting her hands off the ground and leaning closer to Celestia. “What if it’s something really bad? Like, super horrible and stuff.”

Celestia’s brow arched in thought. “Define ‘bad’, if you would. A sword may take a life as easily as the wind blows, but it’s not inherently bad.”

“Well a sword can kinda do that quickly and cleanly if you’re careful but I mean, what if the grail is a weapon that makes people go down a really long, drawn out and suffering way, y’know? It’s not just a ‘boop’ and you’re done, it’s painful and nasty instead when it doesn’t need to be.” Pinkie inclined her head to the side. “You get me?”

“It would hardly be an effective weapon if that were the case.” Celestia gave a raise of her hand. “There’s no purpose in a weapon that doesn’t offer a quick release. Surely the grail would be designed for effectiveness, instant retribution, rather than your suggestion.” She raised a finger “If it is a weapon. Perhaps it’s nothing more than information. Knowledge is the surest strength in the world, after all.”

“Knowledge is always good!” Pinkie agreed, nodding. “I just…” She rubbed at an arm, flicking a pebble along the ground. “I don’t want to become a part of a nation that bullies others because ‘rawr, we got the grail, do as we say muwahahaha!’”

Celestia’s smile offered a reassurance. “I have my doubts that even with the grail, they’d listen.” She gave a tap to the pommel of Excalibur and looked to the side. “There’s always a hidden side to diplomacy, however. There are people controlling the lands. Good ones, eager to serve the world, and wicked men eager to serve themselves. Good men will readily agree to fair terms. The bad… the bad need the threat of the sword.”

Pinkie picked up the pebble, flipping it in the air like it was a coin. “But don’t good men act bad sometimes and bad men act good?”

“At times,” she agreed, giving a slow nod at Pinkie’s words. “But the content of their heart speaks volumes. You can tell the righteous thief that steals for family from the judge that offers leniency to a criminal for his own gain. It’s a matter of separating wheat from chaff. A dated idiom for you, maybe, but it spoke volumes when I was younger. ”

“I don’t think it’s ever that simple but,” Pinkie gazed upon Celestia, in all her radiance, “I’m not you, I guess. I’m me. And me will see different from thee!” She giggled, despite her grammar error.

Celestia’s warm smile returned. “If you’re not careful, you’ll start talking like Luna. That’s a fate worse than death nowadays.”

“Aw, no. She’s cute in her funny ye olde speak,” Pinkie said, returning Celestia’s serene expression.

“Cute, but it’s rather humorous seeing her talk to a citizen unaware of her, er, habit.”

“She’s just our own living fossil!” she replied.

Her smile twinged a bit, then came up again. “In a way, we both are,” she agreed.

“Dunno about you but I don’t feel old. No way!” Proving her point, she sprung up onto her two feet like a spring, rocking on her heels and outstretching her arms. “Well, I got a special guy waiting for me by a stream. Thanks for answering my questions ‘n’ all, Celestia.”

“It was my pleasure, Diane. There’s still some time before we need to start traveling again, so go ahead.”

“Gotcha! See ya in a bit!” Pivoting on one foot, Pinkie skipped away and headed from the stream.

As soon as she was sure she was out of Celestia’s sight, Pinkie dropped her skipping. Her pace became much slower, as her memory replayed every bit of that last conversation. Thankfully, her memory was close to photographic; she could remember every little detail, including not just what Celestia said but how and what she looked like when speaking the words. Not that it helped all too much; Celestia was enigmatic at the best of times.

The fact that Celestia didn’t even know what the grail was certainly put her mind at ease. It meant that her intentions were truly noble and that she likely wasn’t after the grail for its power but rather the help it could bring.

Not that she ever doubted Celestia was a good person but her talk with Jack had brought more doubt into her mind than she would’ve liked. It didn’t bring her any nightmares, or any other weird dreams, but it definitely made getting to sleep that night just that little bit harder.

The real stickler was that Jack still had a valid point herself. People were in charge of their own lives, their own decisions and that’s what made life so exciting! Maybe a child tries climbing a tree when they’re young but they fall over and get hurt. That was okay though because it meant they had learned. Or what about the many times in someone’s life where a silly mistake could lead to an incredibly wonderful surprise?

Having the grail could end up leading to bringing magic to a fist fight. Everyone would change their behavior to accommodate for it. Whether it was for good or bad remained to be seen. Pinkie sighed and shook her head. Nothing was for certain yet, especially when the identity of the grail was still a mystery. Too much jelly, not enough concrete.

The stream she came to was a quaint thing. Small, yet deep enough to be a good water source. Pinkie found herself grinning at the speed of its flow. Almost as if it just couldn’t wait to flow down into the lands below, to join great rivers.

“Hiya Spike,” she greeted the boy, who was knelt down at the stream’s edge.

“Found a cool shell,” Spike exclaimed, turning and holding his prize up to Pinkie’s eyes.

It was a golden and yellow half-circle that was so shiny it looked almost like glazed pottery. He grinned, gesturing it towards her. “It’s not flowers, but…”

“Awww, I love it!” Pinkie took the shell, admiring it for herself with a bright smile. It may have not washed away the confusing thoughts in her but at least her heart was soaring. Looking down at Spike, she simply couldn’t resist kissing him on the forehead. “But I love you more.”

“You too,” he quickly uttered out. “When we get back home, I’ll make it into a necklace for you.”

“Keep it for now then,” she replied, placing it back into his palm. “I know you’ll keep it safe until that time comes.”

Nodding, he put it in his back pocket. “Yeah, I’ll do just that for you.”

“Great!” Pinkie crouched down by the stream. “How’s the water?”

“A little cold, but not bad. Not as good as the ones back home, though.”

“We get what we’re given,” she replied, filling up her own flask in the stream. “Soooo, I don’t think I’ve really asked you this: what’s your take on this whole ‘mythical grail’ thing?”

“I dunno.” He scratched his hair. “Celestia’s a lot smarter than we are. Like Twila levels. If she’s wanting it so bad then it’s got to help us, right?”

“Us, yeah.” Pinkie closed her flask, stuffing it away. “But you ever think about how it might affect not us?”

“Not us?” he repeated, blinking. “Like other countries?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Well…” He put a hand to his chin in thought. “she’s the only ruler I really trust, you know? I’ve talked to her and grew up with her. If she had more of a say in the world because of the grail, wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“I dunno. Maybe? I think she’s great but should she have that kinda power over people who aren’t her people?” Pinkie slumped back onto the ground, staring at the dull sky. “Then you gotta think about in the far future when she’s gone, who else is gonna have that thing? How are they gonna use it?” She clenched her fists and let out a small whine. “Too many what ifs!”

“That’s a pretty long time. I mean, King Arthur was around for forever, wasn’t he? Should we really worry that far ahead? For all we know, the world could be done by then.” He looked down, checking his body to make sure he had grabbed his canteen. Finding it, he looked back up to Diane. “Does it really change what we have?”

“I guess not. A long time doesn’t mean there’ll never be a time, though,” she replied, her hands idly plucking at the grass. “Really what I’m wondering is whether it’s right for anyone, even Celestia, to have that kinda power. Whatever it is anyway. We don’t even know! That’s what makes it even more worrying to me ‘cause it could be good… or super bad.”

“And if you have a kid, it’s the same deal. Maybe Jack has a kid that grows up to try and do a lot of bad things. That’s not on her. That’s not on anyone.”

“One person isn’t a weapon. And it’s not like he’d be in charge of anything. Jack and Rarity, the both of them would help guide them to make the right choices, the good ones. Then everyone would be happy.” Pinkie let loose a sly smirk, gazing at Spike. “I’d be the best God-mommy though, if they let me.”

“God-mommy?” Spike repeated. “Does that even make sense?” he asked himself, “Don’t you mean ‘Goddess-mommy?”

“That’s a bit of a mouthful, don’t you think?” Pinkie asked, lazily throwing a clump of grass at him, although his barely reached even his legs before hitting the ground.

“Careful. I might make you eat that dirt if I get any on me,” he mock-warned, giving a pat down on his pants..

“If you wanna kiss a dirty mouth, bring it on,” Pinkie said, challenging him with a daring grin.

“Well, even without it you have a dirty mouth, what’s the difference?” Spike replied.

“Now you’re just asking for it! C’mere!” Laughing, Pinkie leapt at him in a flash with reckless abandon and Spike nearly toppled over at her attack, letting out a surprised yelp. Though their wrestling match didn’t last long, there was something there. For a brief moment, though the clouds, there was light.

000

The day remained overcast, with the grey darkening towards the evening, turning what was a simple overcast day into something that seemed ominous, foreboding. The group set up camp earlier than yesterday, going a step further than before and pitching their tents, rather than simply sleeping in their bedrolls. If it was going to rain, they wanted to be prepared this time and as Jack sat down for her turn at watch a slight drizzle came down. She grumbled, shifting her weight on the tree stump she sat upon, when a voice spoke up from behind her, near the meager fire.

“You’ll catch your death of cold like that,” Rarity admonished, already moving over to Jack. “Don’t move.”

Jack did as Rarity asked, and she was soon covered in a fairly sleek poncho. The tailor lifted up a hood from behind Jack and exchanged the stetson Jack wore with the hood, then put Jack’s hat on top of her own head.

“Thanks,” Jack said, not taking her eyes away from the outskirts of their camp. They had chosen their campgrounds atop a raised plateau. Behind them was a sharp drop of about ten feet, meaning the front was the only way they could be approached.

“Of course.”

She stood for a moment in the mist and Jack spared her a quick glance.

Rarity had on a poncho herself and with Jack’s stetson atop her head, the farmer couldn’t help the faint smile that came to her lips. She didn’t know style, but that at least seemed like a good combination.

The faint smirk faded quickly as she looked back to the shadows.

“We need to talk with her,” Rarity said. Jack sighed.

“I know.”

“This is the optimal time. Quiet, secluded, and, most importantly, the grail isn’t present. Tonight’s the night, despite my own aversion.” She held out her hand and, reluctantly, Jack took it.

They made their way over to the princess's tent and Jack exhaled, swallowed, then exhaled again.

“Like a band aid,” she said, reaching forward to Celestia’s tent-flap. One knock on the tent’s support beam to let the princess know they were there, then Jack pulled the flap aside.

Celestia sat cross-legged in the center of the tent, a lantern keeping the place well-lit. In her hands was a cup of tea, which she held mid-flight to her lips. Seeing the two, she gestured to the ground beside her, beckoning them over.

“Green tea?” the all-folk asked. The two shared a glance before Rarity nodded in response for the both of them.

Reaching to a pack, Celestia withdrew a pot and two more cups. Snapping her fingers, a small fire sparked to life and Celestia put the pot on top of the self-made flame.

“What brings you both here? Something to report?” she questioned.

“Something to discuss, actually,” Rarity said, taking a seat as Jack followed suit. “About our reasons for being out here.”

“Do you need an increase in your stipend? While I know Jack was winding down on the farm this time of year, I can only assume how rough the strain on your own creative process is, Rarity.”

“Your concern is much appreciated, majesty. But the discussion of payment isn’t why we’re here.”

“It’s… it’s the grail, princess,” Jack said, finally speaking up. “We don’t think ya need somethin’ like that. We don’t think anyone needs somethin’ like that.”

Celestia took another drink of tea, her expression the world’s best poker face. The gesture done, she poured the other two a cup and handed it wordlessly to them.

“Years ago I would have agreed, I’d say. But look at the world now. We’re so connected between dragon mail and the phone service at Cabello that information arrives to us at an unprecedented rate. It’s a blessing and a curse. One hand, the world has access to medical records, the ability to advance technology, and history is obtainable by even the commoners in Cabello. But this boon could also be a disaster. People that wish to cause ruin to the land have an easier time researching too. Castle schematics, work schedules, forbidden magic, all of them can transfer quicker, with no real way to stop them.

“Our assassin wouldn’t have gotten away cleanly with the kingslayings in my time. Now?”

The princess paused to have one more sip of tea, taking just a moment to organize herself.

“I’m sure he or she was able to plot the downfall of the German and French leaders far easier thanks to the world moving on from my time. The grail, for better or worse, is a necessary tool that would help protect our people.”

Jack gave an even look to the all-folk, not flinching in the slightest when they met gazes. “What if yer people don’t want ya ta have it?”

“They’ve no idea the threats that have began to form at our borders. Your sister Bloom doesn’t understand some of the actions you and Macintosh take for her sake, does she?”

“We ain’t kids,” Jack rejected.

“No, but I am suggesting that you don’t understand why it’s a necessity.”

“If I may,” Rarity interjected. “During our… issues with Dmitri, there was a time when I felt completely helpless. My magic had been stripped of me and the cur had threatened my sister. It’s a feeling I never want to have again. It’s why I had Jack begin instructing me on swordplay, it’s why I’ve trained my body and mind and it’s why I’m here now, rather than waiting for her back home. I refuse to rely excessively on another and why I’m a staunch opponent of our destination, Celestia.”

The woman shut her eyes, not dismissing the words, but carefully considering them. Finally, she opened them, coming to a conclusion.

“My goal is not to strip independence. My goal is to unify and rally the masses. Confidence in a leader means confidence in oneself. I’m sorry. I can’t give up on the grail, even if it displeases you both. If you’re opposed to it, I welcome you to return to the ship and await my return. I’ll hold no less respect for either of you.

Jack said nothing. Finishing her tea she rose and moved over to the tent-flap. “That ain’t happenin’. We’ll be there ‘till the end with ya, Celestia. One way or another.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Rarity said, offering a quick bow as she stood, joining Jack.

Leaving the tent, Rarity rubbed her brow and sighed. “That could have went better.”

Jack didn’t reply; a troubled frown was the only answer that needed said.

“We did all we could,” Rarity said. Jack looked to the ground in thought.

“Did we?” she asked. The other raised a brow.

“Of course. There is nothing else we can do now. She’s made her objective and stance crystal-clear.”

The earth-folk hesitated. After a beat she nodded. “I guess she has, hasn’t she?” Reaching down, she gave Rarity’s arm a squeeze. “Let’s get some sleep. It’s gonna be a long day tomorrow.”

Jack wandered away from camp, a hooded lantern guiding her path in the late night rain as she searched a field for the solution to a puzzle.

The farmer had felt bad, keeping Rarity in the dark about her excursion, but thought it was for the best. It was better Rarity didn’t know Jack had decided on a course of action that had no good outcome. One that, even if things went to plan, still involved her losing in a way.

She stopped her search, its goal discovered at the base of a leafless tree. A yellow plant resembling a daisy. Jack did a quick skim over the notes she had taken over the months in regards to herbology and nodded when she confirmed it belonging to the right plant.

Pulling out a knife, she cut it at its stem, then sat on the ground with a mortar and pestle she had drawn out from her satchel.

Grinding the plant to a pulp, Jack diluted the mess of vegetation with rosemary oil and blackberry juice, then strained the concoction into a vial, which she promptly corked and pocketed.

Jack was still a fledgling in the arts of oils, would probably never reach the level of talent Zecora held, but still she hoped it’d be enough.

She hoped it’d let Celestia see reason.

Resting Place

The third day brought results. They awoke and traveled under the spell of the rain, now rising higher and escaping the lowland marshes that seemed to tug restlessly at their boots and instead began to deal with the trees that littered the area, sparse in some areas, but as thick and dense as Jack’s hair the instant they’d surmount a hill and go into a valley. About two hours after sunrise, as they made their way past two stone rocks, Celestia paused, wincing. She put a hand to her temple and grimaced.

“Princess?” Jack asked, stepping forward. Though there was still tension between her and the all-folk, that didn’t mean it was going to get in the way of a job.

Or helping a friend.

“There’s a strong presence of magic nearby. I…” She shook her head, looking briefly drunk as she tried to collect her concentration. When her composure was regained, she squinted her eyes open and shut. “It’s near. It has to be.”

Though there were other questions in her mind, Jack decided to ask the most pressing to her. “How near?”

“Few miles at the most. We’ll see it shortly, I know.”

Jack looked over to Rarity for some sort of confirmation. Judging by the soul-folk’s own slight discomfort, she could assume what Celestia was saying fact.

“Let’s jus’ be careful. No tellin’ what ta expect.”

“Spiders and cobwebs,” Pinkie declared openly. “Definitely spiders and cobwebs.”

“Disgusting,” Rarity spat. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

Their travel continued and Jack felt the faint strings of deja vu as they rounded a steep hill and came into sight of bodies.

Dozens of elk lay strewn across the grounds, their corpses untouched, but dead regardless. their bodies dead for a few months, but still well-preserved thanks to the chill.

“What on earth...” Celestia trailed off.

“The hunter,” Rarity said. Jack turned to look at her. “The hunter we talked to,” she elaborated.

“Yer right,” Jack agreed, recalling his story.

“Soooo, does this mean we’re almost there or not?” Pinkie asked, her gaze deliberately avoiding the scattered corpses.

“We’re near where the wendigo first was,” Jack answered, rubbing at her mouth. “So, maybe.”

“Let’s keep going then!” Pinkie cried, throwing an arm forward. “Daylight’s burning!”

The walk took them farther still, past one type of body and onto another, as they moved closer to a large, jutting mountain—it was too jagged for Jack to call it anything but, it looked like a canine tooth of a vicious beast that had been chipped and cracked through years of neglect—they spotted two things that further cemented the hunter’s tale. Hundreds of ruptured crystals littered the area, some the size of pebbles, others massive, head-sized things that weighed almost as much as Spike and seemed to house menace, their rough edges reminding Jack of so much broken glass.

“These crystals…” Celestia muttered under her breath, picking a small stone up and rubbing it between her fingers.

“What about ‘em?” Jack asked. Celestia shook her head, concentrating ahead.

“A nostalgic thought, that’s all.”

Past the first sprinklings of crystal was the third and final confirmation of the hunter’s tale. A woman’s corpse, the shirt she wore soaked crimson from the obvious puncture wounds that traveled from her chest and out her back. The corpse stared blankly at them; Jack stared blankly back at her.

“God,” Spike said under his breath.

Pinkie covered her mouth with a hand, trembling as she looked away from the body.

“Our soul-folk, I would assume,” Rarity said under her breath, taking the body surprisingly well as she knelt down to examine it, Jack doing the same beside her.

“Gotta be,” Jack agreed, looking over the corpse with the indifference a medical doctor held among the ill.

“How can you both just act like this is ok?!” Spike exclaimed. “That’s a body!”

Jack’s hand hesitated, then moved to the corpse and she searched the woman’s remains for odds and ends. “It ain’t somethin’ I like, but I can’t start bawlin’ over every corpse. Someone has ta hold back what they’re feelin’, otherwise we ain’t never makin’ progress.”

Celestia looked towards the two that were most distraught over the corpse. “Would you feel better burying her, or taking her body back to town for a funeral?” she questioned, her tone and posture a paragon of neutrality, as if it was a simple matter-of-fact, over the loss of a life.

“I don’t know,” Spike admitted, brushing a hand through his hair. “This is crazy. I never knew you’d be this…”

Celestia raised a brow. “Callous?”

He shook his head. “I dunno.”

“I see.” There was a moment’s consideration before she put a hand to his shoulder. “I’ve seen more than my fair share of bones and bodies. Dealing with them is important. Now as a sign of respect, but back in my day it was more due to limiting the spread of disease. So I’m sorry if I disappoint you on my more pragmatic approach, Spike.”

“You’re not disappointing me. I just guess I thought you’d be more worried about it yourself. Maybe.” He looked over to Pinkie. “Whatever she wants we’ll do, ok?”

“Give her a quick burial,” Pinkie muttered tonelessly, staring down at her feet. “We can’t stop now. Not when we’re this close.”

“Then we’ll do jus’ that,” Jack agreed.

With a quick spell from Celestia, the earth was dug into, forming a small rectangle of fresh earth and Jack did the honors of putting the body into the shallow grave. A nod from the earth-folk as she stepped back and Celestia gestured with her palm, covering the woman’s remains in dirt. Jack gave it a swift pat-down and looked at the others, waiting for instructions.

Pinkie watched Jack work, biting her lip. Once it was done, after some contemplation, she simply uttered. “I hope she’s found some peace.”

“I’m sure she has, sug,” Jack quietly said, crossing her arms under her breasts and looking over her handiwork.

It was a few minutes of quiet, as they stood near the grave of a stranger, but eventually they slowly tore their attention away from the grave and looked towards the rocky hill that loomed over them.
Celestia was the first to spot the door.

It was tucked far within an alcove of the hill, hidden away for anyone not actively looking for it and as they stepped forward, their boots crunching on the hard-packed dirt, it seemed to almost loom over them, an ebony-black thing that shone with an otherworldly glow to it. Strange runic lettering appeared, flowing around the frame of the heavy-looking thing from the highest point and all the way down to the base of the door.

“The hell?” Jack muttered out.

Celestia looked over the runes, her mind working like a well-oiled machine. “Sumerian?” she pondered. “I think.”

“Meanin’?”

“It’s in an ancient language beyond my years. I can only gather the basest notion of what it means.”

“Are they instructions on how to open it up? A warning?” Pinkie asked.

Celestia squinted, recalling words from a long-forgotten time. “Both,” she decided. “The door requires blood to open and it warns that the curse of Enlil for anyone who opens this without the blessing by the…” She tilted her head. “I assume a clan name, Kaer Rouge.”

“Curse of Enlil? Never heard of that one.” Pinkie stared at the runes, struggling to make sense of them all.

“Probably some long-forgotten religion,” Rarity remarked, her tone casual despite the obvious worry at what lied ahead. “Always on about curses and doom, remarkably depressing, to be quite honest.”

“If it is long-forgotten, then that means the curse has probably worn off by now! Especially if that religion doesn’t exist anymore,” Pinkie replied, slipping in a wink.

“Or wasn’t real ta begin with,” Jack agreed. She looked to Celestia. “Now, what ‘bout this whole ‘blood’ business?”

“Luna is more versed in the intricacies of blood offerings, but she’s said before they’re largely metaphorical. A simple cut of the hand will do fine.”

Jack nodded, reaching for her shortsword just as Spike stepped forward.

“I’ll do it,” he said, looking towards the group. “Better nobody that can fight has a hand injury, right?”

Celestia gave a proud smile towards the boy. “Quite true. Doubtful there’s anything threatening in here, but it’s far better to plan ahead.”

Pinkie frowned, turning towards him. “Are you sure, Spike? I only need one hand to throw stuff.”

“It’s fine,” Spike replied, moving towards the door. Jack offered the handle of her shortsword and Spike took it, surprised in a way by its weight.

“Cut the back of your hand!” Pinkie advised, then faced the strange stares she received. “What? These things never explicitly say you gotta cut the palm but everyone does it anyway. Why? Seems silly to me.”

“Would it hurt less?” Spike asked, looking down at his free hand, then back up at the door.

“I’d think so. And it’d cripple your hand a little less!” she answered, nodding eagerly.

Sucking in a breath, Spike squinted his eyes shut and put the edge of the sword to his skin. Swallowing, he made a quick cut across, hissing as he did.

“Sug?” Jack asked.

“Yeah?” Spike said, not opening his eyes to look over the damage.

“Ya didn’t draw blood.”

He opened his eyes and saw just that. Swearing, he brought the blade to a ready stance and this time pressed down harder, once more letting out a gasp as he cut.

This time, blood flowed freely from his hand and he stepped forward, pressing the wound against the door.

The runes offered a flash, then their coloration faded, vanishing back into the stone, disappearing one at a time until the rune at the top center was the only one remaining. They heard a click from within the stone and a great shudder went through the door, slowly opening.

“Great job!” Pinkie cried, throwing her arms over Spike’s shoulders. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he said, giving Jack’s sword back and taking a roll of gauze Rarity all but thrusted at him. Wrapping his palm up, he looked towards the dark that spilled out of the door. “Guess it’s time, huh?”

“You two do not have to come in if you do not want to,” Celestia offered, stepping forward to look at the stone door and its thickness. “You’ve done a good job, this would have taken far longer than we have time for if we hadn’t opened it like we did.”

“We’ve come way too far to just ditch you now!” Pinkie cheered, clenching a fist in anticipation for what was to come. Despite her seemingly determined fixation on the path ahead, her eyes darted between two things in particular. Celestia and Jack. After speaking to each of them, she knew that this was no longer just a simple matter of grabbing that grail and going home. Words were going to be exchanged. Harsh ones, maybe. Rarity was far too attached to Jack for her to disagree with her and Spike looked up to Celestia as the mother figure he never had.

If—if, she reminded herself—things came to a head, it fell to her to be the voice of reason. A smile came to her lips; the irony of herself playing that role wasn’t lost on her.

Finally, staring into the looming darkness ahead, it seemed to call her closer. The butterflies in her stomach were only too eager to agree. She’d become far too invested in the grail, whatever it was, to turn tail now.

“Yeah. I’m in,” Spike said. “I don’t know what’s in there, but… but I want in regardless.”

“Then it’s settled,” Rarity spoke. “Let’s go in and leave as soon as we can.”

With that, they followed after Jack, each stepping into the darkness in turn.

The first thing Jack noticed was the ground below her boots. Not earth, not stone, not even something like concrete greeted their feet.

Crystal.

The whole floor, as far as they could see within the darkness, was lined with the smooth form of crystal. It decorated the floors, the rounded stone walls, even the ceiling,

“Gracious,” Rarity muttered under her breath, holding out a fist then unclenching it. When her palm was fully open, an orb of concentrated magic sprung to life, further illuminating the dark. Celestia followed Rarity’s example, conjuring a flame of her own.

The mouth of the thing was cramped for Jack and Rarity, the roof scant inches above Jack’s head, and she kept flicking her eyes upward, gauging the ceiling with every step she took. Rarity took a few cautious steps forward, pointing. The orb of light she conjured levitated forward, down a narrow tunnel, then paused at a turn in the tunnel.

“I’ll go first,” Jack said, already drawing her shortsword and pressing on. Rarity glanced at the others, then followed.

The tunnel fed out into a wider room, one that seemed a sort of preparation room, with a stone chair and a long-dry wash basin nearby.

Slumped over on the chair was a long-dead corpse clad in armor of a pure, angelic silver. Generations had to have been washed over him, judging by his taut skin clinging tight to his remains, and his hair mere straw. In his hand sat a leather journal. Rarity and Jack exchanged a glance to one-another, before Jack stepped forward and touched the book. The skeleton let it easily slip from his palm, almost as if he were gifting it to the two.

Though there was trepidation in her actions, Jack opened the journal and paused, looking over the words.

“What?” Rarity questioned. “What is it?”

“It’s, uh, in English,” Jack remarked. “Like, plain English.”

Rarity moved beside the farmer and read herself. She gave a confused tilt of her head to her wife. “No. They’re clearly French, Jack.”

“Are ya blind?” She nearly hit the pages with the back of her hand. “Clear-cut here, sug. It’s—”

“It’s both!” Pinkie gasped, peeking over both their heads. She skimmed the words, cooing in wonder. “I’m seeing Gaelic! It must translate for you with some kinda magic. Weird, right?”

“An old spell,” Celestia remarked with a bit of surprise, overhearing the conversation as she rounded the corner. “Not many from my time were—” She paused on seeing the body and her eyes widened with actual shock, her normally docile expression twisting in alarm.

“Galahad,” she whispered, stepping towards the body.

Pinkie’s demeanor quickly became meek, backing off as she tugged at Jack and Rarity’s close, urging them to do the same.

Celestia sighed as she overlooked him. “I assumed as much, really. He was a driven man, like his father. Galahad would latch onto a noble cause and follow it to the ends of the earth. It certainly explains the crystals.”

“Crystals?” Spike repeated.

“Mmm. One of my father’s spells. Acted as an entrapment or suppression to things. My mother theorized it, my father brought theory to practice, and Galahad perfected it. He was always gifted in the art of spellwork, a trait his seed carried through the years.”

“Are you gonna be alright?” Jack asked.

“Of course. He’s been dead for generations. It’s simply strange having a ghost unearthed in front of you.” Celestia bridged her fingers in front of her stomach and rested them for a moment, observing the remains. “He was an interesting man. Passionate, earnest. Gentle. Like Spike in many ways.”

Spike was silent, instead he stared at the body of the knight, wanting to say something to Celestia, but finding no words to express himself with.

She turned away from his body. “But we need to focus on the here and now. He left his journal for a reason. Jack, is there any information pertinent to us?”

Jack started to look over the journal, giving a quick thumb over the pages. The entries began normal, comments of inventory, landing in Scandinavia, mentions of his wife and son. The journal grew more curious, however, when it began to speak of rumors of a man swathed in bandages seen in nearby towns, never staying in one area for long, always seeming to be searching for something.

It grew more curious still as it detailed Galahad’s travels after the bandaged man, who always eluded him, seeming to taunt him with every misdirection and narrow escape.

The journal grew abrupt a few more pages in, shorter, more urgent; Galahad mentioned sensing an extraordinary amount of magic near him while walking. The journal kept it at that.

Judging by his body being here, it was obvious he had investigated.

Jack was ready to hand over the journal to Celestia, not so much to read, but to maybe keep as a token of the man, when she caught sight of a dog-eared page a few after his last entry. She turned to it and paused. More words sprang to life, these seemingly magic inscribing themselves on the page as she stared down, frantic scratches, grammar nonexistent, the words there seeming to be important enough to say out loud.

“Tirek got grail. Tried to bring Sombra. Stopped him. Dying. Magic poison, used too much. Stopped him. Stopped creatures. Grail dangerous. Keep a clear head when traveling for it, senses trepidation. It or Tirek. Don’t know. Hid cave with spell. God takes what he gives.”

She looked between the group after she was done. “Sombra. There’s that name again. An’ the hell he mean by ‘senses trepidation.’”

“It means fear, Ja—”

“I know what the damn word means,” Jack cut Rarity off with a brush of her hand. “I ‘mean what senses it.”

“The grail?” Rarity questioned. She put her arms behind her back and gave a quick, pointed glance over to Celestia, before returning her gaze to the book. “He also mentioned the grail was dangerous.”

“In the wrong hands, of course he would believe this,” Celestia defensively said, matching Rarity’s look.

“Crystals!” Pinkie suddenly piped up, feigning exaggerated interest in the walls, staring closely at them. “You said they acted as a suppression, right? But what was he suppressing? Maybe whatever senses fear or something?”

Celestia nodded. “Tirek. If I had to guess, he was suppressing Tirek and whatever it was he had conjured.”

“Like that wendigo that was outside a while back. He must have kept it held back this whole time too.” Jack breathed out. “Hellava spell.”

“More than I could manage,” Rarity said.

“Why would he hide the cave?” Spike asked, another question to throw onto the pile.

“To slow down its discovery, perhaps. Make sure man was ready for whatever the grail held.” Celestia took a few steps deeper into the room, coming to an ornate door. “This door is a gateway. I have no doubt what lies beyond here will be something we can’t plan for. If we’re understanding Galahad’s note, then we have to keep our minds clear.”

“Wait, so we’ve got to think of nothing at all?” Pinkie asked, raising a hand up to scrunch her hair.

“Yes. If we can, at all. Whatever it is causing it, it will twist and change our thoughts into antagonists. Keep a clear head,” she urged, looking over the group once more to emphasize her point.

Taking the handle, she twisted the knob and they stepped through.

It lead to a long hallway of stone that, even with both their sources of light, seemed to ooze darkness ahead of them.

Swallowing, Spike took a step forward, meekly following after the others. He did his best to keep his mind clear as they walked and hoped that the others were doing the same, but it was a lot like telling someone to not think about elephants. Because you mentioned the idea, it was almost impossible to not think about it. It was hard not to think about how one minute you could be walking and the next stumbling into some long-forgotten trap, some ancient curse from intruding within a warrior’s tomb. All it would take is one errant move or one misspoken utterance to damn them entirely and, as they approached a door on the far end of the room, he took in a deep breath and put on as brave of face as he could muster.

Persuasion

As they stepped through, the air took on a pressure it didn’t have before; Spike winced at the change. It felt almost warm here, and that was something that he didn’t like one bit.

Walking down the claustrophobic tunnel, Spike took a few breaths to try and calm himself, the world feeling alien, predatory.

“You’re ok,” Pinkie encouraged, not a question, but a statement of fact.

“Yeah,” he reflexively said, grateful at the words, frustrated that he was always keeping the others held back. Even know he could see the small flicks of concern between the others as they each spared him a glance in turn.

He wanted to be a man. Be as dependable as Jack was and strong like her too. But he wasn’t sure if he could. Or if he could, it’d be years from now, years after Jack, after Rarity, after Pinkie were gone and buried. There he’d be, a king of ashes. His body wouldn’t catch up with his mind for years, the longevity of his half-blood feeling more like a curse every day he lived with it.

They came to a split in the tunnel’s path. Jack looked between the two possible points and shut her eyes for a moment. There was the faintest breeze to their right and she nodded, confirming that was their direction.

“Why’d you…?” Spike asked; Jack answered, seeming to predict the boy.

“Other way I think’s a dead end, if no air's passin' through. This way’ll maybe lead us ta a door.”

“Oh.”

Spike had a feeling of wrongness, stronger in him now as they pushed forward, base instincts screaming at him to think. Something was wrong. Something that he couldn’t figure out.

When his foot depressed farther into the hard ground, the alarm was so loud within him that he instinctively jerked backwards, colliding with Pinkie.

Just ahead of him the floor gave away, opening like a door from either side of the corridor and revealed a set of barbed spikes a few feet down below. Jack let out a surprised swear; only her lightning reflexes let her twist and grab the edge of the path with her hand as she nearly fell in. Rarity was by her side instantly, reaching down to help hoist the woman up. As she was pulled back on her feet there was a deafening groan of metal, the two flaps slowly rose up together, growing flush with one last loud click.

Jack nearly slumped to the ground in relief, taking deep breaths to calm herself down after the near-miss.

“You’re fine,” Rarity reassured, worry in her tone despite the words. “You’re fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Spike blurted out. “This was, I did it. I was thinking about traps even though we’re not supposed to be thinking of anything and—”

“Ain’t yer fault. Don’t ya worry ‘bout it,” Jack said, taking in one more breath before regaining her legs. “It was bound ta be one of us, surprised it wasn’t me first.”

“We’ll simply take things slower here on out,” Celestia said, giving a gesture to the orb of light she was traveling with and letting it rise more to the ceiling. “Keep your light lower, Rarity.”

The soul-folk nodded, following through with Celestia’s orders and inching the light along the stone floor.

“What should I do?” Spike asked.

“Mirror our footsteps,” Jack instructed. “An’ listen.”

The dragon-folk sighed, but nodded in agreement to the words, her suggestion complementing his thoughts from earlier.

He was powerless here.

Do you have to be? a voice, not his own, rang to life within his head, the intrusion so instant and alien that he paused mid-step as the others began to press ahead further within the cave.

I know the blood that pumps in your heart. The seed you grew from. There is no need to hide away, dragon.

“Who’s there?” Spike blurted out, turning behind him then glancing at the ceiling. Darkness there, nothing more.

Pinkie, lagging a bit behind the other three herself, overhead him and gave a smile that was reassuring.

“Nobody, silly,” she exclaimed. “You’re just hearing things.”

Correct things, It said from… wherever it resided.

“You two catch up!” Jack’s unmistakable drawl called. They shared a look and ran towards her voice.

“But we gotta be careful!” Pinkie whined, holding onto Spike’s arm and watching her own steps as best she could.

The tunnel turned sharply left and then opened into a room with dozens of raised points on the ground, each about a foot’s width across. Past that, a pit filled with darkness and a ivy rope hanging from a rafter above.

“This is lookin’ more an’ more like those Duran Du books Dash reads,” Jack commented.

“Thankfully we have someone that doesn’t have issues with conjuring wings here,” Rarity said, giving a nod in agreement.

A pause from the group and Rarity looked them over.

“What?” the soul-folk asked with a scoff, looking towards the ground in disdain, “every book I’ve read has Duran under some curse or injury that stops her from conjuring her wings. She’s almost as grounded as Chylene, the poor dear. At least here we have Celestia.”

“So instead of one person being grounded, we have four!” Pinkie replied, beaming at Rarity.

“Four that can be hauled,” Jack replied, crossing her arms and looking across the pit. “If her highness is willin’.”

“I suppose going from a ruler to a ferry is quite the promotion,” the all-folk in question remarked, her genuine smile cutting back on the dry tone her words held. She shut her eyes and out from her back erupted a pair of beautiful dove wings, haunting within the divine luminescence they held, more beautiful than any normal sky-folk’s wings. She gave a flap of them and easily floated above the ground.

Spike blinked. “So we’re just passing this by?”

Jack scratched at her neck. “We got the means ta. If ya ain’t cheatin’, boy, ya ain’t tryin’.”

“Cheating kinda means it’s all a game anyway.” Pinkie glanced around at the darkness that threatened to envelop them. “And this ain’t no game I’ve ever played.”

This could all be a game to you, The Voice, It, remarked, disdain obvious at Spike. Just use it.

“I can’t,” Spike muttered. To himself? To whatever was speaking to him? He didn’t know, he felt like he was walking inside a cloud, everything seemed weightless and heavy at the same time. He had never been blackout drunk, but he assumed it was probably something like this.

“What was that, Spike?” Pinkie asked, hopping down to meet his eyes, dimples forming in her cheeks. “We’ll be fine, don’t you worry! Celestia’s powerful enough to carry all of us and then some!”

And you could be more powerful still.

He ignored Pinkie, instead waiting for the words, The Voice, to finish a thought that seemed to toy with him, pulling Spike along like a puppet on a string.

You wouldn’t have to worry about hurting anyone. If you had the grail.

Spike froze, realizing how true that was.

If he had the grail, or Celestia shared its powers with him, he could get rid of his taint. Or discover a way to ensure that alterations to his body when he transformed wouldn’t mean alterations to his mind. He could be as strong and as brave as anyone he knew without fear of hurting people. Of hurting Diane.

It was so simple, he felt stupid that it just now dawned on him how Celestia housing the grail could benefit him too.

On seeing Pinkie still looking at him, he gave a nod, not even focused on what she had said earlier.

“Great!” Pinkie chirped, rising and ruffling Spike’s hair with the motion. Turning, she gave Celestia a thumbs up along with a wink. “We’re ready when you are!”

“Then we’ll start with you, Spike,” Celestia said. She held out her hand to the boy; he took it and with one lift of her wings she was off, carrying him across the raised grounds and past the pit, before putting him safely on the ground. Her hand lingered on his and she bent her back, coming to meet his face, where she tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“I’m proud of you,” she remarked from no provocation of Spike’s own.

“What was that for?” he asked, a bit embarrassed at the doting of the all-folk.

“A bit of everything, Spike. A bit of everything.” With that she moved to the edge of the ground, leaving Spike with his thoughts for a moment longer, the consideration of the grail all but swallowing him whole now in his single-minded need for it.

“Our turn now?!” Pinkie called out from across the pit, cupping her hands around her mouth.

Celestia nodded, lifting herself into the air and making her way to the others with one flap of her majestic wings.

Farther into the darkness, Spike caught sight of something he hadn’t until now. A door, black as midnight, and he approached it, gripping its knob surely in his hands, no longer timid on what needed to be done. As soon as the others came, he twisted it and stepped through.

Elegance

Rarity didn’t know what to expect as they entered through the door, only that it could be anything, really, according to Celestia. Even then, she stood, frozen as she took in the evening air tinged with the scent of elderberries. Up ahead, on top of a hill she was familiar with, sat a mansion she was very familiar with.

The mansion she visited within her dreamscape.

She was an exception to many soul-folk. She had seen the usefulness of the dreamscape and had simultaneously rejected it. At one point during her youth she had used it as a… training ground, for lack of a better word. A place she could go and refresh herself on proper etiquette, on proper conversation, on the correct fork to use while dining, and for a few earlier drafts of suits and dresses. Over time, however, she had taken to visiting the place less and less, favoring the hectic and messy approach real life held, relishing the feel of cloth running over her fingers, the different ways that natural light changed how well the aesthetic of the colors complemented one-another, the power a well-crafted dress had on people—real people—and her need for this place was quietly put to the wayside, a mere footnote in the book of her life.

And yet now she stood before it with the others.

“Oooh!” Pinkie exclaimed, pointing towards the mansion, where dozens of lights illuminated the windows. “I bet there’s a party going on!”

“A party?” Jack repeated, a tad unbelieving. “This ain’t the time fer a social gatherin’.”

“All of you, please listen,” Rarity instructed, turning to face them like a schoolteacher instructing a collection of youths. “I do not have an idea on what’s going on, but this is my dreamscape. That’s…”

“Weird,” Jack plainly. She gave a long appraising stare at Rarity’s dreamscape; the soul-folk felt almost like she needed to step in front of Jack to draw her attention away from it, hiding her youthful opinions. The notion was ridiculous, of course, but still was a consideration.

A lady did not air her dirty laundry in public, after all.

“So why are we here?” Spike asked. “This doesn’t seem like much of a trial. Unless you like to keep your dreamscape scary for some reason.”

“Perish the thought!” Rarity exclaimed, putting her hand to her collar in trepidation. “I’ve lived through enough shocks to my system. I’d be foolish to want more here.”

From the mansion came music, a slow sweeping thing with piano melodies and the deep moaning groan of a cello.

“So, Rarity, is there a party going on in there?” Pinkie pondered, pointing prudently towards the place.

“Of sorts,” the soul-folk agreed. After a moment’s thought, she added, “As long as what’s in there is what’s in there normally for me, at least.”

“Be on your guard,” Celestia warned. “Trickery is par on the course here.”

They approached the building; Rarity stepped forward, ready to knock, then instead coughed into her hand and opened the door without preamble.

Inside was a massive foyer with two flights of stairs rising up to a majestic balcony. Atop the roof of the expansive room was a crystal chandelier that glittered and gleamed from the light of the candelabras placed with meticulous care across the high-polished mahogany floor. What really drew their attention, however, were the collection of men and women in high-end costumes, all wearing masquerade apparel, all dancing together. As the door opened they froze, staring in shock at the women at the door. Celestia had a hand resting at her sword, and Jack mirrored the action, reaching for the shortsword at her torso. Rarity stepped between them and the guests as a plump elderly woman stepped forward, taking off the mask she wore and bowing to Rarity, then turning to face the masked men and women.

“The master of the home returns,” the elderly woman announced to the cheers of the others present. She turned back to Rarity and caught sight of the others behind her. Though she smiled at Celestia, the others made her give the slightest flinch of her brow.

“I am Opal,” she announced, “the master’s humble maid. Are you all here for the party?”

“We ain’t got time fer—“ Jack began, only for Rarity to hold a hand to silence her.

“For all we know, this could be some sort of trial,” Rarity said in a quiet whisper. “Perhaps we need to do it.” Turning back to Opal, Rarity offered a beaming smile. “Of course, darling. We’re all here to do just that.”

Opal gave a single clap of her hands. “Wonderful! In that case, we need to get you all dressed up. It is a masquerade, after all.” She reached into a pocket at her side and produced a small bell. A quick shake of it later and two maids and a butler all appeared, each bowing towards the group.

“We shouldn’t split up,” Jack said. Rarity shook her head.

“Keep sight of the others. I shall be fine on my own.”

“Rare.”

“It’s my dreamscape. You know I’ve an eye for detail. If something’s wrong, I’ll find it.”

Jack swallowed, but after a long, considering moment she nodded, slowly, and scratched at the tip of her nose.

“If anythin’ is wrong…”

“I’ll find you. I promise.” Rarity gave a small stroke to Jack’s cheek before she turned and followed after Opal.

Around they went, through familiar corridors, the guests—her guests, gave them a reverent nod as they crossed paths, their names at one point everything to her, but now after taking her passion to the outside world, her recognition of them muddled. A Daniel here, a Samuel there, but their last names elusive, hard to pin down.

“It’s been a bit,” Opal cheerfully commented, guiding Rarity upstairs to her lavish room, with silk bedsheets in a deep violet and roses on top of a elegant coffee table, fresh, Rarity knew, from the garden out back, that the stained glass windows overlooked and, during mornings here, glowed and illuminated the room in a radiant gold.

At the other end of the room was a massive vanity, beside it, a walk-in closet lined with Rarity exclusive dresses, sashes, purses and scarves.

Knowing how habit was important, Rarity waited on visiting the vanity to get dressed and instead sat at the coffee table, where a cup of Cafe miel sat waiting for her, the steam rising from it filling the room with the scent of cinnamon.

Opal moved to the other side of the table and sat down, looking over her own cup of cappuccino.

“It has been a while,” Rarity agreed, taking an appreciative sip of the drink, its warmth filling her body.

“Five, six months,” Opal replied matter-of-factly.

“It’s been a busy season at the boutique.”

“And?” Opal asked. Rarity raised a brow.

“And the farm too, I suppose.”

“You’re working there now?” Opal asked, the older woman’s voice lined with disappointment.

“To help my wife. Not as an employee. It’s the same as when I ask her to help me with fabric at the boutique.”

“Surprised Jacquline needs your help on the matter. I thought she had your life under control.”

“It’s just Jack, Opal. And she has our life in-control in the same way I do.”

Opal nodded, taking a sip of her drink. “I simply worry about you sometimes. You seem to be putting your dreams on hold for her.”

“Aside from being at the boutique every day and attending as many shows as I can travel to? No, no. She’s done nothing in regards to holding me back.”

“You should be careful of compromise. Too much of it can ruin you.”

“Too little can do the same.”

“That’s quite true as well.” Though, going by the off-putting tone, Opal had her reservations about the notion. “Well, we should get you dressed, shouldn’t we? No need to keep your guests waiting.”

Moving after Opal, Rarity came to the room’s vanity and sat down at its stool, intending to give her face a much-needed touch-up. Looking at the mirror she froze.

Her face. Her face. Gone were her perfect eyelashes, her bright blue sparkling eyes. Gone were her full, luscious lips. Gone were the rosey cheeks. Replaced instead by scars. What seemed to be thousands of them, turning her formally clear skin into a landscape map, deep gashes, burns, pockmarks. Her right eye was shut, the muscle operating it not even flinching as Rarity worked to open it. Reaching her hand up, she rested it on the deep lines adorning her body and neckline and felt along her disfigurements.

“W-what happened?” Rarity stammered out, her earlier defiance evaporated as she stared at the ruined visage of her face, her one eye a pin prick as she soaked in every detail.

“Compromise.”

“This isn’t real. A trick of some sort,” her words were caked with fear as she traced the scars, the dips the scars made, the bent angle of her nose, they were too much. On her back was a passable wound, a thing she was willing to live with, but this? This was an impossibility. She’d never be able to walk among the nobles again, or even the common-folk. Jack alone had enough curious raises of the brow because of her wound, this was a whole new level. This made her look like…

“A monster,” Opal said, reading Rarity like a book.

Rarity felt hot tears sting at her eyes. She felt sick and brought a hand to her mouth as she stared at the stranger in the looking glass.

“Was it worth it? Sacrificing yourself like this to appease her?” Opal questioned, her tone sharper than it was before, judging Rarity with a harsh glare.

“This isn’t real,” Rarity repeated, her voice barely a whimper.

“It’s what can be. It’s what will be real if you keep as you are. Unless…”

Rarity cocked her head, listening raptly, her fear overruling her common sense for the moment.

“A lady does not engage in violence. A lady does as she’s told.” Opal gestured to the corner of the room, where a dress stood—Rarity was sure that it wasn’t there earlier—and atop the dress, sitting proudly on the head of a mannequin was a masquerade mask that, even with Rarity’s limited interactions with magic devices, she knew housed a powerful enchantment.

“What is…?” she stammered out.

“A creation. An Apple-Belle product you made yourself. Try it,” Opal cooed, leering over Rarity, putting her hands at the soul-folk’s shoulders.

The idea seemed like the wisest thing she had ever heard. Rarity rose, made a few steps forward, and put her hand on the costume, relishing the pearl coloration of the mask’s face, the emerald and violet embellishments around the rim of the disguise, and the way the eye holes seemed to house, no, ooze a sort of sensuality.

“You should wear it. You made it, after all,” Opal said, giving a brush of Rarity’s hair. “It’s a perfect accessory for a perfect lady.”

Though her mind was a soft, cloudy haze, she seemed to consider the other’s words. There was something wrong here. She had not performed much in regards to masks. There’s no way she would have the craftsmanship to build something this positively beautiful with her area of skill, tailoring business or not. Armor was one thing, an elegant mask such as this was a completely different beast. With that in mind, she gave a considering tip of her head, resting the weighty thing on her shoulder.

“How’d I make it?” Rarity slurred out, feeling like she had spent the last half-hour drinking.

“Why, from your newfound strength with the grail, of course,” the other answered as if it were the easiest question in the world.

Rarity gave a show, confused shake of her head. “Why’d I use it?” she muttered out, her regal accent starting to drain from her dwindling thoughts.

“Who else could? Celestia does not understand how the world’s moved on. Pinkie?” She laughed. “Spike? A welp that can’t even tie his own shoes without a pep talk?” Her lips quirked up in a cruel smile. “Jack? Perhaps if she didn’t have to deal with dignitaries and diplomats and instead could use it to rage war.”

“No one,” Rarity said, her hands reaching for the mask regardless of her words.

“Someone has to. You are the best candidate. That much is undeniable. Use it.”

“I… I won’t,” she weakly denied, yet a digit grasped for the object anyway.

As soon as she touched it there came an electric shock of euphoria through her body. A sense of weightlessness and speed that would be impossible for her to house on her own flooded her. What was once a spark of imagination and zeal that propelled her work was now a full on thunderstorm. She could do anything, with this. She could be anything with the feeling within her. If simply touching the mask did this, wearing it would…

Would?

Rarity, in spite of the numbing elation she felt, heard a small, cautious voice in the back of her head. The voice was a whisper, barely audible, but spoke a great truth.

There was no such thing as a free lunch.

What she was feeling when she cradled the mask, bringing it halfway to her face, wasn’t an earned feeling. Every victory, every rush of euphoria, every triumph was something that left its mark. There was always a catch, always a scar. There was always overwhelming effort to produce something of overwhelming quality. The mask she held was an effortless reward. One that she held on to for a time, longer than she should have, before setting it back down on the mannequin head.

“No,” Rarity said, the words simple and without her usual elegant phrasing, but spoken with a clearer head than she had seconds ago. It felt like she had lost her balance and nearly fallen into a pit, but had pinwheeled her arms back just in time to stumble back onto solid ground.

“No?” Opal repeated, a bit confused at the words. “How can you entertain your guests wearing what you are and looking like you are?”

“Manners maketh man,” Rarity replied, turning to face her, the mask serving as to her now as a warning that something was amiss and wrong within her dreamscape—or this perversion of what some force thought her dreamscape was. Her steps now were cautious as she circled Opal, never taking her eyes off the elderly woman; not reaching for her sword just yet, but her hands were poised and ready to do just that. “In the same vein, a lady is a lady, be she in a sack, armor, or silk, and a pig will remain one, no matter how much makeup it wears. So you’ll excuse me if I keep my own fashionable ensemble on instead of what’s laid out for me.”

Opal’s false persona seemed to die. She stared daggers at Rarity and clenched her fists tightly at her sides.

“A lady knows not to backtalk, either. A lady does as she’s told.”

“Not this one,” Rarity replied, her hand now snaking down to the sheath of her sword, her fingers creeping along her body like a spider.

“You’re made of stronger steel than I gave you credit for,” Opal remarked, only it wasn’t Opal’s voice, not anymore. It was a harsh, low thing, the rumbling an unearthed coffin would make.

Rarity quickly drew her sword and held it in both her hands just as there came a cracking noise from behind Opal that made Rarity pause, for a split second’s time, and two massive barbed appendages ruptured from Opal’s back, rising and dancing above her head like twin snakes ready to snap at Rarity.

Opal’s shoulders slumped and the woman dropped to her knees like a puppet that had lost its strings. The thing that was hosted within her body struggled to free itself of the woman’s flesh; wet squelches left little to the imagination for Rarity and fight or flight turned to flight within Rarity’s mind. She had confidence in her abilities, but doing anything to a creature like that blind was asking for death.

Rarity ran for the door just as the beast let out a gurgling roar and one of the barbed stingers launched for the soul-folk. She ducked and and sailed past her, embedding itself into the wood. Not stopping to register what happened, Rarity shoulder-tackled the door, throwing it open into the hallway.

“Jack! Celestia!” Rarity cried out. “It’s a trap!”

The piano music from downstairs had become possessed, multiple keys chiming at once as if a man played with balled fists. The cello let a dry, wicked groan, alarming and maniacal in its whine, the tone sending a shuddering that vibrated the entire house. She came to the overhang of the upstairs at a dead sprint, pausing only to search the crowd of people below. The soul-folk froze.

The guests stood, wordlessly looking up at her, their gaze unflinching behind the decorated masks they wore. What was earlier simple costumes and expressions of the self had taken a dark turn; the masks not regal, but rather seeming to house deformities. Bloated rot, dark black in its putrescence, oozed pus down their cheeks. Rotting flesh peeled and exposed muscle and bone in shockingly vibrant coloration of crimson and yellowed white that made her own scars at her face mere scrapes in comparison.

Below there was a commotion in the lounge, the sound of something breaking, a mixture between a scream and a yell.

“Jack!” Rarity shouted. Though the… things, for people gave them too much credit, terrified her, she still made a run for the banister, knowing every second could matter against something like this, and vaulted over it, forgoing the stairs.

She landed hard, impacting to the ground with such force she dropped to a knee, just as the mansion shuddered. She snapped her free hand forward, sending dozens of magical tendrils from her palm careening through the air. They found their mark at the creatures, snagging wrists, necks, torsos, entrapping the crowd within her spell. She exhaled, and channeled her magic forward. The ethereal tendrils expanded out at a part, as if a large ball was rolling through a narrow tube. When the protrusion reached the partygoers, there was a loud pop and a heavy burst of air exploded onto them, throwing them haphazardly to the ground.

Sprinting past them, she came to her mansion’s lounge. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, their blood mixing with the beige carpet, little lakes on a large map. The cause of their demise stood in front of her. Celestia, her sword singing with every swing as the mutated guests tried to reach for her. Jack stood a few feet away, her sword held defensively as she acted like a shelter for Pinkie and Spike, pushing them to the corner and daring anyone to approach.

Celestia looked quickly up from the bodies—

They have names, Rarity reminded herself, Chelsy, Hilary, Mortimer, Huey. Their families are going to mourn them.

A second thought: They’re not real.

They weren’t. They weren’t. They were figments of her creation, brought to a mockery of life by the magic of the cave, nothing more.

Then what were they?

She didn’t know, and frankly, didn’t care. Survival for her and hers trumped any empathy or curiosity she might have for the guests or what they were becoming.

“Outside! There’s something upstairs coming for us!” Rarity commanded. She turned after issuing her instructions and nearly ran face-first to one of the guests. He swung for her, attempting to grab her; she hopped back and her blade seemed to pilot itself, slashing the man’s neck and dropping him with a pained gurgle. The others followed instantly after she took action, using her as a guide to navigate the land of her mind.

Only, it was a case of the one-eyed leading the blind. It was an uncommon thing for Rarity to travel anywhere within her dreamscape, save for the inside of the mansion.

They ran back to the main lobby, cutting through the mockery the house guests were transforming into, their swelling and lumpy deformities standing on their faces, their hands and bare arms, clothes, clothes Rarity had crafted within her dreams, torn and stripped from their bodies as every new malignant tumor sprouted forth from their skin and the guests screamed, Rarity was unsure if it was a scream of fear, anger, pain, perhaps all three, singing together like an insane choir.

From above, Rarity heard the crash of a door being broken open and she knew without even looking what it was. Heavy footsteps came, alien in their nature, sounding like a throng of people walking without unison, alongside the noise of something being scraped alongside the wall.

“Outside! Outside!” Celestia commanded, pointing the group toward the front door, just as a towering abomination—Rarity had no idea what else to call it—came from the hallway and loomed over the guardrail of the second floor, its body looking like a misshapen thing conjured between a child and a person trapped within an all-encompassing madness. Its lumpy, veiny body looking like a misshapen ball of pork, atop the scuttling form of thousands of small, centipede-like legs. On looking at the group it smiled, its impossibly wide grin exposing jagged teeth reminding Rarity of the cat from Alice in Wonderland.

A tabby? Rarity thought. Calico? No. It… it was…

“Rare!” Jack barked, grabbing Rarity’s shoulder and making the cultured woman shriek in alarm. “We gotta go!”

Rarity looked behind her. The others had already taken off outside, the door still thrown open from their flight. Celestia stood at the mansion’s steps, observing the creature like a hunter that was trying to recall some ancient wives tale on how to deal with a situation they hadn’t packed for.

Jack half-guided, half carried Rarity to the door, pulling it shut behind them just as the beast landed on the ground floor.

“We’re ok, we’re ok,” Jack reassured, the earth-folk squeezing Rarity and joining the others as they stood a few feet away.

“Ok against that?” Spike questioned, his eyes as wide as saucer plates. He looked towards the building and shook his head. “That door, that mansion isn’t going to hold whatever that thing was.”

“A Dreameater,” Celestia said, the all-folk grimacing at the word.

“The hell’s that?” Jack asked as Rarity looked, bewildered at her. Jack was, admittedly, new to her side-profession of fighting creatures of the night, but there hadn’t yet been a thing she at least couldn’t somewhat identify or categorize. You either got a general idea of the monsters you fought, or you died, after all, so her being clueless...

“I’ve never seen one before. They appear into Dreamscapes when an area around a soul-folk is tainted with dark magic like necromancy.”

Rarity looked towards the mansion. Seeing no change, she continued the conversation. “Does that mean we’re actually in my Dreamscape, then, rather than just a false world? Does that mean you all are…?”

Though Jack was normally lost on magic, she understood where Rarity was going. “I think I was holdin’ yer arm when we went through that door. So I’m real.” She paused. “I think.”

“Needless speculation will get us nowhere. We’re all here at the moment and have a Dreameater to worry about,” Celestia warned.

“What do we do about it?” Diane asked.

“I doubt my magic would suffice in battling it.”

Rarity raised a brow. “That same magic that slew a kraken?”

“A spell like that takes time. Time we don’t have. I can’t trust myself to channel an all-folk spell on that level before we’re overrun, it’s too risky in regards to what we’re fighting.”

“Then let’s fall back though the door,” Jack offered, looking towards the path they had entered from and freezing.

The door standing in the center of the path had vanished, leaving them stranded in this world.

“It’s gone,” Jack muttered out, rubbing at the side of her mouth in frustration. She looked around the area before pointing to a set of hills further on past the path. “We could go there, lose it in the foothills, maybe.”

“I doubt that’s wise,” Celestia warned. The door to the mansion shuddered from an impact. There was still time, maybe, but it was quickly vanishing.

“Better than stickin’ here with a thumb up our ass!” Jack countered.

“You’ve never been to those hills, have you?” Celestia asked, turning to face Rarity. The tailor blinked in thought.

“No,” she answered. “They’re decoration, I’ve never actually traveled that far of a distance here.”

“What damn difference does it make,” Jack pressed, taking a few steps towards the path.

“All the difference in the world. Do not go any farther up there,” Celestia said, her tone deathly serious in its warning. Jack seemed to consider ignoring the order, but instead turned to face the princess, the look on her face one whose patience had just about run out.

“I suspected Rarity had not traveled far from the mansion grounds due to how meticulous the place, clothing and guests were. That much attention to detail is beneficial for a small Dreamscape, but a larger one would do nothing but hinder the user’s magical reserve.”

“Twila had a whole city in hers,” Jack argued. “Couldn’t Rare jus’ add some stuff on? Give us a chance—“

The door was slammed against, harder this time, the very ground below them shaking as it impacted.

“If Rarity were an all-folk or had Twila’s magical reserves, I wouldn’t be opposed. But we’ve seen where the extent of her magic lies.”

Or if you had the grail. Then there would be answers, answers you could provide.

Ignoring the thoughts, Rarity interjected. “Princess, I’m sure I could manage the hills. It would be just like building the mansion in theory.”

Celestia gave a quick sweep of the group with her eyes, making sure that none of them had wandered off. “Not with four people inside your Dreamscape. Creating things with that many people at once would harm you. There has to be a place we can hide on grounds, magically created already.”

“The mansion has a cellar, but…” A thought came to her and she snapped to the side. “Garden Maze!” she called out, already at a run.

They passed to the side of the mansion just as the door gave up the ghost and shattered into splinters. It was seconds later that they found the garden maze.

The walls of it were bright green, showing no trace of brown and showing not a single branch out of its square shape. Perfection, as expected of Rarity.

“Inside,” Celestia ordered, seeing that the throng of partygoers had already began to spread out across the grounds.

“Get to the center, I have a shed we can hide in, it might be our best bet,” Rarity said, already inside and taking a left.

The twists and turns Rarity took as she lead the others both frustrated her and filled her with a sense of nostalgia that felt out of place with what was chasing them, but still came to her none-the-less. The first time she had entered her Dreamscape as a child, during her tutelage at the academy for soul-folk in Camelot, she had decided she wanted to build the best garden maze in the world. Her assistant, Opal, had helped her do just that. The old woman was the first person she had ever created in her mind to help her, and Rarity had never thought of replacing her. A common thing that happened, in accordance with her teachers. In fact, the few times she had visited Twila’s Dreamscape, she noticed with a bit of relief that she had kept her first Dreamscape assistant too: a butler named Wadsworth.

She ducked under an archway built for a much younger lady and took a right, freezing.

A dead end.

That wasn’t right. It should have lead down another turn to the left, then right again, then right once more to reach the center of the maze.

You’re shaken, she told herself, get it together.

She turned, an apology already at her lips, but froze before it could be uttered.

They were gone. Every last one of them.

“Jack?” she called out, taking a few nervous steps forward, looking both ways down the path. Not a single branch was molested, not a single footprint disturbed the grass below.

“Spike? Diane?” Her tone had lowered and she took a few steps to the right, thinking that maybe they had missed her turning into the dead end. That had to be it, there was no reason for them to backtrack.

Her footsteps increased from a concerned walk, to a jog, then finally a dead sprint, propelling herself across the maze, her thoughts scrambled, her movements erratic with turns taken on whims rather than any form of logic.

You’re alone. Alone on a lot of things, a voice spoke to her. Though Rarity knew voices didn’t have a physical form, she would still say that this loomed over her, a cloak that clung tightly to her back. She looked behind her, snapping her head to check so quickly she felt a sharp pain at her neck.

You know Jack. You know what’s coming if something doesn’t change. Do you really want that to happen?

A hot breeze brushed past her shoulders.

“I refuse to entertain the thought! If this is what the grail entails, playing games with people, I would never want a part of it, no matter how potent it may be!” Rarity barked.

A chuckle came; Rarity looked above.

Towering over her, its size stretching across the entire world was the Dreameater. His grin looked to be able to swallow the earth itself and the darkness of his body was like a midnight without stars.

You have no power here or outside this realm. You will be forsaken by everyone for your role.

Her fear ate at the back of her mind, but even then, she didn’t run, rather, she stood, her sword in her hand, a flea opposing a lion.

Choices

When Pinkie followed the others through the door, the ground they walked upon was no longer solid. It shifted under every step, moulding to suit their feet. The room they found themselves was circular and large. Far too large to accommodate nothing, yet that’s exactly what they saw. The lights Celestia and Rarity offered nothing but more empty space.

Rarity was the first to speak, tutting in disapproval. “This is it?”

“I don’t get it either, sug,” Jack replied, contesting for the lead alongside Celestia. “But it ain’t got our grail.”

“Maybe it’s buried in this sand?” Pinkie said, twisting her foot in it.

“Looks too dark to be sand,” Spike said, looking down at the ground. “Ash, maybe?”

Celestia knelt down, gathering a handful of sand. She stared at it, letting the substance slip through the gaps between her fingers. There was a pause.

“I’m afraid this isn’t sand or ash, Diane,” she said.

“What? What else could it be?” Pinkie asked.

The all-folk stood, rubbing her hand free of the substance that clung to her skin. “It seems we’re far from the only ones who have tried to reach the grail.”

“That’s impossible,” Rarity was quick to retort. “The location of the grail was lost for centuries. How did anyone else manage to get here?”

“Perhaps they got lost,” Celestia offered. “I’m not at liberty to say for certain. I share your confusion but now isn’t the time to dwell on it. We must move on.”

Rarity and Jack shared a glance but nonetheless walked with Celestia, Spike trailing behind.

Pinkie was stuck in place, fixating on the very ground below her. Except it wasn’t a ‘ground’ at all. It was a mass grave. People had died here so long ago, that one way or another, their very bones had decayed into dust. They had lost their bodies long ago, their last mortal remains, and now what was left of them mixed with so many others, a pit of hopeless and confused despair.

Marvel upon the true face of death.

Pinkie jumped, spinning around and flinching as she felt some of the dead spray onto her legs.

It does not discriminate. It does not judge. It does not care. Whoever these people were, they were unable to stop their inevitable fate. But perhaps…

A thick fog began to envelop Pinkie, cutting off her view from the rest of the group. “Wait!!” she cried out, sprinting after them. The dust of the dead slowed her down with every step, threatening to suck her in, to become a part of their collective decayed mass.

Perhaps their fates could have been avoided.

“What do you mean?!” Pinkie asked, turning around. The mist held no answers. “Who are you?!”

My name is irrelevant. Knowing it would not change anything. Accept that you are in a situation you have no control over, just as those surrounding you were.

Pinkie kept silent, except for her shuddered breaths. Cold sweat ran down her face, shivers running up her spine.

Only death is certain. Life is unpredictable. One moment you’re breathing. The next, you’re as cold as stone. Would it not be a blessing to have a constant security watching over you?

“The grail,” Pinkie breathed. “You’re talking about that, aren’t you?”

Any threat that would dare threaten your home, it can abolish. Under Celestia’s guidance, it can guarantee the safety of your fellow kinsmen. Is that not something worth fighting for?

“Y-Yeah. But…”

The dust shifted. Besides her, some of it rose up to form a vaguely humanoid shape. On its head, the dust parted, revealing a face as fresh as any other. It was a man. Young, from the looks of it. His eyes reminded Pinkie of her own. Bright, blue and optimistic.

“The magma wouldn’t stop. It was as if Mother Nature herself had decided to smite us. But what had we done? What had I done? I was only learning the craft of my father. I wasn’t a bad person. Why? Why did I deserve this?”

Pinkie parted her lips to respond but before the words left them, the man’s form collapsed to the ground. She stared in horror as his face remained, giving her a blank stare as his features were swallowed up by the dust.

“The plague.”

Pinkie whipped around, seeing another vaguely human form. This time, it had a woman’s face. She looked haggard, old lines crossing her face. In her arms was a blob, which had a face of its own. A small baby, barely a few days old.

“It took her. It took my child from me,” the woman said, her voice cold. “There was nothing the doctors could do for her. She entered this world, only to be snatched away from me.” Her face consorted in anger. Now, she screamed. “She didn’t do anything wrong! She was just a baby! Why?!”

Just as the man had done, the two of them sunk into the ground. The dust consumed them both, and the baby started to cry, it’s wails echoing out long after its face disappeared.

Do you see? These people were innocent, yet death claimed them before their time. Is it not just to protect them, like any other?

Pinkie swallowed harshly, nodding. The voice chuckled, the laughs ringing in her ears. Even when she covered them, the laughing remained.

Her heart leapt within her chest when she felt the dust shifting again. Peering down, she saw her body slowly getting sucked down. Yelling out for help, she used every ounce of muscle in her body to try and break free. Every part of her body, even her mind, was focused on just willing herself free of the trap.

Like death, the dust only had to wait to claim its prize. Pinkie kept trying, no matter how long it took, even when the dust had come up her neck. Eventually she had to hold her breath, as it covered her lips, her nose and her eyes.

Then, she was falling. Complete blackness all around her. She flailed her limbs about, some half-hearted attempt to get her to slow down. Above and below, there was simply nothing that awaited her.

She landed and to her own delight, the impact was far from rough. The worst of it was her knees bending so she wouldn’t stumble over. The ground was completely invisible—if it was even a ground at all. Nearby, a single solid candle burnt, providing just enough light for Pinkie to see some forms huddled around it.

Like those from the dust above, these were humanoid. They had skin but it was fleshy, lacking any sort of color or warmth to it. There wasn’t much fat to them, so they appeared almost skeletal, their bones poking out. All of them were bare yet Pinkie couldn’t see any evidence of gender among them. In fact, they all appeared identical, with the same bloodshot eyes, dried lips and bald heads. The most disturbing feature to Pinkie, however, was the iron chains around their necks, tying them to the floor.

But is it right for one person to possess all that power?

From the darkness, a figure unlike any other strode forward, standing tall amongst the fleshy beings below.

“C-Celestia?”

The all-folk approached the candle, cupping her hands around the dying flame. “Bathe in the warmth of my light, my children,” she cooed softly, the fire between her fingers growing bigger and brighter.

The beings responded instantly, shambling and groaning towards the source of the flame, desperately reaching up to grab it but just falling short, their shackles weighing them back down.

“I don’t understand!” Pinkie said, taking a step back. “Y-You’re just trying to freak me out, that’s it!”

Am I? Perhaps I’m merely painting a picture of the future.

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “Celestia would never be like this.”

Maybe not now. Or the next month. Or the next year. But power corrupts. Even the all-folk aren’t immune to its charms. Look at them.

Pinkie’s eyes drifted to the chained forms gathered around the flame, even if she didn’t want to.

Completely dependent on her guiding hand, her power. They were stripped of their individuality long ago. Should we all become complacent and rely on a grail to solve our problems for us?

“It wouldn’t be like that.”

Your lips say yes. Your heart otherwise.

Pinkie shivered, almost hearing the grin in the voice.

The flames then suddenly erupted, devouring the beings and even Celestia in its flare. The upstart was enough to send Pinkie falling onto her rear and even from her distance, her face felt hot.

Who are you?

She bit her lip. “My name isn’t important. Knowing it wouldn’t change anything.”

Your demeanor hides a cunning intelligence, I’ll give you that. But you do not possess the spirit of a beast,

The flames twisted, becoming the form of a dragon.

Nor magic,

They consorted again, becoming a trio of diamonds.

Nor the passion of a mighty warrior,

This time, a hulking greatsword.

Nor the power to rule a nation,

A bright, burning sun.

Which leads me to wonder… what are you doing here?

“H-Helping my friends. They need m-me.”

The voice laughed in her head, pounding against her skull.

So very naive. No, it’s not like that. Far from it. You’re here to make a choice.

The fire split into two, the parts trailing away from each other. On the left, the flames took the form of Celestia, donned in mighty royal armor, a sword in her hand. To the right was Jack, who was holding her greatsword in both hands, ready to commit to a fight. Pinkie stood up, reading the expressions on the pair. Both were locked into a glare with the other, not flinching even for a moment.

Whoever you’ll side with shall be victorious. You hold the power to change the destiny of a nation forever. So…

A single knife, one of Pinkie’s own, floated down before her.

What shall it be? The power to save a nation? Or the choice of freedom, everlasting?

The knife suddenly shot down, placing itself in Pinkie’s palm.

Make the throw. Change the course of history. The power is yours.

Pinkie’s eyes darted between the two, both of them her dear friends, both of them with valid points to make. Nobody was in the wrong, they were just different shades. But how could she choose one friend over another? Who was she to decide the fate of the future?

She had no idea where she was, no idea of how long she stood there, glancing between the sides. The fires still burned as brightly as ever. A choice had to be made.

So with a deep breath, Pinkie closed her eyes and gripped the knife.

Then she threw.

Conviction

There was a sense of wrongness the instant Jack stepped through the door. The walls of the cave were cramped, claustrophobic. No room for her to stretch or reposition. If there was something up ahead, there was no way she could react without toppling everyone behind her like dominos.

For some sort of reassurance, she reached her hand backwards as she made her way through the cave. It was met soon enough by Rarity’s own hand, squeezing tightly in wordless comfort.

The farmer ran her fingers across Rarity’s palm and froze.

There was no brace on Rarity’s pinkie finger.

So? she thought, ‘course there ain’t. Magic ta hide the injury. She was doin’ that earlier.

Except that was wrong.

Rarity may have been vain to some degree, Jack had accepted that fact throughout the time they’ve been together, but she wasn’t this vain. They were inside an area that was dangerous enough that it got a man killed, maybe even more men than Galahad. Rarity would keep her magic accessible and would limit the drain on her powers in any way possible to prepare for what lay ahead. That included things like illusion spells over her body. She’d wear her injuries, albeit reluctantly, because that’s what the situation would call for.

Could jus’ be an oversight. Maybe she forgot ta cancel her spells.

Bullshit. Rarity could forget things sometime, sure, but nothing this important. Nothing that could come back to bite them hard. And this, even though it was a little thing, something Jack might have missed a few meager years back before she had gotten at least a bit of a keener eye, it was enough to tell her one of two things.

Either the hand wasn’t Rarity’s, or something had changed when they went through the door.

Jack whipped around, nearly colliding with the soul-folk, who jerked back in surprise.

“What’s wrong?” Rarity questioned, looking up at the woman.

“Cut the crap,” Jack countered hotly. She looked around the tunnel, trying to spot some alteration to it, something that would prove without a shadow of a doubt that Jack was in a strange situation with a strange group of people that weren’t her friends. Seeing nothing, she pressed on. “This ain’t my first rodeo.”

“What?” Rarity questioned. “Jack, what’s gotten into you? Do you think now is the time?”

“I think Rarity would know this is the exact time fer it. This is an illusion. Skip the damn middle man an’ show yerself already.”

It was a bit of a bluff, a bit of an educated guess. This felt too much like old ground. Years ago, Dmitri had tried something similar to this. He had even used Rarity inside the illusion as a way to stall Jack.

“You’re behaving irrationally. What are you doing?” Rarity asked, her gaze bordering on nervous as she stared at Jack.

“What happened ta yer middle finger?” Jack questioned, narrowing her brow at the tailor. “Why ain’t it broken?”

“Illusion spell, of course. You know that,” Rarity answered, rolling her eyes. She shut them and let out an exhale, bringing the hand up and pointing to the brace standing across her middle finger. “See? Good as new. Or, rather, bad as new.”

Jack gave a weak chuckle in reply, then with the speed of a coiled up snake, she snapped her fist forward and threw her weight behind the strike, cracking Rarity across the face so hard the soul-folk twisted and fell to the ground, blood pouring from her mouth, her jaw at a sick angle, obviously broken. Even before she looked up, Jack had her shortsword drawn and held it out as a ward to the others.

“It was her pinkie,” Jack sneered. “I ain’t playin’ ‘round. Show yerself.”

“Brash,” the thing wearing Rarity’s skin remarked, her once-pleasant voice garbled and slobbery. She grabbed her jaw and without even an inkling of pain, snapped it back in place. “You seem the last out of the group for tricks. Rather, you seem the sort for brute force.”

Though her voice had cleared a bit, now it held a tone underneath, one that whispered dark dreams and of blackened trees, of graves and rain and mold, as if two people were speaking at once, puppet and puppeteer.

“Clearly unimaginative as well,” the puppet gestured, waving its hands around in a mocking display of Jack’s wife, pointing to the drab cavern tunnel-walls surrounding them. “No real danger, no real thought within you. Only an end goal.”

“They told me ta keep a clear head when I came in here. I planned on doin’ jus’ that.” She looked towards the others. They sat limply on the ground, devoid of life, devoid of action, the masquerade holding them awake and functioning long-discarded. Jack set her sights back on the not-Rarity.

“An’ I ain’t gonna bother dealin’ with ya. This ain’t nothin’ but an illusion anyway, no time fer this.” With that in mind, she focused on what would let her out of the illusion: pain. She brought her hand towards her shortsword, intending to draw a line across the back of her hand, when the thing laughed.

“Eager to go back so soon? I won’t stop you. In fact, I’ll cancel the spell. I’m only here to serve a warning. You’ve set a destination, haven’t you? But you move towards it without a thought of who you crush underneath. Without a thought of what Celestia could do with the grail.” It smirked. “Rather, you cling to the desire to selfishly keep what you have. Is that honestly the right course of action?”

The grip on Jack’s sword loosened for the briefest of seconds, before tightening once more.

“I don’t know if it’s right,” she admitted, then narrowed her brow, her conviction still shining out despite her moment of weakness. “But I know what’s wrong. An’ her havin’ that is wrong. Even if she can do a lot of good.”

“Your actions could be considered treason by many. Celestia included.” Not-Rarity smiled, the expression slimy, insincere, the exact opposite of Rarity’s joyous grin. “Are you ready to pay the price for your actions?” She—it—stepped closer; Jack instinctively held up her sword in warning at it. “Maybe you’re not scared of death. Maybe you welcome it and are just looking for a reason to fight something beyond your comprehension. No matter how gentle a soul Celestia is, treason isn’t a crime easily forgiven.” The puppet stepped forward; Jack stepped back, still holding the sword defensively upwards. “It will do more than stain your honor. It will stain your family's legacy. Your life is forfeit, their life is forfeit, and—” the puppet propelled itself forward, plunging its neck through Jack’s blade, embedding itself all the way to the hilt. Its eyes were wild with glee and it cackled, the noise now held no traces of Rarity within its maddening tone, rather, it held only the tone of a madman that knew a secret she didn’t. Smiling once more at Jack, it whispered three words that terrified her more than anything else could have.

“Hers is too.”

The illusion spell instantly faded and Jack jerked back with an alarmed yell, her arms flailing as she nearly fell, but caught herself. Breathing in a sigh of relief, she turned and froze.

The others stood, statues with their heads bowed, no doubt in the same situation she was moments ago. What they dreamed, Jack couldn’t know, maybe she didn’t want to know.

Any normal situation and she would have been trying to wake them, dispel them from the dreams they found themselves within. But now was no normal situation. Right now was a time she needed to act, a time when she and God were her only judge.

Looking ahead, she saw a door with an odd series of runes, much like the ones outside. This door, however, was a sliver open and she pushed it, surprised at first by its resistance, then pushed harder, bringing the strength she held within her to life. Her nostrils flared as she exhaled and she felt a vein in her head throb as she pushed, but the door finally opened with a low, rumbling groan and she stepped through its threshold.

The room was wide, easily able to swallow her living room back home and most of the kitchen, with a ceiling almost twice her home’s size. It was a level area, circular. Reminded Jack a bit of a coliseum, like Bloom had read about in her homework, and it was lit from above, silvery light oozing from a sort of strange, pentagonal chandelier, the coloration of the thing magical in nature, if she had to guess, and it let her absorb the carvings that lined the walls of the place.

At the far end of the room Jack spotted something that made her draw in her breath and tremors, faint at first, but increasing in intensity rocked her body as she stood in… awe? Fear? She didn’t know, couldn’t come up with the words, felt like there wasn’t a single poet in the world that could come close to saying what needed to be said as she looked over it.
A man stood, his form encased within the crystal that littered the rest of the cave. Or, rather, to clarify, the man, the man from within her dreams, the man that had gotten the grail and had bested Galahad.

Tirek.

He stood, youth far beyond what seemed possible for someone so old, and his face housed blinding fury, the crystal acting like some camera to a distant past, capturing him not only mid-stride, but mid instant, his hair and clothes mid-lift, the necklace he wore floating inches from his chest . In one hand was the familiar glow of the soul-folk, a spell in mid-cast, its power filling Jack’s nostrils with the stench of magic. In his other, holding in an iron-grip, was an object that was so beautiful that Jack’s eyes were watering as she took it in. Golden wouldn’t describe it, rather, the word Jack would use would be pure. Something pure and beautiful and alluring. An object that she felt like she could stare at for eternity, could walk across the entire world for. That could tempt her to any evil, if she only could hold it.

Stop, she warned herself. The damn thing’s like a flytrap. Might look pretty, but it’ll chomp ya good if ya let it.

That was right. It was a trap. The whole damn thing was a trap. That had to be it. Tirek had to be messing with them in their illusions. Had to be convincing them that the grail was their best option. It was the same reason he was discouraging Jack from taking action. He was trying to let Celestia take the grail and possibly reawaken him when the crystal broke.

Not jus’ possibly. Remember the wendigo. That thing went kill-crazy soon as the crystal broke. I’m sure this son of a bitch’ll be the same.

She had to stop them. She had to hope words would work. Because the alternative was hard to think about. What she might have to do in order to make sure they stayed safe.

He wasn’t wrong ‘bout treason, then, Jack mused. Because ya know fer damn sure that if ya get between her an’ this what’ll happen.

It wasn’t something that she had ever wanted. Even now, she couldn’t believe that it was a possibility. But it was something that just couldn’t be risked. She might have to fight Celestia.

Before, it was just talk, it was trying to convince, even for a while during their travels, it was acceptance that maybe she would end with it. But now that Jack had seen it, now that Jack had seen him, the holder of the grail, she knew. She knew they couldn’t let him awaken. Come hell or high water, Celestia had to be stopped.

Dropping to a knell and reaching into the satchel at her side, Jack began her preparations.

War Drums

Celestia knew it was an illusion spell as soon as they reached the door. She understood it without even consulting her magic. There was no greater trial than the one you put forth for yourself, no greater obstacle than a mental blockade, and if you conquer that, you conquer everything.

So it was with that in mind that her powers seamlessly went to work countering the illusion. But, rather than a simple dispel, she instead worked within its inner machinations, threaded what was to come in the illusion with what she wanted to appear, and was left with a vivid change of scenery.

The all-folk stood alone in a white void, seeing no need for imaginary companions, she had dispelled their appearance before the world before her had even fully formed. There was a blur of motion, an unseen artist scribbling a world, and through a sea of yellows and oranges, she found herself eventually staring at a dense forest in the midst of autumn. The bright maple leaves were a memory of home. Not the land of her father, of England, but, rather, of Cabello. Of her home. Of her land.

She spotted a dirt path that swam under the dead leaves scattered throughout her entire field of vision and it invited her to travel farther along, to see what lay beyond.

Though she could cancel the spell at any time, its caster was potent, but far from beyond her own expertise, she knew better than to completely ignore an issue. Let the caster show itself, be it saint or sinner.

Traveling down the dirt road, Celestia discovered that it was far from a saint that was responsible for the spell.

Tirek sat at the end of a table, drinking a glass of wine. Though Celestia remembered him as ancient during her childhood, during the Crusades, here he sat looking near forty, with black silken hair and a smirk that seemed permanent on his face. The man gestured at a chair near Celestia and she eyed him warily. Taking another drink, Tirek sat in stony silence until the all-folk complied.

“My, you’ve grown,” he remarked. “What happened to the girl hiding in her father’s shadow? The one that hid behind his leg at every opportunity?”

Rather than humoring him, she leaned forward, resting her arms on the table.

“How are you still alive?” Celestia asked.

“Good diet and exercise,” he replied. But after a beat, his smirk widened. “Surely you remember the Crusades? Lancelot running me through? He should have cut off my head. I’m not one to die easily. Wasn’t even before Sombra’s blessing.”

Hearing the name made Celestia flinch, as if she felt responsible for its existence. She said nothing, though, and instead let him continue.

“I have some of his spirit within me. Though he sadly saw no way for me to be a herald for his return. Rather, that honor went to—”

“Say it and I will kill you,” Celestia warned, already on her feet and her sword at her side. “I will find wherever you are outside of this illusion and I will kill you.” Her normally gentle, motherly face was gone, replaced instead by raw, unquestionable fury as she loomed over the man. He calmly took another drink of wine and gestured again for her to sit. Shooting a warning glare his way, she returned and sat.

“You’re set on killing me one way or another, aren’t you?” he questioned. “Because deep down you know where I’m at in the real world, don’t you?”

“How did you find it?” she asked, continuing a trend of ignoring his own questions, not giving him the satisfaction of an answer.

“The grail? Sombra. He sought an artifact to help in his revival. I suppose that he didn’t need it, after all. Since he did return.”

“He was sent back.” Though her disdain at the man ran deep, a question came to mind at his words. “How do you know all of this?”

“I have visions. Visions of what was, what is, and what is to be. I know of your sister. Of her patricide—”

“That was not our father she killed,” Celestia countered, her hand clenching to a fist. Noticing her display of aggression, he smirked and continued talking.

“I know you travel with not one, but two murderers. Hardly seems fitting for a queen of a country to mingle with such woman. Or, perhaps, for your kingdom of filth and lies, it’s completely fitting.”

“You know nothing of our kingdom. Nothing of its people.”

He finished his wine and put the glass back on the table, running a finger across its brim.

“I know they’ll come to resent you. The power of the grail. They’ll be no more than complacent dogs for you to feed and groom. You’ll turn tyrannical. Desperate to hold onto its power regardless of who lies in your path.” His smile was open-toothed, mocking. “It’s a far better accessory for me. A king can have his throne and scepter. Mine and my own are satisfied with a cup. A fair trade.”

Celestia measured him “Your own?” she finally asked.

“My flock. Sombra’s flock. Their hour grows near. Surely they’re what set you across the world.”

“The king slayings. You’re responsible for them?” Celestia questioned, unbelieving even as the words came out of his mouth.

“In the same way a father is responsible for the fruits of the son.” He rose and shook his head. “I doubt we’ll meet face-to-face again. Luna, perhaps, would have the courage to face me and her destiny. You, however, have been softened by years of compromise.”

Turning, he set to leave; Celestia rose and walked after him.

“We’re not finished,” she warned. He chuckled.

“Actually, we are.” With that came a surge of mental magic that flooded Celestia’s thoughts. She twitched at the sudden invasion of her mind and her concentration vanished, flooding her vision with flashes and splotches of white as the woods first lost saturation, then clarity, before finally vanishing in an almost audible pop.

Celestia drew in a loud breath and her eyes searched violently across the room as she broke free of the illusion. Though her outburst was far from regal, she recovered easily enough and seemed to take stock of the group, counting the ones behind her, all with their legs locked, all with their heads bowed, obvious victims of the illusion. Though she was ready to dispel their conditions, something caught her eye.

Jack was missing. It was an easy guess to where she went. Further ahead.

Looking down the hall there was an opening that cut a narrow slit of light through the cave. Celestia ignored the others and walked cautiously towards it, drawn forward like a moth to flame.

When she stepped through, she froze. Though she would never know, she held a mirror of Jack’s reaction as she took stock of the massive room, at the man, frozen, encapsulated within crystal standing atop a stairway of ash-white bone. But, more pressing, more important than even Tirek, frozen within time in a hell of his own creation, was the woman who stood in the center of the room. Jack stared at Celestia, her sword already drawn and resting easily in her hand. She said no words to Celestia, instead watching the all-folk enter, her expression neutral, masked. Well, masked wasn’t true. Rather, the woman’s eyes seemed to hold a sort of apologetic look to them.

Celestia knew it was an apology for what was coming, rather what was before.

“You hate me that much?” the princess asked. Jack’s frown deepend.

“Nah,” she readily dismissed. “That ain’t it. That was never it. I love how things are now; how the people I care ‘bout are now. I ain’t lettin’ anyone change that. Not even you, princess.”

“Who says that will happen? I’m doing this to make sure what we have stays that way, Jack. I’d never hurt you or anyone in Cabello.”

Jack exhaled, seeming to work herself to take the first step. Bringing her sword up to her shoulder, she continued watching the all-folk as Celestia took another step farther into the room.

“Ya say that, but ya don’t know that. Power can do a lotta things ta people. What I’m doin’ here is…” Jack swallowed, seeming to not want to say the word, but spitting it out anyway. “I might be stoppin’ a monster.”

Clash

Rarity jerked, spasmed as if an electric current ran through her body. Clutching at her neck, she panicked, feeling like she was being choked and dropped to a kneel, her hands to the ground as she took several long, slow breaths, trying to stop her racing heart.

Finally, her breaths slowed and she began to think more rationally.

You’re free from… whatever that was. A vision? A dream? An illusion? She clenched her hands tightly on the floor, never more grateful for dirt than she was right now, but the back of her mind was well aware that her escape was not of her own doing, that some outside force had pulled strings and released her from the nightmare, from the thing ready to devour her.

Whatever that dreadful thing was, it’s gone now. Get it together, Rarity, she chided herself, coming to a stand. Another thought, a more selfish one, came to mind and she reached up to her face, her earlier panic returning for a scant moment.

When she felt the smoothness of her cheeks, her full lips, and, maybe the most important, her eyes, she let out another shuddering sigh of relief.

“Rarity!” Pinkie cried, running over to her. She barely had time to react before Pinkie had gotten her in a one armed embrace.

“Diane?” Rarity blinked. “How long was I out? Are the others farther on ahead?”

“You were out longer than me, I can say that much. Spike’s still asleep but I think he’ll be okay, especially if you are.” Pinkie chewed on her lip. “As for Jack and Celestia… maybe they went on ahead. I couldn’t see any blood or stuff. I should’ve looked for them but I didn’t wanna leave you two alone unconscious.”

“In a place like this, that’s surely the wisest course of action,” Rarity agreed. “But why would they have pressed on without us?” Scenarios played out in the soul-folk’s head, none of them pleasing to her. At best, there was an issue ahead they needed one-another for. At worst…

Rarity just prayed the worst was her fears getting the better of her.

“Not sure. But now that you’re awake, we can go sleuthing!” Pinkie smiled, although it was off. As if it wanted to be genuine and warm but something was holding it back.

“What of Spike?” Rarity asked, pointing to the boy. “Do we leave him?”

“Can you carry him?” Pinkie’s smile shifted, becoming more sheepish. “I kinda…” She stepped away, revealing a tear in her clothing, just below her shoulder. The skin underneath was marred by moist blood, it staining the fabric nearby like a horrid puddle. Her fingers flexed however, erratically, impatiently.

“What happened?” Rarity questioned, reaching to a satchel and pulling out a roll of gauze, already at Pinkie’s side.

“You know how they say you can pinch yourself and you’ll wake up from a dream? Turns out you kinda need liiiil’ more than a pinch,” Pinkie explained, showing off a tiny distance between her finger and thumb.

“So I wasn’t the only one in a dream. An illusion spell was cast on us, certainly.” She wrapped up Diane’s wound and stole another glance Spike’s way. “I certainly hope Spike’s vision is better than my own.”

Pinkie made an experimental twitch of her wounded arm, wincing. The grimace faded once she shared Rarity’s glance. “He’s much smarter and braver than he thinks he is. I believe in him.” Blinking, she looked back to her conscious friend and with some effort, gave her a thumbs up. “Thanks for the patch up job!”

Rarity gave a small hmm in acknowledgment, her mind obviously distracted as she looked farther down the tunnel.

“I know that look, missy,” Pinkie said, walking towards Spike. “Carry Spike and we’ll go satisfy it.”

Though Rarity offered a rather unladylike swear as she hoisted the boy and his weight, she followed suit after Pinkie, the thought of what might have been done to Jack making every step taken laced with apprehension.

Soon, they spotted a shaft of light; a doorframe ahead and a lit room behind it.

“I’ll go first.” Pinkie crouched, her footsteps light and, surprisingly, disciplined, and she edged towards the door and peeked through the gap between the frame.

Jack stood in the center of the room, her sword drawn and resting against her shoulder, ready to move into a striking stance with ease, but for now merely cautious, armed. A rattlesnake warning an aggressor not to approach.

Celestia stood a few feet away, eyeing Jack with dismay. Though she had made no effort to unsheath Excalibur, her hand rested on the pommel of the blade, able to withdraw it from her side in an instant if things were to escalate.

Pinkie stepped back, her heart leaping up her throat. Flashes of the terrible vision she had played before her. “They’re going to fight! Over that stupid, dumb cup!”

“What?” Rarity pushed past Diane and stepped into the room. “Jack!” she called out. Pinkie followed, glaring at the pair.

The instant the tailor stepped into the room, Jack’s face softened.

“Rare,” she said under her breath.

Putting Spike down gently on the floor, Rarity approached the two. “What in the hell are you—”

“Don’t come any closer!” Jack barked. Rarity froze mid-step, a look of surprise and agitation on her face. Jack bit at her lip, trying to think of her words as she focused entirely on Celestia. “This ain’t yer fight.”

“There doesn’t have to be a fight!” Celestia countered, taking a few cautious steps to the side as she measured Jack.

“Ya ain’t gettin’ that grail. Nobody is.” Jack sniffed, almost on the verge of crying, but maintaining a look of stone. “Rare. If somethin’ happens… it ain’t yer fault.”

“Jack, what are you saying?” Rarity stammered out. The farmer ignored the question.

“Yer gonna need ta take care-a Bloom. She, she sees ya as someone aside from Mac ta look up to. Ok?”

“Please,” Rarity quietly begged, caught between standing paralyzed and sprinting towards the
woman. “Don’t go through with this.”

“If I don’t, who will?” Jack’s grip adjusted on her weapon. The hulking steel had shifted from a
dormant position at her shoulder to a two-handed grip. “What that thing holds… Rare. This is somethin’... somethin’ I gotta try an’ stop.”

“There has to be another way. Jack. You…” Rarity trailed off, at a loss for words, at a loss for ideas how to stop the woman from action, from throwing her life away against the all-folk.

“It’s ok,” Jack reassured, her tone gentle despite her hard gaze over to the princess. “This is my choice.”

“It’s a selfish one,” Pinkie said, all the luster in her voice its bounce gave her gone.

“Don’t talk ‘bout things ya don’t know, Diane,” Jack warned, sparing a quick flicker of her eyes to the other. “Ya have no idea what would happen if she got this.”

“You have no idea what will happen if I don’t!” Celestia replied. Her hand now came to the handle of her sword and her stance oozed as much warning as Jack’s had begun to. “Everything I’m doing, I’m doing for the people. People like you. You’re stopping what might be their best chance at being safe.”

“If yer lookin’ fer safe, try a prison. Which is exactly what’ll happen ta Cabello. Hell, after Cabello next might be the whole Goddamn world!”

“I would never do such a thing—”

“I’ve said that more times than I can count in my life. Who ya are now might not be who ya are ten years down the road.”

“You can’t throw your life away like this, Jack! I’m begging you,” Rarity pleaded.

“Rare.” Jack once more was at a loss for words. Finally, she sighed. “Rare, I swear on the grave of my ma, pa, an’ grandma. What I’m doin’ ain’t gonna involve me throwin’ my life away. Yer… yer gonna have ta trust me here. Can ya trust me?”

The tailor swallowed, fought back her own misty eyes and, after a long pause, finally nodded. She trusted her. She had to. After all the the months, the years they spent together, she could say one thing with absolute certainty.

She trusted Jack.

“I understand,” Rarity said, hating the meekness in her voice. “And I believe you.”

“You’re better than this, Jack! I know you are, you’re—” Pinkie hesitated, then glanced to Celestia. “You’re definitely above this! There’s gotta be a better way than this! Anything!”

“Do you think we’ve not tried different approaches?” Celestia questioned, as calmly as she could while her heart raced and her hand gripped her sword. “Do you think Jack can be reasoned with right now? Do you think I’ll give up on what might be the best bet at complete safety for our lands?”

“What kinda example does it set for ‘our lands’ if you take that cup with a bloody hand?!” Diane cried.

“And the example I set if I turn my back on salvation now? Should the lives of the sailors we lost be in vain as well? Do you earnestly think anyone wishes our fellowship to return unsuccessful?” Celestia gave an apologetic look towards Jack. “A bloodied hand may be worth having if it grants us something that inspires so much hope and ability.”

“But you can’t!” Pinkie pleaded, staring at all three of them in turn. She stepped back, leaning against and wall and sliding down it for support. “It’s wrong…”

Rarity stood near Jack for one more long moment, absorbing every detail she could about the woman, wanting to say thousands of words she knew there was no time for. Instead she settled for a weak nod Jack’s way, which the farmer managed to return. In a way, that was all that needed said between the two. Their words had already been said through their time together, they both had accepted that Jack was, in some ways, on borrowed time; every instance she left with Will there had been a sort of resignation to the possibility of her falling. At least if the worst happened today, Rarity knew she would be here to witness it, knowing there was no other way to stop it, no way to save her. Resigned, Rarity stepped back, keeping a close watch on the earth-folk as she joined Pinkie’s side.

The two combatants stood, tall, proud, standing not just for themselves, but ideals. And ideals and the courage to stand for them were what made a person strong, from the lowest, wretched fool to the most lofty of royalty, two ends of the same coin.

“Is there no other way?” Celestia asked, knowing the answer without speaking.

“Only way is through me, princess. I mean that.” Though Jack was disgusted with herself in how this turned out, in how she was fighting one of the bravest and most noble people she had seen walk the earth, she knew in her heart of hearts it had to be this way. She had to keep Celestia as she was now, rather than what she would surely become with that power.

“You can’t honestly expect me to just strike you down like a dog in the street. Jack. You’re a good woman.” Though she said those words, she reached for her sword regardless, pulling it out and showcasing the mirror-sheen of the beautiful, immaculate weapon.

Jack narrowed her brow and assumed a defensive stance. “I won’t go down as easy as some dog, princess.”

“All I have to do is destroy the crystal that houses it, you realize? I can avoid this.”

Jack let out a breath of humourless laughter. “I might not know ya as well as Twila, but that ain’t how ya do things. Ya have principles. An’ right now, way I figure, I’m a wall ya jus’ can’t climb over.”

“Madness,” Celestia said under her breath. Finally, she assumed a stance of her own, her body twisted to the side and the sword angled. She held it with two hands, one at the pommel. It wasn’t a question of weight, it was a question of precision, Jack knew thanks to her training under Will. Celestia intended every blow to go precisely as needed, no misjudgement on an angle or direction. Celestia probably aimed to wound, to incapacitate, rather to kill, Jack would bet good bits on that fact.

Even now, as they stood, Celestia thought of mercy first, of forgiveness for transgressions. It almost made Jack reconsider her course.

Almost.

“Whatever happens, I want ya ta know I respect ya,” Jack addressed, taking her hat off and throwing it to the side.

Celestia’s brow arched in apology. “You’ve proven yourself countless times with Will. I’m… sorry it has to come to this.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed.

Both tensed up, each waiting for a sign, a cue to attack.

Celestia acted first.

Sucking in a breath, she dashed—lunged forward and thrusted her sword. Jack reacted easily, sweeping her blade in an arc and parrying Celestia’s strike to the side, knowing instantly that the first attack the all-folk had thrown toward her was a mere test, a gauge on how much power Celestia needed to use, if she needed to hold back and make sure Jack wasn’t completely destroyed.

Jack was going to make sure Celestia had to use every ounce in her.

A follow-up blow came from the all-folk, a horizontal strike at Jack’s torso; the farmer backpedaled then snapped her foot forward; the all-folk seemed to anticipate that and matched Jack’s kick step-for-step, bringing her heel down onto Jack’s kneecap.

Pain boiled to life within her, and Jack snapped a hand forward, gripping Celestia’s ankle, only for the all-folk to flip her body, twisting free of her and striking Jack’s face with her heel.

The earth-folk’s head twisted to the side and she nearly dropped then and there. Already her sight was speckled with dots and her head felt like it was swimming, the blow affecting her more than even the wendigo—she had no doubts that Celestia had magic within the strike. Scowling, she focused, concentrated, until she felt her strength return to her just as Celestia came in for another blow.

This one she had no time to parry, instead blocking it with the flat of her sword. Celestia continued to strike with her fist, thrust and cut with her sword in a blur of speed, leaving Jack with little time to go on the offensive, her sword’s size and the angle the all-folk came from limiting her options.

Jack finally took a risk and stepped towards the other, shooting her hand forward as a horizontal cut came towards her. Though it could have ended with Celestia’s sword embedded into her arm, Jack was quicker and caught Celestia’s wrist, stopping the sword inches from her face. Pulling Celestia’s arm towards her, Jack drug the struggling all-folk closer, for the moment overpowering the princess. Before she could take advantage of their new position, Celestia brought her palm forward and spoke a single word in the Old Tongue. Jack knew one thing when it came to fighting all-folks thanks to her experience with Dmitri: when you heard words you didn’t know, you booked the vicinity.

Jack did just that, letting go of Celestia’s wrist and dropping low, leaning back and to the side as much as she could.

Her guess, her instinct was correct; just as she lowered herself, Celestia’s hand turned white-hot and a fist-sized ball of fire erupted, rolling a foot from her open palm before dissipating into the air. Jack turned herself over, performing a hunched-over pirouette just as Celestia’s sword swung where Jack’s prone body had been mere moments ago.

“Jack,” Celestia addressed, her complexion barely flustered, still as collected as she was earlier. She moved a few steps to the side, trying to flank the farmer; Jack mirrored her, refusing to give the all-folk any advantage. “This is madness. Stop.”

And, perhaps, it was madness. Maybe she was just a flea fighting a lion. That consideration didn’t stop her. She gripped her sword and said nothing to Celestia’s plea.

The all-folk gave a slow nod, seeing Jack’s conviction, before speaking a few more of the Old Words under her breath.

First, appearing like static electricity, came sparks to Celestia’s fingertips, growing only stronger in intensity until her entire fist crackled and sparked. Rearing back, she launched her fist forward and it snapped like a lightning bolt towards Jack. The farmer dove out of the way, landing hard on the ground just as Celestia spoke yet another word of the all-folk’s High Speech and conjured once more a bolt within her palm. Before she could throw it, Jack reached to her chest, unsheathed the shortsword she carried, and threw it with all her might. Celestia gave an easy turn of her torso to avoid it—Jack’s mind turned back to the wendigo for a scant instant, reminded of the beast and how it seemed to mirror Celestia’s reaction—but the thrown sword gave Jack enough time to scramble to her feet, just as another bolt of lightning shot past her.

Get in there! the voice of her mentor barked in her thoughts, the only way you’ll beat something like that is head-on!

Taking the advice to heart, she charged recklessly forward as soon as her feet were steady and she brought her sword up above her shoulders. Her first overhead swing missed Celestia and found the weapon’s edge embedded into the ground, her zeal putting too much of her borderline inhuman strength into the blow. Jack expected it’d miss, what she didn’t expect, however, was the speed at which the all-folk punished her mistake.

Celestia had not only moved out of the way of the blow, but had actually swung her body over and found purchase atop the edge of the blade. She balanced with an eerie grace on the weapon and pointed her sword at Jack’s throat, mere inches from lunging into it.

“Victory is mine,” Celestia stated. “Move one inch and I’ll run your throat through.”

When Jack fought, there were very rarely moments she needed to outwit someone or something. Usually she left the thinking to the others that were with her, that lack of thought was partly why she had dropped out of college. She wasn’t a thinker, she was a doer. But right now there was thinking involved.

And all the thinking made one thing come to light in her mind.

The all-folk was a gentle soul. Something Jack could use to her advantage. She hated having to think that way, but right now it was a matter of standing up to the all-folk, if not winning, then at least lasting against her, at least struggling and in turn, making Celestia struggle as well.

With that in mind she counter-attacked, lifting her sword while twisting her body. She was quicker than Celestia; her throat remained unscathed thanks to her movement and her blade rising to tip the all-folk off, but not quick enough; a thrust reached Jack, drawing a nick into her shoulderpad. The princess’s hesitation had saved her, she knew she’d not have another out like that. A broken olive branch wasn’t much of a symbol of peace.

Already recovered, Celestia continued her maddening dance with Jack, observing, measuring, feinting. Now though, there was a change in how their duel was going. Jack had started to notice the way Celestia would tense at moments in time, her lip curling back as she measured possibilities and strategies Jack couldn’t even fantom. They say experience beats raw skill. Jack wondered, the thought coming and leaving in an instant, what happened when someone had experience, skill, and the wisdom to use it. What beat them? Could they be beaten?

Wings and spells don’t make a man, she thought. It was a mantra she had drilled into her head every time she had doubts to her own ability, every time she thought she was behind Dash in training. Experience could be earned. Limits could be broken. And, even now as she stared at the all-folk she knew, knew a fact that whispered its truth into her ear with the ferocity of a hurricane.

Even Celestia could fall.

Though the all-folk had magic and could easily keep distance, Celestia chose to remain at mid-range, out of Jack’s massive greatsword reach, but close enough that an overextension could cost Jack dearly. The farmer guessed she had wanted to keep magic in reserve, be it in case Jack lasted longer than she expected, or for treating injuries. Either way, Jack knew that any moment, Celestia could retreat and cast magic from afar, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. She had to act while Celestia underestimated her.

While Jack still had an ace in the hole.

Her sword had allowed her to keep her distance, had acted as a deterrent to Celestia on crossing the threshold where Excalibur could reach Jack. It bought her some time to prepare.

Jack stood still, the nervous tics and adjustment combat usually held forgotten at the moment. She exhaled, focused not on Celestia, but on the tip of her own sword, on the tip of Durandal as she lifted her arms and pointed it straight outward towards the all-folk. The weight of not only her weapon, but her ideals, came to her, their heft not a burden but a reassurance, a comfort knowing they guided her, that she wasn’t fighting without cause against the woman.

Jack was a faithful woman. A woman of God. Perhaps she didn’t pray as much as she should, but it was still there, and right now, she prayed. Prayed for one attack to land. Prayed for one opportunity, one blow on the all-folk.

She had told Rarity she wasn’t suicidal, that she had charged the wendigo because it was an opportunity to end the fight early, before they could be fatigued by the abomination.

Now she had to do much the same.

She took a step back, another, then shot forward, a bolt from a crossbow aimed at the all-folk’s heart.

Gamble

Jack charged, her sword raised above her shoulder and her eyes burning flames of conviction. Celestia took a defensive stance, ready to deflect the earth-folk’s attack the instant her blade was swung.

The attack came. A barreling swing from her shoulder and downward at an angle. A reckless strike that threw her sword into a one-handed grip and drug the tip through the dirt.

Celestia took advantage of Jack’s weakness and stepped forward, slashing at Jack’s torso.

Once more Jack reached for the weapon, only this time she knew she wouldn’t get the guard or the all-folk’s hand. Instead she did the dumb thing—a summary of her life in one sentence.

She leaned in and snapped an elbow up mid-swing of the weapon, too early and she would be cut across her arm, if lucky. Too late and her entire chest would have been dug into by the weapon, but her gamble, her risk paid off. The cut was disrupted from its original target thanks to striking the blade's flat, the sword raised high and off point, its speed slowed enough for Jack to snap her hand forward and grip the weapon by its edge.

The thing about swords that people not experienced with them didn’t understand, is that gripping an edge wasn’t what cut you. Dash, on more than one occasion, had used her sword as an improvised club, bashing a creature with the guard to break through rough scales. No, there were only two ways to realistically get cut by a sword. Either the weight of an edge would act as a wedge for hacking, splitting a target in two, or a more narrow edge with less weight would have to be pulled or pushed over an object. Though Jack’s weapon was clearly made for hacking in mind, Excalibur was the latter. At least Jack hoped.

Her grip was measured, precise, and ironclad. It was a bit of luck she caught it like she did, rather than severing a finger, but sometimes it was better to be lucky than good. No matter how hard Celestia pulled, the sword didn’t budge an inch, Jack’s strength and Rarity’s armor giving her purchase upon the weapon. With the hand still holding her own blade, Jack clumsily snapped it to the side while thrusting Celestia's sword away from her.

The all-folk was no mere rookie to battle. She had been fighting for not only years, but generations, and the instant Jack’s sword came for her she let go of her own weapon and twisted under it, spinning on one knee until she had safely dodged the blow. Though disheartened, Jack nearly cheered when she saw what she did.

At Celestia’s hand, a small line of blood had appeared, cut, perhaps as she had held onto Excalibur for too long.

With a clench of her fist, Celestia’s sword vanished from Jack’s grip and reappeared in the all-folk’s hand. An exasperating trick for anyone that had the misfortune of making an all-folk an enemy.

Celestia rose to her full height. Jack had thought of it before, but was reminded of it as she looked at her: Jack was taller than the all-folk. Sure, she was taller than many of the men and women that occupied Cabello, her family was built tall and wide, nearly matching the Norfolk race even, but as Jack looked at Celestia, it dawned on her that Rarity was taller too—though that fact would irritate Rarity relentlessly. The thing about Celestia, though, was that she held this presence to her. A presence of strength, of beauty, of drive. Of even a sort of divinity. In any other situation, Jack would feel an overwhelming awe about the woman.

Right now, though, she focused entirely on the scratch she had made.

“It’s over, princess,” Jack said. It was Celestia’s turn to say nothing, to observe rather than close in. “Acacia flower,” she continued, nodding down at Celestia’s hand. “Ya know what that is?”

The word seemed to ring a faint, distant bell in the all-folk’s head. One of warning, perhaps? An advisor, a friend, a former lover had spoke of it. Somewhere within her was a whispering of the word.

Jack watched her for what felt like a solid minute before adding, “how ‘bout magesbane? That has ta say somethin’.”

At that Celestia’s eyes shot open in alarm. Magesbane lived up to its name in a very real sense of the word. In the same way some earth and sky-folk had allergies to certain plants, soul-folk had an aversion to the yellowed flower. It weakened the connection between magic and the self, could completely shut-down a soul-folk’s casting for not hours but days depending on the dosage. There was a reason it was a restricted good, sold only to a few reputable distributors and schools. When Jack was still in school, magesbane, alongside a cocktail of other ingredients, had nearly killed Rarity. The fact that Jack mentioned it...

Channeling her magic, Celestia attempted to pull the poison out of her system, control the flow of her blood and dissolve the chemicals within the composition. Though she could feel the toxin dissolve with a faint relaxation of pressure, she knew the damage had been done to her spellwork for the moment by the strange muddling of words hosting an arcane strength clouding her mind, turning once-sharp mental images of power into blurred, warped things. It was no more than a nick, but had done more damage to her approach in combat than any deep laceration had over the years.

“You’re so low that you use poison in a duel like this?” Celestia’s earlier alarm had died down and she felt a scowl approaching, her earlier respect for Jack drying up as water within the desert.

“An’ I’d do more if I had ta,” Jack replied, her sword at the ready, the oil from the blade being masked under its majestic sheen. “Jus’ like everyone else if ya get that damn thing.” Jack spat to the side. “I jus’ brought ya ta my level. No wings. No spells. Another ant in a hill full-a ‘em.”

Though there was a numbness within her, one that seemed to spread through her body with every beat of her pulse, Celestia knew it was a limiter, not a full on destroyer. She still had some power within her, it was only faint graspings, rather than the river she normally held. But those graspings could mean so much against the earth-folk.

“I’ve been through wars. The Crusades, oversaw the conflicts between the races in the youth of Cabello. I fought alongside your father and Rarity’s during the griffon wars. I’ve seen atrocities you couldn’t begin to comprehend. The only level you’re on is that of an entitled child, Jack.”

Jack took a cautious step forward, testing Celestia’s reactions, how she positioned herself, how she adjusted her grip for Jack’s movement.

“Maybe I am,” she agreed. “Reckon that’s a problem if even a kid can see what yer wantin’ ta do is wrong.”

“I’m doing everything for my country. Everything for people like you. Why can’t you see that, Jack?! Let me take care of Cabello.” Celestia said, taking a step towards the earth-folk, ready to double-back at a moment’s notice.

“Ya can take care of it without the grail. We can stop this. Celestia, I don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“I’d worry about yourself first, Jack.” Seeing the farmer had no interest in yielding, the princess got into a striking position once more, the leg in front of her bent, ready to spring forward.

The farmer followed suit, assuming a defensive stance to Celestia’s offensive one, ready to push aside whatever the all-folk threw at her.

Celestia charged forward, her sword coming down with tremendous speed at Jack’s body, foregoing all forms of dance, all forms of mercy. Her eyes housed the killing instinct Jack had, in a way, hoped for all along. The type of glare that stopped the pit of guilt in her stomach over having to fight the all-folk, for having to crush her dreams, her wishes for the country.

The sword cut through the air and clashed against the flat of Jack’s towering sword, the blow knocking Jack back and making her scramble to keep her footing. For everything Jack had over the woman, her height and her strength, she could only just match the all-folk’s precision and speed, only deflect blows, never coming across a chance to counter them, Celestia’s onslaught only barely being restrained. Even without magic, the all-folk housed skill, trained skill, that Jack’s wilder blows couldn’t measure up to, not without struggling every step of the way. A snap of Celestia’s fist caught Jack at her kidney and she let out a sharp barking yelp of pain, every synapse of her brain firing off in alarm at the impact against her. Celestia tried to swing her blade towards the earth-folk while she was vulnerable, but the farmer, through sheer stubborn will, lifted her sword to parry the woman, narrowly avoiding the weapon’s deadly edge.

Now Celestia took to fighting dirty, no longer an elegant, knightly force, the sort tales were made of; rather, she became a furious typhoon of sword swings, feints, kicks—a snap at Jack’s arm nearly spun her around from the impact—and all Jack could do was hold on, try to read the woman and anticipate her, all while her thoughts screamed at her to push the woman back, gain even a scant inch of distance so she could bring her greatsword back to its terrifying and colossal offensive powers, but that seemed an absurd notion, as impossible as fighting back the tide of the ocean or stopping the sun from rising, but she had to, she had to stop her. Even if it was hopeless, holding out just a little longer against the all-folk was a victory, winning a battle within herself. Jack had to give it her all, otherwise she’d regret every second afterwards, even if she did live. She had to try to leave her mark on history, even if it was an unsung, unspoken one, she had to resist. She had to struggle. Because if she didn’t, who would?

Celestia came with a low thrust near Jack’s pelvis. Jack’s instincts told her, forced her to before even she was really cognitive of the approach she was doing, to step to the side and lunge forward.

Her free hand worked automatically, almost independent of her, as if God himself guided her fingers and she grabbed the all-folk by the hair, brought her foot behind Celestia’s ankles, and threw her down with all her might.

Celestia landed on the ground, the impact seeming to almost shake the earth itself.

The all-folk seemed dazed, more surprised than hurt, Jack guessed, but she took what she could and brought her greatsword down, an executioner spotting another head to take.

Gesturing upward, the all-folk showed there was still a spark within her on her magic spells and an earthen shell wrapped Celestia’s body, forming an improvised stone cocoon a heart’s beat before Jack’s sword bounced off. As Jack brought her sword at the ready again, intending to bring it down for a far more aimed strike, there came a single word from the shell and Celestia rose, already in mid-spin as she burst from her encapsule, daggers of dirt erupting from her shield and blasting across the arena.

Jack had no time to react, no time to prepare. The splinters of the hardened earth pierced her arm, her collar, one narrowly avoided her groin and embedded itself in her thigh instead.

Jack howled. The spikes dug into her; Rarity’s armor once again pulling through and stopping anything piercing deep enough to hit bone, the internal curve and fold of the armor realigning the punctures to less dangerous parts of her body, but it still hurt like hell and she already had a sheen of sweat coating her forehead from the agony she felt. Yet she ignored her injuries, ignored the spiral her stomach felt like it was doing, and instead put on a brave face and grabbed the hardened dirt at her collar. Tugging it out, she crushed it into a fine powder in her hand and let it fall to the ground.

“That the best ya got?” Jack growled out, pulling another piece of debris from her thigh. “Thought this was a fight, not a tea party.”

Celestia scowled. “You’re doing nothing by feigning strength, Jack.”

“This is nothin’,” Jack dismissed, reaching to pull the last of the reminits of Celestia’s attack from her body.

Celestia was by Jack in a flash, already swinging her sword at the farmer’s arm, catching Jack by surprise—the woman had only just finished speaking and had already resumed their engagement, seemingly thirsty for blood.

Jack was more than eager to oblige. Seeing her own blood ebb down her body, crimson lines pointing to her wounds in the same way roads lead to Rome, had done something to her. It was waking up an angry part of her, a part she tried not to show to anyone if she could help it. Moving in closer, she decided to forgo her weapon for the moment, knowing this close it’d simply slow her down, and stepped into Celestia’s next slash, batting the all-folk’s armed hand away and struck her hand forward, grabbing Celestia’s throat and squeezing, rising her up to the air in one-hand, lifting her off her feet.

The all-folk immediately took to gagging, struggling for breath within Jack’s powerful grip.

On instinct, Jack shot her free hand to the side, blocking another slash Celestia attempted to deliver in an attempt to escape, then swung her fist forward, hitting Celestia’s solar plexus, the blow sending a violent tremor through the other’s body, the convulsions making Jack bare her teeth in feral satisfaction. An eye for an eye wasn’t the way to live, but Jack would be damned if it didn’t feel good sometimes.

Rearing back, Jack threw her weight behind another strike, only for a foot to instantly connect to her face. Her arms went limp and she stumbled backwards as Celestia did the same, the farmer clutching at her bleeding, broken nose, the princess drawing deep gulps of air, rubbing at her neck, where her skin showed red marks from Jack’s fingers.

“Goddamn bitch,” Jack sneered, her eyes watering involuntarily from Celestia’s blow but her soul burning hot enough that she didn’t care about her yet-again ruined face; rather, her fists clenched into heavy iron pendulums and she paused, torn between moving towards her greatsword or attacking while Celestia was still recovering. Playing it safe, she moved to her sword and brought it into position once more, stumbling a hair as she did, her body aching, screaming at her to stop. Celestia, likewise, assumed stance, both in a way back to square one, save for Jack’s growing collection of injuries and fatigue and Celestia’s wince every time she shifted her body. That and the still-present marks on her neck were the only real proof that Jack was keeping up, that it wasn’t just Icarus flying too close to the sun. That maybe there was still hope, still a chance.

But Jack had to act. Digging her feet into the hard ground, Jack knew on a subconscious level, that the next blow landed. That would seal the fight. She wasn’t as catastrophically injured as she had been when fighting Dmitri, when her lifeblood soaked the carpet of his posh office. But even then, she wasn’t as afraid as she was now.

Now it felt like she had a lot more to lose, worse. It felt like she could lose.

Gritting her teeth, Jack sucked in one more breath, and charged.

Sunset

The candle that burnt half as long burnt twice as bright.

Jack was no more than a child when it came to Celestia’s age, when it came to the woman’s experiences. She couldn’t compete with the all-folk in almost any aspect.

Except heart.

And right now hers felt like it beat so hard her chest was ready to burst. She felt like she was going to be sick, but she felt like she had a purpose to be standing here holding her blade. She felt like she had a purpose as she swung her sword downward, the swing like greased lightning, clashing into the earth.

It came close. It came close; Celestia twisted, contorted her body to the side as Jack came down, surprise evident on her face at the farmer’s swing speed, but all Jack got was the rope tying Celestia’s sheath to her hip; the thing clattered to the ground, forgotten for the moment by both women.

Jack wasn’t surprised at Celestia’s dodge, but it still sprouted the seeds of frustration within her chest. There was a boiling heat inside herself, a roaring inferno ready to escape her bosom the instant she allowed it. But she held it back, keeping Will’s technique as her last resort, as she knew if she did it, she’d only have a few scant seconds within her before she was fatigued, unable to keep up with Celestia’s attacks, unable to press the advantage her weapon allowed her. If she let herself get lost in anger, then she would surely lose this fight as well.

After Jack’s swing, Celestia pressed forward, coming in low and to the side, aiming for the farmer’s exposed kidney with a backswing. Jack twisted her upper body and brought her blade over and behind her, narrowly blocking the all-folk’s swing.

Celestia juked, springing off her foot and jumping forward, grabbing Jack’s sword arm with her free hand she pressed down, holding the farmer’s sword down as she thrust her sword forward.

Jack let go of her weapon and twisted free of Celestia’s grip, pirouetting with an arm out; she struck Celestia in the cheek with one hand, in the same motion she slapped Celestia’s thrust to the side and grappled the woman, throwing her armed hand hard, shaking it like a dog’s head as you tried to free something from within its maw.

Celestia’s hand finally flinched, the weapon dropped to the ground with a clatter and she adjusted herself, pinwheeling her arms free of Jack’s grapple, then engaging in one again, this time taking a hand to the side of Jack’s face while Jack’s hand shot forward, once again taking Celestia’s throat and squeezing it like a vice, the last time working well enough that she felt compelled to attempt it again.

Celestia began gagging; she turned her head to the side, letting her draw a few weak, shallow breaths as she pawed across Jack’s face. She shot her thumb forward, jamming it squarely into Jack’s eye.

The farmer howled, pulling back from Celestia instantly and clutching at the wound. Luckily, it hadn’t ruptured, the vision from her struck eye was a dark, blurred thing, but it was still there.

Still she held back the rage that all but screamed at her as she launched forward, her fists balled into two heavy iron weights as Celestia mirrored the action, then mirrored her again as Jack threw out a haymaker, Celestia doing the same.

The blow landed hard, pain flared from Jack’s cheek as Celestia’s fist collided against her. Through her cloudy vision, she saw a trail of crimson fly through the air.

Her own blood.

Before she could recover fully, another strike hit her, then another. Celestia’s fists impacted again and again against her face, each impact snapping her head to either side. One caused her head to swim in a cloud of disorientation and she stumbled back, nearly falling as Celestia continued her strikes.

Jack came a bit more to her senses and brought her arms up, blocking what she could, before seeing an opening through her hazy vision; she took a chance and shot forward, headbutting Celestia and ceasing the blows on her face, her cheeks already swelling and her lip split from where it had cut into her teeth.

Jack stood, panting, her face a nightmarish, ruined mess of blood and fractures, but still functioning, still alive and her eyes burned with indignation, her spirit far from crushed.

If anything, judging by how she bared her teeth, she almost relished it.

Celestia stood a few feet away, wiping at a small cut of her own on her lip, looking elegant and noble even with her injuries. There came a pause, as if something within her came to a realization and she held a palm to her side.

It was faint at first, eventually there sputtered to life a flame. Though no words were exchanged, their desperate gasps for air took their words away before they could even say them, Jack knew what it meant. It served as a warning.

Celestia’s magic was coming back.

The poison Jack had concocted never was going to be as potent as magesbane, Zecora had told her of it serving more like a tranquilizer, rather than a full on stop, but Jack had hoped she would have had just a bit more time to slow Celestia down.

Jack offered no flinch, no sudden showing of surrender, so Celestia gave a weak shake of her head and held both her hands out.

There were a few whispered words, once more in the damnable tongue of the all-folk and Jack charged forward, intending to stop Celestia before she could complete the spell.

It was too little, too late.

As she stepped forward, there came a rumbling to Jack’s sides and the earth rose up, a slab on her right and left and they flipped toward her, too quick to dodge, only enough time to put her arms up and brace her body for impact.

The slabs struck into her, not only pinning her, but crushing her; she heard her ribs pop and her arms threatened to break and snap from the strain of pushing against the stone as they continued to weigh down onto her, feeling as if the very weight of the world was on her shoulders.

Celestia watched Jack weakly struggle, fight against the spell, to no avail. The all-folk held her hand out. The magic within her came to life and there came a weight to her hand that at first was an invisible object, but then was swathed in light. Her sword, discarded earlier, returned to her palm, materializing from within the light and she approached Jack, to deal the killing blow or discuss surrender, her motives never discovered due to what happened in a scant few seconds.

Jack felt her anger bubble to surface, roaring to life with the fury of a volcano. She had kept it in her for so long, had felt it eating at her throughout this fight, never sure when she should use Will’s technique. She was grateful now for her hesitation.

Her mind turned blank, empty, for a scant second, and it was like the world itself took in a long breath, before she felt her thoughts and her body become fueled, swallowed by a white-hot rage and she pulled in, then threw her arms out as hard as she could.

The stones flinched, giving her a scant few inches to move. She took it and adjusted her arms, this time letting out a loud bellow as she not only freed herself, but threw the stones off her body like a bull bucking off a rider.

Though her mind was a million miles away as she took a fist and bashed it against her own temple in her blinding, zealous anger, she knew she didn’t have minutes like this, but seconds, scant seconds to finish this before she collapsed and she charged forward, weaponless and frenzied.

Jack caught sight of Celestia, the princess not simply shocked but alarmed at not only Jack’s escape, but the feral aspect of her as she sprinted forward.

Celestia held out a hand and launched a ray of heat; it collided with Jack, but didn’t deter her, didn’t even affect her, the magic acting as the quintessential water off a duck’s back amid Jack’s low sprint and as Celestia prepared to swing Jack struck first, pouncing on Celestia, grabbing the woman’s jaw in one hand and blocking her sword arm with her other and throwing Celestia to the ground with the sweep of her legs.

She took Celestia’s weapon, pried it easily from the all-folk’s hand when mere moments ago their strength had been an even match, and brought it down, impaling it directly into her heart.

Celestia let out a cry of pain and looked down at her wound, then up at Jack.

Already the farmer had sank down, the frenzy that had overtaken her a quickly fading memory. Her shoulders slumped and she took in breaths so quickly and urgently she seemed close to hyperventilating.

Though Celestia herself breathed, no amount of air seemed to satisfy her lungs; she weakly swallowed, rising to an elbow.

“I,” she managed to whisper out, crimson already beginning to cover her chest. “I’m sorry. I let you all down somewhere.”

Though Jack seemed hardly able to even lift a hand, she still summoned what strength she had left to put her hand on top of Celestia’s, a wordless gesture, the only way she could offer comfort.

From behind them came a pair of running footsteps.

Pinkie was first, her eyes shifting between the two warriors. Her lips quivered, occasionally parting but never uttering a word, her face a confused mess of emotions.

“Jack,” Rarity quietly muttered out, the rest of her sentence never spoken. Celestia winced, the pain obvious in her eyes.

“Don’t tell Luna what happened. She’ll…” Celestia instructed, her breaths quiet wheezes as she faded.

Though Rarity had no control over the situation before her, she stepped up into a leadership role for the group, and nodded in agreement, understanding exactly what the all-folk meant.

“It was something in the tomb,” Rarity said, the lie so at-ease for her it very well could have been the truth, “Tirek ambushed you and you gave your life to stop him.”

A flicker of a smile was all Celestia could muster for an expression. “Seems a better end.”

“But it’s not gonna be the end, okay?!” Pinkie cried, kneeling beside her yet hesitant to make contact. “Y-You’re an all-folk!”

Celestia gave a weak shake of her head. “We bleed too,” she answered. With another low sigh, her vision seemed to unfocus, looking at the whole world yet nothing at all and there came one more sudden thought to her, one more thing that seemed to rise in importance over the hundreds of other things swimming in her head.

“Tell Twila. She’s perfect,” Celestia said.

Her body went limp and with one more long exhale, she shut her eyes.

Jack sat, drained so completely that there was not a single word she could make out, let alone a word to make sense of what just happened, of what she did. Rarity came beside her, looking down at the all-folk’s body.

“I’m sorry,” Rarity said, not sure who she was speaking to, just needing to say the words, perhaps.

Jack reached forward, taking the handle of Celestia’s sword. She pulled at it, but lacked the strength to free it from the body. Rarity stepped in for her and gave a tug, surprised at the resistance the weapon held. It was far less dignified than she liked, but she squatted down and lifted with her entire body, her own strength coming to life as she lifted up.

Finally, the sword came free, pulling out from the woman’s body and coated in crimson. Rarity hesitated on what to do with it until she finally decided to put it in the all-folk’s hand.

There came a coughing fit from Jack; spasms racked her body and she clutched at her head in pain. Rarity turned to look at her and froze.

Spike approached, finally awake from his unconscious state. At first he seemed only curious, but then he caught sight of what they were huddled over and he froze.

“P-Princess?” he stammered out, then looked at Jack. Seeing her ruined face, seeing the bloody sword at Celestia’s side, he could only come to one conclusion to who was responsible and his reptilian eyes widened in alarm. “What the fuck did you do?!”

“Spike!” Pinkie interjected, quickly stepping in front of him, her hands raised. Her words were quick, erratic and stammered. “It—Celestia—Jack can explain!”

Jack said nothing, her gasps for air as she struggled to recover from not only using her technique to the fullest of its ability, but from the pain of her ruined face all-but making her a mute.

“She had no choice on the matter, Spike,” Rarity said, stepping in for Jack. “You would have understood this if you had been awake.”

“You would say that,” Spike growled out. “You both are like con artists now, watching one-another’s back, even if it isn’t right.”

“That’s not true,” Rarity countered. “Listen to us. There was no other—”

“Of course there was!” he shouted back. “She was just too stupid to figure it out! All of you were! Don’t you say that to me!”

The boy’s appearance had taken a dark turn. He glowered, and he had seemed to fill out, gaining at least two inches in width and another few in height. His skin had began to take an off coloration, a vaguely sickly look compared to his normal peach.

“Rarity,” Pinkie said, watching in horror as Spike gradually transformed before her. “You might wanna get Jack out of here.”

“To where?” Rarity questioned, moving to stand in front of Jack. “Spike’s between the us and the only way out.”

“I dunno, you’re smart!” she shouted, sweat already beginning to appear across her forehead. “Think of something!”

“I’ve already thought.” Rarity eyed Spike and braced her stance. “Spike,” she said, her tone as gentle and as calming as she could make it. “Darling. I understa—”

“Do you?” he asked, his voice an entire octave lower now. “Jack’s still alive. You never liked Celestia.”

“That’s a lie!” Rarity reprimanded. “Get a hold of yourself.”

He clenched a fist, a rapidly widening fist, a rapidly hardening fist and scowled. “She’s dead. She’s dead because of Jack. Because of both of you!”

“Take a moment and stop, Spike,” Rarity pleaded. “I don’t want this. None of us do. Breath.”

He was frozen for a brief, brief moment. Her words, their history as friends seeming to paralyze him.

Pinkie took a hesitant step forward, lightly placing her hand on his fist. It easily dwarfed her, feeling rough to the touch. Cold. Scaly. “I know things seem bad now and I know you never wanted this but…” She squeezed his fist, as best she could. “We’ll work through this. Together.”

Another hesitant pause. Then his brow narrowed as his newfound height allowed him to peer past Rarity, and his focus returned to Jack and Celestia’s lifeless body, and his heart hardened.

“Move,” Spike warned Pinkie, not bothering to look at her as his teeth grew wild within his mouth, turning into ill-fitting sharp canines.

“M-Make me,” she replied. Her feet were rooted to the ground but her beating heart wanted nothing more to do than leap out of her ribcage.

“Move,” he ordered, more fiercely as he took a step forward, his shoes groaning in protest as what was inside grew too massive to contain. Finally, the seams split and out came a pair of massive feet, the pinkie toes already misshapen and fusing together with his fourth toe creating something on the verge of alien.

Diane flinched but held firm, ignoring the way she shook like a leaf. Her heart beat faster now, louder, almost ringing in her own ears. “I’m not moving anywhere! Nobody else needs to get hurt!”

His hand, now more a massive, dinner plate sized paw, reached down. She could feel his strength behind his stern push, brushing her to the side as one would a small, stubborn animal.

One more step forward, and he looked down at Rarity. Looked down being the key word. While once he was shorter than even Isabelle, now he held a good two inches on the second tallest of their group, and at the rate he was going, would soon tower over even Jack.

“Spike?” Rarity quietly asked. Hot air expelled from his nostrils as he glared down at her and she felt herself subconsciously reach down to the scabbard at her side and grasp the handle of her sword.

“Not one more step,” the soul-folk warned, keeping her position between Spike and Jack.

He ignored her, moving forward, his approach lumbering, shifting with the weight of a mountain behind every step. Though Rarity tried to ignore the slowly glowing colossus, she couldn't help but notice the tail that had ruptured his pants and now swung wildly behind him, thickening and expanding with every writhing gesture. His mouth had stretched and contorted, forming into a muzzle and was quickly getting swallowed by hard, leathery skin.

Now his shirt had ruptured, freeing his chest from its bondage. Already, violet scales covered it and they spread over his body like a fast-moving plague, swallowing his skin. His height had increased yet again, now Macintosh would be lucky to be on even footing with him.

There seemed to be something that left from his eyes. A spark of empathy. Humanity. There was no real answer. All that they knew was in an instant he went from at least speaking to a deep-throated growl, one that reminded Rarity of a beast about to strike so she instantly drew her sword out and grasped it in her hands, taking up a fencer’s pose as her free hand began to swim with the faint traces of magic.

He hunched over and landed on his legs, his size even while on all fours nearly reaching Rarity’s chest. Though if she hadn’t known it was him, he would have been unrecognizable amid the changes his body was suffering through.

With one more exhale, this one so powerful her bangs lifted a hair from her face, Spike bellowed, his transformation almost complete. Raising one of his massive paws, he swung forward, hitting into her blade and nearly knocking her off her feet despite blocking the attack. His second strike came even faster, his other claws launched forward; Rarity reacted just in time, narrowly blocking those, but buckling under the strike. Raising up a claw, he prepared to bring it down yet again on her.

Only to pause, jerking a bit in evident surprise at something. He turned, his reptilian eyes looking to spot the disturbance.

In his haunch, embedded within his thick scales was a dagger. He glanced up, looking for the cause, and freezing when he saw Pinkie.

She had picked herself off the ground and was brandishing another knife, ready to throw, glaring at Spike. “I said,” she took a step forward, more confident now, “make me.”

She kept approaching despite the fact that the beast now dwarfed her. And a beast it was, for there was no longer any trace of the kind, brave boy that she loved. The tables had turned, the monster within had consumed him and where once was rationality and empathy, there was only instinct and pure rage. Knowing that, Pinkie figured there was only one way to grab the beast’s attention. She had to make it perceive her as a threat that needed to take out before it could gets its prey safely.

If she was being true to herself, she had no idea what she would do if she managed to grab its attention. But she was a quick thinker and a spontaneous character. She’d last, at least for a while.

“Diane!” Rarity barked out, watching with alarm as the beast fell for Pinkie’s gamble, turning to face her.“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?!” Pinkie cried, lowering her knife and changing her stance. “Get Jack out of here!”

“And leave you? Not a chance,” Rarity countered, looking towards the creature. It saw both of them slowly circling it, and it shifted its body to a more defensive position, making sure it could watch both of them.

“If you really want to stick around,” Pinkie said, eyeing Rarity briefly, “do some neat magicky stuff. I’ll go brawling.” She tightened a fist, flexing her arms. “I guess.”

Rarity focused, dispelling the retort she was about to offer, and instead concentrated on the magic within her hands. A chill from her palms caused her to grimace, and her hand grew numb at the magic that swam within her palm.

A hand came to her shoulder and her spell nearly fizzled out in surprise at the contact. She glance behind her; Jack stood, her legs trembling and nearly buckling, the strain from besting Celestia leaving her incapable of fighting at the moment.

“Tit for tat,” Rarity answered, not bothering to listen to Jack. “You had your moment with Celestia. Leave this to me.”

Though Jack normally would have protested, Rarity knew she would, the woman complied, too weak to do anything to the dragon if he targeted her, her lack of magic within her body stopping her second wind from occurring, at least for the moment. Rarity knew she either had to stall Spike until Jack could join the fray, or figure some way out that wouldn't cause any more bloodshed.

Shuffling back, Jack dropped weakly to the ground, sweat caking her face as Rarity returned to her quick preparations.

Pinkie reached back, then with as much as she could, threw another knife for the beast’s leg. If she could cripple its mobility at least a little, it’d make the fight a little easier for everyone. And if it keep its attention on her, that was a bonus.

This time it saw the knife coming and batted it away, sending it spinning off towards the entrance of the room. He growled at her, his brow narrowing further as he coiled up, subtly readying a lunge.

She put away the knives, given now they’d be little more than toothpicks. “You wanna give me a hug? Okay then…” Readying herself, she could feel something in her sparking to life. Adrenaline, maybe? But that felt familiar to her, this was something entirely different. Whatever it was, it was giving her strength, so she wouldn’t argue.

Like a viper, Spike lunged, his speed alarming for his size and he sailed briefly through the air with something bordering grace.

It was fast but Pinkie was faster, managing to sidestep out of harm’s way. The dragon charged past her and Diane could feel the sheer power he possessed without even making contact, as if his sheer strength had created ripples in the air. Impacting against the wall, he was back in commision far quicker than seemingly possible, already springing away from the wall and leaping towards Diane once more.

Immediately she turned tail and started running as fast and hard as her body could withstand. That spark within her had fully awakened now and it felt like fire within her veins, awakening her body and empowering it to push beyond her average limits. And she’d need every last bit of power if she was going to outrun the powerhouse behind her.

Landing once again on nothing, he let out a growl, stomping his feet in frustration, before sprinting at her, hellbent on making her pay for the mockery she was putting him through.

She jumped to the side, just barely dodging his attempt to tear into her flesh, and hit the ground, rolling hard from the impact. Rising to a knee Pinke froze as Spike turned to face her and the boy sucked in deep breath, lifting his head up as his chest visibly expanded outwards. From his maw erupted flames, their speed coming toward Pinkie in an instant, the girl screamed, covering her face as the burning heat enveloped her.

After a moment she paused, still alive, not engulfed in flame, and looked up towards the dragon.

A great ball of fire held itself mere inches away from Spike’s snout, the object a bubbling mass of magma and heat that swirled and danced midair.

Though almost invisible from the intense brightness the fire put out, Pinkie could see a strange sheen surrounding the fire, as if it were encased in a glass jar. The dragon looked confused, the effect not one of his own and both Pinkie and the dragon Spike had become turned their heads at the exact same time.

Rarity stood, her palms outstretched, her sword’s tip embedded into the earth as she concentrated her will into a spell, stalling the dragon as best she could. But, a fact realized more than once on their excursion, she was not Twila. Diane quickly caught on, gaining great distance between herself and the flames.

“Thanks!” she gasped, in between breaths.

Rarity attempted to bring her hands together, flinching as she did so, an invisible force resisting her gesture, her hands trembling as she continued to try and close her self-made gap. The orb standing above Spike, sealing the flames away from the arena below, trembled and cracked under the pressure Rarity seemed to be applying with her focused gestures. There came a breakthrough with her gesture and she put her hands tightly together in an audible clap.

Above, the orb shattered, spewing flame out above, where it danced across the high ceiling, dissipating before it hit the ground. Embers fluttered through the air, getting into Spike’s eyes. He snorted in irritation, rubbing his eyes with the back of his clawed hand, before turning now to face Rarity.

“That’s right, you brute,” Rarity said under her breath, her sword at the ready as it swam and danced white swaths of ice along its metal. “Try me.”

He lashed at her, using his long arms to claw at her while, simultaneously, blindly swinging his tail from side-to-side in an attempt to ward of Pinkie from engaging him.

“No! Don’t try him!” Pinkie warned, keeping her eyes focusing on that tail. Big and deadly as it was, there had to be a pattern to the swings, some opening that she could exploit.

Rarity hopped back from the creature’s grasp, then immediately shot forward, thrusting her saber against his large frame. It connected in-between his scales, puncturing his shoulder and, unlike Pinkie’s earlier blow, this made him bellow, the magic within the sword’s edge burning him with a potency of silver against the undead: he actually retreated a few precious steps away from the woman and the new threat her sword held. He watched her as she took a few slow, methodical steps to the side, neither one blinking as they schemed. Rarity’s narrow gaze focused, tailored by Jack’s instructions and guidance, Spike’s thoughts as alien as his body, measuring plans not in steps, but in leaps and bounds.

Rarity dashed forward, charging head-on towards the dragon; Spike slashed towards her head on instinct, the reaction instant, a blur of speed.

One which Rarity dropped for. She slid past the incoming attack on her ass and, after the blow sailed over her, sailed so close her bangs were brushed back from her forehead, she popped herself up, stumbling as she came back to her feet, but recovering well-enough that she managed a clumsy slash that succeed not only in puncturing through his scaly hide, but actually cut a line deep into his chest.

His scream was one of not only agony, but also one of surprise and fear, the high, whining pitch of the thing reminding Rarity it wasn’t really a monster before them, but Spike.

Her little Spikie.

Grasping the sword, she hesitated as she pulled it out and prepared her next swing, caught between her love for the boy and the necessity of stopping him. That hesitation cost her.

He sprang on her, feral intensity and hate moving his limbs with blinding speed, speed that should have been impossible for a creature of his size.

In an instant, he had grabbed Rarity with a hand, scooping her up like she were no more than a merger toy, an experimental clench of his hand made her gasp in pain as her torso was put through a vice. A second squeeze, this one putting the force of both his palms together made her scream as her body popped and involuntarily contorted under the pressure of his grip.

“Rarity!” Pinkie cried, her stomach dropping as she saw blood drip onto the ground and the unnatural shape her friend’s body had been forced into. Throwing caution to the wind, she sprinted right for the dragon and with a hop, skip and a jump, landed and hung onto his scaly back, his sheer size making it like a cliff face to scale. Reaching over his shoulder, she threw all of the power she could muster into one punch directly at his head.

The blow struck his temple, but did nothing to stall his attempt to crush Rarity; he brought the woman towards his mouth, and his teeth came down with force upon her.

Only to bounce off harmlessly.

Rarity hung halfway out of his mouth, clinging to one of his sharp canines. Surrounding her form was a translucent shell of magic, the spell she conjured the only thing that saved her from being killed. Away from her sword, she brought her fist forward instead, magic sparking to life within it, the spell stretching and forming into a punching dagger, and thrusted it into Spike’s gum line.

The dragon bellowed, the force of the air escaping his mouth blowing Rarity into a free-fall until she hit the ground with an ungraceful thud. She shifted, the wind knocked out of her, blatantly dazed, but alive, and rolled over onto her back, just as Spike rose a massive foot and brought it downward. Sucking in a breath, Rarity willed her magic to life once more and vanished with and audible pop, only to reappear a few feet away, coughing and rising weakly to a knee, her earlier strength fading.

The dragon reached upward, fumbling blindly for Pinkie as she clung to life tightly on its back. She reacted quickly, pushing off Spike with her feet and letting go, flipping through the air and tumbling to the ground as she landed. Performing a roll, she narrowly avoided a swing of the dragon’s tail over her, then jumped up to her feet as soon as she could, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Briefly distracted from Rarity’s wounded form, he snapped around, his massive claws at the ready. He shot a hand forward, reaching to grasp her.

Breathing heavily, Diane jumped to the side but it was anything but. She stumbled, her clothes sticking to her now from the sweat, and was swiftly swept up by Spike.

Bringing her up to his eyes, he stared at her, growling as she squirmed within his grasp.

“S-Stop!” she pleaded, her voice becoming raspy and tears welling up in her eyes.

If he could understand her at this point, he paid no mind to her begging and instead took a deep breath of her scent. The machinations in his mind operated on another level compared to theirs, but there came a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, a faint spark that let him know that she was something important. Something that was his.

Something that he owned.

He sniffed her again and this time there came a longer spark. A brief urge, of wanting lit his eyes and his growl took on a slightly more quiet form as he cradled the woman in his palm, his grip no longer crushing her.

Her body instantly relaxed, like a spring. She rubbed her throat but was unable to say anything, or even make a sound. Even with her comfier confines, she was more trapped than ever, trapped into staring at those reptilian eyes.

Those eyes that held no love within them, only an aching want.

Pinkie knew what the dragon wanted and she froze, her eyes widening in panic and she took to hyperventilating, unable to calm herself or think of some way to escape, some way to avoid what was coming.

Rarity finally managed to get to her feet, her fear for Diane bringing her out of her stupor. There came movement from her side and she glanced over, nearly crying in relief.

Jack stood once more, her sword at her shoulder and a weary resignation in her every breath, a paragon of stoicism as she coolly regarded what Spike had become.

Will wouldn’t call it stoicism, neither would Jack at this point. Rather, a word, a philosophy rang true now more than ever.

Ronnel.

Glancing over at Rarity, the two seemed to silently share a few words to one-another, though this time was less small, mute voices of concern, and more along the lines of a hastily drawn battle plan, their newly-formed partnership when it came to dealing with monsters syncing them well with their thoughts.

Their wordless conversation over, a few glances and a small nod the only things needed said, Jack sprinted forward, her speed weakened after fighting Celestia, but still at least healthy enough to move.

While Jack sprinted forward, loud enough to draw the attention of not only the dragon but Diane as well, Rarity focused her magic, fueling it with everything she had left within her safe limit, and felt energy collect and meld into her fingertips, a chill coming to her hand despite her heavy gloves. The energy swirled and solidified, forming a shaft made of crystal-clear ice that seemed to exhale rolling condensation from the cold. One more deep pull from her magic essence, the attempt so within herself she winced from a twinge of pain deep in the caverns of her heart, and the shaft extended, widening, and lengthening until the tip reached well past her arm’s length, where it quickly formed into a razor-sharp spearhead. The instant Spike’s attention fully turned over to Jack, Rarity pulled her arm back, looking briefly like an olympian with the majesty and grace she held herself with despite her injuries, and threw it forward with every ounce of strength she held.

It sailed through the air, over Jack and up to Spike’s chest, where it swung to the right and impaled itself into the dragon’s wrist, not only burying through his scaly skin, but outright penetrating it, rupturing two small holes on either side of the tough hide that adorned his wrist.

He howled, forgetting Diane briefly, reflexively dropping her as he went to grasp his bleeding wrist. She dropped to the hard ground, capable of only limply rolling over onto her front.

Jack came closer, trying to draw the beast’s attention away from Pinkie, trying her best to allow the woman at least a chance at escape.

A dragon wasn’t something she wanted to fight, not today, not ever. The creatures were nightmarish things, their speed and strength rarely matched by anything else in the land. Even Will and Luna were wary of the beasts and warned their subordinates of engaging them.

If she had some time to prepare, read over her few notes on them, perhaps create an oil for her sword, she might not feel as frightened as she was deep down. Her armor couldn’t withstand a dragon’s teeth or claws, so evasion was the key. But her fatigue from fighting Celestia had left her lethargic, she knew she couldn’t keep up the pace against Spike for long. It was an exercise in buying time, nothing more. A sentiment that Rarity had shared earlier.

The beast bellowed once more as Jack approached and tensed up, his draconic muscles coiling like springs underneath his scales. He was a bit more cautious with his breath, an instinct warning him that Rarity might be faking fatigue, that she could be preparing a counterspell to it once more, so instead he engaged Jack physically, giving a testing swing of his claws towards her.

With practiced ease, she brought the flat of her sword up, twisting her torso to parry his claws. His weight wasn’t behind the swing, so she managed to deflect the blow handily, only stumbling a bit from the impact. Curious at his new plaything, he gave a few more cautious pokes and swips her direction, never truly throwing his weight at her, but still poised to do just that if she reacted violently.

She played his game for a few moments, parrying and redirecting his blows with every swing he threw at her, unaware of a fast-approaching danger. His tail had raised over his body, holding a pose not unlike a scorpion. It trembled and writhed, gauging her, judging her movements and then, when she had stumbled from another swing of his claws, he struck, twisting his torso and bringing his tail forward from the side.

Jack only had her attention drawn to it by the whistling of air as it cut through the air in a heavy arc. She froze, her natural instincts, worn from her encounter with Celestia, locked up on her, pushing her towards no action, save for inaction as the tail continued forward in its deadly arc.

A blur of pink tackled her from the side mere breaths before the tail impacted against her body. Jack was knocked to the ground and the tail careened across her vision, a blur of speed as it finished its sweep.

With a meaty thud, the tail impacted against Pinkie’s aim as she sailed through the air. The force knocked her to the ground and she cried out in pain, clutching her arm and curling up, fighting against the urge to outright sob from the sheer pain of it all.

The dragon paused, surprised at Diane. Surprised that he hurt her. Growling, Spike instantly returned his focus to Jack, callously ignoring Pinkie’s injury, and lunged at the woman.

Jack rose to her feet and charged forward, into the creature’s massive frame. She dodged his arm and stepped to the side as he landed, narrowly avoiding his massive frame as it impacted against the ground. Bringing her sword forward, she brought it down to his exposed side, his scales slowing down the impact from the blow, but not enough to stop her swing from drawing a viscous black liquid from seeping out.

He howled and grabbed her reactively; wasting no time after his lesson with Rarity, he threw her, propelled her across the room and her back connected with a stalagmite, the force of the impact nearly bending her in half, her hands almost comically touching her ankles.

Jack fell down to the ground in an undignified lump, obviously unconscious or worse from the crash, her body a limp ragdoll of splayed limbs and a tilted head.

Faced with a choice between aiding Diane or checking on Jack, Rarity sprinted over to Jack without hesitation, silently begging Pinkie for forgiveness as she took stock of Jack’s crumpled body and came to the earth-folk’s side, panic-stricken and unsure where to even begin on treating Jack.

The dragon stepped past Pinkie, her whimpering doing nothing to his stride and he bellowed, a loud, echoing thing that reverberated throughout the room. Pleased, its reptilian eyes looking over the two surviving women, his thoughts turned to their flesh, of their contortions and writhing underneath him. But those thoughts and lustings faded the instant he spotted something.

Sitting loftily atop a set of stairs was a man, frozen within a large crystal. In his hand was a grail. Not any grail, rather it was a beautiful, exquisite thing that carried itself with mystique. But, though his race’s natural greed commanded him to take it at this point, he was mesmerized by it less because of its obvious monetary value, but because he knew, he could sense with not only its scent but from a certain thrum of magic that beat within his eardrums. The object was not a mere host to magic, rather, magic ebbed and flowed from it as if it were an eternal source of power.

A reward suitable for a creature such as himself. A beast that sat atop the food chain as the king of kings needed something like that within his hoarding.

Offering something resembling a sneer, he took another footstep towards the stairway, only to be met by a gentle hand resting at one of his legs.

He prepared to stomp out the presence below him, but as he adjusted his head to get a clear view of the interloper, he froze, his draconian indifference of the insignificant creatures below him blown completely away for a scant few seconds.

Celestia stood below the great creature, her injuries grievous, life-threatening, yet she somehow functioned and breathed. She pushed her entire body against the dragon’s leg in a wordless attempt to comfort it.

The dragon felt a foreign thought arrive, one that its human aspect—a thing almost forgotten within a shadowy corner of its mind—recognized as warmth. Not a warmth as he felt when observing Diane or Rarity, the warmth of his bestial aspect, rather, a warmth, an affection that a family held. The all-folk holding him was akin to a mother cradling a hurting child and that single act of kindness pulled its earlier want for the grail to the side.

Its powerful shoulders slumped, accepting her comfort, relief and that feeling of acceptance soothing its heart more than any object ever could.

The creature let out a snort of contentment as it lowered its head, turning to wrap it behind the all-folk, returning her expression of love with one of its own.

Within it came a small spark, a flicker of humanity burning alone within a strange black world. Thanks to her, the small spark was joined by others, and the boy sluggishly stirred awake within his draconian shell.

He visibly shrank, losing first inches, then feet, his body popping and snapping as it compacted and regained a slightly more humanoid figure until he stood no more than a few feet higher than the princess. His snout retreated into his face, becoming a mere pointed nostril, and his dagger-sharp pointed teeth smoothed, turning a garish mouth into something boyish.

His tail retreated next, crawling up from the earth and sinking into the base of his spine. His hair sprouted like a weed upon his head, a head that had lost its scales and was quickly losing its rough, leathery texture, becoming peach-like in complexion once again. It spread throughout his body, his scales vanishing and skin overtaking instead as he shrank once more and narrowed, becoming something just shy of lean.

Last came his eyes, the most subtle yet perhaps the most important change to happen. Their hard edge faded until there was a small, almost unnoticeable shine to their green reptilian expression, a shine of innocence, of intelligence.

Of humanity.

Though he had been awake the whole transformation, it was only now that he seemed awake and he shifted within Celestia’s gentle, tender grasp.

“You’re alive,” Spike said, amazed even as he uttered the words.

“Somehow,” she replied, her voice a quiet rasp as she took a cautious breath, a faint flash in her eyes telling him that magic was being used within her.

“The bleeding’s stopped internally. My heart’s uninjured despite everything. External bleeding’s slowed. A few fractures at my wrist, cheek and and ribs,” Celestia reported, her magic vanishing as soon as she finished her self-examination.

Spike asked the million bit question.

“How?”

“I have an idea,” Celestia replied. She glanced over him and broke away from their embrace. “But first, the others.”

That brought Spike back to the present; his eyes widened and he snapped around, sprinting towards the woman still writhing on the ground.

“Oh God, Diane,” he stammered out, putting a hand to his brow as his stomach swam with nausea as realization dawned on him what had happened—what he had done.

She was there, right where he left her. She was staring up at the ceiling but at nothing in particular, her eyes unfocused. All over her exposed skin was dirt, bruises and cuts. The blood from some was dry, others fresh.

“Are you ok?” Spike questioned, unsure what to say, what to do, how to feel—everything felt wrong in a way he’d never be able to explain.

Pinkie blinked, frowned, then blinked harder. She rolled her head to the side and stared hard at Spike for a few long seconds. Then she finally smiled, however tired it was. “Y-You came back,” she said, voice weak and raspy.

“Yeah,” he pushed aside everything that he felt needed said and instead focused on the more important things. “Can you stand? Is anything broken?”

She moved her arm over her chest. Or rather, flopped it. With her other arm, she reached up to gently cup Spike’s cheek. He could feel her hand, cold and shaking, against his cheek. “You came back…” she repeated.

“Oh God,” he muttered out once more, grabbing her and holding her tightly against him. “Oh God, Diane. I’m sorry.”

She smiled, feeling his warmth seep into her body. “It wasn’t your fault. Not really.” She coughed harshly, before adding, “S-Silly billy.”

Tears brimmed in his eyes and he held back a sob. “It was all my fault. I did this. I did this to you.”

Pinkie slowly moved her fingers across to Spike’s lips, pressing them gently. “Shuuuush. You never wanted this to happen, right?”

He shook his head. “None of this.”

Even if her smile was tired, it was her eyes that completed the picture of serenity across her face. They almost shone in the darkness, like sapphires. “Then that’s all that matters.”

Unable to really think of anything else to say, he cradled her head and nodded. “Thank you.”

“What for...?” she replied, closing her eyes and resting her head against his palms.

“Being you, I guess.” He gingerly picked her up, only stumbling slightly against her weight and moved towards the other elephant in the room.

“Loving you is like breathing. Or eating cake.” She inclined her head towards his chest. “Just… one thing. It’s important.”

They came towards Jack, who, though obviously dazed and pained, had rose to her feet with the help of Rarity. With a hand glowing with magic, Rarity brought it to Jack’s face and pressed a palm into her cheek. The woman’s magic seemed to seep into Jack’s skin and, though nothing obvious happened physically to the earth-folk, the way she seemed to loosen up, how her jaw relaxed and how her eyes seemed to focus a bit more on their surroundings suggested she had done something to suppress the woman’s pain, perhaps not as much as an actual painkiller would, but the effect was instantaneous and let her keep on her feet.

Celestia spoke first.

“Are you alright?” the all-folk questioned.

“Beat ta hell,” Jack said, her stance slouched over and an arm thrown over Rarity’s shoulder for balance. “But alive.”

Rarity gave an unsure look to Celestia. “As you are.”

Celestia slowly nodded. “As I am.”

There was a silence as the group shared a few looks between one-another, much to say, but actually saying it seemed an impossible task. Finally, Jack, never one to try and avoid social mistakes, took initiative.

“What happens now? Are ya gonna try fer the grail still?”

“Are you so against me having it that you would try and stop me again?” Celestia asked.

Jack squared her eyes to the princess. She hesitated for only a moment before there came a small narrowing of her brow.

“Yes,” she finally answered. The word without heat, no hatred oozing from it, no warning, but a simple reply, the answer to a math question. Cause and effect.

Celestia let out a derisive exhale. “Would you consider not using the seal the next time you try?”

“Seal?” Rarity and Spike repeated, nearly in unison.

“There’s a Norfolk seal around the entire room. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Otherwise what I lived through would have been impossible. Likewise, it’s part of the reason why Spike wasn’t able to end your lives.”

Jack let out a small breath of laughter, the action making her wince in pain. “Never was the best at playin’ tricks.”

Rarity looked at Jack, first surprised, then blatantly angry. She shot her hand forward, slapping Jack hard on the shoulder in indignation.

“You… you stupid fool!” Rarity snapped. “All this time and you had a suppression field up?! Why did you not tell me?”

Jack looked plainly at the woman, too hurt physically to start a fight with her.

“What if I didn’t work?”she quietly asked, gauging Rarity. “What then? Ain’t like high-end magic gets used often in the seals. I wasn’t sure it’d stop Celestia’s spells. Didn’t want ta tell ya in case somethin’ happened.”

“Don’t ever lie to me like that again,” Rarity warned, pointing a stern finger towards Jack’s face.

She shook her head in disagreement. “I didn’t lie. Lyin’ woulda been tellin’ ya everythin’ would be ok when it wasn’t. Jus’ didn’t give ya the whole story. There’s a difference.”

Rarity gave a dismissive roll of her eyes. “Whatever you may call it, do not do it again or so help me Jack Apple, I’ll...” She let the words drop, unsure how to finish. Jack gave a weak bob of her head regardless.

“Never again.”

Spike finally approached, stepping forward from the edge of the conversation. Looking towards the ground, he considered setting Pinkie down to give his muscles a rest, but pressed on as best he could.

“Are you both ok?” he questioned, looking at the two.

“Fine,” Jack said. “Hurt like a bitch, but that ain’t never stopped me before.”

“I got off the easiest. I’m just a bit flustered from the whole ordeal.” Rarity nodded in confirmation.

“Everythin’ alright… upstairs?” Jack asked, looking at the boy.

“I think so. I-I mean. I just saw Celestia down on the ground there and I lost it.”

“Probably how I’d feel if Rarity was in the same place,” Jack agreed. “Ya ain’t got nothin’ ta apologize fer.”

“There’s that,” Spike replied. “But there was also something else. I knew if Celestia was beaten, then we’d leave here without the grail.” He looked down to his bare feet and paused, realizing he was nude. He covered his member with a hand, but at the moment was too phased by what he had almost done to offer any real reaction. Instead, he continued to talk, swallowing.

“I needed it. I knew Celestia, if she had it, she’d share, one way or another. I needed it to not be a burden. To help everyone out. You guys. Diane’s family. Twila. They’re all counting on me, and all that’s happening is I’m just watching from the sidelines as they get better and better and farther out of my reach and I needed some way to catch up. Some way I could make sure that I’d be strong enough when I needed to help out. That’s why…” Tears brimmed at his eyes and he swore, wiping furiously at his eyes with his free hand. “I don’t know how I’ll ever make it up to you. I nearly got you all killed.”

“And Jack and myself nearly killed one-another,” Celestia said. “You were not the only one that made mistakes today.”

“It was that stupid vision. I hadn’t thought about this thing much until I had it.”

“Vision?” Celestia repeated.

“In the other room.”

Jack nodded, a hair stronger than before. “Yeah. I had one too. I saw all y’all were still conked out when I woke up from mine an’ ran in here ta get that sparrin’ seal up an’ oil up my sword.”

“What were your visions about?” Rarity questioned the two, a slow dawning coming to her that they may have been played like fiddles.

“That the grail would let me keep up with everyone, I guess was the short version of it,” Spike said with a shrug.

“That I couldn’t stand up ta Celestia if she really wanted the grail.” Jack spared a glance to the princess. “Guess that was kinda true. Couldn’t have done nothin’ if ya had jus’ avoided the fight.”

“You sell yourself short,” the all-folk rejected. “Considering what you’ve been able to accomplish in the past, I have no doubt in my mind you would have figured something out. I held back far less than you think during our match.” She put a hand to her chin in thought. “But, you speaking of visions does bring up a point. In mine, Tirek said I wouldn’t be willing to make the sacrifices needed to claim the grail.”

“Was he right on that front?” Rarity asked.

Celestia grew rigid, she crossed her arms below her breasts and took a long, measured moment to consider it.

“I said before… if we came back empty handed, then the lives of everyone that perished would be in vain.” Her lips pursed and she frowned. “But… would we be necessarily empty handed? We learned the grail is more of a malevolent force than we first assumed. That it serves as a tool of separation and divide, rather than the unifier I had hoped for.”

Jack nodded. “An’ that’s all it is, princess. Somethin’ that would divide the country more than someone even as good as you could repair.”

Celestia stared at the grail and the entombed man holding it, weighing her options. It seemed to pull her in, calling her to take her place as its rightful heir. Promising secrets, truths, revelations into the world. Nearly falling into temptation, Celestia jerked her gaze away, focusing on her comrades.

“Unless we’re in dire need of medical aid, I suggest we tend to our wounds outside. The sooner we leave this dismal place, the better.”

Jack let out an audible exhale, her relief at Celestia’s order evident. Though her body hurt and still slowly bled lines of crimson and her nose remained a ruined, broken mess, she still nearly had to stop herself from grinning in joy.

Spike eyed the grail, seeming to contemplate an idea, debating on making it vocal, before the gentle hand of Celestia rested at his shoulder, a wordless encouragement to let that sleeping dog lie.

He hesitated, then finally swallowed, turning towards the entrance of the large room.

Diane quickly latched onto his arm, standing by him even as she cradled her off-hand to her chest, a break or fracture obvious by the way she favored it. Celestia followed after them, limping, her breaths shallow, but still managing to carry herself with honor and grace after her decision to leave.

Rarity threw Jack’s arm over her shoulder and the two walked, following after the group.

As they entered the mouth of the tunnel once more, Jack was assaulted by a great light.

When her vision cleared, she stood in an identical place, in an identical posture, with an identical woman holding her arm. But her instinct told her that she once again was stuck within an illusion. This point was proven further when Rarity stopped as Jack did, and turned her head to face the earth-folk.

At Rarity’s throat was a gash, a wound from when Jack was within an illusion and she ran herself though Jack’s sword.

“Ended up better than ya thought it would,” Jack addressed, skipping the formalities. “Well, save fer you at least. You got hosed.” She smirked. “Yer that Tirek guy, ain’t ya?”

“Astute,” Not-Rarity remarked dryly. “Wise beyond your years.”

“Wise enough ta have my cake an’ eat it here,” Jack answered. “We’re leavin’ an’ there ain’t a damn thing you can do ‘bout it.”

“Are you so sure about that?” The odd creation tilted its head up quizzically. “Because I would not underestimate me.”

At that Jack finally laughed. A weak, pained laugh that hurt her face even within the illusion.

“If ya could do somethin’ like that, ya would have already. My guess is that Galahad fella got ya in one hell of a good trap in that crystal. All ya can do now is whisper from the shadows, whisper, even when ya wanna scream.” Her gaze was dispassionate, holding no empathy for the creature. “An’ that’s how we’ll keep ya. Hidden. Weak. Alone. Nobody’s comin’ ta help ya.”

“Others will,” the thing wearing Rarity’s skin said, a cold smile on her face. “Those swayed by power will arrive. Perhaps not today or tomorrow. But they will someday. What Galahad did will to stop me from bringing them to me will faid with time. And your children will pay the price. I’ll hunt them until my dying breath, Jack Apple.”

Jack flinched, drawing a hate-fueled chuckle from Not-Rarity.

“You’ll come to regret your decision. I guarantee it. Sombra will not leave me here.”

Though she normally had a good bullshit detector, she couldn’t tell if the creature was gloating, honest in its belief that Sombra would return to whisk him away in some sort of dark rapture, or if it was the last, desperate thrashings of a child in denial, rejecting the thought that they lost a game to another. The only thing Jack knew was that she wanted out and wanted out now from where she was.

Sucking in a breath, she brought a pair of fingers to the bridge of her nose and gripped it then, her eyes already watering from messing with it, twisted it, setting it back into place.

Instantly she left her vision and was once more in Rarity’s grip, the tailor looking to Jack with obvious alarm. Blood once more poured from Jack’s nostrils, splotching her hand in crimson.

“I could have set that when we were outside,” Rarity said.

“It’s fine,” Jack dismissed, the throbbing pain she felt welcoming in comparison to the illusion she was under, no matter how brief it had been.

They left the cave, the air still holding a chill, promising a winter that was just on the cusp of being delivered to them, and the group collectively turned to face the mouth of the cave.

Saying nothing, Rarity stepped forward and lifted up her hands, They became encased with magic and she strained, struggled against a force as sweat caked her body.

Though still unseen to Jack what Rarity was doing, it dawned on Celestia and she joined Rarity, raising her palms upwards in reverence.

At first there came only a few slow rolling pebbles that shifted and fell down the peak of the hill, enveloped in Rarity’s blue magical aura, then more took flight, tumbling down the hill and landing on the earth surrounding them. Soon, Celestia’s magic roared to life, empowering Rarity’s magic. They worked as part of a synchronized team, Celestia mirroring Rarity’s rise of her palm and lowering of the knees, their gesturing a crashing ocean upon a beach.

The whole hillside seemed to shake and there came an obvious split within the rock and stone. It felt as if the whole earth trembled under Jack’s feet as the hill collapsed, burying the cave’s entrance deep within its ruined bowels.

Satisfied with their work, Rarity and Celestia both turned away from the hill, joining up with the others, and pressed on, leaving the place as they found it: a tomb for a saint and a sinner.

Invitation

Sunlight from the window fell upon Pinkie’s face, making the drool from the corner of her mouth shine. Her limbs were sprawled all over the place, her hair a complete mess. Snores came from her mouth, in time with the rise and fall of her stomach.

Spike watched her, disgusted and amazed in a sense. He had grown up on Twila telling him stories about the brave knights like Lancelot, or the royal daughter’s father, King Arthur, how they could awaken and break curses by a simple kiss.
As Spike looked to Pinkie’s lips, then to the drool on the pillow, another thought came to him instead. Grinning, he reached over, clasping a hand over her mouth and squeezing her nostrils shut, counting down in his head from ten.

On the count of one, her eyes shot open and suddenly, she managed to push up against Spike with surprising strength. Flipping him over, she grabbed a pillow and started smacking him repeatedly, her eyes changing from genuine fear to single-minded fury as she realized what was going on.

“That’s! Not! A! Good! Wake! Up! Call!” she shouted, slamming the pillow upon Spike between every word.

“A great prank though!” he replied from the fetal position, cradling his head protectively in his hands as she rained hell down upon him.

She threw the pillow away, leaning down to his ear. She whispered softly, yet sternly, “You don’t wanna start a prank war with me, busta.”

“Afraid the young buck’ll take your stride away, grandma?” he countered, his voice low and challenging as he reached up and gave a small rub to her elbow. “Because experience’ll only get you so far.”

“Hah! You could ever only do the basic pranks, and I’d see them coming. But me?” Pinkie made a square gesture with her fingers. “I think outside the box.” her fingers parted, wiggling in the air.

“And I learned from the best,” Spike replied. “How about a… wager? Make things interesting.”

Pinkie’s eyes narrowed, giving Spike a hard, challenging gaze. “You’re so on.”

“Rules,” he started, raising a finger. “No third parties involved. One versus one here. We got one week to plan this out. And no groin hits.”

“Deal,” Diane agreed, narrowing her brow. “Winner gets what?”

“You decide.”

“Hum, okay…” Pinkie thought it over for a bit more, humming as she did so. When the thought finally came, she raised a finger, even her hair seeming to get a bit more vibrant with her. “I got it! I want breakfest in bed. For a week. ‘Cause you’re a real good cook.”

“That’s it?” Spike said, blinking. “I’d do that for you anyway, if you asked.” He scratched at his chin. “I didn’t expect yours to be so… nice, honestly. I should rethink mine.”

“While wearing a maid’s outfit,” Pinkie finished.

“A maid’s outfit…” he trailed off, looking flatly towards her. “I take it back. You’re on now.”

“A pink one,” she added, licking her lips.

“I win? I buy you some underwear. You have to wear it and nothing else when we’re alone for a week,” he countered, crossing his arms. She popped up and gave an easy shrug.

“Sure, deal,” the girl replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Can you at least act like it’s a big deal?” he complained.

“I was expecting something way worse, so you won’t hear a peep out of me!” she chirped.

“What? I could have asked for something better?”

“Too late!” Standing she stretched and looked out the window. “Let’s go, Spikie. I bet breakfast’s been on the table for a bit now!”

“Alright, alright,” Spike agreed, holding his hand to her. “Help me up.”

With another shrug, she grabbed the boy and slung him over her shoulder. She adjusted for his weight with a small grunt. “Definitely getting bigger.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Carrying you,” Pinkie answered simply.

“Why?” Spike asked, trying to wiggle free from her grip. Slumping in defeat, he sighed. “And at least make it look like it’s a challenge.”

Pinkie patted the boy’s back, then set him down carefully. “Nah. I wouldn’t embarrass you like that. We can hold hands instead or something.”

“I like that better. I swear, earth-folk sometimes,” he said, shaking his head.

“Jelly,” she snickered, reaching out with her hand.

“Until you need me to light a fire again,” Spike answered back.

The scent of scrambled eggs and sausage hit them like a sack of bricks halfway down the flight of stairs. Spike went down faster, a spring in his step.

They came to the dining room, where Rarity sat, reading over the morning paper as she sipped casually at a cup of espresso.

“Good morning, you two,” she addressed, not looking up from the article she read. “Enjoy your night?”

“We sure did!” Pinkie chirped, skipping over to her seat and plonking herself down.

“Mmm,” Rarity answered. “Well, have a seat. Jack and Mac have started their day already.”

“Doing more farm work?” Pinkie asked, starting to carve up her sausages.

“Indeed. A fenceline got ruined last night. Cattle, I swear. I can understand Jack’s want for meat every meal. It seems the only way to spite the beasts.”

“At least the best way to spite them without wasting anything!” Pinkie agreed with a sing-song tone, bringing a sausage to her mouth and swallowing it blissfully.

“Well, that and leather, I suppose.”

“I never expected you to be a leather girl,” Pinkie admitted with a coy smile. Spike paused, looking between the two.

“Is that a euphemism,” he asked, “or…?”

“Depends on if you want it to be,” Pinkie said with a grin as Rarity took a casual drink of her beverage.

“I suppose it would depend on Jack’s mood on if it were a euphemism or not,” Rarity remarked, her poker face strong in the morning as she continued her routine.

“Eupha-what?” Jack asked, right on time as she stepped through the living room and entered the dining room, the farmhouse’s front screen door fluttering shut with a quiet click. She stared down at a letter, already dismissing the group’s conversation as more pressing matters caught her eye.

“Nothing, dear,” Rarity said, taking a glance at the object Jack held. “What has you so enraptured?”

“Somethin’ kinda intrestin’. ’I, uh, probably shoulda grabbed the mail yesterday,” Jack admitted. “Glad ya two are still here fer this.” Walking towards them, she tossed the letter down onto the table, giving an encouraging nod. “Lookie right there.”
Glancing to Pinkie, then to Jack, Spike leaned forward and started to read the letter.

Jack, Rarity

I hope two are making the best of your time off together. I’m sure you’ve come up with a few ideas on what to do while Rarity is on break. (Jack, make sure she doesn’t spend all her time away from school working!)

I have an important reason to write to you, of course, so I may as well inform you—trivialities can be saved for later. You are invited to attend our first annual midharvest banquet on this upcoming Friday. Although you are not a student at Cloudsdale academy anymore, you’ve done more than enough for the school, let alone the country, that I insist you come. In addition to the festivities, there is now a pressing business matter I’d wish to discuss with you personally.

May the light guide your steps:

Celestia

Below this, in a more playful-looking cursive, she had added:

PS, bring your family! The more the merrier, after all!

“So,” Jack asked. “What y’all think?”

“A banquet? Cool!” Spike agreed. “It’s on our way back anyway. Why not go?”

“Sounds fun! Why wouldn’t we take the excuse to go to a good party. Maybe the others will be there!” Pinkie cheerfully cried, her plate now completely clean.

“Should we ask your brother and Zecora too?” Rarity asked, then added to herself. “Gracious, I have so little time to consider a dress, I suppose I can rely on the supplies in St. Charles. That should be serviceable to my needs.”

Like usual, Jack separated the wheat from the chaff in Rarity’s words, ignoring Rarity’s outspoken inner thoughts and instead gave a simple shrug to her actual question.“I doubt they’ll be game, sug.” Jack shrugged. “Ya know Mac don’t like crowds, an’ Zecora’s jus’ ‘bout the same. I’ll ask ‘em after we take care-a some business ‘round here, though.”

“If they don’t wanna go, we can bring them something back,” Pinkie suggested, wiping her mouth and fingers with a napkin.

“I do know someone who’d love to join us, though,” Rarity remarked, finally putting her paper down and finishing up her drink. “Bloom.”

“Well…” Jack rubbed at her chin. “‘Long as it ain’t a, uh, grown up party or nothin’. Can’t see the harm.”

“It’ll be grown up but not in the kinda way you’re worrying about,” Pinkie said. “Not like there’ll be people downing whole kegs everywhere or anything.”

“I guess. I’ll jus’ keep an eye on her there.” She nodded, as if that settled the matter, then sat down at the table. “So, what were ya talkin’ ‘bout ‘fore I came in with the big news?”

“About how great and tasty this breakfast is!” Pinkie quickly said, pulling Spike close. “Ain’t that right, Spikey?”

Spike gave a nervous laugh, looking at all three of them while he did. Jack took of her hat and scratched at her blonde locks, the third wheel in this case.

“It ain’t too bad. Was gonna have some rolls with it, but I took them outta the oven too soon an was in such a rush ta get goin’, I forgot ta put ‘em back in.” Jack gave a small chuckle of her own, shaking her head.

Pinkie stood up, walking around to the back of Spike and throwing her arms over him. “C’mon Spike. We oughta get ready for the day, huh?”

“Yeah, totally,” Spike agreed with a nod. “Let’s go, girl.”

Pinkie still had her arms over him while they all saw the train coming into the station. The lumbering vehicle slowly came to a stop, puffing out bursts of hot steam. The train finally eased up and let out a loud hiss, before the doors opened and passengers got off.

“That’ll be you one day,” Pinkie said, inclining Spike’s head towards the steam from the train.

“What? Steam?” he asked, not understanding. “I can already do that, Pinkie. I just need a glass of water when I breath fire.”

“Not as big as that though, I bet,” she cooed, swinging gently around with Spike.

“Well… maybe if we got a kiddy pool or a lake I could show you how it’s done,” he boasted, smugly grinning.

Jack shuffled onto the train’s platform, her arms overwhelmed with bags. “Am I near the door?” she asked, struggling to see around her burden.

“You’re thereabouts, darling!” Rarity chimed in from behind, a single purse in her arms. She looked at Jack, then glanced at her side. “Left.”

“Ya know, ya could be doin’ a lil' bit-a this,” the farmer remarked crossly, glancing behind her.

“I could,” Rarity agreed, reaching into her purse and casually applying lipstick, looking at her reflection in a compacted mirror.

Jack stared at her for a moment longer before returning to the task at hand, grumbling under her breath.

Rarity joined Spike and Pinkie on the platform and grinned as she watched Jack through the train’s windows. As the earth-folk picked up a bag, a small violet glow came to Rarity’s hand and Jack yelped, toppling over in surprise as an aura swallowed the bag, levitating It up and out of sight. Jack glared at Rarity and the soul-folk replied with an innocent of grin as she could muster and a dainty wave.

“Tormenting her does not get old,” the tailor chuckled in a deep-throated laugh, smiling fondly at Jack.

“You’re such a tease sometimes,” Pinkie remarked. “And she never really gets you back, does she?”

“Her retribution tends to happen far less often than my instigation. But I wouldn’t say she nevergets back at me.” Rarity shook her head. “She collected hair from a brush of mine once and put it on my pillow. When I woke up, she was there with a pair of scissors, and had all but convinced me she had cut it while I slept, rightbefore an important client meeting.”

“Ooooo, that’s good,” Pinkie replied, laughing to herself. “Tricky, but no real bad consequences either; a perfect prank.” Her eyes lingered down to Spike, a faint grin forming across her face.

“No copycats,” he instantly replied, not bothering to meet her gaze.

Jack peeked out of the train’s door. “Got yer bags, yer majesty.”

“Wonderful, dear!” Rarity replied in sing-song, stepping towards the farmer and standing on her toes, giving a small peck to Jack’s cheek. She turned toward Spike and Pinkie. “Are you both about ready too?”

“I’ve been ready since Jack booked the ticket,” Spike answered.

“Great minds think alike,” Jack drawled out.

“I’m sitting by the window!” Pinkie loudly announced, brushing past Jack and sitting herself in the booth nearest to them. She waved to Spike and Rarity through the glass.

Rarity shrugged at the two, before she stepped past Jack. “Well, I think I might take a window myself,”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Jack answered with a wave of her hand. “Go an’ grab it, I jus’ gotta tell Spike somethin’.”

She watched Rarity go, then gave the boy a point to the window. “Watch this.”

Rarity paused as she went into the train and noted that Jack had forgot to put up one of her bags. Sighing, she gave it a hoist up over her shoulder only to have it unlatch, spilling dozens of pairs of panties, tops, and swimsuits onto the floor, to the bemusement of the few people riding.

The farmer strode in as Rarity stood in the center of the aisle, her jaw open and unbelieving. Grinning, she gave a small peck on the cheek to the stunned woman. “Well, didn’t know that was yer unmentionables. Sorry ‘bout that at least.”

Pinkie bent down, picking up one of the panties—one with expensive looking frills. She give it an experimental tug at the sides, noting curiously, “They’re bigger than I expected. Huh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rarity asked, her face so red it might as well be burning. She crouched down, scrambling for the others and after a beat, Jack squatted down and helped her search for them.

“Dunno! Maybe you’ve been working out! Twila told me muscle weighs more than fat,” Pinkie told them, her tone almost sickeningly innocent. “Jack would know better than me.”

The farmer paused. “That’s, uh…”

Rarity looked up at Jack. “Why are you considering your words here, dear?”

“It’s jus’ a loaded question. Either way’s bad. ‘Sides,” she added sheepishly. “Ya know I don’t like talkin’ ‘bout yer… things an’ stuff.”

"You don't like talking about them, but seem enthralled on showing them," she snapped, taking the underwear from Pinkie and cramming it back into the suitcase.

"Like I said, thought it was yer dresses, cut me a break here."

“Besides, you look fine, Rarity,” Pinkie said, waving a hand down. “You’re the curviest and slimmest out of anyone on this train, I bet. We’re just poking a li’l fun.”

She still glanced at her, before scoffing. “I blame Apple family meals. Even though I work out far more—”

“Ya ain’t fat,” Jack spoke up seriously. “I’d never think yer fat.”

Rarity said nothing, the words doing at least a little in calming down her temper. Finally, she rose, stuffing the last of her unmentionables and snapping the case shut.

“You’re sweet, for it being all your fault.”

“If that ain’t the best of both worlds, I ain’t sure what is,” Jack drawled out.

The group came to St. Charles as dusk was falling. Pinkie almost popped out of the train before it had even came to a complete stop, held in check only by Spike’s frantic grabbing. When it came in the station proper, the group spilled out in pairs, Pinkie and Spike leading the way in a way only Pinkie could do, Jack and Rarity bring up the rear.

“So, how bad ya reckon the girls trashed the place?” Jack asked.

“Surely it won’t be that bad, Jack. They’ve been alone this long before with no issue.”

“Alright. Jus’ don’t freak out if there’s a bit of clutter or somethin’.”

Rarity chuckled. “Oh, Jack,” she said, giving a joking slap of the earth-folk’s arm. “After all this time with your family, how much worse can it get?”

“How did you get a cake stuck on the ceiling?!” Rarity wailed, putting her hands to her cheeks in shock. An adolescent girl with crimson hair kicked the ground in embarrassment.

“W-well, it kinda blew up when I took it out of the oven—but we cleaned up the floor!”

“An’ what about the walls?” Jack asked dryly, glaring over her shoulder at her younger sister as she attempted to scrub off burnt cake bits from the wall.

The crimson-haired pre-teen threw her hands out. “That was Scootaloo’s job!”

“Bloom—”

“But it was!”

Scootaloo, or, Louanne as her actual name went, brushed her short-cropped purple hair back and pointed at Bloom. “Nuh-uh! I said I’d clean the living room! You said you’d take care of the cake mess!”

They paused their argument, each looking over to the third girl of the group.

“I dunno. You just told me to throw away the magazines,” the third girl, Stephanie, squeaked out.

“Magazines?” Jack repeated. Bloom quickly waved her hands.

“N-nothin’!” Bloom quickly called out. She pointed back to the ceiling. “How we gonna get this stuff off?”

“Might need a damn knife ta scrape it,” Jack grumbled.

Rarity rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You girls work on it. Jack and myself need to get dressed for the party.”

“Are we comin’ too?” Bloom asked.

Jack looked towards Rarity, who nodded.

“Get the mess cleaned up an’ ya can,” Jack offered.

The trio’s eyes sparked to life and they quickly went to work scrubbing the walls and floors.

Hiding her smile, Jack left the kitchen and followed Rarity upstairs.

“I swear. It’s my own fault for giving them a chance,” Rarity exclaimed, throwing her arms out as she moved through the upstairs living room. Jack gave a small run of her finger over the piano there, briefly hit with nostalgia. She had spent quite some time here talking with Rarity, listening to blues, and, on long days, sleeping on the couch. Reaching over, she gave a small shove to the soul-folk’s shoulder.

“Ya know, this won’t be even half as bad as some of the stuff our kid will get inta,” Jack joked. Rarity smiled at Jack’s words only briefly, before returning to her dignified act, tilting her nose up at the very notion.

“I would raise him or her into a gentleman or a proper lady. None of this tomfoolery.”

Jack’s grin turned devious. “In that case I’d work twice as hard ta make him a lil’ hellion.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Laughing, Jack moved to Rarity’s bedroom. Or, rather, Rarity’s former bedroom. The room was a storage room now, filled to the brim with dresses, suits and cloth of all shapes and sizes; meanwhile, her former workroom became a bedroom for Spike when he minded the shop.

Sauntering over to a suit, Rarity picked it up, rubbing her fingers against the material.

“Hmm… yes. This should do nicely tonight.”

Jack moved towards it and nodded. “Gray ain’t my color usually, but I reckon it’ll work right with a bit of yer magic.” She paused. “Ya know, metaphorical talkin’, not…”

“I actually thought I’d wear a suit tonight, dear,” Rarity replied.

“Can’t blame ya. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress if…” She noticed Rarity’s expression and froze.

“Nope. Nope. Ain’t doin’ it,” Jack dismissed, shaking her head quickly in disagreement.

“Are you sure about that?” Rarity questioned.

“Absolutely.”

“Even after you exposed my clothes to everyone on the train?”

“Ya ain’t gonna hold that one against me, are ya?”

She stared, crossing her arms and saying nothing.

Jack shook her head. “It was an accident. I didn’t know that was yer… ya know.”

Rarity was the embodiment of stone, not moving from her position, her expression remaining much the same.

“Are ya honestly gona keep lookin’ at me like that until I give in?”

Her response was a brick wall. Finally, Jack raised her hands up and let them fall.

“Fine, alright. I give up, ya win.”

Rarity’s expression did an instant turnabout. Her smile was warm and she winked at the farmer.

“Still have it in spades,” the tailor said to herself.

“Shoulda jus’ walked away. Let ya stay like that fer a few hours,” Jack mumbled.

“Hindsight, darling,” Rarity said, reaching to her collection of clothes on hangers and instantly grabbing an emerald green dress, as if she had planned for all of this.

“An’ the kids are wearin’ what?”

“I’ll lay out a few things.” she said, already gesturing across the room like a maestro conducting an opera. Magic pulled at Jack’s hair, twirling and wrapping it into a loose braid while makeup was applied lightly across the scar on her face.

Without preamble, Rarity shut the door and stripped down, throwing her things into a neat pile on the counter as Jack did much the same, tossing her underwear and shirt to the ground.

“Yer birthday suit may be my favorite ensemble of yers,” Jack said with a grin, looking over at her wife’s pure skin. Seeing she had Jack’s attention, Rarity gave a small sashay of her bare hips towards the farmer, the action making Jack swallow.

“See? You’re learning regarding flirting. I’m proud of you.”

“That a sarcastic proud?” Jack asked, unsure.

“I’m sure a less experienced woman would be swooning.” She donned her suit, adjusting the cufflinks as she did so, then took to changing her hair in a vanity mirror.

Jack blinked. “That, uh, still didn’t answer my question.” Looking to the dress she shimmied it on and paused. “Dang it, Rare.”

“Hmm?” Rarity asked, not looking away from the mirror as she donned her earrings.

“It’s got one hell of a neckline ta it,” Jack said, gesturing to the deep cleavage of breasts.

“It’s a feature I like flaunting on you,” she answered. “They make your body seem softer when exposed and draw attention from your lack of hips—no offense intended.”

“Hell, it’s the truth, I guess. Won’t take that one personally.”

“Good. I did not mean it personally. We all have different shapes and sizes, after all. Why, imagine if Spike didn’t wear clothing that lengthened him? Or I wore something that did not shrink my own hips.”

“You’d look fine,” Jack defended. She walked towards the woman and put her hands around Rarity’s waist. “Like I said; I like yer birthday suit.”

The soul-folk paused from her attempts at cleaning up and rested a palm on top of her wife’s, taking to rubbing it with her palm.

“You’re sweet. That’s much better than simply being a good flirt.”

Jack held her position as Rarity gave another adjustment to her hair. Finally, Jack let go and took a few steps around the room.

“Miss it?” she asked, giving a small gesture around her.

“At times. But I believe I bet on the winning horse.”

“So I’m a horse now?” Jack smirked.

“Well, to be frank, the times I’ve rode you like a pony sa—”

“Oh hush,” Jack interrupted, pointing a palm towards Rarity’s mouth.

They finished dressing and Jack reluctantly slipped into a set of shoes that complimented the dress more than her boots. After giving the ok to the girls design and Rarity doing her best to hold her tongue regarding Pinkie’s borderline garish ensemble, they were off, walking down the lazy town’s main road.

“Can’t believe there ain’t a carriage in sight,” Jack said, giving a look down the rows of stores to confirm her complaint.

“Not surprising. I have the feeling they’ve been shuttling people all throughout the day. We’re simply running a hair late,” Rarity remarked. With a wave of a magic-coated hand, she made a compact mirror appear in her palm and gave one more meticulous tug at her hair, nodding in approval at the sweeping side brush she had done on it.

Jack looked behind her to Pinkie. “Yer lookin’...” She paused, noting the dresses cut-off shoulders, knee-high socks and, lastly, a pair of pink dance shoes. “Interesting. That’s the word I’ll go with here.”

“You like it, huh?” Pinkie asked, doing a little twirl. “I think it makes me stand out more. Makes me unique!” She looked over her shoulder at her smaller date. “Right, Spike?”

“It’s you,” he agreed with a nod, shuffling forward in a well-pressed suit and a cane. He gave a tip of his fedora towards Jack. “Classy but sassy.”

“Lucky. I’m dressed up like some doll…” Stephanie mumbled, walking behind Spike and Pinkie with her two friends. Stephanie herself was dressed in a flowing white and lilac dress, sparkles nearly everywhere on it. A violet bowtie was also in her hair, which was flowing and looked remarkably well kept.

Bloom put a considering hand to her chin, taking in the girl and humming. “Ya know, ya do look a lot like one I used ta own. Sally-Sue.” She gave a gentle pull to the girl’s light-pink and lavender hair. “Tho’ her hair was more like Louanne’s.” Tilting her head, her own bow slid in her sea of red. “Good thing I jus’ happened ta have a spare pair of overalls Jack gave the ok on! Dresses ain’t exactly my, uh...” She gave a hum of thought, trying to think of a good word to use.

“It’s okay to say dresses are kinda lame, y’know,” Louanne said, adjusting the aviator goggles on her head. The most casual of the group, she wore an orange shirt, a brown leather jacket, jeans and white trainers.

“They ain’t lame. Jus’ people can’t wear ‘em sometimes,” Bloom countered. “Rarity wears ‘em good. Granny looked kinda odd without ‘em. But ya put Jack in a dress an’ it looks weird.”

Pausing, she glanced over to Jack and Rarity. On seeing neither of them react, she let out a breath of relief. “If it helps ya any, Steph, Sally-Sue was my favorite doll when I was a kid.”

“But I’m not a doll…” Stephanie protested. “And this thing isn’t enough to keep the cold away.” She eyed Louanne’s jacket with envy.

“It ain’t even cold out here!” Bloom exclaimed, lifting her arms up and turning towards the two, walking backwards. “Downright nice.”

“I think it feels cold at least,” Stephanie argued, rubbing her bare arms.

“Heck, jus’ use yer magic ta get warmer then,” she countered. “‘Cause I ain’t lettin’ ya have my shirt or nothin’.”

“I’m not that good at my magic yet,” Stephanie said, pointing at the off-color patch of skin on her cheek. Some day she’d have a mark just as vivid as Rarity’s and she’d learn proper control of her magic. But until then... “Scoots, can I borrow your jacket?”

“Nah nah,” Louanne said off-handedly. “How am I supposed to look cool without it?”

Spike smiled, staring ahead.

“Someone seems super-duper happy tonight!” Pinkie chimed in. He looked to her, nodding.

“It’ll be nice seeing Twila again,” he admitted. “I like spending time with you guys, but…”

“Sometimes family’s great too! Gotta enjoy all the company you can get.”

A loud rush of air blew past them; Jack snapped her head up, seeing a pair of massive feathered wings blow past them and skim over the top of the town’s bakery.

“It’s alright,” Rarity said quietly. Jack didn’t even know she had tensed up her muscles, gone into an automatic flight-or-fight mode from the startle. She sighed, letting her fists unclench, letting the instincts that drove her around when she was off the farm die down and retreat to the back of her mind. Rarity looped her arm around Jack’s as they continued their walk.

They came to the school, late, but not enough to worry about it. ‘Fashionably late,’ as Rarity might say. As they entered the courtyard the three youngest out of them shot forward past Jack and Rarity, rushing towards a collection of women standing around the steps leading into the academy proper. Giggling, Pinkie grabbed Spike by the wrist and did much the same to Spike’s complaint; he held onto his hat for all it was worth as she dragged the dragon-blood behind her.

“Reminds me a bit of a child and a doll,” Rarity quietly joked to her partner. Jack let out a chuckle at this, wiping a thumb across her nose.

They approached the group of women and Jack did a quick glance over them, doing a headcount in a way, making sure none of her friends were absent and unaccounted for. She spotted Twila, a soul-folk standing towards the back, Chylene, a timid sky-folk that seemed content talking with Gilda, a griffon-folk that could give Dash's mouth a run for its money, and, closest to them Dash, the short woman like usual holding a confident stance as she spoke to the others; Rarity, meanwhile, did a count of her own, pleased to see the dresses the women wore were mostly from her own hands, one fitting Chylene’s conservative personality, one on Twila, shimmering and sleek enough to outdo a royal tailor, Dash in a dress to suggest more at the chest than she really had and Gilda wearing one Rarity knew she had designed for Chylene. It was probably an innocent enough explanation, but Rarity narrowed her brow when she looked at the griffon-folk all the same, though chose not to vocalize her displeasure this time.

“Howdy, y'all,” Jack drawled out, putting a hand to her hip and sauntering over.

“About damn time,” Dash called out once they had covered some distance and came towards the stairs leading to the school doors. “Thought you guys might of backed out or something.”

“I was tempted when I heard yer ass was gonna be ‘round,” Jack answered. After a beat, she held her fist out, smacking it against Dash’s. “Good seein’ ya outside-a work.”

“You’re telling me,” she agreed. Dash gave a quick rise of her chin towards Rarity. “Sup?”

“Oh, nothing, dear. Work, be it tailoring or schmoozing clientele, and a home-life take up most of my time,” Rarity answered, giving a small bow and adjusting one of the buttons on her suit.

“I know work,” Dash agreed. “Sorry I haven’t made it to your guys’s house yet, been doing everything in my totally awesome power to get some time, but…”

“Maybe if ya take away some of yer naps, an’ stop goin’ on lil’ vacations, ya might have time. Jus’ throwin’ that out there,” Jack said, putting a hand on her hip and turning to Rarity. “I tell ya what she did when I went ta the coast with Will? After we took care-a some gnolls, she takes a four-day vacation ta soak up the sun on the beach!”

Rarity turned her attention away from Jack’s socializing and approached Twila. “Good evening, darling!” she chimed out. A loud cry of “Dashiiie!’ from Pinkie rang out behind her but she chose to ignore it, and also chose to ignore the sound of something—Pinkie, Dash or both—hitting the ground.

“Evening, Rarity,” Twila addressed with a curtsey. Rarity replied with a bow. Twila looked to the soul-folk. “A suit?”

“Yes. I felt it would be a nice change of pace. Normally during these events I instantly plunge into a dress—meaning wearing a suit to counter my normal routine shakes up my design and will cause even more heads to turn when I walk into the ballroom!”

“Same reason Jack’s wearing a dress?” Twila asked.

“That’s… more in line with vengeance, really,” Rarity said, giving a small glance away and shuffling on her feet.

Spike inadvertently saved her from further questioning when he began approaching the two.

“Spike!” Twila cried as she finally noticed him. She gave a few quick steps towards him then paused, noticing his attire.

“What are you wearing?” she asked, raising a brow.

“It’s a dance, isn’t it?” After a beat, he looked at everyone else’s more casual dress and sighed. “Rarity said it made me look stylish, at least...”

“Of course it was Rarity.” Twila smirked, stepping forward to hug the young man. “Not even you are so…” She whispered the next word into his ear, “Tacky.”

“It is not!” he replied with a gasp, his hat nearly popping off his head. “Rarity wouldn’t put me in something for a joke!”

“She might of if I mentioned it on the train while you were sleeping!” Pinkie chimed in. “But it’s fine. I think he looks handsome andcute,” the earth-folk said, taking Spike’s hat from him and placing it on her own head.

“I was hoping for ‘stylish,’ but I’ll take cute at this point,” the boy grumbled.

Louanne pointed at one of the party-goers. “I wanna know who the Rainbow-haired girl is,” she said, all her attention on Dash.

“Ya heard ‘bout her all the time from Jack. She’s that buddy she goes on adventures with!” Bloom exclaimed. “The sky-folk girl.”

“That’s her?” Louanne took in a deep breath and slicked back her hair. “Okay, time to play it cool…” She took slow precise and careful steps towards Dash, then paused. Swallowing nervously, she turned, moving back towards her friends. “On second thought, it can wait.”

Twila spoke over the noise of the girls mingling. “Well then,” Twila announced, looking around to everyone. “Now that we're all here, how about we get inside?”

“Ya always were the smart one outta the group. Lead the way,” Jack agreed. The farmer paused, spotting Gilda. The griffon-folk was still looking towards the sky and Jack approached, stopping to talk to her as the others trickled inside.

Twila walked through the main entryway with the others right behind her, brushing past dozens of other attendees. She looked over at the boy alongside her.

“So, you did miss me, right?” Twila asked with a small smile.

“Of course,” Spike agreed, reaching over to give a squeeze of her arm. “How’s work been going?”

Twila let out a little resigned groan. “It goes. And that’s it. Despite my new position, I never actually feel valued. Maybe I’m being selfish, but when you compare me to Celestia or Luna… I’m not much.”

“They’ve had years and years of practice at this. It’ll come with time, don’t think too hard about it, just do the best you can.” He turned to face her fully, moving around a man walking past them. “Besides, I’m sure Celestia’s been impressed with you.”

“I don’t doubt that. Yet it feels like it’s all too early for this. I’m still studying, for one,” she said. “And you might assume that would be why I haven’t been tasked to do as much but if that were the case, why give me the position now?” She frowned, a familiar expression to Spike. “I don’t understand. Then again, does Celestia ever expect me to until the very end?”

“Maybe that’s part of being a good teacher?” Spike replied with an unsure shrug. “If Celestia explained everything right off the bat, how would that teach you to think for yourself?” He glanced at her again. “She trusts you completely. That’s something very few people can say about others, I’m pretty sure.”

“I know I’m meant to learn things, Spike. That’s just the natural progression of any student. But I didn’t think it’d make me feel so inept…” She gently held Spike’s hand, looking at him with a sisterly warmness.

Spike gave his hand a small clench, smiling reassuringly at her. “You’re not inept. I’ve never seen a more competent person in my life. I’m not brown-nosing here. If anyone were to replace the sisters as the leader of Cabello, I’d want you to.”

Twila brushed aside her hair. “This is why I missed you; Chylene, Jack, Gilda… they’re great friends, but none of them could ever get me on the right level, like you can.”

“Well, they can only do so much compared to a perfect specimen like myself,” he boasted, smugly grinning up at her. After a beat, Spike gave her a small run of his finger over her dress. “You look good, by the way.”

“Thanks.” She grinned, flicking the tip of the cane Spike held. “You look classy.”

He raised a brow. “Classy enough to have a dance with the prettiest girl I know lined up. What about you?”

Twila blinked a few times, looking down at him. “What? Dating?”

“Maybe dating, eventually. But I’m sure there’s someone here tonight that will want to at least dance with you.”

“Because they want to dance with me or just a Princess?” Twila said, a somewhat bitter tone in her words.

“I don’t think she’d care about the title,” Spike said flatly. After a beat, he smiled slightly. “You still haven’t figured it out?”

“What? I haven’t received any mysterious love letters, or anything that usually happens before any sort of courting…” Twila murmured.

“Well, she might not approach you about it. You’ll need to approach her. Pretending you have no idea what I’m talking about isn’t gonna make me drop it.”

Twila looked behind her, taking stocks of all her friends. After a few moments of looking away, trying not to act suspicious, she glanced back to Spike. “Gilda…?”

“Twila…”

“Dash. Has to be. But she’s embarrassed about it so she plays the tough girl act,” she hypothesized.

“It’s about who you like, Twila. That’s what we’re talking about here. Come on. Drop the act already,” Spike said, a hint of irritation at his voice.

Twila sighed, slumping her shoulders in defeat. “Truth be told, Spike, I haven’t thought about anybody like that. Ever.”

“Don’t lie to me. That’s bullshit,” he said, finally letting a spark of anger get out. “Did I lie to you when I said Pinkie was interesting? Who gave me a shove and an introduction line—which completely flopped, by the way?”

“I did. But that’s—” She stopped herself. “No, it’s not too different. I am, though. I’ve just never worked up the courage to take the next step.” As they headed to the school’s doors, she shot Spike an annoyed glance. “And no, it won’t be happening tonight. Also,” she smacked him lightly upside the head, “don’t swear.”

“Don’t lie to me, then. You know that makes me mad,” he answered, rubbing where she slapped him. “And why not tonight?”

“Because, you see…” She sighed again, pushing through the doors. “I don’t have a reason, okay? I only need some time to collect myself better. Plus I’d rather enjoy time with my friends, as opposed to worrying about things like that.”

“What’s to worry about? It’s just a dance. It’s a way to test the water without getting soaked—Pinkie said something like that when we first started being a couple. And it makes sense, doesn’t it?” He glanced towards the woman in question, then back to Twila. “Advice from Pinkie making sense. It doesn’t happen often, that means it must be gold.”

“She’s a lot smarter than she lets on; she just goes along a different thought process than me or you. You should know that better than I do,” Twila retorted.

“That doesn’t change what I said. When we’re on the same wave-length, the advice is gold.” He gave a tug at her dress as they approached the doors leading to the auditorium. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” she quickly exclaimed. “Why wouldn’t I? I've known you for most of my life.”

“Then trust me when I say if you don’t do it tonight, you’ll regret it. It’s an opportunity that doesn’t happen often. Not like you can dance with her at those Camelot balls, with all those nobles around, can you?” He grabbed the door’s handle, clutching it. “Just… for me? Give it a try. You know I want to see you, uh, you know…”

“I know, Spike.” She went down and quickly hugged the young man, before he could open the door. “Thank you. I mean it.”

“Thank me on the dance floor once things die down a bit,” he replied with a grin, pushing the door open.

Reward

The captain was on guard, pacing near the outskirts of Lobole by the time they returned to town. He caught a glance of the two then, recognizing them, snapped away from his pacing to quickly approach them.

“Jack,” the captain addressed with a stiff bow, the fading light of dusk doing well to hide his face from them. “I hope good news.”

Saying nothing, Jack instead reached into a pocket, producing a wrinkled, off-color ear resembling that of a basset hound’s.

“Figured my word wasn’t enough ta convince ya that ya ain’t gotta worry ‘bout the town now.”

He looked over the ear. “No dog’s ear, that’s for sure.” For the first time since Jack and Rarity had met him, he offered something not resembling a smile, but at least a lighter expression than he held earlier. “So you mean to tell me you took care of…?”

“The problem’s solved.” Jack rubbed at her neck. “Thing was a bastard, but we managed.”

“It’s a good thing that there was at least one soul-folk still in the area and willing to give a hand,” Rarity remarked, her tongue a sharp dagger as she looked with contempt at the man. Jack said nothing, both in agreement with Rarity, but understanding in a sense why the captain had the soul-folk in the community leave.

Rarity noticed Jack’s silence and gestured to the captain with exasperation. “Can you believe this?”

“Can an’ can’t,” Jack answered, sizing him up. “Can believe it was a thought, cuttin off a branch ‘fore it infects the whole tree. But was it the right call?” She shook her head. “Don’t think so. Ya don’t even give people a chance ta set things right, jus’ decide fer ‘em on what ta do? That’s horseshit, no matter what goes down.” Gesturing to the sky, Jack paused for a beat, before adding, “ya make sure a bird ain’t never had ta worry ‘bout crashin’ or fallin’ out his next, odds are he ain’t gonna learn how ta flap his wings.”

Captain Daniels took the words in stride, never really breaking his indifferent expression despite the two women. Right when Jack accused him of not listening, he spoke.

“The needs of the many outweigh the few. It was either send a few troubled soul-folk packing, or I risk one of them being a soul-folk with only the worst plans in mind—need I remind you that we thought this was a necromancy issue, rather than an independent creature?” He met Jack and Rarity’s gaze without flinching. “I did what I could with what information I had. Don’t act righteous because I valued the safety of the town over some witches.”

Jack considered adding more, escalating the conversation into an argument, but she instead relented. She was sore, Rarity was hurt, and if they were going to be traveling soon, they were going to need all the rest they could get beforehand.

Seeming to take the pair’s silence as a cue, the captain took the beast’s ear and pocketed it.

“I’ll return with your monetary reward in a few hours. I’ll meet you back at the inn.”

Seeing the conversation had come to an end, Jack simply nodded and the two headed to their room, where, as soon as the door shut, Rarity instantly took to assessing the damage she had sustained.

“My poor top,” Rarity whined as she looked over the tattered remains of its back. Jack looked plainly at her, the earth-folk already throwing her gauntlets and pauldrons in a heap on the floor.

“I’d worry more about yer skin,” she replied, finally free of the weight of her sword and breastplate for the time being. As she took to giving a fan of her plaid shirt, trying to cool a bit from the armor, she added, “next time, we’re gettin’ ya somethin’ stronger than jus’ a damn shirt. Magic armor ain’t gonna mean nothin’ if ya can’t keep yer concentration up ta use it.”

Rarity offered something of a glare towards the earth-folk. “Well, excuse me if my focus was elsewhere. I was more concerned of your well-being. Not all of us can simply stop thinking and swing a sword around.”

Jack regarded Rarity cautiously, moving to the room’s bed as she changed from leather leggings and back into the bliss that was her jeans.

“Rare. I have ta do that. Don’t ya get it?”

“What I get is that you have a death wish, I saw what you did against the wendigo. You didn’t even try to move away.”

“Because it was either take my chances, or stall him out an’ wait fer somethin’ even worse ta come our way when you were hurt an’ I was tired. Saw our best chance an’ took it.” Jack gave an exasperated sigh, now laying on the bed and shutting her eyes for a scant second. “I know yer frustrated, still coolin’ down after all-a that. But don’t act like I’m reckless.”

Rarity scowled as she changed into fresh shirt and slacks. “Do not act like you know what I’m thinking, Jack.”

The earth-folk’s face twitched in irritation. Seeing that Rarity wasn’t willing to let the sleeping dog lie, she opened her eyes and sat up.

“Know what?” the earth-folk crossed her legs. “Maybe yer right. What are ya thinkin’?”

“That this feels like a fool’s errand.” Hesitating for only a moment, Rarity moved across the room to sit down on the bed. “The way the captain acted, as if this were a simple business deal, even though we both nearly died to help a group of strangers. The fact we’re both so far from home, you especially. The fact that we’re doing something for Celestia I have qualms with, and I am starting to believe you are as well. And, perhaps, because you’re so damn nonchalant about this. Like you’re a soldier following orders. It’s like we’re…” She brought her hands up, cupping an invisible object. “Cogs, I suppose.”

Jack gave a small, understanding nod at this. “I don’t like this either—”

“Then why are we doing this?” Rarity interrupted. “Why can we not simply be who we are? Why can I not focus on becoming crem dela crem of the fashion industry, why can you not simply be content farming?”

Jack leaned forward a bit, resting her elbows on her knees. “That is who we are,” she argued. “I ain’t some soldier, some… hunter, doin’ this fer glory or money. An’ I know yer sure as hell not some thrill-seeker. Yer… yer a woman worried ‘bout her wife. An’ we can’t jus’ leave well enough alone, is why. Neither of us are like that, I don’t think. Yer a perfectionist, I’m jus’ an idiot. We see somethin’, someone that needs a hand, well, we jus’ throw ourselves on it. Part of the reason I love ya, knowin’ that ya may complain ‘bout it, but when it comes down to it, you’d do anythin’ ta help anyone.”

That seemed to appease her. She visibly relaxed a hair at Jack’s words. “And that’s what landed us in this damnable place,” Rarity said with a scoff. “We really need to learn how to be more selfish.”

“First thing I’ll try ta pick up when we’re back.” She offered a glance the woman’s way. “Are we good?”

The soul-folk gave a slow, tired nod. “For now. I’m not so petty to pin the blame completely on you that we’re out here, after all.”

“Well, when the leader of Cabello says she needs ya, yer usually expected ta jump. I’d be jus’ as happy back home.”

“Mmm.” Rarity grew quiet, seeming to go within herself. Jack noticed this and turned on the bed to directly face her.

“What?”

“Celestia. She’s…”

Jack waited, Rarity looked towards the closed door, then back to the farmer.

“There’s still the possibility that this is a terrible mistake, isn’t there? I know it, you know it. How can the others not understand?”

The earth-folk considered Rarity’s words for a moment before she herself sighed. “Maybe they know something we don’t. Spike’s known her for years and Diane…”

Rarity gave a roll of her eyes that held some good natured humor within them. “Diane is Diane.”

“Diane is Diane,” Jack agreed.

“What should we do?” Rarity finally asked.

Jack let a sardonic laugh out. “The hell can we do? If Celestia’s really wantin’ this, then…”

“Then we’ll reason with her. Not in town, but while we’re traveling. If we confront her on the matter with tact and understanding and, most importantly, in private, then surely she’ll understand. The princess is nothing but that, after all.”

“An’ if it doesn’t work?”

Pursing her lips, Rarity finally looked a bit defeated. “Then, for better or worse, we’ll know we tried.” She seemed to want to add more but paused, putting her hand to her head as she looked towards the fireplace.

“What?” Jack asked. “Jus’ spit it out. I know that look.”

“That creature… Before it attacked, it—it showed me things.”

“Things?” the farmer repeated, looking with obvious concern at Rarity.

“Yes. Vile, awful things. Illusion, scenes playing within my mind and I…” She looked down at her hands, she was gripping her index finger so tight it was turning white. Forcing herself to relax, she sighed. “I’ve only now started to think of them. Earlier I hurt enough that I did not have time to reflect on it. I think of what it forced me to see, even worse, what it forced me to do to you and… and…” For a moment it looked as if she was going to cry, but instead her eyes narrowed and she scowled, practically taking priority over emotions for the moment. “Could I have anything residual from the wendigo?”

“Possible. Lotta soul-folk are targets fer monsters that need ta repopulate.”

Rarity’s mouth opened and shut in shock. “That’s disgusting.”

“Not like animals or people do, sug. I didn’t even see any sorta equipment on the wendigo. If ya know what—”

“Yes. I do,” Rarity irritably interrupted. “Then how do they repopulate?”

“Corruptin’ a mind, drainin’ magic, hypnosis, stuff like that. Change a person inta one-a them, sorta.”

“So it was trying to…”

The earth-folk quickly jumped in, giving a vigorous shake of her head. “Don’t think about it. It didn’t. Yer fine, hon.”

She stiffened up and she looked sternly at Jack. “How do you know?”

Jack reached forward, putting a hand to the soul-folk’s face. “Because I know ya. I look at ya an’ I know nothin’ in ya has changed. Nothin’. So don’t think ‘bout it.”

“Jack…”

“Like ya said, there might be some, uh, residual effects, but that jus’ means a few nightmares at best. You’ll be fine, promise.”

Rarity was about to reply when there came a knock at the door.

Pinkie poked her head in, examining the two. When she saw that they were still relatively healthy, she grinned.

“You guys need to come downstairs for a second!” she said.

Sharing a glance to one-another, they followed after the plucky girl.

As soon as they reached the overhang above the inn’s bar, the two paused amidst a loud cheer from below.

Dozens of men and women stood in the barroom, the place nearly filled to the brim with people all holding cups and all sharing one thing in common despite the differences each held.

A wide smile as they took in the sight of Jack and Rarity.

“Did you…?” Jack asked Diane, who gave an even wider grin in response.

“Me and a few helpers,” she said in a singsong tone, skipping towards the stairwell. “Come on!” she exclaimed, “We’re gonna party!”

Rarity gave a touch to Jack’s elbow. “Go on, darling. I’ll be right there.”

Jack raised a brow. “Bathroom?”

“No. A change of clothes, naturally. What I’m wearing was adequate for myself and you, but in a crowd?” She let out a dismissive laugh. “Why I would die out there.”

Jack rolled her eyes as Rarity promptly returned to their room and, after a beat, she followed after Pinkie. At the bottom of the stairs, Captain Daniels stood, a mug in his hand, which he offered to Jack.

He looked to the others decorating the room. “People of Lobole, standing before you is the woman that tore down the shadow over the town. Three cheers for Jack of Cabello! Three cheers for Rarity! Long live Cabello’s rulers!”

Cheers erupted once more through those gathered and the captain offered a seemingly uncharacteristic wink.

“For your health,” he said, throwing his drink back, his adam’s apple rising and falling in furious tempo to keep up with his beverage. When finished, he wiped at the foam at his lips and let out a satisfied ah.

Jack swirled the beverage she held and then took a long and hearty pull.

Though simple compared to the cider and wine back home, it had a welcoming taste to it, not relying on the hops and instead having something Jack would almost describe as a more bitter almond. Giving a slightly embarrassed raise of her glass to the crowd, she moved through them as hands slapped her on the shoulders and back and dozens of voices offered their thanks. Or, at least she assumed their thanks, several spoke in a language unfamiliar to her as she made her way to a slightly more secluded table nearby a window looking out at the after-dusk glow.

On cue, Pinkie slid into Jack’s sight, clearly in her element as she offered nods to some, happy one-word answers to others, and moved through the crowd with the ease of an eel as opposed to Jack’s more lumbering approach serving to warn people to part the waters. On seeing Jack once more, Diane slid to the table Jack was at.

“Hi!” Diane chirped out. “Having fun?”

“Jus’ sat down. But I’m appreciatin’ what ya did here. I’m guessin’ it was you that rounded up the whole town?”

“Me and Spike spread the word, and Mr. Daniels told them to come on by!” She gave a firm bounce of her head. “Great system,” she said with the utmost sincerity.

Jack looked down at her empty mug. As if called by a higher power a bar wench in a low-cut blouse sauntered over and swapped the earth-folk’s mug with a full one.

Not missing a beat, Jack took another drink.

Pinkie sobered up for a beat as she looked over Jack. “Are you both ok?” she questioned.

“If we weren’t I wouldn’t be down here. Rarity got more banged up than me, but she’s alive.”

Diane seemed satisfied with the answer; she took a slow drink of her own. “I don’t know how to do that.”

Rolling her mug in her palms Jack kept quiet, waiting for Pinkie to continue.

“You’re just doing your thing, dancing along then—” Pinkie gave an open-mouthed scowl, forming a pair of claws with her hands and gave them a gesture up and down— “Rawr! Monster attack! And you—” she gave an animated swing of her fist over the table— “Clobber him! But it’s not always that easy, is it?”

Jack sighed. “No. No it’s not.”

“People get hurt, don’t they?” she asked, her tone more reserved, barely audible over the noise.

“They do. Sometimes bad. Dash threw me out of the way of somethin’ once. Can’t even remember what kinda monster was, can ya believe that?” she offered a wry smile. “Got her good. Hurt her worse than I knew how ta treat. If Will hadn’t been there, good money she woulda…”

Pinkie’s face fell more as she stared into her drink. “Oh.”

Jack gave a thoughtful tap to the table with her finger. “But ya do it by thinkin’ ‘bout the good. ‘Bout the people yer helpin’,” she gave a demonstration by nodding her chin towards the crowd, several now were dancing to a fiddle song played by a talented and dexterous woman in the corner.

“Ya think ‘bout them an’... I guess pick up the pieces when ya get back home.”

“Pick up the pieces?” Diane repeated.

“Mmm,” she wordlessly agreed, taking another drink. “Ya know how it is. Ya don’t ever fully come back from it. I’m still tryin’ ta come back from even before all-a this shit.”

“You’ve come back fine,” Pinkie encouraged, putting her more melancholy thoughts aside and offering Jack a wide, sincere grin. “Don’t mind what I’m thinking, you’ve gone through waaaay more today than most people do in a lifetime!” Her thumb rubbed against the side of her mug. “I’m just… this is new to me on a lot of things, I guess. Monsters, magic, madness.”
“Anyway!” Pinkie quickly continued, rubbing Jack’s shoulder gently. “Do the two of ya need anything? Some warm food? A hot bath? More booze?”

“A bite ta eat wouldn’t be bad at all,” she agreed. “Could eat the leather offa boot right now.”

Pinkie nodded, beaming. “Then we’ll get you something great! I’ll get an order started!” She stood then, after a beat, her expression died down once more. “Jackie…” The earth-folk cocked her head, waiting for Diane to continue. “Have you ever wondered about Rarity?”

“Everyday I’m away from the house,” Jack instantly agreed. “Same with Bloom, Mac, an’ Zecora. Wonder ‘bout ‘em all the damn time, hopin’ they’re doin’ ok.”

“No. I mean… if she feels how she really says she feels.” Pinkie looked down at her fingertips and quickly bridged her hands together to stop the digits from dancing across the table from her nerves.

“I hope,” Jack said. She looked towards the second floor of the building, towards their room. “But ya can’t ever know fer sure on most people. Everyone’s got skeletons, holds back on things, ya know?”

Pinkie looked to Jack, then at the throng of people. “Do you two fight a lot?”

“Sometimes,” Jack replied. “She gets fed-up with me when I don’t understand why she wants ta go ta some pompous party filled with people that ain’t got half the good heart she does, an’ why I skip out on ‘em most times. Same with her an’ when I’m too busy durin’ harvest season ta go do anythin’ fun.” She considered her words as she took another drink. “But I dunno ‘bout callin’ that a lot. ‘Bout the same amount as my folks did back when they were around. Ya know I don’t have much experience ta draw from ta say if we fight a lot.” She offered a small smile. “If anythin’, I should be askin’ you or Rare fer that kinda advice. I’m the last gal ta ask for somethin’ like that.”

“But you’re married, that’s kind of the finish line to the race!” Pinkie protested, pausing to swallow her drink. “Another!” she chirped out with a belch to the bar wench, who fixed both Jack and Diane up with another round.

“I got lucky,” Jack said, continuing the conversation. “That gal can swap moods like a top, crybaby, then a vikin’ the next, but she’s honest when ya really listen. She’ll tell ya what the problem is. She doesn’t hide nothin’ if it needs said. Jus’ gotta brush the makeup aside ta see it.”

“The truth will set you free,” Pinkie said. “Guess that’s true.”

“Wouldn’t want my gal any other way,” Jack agreed.

“Me and Spike—”

There was a hush that fell over the crowd, so harsh and sudden that Pinkie stopped mid-sentence. Jack looked away from the earth-folk and paused.

Rarity had returned and, though always beautiful to Jack, was heart-achingly so tonight, with her hair styled into fashionable curls, and violet lipstick that made her pale face provocative, sensual, with every smile she gave her adoring public causing a blush.

She moved over to the bartender and leaned forward, resting her arms on the counter, the dip in her dress giving the barkeep an eyeful of her cleavage. When she spoke a few words in a near whisper he dove under the counter like a man at war and brought out an elegant looking bottle, which she took alongside two glasses, then sauntered over. Jack stifled a laugh when she caught sight of Rarity’s earrings.

They did nothing to deter from Rarity’s beauty, but even Jack, with her limited knowledge of fashion, knew they clashed with Rarity’s white dress, with their crimson fires within them, but the sight of them made her happy regardless. Rarity’s birthday last year, Bloom and Stephenie saved up their allowances for almost a whole month to buy Rarity fake diamond earrings, and the fact that she was wearing them right now made Jack grateful. It wasn’t her money by any means, but the fact Rarity thought so much of the girls that she would wear a gift that clashed with her clothes made Jack’s smile widen.

“Lookin’ like a million bits,” Jack commented as Rarity joined them at the table, resting the bottle of wine between them.

“I forgot my necklace back home, can you believe it?” Rarity huffed out, putting a hand to her neckline. “That could have made the ensemble even more ravishing! I’m such a fool!” Rarity whined.

Jack shared a look with Diane, the glance silently stating here we go to Pinkie.

She smirked back at her, then said, “Why worry about one silly necklace when you’re the hero of a whole town? You’d look stunning even in a potato sack right now! Drink up!”

“Stunning?” Rarity smiled proudly, puffing her chest out a bit. “Why thank you, darling.”

“That is literally the same thing I said,” Jack muttered under her breath as the bar wench handed Rarity a glass. The soul-folk took a sniff of the drink brought her way, then a tentative sip.

“Not… terrible. Serviceable,” Rarity remarked, looking down into the mug.

“The more you drink, the better it tastes!” Diane cheered, swinging her mug around.

“Well, I was thinking perhaps something a little more... refined, would suit us well,” Rarity gave a tap at the bottle with a well-manicured fingernail. Jack paused.

“Wait, sug. What happend ta yer splint?” Jack asked.

“Alteration spell,” Rarity remarked. “A simple change to hide my finger and…” There was a small frown that quirked at the corner of her mouth as she glanced at Pinkie, but she brushed it aside, clearing her throat. “Regardless, shall we try some of this?”

The farmer, turning the conversation away from discussing earlier wounds, gave a smile that felt more sincere with every second it was on her face.

“Try it? Sug, that’s Tommyknocker. Only one of the best vineyards in Cabello. We went ta their winery once, remember?”

“So you do remember?” Rarity remarked, a nostalgic smile coming to her as she gestured with her palm and a blue aura formed around the wine cork. Twisting her hand as if she were opening a door, the cork popped out, propelling into the rafters and bouncing off, landing right into the drink of a stout, bald man. Rarity quickly looked dead ahead at Jack, her face crimson with embarrassment as Pinkie gave an open-toothed grin and the farmer reared back and laughed, a loud, genuine thing that seemed to brighten the whole room and dampened Rarity’s mistake. Soon after, Rarity herself began to laugh, hers a bit more reserved, dignified, until a single snort came and she paused, embarrassed all over again.

“Should’ve bought that bottle with you to the fight. Would’ve killed that monster in five seconds flat!” Pinkie said, eagerly smiling at the pair.

Rarity’s smile dampened a bit, but she gave a weak chuckle at the remark, reaching over to pat Diane’s hand.

“Look at her go. Ain’t even touched the damn bottle yet an’ she’s already touchy an’ giggly,” Jack remarked with a smirk.

“No way she could drink us under the table.” Diane took a swig of her drink, a proud, over exaggerated motion.

“A lady does not engage in such crass behavior as getting drunk,” Rarity dismissed with a huff, crossing her arms over her breasts and looking away.

“Coulda fooled me,” Jack answered as she took another drink of her ale. “Or are ya forgettin’ Mac’s birthday?”

Rarity froze at that, the gears in her head trying to find purchase and an escape from the remark. Finding none she instead frowned.

“I had bought an entire bottle of fifty year old Shiraz. Should I really have let it go to waste?”

“Coulda put it in the fridge, ya—”

“Shut up,” Rarity quickly dismissed.

Letting out a pleased hum at her victory, Jack poured a glass for them, and then filled up Pinkie’s mug with the wine. “Well, we’ll stop at tipsy, how’s that, sug? Even the most refined lady can get a lil’ tipsy, can’t she?”

The tailor seemed satisfied with that and nodded, holding out her glass. “Diane? Shall you do the honors of a toast?”

“Gladly!”

She leapt from her seat, hopping onto an occupied table in the center of the room. The patrons didn’t seem to mind, already letting out some cheers, glancing up at Pinkie’s legs.

“Settle down lads, this is important,” she told them. They obliged, watching her with interest.

Clearing her throat loudly, Pinkie suddenly commanded the attention of everyone in the room. It wasn’t to the extent that a royal might capture the attention of their subjects, for Diane seemed to share a sense of commanderie with every person present. Satisfied with every pair of eyes locked on her, she began.
“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight marks a whole new beginning for this cute li’l town along the shore! A new era of peace, prosperity and partying that I’d guess you haven’t felt in ages!” Pinkie suddenly held up a finger, continuing, “No longer shall you be shackled by the chains of fear! For a very special couple from across the sea ventured here and set out to do what was thought impossible!”

Pinkie beat a fist into her palm repeatedly. “They went out into the wilderness and beat up that nasty monster that was plaguing your home!” She gestured to the brave couple, winking at them. “And here they are, thankfully in one piece, Jack and Rarity! Give them a big round of applause and probably a few drinks on the house too! Let’s hear it for your heroes!”
Pinkie raised both of her hands, seemingly conducting a loud round of applause for Jack and Rarity. Mugs were knocked together, songs were sung and cheers flared up from everyone.

Diane clapped in approval, nodding at everyone. “Very good! Back to it!” Jumping off the table, she skipped back to her spot, re-joining her friends. “There ya go!”

“Coulda jus’ done a small one with us,” Jack said, embarrassed at being at the center of attention as Rarity gave a little laugh and a littler wave behind her at the crowd.

“Really, Jack?” Pinkie asked, leaning forward and cocking an eyebrow. “You wanted small and you asked me?”

“She has a point,” Rarity agreed. “I knew what I was doing.”

Jack grumbled under her breath and took ahold of her drink. Though a lightweight when it came to alcohol, she normally wolfed down her drinks, but this one Jack actually did pause to swirl and let air, before taking a sip.

A medley of fruits, elderberry being the header, crept up to her, and she relished them, the fruits and small taste of wheat reminding her of the golden fields of home, but, more pressing was the finish of the drink. Zap apples. Fruit that came from her farm. She never thought she’d get nostalgic from a drink, but truth was stranger than fiction.

Rarity seemed to be much the same, as she drank it there came a faraway look in her eyes, one Jack knew she herself had carried more than once over the years and she smiled at the soul-folk.

“Ya know how ta pick ‘em,” Jack remarked, taking another sip.

“My drinks or my women?” Rarity coyly asked with a raise of her brow.

Though Jack paused at the quip, a hair embarrassed to hear it with Pinkie nearby, she soon got her footing back and leaned forward, emulating Rarity’s earlier work at the inn’s bar.

“Both, I’d reckon. Suppose ya got the eye fer rather… high-end brands.”

Rarity chuckled, taking another drink. “Well there’s more to it than simple sight, darling. No. A proper wine has to be appreciated by all the senses. Sight…” she reached forward, grasping Jack’s hand in both her palms. Guiding Jack’s hand, she took the farmer’s finger and dipped it into Jack’s wine, then Rarity brought the hand to her, meeting in the middle of the table. “Taste…” she breathed out, taking the tip of Jack’s finger to her lips, rolling the finger across her luscious violets as she gazed with half-lidded eyes at her wife, then swallowing the digit slowly, taking it inch by inch. When fully within her mouth, she gave a graze of Jack’s hand with her palms, the digits small kisses of their own that sent shivers up the earth-folk’s arms and caused her to draw a breath a bit quicker. Finally, she pulled Jack’s finger out in the same slow, methodical pace, making sure Jack stared with rapt attention as Rarity brought the hand away from her mouth, “Even sound,” she purred, taking Jack’s still-wet digit and guiding it along the rim of the farmer’s glass, where it let out a whine as she worked her dexterous fingers.

“Ok, ok, you win. Again,” Jack muttered out.

Rarity gave a rather impudent grin Jack’s way and raised her glass and one of her brows in the same motion, taking a celebratory drink at Jack’s remark.

Pinkie merely looked between the two, her mug brought up to cover her mouth.

“Do you like it, Pinkie?” Rarity questioned, taking a drink of the wine.

“A lot, thanks! It’s pretty good!” she replied, smiling and nodding.

“I’m glad. I wasn’t expecting a brewery I was familiar with here. It’s excellent having a bit of home with us.”

“Silly Rarity, Jack’s all the home you’ll ever need!” Pinkie said, inclining her head towards the farmer.

“Maybe not all the home I want, though,” Jack admitted, giving a swirl of her drink. “I can’t wait ta get back. At least winter’s comin’ so I ain’t missin’ that much work, I guess.”

“We’ll be back before you know it, Jackie,” Pinkie said, patting Jack’s arm. “So just sit back and relax. Prop your feet on the table if you really want to!”

“Nah. I’m good. Jus’ nice gettin’ a breather before headin’ out with everyone.” The earth-folk paused. “Where are Spike an’ the Princess, by the way?”

Pinkie froze, eyes blinking a couple times. “That is a good question. I got so wrapped up in setting everything up for you two, I kinda lost track…”

“They couldn’t have wandered too far, I suppose. Do you think we should look for them?” Rarity asked.

“I’m sure they’d love to see you both, yeah,” Diane agreed.

Jack polished off her drink and stood. “Then let’s find ‘em.”

It didn’t take much detective work; Celestia was standing beside Spike near the threshold of the inn, looking at the slowly dying light of the sunset. On hearing the inn’s door open behind them, Spike turned.

“Oh, hey, guys,” he addressed with a wave.

“Hey yerself,” Jack replied, moving to the two. “What are ya’ll doin’ out here?”

“Yeah, party’s that-a-way!” Pinkie said, motioning towards it with her fingers and a swing of her head.

“Well, I felt the need for a moment of air myself,” Celestia offered with a smile. “I’ll join shortly.”

Jack looked over the all-folk in silence. She looked better, far better than earlier. Her body had either recovered, or, like Rarity, perhaps, she was housing some form of alteration magic to mask her fatigue.

Jack wondered, as she stared at the all-folk, if the celebration going on at the inn would have happened had Celestia been the woman that had ended the wendigo’s terror. A part of the festival was due to their new freedom from fear, or, at least, extraordinary fears. Mundane fears, he fear of starving, of being alone, of life, would still haunt them as they haunt every person walking the earth, but for now those thoughts were pushed aside amid their hopes for a brighter tomorrow.

The other part of the festival, to Jack, was a celebration that a struggle between man and beast was successful. A thing like that could be a source of joy, a story that uplifts the common man to do the uncommon, a thing that inspires the drive to evolve, rather than die.

Which brought her back to her thought from earlier; would Celestia’s victory hold less impact to them?

The farmer was inclined to agree. It wouldn’t have had the same effect on the people here. Celestia was an inspiration to Jack, had been ever since Jack was a babe hearing stories from her father of the all-folk princess, her endless mercy, her sagely advice, her all-encompassing beauty—Jack’s mom had gave her dad a warning glare at that one—and the princess had earned Jack’s respect before she had ever even met the woman.

But the tales of Celestia had put the all-folk on a pedestal Jack saw impossible to approach. Jack never saw Celestia as a god—nobody was perfect that walked the earth and, as Jack’s granny used to joke, “she sure didn’t see two holes in Celestia’s hands—”

Despite that, she knew some did.

The strength of an earth-folk, magic of a soul-folk, speed of a sky-folk and the longevity of dragon-blood and norfolk put Celestia’s breed on a level above someone like Jack.

A level some couldn’t relate to. A level that some might consider praying to, if the world was in a different mindset.

A world where prayers weren’t made inward, asking God for strength, for advice, for hope, no, it’d be a world where they could pray for an easy answer and an easy answer would arrive.

A world that would be more beautiful in the same way that a plain filled with cattle was. Docile, complacent. Content with what answers were gave to them, never questioning anything. That’s what instant answers got you, complacency. Never working hard for something good in life, always getting the easy answer? It changed people, molded them into something spoiled and ugly. If Rarity or herself, or any one of her friends always had easy answers, a way out, Jack was certain that they would be nothing but pampered brats. it was because they had a chance to strengthen their resolve, to prove they were better than what they were up against, that they grew to be good people and as those thoughts swirled in her head Jack grew quiet, putting her hands in her pockets and glancing away from the group.

“I’ll accept that excuse,” Pinkie said, eyes narrowed. Suddenly, she rushed forward, touching noses with Spike. “What about you, mister?!”

“I don’t know,” Spike admitted. “Just thought it was pretty tonight.”

“Suuuure. That’s why you’re missing out on the chance to drink some free booze and good food after, gosh, such a long time!”

“I don’t know," he repeated. "I just thought that for a minute there, I felt Twila outside,” he said. “It’s stupid, but I thought maybe she needed my help.”

Pinkie relaxed, placing her hands on Spike’s arms and giving them comforting rubs. “You miss her, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “It’s not like she’s gone often. It’s not like I’m gone often.”

Diane met his lips with her own, giving him a swift kiss. “My brave, sweet little guy. We’ll be back before you know and you bet I’m gonna throw the best party ever to celebrate!”

“I wouldn’t complain about a slice of your world-famous pie, Pinkie,” Celestia said, warmly smiling at the woman.

“When we get back home,” Pinkie replied. “There’s a party going on right now and I don’t really have the time to whip something up, sorry!”

“I do not believe she meant right this moment, dear,” Rarity remarked. “I have very little doubts that this town could even create a basic pie, let alone one of yours.”

“Aw, it’s not so bad.” She glanced back at the festivities going on behind them. “But we’re never gonna find out if we keep standing here. C’mon!”

The turned and began to head inside when Rarity caught Jack, still staring at the ground in thought.

“Jack…” Rarity said, slipping her hand to the farmer’s arm. Jack snapped up from her thoughts and looked nearly bewildered as Rarity started to gesture towards the inn.

“Oh. Yeah. Sure, sug.”

Jack trailed doggedly after Rarity and they re-entered as a man had begun to play on a fiddle, to the crowd’s delight. Rarity and Jack moved back to their seats and, more pressing, to their drinks. Pinkie and Spike were already there, the latter now possessing an empty mug.

“Hey Rarity, can Spike try some of that oh-so-fine-wine?” Pinkie asked as the pair approached.

“Of course,” she remarked, pouring the boy a glass.

“Is he even old enough fer that?” Jack questioned.

“No,” Rarity plainly answered. “But that shouldn’t matter. When I was his age, I drank my fair share.”

“Explains why yer a lush now.”

“Shut up,” Rarity plainly remarked, taking another drink.

“Try it, try it!” Pinkie urged Spike, shoving the mug towards his mouth.

“Ok, ok,” he said. “Sheesh.” Taking the mug, he brought it to his lips and took a sip, considering a moment as the drink went through him.

Pinkie watched him, eyes wide in anticipation. “Well, whatcha think?”

“I kind of like juice better,” he admitted. “But this is ok, I guess.”

“It takes a bit to grow accustomed to the taste. I’m sure if I didn’t drink it fairly often, it would have not grown on me as fast,” Rarity agreed.

“No need ta rush it along,” Jack remarked, taking another drink. “Few years yet, ‘fore yer taste develops. Give it time.”

“I’m not a kid,” Spike countered with a bit of a pouting frown.

“She didn’t mean it like that, Captain Grumpy,” Pinkie said, ruffling his hair.

“No kid, nah. But still green behind the ears,” Jack said.

“I dunno…” Pinkie said, appraising the area behind Spike’s ears. Since the beginning of the journey, his hair had grown longer and more unkempt. “I kinda like it.”

“Well, then there’s no need to worry about it,” Rarity remarked, another glass into her drink. “If you’re happy about it, that’s all that matters.”

“If Spike’s happy, then I’m happy, and the only way he’s going to get more happy so I’m more happy is if we both drink!” Pinkie rambled, raising her mug high into the air.

The next swig of alcohol she consumed impressed everyone around—either the sailors on the trip taught her a thing or two, or she drank them under the poop deck.

“There’s gonna be hell ta pay fer both of ya tomorrow if this keeps up,” Jack said, taking another drink despite her words.

“What do you—” she paused to let out a belch, “—take me for? A lightweight?”

Spike put a finger to his chin in consideration. “Well, if Jack’s a heavyweight and Rarity is a welterweight, I’d put you at a middleweight.”

“The heck is a welterweight?” Pinkie asked. “And middleweight isn’t even a thing! You can either handle your booze, or you don’t.”

“Booze?” Spike repeated, blinking. “Oh, that’s what we were talking about.”

She giggled, nudging his mug closer. “Drink up, ‘cause you got a lot to learn.”

Spike definitely was learning. Learning a whole lot.

“Y’know…” Pinkie stopped to lick her lips, staring at Jack with an unfocused gaze, one arm sprawled on the table and the other hanging limply at her side. “I really think that someday Jack will actually become an apple tree.”

“What?” Jack replied, tilting her head as she gazed at Pinkie.

“‘Cause like, like, your arms,” Pinkie gave a harder than comfortable squeeze of Jack’s bicep, “are already like branches and stuff. And your chest and tummy are all tough like a trunk. So when you’re old you’ll be at yer farm and you’ll be like: ‘I’ll always watch over muh kin’ and then you’ll dig your feet into the ground and boom!” Pinkie rocked back, almost falling off her chair. “Apple tree!”

Rarity reared back and cackled at this, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “And I bet she’ll have a woodpecker on her all the time too!” Rarity gave a flap of her hand, “and she’ll try to shoo it off with a branch, but it won’t work.”

“It’d be a pretty dumb woodpecker if it didn’t eat those delicious apples.” A sly grin reared forth on Pinkie’s lips, as she dragged her chair closer to Rarity. “And you’ll be eating those tasty, juicy, Jack apples all the time like yum, yum, yum.”

Rarity’s smile turned coy. “They would make quite the meal, wouldn’t they? Perhaps I’d enjoy a slice of her pie.”

“Hey buster, I’m the Pie here. She’s just an Apple,” Pinkie replied, swaying around and snapping her fingers, although the latter just seemed like her digits suffering from a spasm.

“That’s right,” Spike agreed with an over-exuberant nod. “That’s my pie, you can’t have it.”

“Don’t be a hoarder, Spikey. Sometimes it’s fun to share…” Pinkie purred, stroking Spike’s chin with her finger.

“Oh, you’re tempting,” Rarity remarked with a laugh. “But, like with dancing, I prefer to horde something to myself, and I already have quite the partner.”

“I’m right here,” Jack remarked to nobody in particular.

“You smell like apple,” Pinkie said, suddenly right behind Jack. She sniffed again. “And sweat. Ew, gross! Didn’t you have a bath after you killed that monster thing?!”

“I was gonna, then someone knocked on my door the instant I sat down,” Jack countered crossly, taking another drink. “Surprised ya didn’t smell the blood.”

“Rarity’ll lick it off,” Pinkie said dismissively, stumbling back to her seat.

“Disgusting,” Rarity replied, sticking her tongue out in a near gag. “Who licks blood off of wounds?”

“Er, literally any animal in the world. Duh!” Pinkie shot back.

“Thankfully, I am not an animal,” Rarity dismissed, tilting her nose up at the very thought. “Why, can you imagine? A seamstress being an animal? Foolish.”

“Jack, what kinda animal would Rarity be?” Pinkie asked, before adding in a lower tone, in one breath, “Except human ‘cause technically humans are animals but whatever.”

“I wanna say a gossipin’ hen, but she’d probably beat me blue fer that.” Jack smirked. After a beat, though, her expression turned a more thoughtful. “Dog,” she finally answered.

“Not a cat? Really?” Pinkie objected.

“I never said she’d be somethin’ like a bulldog,” Jack retorted. “She’d be a kinda pretty dog. Corgi. Kind that can win those ribbons, but can also do more than jus’ strut ‘round like they own the damn place.”

“Okay, okay then,” Pinkie said, waving her arms before her. “What animal is Jack then?”

Rarity smirked. “Cat,” she easily answered.

Pinkie frowned, almost disgusted with the response. “Now you’re just messin’ with me. Next you’re gonna say I’m a dragon and Spike’s a… cupcake.”

“Of course Jack’s a cat. Have you never seen a panther stalk its prey?” Rarity gave a wink toward the earth-folk in question. “That muscle, barely contained within its skin….” she chuckled. “Poetry in motion.”

“I think she means personality, Rare,” Jack replied with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh.” Rarity blinked. “Bear,” she replied instantly.

“Bear?” Jack repeated, not sure how to feel about the answer.

“Bear.”

Pinkie raised a hand. “What kinda bear?”

“Grizzly, naturally.”

“Rawr.” Pinkie swept at the air as Jack looked up to the ceiling, silently asking if she was being punished for something.

“Somebody hasn’t had enoooough!” Pinkie sung, already caught onto Jack’s mood, despite her current state.

“Indeed. Drink up, darling. There’s plenty to go around. I’m even having the bartender crack open some vintage whiskey for you.” Rarity gave a small shake of her cup towards Jack. “But getting back on track, you can’t honestly have Spike in on the animal game. He’s half of one anyway.”

“You take that back!” Pinkie cried, slamming a hand on the table, drinks sloshing in their mugs.

Rarity raised a brow, genuinely surprised at Pinkie’s outburst. “Take what back?” she questioned.

Pinkie possessively wrapped her arms around Spike, bringing him close. “He’s not an animal! He’s my charming, lovely, adorable boyfriend!”

Jack looked towards them both. “He’s a half-dragon, ain’t he? That ain’t anythin’ bad, jus’ the facts. Ain’t like Rare was callin’ him a monster.”

“Kinda sounded like it, after how Rarity said she didn’t wanna be an animal…” Pinkie said.

“Jus ‘cause she don’t don’t mean nothin’. I wouldn’t ever wanna be a sky-folk, but that jus’ means I’m happy like I am,” she defended.

“I’m not offended,” Spike added. “It’s not like Rarity’s some stranger on the street. I’ve known her longer than anyone at the table.” He looked down at his hands and, after a moment, took another drink.

“As long as you’re okay…” Pinkie’s speech devolved into a mumble, as she affectionately nibbled on Spike’s ear.

The boy flushed crimson at the action and let out a surprised squeak at Pinkie.

It was Jack’s turn to grin. “If ya ain’t careful, yer gonna eat that boy up.”

“Maybe I will,” she replied, her hot breaths whistling past Spike’s ear.

“I, uh…” Spike trailed off, obviously embarrassed.

“Speakin’ of eatin’, any of y’all hungry?” Jack asked, just as the bar wench brought a bottle of whiskey to the table.

“Usually!” Pinkie answered, casually massaging Spike’s shoulders.

“I could eat,” Spike agreed.

Rarity nodded. “Indeed.”

Raising her glass up, she looked at the three. “Then what ae we waitin’ for? Tonight’s our night! Let’s make that barkeep earn his money!”

Sail

Jack never thought she’d be glad to be back on board a ship, but as they pulled away from dock and took to the sea again, there was an intense relief within her.

The travel back to town had been met with stony silence by the entire group, their thoughts occupying most of what little free time they had in the evening, and sleep was a welcome escape from their thoughts.

Jack pushed herself off the railing of the boat and felt not only the faint tuggings of seasickness, but also her wounds giving a reminder of what she put her body through the past few days.

She double-checked her nose and, satisfied the bandage wasn’t going anywhere, moved towards the stairs leading below decks, the cane she leaned on creaking under her weight.

Before she headed downstairs, she caught sight of Diane, watching the sea from the starboard side, and Jack approached, joining her.

“Finally headin’ back,” Jack said, the fact obvious, but still something she wanted to mention regardless.

“You can say that again,” Pinkie replied. She looked down, her damaged arm now in a sling, which she gave a little wiggle. “Didn’t think I’d be going back home with scars to show people.”

“We got off lucky if scars are all we’re takin’ back,” she answered, shifting on her cane. “Could have been worse. A lot worse.”

“That’s no way to think, silly billy!” Diane said, throwing her free arm around Jack’s shoulders. “We’re still here, still got each other and we’re going back home. What more is there to say?”

“Well… jus’ depends on how much things change when we get home,” Jack replied, reaching an arm up to weakly squeeze Pinkie in return.

Pinkie smirked and flicked Jack’s ear. Next thing Jack knew, Pinkie was holding a coin in front of her. “Bit for your thoughts?”

Jack offered a faint half-smile before her expression turned back to a thoughtful frown. “Ya realize what I did was treason? Not only treason, but I coulda got her killed. Ya don’t think I’m a bit worried ‘bout what might happen when we get back?”

“So you think Celestia’s gonna execute you or something?” Pinkie shrugged, then shook her head. “That wouldn’t solve anything.” She smirked, raising her hand and patting Jack on the top of her head. “You’re always thinking in apples and oranges, except without the oranges; it’s not gonna be as simple as everyone thinking you’re a traitor. Just like how the whole situation in that dark cave wasn’t simple.”

She turned and looked out towards the sea, a content smile on her face. “I know you like thinking simply and direct. But life’s not always like that, y’know? It’s exciting, unpredictable, deep, and a whole bunch of other things.”

Blinking, she stopped and a small giggled escaped from her. “Kinda went off on one didn’t I? Sorry, been thinking about it all lately.”

“I don’t know what ta think,” Jack admitted, turning to look towards the ocean. “I ain’t no brainiac. No genius. Only makes sense that somethin’ would happen after somethin’ that big, ya know?”

Sparing a glance towards Diane, she gave a tilt of her head. “But… guess I’ll worry later. Got a lot swirlin’ in yer noggin’, huh? Sounds like you.”

“Always!” Pinkie defiantly cried, throwing up a fist. “There’s always something to think about! Like…” she rubbed her arm, looking down, “Spike, first and foremost. He’s probably really hurting after what happened.”

“We ain’t really had time fer a heart ta heart with him, huh? I ain’t even talked with Rare much after all this shit. Jus’ so focused on leavin’, ya know? Jus’ wanted ta get here an’ get goin’.”

Pinkie’s smile returned. “I think everyone feels the same way. What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get back on the farm?”

“Check in with Mac an’ Bloom. Priority one,” she answered, her mind instantly made up.

“And after that? ‘Cause let’s be honest here,” Pinkie grinned, “that was totally a given.”

Jack offered a gentle smile. “Maybe I owe Rarity a night out if she’s up ta it. If she ain’t, I’m cookin’ one hell of a meal fer everyone.”

“You’re cooking? Come on, Jack, you deserve a break! Even for a little!” Pinkie cried.

“I want to. I like cookin’ fer ‘em all when I’m around. Figured you of all people would get that.”

“Yeah, I do,” Pinkie replied, waggling a finger, “But I’m the one that’s meant to be doing all that for everyone so they can relax! In fact, I’m already planning our welcome back party right now!”

“I’ll relax after dinner. Promise.” She rubbed her hands, trying to warm them briefly against the fall chill. “An’ I’ll be lookin’ forward ta that party.”

“Me too! It juuuust might take a little bit longer to get it ready because… y’know.” She briefly gestured down at her broken arm, then in a flash was talking again. “That reminds me though! I need a favor! A bit of a biggie too.”

Jack nodded. “Name it, sug.”

“Right! So, I’ve thought long and hard about it and…” She frowned, a certain fire burning within her eyes. “I want to be a diplomat.”

“A diplomat?” Jack repeated. After a beat she considered it. Diane was always a real social butterfly, the kind that could turn almost any frown upside down. If she wasn’t happy enough being a baker and a party planner and wanted to make a grander statement in life, maybe something like a diplomat would be up her alley. Seeing Pinkie looking expectantly at her, Jack once more nodded.

“I could see that workin’ fine fer ya. But how could I do ya a favor fer it?”

“Because I’ll need to be a lot stronger if I’ll be any good at it!” Pinkie raised a fist, then explained, “I’ll be travelling a lot, all over the world and some parts might be dangerous. I might even be expected to do some crazy things. Plus, if I’m strong, I’ll better represent us as a nation of strong yet kind people!”

“So… yer wantin’ me ta train ya?” Jack questioned.

“Just like before this trip, properly this time!” Pinkie said, throwing a punch in the air. “But only if you think you can do it!”

“I ain’t sure if I’m the best instructor, sug.”

“You’re the next best thing!” She rubbed the back of her head, averting her gaze and admitted, “I don’t think I’d be ready for someone like Will just yet.”

“Ya kiddin’? He’s great at teachin’ rookies. He’s the whole damn reason I got ta where I am now.”

Pinkie blinked, putting a hand to her mouth. “But I thought he only took the best of the best. People with real potential and fire in their belly, like you, Jack!”

“Ta his inner circle, maybe. But ya gotta realize: I didn’t even know the guy taught at the school until I decided ta join a class. He teaches the rookies as well as the more advanced cases. We’re jus’ the ones helpin’ him out on occasion.”

“Oh, well I didn’t know that.” After mulling it over some, she continued, “I guess I’m just nervous about it, is all. I mean just look at him!”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “Big guy, even compared ta Mac. Heart of a lamb, though.”

“In that case, I can’t wait to get to know him!” Pinkie replied, her familiar grin plastered across her face.

“After some time restin’.” She looked down at the cane in her hand, “a good an’ long time restin’, I’ll introduce ya to him.” Weakly smiling, she winked Pinkie’s way. “Though if ya end up a diplomat, I have a sneakin’ feelin’ that some high-end tailor is gonna be beggin’ ya ta wear her clothes.”

“How could she pass up on all that free advertisement for her threads?” Pinkie asked, smirking right back at her.

Jack looked plainly at Diane. “Believe me, she can’t,” she answered with a roll of her eyes.

“I know, I know,” Pinkie answered, flicking her hair. “One last thing though.”

Jack tilted her head, waiting for Pinkie to continue.

“I gotta thank you,” Pinkie started, grasping onto her arm, “for letting me come along and stuff. I know I wasn’t that useful. More of a burden really, probably.”

“Burdin or not, ya found somethin’ ya didn’t even know ya were lookin’ fer. That has ta be a good thing. A good diplomat’s worth five of a gal like me.”

“Can’t say I agree with that but I’ve had enough of ideological mumbo jumbo arguments for a looooong time now!” Pinkie said, her smile turning sheepish.

“You an’ me both,” she agreed. “But… but it was somethin’ I had ta do. Even if it was bullshit.”

“Maybe I get that. Maybe I don’t. I’m just glad you’re ok.”

She reached forward and hugged the woman. Jack paused, surprised, then returned the favor, slapping the woman’s back and smiling warmly, Diane’s mood was contagious, at least for the moment.

Finally breaking away from Pinkie, Jack paused at the steps leading downstairs and instead looked over towards the captain’s quarters.

Though she was the last person to put off until tomorrow what could be done today, the sight of the door left her with a knot in her stomach that made her tremble.

She was afraid.

Afraid of facing the all-folk, actually discussing what happened. Afraid of the consequences.

Whatever the consequences are, Jack, you’ll manage through them, Rarity said in her thoughts, encouraging her even without her being there.

There was no denying that. She couldn’t live in fear, with the possibility of Celestia’s wrath overhead. She had to throw her dread aside and see what the results were, good or bad.

Moving to the door of the cabin, Jack raised a hand, lowered it, then raised it again and knocked.

“Come in,” the all-folk decreed. Jack obliged, stepping into the posh room. Celestia had forgone many of the luxuries that surrounded her; the velvet chairs, the bed, its softness obvious to Jack even from the room’s threshold, the lounge chair sitting beside a dressed table, and instead, Celestia remained kneeling on the ground, her hands at her lap and Excalibur laying in front of her, the sword’s mirror-sheen reflecting the world within its silvery-steel.

“Jack,” Celestia addressed casually, not even turning to see who it was as she knelt.

“How’d ya know?” Jack asked, genuinely surprised. Celestia rose, picking her sword up from the ground, briefly sending alarm within Jack, before the princess moved, sheathing the weapon within its scabbard at the foot of the bed.

“Your essence. I could feel it while I meditated. It’s unique for an earth-folks.”

“That a fact?” Jack moved deeper into the room; Celestia raised a hand towards a chair by a ornate table lined with a silk cloth and Jack moved, sitting on it and looking towards Celestia.

“It’s rather a lack of one in your case. You lack the magic of your kin in the same way your father did. A partial explanation as to your proficiency with Will’s techniques.” She offered a reserved smile. “Which you performed excellently the other day, I might add.”

Jack finally had a chance to measure the woman as much as the woman was obviously measuring her. Her wounds had been tended to by Rarity during the road, much as Jack’s had, and they spent time far away from one-another, neither wanting to speak of the elephant in the room, putting it off for as long as they could. Now, though, now Jack could see the result of her actions.

Celestia had bandages tightly constricting her chest, visible now in her more casual wear, and one of her arms was wrapped in a tight gauze as well.

“Considering you did this within a suppression field, the injuries are quite impressive,” the all-folk admitted. Jack wasn’t sure if that constituted as a compliment or not, so she gave a small half-shrug of her shoulders instead.

“Now I suppose you’re wondering what changes,” the woman guessed, how she was able to read Jack astounding to the farmer. “If there’s a punishment for you over this.”

Though Jack normally steered conversations, her size and louder nature both tended to put her as the one that lead dialogue, Celestia proved that wasn’t always the case. The woman had spent years honing her words to a precise tool, her physical mannerisms reinforcing her ability, and right now, all Jack could do was follow along, nodding where appropriate. Celestia continued.

“If I were ruthful, there would be. I would measure you and find you wanting. I would call your actions treasonous. An affront to the country’s future security that would never be mended. Even worse, I would have the deaths of the men who helped get us here forever stained on my hands.”

“Yer not ruthful, or hateful, or pretty much any of those other ‘ful’s’, Princess,” Jack answered. “That’s why I had the field up in the first place. Otherwise I wouldn’t have felt so bad ‘bout the thing. I woulda…” She let the thought fade off, Celestia picked up on the woman’s mannerisms and nodded.

“You would have killed me,” she offered. After a beat Jack put her hands to her hips, not needing to say anything on the matter to get the point across. Still, though, she nodded.

“An’ I sure as hell wouldn’t have done somethin’ as stupid as a fair fight, if that were the case. I ain’t that retarded.”

Celestia offered a wry smile at that and moved over to sit on the couch, her steps slower than they were the other day, her body not crippled, but sure not at its peak.

“You are right for certain, Jack. I’m not some wrathful god. I am a human being, one that’s made quite a few mistakes in my long life. Calling treason on someone like you would be one of them. You had the best interest of the country at-heart. I refuse to condone you for that.” She was silent for a moment, taking in the light coming from the window at the end of the cabin, before adding, “My sister at one time was much like you.”

“Luna?” Jack asked. Celestia nodded.

“Unless my father sired more bastards than I care to think of,” Celestia replied. Though she carried a smile at it and probably meant it as a joke, Jack didn’t respond, that sort of thing she found far from humorous.

“I spoke of Sombra earlier. Days ago. Do you remember?”

Jack leaned her head back against the wall of the cabin, thinking back. Remembering their brief words of him, or it, or whatever it was while staying at Lobole.

Remembering the brief mark of fear on Celestia’s face when Sombra was mentioned.

Jack looked to Celestia and, with a nod, confirmed the woman’s question. Celestia swallowed, thinking of her words, doing her best to remain a noble rock that was above such things as fear.

“Sombra is a force of nature. A being that is more alien to me than any creature or race within the gateways to other worlds Luna has encountered on her travels. It… we encountered it years ago, during my father’s reign. Specifics are unimportant, but the creature took over my father and over the months he spoke to him, slowly turning him against his knights, against his countrymen.”

A pause. Celestia frowned, then added quietly, “against us.”

She took a few steps away, considering her next words to Jack. Deciding a direct approach worked for a direct woman, she plainly said, “Luna killed him. Luna killed him as he tried to harm one of our companions, turning her spear into his heart.” She wryly smiled. “It was not something I could do, despite the necessity. Luna took action when it was the most necessary thing in the world.” She tapped at her bicep. “What I’m coming to is that her action, by the law, was treason. Treason to our king, our country, treason in its most base form: a betrayal of family, of our clan. If I had not considered the circumstances, my sister would have ended her life in exile, cast west on a ship by herself and only the clothes on her back.” She shook her head. “But the law was wrong. Treason, perhaps, is far more fickle than we give it credit for. Luna stood for the people when she murdered him. She saved the world at the cost of her honor. Something I never thanked her properly for.”

Jack shuffled a bit in her seat. “She does seem the type ta take that ‘honor’ stuff seriously,” she admitted.

“Perhaps more serious than half the knights at the round table during my father’s day,” Celestia agreed. “I’m telling you this for a few simple reasons. The first to showcase what I felt the grail was needed for. A threat that would require someone to stand higher than the average man. A threat that would have to be met by an untouchable force, the kind whose voice the whispers of the shadows could not smother.”

“An’ the other reason?”

Celestia’s mouth quirked in something nearly resembling a smile. “To say that what you did was not, by my thought, treason. If it was, if you had acted with selfish intentions and put yourself above your own countrymen, I would not hesitate to exile you. But what you did was a stand against, in your mind, tynarry, a founding block of what Cabello’s goal is: the destruction of tynarry. I refuse to punish you for your actions in the cave.”

Jack let that mull over in her head for a few minutes. The truth was, she did do it for some selfish reasons. She wanted a place for Bloom to grow up in, same as her kid with Rarity, if that happened. She wanted to make sure her farm wouldn’t be touched by wars or rumors of war. Her own little paradise, an eye in the midst of a storm. Jack couldn’t let it get touched, no matter what. Right now it was one of the things that kept her going during the long days away from the farm, knowing that she had a refuge there, one she could always count on.

If Celestia became what she spoke of, then it might not alter her immediate future. Hell, it might not change anything in the slightest. But maybe it’d change Rarity’s. Or Mac’s. Bloom. There were just too many things to consider when it came to changing the world like the princess wanted. Jack wanted everything to stay the way it was now: her traveling at times, but for good reason, for, in her eye, a God-given reason, a way to pay him back for letting her live those years ago. Not leaving the farm to help people would be like spitting in the face of her beliefs. Now, too, she wanted Rarity to keep traveling with her. The thought seemed foolish, and maybe it was, but after seeing what she brought to the table, not only in combat, but the way the nights and days seemed just a little less somber, a little less lonely even, she knew she wanted Rarity by her side even as they went through hell.

Coming back to the room, Jack nodded, trying to not make it look like her thoughts had became distracted. Celestia chuckled, obviously not convinced.

“So we’re square?” Jack asked, a bit unbelieving.

“As square as a square dance in a haybarn,” Celestia replied. It was Jack’s turn to smirk.

“Ya know, I’m more a waltz gal, believe it or not. Probably the only good thing the city taught me back in the day.” After a beat, her smile widened a bit and Jack added on, “thanks fer understain’.”

“Of course. Now, though, we’ll need to prepare a plan B in the off chance Luna’s endeavor was as fruitless as our own.” She took a few steps around the room, considering options at a pace Jack knew she’d find overwhelming. “My considerations are less a focus on prevention, as without the grail we’ll have no real means to prevent tragedy. Rather, we must focus on improving response, be it from the guard, or your own group. Improving logistics may be a simple concept in theory, but in practice, it will take far more man hours than I care to think of.”

Jack came to her feet. “Well, can’t be too scared of hard work. I’ll jus’ roll up my sleeves an’ get down ta business, whenever ya need me.”

Celestia looked towards her and warmly smiled. “Your time will come again, I’m sure of it. But for now get some rest. I don’t want to see you overexert yourself until your injuries are fully healed and a doctor back home gives you the all-clear. Do you understand?”

“Reckon that’s an order I can follow princess, sure.”

“Good.” Celestia stepped towards the room’s bed and sat down on its edge. “And I suppose we’ll use the time we have recovering to pick up the pieces, won’t we?”

Pausing as she reached towards the door, Jack gave a weak, considering nod. “Ya pick up the pieces an’ hope what ya make with ‘em resembles ya. That’s all ya can do.”

“Then I suppose it’s best you have quite the collection of friends and family to help you do just that.” Smiling, she reached for a nearby book and took to thumbing through its pages until she came to a dogeared one and she began to skim, trying to find where she was at on the page.

Jack turned to face her. “An’ you do too. I count myself as one of ‘em.”

Taking a few steps towards the princess, Jack shifted her cane and held out her free hand to the woman. Celestia looked briefly surprised, then reached forward, grasping Jack’s hand with her own.

“Well, you should get back to it. I’m sure Rarity would be far better company than an old woman as myself.”

This time, Jack did turn and with a wave, bid the all-folk a good afternoon.

She headed once more towards the stairs leading below decks, and this time nearly collided with Spike. The boy let out a yelp and began falling backwards, pinwheeling his arms desperately to avoid a trip down the stairs; Jack shot her arm out and caught him before he fell. She winced at the action, her injuries sending a sharp stab of pain through her body, but toughed it out. After he caught his balance with her aid, he gave a nervous chuckle.

“Sorry. Wasn’t looking at all,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, obviously embarrassed.

“It’s fine.” She put a hand to his shoulder, clasping down on it. “Lotta thinkin’?” she guessed. His expression turned a bit more neutral. A bit more thoughtful.

“Yeah. Was coming up here to talk about it some with Diane,” he admitted.

“By ‘it’, ya mean…?” It was an easy guess, but still something to get an answer for. Spike confirmed it with a nod, moving past Jack to stand on the deck proper. He glanced over at Pinkie, but kept his main focus on Jack.

“What else is there for me to think about? What I did back there…” He swallowed, looking down at the deck, unable to meet Jack’s eyes.

“What happened back there wasn’t you,” Jack countered. “It… a lot came boilin’ ta a head there. Ain’t yer fault, sug, ok? So don’t be beatin’ yerself up over it.”

“It is my fault,” he protested, shaking his head. “I should have been able to control it. I shouldn’t have to worry about it eating at me, about it springing on me like some sort of trap. After what happened I want to learn how to control it. I want to make sure something like that… that I’ll know what to do. I’ll know how to hold it back.” He looked towards the captain’s quarters and, Jack knew, at the woman within them right now. “I’m going to ask Celestia to train me. I’ve seen how effective her lessons with Twila have been. I-I know she can teach me how to keep it in. How to make sure it never comes out again, grail or not. That’s my goal. Train under her, then train under Lewlin. I want to make it up to her… make it up to everyone. I think eventually becoming a royal guard might be just the thing.”

“A guard?” Jack repeated, blinking in surprise. “You?”

“What?” he questioned, a tad defensively, “do you not think I can do it?”

“No, no. I think you’ll be fantastic at it, sug. Swear. It makes sense fer ya. Ya always were a great helper, Twila could swear up an’ down on that fact.” She reached forward, messing his hair up then grinned, looking coyly towards Diane. “An’ ta let ya in on a little secret?” she whispered, a grin on her face. “Chicks go crazy fer a guy in armor.”

He looked down at his fingertips, poking them together bashfully. “That wouldn’t be too bad of a deal either,” he admitted much to Jack’s amusement.

“Hell, bet she’d go crazy fer ya without armor too. Think she might jus’ like a guy like you.”

Spike’s smile finally came full force and he reached forward, giving her a quick hug. “Well, in that case, maybe I should get the visit with Celestia out of the way and give her some company.”

“Sounds like a good call. Guess it’s a hassle, but I might as well do the same,” Jack said with a mock sigh.

Spike turned, heading towards Celestia’s room. “Yeah, I won’t keep you anymore, Jack. Get down there and get some rest. I’ll keep an eye on things up here.”

“Know ya will, Spike. Yer pretty good ‘bout that.”

She traveled below decks and wound her way through some of the more narrow passages, her seasickness still not overtaking her yet, the time away from shore not fully throwing her body into a nauseous mess, but the first signs were starting to creep up on her.

Jack approached their bedroom and after a courtesy knock, stepped in.

Rarity sat in front of the room’s mirror, casually applying makeup as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Catching sight of Jack’s reflection, she took to working her hair, shaping it into a loose braid before rising, putting on her glasses and moving over to a stack of fabrics.

“Workin’?” Jack asked, incredulously.

“I’m still two clients shy of finishing what Suri asked me to do. I believe it’s best to do it now so when we return home I’ll have a moment or two of peace.”

“Hell, at this point I’d be happy with three or four myself,” Jack replied. She moved farther into the room and sat down on the bed as Rarity took a moment to consider her fabric and, as the soul-folk conjured a sheet of paper into her hands to read over her note requests, Jack spoke up, looking into the mirror rather than directly at Rarity.

“I’m sorry, ‘bout back there in the cave,” she said.

Rarity gave a flick of her wrist, dismissing her notes and sitting next to Jack on the bed.

“I know you won’t again,” she said. “It’s far from fitting, coming from you.”

“Wasn’t somethin’ I liked doin’,” Jack admitted. “But I knew if I said anythin’ ta ya, ya never woulda went along with it.”

“Of course not,” Rarity protested, shifting on the bed to look at Jack. “we’re a team now, in more than one way. And a partner wouldn’t let the other take such a risk, especially when there we other options.”

“Other options? Like what?” she dryly questioned. Rarity paused, considering.

“I have no idea,” she said, defeat in her tone. “But if I had time to plan some approach, devise a strategy, perhaps we could have saved you from being a punching bag, oui?”

Jack offered a wry smile. “Really got the piss beat outta me, huh?”

“As expected, considering your opponent. You made out better than a few years earlier, however.”

The earth-folk sighed. “Way better.”

Rarity reached over, giving a pat to Jack’s hand, briefly running a thumb over the shaped gem on the woman’s ring that mirrored the mark on her own cheek.

“And it can only improve from here. No matter how hard things may be from time to time.” She gave a quick peck to Jack’s cheek before standing and moving back to her work, moving with a grace that suggested everything she said was true, the three lacerations on her back peeking from above the low line of her dress ugly eyesores that caught Jack’s stare, but at the same time the injuries driving the point home more than any words would. That, no matter what, life moved on. That even if things were ugly, even if Jack hit the bottom, there would be a hand wanting to lift her up again.

That, in the end, everything would be ok. A fact that was both the easiest and hardest truth to learn in the world, but one that Jack saw as gospel whenever she was by the tailor’s side.

“Hey, Rare,” Jack called out, pulling the tailor from looking over her work with a raise of her brow. “When we get back. What do ya say I take ya out? We could go dancin’.”

“Mmm. I’m not sure, Jack,” Rarity remarked. “I’m going to have quite a bit to work through. The orders don’t stop even if you’re away. You know how it is.”

Jack held back her disappointment and was about to agree with Rarity, only for the soul-folk to smirk at her.

“However,” Rarity continued, now holding a warm smile. “I’m sure they can wait for at least a few hours. I’d rather not have a night on the town until after my back’s healed, but the idea of us alone and dancing in the living room seems most exquisite.”

Jack mirrored Rarity’s expression. “I’ll even have Spike get a message ta Mac, have him order that wine ya like.”

“That sounds like exactly what I need after a trip like this..”

She shrugged, leaning back onto the bed. “What can I say? Every once in awhile I can do this kinda thing alright.”

With that, no more words between them were needed, Jack’s apology taken to heart, Rarity’s acceptance sincere, and another chapter of their lives was closed. Together, they sailed aboard that ship towards home, their own lives boats being carried by benevolent waves.