Solace

I remember I had a dream, once. See, there was this pony prince...ugh, they’d hate to hear me saying that. There was this pony, see. I saw them, anyway. Super fancy, super mysterious. Kind of super fucking hot, you know? / It didn’t work out. Not for any special reason, really—I mean, I tried / Just one of those ‘missed connections’, I guess. Which sounds like bullshit, sure, but I think they wanted more. Would have wanted more. I don’t know. Maybe I went back too late, maybe the portal fucked shit up, maybe pony magic doesn’t work in Hell, maybe the timing just genuinely wasn’t right / Which sounds like bullshit, sure, but / Anyway.

I waved him through not really taking note of much. Lord Tirac. Tirek. Whatever. We get more Lords through our doors than there are demons in Hell, as Moxxie likes to say. Funny that everycreature looking for revenge up top happens to be so Important. See also, greedy, entitled, narcissistic... / Money means money, I guess. / So Lord Who-the-fuck-asked from Who-the-fuck-cares comes crashing through the doors and suddenly Blitz is waving about excitedly telling me we need some new spellbook to access some fuck-off-limits realm or something, and he needs me to go over and say hi to Octy, distract her for a bit, while he sneaks in and grabs it. / He and Stolas were more off than on at that point. This was during their whole...yeah, whatever it was. / I told him I’d get it myself, and you can see where his imagination goes, just see where it fucking goes, except you didn’t even need to because he told me anyway with a pat on the back and a wink and a “Good job Loony! Make sure you make sure you’ve got the book in claw before you FUCK her, that’s my girl,” as he walked off, whistling. Asshole. Like, yeah, I had a bit of a crush on her back then, but so what. It wasn’t like that. Besides, I’m pretty sure Octy wasn’t even into me back then / Four bags of crisps, one Hellfire chilli dip, and five Dr. Peppers later (the only kind of drink they serve in Hell), and I was off with book in paw and only a mild aftertaste of regret. Octy stood and waved me off as Blitz pulled up. Always so refined, so fucking cool. She should’ve made me feel a mess by comparison, but somehow she always made me feel at home, instead. / I didn’t bother correcting him / She got me like most people don’t.
Fucking ponies. Ponyland. Ponyville. No, that wasn’t it. Equestria, and Canterlot. Night time, since we always moved at night, but still—bright colours, friendly faces. Ponies fucking everywhere.

“No wonder Blitz was so excited,” said Millie, saying the same thing I was thinking, just with a whole lot less acid.

“This explains...a lot,” Moxxie agreed.

“Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up. We’re here on business, you two, so try to keep it in your pants. Plenty time for pleasure later.” Blitz was, of course, a consummate professional.

“Pleasure—”

“Millie, we’re on the clock here. There’ll be plenty time for pleasure later. Now,” he said, sweeping back to Mox, “who the fuck is it we need to kill, again?”

“I, uh... Scor-pan? Scorpion?”

“Scorpion?”

“The guy’s brother, sir.”

“Classic. Alright, then, I’m sure we know what to look for. Your basic horns, wings, tail. Handsome devil, little bit dumb. Know him when we see him.” / New Sinsta post from Octy: books spread out like stars spangled on her bed. Captioned ‘The store across the street was closing...’ Titles like Dos and Don’ts of Practical Sorcery, Crowley’s Conjurations, The Secret History: The Secret to Running Seven Hells Completely Secretly / “Loona!”

“Uh huh.”

“You, uh...guard the book.”

“Uh huh.” / What could I respond with? I knew nothing about books. Literally, actually nothing. ‘Looks cool’ / ‘Looks...cool’ / ‘Looks...interesting...’ / Lame! Lame. I was so fucking lame. And Octy was a fucking nerd. Ugh. And why was it so much easier to talk to her in person than come up with one single stupid reply? What would I say if this was still earlier? If I’d come over and she’d been sitting there reading. Probably I’d have said...probably I’d have said...probably I’d have said... / “Nerd.”

“Excuse me?”

The pony standing in front of me looked probably important. Probably some noble or something, with that fancy cloak. Probably a Lord. Almost certainly, actually, by the mask they were wearing. Like a painted wooden owl, eyes gleaming from within dark holes. It muffled them. / Their voice was loud like they were trying to be quiet but hadn’t got the hang of it just yet. Not quite. It gave them an uncertainty that was almost, almost cute / I made the executive decision to give them exactly one fuck, and stepped aside.

They didn’t move.

“Uh, hello?”

The mask rattled slightly as they shook their head. / Were owls status symbols in every realm? Bullshit. / “I would like to procure your services,” they boomed, unquietly. Their pockets jingled with what was probably quite a lot of money.

“Uh huh. And who the fuck are you supposed to be?”

A whiff of genuine surprise. I breathed in, drinking their scent: silver and gold and woodsmoke and incense, beneath that a sort of complicatedheadysmell that was almost certainly perfume, emotions a mixwrangling of nervousrebelliousandhungerandpride, unsuccessfully hiding their tangytart, their sweatysweet—yeah, that’s it—arousal... (and distantunfamilairnoteof...starlight? moonlight?) / But that my nose is better than my ears, I’m sure all that was in their voice as well as they said, “I am the Prince of Night. You may refer to me as Prince.”

I couldn’t resist. “How about I call you Night?”

The Prince struggled very valiantly to regain themself. “That...is acceptable, I suppose. Call me what you will. It doesn’t really matter,” he said, in the tone of one to whom it mattered quite a lot. “What matters is I have need of your...services. I can pay.”

“Uh huh.”

They seemed encouraged by this. “What’s your rate? I’ll make it double.”

“We’re not really in the business of taking customers from up top,” I said, grinning a long, wolfish grin, “but make it triple and we can, like, make an exception, I guess.” Fucking idiot! Blitz would make it quadruple, for sure. Sextuple, even. Octuple / I drank in the smell of Night again: money, yeah, lotsandlotsofmoney...and that other, that tangytart growing stronger...

“We have a deal.” Night sounded less flustered now, beneath the mask. “If you’ll follow me, my carriage is just a few streets away...”

“Oh, my Da- / Boss will be back in a few minutes. You can talk to him.”

“Your boss? I don’t want your boss. I want you.” The surprise again, and worse, suspicion.

“But you’ll have to talk things out with him.”

“Is that not what we just did? Talk things out?” It entered their voice, then, seeping in among the words. They had a nice voice. Suspicion poisoned it. “I may be rich, but I’m no fool. Either come with me, now, or I’ll find somepony else. No offence.”

Fucking clients, fucking clients. This is why I never spoke to fucking clients. “Fine! Fucking fine. All right? Jut tell me who you want to kill—”

“Who I want to what?”

Uh. “What?”

They cleared their throat. Nervously. “What, uh, what exactly am I buying, here?”

I stared. Realisation beginning to dawn. “What are you buying?”

“Ah. A...night, I thought.” Purple flush, embarrassment above arousal. “A mare of. Lady of. The night.” They coughed. “An...escort.”

“What?” I stuttered. My own awkwardness purpling the night. “I’m not a prostitute!”

“What term would you prefer?” The voice was panicked, now. “Seamstress?”

“I’m not a prostitute! I’m a—a—”

“My apologies, madam, if I’ve made a mistake—based on your attire, I merely thought—”

“a receptionist!” There was a pause. I closed my eyes, briefly. “At I.M.P. We, uh, assassinate people.”

“So that explains the, the...”

“The killing, yeah.”

“I see.”

Night’s breath misted in the, uh, night. Hot air. I was suddenly aware of the cold of the pulling gently at my fur. Fuck! Blushing, blushing. Stupid fucking white fur making it obvious to everyone. Well, whatever. Night was blushing, too. It stunk the air. I swallowed. their blush and their / Whisper from behind: ponies were staring. We hadn’t exactly been arguing silently, yet another thing to add to the fire of stupid this whole mission had become. Ugh. I needed to get the fuck out of here. Night seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

“Well, I should be...leaving.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get the fuck out of here. No offence.”

“My apologies again. Nightmare of a night.” They sighed. A dark slip of paper floated up, carried in some kind of magic field. Local magic. “My card. If I can do anything at all to make it up to you...tap the symbol, it’ll put you through.” I took it curiously. Bunch of indecipherable text. Black on blue, with a familiar crescent moon. Huh. I tilted it to catch the light. It sparkled. The Prince of the Night turned to go.

“Hey,” I said, “hold on.” They listened, held. “Based on my choice of attire, huh?”

“Oh! Yes. Pony clothing is quite...particular. Wearing it at all is something of a statement. So when someone wears clothing that covers up...enough to conceal, but even then, only barely... It has a certain appeal.” In the dark of the mask, bright eyes glinted. “You have a certain appeal.”

“Uh huh,” I said, but I couldn’t keep the slow smile off my cheeks. I tucked the card into my shorts. “Like I said, Night. Get the fuck outta here.”

“Enjoy your night,” they said, retreating. Dark cloak dancing. The tip of a tail just peeking out from the bottom... If I tried, I could just about imagine... / Could just about imagine their form, from the moonlight shining. / The dip of their shoulders, the shape of a leg. / The curve of their ass as they walked. / Swaying...

Yeah, and the fact that these thoughts stayed with me even after Blitz, and Moxxie, and Millie came back, and the portal was opened, and the body was dumped, that these thought returned after dinner, in the warmth of my bed, in images, imaginings, in memories...yeah, it’s not like it meant anything. It didn’t mean anything neither when I touched myself that night, frustrated, alone, and the sound of that voice floated back, and didn’t feel that strange, in the end, lying there in the glow... / What the fuck would it mean? The corner of a glittering something in my shorts across the room. / It wasn’t like I’d be going back, not anytime soon. Best fucking forget it. Not anytime soon. It wasn’t like I’d /