Diamond in the Rough

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.