I. In Which Certain Desires Are Revealed

From the Journals of Scarlet Letter:

"There comes a point in every detective's career where she'll discover something she can't explain, and won't try to. For me, that's the feeling I get when I see her. I don't know why my heart stops beating. I don't know why my mind goes fuzzy. I don't know why I want her to take me, pull me aside, and take charge of every bit of me she can find.

I just know that I'm happy she wants the same thing."

Scrawled in the margins, in the hoof-writing of Perique Blend:

"D'awwwwww~" [Added to this are several drawings of hearts and a small cartoonish depiction of a batpony with noticeably large wingspan and imposing fangs helping a wingless pony with a deer-ranger hat to fly.]

The batponies in their cavernous Old Colony had a saying that, when translated into a more modern dialect, went: Everything on earth has its proper place. Every note had a place in the song, every pony had her place in the fabric of things. Not that they were pulled by fate so much as they must make their place! But it was the idea of harmony through order that carried across the years.

Thus, Perique Blend understood the utility of carefully regimented sloth. Sloth was, after all, a part of everything and so it too had its proper place. Laziness when cultivated with as keen an attentive eye as she gave the fields she sourced from blossomed into peace. At least, that’s what she told herself at some point every Sunday, because while Tuesdays were for dates, Sundays were for doing absolutely nothing but having tea, reading, and figuring out how long a pony can sleep in one day.

Two ponies lay intertwined on Scarlet Letter’s comfortable bed in a nest of covers. The morning sunlight creeping in through the half-closed blinds found them still, but not dozing as they usually would be. Between Scarlet’s half-read book and the tiniest lingering hint of sweet burley tobacco that clung to Perique’s mane, between the valleys of soft covers and the warm singularity that finding a partner to curl around in the morning brings, between all of these things, a conversation was unfolding.

Scarlet Letter trailed off, letting her winding, rambling explanation die an ignoble death. “I… I mean, it’s not like we have to try this or anything,” she said for perhaps the fourth time in as many minutes. “I just… I think it’s something we might both enjoy. If you want to.”

A hoof reached up and idly pushed a bit of Scarlet’s mane out of the way. There wasn’t an answer right away. Sometimes there wasn’t. Scarlet had begun learning that sometimes in person that her lover was not quick to words. Sometimes thought took over and she ruminated.

At first, this had bothered her. It is easy to think the worst when after some long speech is done, the only answer coming is a long pause.

Scarlet Letter, who had solved cases others had called impossible, had of course brought her mind to bear upon the problem of the Awkward Perique Pause and discovered the only solution. The solution mostly involved burying her face in the warm batpony chest fuzz of the only other pony present in her bed and whining in a high-pitched voice until she spurred the ruminating thoughts out of from behind those delightful little fangs. Which she totally wasn’t focused on in general after her admission.

The larger batpony chuckled and enveloped her earth pony lover in a cocoon of leathery wings and nibbled her ear, turning her plaintive whines of embarrassment into something rather different.

“Thy protestations are premature, little one,” she said.

Scarlet squirmed as much as one can squirm when so trapped. “Yes… but… I don’t know, you didn’t say anything and argh.”

More chuckles and more light nibbles. “I already knew that you enjoyed my fangs, small as they are.”

“Seem pretty big to me.”

“That is because you have a grand total of zero, little one.”

“And… that’s fair.”

Perique fussed over her mane and continued. “I already knew that. I had suspected that this further admission that you’ve made might be lurking somewhere ‘neath the surface, but of course ‘twouldn’t do to pry. Yet, cry pardon, reading thee is not as difficult a task as thou doth assume.”

Scarlet Letter pouted. “I’ll have you know I am very complicated.”

“Oh, extremely.”

Scarlet continued to pout, not that it did her much good.

Things settled, then. The morning’s brash sunbeams continued to infiltrate through the blinds and the lazy warmth of the perfect Sunday was unperturbed, even when at last Perique spoke. Scarlet’s ears perked quickly, a bit surprised. She had assumed her girlfriend would be asleep, for it seemed that during the daylight hours any period of inactivity was an invitation to nap.

“Bloodplay,” Perique purred. There was an odd undertone in her voice, not quite hesitation but something else. “It’s… it’s certainly a fascinating idea.”

Scarlet’s ears were trained. The smallest changes to her lover’s mood could be spotted through tells in her speech, or the way she shifted or was still, or the angles of her splayed ears. Perique, in so many situations, was an open book. Sometimes it was strange to realize that not everypony could read her like Scarlet could. It seemed obvious.

She detected nothing worth worrying about, and so snuggled close again to listen.

“We have talked at length about lore before, though it was rather a long time ago.”

Scarlet smiled into the chest floof which she was not-so-secretly delighted with. “Yes, we have. Everytime that you drink more than a few sips, we inevitably talk about it.”

Perique paused, coughed, and shifted slightly. “Aye. Be that as it may, I’m sure at least… some of it was coherent, yes? About how we came from the West? How the Mother of Nights found us there?”

“Mhm! You told me that when I wanted to know why you cringed when I..." Scarlet searched for the phrase for a moment, then lighted on it. "Um, 'profaned the Night-Mother', I think was how you phrased it? I mean I kinda thought I was just asking Princess Luna to d- to cast her ire upon things. At the time, I mean." She let out a nervous giggle.

“And I recall having not been as kind as I would have wished to be, at the time.” Perique kissed her forehead and then continued. “Part of that history involves vampirism. Did I ever mention that?”

Scarlet blinked. "What.”

“Yes, little one. Before we were delivered, long before Ulthar, all of us--thestral, batpony, leatherwings, whatever we were called--lived in one place. Sarnath; dost thou remember it? Good, I’m glad you do. Hekata our mother had left us when we were created, and through no ill will on her part we were bereft. Then He came.” She frowned. “The Father. He changed us, or at least some of us. But all of us live in his shadow.”

Scarlet blinked. She absorbed this.

“Sorry, but… could I get that again? Metaphor is nice, and you know I like it, but…”

“Well, in baser terms,” Perique said evenly, “he showed up and re-arranged our whole society to serve him personally. The Father was his name, as far as we knew. He chose dozens of us to turn into beings like himself, and they became the cornerstones of a vampiric nobility, and under their watchful eyes, an army of slaves built the City of Sarnath to what it is today.”

A short silence followed.

“I have a feeling, just a feeling, that I’ve stumbled on something a bit, uh, culturally sensitive,” Scarlet managed with a cringe. “Is this like the profaning thing?”

“Not quite. Did I seem overly serious? Forgive me.”

“Oh! No, it’s fine! But…”

“I just… found it curious. Grim as it was, it is not something we can really escape.” Perique hummed one of the strange lilting tunes that Scarlet was always forgetting to ask her about, and fished for something on her night stand. “Perhaps I will look to the past for some ideas, one way or another. I will think on it. But for now…”

With an eager, fanged smile she produced a mane brush and then Scarlet Letter quite forgot about the entire conversation in what followed.

“So that’s it, then,” Perique finished.

Her friend Fleeting Flame nodded thoughtfully and looked down at the drink he had been nursing for some time. He was a handsome stallion, not far from her size, piebald and sporting an impressive, if outdated outfit. A few too many ruffles, but it suited him somehow. It was funny, now, to have assimilated to day pony culture to the point that an individual who went about mostly clothed was an oddity to her. In the Old Colony few treated clothing the way that Equestrians did, preferring to be covered when outside their homes.

They’d met for dinner in one of Ponyville’s two diners that were more or less identical. Not that she would have ever in her life told either proprietor that. She feared few things. The wrath of a Ponyville restrauntier was one of those things.

“It’s intriguing, certainly,” he replied. “And I have first hand experience in your interest in bloodplay of at least one variety.” He flashed a fanged smile at her, and she chuckled.

“I do. I’m less familiar with other methods, to be honest. I mentioned that at some point, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“I’ve been putting together the bits of a plan. I’ve been absolutely crushed under deadlines for the next Scrivener book, and with the edits going slower than I would like…” she shook her head. “I don’t wish to think on it a moment more than absolutely necessary. But I can see the end of it all coming up.”

“Light at the end of the tunnel?”

Perique smiled and lazily drained her own drink. “Only a pony who wasn’t born in caves thinks that light at the end of a tunnel is a good thing. Day ponies.”

“And you’re looking forward to chance to put your creative energies into something a bit less high stakes,” continued Flame. “Something to start off a sabbatical. It sounds like a wonderful time, to be sure.”

She smiled at him and sighed. “It will be. By the Moon, I am weary to the bone, Flame. The prospect of something that doesn’t involve even a moment of writing or editing or talking to ponies about these things sounds divine. I’m only now at the point where I have enough energy to be social.” Her smile turned sheepish. “As you’ve noticed.”

“I have, though I knew you would return. I look forward to the finished product as well. It has been some time since we played, or even just enjoyed each other’s company.”

“Far too long. But here I am, talking about myself. I’ve not asked you a single question regarding your works and days. I cry your pardon.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not at all. Things haven’t changed much since the last time we had dinner, except that we’re here now and not at the other dive.”

Perique smirked and looked pointedly at the empty spot before him. “And yet again, only one of us orders food.”

He shrugged. “I suppose I could, to keep up appearances, but I find a drink does that almost as well and I can actually enjoy that.”

Fleeting Flame was a vampire. There was really no way around it, and some of the novelty had worn off. Not in that his condition did not fascinate her, but more in that some of the nervous animal energy had faded and she could find herself accepting vampirism--at least, his vampirism--with a surprising comfort.

He wasn’t of the lineage of the Father, which had been a boon. Whatever his story was, turned by a rogue, she had acquired only bits and pieces. She’d have it all in time, or so she felt. Patience brought forth many tales that years of prodding would only hide.

“You know,” Flame said after a short but companionable silence, “I have two proposals. I’m sure at least one of them might interest you.”

Perique raised her eyes at that, and tried not to get stuck thinking about the timbre of his voice again. She did that sometimes, especially with Scarlet Letter. Actually, she probably did it with Scarlet the most.

“Try me,” she said.

“First: you want this to be special, I’m assuming. You mentioned using the Society’s Castle Blood as your backdrop. But have you thought about going the extra mile?” When she just raised her eyebrow higher, he laughed and continued. “What I mean is, have you considered changing your form? Briefly, of course.”

She paused, and then squirmed. “Sorry, I know you don’t mean--”

He shook his head. “No, not that. The society does have potions for such things, you know.”

She snorted. “Oh, I know. I wasn’t impressed with the vampiric ones. Ken it, if it please you--searched them out the day before the Masquerade. Well, the one I went to. A pity I missed the last one. But no foal of the Old Colony would be fooled by such a thing.”

“Ah, but they’ve improved. After we talked about your lore, I did some digging of my own and found my sources inadequate. Digging brought me into the path of a young scholar--an absolutely delightful boy, I do need to tell you about that later--and… well. Perhaps if you knew there was a somewhat improved version?”

“If I knew such a thing, I would be very interested,” she purred. “And you absolutely must tell me about him. I assume your proposal involves getting me a bit of that?”

“You guess correct, madam. I can have him send me a few bottles.”

Perique managed not to skree like a giddy schoolbat. “Oh! She’ll love it! I’ll love it! Absolutely. Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me yet, when I’m not done! I do still have one more porposal to give.”

Perique waggled her ears at him, feeling playful. “Aye, so you do. Tell it true.”

He leaned in and whispered into her ear, and she hummed.

“Oh, nine hells yes.”

Author's Note

Thank you, Manifest Harmony, for letting me play around in your world for a bit. I hope you like this foray. Thank you all for reading, and thank you to those who read it as I was working on it. This isn't my normal fare, but I'm mostly happy with it.

Next chapter: actual sex happens.