Diamond in the Rough

Chapters

Tests and Tears
An Invitation for Infiltration
Bound By Blood
Flights and Fights
An Athlete's Acquisition
Entering is Easy
Speeches Spoken, Plans Pursued
Allies and Antagonists
Crafty Consolations
Heists and Highrollers
A Duel and a Decision
Blueblooded Bastions and Bloody Battle
Call Check
A Dance with a Drake
Private Party
Getting the Goods
Retreats and Rabble Rousers
Showtime, Serenity, Surprise
The Tyrant's Truth
Forward, Friends
Epilogue
The Pieces to Play
Pampering, Pinkies, and Potential
Blockades, Blackguards, and Blackouts

Tests and Tears

Dash leaned back in her chair, letting a satisfied belch pass through her system. She gave a nod to Pinkie as the woman returned to her seat. What really drew the athlete’s attention, though, was when Spike entered the house. His face was so flushed and red that Isabelle actually thought something was wrong with the kid. Then she remembered where he went earlier, and it clicked.

A slow, predatory grin crossed her lips as she rose from the chair and walked over to the young man. She leaned an elbow onto his shoulder. “So, squirt. Did you finally catch a peek?” she whispered to him in a conspiring tone, a bit too interested in hearing his story.

Spike just sat there, expressionless, motionless. Slowly he turned to look at Dash, his face breaking into a smile that she could only call awesome in the most traditional of senses.

“Bro,” she addressed proudly, offering a fist to the young man.

“I have seen angels.” His voice was shaky and a little breathless as he returned the gesture. A loud growl emanated from his stomach, wiping the smile off his face as he looked to the still mostly-laden table. “Uh, is the food ready? I’m starving!”

“Hell yeah. Eat, eat.” Dash gestured to the plethora of food on the table. “World’s your oyster, champ. Live it up!” After giving Spike a shove in the right direction, she headed towards the door. “Guess I’ll go and hit up Twila. Might as well get a good seat for the lecture.” She gave a small wave of her hand in farewell.

His mouth full of toast and ham, he called out to her, “‘F you see Rarity, don’ say nothin’!”

“Heh,” Dash laughed, opening the door and closing it shut behind her.

Spike swallowed. “Twila’s probably wondering where we all are, so we better hurry,” the young man said to Chylene and Pinkie.

Pinkie enthusiastically nodded, shoveling bite after bite into her mouth. Her cheeks distended from the abundance of food she had crammed into her mouth, and crumbs flew freely with every bob of her head. She was done with her meal in roughly about two minutes, then quickly got up and chucked her plate and cutlery in the sink.

“All done, full up and ready to roll!” she announced, before rushing out the door. Chylene nervously smiled, still slowly and delicately cutting into her food with a knife and fork.

“Aren’t ya gonna follow ‘em?” asked Alice.

Chylene twitched a bit before replying, quietly, “I’m not sure if I should really go or not...”

Swallowing a bite of omelet, Mac noticed the uncomfortable squirm to Chy’s posture. “This sure is delicious, Chy,” he said, deflecting the topic. He got a slightly annoyed look from Alice, but he went on, “I sure did miss yer cookin’. It’s as good as ever.”

She blushed lightly, giving a small, “Thank you.” Mac knew she meant it for more than just the omelet. The two had briefly dated, the big man being her first lover. She had spent several nights--surprising all her friends--over at the farmhouse, and thus several mornings. While it hadn’t lasted, it had ended mutually enough and the two had remained friends. So he could always read between the lines.

But the young woman shook her head and said, “It’s alright, Mac. I just... I don’t know what I can do. The last time was so scary...and I don’t know if I can do it again.” She set her fork down, placing her trembling hands in her lap. “What if I freeze? What if one of our friends d-doesn’t come h-home because I--”

“That’s enough,” Mac said firmly, but not unkindly. She looked up, surprised. “I don’t know what the future holds for y’all, Chy, or even what exactly you girls did. What I do know is my sister is alive thanks to ya. That’s all you, Chy.” He gave her a warm smile reminiscent of their nights together. “And I’d be able ta sleep a bit better at night knowin’ you’re with ‘em, keepin’ an eye on everyone.”

Alice looked from the quiet Chy to her brother’s smile. “I’m not sure I really get it, but...y’all are a team, aren’t ya? It’s not the same if you don’t go, Miss Chy. It’d be like me an’ Sweetie goin’ off without Scoots. With jus’ the two of us, we’re not really the Crusaders, y’know?”

Chylene gave a slow nod before placing one of her hands on the big Apple’s--it had always made her feel so safe, how much bigger he was than her and yet so careful, so gentle. “Thank you,” she said, then to Alice, “and you, too, Alice. Go ahead and finish breakfast, OK? I’ll wash the dishes later.”

Scooting his chair up, Mac began gathering the dishes, nodding for Alice to do the same. “Don’t you worry about that, Chy. We’ll take care of the house, make sure y’all have a home to come back to when you’re finished.”

“I’ll make us a big meal to celebrate, with all your favorites, Mac.”

“Lookin’ forward to it,” he said simply, still gathering dishes. With that, the young woman returned her chair to its place in the table and headed for the Hub.

It was time for a meeting and Chylene didn’t want to be late.

When Jack entered the Hub, she found it empty, much to her surprise.

“Twila? Ya’ll here or what?” she asked the mostly dark room, to no reply. That was strange--whenever Twila had sent Spike in the past to gather them for a meeting, she’d always been present, ready and waiting for everyone else to show up. She and Jack didn’t always get along--Jack being more down to earth in her lifestyle than the studious Twila--but the farmgirl always gave her dear friend credit where credit was due: she was an excellent leader, caring and thoughtful. Jack trusted her more than most, which is what made her absence all the stranger.

After pulling off the bank heist months ago, Twila had taken up the overarching workings of their increasingly complicated plot against the Tyrant. While Jack’s stake had been mostly personal retribution for her family’s farm, Twila’s was not only personal but honestly tied into her entire reason for living. She was also naturally focused, sometimes too much so--Jack had lost her nights to her nightmares, but she knew Twila had lost even more to just the general workload of their plans. Still, as she had found out over their developing friendship of the past three years, Twila could get the job done, especially with the help of Jack and the rest.

There weren’t many rooms to the Hub--the main entrance which doubled as the meeting room, the firing range and storage room, the emergency stores down another level, a few smaller rooms with military grade cots, and the small mess and dining area.

It was from there she heard the sobs.

The woman took a few slow, careful steps towards the door. She nudged the door open, taking in the sight. Twila--cool, calm, rational Twila--sat at the simple metal table, her head in her hands, her eyes red from crying. Through the wracking sobs, Jack occasionally caught a murmur of things like ‘Big Brother’ and ‘not strong enough’. So focused on her own thoughts and feelings, she didn’t even notice Jack entering the room.

Jack rubbed at the back of her neck. She wasn’t the best at comforting crying women--a trait most Apples seemed to share. Regardless, she put on a brave face and moved to the table Twila sat at. “Uh...” Jack started, then scowled. You’re smooth as butter, she sarcastically thought.

“I wondered who would be the first down here to see me like this,” Twila’s reply was bitter. “I guess life really has a sense of humor making it you, Jack.”

“What do ya mean by that?” she defensively asked. Shaking her head, she said, “Look, nevermind that. What’s wrong?” Moving and sitting across the table, Jack looked over the bookworm.

Twila raised a finger in a not-so-fast gesture. “Can’t nevermind if you ask what’s wrong.” She threw her hands down on the table. “What’s wrong is that you’re all trusting me! I mean, me! Really? Am I missing the punchline, because it seems like a really poor joke.”

“As compared ta when I nearly got everyone killed at the bank?” Jack bluntly replied. She swallowed, refusing to go back on that train of thought for a third time today. “L-look, Twi. Yer better at plannin’ this than I ever could be. You’ve got the noggin’ fer it. If anyone deserves ta be called boss, it’s you. I--” The farmer narrowed her eyes and tapped hard on the table with her finger. “We trust you because we know you’re the best chance we got on makin’ it out alive if somethin’ goes ta shit. If there’s a punchline ta this whole damn thing, then I’m missin’ it too, pardner.”

Twila turned her back to her as she replied, “And I showed just how good I am at this there, didn’t I? Like you said--for too many of us it was so close...” Her voice broke, but she went on. “Sure, Jack, I’ve got the book smarts. I can make a plan, do the research, calculate the odds--all beforehand, I can make it perfect. But what does that even matter? Even Chylene did a better job at improvising than I did! I can’t...” Another sob. “I c-can’t keep you guys safe. My best friends, and I can’t keep you safe from this.”

She turned and gave Jack the hardest look the farmer had ever seen. They had been through some tough times over the past three years, but Twila had never had a look like that before. It was strong, solid, and yet, Jack was sure if hit in the right place it would shatter to splinters. “I’m not strong like you, Jack. Maybe I can make the plan--but what if I can’t see it through? If any of you were lost... But I’ve already lost someone, remember? My own brother.”

“Then ya make sure he didn’t die in vain,” Jack said, as gently as she could. After a beat, her mouth turned into a thin, grim line. “Ya hit that bitch with all ya got, every chance ya got. Ya take away her money. Ya take away her power, ya take away her children. You take away everything she took from us.” She pointed a finger at Twila. “I know ya, Twi. I know yer the best chance we’ve got ta take care of business. An’ while I might not know much, I know business, ya hear?” Jack wanted to add more, but she couldn’t think of anything. Words had never been her specialty. “...I trust ya, Twi.”

“I hope I can make good on that, Jack,” she said quietly. “I’m grateful to hear you say it, and I’m sure the others would say the same thing but...” Her determined look faded, showing the unease she had been hiding for months. Jack noticed the woman’s fists were clenched so hard they shook. “Everything’s fallen apart since that day. I don’t even know what I’m really doing anymore. I realize now that I’ve been too dependent on everyone else for too long. ...and I’m scared--no, terrified--that that’s changing.”

“Big Brother, I don’t know if I can do this...” came a young girl’s voice from the other room.

The young man laughed, replying with, “That’s a first. My little sister? Not sure she can do something? Am I even awake right now?” He gave another hearty laugh.

A head poked out of the doorway--the girl’s dark hair was up in pigtails, her left dark purple and her right mostly lavender pink from the few stripes of it in her hair. Her face was scrunched up and slightly red from frustration. She’d been getting ready for the past two hours.

“It’s not funny, you big lummox! Today’s a really important day! The rest of my life will be determined by today’s test, and if I mess even the tiniest thing up, I’m going to be miserable forever!” The man gave another laugh, doubling over and holding his sides. She let out a loud growl of frustration and went back inside her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

“Oh, c’mon, Twily, don’t be so childish. Even if you don’t make the Royal Academy--and we all know you will--there’s tons of options for you. Mom and Dad would be proud of you no matter where you go.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” Her response was a bit muffled, so he stepped closer to the door. “Mr. Youngest Valedictorian in a Hundred Years, Clearly Captain Material with Top Honors!”

“That’s not the same thing, Twila. The Military Academy isn’t exclusive, at least not up front. I didn’t have to take a test or anything--just sign my name.”

Silence was the only reply from beyond the door.

“C’mon, Twily--you’re a Shields! And since when did a Shields ever fail at anything they put their mind to?” he said encouragingly.

“...never...” came the girl’s voice, tiny and still mostly unsure. He knew what was going on through her head, the images and stories of their family’s heroic and noble deeds. They’d been his favorite bedtime stories at her age, too.

He opened the door, exclaiming, “Exactly! And Twila Shields is the best of the best!” He found her room completely empty. “Twily?”

There was a faint sniffling sound coming from the far end of the bed. He followed it to find her curled in the space between her bedside table and the wall--he often forgot how small she was for her age. She was crying and clutched her favorite and oldest doll--Smarty Pants--tight to her chest.

“What are you doing, Twily? We’re going to be late if y--”

“I can’t do it!” she cried, cutting him off. “I’m gonna fail, Big Brother! Fail miserably and be a worthless disgrace to the whole family forever and ever!”

He frowned and lowered himself into a kneel in front of her. Looking up, Twila’s breath caught as she saw what the instructors at the Military Academy had seen: the intensity of the truth and concern in his face. She had always been close to her brother; despite their age difference, the two got along immensely. He had always been there for her, always done things with and for her. She knew him, better than most. But even still, seeing his face--all calm and determination, like the knights in the stories her parents told her--still filled her with awe and respect.

“Twily,” he began, his voice firm but caring, “you will never be a disgrace to this family. You will never be worthless. You’re a Shields, but more than that, you’re Twila Shields. Your future is going to be better than you can imagine, I guarantee it.”

She rubbed at her teary eyes and sniffed uselessly to stop her runny nose. “Y-you really think so, Big Brother?”

His smile filled her up from head to toe with warmth and confidence. Rubbing her hair, he said, “I know so, Twily. You’re smarter than me!” She shook her head and he laughed. “No, I mean it.” He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “Cadence tells me that all time.” He stood back up and put on a high-pitched voice. “Lewellyn Shields, you child! Lunkhead! Dolt! Why can’t you be smarter, like your sister? Boys are so frustrating!”

Laughing, Twila grabbed a pillow off her bed at threw it at his head, scoring a direct hit. “Dork! She doesn’t sound like that at all!” Then, half to herself, “You forgot to squeal that last word like she does.”

“Excuse me, I do not squeal, thank you very much,’ came a stern voice from the bedroom’s doorway.

“Cadence!” Twila cried, bowling past her brother to tackle the young woman with her best hug. “I thought you weren’t coming back anymore!” Twila remembered how upset she had been when Cadence had told her she wasn’t going to be babysitting her any longer.

Returning the hug, the young woman said, “How could I not see my favorite little girl--oh, excuse me, young woman--on her big day? Lew and I are going to take you to the exam together, if that’s OK with you?”

Twila jumped up and down in delight, crying, “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” She remembered herself--and how grown up she was supposed to be now--and calmed, then she gave both Lew and Cadence knowing looks. “You two can take me, but no mushy stuff until I’m taking the exam, got it?”

Her brother instantly blushed but Cadence merely laughed, bringing a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggle. Twila grinned broadly. She always loved poking fun at her brother; it was baffling how he always got so worked up over liking Cadence. Twila was sure no one could not like the young woman.

“I promise,” Cadence said, still smiling. Lew’s mouth gaped as he tried to reply, but Cadence shoved at his shoulders in the direction of the door, pushing him out. “Let’s go! The sooner we get there, the sooner we can celebrate your passing with endless ice cream! Lew’s treat, right Twila?”

“Yeah!” the girl cried, running around the pair and out the door, her past fears vanished under the allure of frozen deliciousness.

“Oh...uh, yeah?” Lew said weakly, turning to Cadence. He smirked at her. “Thank you, Cadence. I don’t know how you do that so well.”

She patted him on the back. “It’s simple. I’m a girl, you’re a boy. But also a good big brother, lunkhead.”

“Thanks,” he replied. “I think.”

“Cadence! Big Brotheeeeeeer! Come on, we’ll be late!” cried Twila’s voice, distant.

“Let’s go, lunkhead,” Cadence said, taking Lew by the hand with a smile. Hand in hand, the two hurried out of Twila’s room, their own excitement building to see the promising young girl succeed on her big day.

Twila sat almost dead center in the testing room, surrounded by about two dozen others. Most of them were clearly noble children, the cut of their clothes fine and their noses stuck in various texts for last minute studying. That made Twila feel better--the nobility had access to the best prep schools in the country, so if they were making the very rookie mistake of studying more just before a test, surely she was more than ready.

But she’d been early, so for the last twenty minutes she’d sat amongst the background noise of faint whispers and miniscule movements, debating on what exactly would be in the exam. After the excitement of ice cream had faded, her nerves had returned, worse than before.

Lew doesn’t know, she thought. He’s not stupid but he’s a doer, not a thinker. Then a terrible thought struck her: What if he lied to make me feel better? What if it’s even worse than I thought? Maybe they don’t just fail you, but they torture you for wasting their time!

Just as she decided the best course would be to not take the test at all, the door opened, revealing a stern looking group of adults. The proctors, thought Twila with a gulp.

They entered in silence, two men and a woman, all carrying a large stack of exams.

The woman sat down at the desk at the head of the room, while the men began passing out what appeared to be answer sheets.

Twila nearly yelped when the silence was suddenly broken as the woman said, “Welcome, student candidates. In a moment, you will receive your exam. Every exam is unique, but if you attempt to communicate at any time during the--”

Tuning her out, Twila continually told herself, You’re a Shields, you’re a Shields, you’re a Shields...

“--Shields? Is Twila Shields in attendance?”

Realizing the proctors were doing a roll call, she gave a small yelp and raised her hand lightning fast. “Here, I’m here! Twila Shields, right here!”

“Yes, I can see that. Thank you,” one of the men replied, making a tick on a clipboard.

Twila lowered her hand and blushed. To her left she heard a few chuckles. She turned and saw another girl--probably her age, or a little older--laughing behind a gloved hand. Dark violet eyes catching Twila’s, she moved a pale blue bang from in front of her face, and whispered, “What a loser, this test is in the bag for sure.” Another pair of kids near her laughed.

Sinking into her chair, Twila focused on her desk. She wished she could just disappear or, better yet, magically move herself somewhere else. Anywhere but where she was right now.

A small clap caused her to sit up straight as an exam was tossed onto the desk.

“You have one hour, begin,” called the woman proctor. Immediately, the sound of ruffling paper and scratching pencils filled the room.

Twila sat motionless, too afraid to flip open the test. She knew what she’d find: a list of questions too difficult for her, a test she wasn’t ready--or even worthy--to take. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the blue-haired girl from earlier working diligently, her expression haughty. She wasn’t having any issues, it seemed.

“Twily, why haven’t you started yet?” her brother’s voice asked in her head.

I’m too afraid, Big Brother, she replied. I know you said I won’t fail but... What if I do?

Laughter. It was Cadence’s. “The best and brightest little girl ever, fail? I wouldn’t wager Lew’s money on ice cream if it wasn’t a sure bet, Twila.”

“And even if you do, you’ll still be my favorite little sis, Twila. Mom, Dad, Cadence, and me? We’ll all still love you, no matter what.”

Y-you will?

“Always,” said Lew’s voice.

“Always,” said Cadence’s voice.

The blue-haired girl turned to Twila, smirking. She blew a small raspberry, then went back to her test.

Scrunching up her face in anger, Twila picked up her pencil and opened the exam booklet. She signed her name with a flourish--she’d practiced for weeks--and read the first question.

Please name the three founders of the modern day Torani monarchy. Explain the unique cultural influences they brought with them and the lasting eff--is this it? she thought, astounded. That’s easy!

Twila was baffled--everything she had ever heard had called this one of the most rigorous and difficult entrance exams in the nation. But it was all so basic! Sure, the questions wanted in depth and well thought out answers, but that was just details, wasn’t it? As she quickened her pace, Twila was still surprised. Though the questions got more difficult further in, it was still easy for her.

For a moment, she paused, worry gripping her again. What if her finding it too easy was a problem? Again, she carefully looked over to the blue-haired girl. Her pencil was down, her forehead scrunched and sweating. Twila watched her eyes go back and forth over the same question again and again.

Twila felt a bit smug, though she knew it was wrong to do so. Deciding she couldn’t worry over every little thing all the time, she continued with the test.

She’d reached the final page, which consisted of just one large essay question, and was finishing up when she heard a man’s voice call out, “Time. Pencil’s down and tests closed, please.”

Carefully marking her last period, Twila did so and sat with her hands together. She glanced around--most of the others looked as nervous as she had been when she entered. A few looked relieved, like Twila did. The blue-haired girl--Twila wished she knew her name so she could stop thinking of her like that--seemed somewhere in between.

Twila watched as all the tests were taken up by one of the men. The woman proctor spoke, “Please return to the auditorium and await your assessment. Anyone who leaves will automatically be disqualified. You’re dismissed.”

With little alternative, Twila got up with the others and herded out of the classroom. She looked for that one girl to ask her name, but being shorter than most, she lost sight of her. When she got back to the auditoreum, where Lew and Cadence were waiting for her, she still couldn’t find the girl anywhere.

She told Lew she had to wait, so the three all sat down and did so.

Lew frowned. Twila had sat in silence for nearly two hours. She didn’t look particularly upset--at least not in any way he’d seen from her before--but he was still a little worried. After an hour, the students had begun being called, receiving their assessments. And finding out if they were accepted or denied. Lew didn’t know how many spots the Royal Academy had open each year, but only two of the would-be students had left happy so far.

He felt a squeeze on his hand. Smiling at Cadence, he mouthed, “Thank you.” and gave her hand a light squeeze back. She always paid such good attention to those around her, giving them just what she thought they needed to feel better. She’d been as quiet about Twila as he had, so she didn’t seem worried. It still baffled him how girls could do that, no matter the age.

Despite her reassurances, his patience had nearly run dry. But just as he opened his mouth, the door opened, revealing the woman proctor. “Twila Shields?”

Looking to her brother and Cadence, who both shrugged, she replied, “R-right here, ma’am.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting. This is a very unusual situation.”

“And exactly what sort of situation are we talking about here?” asked Lew.

The proctor shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s only for Miss Shields to know at the moment. Please, Miss Grania, do sit down,” the woman told Cadence, who had risen to berate the frustrating proctor. “In fifteen minutes, you’ll have your answers. But for now, Miss Shields?”

“Yes, ma’am?” Twila asked, trepidation in her voice.

“Come with me, please.”

“A-alright,” she said simply. Getting up, she raised a hand to stop her brother from doing the same. “Be right back, OK, Big Brother?”

“Yeah, Twily. I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

Cadence gave her a smile which Twila returned before leaving with the proctor.

The proctor led Twila down a dizzying number of corridors. She was certain, if the woman had abandoned her, Twila would be lost forever. She thought about asking where they were going or how much longer it would take to get there, but the serious face the woman wore kept the young girl quiet. The only sound was the echo of their steps on the pristine white tile and Twila’s own rapid heartbeat.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the proctor stopped and gestured to a door. “Right through there, then.”

Tilting her head, Twila ventured to ask, “Um, what’s in there?”

“The results of your exam,” the woman said, giving a small smile. She looked like she had told some sort of joke. It made Twila even more nervous. Giving Twila a look, the proctor snapped, “Well, go on then! We don’t have all night.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Twila replied, approaching the door. It didn’t look like a torture room door. But then, Twila didn’t know if those had a special look or not. Reaching out to take the doorknob, she gulped. If she was in any real trouble or danger, her brother would save her. That’s what big brothers did, after all.

With a bit more confidence and visions of her brother taking on royal guards to save her filling her imagination, she twisted the knob and opened the door.

The room beyond was a simple meeting room, possibly an empty classroom. It was empty, save for a small table and two chairs. The far wall was one large window--Twila had never seen anything so simple yet elegant. Against the left wall hung two chalkboards, complete with rollers suggesting they covered two more. The whole room smelled faintly of chalk and perspiration.

At the table sat a woman Twila knew very, very well. In fact, she was pretty sure everyone in the whole world knew this woman. She was tall, probably about six feet or so, and beautiful beyond anything Twila had ever imagined. Her skin was pale, but not unhealthy, and it set off her light- and multi-hued hair--which stretched nearly to the floor--very well, giving it the impression that it seemed to move, despite the lack of a breeze. She wore a warm smile that seemed to light up the room more than the lights above, and her eyes matched it, their light purple sheen showing the well-known intelligence and kindness she was admired for possessing.

Her mouth went dry as she froze. Twila couldn’t believe what her eyes were registering to her mind, so she simply stood in the doorway and stared.

The smile turned her way, and, her voice just as beautiful as would be expected, the woman said, “Hello, Twila. My name is Celestia Eliane Orlaith--I’m going to be your caretaker and personal instructor, beginning tomorrow.”

An Invitation for Infiltration

Even after moving to the main meeting room, Jack had no response, leaving Twila alone to her thoughts. The Hub went silent again, though only for a moment as the others began arriving.

Pinkie bounced down the stairs, which creaked in protest, as she hummed a happy little tune to herself. She entered the Hub and found Twila sitting there, looking like she was almost meditating. The pink haired woman’s tune died in her mouth, and she gave Jack a curious look.

The farmer shook her head, silently telling Diane to drop it. The excitable woman kept her lips shut and walked over to the table, hoping her steps would be enough to announce her presence to Twila. There was a bit of a silence, Pinkie unsure of what to say.

Thankfully, the sounds of footsteps distracted her. “Ooo! I think everyone’s coming now!”

Dash came stepping in, glancing over the group and blatantly ignoring Jack’s glare that told her to keep quiet. “I, uh, miss something here?” she questioned, moving towards the group. She leaned casually against the table.

“Nope! At least I don’t think so,” Pinkie answered, giving Dash a light shrug. She blinked, then looked at Jack apologetically.

The silence was showing signs it would grow awkward when it was broken by a loud, “I’m coming, Twila-a-a-ahhhh!” There was a series of bangs and bumps, ending with Spike falling out of the entranceway to land in a heap on the ground. “I’m...I’m here!” he panted weakly.

“Spike!” cried Twila, causing Jack to nearly flip her chair back in surprise. It was like night and day--one minute, Twila had still been sitting there quietly, the next she was alert, running over to the fallen Spike. “Spike, are you alright? Oh, you didn’t hurt yourself did you?”

“I’m not late, am I?” he asked as he pushed himself to his feet. “I went and got the girls, but got uh...distracted and forgot to come back.” Dash held in her cackle for a good three seconds, then burst into laughter.

“I woulda been distracted too, squirt!” she said in between breaths, clutching her sides. “S-she is a looker!”

“Well duh! Everyone’s a looker, Dashie. I’m looking at you right now!” Pinkie cheerfully said, staring at Isabelle with wide eyes.

Twila blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “What are they talking about, Spike?”

“N-nothing, nothing,” Dash dismissed with a wave of her hand, still bearing a toothy, ear-to-ear grin.

Spike was saved from further embarrassment by the timely intervention of Chylene. “Oh, am I late?” she asked softly, as she went down the stairs.

“No, we’re still waiting on Rarity,” Twila replied. “Well, Spike, be more careful next time. If you’re OK, let’s all have a seat. When Rarity gets here, we’ll go over the plan.”

Twila returned to her seat at the head of the table, Spike sitting next to her after grabbing a laptop. Pinkie pulled out a chair, skidding it across the floor. Chylene was quieter, simply picking up hers.

“How was breakfast?” Twila asked, seemingly back to normal.

“Super duper yummy for my tummy!” Pinkie shouted, putting an arm around Chylene’s shoulders. “All thanks to Chy!”

The timid woman couldn’t help but blush lightly at the recognition. “Oh, it was nothing really. And Alice helped too.”

“Are you hungry, Twila? Do you want me to get some for you?” asked Spike.

She shook her head. “No thanks, Spike. I’m not hungry.” Spike frowned--to his knowledge, Twila hadn’t been eating much--but let it go for the time being, returning to the wealth of information on his laptop.

“OK, everyone, I’ve arrived. Sorry I’m late, but breakfast smelled too heavenly to skip,” Rarity said, coming down the stairs. She took a seat beside Spike, giving him a wink as she did so. He blushed, but tried to remain cool.

“Alright,” Twila began, “now that we’re all here, let’s get down to business. You all know the ball and auction is two days from now, so today we’re putting the plan into its final form. After this, we’ll be locked in, so voice any questions or concerns you have when they arise. Clear enough?”

Chylene nervously raised a hand. “W-we won’t need to...y-you know...” she trailed off, hoping Twila would get the message.

Understanding, Twila shook her head. “For most of us, no. This Heist, as Spike has gotten me to start calling them, should be completely low-key. All we have to do is enjoy the party, like the Gala three years ago.”

“Not quite like that, I hope,” Rarity interjected. “If you’ll recall, that night was a disaster in several ways for all of us. Not that it didn’t end up being a wonderful evening.”

There was a general chorus of agreement, with a few smiles for old memories.

“True enough,” said Twila. “Hopefully our plans will go a lot smoother this time. “

“With you an’ Spike runnin’ the show? You bet yer ass it’ll go smoother,” Jack said, leaning her chair back.

“Well we know what kinda party it is now--a pretty boring one--so we’ll be really really prepared for this!” Pinkie slammed a hand on the table. “Yeah!”

Twila smiled, but shook her head. “I’m afraid it might not be as boring as you think, Pinkie. This isn’t quite like the Gala. Tonight isn’t just a fancy ball where the cream can rub elbows--it’s a show. Through Blueblood, the Tyrant is basically showing off her complete power.” She paused, then shook her head. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start at the beginning. Spike?”

“Got it,” the young man replied, picking up a small remote and pushing a button. The room darkened as a projector lit up the far wall, displaying an image of a massive building, all columns and marble and sharp edges. At the bottom it read, ‘Blueblood Camelot Manor’.

Twila cleared her throat and began, “The Blueblood family, once the most prestigious and wealthiest noble family in Torani, has been reduced to just this building. It’s functioned as less of a home, really, then a museum--one containing priceless historical artifacts and countless national treasures. Not many people are aware of it, but the Blueblood family rose to such prominence because they more or less held these items hostage against the Crown. In return for certain...leeways in their business dealings, the family agreed to keep them safe and secure for all the nation to see.”

She nodded to Spike who clicked another button, changing the picture to one of a young man. He looked to be in his early thirties, showing youthful charm but sophisticated elegance. His smile was brilliantly white, but rang somehow false.

“His eyes...” whispered Chylene. At a closer glance, the group could see what she meant--despite his wide smile, handsome looks, and confident bearing, his eyes looked haggard and wary.

“Yes,” said Twila. “This is Alaurd von Blueblood, current patriarch of the family, due to an untimely ‘accident’ that claimed both his parents’ lives about seven years ago. Unfortunately for him, his business sense is completely lacking. Every investment he’s made has failed, nearly bankrupting him and putting his family name in disgrace.”

“A perfect candidate for the Tyrant’s lapdog, then?” asked Rarity.

Twila nodded. “That’s right. All evidence points to him backing her recent policies, one hundred percent. He’s a pompous, cowardly lickspittle. And he’s our most important asset tonight, because...” She nodded at Spike again.

“Because all my channels say the same thing,” he said, pushing the button again to change the newspaper photo of Blueblood to a clearly more amateur take of him exiting a limousine, carrying a briefcase that seemed to be handcuffed to him. “Blueblood has been given the List.”

Pinkie let out a huge gasp. “Oh my God! He’s got our shopping list!”

“Nah, Pinkie,” Jack quickly corrected, glancing at the energetic woman. “Don’t ya remember? The list of... people with her best interest at heart--if ya follow me.”

“Oooo! I getcha, Jackie!” Pinkie replied, nodding with a bright smile at the farmer. She then looked back at the projector, resting her head on her hands.

“That’s right,” Twila said with a firm nod. “This List is supposed to contain every ally the Tyrant has made or bought or strong armed--in Torani, Kvaan, the islands. Maybe even in the South.” She gave everyone a serious look. “I don’t have to explain just how vital that would be for our cause.”

“But...but what if they know we have it?” Chylene questioned, shrinking in her chair at the mere thought.

“It won’t matter. The damage will have been done, especially if we move quickly. That’s where part two comes into play.” Spike clicked the remote again.

A short video clip of uncountable riches played and repeated. Gems, precious metals, and other items of obvious value were lined up in various displays. Another click and this time different items--no less valuable seeming--were being transported into a massive, heavily secure vault.

“This is the underground vault, below the manor. For about the past decade or so, this is where Blueblood has kept everything. After the death of his father, he closed the museum aboveground to secure his hold on the treasure. Now, he didn’t have the courage to actually sell anything or use it to make up for his poor business deals, but the Tyrant is about to change all that,” explained Twila as the images continued to change, showing a seemingly endless room of riches.

The picture changed to an invitation, the wording in thick gold leaf. “At her instruction, Blueblood is hosting the ball of the year paired with an auction. She’s basically given him permission to sell off irreplaceable items of history and culture to the highest bidder. The invitations are incredibly exclusive, being sent to only the wealthiest noble families in the nation, as well as a few powers overseas.

“While Jack didn’t receive one, my family is still reputable enough amongst the nobles that to not be invited would be a serious oversight. Furthermore, I can bring as many as I wish along with me.”

Pinkie raised her hand, flailing it in the air wildly. “Ooo! Ooo! Pick me, Twila! Pick me!”

With a small laugh, Twila said, “Don’t worry, Pinkie. You’ll be coming. Along with Rarity and Chy, we four are going to the ball. Our goal is twofold: one, keep the ball going on as long as possible for team two. Two, find Blueblood and somehow get him to reveal to us the location of the List.”

“And us?” Dash asked, crossing her legs.

“You and Jack have the more dangerous job, but it should still be relatively simple. You’ll be breaking into the vault. Spike managed to acquire the schematics for the place and, besides the main entrance in the manor itself, there is a smaller entrance a block away that security uses. It’ll be your job to get in, remaining undetected if you’re able, and steal as much as you possibly can.” She pulled out a sheet of paper from a folder on the table. “And take this--it’s a list of a few especially important artifacts we need to get out of there. A few are to secure alliances and the others?” Her face took on a shade of red, her voice tinged with anger. “They’re too important to be left in the enemy’s hands.”

The farmer tilted her hat back and opened her mouth. She seemed to debate on her words, then finally spoke up. “What about a plan B? What if this goes ta shit, Twila? If me an’ Dash get in a tight spot, or worse, the girls get in a pinch? Wh--”

“Relax, man.” Dash glanced over at the farmer. “It’ll be fine.”

“But what if it’s not?” Jack questioned, exasperation in her voice. She took off her hat and slowly felt it over with her fingers. “We can’t jus’ wing this an’ go ‘round half-cocked--we all saw how it turned out last time.”

“We play the distraction card,” Spike said. “It’s got a few levels. Turns out Blueblood’s servants have no love or loyalty for him. Like, at all. It was easy enough to bribe one to rig up a small explosive on the building’s emergency power supply. The main power supply I can cut off myself, no problem. We only get once, but if you absolutely need it, just say, ‘When is the next solar eclipse?’ The lights will be out, for how long I don’t know.”

“Which helps us at the party, Spike, but what about Jack and Dash?” asked Rarity.

The young man turned to Twila, who was quiet for a moment. “I couldn’t think of a decent backup plan for you two. ...I’m sorry. The way in and out is too straightforward. If things go bad, I can only tell you to retreat.”

“Who needs to run? You’re looking at brains and brawn right here,” Dash proclaimed, putting her hands to her hips and grinning.

“Yer neither,” Jack said, smirking despite herself. Before Isabelle could register a complaint, she looked hard at Spike. “Don’t worry ‘bout us. Jus’ keep those girls safe an’ in check, ya hear?”

Spike started to reply, but was overtaken by Twila. Her words coming out hurriedly, Twila’s calm demeanor broke as she tried to explain, “It’ll be fine, the vault is pretty simple! It relies entirely on its walls and gates. And Blueblood is too cheap to pay for more than a handful of security guards.”

“Um, Twila?” Chy asked, raising a hand. “I have a question.”

“What is it?” asked Twila.

Chylene lowered her arm. “Will we be checked at the door, before entering?”

She nodded. “Almost certainly. Blueblood’s a bit paranoid about his own security. So we go in completely unarmed.”

“Okay, thank you,” Chylene said softly, with a smile to match.

Rarity leaned over, patting Chylene’s shoulder. “It’s OK, dear. We all know how you feel. But this is a different battleground. Our weapons are some of the oldest womenkind have always possessed!” She batted her eyelashes at Spike, causing him to blush. “Blueblood won’t know what hit him.”

The shy woman’s cheeks began to flush. “Oh u-um, I guess you’re r-right...”

Pinkie scratched her head. “I don’t get it. Is there some secret women’s martial art that I’ve been missing?”

Ignoring Pinkie, Twila looked to everyone and asked, “I think that about covers the basics. Are there any questions?”

“Yeah! What was Rarity talking about?” Pinkie cried, pointing at the woman in question.

“Any other questions?”

“Hey! That was a legitimate question!” Pinkie huffed, folding her arms.

“Well, if that’s everything, then you’re all dismissed.” Standing, Twila picked up the folders in front of her. “Spike and I will handle the rest of the preparations, though, Jack, Dash, you should double check the armory for yourselves. Let’s all try and have a nice relaxing day tomorrow--we leave first thing in the morning, two days from now.”

Bound By Blood

Spike was alone in the Hub when midnight rolled around. It hardly bothered the young man to stay up late, though he’d need to catch up in a day or so. He rubbed at his eyes; lack of sleep wasn’t bothering him, but the constant glare of computer screens was taking its toll on his eyes.

“Really need to get out more,” he said, remembering his last look at a scale had said he’d been gaining weight lately. He’d asked Twila about it, but she’d been too nice and said he didn’t look much different.

She’d also told him to get to sleep early tonight. Yet here he was, alone, watching and listening to a half dozen computer screens. Some showed footage--security cameras and news programs forefront--and some simply displayed audiograms tuned into police and military radio. One displayed his only channel to his overseas contacts, including the mercenaries they wanted to hire for use against the Tyrant. The flat line showed silence. Which wasn’t a surprise.

The sound of a door closing made him jump, nearly causing him to fall out of his chair. Slamming his hand on a remote on the desk, the room’s lights turned on, illuminating the intruder.

“Hey, Spike,” said Twila. She lifted a steaming, purple mug--his favorite--and asked, “Tea?”

“Oh! Twila, it’s you.” He sighed. “Yeah, tea sounds good. Thanks!”

She rolled a chair next to his, handing him the mug as she took a small sip of her own. Spike licked his lips and gulped down half the mug with a sound of satisfaction.

“Ah! Blueberry green, that’s good stuff!”

Twila giggled. “I still don’t know how you can do that, Spike. It’s like hot things don’t even bother you.”

The young man shrugged, taking a more reserved sip of his tea. He went back to staring at the monitors, not saying a word.

“So.”

He looked at her.

“You’re still awake?”

He nodded. “I’m just too used to this now, I guess.”

She put a hand to his arm. “Well next time, tell me, Spike. You’ve pulled enough all-nighters for my sake over the years. The least I can do is keep you company, even if I can’t actually help.”

Another nod, followed by a sip of tea. The two friends sat together in silence for a long while.

“Hey, Spike?”

Tilting his head, Spike replied, “Mmhmm?”

“That one at the bottom left--isn’t that from your contacts in the islands?”

His eyes widening, Spike spat out the sip of tea he had been taking, letting the mug drop. Twila just barely managed to catch it before it hit the concrete floor “That’s a lot of activity! Where’d it all come from?” He began typing commands on the screen, then he flipped a pair of switches. A low buzz filled the room. “The signal from the Ghost Rim is so picky--I always have to readjust to find it again.” He pulled an expensive headset to one of his ears, using his other hand to turn a dial carefully.

The buzzing intensified, becoming higher pitched before breaking into nearly understandable babble. Flipping a few more switches, Spike went to a smaller knob, turning it even more slowly. The mass of voices slowed down, the background static clearing.

“What on earth is going on down there, Spike?” asked Twila, her curiosity peaked.

“I don’t know. I’ve almost got this signal cleared up. Just a little...ah! Got it!”

Though it was mostly clear, Twila still had to listen very carefully to understand anything. A dozen or more voices were yelling and screaming over top of one another.

“What is all that, Spike?”

The young man continued to carefully adjust dials, flip switches, and constantly monitor the audiogram registering the broadcasts. “It’s a pirate channel. They’ve all got their own, of course, but sometimes they need to talk to each other. I’d say...about eight or nine ships are in on this. Sounds like they’re taking a beating from someone. Here, I’ll isolate one.”

After a few more adjustments, Spike moved the headset’s jack to another console, then handed them to Twila. “Here you go. Listen to that.”

Placing the bulky set over her own ears, Twila listened. It was a woman’s voice, to her surprise.

“--don’t give a searat’s ass who they be, just get in there an’ kill ‘em all! What?! Royal guard? With the black crest? Oi, Grinket, I think ye’ve gone soft in the skull!”

“And this one,” said Spike with another button push.

A male’s voice, rough but scared sounding, said, “I’m telin’ ye! It’s ‘er! The bloody Nightmare Knight ‘erself, I swears it! Ye heard the rumors, same as me--she bein’ exiled with ‘er personal guard and naught much else but a leaky old warship.”

Twila took off the headset, her eyes just as wide as Spike’s. She breathed, “It’s Luna--it’s Princess Luna, Spike! She’s in the Ghost Rim! She’s still alive.”

“Wait, Twila, put the headset back on! You’ll want to hear this.”

She did and then, to her amazement, Luna’s voice came over the radio. Even now, it sent shivers down Twila’s spine--it was so sure, so firm, with an intensity that struck harder and louder than if she had simply yelled. And so cold. It didn’t so much communicate the princess’ will as make a promise of it. What she said would come to pass, no matter what the world had to say about it.

“Thieves, murderers, and scoundrels, hear me! I am Luna Aldis Orlaith, exiled but still sovereign Princess of Torani. For your crimes and treason I prescribe only two choices: lay down your arms and be bound by true justice, or your lives, forfeited to the Creator above. This night is mine, as all are. I encourage your wisdom, though you have shown little enough in your existence so far. I will have your answers. What say you?!”

Though there was a pause, when the replies came they made Twila blanch. She had thought Dash had a rough tongue on her, but obviously the athlete had a lot to learn.

“So be it,” the princess said, her voice tinged with obvious regret--and just a hint of eagerness. “Captain Shields, give the order.”

“Aye, milady,” said a strong, male voice. Twila knew that voice, knew it as sure as she knew her own.

“B-big Brother?” she whispered.

“Isn’t it great, Twila?” Spike cheered. “He’s alive! Exiled to the Ghost Rim fighting pirates, but Lew’s alive!” Jumping up from his chair, the youth began dancing around the room. “I told you, Twila! Nothing can stop your brother. No siree, nothing and no one can touch Lewellyn Shields, Captain of the Royal Guard!”

Spike was so ecstatic, and Twila so surprised, that neither of them managed to notice Alice listening in from the top of the stairs, crouched down, eyes wide at the revelation.

Spike danced on for a moment longer before noticing Twila hadn’t moved a muscle. She sat there, her brother’s voice being relayed to her through the headset. He was giving orders as he always did--quickly, confidently. Then there was a loud screech of feedback, followed by static. Throwing the headset down, Twila turned to Spike. “Fix it! Fix the signal, Spike! Hurry hurry hurry!”

“OK, OK! Hold on.” Sitting down, he went through the process of finding the signal again as fast as he could. But try as he might, the only sound that could be heard was static. Thumping his monitor in frustration, Spike said, “It’s no good. I can’t get anything. It’s the damn Rim acting up again.”

Falling to her knees, Twila sniffed as the tears started falling. “So close but so damn far! It’s not fair, Spike! Get him back... Get my brother back!”

“I’m sorry, Twila but... I can’t,” he said quietly, causing another wave of tears to flow from the distraught woman.

“It was him, Spike! It was my brother, alive!”

He got up again, taking a knee beside her. Gently, he placed a hand on her back. Smiling, he said, as cheerfully as he could, “It was him, alright. Doing what he always does.” He waited for her to look up at him, then he winked. “Being a hero? Saving the day? Protecting Que--uh, Princess and Country?”

Though still crying, Twila managed a small smile and nodded.

“Yeah!” Spike exclaimed. “And he’s with Princess Luna. Those pirates are history. She’s just letting him take care of it so as not to hurt his pride. You remember how upset he gets when he thinks he’s not doing his job.” At that Twila couldn’t help but laugh. She remembered all too well some of the incidents in the past. Her brother was often too serious for his own good.

“Spike--this changes everything!” she finally managed to say. “We never knew what happened to Luna, all those months ago. She’d be invaluable in helping us remove the Tyrant! If we could find her, bring her back ...”

“I know what you mean,” Spike said. “But it’s not that easy. It’d probably take weeks to figure out exactly where she is. Not to mention getting the right sort of boat, equipment, and crew to sail to the Ghost Rim. And that costs money we just don’t have!”

“I don’t care, Spike!” Twila cried. “Lew’s down there, and I’m bringing him home.” She lightly pushed Spike away, getting to her feet and heading for the door. Alice flinched, preparing to flee.

“And the plan? The girls? You’re just going to leave, right now, completely ignoring the fact that they’re all depending on you?” Spike called after her, stopping her in her tracks.

Her shoulders hunched, and she grabbed her arms and pulled herself in tight. She clenched her jaw, begging the tears to stay back. “I-it’s my brother, Spike! My brother! What do you want from m-me?”

“You know I miss him, too, Twi. We all do, and, yeah, you most of all. But think about what he’d tell you right now. Really think like Lew.”

She tried to think, but her brain felt like mush. No, it felt like stone. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t think of anything but her brother’s voice. Had he sounded tired? Exhausted. Had he sounded scared? Just a bit, he was so good at not letting it show.

But he’d also sounded completely sure of himself. He’d accepted his liege’s orders without question or regret. Lew always knew his duty, seeing it through to the end no matter what it took. But he was so strong...

And I’m so weak! Twila cried to herself. If you were here, Lew, you’d know what to do!

But that was the point, wasn’t it? Lew did know what to do--he was doing it right now. Fighting for his Princess, fulfilling his duty for her, for himself, and for his country.

Could she ever face him if she didn’t do the same?

“I...” she began. Spike looked at her with hopeful eyes. She turned, her face a mess but her smile fierce, “I’m going to save my brother, Spike. I’m going to bring him back.” Spike’s face fell. “But.” His eyebrows raised. “But first we’re going to rob Blueblood and his puppetmaster blind. We’ve got a job to do, Number One Assistant. But for now, let’s get some sleep. We’ll tell the others in the morning.”

Pumping a fist in triumph, Spike yelled, “Yeah!” Dashing forward to catch up, the two exited the Hub, excitedly talking about the stories they’d have for Lew when next they saw him.

Shortly afterwards, Alice quickly crept out of the Hub, heading back to bed. This eavesdrop session was very...interesting for her.

*-*-*-*-*

“Hey, guys--we’ve got some incredible news!” Spike exclaimed, flipping a pancake. It was nearly noon, but they’d all slept the morning in. Everyone was in evidence for brunch--though Macintosh and Alice hadn’t shown up quite yet--and they all turned to Twila excitedly. She simply smiled and nodded.

“You finally got some chocolate sauce for the pancakes?!” Pinkie asked, bouncing up and down in her chair excitedly.

“Ew, gross. And no,” Spike said, grimacing. His face lit up again when he said, “Lew’s alive!”

Diane’s jaw almost hit the table. “That isn’t incredible news! That’s...super duper awesome amazing fantastic news!!”

The farmer furrowed her brow, looking hard at Spike. “Honest-ta-God?” She grinned, her mouth threatening to take over her entire jaw. “That’s great, sugar!”

“I’ll say!” Rarity said. “I know if I had lost my little Sweetie... Well, it must be a huge relief for you, Twila.”

Chylene put a hand on her chest, sighing in relief. “Oh that’s wonderful, I’m so glad he’s safe.” She looked at Twila, giving her a very sweet smile. “You must be so happy!”

She returned the smile, though her eyes showed it was a little forced. “Mostly. I’ll admit, it’s a little hard to hear at this point. I had a lot of thinking to do last night on tomorrow’s mission.”

“What do you mean?” Chylene questioned softly.

“Spike intercepted some radio broadcasts.” Twila paused. “From the Ghost Rim.”

“The Ghost Rim? Shiiiit,” Dash trailed off, shaking her head. “Can’t say I envy the bastard.”

“Yeah, it’s one of the roughest places on the planet, that’s for sure,” said Spike, this time cracking a few eggs into a different skillet. “But still, it’s not just him. He’s apparently leading the personal guard of Princess Luna--seems they were all exiled down there.”

Twila continued. “It’s the most logical place. Luna is the Tyrant’s number one threat. Sending her anywhere else gives her allies, soldiers, supplies. The Ghost Rim might well kill her--and my brother, too.” She shook her head. “I want to call tomorrow off, at least for me, and stage a rescue right away.”

The group shared a glance with one another. Seeing this, Twila waved her hands rapidly. “But I’m not! I know Lew can handle himself, Luna even more so. And this is a once in a lifetime opportunity--it’s our duty to stay the course and complete our mission. Then we can work on getting the Princess and her guard back.”

“Are you sure, Twila?” Rarity asked, her tone gentle. “We’d understand if you--”

The sound of heavy footsteps briskly running down the flight of stairs nearby interrupted any further conversation. Mac, Jack’s large beast of a brother, came stumbling into the kitchen, his eyes looking with a quiet desperation towards the women seated at the table.

“I can’t find Alice,” he bluntly said.

Jack snorted, taking a bite out of her pancake. “Well, she is that age, Mac.”

“Yeah,” Dash agreed. “Hell, when I was her age, I’d be out all night climbing roofs and shit. Girl’s probably just out with some friends.” Her smirk widened. “Or maybe with a boy.”

“Or a girl,” Pinkie added. Dash gave a casual shrug, suggesting it was a possibility.

Macintosh blanched. He didn’t want to think of the family’s baby out doing things like that. “Ya really think...?”

Chylene coughed quietly. “I’m sure she’s just with Stephanie and Sarah, in their clubhouse.”

The big man shook his head. “Nope, checked there. Called their homes, too.”

“What about Sweet Tooth Lane? Maybe she went to get a milkshake?” Jack offered.

“I can go check there! I have to look after the twins anyways!” Pinkie announced, nodding her head.

“Or hell, the library even.” The farmer glanced over at Twila. “You got an assistant workin’ it today, right? Maybe she’s there gettin’ a book on somethin’--she’s a bigger reader than the rest of the family.”

“I’ll go give him a call, be right back,” Twila said, leaving to the other room.

The giant man was fidgeting with his hands, obviously nervous. Though he was a tough son of a gun, anything involving the youngest member of the family made him nothing but frayed nerves. It was a nightmare when she wanted to learn how to ride a bike.

“Go ta the livin’ room. Sit,” Jack instructed, rising from the table and putting a hand at his arm.

“But--”

“Jus’ do it,” the blonde countered, giving his back a motivating slap. He glanced at her and nodded, stumbling into the living room. Jack shook her head, smiling slightly. “Big lummox is such a worrywart.”

“Coming from you I find that cute,” Isabelle stated, crossing her hands behind her head, leaning the chair she sat in on its two back legs and looking with one eye towards the farmer.

It wasn’t but a moment later that they heard him cry out.

“Jack!” Macintosh bellowed from the living room, the action shocking Dash enough that she jerked back, toppling the chair over and landing on the floor with a thud. “Get yer fuckin’ ass in here!” he roared. Isabelle and Jack shared another glance. The giant hardly ever swore, or even raised his voice unless things were really wrong.

The two women were first on their feet, but after their own shared looks, the rest soon followed, Spike moving his omelette off the heat. They found Twila already on the couch, Mac standing near the coffee table, an uncrumpled piece of paper in his hand. He was doing his best to straighten it out.

“What ya got there?” Jack asked, giving a small nod of her head at the paper the man held. Mac didn’t turn to face her. He took a heavy breath and held it out to the blonde.

Jack looked down and read the note.

Guys;

I’m sorry. I can’t just sit around anymore. I’ve gotta help. I promise I’ll be back with Luna before you know it.

Love you all.
-Alice

“...Son of a bitch,” Jack quietly snarled.

“What?” Dash asked.

“Alice. Goin’ by this note, she’s headin’...headin’ fer Luna.” Jack swallowed. “Shit.”

Pinkie gasped quietly, staying silent. Until she saw the notepad on the coffee table. “Ooo! My drawings!” She picked up the notepad, looking at the front page. “Haha, I look funny as a pony!” She giggled delightfully, enamoured by her ‘art’.

The giant of a man crossed his arms, wordlessly glaring daggers down at the pink-haired woman. He scowled--another gesture Jack wasn’t used to seeing on the normally easy going man. Combined with his height, it radiated displeasure--and promised more.

Rarity moved next to Pinkie, using her eyes to explain how inappropriate Pinkie was being. The energetic woman looked between the two and her face quickly became crestfallen. “I was just--I was--no...I’m sorry.” She dropped the notepad, backing off to Chylene. “But she might still be in town and she’s really really tough so she’s probably fine!” Pinkie finished and went silent, fidgeting uncomfortably with her hands. Chylene put an arm around her in order to give her some comfort.

Macintosh sighed and looked at the women. “I’ll head ta town. Search around.”

“Oh, please hurry, Mac,” Chylene said, looking at the big man with pleading eyes.

Twila stood and gestured to the entire group. “We’ll all go. Mansfield isn’t huge, but it’s bigger than one person. With all of us, we’ll cover more of the town in one sweep.”

“Then let’s get crackin’,” Dash announced, gesturing back out to the kitchen and subsequently, the front door. “Time’s ticking.”

“Spike, I want you to stay here. Someone has to be here and man the phones,” Twila ordered.

“Right!” he replied. “Good luck, girls!”

Rarity gave him a pat on the head. “Thank you, darling. I bet we’ll be back before dinner.”

Flights and Fights

Eight hours later--or was it ten, she had lost track of time--Twila opened the Apple farmhouse door, trudged to the living room, and collapsed onto the couch. She briefly wondered where Spike was before remembering his earlier call. A cold nose on her neck made her aware of company. Other than the family dog, Winona, she was alone. While they had left together, the girls had split up and agreed to meet back here.

Twila had found nothing of the youngest Apple, Alice.

Her thoughts wouldn’t focus, she was so exhausted. She barely managed to lift an arm to scratch the border collie’s neck. The house was dark and quiet.

Guess I’m the first one back, then, she idly thought.

“Maybe we should’ve taken you, Winona,” she said quietly. “Probably could’ve sniffed Alice out, huh?” Her words sounded slightly slurred. In response, Winona simply tilted her head before licking Twila’s face.

“Gah!” she cried, sitting up and rubbing the drool off her face.

The sound of the front door snapped her to attention. Jack and Dash came into the living room looking worn and defeated. Winona let out a happy bark and tried to tackle Jack, as she had ever since she was a puppy.

The farmer held her hand out, wordlessly stopping the dog’s leaps.

Twila stared for a moment, then blurted, “Any luck?” She mentally smacked herself right after--the two wouldn’t look so downtrodden had they found the missing girl.

“N-nah...” Jack morosely said, sucking in a breath.

The door opened once more, bringing in Chylene and Diane. Both seemed to be in the same situation as everyone else.

“Nothing either?” Dash asked.

“N-no,” Chylene whispered.

“Nope...it’s like she vanished or something!” Pinkie scratched her chin, then suddenly her eyes brightened up and she raised her index finger. “Maybe she figured out how to turn invisible!”

“Pinkie. Not right now,” Jack dismissed, irritation seeping into her voice.

“Fuck.” Isabelle ran a hand over her sweating brow.

Looking at Chy, Twila asked, “Is Rarity not with you?”

She shook her head. “Um...n-no. After our spa appointment, she told me to come back here. I d-don’t know what she’s doing.”

“A spa appointment?!” Jack snarled, turning to face the woman. She threw her hands out to the side. “Alice could be anywhere and y’all went ta get yer Goddamn nails done?!”

Chy flinched and sputtered, “I t-tried to t-tell her not to b-but...she h-had planned this for a m-month and I didn’t want to l-let her down--”

She slammed her fist into the wall, breaking through the plaster. “What ‘bout lettin’ me down?!” Jack roared, “What ‘bout Alice?!”

Chylene flinched away from Jack, beginning to tear up. “I’m s-orry, J-Jack, I’ll make it up to you, I-I promise!”

“Chill the fuck out, man,” Dash warned, crossing her arms over her breasts. “Girl’s already skipped town. Had to of. We searched high and low for her.”

“All the more reason we can’t jus’ sit ‘round with a thumb up our asses!” Jack turned, staring daggers at the rainbow-haired woman.

“Hey, isn’t that flashing light important?” called Pinkie, her voice sounding far too pleased for the mood of the room. She was pointing at the old phone on the table.

“There’s a message,” said Twila, rising. She was closest, so she pushed a few buttons and got it playing.

It was Rarity’s voice. “Hello, all. Just letting you know, Spike found me after Chylene and I went our separate ways. We’re together. I’m sure you’re upset, Jack--but I’ve been waiting on that appointment for over a month! It helps me think and keep a level head--something I’m sure you need right now.

“Anyways, neither Spike nor I found a trace of Alice. I’m going over to Sarah’s place--Sweetie is there. I’ll make sure they don’t know anything and don’t try a stunt like this themselves. See you later tonight, darlings. Ta!” The recording stopped with a loud click.

“Oh! That makes so much sense!” Pinkie said, giggling. “It’d be real bad if we had three silly fillies to go after. Rarity’s so smart.”

Jack rubbed at her head, tension evident throughout her body. “What the hell do we do?”

Twila weaved her fingers together in concentration. What would you do, Big Brother? I’ve made my choice but...

Well, wasn’t that the point? Isn’t that how a good leader acts? she asked herself.

She nodded and said, “You’ve got a choice, Jack. The same choice I had to make: The mission. Or your sister.”

The farmer looked to the girls in turn. “I-I... Shit.”

“I know, Jack,” Twila said, her words coming out weakly but still solid with truth. “I know. And though we can’t all abandon tomorrow’s mission--I’m going through with it, despite wanting with all of my being to go after my brother-- not a one of us will hold it against you if you decide to go.”

Jack frowned. After a beat, she nodded.

Pinkie looked between the two women. “Uh...uh...” She got a panicked look on her face. “I can’t chooooose! You’re both my friends and I wanna help you both but that’s impossible ‘cause I’m just one Pinkie, but I love you both--and Alice too--and I want to help you both and... Ooooh! Why is this so hard!?”

The farmer stared at the woman, unsure what to say either way.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! I’d rather find Alice than hang out with that slimy old Blueblood, blegh!” She stuck out her tongue in disgust. “So I guess I’m with you, Jack!”

“P-Pinkie...this means more ta me than you’ll ever know.”

Chylene had retreated to the couch and Winona, seemingly oblivious to what was going on. But a careful observer would see her turn to face Jack, worry and her own form of determination in her face. She caught Jack’s eye and gave a barely noticeable nod.

Jack offered the smallest of smiles. She could always count on the quiet woman when the shit really hit the fan. She had a chance. They could still find the girl. With Diane, Chylene and...

She turned to look at her partner, desperation quietly etched on her face. Dash seemed to bristle, then deflate.

“Shit, Jack.” Isabelle wiped the sweat from her face. “Alice means the world to me--has been ever since I came back with you. You guys are the closest thing I’ve ever had to family.” The tall woman was about to crack a relieved smile, when Dash continued. “But we can’t lose this opportunity. The list that Blueblood cocksucker has? It’s a once in a lifetime chance, Jack!”

The farmer’s irises slowly faded to near pinpricks. “What?” she asked, shocked numb.

Dash’s face scrunched up. She swallowed hard, trying her best to keep her composure through the pain she felt in her gut. “Don’t look at me like that, man. Don’t make me pick between you guys and the damn country.”

Jack shook her head. Her hands quivered, her eyes burned. A part of her heart felt like it’d been snapped off. “You...Goddamn...bitch!” the blonde cried, lunging for the athlete.

Pinkie jumped for Jack, Twila right behind her. Jack was a lot of woman, especially when enraged, but the two barely managed to hold her back, Pinkie gripping an arm and Twila the farmer’s waist. But it didn’t last long. Jack, tired and afraid for her sister’s safety, was angrier than she had ever known. With another loud roar, she pulled even harder, breaking free of her friends’ restraints. She stepped forward and reared her fist back.

“Fuckin’ hit me then!” Isabelle shouted, loud enough to nearly deafen the blond. She stepped forward and stared defiantly at the farmer. “I know you wanna, so do it! Take the Goddamn swing!”

Jack clenched her fist tighter, pulled it back a hair farther.

“Do it!” Dash screamed, looking diminutive and weak compared to the furious, seething blonde.

Twila stood agape, dumbfounded on what to say. Pinkie looked like she would cry, and Chylene had already started, hands wrapped around Winona’s neck as the dog growled, a reaction to the tense atmosphere flooding the room. They could all feel that something was about to break. Though none could’ve guessed what that would be.

Jack stayed her hand, letting it limply drop to her side. She felt hot tears tears run down her face--she let them silently fall. “W-Why, Dash?”

The athlete wasn’t faring much better. Snot ran down her nose and over her lips. She wiped it with the sleeve of her shirt. “You know why, hayseed,” she barely managed to choke out. “You guys are the only family I have. You, Alice, an’ Mac are the best thing that’s ever happend to me. But I--”

“Y-Ya sure know how ta f-fuckin’ show it,” Jack weakly blubbered, covering her eyes with a hand.

There was a moment of silence. Seeing movement from the doorway, Twila swallowed, saying slowly, “Hi, Mac.”

The giant looked at the scene in front of him and cringed. It hurt seeing his sister like that. He could feel his own eyes tear up just looking at how broken Jack and Dash seemed right then. There was only one thing to do. “I’ll find her,” he simply announced. “Don’t y’all worry.”

“Mac...” Isabelle trailed off.

“Izzy. Take care of my sister,” he said, turning to head down the hall. “I’m gonna go pack.”

“Pack? Mac, for all we know, Alice is actually on her way to the Ghost Rim! Do you know what that means?” asked Twila, disbelieving.

“It means I’ll need some money fer a train ride,” he disinterestedly replied, doing his best to remain aloof.

“But you-- It’s dan--” Twila sputtered. Running after him, she caught a bit of his shirt, stopping him. She looked up at him pleadingly. “...My brother is down there, Mac. If...if you make it that far... Could you...?” She couldn’t finish the request.

“I’m hopin’ nobody’s that damn foolish, lettin’ a girl like Alice near a place like that. But if she is there...” He gazed down at the librarian. Macintosh put a strong, calloused hand on her shoulder and slowly nodded once in agreement. “God willin’, I’ll find him fer ya.”

She smiled, tears welling in her eyes. Raising up on tiptoes, she tried to kiss him on the cheek, but managed more of his lower jaw. “You’re too tall for your own good.”

“Heard that since I was ‘bout fourteen.” He gently smiled at the woman.

She laughed. “You haven’t met Lew. You’ll get along, I think.” She turned to the still silent Jack. Quietly, she told him, “You better talk to her some more, Mac. You know how she’s feeling as well as I do.”

At that, the farmer frowned. “I...” he sighed, scratching at his head. “I know. Jus’...I ain’t good at that. Normally I let her come ta me if she needs ta...”

“I know,” Twila said. “But right now she needs you, Mac. Her big brother.” She put extra emphasis on those last two words, nodded, then went to check on Chylene.

The farmer sighed. Again. He turned and peaked into the room. “Come here, Jack.”

Jack choked out a sob and complacently walked across the room, weakly joining the man out in the hallway. The others heard the steady sound of both of them ascending upstairs.

Isabelle wiped at her eyes and turned, looking towards the hallway. She shook her head with a somber frown. “Me and my fucking mouth.”

“It’ll be alright, Dash,” Twila consoled. “She’ll forgive you when she calms down. You know she will.” Chylene nodded her assent as well.

“I know, I know.” Dash ran a hand through her hair. “I’m gonna give her some space for a while though. Just gonna, uh...hang down in the Hub for a bit.”

“C-can I go with you?” asked Chy. “I’m not really tired yet...”

“Yeah, man,” Isabelle replied quietly. She headed out of the living room and into the kitchen, the pink-haired woman following behind.

Twila looked at Pinkie, who had taken over playing with Winona. She had a rubber bone from somewhere, and she was making the dog jump for it. Twila was so tired, which made little sense. She suspected it was from her emotional turmoil in effectively abandoning her brother to pirates--though she felt relieved to know Macintosh was going to possibly find him for her.

“I’m going on to bed, Pinkie. Don’t stay up too late, OK?”

“OK!” she said, not taking her eyes away from the dog. “Who’sa good girl, who’sa good girl--you are! Yes, Winona, you aaaare!”

Smiling at her friend’s antics, she decided to take one of the emergency cots in the Hub. The Apple siblings needed some privacy upstairs, she decided. She hoped Pinkie really didn’t stay up too late--and, with that thought, she wondered when Rarity and Spike would be getting back. They all needed as much sleep as they could get.

Tomorrow was going to be a big day for all of them.

An Athlete's Acquisition

Twila had felt it necessary to keep up appearances as much as possible when leaving the orchard. Spike was almost completely confident in his security sweeps, but she’d made mention of “better safe than sorry” more times than she could count.

This meant that both Jack and Isabelle had to leave wearing a gala dress as well.

Jack tromped down the stairs, frowning deeply. As much as she appreciated Rarity making it for her, she couldn’t help but feel awkward in the open-armed dress. It wasn’t often she wore something that showed how much she ‘filled out’ a top, but that’s not what really embarrassed her. She hated how her arms looked when she wore a dress. Her biceps were too hard and obvious--like most of her body. It was a contradiction in Jack’s eyes, something so hard wearing something so soft. The blonde nervously rubbed at the scar on her shoulder as she glanced at everyone present.

The farmer had been the last to get into her dress. Rarity was making her last minute ‘frets’, as Pinkie always called them. Looking for loose strings here, rubbing out small wrinkles there. Despite the heavy situation, it was somewhat relaxing to see something so obviously normal. At the moment she was focusing on a small tear Winona had put into Chylene’s dress.

Diane hopped about, turning from side to side to make her dress sway. It looked as bubbly as her personality was, white with pink, wavy lines going across it. There was also a few sweet decorations dotted around it, which Pinkie had tried to eat before Rarity had scolded her. Suffice to say, the energetic woman was disappointed.

“Looking good, hayseed,” Dash said, smoothing out her flowing blue dress. Her dress was simple, but pragmatic and effective. The athlete had little enough to show, but--as Jack well knew--what she could show made up the difference. It was decorated like a storm, all dark up top and leading to bright flashes below with wispy silver trim. She gave a small adjustment to the thundercloud and multichromatic lightning clasp holding her sash.

Jack looked at Isabelle, opened her mouth, then thought better of it, turning towards Twila. “We got everythin’ ready ta go’?”

Adjusting her glasses, Twila looked at each of her--the word was so fitting, how could she ignore it?--accomplices. Were they feeling as confident as she? As frayed in the nerves? The night before had been some of the best sleep she’d had in weeks, and yet... There had still been the occasional nightmare. Mostly concerning her brother.

Guess I’m not quite as strong as I had hoped, she thought. Lew--wherever you are, give me the will to go on.

She caught each woman’s eye: Jack--worn, worried, but stoically pushing on; Dash--in control, excited, but the smallest spark of nervousness in her eyes; Pinkie--full of optimism; Chylene--reluctant, with an edge of fear; Rarity--trust, yet questioning, seemingly beset by her own issues. That last especially intrigued Twila--apparently, Rarity and Spike had walked back to Sweet Apple Acres. That was curious.

She shook her head. There was no time for that.

“Well, girls, I think--”

A pair of honks from outside cut her off. She gestured out the door. “There’s our rides. Spike, you head on down to the Hub. We’ll need you to keep tabs on all radio communication. Dash, Jack, you’ll be riding with the rest of us until we reach the separation point. Once there, the mission begins in earnest.”

She nodded to Jack. “I want you to head Dagger team, Jack. I’ll keep track of Cloak. Codenames at all time except for casual conversation. Well,” she swallowed, “shall we head on out?”

“Let’s do this thang!” Pinkie cheered, bouncing towards the door. “I think I feel a song coming on!”

The others all sucked in a large breath to voice their disagreements, but another series of much more demanding horns let out.

Rarity, relieved, said, “I do believe they’re getting impatient with us--I’m taking the back car!” With that, she went out the front door, faster than any of the others could follow, despite her ridiculously high heels.

Dash looked behind her towards Spike, smirking. “Shame to see her go, but man to watch her leave, right, squirt?”

Twila was surprised when she saw Spike grin and simply nod--normally he blushed and tried to avoid his obvious attentions on Rarity. She was going to have to talk to that boy later. For now, she rolled her eyes and said, “I’ll take the front. Good luck, and Spike? We’re counting on you.”

He smiled and saluted her. “Yes, ma’am! Don’t worry, I’ve got this!”

Dash stepped forward. “You and me in first, Jack?”

“You take first, I’ll get second,” the farmer disagreed, shaking her head.

Isabelle frowned. “Alright,” she neutrally said with a shrug.

“I’ll go with you then, Dash,” Chylene said, moving next to the athlete.

“Then that settles it. Let’s go already,” Jack tersely grumbled, moving towards her car.

Pinkie wrapped an arm around Twila, moving them both to the second car. “C’mon, let’s go in that one! ‘Cause first is the worst!” She giggled brightly.

Knowing Pinkie, Twila didn’t try to fight it. She just said, “Uh, OK?” and let the hyper woman take her to the back limo, which Rarity was already climbing into. “I guess you, Chy, and Dash can take the front one, Jack.”

“Hell no,” the farmer protested. “Fer all I know, we might get inta a wreck--Dash might leave me fer dead.”

Sensing a fight coming on, Rarity leaned out and snapped, “We’re recognized as close friends to the crown and you’re going to make us late! Get in the car already!”

Jack scoffed, heading towards the second car. Pinkie was already inside, making herself comfortable on the leather seats. Chylene timidly approached the first car and carefully went inside, trying to find a seat belt within.

Pinkie having let her go to enter the limo, Twila hurried to the front, scooting in beside Chylene.

“Oh hi, Twila. I thought you were going in the other car,” Chylene said as Twila sat down.

She rolled her eyes with a bemused expression, quietly saying, “I’m sure there’s some saying about two angry wildcats in a tight metal box, but I’m at a loss.”

Her pink-haired friend tilted her head, giving Twila a look that said, Are you OK? A little irritated, she nodded towards Dash as the athlete practically dropped into the limo.

“You know--Rarity will flip if you rip that dress,” she told Dash.

Isabelle shrugged, offering a thin, icy smirk. “If she doesn’t flip from this, that girl will find something to panic about. So why bother?”

Twila frowned. Dash’s temper was different from Jack’s. The farmer had a habit of having an initial burst of red hot temper, which burned out rather quickly, though smoldered for a long while after. Dash’s, on the other hand, came in fits and spurts. You were never quite sure when she’d gotten over it.

What was more pressing was the fact that the two had to work together through a dangerous robbery.

Carefully, she ventured, “No luck with Jack, huh?”

“It wasn’t exactly flowers and puppy dogs out there a second ago, was it?” She joked with that same sly smirk. The woman’s expression fell after a beat. She glanced out the window. “Nah. No fuckin’ luck.” The athlete crossed her arms and sighed. “I’ve really screwed the pooch on this one.”

“Please don’t say that, Dash,” Chylene pitched in, offering her friend the most caring of smiles, “This is a really tough situation, and you can’t really control it...none of us can.”

“I know, I know, just... man.” She offered a small glance Chylene’s way. “Been a while since I’ve seen her this mad.” The athlete looked up to the roof. “Not that I blame her, I guess. I am the one who wanted to ditch the kid.”

Chylene’s voice took on that rare assertiveness. “Don’t say it like that! You didn’t want to ditch her, you just couldn’t abandon the mission. And that’s OK. I’ve known you longer than anyone else here, so believe me when I say that you’re not a bad person.” She scratched at her long, flowing, yellow dress, going down to the blue butterfly design near the bottom. “We’re just in a place that nobody really wants to be right now...”

Twila nodded her agreement. “We all know why you said what you did, Dash. None of us--not even Jack--hold it against you. You wouldn’t be you without that.” She pushed at her glasses in thought. “Normally I’d say to just let time take its course. Jack always comes around, as you know. But...we don’t have time for that, unfortunately. After we drop you off, I suggest you just talk to her about it. Get it settled now.”

Isabelle coldly smirked again. “Poke the fuckin’ bear and hope for the best, gotcha.”

“If anyone can handle it, Isabelle Apple most certainly can,” Twila said, the name a poke to drive Dash on.

“Call me Dash, bookworm--Isabelle sounds like something you’d hear at a fucking tea party.” She offered a far more warm smile after a beat. “T-Though Apple’s always had a nice ring, you know? Better than whatever the hell was stamped on my papers back at the home.”

Twila smiled, turning her attention to a book she had taken out of her purse. “Just a friendly reminder, is all.”

“Well, here’s my friendly reminder: Don’t read while we’re riding. I don’t want you getting car sick and puking on the apparel. I think that’d piss off Rarity more than a tear,” Isabelle advised, giving a small tap to her temple.

“You’re confusing me with Chylene again, Dash,” Twila said distractedly, leaning back slightly as the limo slowly lurched forward. “It’s a five hour drive to Camelot’s outskirts.” Chylene shuffled in her seat at that, but kept quiet.

Dash crossed her hands behind her head and shut her eyes. “Rest up while you can then, ladies. Gonna be a long night.”

Riding close behind, Jack couldn’t have imagined getting stuck with a worse pair for a five hour car ride considering her mood.

“Well we don’t need Twila in our ride anyway ‘cause all she’d probably do is read some boring book on particles or something!” Pinkie rambled, in between her friends and putting an arm around them.

Jack sighed, frowning deeply. She glanced over, only to see Rarity doing the same. Each offered a sympathetic, understanding look to one another. It was one of the few things either had agreed with one another on.

Pinkie didn’t register their resentment. “Why are you two so quiet? We gotta open up the champagne! There must be some around in here somewhere...” Pinkie got off her seat and began to crawl around despite her dress, looking for any bottles. Rarity again blessed herself for the forethought of giving Pinkie’s dress a tight fitting underskirt.

Jack watched the girl briefly, then reached to her side. The farmer swore under her breath, remembering that her damn dress didn’t have pockets, and where she had put her cigarettes. She turned towards the window and reached into her cleavage, producing a pack and a lighter. Jack lit up, taking a deep drag.

“Wha-wha-what?! Put that out, this instant!” cried Rarity, reaching over and trying to knock the offending object outside.

“Jus’ tryin’ ta relax. Some of us ain’t got the time or money ta’ hang at a spa an’ get our nails done,” Jack snapped, scooting as far as she could away from the dressmaker.

Though she wanted to argue, Rarity had felt quite guilty upon hearing how upset Jack had been about her and Chylene’s little outing. She crossed her arms under her breasts and let out a small sigh. “Oooh, very well. If you must. But make sure you keep it out the window, please? Cigarette smoke is terribly hard to get out of dresses like these.” She turned to look out her own window. “And it’s not good for you, either,” she added quietly.

Jack grunted her consent at Rarity’s request, rolling down her window. The breeze whipped her hair and washed over her heavily bronzed skin. “I’mma have ta do things worse fer me than smoke tonight, Rare.” Jack replied with a look towards the violet-haired woman, ignoring the churning in her gut at the thought.

“I know, and I don’t envy you.” Rarity rolled her shoulders a bit, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden. “I think I can speak for the rest of us that what you and Dash will do tonight, in our stead? Well, thank you.”

“I got yer back.” She briefly ran the cigarette across her nimble and calloused fingers in thought. “Jus’ like I thought Izzy had mine.”

Suddenly, Pinkie jumped up between the pair, champagne bottle in one hand, a full glass in the other. “Don’t be silly, Jackie! Of course Dashie has your back. She super duper really really likes you!” She downed her drink, then became shifty eyed, leaning towards Jack and whispering, “I’ve seen the pictures on her phone.”

“Guess that’s why she tossed Alice ta the wolves then,” Jack tersely replied.

A little harder than she meant to, Rarity snapped, “You know better than any of us why she’s made her choice like she has. But like anytime you get a bad taste in your mouth, you can’t see past the red in your eyes.” She sniffed. “You’ll feel right foolish when your head clears. Besides, Macintosh will most certainly find her.”

Jack was about to angrily retort, but sighed deeply instead. Mac said about the same thing the beauty sitting nearby did last night. Talked like Isabelle had to look at the big picture. Jack knew that, deep down. Still didn’t stop her from being as pissed off as she’d ever been.

“Mac’s gotta find her... He’s gotta find her...” Jack quietly said. The blonde took another deep drag from her smoke and let it fly into the air. She tried her best to change the subject. Keeping everyone down wasn’t going to change anything. “So, uh, yer both lookin’ nice.”

Pinkie was struggling to pour her second glass without spilling a drop. It didn’t go well. “Thanks! We all look fan dabby dozey!”

Back on familiar ground, Rarity regained some of her composure. She raised her arms to display the lacy sleeves, long for this early in the fall, but thin enough to remain cool. “I’ll admit, they’re not bad for such short notice. Not my best, but...” She looked at Jack and frowned. “Simple works best for you, so it’s the worst shame no one will get to see how fabulous I’ve made you, dear. I wonder if we’ll have occasion to wear something like this again?”

Jack looked at her hands in thought, taking the sentence down a far different route. “I wonder that too.”

*-*-*-*-*

The sun had nearly set when the two limousines pulled into a mostly empty parking lot on the outskirts of Camelot--crown jewel and capital of the Kingdom of Torani. There was little traffic at this hour this far away from downtown, but the group was taking no chances. Messaging Spike, Twila told them they had arrived.

“One smokescreen, coming up,” his voice called over the radio. A few moments later, the lot’s street lights all went out, basking the area in complete darkness.

As per the plan, Jack and Dash had changed from their ball dresses. After much deliberation, Twila had felt that the mysterious, suited, masked women terrorists was a good angle to stick with. Though, with more time to prepare, Rarity had once again lent her hand in the design.

Now the suits and masks were one complete piece, completely concealing the wearer underneath. Spike had installed a stronger and less frustratingly noticeable radio transmitter as well. In all honesty, they were ‘suits’ in looks alone--the fabric was strong but lightweight, cut to fit loosely without sagging. Perfect for quick movements without the restrictions an actual suit would have.

The lot itself was outside one of the larger supply depots in the city. It was a nexus of trade, the hive to the countless transport truck bees that kept the country’s economy rolling.

Dash and Jack were going to add Grand Theft Auto to their current list of criminal activities.

Twila and the others wished them the best of luck and, with that, sped off to Blueblood’s gala. With the distraction of a job at hand, the pair worked effectively, neither speaking unless needed, but no real heat in their words. When your life hung on the line, it tended to shut down squabbles, at least for a while. Dash knelt down to the attache case and started to take inventory of their supplies, while Jack pressed her set on.

“Checkin’ in on my piece, Drake. How’s our signal?”

“Loud and clear--as expected,” he said, sounding satisfied. “OK, you both remember the building plans we looked over? You’re on the northeast side--the small, sewer access you’ll want is on the west side. It’ll be a tight fit, but will lead you right under the fence, past any security cameras on all the obvious entrances.”

“Sounds great, Drake!” Dash chimed in with obvious false enthusiasm. She looked over at the collection of worn, derelict buildings nearby the gated-in shipping depot. “Or, I could skip all that shit and just get the van out here.”

“Uh...what?” Spike replied.

Isabelle looked towards Jack. The farmer nodded. “Go fer it. Jus’...be careful.”

“Careful’s boring,” Dash replied with a smirk, running towards the buildings.

As Dash got closer, she looked over the building closest to the fence. It was a worn apartment complex that had seen years without maintenance. The front doors were partially rotted, with obvious signs of someone breaking in. The windows were smashed to hell, jagged pieces of glass in the corners the only testament that they once existed in the black holes of the building.

Dash went to the left of the building, ducking into a narrow alleyway. She glanced at this side of the complex, plotting out her route. Almost right away, she thought about simply climbing the drainage ditch flush against the building, but quickly threw that idea to the side when she saw how corroded the pipe really was--it’d never support her.

Her rose colored eyes caught sight of a partially busted fire escape about twelve or thirteen feet up. She looked left, towards the graffiti stained wall, then looked to the railing on her right. She smirked.

Easy-peasy.

With a quick stretch of her legs, she made a sprint for the wall to her left. She hit the brick with the sole of her shoe, then instantly pushed her body upward, bringing her other foot to the wall. Dash ran vertically a few more steps--as soon as she started to slip, the athlete sprang out, leaping towards the fire escape. She connected, smacking her chest hard against the metal railing. The woman let out a grunt of pain, then hoisted herself up and over.

Dash made her way up the fire escape, the stairs thankfully holding under her.

The slow climb gave her a moment to think. Think about how fucking full-circle things were right now. Here she was, back in Camelot, climbing buildings. Add the voice of Father Mckenzie nagging at her to be careful, and she might as well be thirteen and living at the orphanage again.

“Ya alive?” Jack called in over the set, trying to sound mad but coming across as simply concerned.

“Yeah. Heading up now, sweetheart,” Dash confirmed, rubbing at where the bar connected a few minutes ago. Damn thing was gonna leave a bruise.

“Mmm,” the farmer grunted, the line going dead once more.

Isabelle smiled. Jack was sorta talking again. That was a step in the right direction, anyway. The rainbow-haired woman laughed, the sound slightly off thanks to her mask. The hayseed was something else, had been ever since they had first met in Manhattan. Granted, it was on less than friendly terms back then, Dash stealing Jack’s wallet and all.

Dash shook her head with bemusement at the memory as she rose to the rooftop.

Jack had been pissed when Dash had pick-pocketed her--not that she had blamed the stetson wearing woman, but man--and had chased after her all around the city. Jack finally cornered her in an alley. Instead of beating the shit out of her though, the farmer told Dash a story. A story about a girl who’s folks had passed on. That girl couldn’t stand the farm they had lived on together--it reminded her too much of her family. So she headed to Manhattan with nothing but the clothes on her back, the promise of an aunt and uncle providing a roof over her head, and the cash in her wallet.

Even though Isabelle was hungry--nearly malnourished--she gave the girl her money back. Jack offered to buy Dash lunch--next thing that they knew, they were thick as thieves; a few years down the road, they became something even more.

Dash came to the end of the rooftop and scanned the area. The fence line was about fifteen feet away. Behind the fence was a semi-trailer all but resting against the metal. Dash gave a confident smirk and took a few steps back from the edge. She took a breath and gave herself a moment to get hyped.

Isabelle blasted across the rooftop, her slapping feet matching the throb of her pulse against her temples. She came to the end of the roof and propelled herself over. Her arms pinwheeled as she balanced herself in the air. It was uncanny, the amount of instinct moving her to action. Her body seemed to move itself. She bent her knees and squatted low, impacting the trailer hard. Landing with her feet and rolling forward at an angle, she hit her shoulder then her ass as she let some of the shock of the landing dissipate. Dash came back to her feet and rose to a half-crouch, taking a second to regain her senses.

Isabelle glanced around the empty lot, making sure nobody was coming around to investigate the noise she had made landing. There was a service door straight ahead, across the pavement. Above it were two cameras, each facing the opposite direction.

Isabelle pressed down on her earpiece. “Drake, be my eyes for a sec. It look like anybody coming outside to play?”

“Dead as a doorknob, Bolt. You’re good so far,” came the reply.

“Swag.” She looked across the parking lot, towards the door marked ‘employees only’. “Now, I’m at the northwest side of the building. Front’s at the northeast. Drake, any way you can reroute the cameras near me to a different feed for a tick? I’ll need thirty, forty seconds to get where I need to, tops.”

“Give me a second... Yeah, they’re tapping into the communal grid, wirelessly transmitting the feed. What a joke.” A few seconds of silence. “You’ve got about thirty seconds, then I’ll need about ten more to keep it from looking suspicious.”

“Things are looking up,” Dash answered, giving a pleased nod.

“Don’t think it’ll stay that way. Careful, sug,” Jack quietly said over the radio.

“Yeah, yeah,” Isabelle dismissed. “Heard you the first time.”

Dash ran like a mad woman across the lot, sprinting for the safety of the camera’s blind spot. She dove into the shadows and hugged the wall, scooting across and underneath the lens’s field of view. Coming to the door within a moment, she tried the handle. Locked. Not a big surprise. She noticed a box near the door and looked it over. It was an electronic keypad.

The athlete gave a small smile. She had been wanting to try one of Spike’s toys he had made for just such an occasion. Isabelle reached into her pocket, producing something that was roughly the size and shape of a fat flashdrive. She twisted the tip of it over to the right, revealing a USB plug, and searched the box.

She found nothing, save for a small, rounded plugin at the top. The athlete flipped the device around, twisting the bottom portion to the left and revealing a tip similar to a headphone jack. The rainbow-haired woman plugged the device in and radioed Spike once more.

“I need a fuckin’ ICE breaker, Drake. If you would be so kind.”

“That was a bit sooner than I figured,” the young man’s reply was clearly eager. A small blue light started flashing on the device, quickly at first but it began to slow till it finally stayed on. There was a click sound.

“Got an ETA?”

Before she even finished, the door opened in a short ways. “A gentlemen always gets the door for a lady,” Spike said proudly.

“Save that lady crap for Rarity--she might take it as a compliment.” Isabelle pulled out a knife and clutched it tightly in her hand as she walked through the door. “Stetson,” she called out, speaking as quietly as she could as she walked by dozens of shelves lined with dusty boxes and spare car parts.

“Yeah?” Jack replied over the radio.

Dash bit the bullet. “You wanna talk?”

“About what?” the farmer carefully asked.

“About the motherfuckin’ elephant in the room, what else!?” Isabelle said in a harsh whisper.

Too harsh, apparently. She heard the sound of footsteps approaching from up ahead. She swore and quickly ducked behind a palette filled with bottles of motor oil.

“S-someone here?” she heard an old, ancient voice ask. A flashlight cut through the darkness like a knife. His steps clomped closer and closer to where she was.

“What’s there to talk about? Ya left my kin ta sin--” Jack started up on the radio. Isabelle quickly killed the feed, hugging tightly against the wall. The light swept across her hiding spot, briefly illuminating her. She held her breath, screaming obscenities in her head.

He wasn’t the most astute guard--he pressed on towards the open door Dash entered from. The lithe woman let out a gasp of relief as she went deeper into the complex. She rolled her eyes and pushed the earpiece on again. “Sorry. Had someone try to interrupt. Some people are so rude, y’know?”

A silence. Finally, Jack spoke again. “He hurt ya?”

“Nah, man. I’m fine.”

“Then is he...?”

“I’m not taking pot-shots at civs, Stetson. He’s fine too,” Isabelle argued, finally putting a palm to her mask in exasperation. “Look--I didn’t think I’d see anyone, now that I have, this conversation’s coming at a bad time, you dig? I’m gonna bust a van outta here--be sure you’re ready by the front. We’ll talk more face-to-face.”

“Roger,” the farmer grunted, killing the coms.

Dash opened a set of double doors that led into the garage. They creaked when she went through them--the athlete quickly walked on, listening intently for the guard behind her.

The large and spacious garage was lined with vans and semis, several up on jacks, a few others with their hoods open, being serviced for one reason or another. In the far corner was a flight of metal stairs leading up to an office overseeing the room.

She was just about to swear in frustration once again this night, when she found a van in seemingly good condition. It had four wheels on the ground and its hood shut--a better deal than the others sitting around. She tried the door and was hardly surprised when it was locked.

Just as well, she needed that garage door opened before she could drive the fuckin’ thing out of there.

Dash rubbed at her forehead, trying to figure the best way to approach this mess. The mess decided to approach her.

The overhead lights turned on, illuminating the area. Dash swore, quickly squeezing underneath the nearby van.

She heard footsteps and caught three pairs of legs coming from the right of the building. Isabelle’s sharp ears picked up another pair coming from her left. She stared up at the guts of the van and listened hard at the conversation the group was having.

“...For the last time, Rumpel, I didn’t leave the door open!” a woman’s haughty voice complained.

“Well, if you didn’t, and I didn’t, then that means one of the boys did,” the older voice said.

“Not I,” the man’s voice said, his voice reeking of culture.

“Enope,” a southern voice replied. Dash almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation as she hid under the van--it sounded like a near carbon copy of Macintosh’s laconic drawl.

“Hmm...” the oldest voice trailed off. He quickly came to a conclusion. “In that case, let’s do a sweep of the area: Pattrick, take a round outside. Donnelly, go to the eastern garage. Esther, you take the northern garage. I’ll search the offices and freight warehouse. Let’s go.”

They all vocalized their agreements and split up. The lights eventually flicked off. Even still, Dash lay under the van for a good two minutes afterward. Paranoia could sometimes be a good thing. She finally squeezed her way out and returned to her conundrum. She didn’t have an answer for the garage doors yet, but she at least could get the van ready to go.

Heading over to one of the vehicles being worked on, she pulled out her phone. The lithe woman used it like a flashlight, searching underneath the van’s hood. With a small, smug nod, she found what she needed and yanked it out. Dash examined the sparkplug in her hand, then dropped it to the ground. Isabelle crunched it underfoot, then searched the remains. The athlete brushed aside a few bits of ruined metal, then came to what she needed--a small bit of porcelain that she carefully picked up between her fingers. It was a little trick she learned back on the streets of Manhattan, when you needed a car but didn’t want bloody elbows.

Not that she used the trick.

Often.

Dash pinched her prize between a thumb and finger and approached her target. She threw it through the driver side window and instantly shattered the glass. Isabelle winced at the noise and held her breath, ready to hide at a moment’s notice. On hearing no footsteps, Isabelle let out a breath and continued working. She reached into the newly created hole and unlocked the door, being mindful of the glass littering the driver’s seat. Dash peeked at the ignition.

Figures, she thought with a roll of her rose-colored eyes. No fuckin’ keys.

That was OK, though. She could improvise--Dash wasn’t a one-trick pony by any means.

The athlete ducked out of the van, making a mental note to try and find a towel or something. Last thing she needed was glass in her ass.

She snorted slightly at the painfully lame rhyme and took to looking through the room. At the far end of the garage was a workbench, loaded with tools. Dash fished around for just a moment and grabbed a sturdy flathead screwdriver. Pocketing it, the athlete took to searching the room once more for a switch to open the garage shutter.

It dawned on Dash where the switch might be--the overhanging office towards the ceiling probably doubled as a control room for the doors. It was as good of an idea as she could think of at the moment, anyway.

She climbed the metal steps, each movement making a painful echo across the garage, each echo making her painfully aware of the noise she was making. Dash finally reached the top and tried the wooden door. Locked.

“Oh fuck this,” Dash said with a brisk shake of her head. She brought her foot forward, busting through the cheap door. That brought a pleasantly surprised smile. Fishing around in the hole she made, she unlocked the door from the other side.

The office was small, a console lined with buttons and switches took up the majority of the room, along with a folding chair and a cup half-filled with forgotten coffee. Isabelle took a moment to examine the device. None of the levers, switches or knobs were marked, aside from cryptic abbreviations that would only help someone trained to work here.

Dash scowled, jamming on her earpiece. “Yo, Stetson?”

“Eyup?”

“Get the gate you’re by open. We’re gonna have to haul ass.”

“What are you planning on do--”

Isabelle killed the coms and looked hard at the console once more. She let her finger slowly trail over the buttons as she muttered under her breath. “Eenie meenie miney moe...”

The athlete turned a knob all the way to the left. One of the semis on a lift dropped, slamming into the floor with a resounding shake. Instantly, the vehicle began blaring its horn--the impact must have lodged the damn thing’s switch.

“Fuck!” Dash cried. No way the guards didn’t hear that. She had to work fast. She started flicking switches and smashing buttons with wild abandon, dropping cars, turning on one of the industrial fans, activating a speaker, turning on the lights, and at one point starting up a pressurized air hose that flailed and snaked through the air like a drunk ballerina.

“What the hell’s goin’ on in there, Dash?! Place is lightin’ up like a Hearth’s Warmin’ festival!” Jack exclaimed over the set.

“Ran into a problem! Get your ass ready, I’m coming out hot!” She finally flipped a switch labeled ‘B-3,’ and the garage shutter directly in front of the van she thought was seaworthy slowly began to slide up, just as the doors directly by the stairway’s landing flew open and two scrawny, nervous looking security guards burst into the scene, side-by-side and armed with nine millimeters.

“Fuckin’...fuck...fuck, fuck!” Dash eloquently said under her breath, trying to think of the best way to get out. She debated on going for her holstered gun, but just didn’t have the heart. These weren't police. These weren't even real guards--they were watching over a glorified warehouse, for crying out loud. She instead hugged against the doorframe and waited, doing her best to hide as the guards climbed up the stairs.

The athlete clenched her hands into fists. She was about to do something stupid. Even-for-her stupid.

Story of my life, Isabelle thought grimly. As soon as she saw a shadow pass into the light spilling into the doorway, she turned and pounced forward, connecting hard with a man’s shoulder. They tumbled backward down the stairway, bowling over the other man climbing right behind. The three landed in a heap of splayed limbs at the landing--Dash forced herself up first. Disregarding the other flight of stairs running down, she instead went up and over the guardrail. She landed gracefully on the concrete, just as the double doors across the garage opened, revealing an old, wry man and a young woman. The older clumsily pulled out his pistol.

“Freeze!” he commanded. Like hell she would. Dash lived up to her moniker, sprinting across the lot and diving for the van just as a bullet ripped across the large room, smashing into a calendar hanging on a clipboard.

She opened the van’s door and pulled out the screwdriver she had commandeered earlier. The old man sprinted across the lot, followed quickly by the younger woman. Dash pressed the screwdriver in at an angle by the ignition cover. It popped off easily as a familiar voice went across her set.

“Bolt!? What the fuck’s goin’ on?! I heard a shot!” Jack was in a near panic, Isabelle could hear the farmer breathing heavily on the line.

Dash didn’t have time to reassure her. She rammed the screwdriver into the ignition slot and turned with one hand, pulled out her pistol with the other. The engine sputtered, turning over as Isabelle stuck her other hand out the busted window and blindly fired behind.

“Shit!” she heard the old voice say, and felt a slight bump as he dove behind the van, seeking cover from Dash’s bullets. Good. That’s all she needed, just a few...more...seconds...

The van sputtered and ignited--Dash didn’t wait around. She floored it, sending the van shrieking forward like a banshee, leaving behind a cloud of smoke and charred, burned rubber.

“Stetson!” Isabelle barked over the com as she shot across the parking lot. “Get moving!”

Jack stood near the open gate, her body at a cautious half-crouch. Dash noted the revolver in the farmer’s hand--odds were, the woman was getting ready to go into the fire herself. Isabelle couldn’t help the small smile that sprang from behind her mask--even when she was pissed, Jack wasn’t the type to abandon someone. The athlete slammed on the brakes near the other masked woman and briefly slowed the van to a crawl. Jack threw open the door and dived in.

Isabelle slammed her foot down on the pedal, taking off like a bat outta hell.

They went for a few minutes in silence before the adrenaline in Dash’s system left and a slow, throbbing pain in her legs began to gradually grow stronger and stronger, eventually bringing tears to Isabelle’s eyes.

“F-fuck,” Dash panted, visibly shaking. “Can we pull over for a second?” She turned off onto a side road and started to slow down before even finishing the question. Jack gave a concerned look over to the athlete.

They pulled into a deserted lot of what might have once been a mom and pop store. Isabelle stopped the van and got out, hissing sharply as the glass from the broken window crunched underfoot. Jack opened her door and started going around the van.

“Alright, Bolt. What the hell’s the pro--” Her words stopped dead in their tracks when she came into full view of the lithe woman. The lamplights lining the street illuminated the sight before her. Glass shards clung tightly to the back of Isabelle’s left leg, climbing up her body all the way to her upper thigh. Blood dripped in a slow, steady stream from the numerous cuts and punctures that lined her pants. “W-what the hell happened?”

Dash bit her lip. “Should be obvious, hayseed. Had shit go down before I could clean up the glass. Kinda slipped my mind until it started burning like hell.”

“Shit, man. Take off yer pants an’ lay down on yer stomach--I’mma get ya patched up.”

Isabelle weakly smirked, sweat running down her brow. “H-heh. Get rid of the ‘patched up’ line, and I’d be in heaven.”

Jack reached into a satchel at her side and pulled out a small roll of gauze. “I’mma pull out the glass still stickin’ in ya. Probably gonna sting.”

“Just as well. We need to ta--” She gasped as Jack’s hands brutishly dug into the meat of her upper thigh and pulled out a wide and jagged piece of glass. “Goddamnit. That hurt!”

“Sorry,” the farmer apologized. “I ain’t exactly a licensed nurse like Mouse or nothin’.”

“Just be a bit more careful, ok?”

The farmer grunted, working on Dash’s leg. The silence eventually got too much for the rainbow-haired woman and she spoke up again.

“You still mad?”

Jack paused at Dash’s question, her hand resting on the back of the other woman’s knee. “I’m mad as hell,” she admitted.

“At me?”

Another considering pause. “A-a little.” She breathed out. “But I think I’m jus’ pissed at the whole damn thing, ya know? I... I shouldn’t have ta choose between somethin’ like this an’ my flesh an’ blood.”

Dash winced as the woman pried another piece of glass out. “Man...” she trailed off. “You know why I came here?”

“... ‘Cause ya gotta look at the big picture, right?”

Dash nodded as she stared at the road. “Well, yeah. I mean, even Twila was saying that this was a one-shot deal. If me and you had traveled south and searched for Alice, where would that put everyone else? It’d probably be Rarity gettin’ glass pulled outta her ass.”

“Ta be fair, I ain’t found any in yer--wait. I lied.” Isabelle made another pained grunt as Jack performed her improvised surgery on the rainbow-haired girl’s left cheek.

“F-fuck,” Dash swore. Another pregnant pause. Finally, Jack gave a nod of approval.

“Lookin’ good. Now, let’s get ya up--I gotta gauze ya.” The farmer offered her hand. Isabelle quickly took it, letting the blonde hoist her up. She stood, her legs spread apart as Jack quickly worked on bandaging the athlete up.

“Hey...”

“Mmm?” the farmer asked, knelt down and working the bandage around Dash’s leg. They were quiet for another moment, each attending their own thoughts.

“Remember back during the car ride after the first one?” Isabelle suddenly spoke up. Jack didn’t need clarification.

“Hard ta ferget.”

The athlete exhaled and looked down at Jack. “Well, you remember what we agreed to there? About us being the cold ones?”

Jack smiled bitterly and without humor. “Eyup.”

“Guess we got our first taste of what that means.”

Jack stoically nodded, staring intently at her work. “Reckon so,” she agreed. “Thank God fer Mac at least.”

“Yeah.”

Dash tensed slightly as Jack’s hand trailed up a bit too far north. The farmer noticed her mistake and lowered her hand, finishing the wrap job around Dash’s muscled thigh.

“Hey, Bolt?”

“Hmm?”

“If it was me gone down south, and you had to choose, would ya come lookin’?”

The rainbow-haired woman sighed. For some reason, she had expected the conversation to turn this direction. “Same shit Alice is in?”

“Eyup.”

Isabelle rubbed her neck and stared at the empty street. “Fuck, man. I dunno.”

“What’s yer gut say?” Jack inquired, looking up to meet Isabelle’s face.

Dash flicked her eyes to the farmer. “My gut says you’d want me to do this instead. To keep truckin’ on--make sure the big picture’s taken care of. Make sure our friends are safe...”

The blonde nodded, tying off the last of her bandages and rising. “Yer right.” She adjusted the mask on her face. “I mean, I know why ya said what ya said back there at the house but...still pissed me off.”

“Guess I’m the asshole of the group,” the athlete casually said, smiling weakly.

Jack snorted, handing Isabelle’s pants back. “Yer my asshole though. Don’t forget that.”

Dash paused. Her lips quirked into a pseudo-smirk. “Not sure how I should take that, hayseed.”

The farmer raised her brow. After a moment, a small snicker of laugher passed her lips. It turned into a hearty, gut-busting guffaw. Dash cracked a grin, then couldn’t help herself and joined in, both leaning on one another for support as they tried desperately to draw breath.

“Yer somethin’, Izzy. Ain’t sure what, but somethin’.”

“Just shut up with this sappy shit--we got a job to do.” She smirked, donning her pants and returning to the van. She swept it clear of glass with the sleeve of her jacket and hopped in. As soon as the door shut, the weight of what they were about to do again hit them, dispelling their brief respite from this nightmare with the finality of a closing book.

“Maybe we’ll be lucky. Might be mostly electronic--isn’t that what Drake said? W-we might be able to avoid the guards,” Dash offered, starting the van.

Jack’s brow narrowed grimly as she felt for the weight of the iron piece resting in her side-holster. “We’ll do what we have ta,” she said, as they took off down the street, repeating a mantra both of them had been forced to use far too often these days.

Entering is Easy

The drive to central Camelot had taken another solid hour. To get to the Blueblood manor took the better half of another. Twila had finished her book, failed to start up a conversation with Chylene, and finally settled for biting at her nails to try and work out her nerves.

It made little sense how jittery she was feeling. Before the bank robbery in Manhattan, she’d been completely collected. Somehow she’d bound all her feelings--the doubt, the fear, the guilt--to some deep pit within her, far away from being consciously felt. Though her dreams were clear evidence that her subconscious was a different story.

Now her hands wanted to shake, she could feel the back of her dress was slightly dampened with sweat, and she kept wanting to twirl her hair like a teenager.

Though biting your nails is hardly any better, she berated herself.

Really? This is what I’m telling myself? she asked in reply.

You should’ve gotten in the limo with Pinkie. She’s probably half-blitzed off of champagne by now.

“Oh, God,” she breathed. “That would be disastrous!”

“Is something wrong, Twila?” Chylene asked. She seemed calmer than Twila was, but still fiddled with her dress.

“Oh, just now realizing it might have been a poor decision to order champagne,” she said, deciding to have another quick glass before leaving the limo. She raised the opened bottle towards Chylene. “You sure you don’t want some? What is it they say... A little Kvaat courage?”

“Um...Twila, I don’t drink,” Chylene admitted awkwardly.

Giving herself a light tap on the forehead, Twila said, “I’m sorry! I forgot. I’m just...” She shook her head. “I’m not even sure, Chy. I wonder if this has anything to do with finding out my brother is still alive.”

“Well...” Chylene looked out of the window, then back at Twila. “I think we have time. Tell me how you feel.”

“I’m glad he’s alive, obviously,” Twila stated. “But... I don’t know. I think maybe some part of me had accepted this situation--as terrible as it is--as reality. It was just us and Spike, you know? No real authority to rely on if things truly got out of hand.” She frowned, trying to focus her emerging thoughts. “We’ve all gone through some pretty amazing things before, haven’t we, though?”

The pink-haired woman smiled nostalgically. “Mhm...and I don’t have many regrets. I hope you don’t either.”

Smiling, Twila replied, “It brought me the best friends a girl could ask for, how could I? The six of us...we managed those on our own, more or less.”

Chylene paused, thinking over past times, both good and bad. “Yes, but...doesn’t this feel a little bit different? I don’t feel as safe as I did Twila, not anymore.” She clasped her hands together, letting out a stuttered sigh.

Twila gave a solemn nod, saying nothing. The world was a different place for all of them now. And in so many ways, how could any of them ever feel safe again?

Finally, she said, “I suppose that’s it. Even though I’ve accepted all the facts, it doesn’t change how they make me feel. And how badly I wish Lew was here. Even you and the others, Chy... You give me a strength I wouldn’t know on my own. But tonight... All the planning can’t prepare us. It’s a different sort of game.” She looked out the window, seeing and feeling the limo come to a stop. “With far more desperate stakes.”

Chylene undid her seatbelt when the limo came to a stop and stared out at the crowd outside. “Y-Yes...you’re right.” She swallowed, looking back at her friend. “But we’ll do it together...yes?”

Giving the nervous girl a confident smile, Twila assured her, “Together, yes. Let’s enjoy the party, shall we?”

The doors were opened by the driver, revealing a spectacle Twila hadn’t seen since the Grand Glittering Gala. Now, as then, she carefully stepped from the limo to the plush red carpet set before them. The countless flashes of cameras blinded her for a moment, as she heard the cries of the reporters grow more excited.

“It’s Twila! Twila Shields! Over here, over here!”

“The Queen’s student herself!”

“Front page material, for sure.”

Ignoring them, she turned and gave Chy a hand. For a moment, the pair stood, letting them get the pictures they would take no matter what the girls had to say about it. Chylene whimpered, but endured being in the spotlight.

“Where’s the others, I wonder?” Twila heard someone say. “A group shot would be great--especially with Mr. Blueblood!”

“Riiiiiiight here!” Pinkie came bounding down the red carpet, fully embracing the attention.

Right behind her came Rarity--she had worked her magic with her makeup. Thick blue eyeshadow complimented her more moderate blue eyes, and her eyelashes had been touched up effectively as well. She’d chosen a deep red lipstick and something that gave her the vague sense of sparkling on her attractively pale skin.

She posed beside Pinkie, adoring the cameras even more than they adored her. Twila grabbed Chylene’s arm, taking the welcome distraction as she pulled the pink-haired woman up the carpeted staircase. She wove her way through the surprisingly dense crowd of socialites.

“Drake, are you there?”

“Reading you loud and clear, Books,” he said. “TV is all a-buzz on you guys. The newsreel looks good--or rather, you four look good.”

Chuckling, Twila teased, “We four or someone in particular?”

Spike coughed a few times--unconvincingly--and replied, “I, uh, t-think that’s a loaded question. Moving on!”

“You’re right. What’s the status of Stetson and Bolt? Did they acquire the basket?”

“We’re a-OK for a picnic. Had a bit of a scare, but they pulled through.”

She let out a small noise of frustration. “Those two--how do they always find trouble so quickly?”

“I’d rather know how they always get out of the trouble they find--I’m never that lucky. Can’t even win a scratchers ticket,” Spike mused.

“I told you to stop wasting your all--” She stopped herself. “We’ll talk about that later, young man. Right now, I’m looking at a much bigger crowd than I expected. What’s the deal, Drake?”

“Hold on, I’ll flip to a different newschannel. This one is just talking about all the different big names in attendance, mostly focusing on you.”

“Quickly, Drake, please?” Twila said, a bit impatient. Most of her earlier nervousness had faded--at least in an active sense. It seemed that with the mission at hand, she was able to ignore it. But it still itched at the edge of her consciousness, like a fly in the summer.

“Channel nine has it--apparently Blueblood won’t open the doors yet. Hmm. Seems he might be doing it to stir the crowd up a bit, get them anxious now so they’re more impatient during the auction. So they’ll spend more.”

“Not his plan, clearly,” Twila said, pensive. “If he was that cunning, he’d not have gone broke in the first place.” She turned, searching for Pinkie and Rarity. She saw Pinkie, a smile on her face as she shook hands and even hugged every other person on her way up the steps. Waving until the baker saw her, she asked Chylene, “Do you see Rarity anywhere?”

“Um, she’s over there...” She pointed at the glamourous woman, soaking up the attention. “With all the flashing cameras...”

Sighing, Twila grumbled, “Why am I not surprised. Drake, can you tell Gems to stop being a diva for a moment and join us, please?”

“Roger,” he replied.

Rarity seemed disappointed and unwilling to leave the attentions of the reporters, but at last--after one particularly racy pose--she excused herself and joined Twila, Pinkie, and Chylene at the top of the steps. The manor was a bit unusual for a central Camelot residence in that it had been built slightly away from the main street. They were standing in the loose crowd probably about fifteen feet from the large, ornate double doors.

Sensing the general uneasiness of the crowd, Twila whispered to the others, “Maybe this wasn’t such a smart plan after all--if Blueblood pushes it too much, the crowd will just get insulted and leave.”

“I’m sure he’s simply preparing as ostentatious and self-absorbed an entrance as he possibly can,” replied Rarity harshly. She had never truly gotten over her embarrassment at seeking to marry the spoiled nobleman.

“Maybe there’s gonna be fireworks!” Pinkie exclaimed, bouncing up and down, anticipating the festivities. She couldn’t help but be excited. A party was a party, after all, even with Blueblood.

“Mmm,” Twila sounded, distracted. Though she was about average height for a Torani woman, this meant she was a few inches shorter than most men. She was trying to scan the crowd for faces she recognized, to little success.

“Oh my... I didn’t expect this many people,” Chylene mumbled, shying away from the crowd. The murmuring of a few hundred voices began to add up and her words were mostly lost to the noise.

“I know what you mean. I certainly hope the doors open soon,” Rarity said, looking at various people in the crowd herself. The taller woman had a slightly easier time with it. “I want to mingle, I want to dance!”

“You wanna dance? Well you can dance with me! We can show everyone our moves!” Pinkie hummed a tune to herself, swaying from side to side.

Still distracted, Twila asked, “What are you two talking about?”

“The ball, Twila. Surely you’ll dance? It would be good for you to find a nice young man. I’m sure there’s at least one or two here tonight.”

Twila shook her head, replying, “I’m not interested, thanks.”

“But it’s been forever since either of us have been to a gathering like this! We deserve to have fun while we can, don’t you think?” the tailor asked, eagerness shining in her eyes.

“What was that?” Twila asked. “It’s getting a bit loud.”

She raised her voice to speak over the crowd. “It’s been forever since I’ve visited a party of this calibre, and I want to have some fun before dealing with that creep, Blueblood.”

Opening her mouth to reply, Twila was interrupted by the sound of mic feedback. There was a trio of taps, drawing everyone’s attention to the balcony a floor above the doorway.

The man standing there was dressed in pristine whites, with some grey to offset changes from torso to legs, in a style that was a few seasons out of date, a clear example of his financial issues. He wore a long cape and a feathered cap, cocked to one side. It had been a short-lived phase based primarily in historical Torani nobleman garb. Rarity had refused to do any work while the style persisted.

Though his teeth were bared in a smile, it seemed dim--as if it only shown inwardly, rather than radiating to the crowd. He tapped the microphone in his hand again, saying, his voice smooth, but as a flat stone rather than comforting silk, “I do believe I’ve been summoned. Well, here I am. But who are you?”

*-*-*-*-*

It was an hour later when Dash and Jack finally came to the vault. They hid the van in an alleyway about a block off and climbed onto a roof. They stood at the edge--Jack reaching into her satchel once more and pulling out a pair of binoculars. She looked down at the streets, trailing her way along until she found their target.

It was a small metal warehouse, pressing against the hill, which had been cut flat, Blueblood’s mansion overlooked. There was a shutter and a door entrance, both were locked, Jack assumed. Cameras lined the three visible walls of the building, offering no real blind spots from street level. According to the schematics Spike had given them, the inside was much the same.

“Drake,” Jack quickly called up. “We’re sittin’ an’ lookin’ at the cameras on the outside. Ya got any more magic in those fingers yer willin’ ta show us, or I gotta do it the ol’ fashioned way?”

Spike let out a negative murmur, then replied, “I’ve been working on it for a few hours now--those cameras are tied into a private signal. Without blacking out the block, I’m powerless.” He chuckled a bit at his joke. “And even that probably won’t work, because the vault is sure to have its own generators.”

Jack lit up a cigarette. “Fair ‘nough. Reckon this’ll get me some target practice, at least. Thanks anyway.” She breathed out, handing her smoke to Dash. The athlete took a drag herself, then looked over the small attache case she had hauled up here.

She flicked it open, revealing the stock of a high powered rifle, along with a few other parts lined up in neat rows on top of soft foam. Handing Jack’s cigarette back, she began putting the gun together, screwing on a silencer to the barrel, clicking the stock to the body of the gun, and putting on the scope. A few more moments and she had pieced together a sniper rifle on a tripod. She handed the weapon over to Jack, who nodded and went prone, resting the gun’s legs on the concrete roof.

The farmer took aim. While she was a far better marksman with handguns--her being left handed and right eye dominant was a problem sometimes--Jack knew she could make the shot.

She fired off a round, the noise still loud despite the silencer. It connected with one of the cameras above the doorway, rupturing it. Sparks flew, briefly showering the area with light. Jack took three more shots, busting the other cameras that might have caught sight of their approach, then knocking out one of the solitary lights fighting against the darkness towards the top of the roof. Jack moved her head away from the gun.

“Let’s go, pal. They’re gonna notice that pretty damn quick,” she said, rising from her prone position and hoisting the gun along. Dash nodded, grabbing the empty case and walking with a faint limp towards the building’s fire escape.

They hauled ass to the warehouse, Isabelle whipping the van into reverse and parking by a shutter. The two quickly swarmed out of the vehicle and approached the door. Dash saw a keypad of a similar make and model as the one she encountered at the shipping depot. Without preamble, she plugged in her flash drive.

“Gonna need another batch of ICE cream, Drake,” Isabelle said.

“Only if you stop with the puns,” he replied flatly.

“What? I don’t get to make bad jokes? I think they’re pretty...chill.”

“I swear...” Spike mumbled under his breath. A few seconds later, they heard the click of a lock releasing. “Hmm. Door’s not opening. I think it’s blocked by something.”

“Deadbolt?” Jack guessed.

“Probably.” Dash frowned, adjusting her mask. “Think you can kick it down, thunder thighs?”

“Told ya not ta call me that,” Jack hissed. She looked over the door. It was a solid piece, metal and probably reinforced. The farmer winced. She could try, but man, if the latch holding the deadbolt didn’t break, this was gonna hurt like hell.

Just as she reared back her foot, she heard the sound of something clicking on the opposite side of the door. It opened, revealing a scrawny young man dressed in a worn brown workshirt. He stared intently at a clipboard, briefly glancing up. He froze on seeing Jack’s mask. The farmer didn’t waste time; she lunged forward and grabbed the man by his shirt, then swept her leg behind his and tripped him to the ground.

“Move an’ I shoot,” Jack snarled, holding her piece with one hand. He meekly held his arms up, cowering on his back.

“P-please,” he begged, staring through a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. “I-I got family.”

“We all do. What are ya doin’?” she asked, slightly lowering her gun.

“T-the cameras shut off. I wa...was j-just checking them. T-thought there might have been a sh-short in the wiring andI’mjustamechanicpleasedon’tkillme!” he begged, his words turning frantic.

“How many guards are further on inside?”

“I don’t know!” the man choked out. “Don’t shoot!”

“Think! How many guards?!” Jack shouted, pointing the gun hard at his face.

“A-at least fifteen!” he wailed. “Maybe more be-because of the a-auction.”

“Security systems,” Dash spat out while entering the linoleum-tiled room. She swept the area, gazing over a counter with a single, solitary computer monitor on top, along with a clipboard detailing movements of the dozens of artifacts in Blueblood’s possession. The lithe woman moved on, glancing past the counter on the right, where a set of windowed double doors led into a hallway that was devoured by darkness.

“What?!” he exclaimed, looking over towards Dash.

“You’re a tech guy. You’re going to disable the security systems for us.”

“I can’t!”

“Can’t or you won’t, motherfucker?!” Isabelle sharply questioned, stomping towards the feeble man.

“Can’tcan’tcan’t!” he quickly shot off. “Every security system is ran by a different guy. I’m just the camera man and repairs!”

“Then yer takin’ the camera’s offline. After that, yer gonna direct us to yer friends.”

“They’re not here. I-I’ll take the camera’s off, b-but I can’t do anything about the pressure plates or laser grids.”

Jack took a step back from the man, meeting Dash’s masked gaze. “Can ya do it from that computer over there?”

“Yeah! Y-yeah! I can! W-w-w-will--”

“Stop fuckin’ blubbering and get on with it!” Dash barked, holding her gun towards the man. She jerked it up. “Stand.”

He meekly rose, his shaking hands still above his head. They marched him to the terminal, where he started clicking away on a set.

“Don’t fuckin’ try anything,” Isabelle warned.

“N-no, I won’t.”

He opened up a few password protected folders, finally coming to an executable file. Opening it, he then punched in a rather unflattering username involving female genitalia, and a DOS based program loaded up. He ran a few commands, then nodded, swallowing heavily.

“A-alright. The c-c-camera’s are shut down.”

Dash turned to the man. “Guess you’ve outlived your usefulness now.”

“What?! But I--”

“But nothing. Your life is on a razor now. You’re going to go prone, and we’re going to tie you up. If you so much as squeak while we’re taking care of business, I’m personally coming out to shoot your motherfuckin’ thumbs off. We clear?”

He whimpered, nodding urgently. They quickly tied up his form and left him behind the counter, then hit the double doors. As they shut behind them, Jack offered a small glance Isabelle’s way.

“Did ya have ta be so rough with the guy?”

“We’re playing a part, bro. If the guy’s pissing himself, then that’s one less guy that’s not gonna risk sounding the alarm.” Dash cooly shrugged.

“I guess,” the farmer weakly concluded. “Either way, we need ta get a mosey on--someone might be waitin’ fer the fella ta report.”

Isabelle pulled out her second pistol and nodded. “Let’s move, Stetson. I got your back.”

“Know ya do, sugar,” Jack muttered under her breath. Together, they ran down the inky-black hallway.

Speeches Spoken, Plans Pursued

“Well well well. Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” Blueblood said, his words honeyed, but too much so. They sickened rather than sweetened, but even still, they drew all attention to the speaker. “Servants, spotlights, please.”

The few street lights that had illuminated the courtyard dimmed, darkening the surrounding area. A few seconds later, a pair of bright, thick beams shined into the crowd from the manor’s roof. They wound around a bit before alighting on Twila and the others, causing them to raise a hand to shield their eyes.

“Twila Shields herself! And most of her esteemed...associates.” The nobleman sneered at that. “I must admit, I didn’t expect the honorable Miss Shields to accept my invitation. Being so busy with her important work in Mansfield, I was certain she’d have to decline. Oh, I am nearly moved to tears you could find some time for little old me.”

Twila grimaced slightly. The tone to the words was all right--but the undertone was pure Blueblood, mocking and belittling. Their families had been at odds for generations, but Alaurd held a particular hatred for Twila. Years ago, he’d bribed his way to passing the Royal Academy’s entrance exam, setting an unheard of score as a record that would last well beyond his own lifetime. Just a few years later, however, Twila had beaten that score. Not just beaten it, but earned it.

“Yes, I don’t think anyone here doesn’t know you and yours, Twila Shields. The honor you do us all by attending,” he said, pacing along the balcony. “The honor you’ve done your country, despite such humble beginnings.”

He stopped and gestured to the gathered nobles. “Everyone here knows how you protected the crown from usurpation, saving our dear Princess Luna in the process.”

Twila caught murmurs of Luna’s still recent banishment. Blueblood’s supposed praise was so hollow it nearly hurt--he knew exactly what he was saying, how it would be received. And it seemed he wasn’t done.

“The traitor Ddorcis still rots in a cell, a symbol to your neverwavivering loyalty and bravery. But that was merely the first of your achievements as Torani’s favored, wasn’t it? Why, not a year later you protected our glorious northern Crystal territory from a fiend straight out of the history texts. Or, rather, the demented cult who worshipped their so-called Dark King.” He paused, frowning. “Who could blame you for not being quite thorough enough. I’m sure you, as any of us here, hope for a speedy resolution to the recent uprisings.”

“Darling, stop, you’ll hurt yourself!” Rarity whispered to Twila, gesturing down. She turned to the tailor, noticing her gaze, then realized she was clenching her hands almost tight enough to draw blood. She crossed her arms instead, waiting for the joke of a speech to be over, willing her cheeks to cool.

“Yes, Miss Shields. You and your friends have served Torani well. Served her Queen well!” Blueblood’s smirk grew. He gave a small bow, barely more than a nodding of his head, and said, almost too quiet to hear, “May you continue to serve her. Effectively. Obediently. Eternally. As any good citizen should strive to do.”

He raised his hands, palms spread outward and upward, a gesture of connection with the crowd. “Friends, fellow Torani--a round of applause for our Queen’s most loyal subject and her friends!” he cried as he began to clap.

Chylene’s face turned red as she gave the smallest of waves to their audience. Pinkie did the same, but her movements were a lot more exaggerated. Either they didn’t catch the intention behind Blueblood’s words, or they were doing their best to ignore it.

Both Twila and Rarity didn’t even pretend to play along; they simply stood still, eyes trained at Blueblood as he slowly finished his clapping.

“With proper introductions concluded, I, Alaurd von Blueblood, do hereby invite you all into my humble abode. The entire first floor is free for your use, and you can find the dance hall in the back courtyard. If you require anything, do not hesitate to command the nearest servant at your leisure.” He threw both fists into the air. “Let the celebrations begin!”

Without warning, a dazzling display of coruscating colour and explosive sound lit up the sky above the manor. With the initial burst, the crowd almost collectively flinched, a few onlookers letting out frightened gasps, but the surprise quickly turned to delight as the clapping resumed, twice as loud as it had been for the girls. Another statement by Blueblood, no doubt.

“You gotta admit, those fireworks are fan dabby dozy!” Pinkie exclaimed, pointing up at the explosive filled sky.

Noticing the crowd beginning to surge forward, Twila replied, “But where did he possibly get the money for all of this, I wonder?” She frowned. “Blackmail or embezzling would be my guess. All so he could send us a message.”

“So I wasn’t the only one who caught that,” Rarity said. “The little ass has taken some lessons, it seems. Then again, he always had a special talent for living true his deluded fantasies of superiority.”

Nodding, Twila started moving with the surrounding crowd. She could see that the manor’s doors had been opened wide--though the spotlights were gone, the radiance spilling from inside lit up the landing quite well.

“Here we go, girls,” Twila said. “Into the mouth of the beast’s favored pet.”

Pinkie threw a fist pump into the air. “Yeah! Let’s do this thang!”

Chylene folded her arms, mumbling, “Hopefully it’ll all go well...” She sighed, whispering to herself, “Please...”

“Good luck,” Spike said, encouragingly. “Time to keep things quiet unless absolutely necessary. Drake out for now.”

And with that, the four walked through the doors. Twila felt a chill go through her as realization set in. Though Pinkie, Chy, and Rarity were with her, so many of her usual allies were gone. And now Spike could be added to the list, for the most part. It would only get worse with her next order.

Shaking her head, she steeled herself as best she could. “We’ve got some time, so split up. Listen in, find out what the general attitude on the Tyrant is. See who we can trust and who we can’t. Rarity, try and keep an eye on Blueblood. We don’t want to lose track of him.”

“Right,” the tailor replied, nodding, her eyes examining the massive foyer. The place was entirely made of stone, decorated with carpets and tapestries of incalculable worth. It stretched wider than it did long, ending in large, ornately carved doorways that opened up to the hallways leading to the east and west wings. In front of them, a twin pair of stairs, bedecked with golden trim and a silver railing, led both left and right before turning inwards and up to the second floor.

Blueblood stood there, leaning on the railing and watching his guests enter with a wry smile. Occasionally he’d nod or give a small wave. Twila was curious to see who was on the receiving end of his recognition.

From the upper rails to down below led streamers, alternating in colour between the Blueblood’s midnight blue and black--nearly indistinguishable from one another--to the Orleith royal gold and Celestia’s personal red and cinnabar. Anywhere else, it’d be an appropriate showing of loyalty and filial pride. But combined with the expensive architecture, the seemingly endless ornamentation and gilding, and the showy examples of Torani art on every wall and pedestal table, it went well and above pride to, quite simply, snobbishness.

“At least the music is nice,” Twila commented offhand. It was faint, but she could hear the tell-tale grace of expertly played strings. Wracking her brain, she recognized it as the Torani royal anthem, though with a quicker tempo and heavier percussion than it was usually performed with. “Chylene?”

“Uh, wha--” She blinked, looking around. She had been staring at the floor, ignoring everything else around her. “Sorry, I got a little bit distracted. Um, yes?”

“You probably have the quietest profile of all of us. So eavesdropping will be your best bet tonight. Leave most of the talking to Rarity or I--we’ve the most experience in this sort of crowd. And Pinkie--” Twila cut off, finding the party lover gone. She turned, looking right and left. “Pinkie? Did either of you see where Pinkie went?”

“She can’t have gone far...maybe by the food?” Chylene suggested.

Sighing in frustration, Twila waved a hand. “Oh well, she can’t get into too much trouble. Good luck, girls. We’ll meet up just before the auction, if nothing prompts it sooner.”

“To the dance!” Rarity declared, heading towards the east door. The majority of the younger couples seemed to be headed that way.

“I’ll try to find Pinkie and eavesdrop too.” Despite her words, Chylene didn’t start moving yet.

Suddenly, Blueblood’s voice echoed through the entranceway. “I almost forgot! Do enjoy the card tables in the west study. Any interested will be gifted one hundred dollars to get them started. House winnings will go to charity, of course--but you’re welcome to keep your own!” With that, he turned and disappeared behind a set of doors that closed with a resounding boom.

Pinching her nose, Twila grumbled, “Well, there went that plan.” But the idea of the card tables excited her. She headed towards the western hallway. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be trying my hand at a little game of chance. I’ve a few strategies I’d like to test out.”

Chylene stood in the quickly emptying foyer until Twila passed through the doorway, out of sight. She felt small, being so alone, but she was also nervous about mingling with the party’s crowd. Finally, her fear of being alone pushed her to the east, after Pinkie. Wherever she was, Chy hoped she could find her quickly.

In front of Pinkie was food, glorious food. An extremely long table spanned from one end of the room to the other, covered in a huge variety of different foods. Salad, wine, champagne, mushrooms, meat and even a huge roasted boar sat in the middle, apple in its mouth. Everything was set out to look as appealing as possible. For example, the boar had an entourage of lettuce gathered around it. But none of that mattered, not when Pinkie had cupcakes.

Sure, they were bland and not as sugary as the ones she made were, but cupcakes were cupcakes. She eagerly grabbed one and inserted it into her mouth whole, glancing around. Nobody was paying attention to her. So she had another. And another. And perhaps one more--

Or rather, no more: Pinkie stared in dismay at the crumb filled plate before her. Even if she had set a new world record, that didn’t make the fact that she had eaten all of the cupcakes any better.

At least there was still wine and champagne. Diane wandered over to a series of wine glasses, each filled with either pale or red liquid. She picked a glass full of red wine because red wine was more colorful than the rest, so it was automatically the best. She took a sip, licking her lips as she stared at the rest of the glasses.The woman grinned as a really really cool idea came to her head.

She dipped all her fingers in the wine, then put the glass along with the rest. Next, she rubbed her moist digits all over the rims of the glasses, making a harmonious sound. She giggled and kept going, making an upbeat, fast paced tune, much to the amazement of people nearby. They gave her curious looks, but didn’t comment on her skill.

Soon enough, Pinkie got bored. All the glasses had roughly the same pitch and she wasn’t going to drink from all of them to get anything different. Sighing, she downed her wine and put the empty glass on the table. This party was quickly becoming as boring as listening to Twila lecture about particle physics.

Why did Pinkie agree to that?

Shrugging to herself, she took another wine glass with her and left the banquet. Tapping the edge of the glass, she peered around. She should’ve gone with Dashie and Jackie, even if what they were doing was more dangerous. Maybe they could’ve used one more person?

No. I’m here now and I’m gonna try and enjoy myself. Um. Um. Um. Argh, what can I doooooooo?! she thought to herself, frowning as she saw only boredom. Under normal circumstances, she would have acted wilder and more carefree. Like the time she took over the band at the last Gala. It hadn’t ended well but it was at least something.

Her arm began to itch, so she scratched it as any normal person would. It felt good until she glanced at where she was itching: her bullet wound. She gently lowered her long glove that just covered the scar. It was a pink little thing and looked harmless enough. It even looked healthy, for a scar.

Pinkie kept scratching at the scar, becoming more forceful the longer she went on. The itch just wouldn’t go away. Gritting her teeth, she pressed her nails harder into her skin. She only stopped when she saw that she was drawing blood. Gasping quietly to herself, she pulled up her glove and walked away from her spot, weaving between nobles.

It was then that she realized that she wasn’t even itchy at all.

Allies and Antagonists

Rarity plucked a flute of champagne from a nearby waiter, giving a little twirl before bringing the glass to her lips. A few of the young noblemen around her clapped--one even gave a small whistle. She bowed then took a sip, hoping her admirers didn’t notice her enthusiasm in the refreshment. And oh how the bubbly liquid refreshed her.

She had been dancing nearly nonstop for a while now, and she was beginning to feel sweat build on her lower back. It was about past time for a rest and a cool drink.

Finishing off the champagne, she deftly set the empty glass on yet another server’s tray as he passed. Scanning the crowd, Rarity hoped to find another glass. As much as she considered Alaurd von Blueblood to be an insufferable little fool, she had to hand it to him on his ball. The champagne and food was first class.

Excusing herself to her many dance partners, she made her way to the far wall, carefully taking a seat. She was mostly alone; the few others not dancing were mostly the older guests. Rarity waved yet another servant--Blueblood seemed to not be wanting for help--over and helped herself to more champagne. It was delightfully cold.

Looking about to make sure no one was watching her, she hefted the glass to her forehead, closing her eyes to more fully enjoy the cooling effect.

She gave a small sigh. Oh yes, that’s much better, she thought.

“It’s not like you to look so...oh, casually vulnerable, I think?”

She lowered the glass quickly--nearly spilling it on her dress--and took in her visitor. Her curt response died on her tongue, and her glare turned to a genuine smile when she saw who it was.

“Francis Pottager! I should have expected you to be here.” She stood, holding her hand to the older gentleman. He gently took it with his own gloved hand and gave a faux kiss to the back of her fingers.

“Miss Belle, a pleasure to see you again, as always. I admit to being surprised, though pleasantly so,” he said, smiling and gesturing for her to take back her seat. He took a seat beside her.

She made a thoughtful noise. “Well, yes, I do suppose it was relatively last minute of us to attend.”

“Might I ask what brings the likes of Miss Shields and her friends to Sir Blueblood’s little show?” Anyone who knew the older man less would have missed it, but Rarity caught an undercurrent of disdain in his tone.

She chose her words carefully. “Call it a...a business proposal, yes! Not to mention that both Twila and I have been out of the court scene for several months now. We felt tonight would be a good way to test the waters.”

He slowly nodded. “See which way the wind is blowing, yes? Understandable. So much changes by the day,” he said with some remorse.

“Is it so bad?” Rarity asked.

Shrugging, he replied, “Sometimes yes, sometimes I just don’t know. I’m afraid I don’t keep up that well, myself. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Fleur, I’d probably be even more in the dark than you are.”

Interested, Rarity asked, “How is she? Is she here? Usually you two are inseparable.”

Francis chuckled. “Isn’t that the truth. But no, she’s not here. I’d never make her suffer someone like Alaurd von Blueblood or his friends, hard as it is to be on my own. Honestly, Miss Belle--”

“You know to just call me Rarity, please.”

He tilted his head in acquiescence. “Of course, Rarity. But I’m quickly becoming the doddering old fool I was always destined to be. Now, don’t give me that look, it’s true. But Fleur keeps my head straight. In politics and business.” He waved a hand. “Better topic, that. How is business for you, my dear?”

“Frankly, I’ve been much too busy to do any work,” she replied, a trifle nervously. Francis was a curious soul, she knew, and she expected him to ask what exactly she had been busy with. Stalling the conversation for a moment by taking a long drink, her eyes quickly went over his outfit.

His suit was of the most modern of styles, which currently favored a deceptively simple cut. Any tailor worth their needles would goggle over the intricate trim and styling work. The thick cuffs were especially ornate, though Francis had offset them with simple opal cufflinks. Tails were back in as well--though whyever for, Rarity couldn’t guess. A dark charcoal grey, it evenly matched his salt and pepper hair. She noticed more grey than the last time they had met. But his features still held strength, tempered by wisdom.

She found her eyes wandering. He had always been a pleasant sight for any woman of refined tastes, though far too old--she hated thinking of him like that, but it was true--for her to ever pursue. His deep blue eyes still held intelligence, not quite covering the crafty wit he possessed that had let him succeed so much in his business ventures. She followed the wrinkles at his eyes around the firm lines of cheekbones, which led down to a strong chin. Even today, Rarity could easily see why so many different magazines always wanted his photo for their covers.

“Rarity, my dear, it’s flattering but you’re almost staring,” he said quietly, amused.

She almost choked on her champagne in surprise. “Sorry, just a bit distracted.”

“It’s a good thing Fleur isn’t here,” he said, laughing. “While not truly jealous, per se, she is occasionally overprotective.”

Her eyes widening, Rarity quickly said, “No no no, it’s nothing like that. Your suit! I was simply noticing how finely tailored it is. Though it’s clearly not my work, it looks familiar.”

He lifted his arms, turning them this way and that. “It should, I would think! It might as well be yours, in spirit at least. Every tailor I go to, I show them that wonderful suit you made for me and request they take after the design.” He gave her a wink. “I’m still amazed at how well you pulled off the stiff and uncomfortable look that tradition dictates for the upper class while keeping all the freedom of movement and comfort of, say, my evening robe.”

With a small blush, Rarity replied, “It was nothing, really. Honestly, I’m surprised no one had thought of it before.” Though usually she enjoyed praise about her work, she’d never fully known how to handle Francis’ genuinely kind words.

“Nonsense, my dear! Why, long after the suit you made for me went out of style, Fleur finally convinced me to wear something else. Not by you, unfortunately. I bloody well wanted to scratch my head off, I can tell you. If I hadn’t melted first,” he whispered to her. “Had Fleur throw them all out! ‘Never again,’ I cried. Oh, but that was an interesting couple of weeks.”

Rarity laughed and the two continued to make small talk for a while. Francis inquired after Rarity’s sister, her success in her schooling, what it was like to live in a small town like Mansfield--he never ceased finding that particularly fascinating--and having friends from all sorts of walks of life. The topic turned to more serious business affairs rather quickly, with Francis relating how, though he was far from being in any sort of dire financial straight, things had been far less profitable with the Queen’s recent adoption of a more aggressive foreign policy.

“And her domestic policy isn’t much better, I’m afraid,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s enough to wonder, sometimes, if she hasn’t gone mad!” Rarity looked at him aghast. “I know--that’s practically treason anymore. But what is a loyal man to do when our once-beloved ruler is destroying everything the nation stands for?”

Giving a solemn nod, Rarity said, “I completely understand and couldn’t agree more. You just have to be careful, especially at a place like this.”

“You may be surprised, my dear. I’m not the only one here with a purpose for tonight’s activities.”

“Oh?” Rarity asked, tilting her head. “And what exactly are you here for?”

The older gentleman looked a bit wounded. “Isn’t it obvious? To protect national history, my dear! What else does one do with exorbitant extraneous funds?”

“Throw parties, bribe officials, buy things you have absolutely no use for,” Rarity offered.

He laughed. “For twits like Blueblood, that seems to be the case. For a refined gentleman such as myself, it’s for the public good.”

“So you’re going to buy some of the auction sells to keep them safe.” Rarity nodded. “Respectable, though still giving Blueblood more funds to waste.”

He waved a hand. “Lesser of two evils. Blueblood’s money I can take again, Torani national treasures can not be replaced.”

“It’s amazing, though terrible. The Queen letting him just sell them off.”

“Well, it’s been a delicate balance for hundreds of years. It was terribly crafty of the family to gather them all together, effectively buying their title through blackmail. The Orlaiths didn’t dare interfere too much with some of the Bludeblood’s shadier dealings over the years, lest they lose those treasures forever. Now the Queen is supporting that loss.” He shook his head. “So yes, Rarity, there are several of us here doing our duty as good Torani men.”

Rarity asked, “But won’t they be relatively safe, no matter who buys them? I mean, if a noble purchases a piece of national history, they’re bound to use it to further their own prestige, showing it off or something of the like.”

“For some, perhaps,” he replied slowly. “But haven’t you noticed?”

She shook her head. “Noticed what?”

“The number of foreigners around!” he hissed. “And few of any decent respect. Kvaat pirates, at least one of the Somani’s war leaders, and a few mysterious guests that I’ll grant you ten to one are from the South.”

“Not exactly promising for some of the most important artifacts of the Northern power, no,” Rarity said with a wince.

“Well, we’ll all do our best. You can bet we won’t go down without a fight.”

Francis sounded confident, but that’s what worried Rarity most. Playing right into Blueblood’s hands, I bet. At least Jack and Dash should save plenty themselves. She realized that he had asked her something,

“What was that?” she asked.

“I said, ‘Are you going to be dancing more?’” He gave a rueful grin.

“Oh. Oh, well yes, probably,” she said weakly.

“In that case,” he said, rising and giving her a bow, “I’ll be off, my dear. It was lovely talking to you again--you’ll have to join Fleur and I for brunch sometime soon!”

She gave a warm smile. “It sounds lovely. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good! Remember, don’t hesitate to call on me. My support, for what it’s worth, is yours. Enjoy your evening, Miss Belle.”

“Rarity, please--and you as well, Sir Pottager. Thank you,” she said with a bow of her head.

Chuckling while he left, he gave her one last wave before vanishing in the mass of wandering couples.

Remembering her drink, she finished it off while going over what she had just learned. Though by accident, Rarity had succeeded in one of Twila’s assignments--find out what the general feel for tonight was. Though she was sure the older man was being a bit optimistic in his figures, to learn that even a few of tonight’s participants were against the Tyrant and Blueblood’s auction was good news.

It really had been rather foolish of them to ignore the opinions of the court. To not try and win their support. Why, even Jack, of all people, had come to Camelot and spoken about the injustices committed by the crown. True, it had amounted to her mostly being ignored and, ultimately, her fields being burned. But she had tried to work within the system. The others had happily stayed out and gone their own way.

“Drake,” she said quietly, hiding her lips behind the glass. “Are you there?”

“Always am,” he said.

She smirked despite herself. “You heard all that, right?”

“More-or-less. I had to switch channels to Dagger for a moment. They’ve just breached the back entrance and needed a hand.”

“Mmm. I just wonder--did we do the right thing, Drake?” she asked idly. “Are we doing the right thing?”

There was a brief moment of silence from Spike’s end. Finally, he spoke up. “I-I think so, Gems. We’re talking about an event that could affect the whole world, if it’s not stopped.” Another pregnant pause. “I hate how we have to topple over pawns to get to the Queen, though.”

“That’s how I’ve looked at it myself, actually. The goal is sound, clearly. We’re just taking some logically necessary steps.” She tapped the glass with one long, manicured nail. It gave a light ring in response. “I love the girls, but I sometimes wonder exactly why I’m doing this. I’ve taken to it rather better than expected. It’s easy to be cold about the whole process. I suppose I just I worry it might be too easy.”

Spike gave another pause in thought. Ask him to plant a keylogger on a computer, he’d be back to eating chips in five minutes. Ask him to talk about feelings... it took him a bit longer. “It’s obvious why you’re doing it, Gems. You love the girls. You already have your answer. I-I think. A cold person wouldn’t do this sort of thing, not without asking what was in it for them, y’know?” He swallowed heavily. “And I know you’re not a cold woman. You’re just good at treating it like a job, like--” A thought crossed the young man’s mind. “R-remember the first time I tried to help you on the automatic sewing machine?”

Rarity’s amusement had a touch of heat to it. “And ruined several hundred dollars’ worth of materials, yes.”

“Remember how I sewed my hand to those materials?”

“I-I do, though I’d rather I didn’t.” She shivered, the memory of it still clear. “You were lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“When it happened, I remember how different you acted. You were so... cool about it--cutting the thread, cleaning the punctures up, dressing it. You were, like, in control.” He laughed under his breath. “Then, when I had finally stopped crying, you nearly passed out at the sight of a bloody bandage.” He wrapped his story up, trying to drive his point home. “That’s what you’re doing now--taking care of an injury. You have a job to do--your emotions will come back when it’s over. That’s the woman I know.”

“I never thought about it like that, Drake,” she said, thoughtful. “All I can really remember is how worried I was, how much I hoped you were OK. Seems I’m doing much the same now.” She made a thoughtful noise. “Perspective, I suppose. I think that’s why I asked.” She stood, lightly stretching and hunting for waiter to take her empty glass. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Gems.”

“Tell Books what we’ve learned. I think I’m just about ready to find that little creep. But first,” she paused, looking over at a circle of young nobles who were eying her, “A few more dances.”

“Save the last one for me,” Spike weakly joked.

She laughed, “Some day, Drake. I promise. Be good, darling.”

Approaching the dance floor, it wasn’t long before she found herself in the attentions of more dance partners than any proper lady would or even could ask for. The music even changed to an up tempo waltz, a contemporary play on an old standard. Though not her favorite, she decided to let loose just a bit and enjoy the rapid dance.

Soon--the champagne she’d had not helping--she was a bit dizzy, being spun and passed from partner to partner. Had it been a half dozen young men? A full? Maybe a baker’s dozen! she thought, laughing and thinking of Pinkie. Whatever the number, Rarity had long since lost count, one dance leading right into the next, the music changing with no pause or notice.

“You dance quite as skillfully as I expected,” her current partner said, cutting into the music suddenly, breaking its spell.

That voice?! It’s...

“Blueblood,” she said breathlessly. Her feet stopped, but he grabbed her arm to pull her with him into the next dance. It was a slow, couple’s dance.

She tried to wrench herself free, but he gripped harder. “Let go,” she hissed. “You’re hurting me!”

“You’d refuse your host the pleasure of even one dance?” he asked, smirking. “And here I thought you were a lady. I suppose even the brightest jewels can fade in time.”

Inside she was furious, but she kept her composure, ceasing her struggle. “You simply startled me is all. I had every intent of sharing several dances with you--I merely wanted to present you a proper dance partner, refreshed and in order as befitting someone...of your station.” It grated terribly to talk up to the stuck up twit, but Rarity knew it was important. She had to work her way into Blueblood’s good graces.

Thankfully, her recovery had been quick enough. He gave her a smug look, his eyes twinkling with his own self-importance, as he said, “As a commoner should, but I’ll grant you an exception.” He lifted a hand. “Please, don’t thank me. It’s my duty as a respected gentleman, after all.”

To herself, Rarity thought, I wasn’t going to, but that works. She gave a girlish chuckle. “Oh how very generous, Alaurd--”

“Sir Blueblood,” he snapped.

She tilted her head lightly. “My apologies, Sir Blueblood.” Tittering again, she said, “You’ve really outdone yourself tonight. Though I’ve--”

“Yes, no expense has been spared.” His tone was the same haughty lecture Rarity remembered. “The Blueblood name has always been synonymous with only the best of anything and everything. This should quell those disgusting lies that I’m broke.”

She noticed he seemed to say that last to himself.

“But of course those are just rumors! I was scan--”

“They’ll all see soon enough,” he said, talking over her again. She almost screamed.

“I’m sure of it,” she said flatly. The music crested, and she grimaced as he sent her through an awkward dip. At least he’s not tromping all over my feet this time.

The couples on the dance floor bowed to one another--though Blueblood declined--and applauded the ensemble. Despite his usual arrogance, Rarity thought he seemed distracted. Whatever the reason, she was thankful. This might be easier than I thought.

“Sir Blueblood, might we move off the dancefloor to talk?” she asked, flitting her eyelashes.

His reply was more silence, though he did grab her wrist and pull her to the far side of the courtyard. The marble-tiled dancefloor ended, leading into carefully directed stone paths. This one spread out into a mini-courtyard, complete with massive, three layer fountain centered and lit up in a rainbow of colors. Though Rarity was pretty sure the main focus was blue.

Rubbing her wrist after he let go, she forced her frown away and gave him a sultry smile. “Ever the one to take what you want. It can be attractive in the right situations.”

“And who said you’re what I want?” he said with a sniff. “I could easily have anyone here. Or anywhere for that matter. Why should I settle for you?”

Her hand twitched, but she resisted the urge to slap his smug little face. Arching her back slightly, she ran a hand slowly from the top of her dress’ neck, carefully rounding over her breast, down along the opened side, and flourishing out at the upper cross cut of her dress. It was one of the more tasteless designs she had allowed herself, though it had its charms. She wasn’t one to shy from a little exposed skin, provided the situation was right for such things, but she hated to be wasting it on someone like Blueblood.

“Why, darling, just look around you,” she breathed. “Half are too old, the others all surgery and makeup tricks. I’m the only one here who has it to give by naught but my own graces. So, what do you say, darling? A little private time, upstairs, perhaps?”

She expected several reactions to her direct assault of sexual promise--a hunger in his eyes, perhaps even a lustful pounce, or, disgustingly, a more base form of his excitement--but she didn’t expect him to laugh as he slowly shook his head.

He gave her a disbelieving smirk. “Oh, Rarity. Rarity, Rarity, Rarity. You’ve some looks, I won’t deny. But you the top? You the best?” He laughed again, haughty and proud. “Such deluded naivete is hardly becoming of a proper lady. Though, that’d require you to actually be a lady.”

Rarity was taken aback. There was being rude, then there was this. She didn’t even know where to begin with him. But it seemed that he wasn’t done, as he continued.

“You insult and smear my name during one of the biggest, most historic events of the year. In front of Celestia, no less. Treat me rudely, making ludicrous demands of someone so far above your position you should feel awed I even allowed you to dance with me. Then you have the gall to think yourself desirable above most? You? Really? With your rustic sensibilities and cheap looks?”

“Cheap?!” Rarity hissed.

“At least the others have the respect of their positions to pay for proper beauty. But you?” He shook his head. “A rarity? A joke; a hopeless attempt for a dream bigger than reality could accept. I’ve suffered hundreds of your kind, and in my grace I’ve even tasted a few.” His lecherous grin turned Rarity’s stomach. “But don’t for one moment think I need a trollop like you, not when so many better options present themselves daily. Now, I’ve wasted enough of my time--I shan’t have pity on you again. Enjoy the party, or leave, I care not.” With that, he simply turned and left.

Rarity stood stock still, though deep within her a rage fought to burst free. She wasn’t entirely sure what kept her from slapping that ridiculous fake smile off his smug face--or, better yet, a knee to his undoubtedly pathetic groin.

Was it simply the shock of being rejected after she flat out offered herself? Rarity wasn’t one to sleep around, but still, a self-respecting woman believed herself irresistible to any simple man. Yet Blueblood had said no. And insulted her on top of it.

Realization dawned, and she cursed harshly. “This is not good. Not good at all.” Straightening her dress a bit to regain her composure, she huffed, took on a slow, sensual walk with her chest out, and set off to find the others.

The plan to trick Blueblood into showing or telling her where the list is with her womanly wiles had bombed. They needed to come up with a Plan B, and quickly.

Crafty Consolations

Chylene slipped through the crowd, hugging herself and avoiding even brushing against someone if she could. It was hard trying to look for a friend at a huge party while not being daunted by the amount of people attending. These were nobles, and if she wronged them they could shame her, ruin her or maybe something even worse.

She had considered using the comms to find Pinkie, but thought that would only draw attention to herself. So she had to rely only on her senses, which were being bombarded enough as it was. She glanced around, trying to find her excitable friend.

She found nothing. Chylene sighed and wandered over to the edge of the room, sitting down on a regal looking chair next to a window. Beside it, a couple were chatting.

“I can’t help but feel that this is a distraction,” the man said, running a hand through his slick, black hair.

“What do you mean?” asked his brunette partner, her hair done up in a bun.

“An auction and ball? They claim it’s for charity, but the guest list is almost entirely serious money. They could just send a letter. No, this event will garner immense revenue. Combined with the Queen’s change of direction on foreign policy--the connections are terrifying. Not only will these people pay tonight, but with the new policies their businesses must be suffering--it’s affecting my business interests, certainly.” He took a moment to sip from his glass of champagne. “I know I’m not the only one.”

The woman pondered over his words. “Perhaps there are things you’re not aware of? I’m sure she knows what she’s doing. She is our Queen, after all.”

“Maybe...” He looked down, tapping his glass, before slowly raising his head and smiling at his partner. “Shall we have a dance?”

She grinned with delight, holding out a gloved hand which the man gladly took. “I was wondering when you would ask me that.”

Chylene watched them go, running the conversation over and over in her head. She didn’t know what that man’s ‘business interests’ were, but, from the sound of things, he was growing discontented with the Tyrant. And so were others, apparently.

Well, she had found something out. She wasn’t completely useless. Standing up, she headed back into the fray, when a pair of arms wrapped themselves around her waist.

“Chylene! There you are--I was getting so bored! Let’s do something fun!” Pinkie chirped, hugging Chylene tightly, although not enough to suffocate her.

The shy woman gasped, then had to regain her composure. “Pinkie, please don’t surprise me like that. Not here.”

“Oh, okay! Sorry.” Pinkie went around her friend to look at her face. “So whatcha wanna do?”

Chylene looked off into the distance. “Um...can we go to the bathroom?”

The party enthusiast followed Chylene’s gaze, spotting a door leading to the bathrooms. “Uh, okay. Doesn’t sound very fun but we’ll do it!”

“Thank you,” the timid woman replied, leading Pinkie along. They entered the door, which took them to a tiled lobby. In that were four doors, a pair for each gender. The two went for the furthest door marked for woman and entered, only to find it empty.

Chylene sighed with relief and went into one of the cubicles. Pinkie just stood there, admiring the room. The tiles were gorgeously decorated, each being a part of a mosaic on the floor. Each sink was far too big, a bar of soap and a neatly folded towel ready to hand for each bowl. She stared at the mirror that spanned across the row of sinks, checking her hair. Puffy as always!

She tapped her foot, waiting patiently for Chylene. At least no one else was coming in to see her standing there awkwardly. Though it wasn’t long before she grew impatient and put an ear to the cubicle her friend was in. The party girl became quickly concerned when she heard quiet sobs from within.

Pinkie tried to open the door but the lock in place wouldn’t allow it. “Chylene, are you okay?”

“I-I don’t want to go back out there!” she cried, yet not even that was very loud.

There was only one question Pinkie could ask. “Why’s that?”

“Because there’s s-so many people, they’re all staring at me and it’s really loud and crowded and I don’t like it!”

Pinkie frowned as she tried to think of something to say. “They’re not all staring at you. That’d be silly!”

There was a short pause. “O-Okay, not all of them...but a lot of people still are... I know it.”

“And what’s so bad about them looking anyway? They’re probably looking at you and going: ‘Wow, she looks really pretty and nice!’” Oddly enough, Pinkie didn’t put on an accent for that.

“But I don’t want them to think that...”

That got a gasp out from Pinkie. “What?! That’s ridiculous! Why wouldn’t you want anyone to appreciate the wonderful person you are?!”

“Because...” Chylene sniffed. “I always g-got singled out at the h-home for it...”

“Oh...” Pinkie fell silent. How could anyone respond to that? What could she say? After a few moments of thinking, a determined look appeared on her face. She was going to try her best to cheer up her friend. “Chy, open the door.”

“Wh-what?”

“Please.”

Silence. Pinkie closed her eyes and sighed, leaning against the door. She stumbled slightly when, to her surprise, it began to open slowly.

Chylene looked out from the small gap, her hair hiding one of her eyes and the visible one teary. Her makeup was ruined but Pinkie didn't care about that. She slipped in the cubicle and locked the door behind her, much to the crying woman’s surprise. Pinkie didn’t let her respond, instead wrapping her up in a warm hug.

“Don’tcha feel better already?”

“A b-bit...” Chylene sniffled.

Pinkie put her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “You should never ever feel bad about the good inside of you! You wanna know what I think?” Chylene nodded. “I think that you’re--” She stopped herself, opening the door and peering out before closing it again. “‘Kay. I think you’re the kindest one out of all of us and that you’re really special!” Pinkie licked her bottom lip before going on with a lowered voice, “I also think you’re the prettiest too. Even more than Rarity.”

Chylene felt her cheeks get hotter and she found it difficult to keep looking at Pinkie. “Um...I...um...”

Pinkie leaned in closer, whispering, “Don’t tell the others. Especially Rarity ‘cause she might slap me.” That got a small giggle out of Chylene and she nodded in understanding.

“Look, Chy, you just gotta embrace who you are. Because you make all of us happy. Forget about everyone else, ‘cause they don’t know you like I--we do. Just look at me!” She pointed a thumb at her chest, grinning. “I hop, skip, and jump around and I don’t care ‘cause I know that’s who I am, and I know that’s what my friends love me for.”

Chylene nodded after a short pause. “Yes, you’re right.” She sniffed again. “I’m sorry, Pinkie. You’re just so confident and I’m...not.” She ran a hand through her hair, which was thankfully still relatively neat. “Why am I even here?! I’m not like the rest of you--I barely held it together last time! I can’t do this... I can’t.”

Pinkie grabbed Chy’s hands. “None of us really wanna do this but...we just gotta. Not just for us, but for the whole country!” She gently rubbed her friend’s palms with her thumbs. “You can do this. We all can. Nobody likes it...but it’s our duty.”

Chylene wiped her eyes with her arm. “I’m trying, Pinkie, but...I just don’t feel c-capable...”

“Trust me. Just by being there, you make a huge difference. Everyone would be sadder and more frowny if you weren’t around!” Pinkie gave her a hopeful smile. “I know I would be.”

The teary eyed woman looked away, considering Pinkie’s words. “Yeah... It’s really hard but...I can try...”

“Great!” Pinkie wrapped Chylene up in another warm embrace. “And if you ever wanna talk about stuff, then I’m just the girl! Unless you wanna talk to someone else, ‘cause that’s fine too.”

Chylene sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Thanks, Pinkie. We should head back to the party now. Can you stay with me...?”

“Of course I can!” Pinkie exclaimed, swinging the door open and leading them out. “This party’s kinda boring by your lonesome anyways.”

“I think it’s...nice,” Chylene replied, wiping away the ruined makeup on her face. She didn’t wear much, so it wasn’t a huge problem. Pinkie wrapped an arm around her and the two went back into the hustle and bustle together.

*-*-*-*-*

Jack and Isabelle traveled through the dark, unlit hallways, each one wordless and high-strung, completely out of their element. Neither really knew what to be looking out for--it wasn’t like they came across laser trip mines or pressure plates often, and one false step could completely ruin their chance at getting the goods. Their only saving grace was how straightforward the way had been so far--there had been very few paths aside from the one they walked right now, and the ones that did turn off led to dead ends and single rooms filled with mechanical shit that only a techie could understand.

That word reminded Dash of a question--the athlete put a hand to her earset. “Yo, Drake,” she quietly whispered as they passed by a doorway labeled ‘break room’. “What do triplines look like?”

“Electronic, correct?” he surmised.

“The fuck you think?” she hissed back.

Spike ignored Isabelle’s sharp tongue. “Well, keep an eye out on the walls. They’ll look similar to doorstops--sort of a prong on either side. Usually they put them about a foot or so off of the ground.”

“Alrighty. We’ll be careful. Bolt,” Jack addressed, her eyes briefly skimming the paintings decorating the walls. It seemed even down here, which would never host visitors, Blueblood enjoyed showing off. “You still got the layout of the place?”

The athlete tapped her skull. Jack didn’t have to see her face to know the woman was smirking. “All up in here, dude.”

“Pressure plates and shit too?”

“Everything but the triplines. Smooth sail--”

Jack jerked her hand out in front, stopping Isabelle dead in her tracks. The athlete grunted at the impact. Jack pointed down. Hidden behind a potted plant was one of the prongs Spike had warned them about. Isabelle had very nearly stepped through it without noticing.

“Shiiit,” Dash hissed, almost silently. She looked at Jack, eyes wide and gulped. Reaching into her pocket, she pulling out a small bottle of hairspray. With a quick shake and spurt of it, the invisible laser became illuminated by the chemicals floating through the air. They both stepped carefully over the tripline and made their way along.

They came to a T-junction. Isabelle paused this time. “Hold the fuck on. This isn’t right.”

“What ain’t?”

“There’s not supposed to be a crossroad here, bro. Just a right turn.”

Jack frowned. “Are ya sure?”

“Totally.” She jammed her earpiece once more. “Drake-a-rooni.”

“Here, Bolt,” the young man addressed.

“Those schematics of the way through here. Go to section E-13.”

There was a brief pause, finally, Spike spoke once more. “What about it?”

“Just a right turn, yeah?” Jack could hear the concern in Dash’s voice.

Spike’s reply was a bit flat. “... On the mark, Bolt. That’s right.”

“Fuck! Schematics are wrong,” Dash said, stamping a foot.

“Stop with the noise!” Jack whispered in a harsh tone. “And even then, who cares? They probably jus’ added another managment room or some shit ta the left. Let’s jus’ stay the course.”

“I hope you’re right, Stetson.”

They turned right and started down the hallway. Without preamble, Isabelle hugged the wall to her left. “On me, Stetson,” the athlete addressed. “Pressure plates should be on the right of us.”

Jack nodded, following after Dash. The athlete waved a hand as they approached a solid iron door. Jack tried it, nearly recoiling in surprise when it opened easily inward.

“Expecting it would be locked, hayseed?”

“As often as it’s happened ta us tonight, yeah. I was.” She nodded. They both shut up and crouched low, cracking the door open a hair farther. Jack scanned the room and let out a sigh. “Empty. Door on the other side, though.”

Dash nodded, both of them entering.

The room was lined on the walls with tools of a craftsman’s trade. Chisels, hair-lined brushes, hammers. Each seemed worn with constant use. The counter to their left had various items as well. Sponges, small pans, forceps. Long tables dotted the tiled floor, each was coated in dust and clay.

“Some kinda restoration room?” Jack guessed. “Used ta watch a lot of history docs on TV--they’d always take, like, clay pots an’ shit ta rooms like these an’ clean ‘em up.”

“Makes sense,” Isabelle agreed. “I mean, if Blueballs--”

“Cute,” Jack dryly said.

“--Anyway,” Dash continued with a roll of her eyes. “If that cocksucker’s got as much shit as Twila’s saying, he’d probably need repair work and restoration done on occasion.”

“Repair work... Wonder if anythin’ is worth takin’ in here...”

The lithe woman shook her head. “Doubt it, Stetson. I skimmed the room. Just a few pot pieces and broken knick-knacks.”

“In that case, let’s press on, pardner.” The farmer moved to the other set of doors, tossing them open, only to be nearly blinded by a pair of flashlights rounding a corner up ahead. Jack quickly shut the door and turned to Isabelle. “Couple comin’!” she whispered.

“Fuck. Think they saw you?”

“If not me, definitely the door shuttin’.” Jack rubbed her chin and quickly looked around the room in a panic, finally setting her sights on a clay-caked table. “Got an idea.”

Heists and Highrollers

Twila had made her way to the west study in almost complete silence. Few of those on this side of the manor were known to her by more than simple name and reputation; the ones she was more familiar with barely acknowledged with a smile, nod, wave, or combination of the three. She returned what was given, but kept along the straight passage in search of the study.

It was hard to think this place had been built as more a museum than a manor. Or at least, that had been the promised intent. But clearly the Bluebood family hadn’t changed too much to deliver its current head. On this end, the floor was polished wood paneling--ebony, no less. A fine marble carving, some historical busts and other modern art, or a large oil painting decorated the hallway every five feet or so.

Twila shook her head. Even the royal palace in Camelot wasn’t this ostentatious.

After a couple minutes, she noticed a small stream of people heading the same way as she. She found the study at the very end of the hallway, on the far side of the building. Oversized double doors stood open, an attendant in fine livery on either side welcoming guests, giving them a small envelope that Twila assumed carried the promised hundred dollars.

She approached the doors herself, the attendant bowing when he noticed her. “Miss Shields, welcome!” he said cheerfully, smiling wide. Holding out an envelope, he said, “Please take this. Inside you’ll find a starter bet of one hundred dollars, as well as instructions. Play responsibly, and have fun!”

She gave him a weak smile back, taking the envelope. She tore it open as she entered, taking in her surroundings. Her eyes goggled. He calls this a study?!

The room could’ve fit nearly the entirety of her library home, with probably a good bit to spare. Offhand, she counted at least a dozen tables, all with rich socialites playing and betting around them. Nearest her were two dicing tables--a thickset Somani man was holding his hand out to a woman next to him; she blew on the dice and he threw, leading to cheering from around the table as he gave a loud bellow of success, even going so far as to pound his chest. Beyond that were a pair of roulette tables. Then the card tables--Twila saw it was evenly split between poker and blackjack, at the far end.

She’d never been to a casino in her life, but her father had enjoyed blackjack. Fond memories of playing with him--though never winning--came back to her as she made her way to the farthest, and emptiest, table. Before sitting, she emptied out the envelope--two twenties, four tens, three fives, and five ones made for the promised hundred. There was also a typewritten letter, which read:

Welcome, guest, to our evening’s games of chance. There are various ways to sate your appetite for a little risk and much reward.

She skimmed on down to the section about the blackjack tables.

The rules are simple, but a little different from standard casino blackjack--all players play against one another as well as the house until one player remains, then that player must win against the house to take home their own winnings. Betting on another player’s box, but losing on your own, means you forfeit your winnings to the other player. All house proceeds will be donated to various state-ran charities. Each player may, in addition to their entrance gift, add in up to thirty thousand dollars of their own funds.

All are welcome to join at any or all of our fair and expertly ran tables. Good luck and play responsibly.

Twila would eat her--well, she didn’t own a hat, but she’d buy one and eat it if any of the house’s winnings went to any ‘charity’ but the “Bail Blueblood’s Butt’ fund. She chuckled to herself.

“Hey, Drake, listen to this,” she said quietly.

There was no response. She gave it a minute, then said, with a little urgency, “Drake, you copy?” Still nothing.

Her heart skipped a beat before she berated herself. Calm down, girl, she said, breathing slowly. Spike’s fine. He’s probably just busy helping Jack and Dash.

That brought with it its own set of worries, so before she could focus too much, she sat down at the table, throwing the money down. “Deal me in,” she said quickly, sterner than she meant. The others at the table gave her a look. Blushing, she said, much more weakly, “Uh, please?”

The dealer said, “New players can join after the conclusion of the current hand.” He pointed and waved with a hand, which brought over an attendant who took Twila’s money and gave her a hundred dollars worth chips in fives. “Now, next bet.”

Sinking into her chair, embarrassed, Twila watched the hand play out. When she had been just a girl, she had thought her father some sort of magician in the way he never seemed to lose. Finally, she had asked him to share his secret. Laughing, he’d said it was no real secret. Just practice and a careful eye.

“And the most important trait of all,” he’d stated simply.

“What? What is it?” she’d asked, sitting on the edge of her chair, enraptured.

“This right here,” he said, poking her on the forehead. “Use this well and there’s little you can’t do, Twila.”

After that, their games had been much closer. Card counting was simply a matter of observation and organization, two things Twila could handle in her sleep. But she’d only ever done it for fun, not profit. Her father had never mentioned if it was frowned upon or, worse, illegal.

Still, stealing money from Blueblood was hardly anything to trouble her at this point. Better she get it than him, after all.

The hand ended, and the dealer switched to a new deck. “New player deal in,” he declared, watching the initial bets. Twila led on her own box, betting behind on two others. No one bet behind her own. She led with two chips on her own and one on the other pair, knowing she’d need time to pick up a proper count.

The cards were dealt, the players’ face-up and the dealer showing an Ace. “Call for insurance bet,” said the dealer. Showing a two and a nine, Twila took a quick look at the other hands. Five others were playing, and they showed seven tens altogether. Roughly figuring the odds the dealer had blackjack as over fifty percent, she pushed out another five chip to the insurance line. Two others followed.

Twila was last to call for cards, and she watched as three players busted, one stood at twenty and the last at a hard eighteen. For herself, she called for a hit, taking a five. Deciding it didn’t matter either way, she asked for another--another five, for twenty-one.

The dealer flipped his hole-card, showing a queen, a ten, for blackjack. “Dealer blackjacks, insurance pays. Twenty-one pushes.”

There was some light applause as the dealer settled the bets, leaving Twila’s initial bet standing and paying out the two-to-one on the insurance.

It went much the same for a dozen hands or so, with Twila gaining a small edge on her bets. Three of her fellow players had either busted or left the table, leaving just her, two others, and a deck full on to her advantage. At last, she pushed harder, upping the wages and the winnings accordingly. Before long, she had tripled her initial hundred as the deck ran through, ready for a reshuffle and resetting the count.

Twila stopped keeping track of time; she only had eyes for the count. The number of players at her table varied, floating around two others most times. But as she won more and more, allowing her larger and larger bets, her table started getting a crowd of onlookers. That was OK for Twila, though, since it meant those already there--their pride pricked by their losses--pulled out their own funds to supplement their game.

And Twila’s winnings.

The dealer, though not professionally trained, had noticed Twila’s counting and added in decks to try and slow her down. They were now at seven. Really, this only helped Twila in the long run as she could keep her count going much longer.

She felt a little bad, in some ways. Though it was better she get the funds than Blueblood, she was still directly taking from the other players. Then she remembered that, for most of them, what they were playing for was rather trivial.

A few hours later, Twila took winnings on both hands with split eights, and the last other player busted against the dealer. She was preparing for her winning hand against the dealer, when another player sat across from her, throwing down his hundred and adding in a much larger sum to supplement it.

“Mind if I join in?” he asked Twila. She looked him over. He was much younger than most of the players here--her age, or somewhere near it, she judged. Though she was no expert, Twila marked that his suit wasn’t of any particular designer. It was decently cut, though looked a little worn on the edges. He wore it a bit untidily; in fact, it didn’t really seem to suit him well at all.

Not that he was unattractive, Twila noticed. He had somewhat tall features, but well built without being too hard or angular. His slate blue hair was shaggy and unkempt and framed his light brown, bespectacled eyes nicely. It was kept kind of long for a boy, she thought, he had let it thicken and puff out into outward curls that gathered around the bottom of his ears and neck. It looked so soft and fluffy, like fine wool--no, more like cotton balls. Twila had a strong urge to touch it, or even bat at some of the stray curls.

She blinked. Where had that come from? Had she really just wanted to bat at some boy’s hair?

Twila had never really met or seen a boy who was so enjoyable to look at, but surely this was ridiculous. Curiosities and wonderings pushed themselves forward, wanting to be satisfied on this out-of-place newcomer.

He frowned at her and prepared to say something, but she hurriedly said, “S-sure, you can do whatever you want.”

He gave an amused chuckle. “Thanks, good luck.”

“Y-you, too,” she mumbled, looking at the cards the dealer had thrown out. Her heart sank as she realized she had completely lost the count. Not a problem, Twila, just play safe until you get it again, she thought. She looked at the newcomer; he was still smiling. Her cheeks warmed and she smiled back before she realized what she was doing. Get a grip! Focus on the cards, not the cute guy.

The hand played, with both Twila and the newcomer pushing twenty-one. The next few hands were slow, casual, with both players betting small, testing the other. He busted a hand, Twila two. But she was beginning to get her count back, allowing her to play and bet more aggressively.

To her aggravation, he did as well.

He shocked her by speaking up. “Y’know, I’ve been around a few casinos, met many types of players. But few of them play so wildly, so quickly. You must be confident.”

Her eyebrow rose. “No more confident than you, it seems.”

“Dealer busts, hand wins with nineteen, hand wins with seventeen,” the dealer said, doling out the winnings.

Twila grinned, giving him a ‘See that?’ look. He only laughed, stacking his chips and placing his next bet.

Irritated at his cheer, Twila placed her own bet--then realized her count was gone again. She paused, shocked at her carelessness.

“Something the matter, Miss Shields?” the other player asked, smiling.

Yeah, I can’t wipe that stupid grin off your face, she thought. That made her pause. Well, that was ridiculous of her. To get so worked up, even though she had done it to herself. She tried to calm down, asking, “So, you know me?”

“Only by reputation,” he said, raising a hand casually. “Few people, especially in my circles, wouldn’t recognize the Queen’s beloved protege, Twila Shields.” He paused, then added, “Alaurd’s speech didn’t hurt either, of course.” He laughed again.

Her gaze narrowed slightly at the mention of Alaurd. “Oh? And you and Sir Blueblood are friends, are you?”

That finally got him to frown. Twila decided she didn’t particularly enjoy it, though it was an active, thoughtful frown, betraying the workings of the mind behind it. “Friends would be too strong a word. We simply run in some of the same circles. Young men, alike of mind and temperament--er, most of us at least--gathered to discuss and plan and dream.”

Focusing again on the cards, to herself, Twila mumbled, “Yeah, right. I’ll believe that of Blueblood when Dash stops swearing in public.”

But he apparently had been listening carefully, because he laughed again and said, “So it is true that your friend just says what she likes, no matter what? And here I thought that was a pitiful rumor started by Alaurd.”

She glared. “My friends aren’t a laughing matter, Mr....Mr....” She let out a frustrated sound. “Who the heck even are you?” The dealer looked impatient, so she threw out a bet, not giving much thought to her cards.

He put on a look of mock surprise, then gave a bow of his head. “How rude of me, apologies. I’m Nate--er, rather, Nathaniel Worthington. Third son of Masting Worthington, heir apparent to the house.” He held up a hand in a hitchhiking gesture, with a thumb pointed behind him. “Plus babysitter.”

Twila tilted her head just a bit to see who he was gesturing to. There was a man standing there she hadn’t noticed. She could see why: he was fairly nondescript, with plain, simple features. He was dressed in a simple black suit and, oddly, held a cane in his left hand. Despite his simple, average looks, he seemed so familiar...

“That wasn’t particularly funny the first dozen times, sir,” the man said flatly, almost sarcastically. Had she heard a voice like that before?

Nate laughed. “He’s such a grouchy fellow, don’t mind him.”

“Uh...OK,” was all she could find to say.

“Really, he’s not so bad, hanger on that he is. My father’s just so paranoid anymore. Doesn’t want to lose the last boy to terrorists like the Masks. As if they’d go after someone like me.”

“Sir, you’re well aware that if you were kidnapped, you could easily be used to bleed your family fortunes dry. Nice play, by the way,” said the man.

Twila had been focused so much on him--she’d never seen or heard of a bodyguard acting like that with his employer--she hadn’t really paid much attention to her play, letting her hands do it more or less automatically for her. She had stopped at a soft eighteen and lost her bet for it.

“Thank you, but I think you’re distracting our lovely competition.” Nate turned a bit more serious, losing his smile again. “Seriously, it’s not that big of a deal. Poor guy used to be a police sniper, but took a bad wound to the knee and now has to settle for being a bodyguard. So he’s kind of trained to be all serious and intimidating. He’s not gonna frisk you or anything, Miss Shields.” His frown deepened. “You don’t need to look so spooked, yeah?”

She hadn’t realized her expression had changed. But now she recognized the man, quite clearly. Memories of relief cut down by an obvious but unexpected obstacle came flooding back. All of them, masked and with bloodied hands, at the home stretch to escape. Stopped by a lone sniper. They’d gotten past it thanks to Dash’s vicious surprise attack and Chylene’s buried, borderline psychotic side taking control of a situation that seemingly had none.

A lone sniper they’d shot, twice in the kneecap, but left alive. Who would remember the women who left him amongst his slaughtered comrades, who could identify and alert the authorities and have them all arrested, ruining everything.

“Miss Shields?” Nate said, concerned. Hesitantly, he lowered his voice and asked, “Are you feeling alright, Twila?”

Blinking a few times and swallowing to control her fear, she managed to say, “Just fine. I’m just...” Pushing through her worry, her brain delivered what she hoped was an out. “...just amazed anyone could move on from something so terrible.” Twila tried to act how she thought Chylene might’ve in this sort of situation. “Even only thinking about it sends chills down my spine. Sorry.”

The bodyguard spoke up, his voice surprisingly gentle. “No need to apologize, ma’am. It was an immensely traumatic experience. I was lucky to live through it--so many of my friends weren’t.” His voice took on a grim edge. “But someday, I’ll find those bitches, whoever they are and make them pay.”

Twila’s stomach churned from a volatile mix of guilt and fear. Seeing this, Nate glared and prepared to berate the man, but before he could she asked, “You don’t know who they were? No clues at all?”

He gave a grim shake of his head. “I could only wish. But beyond the fact that they’re clearly all women, no one has been able to figure anything else out. It’s...immensely frustrating.” He gave a half-hearted grin. “So I’ve taken up bodyguarding, which pays the bills but lets me keep the right contacts to find them.” He nodded at Nate. “Even if I’m stuck with an overly optimistic know-it-all almost twenty-four-seven.”

“Oh hah, hah, you’re hilarious,” Nate grumbled, knocking on the table and getting another twenty-one.

Her heart finally starting to calm, Twila let out a slow, deliberate breath.

We dodged a major bullet there, she thought to herself with a grim chuckle for the inherent joke. They’d given so little mercy during the first Heist, it was ironic--and perhaps a shining example of justice--that the biggest mercy they’d given had almost doomed them all.

“Miss Shields, I know his story is rather touching, but...” Nate trailed off as she gave him a curious look. He gestured down. Her eyes followed.

How--?! She couldn’t quite believe it. Her winnings had been reduced by nearly half. Just how much had she been betting the past few hands? Vaguely, she remembered playing more or less on automatic as she frantically tried to consider their options if the sniper could identify them.

“I think I might just get the best of you, Miss Shields,” Nate said, his grin back and bigger than before. He was truly amused, barely withholding laughter it seemed.

Her brow furrowed as she gritted her teeth in frustration. Why was this one...one...boy getting her so worked up? Just because he seemed to better than her at a card game?

She thought, Well, Mr. Grin--we’ll see how long that lasts when I really try! But she said, as politely as she could, “Why, Mr. Worthington, I just didn’t want the game to end too soon. We’re having so much fun, aren’t we?”

“I know I am,” he said with a laugh. Then, a bit quietly and much more seriously he added, “I could only hope you might, too.”

“Of course--let’s see how much fun we can have, shall we?” Twila wasn’t exactly sure where these feelings were coming from, but something in her didn’t want to lose to him.

Twila was a Shields--she was Twila Shields--and no Shields, least of all Twila, could fail at anything they put their full effort to. No matter what any charming, cute aristocrat was capable of.

Rattling off a large and risky bet, she gestured at him, “Shall we raise the stakes?”

Still grinning, he nodded and pushed in his own chips as the game, and the evening, continued.

*-*-*-*-*

The guards approached the room, their pistols gripped tightly in hand alongside a flashlight held firmly in the other. They briefly swept the center of the room, their gazes drawn to an overturned table and the person carelessly hiding behind it.

The two guards exchanged a dubious glance at one another.

“We can see you. Stand,” a guard commanded. “Any sudden movements and we shoot.”

The hiding person flinched. “OK, OK, shit,” a scratchy woman’s voice quickly said. Isabelle rose, her hands up, fingers spread, and at her shoulders.

“Who are you? What’s with the suit?” the other guard asked, his curly ginger hair poking out in all directions from underneath his cap.

“Mask and a suit...” the first guard trailed off. He snapped to attention. “You’re--”

“The one and only!” Dash exclaimed, sounding pleased at being recognized. “And we’re here to clean up. You boys give Blueballs our regards.”

The curly haired man put his flashlight under his armpit, then pulled out a walkie-talkie while his partner kept his keen eyes intently focused on Isabelle.

Neither manage to notice the tall woman creeping up from a nearby corner.

The ginger brought his radio to his mouth, pressing down on the call button, emitting a burst of static, just as Jack took action. Reaching around from behind, she swept his legs with her foot. At the same time, the blonde pushed at the base of his neck. Tripping, the guard plunged headfirst into the floor--the walkie caught between, smashing it and his nose--with a grunt. The other turned at the noise, just in time for Jack’s gloved fist to connect hard with his jawline. He instantly rag-dolled from the strike--spit flew from his mouth in an angled arc as he limply spiraled down to the floor.

The ginger weakly rose to his knees, obviously reeling from the farmer’s trip. Jack brought her foot down on his back, slamming him into the linoleum once more.

“That coulda went worse,” Isabelle said, walking towards the farmer. A few seconds later, the walkie-talkie, damaged but still working, clicked to life.

“Repeat, Mr. Loew.” The voice on the other end was deep and heavy, like dark chocolate. It cut through the slight hiss of the static the radio produced like a needle through cloth. “I didn’t catch your last transmission. Please repeat.”

Still though, there was something not...right about the voice. The man seemed to enunciate the wrong words in his sentences--as if he wasn’t quite used to speaking. The effect was somewhat disturbing and hard on the ears. It was pronounced enough that Isabelle and Jack both shared uneasy glances with one another.

“Let me take care of the two here, then l-let’s fuckin’ get,” Isabelle quickly offered, trying her best to hide her discomfort as she reached to the guards’ belts, finding a set of handcuffs with each. Dash locked both of the men with their arms behind their back and then tied their legs in place with zipties. Moving near Jack, the pair headed through the doorway.

“How’s the leg?” Jack asked as they briskly walked down the dark hallways. They took a left at Dash’s gesture.

“It’s better than a bullet to the chest,” she replied. “Hurts like a bitch, but isn’t slowing me down that bad.” Isabelle pointed ahead. “Looks like another laser set.”

Dash nodded, giving a small spritz around the field. They circumvented the beams once more and made their way further down.

They came to another T-junction.

“Fuckin’ this again,” Dash spat.

“Jus’ an addon, sug. It’s gotta be,” Jack reasoned.

“Whatever it is, I don’t like it.” She pointed left--the farmer followed. Glancing over at Jack, she said, “But all things considered, we didn’t do too bad. Hell, we’re just a few turns until we hit the vault.”

Jack nodded, breathing out in relief. “Yeah. We did goo--”

The farmer never finished her sentence. A tile sunk under her weight, and each heard a distinct, ominous click fill the room.

“Goddamnit! Son of a bitch!” Jack snarled loudly as the hallways exploded with light.

“Bullshit!” Dash cried out, disbelief scrawled all over her face. “There’s not supposed to be a motherfuckin’ pressure plate here!”

“Whatever! We need to move!” the farmer called out, unholstering her gun.

They sprinted down the hallway, Dash guiding them down another T-junction. In short order, the athlete’s limp became more pronounced. The farmer halted her just before they rounded another corner.

“Catch yer breath,” Jack ordered, gently moving the athlete against the right-side wall. She withdrew a small mirror and carefully peeked it around the corner. In the distance there were twelve men in combat fatigues, armor, and assault rifles marching towards the intersection, along with a towering, gigantic male figure at their flanks. The blonde swore under her breath. “They’re comin’. They’re comin’--shit!”

Dash felt like she was sweating weariness, leaning back against the wall, nearly slumped over. “Fuck. What do we do? Run or shoot?” she whispered in a panic.

The farmer held out her hand. “Give me a flash, we’re doin’ both.”

Isabelle wordlessly complied, reaching into her pockets and handing the woman a grenade. Jack followed suit, pulling out a grenade of her own from her jacket’s pocket. They didn’t have too many tricks aside from these, but if now wasn’t a good time...

Jack pulled the pins on both, holding the safety levers tight in her large palms. “Gonna throw these when they get a hair closer. When the first goes off, ya run left. Go as fast as ya can--I’ll catch up.”

“We’re going together, Stetson,” Dash argued, pointing a finger at the farmer.

The tall woman shook her head. “No, sug. Yer goin’ on without me.”

“Fuck you,” Dash exclaimed, Jack’s glare the only thing keeping her volume in check. “I’m not leaving you.”

“This ain’t no back an’ forth! Yer jus’ gonna have ta trust that I’ll catch up.” She paused, then added, “Jus’ like I trusted you’d pull through at the bank.”

That got Isabelle’s attention. She weakly rose and shook her head. “We’re so fuckin’ stupid...” she quietly said.

“God takes care-a fools an’ children,” the farmer replied, using an expression her grandma was fond of back when Jack was both. She swallowed, despite her brave words. “If things go ta hell, I jus’ want ya to know--”

“Spare me that shit, bro. It’ll...it’ll be fine. Everything always ends up OK around you.”

“An’ you said I was the sappy one.” Jack smirked, letting go of the safety on the flash grenade. She threw it around the corner, squinting her eyes shut and covering her ears with the back of her hands as Dash did the same. They each heard a muted pop, followed by frantic chattering that flooded the hallway with voices.

“Get goin’!” Jack called out, rolling the other grenade. Dash took off, sprinting down the way. The few soldiers not caught off-guard by the blast took a few unprepared pot shots at her. Isabelle narrowly dodged, ducking around the next corner just as the second grenade went off.

Jack took that as her cue. She crouched low and popped out her head and arm briefly, her gun armed and at the ready. An entire chamber was squeezed off in a rapid series of pulls, each one striking true and sending three men to an early grave. The farmer sprinted toward the corner Dash disappeared around a mere moment ago as bullets fired by the blinded men ricocheted across the hallway. Most narrowly missed her, but for a stray round that grazed the back of her thigh. She hissed in pain, but shut her mouth as she returned to the task at hand.

The blonde briefly hid behind the corner, transferring her gun to her off hand. She opened the weapon and dropped her spent shells with her right, while quickly feeling her pocket for a speed loader with her left. Loading her revolver with five more fresh bullets, she quickly peeked out once more, firing off two more that hit dead on, dropping the thugs like sacks of grain. By now, the others had started to recover from the flashbang’s effect. As if to make a point of it, a shot smashed into the wall, almost blowing through her skull. Just an inch or so over... Jack took the message and fell back. She ran, throwing out her two spent shells and feeding some of the loose bullets she carried back into the gun’s waiting maw.

The hallways blurred by; Jack was lost before she knew it.

Oh ya fuckin’ dummy. Ya blew it. Ya shoulda seen the vault by now. Fuck, her mind shouted at her. She glanced behind her and saw a guard round the corner. She took a shot, missed. He dove back behind cover. Ignoring him, the farmer continued down the halls in a dead sprint, adrenaline taking away the fatigue and pain of her bleeding thigh.

Jack pressed down on her headset. “Ya at the vault, darlin’?”

“Here and waiting on the ICE to melt.”

Spike cut in. “What’s your location, Stetson?”

“No fuckin’ idea. Been runnin’ like a bat outta hell,” the farmer panted out.

“Any way you can backtrack?”

She turned, taking another warning shot at the corridor behind her. They seemed to have taken to hiding--the farmer wasn’t a genius, but she figured they were contacting another squad in order to set a trap up ahead. A pincer maneuver would be the best idea they had against a woman like her--she had already proven that a straight up gunfight would get at least a few more killed before they sent her to the grave.

“Nothin’ doin’, Drake. They’re on my ass like butter on toast! There any way ya can distract ‘em? Shut off coms, tweak electronics, somethin’?!”

“They’re running an encoded frequency on a military channel. I’ll try, Stetson, but no promises! Stay strong!”

Jack continued running, passing by a closed door. Up ahead, she saw a fairly large vent that she could potentially squeeze through. Another idea clicked through her head. She risked a peek behind her. Clear. For how long, she couldn’t say. If she could just get a minute...two, tops.

She ran to the vent and yanked hard at the grating covering it with her hands. For one terrifying moment, it seemed like the cover wouldn’t budge. Then it began tearing off. The farmer pulled even harder, tearing the metal away from the screws. Tossing the cover to the side with a clatter, she reached to her thigh and left a small dollop of her own blood at the entrance of the ventilation system. She then backtracked to the door she saw a moment ago, clasping her wound as tightly as she dared in order to not leave a trail.

With a fierce kick from her good leg, she breached and quickly dove into an unlit office. She scanned the room for something to hold the door steady and settled for a rather uncomfortable looking vinyl chair. Throwing it against the entrance, she jammed it on two legs underneath the door knob. Jack quickly looked around, noting a wooden desk with a glass top holding a computer monitor, a set of heavy looking bookcases at either end on the far side, and a couch in a nearby corner.

Outside, she could hear heavy footsteps--the troops must had finally decided to brave the hallway. Jack quickly moved, hiding behind the desk.

The noise in the hallway died down after a moment, fading to her left. Letting out a shaky breath, Jack started to slowly rise from her hiding spot.

The door was hit by a colossal impact that felt like it shook the very room. A large, steel-rimmed boot punched through the wooden frame like it was paper. It hung limply for a heartbeat, then pulled out. Jack rose to her knees, resting her arms on the desk’s glass top and clutching her revolver so tightly that her hands nearly shook. She sucked in a breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop; waiting for--

The loud, ear deafening noise of a shotgun ruptured the door, sending wood flying. Jack squeezed off one round that went wild, smacking into the door frame. It felt like slow motion. Like every frame of the moment was a year’s worth of time. The large figure at the door--Too large to be a Torani man. Somini; gotta be, the farmer thought--the dark, crisp suit, (reinforced kevlar under that class piece, dollar to doughnuts) the double barrel shotgun, (Remington Spartan 310. Fired one, back in the day. Was pretty cheap, compared to Dad’s other guns. Felt nice in my hands all the same. Dad had good taste when he took me and Mac to the target range) and, lastly, his grey, clouded eyes that seemed to pierce and cut Jack to the bone in that single fleeting frame before the man fired (his eyes what the fuck are up with his eyes oh God in heaven Elondrie an’ his light I’m sorry Izzy I lo--).

The shot ruptured through the room, deafening Jack’s left ear as the monitor beside her blew up, sending plastic and glass cracking directly into the side of her face. The impact of the screen knocked her onto her back and jarred the revolver from her hands; it skidded across the room, coming to rest at the base of a bookshelf.

She tried to rise, tried to do anything as the giant of a man deliberately took his time entering the room. He reloaded his shotgun nice and easy--Jack could hear every mechanical click and snap as he did so. From her right ear, she even heard the spent rounds drop onto the plush ocean blue carpet.

“What the hell was that about?!” she heard a voice call from out in the hall.

“Nothing,” the man replied, his voice deep. Unnatural. “You should really keep looking for the thief. Check the vents.”

It was that fucker from the radio. Jack felt panic and raw fear like she had never felt before--she couldn’t move her body. Nausea ran through her gut and her bladder felt filled to bursting.

“Why did you shoot in here? What the hell’s your pro--”

“The Queen wouldn’t like hearing about one of her own... being hassled by a private. Forget my doings. That is an order.”

“Y-yes, sir,” the voice from the hallway replied. Jack heard the footsteps march away.

“Now... where were we?” the man asked, his strange voice making Jack hyperventilate. He stepped deeper in the the room. “Don’t tell me that you actually died from that shot?”

This was it. He was going to round the desk, pull the trigger and blow her brains onto the tacky carpeting. Show was o--

“Found you,” he said in a monotone, though Jack could almost hear the smallest trace of glee. The Somini rounded the desk and stood directly over her. “You left the Matriarch in a foul mood last time. That money had purpose.”

Jack tried to say that it’s ‘purpose’ was a load of shit, just like the Queen. All she could do was cough and let out a resigned, defeated sigh. He aimed his gun, leveling it inches from her head.

I’m sorry girls, Jack thought, feeling the sting of tears at the corner of her eyes. I tried. I tried, but it jus’ wasn’t good enough.

She sucked in a breath and squinted her eyes shut, waiting for the end.

From the depths of her mind, Jack heard a voice she thought she had forgotten years ago.

Don’t be afraid.

The farmer froze. The panic she felt suddenly nothing but vapor in the air. Those three words got her through a lot of hurt over the years. Sure they were simple. The meaning behind them simple. So was she.

Pa had told her that if words had power, those three made the strongest sentence you could ever see. They taught her everything she needed to know about living. How to get back on a horse after it throws you. How to stop a bull from stomping you.

How to deal with family dying. How to tell a woman that you love her.

How to live through even this.

Don’t. Be. Afraid.

Her left hand crawled slowly, desperately on the ground as she stared up at the face of evil. Her body was numb, Jack’s heart beat so hard in her body that her temples throbbed with every pulse. The shotgun’s chamber was a dark harbinger, one that seemed inevitable to the farmer, as close as the weapon was to her and as tight as the Somini’s finger was wrapped around the trigger. Even then...

If she had to face it, she’d face it her way. Head on. No compromises. No fear. The only thing she could do was try.

Her hand blindly searched the rubble and settled on a long, jagged piece of glass. Jack shifted her grip on it, squeezing it so tight it sliced through her glove, cutting deeply into her palm. With a burst of strength that would have felt impossible a mere second ago, the farmer lashed out with her weapon.

It was too late. He squeezed the trigger.

A dry click.

His eyes widened at the impossibility.

Later on when they finally had a chance to talk about it, Jack would call it divine intervention. Dash just called it ‘dumb luck for a dumb woman.’

Either way, fortune smiled on the blonde as the gun jammed and her glass shard struck true. It embedded just below his sternum--the farmer didn’t take any risks. She put her weight behind a downward pull, cutting through him and making a noise not unlike scissors through cloth. The glass finally ended its journey when it connected with the giant man’s pelvis bone.

The woman crawled away as the man sank down to his knees, his entrails dangling from his stomach. He held his body together as best as he could with one hand, while staring hard at the farmer.

Jack rose, panting heavily. The blonde wiped her mouth as she stared at the dying man.

A pause. He brought a leg up and stood. Without breaking his gaze, he reached down and pulled out the gore-soaked shard. The giant man tossed it to the side and charged, seemingly oblivious to his injuries. Injuries that should have been fatal, Somini or not.

Jack dove to the side, slamming against a bookshelf as the giant’s feet tangled together. He stumbled and fell to the floor.

My gun, she quickly thought, living a nightmare. Like an answered prayer, she found it and moved to the man, landing a bullet in the back of his head. Then another. Then another.

Jack stood over him, her mind briefly a blank slate as she pulled the trigger time and time again, each one clicking on a spent shell. The farmer might have been there until the end of time. She was saved by her earpiece clicking on.

“Stetson? Are you alright?” Dash asked. Jack let out a breath.

“Y-Yeah... I’m here, Bolt.”

“Where the fuck are you?”

“In an office, I--” she looked at the corpse and gave an unbelieving shake of her head. “Nevermind. Look, I’m comin’ fer ya, sugar. How’s that vault door comin’?”

“Took out a few guards while I waited for the welder to do its thing. Should be through the second door in a few minutes.”

“The guards. They had to have heard those shots,” Jack realized, talking to herself.

“What?”

The farmer reloaded her gun with one of her last speedloaders. She looked at her bleeding hand, taking off her glove and using it as an improvised bandage. “If they ain’t swarmed ya, then that means they’re still out here lookin’ fer me.”

“Sit tight then, hayseed. I’ll--”

“You’ll be up shit creek without a paddle once the whole group realizes yer at the vault. I’m comin’ ta help.”

She heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The farmer walked towards the door and held tight to her weapon, prepared to fire as soon as she went outside.

“I jus’ can’t be afraid.”

A Duel and a Decision

“And I’m telling you,” argued Twila hotly, “the funds spent on the military industrial complex are largely wasted.”

Nate scoffed, tapping for another card. “How on earth could you call it wasted? You’re aware of all the marvels we have thanks to military money?” He started ticking off on his fingers. “Hand radio? All the medical advances? The internet, for crying out loud!” he cried, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Sure, their R-and-D has plenty of potential for all manner of technologies to benefit society, but it’d be far more efficient to just establish a future-focused research initiative,” she explained, trying to stay patient. “Most of what regular people have gained from military research has been accidental. But if we could open up more focus than just combat application, think of the potential!”

Her opponent just grinned, shaking his head. He raised a hand in question, “And what? Just stop funding the military altogether? We don’t give enough attention to our national defense as it is. Most of Torani’s military is aging, trapped in a bygone age of tradition and honor. The Queens’ own guard still train in the use of swords and spears for crying out loud.”

“I’ve heard. My brother seemed to think it was an important part of his training, the traditions keeping them honest, focused on the importance of their responsibility to the crown and nation, not their own self-interest. Unlike the rogue military cult of the Somani, or the innumerable pirate crews of Kvaan.”

“Oh, sure,” Nate said, snorting, “talk about the negative effect military has had in other nations. Common defense. Still doesn’t stop countless corporations and research institutes--which would love to get homeland military contracts, by the way--from taking money from those very nations to develop all the modern tools of war. In fact, most advancement in military technology is from the private sector--and a good portion of that is from foreign investors! We provide them the very tools they use to attack us. And meanwhile, our own military lags behind terribly, unable to properly protect our shores.”

“I...” Twila faltered. She hadn’t known that. “But...even still, Queen Celestia’s open and friendly policies are vital to foster better international relations! We’ve known effective peace in the North for hundreds of years due to the royal family’s continued stance. Yes, there are still occasional pirate attacks. There’s a few independent islands that consider us to be ‘at war’... But overall, we’ve grown closer--and isn’t that worth almost anything?” Her tone was almost begging.

Frowning, Nate held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I agree, international unity should be a priority,” Twila smiled, but he went on, “But firmly under Torani rule and guidance.” Twila’s grin fell again, as she looked a bit aghast. “What’s that look for? You said it yourself. Torani policy has helped keep the North in peace for centuries. Why change that? It’s already half true anyway.”

“They did it of their own free will, though!” Twila argued.

“Did they really?” Nate posited. “Think for a minute. The Somani, though intellectually developed when we found them, had little use for warfare except one small cult that was still using stone weapons. At the time, the knights of Torani were one of the fiercest, deadliest fighting forces in the North, having pushed back Elondrie only knows how many Kvaat pirate raids in the newly developing east.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “So what were their options, really?

Twila shrunk a bit, sinking into her cards, her mind going over everything she’d heard discussed on the subject. They played a few more hands in silence, Nate with a taciturn look and Twila with her brow furrowed in thought.

Finally, she spoke. “You’re right in that they couldn’t have resisted if they wanted to--but there was no need. Upon discovery of the Somani isles, the current monarch took it on himself to present a message of peace and cooperation, not unity or conquest. And he did so in person. The Somani leaders were so impressed to his dedication to wisdom and peace, they offered a return proposal that placed them as what would become a protectorate under Torani.” Twila’s voice took on a somber edge. “The Inner Tribes of Torani were met with a similar treaty. The Kvaat as well, though their fractured leadership has made the idea of a lasting peace all but impossible. For centuries, the royal family has not abandoned this ideal, only allowing the creation of a permanent military force for defensive purposes.”

Nate smiled again, but he sounded interested as he said, “And your point being?”

“Why jeopardize what we’ve built? My point being it has worked for us for this long, why change? Why...” Twila’s voice trembled slightly, cracking as she trailed off.

He gave her a sympathetic look, genuinely concerned. “Why is your queen doing just that?”

“She is not my queen,” she said through gritted teeth, giving him a hard look.

Shocked, Nate raised his hands in a defensive posture. “OK, OK, fine, fine. But see? You’re so emotional about the whole situation you’re willing to risk treason.” The young man clapped himself on the forehead. “Good God! Twila Shields committing treason! It’s almo--no, it’s completely unbelievable!”

Twila gave a look at the spectators around--since the game had slowed to allow their conversation, most had departed. The few remaining were paying only half-attention. Even still, she lowered her voice, “I’m no traitor to Torani or the royal family. I’d die defending them. Or to protect their ideals.”

“So the recent mobilization to pacify the Kvaat? The harder restrictions on the Inner Tribes? The blockade of trade to and from the Somani isles? The government is tightening its fist on this half of the globe. Spearheaded by its very leader,” he offered as he upped his bet on her hand.

Looking him in the eye, she replied, “I meant what I said.” The hand ended, and she pulled in a large pot. “For the true ideals of this nation, of her people and her leaders, I’ll do anything.”

“And what have you been doing so far, Miss Shields?” Nate asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and dismissal. “Your name has been all but unheard of for a few years now. Your friend Jack’s emotional outburst at court excepted, none of your friends have been active in current events. Just silence and an assumed retreat into the isolated Mansfield.” Taking a disappointing look at this cards, he muttered, “The court whispers say life must be perfectly normal there.”

The beginnings of tears welling at her eyes, Twila said, “You ask and accuse, but tell me, Nate--what do you think? What do you feel? Is any of this right? H-has anything been normal?” She pushed all her chips forward. “I’m tired of this game. There’s a bigger pot in need of playing for.”

Both eyebrows raising in shock, Nate stared at her, confusion beginning to grow. The dealer gave a polite cough and asked, “Your response, sir?”

“O-oh, right. One last hand?” His smile returned, though a little weaker than before. “Sure--the auction will probably start soon anyways. It’s been a great pleasure, Miss Shields,” he said, pushing in his chips and giving a little laugh. “It genuinely has.”

“Maybe...” Twila began, examining the past few hours again. Had they been fun? Certainly in the beginning...until they had devolved into arguing over every political issue they possibly could have. Yet. Yet even then, he had been intelligent, funny, well spoken... Even not entirely wrong.

It hit her then, that something had been off about the whole discussion. She hadn’t ever fully disagreed with him. Not really. It was more about how he seemed to see things. His opinions and beliefs were in the right place, just colored in a bad light.

And if that light isn’t blue, I’ll eat Chy’s work boots, she thought, gagging and laughing at such a terrible but ridiculous idea.

“Nate...?” she asked quietly.

“Mm?”

With a smile of her own, she replied, “I had a great time, too. And...well...” She wasn’t entirely sure on the proper protocol for a situation like this. Had she any time, she would’ve asked Rarity for her advice. The tailor was a bit of a romantic and would’ve probably enjoyed Twila’s nervousness.

“...and?” Nate asked, catching her attention again.

“Oh! Right. If you like--I mean, I’m sure you’re busy most of the time, not to mention I can’t really say what my schedule will be like anytime soon--oh! But maybe you’re uh...with someone else? And this is incredibly rude of me? Not that I’m specifically asking for that reason! Of course we’ve got to spend time as friend before--but that’s really pointless to think about when I don’t even know if I can, and that’s not fair to you, and--”

“Twila!” interrupted Nate. “If you’re trying to ask me if I would like to take you out sometime, then the answer is emphatically yes.”

She hunched her shoulders a bit, embarrassed at her rambling. “Sorry,” she said. “I think too much about simple things.”

“It’s OK,” he said, laughing. “I do too. I didn’t get to tell you, but I’m a musician, so I travel around a lot. My schedule is a bit weird and unpredictable. But I’d really like to see you again. Talk some more--maybe on less political topics next time?” His tone was a bit teasing.

“Definitely.” Twila beamed. “Shall we see who won?”

He returned her grin. “On three?” Twila nodded. “One. Two...three!”

The pair flipped their cards at the same time, Twila having shown an ace and Nate a jack. Nate’s other turned out to be another jack--while Twila flipped over a king.

The dealer declared, “Miss shows twenty-one, winning the hand.”

“Congratulations, Miss Shields,” Nate said, “you’ve won...” He looked the impressive pile of chips over, moving his lips as he tallied their worth. “Looks to be about sixty thousand dollars or so.”

Twila felt shocked. She’d felt confident she could win, but had never really stopped to imagine just how much she could make.

Though it’s hardly anything compared to the heist, she reminded herself.

With an annoyed clearing of his throat, the dealer said, “Provided Miss wins one final hand against the dealer, of course.”

“Of course,” Twila replied nervously, having completely forgotten that part.

Moving to a seat beside her--his bodyguard just behind him--Nate thumped the table with a fist. “No contest--you’ve got the pot for sure!”

“Thanks, I’ll try.”

“Final hand,” called the dealer, throwing out four cards between himself and Twila.

“You’re rather impressive, Miss Shields,” said Nate. “A real take charge sort. I can see why the queen took you on as her protege.”

“Really? Because I never could,” Twila said, her brow furrowing a bit.

“What?” Nate asked, bewildered. “How can you even say that?”

“I never understood why the queen chose me, not really. Perfect score on the Royal Academy’s entrance exam might be impressive, I suppose, but...anyone could do that with enough practice. The queen’s personal protege should be...” She hunted for the right word. “Special? No... Unique, maybe. Something along those lines, but much much...more, if that makes any sense.” She let out a small sigh. “Someone better than I could ever hope to be.”

Nate looked her over, choosing his next words carefully. “You’re right in that any protege of the queen’s should be impressive, a real one-of-a-kind person.” He gave her a serious look. “So if she chose you, doesn’t that mean you’re that person?”

“Oh nonononono!” cried Twila as she ran past confused servants and officials through the hallways of Orleith castle. Her arms held a motley collection of books and loose papers--some even took wind behind her as she ran, falling unheeded to the tiles below. The rapid click-click-click of her thick leather heels drove home her desperation with every step.

She was late.

She--Twila Shields, sixteen year old protege to Torani’s queen--was going to be late for the very first time in her life.

In her mind, an endless and terrifying number of possible punishments played out, one after the other, again and again. The majority she logically dismissed as impossible flights of fancy, though that hardly lessened the terror they imparted. The rest, however, were incredibly possible--a poor grade on her permanent record, a disappointing call to her parents, remedial courses...

Or...

Expulsion. The ending of her tutelage by Queen Celestia.

That was the true terror lurking in her subconscious. For six years, she had applied herself to doing no less than her absolute best, in being perfect. The queen had been a strict teacher--and occasionally unconventional--but Twila had met every challenge and succeeded with full marks.

Twila’s heart was beating faster than she’d ever known before.

Just...a...little farther... She was so exhausted, it was hard to keep a thought coherent. A couple of the palace maids had been teasing her on her increasingly-pudgy figure; she’d dismissed them but with how difficult she was finding it to run such a long distance, she suspected some time spent at the gymnasium would do her good.

Her thoughts wandered, preventing her from focusing on her fears of expulsion. Still her steps quickened. The queen was waiting in their private classroom--it had been disused for years, once being used to educate the servants’ children a little over a century ago. Now, along with her simple bedroom and the castle’s library, it was Twila’s entire life.

Down the west hall, past the servants’ quarters, two spiral staircases down, one short flight up, through the glass doors and...

“Ah!” cried Twila, forgetting to shield herself from the sudden glare of the sun. The palace was designed to allow natural sunlight almost anywhere, but she tended to avoid the brightest areas and the staircases had been lit by only token electric lights.

For a moment, she stood dumbstruck, her eyes closed, pained by the bright summer light. She felt where the running had started to make her sweat begin to dampen worse--but the crisp yet polite clearing of a throat worsened it further.

Slowly, she peeked open an eye. The sun was almost directly in front of her; in-between her and the bright star was an incredibly familiar silhouette.

The sun’s rays shining around her like some heavenly vision, Queen Celestia of Torani stood tall, her face an immaculate and impassive mask showing...impatience? Anger? Disappointment? All and none and feelings perhaps unknown to Twila seemed to fit. Even after six years, Twila had an incredibly difficult time reading her mentor.

“Your Highness, I c--”

“You’re aware of the time, Twila?” asked Celestia evenly.

The young woman’s face flushed with shame as she nodded slowly.

“You’re aware of how valuable my time is? Of just how many different things require my attention any given moment, every single day?”

Another slow nod.

“And you recall how I explained that my day is entirely built upon a rigid, precise schedule? Upon which any deviation in the slightest spoils the whole thing?”

Slow nod.

“Which, I should point out, has been completely spoiled now, leading me to, as they say, ‘wing it’ from here on.”

Nod.

“Come here, Twila,” directed the queen.

With reluctant, halting half-steps, Twila stepped out to the classroom proper. Calling it a classroom was somewhat misleading, however, as the ‘room’ was really an open air veranda, reaching out from the dropping cliffside that marked the castle’s west boundary. Fresh air and sunshine helped keep the students alert and attentive, not to mention healthier. It was perfectly situated for most of the day--though the sun could be bright and strong, the wind flowing over the veranda’s surface kept the temperature even and comfortable.

Though it had never been directed at her, Twila had seen the queen’s face when she was angry or disappointed. It was hard and honest and both reassuring but terrifying. Celestia was known far and wide for her wisdom, kindness, and fairness in all dealings--but less known was her response to those who broke their word or preyed upon Torani’s allies. Never would Twila have said that Celestia’s responses were unjustified--and the queen held back and forgave where she could. But neither could the woman ever be called weak.

Her eyes never leaving the floor, Twila had to rely on the queen’s command of, “Stop.” With shame and worry, Twila halted, her body itching to move to dispel her nervousness. She stood as still as she could, wondering, fearing, waiting for the queen’s next words.

The ensuing embrace and loving hug had been nowhere near anything the troubled teen’s imaginings. Celestia’s arms wrapped around her, as the woman leaned down to gently kiss Twila’s hair. She whispered, “Thank you, Twila.”

“W-w-what?” Twila stuttered out.

Releasing her hug but not her embrace, Celestia looked down into the confused teen’s face. She giggled--giggled!--and said, her tone somewhat mischievous, “It’s not often I get to make my own schedule. Now I have an excuse to do whatever I want for the rest of the day, when I want! That’s a great gift--so thank you, Twila.”

Twila was confused. Her being late...was a good thing? “But... But I was late!” she cried, tears breaking despite, or perhaps because of, her relief at not being punished.

Celestia gave a gentle smile. “Life is more than just a timetable, Twila--believe me, I know that all too well!” She laughed as she let Twila go. “While it is important to be punctual, much of life’s most enjoyable moments can be sporadic and unplanned.” Her tone became a bit more serious, as if this was one of her lessons. “As well, life itself is mostly unpredictable. One must always be aware and ready to react at a moment’s notice, abandoning ruined plans for new ones--or even working without one.”

Though she had her doubts, Twila nodded and listened carefully.

Gesturing for her to take a seat, Celestia took her own and continued, “For example. Why were you late, Twila?”

“Um...” She sniffed. “Spike was restless, so I didn’t get much sleep, your Highness.” Her face flushed as she rubbed an arm nervously. “I slept through about a dozen alarms...”

Laughing, Celestia asked, “And could you control that, Twila?”

“Not really, no.”

“In many ways, this is why I entrusted Spike’s care to you, Twila. Though you’re so young, the responsibility of caring for and raising a child will teach you much about life.” She raised a palm. “Try as we will, plan as carefully and diligently as you might, life will almost certainly find a way to derail them. And often in such a way to seem almost unfair--why should life be able to undo with a fraction of the time or care what took you hours, days, or even years of time and effort?”

Twila gulped. “Years? I couldn't even imagine years of planning going undone!”

The queen nodded. “Indeed. It happens all the time in my world. Countries and governments plan and scheme, maneuver and plot...and very little ever really happens.”

“But how does anything ever get done?” Twila asked.

“Well, even the longest term plans often have short term goals. In fact, it’s a requirement. Nothing can get done on the large scale if the smaller cogs aren't running. So don’t take the example the wrong way--planning is important and necessary. But.” Celestia’s tone had quickly changed to her usual lecture voice. “True intelligence--and proper leadership skill, as well--is also being able to react quickly and unpredictably at a moment’s notice.”

“I don’t think I can do that, your Highness,” Twila replied, uncertainty clear in her voice.

“My dearest student, you doubt yourself so often--do you not trust my own judgement? I chose you for a reason,” the queen said comfortingly. “But you will see someday--as long as you keep these words in mind: You possess unlimited potential for greatness, Twila Shields. That I promise you.”

Twila was speechless as she felt her eyes tear up again. What could she say but, “Thank you, your Highness.”

With her typical radiant and kind smile, Celestia said, “It is my duty as your instructor. And friend. Now, are you ready to begin?”

With great enthusiasm, Twila replied, “Yes, Highness!”

*-*-*-*-*

Twila was consumed with worry as she made her way to the west wing’s so-called dead-hall. For decades--though some pegged it as over a century--it had been completely unused. The palace maids only swept it about once a month, and that was more a punishment than anything else. The hall had a reputation for being unnerving. Many refused to step near the place.

So it was with guarded whisper that the palace grapevine often asked what possible business the nineteen-year old Twila Shields, court scribe and protege to the queen, could have in the lonely stretch of needless hallway. There were no rooms that far, no doors or windows or anything of interest--even the art had long since been removed.

The general consensus was that Miss Shields had found herself a young man, but was too shy to be seen with him. The tales of her myriad and torrid rendezvous were each more inconceivable than the last. She couldn’t understand how anyone could possibly come to that conclusion--what boys did she talk to? Ridiculous.

Pointless rumors aside, Twila stopped and looked carefully at the wall in front of her. The corridor looked no different than any other, for the most part. The plush pale gold and deep blue carpets were a little less worn down, the tapestries on the stone walls a more vibrant shade of the same.

Let’s see, she thought to herself. It was five from the right...and...

Moving the far wall’s tapestry aside, her hand traced the old stonework carefully as she mentally counted. She pushed in on one stone, slid a thin covering on another, then found the hidden notch that allowed her to completely shift a third down into a compartment. That served as both the unlocking mechanism and created the handle for the secret door that had been her destination. With the barest of pulls, the wall swung out almost effortlessly.

Inside was a bare corridor, just big enough for an average person to walk through, and a pull-chain that reset the door. Giving the chain a quick yank as she headed back towards the palace proper, Twila hurried her steps, almost running, now that no one could see her.

What on earth is she thinking?! That... That... Despite her near outrage, Twila couldn’t make herself finish that thought. What on earth was the queen thinking?

Twila only hoped she wasn’t too late. How long had it been since the conference? An hour? Two?

As fast as the close passage would allow, Twila rushed through the dusty back passages of Camelot castle. She had been shown the passages shortly after arriving as part of the history of the castle--though Twila had suspected the queen had had other reasons beyond a simple lesson. After a few years, that suspicion had grown, though Twila had no hard proof. The queen’s reputation for being incredibly shrewd was, if anything, downplayed from the reality.

So why was she so belligerently putting herself at potentially mortal risk? Wrack her brain as she might, Twila could see no wisdom in the decision. Just risk--monumental risk.

It had seemed so simple going in. Just another typical conference of political leaders from all over the North. There had been the usual sorts: tribal leaders from the Somini and Inner Tribes, representatives from the semi-independent corners of Torani such as the Crystal Territories--it had been so nice to see Cadence again--as well as a surprise turnout by the current lead warlord of Kvaan, a Kvaat named Dojte. Twila, as court scribe, was present to record the minutes or, though it was unlikely, draft any propositions or other such documents.

At her keyboard typing, Twila was noticing that the conference was going much as they always went--except for the Kvaat warlord, who was very uncharacteristically silent. His face was like stone, all hard edges and rough scars, made all the more pointed by his greased-slick beard. The only movement Twila ever caught was that of his eyes as they darted to each speaker in turn and the rhythmic flare of his nostrils, large in a sizeable, beakish nose that was so telling for Kvaan.

Concentrating as she was on her work, Twila couldn’t quite recall what had set the man off. One moment it was business as usual, the talk friendly and centered around an upcoming celebration of friendship and alliance, when a loud bang and crash echoed through the high-ceilinged dining room.

The man had slammed the table, leaping to his feet and throwing back his chair in a gracefully violent manner. He pointed to the queen then gestured at the other leaders gathered around, all the while spewing profanities and threats.

Shocked as she had been at the man’s lack of any respect or decency, she couldn’t recall exactly what he had said. Afterwards, she had found her notes just as blank.

The last thing she did remember, however, was the terrible rage in his eyes as he threw a hidden dagger towards the queen. There had been no time for the guards to move, no time for anyone to even properly react until after each head turned to see the quivering weapon embedded in the tall chair’s back, right next to her head.

The queen hadn’t moved. Stock still she sat, eyes closed, breathing even, silent.

All at once the room began to explode with the fury of a nation defending its leader; soldiers drew swords or lowered spears, bodyguards seemed to sprout between their targets and the warlord, at least two serving women began screaming. Twila had expected disaster. Killing the warlord would be an inescapable declaration of open war on all of Kvaan.

Instead there was a loud, near-singing cry of, “Remain still! Everyone!” The strong contralto of the queen filled the entire chamber, echoing and magnifying along the contours of the room to become something more than just a single voice. Laced with authority, her order was followed instantly, the entire room motionless as silence moved in.

Opening her eyes--which were firm, but not angry--Celestia turned her head slightly to see the knife embedded in her chair. “Is there something you require of me, Warlord Dojte?”

Again his nostrils flared as he fumed. “Something I require? I require?!” he cried. “The damned whole hemisphere requires your head, you inbred bitch!”

“Kvaan shows her foolishness very easily, it seems,” rumbled the giant Somani chieftain, Shatterstone. “A wise people would not send such an ignorant leader.”

Pointing an angry finger at the man, Dojte replied, “And a truly strong people would never scrape before their lessers.”

“Is that what my people are?” asked Celestia. “Lesser than yours, Warlord?”

“We have nary any say in Northern politics. Or trade or development. We are accused of being backward, harboring only criminals and pirates. Pushed to our lonely island chains, as Torani spreads farther and farther. Are your people lesser?” He spat on the ground. “As such we are treated. Even, by order of Torani treaty, forbidden to go South. Create our own destiny, away from this peace and politic shit. I was sent here to tell you as much, carved into your skull for reading if necessary.”

“So I ask again: is there something you require of me?” Celestia asked again, her tone still steady.

“Two hours I’ll give you, soon-dead queen. Then meet me for the duel that knife declares. Refusal to accept will mean war. Killing or capturing me beforehand? Will mean war.” He sneered at the nearby soldiers who lowered their weapons.

“Then I must accept,” Celestia said. Gasps and cries of refusal sprung from those around her but were silenced in moments by a hard stare. When all was quiet, she said, “You may return to your chambers, free to wait your two hours. A messenger will arrive to tell you where the duel will be held.”

With mock sincerity, the warlord bowed and flourished his cape. “To blood and battle, death and defeat or victory ever-sweet, soon-dead queen.” On his heels he turned and left, every eye following him but no word or action arose to stop him.

Before she could be questioned, Celestia rose and excused herself to her chambers to prepare. A pair of guards followed her, but the rest were asked to please return to their own rooms and wait for word that the situation had been dealt with.

Twila herself couldn’t believe it. The queen was accepting the duel? It was insanity! If the Kvaat wished for war, they had pushed Torani into it. That could hardly be helped. So why on earth would she allow herself to be killed?

After a half hour of fretting and wondering in her room, Twila had run out of patience. As quickly as she could, she’d made her way to Celestia’s chambers. They were guarded, as expected, and Twila was told the queen had not left. Nor would she be allowed, as they all agreed allowing her to die in a duel was madness.

But when she entered, she found the spacious quarters empty. Still bewildered as to the why, Twila at least knew the how. The queen had shown Twila the various secret paths throughout the castle, saying she often used them for some true peace or as shortcuts. Most were still completely unknown by the palace guard, only utilized by the royal family in case of emergencies.

In the queen’s room there were at least three different paths, but only one Twila suspected had been used. The quick escape behind the fireplace--revealed in a series of twisting stones upon the mantle--that led to the back courtyard. It would be empty, considered low risk as it was completely encircled by the castle and the cliff drop to the sea.

Her hunch had been right; she had found the queen, rapier in hand, apparently waiting for Dojte. Despite Twila’s pleading, she was determined to go through with the duel. She had used one of the other passages to message the warlord of her decision. Whatever Twila wanted or did, Celestia said, she was determined to meet her responsibility.

Frustrated and scared, Twila had retreated to find and alert the guard captain. After doing so, she’d come to the dead-hall, rushing to return to the courtyard.

The duel was just about to start.

On one end stood Celestia, changed from her formal dress into an old set of dueling clothes. The tight breeches and thick, woolen jerkin looked odd on Celestia. She had a halfcloak draped over her left arm, her rapier held firmly in the right. Twila knew the queen had some fencing training, but that had been years ago. She wasn’t even sure where the queen had found a weapon. It was well made, but lacked polish or the usual complicated handguard that most ‘royal’ weapons tended to have, being designed for look, not function. This was a fighting weapon, the point vicious, both edges sharpened expertly.

Across from her stood the warlord, unchanged though no less unarmed. Like most of his people, Warlord Dojte was wielding two weapons. In one hand was a simple short sword; the other a shorter, notched swordbreaker. The two were talking, but seemed poised on beginning the fight at any moment.

Twila was about to cry out, begging the queen to await the coming of the guard, when another, almost feral shout announced a new threat--a second Kvaat warrior, apparently hiding behind the tall shrubs of the garden.

He was dressed in Kvaat battle colors, bright blood red and rusty brown. A hood covered his face, a long, worn cloak his body. But his arms and legs were bare, showing bronzed skin and toned muscles. He charged Celestia, a curved dagger in both hands, and screamed.

The attacker lunged forward with the point of both weapons, which Celestia easily sidestepped. At the same time, she brought down her sword in a controlled downward slice. Cutting through most of it, the blade finally caught on the trailing cloak which allowed Celestia to pull it fast and taut. His head whipping back, the man gave a broken cry of pain as his throat was constricted and he fell down to his back.

Barely pausing, the man threw one dagger at the queen, which she caught in her halfcloak. Reversing the gesture, she flung the dagger away while pulling her own sword free as she retreated back. In a display of acrobatics so familiar to Kvaat, the man leapt to his feet, pulling a much smaller knife from a sheath on his calf. His cloak hung like a rough cut scarf, trailing from his right side.

He yelled again, beginning another charge which became a faint combined with another knife throw. It was thrown a bit too high, but caused Celestia to duck all the same, leaving her vulnerable as the man charged again.

It seemed over, the man’s dagger lunging for Celestia’s throat, and her rapier too long to defend against his encroach. But again, she threw out her halfcloak and, with a shrug, let it slide all the way off her shoulder. It hit the man square in the face, blinding him. Celestia dropped all the way down, avoiding the strike and becoming an obstacle for the attacker to trip and fall over.

She grabbed his trailing cloak then quickly encircled it around his head and arms. Then, with a quick thrust of her sword, Celestia pinned the man on the ground, tangled in both her and his cloaks. From her own sheath at her waist she drew a knife, leaned down and placed it against the cloak where Twila assumed the man’s throat was. The man seemed to understand, for he stopped struggling immediately.

Twila watched in horror-turned-admiration, ending with a whooping shout. At the same time, Dojte began applauding, though his face was dark red with anger.

“Excellent, excellent!” he cried. Then, “But you foolish, shit-worthy, son of a blind man! You should be dead! Do it, then! Kill him as he so deserves.” This last to Celestia.

Sheathing both her knife and sword, Celestia replied, “An intruder in a personal duel? He is dead already, is he not?”

With a gruff laugh, Dojte said, “That he is, that he is.” He walked forward and offered a hand, which the queen took in the Kvaat fashion by gripping his forearm as he gave the same. “I admit I did not know you were so skilled.” He kicked the man lying on the ground. “You child, probably think you were barely bested, no? When she could have ended you several times.”

A slightly deafened cry of, “Bullshit!” came from under the cloak.

“You doubt me? Your father? I watched, very closely.” Another kick. “But she’s right--you intruded upon a closed duel. By all accounts you’re a dead man already.”

“But father--”

Another, harder, kick. “Don’t ‘but father’ me! You know the laws of Kvaan. Attacking like a spineless assassin.” He spat. “I may save you from the noose, but mark my words boy: You will be taught anew. And better.”

At this he leaned down, ripped the cloak from the man, and grabbed his arm, hoisting him to his feet. The man’s hood had fallen, allowing Twila to see the resemblance. There was no mistaking the attacker as Dojte’s son.

Celestia, on the other hand, had turned to watch the slowly approaching Twila. Twila stopped, unsure exactly what was happening.

“I apologize again for my son’s insolence,” Dojte said, bowing low. Twila was shocked at his changed demeanor. He truly seemed upset with his son’s actions and pleased with Celestia’s. “He’ll be under careful watch until our departure. Thank you, Queen, for your stunning show of power and restraint. Until the next gathering.” Then, his son’s arm held in a clearly painful grip, he left.

Celestia, looking at Twila, said, “And so war is averted. And no blood spilled.”

Twila’s mind blanked. They both stood, silent and still, staring deeply into the other’s eyes as the young man’s cries of pain subsided into the distance. When the last echo could be heard no longer, Twila’s lips parted, her words, though short, emptying her feelings like a flood.

“But why?” Twila asked, clueless and horrified. “You could’ve been killed, your Highness!”

Still calm and firm, but with a warming smile that slowed Twila’s rapidly beating heart, Celestia replied, “And would that have been so bad, my student?”

Shaking her head, Twila blurted, “Yes!”

“Why?”

“W-why? Be-because!”

“Because...why?”

“You’re the queen!” Twila said, feeling she was stating the obvious.

“I’m a single woman in a nation of millions. Family name and title are details. If I was to be killed, another could--and would--take my place quite easily. My sister being the most logical choice.”

“But don’t you see?” Twila asked, confused. Did Celestia really not understand? Celestia, her teacher, her mentor, practically a second mother... So kind and gentle and wise, but firm and fearless and strong at the same time. “What would happen to the people’s resolve if something had happened to you? What about their morale!”

Closing her eyes, Celestia gave a small shake of her head. “Morale recovers. Death does not.”

“Death?”

“Yes, Twila. Death. Imagine if I had done it the way you think I should have. Dojte would be captured, tried, and executed at best. Killed during capture more likely. There would be casualties, as he is warrior born and bred. And then war.”

“But how does that change with what you did?”

“Twila, one of the largest lessons you can learn is personal responsibility. Especially where others are concerned. Don’t you see? By playing the rules set in this confrontation, I isolated the incident to only he and myself. No others would be hurt or killed. Neither was I ever intending to kill him, of course. I was the only one at risk.” Tears shone at the corner of the queen’s eyes. “Whenever possible, Twila, that is our responsibility to those that care and trust us. If by putting yourself at risk you can avoid it for others, why should we choose anything different? Why should anyone ever be sacrificed in our place?”

It was then Twila understood, as she felt her own tears begin to fall. The love and concern Celestia had for her subjects--guards, friends, servants, even Twila herself, for everyone--was so strong that she’d courted death with not even the hint of a second thought.

“I... I understand, your Highness,” was all she could say.

Resting a hand on Twila’s shoulder, Celestia leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I know you do, Twila. Your heart would have it no other way. Someday, if the choice is forced upon you, I know you’ll make the right decision.”

“Miss? Miss, are you alright?”

The voice of the dealer caused Twila to give a small jump. She noticed a few faces looking at her with some concern. Her cheeks warmed as she laughed, saying, “Sorry! Just sort of...wandered off for a moment there.” She gestured to the impressive pot stacked in the center of the table. “A bit distracting, you know?”

“Of course, miss. But the night’s activities are coming to a close in preparation for the auction--so if you will?”

“Right.”

The dealer asked, “Stay, hit, or fold, miss?”

Twila peaked at her turned down card--the ace of clubs. Counted with her upturned card, the ace of hearts, she had two, twelve, or a losing hand of twenty-two. The dealer showed the king of diamonds.

“Hit,” she said. Nate tapped the table next to her--she gave him a hard eye, but he merely grinned and shrugged in reply.

The dealer threw out another card. This time it was the ace of spades. Which put her at three or thirteen. Wracking her brain to recall the past few hands--she noted the dealer had forgotten to shuffle the full deck before this hand--she put her chances at busting fairly low. There were no more than two or three face cards left and, together with the nines, she couldn’t bust on any other single card. With the safety of the aces, she couldn’t bust at all.

Tapping the table, the dealer threw out a five. That put her at eight or eighteen. Not the safest hand she could play with, especially considering she only had the vaguest idea of what the count could be.

“Will miss stay, hit, or fold?”

“I...” she hesitated, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. She wanted to win. She hadn’t really realized that until now. The money was hardly important, though. Jack and Dash would be stealing over a hundred times more in artifacts, jewelry, and art--they probably were doing so at this very moment.

No, what made it important to her was the fact that Blueblood expected his house to win. At various times when she allowed herself to think about it, she could still hear his speech from the start of the night. How he had twisted and prodded every vulnerable spot he could to embarrass her and her friends. So this one small victory here was just a way to get him back. A drop to the ocean of the burglary they were committing, perhaps, but another drop that was hers and hers alone.

“Second thoughts, Miss Shields?” asked Nate in a whisper.

She shook her head, quietly replying, “Hardly. Just savoring victory.” Louder, she called, “Hit.”

Nodding politely, the dealer tossed out another card. To Twila’s immense delight, it was a three--putting her squarely at twenty-one.

“I’ll stay!” she cried, more eagerly than she wanted.

“As you say--dealer stays,” the dealer replied evenly. “Now the reveal!” Twila thought his words seemed a bit overly confident, his face giving a peculiar expectant look.

They both turned, revealing Twila’s twenty-one and the dealer’s hidden eight--putting him at eighteen and Twila the--

“Twila wins!” cried Nate, thumping the table a couple times for extra emphasis. “You did it, Miss Shields! You won!” A few other patrons gave a small cheer, but most just politely clapped.

Blushing, she sputtered, “L-luck, right? I mean... It’s just luck!”

Nate opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by the dealer striking the table once, loudly.

“Miss has not won, pardon the table’s rude interruption.” He cleared his throat and straightened his tie before continuing. “It is the custom of this table for both parties to draw one more card before settling house debts.”

“You’re just making that up so you don’t lose!” spewed Nate, dumbfounded and angry.

Holding up a placating finger, the dealer replied, “Not so. It is marked clearly, on the back of your welcoming letter.”

“Bull it is!” said Nate, but Twila was already placing a hand on his arm to calm him down. He gestured feebly, saying, “But he’s cheating.”

I know that, but... “Rules are rules,” she said. Picking up her handbag from it’s place beside her, she found the little note. She flipped it over and, as the dealer had said, found the rule. It was tiny--she had to squint to read it, but it did clearly state that each table had it’s own singular rule of tradition. And all of them probably designed to give the dealer one last chance to turn the tide, she thought bitterly.

“One last card it is,” she said flatly. “Let’s see if my luck holds out, shall we?”

“Alright, fine,” declared Nate. “But,” he pointed a threatening finger at the dealer, “I’ll be watching you--no tricks. Just one lucky card for each of you.”

With a smug smile, the dealer took up the remaining cards and shuffled them together. Then, in an impressive single swipe, he cut the deck and spread it out along the table.

“One card for each of us, miss.” He placed his hand down, picking a card at random. She did the same. “And draw.”

Quickly, they both pulled their card and threw them face up with their respective hands--or it would have if Twila’s hadn’t knocked on an edge before falling off the table, face down on the floor.

“Sorry!” she cried at the same time Nate said, “No. No!” The dealer showed a two.

“Twenty, dealer wins,” the dealer said, satisfaction plain on his face.

“Not so fast!” cried Twila as she picked up the card and placed it on the table face down. Eyes closed, she evened her breathing and prayed. She’d never been much for religion beyond the usual practices--and she had her doubts that Elondrie had much care for gambling--but it seemed the thing to do.

Slowly she flipped the card over, covering it with her hand. With one final exhale, she slid her hand off.

There on the table sat the queen of diamonds.

“Twenty-one,” Twila said, almost unbelievingly.

The crowd, their attention redrawn at the sudden ‘final card’ rule, erupted into applause for Twila’s victory.

“Miss...” The dealer gulped noticeably. “Miss wins the pot. C-congratulations.” Twila wondered what sort of punishment Blueblood would mete out on the poor man. He was just doing his job after all...but she disregarded it almost immediately. Blueblood would have much worse to deal with before this night was out.

A hand on her shoulder brought her out of her reverie. It was Nate, his grin wider than ever, saying, “As expected! Never had a doubt.”

“Well that makes one of us,” replied Twila sheepishly. “Still--it feels good to win! Yes!” Thrusting a hand into the air, she gave a small whoop.

“Your winnings will be collected and exchanged to be presented to you shortly,” instructed the dealer as he began to step away. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, miss. And congratulations once again.”

“Uh, thank you--and good game?” she offered, giving a small smile.

With a small bow, he returned the smile then left, seeming not so pained as he was before at his loss.

“I suppose I just wait for my winnings, then?” she asked towards Nate.

“Then off to the auction room,” he added.

Letting out a long sigh, Twila felt her excitement at the win fade. Now that her distraction was over, the true test for the night was coming. Not to mention the danger for her friends--danger she was powerless to prevent at all.

She trusted Jack and Dash, however. The two were extraordinarily capable on their own. With the pair watching each others’ backs? Twila, though still worried, knew there could not be a better couple doing something so dangerous and important.

But still, it was up to her and the others to keep up on their end. The auction was soon, which would mean the discovery of the break in. They had to delay it, in any way possible. Then escape when the heist was over, preferably before any alarm could be gotten to Blueblood.

It occurred to her that, even factoring her call for relative radio silence, Spike had been unusually quiet. Excusing herself from Nate for a moment, she headed over to an isolated table and was about to check in on things when she saw Rarity--worry evident on her face and backed up by a slight disheveling of the woman’s normally immaculate hair--enter, her eyes going all about the room and lighting up when they found Twila.

She crossed the room to meet the tailor halfway, but before she could even begin to ask what was wrong, Rarity grabbed her arm and pulled in close.

Whispering, she said, “Twila--there’s a problem! What are we going to do, Twila?!” Her voice was a bit strained, as if she’d had some sort of shock.

Shocked herself, Twila asked, “W-what happened?!” As was her usual bad habit, her mind began supplying a plethora of terrible consequences.

Rarity was silent, nervously biting one lip as tears touched on the edges of her eyes. Twila knew that look quite well--it often led to an embarrassingly dramatic outburst. The tailor took in a deep breath, preparing her tirade of despair, but Twila clamped a hand over her mouth quickly.

“Rarity! Remember where we are!” She put extra emphasis on the ‘where’, rolling her eyes to the remaining hangers-on relatively near them. None were anyone she really knew, which likely meant they were closer to Blueblood’s camp than their own. “Calmly, OK?” She waited until Rarity gave a slight nod of her head, removed her hand, and asked, “Now from the beginning. What happened? Why aren’t you with Blueblood right now?”

“That’s just it,” she said, her voice carrying a wavering edge of panic, “I failed, Twila! I. Failed.”

“Failed? What do you mean?”

“He won’t...have me. Any trace of his, for lack of a better word, ‘affections’ from the Gala are gone.” Rarity recovered, her voice hardening defensively. “I hurt his pride too much by publicly refusing him.”

Rubbing her forehead to forestall the coming headache, Twila asked, mostly to herself, “What the hell do we do now?!”

“I’m sorry, Twila!” Rarity cried, encircling her arms around Twila’s neck and giving her a tight hug. “The one thing expected of me, one of the most necessary things of the night--all on my own shoulders. Oh I was so blind! So sure of myself! And I let you--no--I let all of you, the entire country, down!”

A slightly awkward clearing of the throat brought both women’s attention to the approach of Nate. He was standing a polite distance away, but still looked somewhat awkward. When they looked at him, he asked, “Anything I can help you with, ladies?”

“Twila! Are you with a man?!” Rarity asked scandalously. Then her face blanked. “Uh, I don’t think I know you...? Mr....?”

“Oh, just call me Nate!” he said pleasantly.

“Nate... I’m sure I’m very pleased to meet you--but for a better time...?” she asked, letting him fill in the blanks.

He gave a polite nod. “Of course.” Then to Twila, “If you’re sure I can’t be of help?”

She shook her head. “I appreciate it, Nate, but this isn’t something I think you can help with.”

“Very well. Miss Shields, Miss Belle. For a better time.” They watched as he left, his bodyguard taking a place just behind and to the right of him. The two left, most likely headed for the auction room.

“What are we going to do, Twila?” Rarity asked again.

“I...” Twila’s heart started beating faster. Her thoughts raced, but all the finish line showed was nothing. “I...”

What do we do? she thought. The plan--the List! It depended on Rarity sneaking into his room! Without that...without that, what will we do? What do I do?!

“True intelligence--and proper leadership skill, as well--is also being able to react quickly and unpredictably at a moment’s notice.”

Like a phantom breeze, the words tickled her ear. She almost turned, breath caught in her throat, expecting to see Celestia standing right behind her. Even so many years later, the power--the truth--in those words rang clear.

New plan... New plan... But what?

“If by putting yourself at risk you can avoid it for others, why should you choose anything different? Why should anyone ever be sacrificed in our place?”

Again, the memory was strong. Twila’s heart slowed, her breathing even. She closed her eyes and remembered the face of her mentor during those and many other times. The countless lessons her queen had instructed, so many of which only seemed like lessons long after the fact.

Sacrifice myself and myself alone. Something quick and unpredictable. Well, I can do unpredictable...

It wasn’t entirely unplanned, she reminded herself. She had one throwaway plan, done more as an exercise than literally considered. But she’d need someone to help legitimize it--someone who wasn’t one of the girls.

Nate!

“Twila, you’re being awfully quiet...but you’re grinning. Have you thought of something?” asked Rarity almost pleadingly.

“Maybe, but... I have to find Nate.” She said it quickly and flat, her attention still revolving around her developing backup plan.

“Wait, Twila! What is it?”

Turning for just a second, “I can’t tell you or it won’t work. Go find the others--stick together and don’t make a scene, OK? I’ve gotta go!”

With that she hurried her steps, leaving Rarity standing alone, confused and still worried. Confused by the fact that Twila seemed to have no time to reassure her. Worried that she might have ruined the entire night, upsetting Twila in the process.

Twila pressed on--upset she couldn’t tell Rarity, or comfort her. But the new plan required it. But it still hurt.

For if the new plan worked, she might not have the chance to ever tell Rarity or the others exactly what needed to happen now.

Blueblooded Bastions and Bloody Battle

Pinkie and Chylene searched through the crowd for their friends, avoiding conversation whenever they could, mostly by pretending that they were already in a deep, meaningful talk. Pinkie kept a hold of her friend’s hand, never letting go for even for a second.

With Diane around, Chylene felt significantly more at ease, but the party was still very daunting. It was a hustle and bustle of conversation, and the bathrooms seemed to be the only quiet place around. For Pinkie, the party was just very boring. Sure, they had a live band (she even recognized Octavia from the last Gala she went to), yet she thought it would be ill advised to take center stage.

Despite their personal grievances with the event, the two kept looking for Twila, Rarity, or both. The sheer size of the place hadn’t really dawned on them until they had gone from room to room to room. Dancing here, food there, dull conversations scattered all over... Pinkie even thought she saw some card tables in one room.

Finally, on a balcony overlooking the streets below, they found the tailor, alone, sitting on a stone bench. She was sipping a glass of champagne and staring out at the view. If Pinkie didn’t know better, she would’ve said the woman’s eyes were red. But Rarity always looked her best, to Pinkie’s knowledge, so that seemed doubtful.

Still, Pinkie could read her friends like books. She approached Rarity, walking sneaky-like, and hugged her from behind. “Hi, Rarity!”

Nearly spilling the champagne for the second time that night as the pink-haired woman broke her reverie, Rarity yelped. “Oh, God! Pinkie! Don’t do that when a lady is thinking. I very nearly swallowed my tongue.” She noticed Chylene still standing at the doorway. “Oh, hello, Chy! Please, come, sit. Drink?” She raised the now mostly-empty glass. “I have more.” She gestured to a half-full tray of glasses on the ground next to her.

Pinkie glared, looking at Rarity closely. Her eyes weren’t the only thing that seemed a little red. A noticeable blush definitely darkened the woman’s cheeks. Chylene went to her other side, taking a seat on the same bench. She gave Rarity a small wave.

“What’s up?” Pinkie asked. “Something’s getting at you, and it isn’t an itch.”

Rarity--Rarity--snorted. Finishing the last sip in the glass, she mumbled something harsh, but too quiet for Pinkie to hear.

Chylene asked, “What was that, Rarity? I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”

Still quiet, but audible enough, Rarity said, “I blew it, screwed the pooch... I failed!”

“Failed?” Chylene asked timidly, putting a hand to her chest. “At what...?”

“At tricking that damnable Blueblood to bed to find out where the List is.” Her lips pouted, and her eyes watered. “Apparently I’m just not good enough a woman for him. Him!” She threw the glass against the far wall, shattering it to pieces. Chy squeaked and backed off a little. “Years of caution with a perfect routine, designed to hone this body to gorgeous perfection. Hours of preparation today, to top it off just so...for nothing. When you girls count entirely on me, I let you down. Just like with Alice. I’m a failure. And worse, a terrible friend.”

“Whoa! Slow down, Rarity.” Pinkie grabbed Rarity’s shoulders, spinning her around so their eyes met. “You haven’t let us down--there’s gotta be some work around. We can figure it out! We always do! More importantly though, you are not a terrible friend! We wouldn’t have you any other wah, Rarity ‘cause...well, you’re you!”

“Plus, Blueblood wouldn’t see you for who you really are anyway...” Chylene added, with a small smile.

She sniffed and said, “I know, but still...” Rarity turned, pinching her nose and took a few deep breaths. “I still messed up the plan, girls. Twila said she’d think of something, then went off with some young man I’ve not seen before. She wouldn’t tell me anything, and I haven’t seen her since. Just sat here, pitiful, pointless, planless.”

“I’m sure Twila has something up her sleeve! She always does--she’s Twila.” Pinkie put an arm around Rarity, her voice becoming more gentle. “And you’re never pointless. You’re our friend.”

Rarity returned a weak smile. “Thank you, Pinkie. I know, it’s just...” She ran a hand through her hair, letting out a breath. “This should be my sort of battlefield, girls. Even considering Blueblood, to have been so handedly denied was just a shock. I think a part of me is still in our first mission, where failure had terrible consequences. Not that it still doesn’t here, in its own way, but you know what I mean.”

Diane rubbed her chin, thinking. “Hmm...” She then let out a gasp. “I know! I can get with Blueblood! I’ve got a few tricky tricks here and there.” Chylene shared a skeptical look with Rarity, but didn’t voice her objections.

Stopping a wince, Rarity patted the thoughtful woman on the back. “Er, yes, we know, Pinkie.” She looked over her friends, neither who had judged her for her failure. Now that she thought about it, even Twila’s words now seemed more harsh due to haste and distraction, rather than true disappointment. Perhaps she was being a bit dramatic. No one was dead--at least she hoped, since she had no idea how Jack and Dash were doing--and they still had the whole night ahead of them.

Standing, she looked back to the doorway leading to the only man who had denied her. For now. Rarity was now more determined than ever, more certain of her success. With her friends.

“Alright, girls. Round one is over, and we’re down.” She held out a hand to each woman. “But not even close to being out. Shall we turn the table with three of Torani’s most desirable, single ladies?”

“Woo! Let’s do this thang!” Pinkie screamed, jumping into the air.

“Um...we’ll try our best, Rarity,” Chylene uttered, smiling gently. Admittedly, the idea of hitting on Blueblood wasn’t the most pleasant, but she would follow through for her friends to the best of her ability.

“Let’s go, girls,” Rarity stated, turning to the door. “Out of curiosity, did you see him anywhere in particular before you found me?”

“Nope! But if I did, I would’ve turned my head the other way,” Pinkie replied, with Cylene nodding in agreement.

“Mmm, well,” Rarity began, thoughtful, “let’s just find the largest collection of brown-nosing flunkies we can. He’ll be at the center of their attention, just where he likes best.”

“And then we’ll appear and be like: ‘Hey, Blueblood! We got the goods right here!’” Pinkie giggled mischievously. “He won’t be able to resist!”

“Perhaps not that direct, Pinkie, dear,” Rarity said weakly, rounding a corner. “Well, actually. That...might not be such a bad idea. If we do it right, of course.”

Chylene fidgeted with her dress. “Rarity? Um. How do we do that the ‘right’ way...?”

Stopping, she brought the pair closer, whispering quickly. “Blueblood is all about his reputation--either his own personal one or the Blueblood family name. His pride thirsts for attention and recognition of his abilities. Well, if there’s one thing that will lose him more ‘prestige’ in this collection of outdated thinkers and patriarchal louts than anything, it’s letting a woman get the better of him.” She raised up a single finger. “We can’t just go in there asking, or they’ll see it as the desperate begging. Which Blueblood can--and, in his male power, should--deny. But if we make ourselves wanted, then deny him...” She gave a cold and sharp smile. “That’s an affront to his manhood he can’t let rest.”

“Uh, okay...” Chylene looked down, saying her next words very quietly, “I’ll try...”

Resting a hand on her shoulder, Rarity gave it a small shake. “Exactly like that, Chy. They love that sort of woman--quiet, cute,” she made an ugly noise, “and docile, in their view.” With that, she continued to lead the way in search of their target.

It took less time than both Chy or Pinkie expected, considering they’d been through most of the building hunting Rarity. But Rarity noticed some of Blueblood’s typical bootlickers wandering toward a secluded room off the main hall.

It was a moderately sized smoking room, which meant it was nearly bigger than the entire first floor of Chy’s cottage in Mansfield. The decor was dark, to reduce the notice of the smoke stains along the walls. Painted a dark forest green, the carpets were lush and brown. Rarity saw the theme was pseudo-outdoors and sporting. Various animals’ remains were hung here or there, which Chylene avoided looking at with all her might.

The center of the room had been cleared, with a dozen or so tall, richly red chairs arranged in a circle. Almost all were full, each looking much the same as the last. A few older gentlemen, but mostly the up and coming youth of some of the older families, sat around, pipes or cigarettes lit and creating a stinking, visible pall in the room. A few had wives or mistresses with them, sitting on a knee or the arm of the chair, or standing obediently nearby.

This told Rarity they had entered at the perfect time. If the women were separated, attending their escort for the evening, that meant the men were in full show off mode. They couldn’t ask for a better audience to put Blueblood’s back against a wall. Provided he hadn’t found himself some tart already, Rarity added to her planning.

The trio entered and approached the gathering, eyes already turning to view them. Out of the corner of her mouth, Rarity hissed, “Sashay for all you’ve got, girls--remember, we’re here to look irresistibly desirable.” Pinkie gave a reserved nod of the head, then swung her hips in an obviously exaggerated motion. Rarity sighed, but kept her smile small, coy.

Chy had to fight through her nerves, but she found the advice of a hundred spa sessions with Rarity. It was far from anything she’d do if she could help it, but her friends were counting on her.

As they crossed the room, all eyes--men and women alike--had found them. Blueblood was, as Rarity hoped, alone. He sat, the others sitting around him, clearly at their center. The nobleman seemed almost bored, with a half drained wine glass in one hand.

The pompous jerk gave Rarity a sneer, she noticed, no doubt the words of before still pleasing him. But when he saw Chy--the poor girl was trying, with some success, but still her nervousness bled through--his eyes lit up. He even licked his lips, quickly taking a straighter posture in the large armchair.

You see a prize you hope to win, Blueblood, Rarity thought, determination filling her, but this prize has its catch. Prepare to make your worst investment yet, you impotent twit.

*-*-*-*-*

Jack stepped away from one nightmare into the next as she waited at the doorframe of the office.

The footsteps Jack heard intensified--coming closer to where she stood. In a blur of motion, a man in full fatigues ran past, his assault rifle strapped to his back and both arms pumping in a full sprint. In the brief glance the farmer saw of his face, raw, animalistic terror filled every nook and cranny of his lined countenance as he went right.

It wasn’t but a few seconds later that another man shot by. Before she saw him, the click-click-click of his boot heels on the tile announced his coming, forcing her back to her hiding spot. When she did see him, she goggled. Jack had to actually reprocess what she saw with a double take, it was so beyond normality.

The man’s arms were all but completely stained with red and flecks of gore--behind his full mask, the farmer could hear a rapid panting as he ran down the hall in a half-crouched, frenzied sprint.

Suddenly, there came the sound of screams.

“What the fuck’s going on?!” Dash exclaimed.

“Bolt?” Jack called out, pressing down on her earpiece and slowly stepping out into the hallway.

“Stetson! Are you hearing this shit?”

The farmer narrowed her brow. “Hearin’ what?”

“Listen, Goddamn it!”

The farmer held her breath and stood as silently as she could. From across the compound, though muted, she could hear frantic footsteps, muffled shrieks, and unintelligible yelling.

“The... hell?” Jack questioned to herself. “What is that?”

“Started just a minute ago over here. You see anything?”

Jack took a few nervous steps right, slowly backtracking towards the vault. “S-saw a man bein’ chased by another fella, looked like.”

Dash grunted. “Well, I’m going to peek around--Drake’s reprogramming an optic sensor, so the door’s not getting budged for a bit.”

“Wait up, I’m comin’,” Jack said, already at a half-jog as she traveled down the hallway.

“Just meet me by the door, hayseed. I’m just taking a look-see.” The coms clicked off.

“Bolt, fer the love a...” Jack grumbled under her breath, irked at the other’s nature. Isabelle had to be the most uncompromising woman the farmer had ever laid eyes on.

The blonde rounded a corner and froze. There, lying face down in a pool of blood, was a guard. One whose demise she hadn’t caused. Jack cautiously approached the body and braced herself. She turned the corpse over.

Two holes, each the width of a palm, had cut deep trenches into his body, effectively disemboweling him. Through his body armor.

“What...?” Jack trailed off.

That man earlier, she thought, her mind swimming through a sea of adrenaline. His arms--he did this...?

The farmer covered her mouth, feeling bile rise up her throat at the sight. Her mind came up with the likely scenario. He had been running and tackled from behind. Must have flipped on his back trying to stop the other man. Didn’t help. He got tore into. The assailant must have left him for dead--judging by the smeared and runny glove print on the wall. Man must have had just enough gas in his tank to turn over and try to crawl.

“Poor bastard,” Jack said to the empty hallways. In the distance, she heard a few muted gunshots.

Maybe the hallways weren’t so deserted after all... Her earpiece sparked to life again.

“God, J--Stetson. Get here. Get here now,” Dash barked out frantically. “The vault--get to the fucking vault!”

“Comin’, I’m comin’!” Jack said, feeling panic set in. She wouldn’t let it take over, though. Her Pa’s words were still fresh on her mind. She pressed on her earpiece. “Drake--can you get me to the vault once I find a markin’ or somethin’?”

“Of course. The schematics weren't changed that much. Just additions.” He stopped briefly. “Are you near any rooms? If you could get a number, that’d be fantastic.”

The tall woman looked onward. There, just about thirty feet ahead. She left the corpse behind her and moved on, then read over the small sign at the center of the door.

“15-B.”

“Give me just a moment, Stetson,” Spike said.

“Hurry the fuck up--I think Bolt might be in trouble.”

“...OK, OK! Got it. From where you’re at you need to take the first right you see. It’ll be easier if I run you though from there.”

“Roger.”

Jack went at a controlled run, gun at the ready and eyes alert. Every sound she heard put her on edge. Every step she took felt like it was loud enough to wake the dead.

Isabelle cracked through the earpiece once more. “Stetson?! Where the fuck--these guys, they’re--”

Jack her hand to her set. “Bolt! What’s your statu--”

A pained scream. “Get the fuck off me, asshole!”

“Oh God, Dash!” Jack threw caution to the wind, holstering her gun and sprinting as fast and as hard as she could through the hallways. She came to the T-section and swung right, pushing hard on her set. “Drake, Goddamnit, I need you!”

“Take the next left then stay the course for two more!”

The farmer didn’t need to be told twice. The hallways blurred as she ran full tilt towards Isabelle, her mind swimming with the possibilities of what happened to her. If she had gotten hurt, or...

Jack shook the thought away. Dash was fine. Dash was fine. She took a left and pressed on.

Things went to shit when she came to the next junction.

She sprinted, oblivious to everything but her own worries. At the approaching intersection, she didn’t even register the blood trail rounding the corner, or the figure, hunched and waiting behind the wall.

As the tall woman crossed the wall’s threshold, she was pounced on by a blur of speed, knocking her across the hallway and cracking the back of her head against the wall. She gazed up through her blurred vision at the person pinning her with his knees--a man in full riot gear, his arms covered in gore like the last.

He snarled and shouted, then whimpered as tears fell from his eyes--his mood shifting the features of his face with the speed of a camera flash, in a terrifying and grotesquely unnatural way that set Jack’s teeth on edge. Confusion and fear, a terrible rictus of pain before joyous laughter, and then the deep concentration of one on the cusp of overwhelming pleasure.

His voice faltering in disgusting ecstasy, the man brought his thumbs towards Jack’s eyes. The farmer twisted, threw her weight to the side, and violently rolled him off her shoulders. She rose to a knee, pushing herself back, and fumbled for her gun as he started returning to his to feet. Jack fired right as he seemed to fly off the ground in an impressively swift dodge.

No slowing, he pounced just as she fired again. Her aim was on the money, connecting square with his lower jaw; her bullet tearing flesh, bone and helmet with the ease of a fist smashing an egg. The soldier landed on her, knocking her to the ground, dripping blood and worse on her shirt-front. Jack pushed him quickly off and rolled to the side, her gun at the ready as she lay on her stomach. The corpse lay in a crumpled, twisted heap, the shot Jack fired revealing a half-blown away mouth bared in an accusing, pinched grin.

Jack took a deep, shaky breath, swallowed her dread, and made her way towards the vault.

Call Check

Blueblood gave a haughty grin. “Well, a commoner parade. How uniquely simple of you.” Some of the younger men nearby sniggered. “Can we help you, ladies?” His tone smeared the usually polite description to an obvious insult.

Pinkie batted her eyes at the men... perhaps a bit too much. “More like how can weeeeeee help yooooooou, you handsome gentlemen!”

A black-haired youth, a little younger than Rarity, questioned, “And, uh, how exactly can you help us?”

Smiling wide, Rarity took a seat, crossing her legs to hitch her dress up just enough to promise without being obvious. More like she had merely not paid enough attention, focusing instead on the conversation. “Why, adding in novel value, of course.” She waved a hand. “These parties and balls are all the same. The same crowd talking about the same topics or bringing up the same type of scandals. Boooriiing!” She rested a hand on her chest, drawing attention to herself with a slightly deeper than normal breath, using the other to gesture to Chy and Diane. “While we three are something new, something singularly unique.” She paused, letting her eyes wander around a bit. “Something not a one of you has known before.”

“Yep! I betcha never had a girl like me!” Pinkie exclaimed, swaying her hips from side to side. “I can keep up with all of you men!”

Chylene kept quiet, avoiding looking at the men directly. Some men liked that, right? The quiet, mysterious type of woman? She tuned out the conversation, led mostly by Rarity with the occasional burst by Pinkie. She had ensnared all their attentions easily, they hung on every word. All save Blueblood--Chy noticed his eyes never seemed to leave her for long.

“...true you live in the woods?” an older gentleman asked.

“Um.” Chylene scratched her cheek. “Just outside them...”

There was some general wonder to this, with a few exclaiming pity that she should be forced into such a situation.

“It’s appalling,” Blueblood said, offhand, “that such beauty should be forced to live in squalor. If Celestia had any sense in her, she would’ve ensured those deserving had as much and the rest put into their place.”

“Squalor? Oh no,” she replied, shaking her head, “I make sure that my house is always clean and tidy, especially for my animal friends.”

An older woman gasped, raising a hand to her throat. In a shrill voice, she cried, “Animals?! In your house? How dreadful! How unseemly! Tell me, are there no exterminators in... What is it? Melville?”

To have her friends insulted, even threatened, in such a manner did anger Chylene. But, she kept her composure. “My friends are very polite and would not appreciate you calling them ‘dreadful’, miss.”

Rarity cleared her throat noticeably, trying to stop what she could see would be a disastrous argument. “But, as Sir Blueblood pointed out, Chylene here is one of the fairest ladies in all of Mansfield. Surely you’ve read the old children’s stories? Of princesses, alone and hidden in some wood, save for their animal companions? Why, Chy is just a living example of such things!”

Some of the younger ladies present gave each other looks, expressing just how delightful it must be to live as a princess in a story. They had often dreamed of such things themselves.

“Alone?” Blueblood asked, bored interest in his voice. “No caretaker or guardian, you say? No nearby family?”

Pinkie threw an arm around Chylene and pointed at her. “No, sir! She does everything by herself! I offer to help, but she’s so independent she doesn’t need it!”

Chylene raised a finger in timid protest. “Well, um, I’m happy for you to help, Pinkie, but I’ve looked after them for so long now, it just feels like normal routine to me.”

“You have such spirit in you, dear,” said the same older woman. “To go through these things with a positive outlook. Both of my daughters--and their daughters--could learn a thing or two from you.”

“O-oh, uh, thank you...” Chylene replied, giving a small blush.

Rarity watched Blueblood carefully. He seemed separated from the company, his mind focused on thoughts elsewhere. But with every small hesitation, every blush, every little gasp of surprise Chylene gave as a result of the attention she was receiving, Blueblood turned his own her way a little bit more.

So I was right, she told herself. Blueblood likes the innocent. Something pure he can dominate and control, someone weak to suffer his will. She closed her eyes, taking a long, slow breath in, then out. Elondrie forgive me ...It must be done.

Leaning in near Pinkie, she whispered, “Pinkie, try and get Chy to blush some more. Keep her the main topic.”

Giving a conspiratorial nod, Pinkie hissed back, “Gotcha!” She saluted Rarity, then put her hands on Chylene’s shoulders, prompting a squeak from the timid woman. “And she’s such a great host! Whenever I go ‘round her cottage, she’s super welcoming and always makes real good tea and food!”

“Um, th-thank you, Pinkie...” Chylene stuttered out, her cheeks turning a delightful rose color. The gentlemen were starting to eye her up, much to the not-so-discreet jealousy of the ladies.

“And you cannot forget her skill regarding animals,” Rarity added. “She could tame any beast with a simple word.”

“It comes to me naturally—” Chylene blinked, remembering that she was the center of attention. Her blush grew more furious. “M-Maybe we can talk about the others now...?” she pleaded.

Blueblood leaned forward in his chair, giving a small glance Chylene’s way. Rarity wrapped her arms around the timid woman’s shoulders. “Oh, but darling, you’re such an interesting subject! Is it not true that you’re usually absent at events like this? Fresh blood is so exciting!” She gave a small, gentle poke at Chylene’s cheek. The men started to show the same enthusiasm Rarity put into her voice.

“Rarity, you know I’m s-shy...” she mumbled. “A perfect e-evening for me is, uh, cuddling up with Angel Bunny and reading a book.”

“But that’s exactly why you’re so interesting, silly. You’re like a mystery, wrapped up in adorable wrapping paper!” Pinkie exclaimed, rubbing Chylene’s arms. The latter was getting as red as a tomato.

“Quite interesting,” Blueblood muttered, glancing at the men by him. “What, exactly, do you read?”

Chylene twiddled with her hair as she spoke, “Simple stories really. Well, not simple, but—they’re about people, not adventures... if you understand that...”

“Biographies, or, perhaps, romance novels?” He smiled slyly.

“A bit of b-both. A biography is only as interesting as the person it’s based on...” She added quietly, “So I feel guilty if I read a bad one...”

“I have quite the selection in my personal library. Perhaps I could show it to you?”

“Oh, um...”

“I’m afraid not,” Rarity quickly addressed. “We have so many more sights to see this evening, and I’m sure she’d hate to intrude.” She gave a knowing smile Chylene’s way. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

Chylene nodded quickly. “Oh, yes! There’s still more time to...to—”

“Paaaaaartay!!” Pinkie blurted out.

“Yes, that,” Chy hastily added.

Blueblood ignored the pair, turning his gaze to Rarity. She looked him hard in the eye, and the two understood each other. The game they were both playing--though, Rarity was sure he couldn’t see through to the game behind the game. So she hoped.

He seemed to tell her, I know what you want, but you shan’t have it.

Then he smiled. Small, but cold and calculating. His eyes changed. Now they said, But I know who will. Someone worthy of my intentions, far above you.

With all her will, Rarity tried to look crestfallen, even despairing, at her supposed ‘loss’. Blueblood’s smile grew, and Rarity let loose a mental sigh of relief.

He rose, which cut off the various other bits of conversation that were going on. His gaze wandered around the circle, then stopped on Chylene. “You’ll join me upstairs for a more private conversation.” Arrogantly, Blueblood’s tone implied he was stating fact, not making a request. “Ask the attendant at the base of the main staircase, he will direct you to my personal chambers.” He looked her up and down. “You might wish to...freshen up before you come. But don’t keep me waiting long.”

He turned and left the room without any further ado. The others gave each other knowing looks, with some of the young men snickering to themselves, and the younger women--and one well into her sixth decade--gave jealous glares to Chy.

“F-freshen up?” Chylene stammered. She gave a pitiful glance Rarity’s way. “O-oh my... W-what should I--I mean, I know we need the List, but...”

Not saying a word, Rarity carefully directed Chy away from the others. Pinkie followed. When she was certain they couldn’t be overhead, she leaned in a said, serious, “OK, OK. He won’t wait long, and you don’t want to start off behind.” She raised a thoughtful finger to her lips. “Speaking of, I wonder which Blueblood prefers... Well, thankfully you’re doing just well for all tastes, Chylene, dear. Anyways, listen--I know this isn’t exactly your sort of thing, dear, but... As you said, we need the List. You’re the only one who can get it, or at least find out where it is.”

The timid girl swallowed. “I-I know. It’s just, um, scary.”

“Scary? Remember what I told you about scary things? Just laugh at them!” Pinkie exclaimed, then paused, rubbing her chin in thought. “Although maybe you should laugh in your head for this...”

“I know, but you must be strong.” Rarity gave a lopsided smile. “Besides, play it right and you won’t even have to do anything. As scary as he seems, Blueblood’s a simple fool. Keep in mind how he works, how he thinks, and you can turn his pride against itself.”

“I’ll try, Rarity. I will,” Chylene said, squinting her eyes shut and nodding. She bit her lip, taking a few timid steps forward, wringing the front of her dress with her hands. She glanced behind at her one more time. The tailor gave an encouraging nod, gesturing forward. Chylene briskly turned, stepping out of the lounge.

Pinkie watched her go, looking particularly conflicted.

“Pinkie...” Rarity said quietly. It was almost a question.

The party girl blinked, as if woken from a dream. “Huh? What?”

“I just did a terrible thing. A necessary thing, but terrible. I’m sorry,” she said, still quiet, her voice sounding like it was on the cusp of breaking.

Pinkie brought her hand to Rarity’s squeezing it gently, but still stared at where Chylene had left. “Don’t be sorry, silly... I’m just thinking...”

“I’m worried, too,” she said, squeezing back. “She’ll be OK, though--you and I both know, she’s strong where it counts.”

“Should I go with her?” Pinkie asked, looking at Rarity, deeply troubled and concerned. “Not literally but like I’m some guardian angel or something.”

Frowning, Rarity chose her words carefully. “I know what you mean, but it’s most likely too risky. Blueblood has set the entire upper floor off limits, so he probably has guards. Or even if he discovered you--then we’d really be done for.” Patting her friend on the shoulder, she gave a small smile. “We’ll just have to trust in Chylene, alright? Now, I’m going to either find Twila or a nice place to sit. We can only hope and wait, Pinkie. Hope and wait.” She turned to go, but then turned back and said, “You can come with me, if you like?”

Pinkie looked at her friend, beaming. “No thanks, I still need some party grub in my tummy!” With a giggle, she waved at Rarity as the lady left, sighing in relief when she was out of earshot. She then looked back and forth between where her friends had gone. Who did she go with?

She started walking towards where Rarity had gone, but stopped herself and turned around. Then turned back. Another switch in direction. And another. Then one more.

She clenched a trembling fist and made her decision. If Rarity found Twila, they would be fine, but Chylene needed someone right now. Steeling herself for the challenge ahead, she swiftly slipped through the crowd, going towards Chylene.

*-*-*-*-*

Jack followed Spike’s guidance, taking a few more twists and turns until she came to an exceptionally wide hallway lined with bullet ridden bodies. She stepped over the corpses, a small part of her sickened at how nonchalant she was regarding the dead men. To her left, about thirty feet ahead, was a massive vault door, it’s solid steel open wide, and what appeared to be at least four heavily fortified metal shutters behind it open, revealing the start of a well-furnished room. The farmer approached. As soon as she came within ten feet, she heard frantic steps coming from the opposite side.

Around the bend, a short, lean teenager wearing fatigues sprinted and cleared a line of corpses with a well timed leap. Jack raised her gun, reluctant to shoot someone so young, but frightened that he might be as crazy as the man from earlier.

He was saved from a bullet in the gut by speaking. Jack knew the voice.

“D-don’t shoot, missus! There’s more daft bastards coming!” he spoke in a panicked, oddly accented tone, gesturing. “Me gun’s outta ammo, it is!”

“Inside, Pip!” Jack commanded, gesturing to the open vault.

The other paused. “How did ye know me na--”

A howl from around the bend the young man entered from shut up any conversation Jack was willing to have at the moment. Another one of the feral men skirted by the corner, then charged blindly towards the two, jumping over the corpses littering the area. The young, lanky man panicked and ducked as Jack leveled her shoulders and squeezed off a round, slamming into the beast’s shoulder. As soon as he landed on the floor, Jack fired off another round at his collapsed body, just in case.

“Now!” she barked, staring intently down the bloody hallway.

“R-right!” he cried back, heading towards the vault.

A thought came to Jack. “Hold!”

“But you jus’ sai--”

“I know what I said. My partner’s probably in there--she might blow yer head off if I don’t go first.”

“Then bloody well get! I don’t wanna be out here nomores!” Pip croaked out.

Jack quickly moved to the vault door. “Bolt! Ya in here?” She moved inside and took stock of the dozens of lined display cases housing treasures from countless countries. Each various bauble, trinket and artifact stood proudly on an encased pedestal with a small card detailing their name and year of origin. To her left was a small office--probably where they inventoried artifacts departing and entering the room. To her right were several paintings of various sizes and art styles. Dead center, flush against a back wall, was a posh loveseat, where Dash sat, looking down and clutching her hand tight against her bleeding forearm.

“Bolt...?” Jack quietly addressed as she stepped forward.

Dash jumped at the noise; she shot a glance towards Jack, then towards the young man timidly trailing behind the tall woman. “What the fuck you doin’ here?” she asked, staring daggers at the youngster.

“I-I don’t want out there with those monsters!” he said.

“No, kid.” She looked him over. “Working here. The soldier getup. You’re too young.”

He looked briefly offended. “I’m right and proper at sixteen, that’s legal to serve, miss.”

She shook her head. “Bullshit. You’re fuckin’ fourteen, same as Al--”

“Careful, Bolt,” Jack warned quickly.

Dash tilted her head, not quite following. Then it dawned on her like a spark coming to life. “I, uh, mean to say you don’t look sixteen.”

“Most of me family’s short.”

“If you say so,” Isabelle replied, shaking her head in disgust at the kid’s bold-faced lie.

“The hell happened ta yer arm?” Jack finally asked, moving over to the athlete.

“A fucker bit me on my way here. Just jumped out of a room.” Jack could tell she was scowling under the mask. “He pounced on me. Had to gouge the cocksucker’s eyes out just to get him off.”

The farmer shook her head. “Elondrie’s light...” she muttered under her breath, tearing off a strip of clothing from her torso. She quickly dressed up Dash’s wound. Just as she was about to speak, Pip let out a gasp.

“G-guys!” he called out. Jack turned and noticed he was pointing towards the vault’s entrance, where a head peeked out from around the edge of the door. A head whose mouth was caked in blood and gore. With a howl, the man rounded the doorway and charged. Jack reacted in a heartbeat, slapping leather and firing. Her shot ripped across the room, striking him square in his bald head and launching him out into the hall. He collapsed, as dozens of howls tore across the hallways outside.

“Shit!” Jack called out. “Sounds like more of ‘em on the way!” The farmer pressed on her earpiece. “Drake! Can you close the goddamn shutters to the vault?”

“I opened them, odds are I can reverse my steps to shut it. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

“I don’t think we got a few minutes.” She quickly glanced at her two companions. “Any of y’all got more bullets?”

“N-no ma’am. Said earlier, used me last runnin’ from the daft bastards.”

“Bolt?”

“Got a full mag and a spare clip. Lost the other gun when I got bit.”

Jack frowned. She unholstered her gun and handed it and a small fistfull of bullets to Dash. “Take it. Give the kid yours and the ammo--I wouldn’t trust him with the kick my piece has.”

“The hell are you gonna do?”

Jack rubbed her mouth as she looked around the room. “There’s gotta be somethin’ ‘round here I can use.” She pressed her earpiece down. “Drake! Any sorta weapons locked up in display?”

“There’s gotta be at least--ah! How about a blade once carried by King Pyth?” Spike replied.

“Whatever’s fine--where is it?”

“If you’re just entering the vault, farthest left aisle, very last exhibit.”

Jack turned to face Isabelle and Pip. “Yer gonna have ta hold ‘em off ‘til I get that sword an’ Drake gets the shutter ready ta close again. Each of ya take a side--I’mma be back as soon as I can.”

The two nodded and quickly stepped outside as Jack jogged alongside the dozens of displays baring artifacts. She heard a shot as she came to the end of storage. Low caliber. Dash’s nine millimeter. Pip must have seen them first.

The farmer tried to shut out the gunfire--her stomach was a knot of worry for the two outside, thinking about it just made things worse. She instead focused on searching through the displays. Jack paused on seeing the weapon, struck briefly dumb by the blade.

It wasn’t a beautiful piece. In fact, she’d go far to say it was ugly as hell--a chunk of beaten, chipped black metal on a brushed, unordained steel hilt, with numerous scratches on the handle and blade.

“I ain’t sure if this thing can cut butter, Drake,” Jack said, giving an antsy glance towards the vault’s exit.

“Stetson. That thing’s cut car engines before. Might not look like much--functional blades never did back in the day.”

“Alright, I’ll trust ya,” Jack replied. She paused, noticing a keypad beside the display. With a shrug, the farmer ignored it, instead elbowing the glass casing. It shattered, spraying the floor with shards and setting off an alarm inside the room.

Wasn’t like the stealthy approach was working for them anyway.

She carefully reached inside, grasping the blade and pulling it out of the stand. Jack paused when she clasped the weapon in her hands. Something felt off.

This ain’t right, she thought. Blade width, height, weight. Norfolk steel ain’t like this. An’ it’s missin’ somethin’--ain’t it? I--

Jack froze. Her brain felt like it was on fire--split down the center. With a grunt of pain, she clutched the side of her head.

“Stetson!” Isabelle called out. “Move your fucking ass! They’re coming hot and heavy!”

The farmer nodded, snapping out of...whatever it was she just felt. She clenched the blade tight in her palms and ran towards the shutters.

Isabelle and Pip were almost back to back, Pip frantically shooting at a horde of feral men running on their hands and feet as Dash desperately fed bullets into Jack’s revolver. The farmer quickly decided to buy Dash some time to get reloaded, turning left as she passed the shutters.

Seeing Jack out of the corner of her eye, Dash fell a few steps back, twisting the other direction as she finished topping the gun off. She took aim and fired at the quickly approaching group just as Jack hoisted the blade level with her shoulder and swung.

She cut them like a sickle through grain, breaking through their torsos and embedding the weapon deeply into the wall. Jack did her best to ignore the wave of gore she created--though she still dry heaved as she tugged and yanked at her blade.

Their earpieces came to life, though static was starting to cut through. “It’s reversing--get inside! It’ll be closing in--”

The hard grind of metal finished Spike’s sentence.

“Go! Go! Go!” Jack ordered, trying again to pull out the sword, but to no avail.

Dash fired off another round, quickly falling back towards the slowly rising shutter. She stepped inside and opened the chamber of Jack’s revolver once more, feeding the hungry beast bullets again, as Pip darted towards the shutter. He hopped over the rising shutter--it was rising more quickly now.

Jack ran for the shutter and reached for the waist-high blockade just as she was grabbed from behind by multiple hands. They pinned her arm back and tried to pull her away by her torso. Jack fought against them as hard as she could and managed to barely crawl forward, reaching a hand up and over the sealing gate.

“Don’t shoot, you’ll hit her!” Jack heard Dash order amid her overwhelming panic. “Help me! Help me fucking grab her!”

The farmer felt a sharp tug at her left arm. Panicking, she fought and swung with the rest of her body, doing her best to shake off her assailants as she lunged forward, cracking her ribs against the rising wall. She scrambled, getting pulled down by both Dash and Pip as she tried to lift her own weight over the shutter.

Hoisting herself upwards, Jack crawled desperately forward with a man tugging at her leg. Her stomach rested against the top of the quickly closing shutter; she glanced up in a panic at the ceiling and summoned one more burst of strength--yanking her body into the safety of the vault as the man clawed fruitlessly over the separation.

It slammed closed with a grinding, pulpy, wet groan, severing the man’s arm. It twitched violently, grasping at the air for a few fleeting moments, before falling to rest.

“I’m g-gonna be sick,” Pip groaned, putting a hand to his mouth. Jack couldn’t blame him--her last meal threatened to come back as well. Something like this was different than a bullet. It felt worse, more personal.

“Puke in the corner, kid. We’ll do something to clean up the...” Isabelle trailed off with her instructions, rubbing at her mouth in disgust. “God...”

Jack took off her jacket, tossing it over the severed limb. She scooped the appendage up and gently cradled it against her chest with her gloved hand, deciding to set it at a corner of the room. The farmer never thought she’d be grateful handling dead animals on a semi-regular basis, but it was helping her flip her brain off for a second--if she really thought about what she was doing, she’d probably snap.

Laying it on the ground, Jack wiped her hand vigorously at the seat of her pants. Glove or not, touching that was gross as hell.

She returned to Isabelle. Now that the danger was momentarily over, she could feel the weariness seep into her bones. “Bolt, I--”

A heavy pounding against the shutters interrupted Jack. She reached for where her gun was normally holstered only to grasp air. Dash was on the ball though, clutching Jack’s revolver and aiming it square at the steel. They waited several long beats, before the farmer put a comforting hand on Dash’s shoulder.

“They ain’t gettin’ in, sug. Lower the piece.”

“What do you think we should do about them?” Dash questioned. “Not like we have any other fuckin’ exits around, hayseed.”

“We ignore ‘em ‘till they’re a problem again. Now though...” She glanced around the room, across the dozens and dozens of valuable pieces of history. “It’s time we have ourselves a lil’ treasure hunt.”

A Dance with a Drake

The dance hall was mostly empty by this time, only a few of the youngest had kept up the endurance to dance for this long. A majority of the others had made their way to the main dining hall, where the night’s second dinner--there were three planned in a staggered schedule--was beginning.

Rarity wasn’t hungry, not as nervous as she was. However, she did have to watch herself whenever a tray of champagne passed her. The glasses were moist with condensation, their golden liquid sparkling in the lights. If she asked, she was all but certain the waiters could find her something harder...

She turned her eyes away from temptation to the massive grandfather clock against the inner wall. Chylene had been gone for about thirty minutes. Rarity had checked the time only two minutes ago. Was the time rushing by, headlong into the crash of disaster? Or was it trudging, each step building and building the tension and worry for her friend whom she had so enthusiastically dropped into the shark tank?

She thought about leaving, searching through the place to find Francis or Twila--Elondrie only knew where she was--and figuring out a way to save Chylene.

How had she ever thought Chy could handle such a task? Yes, Blueblood was a fool, easily manipulated by the right sort of skills, but Chylene was innocent to such matters. Like a shark, he would smell the blood in the water, the timidity and lack of confidence the kind girl possessed. Why ever did Rarity support this? She had practically shoved Chylene at him.

Because it was the only thing to do. Like robbing a bank. Shooting up police officers. But it was different when the victim you put in harm’s way was someone you knew and cared about. But it had to be done. And of all of them, Rarity was probably the only one who would ever do it.

It was part of what set her apart, despite being so welcomed and loved by her closest friends.

That reminded her of an out that worry had pushed aside. Making sure no one was near enough to hear--a simple task--she said, hesitantly, “Drake? Drake, are you there?”

There was no response.

She tried again, a little more forcefully. “Drake, come in, Drake. Are you there?” A tinge of desperation. “...please?”

Perhaps he was busy helping Jack and Dash through some harrowing danger. Perhaps something had happened with the connections. Perhaps Spike was just visiting the washroom... Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Nerves caused her foot to tap, and she looked at the clock again to no relief. Again she tried. And again. And again.

Still silent, still nothing.

“Drake, for the love of God, please answer me because I need to talk to you now.”

“You wanna talk? You can talk to us, sugartits,” a gruff, scratchy voice said. Rarity glanced up to see three rough looking men in cheap suits. The leader scratched his thick, unkempt stubble and reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a cigar. One flick of a silver lighter, and he took a deep drag, blowing the smoke directly down into Rarity’s face. “Me and my boys were just coming to talk to you, as a matter of fact.” He smirked past his thick cigar, putting his hands into his pants pockets and glancing over his shoulder. “Weren't we, fellas?”

A tall, lanky redhead nodded, and a dark skinned man with curly hair snorted back a laugh.

She coughed roughly. The cigar was cheap and poorly made, giving out a noxious stench even worse than most. When she could breath again, she choked out, “I ca-- Can’t imagine why you’d think I’d want anything to do with you and your ‘boys’.”

“Oh really? Well, that’s a shocker. Blueblood said you were just. Our. Type.” He chewed briefly on his cigar. “The kind you don’t take home to mama. Kind that’d wanna ditch this place--a bit too high-brow for ladies like you, anyway.” He glanced behind him again. “Don’t you think so too, boys?”

They both nodded. The redhead quickly held out his index and middle finger to his mouth and wiggled his tongue in between his digits, as the black man laughed once more, gently elbowing the other in the side.

Never had Rarity known a night like tonight. Twice now, she had been rudely, disgustingly rudely, berated and talked about. The first time had been a shock. But this time? Her nervousness flashed to anger, piercing and dangerous. She glared at all of them, to no effect, and said, coldy, “Leave here? Gladly! But for better company and more class than this shallow, gilded hall could dream. Better than you could even process in your thick skulls. Perhaps some nice worms under a log? Oh yes, “she gave a sharp smile, “that would be an enormous improvement over the likes of you.”

The ringleader offered a mock wince. “Oooh, ugly tongue for such a pretty face. I’m hurt.” He stared hard at her, taking his cigar out from his mouth and tapping it onto the ground. “Tell me, what are you gonna do when your looks crap out? You’ve got ten, twenty years tops. After that, you’re just going to be some cackling hag that none of the boys--especially not courteous, upstanding fellas like us--will be interested in.” He took another inhale of his quickly vanishing cigar. “So why not take advantage of it while you’ve actually got it going on? I’m sure I can make it worth your while... ”

“The only thing worth my while here is some air, devoid of fumes and fools. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leaving.” She said it quick, turning on her heel to storm out of the ballroom.

The man shot his hand out, grabbing her wrist. “I don’t think you understood me...” he growled, stared down at her with his grey eyes, following her every curve. “Blueblood said you were going to show us a good time. Me and my boys expect a good. Time.”

She tried to pull away, to no avail. Grumbling in frustration, she put on a condescending tone and said, “I’m no leashed dog for Blueblood to handoff as he sees fit! Unhand me and follow your own leashes, find your good time with your master, since he rides you so well.”

“Listen to this bitch,” the black man snorted out. “Acting so prim and proper. We’ll see how long that lasts when we get outta here.”

“You’re not leaving with her,” a familiar boy’s voice said, his tone hard and uncompromising.

Spike stood a few feet away, wearing a royal-purple tux, his hair slicked back and his arms crossed, a scowl on his face.

The man holding Rarity briefly paused. He cracked a smile. “And who the fuck are you, shrimp?”

Spike’s frown deepened. He uncrossed his arms and took a breath. “Better question is, who the hell you are.”

“Spike!” Rarity breathed. What was he doing here?! What was he doing period?! With her free hand, she waved him away. “What... You’re here? I mean--what? How?”

He glanced at her, briefly losing his grim composure. The young man returned his gaze back to the cigar smoking man and tersy blurted out, “I don’t need you to answer that--I know who you are.”

The man rolled his eyes, clenching Rarity’s wrist harder in his rough hands. “Then you know I don’t take kindly to people messing with things I want. Now, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll fuck off. Otherwise--”

“Otherwise you and your asshole friends will take me out and work me over?” Spike snapped.

“Smart kid.”

“Smarter than you,” he quickly added. “I’m smart enough to know an alias isn’t enough for the work you do, Skully.” The slightest smile quirked out. “Actually, where are my manners? I might as well address you by your actual name, Remiel.”

The man briefly paused. His cigar hung limply in his mouth. “How’d you--”

“Remiel Pendergrath. Age forty-two. On this evening you drove a Fernando Valkyrie to the party, VIN number 7b6ks11y6g8259311.” His smirk widened, exposing a row of teeth. “Your address is 1027 Remembrance avenue, where you live with your wife, Kendra, and two sons, David and Stephen. Both attend Camelot's illustrious Cambridge academy for advanced minds. You play soccer with them on the weekends. Stephen's better, according to the texts I looked over.” He put a finger to his chin. “And if I recall correctly, Remiel, didn’t you have a DUI? Crippled a kid when you were drunk. Surprising you’re not in jail from that--maybe I should get in touch with a few friends. Look into the case some. Prosecution, cops involved, judge. Give the whole thing some fresh air.” Spike narrowed his brow, his small stature doing nothing to dampen his carefully chosen words. “If you want to kick my ass, go ahead. I bet you could, I bet your friends could. But just keep in mind that if you don't leave her alone right now, I can give the go-ahead to fuck up your life.” He crossed his arms again with a sneer. “Your call.”

Remiel’s cigar slid from his mouth, dropping to the floor. He let go of Rarity’s wrist. “Come on, boys,” he muttered, turning and taking a few plodding steps away. “Fuckin’ dyke and the toddler ain’t worth it.”

The black man quickly followed behind, while the redhead seemed ready to protest, but on noticing Spike’s stare, he seemed to retract his interest, quickly following his boss.

Spike held his composure for a few moments, then released a breath and clutched a shaking hand to his heart. He paused after a beat, quickly moving to the violet-haired beauty. “Rarity! A-are you alright? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“Spike that was..” She paused, looking for the words. They were simple. “You saved me, Spike. I could’ve handled just one, but three?” She cupped his face with her hands and gave him a slow kiss on the forehead. “I wanted your voice, but you gave me something even better. Thank you, Spike, my brave knight.”

Heat flooded his face at the kiss, he half-smiled, swallowing. “It’s nothing. W-we have to take care of one another, you know?”

“You’re absolutely right.” She smiled back, hands still on his cheeks. Then something occurred to her again. She tightened her grip, only slightly. She gave him a look of amused irritation and asked, “But seriously, Spike--what are you doing here? How did you even get in? We took the only invitation.”

“You do realize who you’re talking to, right? A duplication wasn’t that hard to pull off. As for why I’m here...” He glanced to the side, briefly biting at his lip. “Couple of reasons, I guess. Big one is that I wanted to show Twila I could help on the front just as much as you guys. I mean, this isn’t as bad as the bank, but...” He briefly reached into his pocket, showing off his phone. “I did a bit of work on it. Linked up some stuff and got my whole little operation at the touch of a finger.”

Looking him hard in the eye, she shrugged and gave a laugh, lowering her hands. “Twila will be furious, you know. But I love how clever you are, dear! Not a moment too soon, either. I’m not sure how up to date you are, but things aren’t going exactly as planned on our end.”

“It’s starting to feel like Jack and Dash have the right idea on just winging things. Our plans never work,” Spike said, rubbing his forehead. “I overheard Chylene’s attempting to go after Blueblood. With Dagger still making their way towards the vault alright, I figured now would be about the only time I could...” He swallowed, giving a gesture towards Rarity with a palm. He opened his mouth, shut it. Opened it again. Wiped it with a hand. Grimaced. He finally gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I, I really thought I could do this better. Elondrie knows I’ve ran it through my head enough. It’s just...” He let out another breath and tilted his head back, closing his eyes in weariness. “It--it’s just that I, uh, I need to talk to you.”

Rarity thought for a moment, then nodded her head. “Can it wait for perhaps just five minutes, darling?”

“F-five minutes?” he repeated. “Why?”

With a bash of her lashes, she held out a hand. “I do believe I promised the last dance to you, Spike.” She smiled wider. “And perhaps it could even be just the first.”

He stood briefly as her words sank in. The young man quickly gave an ear-to-ear grin, holding an exuberance that reminded Rarity of a child. After a beat, he calmed down and offered a wry smile. “I didn’t think you’d take me up on it, to be honest. I don’t r-really know how.”

Without a word, Rarity grabbed both of Spike’s hands, placing one on her waist and holding the other out. “This isn’t the first time I’ve danced with a new partner. Just take it slow, watch my face, not your feet. Relax and let your body go where it wants to go.”

He tilted his head up, staring at her eyes as he held tight to her extended hand. “A-alright.” He took a slow, careful step to the side, not exactly with the tempo, but not terribly far off. After a few more experimental movements, he guided Rarity into a semi-passable box-step, only stumbling slightly on a few initial sweeps. “How am I doing?”

“Not too bad, not at all.” She laughed. “You at least haven’t stepped on my feet. Now, let’s try this.” And she pulled Spike a little faster along, adding a bit more grace and movement. At first he was following her lead, but she gradually stopped pulling, allowing him to build up the momentum on his own. “Basic, but you learn quickly, Spike.”

“Being a quick learner’s about my only saving grace.” He smiled up at Rarity. His expression slowly faded as he seemed to retreat back to his thoughts. Spike shook his head as they danced, looking towards their entwined hands. After a long pause as they skirted across the floor, he quietly spoke again. “When I was a kid, I had a dream like this once.”

She gave a small tilt of her head. “Yes? I hope some of the circumstances were better.”

“Yeah.” He squinted in thought. “Remember the first birthday I had in Mansfield with you guys? I was, what, twelve, thirteen?”

“Twelve, I believe,” Rarity said, thoughts turning back to that day. “You hadn’t been with us for too long, but you and Twila both fit right in so quickly. And Pinkie never complains about another party to throw.”

“Well. It’s like that. Uh, the dream was. Except instead of a group line-dance in Jack’s old barn, it was just us, dancing in the moonlight. I mostly just remember looking down into your eyes--” He blinked, glancing up at her. “I may have been taller in the dream.” She laughed, making him blush slightly. “A-anyway...” he trailed off. “I looked straight at you, and actually was able to talk without tripping over my words.” Spike gave a small tilt of his head. “That’s the nice thing about dreams, I guess. You never really mess up in ‘em. You can be this suave guy who isn’t scared to death by being so close to someone. You’re a master of timing things--and that’s pretty important in life, isn’t it? Timing things.”

“Perhaps you’re worried too much on the timing and not enough on the things,” Rarity said coyly. “Not everything’s like a movie or a book, or even a dream.” With a wistful sigh, she added, “Often, I think real life shuns them, no matter how pretty or perfect they seem.”

“I dunno, Rarity,” Spike said, nervously squeezing her hand. “Maybe I’ve been around Twila too much--some of her eccentricities are rubbing off on me, I guess--but I think timing is what brought me here, here right now.” He briefly nodded, seeming to make up his mind. “Know how I said I had another reason for being here? A-aside from proving a point to Twila?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Well... I, uh, had to say something to you.” His brow narrowed. “And I think now might be the only time I can.” His lips briefly quirked into a small frown. “I think a few years back if I had tried to say anything like this, you would have laughed in my face.”

Rarity’s heart fluttered, just a bit. She had had her own dreams, not so unlike this one--though they had never featured Spike, so she couldn’t tell him. They had continued to move, the steps simple but flowing, around and along the ballroom. Rarity hadn’t noticed they were alone, all the couples having gone for refreshment at dinner.

Very quietly, she whispered, “Perhaps your timing is not so poor, darling... What is it?”

He steeled himself, his hands shook slightly as he fought his nervousness on opening up to the woman--the woman he was willing to live and die for, if needed. No matter what she thought of him.

“That what I’m feeling for you isn’t some dumb kid’s crush,” Spike tersely said, briefly surprised by his own boldness. “I know it’s gotta be more than that. I...” He looked away, not meeting her gaze. After a moment, he grimly, quietly marched on with his words. “I mean, I... I can’t say I love you. Thats not what this is... I, uh, don’t think.” He painfully swallowed. “It’s close, oh it’s close, but...” The young man blushed deeply and ran a hand hastily through his hair, all but swimming in shame at his inexperience, and at how hard he was putting his foot in his mouth. Rarity remained silent, giving Spike the moment she knew he needed.

“E-even if it was, I don’t think that it’d be fair, just dumping something that big on you. But I know with some time with you--together, I could. Maybe you could t--” He stopped himself with a wince, the brief moment of silence he created deafening as he stared down at his feet. “I think I could become someone you could depend on,” he lamely finished. They parted, the dance over.

Spike sighed at Rarity’s continued silence, slumping his shoulders in defeat and putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry, Rarity. M-maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut. I was just terrified that you might meet your Prince Charming here tonight, before I could grow the Goddamn balls to tell you how, how I...” The young man swallowed nervously once more, growing stony and silent. After another long-drawn pause, he looked up at the violet-haired woman, disgusted at his poor way with words and hoping she didn’t hate his guts.

His face fell at her cold glare. She replied, “Young man, I will not tolerate such rude language from you. Obviously, you spend too much time with that ruffian, Dash.” Here, her expression melted into a welcoming smile as her eyes lightly tearing at the edges. “You’ll just have to spend more time with me, instead. Perhaps a lot more time.” Her arms went around his neck, and she hugged him tightly. “Spike, I already depend on you--more than even I realized. I’m so sorry for not seeing that sooner, but I see it now.” She sniffed as a few tears fell. “I see it now. My gentlemen, my hero.”

Spike returned the embrace, squeezing her close and resting his head against her shoulder. “C-come on, Rarity, don’t cry,” the young man said quietly. “You’ll make me.”

Rarity choked out a small laugh. In a way, the situation was absolutely absurd. She in Spike’s arms, feeling accepted, truly accepted, for the first time in a long while. It felt a little bit like how Pinkie must have always felt, she surmised. A little crazy, perhaps, but in a joyful, happy way that worked. “Don’t let the rabble lie to you, Spike. Even a real man cries sometimes.”

“G-good to hear,” he sniffed, rapidly blinking. The young man reluctantly turned his gaze from Rarity, noting with surprise that they were alone. “I, uh, know this isn’t a simple social call for us, but would you like to step outside for a moment? It was really nice when I came in earlier,” Spike offered.

She clapped her hands together lightly. “I know of the perfect place. Come along!” Taking him by the hand, she began to lead him out of the ballroom, back to the same balcony she had spoken with Chy and Pinkie on just about an hour before.

It didn’t take them long before they were back outside. Shivering some--it had grown a bit chilly since she had been out before--Rarity took a couple spins in the center before resting on the balcony rail. Spike noticed her discomfort and took off his jacket, putting it on her shoulders. He joined her, leaning against the railing and briefly staring up toward the stars as he rubbed his quickly chilling arms.

“They’re more visible than you’d think, being in the city like we are,” the man commented.

The violet beauty nodded, saying, “It’s not like Manhattan, despite how urbanized and developed Camelot is. The air’s still clear. And did you know that most of the city goes dark after eleven?” She smiled. “It really is the gem of the nation, the diamond in our crown, shining, brilliant.” Her train of thought caused a frown to wrinkle her brow. “Shame we found a flaw in it.”

Spike wordlessly nodded in agreement. “But we’re working on getting that flaw polished out, at least.” He blew into his hands and rubbed them together. A moment later, he pointed upward, to a collection of stars that formed a vague, uneven circle in the sky.

“Jasmine’s ring,” he stated simply.

“I’m afraid I know little of the constellations, Spike.”

“Twila made me help her find constellations when I was younger. She’d be out on balconies all the time, hunting for them.” He smiled, nostalgia obvious on his face. “A lot of the constellations had legends to go with them--Jasmine’s was one of my favorites.”

“Would you--oh, this feels so childish!” Rarity turned away, blushing. Whispering, she said, “Would you tell it to me, Spike?”

“Of course,” he agreed. Spike briefly paused, thinking for a moment. “Once upon a time, in the lands of the Kvaat, there was a beautiful princess--”

A sharp crackle pierced the night sky. “Yo, Drake,” Isabelle said through the light static of the radio. Spike winced, reaching for his ear and lowering the volume of his piece. “What do triplines look like?”

Spike seemed briefly dazed, as if he had just awoken from a wonderful dream and into a terrible morning. “Electronic, correct?”

“The fuck you think?” her voice hissed. Spike rolled his eyes.

“Well, keep an eye out on the walls. They’ll look similar to doorstops--sort of a prong on either side. Usually they put them about a foot or so off of the ground.”

Rarity heard a small warble of agreement--Jack’s voice, perhaps--then the coms went silent again. Spike frowned, briefly reaching into his pocket and making a few small swipes across his smartphone, before putting it back.

“I... I know it’s selfish, but I’m glad you’re not with them,” he quietly said, leaning over the railing and wringing his hands together. “You and Twila, I just...”

Placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder, Rarity stood next to him, closer than she ever had before. “I understand, Spike. It’s the risk we take, not just on ourselves, but the potential cost for our friends? Our families?” She gave him a determined, unafraid look. “But we pay, or we risk to pay, so that we may buy something better for those same people.”

Spike turned, directly facing her. For a brief moment, he ignored how close their bodies stood and instead lost himself in her azure eyes. “You’re willing to do all that...and you’re always thinking you’re a bad person.” The young man slowly shook his head, feeling almost drunk off of Rarity’s presence. “You and the rest of the girls. I’m lucky to know all of you.” He lowered his voice slightly, tilting his head up. “N-no matter what happens in this, now or later, I want you to know how much I care about you guys. How much I care about you.”

“And that’s why I fully believe we’ll all make it through this, safe and sound.” Rarity looked down, not terribly far, and saw what she had perhaps always seen. Spike had grown up, his feelings with him. They had all--the girls and he--been around one another so much over the past few years, it was hard to truly see the changes they had brought about in one another.

But she saw them now. Distinctly, significant, and forever. Not only in him, but her, as well. A small part of her wondered if it was not instead a result of the danger they had been in, the danger they would be in.

And if it is, so what? she told that voice. I believe. I trust. And maybe...

Caressing his cheek with one hand, she leaned down and in, not slowly but with no rush. With confidence. That this was real. That this was to last. That this was right.

That this kiss was an acceptance, for one to the other. A marker to set the future by--a potentially scary, terrifying one, yes. But not a lonesome one.

...I need you, Spike.

Private Party

Pinkie was doing something crazy again. Okay, she always did crazy things, but this time it was crazy crazy. Following Chylene to Blueblood’s personal quarters was a risky gambit--guards had probably been placed everywhere--and no one else was willing to do it. But friends didn’t. abandon each other. Not that the others were bad for staying behind, it was just that Pinkie always took the extra mile.

Her first obstacle was the attendant standing at the base of the main stairs. Pinkie had been watching him from afar for a while, and no guest had ever ventured upstairs. Which meant that she had to be sneaky and sly. Like a fox or something. What was that saying? Like a bull in a china shop! Like a bull in a china shop, she’d have to be extra careful.

A distraction was needed and, luckily, Pinkie had all the tools she needed: a crowd full of stuffy, posh people and a wine glass. She ran a finger over the rim of the glass, eyeing a group of nobles not too far away from the attendant. She then grabbed the handle of the glass and aimed carefully, sticking her tongue out.

She had to throw hard enough to smash the glass, but not so much as to injure anyone in the process. She narrowed her eyes and counted to three. One. Two.

Three.

She flung her arm forward and let go. The glass flew towards the nobles, landing near their feet. There was a loud smash. Then some shocked gasps and screams.

The attendant looked towards the commotion. He ran a hand over his bald head and headed to the scene. Pinkie took her chance. She picked up her dress and quickly hurried up the stairs. It wasn’t easy in her fancy clothes, but she managed.

The stairs split off in the middle. She looked left and right repeatedly. Which was the right direction? Or should that be the left direction? Pinkie always liked lefts--she was left handed. She went in that direction and quickly opened and slipped by a big, wooden double door.

The door quietly closed behind her, but things had only gotten harder. Up ahead, down the long hallway, guards were stationed. Thankfully, they hadn’t noticed her yet. Pinkie looked to her side, spotting a door. She sneakily opened it and stepped into the room.

Having seen most of the rest of it, Pinkie was pretty sure this was the smallest room in the whole manor. However, it was full of sheets, stacked up on row after row of shelves. It was pretty dark too, so Pinkie traced the walls near the door, looking for a switch. She didn’t find a switch, but a cord hanging from the ceiling. A simple pull and light flooded the room.

Now Pinkie had the chance to think. The first thing that came to her were her clothes. They were too cumbersome to allow much stealth. So she did the only logical thing, although Rarity would kill her for it.

“Sorry, Rarity,” she said to herself, taking off her dress and throwing it over her head. Underneath her dress, she had been wearing a simple white tank top that left her midriff exposed and some shorts that ended above the knees. Next, she undid her hair and let it become its natural puffiness it always was. Any noble that caught her now would’ve been appalled, but Pinkie was thankful for shedding the weight. She then kicked off her heeled shoes and wiggled her toes. All in all, she felt free to do whatever she wanted.

Approaching the door, she opened it ajar and poked out to look down the hall. Most of the guards were standing nearby doors, quite close to each other, while one man simply patrolled up and down. Pinkie scowled, biting her lip. There had to be some way around. Vents or something!

Then another bright idea entered her head. She shut the door and put a finger to her ear. Spike would know the place like the back of his hand!

“Drake!” she whispered into her comm. “Is there any sneaky places a girl like me can use? Past guards and stuff?”

“Sneaky?” he repeated. The party-goer could hear Spike swallow nervously on the line. “...Party, should I ask what you’re doing?”

“Juuuuuust Me stuff!” she happily replied, nodding as if Spike was in the room with her.

“Where at?” Spike asked. “You’re not in the basement, are you?”

“Nuh-huh! I think I’m near Blueblood’s room.” Pinkie let out a little gasp, realizing something. “You Party promise to keep this secret, okay? It’s just... something I gotta do, okay?”

The man paused once more. “Will this affect the mission?”

“Not if I pull it off right. Um...” Pinkie scratched her cheek. “Think about it like I’m a guardian angel or something! I’m not actively messing about, but if I get caught, I will do.”

He sighed. “Let me see...” Pinkie could hear Spike humming chipperly on the other end. “Ah. The servant's quarters has a ventilation shaft you could squeeze through. It leads across the ceiling--once you get there, I can easily guide you to Blueblood’s room.” He paused again. “Where, exactly, are you at now?”

“Just went up the main stairs, turned left and hid in a little room full of sheets.” Pinkie rubbed her arm, starting to sweat. “It’s kind of hot in here. I saw guards down the hall before I went in though.”

“One second...OK. When you leave, go right across the stairwell and enter the doors straight across. From there, round a corner and it’ll be the second door on your right.”

“Okey dokey lokey! Thanks, Drake!” She was about to put her door on the handle when she stopped and looked back at her dress, lying on the floor. “Can you do me another quick favor? Please?”

“What is it?”

“Tell Gems I had to leave the dress behind, ‘cause it’s really awkward to be stealthy in,” Pinkie said, bending down and picking up the dress, only to stuff it in between the sheets to obscure it. “And say that I’m really sorry, but also grateful that she made it for me.”

There was a moment of silence where it seemed like Spike was talking to someone else, followed by a loud, “Whaaaat?!”

Pinkie thought that was odd. It almost sounded like Rarity was coming through Spike’s radio--but that couldn’t be right, could it?

The tirade continued. “Does she know how much time I spent on those individual candies, getting them to look just right, just like the real thing! And ano--”

Spike’s voice cut in hurriedly. “O-O-OK, Party, I’ll l-let her know. Keep in radio silence unless you absolutely have to. No idea what sort of security Blueblood will run in his personal apartments. But I’ll be here if you need me, roger?”

Pinkie couldn’t help but giggle at Spike’s last question, despite Rarity’s rage. “Silly Drake. My callsign is Party, not Roger! But I read you loud and clear! Party--not Roger--out!”

Pinkie removed her fingers from her ear piece and put them around the door knob. A quick turn of her wrist and the door was open. She slipped through, turned right and went through the double doors.

She crouched down, hiding behind the banister, which thankfully didn’t have any gaps in it. She raised herself only slightly, peeking over. The attendant was at the base of the stairs again, although he would never think to look behind him. Pinkie seized the pretty wide opportunity she had and crept across the stairs, entering the right wing of the manor.

She closed the door behind her, not making too much noise. Sure enough, Spike was right. The hallway was less grand than the one she was in prior and it turned right so there was only one corner for Pinkie to go around. Once she did that, it would be the second door on her right.

Pinkie went on her tiptoes and crept round to the corner. She peeked out from it and looked ahead. Clear. Seems Blueblood didn’t care much for the security of his servants. She shrugged and swiftly went to the correct door.

When she entered what was within, she only found another hall, although this one was simpler and wider than the others. Plain, wooden doors were on the walls, which Pinkie assumed were the servant’s rooms. She gave the room a once-over and went to the first door on her left.

When she got in, she found a small, square room that was very dull in design. It had cream walls and a brown carpet, a single but rather big wardrobe and two bunk beds. Oh, and a young, freckled servant was lying on one of the bottom bunks, reading one of those dirty magazines Pinkie found Dash reading once.

There was an awkward silence as both parties stared at each other.

“Uh...” The man glanced from his magazine to Pinkie. “I didn’t think we were getting entertainment...um...” He speedily hid the magazine under his pillow, blushing.

Pinkie glanced over the uniform the servant was wearing and hatched another brilliant idea. “I need your boots, your clothes, and--” She looked over to the bedside table. “Ooo! Is that a cookie?!”

“Er, yeah, it is. Have it.” The man pointed to the snack, still looking at Pinkie, who quickly went over and gobbled it up. “So... are you gonna do something to me?”

Pinkie wiped the crumbs from around her mouth. “Oh, yeah. We’re gonna have a real fun time,” she said with a sultry grin. At first glance, she didn’t seem like the type of woman to know about the art of seduction. That wasn’t the case, it was simply that she never had to use it before. Dash’s phone was a pretty good resource for smutty stuff anyway.

She giggled, then sat on the man’s stomach. He gulped. “Um, what are you...” She started unbuttoning his shirt. “O-Okay, guess we’re doing this.”

“Yep,” Pinkie replied, undoing his belt and loosening his pants. She then placed a hand on his chest and leant closer to him. “Time to play.”

The servant couldn’t help but smile as he felt Pinkie’s warm breath upon his lips. “W-Wow, I think I’ll like this game...”

“Oh, you will,” Pinkie said, voice laced with seduction. She brought her lips closer and then...

“HIYAH!!”

The man blinked, staring up at Pinkie in surprise. “Wait, wha--”

He was cut off by Pinkie’s forehead coming down and colliding hard with his own. He went out like a light.

Pinkie groaned, rubbing her head. The impact was pretty hard but she knew the throbbing pain would pass. She looked over the unconscious servant. “Okey dokey lokey, time to change.”

She quickly took off the man’s clothes, except his underwear, and put them on. Luckily they were close to her size, although the belt did help. Slipping on his shoes, she looked at him, tapping her chin in thought.

“Hmm... what to do with you, mister?” She glanced around the room, brightening up when she saw the wardrobe. “Binga banga bingo!”

She gently picked up the knocked out guy and managed, with some effort, to stuff him into the wardrobe and shut the doors. “Phew! Okay, mister, have a good nap!”

That out of the way, Pinkie confidently stepped out of the room. As long as she kept her head down, she would probably be able to slip by unnoticed. She inspected herself. The shoes rubbed against her feet a little, being a bit loose. She was wearing a black waistcoat, with a white shirt and a red bowtie. The black trousers were a little big, so she had to raise them a bit under her shirt so she didn’t seem suspicious. Her disguise would do.

She opened the door ajar and passed through, peering about. Luckily enough, she found the ventilation shaft--near the door at the end of the room. Casually, she walked up to it and tried to pull the grate off.

“Nrrgh!” The grate budged, but did not escape from its bounds. Pinkie rubbed her sore fingers, frowning. “That thing is stuck tight... Hmm...” She checked her trouser pockets and got out a rusted coin. It would do. Using the coin, she undid the bolts on the grate. It took a while, and her hands got sweaty and tired from the effort, but eventually the grate came loose. Pinkie scuttled in, remembering to put the grate back on behind her so everything looked okay.

The space was tight and a cool breeze blew through the metal passageways. She slowly crawled, even her careful movements making quiet thuds on the metal. The vent went straight up, so she had to squeeze and squirm her way up, her joints aching from the pressure being put on them. She felt like toothpaste coming out of a tube.

Once she was on top, she had two options: left or right. She went left, because that’s where all the guards were. Hopefully the vent would take her across the stairs and right to them. Well, above them.

As she crawled along, she heard a few voices from the rooms below. None of them were Chylene’s or Blueblood’s, and all were talking about boring, casual stuff. Disregarding them, she soldiered onwards.

*-*-*-*-*

Chylene walked through the long halls of Blueblood’s mansion. Finally alone, everything was quiet, but she was no less uneasy. She kept looking down at the floor, ignoring all the grand decor around, simply thinking.

Could she do this? Well, she had to, didn’t she? Blueblood chose her...but what if he chose her because he knew she would fail? How much did he know? Not much, surely? Yet, if he did know their plan and was summoning her alone...

“No!” she whispered to herself, stopping. “I can’t think like that. Think of the positives...”

Except there were none. Not for herself, anyway. This wasn’t about her. Much bigger things were at stake here.

And they all rested upon her shoulders.

She let out a terrified squeak, not taking another step forward. There was only one thing she could do now. The thing she had always done, ever since she was a child. Close her eyes and escape it all, just for a little while.

She saw her friends, each of them crystal clear in her mind, one at a time.

Twila. She had learned so much ever since she moved to Mansfield and met everyone. Now? She was irreplaceable. She was the glue that bound everyone together. And all the details in the planning too.

Spike. A real trier. The pepper to Twila’s salt. A gentlemen, but still finding himself. Sincere, above all.

Pinkie. She had confidence in truck loads. Always cared for others, but rarely for herself. A source of inspiration, every day.

Rarity. Generosity and beauty incarnate, and not just on the outside. Different from everyone else, but a part of the group all the same.

Jack. Strong, just like all her family. Dependable above all. She wouldn’t let any of her friends down. Ever.

And Isabelle. She had stuck by Chylene ever since she was first dropped off at that orphanage. She stood up for her against the other kids and provided something that Chy really needed at the time: a friend. She had her faults--everyone did--but she was one of the most loyal people she knew.

With a deep breath, Chylene opened her eyes. Now, she was ready. Maybe not completely, but more so than ever before. Now she knew who she was doing this for. Not herself, not even the country, but her friends.

She slowly started walking again and reached Blueblood within minutes.

Her instructions at the base of the stairs had been clear. Up, through the large double doors that stood open, then straight down to the far side of the house. Blueblood’s room took up most of the far side, high up on the hill, overlooking the city below. When she arrived at the door--it was thick with golden trim, so she was pretty sure it was his--she was to knock twice, then await to be summoned. No matter how long it took.

Chylene brought a trembling hand to the door and softly knocked twice. After a couple of minutes, there was no response, so she repeated herself, a little more forceful this time.

Again no response. Another minute, another minute. Now that Chy had readied herself, she wanted to begin. What was Blueblood waiting for? Was this another trick like he used with the guests before the ball started? Well, she wasn’t going to fall for it.

She raised her hand, ready to try again, when the door opened about halfway, revealing another servant. He was an older man; much, much older. The little of his hair left was white with age, and his posture was impeccably straight. Yet there was some wear around his eyes, though they were sharp, even a little angry, to denote his stance was one developed from years of correction and harsh beratement.

A long time family servant, perhaps? she thought to herself. Opening her mouth to speak, he interrupted her with a sharp, “Your instructions were to knock twice once and wait. The master’s demands are very specific and not to be ignored.” His voice was stronger than his age would suggest--his enunciation precise, even. But a little forced, as if here he was trying too hard to assert his authority, as anywhere else he’d have none.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir! I just thought that maybe you didn’t hear me knock the first time, but if you did I’m very sorry!” Chylene squeaked, beginning to shuffle behind the door so she could hide.

Opening the door the rest of the way, the servant--butler, Chy corrected--gave her a measured look. He tsked to himself, then said, “Well, I see why you were chosen.” Suddenly, he barked, “Stand up straight, stop hunching those shoulders! And for the love of God, cease your incessant squirreling and fidgeting!”

Chylene shot up, standing straight like a frightened rabbit. “Yes, sir!” Fear of getting reprimanded by the butler overpowered all urges to fidget and retreat.

“Better. Better,” he said quietly, nodding slowly. “Inside, have a seat anywhere. I’ll go alert the master.” With that, he turned and headed through a door across the room.

Chylene crept in, her steps small, and made her way over to one of the seats near a roaring fireplace. The seat she chose was the least lavish one, but in truth all of them were.

For all the rooms she had seen, this was the smallest, only a little larger than the bottom floor of her cottage. Perhaps Blueblood, despite his upbringing and attitude, still felt that a certain moderation created a more homely feeling. Beyond the chair she sat in, there were two others facing the fireplace. A couch, facing the opposite way, was behind them. Three walls were mostly covered by bookshelves. A chilling bottle of wine set the scene, so much like many she had read in books borrowed from Rarity.

Chylene wasn’t sure she cared to be the heroine in one of those sort of books. She sat upright in her chair, hands on her knees, waiting for the man of the hour to arrive. What was taking him so long? Did he have something special planned for her? She certainly hoped not.

A small clock on the mantle chimed out the hour. It reminded Chy of how late it was--she wasn’t usually one to stay up much beyond nine or ten, most nights--and she yawned.

“Does my company bore you so much so quickly?” a voice from behind her said.

She turned in her chair quickly to find Blueblood standing next to a shelf, an open book in his hands. Turning again, she saw the door that led to the hallway on one end and the door to what she assumed was the bedroom on the other. Had she been that distracted that she hadn’t seen him come through the door?

“Oh, no no!” Chylene said quickly, standing up and giving Blueblood a little bow. “It’s just quite late, that’s all.”

He closed the book with a snap, replacing it on the shelf. For a moment, he stood there, simply looking at her. Offhandedly, he said, “For some. Let me ask you this--do you know why I’ve called you here?”

Chylene began fidgeting, but quickly stopped herself before answering. “I’m not really s-sure, sir.”

He nodded. “That’s good, you know your place. But you could hardly be so naive...?” He was more talking to himself. “Or perhaps so. It hardly matters.” He started pacing the room, slowly, as he spoke. “I’m going to try something new. You see, I’ve become bored with this game. So we’ll play by some more common rules.” He stopped, looking at her. “This is how it goes, isn’t it? We talk, we learn, before the end? That’s right, isn’t it, Chylene... Chylene...” He was waving a hand, offering to her to fill the blank.

“Hutchison, sir,” Chylene answered politely.

“Just so. Sit,” he commanded, walking towards a nearby chair. “And I suppose talk.”

Chylene sat back down in her chair straight away, giving Blueblood all of her attention. Was she supposed to say something? She figured that if he started the conversation, it’d be easier to sound invested in him.

She was silent the entire time it took him to sit. Then she saw his face showed annoyance, and he snapped, “I said talk!” It wasn’t quite a yell, he didn’t raise his voice. Simply impatience.

Chylene flinched very slightly. “Oh, um...” She had to think on the spot here. She needed to say something that would actually interest Blueblood... “Uh, you’re looking very handsome today, sir,” she said, with a nice, although fake, smile.

He waved a hand, dismissing the fake compliment. “Pleasing, but part of the same game. Boring. There’ll be time to admire and remark upon my many magnificent traits in due time.” Despite his words, Chy could see he did enjoy the remark. He went on. “I should clarify--not all of us can have the gifted distinction of attending the Royal Academy in our youth. When I say ‘talk’, I mean ‘converse’. Whatever it is you and your folk talk about. Normal, I suppose one would say.”

Chylene swallowed and racked her brain for ideas. She couldn’t come up with anything good. “Um... well to do that, I’d really need to know more about you.”

Blueblood’s face was stoic for a moment, before cracking into laughter. At first Chy took this as a good sign, but his laugh was...unsettling, as if he wasn’t used to the act. It stuttered, rising in intensity and pitch, then lowering, back and forth in jagged, unpredictable waves. It was too fast, like a child’s laugh, ignorant of the depths and meanings of a true, joyous laugh.

Chylene wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. “...what’s so funny?” she asked, without being defensive. “Is it me? Am I funny?”

He raised a hand as the laugh subsided. “It’s simply--hehehe--simply too hilarious. Strilv insisted I try to let my women talk to me, tell me about themselves. Yet here you are, still so captivated and curious you must ask about me. Inevitable, I told him, yet he insisted. But of course, it turns out I was right all along.”

In his words, Chylene saw an opportunity. “Well, of course you are! It’s obvious that you would know such fine etiquette.”

Leaning forward with a smile, he began working on the bottle of wine as he said, “Indeed I do. Fine, let it not be said I’m not considerate of my consort’s wishes. But, perhaps I’ll combine as much with Strilv’s advice. Questions--I’m sure you have some. Ask them.”

So many possibilities were at Chylene’s grasp, but she had to take the right ones. “What are your interests? Maybe we have something in common, which would be nice, would it not?” she said with a smile, that was actually genuine.

He made a noncommittal sound as he finished pouring two glasses of the wine. Handing one over for her, he took a sip on his own. His brow furrowed a bit in thought.

“I like what any man of sophistication and worth can enjoy, I suppose. The nighttime visits of an opera or classical Torani theatre.” He swirled the glass as he thought. “Many of my friends tried to convince me to visit the latest so called night clubs--but they’re open to all. Hardly fit for someone like myself with such tasteful requirements.” Taking another sip, he asked, “You mentioned reading stories about people--biographies. Tell me, have you read my own?”

Chylene shuffled in her seat. “Oh... I’m afraid not, sorry. Might you have a copy to spare?”

“You wouldn’t have time to even skim it. Our evening is somewhat limited, and it’s a fairly difficult read.” He stood up and took a spot next to the fireplace, leaning one hand on the mantle. “So, Miss Hutchinson, how does a rare soul like yourself becoming trapped in a lonesome little hole like Mansfield?”

“Uh...” Turning away slightly, she scratched her leg. “I was adopted.”

Nodding as if that explained everything, Blueblood simply said, “Go on.”

She hesitated. Above all, she wanted to keep her parents safe. If this all went badly, and she and her friends got caught... family would be next. “It’s not something I like to dwell on, sir...”

“I completely understand,” he said, taking an uncomfortably close seat next to her. “It would be hard coming from such rough and uncivilized beginnings. That you’ve come so far--dined at both Orleith castle and the Crystal Manor in the north, not to mention your personal invite at my own will--shows your inner quality. So rare to see someone rise above their common station, unlike certain tailors who will remain nameless.”

Chylene tried to inconspicuously move away from him. “That tailor isn’t as bad as some may think...”

“Well, some think better than others,” he replied flatly. “This is dull, a waste of time. We should just get on with it, shouldn’t we?” He raised an eyebrow as he saw her full glass. “Aren’t you going to drink?”

“Uh, ‘get on with it’?” She coughed awkwardly “And, um, I don’t drink alcohol.”

“Maybe not.” He still seemed to be halfway talking to himself. He stood up again, walking to one of the bookshelves, sliding one hand along the books until he stopped and stroked the spine of a particularly hefty volume. “I didn’t make you. I could have, but I chose not to. So why...” He paused, licking his lips. “Why did you come?”

She refrained from shrugging. It wasn’t a proper gesture, after all. “Because it’s polite to do so,” she replied, trying to sound sure of herself, but her voice wobbled at the end.

“Polite. Polite... That’s better than most, if I’m to be honest.” He continued to lazily trail along the books in front of him, his tone wistful. “If I’m to be honest, that’s perhaps the best reason anyone has ever had. I’m...not well liked, you know. Few people would come here of their own will, let alone for any selfless reason.”

Chylene rose from her chair. She blinked. Why had she done that? Shaking her head, she then said, “Perhaps if you gave them a chance and... let them be them?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” he snapped, turning to her. “They don’t like me as they are. Even my friends are more through business or family. So really, why are you here? Being polite? No. That’s not it. That could never be it.” He turned back to his books, his last few words being only just above a whisper.

Carefully, she took a few steps closer to him. She saw an opportunity here for a new ally. Maybe even a double agent. The Tyrant would never suspect a thing. “I can be a friend,” she offered.

“Could you? Would you?” he asked mockingly with a heavy scoffing laugh. “I’m not quite so sure. Others have promised as much. Not one has followed through.”

Chylene twitched. He wanted that offer, she knew it. So she heeded Rarity’s advice and turned on her heel, folding her arms. “Well... if you don’t want it...” She tried to sound firm, but her unsureness gave her the effect of being his superior. Like she was a parent dealing with a stubborn child.

A shocked look in his face, Blueblood sputtered, disbelieving, “You mock me!” Cautiously, he added, “Or is that a joke? You’re...serious?”

“I’m giving you the option, Mr. Blueblood,” Chylene replied. At least, turned away from him, she could bite her lip.

He said nothing for a full minute, then two, the silence stretching on.

Finally, he replied, “Maybe... Maybe you are different.”

Getting the Goods

Jack ran the displays with Isabelle, each trying to ignore the pounding at the shutters, each grabbing small trinkets and jewelry from the cases. They stuffed them into their pockets--Rarity had expertly hidden pockets in places neither women realized they even had--and ignored the larger pieces for now. With neither having much of an idea on what larger pieces were worth, they hunted for easy money before having to resort to Spike giving them a history lesson and guiding them through the heavier goods.

After a few minutes of this, Jack glanced over the displays and decided to bite the bullet. “Drake.”

The reply was steady, but relief filled Spike’s voice. “Reading you, Stetson. Damn connection won’t hold between all the channels since I moved. I’m having to retune and drop a couple every now and then. Thank God, you and Bolt are both OK, though... Right?”

“Oh yeah, fine, Drake. Not like we’re dealin’ with Goddamn zombies and shit,” Isabelle dryly spat out.

Silence, but then, “Oh...uh... Sorr--did you say zombies?! N-nobody’s been bit, right?”

“Fer the love of...” Jack trailed off, putting a hand to her temple. “They ain’t no zombies--it’s like they’re crazies or somethin’. Tons of ‘em poundin’ at the door. It’s why I was askin’ ‘bout a weapon earlier.” The farmer glanced across the room--Pip had finally risen from the corner he had commandeered and was meekly walking back towards the two women. “Yer gonna have ta give us some directions on what ta grab here--we got the featherweight stuff, but I ain’t got a damn clue what else ta get, ya know, aside from the stones.”

“Well, those are priority one--all six should be kept together in a reinforced travel case a little larger than a suitcase.” Spike’s voice turned huffy. “If you ask me, you all should have just kept them in the first place.”

“World was different then. We could trust people more,” Jack said. She scanned the room. There, just above the bench Isabelle sat at earlier was an indentation with an ornate golden seal. A sparkling rising sun over an emerald field--Celestia’s royal symbol.

“Fair enough,” Spike replied as she approached the seal. “Good news on priority two, though.”

“Wuzzat?” Jack asked, grabbing the case. She looked it over, frowning at the locked latches and combination lock. She gave it a few spins in thought.

“While the Somani islands will no doubt side with us, there’s one in particular that’s home to an old militaristic cult, despite their peaceful culture. They’ve never been our biggest fans. Books’ recommended bargaining chip? King Pyth’s sword, gifted as a symbol of unification and peace between the Somani and Torani ages ago.”

The farmer grumbled for a moment, testing the latches. Secured. “Then I’d best get that damn thing outta the wall.” She gave another spin at the combination lock, this time listening intently for clicks.

Spike choked out, “T-the wall?! How did y--” He stopped. “Nevermind. OK, next will be a bit problematic. It’s the clothing-slash-armor of an infamous Kvaat pirate, caught, tried, and executed by the royal family. Over in Kvaan, she is instead seen as something of a martyr. Giving that to them should secure their loyalties in our favor.”

“Yeah. That’s what we need--we need to deal with the fuckin’ Kvaats,” Isabelle complained, but began her hunt for the armor despite her words. Jack scowled, trying a combination once again, to no avail.

“No one can compare to their naval might--or match the Kvaan marines,” Spike explained. “They’ve hundreds of years or more of quick raids and pillaging experience. Admittedly, it’s been on us. Because of this, most of Torani’s military is near the coast. They’ll be invaluable to stop the Tyrant’s troops. Plus,” he added, “even though tensions always run a little high between us and them, we’ve not technically been at war with them for thirty years.”

“I’ve never been a technically girl, Drake. You’re either with us, or against us. No other fucking way around it.” Dash said, quickly skimming over the cases. She let out a grunt of approval on finding a threadbare leather chestpiece with Kvaan’s royal symbol--a trio of gilded feathers. It was light, with little thought for actual safety save the vitals. All of one piece, where it wasn’t armor it was thick, probably wool cloth, dyed a rusty brown.

“Ain’t the best way ta run a war, sug,” Jack commented, frowning intently at the combination lock. With a shrug, she grabbed one of the latches and tugged as hard as she could against it. There was a loud pop, and the case became slightly ajar. “I sure ain’t proud enough ta reject any help I can get nowadays.” She grunted and pulled up, busting the lock on the other latch. Afterwards, she dug her fingers at the corner of the case and lifted once more, snapping the locking mechanism.

With a laugh, Spike said, “If I’m remembering the details right, it may just fit you, Bolt.”

She looked over the short bottom of the armor piece and the deep, plunging neckline. “Damn thing would end just below my butt. No thanks,” Isabelle dismissed, throwing the armor over her forearm.

“Oh yeah! Apparently the captain used that to distract and infuriate her enemies. All’s fair, love, war, right? Let’s see...” The young man made a few thoughtful noises. “A tribal headdress, best get that. It was stolen a few months back and is being used as more or less blackmail over the Western Confederacy.”

“All sorta damn clothes,” Jack commented. She flipped over the case and grinned as Spike continued his list for Isabelle.

It had been a while since she’d last seen them--a couple of years, in fact. The queen had presented them to Jack and the others, rewards from the crown due to ‘exemplary service above and beyond the call of duty, protecting not only the queen herself but the monarchy and stability of Torani’ or something of the sort. They’d humbly accepted them, then allowed the precious national treasure to be taken back for safekeeping.

She reached in and pulled out her own. It was a massive orange topaz, filling almost half of Jack’s hands. The others--Rarity’s amethyst, Pinkie’s sapphire, Dash’s ruby, Chy’s pink diamond, and Twila’s red emerald--were just as impressively large. They’d all been set in gold before, Jack remembered, but Blueblood had probably removed them and sold it off.

But of course, he’d never have been able to just sell the stones themselves. Jack didn’t know the details, but she did know they were the subject of much legend and folklore in her country’s history. The stone itself almost seemed heavier than its size would suggest, weighted as it was with symbolic significance and history for all of Torani.

“I, uh, got the stones, Drake,” she said, a little breathlessly.

“Hey, kid,” Isabelle called out towards Pip, who seemed to be stuck in a daze. “Kid,” she repeated.

He snapped to attention. “S-sorry,” he mumbled, looking away from the woman.

Isabelle lowered her voice, taking on a rarely used gentleness. “That, uh, your first time?”

His wafer-thin conviction broke; his eyes watered, and he put his palm to his forehead. “It was horrible,” he choked out, grimacing hard.

“Yeah, kid. I know,” she quietly agreed, staring hard at the boy. “You’re less reluctant to do it after a while, but it never gets easy. Even when they are fuckin’ like...” The woman trailed off, glancing toward the shutter. “Do you know why they’re like that?”

“N-no ma’am.” He shook his head.

“Did they do anything you didn’t?” Isabelle asked, putting a considering hand to her chin.

“Nothing that I can--” He suddenly gasped. “Wait!” He pointed a finger up. “Most’a the lot of ‘em were having a pint or two before we got here, maybe...”

“Maybe it was drugged?” Dash finished. “Not bad, kid. But what kind of Goddamn drug could do something like--”

“Indignation,” Spike said over the coms, interrupting the woman.

Isabelle paused, thinking. “I had a few years on the streets, and I’ve never heard of that.”

“What?” Pip asked. Dash waved him away for a moment, pointing to her ear.

“It’s a natural-growing Kvaan drug with a long history, and its import, export and use are all punishable by death. Even smugglers don’t bother establishing a trade with it, if that says something.”

“It does,” Dash agreed, crossing her arms. “So it makes people feral?”

“Very much so. There’s a reason Kvaan has been able to overpower even Somini might on occasion throughout history--most of their frontline soldiers didn’t feel pain.”

Jack shook her head. “Any way we can jus’ wait their, uh, ‘buzz’ out?”

“If you had about twelve hours to kill.”

“Oh.”

“Guess we’re shooting our way out,” Dash grunted.

“With what bullets?” Jack countered.

“I’ve got...” Pip ejected the clip from Isabelle’s pistol. “Four bullets left.”

“An’ mine?”

“Full chamber. That’s it,” Isabelle said with a heated tsk.

Jack ran a thumb over her nose and looked over the area once more. “Guess we’re jus’ gonna have ta crack some skulls on our way out.”

Dash snorted. “Saying it like it’s no fuckin’ deal, shit.”

“It ain’t. We push through with what we got--there’s no other option.”

Isabelle spared a look over to Pip. “Some of us don’t have forty pounds and a good half-a-foot on people, Stetson.”

“I’ll cover you guys. We’re jus’ gonna have ta try.”

Isabelle sighed, looking over the racks. “Pip, I’m counting on you to haul what we’ve got ou--”

“Why are you tossin’ me into your lot? That’s right maddening!” Pip quickly replied. “I’m part of the guard!”

“In that case, we should just fucking shoot you,” Dash replied matter-of-factly, waving the hand canon. Pip’s eyes widened.

“Bolt!” Jack snapped in anger. She approached the young man and squatted to face level with him. “Don’t mind her. She’s jus’...” The farmer spared a glance over at Dash. “Jus’ tired. We all are.” She mulled her words over, putting a hand on his shoulder. “But we’re gonna need yer help, Pip. We’re doin’ this fer a good reason. I swear on my family’s name.” She scratched at her nose through her mask. “Remember a few years back, when Princess Luna came ta Mansfield for Nocturn?”

His eyes widened. “How did you--”

“Don’t matter right now, Pip. Jus’ follow. Do ya remember?”

“Y-yes.” He nodded.

“You were dressed up like a pirate--did ya think of yerself as a badguy then?”

“No.”

“What ya think of yerself as?”

Pip paused, his cheeks reddening some. “A feller fightin’ a wicked regime--if’n we’re talkin’ about me fantasy.”

“Well, this ain’t no game, but we’re doin’ jus’ that.” He opened his mouth to argue; Jack rose her hand up to stop him. “Might not look like it on the outside, but inside’s more rotten than a cornstalk with an earworm eatin’ at it.”

“Damn straight,” Isabelle agreed. “We’re not doing this shit to just get our rocks off, kid. I love this country maybe even more than you do. But if it doesn’t get patched up, its guts are gonna slip right through its fucking fingers.”

“So you two are...?”

“The good guys. As close as we can be, anyway,” Jack said. She stared hard at the lad. ‘Come on, Pip. Are ya willing ta trust us?”

“I... I...” The boy sighed, rubbing wearily at his eye. “Bloody hell, if they’re druggin’ their own men like that... I’m in.”

“Good. Izzy, toss him yer stuff.” Jack scanned the walls, her sights setting on a large and heavy fire extinguisher. “Drake?”

“Yes?” the young man replied though their earpieces.

“Open the shutters. We’re goin’ through.”

*-*-*-*-*

A small smile was present on Chylene’s face as she continued to make conversation with Blueblood. She felt that she was really breaking through, seeing the true person that dwelled inside him: a lonely soul, craving honest attention.

A soul that just needed a little understanding. A little kindness.

Though he’d been awkward at first, Chy’s honest reactions and interest helped pull him out from his defensive shell of snobbishness and self-deluded naivete. Well. At least a little.

Even compared to Chylene, who preferred to not go much further from home than into Mansfield itself, Blueblood was incredibly limited in his social life. The city was spacious, true, but largely homogenous. People like he and his friends tended to have a single, unchanging routine.

He peppered Chylene with questions on anything she did that was out of the ordinary, on the places she had been able to go with her friends. But though he was interested, it was interest coated with a layer of amusement for her ‘quaint’ adventures. The man continued to only care for anything when he could relate it to--and preferably center it around--himself.

As well, this wasn’t helping her find anything on the List, and the night was running out fast. Chylene looked at the regal clock on the wall, biting her lip. “So, um, how about you show off your lovely and treasured possessions?” She batted her eyelids.

He blinked once, twice, then his eyes lit up with excitement. “I’m all for it if you are, Miss Hutchinson--though I was so enjoying the conversation.” He looked over at the same clock she had. “Oh damn, is it getting so late? You’re right. We’ll run out of time if we hold off, and we wouldn’t want to miss this opportunity, would we?”

Chylene smiled, nodding her head eagerly. “Oh yes, we should go right away!”

Rubbing his hands together, he stood, saying, “Very well! In that case, let me slip into the other room and prepare something that will no doubt shake you to your very core!” His steps quick, he retreated past the far door, where she assumed his bedroom must be located. She slid up to the door, then rested her head against it and tried to listen in.

Unsure exactly what she was listening for, all she could hear was soft rustling and Blueblood’s fidgeting about the room. The occasional curse followed louder thumpings--had he fallen down in there? Or perhaps...perhaps he was rooting through some secret compartment in his room!

She chewed on her finger, her feet turning inward as she started to shake. Her mind teetered on the line between ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t’. A few seconds later, she made her choice, grasping the door knob with a trembling hand and opening it just ajar, peering through.

Moving her eye left and right, she scanned what she could of the room--it was a bedroom, as she figured. The large four-poster, draped with an expensive looking comforter and piled high with thick pillows, was all she could really see. Blueblood was either too far left or right, and the room was too dark to make out much detail.

Her heart racing, she gambled for a larger opening, pushing the door slowly inward. Another inch, then a second. Satisfied and too nervous to risk more, she went to look again when the door slammed shut suddenly. She jumped back, letting out a little yelp.

From the other side came Blueblood’s amused voice. “Now now, patience. I understand your eagerness, but good things to those who wait, yes? Just a moment longer!”

“Um...okay then!” she replied, fiddling with her fingers.

The room was eerily silent, save for the gentle breath of air from an overhead vent and the light tick-tock of the clock. What in Elondrie’s name was he doing?

In what seemed like an endless moment, nothing happened. Then, finally, Blueblood called, “I’m coming out--prepare yourself, Miss Hutchinson! Few are granted the honor of what you’re about to see.”

Chy had no idea what he meant--was it the List? Some other priceless Blueblood family heirloom?

The door swung in, quickly enough to make her jump.

There, centered in the doorway and impossible to miss, was Blueblood, seeming to give his best “Ta-da!” pose. What was also impossible to miss, much to Chylene’s distress, was his being nearly naked.

Blueblood’s body was just above being healthy. While he wasn’t quite fat, except for the beginnings of a pudgy gut, neither was he toned. His skin was the same: pale, just bordering on being an unhealthy pasty color. This emphasized his only remaining clothing, his black boxers, strongly--worsening the obviousness of his erection.

“Sorry to keep you waiting--are you ready to begin?” he asked, his eyes shining eagerly, his fingers clenching in anticipation.

Chylene quickly stumbled back, holding out a hand to stop Blueblood’s advance. “Mr. B-Blueblood! Wha-what is the m-meaning of this?!” she stuttered out, her eyes wide and her legs just barely able to keep her standing.

The man stepped forward, arms extended, expression looking somewhat hurt. “The meaning? Why, this is the entire purpose of tonight! And for the first time...” His voice cracked slightly, breaking from emotion. “For the first time, I don’t have to take it, to trick it out of you. Not with bribes or drugs or drink.” Holding out one sweaty palm, almost desperately, towards her, he asked, “Come to me, friend?”

“Friends d-don’t do that!” Chylene cried, starting to backpedal away from the man, staring into his desperate eyes. He almost looked hungry.

“Don’t? Don’t?” His voice was growing angry, his steps took on a menacing, predatory advance. “So you just led me on, like some idiotic sheep? You knew why you were here!” he shouted.

Chylene instinctively lowered herself, shielding her face with her hand. “No! No, I didn’t mean it like--”

She had been too slow. Blueblood lunged, managing to grab her arm in a painful grip. She tugged back, but found herself stuck in his grasp, staring right into that malicious glare of his, interlaced with a monstrous and disgusting lust.

And that sight alone made something inside of her snap.

She would not be used as a mere toy. She was far better than that; Pinkie had told her so earlier. It seemed that words weren’t enough to teach Blueblood a lesson--action was needed. She bared her teeth, letting out a low growl, before swinging her free arm and giving the man a hard slap on the cheek.

There was a moment’s pause, then he slowly turned to look back at her, rage and disbelief plain on his face. He brought one shaking hand up to his cheek, wincing as he tenderly explored the reddening skin.

“Y-you... You-- You hit me! You hit me! You hit me, you bitch!” he roared. “No one defies a Blueblood!” Madness and fury filled the nobleman, his mouth frothing as it curled into a snarl. With a cry, he moved forward, a fist raised back and aimed for her head.

It all happened in a blur. Blueblood’s fist came down towards Chylene’s face, who was giving him a steely-eyed glare. She dodged to the side, Blueblood’s limb flying past her. He had lunged forward, giving her the opportunity to grab hold of his golden locks. She tensed her hand. Then pulled.

He didn’t have much time to yell, for a second later, Chylene’s knee rammed itself into his gonads. She felt something solid give way to soft weakness. A small shove on his shoulder was all that was needed to bring him down onto his back.

Almost instantly he curled into himself, both hands going, too late, to defend his vulnerable privates. His mouth opened, but all that escaped was a wheezy, high pitched whine that faded into a breathless scream.

There was a creak. Then a loud clang! Directly above Blueblood fell a metal grate, along with Pinkie, jutting out her elbow so that it landed directly on his gut, knocking both the wind out of him and his consciousness. “Take that,you big dumb meanie!”

Chylene stood there, breathing deeply, still scowling. Her body shook with each breath, her fists clenched.

Diane looked up at her, then flinched. “Chylene...?”

All the rage and adrenaline that coursed through Chy’s veins started to disappear. Her form relaxed, then twitched nervously, as she took in quick, panicked breaths. Her hands went up to cover her mouth, as she stared at Blueblood in horror.

Pinkie was by her side in an instant, wrapping her arms around her and holding her close. “It’s okay, Chy. It’s me--I’m here.”

A shuddered breath came out of Chylene, her whole body shaking with it. She leaned into Diane, burying her face in her friend’s shoulder. “I-I need a--can we j-just...?”

“That sounds good to me!” Pinkie squeezed her gently, then the two started rocking with each other. Chylene sniffed a few times, but kept herself from outright tearing up. After another squeeze, Pinkie gave her a grin. “You did it, Chy!”

Chylene blinked, scratching at the corner of her mouth. “I did...?”

“Yeah!” Pinkie pointed at the unconscious Blueblood. “You knocked snobby meanie pants out, so now we can look through his stuff for the List!”

Chylene nodded, her gaze lingering on the man. “You go and get started. I still need a moment...”

“Okey dokey lokey,” Pinkie said, her voice soft. She walked into the bedroom, looking back at Chy and keeping the door open.

Chylene just stared at Blueblood’s unconscious frame, frowning slightly. The anger and fear had subsided within her, replaced by entirely new feelings. He could have been an ally, but the poor man was far too gone, lost in his own ego. He was beyond help. It saddened her.

A giggle-snort from the other room snapped Chylene out of it. Pinkie stood in the doorway, holding onto the wall, something in her hand. “Omigosh, Chy, you gotta see this!” Raising her hand, she waved about a comic book. The cover depicted Blueblood standing tall, one leg on a rock so that his knee was raised, his hand holding a golden, ornate spear. The Extraordinary and Marvellous Adventures of Sir Blueblood was the title.

Pinkie took in a deep breath, then resumed her giggling. “Hehehehe, it’s just so silly! In it, he fights all these monsters and then kisses a whole load of women and it’s just--hahahahaha!!!”

“Pinkie,” Chylene said. Her voice was quiet, but had an edge of authority to it. Diane stopped her laughing, eyes fully open. “Have you found the List?”

Pinkie looked away, rolling up the comic and tucking it away. “No... I’ll keep looking.” She retreated back to the bedroom.

Chylene stroked the creases that had appeared on her forehead. Pinkie was wrong, she hadn’t done it. She had only made it less inconvenient--the List could have been anywhere. And if Pinkie was struggling to find it, then it would be an impossible task for Chylene.

She slapped her head, tensing up. Her memories of the evening replayed themselves. If only Blueblood had left some sort of clue, something that seemed a little odd, even for himself--

Her eyes flashed with revelation. That was it!

Hurrying to the bookshelf, She ran her finger over the books until it settled on the biggest in the collection. Blueblood had been unusually focused on it, earlier. She brought it out of it’s place, examining the cover. It was a detailed account of Blueblood’s ancestry, right to the present day. Flicking through the pages, she let out a huff of frustration and turned the book upside down, shaking it.

Two things fell from it--one was an unmarked manilla envelope; the other a simple sheet of loose paper. Strangely, one side of it was roughly torn. The corners of her mouth rose, her neat white teeth showing. After the book was placed in its rightful spot, she scooped up her find, then walked with a spring in her step to Pinkie. Raising the envelope, she said, “I found it! At least, I think I did.”

There was a series of light, fast footsteps as Pinkie came up to her. “Oooo! That’s great, Chy!” She hopped on the spot, pointing at the paper. “But what’s that?” she asked, tilting her head.

“I’m not sure--it was hidden with the List.”

With her usual enthusiasm, Pinkie said, “Well open it up!”

“Okay,” she said, unfolding it.

The writing was eloquent, though seemed hurried, as if by an excited--or terrified--hand. It appeared to be a torn page of a diary. She began to read:

“August 8th.

“She called me in last night--she called me in. For months I’ve proclaimed my loyalty to the Queen’s new policies. Talked many of the oldest families into lending their support. I think it was that fundraiser after the robbery that cemented my importance in her view.

“She is magnificent--magnificent as she is terrifying. And brilliant! The things she told me, the plans she’s invited me into... And even those--I am sure--are only a part. The world will tremble at her feet.

“And I, the last scion of the noblest family of Blueblood, will stand at her right hand as I deserve.

“The item--the list--that she’s entrusted to me must be kept safe. It is the beginning of everything. For her. And for me.

“With this my family’s name will live forever. I can still hear it--my father’s laugh. His scorn. The last Blueblood am I?

“The list must be kept safe. It will take its due place in my family’s genealogy, guaranteeing our line’s success as it does. Safe, but close to hand.

“I long for the day she reveals her true purposes. For then they will all see--those who mocked me, such as that whore, Rarity, or that sniveling, coat-trailing Twila Shields.

“Long live the Queen. Long live House Blueblood.”

Chylene read the words, then looked up at Pinkie, nodding once. “This is it.” She blinked, only now observing her friend’s different apparel. “What happened to...?”

Pinkie brushed a speck of dirt off her chest. “Disguise. How else did you think I could get to ya without the guards bustin’ me?”

“Oh, right.” Her eyes trailed over to the door. “Speaking of... I think we’ll be able to get through them without, uh, attracting suspicion.”

“Hey, Chylene?”

She turned back, looking at Pinkie’s furrowed brow. Her bright blue eyes. “Yes, Pinkie?”

“You alright?” She fiddled with her buttons. “I kinda saw all the...”

Chylene pinched the skin of her neck, rubbing it a little. “I’m fine...” Blueblood still lay on the floor, only his chest moving slightly to indicate he still lived. “He can’t do anything to me now.”

Pinkie nodded slowly, then moved to the door, placing a hand upon it. “When you’re ready.”

A few deep breaths later and she was. She placed the letter down her dress (which was slightly awkward...) then set off. Taking the lead, she pushed the door open and kept her head as high as she felt comfortable to. Pinkie walked behind her, hands kept together at her back, face in stately subservience like she was escorting the nervous woman out.

The guards--big burly men in dark suits, their heads shining under the lights--took one dirty look at the pair, then dismissed them with a grunt.

“I guess Blueblood had his fill,” one said, causing the others to chuckle lowly to each other, flashing grins of crooked, yellow teeth. Pinkie carefully put a hand on Chylene’s arm, directing her around and past the men. Chy kept looking forward and didn’t relax until they had gone past the attendant at the stairs and back into the crowd. Even then, the two were silent, Chylene putting a hand on her chest.

“Let’s find Rarity, then go home.” Pinkie ran her thumb over Chylene’s arm. Her skin was soft to the touch. It felt so pure--natural. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate.” Chylene smiled softly, then put her hand on Pinkie’s. The two walked in tandem as they weaved through the many nobles around them, their eyes on the lookout for their friends.

And escape.

Retreats and Rabble Rousers

The shutters dropped; Jack and Isabelle stepped out into the hallway amid a mob of snarling men. Without hesitation, they charged, roaring and screaming as their faces contorted from fear to joy to terror. Jack faced the crowd to their left, raising a fire extinguisher over her head and bringing it down with all her might. It smashed a man’s skull, dropping him like a bad habit.

Hoisting it up again, she thrust with the nozzle end forward, running into another man’s face and breaking several of his teeth and nose. They clattered like marbles on the floor. He crumpled backwards, taking others with him in a sprawling mass of limbs. Jack continued the assault, battering people away as quickly as they approached. For Isabelle's side, she spun Jack’s massive iron piece and fired a round with both her hands firmly on the handle. It struck true, blowing through three with one bullet.

“Clear me a path!” Jack roared, smashing another head in with her improvised club.

“On it!” Dash said, squeezing off two more rounds and parting the waters for a least a moment, straight to the large blade embedded in the wall. Jack ran forward, stepping over the bodies on the ground and pushing the mob away with a shove of the extinguisher in her hands, then throwing the object into the crowd, bowling the front line over. She took what precious seconds she had and grabbed the sword’s handle. Planting a foot against the wall, she pulled until she could feel every fiber of her muscles screaming at her in aching protest. With a groan of stressed stone, the blade came free.

Jack didn't have much time to celebrate--the group had risen and were charging straight for her. She pulled her weapon back and brought it down at an angle, cleaving through two of the feral men, then another on the back swing, showering the hallway with blood.

“Shit,” she said under her breath, briefly dazed at the spectacle she created. A shot near her ear brought her head back in the game as a body crumpled to the ground nearby.

“Haul ass!” Dash ordered. Jack didn't need to be told twice, using the large flat of the blade to shove assailants aside as she rejoined the others.

Isabelle turned around, squeezing off the last shot of Jack’s piece and decimating the crowd of savages to their right. She pulled out her nine and fired off another shot, then another, clearing a path for Pip to get a running start.

Inside they had found a trolley for transporting the artifacts. Piling it with all the loot they could, coiled down tightly with ropes that had marked individual exhibits, had made it into a heavy, solid battering ram--especially at speed. He sucked in a breath as he pushed, shoving bodies both living and dead out of his way. A few lingering hands grabbed for him, but he was well shielded between his size and the bulk in front of him. Pip ran in a blind panic.

As he passed, a few of the men turned and began to sprint towards him. Dash fired off another shot, drawing their attention back to Jack and Isabelle as he rounded the corner, roughly slamming into the wall. The thing could handle straightaways at a good click, but corners would slow him down.

“Get back, you motherfuckers!” Dash shouted, pistol whipping one nearby and kicking another that lunged for her. They grabbed her arms and tried to pull her forward. She struggled, trying to shake her assailants off. Bloody teeth filled the air with painful clicks as they chomped closer and closer to her face. “Stetson!”

Jack instantly snapped around at Dash’s voice. The tall woman brought the heavy blade back to her shoulder. “Drop down!”

Isabelle instantly let herself collapse to the ground, pulling one of the feral men with her just as Jack swung once more, tearing asunder the crowd in one nightmarish swipe that left her stuck in the last man. She pulled loose as Dash wrestled with the man on top of her. Ignoring the fate of his comrades, he snarled and stretched his mouth so far as to rip his cheeks open, desperately trying to reach her jugular. Isabelle jerked both their bodies up, giving her just enough space to lift a foot and place it against his chest. With a shove, she threw him off of her, flipping him up and over to land in a bone crunching crash on the floor. She quickly rose as Jack turned back to the crowd behind them, warding them off with a few slow swings. The farmer was getting tired, Isabelle could tell just from listening to the breathing at her back. It wouldn't be long until she ran out of gas.

Though they had dispatched several, Dash noticed with horror that many who seemed down for the count were getting back up. Entire missing limbs were ignored; wide gashes that let their entrails fall or showed white bone had little effect. The madness--the hunger--in them was too great for anything less than instant death to stop the attack.

“Run for it!” Dash shouted, turning and spending the last of her rounds into the crowd randomly. Jack shouldered the blade and did just that, matching Isabelle stride for stride as they ran through the few remaining stragglers ahead of them. The farmer grabbed one by the skull and threw him to the side to smash headfirst against the wall. A few tugged at her suit, but she broke free with a few weary shakes of her shoulders and haunches. Isabelle whipped and ducked through the men still around; she twisted, narrowly dodging a grab.

Dash just a bit ahead, they got through with little more than torn clothing and skin deep scratches, quickly rounding the corner and blindly sprinting for the double doors leading into the restoration room. They charged through them. Pip, who had been waiting, threw closed one door as Dash grabbed the other. Jack turned around and threw her weight against the doors just in time to stop them opening from the crazed guards on the other side.

“Brace it!” Jack ordered. Dash glanced about in a panic for something to hold the door. There, next to the trolley-ram, was a large table it had overturned.

“Pip!” Isabelle called out, moving towards the overturned object. “Help me with this!”

The young man pushed the trolley away, shoving various items to the side, and grabbed an end. They strained and grunted, finally placing it near the door. Jack quickly threw herself off and shoved it in place just as the crowd began throwing their bodies against the metal door again.

“Suppose the bastard’ll hold?” Pip said, wiping at his brow.

“Fingers crossed. It should at least give us some time,” Dash answered. She spared a glance over at the two men they had tied up earlier. Judging by their confused, fearful expressions, they weren't like the others. “For their sake's, we gotta hope it does.”

“Take the sword,” Jack ordered, handing off the blade to Isabelle. The athlete let out a loud grunt when it came into contact with her hands and nearly dropped the weighty piece.

"Holy shit, Stetson. I knew you were strong, but fucking damn!"

The farmer ignored her, hoisting one man over each shoulder. The one on her left squirmed in protest.

“Cut that shit out. I could jus’ leave ya here and, trust me, ya ain’t wantin’ ta see what’s behind that door,” Jack warned. The one quickly stopped his struggling, going limp on her shoulders.

“We’ll put ‘em outside, make sure we get the door nice an’ locked up. With a little time, we can make sure those things'll never make it through."

Nodding her agreement, Jack said, "Pip, get the stuff. Don't rocket out of here or nothin', but let's not keep the outside waitin'."

"Right you are, guv," he replied, moving the trolley back towards the exit.

They quickly marched on, each trying their best to ignore the heavy pounding on the door behind them. Their pace quickened as they detected the faint sounds of splintering wood.

The group finally came to the lobby. The man they had captured earlier had kept his word and was still laying on his stomach, shivering as he heard their heavy footsteps approach.

“Get up and get out!” Jack barked, barely sparing him a glance as she marched towards the door.

“A-alright,” he stammered out, rising to his knees and taking a few breaths to calm himself. Isabelle paused, letting Pip go past her with the payload.

“You heard her, motherfucker! Move!” She gestured for the door with her free hand.

They stepped outside into the biting night air. Unceremoniously tossing the two men to the ground, Jack ran to the van as Isabelle held the empty gun towards them, the sword limply hanging from her free hand.

The vehicle revved to life. Dash took a few steps and gestured to Pip, never letting the gun waiver.

“Start unloadin' them in there,” she announced. Pip swallowed, then nodded. Opening the back doors he started unloading the overburdened trolley. Smirking when an idea hit her, Dash pointed at the three guards. "You three," she said, pointing a thumb. "Help him out."

With the guards help, it didn't take long to move the boxes of jewelry, pieces of fine art, old weapons, and all the other various items worth more than most people would make it a year securely into the van. Jack and Dash watched, examining the pile of loot they had all risked their lives over. When it was finished, Pip walked over to Isabelle and threw a smart salute.

"Loaded and ready," he said.

Giving Jack a quick look, she made a snap decision and tilted her head towards the van. “Get in back.” With a strained grunt, she lifted the sword and laid it inside. When Pip hadn't moved, she growled, "I meant now--we don't got all night!" With a jump, he did as ordered, a confused look on his face. Jack shook her head, amused, as she went to the driver's side door and got in.

Slamming the back doors, the athlete idly waved her gun back at the guards. “Lil’ fucker’s coming with us. You’re gonna give us a half-hour head start before you call the cops--if you don’t, I’m blowing his Goddamn brains out.” She gazed evenly at them, giving one of her best grins. “And then I’m hunting you and your families down, one at a time. I’ll let you guess what I’ll do to ‘em.”

Without another sound, she whipped around and went to the passenger's seat as Jack shifted to drive, peeling out and onto the lonely road.

Jack drove aimlessly for a few minutes, obviously distracted. Pip moved towards the van’s front.

“What about me?” he quietly asked.

“Relax, pipsqueak,” Dash said. “We don’t even have the bullets to kill you. It was a total bluff.”

“I-I mean after this. I’m bound to be labeled as a coward at best, or a traitor at worst.”

Isabelle and her partner shared a glance. After a long, drawn-out silence, Jack decided on a course of action. “Ya got an option, Pip.”

She pulled off the road into an empty lot and parked the van, but kept the engine running.

“Hop outside, Pip. Bolt, I’ma be jus’ a second.” Jack threw open her door and stood by the side of the van. Pip quickly crawled over the loot, opening the back doors. In a few seconds he was standing, back straight, in front of Jack.

She rubbed at her chin, staring at the boy. His stance was even, and his face flat. Anyone else might've said he looked unafraid. But Jack could see the flick of nervousness at his eyes, and the way his fingers kept rubbing against each other. She had to be careful. If she said the wrong thing, he'd take off like a shot. And that would do the kid no favors.

“Bein’ labeled a coward or a traitor ain’t too bad, sug. Not when it’s comin’ from a bunch’a snakes, anyway. What matters is doin’ the right thing in all of this mess.” The giant woman crouched, putting herself at eye level with the boy. “It’s up ta you on decidin’ what the right thing is, ya hear? It’s why I’m givin’ ya an opportunity. Up ta you on takin’ it. You can jus’ walk away an’ you’ll never hear ‘bout it again, or...” She looked down at her hands, then back up at the boy. “Or you can head ta Mansfield, back ta yer family.”

“Me mum and pop?” he replied. “How’d--”

She spoke over him. “Ya keep an eye on ‘em. They’re good, honest folk. But there’s more ta what I want ya ta do... I want ya ta keep an’ ear out--ya hearin’ me, Pip?”

“Listen for what?” he asked, biting at his lip.

“Unease. Rumors. People not happy with the way this country’s headin’. Ya listen, an’ ya...ya give a bit of a poke to the fire, understand?”

“Rile the lot up? Why?”

“Get ‘em angry, get ‘em mad. Get ‘em...thinkin’ that maybe the women wearin’ masks might have the right idea in this whole mess.” She scowled, the words bitter on her lips. “We get enough people on our side, an’ there ain’t nothin’ that can’t be done. Jus’ gotta pull a few strings.” She held out her hand gently towards the boy, doing her best to keep him at ease. “What ya say, kid? Are ya in?”

He rubbed at his face, then stared at her open palm. “H... how can I trust you? What if this is a trick?”

“Savin’ yer life earlier not enough?”

“I...” He swallowed, trembling.

“I know it’s scary. It’s still scary an’ impossible ta me too. But...” Jack reached up hesitantly to her mask. Counting down from three, she slowly peeled it off of her, revealing her sweat-soaked face and her long hair sticking to her forehead. He nearly recoiled in shock at her appearance. “I trust ya, Pip. Can ya do the same fer me?”

“Yer Alice’s...”

“Eyup,” she agreed. “An’ a gal that does her damndest ta keep her word.” She look at her feet for a second, then back to his eyes. “I swear this ain’t no trick, Pip. I swear on my Granny’s grave it ain’t.” She swallowed, rising from her crouch and donning her mask again. “Will ya help us?”

There was another long pause. He stared up at her, silent for five seconds, ten, twenty. Finally, he closed his eyes and nodded. “Just keep up appearances at the home and give the residents a right poke if I see a chance, that the word, guv?”

Showtime, Serenity, Surprise

“Do you think that was smart?” Isabelle asked, cranking down her window. They had just dropped Pip off at a local, all-night supermarket, armed with enough cash for a new set of clothes and extra for a bus ticket to Mansfield. He seemed reluctant to leave them, but Jack knew it was for the best. Having him around while they were still ‘on the clock,’ as it were, wasn’t the best idea. At least that’s what she told herself as she drove down the empty streets of Old Camelot, heading towards the group’s designated meeting point at the city’s outskirts.

The farmer tightened her grip on the wheel and shook her head. “When do I do things smart?”

That gave Dash a small snort of laughter. “Never.”

“Damn right.” She glanced around, then after a moment, continued. “Honestly, Dash. I dunno. It felt like it was the only call I could make, ya know?”

“We could have told him to deal with it and just dropped him off somewhere.” Isabelle shrugged, propping her feet onto the dash and leaning back, putting her hands behind her head.

“I guess...”

“But that’s not your style. I know, I know,” the wiry woman concluded, taking off her mask and brushing back her short-kept hair. “Big ol’ softie.”

“Maybe I am,” she admitted. “I couldn’t jus’ ditch him though, sug. He looked so pitiful, ya know?”

“I know whatcha mean.” With a grin, she nudged Jack’s shoulder. “Kid’s got nothing on us, though.” Laughing quietly, she stared out at the road. Her smirk faded. “Shit…the hell happened back there? Things should’ve been so much simpler.”

“My hands are still shakin’, Izzy,” the farmer said, her voice cracking. She opened her mouth, but clamped it shut quickly.

Dash raised herself, giving Jack a stern look. “And? Sounded like you were gonna say something else there.” Her expression softened. “You doing okay?”

“Workin’ up close like that… It’s worse than a gun.” She glanced down at the odometer, then back up to the road. “With a gun, it’s easy to disconnect yerself, y’know? But this… This was somethin’ else--somethin’ intimate, in a way. Too personal.”

Isabelle shrugged, saying evenly, “It’s us or them, hayseed. That means whatever it takes sometimes.”

“Goddammit, I know that, but… How are ya so calm?” She quickly gestured behind them. “That place was hell on earth, an’ ya’ve bounced back already!” Gripping the wheel tightly in her fists, she practically whispered, “My heart’s still beatin’ hard enough that I feel like pukin’, I--” Jack trembled, forcing herself back to driving. She slapped the wheel. “Fuck, man.”

“You remember after the first one?” Dash asked. She shuffled even lower in her seat. “What I was like?”

Jack morosely nodded, dryly swallowing. “I do. An’ I remember the night a bit after it too...”

“Yeah… You helped me a lot back there. I mean it.” Running a hand through her multi-colored hair, she let out a quiet sigh. “I guess after that, I learned how to keep that, that part of my brain in the back of my mind. I can feel it now, trying to kick up a fuss, but I ain’t gonna let it.” She folded her arms, sitting back in her seat. “Not until we’re not out of this for keeps, anyways.”

“That’s the problem. We ain’t never out of it. I feel like a damn house of cards that keeps gettin’ layers put on it. All it’s gonna take is one strong breeze…”

“Yeah, but--but--” Dash fumbled with her words, then spat onto the dashboard. “Shit, I’m not good at making fancy metaphors and all that crap. But what I’m trying to say is that we’ll feel better once we see the others.”

Jack reluctantly nodded. “I hope so, darlin’. I really do.”

“Mmhmm.” Dash scratched her nose, sniffing. Silence quickly fell. After several minutes, she gazed towards the radio, then at Jack. “You wanna play some tunes or something?”

She slowly nodded. “Yeah, alright, but none of that rap crap while I’m drivin’ unless you wanna walk, sug.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know the damn rules.” Isabelle rolled her eyes, then took to running through the channels, twisting the knob across dozens of frequencies. Three second sound bites ran into each other in an endless stream as she kept moving, grumbling to herself. She was about to give up, when she stopped at the sound of a chipper, whistling tune, accompanied by a piano in the background. She froze, letting her hand drift back from the knob.

“Ya do know that’s jus’ a commercial, right?”

“Duh. But it’s only for the most awesome stunt team in the world, hayseed. Keep up.”

“Keep up? Sug, I’ve heard ya say bits of this commercial in yer sleep. I’ve kept up,” Jack said dryly.

Dash held up her index finger, waggling it towards Jack. “Sh-shut up! I’m tryin’ to listen.”

It was Jack’s turn to roll her eyes. She started mouthing the words as soon as a man began speaking.

“You hear the word ‘world-renowned’, whaddya think of?” a man’s voice smugly asked.

“Celestia and Luna?” a woman’s voice responded. Jack flinched slightly, but said nothing.

“Not what I was going for, Spitfire. How about ‘death-defying’ and ‘aerodynamic?’” the first replied.

“Now that’s more my language, Soarin’!” Spitfire enthusiastically agreed.

“They sure do give ‘em weird names. Spitfire. Soarin’. Guess it’s a better stage name than Daniel Pendownski, though,” Jack commented.

“He can’t help his parents were idiots,” Dash huffed. “And it’s a play on his middle name--now shhh!” She returned her attention to the radio, catching Soarin’ in the middle of a sentence.

“--a look! Chills! Spills! Air-defying thrills in our patented ‘Wondersuits!’”

“I need one of them,” Dash quickly said, tapping the radio.

“I’ve lost track of how often you’ve said that.” Jack gestured towards her, not even glancing at the woman. “Next I tell ya that the only way yer gettin’ one is if yer a Wonderbolt. Then ya say--”

“--That’s why I’m gonna be one of ‘em!” Dash finished, cocking a thumb at her chest. She paused, then seemed to deflate slightly. “...after all this shit is dealt with anyways.”

“We all got a lot ta do after this shit’s dealt with,” Jack agreed. She did her best to smile. It came out a fraction as bright as it usually was, but it was still something. “Like supportin’ a future Wonderbolt.”

Dash gave her a weak grin in return. “Thanks, hayseed. Besides,” she said, moving her hand towards Jack and lightly stroking her arm with a thumb, “even if I don’t get in, I think I’d rather stick by you. Not even the Wonderbolts are as badass as you, Missy.” She snickered lightly.

“Well that’s good, ‘cause yer stuck with me, sug, like glue.”

“S’good thing I loved it as a kid.” She blinked, processing what she just said. “Shit--no! That’s not what I meant! Shut up! I wasn’t a glue sniffer, okay?!”

“Oh,” Jack said, holding back a laugh, “so you ate it instead, didya?”

“No! Just--f-fuck off!” She looked away, pouting.

Jack reared back and cackled, laughing so hard she started to eventually hiccup. “Yer such a damn kid sometimes--I love it.”

Dash just looked out of the window, grumbling to herself as the advertisement ended and a song began to play. It was some modern, dime-a-dozen pop song; it filled the silence, but was ultimately relegated to white noise.

“Hey, sug…ain’t we near where you an’ Chylene grew up?” Jack nodded her head towards one of the streets up ahead.

Dash kept looking out of the window. “Yeah, we are.”

“I, uh, guess we don’t have time ta stop by or nothin’...”

“Keep driving,” the athlete said, yawning. She went back to her reclined position, crossing her arms and closing her eyes. “Not worth it.”

“Ya sure, sug?”

“It’s moved on. Me too.”

“Alright. We’ll skip it.” Jack nodded, whipping past the road and continuing on.

About five minutes later, the farmer pointed out her window at a secluded park. “An’ here we are.” She turned into it, driving slowly deeper inside. The trees were thick overhead, which gave the road below a dense layer of early fallen leaves. The path gently curved to a large cul-de-sac, with parking spaces along the edge next to picnic tables and paths leading deeper in. Parking, Jack said, “I’d bet this’d be pretty in the day--ya used ta stomp ‘round here, Izzy?”

Dash opened the door, but hung back in her seat, shrugging. “Sometimes, I guess.” She dug into her pockets, then cursed to herself. “Got any cigs?”

“Dry, sug.” Jack gave a half-shrug. “Sorry about the questions. Things we’ve been doing, guess it’s made me more curious than I used ta be. I jus’, well…don’t know too much ‘bout ya ‘fore we ran inta one-another in Manhattan, ya know?”

Isabelle sighed, getting out her lighter and watching with disinterest as she flicked the flame on and off. “‘Cause it ain’t a story worth telling. Or repeating.”

“Reckon’d you an’ Chylene’d have some good ones,” Jack offered, then frowned. “Nevermind. I’m bein’ too nosy.”

Dash rubbed her face with a hand, then looked at her. “Look, Jack. I’ll tell you one day, but…not now, alright?”

“Ya don’t have ta tell me period. Not if it’ll hurt ya, Isabelle,” Jack drawled out, the regal name carrying a tone of reverence on her lips as she hopped out, but kept the door open. “That’s the last thing I wanna ever do ta ya.”

“I want to tell you. Really, man. You deserve that much. Hell, you deserve a lot more than what you have. But I’m not…” She clenched her fists. “Ready. Y’know? So much shit is happening around us that now doesn’t seem like a good time.”

Closing the door, Jack crossed around the vehicle to stand in front of Dash. “I’ll wait fer ya, sug,” Jack quietly said. “I always have, an’ always will. One of my few good qualities.” She smirked, quickly thinking of something to break the somber mood. “Well, that an’ a pretty nice lookin’ butt.”

“Nice lookin’? Heh, I’d say it makes for a pretty good thing to smack now and then,” Dash shot back, her eyes lingering on said body part.

“An’ here I was believin’ ya thought of me as jus’ boobs an’ a hot voice. Glad I’m the whole package ta ya,” Jack replied, grinning.

“‘Course you are.” She peered away from the van, scouting around, before leaning towards Jack. “Looks like we’re alone for a bit. You wanna…?”

“Keep yer pants on, sug.” Jack leaned in and gave the athlete an awkward kiss on the cheek. She looked over, taking a step towards the path they wanted. “When we get back, though…damn right, I wanna.”

“Uh, Jack?”

“Mmm?”

“I meant do you wanna chill?” She smiled a little sheepishly. “You know, like the old days.”

Heat flooded Jack’s dark skin; she scratched at an earlobe. “O-Oh.” She cleared her throat, feeling a bit foolish. “Y-yeah. We can do that.”

Heading back to the van, they moved to the hood. Dash hopped herself up onto the hood, wincing slightly as her injured leg landed on the metal.

“Any better?” Jack asked, sitting down, then scooting closer to the woman.

“Running on the fucker didn’t do it no favors,” Dash said. “Gonna hurt like hell come morning.”

Jack grunted, leaning her back onto the glass as Isabelle did the same; Jack placed her arm under the athlete's neck. The warmth of the engine below them, combined with their own body heat, did well to stave off the chill night air. Neither spoke, the closeness of their bodies and years of being together leaving nothing that needed being said. Finally, after several long minutes, Jack broke the tranquility.

“Ya know…even with everythin’ that’s happened, uh, I still think I’m pretty lucky.”

Isabelle spared a small, quick glance towards the woman. “You think so, hayseed?”

“I know so.” She flexed her arm just a hair, enough to move Dash’s head. “Anyone with an idiot like you taggin’ along jus’ ‘bout has ta be.”

The woman smirked, moving until she rested under the crook of Jack’s shoulder. “You’re an idiot too.”

“Guess that’s why we get along.” Jack held the woman tightly against her. “Been forever since we jus’...ya know, sat on the porch an’ looked up.”

Dash grunted in agreement. “It’s one of the reasons why I’m doing this. I mean, the country is important ‘n’ all, but, well, I wanna secure a good future for us both, y’know? Make sure we don’t get fucked over like we already have.”

“An’ I wanna take care of ya too. Family first, hon.” She leaned into her partner, running her free hand over Dash’s bangs.

Izzy closed her eyes, simply enjoying the closeness for a few moments. “God I’m glad I met you.”

“I’m thankful fer it every night.” Jack squeezed the woman once more, then, after a beat, rose off the van. “Not ta interrupt our lil’ tender moment, but nature calls.”

“Only you,” Dash grumbled, gesturing with a wave of her hand towards the distance. “Pee somewhere I can’t hear you at least.”

“That was kinda the plan,” she replied, stepping through the grass, walking behind a tree and into the dense foliage. She reached to the zipper on her pants and undid her belt, then froze, quietly redoing the belt with her off hand and pulling out her empty revolver with her strong arm.

“You alright, hayseed?” Dash called out.

But Jack didn’t register. Her attention was elsewhere--specifically at the van parked not forty feet in front of her and the man leaning against it. The park’s lights barely gave her enough to see by, but slowly she started making out details.

He was no one she recognized. Older, probably late thirties. He was standing, a lit cigarette casting a harsh red glow on his tough and tanned face. His black hair was cut short, in an obvious military crew cut.

The military angle was backed up by the body armor strapped to his joints and the assault rifle slung at his side. Something was off to the get up, but she had seen enough.

They were busted.

“Shit,” Jack hissed out. She held her gun steady and slowly backpedaled deeper into the brush, crunching hard on a root as she tried to withdraw. The man heard it; Jack could tell by his slight flinch. She couldn’t back away now--she didn’t have a doubt that he could get a bead on her, despite the foliage. Worst of all, if Dash decided to move in now, he’d probably react on the assumed threat and cut her down before she knew what was happening.

But she couldn’t stay still either--it was a miracle she hadn’t drawn his attention coming in. No, there was only one thing she could do: intimidate and bluff.

Pushing hard with both legs, she leapt forward, erupting from treeline with empty gun held tight, aimed straight and true.

“Hands up! Hands up, ya fucker!” she shouted, taking long strides towards him and jerking the piece in her hands upwards, towards his skull. “Drop the gun!”

*-*-*-*-*

Immediately there were shouts and screams from the crowd, followed by the sounds of movement and cries of pain as the guests shifted in distress, knocking a few to the ground. There was a chorus of, “What’s going on?” and “Get away from me!”, amongst others.

Though he had initiated the blackout, Spike had no idea why Twila wanted it. All he knew was that she was alive and well. Even better--she had a plan. He could only hope it lasted long enough for whatever she wanted.

“Guys!” he hissed, trying to speak loud enough for the girls to hear but quiet enough not to arouse suspicion. “Books has a plan--don’t move.” He didn’t add that if they tried running, one of the guards might start opening fire at random.

“What? You heard from her?” whispered Rarity behind him.

“Over coms, keep quiet,” he instructed, fighting back every urge he had to turn tail and run. Pinkie clenched her teeth, practically twitching, while Chylene ironically seemed a bit calmer than she was before, despite all the chaos.

Through the darkness, Blueblood’s voice called above the clamor, a slight tinge of nervousness to his tone, “What’s going on here?! I demand answers!” A muffled oof! “Guards, make sure they don’t get away!”

Whatever you’re doing, Twila, do it fast, Rarity thought to herself, feeling her pulse speed. It was difficult to stay still--especially when she could sense movement not too far all around her. She tried to listen, but the crowd was creating just enough noise to make it impossible.

It didn’t help that no one’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness. The room was central in the mansion and completely without windows to provide even a miniscule lightsource.

Spike had tried keeping a count of the time. How long had it been? Three minutes? Four? Shaking his head, he thought about taking his phone out--then decided against, knowing the light would make him a clear target. He, and the others, would just have to wait and see. And hope.

Rarity was about to risk asking Spike if they shouldn’t attempt something when there was a sharp, painful screeching. Covering her ears in pain, she could feel the others do the same as the sound went on and on for seconds unknowable. It made her head feel like it was cracking in two, seemingly coming from everywhere.

As sudden as it had started, it stopped, though the pain didn’t recede right away. But as it faded, she--and nearly everyone else--began opening their eyes, lowering their hands.

The lights clicked back on shortly after.

Rarity stopped in shock as the room lit up. As ordered, the guards that had been closest had managed to get in a rough, near-complete circle around them. They each held their weapons tightly, most aimed at the group, though some had to fix their aim when they could see.

However, they began stopping short as they came to realize that they too were surrounded by five heavily armed figures. A quick glance up towards Blueblood showed another new arrival next to him as well.

But that wasn’t what made the breath catch in Rarity’s throat. It wasn’t as professional as the pair she had made for Jack and Dash, but the newcomers were dressed in a mixture of finer, black suits and armor pieces. She loosely recognized them as pieces often worn by SWAT or maybe soldiers. They were all armed with assault rifles, bearing them on the guards.

All this made the plain white masks they wore all the more noticeable. With a gasp, Rarity realized the figure standing next to Blueblood was wearing a mask marked with three starbursts on one cheek. It was Twila’s mask!

Twila raised an arm, pointing a pistol directly at the side of Blueblood’s head. Muffled, with perhaps a little electronic distortion, a voice declared, “Surprise, Blueblood!”

“What--but--what?!” Spike exclaimed, his mouth so open his jaw might as well have been unhinged.

“You can say that again,” Rarity said, breathless. She looked towards Spike. “You had no idea…?”

“I know I didn’t. She really pulled a fast one on Blueblood, not even I expected that!” Pinkie rubbed her chin, letting out a thoughtful noise. “I gotta up my game.”

Louder, Twila continued, “Attention, everyone! This party is over! So let’s just behave and no one has to get hurt.” Without lowering her weapon, she nodded to the guards. “Drop the guns or we’ll make you drop them.”

Spike caught the twist in her words. She’s been listening...this whole time?

With a few encouragements from the military figures near them, the guards roughly tossed aside their weapons, raising their arms in capitulation. Blueblood himself hadn’t moved nor said a word. He just stared at the lethal barrel pointed his way, sweat dripping down his face.

“You may recognize us from the news a few months ago,” continued Twila. “So you know just what we’re capable of. Try anything and…well…” She raised her gun to the ceiling and let loose a round to make her point, then pointed it back at the now-shaking Blueblood.

“Y-you worthless criminal…” Blueblood managed to say through clenched teeth. “How dare you come here!”

“Oh we dare alright. I mean, how could we resist?” She gestured toward the crowd with her other hand. “You gather some of the wealthiest, most well-connected people all in one place? Under the name of that woman? That Tyrant? You bet your ass we’d come here.” Turning her gaze to Spike and the others, she said, “We even used one of them to do some of our dirty work. Funny how useful threats of violence can be. Thanks for being such a star player, Miss Hutchinson”

Spike quickly followed her, giving a small warning glance at everyone else to play along. “Should have figured,” he said. “You’re like maggots to shit.” He looked towards the crowd, frowning. “Human shit.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Twila said, bored. She snapped out, “Gems, Mouse. Help those fine people over there with their donation. Quickly.”

Two of the masked figures nodded, shouldering their weapons and pulling out a large mesh sack each. They headed over to the crowd and began demanding wallets, jewelry, and anything valuable they could fit in the bag.

With more spine than Rarity thought he had in him, Blueblood spat, “You damn common thieves! Traitors! The Queen will see you all hang for this insult to her loyal right hand!”

Twila let out a roaring laugh that none of the group had ever heard before. She was playing her part as the violent, psychotic criminal incredibly well. “A sniveling bitch like you isn’t even worth her scraps. Let alone her right hand. Then again, considering how low she’s brought herself, maybe you’re just perfect for eachother. But don’t think she can protect you. You see, I was a right hand sort of girl not too long ago myself.”

Confused, Blueblood asked, “What? You’re not saying--it couldn’t be!” He looked at Rarity, Pinkie, Chy, and Spike. “But they’re there! They couldn’t be--no! I won’t believe it.”

With her other hand, Twila slipped a hand under her mask, slipping it off and throwing it back. Her hair was matted with sweat and she wore a confident grin. “Believe it, Alaurd. You’ll always be second best to someone like me.”

There were more gasps and cries from the crowd.

“It’s Twila Shields!”

“Didn’t she come with her friends?”

“She robbed the First and National!”

“Betraying not just the Queen, but her friends--what a terrible disgrace!”

“What is she doing?!” Chylene whispered to her friends, eyes never moving from Twila. “Doesn’t she know that she’s risking everything?”

“I think…” Rarity started, swallowing roughly as comprehension dawned. “I think she knows exactly that, Chy. Don’t you think so, Spike?”

“I don’t think, I know,” he spoke, chewing at his thumb. “We should take it, girls. I’m sure I have a contact that can help her get out of prison before...” He didn’t finish the thought, instead, he took a step forward and spoke up. “Give it up, scum! This place is loaded with guards! Six crazies versus all of them? Not good odds!”

With an atypical snort, Twila replied, “You forget who you’re talking to, Spike. While everyone was busy in here, we were busy taking care of what pathetic guard Blueblood had managed to scrounge up. We’ve got a clear path, thanks to my infiltration earlier.”

“Books,” said one of the burglars who had been looting the guests. The voice was clearly a man’s. He held up the sack, now bulging slightly. “We’re full up.”

Nodding, Twila said, “Good. Lucky for you, Blueblood, tonight’s more a statement than a true heist. So we’ll settle for a gratuity. This time.”

Chuckling, Blueblood replied, “It’s not my money. What do I care?”

“Oh, right!” Twila said, feigning false surprise. “I forgot to mention we’ve already carted out what little valuables remained in the place while dealing with your guards. It was kind of sad, really. Who knew someone of your ‘station’ would have so many replicas and forgeries around.”

His jaw dropped, then snapped back. His teeth grounding loudly, he growled, “I promise you, you common-bred bitch, I will personally tie your noose myself.”

“Riiiight. Well, you’d have to learn how to tie one first, so forgive me if I’m hardly worried.” To the others, she said, “OK, pick a hostage and head on out. I think she’ll get the message loud and clear now. Stetson, you can take rearguard with me.” Suddenly, she grabbed a fistful of Blueblood’s hair and pulled him down. “Thanks for being such a gracious host, Alaurd. Hate to run, but we’re on a tight schedule.” With a strong blow, she pistol whipped the back of his neck, letting him drop to the ground unconscious.

At the same time, the masked figures each grabbed one of the group roughly by an arm. Weapons held close against them and being covered by the tallest burglar, Spike and the girls found themselves slowly being pushed towards the auditorium’s exit. Twila herself doubled timed it down the steps, taking a place guarding their backs as they pushed a bubble through the crowd on their way to the doors.

“Oooo, are we hostages now?” Pinkie asked. It seemed like a dumb question, but as she went on, it was clear what she was doing. Turning to the one of the guards, she babbled on in her usual manner. “‘Cause I’ve never been a hostage before. Are you gonna tie us up and gag us? ‘Cause I don’t wanna be gagged since I like talking so much! Oh, and don’t shoot us either ‘cause you want us healthy and stuff if we’re gonna be good hostages. And one more thing—”

“Pinkie. Enough,” Spike said. He looked towards one of the men hauling them off. “Who are you?”

With a poke of the tip of his assault rifle, the man growled, “Just call me Party. Now, shut it, brat. No questions.”

His temper rising, Spike looked around his captor to see Twila putting her mask back on. The group stopped, letting the man without a hostage open the double doors.

Twila, with a gracious bow to the stares and glares of the assembled guests and guards, called, “Goodnight, so-called best of Camelot. Remember what you saw here tonight and shake in your beds! We will strike again!”

Slipping through the doors, she closed them with a slam and a loud bang.

“Time to hurry, but don’t let up!” she said to everyone, sounding more like her normal self.

“What is this?” Spike asked, quickly jogging down the hallway alongside the masked men.

“The grand finale!” she replied. “Now go! The van across the street--door’s open!”

With no time to think, Spike started waving his hands quickly. “You heard her, go, go!” the boy called out, moving on ahead.

“Spike! Don’t break character!” cried Twila, who then ordered one of the masked men to take the lead.

“See, Spikey? I did have the right idea!” Pinkie said, waving a finger at him as she followed the men in front.

Chylene came to a stop. “Twila, wait. What about you?”

“Right behind you!”

And they ran.

Passing the occasional unconscious guard or tied up servant, the group made haste down the hall to the foyer, and the escape awaiting them behind the door. The lead man swung the door open wide, gesturing with his rifle for the others to exit.

Outside, Spike and the girls saw the van Twila had mentioned. It was idling across the street, one door open, a few stairs and a street all that stood in their way.

“But what about Jack?” Rarity asked between breaths. “And Dash? They’re still in the vault, aren’t they?”

“Rarity, we don’t have time for that,” came Twila’s slightly irritated reply. “Those two will be fine, but we won’t if we don’t leave, now. I on--I mean, we only get one shot at this. So get in the van.”

“But Twila--” started Spike.

“No buts!” interrupted Twila, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him forward. “Talk after we get away.”

The masked men with Twila had already made it to the van, throwing in their weapons and the two bags of loot. Three climbed into the driving compartment, while the other two slipped into the open door. Twila herself was halfway down the steps.

Spike hopped in back, holding a hand out for Rarity, who took it gratefully. Chylene came next, too slow for Pinkie who stumbled into the girl’s backside, spilling them both into the floorboard of the vehicle. “Oopsie. Sorry, Chy,” Pinkie said as she sat up.

“Everybody in?” called a voice from up front. The driver.

Grabbing Pinkie by the back of her jacket, one of the masked figures lifted her the rest of the way, then slide the door closed. “Roger, Guzman--let’s move!” The voice was a woman’s. No sooner had she spoken than the crunch of gears signaled movement as the van lurched forward then was slung into a none-too-tight turn.

Spike glanced over in a panic. “Wait! Twila’s still--”

He felt a light touch to the back of his head. “Did you forget? I got in while you were helping Rarity, ‘Drake’.” She had removed her mask; her teeth shown in an amused laugh. “That was a rush, wasn’t it? And it went perfectly, to boot!”

The young man forgot himself briefly; he threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly, tears welling in his eyes. “Where were you? I-I thought…”

Returning the hug, Twila replied, gently, “It’s OK, Spike, it’s OK. We’re all OK now.” She laughed again. “I just had to make some calls.” The strangers in the backseat gave their own laugh. “Between that and getting the suits and masks together, well…It took a little longer than I thought it would.”

He let go of her, leaning his head back on the cool metal of the van. “I-I haven’t gotten this choked up since the bank,” he sniffed. “Though I probably sounded better during that over the coms.”

“Wouldn’t think he was such a softie, those things he was saying earlier, eh?” said the woman from before.

“Makes me all warm inside,” replied a man from next to her.

“You guys!” Twila chided. Then to Spike, “I’m sorry, Spike. But it’s over. We’re out, safe and sound. Mission accomplished.”

Another pair of arms wrapped themselves around her. “Twila! I’m so glad you’re okay ‘cause we couldn’t find you anywhere and we thought something bad had happened to you—” Pinkie stopped herself, slowing down. “And we knew you wouldn’t leave us and…guess you proved that just now, right?” she finished with a smile.

Spike glanced over at Rarity and gave her a friendly nudge. “Told you. Plan in a plan. She’s all about those lists.”

“Of course not, Pinkie.” She threw her arms around the baker. “How could I ever abandon my best friends? I love you all too much.” To Spike, she said, a nervous blush touching her cheeks, “And thanks, Spike, but this was actually kind of put together on the spot… I mean, I had some vague idea, but the details just sort of...fell into place by themselves.”

His jaw dropped at her words for the second time that night. He gave a resigned sigh and leaned back into his seat once more. “And that’s why I’m just the secretary, I guess.”

She ruffled his hair. “Don’t sell yourself short, Spike. You did great tonight.” She gave him a sideways, somewhat heated look. “Even though I specifically told you to stay home.”

He kicked the floor. “You did,” he agreed, then shook his head. “But sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So you’re a man now, huh?” She continued to look at him for a moment, her eyes steel as they examined the young man. Finally, she broke into a warm smile. “I guess you’re right, Spike. You are.”

“Um…” Chylene twiddled with her fingers. “I’m happy that we’re all safe, but aren’t we forgetting about Jack and Dash?”

“They’ll meet us at the rendezvous,” Twila answered. “We tapped into the mansion’s personal systems before starting--seems they set off an alarm, but Blueblood was too prideful to let it leave his personal forces. Anyways, we caught word that some of the reinforcements had shown up, but too late to catch whoever had broken in. Then they came for us, rather than pursuing.” Shaking her head, she added, “I swear those two have Elondrie watching out for them. Either that or some of the dumbest luck imaginable.”

“A little of both, depending on which one you ask,” Spike replied. He paused, a thought coming to him. “Twila… I realized something. The List. The one Blueblood grabbed--what are we going to do about that? We left our primary objective behind in the hands of that slimeball!”

Without a word, Twila reached into her jacket, pulling the manilla envelope and giving it a wave. “I saw that and relieved him of it before the lights came back on. I didn’t say the mission was a success for nothing, you know.”

“Unbelievable,” Spike said with a laugh. “This keeps up and I won’t even need to run coms, as good as you are thinking on the fly.” He glanced once more at the masked characters driving. “OK, OK. One last question for your magic act: Who are these guys?”

“Yeah! I don’t even know them!” Pinkie exclaimed, still latched onto Twila.

Returning the envelop to its place, Twila slid low in her seat, closing her eyes and letting out a long sigh. “They’re soldiers--well, ex-soldiers. Friends of my brother, back from his Academy days.”

“Lew’s a bit stiff, but he’s a good man,” said the woman, taking off her mask. Her light brown hair was cut short, her eyes a matching brown. “A better man than most of us, since he stuck with it when command lost their minds.”

“Yeah, the rest of us quit the guard when the Queen’s policies changed. But we hated being so powerless. When Miss Shields called us tonight, well, it was the signal we were waiting for,” said another.

“Down with the Tyrant,” said one from up front.

Nodding her assent, Twila said, “I knew they were all still in Camelot, eager to do something. The guard are comprised of the best of the best--so I called them in.”

Spike nodded in thought. “Good. They’ll go great with the hired guns we’ve got online. We’re building a nice little group now.”

“Yeah,” Twila said weakly. “I suppose we have.” Setting her mask to cover her eyes, she added, “Should be a little more than a half hour or so until we reach the edge of the city. Jack and Dash should be there, but we might have to wait. So take it easy, everyone. The worst is behind us.” Or maybe, she thought bitterly, maybe the worst is yet to come.

The van descended into silence, save for the smooth sound of the tires on asphalt as it wound its way through the streets, heading for the city limits. Despite the questions she knew they must have, Twila suspected the girls were glad for a moment to relax and recover. At least, that's what she wanted for herself.

Since that day... I don't think I've ever truly relaxed. Twila's thoughts raced from the now to the past. Since all of this started--when I learned the truth. Her eyes burned. When I lost so much and now...? She thought about her dearest, most treasured friends sitting so close around her, and of Jack and Dash who would be joining them soon.

Now to face that terrible truth, alone...? Celestia, I miss you.

In the dark stillness of the van's interior, none of the others noticed Twila's arms wrap around herself or--with the cover of the mask over her eyes--the tears begin streaming down her cheeks.

The Tyrant's Truth

With a piercing, thrice-called whistle and a huge bellow of steam, the train rolled to a stop. The final push of inertia marked the last break as the conductor called, “Train arriving at Camelot Grand Station! End of line, will all passengers please gather your luggage and depart in an orderly fashion. Next train to depart tomorrow morning at four fifty-three AM.”

Luggage in hand, Twila Shields--recently turned twenty-five years old--stepped down to the platform. Smoothing her dress from the blowing of the train, she breathed deep.

Back in Camelot at last! she thought happily. I love visiting with my friends, and all, but I can’t wait to see Queen Celestia for a nice, peaceful meal on our own.

She had been looking forward to this visit for months. While Mansfield had become Home in its own fashion, she had been born and raised in Camelot. Her parents were waiting for her, there was her brother to meet at the Academy--which brought to mind her old teachers and some school friends...There were so many places she wanted to visit, so many people she wanted to catch up with.

But throughout the whole trip, Twila knew exactly who she wanted to see the most… But Celestia would have to wait, she’d decided. She felt it only right to see her parents first.

Besides, she thought, I need to drop my stuff off. It’d be kind of weird to have my suitcase with me during dinner.

The station was mostly empty, it being so late. Here or there she saw porters closing up and janitors cleaning. A few of the many benches in the main plaza had become beds to passengers awaiting the morning trains. One had a couple, covered together in a jacket with their heads leaning against each other’s. Twila smiled at the cute image, then hurried on out.

It was the tail end of summer, so the night air held a chill, especially when the breeze picked up. What was more, Camelot was at a higher elevation than Mansfield, so it was naturally cooler. But Twila was quite prepared. She untied the jacket around her waist--a girlish habit she had picked up from Dash, of all people--and put it on.

Ready, she looked along the street until she saw a vacant cab. Throwing her luggage in, she sat down and gave directions to her parents’ condo. Anxiety and impatience filled her from head to toe. That was a downside to coming alone--the train ride had been terribly dull, despite the half dozen books she’d brought with her.

She had waited too long to visit, she realized. That was why it was so hard to stay patient. Her foot tapped against the cab’s floor the entire drive to her parents’ as she watched the familiar streets and buildings pass her by.

Making a note of various shops and restaurants she wanted to visit before leaving, she decided to check on something. Pulling out her phone, Twila dialed her brother’s number. It only rang twice before he answered.

“Twily!” came his voice from the receiver, loud enough she winced and pulled back a bit. “Are you in town yet?”

“Hello to you too, Lew. Yes, I’m in town. Going to Mom and Dad’s to drop off my bags.”

He laughed. “I’m surprised--we all figured you’d head straight to the palace!”

“Please,” she said with her own laugh. “Family first. Which is why I called, actually. You’re still going to be at the Academy in…” She looked at her watch. “About forty minutes or so?”

“Oh sure! Just hangin’ with some of the guys from the Academy. We don’t have anywhere better to be.”

“Aren’t you still working?” she asked, confused.

He didn’t answer for a few seconds. She was about to ask what was wrong, when he said, “I’m on leave for the moment. Just enjoying a few days’ rest, y’know?”

Twila knew he was hiding something, but thought better of pressing over the phone. She would be seeing him soon enough--he’d answer her properly then. Instead, she replied, “I know the feeling, Big Brother. I’ll see you in a little while, OK?”

“See ya then, Twily--say hello to Mom and Dad for me.”

“Will do, bye!”

Putting away the phone, she let out a sigh, a frown creasing her forehead. I’m not back for ten minutes and there’s trouble. Why does it seem like no matter where I go, there’s always something?

Dropping the thought, she rested her head against the window. The cool glass against her skin did wonders to relax her. What was she doing? Surely there was a reasonable explanation. She was worrying for nothing.

“I’m just too used to there always being some disaster behind anything unusual,” she said to no one. “I really need to relax more.”

“You say something, miss?” asked the cabbie.

“Oh no! Just...talking to myself,” she said, embarrassed. “Sorry…”

“It’s fine, miss!” he said, laughing. “Happens all the time with the late customers. You just don’t mind me, miss. We’re almost there.”

“Thanks.”

Retreating to her thoughts, Twila stared into the empty streets as the cab wound its way away from the station towards the apartments where her parents’ owned a condominium. Did her brother’s strange behaviour have anything to do with the recent rumors coming out of the city? Admittedly, that was one of the most important reasons behind her visit. If what the tabloids and countless articles online said were true, she needed answers from Celestia desperately.

It wasn’t much longer before she arrived at her parents’. Having scheduled more time with them the next day, she simply dropped her suitcase off, exchanged a few pleasantries, then began the ten minute walk to the Academy. It was a path she could walk with her eyes closed. The familiar sidewalk, like the city itself, possessed such happy memories. Now, her mind half-distracted with rumors and whispers, the street seemed dirtier than she remembered, the cement cracked and chipping from neglect.

Before she knew it, the looming shape of the Academy towered over her, its elegant, silvery gate standing half open for the summertime all-nighters and evening workers who would still be utilizing the building. Or buildings, rather.

The Academy itself was actually two campuses that had grown into one another. One was the Royal Academy (of Arts, Sciences, Technology and Politics, but most people omitted that part). The other the Academy of Combat, Defense, and Leadership, often just called the Military Academy. Over time, expansions and cross-school programs had more or less made the two facilities into one massive, all-purpose school centered around a joint-administration.

She stepped through the gate and stopped, staring at the campus she had spent so many days and nights working hard in. Short, knee-high lights lined the primary entrance and walkway that coursed along a serpentine path throughout the various buildings and facilities. They dotted the landscape, massive, mostly-shadowed buildings, resting for a little while longer yet. The next semester started in less than a week.

Above, in the distance, she saw the castle on its high perch. Lighted windows, stationary lights, and roving spotlights illuminated the spiraled towers and castle walls from its place atop a high cliff overlooking the sea. Banners whipped in the wind, casting shadows that made the castle seem somehow magically alive. It was a majestic sight, still taking Twila’s breath away despite all her years in Camelot.

Detaching herself from the sight, she headed forward purposefully. If she knew Lew--and she knew Lew--he’d be with his Academy friends in the Military Gymnasium, nearly all the way in the back of the Academy grounds. She pulled her jacket tighter, the coolness of the night beginning to get to her. The wind off the coast was beginning to pick up, causing her to grumble at the distance. The good news was the gymnasium being near a summit station that would take her to the castle.

Moving her legs in a quick march, Twila rubbed at her shoulders as she followed the winding paths through the campus. In her very first year, she had memorized each and every pathway, knowing which buildings to cut through as well, in order to get from any point A to any point B as quickly and efficiently as she could. Not once had she been late.

So it was only a short time later that she pushed opened one of the glass doors to the gym, rubbing her arms and shivering as she thanked Elondrie for the rush of sudden heat inside. Letting the feeling return to her nose and ears, she asked the desk attendant about her brother’s whereabouts and headed to find him.

She found her big brother sitting on a bench, surrounded by four others, in a large weight room. They were talking animatedly, but her brother’s face was dark, worried. If she didn’t know him better, she’d even call him angry. Her brother never got angry. The others she recognized from previous visits--they were also members of the Royal Guard, elite soldiers under Lew’s command.

Hesitating, she quickly recalled their names and tried to think if it was significant to find them all here, after hours. Lew was sitting, with Roy--a tall man, a little older than Lew; Twila knew him to be Lew’s second in command--and a woman with shoulder-length black hair. Rosetta was her name, though she went by Roz. They were the ones doing most of the talking--they seemed to be pleading and arguing with her brother fiercely.

A little bit to the side, slowly pumping a small dumbbell, was a short man, his red hair styled up, spiked to match his edged features. The hook of his nose marked him out as a Kvaat, and thus as Mziigeev. Leaning against a wall was a tall, broad-featured man with the dark, dark skin of a Somani pureblood. His eyes were closed, but Twila occasionally saw his jaw work as he added bits and pieces to the discussion. She was pretty sure his name was Earl Wind.

While she had paused to recall their names, Lew had noticed her. His face instantly lit up as he stood, waving an arm. “Twily!” he called, heading her way. “It’s so good to see you, sis!”

She returned the smile, saying, “It’s good to see you, too, big br--” She was cut off as his arms wrapped around her tightly. She barely managed to move an arm to pat his back as she hissed, “It’s nice t’see ya, too, Lew--can’ breathe, broth’r!”

Laughing, he let her go. His smile never wavered as she gave him a dark look. “Look at you, sis! You seem well. Mansfield treating you alright?”

“Oh you know,” she said idly, “not a bland day goes by. Celestia’s random assignments all over help...er, are you OK, big brother?” she asked, seeing his face darken at mention of Celestia.

His smile returned just as fast, but she could tell it was somewhat forced. “Hmm? Yeah, I’m just fine.”

“Don’t give me that, Lew,” she replied, putting her hands on her hips and giving him a hard glare. “Something’s wrong. You can’t hide from me, remember? If nothing else, I can call Cadence. In fact, why don’t I--”

He stopped her arm on its way to her purse, a look of nervous fright on his face. “N-no! That’s won’t...I mean, we don’t need to bother Cadence with this stuff, Twily.”

“Ah hah! So there is something! I knew it.” The dots connected in her head, and she gasped. “And you haven’t told Cadence yet!”

Grabbing her gentle by an arm, he pulled her away from the others, all who were listening closely, some of whom were sniggering at Lew.

When they were out of earshot, he leaned close and whispered, “No, I haven’t told her yet. It’s...complicated, Twily.”

“Does this have anything to do with those stories online?” she asked eagerly.

“Sort of, yeah.” Scratching the back of his neck, her brother seemed incredibly uncomfortable. It was unnerving--Lew’s confidence was, well, had been unending. “Things around Camelot have been...tense, Twila. And not just here, but all over. It was kept quiet at first, but now? Now it’s starting to spill over.”

Twila couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She said as much.

“I know it’s crazy, but those stories are closer than you’d think,” he replied, his tone deadly serious. “Some of the Queen’s most recent policies have been, uh…” His eyes pleaded for help finding a word.

“Unpopular?” she offered.

He shrugged, saying, “That’s being charitable, but yeah. Honestly, it almost feels like a different woman on the throne.”

“So all that’s true?” Twila asked. “The drafting of young men all over? Blocking of ports to Kvaan?”

“Yeah, but that’s the small stuff. Just a week ago, she pushed through a movement to further isolate the Western Tribes into smaller territory. It hasn’t been said outright, but she’s practically treating them like foreign invaders. She recalled the Kvaan ambassador, arrested the Kvaat one here. She’s--”

“Wait, wait, wait. How in Elondrie’s name did she justify that?”

“Convinced enough people that the rise in Kvaat pirate activity was actually the opening strikes of a concentrated assault.”

“What!? That’s ridiculous!”

“It seemed less ridiculous when a raiding party struck all the way inland as Las Vegas--flying the royal colors and joined by a Talon squad.”

Twila was confused. “But those are--”

“--the elite unit comprised of the ruling warlord’s family,” Lew finished. “One hundred percent sanctioned by the Kvaan government for Kvaat interests as a unified people. Confirmed by our information network. They weren’t renegades.”

“But still… Celestia wouldn’t… She couldn’t…”

“She apparently would and could and has, Twila. Everything she’s been doing--and plans on doing--has been to fortify Torani’s defenses. The old guard eat it up, mostly, and the younger generation follows through out of obedience or loyalty to big names like Alaurd Blueblood.” Lew nearly spat the name.

“So…” Twila hesitated, trying to think of some logical reason why Celestia would order such drastic and warlike measures. “I mean, it’s for defense, right? Maybe there’s some information you don’t have or...or… She’s being pressured into it?”

“Some have mentioned that. Princess Luna’s usually blamed for the sudden shift to a more militant political atmosphere,” he said flatly, nodding.

“You sound like you don’t believe that…?”

“Considering Luna has zero political sway and hasn’t even been in Camelot for almost a year, I’m gonna have to say no to that one.”

Twila didn’t know how to reply. Her mind tried to process what she had learned with the teacher she had known for years. Celestia--who had always talked about finding peaceful solutions? Of putting others before one’s self? Who championed knowledge, equality, and peace? Impossible.

“Have you talked to her?” she asked, overwhelmed.

He shook his head. “No, she won’t see me. And actually…” He looked nervous again. “I’ve kinda taken a break on being Captain of the Royal Guard.”

“You’ve whaaaat?!” Twila yelled, dumbfounded. “How could you just quit the Guard? Do Mom and Dad know?! Cadence?”

He raised his hands defensively. “Hey now, I didn’t say quit. Just a vacation...until this craziness either works itself out or blows over. You know I wouldn’t just give up something like that for no reason.” He looked at the others across the room, talking amongst themselves and lifting various weights. “The guys...they’re actually here trying to get me to quit for real. Like they have.” His face took on the hard look of absolute dedication she had known for years. “But I’m not ready to give up. I… I don’t know how, but there must be answers, Twila! There must be.”

Placing a hand high up on his shoulder, she gave him a squeeze. “You’re right--and I’m going to go find them, Lew.”

Nodding, he replied, “That’s a good idea. If she’d tell anyone, she’d tell you. I just… It’s hard, y’know? Being what I have been for so many years, then hearing all this…? I grew up knowing--absolutely knowing--that Celestia stood for Torani. That Torani was Celestia. Not because of her family name, but because of how she lived it. Every day of her life, she lived as Torani should live. I just can’t face her with these kind of questions, Twily…”

“I understand, big brother. Leave it to me,” she said, putting on a mask of confidence she only half didn’t feel. “I’m going to go up to the castle right now.”

“OK,” he replied. Leaning down, he kissed her cheek then hugged her tight once more. “I know you’ll find out what’s going on. When you do, and all our worries were for nothing, tell her I offer my deepest apologies for even doubting her for a second.”

“You got it, BBBFF,” she said, patting him on the cheek. She said her farewells to Lew’s squad, then headed straight out the back for the Castle Station.

The castle had been built upon the cliff overlooking the city. At the time it had been for defensive purposes, but later historians, politicians, and artists of every form had described it as a beacon of equality and peace, standing tall and true for all to see. Which, while a pretty symbolic image, was actually more literal than most people expected.

Though primarily overlooking the coast, the castle could be seen for miles. Even from Mansfield, the aura of the castle’s lights were easily found. On especially clear nights, a viewer could see the castle’s silhouette.

However, it also meant that there was no footpath to the castle itself. A visitor had to be delivered by helicopter, the Camelot balloon service, or one of six cable cars. The helicopter was for VIPs; the balloons didn’t run at night. That left Twila taking the nearest cable car to the cliff--a fifteen minute ride.

As she stepped out of the summit station towards the castle gates, she felt half-crazed. The whole ride her brother’s words--and especially his body language--played through her thoughts. Combined with what she had learned, Twila needed answers. Now.

She felt as if she was walking through a dream, though pinching herself had only left a small red mark and no change to her surroundings. Reality felt...unreal. Celestia--warmongering? Isolating Torani from the North?

If everything Twila had read and heard was true, that meant that Celestia was no less than...than… She swallowed hard, forcing the words from her mouth, hoping the sound would bolster the ridiculousness of the idea.

“A tyrant…”

She was familiar with the word, with the idea of tyranny itself. But Torani’s history had long been blessed with a gracious monarchy-turned-constitutional monarchy. Her leaders had been fair and virtuous, even without the normal historical positive bias. But other northern nations hadn’t been so lucky.

Kvaan especially came to mind. Kvaan’s leadership had always been the strongest, most influential warlord and his or her family. Though unified in a common cultural background, the nation had almost always been torn by civil strife as various tribal groups warred with one another for supremacy.

Yes, Kvaan had shown the world what tyranny was. Terror, chaos, and pain.

And Celestia--Queen Celestia, benevolent child of Elondrie, wise woman of peace and justice--was acting that way?

She needed to talk to her, as soon as possible.

Passing through the gates, ignoring the friendly call of the Guard there, she headed for the most direct path she knew of: one of the older secret passageways that exited outside the hall that Celestia’s chambers were connected to. Sliding out from behind a large tapestry, she turned the corner and stopped short.

At either side of the hallway stood a member, dressed in Celestia’s colors as members of the Royal Guard. But Twila knew every Guard member’s face. Through Lew, she had met them all, spent time with most.

But these two were strangers. The armor was right, the stance perfect, the lances at their sides marking their traditional training even more than the swords at their hip. Despite all that, Twila sensed something...off. Something just below the surface.

One of them saw her standing there. Putting a hand to his sword, he called, “You there! This area is off limits to all but the cleaning staff. Turn around now!”

Tilting her head, Twila asked, bewildered, “What? But Celestia’s door is always open and--” She shook her head. “I’m Twila Shields. Personal protege to Queen Celestia. I need to talk to her.”

Shockingly, she saw his grip harden on the sword hilt. “I don’t care who you are. No entry means no entry. Now remove yourself or be arrested.” His words were harsh, an obvious edge of danger and violence riding just under the surface.

Raising her hands, Twila quickly said, “A-alright!” and left, back around the corner. Her heart was beating--had her life actually been in danger? From the Royal Guard of all people?

As she made her way to the main halls, she saw more Guard soldiers, none of whom she recognized.

Who are these people? she asked herself. The Guard almost never changes its roster...now it looks like they replaced everyone!

Many gave her the same warning the original Guard had. Or harshly told her to keep moving. None recognized or cared for her name. Celestia was not to be disturbed. Those were their orders, and they cared for little else.

Well. She was Twila Shields, and she cared for plenty! She was absolutely determined to get her answers and so she made her way to the old passage that would take her directly to the queen’s room.

There weren’t any Guards in that part of the castle, so she had no issues. It had been months since anyone had used the passage, she saw. A thick layer of dust lay undisturbed. Even she hadn’t used it much in the years before going to Mansfield.

Finally, impatience gnawing at her heels, she reached the exit. It was relatively simple--it wasn’t a mechanical door, but simply a trick of architecture. Twila lifted a latch that locked the door’s hinges, and began pushing the door open. It was heavy, and she didn’t want to scare the queen, so she had to push it open rather slowly.

When it had barely cracked, spilling the room’s light into the passage, she stopped. She could hear a voice. Or voices?

Twila listened carefully. Was that Celestia? It sounded like her and yet…didn’t. It was almost like listening to a stereo whose right and left were slightly out of sync. On one level was Celestia’s familiar, motherly tone. On another, a stern, commanding tone seemed to be trying to fight for primacy. Very lightly, she almost thought she could hear others. Other voices and...sounds that were nothing close a voice.

This last Twila disregarded as her imagination, and she went back to listening.

“I’m so terribly bored,” said the strange voice, an almost-echo right behind it causing Twila’s ears some discomfort. Twila couldn’t tell if she was talking to someone or herself. “It’s hearing after hearing, problem after problem… It drags on and on, day after day… What do you think? Tomorrow we do away with them?”

There was an unsettling hiss in reply.

“Yes, instead...why not arrest the fools? Oh yes! That should be far more fun. Wasting the crown’s time? No, that’s too droll… Ah! Concentrated acts of rebellion, distracting the crown from matters of national security and abroad. Regal, elegant, and needlessly complicated. Beautiful.”

That same hiss, though this time it sounded like a laugh.

Confused, Twila risked opening the panel a little more to allow her to see. It was no more than an inch, maybe an inch and a half, but she peeked out.

It was all she could to to stifle the gasp--no, the scream--that arose to her lips. Every thought roared at her to turn away, yet she couldn’t.

It was Celestia… Or at least, it looked like Celestia. She was sitting sideways in a chair, one leg resting high on the arm, revealing much of the queen’s shapely leg as her gown fell. It was nearly indecent--backed by the open neckline, showing off the queen’s modest cleavage. Twila had learned firsthand many times Celestia’s strange sense of propriety, but this relaxed, all but scandalous posture just looked so wrong with the woman before her.

But that wasn’t the terrifying part.

At the foot of the chair was...something. Twila’s eyes both refused to lock onto it and yet couldn’t look away. It was about the size of a child, perhaps around ten years old. Superficially it looked human--it had two legs, folded underneath it, two arms, folded the same way; a head, complete with mouth, nose, ears, and eyes; all connected a central torso.

But the proportions were nauseatingly off, the placement of the limbs approximately right, yet her mind could pick up the subtle wrongness of them. It was as if someone had roughly been given the description of a human, without the fine details. The maker, therefore, had gotten the overall shape and placement right, but had made countless little mistakes that added into something horrifying.

But worse were the traits that were decidedly inhuman. The eyes were faceted, tinged green, though superficially they resembled a normal human eye. Its nose was a wedged lump of skin, without nostrils; similarly, its ears were shaped right, but lacked an ear canal. Poking through the jagged mouth were teeth--long, carnivorous fangs that dripped a too-thick saliva in a puddle on the floor.

It’s skin was an off-white, with rough, cracking patches of what looked like black, plastic-like plates. Worse, it seemed scaled, though not like a reptile.

One arm dangled low, Celestia was scratching roughly where the creature’s chin should be. It rocked gently back and forth, hissing in apparent pleasure.

“We’ve done it time and time again, my child, and yet…” She sat up. “I never truly enjoy the preparations. To be subtle, to weave my web inescapably...there is a charm, true. But it is far too simple a task! Time and time again, my child, it is simply a matter of setting up the pieces and letting them fall into place. It takes no effort, no real skill. We are wasted upon these lesser things. Such as this form--taking their pathetic ruler was beyond simplistic.”

She raised her arms and looked down. “This body… I feel so...limited and ugly.”

Body? What does she--Elondrie’s light!

The woman who looked like Celestia--but Twila knew without a doubt wasn’t--had closed her eyes, holding her arms out wide. Slowly, gruesomely slowly, the skin at her fingertips...bubbled was the best way Twila could describe it. It crawled and shifted, piled on top of itself, thinning and stretching. In a wave of painful-looking movement, every inch of the woman’s body slowly began boiling over.

She was changing.

At her fingertips grew long, gleaming nails or claws, thinned to needle-points. Her skin took on a darker hue, with a similar--though more ordered--texture as the creature at her feet. Black plates intermingled with scaled, fleshy joints that seemed to pulse with grotesque irregularity. The soft flesh was such a rich green that Twila wasn’t entirely sure it didn’t glow with its own inner light.

The gown tore, falling to shreds on the floor, and razor-edged wings, both powerful and delicately insectoid, raised up, then slid inside the...thing’s body.

That was the best way to describe it, Twila decided: like an insect. The thing’s head collapsed in on itself--Twila nearly vomited--before expanding out like an inflating balloon. The eyes stayed terrifyingly human, but were a slowly changing series of blues and greens.

Spiky ridges sprouted from its head, though pockets of space were spread here or there--Twila noticed the same pockets in its hands and along its legs. The legs stayed more or less human, despite the color and skin changing to the same green and black fleshy joints--two more than a human would have--and plating. The feet had become three-toed, complete with blades of the plating on the end.

Celestia’s multi-hued hair gave way to dark blue, messy, and too stringy. It seemed to move on its own, somewhat reminding her of an octopus's tentacle. Under the long locks was the thing’s face. Flat and smooth, just a pair of eyes and an over-large, wicked mouth. Between shark-like teeth flicked a black tongue, or perhaps it was just another plate-spike like those at her elbows and fingers.

The thing let out a gasp--its voice held echoes of Celestia’s gorgeous tones, but had been overwritten by an unearthly hiss-like squeal that shot waves of panic down Twila’s spine. It was wrong. Just...wrong on every conceivable level. She could almost feel her mind wrenching in two as it tried to understand the scene in front of her. Despite what her senses told her, Twila knew--positively knew--what exactly she was seeing wasn’t the truth. Some primal force of her reality recognized it, but couldn’t show it. The horror Twila could see? It paled to the horror just below the surface.

The thing was talking again.

“Yes, it is so glorious to shed that disgusting form. Celestia the fair? Celestia the beautiful? These creatures have no taste.” The creature spun this way and that, admiring itself as it hissed out, “There is no beauty to match Queen Chrysalis! Soon, dear child, all will share my image and perfection. This world will fall to rise in glorious change. My children shall consume and become all!”

Then, opening wide, it let out an almost ultrasonic laugh. It drilled its way through Twila, both heard and not. The teeth gleamed in the light, the creature’s body bulging with obvious pleasure and delight. It laughed, and the creature at its feet clung to its leg and hissed in delight and zombie-like adoration.

Thoughts failing to form, a scream threatening to work its way up her throat, Twila followed the last coherent thought she had: Run.

She ran.

The next few moments were a blank in Twila’s memories. She didn’t become fully aware of her surroundings until she found herself kneeling by her bed, face buried in the now tear soaked sheets. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she stood and began pacing.

Though her heart still screamed and wailed, her mind throbbing in pain and threatening to snap completely, she forced herself to focus. To calm down. To analyze, understand, and plan accordingly. She was Twila Shields--this is what she did.

Celestia was gone.

No, she berated herself. Say it!

“Celestia...is g-gone,” she stammered. Again, the pain found her heart like a knife. She shivered, struggling to remain standing, to keep the tears at bay. But she held. Facts. The truth.

Celestia was gone--she had been replaced. Replaced by some...some creature, some monster. She called herself Chrysalis.

“What was that she was saying?” she said, thinking, her brow furrowing in concentration.

Children--she mentioned children, Twila thought. Changing us into...more like her?

Whatever her goal, the tyrant Queen Chrysalis had to be stopped. But how? Even Twila couldn’t accuse the queen of all Torani of being a monster. Whatever she was, Chrysalis seemed to have power--at the least power enough to perfectly mimic Celestia.

Ignore the stab. Keep thinking.

Regardless, Twila had a heavy suspicion the new Royal Guard--so many faces she had never seen before--were already, if not changed, in the pocket of the Tyrant. If she went through them, the game would be over before it began. That left her brother out--he would want to go through the Guard himself.

Who did she go to?

She shook her head slowly, as her thoughts and sense of sanity began to settle again. It was obvious. So obvious.

Celestia was gone--murdered or imprisoned, Twila didn’t know, but she was gone. Camelot was no longer safe. Her hometown, the place of her birth, had become enemy territory.

That left Home.

That left Mansfield.

That left Spike. It left Pinkie. It left Chylene, Jack, and Dash. It left Rarity.

Her friends; her family.

Taking as many shortcuts and passageways as she could, Twila almost ran the entire way out of the castle. She’d call her brother and her parents later. They’d understand. They always did.

Like the Cult of Sombra a year ago. Like Dorcas puppeting Princess Luna the year before that. Like all the crazy spots Celestia--the pain was lessening now--had sent her and her friends into before. This Chrysalis, whatever she was, wherever she came from, whatever she wanted…

Twila knew there was nothing she and the girls--and Spike, too--couldn’t handle.

Torani needed them.

Celestia needed them.

Twila wouldn’t stop until she returned to Mansfield. Already plans were beginning to form in her head.

“Chrysalis… You will pay for what you’ve done!” she said through gritted teeth. “I’ll make sure of it, personally!”

Forward, Friends

The strange man looked at the gun in Jack’s hand and laughed.

“That’s a cute peashooter, kid,” the man called, hefting his rifle to a readied position. “What’re the odds, you think? That you’ll get me before I take you down?”

“No bet,” came another stranger’s voice. Jack nearly jumped as a woman rounded the van, similarly armed. She stood, gun lazily waving as she put a hand to her hip. “Lookit her, she’s exhausted. I’m surprised she’s even holding that thing steady.”

“Down! Both of ya!” Jack snapped towards the woman. “Or I’ll pull the trigger on yer friend here. Thing’s got big bullets, so I ain’t afraid of missin’.”

“She’s cute,” said the woman, ignoring the threat. “Can we keep her?”

“Bolt!” Jack roared. “On me!”

The moment she finished those words, Dash was already by her side. “I heard ya, Stetson, don’t worry.” She looked at the newcomers, growling and aiming her pistol at them. “Get the fuck down, hands behind your head and tell us who the hell you are and what the fuck you’re doing here!”

“Jus’ some folks enjoyin’ the weather,” the man said, bored, spitting out his cigarette. “Real nice night for a walk in the park, don’tcha think?”

“Oh har har.” Dash took a step forward. “Real funny. You can tell us more jokes when you’re on the ground and not bleeding.”

“The thing about using guns to threaten, girly,” began the woman, “is you don’t. You just use ‘em.”

“Sounds like somethin’ the Queen’s men would say, ya fuckin’ bitch. I’mma countin’ ta three--drop ‘em ‘fore then, an’ we all walk away winners,” Jack growled out, adjusting her hand on the revolver’s grip.

The man laughed. “So you’re right, it does! That’s OK, she doesn’t really mean it.”

“One,” she began, taking a small, barely noticeable step forward.

Neither of them showed any signs of backing down. They simply stood there, wearing confident smiles.

“Two,” Jack growled out, tensing her body slightly and planting one foot in front of the other.

Again they didn’t move.

Gulping hard, Jack was about to speak when a voice from behind said, “Three--pow! You’re dead, birdie.”

The farmer froze, paralyzed and all but unwilling to turn around at the voice.

The man said, “Yeah, she was just distracting you, killing time for our associates to circle far enough around.”

“Goddamnit,” Jack spat through clenched teeth, her face a snarling, animalistic mask as she tried frantically to think of a way out. She could see now, out of the corner of her eye--two more men, dressed similarly to the first pair--had circled around and were now aiming easily at their flanks. Had they really come so close just to get busted now?

“Jack! Dash!” cried a familiar voice. It was soon followed by Twila--Spike and Rarity following shortly after--rounding the van and heading towards them.

“Y-y’all?” Jack stammered out, confusion spreading over her face as she hesitantly lowered her gun a few inches. “The hell’s goin’ on?”

“Oh man!” said one of the men from behind her--a short, red-headed fellow with sharp features. “That was too ripe! She was about to piss herself!” He fell back, laughter shaking his body as his gun fell to the ground, forgotten.

“Cunt,” Dash snarled out towards the man, only affording him a brief glance before looking towards her friends. “Elondre’s dick--the fuck’s your problem, guys?”

“Sor… Sorry! We were all the way at the...at the swings.” Twila said, catching her breath. She glared at the strangers, who had gathered in a group, laughing and slapping each others’ backs. “Why didn’t you tell them?”

The first man--he had the air of being their leader--put on a fake look of hurt. “Oh come on, Twily, we just--” He stopped when he saw her glare grow hotter. “Er, sorry, Miss Shields. Just a harmless bit of fun.”

“Yeah, well, your ‘harmless’ bit of fun probably isn’t too enjoyable to those who just finished risking their lives. So apologize.” She noticed the others sniggering at his berating, so she snapped, “All of you!”

To Jack and Dash’s surprise, they all came to attention, looking truly sorry. A round of apologies followed under Twila’s level stare.

Dash smirked, folding her arms across her chest. “Yeah, that’s more like it--”

She stopped, looking at the park around them. Everyone blinked, confused, hearing a high pitched noise gradually get louder and louder…

“Guuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuys!!!” hollered Pinkie, latching onto Jack first and giving her a tight hug. Chylene was close behind, quiet, but smiling broad enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“Chy! Diane!” Jack exclaimed, squeezing the pink-haired woman around her middle. “Yer alright too! Great!”

“Heh, hey, Pinks,” Dash said, only to have the woman cuddle her next. “Er, hey…” she said, squirming to try and get comfortable. “Where did your dress go?”

“Oh! I threw it away so I could knock a servant unconscious, take his clothes, then crawl through a vent to save Chylene from mean ol’ Blueblood!” Pinkie exclaimed with a smile.

“We’re still going to have words about that, young lady,” Rarity growled. Then she turned to Jack and Dash. “Oh we were so worried!” Tears leaked from her eyes as she hugged first Jack, then pulling Dash into it tightly. “I feared the most awful things!”

“Come on now, sug. We’re alright. Dash jus’ needs a few days off her leg an’ she’ll be good as new. Don’t cry,” the farmer said, consoling the woman.

“Yeah, we’re cool,” Dash agreed, then grunted. “Well, my leg hurts like a bitch, but I’m not crying out for an ambulance or anything.”

“Oh, well you must give it a rest for a couple days,” Chylene said, going over and giving the girls light hugs. “I’m so glad you’re alright! It was all just so…” She looked at everyone around her, on the edge of breaking down. Surprisingly, she instead let out a long sigh, letting out a tired, “Can we relax now?”

Having finished her scolding of the strangers, Twila turned back to the group. “Those guys will never grow up,” she said, irritation and amusement on her features. She smiled as she took a long look at her friends, all safe and sound after another dangerous mission. But when her eyes passed over the bandage wrapped tightly on Dash's leg, all her worries and fears from before returned. Her tone serious, she said, “It's so good to see you all...but... We need to talk, girls.”

“Finally!” sighed Rarity.

“Yeah? What about?” asked Dash, putting the majority of her weight on her good leg.

“What even needs said? Shit’s done--I’m guessin’ ya got the List,” Jack said, crossing her arms.

Nodding, Twila said, “We did--or should I say, Chylene did.”

“Knew ya had it in ya, girl.” Jack smiled and nodded. “Ya did good.”

Chylene offered everyone a small smile, not looking straight at them. “Thank you, but, um, it wasn’t just me. If Spike hadn’t been so brave, we might have not made it out of there…”

“That’s right!” cried Rarity, standing behind the young man, her hands on his shoulders. She leaned down, her head beside his as she smiled. “You should’ve seen him, Twila! He was gallant, dashing, heroic!”

“Seems like you’re giving the little guy quite a bit of credit.” Dash smirked.

“Well, little Spikey here deserves it!” she said. “And wait until you hear Chylene’s story. Pinkie too.” Letting Spike go, she sighed. “I just… I didn’t do much this time around, everyone. You all pulled through so wonderfully.”

“Just having you around is more than enough! Plus,” Pinkie dropped her voice, a little quiet,” even though I ditched it…” Her voice went back to full volume. “You made sure we arrived at the party in style and fit in and everything!” Pinkie wrapped an arm around Rarity, then gestured at her friends. “We all did great!”

“I’m sure ya gals did great. Jus’ happy we’re all alive an’ well,” Jack let out a shaky laugh. “Been a while since I’ve felt this relieved.”

“I know what you mean,” Spike agreed. “Everyone’s alright. That alone…”

Twila said nothing, standing with one arm rubbing the other awkwardly as the party continued to praise each other. The words she wanted to say were right at the tip of her tongue. She had already made the decision--it was the right decision. So why couldn’t she tell them?

Just… Just say it, stupid, she berated herself. It’s for the best. Her eyes trailed back over the wounds noticeable on both Jack and Dash as her mind played through the wounds that couldn’t be seen. She thought of the story that the others had told her--Chylene’s close call with Blueblood, the entire party almost arrested…They would’ve been tried as seditionists and executed. Every last one of them.

The first heist played back, the images that had plagued her nightmares vivid and painful. Jack had died. That had been easy to forget at the time with Chy's quick thinking--but the farmer had died and only the idiotic grace of God had seen her through it. The wounds and terrors the others had suffered... The narrow escape. The constant threat of death, of the finality of a bullet in the brain, or a stray shot catching a lung or an artery...

Could she let them take those chances anymore? No. The decision had already been made.

Her ears tuned back to the conversation at hand. Spike was saying, “...wait till we get back to Mansfield. We need to celebrate!”

“I’m not going back to Mansfield,” Twila said evenly.

"Ooh ooh ooh!" Pinkie cried above Twila's announcement. "I know just what to make, too! There were all these yummy treats at the party I'm pretty sure I can figure out how to make..."

"Uh..." Spike said, hesitant. "We don't want another baked bads incident, so maybe some good ol' Pinkie pies instead?"

Frustrated, Twila yelled, "I'm not going back to Mansfield!"

Pinkie leaped off the ground, eyes widened. “What?!”

Unbelieving, Rarity repeated, “What?”

Looking at them all, Twila said again, “I said I’m not going back with you.” She looked towards the soldiers, now smoking in a quiet group against the van. “I’ll be leaving with them. You guys are free to go home--and stay there, safe.”

“Ya shittin’ me right now, sug?” Jack drawled out. “Why?”

“Why do you think?” she replied a bit heatedly. “You all almost died last time--you did die! This time? While not nearly as dramatic, all of you came so close to...close to…” She made a frustrated noise. “My first plan bungled, but this one’s too perfect. It’s a guaranteed out for all of you. Chrysalis won’t have any reason to suspect any of you anymore.”

“Plan? What plan?” Rarity asked.

“Weren’t you paying attention? Thanks to our little show, now Blueblood--and almost every single person of influence in the city of Camelot and abroad--thinks they’re”--she pointed again at the soldiers--”the masked bank robbers. You’re just victims. Hostages. Innocent.”

“How about what we really are, sug?” Jack stared hard at the woman, her glare narrow and true. “We’re a team. I’ll be damned if yer gonna be in this alone.”

“But I won’t be, Jack. I’ll be with professionals. The people who actually signed up to do this for a living.” Looking at the ground, she said, quietly, “We’ve gotten lucky so far, but that’s all. None of you wanted this. It’s not your responsibility--but it ismine.”

“Now hold up. Y’all are family ta me--an’ family comes first.” Jack stepped forward. “Responsibility or not, I’m with ya ‘til the end, Twi. Ain’t nothin’ gonna change that.”

Angrily, Twila said, “Don’t you think I feel the same way, Jack? Everyone…” We have to keep sacrifices as low as possible...if it can be only me, isn’t that the best? But she couldn’t say that. Couldn’t say the full truth. Instead, she said, “I can’t let you guys hurt anymore. You have families, friends--and yes, I know I do too. But it’s my family’s duty to serve the country. To protect it and her people. And that means you guys.”

“So you think we’re gonna just stand aside while you risk your life alone? No way, nuh-uh, nada.” Pinkie shook her head, sliding in next to Twila. “We do this together. Just like we’ve done all those epic things together before in the past.”

“Damn straight.” Dash nodded. “We made it though that Sombra cult together, we made it through the bank. We made it through this. There’s no fucking way we’re ditching you now, egghead.”

Chylene slowly raised her hand. “I'm in, too. Sometimes it’s scary--well, most of the time it's scary, in fact, all the time it's scary--but I’ll still stand by you guys no matter what.”

Turning so they couldn’t see the tears falling from her eyes, Twila tried to think of anything to convince them to stay. “Why won’t you just--just take the out and be safe?”

“The same damn reason y’all didn’t leave me back at the bank,” Jack said. She took a few steps forward, putting a hand on Twila’s shoulder.

“But I’m supposed to protect you. This is what I was raised and taught to do--I can’t not do it!” She looked at Jack pleadingly. “We won’t get a better chance, Jack.” To everyone, “Now’s when it gets really scary, guys. Everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve done? Child’s play to what’s to come. We’re not talking about just breaking the law anymore. This is revolution--this might even be war in all the North.”

“Like we weren’t preparin’ fer that step.” Jack gestured towards Spike. “In case ya haven’t noticed, that boy’s been preparin’ fer somethin’ that big ever since the bank. Ya don’t hire mercs ta play nice, Twi.”

Shaking her head, Twila said, “No, he really wasn’t. We had no idea what it would take. Not then. But now…?” She took out and held up the manilla envelope. “Now we will. I haven’t looked at it yet, but Roy and the others have been telling me things. Nightmarish, impossible things. That it’s no dream makes it all the more terrifying.”

“All the more damn reason we stick together,” Jack snapped, pointing a finger at the scholarly woman. “I ain’t lettin’ ya risk it on yer lonesome. End-a damn discussion. And you know I ain’t a liar.”

“That’s right,” said Rarity more gently. “As soon as you moved to Mansfield, dear, you were one of us. Nothing can change that. Not time, not distance, not even fear. We’ll always be right there with you, ready to give our support. For me, especially, Twila. For a friend like you, I’d give anything.”

“Hey, Twi, what did Celestia used to refer to me by?” Dash asked, poking her chest with her thumb.

“Uh…” Twila racked her memory, disregarding a few less than positive remarks she figured Dash wasn’t after. It hit her. “Oh! The most devoted of citizens, unmatched through all of Torani history. That’s what you’re talking about, right?”

Dash gave her a firm nod. “That’s right. You’ve got my allegiance, egghead, so there’s no way in hell I’m gonna ditch you now. It’d ruin my rep.”

“And besides,” Chylene cut in, “that wouldn’t be the right thing to do. If any of us left, well, that’d be...be...just awful! And so mean!” she cried. Putting a hand to her mouth, a blush faint on her cheeks, she added, in her much more reserved tone, “I know I could never be that indecent to anyone, least of all a great friend like you, Twila.”

Slinging an arm around Twila and pulling her into an energetic but gentle noogie, Pinkie chirped, “And without you, there’s no way we can have fun! Ya gotta have fun, you know!” She gave a joyous laugh as she spun around Twila. “Together to the end!”

Spike glanced at the others and kicked at the ground. “I’m nothing special on my own, Twila. You know it, I know it. But…uh…” He bit at his lower lip. “I don’t say it enough, but you’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to family. A-and like Jack said, that means something.”

Slowly, Twila stepped over to Spike. Dropping to her knees, she wrapped him in a tight embrace, whispering, “It means everything, Spike. It means everything. “ Overwhelmed, her tears flowed free as she let out a sob. “T-thank you, everyone. I… I didn’t want to...to--I wasn’t sure if I could do it alone, but I was so afraid.” She let Spike go, smoothing out an errant curl of his hair. “But now I see I was more afraid without you. Maybe...maybe she didn’t just mean to keep you safe, not if it meant leaving my best friends in the world.”

I still have so much to learn… Even what I thought I knew. Celestia… I wish you were still here.

She took a long look at each of her friends in turn. Each so willing to risk themselves. For their own reasons, yes, but also for her and each other. Despite the danger, they didn’t hesitate. Twila realized she, since the very moment she had discovered the truth, had been the one hesitating.

She decided she was done with that, now and always.

“Let’s go home, everyone,” she said, smiling broadly. “Together.”

Epilogue

In the heart of the Hub, amidst various newspapers and printed articles, Twila let out a small snore, her head resting on the table. For four days she had been carefully monitoring the news feeds. While Spike, the girls, and she had come back to the farm, Roy and his squad were putting in appearances, heading west. Directly away from Mansfield.

It wouldn’t last forever, but it seemed for a time they could rest at home before their next move.

However, it also meant Twila had to stay cooped up in the Hub, lest anyone see Torani’s Most Wanted not escaping to the wilderness. So she had kept watch, making sure that her plan of making the others out as hostages had worked. So far, so good.

Next to her sleeping form sat the List, still unopened. None of them had wanted to deal with it, so soon after their ordeal to get it. Against the far wall, in organized stacks, taking up a few of the sleeping cots and a spare table, rested the loot from Jack and Dash’s heist. Four days later, they still hadn’t finished counting and valuing everything.

Despite her recent all-nighters and random sleeping schedule, Twila’s dreams had returned to normal. She thankfully slept soundly, no longer afraid for her brother or her friends. The decision had been made--and it had been the right one.

“You awake, Twila?” the voice of her loyal assistant called out as he made his way down under Jack’s barn and into the main room. When silence answered him, it didn’t take him long to see why. He couldn’t help the small chuckle that passed him. He walked down to the second floor of the Hub and came back up with a blanket, which he draped over her body. Waking her could wait for just a bit longer. Not much, he suspected, but just a bit.

He went to the kitchen and started up an espresso. The boy hated the stuff, but, despite not liking it either, Twila was going to want the caffeine boost. Finally, after it was done, he went back to her and gave her a gentle shake on the shoulder. “Hey,” he quietly said.

She murmured something, moving her shoulder a bit, but remained asleep.

“Come on,” he said, a bit more forcefully. “You gotta get up, Twila.”

Sleepily, she said, “Spike, come on--class isn’t for hours yet… Lemme sleep.”

“Class isn’t for a bit,” Spike joked, then frowned. “But we’re just about due for opening the List. The girls’ll be down here soon. We need you presentable.”

She opened her eyes, glaring at him through a bleary cloud of half-sleep. Her cheek was red where it had been laying on the desk and tufts of hair had frazzled here or there. “List? The girls?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, smiling slightly as he patted a bit of her hair down. “They’ll be down in the Hub just about any time.”

Placing her forehead back on the desk, she groaned. “I was up too late. Again. But they said they were near to catching the strike team, so I wasn’t sure if we were going to have to leave right away and then…” She raised up, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. “Then I don’t remember, so I must have fallen asleep.”

“It’s OK. You’re not the only one keeping your eyes peeled about this, y'know--I’ve been listening in too. You should rest when you can. After all, no woman is an island.”

“Thanks, Spike,” she said with a small smile, then yawned. “Ooooh. Is that, ugh, coffee I smell?”

“Kinda. Espresso. Not nearly as good as black, but it should jolt you up a bit better.” He offered the cup to her.

She took it with a grimace. “Why does this stuff have to work so well? Oh well, I’ll have a mug of tea later.” With practiced swiftness, she downed the small cup in one gulp, feeling the warm chemicals almost immediately take effect. “Ugh. OK, I’ll be awake in about five minutes now--thanks, Spike.”

“Yeah.”

He sat down next to her and absentmindedly flipped through the camera feeds. Twila started stretching some of her stiffened joints, rubbing life back into her tired muscles. She was fixing her hair, when he said, “It’s like an on-off switch. O-or binary code, you know?”

“Huh?” Twila asked, perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

“How quick things have changed. At the party--we were all on. We were like, uh, an exposed nerve. Now? We’re all sort of numb again. The past few days have been Jack hauling feed, waiting on Mac to get back in touch with her, Dash working on cars, Chylene and Pinkie taking care of their animals, and me, with Rarity at her shop. H-helping Rarity at her shop,” he quickly corrected, then ran a hand through his hair. “The only one missing is you. If you were at the library, and the town wasn’t under surveillance, it'd feel like the same routine we’ve been doing for years.” He clenched his hand into a loose fist and slowly hit it into his palm. “I-I liked that routine.”

Spike finally shrugged. “I dunno. I’m just talking dumb. Go ahead and ignore me.”

The young woman rested a hand on Spike’s, squeezing it gently. “I liked it too, Spike,” she said quietly, giving a sad smile. “And I think we have to do it that way--otherwise it would all be too much. Too crazy. People can go through years of training, readying themselves for something just like what we’re trying to do, then still come home with post-traumatic stress disorder or worse. It’s not normal, Spike.” She let out a sigh. “But at the same time...clinging to our old routines isn’t just a defense against breaking down. It’s also defending the routines themselves. So after the crazy is over we have someplace to come back to, something to hold onto as we risk our lives.”

She squeezed his hand a little tighter, waiting till he met her eyes. He marveled at the confidence he saw there. He felt so reassured at the truth ringing in her next words.

“It’s not over, Spike. None of it is, and that’s why we can still do it--because Home will still be waiting, as long as we’re all together fighting for it.”

Spike returned the squeeze, opening his mouth to reply.

Then a series of loud thumps down the stairs broke the conversation entirely. Pinkie, in her own impossibly amazing way, skipped down the stairs, fluffy alligator slippers adorning her feet. Spike and Twila stared as she continued to skip towards the table.

She took a seat next to Twila, then looked at the pair. “Hi, guys! What’s up?”

Letting go of Spike, Twila replied, “I am, for one. Good morning, Pinkie--is Chylene with you?”

Spike added, “How’re the animals?”

“Chylene’s just feeding them now, I think. She’ll be down with the others in a minute or two. Maybe three.” She stared at Twila, brow furrowing. “You look waaaay too tired. Have you been getting your forty winks?”

Waving an inconsequential hand, Twila said, “It’s not a big deal. I lost more sleep studying for finals at the Academy.” Spike nodded knowingly.

“No big deal?” Pinkie scratched her cheek, raising an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it you who told me the importance of sleep after I partied hard for a week straight?” She let out a brief chuckle as she remembered all the fun she had stuffed into those days.

Stretching her arms up and yawning again, Twila said, “That was because you were also consuming caffeine and sugar by the truckload. And dancing and playing and singing and all sorts of things. I was just keeping tabs on the news. Not nearly so stressful on the body.”

“Details, details.” Diane waved her hand about like was trying to swat a fly, then prodded Twila’s chest. “But you better get at least some sleep, alright? I’ll even tuck you in and sing a night time song, if ya want.”

Stifling a laugh, Twila said, smiling, “Thanks, Pinkie--you’ll be the first I call. I promise.”

The sound of a door closing, followed by heavy, booted footsteps, announced Jack’s presence. She announced it herself with a far too enthusiastic, “Hey, ya’ll! G’mornin’!” as she came down the steps, Dash quick on her toes.

“Man, bookworm, you look like shit,” the athlete said flatly.

“Dash!” Jack quickly hissed out to the woman.

“Good morning, Jack,” Twila said to the farmer. To Dash, she replied, “I recall a certain athlete walking down Main in her underwear one hungover morning. I think I can take a few baggy eyes and stray hairs.”

Isabelle rubbed at the back of her head. “I’ll give you that one, egghead. Damn, was that a night...”

Ignoring her, Twila asked Jack, “How was breakfast?”

“Hashbrowns an’ ham with cheese. I can run an’ get ya a plate once we’re done talkin’. Made way too much, since I’m used ta cookin’ fer…” She frowned. “Hope that big son of a bitch is alright. Alice too.”

“He’s your brother,” Dash stated. “Of course he’ll be fine. Hella good genes.” After a beat, the lithe woman smirked. “Though you did just call your mom a ‘bitch.’”

Jack ran the words back in her mind. Finally, she put a hand to her hip. “Shut up, sweetie.”

There was a beat of silence, then Twila erupted into laughter, banging on the table lightly as she tried to stifle it. The others looked at her, concerned. Pinkie joined in. “I-I’m sorry!” she said between guffaws. “It’s...hahaha--early, still a little loopy. But that”--she pointed at the couple--“is s-so--heh heh, hahaha--normal, it’s funny.”

Isabelle spared a glance Jack’s way. “Normal, huh? Guess I am always having to clean up thunder thigh's messes.” She shrugged, lifting her hands dramatically in the air as Jack shot a venomous glare back at her. “The curse of dealing with a farmer.”

Resting her head in her hands, Twila wiped away a tear and said, “I meant the two of you, being adorable and affectionate. In your own ways. Or Pinkie’s caring innocence. Rarity and Chylene going back to work. All of you. Being you. So much has changed so quickly, but not you guys. You’ve all weathered the storm so far.”

“Damn right. She’s a blockhead, but nothing’s stopping my girl.” Dash reached up and slapped Jack on the back. The farmer frowned, but nodded.

“Y-yeah. This ain’t nothin’, sug,” Jack agreed, then quickly glanced to the side, rubbing at an arm in thought.

“I think you’re still you as well, Twila,” Chylene said, having quietly entered during Twila's loud laughter.

“I think… I think we’re all becoming more ourselves, if that makes any sense,” Twila said thoughtfully. “To do the things we’ve done can tear a heart in two. So we hold onto ourselves even tighter…” She clenched a fist. “To protect who we are, to preserve it. But in doing so, we learn so much more. About ourselves. About each other.” Blushing, she gave a small chuckle and scratched her neck. “Sorry--guess I’m trying to look at it like one of my old lessons.”

“Lessons? You could well be a teacher!” Pinkie suddenly slammed the table with a hand, squirming. “Oh oh oh oh! Wait—no, a professor! Professor Twila of Friendship and Kicking Serious Butt,” she finished with a serious nod.

“Please,” Rarity called as she descended the steps. “Twila could teach on a great deal of subjects far more sophisticated than that, Pinkie.”

“Amount of books she reads? Damn right she could,” Dash agreed as she crossed her arms.

“You could learn a thing or two from her,” Jack shot back, nodding in greeting towards the tailor.

“Um, I think Pinkie’s point was that she’s just as strong as she thinks we are.” Chylene shuffled in place, arms folded. “I don’t think I’m particularly brave, but if Twila thinks I am…” she added, more quietly, as if that was even possible for her.

Giving the timid woman’s shoulder a gentle rub, Rarity said, “We all know you’re brave, sweetie. You just show it differently. Now,” she directed her words at everyone, “have I missed the unveiling?”

“Just in time,” Spike replied, smiling at her. “Busy morning at the shop?”

“Not really, no,” she said, just a little disappointed. “I was mostly packing things away and the like. And I called Mother and Father, too, to check up on them and Sweetie.”

“How are they doing? Anyone, uh, try to do something to them?”

“They’re apparently putting on a good face, enraged that the Camelot police let me be abducted. Beyond that, they’re just fine--and glad we’re all safe.” She frowned. “I was going to tell them the truth but… Well, it never really came up. So I decided it could wait.”

Spike thoughtfully hummed. “I bet it’d be a hard thing to introduce. Guess I’m lucky--my family’s already neck-deep in this.” He paused, putting a hand to his chin. “Well, at least fairly lucky. Guess if I was lucky, none of this would be happening…”

“Ya can’t complain ‘bout the cards ya got dealt, Spike,” Jack said. “It is what it is. We jus’ have ta do what we can, with what we have.”

After a moment of silent agreement, Twila asked, “So...shall I?” She sounded somewhat nervous.

“Do it, sug. It ain’t gonna do us no favors leavin’ it shut,” Jack said. The others nodded their assent, curiosity and eagerness spread among their features.

Gingerly, as if expecting it to explode or perhaps contain some sort of deadly poison, Twila lifted the envelope. For what they risked to get it, she felt ridiculous when feeling how minuscule it really was. It couldn't have contained more than a dozen pages, at most.

A dozen pages against the lives of her six best friends? She shivered at the thought.

Pushing on, she gave it a scholarly tap against the desk before unwinding the string tying it closed. Twila lifted the lip and, with one quick motion, slid the packet on the table in front of her.

It was simple but quality paper, bound by a few loose stitches and two laminated pages. The front was blank.

She moved it in front of her, opening the first page, and began reading as the others looked on from behind her. Back and forth, her eyes raced across the small print, absorbing the information with the practice of years of lengthy studying. Turning the page, she saw that it was all of similar look--small print in an organized, listed format, detailing the Tyrant’s plans.

As Twila flipped through the pages, the others remained silent, attempting--and failing--to keep up. Rarity, with her keen tailor’s eyes, managed to catch a few names here or there. Some she recognized, but without the context of the rest of the document, she was clueless.

Quicker and quicker, Twila learned the terrible, terrible truth. It became a race in her mind--could she finish before the information tore through her sanity? A few minutes later, Twila flipped the last page, slamming the back flat on the desk with a whap. She sat there, her hand flat on the packet, her head leaning forward, her shoulders raising and lowering with deep, even breaths.

“What we got?” Dash asked, putting her hand on Twila’s shoulder.

“Guys…” Twila’s voice was little more than a whisper. “This…”

“Tell us, sug,” Jack replied, glancing at the rest of the group huddled around Twila.

She turned to look at them, a strained, near-panic look on her face. “This details her plans in their entirety, down to the last day. It’s like a countdown to the end of everything. It’s so...meticulous, ingenious… It’s perfect.” Twila’s voice carried a hint of awe. She looked back at the document. “It’s terrifying. So much worse than what Roy found out.”

She shook her head. “I’m...not sure there’s enough firepower in the world to stop a plan like this. Not that we could put together fast enough.” She flipped the packet, opening it again. She forced herself to look at it like a report--just the facts, related clear and concisely. “It starts off quiet, simple. Recon as she learns absolutely everything about Torani--no, the North’s culture, history, and resources...everything.”

She flipped a page. “Next is positioning. Look here,” she said, pointing. “She begins replacing officials from everywhere with her children, changing them. But bottom tier. Mayors, chiefs, ambassadors. Anyone who can make decisions, but only in a local level. Uses them to stir up trouble--which she worsens by then controlling the media.”

Another page. “Next is infiltrating the increased pacification forces that are raised in response. Police and military both. They’re le--”

“We saw them in the vault,” Jack said suddenly, shaking. “It weren’t pretty. Those...changed things…”

“Changelings,” Twila corrected. "That's the word she uses--it's a creature, a shapeshifter, found in all sort of mythologies."

“Changelings it is, then,” Jack said with a nod. “They ain’t right. They’re stronger’n a Somani clan leader, quicker’n a Kvaat Talon scout, and just plain--”

“Fucking nuts!” Dash cut in. “Bastards started eating and tearing through people like they was wet noodles.”

“Yuck,” said Pinkie. “That almost makes wet noodles sound icky.”

“That’s part of the problem,” Twila noted. “We’re very unsure precisely what Chyrsalis’ forces are, let alone capable of. But back to changing the military and police. They’re less protected since they’re being deployed all over. And once she has them, combined with their leadership, they’ll never leave.”

Another page. “Next are those who oppose her plan. They’ll be vocal--meaning she has very easily weeded out those who could be convinced to join her, like Blueblood, and those who would unite to stop her.

“With all the politicians and leaders changed, now public opinion doesn’t matter. Those who call the shots call her shots. But there won’t be an outcry because everyone will be too busy looking askance at everyone else--just waiting for the war to start.”

Turning the page, her voice cracked as she continued, “Then...mass changings are organized. Town by town, city by city, in a slow, methodical sweep, leading to the Queen. We’re rounded up, herded. And...she just says utilized efficiently until exhausted.”

Swallowing, the young woman asked, “But do you want to know the worst part?”

“I don’t want to…but I think we’ll have to,” Chylene replied.

“These are dated, to the day. And the mass changings?” She pointed to an isolated section, circled red. “Begin in a few months. It’s marked three months from now, but there’s some added notes that our actions have delayed her some. We caught her by surprise. But not much.”

“Then we gotta hurry! And er, um, do…something!” Pinkie exclaimed, tapping the table with her index finger.

“Goddamn right,” Jack agreed. “We’ve went in this much, might as well go all the--”

“You don’t get it!” Twila cried, leaping up from her seat. “Look at those lists! Look at all those names--all the people changed already!” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her words to Spike earlier, the hope she had felt--where had that gone? The words she read, the situations they played out... They were clean, efficient, perfectly without excess or want. Chrysalis' plan plain and simply had no room for hope, so how could there possibly be any?

She said through clenched teeth, “There’s just too much and too little time. So. Much. If we want even a whisper of a hope of a chance--and we’re practically alone. We need more people, not just here, but everywhere in Torani! All at once. We’d need half a dozen teams, at least. Cutting her funds, stealing information, sowing chaos, blowing up supplies, gathering allies…”

She hung her head limply. “We’re just one group. We can’t do everything nearly fast enough going one by one. We just can’t.”

“We fuckin’ try,” Dash snapped.

“That’s right!” Rarity added. “Think about what we’ve already done. Wouldn’t we have thought it impossible not too long ago? Why should this be any different?”

“Because, Rarity, Dash. I’m a planner. Organization and scheduling is something I do very, very well. And this plan? I can tell it’s flawless. But I think it’s just the surface plan, too. I think Chrysalis has backups and side plans and probably red herrings… I’m not saying we don’t try, we don’t fight. But where do we start?”

Pinkie was surprisingly quiet throughout all of the discussion, rubbing her chin with a deep, thoughtful expression on her face. She looked to Twila, then at all her friends. “Hmm…” She blinked, standing up like a bullet from a gun. “Wait! I know!"

Surprised, Twila stammered, "Y-you do, Pinkie? I mean--tell me!"

"Everywhere!" the baker said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jack and Dash groaned as Twila put a hand to her forehead. "Pinkie," she said, "do I have to teach you how physics work again?"

"Ew, no thanks," Pinkie replied. "That was all lines and problems and no fun at all."

"Sug, we can't all be everywhere at once," Jack said calmly.

Laughing, Pinkie said, "Duh! Silly-billies. All of us can't be everywhere, but each of us can be!"

"Run that by me again, Pinks," Dash said, scratching her head.

"Yes, I'm confused too," added Rarity.

"I think what she means," Chy explained, "is that together as one group we can't accomplish everything. But if we go out in smaller groups, we can get more done at one time?"

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pinkie, that’s…” Twila stopped, blinking. “That’s…” She looked at each of them. Half a dozen different teams… “Pinkie, you’re brilliant!”

“Huh? Oh, thanks! I thought I was just pointing out the obvious though,” she said, with a shrug.

“I ain’t sure if I’m behind this…” Jack started, putting her hands to her sides and thoughtfully kicking at the floor. “I mean, it ain’t like we could swoop ta one-another’s aid if somethin’ goes sour.”

“I agree, Jack, but…” Twila raised her hands. “I’m not seeing any other options here. I don’t… I don’t want to split up. If something were to happen, something that one of us could have stopped…” She rubbed her forehead. “Maybe…we don’t split up completely. No fewer than two of us with any operation. That way our backs are always covered.”

“And couldn’t you get the strike team in on this, Twila?” Spike added. “Plus whoever is left to trust--with that list we’ll know for sure now!”

“Spike’s right, dear,” said Rarity. “No more jumping at shadows, suspecting everyone of being changed. We’re not completely alone. Not anymore.”

“Give us all a copy of the list, and I’m sure we’ll manage,” Chylene added.

Twila gave one firm nod. “If you’re all willing… We can take a day, maybe a few days. I’ll put together dossiers for each of you. Targets we need to strike as soon as possible. People to recruit.” Her mind already swam with ideas, prioritizing and planning based upon each of their strengths. It was dangerous--but wasn't this war? Together or alone, there were risks. And the stakes were no less than all sentient life as they knew it. “Girls. Spike. I think we have a plan.”

“Hit us,” Jack replied, nodding.

“I appreciate the confidence, but I’m not that fast,” Twila replied. “I can have the details by tomorrow. I’ll contact the strike team, a few people on this list… You all have your own preparations.” Her tone turned firm. “Once we start this, there’s no going back. She’ll know. Your friends, your families… They need to be taken care of. And I think it would be a good idea to start compiling our forces in one place.”

“But where? Obviously not here, ‘cause they’ll check here first thing,” Pinkie said.

“I got some land--belonged ta my Granny. Maybe there?” Jack offered.

“That’s somewhere to the south of here, right? A lot of old forest, or swampland?” asked Twila.

“Southeast, near the coast.” Jack quickly agreed.

“And too much fuckin’ swamp,” Isabelle huffed, crossing her arms.

“That’s perfect,” said Twila.

“Does it really have to be there?” whined Rarity.

“Come on, it ain’t that bad,” Jack offered. “‘Skeeters ain’t even bad in her neck of the woods.” She sprouted a devilish grin. “Jus’ gotta watch out fer gators.”

“Alligators? Oh, I’m sure we’ll get along fine,” Chylene said, smiling softly.

“Yeah! With Gummy too!” Pinkie chirped, her pet somehow chewing on her hair.

“So we’re agreed. The war starts now. Everything we do saves lives. So let’s do it right.” Twila said, confidently. “It’ll be tough, girls...but if anyone can get through this, I think it’s us, even going our separate ways.”

“Guess it might be a bit before we see one-another again, huh?” Spike quietly realized, glancing towards the tailor. “Can’t say I’ll be happy about that.”

Chewing on the idea for a moment, but only a moment, Twila said, “Hey, Spike? I want you to go with Rarity.”

He turned to face her, looking shocked. “What? Twila, I can’t do that.”

Putting on a stern face, she put her hands on her hips and replied, “You can; you will. I’ve got someone else I need to find, anyway. There’s a certain misguided nobleman whose priorities I need to straighten out.”

“But…” He swallowed, then bit his lip, slowly nodding. “If something happens. Contact me. I know a guy--he’ll mail you a disposable phone programed with a proxy number that I can be reached at.” He looked at all of them, briefly taking command. “That goes for everyone else. My eyes are going to be cloudy, but I’ll be watching you guys.”

“That’s our Spike,” said Rarity. “We all know we’re in good hands with you behind the scenes. And I’ll help however I can.”

“I’d like that,” he agreed, then shyly smiled, blushing heavily. “Maybe I could even teach you a trick or two--get you in the hotseat.”

Happy to see the young man she had practically raised as her own growing up,Twila got a thoughtful look and nudged Diane. “Maybe we should celebrate one last time before we part ways, eh?”

“Definitely!” Pinkie spread her arms out and managed to bring everyone together for a group hug. “Make sure you all bring journals! I can only be in one place, but if I get to read what you all did, it'll be like I got to have all the fun with you. Then I don't have to feel so bad going with just Chy."

"Oh, thanks, Pinkie," Chy said. "It'll be a lot nicer with you there."

"Not a problem!" Pinkie said, squeezing the group extra tight. "Oh, and guys?"

They all looked at her, wondering what Pinkie wisdom she was going to share.

“The party boat leaves now! Let's do our best and give that mean ol' Chrysalis a real surprise!"

The Pieces to Play

The inside of the Hub was mostly dark and still, quiet save for the whine of the computer banks against the side wall, as it was most days. The only light was the faint glow of the screens, which brightened and darkened as the various images from news reports, security and surveillance cameras, and plain screensavers changed constantly. Stale and warm, the air was uncomfortable. It all had a very claustrophobic effect, which only worsened the tensions in the room. The silence didn’t last long.

Twila pinched her nose, letting out a frustrated sigh as she said yet again what she’d been saying for the past two hours.

“Spike, you’re not coming with us and that’s final!” she said hotly.

“But Twilaaaa! I understand why I wasn’t allowed to come last time, but a big, fancy party is hardly dangerous,” argued the young man. Twila could remember only months ago that he would have done nearly anything she asked of him without question.

Oh how they do grow up... Celestia, you said I could handle this, but I begin to wonder, she thought, trying to formulate a counter-argument.

“We don’t know that for sure--that’s the entire reason we make backup plans. Besides, we need you running Homebase again,” she tapped him lovingly on the shoulder, “Drake.”

Despite himself, Spike grinned as he grumbled, “Fine, but next time? I want to really help. Not just sit on the sidelines while you guys risk your lives.”

She smiled warmly and gave him a slow nod. “Fair enough,” she said. To herself, she thought, Hopefully, there won’t be a next time. Sorry to disappoint you, Spike.

Nodding back, he said, “OK, now that we’ve got that out of the way, should I get the girls down here for the mission briefing?”

“No time like the present. The party is the day after tomorrow, after all.”

“Roger!” Spike double-timed it past Twila and up the stairs to the farm above, leaving Twila to her own thoughts. And doubts.

I hope you’re right, Spike. Last time was too close, too scary. She began to chew her bottom lip as she paced across the room, a nervous habit from her youngest days. What I wouldn’t give to have you here, Big Brother. Or to at least know you’re safe, alive.

“I’m not sure...” She stopped, choking back an unexpected sob. After the robbery, she had spent countless nights awake, crying and hurting, the visions of what they’d done flashing through her head--hadn’t she shed enough tears? “I’m n-not sure if I can do this on my own.”

Outside, the sun was shining brightly, though it held little warmth so early in the morning. Jack sat at the foot of her bed, staring out of her window. She had woken up later than normal--it seemed like anymore, she just wanted to rest.

Rubbing at her temples, Jack tried to force away the lingering effects from last night’s drink. Not that the whiskey had helped her much to begin with. The freckled woman put her hands over her brow and exhaled deeply. From behind, she heard movement, then two warm arms wrapped around her neck.

“Morning, hayseed,” Dash purred, her voice gravelly and scratchy with sleep. “What’s up?”

“Nothin’,” Jack deflected. She uncoiled herself from Isabelle’s embrace and stood, trying her best to ignore the lithe woman’s irritated frown. Without another word, she walked to a vanity mirror, sat, and took to combing her long blonde hair.

Dash rolled her eyes and put a hand to her cheek. It was going to be one of those days, wasn’t it? “‘Nothin’’ doesn’t see you come to bed drunk three days in a row,” Isabelle countered, rising to join the other.

“I’m fine.” The tall woman scowled, continuing to comb her hair. “Ain’t like you’ve never pulled one off before--”

“Cut the crap,” Isabelle retorted dangerously, pointing a stern finger at the blonde. “Yeah, I’ve had my share of benders. But I know you. You’re never completely smashed outta your gourd unless something’s up,” Dash said, looking intently at Jack through the mirror’s reflection. “I know this has still gotta be eating you up, dude.”

She rose with an intense scowl that quickly melted under Isabelle’s gaze. The statuesque woman put a slow, considering hand to her mouth. “I was fine, ‘til I realized we were goin’ back on the job, ya know?” she finally admitted with a slump of her powerful shoulders. “I hadn’t thought it’d eat at me like this--it’s been months now, but...you an’ Diane almost died ‘cause of how I messed up, ya know?” She gazed wearily to the ceiling. “Not ta mention that jus’ thinkin’ bout what I did--what we all did--hurts so bad I can feel it clawin’ out my gut. It ain’t jus’ us that had ta run though that shit. I-I know we can handle it, but I can’t even think what Pinkie or Chylene’s goin’ through right now, on top of havin’ ta maybe go through this exact same shit again...” After she said her piece she sniffed, brutishly wiping her eyes with the palm of her hand. “God, Izzy... I’m a mess.”

Dash stepped forward and put her hands to Jack’s waist. “A beautiful mess,” she said, smirking warmly. Before the other could reply, Isabelle stood on her toes and kissed the blonde’s mouth. She broke away and took her affections to Jack’s chin. “One that’s always took care of me during the rough days...” She trailed down to the side of Jack’s bronzed neck. “And one that’s too damn proud to ask for help sometimes.” Isabelle stopped her downward trip to focus her gaze just below Jack’s collarbone--where a memento from their heist stood prominent on the otherwise smooth, freckled skin.

It couldn’t be missed, the scarred indention, pink and tight, forming a near perfect circle the width of Dash’s ring finger. Around it were a few red marks, where her kevlar had ruptured and stuck to her skin after the bullet had penetrated her defenses. Isabelle couldn’t help but run her finger delicately around the scar. The tall woman winced briefly as Dash focused her attention on the wound. While Jack was far from Rarity regarding personal appearances, the scar made her feel garish, self-conscious.

The athlete thought it made Jack look absolutely sublime. It wasn’t every day you found a woman willing to walk through death’s door just to make sure things got set right for people. With that in mind, Isabelle leaned forward, giving the old injury a surprisingly tender kiss. When she broke away, she gave thought to her next words.

“We’ve known eachother since we were kids, hayseed. I don’t think I’ve ever asked all that much of you, so...just...if it gets too hard, fuckin’ tell me. You’re a strong girl, but this is a two-way street, yeah? How many times have you had to listen to me talk about everything that happened that day?” She weakly smiled, giving a tap to Jack’s chest. “Hell, I’m surprised you never told me to shut up and stop whining.”

Jack finally managed a small, tiny smile of her own. “Dash...” she addressed, looking into her partner’s rose-colored eyes.

“Mmm?”

Jack’s words seemed to briefly dry up for her. She had wanted to say everything swimming in her mind, but instead decided to focus on the core problem. “I’ll try ta be better,” the freckled woman swore.

“I know you will, sug-ah,” Isabelle said, doing her best to mimic Jack’s heavy accent and failing. She glanced at the door. “So...I think we might have a bit before Mac tries to get you up...how about we...” She flicked her eyes over to the bed and smirked.

“That all ya think about, girl?” Jack replied, finally starting to feel a bit more like herself. The athlete had that effect on her. Among other, more primal, feelings... Jack looked over to the clock and put a hand on her hip. “Well, alright. Good thing yer pretty damn quick at everythin’ you do...”

“Hey,” the short woman warned with a frown, moving towards the bed. She laid down on it, resting her head in her hand and smiling playfully as she watched Jack.

She followed Isabelle’s lead, reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra. On freeing herself from the object, she tossed it to the side, took a slow, enticing step forward and--

“JACK ‘N’ DASH! COME DOWN FER BREAKFAST!” came the loud yell of Alice.

Before either of them could share their incredibly heated resentment, a cough from the room’s door was heard, followed by, “Oh, well, there’s that and...uh...Twila wants to meet in the Hub for a briefing.” It was Spike. “And I didn’t hear anything.” Another cough. “At all.”

Jack held onto what little dignity she had left and didn’t turn to face the door she knew he was behind. Instead, she focused her gaze at a spot on the wall, while wishing she could shrivel up and die. “O-OK, Spike. I’m glad ya didn’t hear nothin’. ‘Cause there wasn’t nothin’ ta hear. No sir. Not--”

“You’re so bad at that--quit while we’re ahead, Jackie,” Dash ordered in a whisper. She put on a large, false smile and looked towards the doorway. “Alright, Spike. We’ll be down in just a minute.”

“R-right! See ya...in a minute then.” He seemed unsure. “I’ve gotta go find Rarity and Pinkie, anyway.” There was another pause before they heard his loud steps leading away from the door.

Isabelle couldn’t help it--she turned red and burst into a hearty guffaw, clutching at her sides. Tears of mirth streaked down her face as she rolled around on the bed in an attempt to get herself under control. “Never a d-dull moment with you, man. Never a dull moment.”

Spike could feel the heat in his face as he headed down the stairs of the Apple homestead--it wasn’t his fault Jack and Dash decided to do...that...so early in the morning. He was just doing his job.

“Speaking of...now where on earth could Pinkie be?” he asked himself. Chylene had been found in the kitchen, helping Alice with breakfast. The quiet woman had always been an early riser and was fond of cooking.

Heading outside, he decided to go for broke. “Oh Piiiinkiiiiiie!” he called.

In the distance, he could see a dust trail forming behind someone on a bicycle. Heading straight for him at an incredible speed. He quickly leapt to the side to avoid a possible collision, hearing the sound of screeching brakes. Looking up, behind him he saw Pinkie on a pink bicycle, wearing a pink helmet to match. It was good to know that at that speed, she was at least being safe.

“You called, Spike?” she asked cheerfully.

He let out a nervous breath. “Geez, Pinkie...um... Yeah, breakfast is ready and Twila wants everyone to meet in the Hub for the next mission briefing.” He took another look at the bicycle. “What are you doing, Pinkie? Biking so early...?”

“There isn’t a law against it, is there? Plus, biking is soooo great! I don’t have my driver’s license yet, so this is how I get around. It’s easier than using Sarah’s scooter, for sure. When I use that, only one of my legs gets tired, but on a bike, the tiredness is shared!” Pinkie rambled excitedly. “Anyway, I’m starved!”

Pinkie put her bike and helmet against the building and rushed inside to eat before Spike could even formulate a reply.

“Uh... Guess Rarity’s next. Gonna have to hoof it to get to the grotto in time.”

It hadn’t taken long for Spike to memorize Rarity’s daily schedule down to the minute. Any morning after she stayed overnight at the farm--which had become increasingly often as of late--she’d take her morning bath at a nearby spring. The cool, pure water, or so she claimed, was best for her very sensitive skin.

Spike had learned the routine easily enough. First, run the quarter mile or so to the edge of the spring, then close eyes. Then walk along the stream until...there, a large boulder that his foot would hit. Then announce.

“Rarity! It’s me, Spike. I’ve got an important message for you.”

Five seconds, then reply. “Oh, Spike! Good morning, sweety. What’s this about a message?”

The young man could feel his blush as he quickly pushed down the thought that one of the most beautiful women he’d ever known was talking to him from her bath. He’d met Rarity when he was only twelve, crushing on her quickly. Twila had found it cute and said it would fade, but it never did--it only grew deeper. But no less one-sided.

“Spike? Are you still there?”

Snapping from his wandering thoughts, he said, “Uh, y-yeah. Sorry. The message. Right. Twila says she wants everyone to meet in the Hub to talk about next plan. And breakfast is ready.”

“Already? I wasn’t even close to finished.” She let out a sigh. “Alright, thank you, Spike. I’ll be along shortly!”

“Not a problem, Rarity. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

He began the about face to head back to the farmhouse when she called out, “Oh, actually, Spike, be a dear and hand me my towel--I’ve forgotten it on the rocks, and that wind is a bit too cold for me to get it myself.”

“Right away, Rarity!” he enthused. “Um... How am I supposed to do that when I can’t see?”

He heard a slightly frustrated noise. “Now, Spike, I know you’re a gentleman, so go ahead. I trust you, of course.”

Spike couldn’t believe his ears--he could open his eyes? His mind raced with possibilities, but he shut them all down as soon as they sprouted. She was right. He was a gentleman and above such appalling--though appealing--behaviors.

Bringing up his mental map of the place to avoid looking towards the direction the spring pool was, he opened his eyes and scanned for the large stone Rarity used as a makeshift table. As he figured, there sat her large, fluffy towel next to...

“Clothes!” he squeaked.

“What was that, Spikey? You OK, dear?”

“Uh, f-f-fine! Just fine. Getting your towel now! Be there in two shakes.” Careful to avoid looking at the (Silky... Lacy... Black?! Oh why black?!) neat stack of clothes, he grabbed the towel and walked quickly over the small rise that led down into the depression holding the pool.

Too quickly he found, when his foot caught another rock, causing him to stumble forward. Combined with gravity, the young man was unable to stop himself from crashing right into the pool and the chilly waters within. The world spun as he fell straight to the bottom, the towel tangling around him not helping. He’d never been a strong swimmer, even though the spring wasn’t very deep, and as the little breath he’d manage to suck in ticked away in his surprise, he began to desperately try and kick his way to the surface.

That’s when he felt a firm grip around the neckline of his hoodie pull him up, hard. Breaking the surface, his breaths came quick and ragged. He would’ve laughed if he could--the only thought on his mind was the wonder if the farm air had always tasted so good.

A moment later, the worried voice of Rarity broke through his fading panic. “Spike! Spike, talk to me--are you alright?”

He coughed out a bit of water before croaking, “Y-yeah, just caught me by surprise is all. Thanks, Rarity--you really...save...”

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch that last part, Spike, dear,” she said, concern still evident on her face. She had pulled him up from the deeper end of the pool to the shallows, holding him up and out of the water.

Spike had finally noticed that Rarity was still quite naked. Above the water. With him in her arms.

“Spike.” There was just enough of a warning to the tone that allowed him to finally find some words for reply.

“Oh uh!” He turned away, pulling up the now completely soaked towel. “Your, uh, towel?”

Turning him around, Rarity grabbed the towel and said, “Thank you, Spike. Run along back to the farmhouse, and tell them I’ll be right there. Hurry now, before you catch cold!”

Still slightly in disbelief, Spike slowly nodded as he trudged back out of the pool and towards the house.

When he was gone, Rarity threw the towel back on shore, frustrated. She’d known about his little crush for a long time--it was sweet, it really was--but she had hoped he would have grown out of it by now.

“Instead, he gets a complete view of moi, au naturale...” She sighed, rubbing her arms and legs to dry herself in the cool air as best she could. So why did she feel so warm? It was terribly uncouth, him seeing her like that... But she had seen it in his eyes--it hadn’t been flat desire or lust. He’d genuinely been appreciating her beauty.

“Spike, you’re such a sweetheart, it’s almost painful,” she whispered, gathering her clothes and getting dressed. “Another problem for another time, I feel.”

Nodding to herself, she picked up the soiled towel--careful not to let it brush her nice, clean clothes--and headed the same way Spike had gone, eager for a warm breakfast and her mind still in wonder over the actions of one innocent young man.

Jack got halfway presentable and tromped her way down the stairs, Isabelle trotting along just behind her. She sniffed the air and nodded. Coffee, ham omelets and a side of sausage. Years of anticipating her grandma’s cooking had crafted Jack’s nose into a scent machine, able to predict just about any meal before she even spotted it.

She took a seat at the head of the table, acknowledging Macintosh with a nod. Dash plopped herself down at the center, while Alice sat next to the colossal man, buttering a piece of toast. Pinkie was already sitting opposite Mac, having formed a jam beard already. Chylene meanwhile, was standing at the kitchen counter, still preparing food.

The burly man glanced over the women sitting at the table and felt very much the minority. Regardless, he cleared his throat and quietly asked, “Anyone wanna say grace?”

Pinkie paused halfway through taking another bite of toast. “Oh!” she muffled before swallowing, “We’re meant to say that before eating?”

“If ya don’t wanna, we don’t have ta. Jus’ what our Granny taught us ta do,” he said, his face a usual mask of casual indifference.

“Well, we’ll play by Apple rules since we’re in the Apple household!” Pinkie exclaimed, putting down her toast.

“Alrighty. Chy? Ya ok with it?”

Chylene turned around, a sweet smile on her face. “Of course I am. Please, go on.”

The brickhouse of a man cleared his throat and kneaded his large fingers together. “Uh...” he trailed off in thought as to what to say. Being a man of few words, it came to him fairly quickly. “Bless this meal ta the nourishment of our bodies, an’ protect us in all our upcomin’ trials. Amen.”

A chorus of amens went around the room and, with Chylene taking a seat next to Macintosh, the meal properly began.

Jack chewed methodically at her omelette, nodding in appreciation at its flavor. “Ya do these, Chylene?”

“Oh yes, but--”

“I helped!” Alice exclaimed, raising a hand and grinning proudly.

“Um, yes, Alice was very helpful,” Chylene finished.

“Good work, sweet pea.” Jack weakly smiled. Her red-haired sibling returned the gesture, but it was a lot stronger.

Pinkie gave Jack a quick glance. “Hey, Jack!” she yelled, getting up, “I wanna show you this really cool bug I found outside!” Giggling, she grabbed the farmer’s arm before she could protest and led her outside.

They stopped around the back of the house, and Pinkie let go of Jack. “Okay, there’s no bug,” Pinkie admitted, her face taking on a worried look, “but something is bugging you.”

“Ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle,” Jack gruffly dismissed, tired of seemingly everyone trying to get into her head today.

“If that was true, you’d be fine by now,” Pinkie retorted, her voice serious, but also sincere.

That hit her hard. The blonde grit her teeth. “How do ya feel fine after what we did, Di? Ya have any idea what it feels like havin’ ta talk ta Alice ‘bout why I got shot up? She’s a smart kid--she’s gotta know that I ain’t tellin’ her the whole story. If she ever finds out all the blood I got on my hands...all the blood I got on yers...” her voice cracked.

“Try telling the same thing to a couple with babies. The Cakes could’ve thrown me out for what I did... If I had told them everything anyway...” Pinkie scuffed a foot across the grass, looking down. “I can’t...” She stopped herself, shaking her head so rapidly Jack thought it’d fly off. “This isn’t about me. It’s all about you, Jackie!” she stated slightly more cheerfully, poking Jack in the chest.

“There ain’t nothin’ more ta say,” Jack protested, crossing her arms.

“Please, Jack,” Pinkie said softly, taking hold of the farmer’s hands. “I don’t like it when you’re down. It...it scares me.”

“It scares ya? Welcome ta every. Damn. Day of my life after that heist. You got any idea how often I think ‘bout that shit!?” She pointed hard at Diane. “A foot or so over an’ that bullet that took a bite outta ya would have killed ya instead. Same goes fer Dash. An’ that’d be yer blood on my hands. Some of us can’t jus’ bounce back from somethin’ like that--somethin’ that could have ended with one of my best friends dead, an’ my--” She sucked in a trembling breath. “An’ Dash, gone.” The blonde subconsciously rubbed at her bullet wound. “It’s one thing fer me ta die doin’ this. I’m willin’ ta accept that risk ta make sure that whore sittin’ on Camelot’s throne gets what’s comin’. It’s a whole ‘nother ballgame knowin’ how y’all were...” she trailed off, shaking her head. “How y’all were so close...”

“Everyone’s hurting, Jack. I can tell. But they’re not focusing on that...” Pinkie gave Jack a small hopeful smile. “You gotta learn how to block out the badness. Especially now in these crazy times. If you don’t, it builds up, and then you get to a point of no return. Just give me a smile Jackie, that’s all I’m asking.”

“I’ll smile when I start feelin’ good again. That’s the best I can promise.”

Pinkie’s lips settled, becoming a neutral line. “Is there nothing I can do...?”

Jack gave it some consideration, trying her best to keep the other’s spirit up now that the anger she had felt in her gut died down. Finally, she put her hand on the pink-haired girl’s shoulder and leaned in close. “You can take care of everyone else. Jus’ knowin’ the girls are doin’ fine’ll help me out more than you’d think--’specially Chylene an’ Twila. Ok?”

“Okay, Jackie, I’ll try.” Pinkie turned to leave but had second thoughts, enveloping Jack in an almost bone-crushing hug that lasted a few seconds, before walking back inside the house.

Jack moved to follow her, but realized she didn’t have much of an appetite after the serious conversation with the enthusiastic woman. With a frown and a somber shake of her head, she headed to her barn and down into the Hub.

Pampering, Pinkies, and Potential

Chylene looked frantically about the town, looking past other people just going about their day. In such a rural place like this, a red-haired girl would’ve been easy to spot. She should’ve been, anyway.

“Alice!” the woman called out, although it wasn’t very loud. Unsurprisingly, she got no response. She bit her lip and folded her arms. “Oh no...please be safe, please be safe.”

A light tap on her shoulder made her jump, and she nearly screamed.

“Dear, Chylene! It’s me!” came a familiar voice.

The timid woman spun round, giving Rarity a weak smile. “Oh, hello, Rarity. Please tell me you found Alice?”

The purple-haired beauty shook her head. “I’m afraid not, though I’ve only been to so many places. But I’m glad I found you--do you remember what today is?”

Chylene furrowed her brows. “Um...sorry, with all that’s happened today I’ve completely forgot.”

Rarity gave a large smile and clapped her hands together. “Today’s our monthly spa appointment! And it’s the third month, so it’s the Works!”

“Oh, um...” Chylene instinctively avoided the beauty’s gaze. “I don’t think we should do that when Alice is still missing...”

She frowned. “But you know how hard it is to get a Works appointment since they became popular. If we miss it, we won’t get another chance for three months, Chylene! You’ve searched and can’t find her, right? And I’ve searched and can’t find her, right? And all the others are looking. Besides, we do need to check the spa. Just in case someone saw her there. Am I right?” Rarity put on her mild pout--a hopeful smile with just a small downturn to the eyes and lips.

The pink-haired woman looked at her and just knew that she wouldn’t let this drop. She rubbed an arm uncomfortably. “I guess you have a point...”

Grabbing her arm, Rarity exclaimed, “Good! So let’s go then, and maybe we won’t be late. We can keep looking for her afterwards, regardless. We both need this. You’ll see.”

“Okay...let’s go.” She squeaked when the fashionista started dragging her to the Spa.

Twenty minutes later found the pair in the waiting room of Spa Solace, the nearly twin owners prattling on about the latest Mansfield gossip. Rarity was listening intently, responding vaguely, mostly with laughter. Another ten minutes saw the two in a private room, just beginning their Works treatment. Rarity seemed to be quite relaxed, enjoying herself even.

Chylene on the other hand, was trying to. In the lobby, she had stood by herself, arms folded over her breasts. With just Rarity, these trips were very fun but with others around, her insecurities about her body started to surface. When the treatment started, she didn’t feel much better.

“Chylene?”

She blinked, snapping back to reality. “Oh, yes?”

“I asked if you were enjoying yourself, darling,” Rarity said, concern lacing her words.

Chylene gave her a sweet smile. “You know I always enjoy our outings,” she half-lied.

Rarity nodded slowly, but frowned. “It’s because we’re not looking for Alice, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes.” She looked down apologetically. “Sorry...”

“It’s not that I don’t care, you understand,” replied Rarity, carefully.

Chylene widened her eyes and was quick to respond. “Oh no no! I didn't think that, really, I didn’t!”

Nodding, Rarity continued, “I have Stephanie. I know exactly what it would feel like if she disappeared.”

“Oh, yes.” The timid woman opened her mouth to say something more, but there really wasn’t much else she could say. “Mhm...”

Rarity was mostly speaking to herself at this point as she went on, “I trust Mac, or Dash, or even Jack herself to get to the bottom of this.” Her tone stiffened just a bit. “I’m not very good with kids, you know. I try but...” She gave a weak laugh. “Do you remember when Sweetie ran away to Jack? Saying she was going to have her as a big sister? That’s how good a sister I can be.”

Chylene’s own anxieties were washed over by her concern for Rarity’s. “Siblings don’t always get along. I mean, we weren’t related but...Dash and I didn’t always get along with the others in the home.”

Nodding, Rarity sat in thought for a moment. One of the spa sisters was working her nails, but Rarity seemed completely oblivious. She finally said, “I’m a terrible friend, aren’t I.”

Chylene suddenly straightened her back in her seat, much to the other sister’s annoyance. “No, you’re not,” she said in an almost scolding tone. “What would make you say something like that?”

“I don’t think I rightly know, Chylene, dear. That’s part of the problem.” Rarity let out a long sigh. “I care about you all--don’t doubt that for a moment--but sometimes I simply fail to see how I fit in. You’re all such good people, in your own ways. Even Isabelle.”

“Of course you fit in, Rarity. We’re all so different from each other, but we all get along.” A warm smile appeared on her face. “And I think that’s wonderful.”

Rarity gave her a halfhearted smile in return. Chylene is too kind to really understand what I mean. Oh well, she thought, trying to figure out a way to change the topic. After another stretch of silence, she said, “We’ll continue to look for Alice when we’re done. That’s what friends do, right?”

“Yes--” Chylene squeaked when the spa sisters started to file her nails, so she opted for a casual nod instead.

Leaning back and closing her eyes, Rarity lightly said, “Relax, darling and enjoy it. We’ll be too busy for niceties in the coming days, I fear.” Even though I don’t always understand them, they still accept me--more than I deserve, but I’ll gladly take it for now. With that last thought, she could already feel her tension draining away as the masseuse began her work.

About an hour and a half later, the two primped and pampered ladies exited the building. The first signs of early evening were evident in the sky. Rarity squinted, trying to judge the hour before remembering the designer watch on her wrist.

“That took a bit longer than I expected. Oh dear,” she said.

“I’m sure the others will understand,” Chylene replied, sounding a bit unsure as she fiddled with the sides of her yellow dress.

“Probably. Well, I have an idea--do you remember where...oh, what is her name... They call her Scoots?”

“That’s her nickname. Her actual name is Sarah,” the shy woman tapped her chin, “Um. She might just be at her house...”

“That was my point, darling. Do you know where she lives?”

Chylene blinked. “Oh! Yes, sorry! I can take you there, if you want?”

Rarity shook her head. “We’ll save more time if you check on her while I go home and talk to Sweetie. Make sure they haven’t slipped off themselves, or see if Alice told them anything.”

“Good idea. I’m sure Sweetie knows something. She’s such an adorable, well-behaved girl.” Chylene looked away for one moment, considering the words she just said.

Under her breath, Rarity muttered, “Yeah, when she’s not at home, the little she-beast...”

The animal lover laughed awkwardly. “She’s only bad when she’s with her friends and that’s because they’re so excited to see one another.”

“Well, regardless, let’s get to work, shall we? I’ll see you back at the farm tonight, with the others.”

Chylene nodded once. “Okay, I’ll see you later. Thank you for the fun time out.”

“Anytime, Chylene. Good luck!” Rarity called with a wave as she rounded the corner.

*-*-*-*-*

Pinkie wiped the sweat from her brow as she entered the Sweet Tooth Bakery. She had searched everywhere for Alice and had found nothing. Well, not entirely nothing. There were a few interesting things to be found in bins and other people’s houses. She would have kept looking, were it not for previous obligations.

Outside the building, a white van was running. Pinkie narrowly avoided a tall, freckled man as he rushed to the front door, a stack of boxes in his hands.

“Aah, Pinkie! Thank goodness you’re here in time!” he cried as he stumbled out of the door.

“No problem, Mr. Cake! I love looking after the twins and wouldn’t miss time with them for the world!” She then turned and successfully weaved around a fairly plump woman with wavy pink hair coming from the kitchen with more boxes.

“Hi, Mrs. Cake!” Pinkie said happily, waving as the woman went past. The baby twins, Percy and Patsy, sat in the middle of the room, laughing at the chaotic nature of their parents’ departure.

“Hello, Pinkie...” the baker tiredly answered, putting the boxes in the back of the van.

Pinkie’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as she suddenly remembered a vital detail. “Oh! Before I forget, I gotta go to a super awesome party with my friends tomorrow!” At least she didn’t have to make as a big a lie as she had just before the Heist. And after.

Mrs. Cake nodded slowly. “Er, okay then.” She turned to her husband. “Is that all of them, sugarpie?”

Mr. Cake slammed the rear van doors. “Yep, lovemuffin! Now let’s go!” He hurried to the front door and waved to his children, blowing them a kiss. “We won’t be long! And remember that Daddy loves you!”

He went back to the van and climbed into the driver’s seat, while his wife took her turn at saying goodbyes. “Love you, darlings!” She blew them a kiss then looked at Pinkie. “If anything happens, you know what to do.”

The younger woman sternly saluted. “You got it! Now go make the best delivery you can!”

“Um, yes.” Mrs. Cake gave Diane a wave then ran to the van, getting in just as it started to drive off. The energetic woman watched them go, then shut the door as they disappeared. She took one look at the twins and sighed, slumping against the door. She wanted to do this, but it felt like it was wrong for her to do so.

The babies ignored her and played with their colorful toys, giving Pinkie some solitude. Those thoughts came to her again: the Heist, her friends, and herself. Behind every bright smile, behind every uplifting song, was a deeply troubled mind. She’d done a lot of thinking, but ironically, she hadn’t done much in the way of talking.

She didn’t want to talk...and yet she desperately craved it. Out of all of her friends, she was the spirit. Everyone knew that she could turn any frown upside down, and they depended on that. A sad Pinkie made for a gloomy atmosphere, and no one wanted that.

A moist sensation on her index finger broke her from her trance. She looked down to see Patsy sucking her finger. “No, Patsy,” Pinkie said in a calm voice, withdrawing her finger from the child. “No putting things in your mouth that don’t belong there. Now...where’s your binkie?” The woman turned her body, soon finding a wet and discarded pacifier lying on the floor. It soon found itself in the mercy of Patsy’s mouth.

Pinkie folded her arms, her brow furrowed, and looked up. It was a cruel role she found herself in. Everyone needed just that little bit of joy in their lives right now, and who else could provide it than the famous party girl? Her own feelings came second to her friends’, but that didn’t stop them from eating at her.

She closed her eyes, letting out a defeated sigh. She mulled over the truth many times in her head: she was a murderer. It was a disturbing thought, but it was far from the worst. What scared her was just how easy it was to fire those bullets without even thinking. At the end of the day, she came to one conclusion:

She was Pinkie, but a different Pinkie. A changed Pinkie.

She rested her head on her hand, looking at the twins. After a moment's silence, she spoke, “You guys will listen to me, right?”

The twins turned their heads, gazing at Pinkie with curious faces while spouting out baby gibberish.

“I guess you wouldn’t understand anyway.” Pinkie scratched her head. “Not even I understand! I feel all confused and stuff inside! I don’t feel...um...hmm...” Pinkie tapped the floor repeatedly, concentrating, “Er...right, I guess?”

The babies exchanged glances, then shrugged at the same time.

“I’m just not sure...” the woman trailed off, but after a short silence she raised herself, a big grin on her face. “We need a distraction! And I know just what will cut it!”

She sprinted upstairs and came back down with a microphone stand in less than five seconds. Her plan would chase away the bad thoughts, at least for a bit. The twins took one look at her and facepalmed.

Pinkie pouted, leaning over the microphone. “Aaaw c’mon! I got this new routine I think you’ll really dig!”

*-*-*-*-*

Rarity shut the door to Carousel Boutique, locking it closed. Her sister had been a dead end, though she did confirm that Alice had talked about leaving. Both her and Sarah had agreed the little Apple’s plan was insanely dangerous, even by their normal standards. Which was saying something--Rarity shivered at just the mere memory of the time they decided to experiment with rocketry.

With no other ideas on where to search or whom to ask, Rarity had decided to just catch a taxi back to Sweet Apple Acres. There weren’t too many to hail on this side of town, but the tailor never had any troubles when one actually did show up.

Standing alone on the sidewalk, in a part of town mostly devoid of pedestrians, she was an easy find for Spike, who had finally gotten bored sitting at the farmstead. He raised an arm and called out, “Hey! Rarity! Over here!”

Catching sight of him, Rarity smiled, then waved for Spike to join her.

The young man quickly came to the woman’s side. “Any luck?”

She gave a small frown and shook her head. “But I did find out that Stephanie didn’t go anywhere. And, uh, Sarah is probably still in town as well.” Her head jerked slightly as she came to a realization. “Actually, Spike--what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you still be at Jack’s?”

“Probably,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t just sit there, you know?” He glanced up at Rarity’s face, then quickly looked away. “I mean, if she hasn’t been found by now, I don’t think we’ll...” He shook his head. “No, nevermind. I shouldn’t think like that.”

Rarity pursed her lips. Finally, she said. “Actually, Spike... I agree with you. But we can’t tell the others. You know how hopeful they always are, thinking things will work out for the best.”

Spike put a thumb to his mouth and chewed at the nail. After a beat, he spoke again. “Yeah.” He looked over the woman ten years his senior and glumly frowned. “No matter how much you hope for something, maybe it just won’t come sometimes.”

She smiled at him. “You always were so mature for your age, Spike.” With a tilt of her head, she asked, “How are you handling all this? I mean...from the robbery to now--all of it.”

“One step at a time,” he replied, trying to ignore when Rarity said your age. “That, and I guess I’m lucky in a way. There’s always something that needs listened in on, or, or a component to the computer that needs tweaked--something to focus on.”

“You keep yourself busy with other things. I understand. In a way, I think we all have--but the others are a bit more open about how our actions that day have affected us. I felt so...different from them, sometimes. And I’m sad to say I forgot about you. You, who seems to be not quite so different from me.”

Spike smiled as he stared up at the woman’s eyes. “I don’t know about that, Rarity. I mean, you’re always so... cool under fire, I guess.”

She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, I don’t know, Spike. I seem to remember someone who successfully listened in on about a half dozen radio frequencies, keeping us updated and as safe as he possibly could. I count that as pretty ‘cool’--don’t you?”

He blushed at the compliment, then mentally kicked himself for blushing. There were times when he’d kill to be just a bit less soft. A bit tougher. A bit more like a man Rarity’d like. “I’m, uh, glad I was able to at least give a hand,” he managed to stammer out.

“Me, too, Spike.” She rubbed at her chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps that’s it. Why I feel left out sometimes--everyone else has someone they can depend on absolutely. I mean, think of it for a moment.” She began counting off. “Jack and Dash would sacrifice the world for one another. Jack has Mac, as well. Twila has her older brother, Lew. Chylene and Pinkie are a little harder but... Well, you know how much Isabelle looks after Chylene. And Pinkie has the Cakes, who’ve taken her in practically like one of their own.” She paused before saying. “There’s not really anyone like that for me. No one I can count on above anything...nor anyone who feels that way about me.”

“Well, I depend on you,” Spike blurted out, then squinted his eyes shut. Idiot, he thought. The young lad did a damage control, quickly trying to figure out a way to get the meaning into less dangerous territory. “And I know Stephanie thinks the world of you too.”

Rarity thought about the young man’s words. All of them, even those she knew he wasn’t quite saying. The same words he had always not quite been saying. “That’s very... I mean, you’re very sweet, Spike. You always have been.” She gave him a wicked half smile. “And certainly cute. Oh my, you get cuter every day.”

“Cute,” he repeated with a frown.

She pushed on his arm. “In a very manly way, obviously.” She laughed, then sighed. “Spike, I don’t think I can give you what you’d like. I just don’t think it would work, considering the circumstances.”

He swallowed hard, looking once more at the woman he had pined for ever since he had seen her as a young boy. “No,” he disagreed, surprising himself just as much as the violet-haired beauty. “Not when you’ve never even given me a chance.” He stood as tall as he could, which wasn’t much--Isabelle could claim a few inches on him even. “Come on, Rarity. I-I think you could. I know you could.”

She half turned away, looking over him with her peripheral vision. He was rather mature for his age--Twila had always suggested that was some trait of the people from the South, though they had never been sure. And yet, in a lot of ways, he was still so young, so naive.

But he’s earnest. He’s nothing but himself, and when have you known any man like that? she asked herself. No. Think of the scandal! What would the girls say?

She went back to her thoughts on the others all having someone to depend on--despite Spike’s words, she knew the real truth. Spike had Twila. The brilliant girl had always practically acted like his mother.

That decided it for her.

With a firm shake of the head--though she was careful to not show her slightly teary eyes--she said, “No, Spike. I’m sorry. You’re a wonderful young man and a fantastic friend. And I’ll envy the girl you meet some day. But I’m not her, I’m sorry.”

Spike felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He stood, nearly slack-jawed at the rejection. His brows furrowed. “So that’s it!? I don’t even get a shot? Rarity, that’s not even fair! All this time and I--” he knew his words were coming out unorganized, nonsensical. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t...didn’t see him that way. But he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t right. Life shouldn’t work out like this. “Why can’t I get a break?!” His voice cracked and he did his best to keep his hurt inside. Even then, it felt like a dam that was nearly bursting.

Rarity told herself the sharply unpleasant feeling she was feeling was her just desserts. Even though she had perfectly legitimate reasons to deny the boy, she honestly wondered what would happen if she simply gave him a chance. Still, she remained silent, keeping herself steadfast.

“You know, the others might be idiots for being so hopeful, but at least they have something to hold on to.”

That caused her to wince. She hadn’t meant to upset him that much. Her mind scrambled, desperate to find any way to salvage the situation. Without bidding, a question arose in her thoughts.

How much older is Father than Mother again?

She hadn’t thought of that.

She looked at the quiet, but clearly fuming boy--no, young man. She would settle on that. Maybe they were both right--he deserved a chance, and yet, not right now.

Quietly, she ventured, “It’s too early to go back in a taxi. But...” She gave him a wink and her best sweet smile. “Since it’s just us anyway, would you like to take a walk, Spike?”

It took him a moment to register what she said. When it came to him, he sucked in a breath, trying to calm down. Odds were, she would give him the ‘friends’ line. But...until she did...he’d enjoy the time with her while he could. While she was still potentially there. “Y-yeah,” he quietly croaked out, wiping hard at his eyes.

She grabbed his arm and led him down the street. “Oh good,” she said quickly, trying to rush beyond Spike’s heated words in distraction. “Because I never really get to just talk to you, Spike. So, tell me how you got into computers?”

Spike weakly smiled, slowly returning to normal. “...Well, it’s kinda a funny story--remember that owl Twila used to have...?”

The two walked side by side out of town, Spike slowly talking more energetically as Rarity asked more questions and listened intently. Perhaps it wasn’t what either of them wanted exactly, but, for now, it was what they had.

Blockades, Blackguards, and Blackouts

Rarity tapped her toes impatiently, glancing at the gathering crowd around her. Her eyes turned back to Spike, next to her, as he continued messing with his transmitter. He didn't appear to be having any more luck since speaking with Pinkie.

Her heart racing erratically, Rarity tried to find something to distract her. But as it had gone for the past twenty minutes or so, she was having no luck.

The same question played in her mind, again and again: Were Jack and Dash alright?

The strange, panicked message from Jack had broken the spell of peace Spike had brought with him. Now he was desperately trying to restore the signal to find out what--if anything--had happened to their friends.

In the meantime, the pair had taken a secluded seat on the far side of the mansion’s auditorium, where the entirety of the party was gathering in preparation for the main event. The First Royal Auction.

Amongst the rainbow sea of frilly dresses and the tidal rocks of black suits that appeared here or there, they had had no luck in finding Twila, or that boy Nate. Rarity didn’t know what Twila’s plan was, but between her disappearance and Jack’s strange transmission...

She wanted them all to get the List and get out, as soon as possible.

“Spike...” she whispered for the hundredth time. “Any luck?”

“I’m working on it, I’m working on it,” he quickly said, swiping at the tool. “If I could just get some Goddamn reception though this piece of crap.”

She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’ll get them, Spike. I know you will.” Lightly rubbing at the nape of his neck, she added, “You just need to calm down, keep your head.” She admitted, “We both do.”

Rarity’s action would have normally turned him into a stuttering, beet-red mess. But right now he was too focused on the job. “I wasn’t expecting them to trip an alarm. I thought our schematics were bulletproof. That’d it be an in-and-out job.” He bit at a knuckle. “Damn,” he whispered, swiping at the screen yet again. “If her or Dash got hurt...”

“I’m sure they’re fine--you know that pair, dear. Yes, they can get themselves into all sorts of trouble. But they can get themselves out just as well.”

“We haven’t had radio contact since I guided Jack towards the vault doors--between the alarms and the guards chasing her, I...” He couldn’t find any words he hadn’t already said, so he trailed off into worried silence.

The tell-tale voice of Jack cut through from his phone, hard and uneven thanks to the static, but at least intelligible. “--of ‘em on the way!” she called out, presumably towards someone. He heard a small beep, signifying her earpiece was pressed down. “Drake! Can ya close the shutters ta the Goddamn vault?”

“She’s alright!” Rarity breathed, clapping her hands together.

Spike looked close to crying in relief. He glanced at Rarity with a sickly smile, then briskly nodded towards the screen, even though he knew Jack couldn’t see it. “I opened them, odds are I can reverse my steps to shut it. It’ll take just a few minutes.”

“I don’t think we got a few minutes,” her voice grew quieter as she continued to talk not directly into the mic. “Any of y’all got more bullets?”

Spike ran a hand through his hair as Jack continued to talk away from the mic; the man could only pick up a few words at a time. He swallowed, just as another beep came over his phone, alerting him of a direct message towards his system.

“Drake! Any sort of weapons locked up in display?”

He spared a bewildered glance once more at Rarity, then ran a finger over his system, pulling up an inventory list. “There’s gotta be at least--ah! How about a blade once carried by King Pyth?”

“Whatever’s fine--where is it?”

He mouthed an expletive, bringing up a small map of the area. “If you’re entering the vault, farthest left aisle, very last exhibit.”

She spoke once more away from the mic--Spike covered his own. “What the hell is going on? S-she isn’t going to try a sword against the guards, is she? That’s suicide!”

Listening close, Rarity pushed down the knot of fear that had been growing in her stomach. “Isn’t there anything you can do to find out more, Spike?!” Some of the nearer crowd members were giving her odd looks, so she lowered her voice but not her urgency. “Anything at all?”

He threw his hand across the screen, then tapped a button at the phone’s side, bringing up a holographic projection of a keyboard. He tapped dozens of keys, squinting his eyes shut in thought. “If there is, I don’t know what. Only thing I can do is shut those doors as fast as I--”

There was a few pops from Spike’s speaker. Gunshots.

“Elondrie...” Spike waited, staring almost desperately at his screen.

“I ain’t sure if this thing can cut butter, Drake,” Jack said.

Tension relieved, he let out a breath, feeling weak at the knees. “Stetson--that thing’s cut car engines before. Might not look like much--functional blades never did back in the day.”

A small, red exclamation point appeared on the corner of the screen. Spike enlarged it with a pinching motion.

“She broke through a display case. We’re hot now,” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Well, hotter, I guess. Cops’ll be involved now, if they don’t hustle.” Spike threw that notification to the side, looking instead over a river of numbers that seemed to rain across his screen. “Alright. I’m in on the system, looks like I shouldn’t have a problem reversing it. I just--” His eyes widened. “Not now! I’m losing reception again!” He frantically swiped across the phone, leaning desperately towards the screen. “OK, OK.” He held down a button, wincing as he heard the static overtake the transmission. “It’s reversing--get inside! It’ll be closing in--” Another hard blast of static. He clutched the tool, lifting it with a scowl and standing, only barely stopping himself from throwing it across the room. “Damn! They’re gone.” He sank back to his seat, putting his elbows onto his knees and staring down at the floor. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about this--I should've stayed wired.”

A grim look on her face, Rarity said, “They’re still alive--we know that much now. They’ll get through this, Spike.”

“You’re right.” Spike weakly smiled, offering his hand to her. “Thanks, Rarity. As long as they’re alive, nothing’s going to stop them.”

She took his hand in a firm grip, giving him a smile more confident the she felt. Somewhat relieved in knowing Jack and the others were at least alive, she remembered that they weren’t the only ones in trouble. “Now if we could only get some confirmation on Chylene...and Elondrie only knows where Pinkie went.” She shook her head sadly. “I hope I didn’t send Chylene to...to...be violated by that bastard. I don’t know if I could take that kind of guilt, but what choice did we have?”

Spike shook his device once more half-heartedly, then put it to the side, turning to face her completely. “We’re all having to make hard calls here. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” His expression darkened. “But if, if Chylene was... he’s not going to get away with it. We’ll be sure of that.”

Giving him a wicked grin, Rarity replied, “It’s a date.”

The young man laughed quietly. “A date...” he said to himself with a small, unbelieving shake of his head. Sure, Rarity didn’t mean it like that, obviously, but the word still stirred something in him. He hadn’t felt such a strange mix of emotions in his lifetime. A deep dread for his friends’ well-being, all the frustration of their plans going wrong, the tense feeling that they were going to get caught...alongside floating on cloud nine at the same time as he looked towards the violet-haired beauty sitting almost painfully close to him.

Looking at her watch, Rarity tsked, saying, “And where on earth could Twila be? You sure you didn’t hear anything from her?”

“Positive. I’ve been looking at my coms since Jack tripped that alarm.”

Biting her lip, the tailor unconsciously scooted closer to Spike. “We may have another hard decision ahead of us, Spike. If that alarm brings the trouble we expect...” She raised her hands in exasperation. “We might have to leave without her, especially if Chy is successful.”

Spike was about to protest, but instead deflated. “The girls would fight you tooth and nail over that, but I know what you mean.” He stared hard up at her eyes. “But that’s a last resort. We’ll do our damndest to not leave anyone behind.” The man moved his hand forward, then gave a hesitant rub to Rarity’s shoulder. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

“Hopefully Twila already has,” she said, though still unsure.

“Probably has planned two or three times by now,” Spike reassured, doing his best to comfort her. “A plan, then a plan for if that plan doesn’t pan out--it’s just like with her lists.”

Despite her worries, Rarity gave a small laugh. “Too true! If anyone can be counted on to the absolute last, it’s her.”

“So don’t worry,” Spike said, partially to himself. “We can count on her.” He gave a small, nervous smile Rarity’s way. “And maybe after this, I could cook dinner for you. Grilled honey-rosemary chicken. I remember you loving that dish.”

“That would be delightful. I know just the wine to pair with that. Oh! And a wonderful raspberry cream tart for dessert.” She gave Spike a kiss on the cheek. “My boutique--that is a date!”

He blushed heavily, looking towards her as shy as a schoolboy. “Shame the wine’s still off-limits for me for a bit longer. Twila would kill me--she’d kill me twice, I’m sure.” And she’s going to kill you for this business with Rarity too, he added mentally.

Waving a hand at him, she replied, “Oh please. Nothing wrong with a glass during dinner. Besides, what she doesn’t know won’t kill her.” She winked at him, adding a little heat to the gesture. “It can be our little secret, darling.”

“Deal,” he conceded quickly, once more breaking into an open-toothed smile. “You’re a fantastic negotiator.” Or I’m already whipped. Maybe a bit of both.

“Give a little, get a little, Spike,” she stated matter-of-factly. “A little generosity goes a long way towards achieving your goals.”

Through all the hustle and bustle of the party life, a high pitched chirping cut above the rest of the din. It sounded as if Rarity’s name was being repeatedly chanted like a mantra. Soon enough, Pinkie came out bouncing from the crowd, dragging along Chylene. “Rariiiiity!!!”

Her face lighting up instantly, Rarity forgot herself, rising and rushing past Pinkie to wrap her arms around Chylene tightly. “There you are, dear!” She grabbed the woman by her shoulders, pushing her to arm’s length and giving her a once over. “You seem OK. Oh, did he hurt you? You didn’t...” She looked left and right, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You didn’t have to...you know...with him, right?”

Chylene looked down slightly, her hair covering her eye. “He... tried.” She shook her head, then reached down into her dress and pulled out a manilla envelope. “But I got it anyway, so, it’s fine... I guess.”

“Y-you got it! You really did it, Chylene, you did it!” Rarity breathed. Relief and amazement flooded her. Her shoulders sagged some as the efforts of the entire night rushed into her. With their goal within their grasp... “We did it, girls. We’re home free!”

Spike rose, taking a few steps towards them. “Not all of us yet.” He moved to stand beside Rarity and glanced at Chylene and Pinkie. “Either of you seen Twila?”

Chylene opened her mouth to speak, but Pinkie beat her to the punch. “No, actually. It’s like she disappeared or something! I hope she didn’t, ‘cause that’d mean either A, she ditched, or B...” Her eyes widened. “She’s in trouble! And B seems far more likely!”

Spike rubbed at his mouth, then glanced towards Rarity.

Shrugging, she said, “She didn’t tell me anything except she had another plan. Then she disappeared with a nobleman named Nate. I suppose we just wa--?” Stopping, a thought occurred to Rarity. “Chy, dear,” she began calmly, “how exactly did you get the List?”

“Oh, um...” She stared at her shoes, folding her arms and almost squeezing herself. “I kinda... knocked him unconscious--”

“Yeah! He was all like ‘Grrrr, come to bed with me’, and she was all ‘No way, mister’ and then she slapped him and then knocked him down! And then I came down from the ceiling and landed on top of the fool!” Pinkie explained, nodding to herself, satisfied.

“I’m not sure how to feel about that,” Spike said, blinking. Rarity just stared. “But the fact you got what we needed to is all that matters. Now it’s just a waiting game for Twila and the girls.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Rarity said with a shake of her head, “but it might not be that simple, Spike.”

He crossed his arms, glancing to the side. “I think we’ve still got some time, Rarity. I mean, I don’t think he’d try to hunt us down right off the bat--I know I’d be a bit reluctant to admit I got beat up by a girl.”

“He might not, yes. But what about his guards? How long before they find out what happened?” She gestured at the crowd around them. “The auction is to begin any moment now. And who do they need for it to begin?”

There was a pause. Pinkie broke it very quickly. “Me!!!”

Spike opened his mouth, pointing at her, then, after a pause, shut it and let his hand drop down to the side. “N-no, Diane. Blueblood.” He scowled after a moment. “But we can’t just leave ‘em... even if it’s the smart thing to do now.” The young man’s expression softened when he glanced towards Rarity again. “Y-you guys go. You’ve got what you need. I’ll keep my eyes peeled for Twila, and hope to God Dash and Jack get back to me.”

Shaking her head more forcefully, Rarity said, “I don’t think you fully get why that’s not an option, Spike!” She waved a hand at Chy. “If they find out Chy knocked Blueblood out cold--and he’ll know she took the List--we won’t have time to wait around.” She pointed to the List in Chylene’s hands. “Think about what Twila would say about that. Our primary target.”

“Which is why I want you guys to go with it--Blueblood doesn’t know about me all that much. It’s not like I was lauded as a hero with you guys,” he said, a small bit of resentment in his tone. He quickly brushed it away. “If you guys leave with the List, I’ll sweep up the rest of the pieces. We’ll have our primary objective complete, and... I’ll know you’re safe.”

Rarity gave a small exhalation of frustration, then moved right next to Spike, leaning down next to his ear. She whispered, “If you think I’m taking that risk and leaving you behind, you’ve got another thing coming, mister.” Her tone softened. “Not only for myself, Spike--think what Twila would say to me if I let you do that.”

“Rarity...” he trailed off, not sure what else to say. “I...”

Louder, she asked, “What do you say, girls? Are we really going to leave Spike behind, alone, in enemy territory?”

“Nuh-uh! He should come with us. Either way, it looks like we’re going to have to leave at least one person, so...” Pinkie grabbed Spike, then started ruffling his hair. “The more the merrier, I say!” she exclaimed, Chylene nodding in agreement.

“Well that settles it, right, Spike?”

“Drake,” a country twanged voice called out from his phone. He let out a breath of relief, fumbling it out of his pocket and pressing a button.

“Reading you, Stetson. Damn connection won’t hold between all the channels since I moved. I’m having to retune and drop a couple every now and then. Thank God, you and Bolt are both OK, though... Right?”

The three girls held their breaths, waiting for a response.

A raspier voice promptly chimed in. “Oh yeah, fine, Drake. Not like we’re dealin’ with Goddamn zombies and shit.”

Spike spared a confused glance towards everyone, mouthing the word zombies. He dubiously continued. “Oh...uh... Sorr--did you say zombies?! N-nobody’s been bit, right?”

He continued to converse on the phone with an exasperated sounding Jack, as the girls talked amongst themselves.

“I’m sorry, but it sounded like you said zombies?” Rarity asked, quietly. “Did she finally take one too many apples to the head?”

“What kinda zombies? The slow, shambling ones that kill with one bite, or the really really fast ones?” Pinkie asked.

“B-But they don’t exist...” Chylene looked at everyone, biting her lip. “Right...?”

“Well, of course not, dear. It’s completely ridiculous,” Rarity scoffed. “Isabelle has been making you watch too many scary movies.”

“But movie night is the best night!” Pinkie shot back, pouting.

Spike seemed to flinch from his phone’s screen “T-the wall?!” he exclaimed. “How did y-- Nevermind.” He looked over a small list. “OK, next will be a bit problematic. It’s the clothing-slash-armor of an infamous Kvaat pirate, caught, tried, and executed by the royal family. Over in Kvaan, she is instead seen as something of a martyr. Giving that to them should secure their loyalties in our favor.”

“Yeah. That’s what we need--we need to deal with the fuckin’ Kvaats,” Dash grumbled over the comms as Drake continued issuing orders.

Chylene flinched at the mere mention. “Are you sure we need to, um, ‘deal’ with them?”

Putting a protective arm around the timid woman, Rarity consoled, “Don’t worry, dear. Dash learned her lesson the last time. She’d never let one of those brutes anywhere near you.”

“I dunno,” Pinkie said. “She was kinda funny--she found all my party surprises! I’m kinda sad how she just upped and left like she did.”

“She should have been run out of town on a rail!” Rarity sniffed. “Just letting her go, after what she did? Too good for her, if you ask me.”

Spike nodded, covering up the phone’s mouthpiece. “We have the stones,” he announced, then frowned. “Bad news is they’re going up against people on a pretty crazy drug, from what I can tell.” He let go of the phone’s speaker, just as Dash’s voice kicked in.

“Some of us don’t have forty pounds and a good half-a-foot on people, Stetson.”

Spike smiled slightly, despite the gradually increasing tension in the atmosphere. “They’re really an odd couple to me. She’s just so short and wiry compared to Jack--it’s a miracle the poor girl isn’t crushed sometimes.”

Giving him a slight elbow, Rarity directed a wink at Spike. “Oh, I don’t know, Spike. It doesn’t seem to faze them much, wouldn’t you agree?”

Pinkie and Chylene exchanged confused glances. Blinking, Diane pointed at the two of them. “So... you two are like a thing now?”

Heat flooded Spike’s face at the direct question, he seemed to grow even more intently focused on his phone, listening to every word, every letter that came onto his screen. “W-well...” He finally broke away, giving a pleading look towards Rarity.

“I don’t really think we have time for silly jokes, Pinkie,” she said evenly. Spike let out a hard breath in relief, just as another direct message came through.

“Drake?” Jack voice rang out.

“Yes?”

“Open the shutters. We’re goin’ through.”

He tapped a few times on his phone and nodded. “Should be dropping any time for you girls. Good luck.”

There was a moment of silence, broken by Rarity asking, “Well, Spike?”

He sighed, nodding. “We’ll just have to trust Jack and Dash to catch up. But we’re giving one more quick run on the grounds before getting out of here.” He lowered his voice. “That fair, Rarity?”

“More than,” she replied with a smile. “OK then, you heard the man. One last look on our way out, girls!”

“Let’s go, gang!” Pinkie cried, leading the charge.

The rest scurried to catch up to the enthusiastic baker, all the while keeping a close eye out for their missing friend. They moved as fast as they dared, while still giving each room a careful search. The mansion was almost completely empty, save for various servants cleaning up. All the guests had made their way to the auditorium by now.

As efficiently as possible, they circled from the foyer to the east wing, poking their heads into every room, closets and bathrooms included. They then circled back to the west wing, which had most of the larger rooms, and so took longer.

Finally, they returned to the end of their circuit, back in the auditorium. Guests stood or sat all over, enjoying late night conversation, checking bank statements in preparation, and being loosened by the staff with champagne and harder liquors flowing free.

They hadn’t found Twila anywhere.

“This is just getting odd now. She couldn’t have just turned invisible or something!” Pinkie exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air.

Frowning, Rarity said, half to herself, “Did she really just abandon us?”

“No, that doesn’t seem like something she’d do,” Chylene replied.

“Which would mean that something happened to her!” Pinkie grabbed Rarity’s arms and brought her face to hers a little too closely. “What do we do?!” Rarity’s eyes bugged as she opened her mouth to speak, but remained silent in shock.

“We...” Spike bit his lip. “We...” He ran his hands through his hair, unwilling to say what needed to be said. “Goddamnit,” the boy said under his breath. “We’re going to have to leave her.”

“But! Wait—no, we can’t—” Pinkie frantically shouted, letting out a cry of frustration.

“You think this is easy for me?” Spike snapped, glaring hard at her. “You don’t think I know how you feel? If all of us end up here when shit goes down, this entire night, this entire job will have been worthless! She wouldn’t want that.” He briskly wiped at his eyes with an arm. “She wouldn’t want that,” he repeated.

Grabbing his shoulder, Rarity said, “You’re right, she wouldn’t. Real heroes make the tough choices, Spike. We’re with you.”

He stared up at her, on the verge of crying. He took her hand and lightly squeezed it, her delicate, silken palm keeping him from having a panic attack. Spike sucked in a breath and shut his eyes. For a brief moment, came harmony. He opened his eyes and gazed at the others. He wasn’t much of a leader--more of a guide at best. But he’d be damned if he was gonna let anyone else down tonight.

“Let’s go, girls. I’m sure Twila... I’m sure she just had something come up.” Like how Rarity had those thugs ‘just come up.’ What if Twila was in the same way? he asked himself, painfully aware he didn’t have an answer.

Feeling defeated, though their mission successful, the group forced their feet towards the doors that would lead them out. The List between Chy’s breasts weighed heavily, the fearful cost... She shook her head. Similar thoughts passed amongst the others. Where was Twila? Was she safe? It wasn’t fair, for them to escape unharmed, loot in hand, and her potentially trapped or hurt or...dead.

None of them were thinking that fate might plan on evening the odds.

“THIEVES!” a voice roared from above, silencing both the crowd and the music. “Don’t take another STEP, you insolent traitors! Guards!”

The group looked up to see Blueblood, his hair and clothes disheveled, a black eye glaring aside his normal at them. From the doors they had been walking towards and from a wall-side staircase came over a dozen of Blueblood’s private security. Before they could react, Spike and the girls found themselves surrounded by large, violent-looking men--the muzzles of their sidearms glistening and directed at them with lethal intent.

Pinkie growled in return, clenching her fists and directing all her frustration at them. “You’re the traitors, not us, you big dumb meanies! You ain’t gonna stop us!”

Spike slowly raised his palms up to his head, glancing at the armed men, the cogs in his head turning desperately, trying to think of anything that could get them out of this mess. “What are you talking about?” he bluffed. “Who’s a thief?”

Smirking, Blueblood replied, pointing his finger at Chylene, “That harlot there, whom I so graciously invited for a friendly drink in private, attempted to seduce me! When I proved too much for her limited prowess, she assaulted me. The dirty bitch attacked me from behind, knocking me temporarily unconscious. She then wasted no time in ransacking my room--and stealing something immensely valuable.”

“Your dignity? Because you didn’t have much of that to lose,” Spike replied, the quip already out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Rarity was right on top of him, her face twisted in rage, her voice pitched high. “You callous ass! Accusing Chylene of all people! No doubt to hide your own patheticness.”

Chylene herself seemed to be unaware of Blueblood’s insults towards her. All she saw were hundreds of eyes locked upon her, looking directly at her, judging her. Her breathing became quicker, in shorter bursts.

Blueblood recoiled at the insult, his face blotching with rage. “You dare make accusations at me? I should have you all shot where you stand!” As if in waiting, there was a wave of movement amongst the guards. Impossibly, they seemed even more intent on lethal action than before.

“So you mean to tell me a meek girl bruised you like that?” Spike asked, glancing about at the audience, hoping desperately for anything to stick at this point. “Seems surprising a featherweight could do that to a man. Doubtful, even. How can we know what you’re accusing is true?” He narrowed his eyes, continuing to play his part. “How do we know this isn’t an ulterior motive?”

A dirty grin split Blueblood’s face. “Easy.” He snapped a finger and pointed at a guard. “You--search the pink-haired one.”

“Don’t even touch me or—or...or I’ll snap and do something really bad!” Pinkie cried at the approaching guard.

He glared at her, shaking his head. “Not you, imbecilic child. The other one. And don’t be gentle.”

“Oh no you don’t!” Pinkie zipped across to stand in front of Chylene, standing firm, her expression steadfast. Chylene just held her head, further descending into her panic.

“This how you get your rocks off now? Having other people grope women?” Spike glanced once more at the crowd, doing his damndest to appeal to their better natures. “Is this how he treats esteemed guests? Bona-fide saviors of the country?!” He spat to the floor in disgust, leaving a wet mark on the marble. “I think we know who the real villain is here--who’s man enough to stand with me at this outrage?”

Much of the crowd stood, shocked and unused to such outbursts. A few threw glances back and forth, whispers trailing after. But none moved to help.

An outburst of laughter brought Spike’s attention back toward Blueblood. “You honestly thought someone of your limited means could appeal to your betters?” He waved a hand at the crowd. “I assure you all, I am justified. She must be searched. If I’m wrong,” he said, smirking, “I’ll personally apologize.” His eyes pointed daggers. “But I’m never wrong, you understand?”

“Which is why you’re borderline destitute and having to sell pieces that belong in a museum.” He crossed his arms and gave a defiant sneer that only teenagers could pull off with any conviction. “Or do you mean to tell me that you were right about those investments?”

Waving a dismissive hand, Blueblood replied, “Pah! Just because others fail to see my genius... As for the auction itself, have you forgotten, brat? Your Queen herself honored me as host. But the idea itself was hers. To fund the country’s recent peacekeeping ventures both here and abroad.”

It was the usual byline for the Queen’s new policies, used by every major news channel for months. But even still, there was the murmur of agreement through the crowd--many naively agreed with the statement. Spike gritted his teeth, knowing he had fully lost any chance to appeal to the crowd.

The boy began to sweat, any ideas he had at smooth talking his way through this gone and crushed under the man’s convincing lie. If he spoke ill of the Queen, they were hosed--treason wasn’t taken lightly, after all. “She’s using you. She’s using you like a butcher uses a cow. And you don’t even know it.” He swore inwardly at his slip-up. He wasn’t used to being the group’s voice by any means.

“Ah hah!” Blueblood cried. “Treason, if I’ve ever heard it!” He raised both hands, asking the crowd, “Now do you see? Is anyone here against my search, hearing those words?”

A few individuals looked as if they were, but the vast majority of the crowd either supported the search or apathetically stood, watching the situation with great interest.

“Remember this moment, people--when nobody stands up for you, you’ll know why,” Spike warned, glaring hard at the crowd.

The guards looked to their employer questioningly. Satisfied, he nodded once; a guard approached Chylene, holstering his weapon. In a low grumble, the man said, “If ya’ve got somethin’, give it. Don’ make it harder than it needs, girl.”

“You can have something, alright! My boot so far up your privates that you’ll be peeing shoe polish!” Pinkie cried, and with that swung her foot up right between the man’s legs.

With a practiced sweep of his arm, the man blocked her kick. Strong though it was, he was still stronger, being a professional. “That wasn’t too smart,” he said.

“Leave her alone!” Spike called out in warning, taking a step towards him.

Another guard lowered an arm in front of him. With one murderous look, he shook his head in a small negative. “Will you just fucking stop your hotheaded act and let us do our job? Or we will make you stop. Your choice, slick.”

Leaning in close, Rarity whispered, “Keep your head, remember, Spike?”

Spike scowled, but relented with a heated tsk.

“What the hell am I paying you for? Get on with it!” cried Blueblood.

“Yes, sir,” the first guard said. With a twitch of his head, he gestured to Pinkie. “Move or be moved.”

“Oooooor you could possibly help the poor woman behind me who’s clearly in distress?” Pinkie said, folding her arms.

“Not my orders,” he rumbled, uninterested. With absolute certainty, he moved a hand to Pinkie’s shoulder, gripping tight. “So move.” With a small grunt, he threw her to his right hard, sending her sprawling to the floor.

“Wait.” Chylene’s voice was quiet, but had an edge of firmness to it. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head. “I’ll h-hand it over...” She spared a timid glance at her friends. “I’m sorry...” Reaching down her chest, she pulled out the envelope and gave it to the guard, her hand trembling.

The guard raised the envelope towards Blueblood. “This what you wanted, boss?”

“Keep that safe! It’s worth more than your life ten times over.” Turning his attention at Spike and the girls, he sneered. “Game’s up, children. Master Blueblood has been more than patient with you, but now it’s over!” He slammed his fists on the banister, screaming, “That envelope contains extremely sensitive information--royally sealed for the utmost secrecy and entrusted to me by the Queen herself. Trying to steal it is no less than an act of sedition against the crown. Once you are found to be the traitors you are, you will be executed--hung by the neck, I believe.”

Gasps and exclamations of disbelief spread through the crowd, but Blueblood pressed on. “As for your personal crimes against me, when the authorities arrive--and they are already on their way--I will see to it that whatever little you have to your name is destroyed in its entirety! Reputation? Possessions? Friends? Family? You will have nothing left when I am through with you!”

“...--ake...” came a faint voice in Spike’s ear, almost drowned out by the static.

He froze, letting Blueblood’s continued rant pass over him and listening intently as he stole a glance at everyone around him. “Hearing you,” he quietly whispered, doing his best not to even flinch his lips.

“Dra...” A painful buzz of static. Then clearer, “Drake! Are...ou... --ere?”

He recoiled, wanting to shout in surprise. “T-Twila! We’re in a tight spot,” he frantically whispered.

The signal was thin, the volume irregular. But he could tell--it was Twila’s voice. Her tone was steady, but urgent. “When is the...--xt... so--…--pse.”

“So... pse...” He mulled over the words. “So.. clipse...” Insight dawned on him. His mind went back to the pre-planning of this entire evening. How they had a cop out--an escape, armed and ready for their use.

“I have a question for you, Blueblood.”

Snarling, the noble replied, “I care nothing for what a criminal has to say. Save the questions for the police.”

The boy began to glower, his presence seeming to grow as he became more and more hot under the collar. “You’ll listen to me and you’ll listen to me now, you inbred, impotent son of a bitch!” Spike roared, stomping a foot and all but ignoring the raised guns pointed with intent towards his body. “When is the next solareclipse?!”

His outburst, though honest, had distracted both Blueblood and his guards long enough for him to slip one hand into his pocket in search of his phone. Four moves, that’s all it took; tap, swipe, tap, pinch.

Before anyone could process Spike’s non sequitur question, the entire mansion’s lights went out, shrouding everyone in pitch black darkness.