Jack of Hearts, Queen of Diamonds

The door to your boutique shuts with the jingle of the shopkeeper's bell; another satisfied customer. You stretch your hooves out and sigh, relishing the small moments of peace and quiet between clients. Your eyes drift around your pride and joy, your own clothes shop; The Smart Ass.

Now, with a shop name like that, many would-be patrons would have assumed it to be uncouth. The truth was, the name isn't as distasteful as one would imagine. It actually stems from you; a donkey, and the fact that you are incredibly good at making ponies dress smart. In fact, there's been more than one occasion where a snooty Canterlot pony has entered your establishment with the intention of complaining about your shop's name, before realising you're a donkey and changing their tune the moment they see you, for fear of offending you. Those are the funniest customers to deal with.

You check the fancy clock hanging between two dashingly well-dressed mannequins; there's usually a lull in customers at this time. You've gotten into the habit of disappearing into the kitchen at the back of the shop for a nice cup of tea. As the owner of the establishment, you have free reign on when your tea-break is. Full steam ahead.

Within minutes, you're in the kitchen, dropping a tea-bag into a clean mug, adding just a dash of sugar, and pouring in the boiling water, savouring the sound it makes as it fills said mug. You check yourself in the nearby mirror as the tea brews, fixing any part of your mane that's out of place. You consider yourself a rather handsome jack; "jack" being the donkey equivalent of "stallion", by the way. Your natural charisma, devilish charms, and your overall status as a high-class clothing-shop owner is well-known throughout Canterlot.

This, combined with your habit of throwing a cider-bash at your apartment complex once a month, has earned you the reputation of being quite the, well, playful bachelor. Speaking of which, your mind drifts towards the cider-bash scheduled for tomorrow night. Most Canterlot ponies would never dream of the loose parties you set up, preferring to just be boring and natter in places like the Grand Galloping Gala. Oh well; you make dresses, tuxedos, and whatnot for their boring parties, they pay you in buckets of bits, and you fund parties and host wild cider-bashes that are actually fun.

The distant jingle of the shopkeeper's bell disrupts your train of thought. A new customer, perhaps, or a regular? You figure it's best to leave that tea brewing for a while longer; it'll be ready by the time you're done with whoever's just arrived. Brushing aside the bead curtain that separates the staff area from the shop proper, you greet the customer with a well-practised smile.

"Greetings, and welcome to The Smart Ass. How can I help y..." Your voice trails off.

Two beautiful, light turquoise eyes, each adorned with curved eyelashes, stand out against the subtle violet of the earth pony's eyeshadow. Her mane matches her makeup, draping over her stony-grey coat. She's wearing a simple blue gown that fits her body perfectly, and is colourful enough to stand out against her fur, but desaturated just enough so it doesn't clash. A pair of simple, grey saddlebags are latched to the gown's belt. Her expression as she turns to greet you is enigmatic, yet calculating. It's like she can see every detail of every moment, but finds it all inconsequential compared to what she's truly looking at: you.

You've seen many, many attractive customers in your time, but this one... she doesn't compare.

"Hello," she says, her voice just as unreadable as the rest of her. "I was wondering if you could help me with something."

Your shopkeeper's instinct brings you back to the waking world. "O-Of course! I can help you with whatever you need. With clothing, of course!" you add hastily, followed by a short chuckle.

"Great," she says, with the same tone as before. "I need some nice clothes. Not like a dress. More like the kind of clothes for an important meeting. Smart clothes, with at least one pocket."

"In that case, we have what you need. Right this way," You gesture toward the rear-left of the boutique, right where your business attire sits on display. She follows you up to the main rack, where there's a variety of mare's blazers of various hues. "Might I recommend a violet blazer with cornsilk-yellow trimmings to compliment your mane? Or perhaps a blue one similar to your fetching gown?"

The mare blinks. No other expression; just a blink. "You like my gown?"

You nod, giving the well-practised smile only a donkey who owns a successful clothes shop could give. "It's a breath of fresh air from all the pompous stuff the Canterlot locals usually demand. Dare I ask, are you from Ponyville?"

The mare's hoof plucks the blue blazer from the rack. "No. I come from a rock farm somewhere between Appleloosa and Somnambula. It's a remote place with no boutiques, so waiting until I was in Canterlot to buy smart clothes was the better option." She glances over to the small dressing room near the shop's counter. "Can I try this on?"

"By all means," you reply. "I'll be by the counter if you need anything."

She trots over to the small area, closing the solid wooden door behind her. It's more of a cubicle than a full dressing room, but it has everything a shopper needs, complete with a chair, hangers, and a mirror. The door itself is a simple latch affair, with the requisite couple of inches between the floor and the door itself, as most changing rooms are.

The next minute consists of an awkward wordlessness as you stand dumbly behind the counter. You hear the muted rustle of fabric as the mare slides her gown off and starts fumbling with the blazer. After a few moments, the latch on the door flicks open, and her face sticks out from behind it.

"Um, I'm having trouble with the buttons on this. Could you help me with it?"

Most of the locals are either unicorns with magic, or other ponies that have lived in Canterlot long enough to work out faffing with suit buttons. Of course humble mares like herself would have issues with them. Her original gown doesn't have buttons.

Dutifully, you trot over to help. She pushes the door open just enough to allow you in, then closes it, perplexingly enough, behind you. The small changing area is much less roomy with yourself and her crammed into it. You push any and all thoughts that would corrupt the simple matter of business out of your mind - save that sort of thing for the cider-bash later - and help her with the buttons on the blazer. She remains still and eerily silent as your adept hooves button the blazer up one at a time. Wanting to cut through the tension, you decide to make small talk with her.

"Appleloosa and Somnambula are pretty far away," you muse openly. "What brings you to Canterlot?" Some customers relish small talk. Some loathe it. However, you have absolutely no idea how she feels about it. She's not expressing a preference one way or the other. In fact, she's not expressing anything like that. How strange.

"I need to speak to some high-ranking Canterlot officials for permission to explore some caves," she replies. She doesn't seem to mind the talking, after all. "Normally I wouldn't need permission, but since these are the same caves hidden under Canterlot Palace, they're sort of a sensitive topic."

"I think I remember those caves," you say. You're halfway done with the buttons already. "The same caves Princess Mi Amore Cadenza was held when that Changeling Queen tried to sabotage her wedding a while back."

"Yes. So I want to dress to impress, as they say. I really want to see what kind of rocks are in there."

"Ah," you look up from the buttons with a friendly smile. "So you're a geologist then?"

"You know the word for it," she says, rather than exclaims. "I like you. Most ponies just say rock scientist. Sometimes even rock doctor."

"Well, geologist or rock doctor, you'll be sure to dazzle them with this," you chuckle, finishing the last button. You take a step back to admire your handiwork, but bump clumsily into the dressing cubicle's closed door. Pretending that didn't just happen, you gesture towards the dressing room's mirror. "What do you think?"

She silently leers into the mirror for the longest time, her face as difficult to read as ever. Finally, she speaks, "It passes the looking-nice test. Now for the Boulder test."

"Pardon?"

She pays no heed to your minor confusion. Instead, she fishes what looks like a pebble from her discarded gown's pocket, and slips it neatly into the inside pocket of the blazer, where it snugly remains. "It's perfect."

From there, she swiftly folds her blue gown up and stuffs it into one side of her saddlebags. She fetches a purse full of bits from the other side. "The meeting isn't until sunset, but if I wear it now, I don't have to deal with the buttons again later. How much?"

After you ring up the price at the counter, she pushes the bits across the table and hoists her saddlebag over her waist. "Thank you."

You watch as this beautiful, mysterious specimen of a mare turns to leave your boutique - and your life - forever. Despite every logical part of you telling you not to do anything rash, the emotional side of you wins out, as usual.

"Wait."

She pauses just as she's halfway towards the shop door. She turns back to you silently without a word. Perhaps you should have thought of something to say first.

"I'm, um, hosting a cider-bash tomorrow night!" A silence follows, too long for your liking. "If you're still in Canterlot, you're welcome to... s-stop by." You stumble on those last few words.

The mare blankly considers your words. "I don't usually go for parties. I mostly prefer studying rocks in a quiet place."

"Oh," you say dumbly. "That's okay, it was worth just asking. You never know until you try, after all!" Your friendly chuckle might have come across as dry.

To your surprise, she trots back to the counter. "Could I have the address?" she asks. You smile, hoofing over a small paper card from under your counter; you always keep them just for this reason. She looks it over, then slips it into the saddlebag with her bits.

"If I don't show up," she says, "just assume I didn't get approval to explore the caves from the meeting. But if it's a success, I guess that's a good enough reason to celebrate." You aren't sure whether she stressed the word if or not. "Should I wear something for the party too?"

"Wear whatever's comfortable," you say, beaming. "Also, I think you mean when it's a success. I'm sure you'll do great!"

As difficult as her face is to read, there's not many ways to misinterpret an honest blush. "Thank you." She trots back to the door with a spring in her step, although it's almost unnoticeable. You wordlessly appreciate how the blazer, like most pony attire, didn't come with pants as she walks away from you.

"Oh, one more thing." she calls back as she's halfway out the door. "My name."

*******

Maud Pie.

A sweet name, but with clear humble roots. You're still rolling the name off your tongue as you're closing the shop for the night. Your mind’s held captive by the memories of her turquoise eyes, her violet eyeshadow and mane, the blue, form-fitting gown she wore as she entered. The blue blazer, confidently showing off her, uh, cutie mark as she left. Her calm voice, like the waves of an ocean or the purring of a cat; never changing in tone, yet so inexplicably comforting.

It's only when you've locked up the boutique, and you're halfway home, do you remember the tea you accidentally left to go cold in the back kitchen.

Canterlot's sunset glows a warm orange above you as you reach your apartment complex. The walk itself felt like no time at all, since your mind was still preoccupied on the spectacular mare from earlier.

Just as you open the outer doors with a squeak, you hear the telltale sounds of limbs thumping clumsily down the stairwell. A few soft thuds, followed by the occasional clack of light metal. You'd recognise that sound anywhere.

"Oh, hey, nice to see you again, friend," you chirp once your neighbour limps into view. "Off to that library again?"

Now, your neighbour is not like most of the citizens of Canterlot. In fact, you've seen locals mistake him for a B-movie monster on more than one occasion. Some of the snooty unicorn upper-crust have never heard of, nor seen, a Diamond Dog before. Much less one with a prosthetic leg.

The canine smiles, possibly unaware of just how many of his serrated teeth are on show. "No such thing as too much reading," he hums, "and it's that time when there's nobody on the streets but the, er, library is still open."

"Well, have fun then," you chime. As much as you'd like to stay and chat - you've always known this guy to be a bit of a lone wolf - you are tired, and you need to get back to your room, rest up and plan for the... party. "Say, perhaps you'd be interested in coming around to my apartment tomorrow night?" you muse. The worst case scenario is that he says no, after all. "We're having a cider-bash, and I'm sure there'll be plenty of locals who'd be willing to give you a chance. Heck, you might even catch the eye of some fine mares!"

The Diamond Dog just blinks dumbly.

"Oh. Right." You cough. "I wasn't sure if you liked Equestrians or not, I was just throwing it out there..."

"Hey, don't worry about it," the brutish canine reassures, "I appreciate the invite. While I don't exactly chase mares, I can see the beauty in one. Thing is, I never make a move to hit on them because they never sniff my butt first."

Wait, what!?

"That was a joke," he clarifies bluntly. "We don't sniff butts."

"Oh thank goodness, that was getting awkward..."

Within two minutes, you're in your own apartment, your own little world. Your neighbour has long since left for the library, or wherever he goes. That's none of your business. You're happy to just throw yourself on your faithful sofa for a few minutes, blessing the softness of the cushions on your rear.

The sky through your window glows the last of its orange burn. If you remember right, Maud should be starting her meeting with those other high-brow Canterlot types by now. You really hope it works out well for her. Alas, that's out of your control. It's better to just rest up and prepare for the party.

*******

Maud Pie takes a deep breath to calm herself and turns over her paper.

She's sitting in what is probably the most comfortable waiting room in Equestria. Lavishly padded chairs, ornate tables, and pastel-coloured wallpaper designed to bring calming vibes to those waiting within Canterlot Palace. Sadly, wallpaper and nice seats can only do so much for the nerves.

Maud finishes reading her paper - notes pertaining to everything she intends to bring up at her meeting - so she flips the paper around again, and starts from the beginning. She must memorize everything. It's what only the best geologists would do, as only the best geologists would be allowed to explore the caves under Canterlot.

She could not tell how many times she read and re-read her notes before the fancy doors creaked open. A high-class, highly-strung, and highly-aged mare stood opulently in the doorway.

"Ms. Maudalina Daisy Pie?" she inquires with a shrill accent that reminds Maud of tea and biscuits, and swooning into crystalline bowls of caviar from a case of the vapours after losing one's monocle. You know, that accent.

Maud looks up from her notes. "Hello."

"Ah, a pleasure to meet you. I'm Classy Cobble, head of the Geology Society's Canterlot branch. The meeting room is just around the corner, and the other two ponies are ready and waiting! Please me, Ms. Maudalina."

This is the moment that she's been waiting for, and yet, the moment she's dreading. This meeting could lead to her biggest discovery yet, and the very idea of missing such a chance?

No. She must drive such thoughts down, and hide any obvious signs of fear that might be on show.

"Okay. You can call me Maud."

So far so good. Maud adjusts her newly-bought blazer, making sure she looks the part. She pats the blazer's inside pocket. Boulder wishes her luck.

The walk there is short, but slow. Maud's in no rush, and neither is the elderly mare. A doorway later, Maud finds herself in a broad, yet near-empty room, save for some tables, chairs, and a chalkboard for graphs and visual aids and whatnot. The meeting room.

Two stallions wave them over to one of the tables, an elderly earth pony of similar age to Classy Cobble, and a rugged pegasus garbed in Royal Guard armor. They introduce themselves as the head groundskeeper, Hayseed Greenhooves, and the recently-appointed Captain of the Royal Guard, Stratagem.

"Hello there, young'un," the rustic groundskeeper smiles. "No need to take a seat. This meeting won't take up much of your time."

Maud's stomach tightened. What was that supposed to mean? Were they just going to reject her without even giving her a chance!? "Um, sir?" she began to speak.

"He's right, Miss Pie," the disinterested pegasus pushes a few pieces of paper aside. "We've looked over your credentials, and everything checks out. You have the experience for the role, provided that you work alongside Classy Cobble here. And since you're related to an Element of Harmony - one that sang her praises about you with a two-minute musical number when we asked her - you're basically green across the board." He growled the part about Pinkie Pie's musical inclinations.

Maud froze. Of all the things they'd mention during this meeting, why her sister? Why Pinkie Pie?

"All we need is your signature and the caves will be open to you tomorrow mid-morning!" Greenhooves elates, pushing a scroll with several boxes, two of them already stamped with the stallions' hoof-prints, towards Maud and her fellow geologist.

"You spoke to Pinkie about this?" In a rare turn of events, Maud expresses herself with a raised eyebrow. "I don't think she knows as much about rocks as me."

"Yes, yes," Stratagem tapped his forehoof impatiently against the tabletop. Clearly, Maud's hesitance isn't being well-received by the busy Guard Captain. "But we wouldn't let just any rabble into the caves directly under the Royal Palace, would we?"

"Does this mean, if Pinkie Pie wasn't my sister... I wouldn't get this chance?"

As Greenhooves opens his mouth to say something that would probably be encouraging, Stratagem emits an irritated groan that cuts him right off.

"Can we hurry this along? There are a lot more important things that I need to be doing today. Yes, if you weren't related to - Pink Pie, was it? - then your request would probably be lost among all the others. Big deal. You've got a ticket to do some good in your line of work, so you can either take it or walk away. I don't care which, I'm just here because the Royal Palace is, you know, a Royal Palace. Nearly everypony who isn't a guard has to go through this to prove they're trustworthy enough not to compromise the safety or security of the princesses. And you can be trusted because your sibling's deemed important by Celestia and Luna themselves."

Maud looks down at her notes. The ones she spent all this time re-reading and revising. She didn't need to recite a single word of it. She didn't even need the pretty blazer she just bought. She didn't really need to do, well, anything. She looks over the contract with the same intensity that she would be looking for phenocrysts in a lump of igneous scoria; it's all there, on a metaphorical silver platter. Can she truly say she earned this?

Despite the fibres of her body warning her that it doesn't feel right, it's still the best opportunity she's ever had. Most geologists would get fame and recognition by stumbling upon an undiscovered kind of rock or formation. But isn't that also just a case of being in the right place at the right time? Is this really so different?

Either way, to turn down such an offer would be like driving her career into the dry, rockless dirt. Maud pushes her hoof into a nearby ink-pad, and with a twist in her stomach, imprints her hoof in the desired box.

"Is there anything else?" she asks, stepping aside to let Classy Cobble could put her hoofprint down too.

"Nothing else at all. Just show up tomorrow." Greenhooves said. "Captain Stratagem here will notify the guards to allow you access, and I'll lead you to the cave entrance."

"Thank you very much for your time and patience, gentlecolts," the elderly mare gives a humble bow.

"Yeah," Maud says, trying not to be sick. "Thanks."

As she left the meeting room, Maud Pie felt much more like somepony on the cusp of a famous discovery... but somehow, she felt much less like a geologist. Not even Boulder can provide the solace her quivering nerves long for.