Lady Stardust

The stage was set.

Literally.

House lights -- a dozen, or maybe more -- were aimed at the two of them and were firing their payload of two hundred and forty watt electric light over their forms. It was Piper, and White Mane, standing alone on the same stage where countless other flourishing thespians had practiced their craft.

Now, it was their time. White Mane and Piper’s.

Piper stared at White Mane and fire coursed through his veins. His heart raced in his chest. A whimper got caught in his throat, which was self admittedly much too dry.

He wanted to do this. He had to do this. He was going to do this.

...he just needed a minute.

“Whenever you’re ready.” An omnipresent voice spoke. The words came out with a static hiss from above the heads, and to the right and left sides, of both colts.

A minute he didn’t have, apparently.

White Mane. Proud and confident -- the polar opposite of Piper -- nodded his head towards his audience just once.

He was ready.

Piper, however, had to swallow his hesitation.

This was going to be interesting...

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” He -- White Mane -- said, and he paused. His head lowered to the floor. His eyes stared solemnly down at his hooves, which scraped dust and dirt from the hardwood floor as they ground the floor beneath him. If his hooves kicked the floor any harder he’d have scraped a coat of varnish from the floorboards.

It was White Mane’s reputation to be a consistent reminder to himself, and everyone around him, that every cloud had a silver lining. That life was a grand, epic adventure just waiting for him and anyone who cared to join him.

That was the side of White Mane that Piper had fallen in love/lust with.

Looking at him now, and the way his face wore all the negative emotions he could possibly muster, he seemed like an alien. Like some utterly miserable wreck of a pony had traded lives with him. Some stranger masquerading as White Mane.

White Mane reared his head up, and at Piper, and then, in a whisper he spoke a sentence that would etch itself into Piper’s young mind for the rest of his life.

“The thing is… I love you.”

His coat was soaked and matted down with his sweat. It glistened in the light from over his head and reflected in Piper’s eyes.

A quiet, surprised and startled, “What?” came from Piper’s mouth without him ever realizing he’d said it.

“I. Love. You.” White Mane repeated.

He spaced the words between breaths.

Piper swallowed another lump in his throat. Their eyes met. Piper’s felt warm and wet. White Mane’s were hard as stone.

He was serious.

Dead serious.

“How do you expect me to respond to this?”

White Mane never broke eye contact with Piper. He stamped forwards in steps that were frighteningly commanding and stopped only when their faces were inches from touching. Piper could feel the heat radiating from White Mane’s body.

It warmed his heart in the weirdest possible way.

“How about, you love me too?”

Never in all of Piper’s life had he met a colt who could just switch it on quite like White Mane. Contemplatively, Piper imagined his roommate’s life before he had been his roommate. There was a time once when White Mane had taken orders. Where a drill sergeant bellowed instructions at him and he was forced to listen. It seemed only fair to assume that this recent bout of unwavering confidence drew inspiration from those times.

As Piper’s mind drifted back to reality, the very true to life realization that he was standing on stage and staring at that same colt hit him hard. White Mane was waiting for a reply. Piper had to speak.

“How about,” His voice was octaves below shouting, but just barely, “I’m leaving?”

He broke White Mane’s hold on him and his shoulder crashed into White Mane’s chest when he shoved past him. A hoof slapped onto his shoulder and grabbed the fur hard. Piper stopped. Ice ran through his veins. White Mane spun him around so fast and with such force that Piper got lightheaded.

Face to face with White Mane again.

“Doesn’t anything I’ve said mean anything to you?”

It was White Mane’s turn to shout now.

Piper wiped the wetness out of his eyes. They stood so close now that the breath from White Mane’s nostrils tussled the fur around Piper’s mouth.

In a different time and another place, Piper might have loved being this close to White Mane.

“I… I’m sorry,” He sighed, then wiped the dampness out of the left eye. “I know it’s Hearth’s Warming Eve. I know you’re feeling… lonely. But, you can’t just show up here, tell me you love me and expect that to make everything alright!”

He bowed his head. He didn’t want to look at White Mane. He couldn’t look at White Mane.

He did anyway.

That smile of his -- the perfect blend between foalish innocence and adult earned pride. That showed no teeth and ended in those charming dimples -- was gone. In place of it, his lips were pressed tight together. Flat. His whole face looked absolutely blank as if joy was a foreign emotion to him and had been for all his life.

It hurt to see him look like this.

“That’s…” Piper was going to hate himself for this. “That’s not how this works…”

He took a few steps away from White Mane, who dashed after him. Again, when their bodies touched that warm feeling ran through Piper’s body, only this time White Mane stuck himself firmly in front of Piper, blocking his melodramatic escape.

“How about this way.” White Mane insisted “How about, I love that you get cold when it’s seventy one degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour to order a sandwich. I love that I can still smell your cologne on my clothes a day after I see you, and, I love that you’re the last person I want to see at the end of my day...”

Speechless. Piper was absolutely speechless. There were words he knew he had to say. Words to keep the conversation going. Words he had to speak so he didn’t ruin this moment for White Mane, but, they weren’t coming.

Out of context, everything he’d just heard White Mane say had been what he’d wanted to hear for so long, and yet, right now, it hurt more than anything knowing that they meant nothing.

White Mane stared at him silently for a minute. Two. Three. By the fourth the serious look on his face melted into panic. His brows raised, his jaw opened and he mouthed what looked like an urge for Piper to speak.

Still, the words never came from Piper.

“Um… scene?”

The voice came over the speaker.

The house lights came on. Warm light flooded the room and whatever illusions of there had ever been of romance in the room left with them.

Piper caught sight of his audience; two ponies -- male and female. Respectively. -- who sat in the mid row of the theatre. Before them a foldout poker table acting as a makeshift workdesk. The mare -- cloaked in the shade beneath the lights -- scribbled notes on a clip board, while the colt -- who Piper knew to be Honey Drop -- looked to be grinning at them.

The smug bastard.

White Mane turned away from Piper with a glare and not a word spoken. He faced his audience, leaving Piper to worry alone on stage.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” White Mane gushed, “There’s more. Really! It’s just, um,” And here he turned back to face Piper and licked his lower lips. “My partner forgot his lines and…”

The mare leaned towards a microphone stand before her. “It’s alright.”. she said, “Honestly. That was great you guys.”

White Mine’s eyes grew until the light blue orbs became all encompassing orbs that the spotlight reflected in. He turned to face Piper and smiled broadly.

Piper smiled back.

The mare leaned towards Honey Drop, her mouth inches from his ear and spoke into it. What she was saying Piper couldn’t hear. He could, however, see the smile growing on Honey Drop’s mouth and he knew right away that something uncanny was about to happen to him.

“That was really, really, great guys.” Said Ms. Microphone. “But, we’d like you two to do it again,”

White Mane nodded his head, almost violently.

Piper didn’t know if he could go through with this again.

“But,” Ms. Microphone reprimanded, “We’d like you two to switch roles this time.”

White Mane froze up.

“Um, I’m sorry.” He mumbled, quietly. “Did you say… ‘switch roles’ ?”

“Yes.” answered the speaker above them.

White Mane stared at Piper. Piper stared at White Mane. Honey Drop, with his pre-struck knowledge of their ‘scenario’ stared at the two of them and grinned like an asylum patient. If anyone was getting a kick out of this specific scenario, it was most certainly him.

“Right,” White Mane faked a smile. “From the top?”

Piper bit his lower lip hard.

“Yeah..”

He faked a smile. White Mane’s was genuine.

The things he did for his roommate/crush/love interest.

“Whenever you two are ready…” reminded their overseer.

Piper swallowed another lump in his throat.

He knew the lines. He’d heard White Mane go over them so many times over the past few weeks that he would dream about his roommate saying them -- and often when he did, White Mane would also be crawling into a bed with him. But that was beside the point -- and so that much he wasn’t worried about. What did worry him was having Honey Drop, who was fifty percent of the ponies in Equestria who knew about his feelings for White Mane, watching him.

Then, when he stared at White Mane, he was reminded about just how much this audition meant to him, and how, if he failed to please White Mane, he’d still end up feeling worse on his own than White Mane would make him feel later.

With a sigh, a grumble, and then a very obvious frown towards Honey Drop, he decided that this was just another sacrifice he’d have to make for White Mane’s sake.

“I..”

He stared down at his hooves. This was just a scene. Nothing more. This wasn’t real. Nothing he said to White Mane in this moment and time was going to mean anything…

… and knowing that made it hurt that much more.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” He said, frowning, “And the thing is…” He realized, suddenly, that he was grunting the words. They were coming out slowly and spaced between deep breaths that he told himself he needed to take to keep going. “That I. Love. You.”

He could see out of the corner of his eye Honey Drop’s stupid grin grow.

White Mane’s line came next. The passive, doe-eyed stare from White Mane’s soft ocean blue eyes leered through Piper’s pair.

“What?” White Mane prosed.

His stare turned sharp, hurtful and mean.

He was a fantastic actor to see working, and a terrible love interest to share a faux-confession of all of his unspoken feelings with.

Piper continued the scene.

“I love you.”

And it came from the heart, and it must have shown on his face, because when he caught a glimpse of his audience out of the corner of his left eye Honey Drop was biting the cap of his pen so hard he was almost eating it. Beside him, Miss Microphone’s eyes danced from him, to White Mane, back to him and then she was jotting down more words to parchment. She whispered into Honey Drop’s ear. Honey Drop bit the pen harder.

All of this happened in a flash.

***

The scene unfolded with little else substantial to it. Piper confessed all of his unchecked emotions to the object of his heart’s affection, White Mane, in accordance with his lines, responded and before either knew it the stage lights were smiling on them again and he was done saying what needed to be said.

He could smell the sweat that drenched his body. The lights, and the heat coming from them, didn’t help. He’d given this performance more than his one hundred and ten percent and he felt entirely drained from it.

White Mane, too, looked tired. He’d shifted his weight onto his right side and let both of his left legs hang loose. Both of them now waited for the reformation of Honey Drop and whoever Miss Microphone was, who had stepped out minutes after Piper had bared his heart and soul on stage before them.

“That was really, really, good Piper.” White Mane said, breaking the uneasy silence. “You’re a natural.”

Heat rose to his face, but Piper couldn’t tell if it came with an attached blush.

“Thanks.” He said, smiling with his roommate.

Even if it hadn’t meant near as much to White Mane as it had to him, Piper took a great deal of pride in knowing he’d at the very least earned a newfound respect from his roommate. It didn’t get him any closer to White Mane romantically, sure, but it did further strengthen the bond they had as friends.

And he was quite alright with that.

The doors to the theatre came open with a harrowing sound worse than a Gryphons claws dragging across a chalkboard. It had been far too long since they’d been oiled. With the sound of the doors came the noise of hooves descending a stairwell until the two bodies of his, and White Mane’s, audience were once again in their seats. Honey Drop’s face was cloaked in shadow, his partner’s -- Miss Microphone -- was not. She leaned her face to the microphone and spoke.

“We’re going to take a quick break before the next audition.” she said, flatly. “But, you two were really fantastic up there.”

A flush of crimson broke out on White Mane’s cheeks. His posterior -- Piper watched carefully -- shook triumphantly and when he was sure neither Miss Microphone or Honey Drop were watching, White Mane kicked himself off of the ground and threw his front hooves in the air. Triumph over the forces of ill unjust luck in his movements.

He landed with the grace of a housecat.

“Piper,” he sighed. Piper liked it when he did this; the way his name rolled off of his roomate’s tongue was high pitched and filled with the same enthusiasm a foal gave to a parent. “Thank you so, so, so, so, soooo much for helping me with this.”

And, before Piper knew how to feel about it, White Mane was on him. His hooves were tight around his throat, his body -- sweaty as it was -- pressed firmly against him, and the furry cheek on the right of his face was rubbing against Piper’s left.

“No-”

He didn’t ever want to break this embrace.

“-Problem.”

The girlish squeal of utter delight that came out of White Mane’s mouth was one that made Piper’s cheeks run hot. White Mane broke his hug with Piper. His hooves touched the ground and when they did, he wasted no time before launching into a jovial skipping session. He hopped -- front legs first, back legs last -- in circles around Piper, and sung him praise. Piper was the best. Piper was the kindest. He was the sweetest. He was the best friend any colt could ever have. White Mane could kiss Piper he was so happy, unless, that sounded weird?

Did it?

No. Not at all.

Of course, Piper didn’t say this. Choosing to say absolutely nothing instead and try to get through the rest of his day/week/month/lifetime without wondering how White Mane would have acted if he’d suddenly grabbed him by the cheeks and planted a soft, slow and sensual -- hopefully tongue involved -- kiss on his roommate’s mouth.

There was a tiny island, just off the coast of a land called ‘Pity’, somewhere fit between the landmass of ‘Pathetic’ and province of ‘Desperate’ called ‘The Friend Zone’. Piper lived on that island. All alone.

Big dramatic sigh.

“Piper,” The robotic voice of the microphone said, attracting his attention, “I’d like to meet you outside if that’s alright?”

Many years ago his father had taught him about the dangers associated with listening to omnipresent voices. And, while the age of eight was a curious time for a father to teach a son about the declining mental state of a much loved grandparent, Piper chose to ignore his father’s words and listen to his latest command.

***

“Hi,” was the first word that she spoke to him and it did a little to settle Piper’s curious mind.

Before him stood Miss Microphone. In the flesh.

No longer wrapped in shadows like she had been in the theatre -- instead, illuminated with the amber glow of an overhanging fluorescent arrangement -- Piper could make out every inch of her being. She stood a half a hoof taller than he. Thinner, in a feminine way, with shapely curves in her thighs and shoulders, a flat stomach and not a single inch of flab to be found on her entire body. She looked older too.

She was pretty. White from head to toe -- the colour of porcelain-- and wore her apple red mane long and wild -- bangs chopped jagged in the front. Heavy over the ears and the rest a contained mess behind her head. Her body was fit, and tight in all the right places.

Piper shook his head to stop himself from staring.

He -- Piper -- was a colt in his late teens, going on his early twenties whereas, she, looked to be at the latest mid-way from teens to proper adulthood. If he had to guess -- and he’d often been taught it was improper to guess a mare’s age, so he wouldn’t ever speak it out loud -- she was somewhere between the age of twenty and twenty three.

“I’m Ziggy,”

This was how Piper met Ziggy; Stage Manager of the play he’d just helped his best friend audition for.

She smiled. It was sweet, and showed two rows of perfect teeth. Her hoof pulled a few loose strands of her crimson mane behind a snow coloured ear.

“Well, actually, it’s Stardust.” She admitted softly. Still smiling. “But most ponies just call me ‘Ziggy’...”

Piper chuckled, “That’s pretty clever.”

Illusions of fading rockstars clinging onto their relevance to society filled his mind. As quick as these thoughts came on, they left all at once when she -- Ziggy/Stardust -- rolled her eyes. Her lashes tickled her brow. She spoke again.

“That’s the kind of highbrow humor you get from a mixed gender private school in Manehattan,” She droned. “Thank you so very much, Le Joice.”

“You went to Le Joice?”

Trust fund babies were introduced to powerful connections at Le Joice. Lawyers. Bankers. Politicians. Ponies of power and influence were spit out of the garish halls of the private school and shoveled into colleges like Coltlumbia. For her to come from such proud roots and wind up at an -- admittedly top tier -- arts school was something of a spectacle.

“Mhmmm,” she sighed. Her shoulders lifted with a shrug.“From middle school until grade twelve.”

“Oh, wow,” Piper huffed, "That's actually really impressive, y'know?"

He was being totally, completely, honest.

Sparks turned to flames that danced in her pupils. Her smile, a simple thing, turned prideful and heartfelt and grew. She opened her mouth. Her eyes closed. She shut her mouth and shook her head from side to side.

“Thanks,” She brushed long flowing strands of her mane behind her ear and turned away from him "That's nice of you to say, but, my parents kind of forced me into it."

Piper, for the first time in a very, very long time, didn’t know what to say. Silence followed. He scratched an itch on the back of his neck, tussling strands of his pumpkin mane around. He wanted to say something. Anything. But his mouth felt heavy and his stupid cheeks felt too damn warm.

Ziggy with her infinite wisdom gained from a career of studying faces for a living, sensed his tension.

“That was a really powerful performance back there,” She said. There was admiration in her tone. She was being sincere. “Honestly, Piper. I swear to Celestia I could feel the tension…”

“Yeah, well, White Mane has really been putting in the work.” He laughed, selfishly, while his brain conjured up images from a series of nights in the past few days of his life. “Last week, I swear he woke me up in the middle of the night mumbling his lines in his sleep.”

She laughed. A simple three note crescendo that sounded lovely coming from her. Her hoof touched his shoulder.

The touch felt nice.

“No, no,” she chuckled. “White Mane's performance was really good, but your performance... I haven't seen a colt put that much heart and soul into an audition in a long time.”

“Mine?” He stumbled on the word, so that when it came out it sounded like more so like it were spoken by a pony with a speech impediment.

‘M-M-Mine?’

H-H-He was being a-a-absolutely r-r-ridiculous right now.

The room seemed smaller now than it had before and suddenly he felt like he were two sizes too big for the hallway he stood in.

“Yes yours,” Again she laughed and a calm washed over him with it. “You were fantastic! It was so refreshing to see a colt pour so much heart and soul into his work.”

Piper’s cheeks felt hot.

“Oh… Uh…” His hooves joined together on the floor. He stared up at Ziggy. “Er…”

At least he wasn’t adding a stutter his grunts.

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Thank.’ and ‘You.’?”

His cheeks had never felt so hot in his life.

“Right... Right...” Once more the words were caught in his throat. “Thank you.”

He said the words like he had a debilitating mental illness. They came out sounding so soft and so flat that he almost considered the idea that he did, in fact, suffer from an ‘Antisocial Personality Disorder’. Or at the worst, a heavy blow to his cranium at a young age.

Somehow -- for some reason -- Ziggy was smiling again. This time it was more of a grin though. A kind one. Playful even.

“Which part were you trying out for?” She asked, “Because, I think you’d really nail the lead, and-”

This was where Piper took pause, because he didn’t have an answer. Or, he did, but his answer was that he actually wasn’t auditioning. Somehow it felt… strange to tell the girl who had just complimented him on his apparently above average acting skills this fact.

“Me? Oh no. No, no, no...” He gushed, waving his hooves out before him. “I’m not an actor. I’m a film major.”

“Really?” Her curiosity peaked, she cocked a curious brow, rubbed her chin and smiled. “Yep. I can see it.” she said after momentarily studying him, his frame, his stance, and anything else about him it apparently took to make such an observation. “You certainly have that look.”

“Uh...” He nervously probed his mane. “Thanks?”

“So,” she hummed through pursed lips, still maintaining her studious gaze on him. “Why did you audition if you’re not interested in the play?”

“I’m just here for White Mane.”

She didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Her gaze, however, surveyed his body. She studied his face, then his body, before returning to his eyes and smiling in a way that spoke about her mental state. A thought, or an understanding, seemed to be reached far within her mind.

“Isn’t he just the sweetest colt who ever lived?” She asked, in reference to his roommate. “Its so nice to meet a freshman, especially an actor, who isn’t a pretentious asshat.” She sighed and craned her neck to the side. “But, then again, all of you guys seem to be like that.”

“Yeah, he is really sweet.” Piper agreed in a whisper, until a thought hit his mind. “Wait… you’re not a freshman?”

She laughed.

“If only,” She continued to chuckle. “Sorry to ruin the illusion, but, no, I’m not. I’m a senior.” Then she stopped, and acceptance washed over her. “...I hope that doesn’t make me seem lame?”

“No, no..” Piper defended. “It’s just… you just seem… young.”

“Oh, Mistah Piper,” her tone changed. A credit to the tips she must have picked up running with a theatre crowd, her tone was spotless. Slow as molasses and just as heavy. A proper southern drawl. “I do believe you’re being too kind.”

She threw her head backwards and a thousand strands of burgundy mane flew with it. She draped a hoof over her eyes, mockingly shocked, and waited a second before lifting her hoof and peaking out from underneath.

Piper stood tense, unsure of what to say or how to react to this. He shifted his jaw, left to right, and ground his hoof against the floor.

Ziggy's weight fell onto her front right hoof, which tapped the floor, nervously.

"Sorry," She mumbled, "Was that... too weird?"

"No," Piper smiled, "You do a really good Southern Belle..."

“Well, I declare,” She exasperated, putting on her Southern Belle once again, "You are a silver tongued devil in the flesh."

Piper flushed, then when it subsided, chuckled.

Ziggy laughed too.

“All joking aside,” She said, returning the conversation onto a simpler subject, easier to read subject. “You were excellent on that stage. I don't want to impose, but we’re putting up the cast list tomorrow. Why don’t you, at the very least put your name down?”

Piper mulled his options; joining the cast would take time out of his schedule. Time that would otherwise be spent… lusting over White Mane. Yearning for White Mane. Craving White Mane. If White Mane got cast, and he didn’t, that meant he’d get to spend less time with him. But, if Piper just signed up for a part as even an extra that would mean they could spend more time together.

“Sure,” He shrugged, trying to act casual. “Why not?”

The smile on her face reached a new height, showing, again, her perfect teeth that were quizzically transfixing for Piper, who stared at them, and then her, dazed.

“Great,” She said. “I have a few more auditions today, and… Hey, are you going to be at the party tonight?”

He’d heard White Mane talk about it all week. Sunny Side and Honey Drop were hosting a soiree at their house for several of the colts and mares who had made up their theatre department. He hadn’t been back at Sunny Side and Honey Drop’s place since his encounter with Stormy and his latest experience with drinking games at Camden, so he’d decided, at first to refute the offer. But now, he was practically a member of the cast, and so it made sense to put aside his history with their home and look forward to a better, brighter future.

“I… uh,”

Her smile was so inviting.

“I think so…”

“Great,” she said, again. “That’s really great.”

Piper didn’t exactly see what was so ‘really great’ about it. If this party was anything it was going to be a three hour -- or longer depending on when White Mane wanted to leave -- affair featuring a body of students at Camden who held themselves heads and tails above the rest of the crowd. Actors were like that. Sunny Side was like that. Honey Drop, who was a director, did his best to curb his boyfriend’s superior lifestyle, but flashes of his desires to act pretentious still shone through.

White Mane, somehow, hadn’t let the acting bug get to his head.

Either way, he smiled courteously at Ziggy.

“It should be a good time,” He said, “Sunny Side and Honey Drop have a very nice place.”

This was true. Their renovated two story home had often acted as a secondary hangout for himself, White Mane, Scout’s Honor and Vincent. He knew it well. Almost as well as the owners. It was spacious enough to host many, and luxurious enough to distinguish itself from the frat houses that surrounded it.

“I’ve never been,” Ziggy admitted. “Are their parties fun?”

Piper laughed. ‘Fun.’ and ‘Party’ were two words that meant opposite things to him then they did to Sunny Side and Honey Drop. Where he was from ‘parties’ were gatherings of upwards of fifty ponies in a parent’s townhouse. Parties were binge drinking. Parties were avoiding all the drugs and addicts that came with them. Parties were coming home when the sun came up. Parties at Camden were almost exactly the same as parties back home, only, Camden traded all the palm trees, beaches and pretentious wannabees for oak and spruce trees, green grass courtyards and… pretentious wannabes in berets and scarves.

To Sunny Side and Honey Drop, parties were quiet intellectual gatherings where red wine was served room tempature, white wine was served cold, and cheese was cut into thin -- calorie smart -- slices was served, Old Jazz from a parent’s collection, or New-Wave rock, was played and politics, fashion trends, colts on campus who had great bodies and girls who had gotten fat since the start of the semester were discussed.

He licked his lips. “They’re… um...?

“Not so fun?” she finished for him.

“Yeah…”

Yes, he was throwing Sunny SIde and Honey Drop under the proverbial cart. Yes, their parties were lame, tame and paled in comparison to festive outings like the ‘Dress to Get Bucked.’ party, or the ‘Come Where You Are.’ student mixer.

Lying to Ziggy and saving face with Sunny Side and Honey Drop felt wrong.

“It’s not going just going to be a bunch of ponies sitting on couches, drinking wine, using coasters, eating cheese and talking about who’s banging who, and who’s getting fatter, is it?”

When Piper didn’t answer Ziggy chuckled and slapped her hoof to her forehead.

“I love those two,” She said, “But, they’re not exactly the living definition of ‘exciting’.” She stopped, to make sure her words hadn’t struck a chord with Piper. Which they hadn’t. “You must know what I mean…. right?”

Piper nodded, and she smiled, relieved.

“Oh, phew,” she exhaled. “I was worried that made me sound… insensitive or something?”

“I think you’re in the clear.” chuckled Piper, prodding her with his hoof. “You can find gay ponies boring without being a hate monger, y’ know?”

In a dramatic change to the dynamic of the conversation, her cheeks -- and not his -- fell red with flush and she turned away.

“Oh, you are such a little jerk.” She snickered, trying not to look at Piper, who grinned back at her. Seeing him smiling, the eyes rolled in her head and she pushed him back. “A tenacious little rascal.”

She was doing another accent now. It was posh, upper class, and reminded him of his mother.

“Yup. That’s me.” He sniggered back, playfully, “I’m a real monster.”

“I can tell.” She beamed, still keeping the accent. “You’re simply terrible.”

A static crackle came from above their heads. A speaker came to life and seconds later Honey Drop’s voice muffled by an electronic filter spoke.

“Uh, Zig’? We need you back in the theatre.”

She sighed; a sharp breath left her mouth and her body inflated.

“Busy day?”

She stared up at him.

“I’ve been up since six,” She said, “Auditioning since seven. I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet…”

“Ouch.”

“Mhmm,” She nodded. “The good news is; I only have six more colts and three mares trying out. That shouldn’t take more than an hour and a half-

“-And then you can just nap at the ‘party’ tonight...” Piper finished her thought.

Ziggy giggled.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He said, still chuckling, “I promise it won’t be that bad.”

“Well, of course not,” She said. Her eyes, which turned onto Piper, slowly narrowed and Piper thought it curious. “I’m going to be there after all…” She brushed another lock of her mane out of her face, and, Piper wondered how she managed to keep it the length she did. It seemed to have a mind of its own. “And, if it turns sour you can sneak out with me and head to Saltee’s for a few drinks. Its only a few blocks from their place. They probably won’t even notice...”

“I’m glad to see you have such unshaken faith in tonight,” Piper smirked.

The mechanical, electrical, cackle again came from over their heads.

“Uh, Ziggy?” Honey Drop’s voice begged. “Whenever you want to, you know, ‘stage manage’ would be great…”

“Ugh!” Grunted the mare, shaking her head from side to side. “Listen, I need to run, but you need to sign up for this play, and I need to have a drink with you at the party tonight.”

“Right,” Piper nodded. “It’s, uh, nice to meet you Ms. Stardust.”

“And you as well, Mr. Piper.”

She turned away from him, and Piper found himself watching her fleeing form until she was in the theatre and the door had shut behind her. And then, he watched for a good few seconds after wondering why his stomach felt light and where the sudden boost to his mood had come from.

There came a familiar low pitched humming from a corner not far from where he stood. White Mane with a goofy smile came from that same corner a second later. There was that familiar, giddy, skip in his step and Piper couldn’t stop the smile spread up his cheeks if he wanted too.

“Hello, Piper,” White Mane sang when he noticed his roommate. “Were you just talking with Ziggy?”

Piper nodded.

“Isn’t she just ah-maze-ing?” He spaced the ‘amazing’ out in a way that, if it had been any other pony, Piper would have found entirely annoying, but from his roommate’s mouth, sounded utterly tolerable and a little bit enjoyable.

“Mhmm.” Piper nodded. “She’s nice…”

“Yup, yup.” White Mane gabbed, still smiling, “She’s the best stage manager I’ve ever had. Well, she’s the only stage manager I’ve ever had, but, she’s really nice, right?”

Piper’s eyes diverted from his roommate, back to the door, and he found himself smiling.

“What’d you two talk about?”

Non-sequiturs. Who went to school where. How he might be joining the cast. The usual stuff freshmen film majors talked about in hallways with senior stage managers.

“This and that.”

“Did she say anything, um, about me?”

White Mane’s eyes had grown wide like a housecat’s; two enormous baby blue pupils stared at him.

“A few things...”

“Like what?”

White Mane lunged forwards and darted until he he stood barely an inch before Piper.

“Well, uh…”

It felt alright to extend the truth to White Mane in this moment if the good vibrations from his small, itty bitty, teeny weeny, white lie made his roommate’s entire day. Right?

“She was very impressed with you.”

He could have swooned. He could have squeeled. He could have done any number of other eccentric actions that were characteristic of him and that Piper had come to expect -- and, honestly, look forward too aswell. When he remained calm and cool Piper found himself ashamed that he’d expected at the least a tight hug from White Mane.

Instead, he swished a lock of his mane away from his face.

“I knew it,” He said, non challantly, “I knew I aced it!”

Piper bit his lower lip. Said nothing.

“Thank you, Piper.”

It wasn’t the first time White Mane was thanking him that day, but, it felt just as comforting then as it did now.

Still hardly a breath away from him, White Mane lifted to his rear legs and stepped forward. His hooves ran around Piper’s neck and held his face tight against White Mane chest.

“You’re such a good friend.”

The S.S. Romantic Closeness passed by the island of Friend Zone and a crowd of onlookers gathered on the deck, clung to the railing and waved goodbye to the island’s sole inhabitant.

Piper bit his lower lip and said nothing.

“Can we grab some lunch before we head home?” White Mane asked. “I know how silly this sounds, but, I always like to have a big chocolate milkshake after an audition.”

Piper couldn’t help himself; he laughed loudly and wrapped a hoof over White Mane’s shoulder. He pulled the other colt to him and held him tight, for a minute, then released.

“Sure thing” He said, “But, only if you’re paying, though...”

Softly, White Mane punched his hoof into Piper’s cheek and the other colt faked his injury. His face shot sideways, his pumpkin mane flying wildly with it, and he even faked a stagger, before bouncing back.

“Fine, fine,” He laughed. “I’m buying.”

White Mane smiled.

“Thanks, Piper.” He said.

He shoved his face towards the colt and nuzzled it against his throat. Piper could smell the cologne -- which was a more masculine scent than he’d expected -- in his coat, which, mixed with the sweat he’d earned onstage, gave him a nice musk that Piper, embarrassingly, found himself taking a few choice whiffs of.

“Want to leave now?” He asked, pulling his face away from Piper. “I think we should be able to beat the lunch crowd at Nell’s.”

Piper stared at the door, then noticed, for the first time, the signup sheet for the cast hung attached to a clipboard. His mind flashed to Ziggy. Her pride in his performance. How she’d complimented his acting range and how she’d, actually, been the first to ever do such a thing.

“Go ahead,” He insisted, gliding away from White Mane and towards the signup sheet, “I’ll catch up with you…”

Nonplussed, White Mane smiled, nodded, then skipped through down the hall while Piper wrote in proper cursive his name down on the casting list, wondering all the while if he was making the right choice.

***

The front door to the two story household swung open with a humbled ‘swish’, and in walked a colt fresh from a day spent with his nose to the grindstone.

“Sunny, I’m home.” said Honey Drop.

“In the kitchen, hun.”

Honey Drop glided on light hooves through the front entryway and into the kitchen, where, he found his significant other, garnished in a white, frilly, apron with ‘Respect The Chemistry’, pacing in front of the unopened stove. He threw himself over Sunny Side’s back. Wrapped hooves around the delicate frame of his boyfriend and nuzzled his face deep into the back of his well kept mane. The aroma of baked goods mixed well with whatever Sunny Side used as conditioner.

His boyfriend smelled fruity.

“Today was such a hassle,” He grunted, kissing first, and then nibbling on strands of Sunny Side’s mane. “Auditions shouldn’t ever drag that much out of a pony.”

Sunny Side turned himself away from the oven and met Honey Drop’s mouth in a soft, neutral, kiss and found himself taken back when Honey Drop spun his body around, so that both their chests touched, and draped a hoof to the supple flesh of his right flank. He -- Honey Drop -- deepened the kiss; his tongue -- the wild pink menace -- invaded the far reaches of Sunny Side’s mouth. It licked molars, fangs and stopped only when it wrestled against its equal -- Sunny Side’s own tongue.

Breathless, both colts pulled their faces away but still kept their hooves attached to the waist of each other’s bodies.

Sunny Side, staring longingly into the eyes of his boyfriend, resting his head against his neck and kissed the throat belonging to his boyfriend.

“I just spent all afternoon running errands, picking up groceries and setting up for tonight.” said he before he took a gentle nip at Honey Drop’s windpipe. “So, don’t you dare tell me about how busy your day was…”

Honey Drop responded with unrestrained aggression. He kissed, bit, then suckled, Sunny Side’s right ear, until he earned a moan from his boyfriend and decided that he was very much satisfied.

“Sure. Sure.” He laughed, pulling away. “You got to spend all day baking pastries and putting coasters out. Meanwhile I only had to decide with Ziggy who makes it past auditions, and who in the theatre department I never want to make eye contact with again…”

Sunny Side’s chuckle rumbled against Honey Drop’s chest.

“Okay, okay, point taken.” he sighed, “How did it go, by the way?”

Honey Drop sighed. Low and heavy.

“Well,” he began backing away from his other and clearing a fake loogie out of his throat. “Most of the ponies who tried out were almost worse than terrible.” He threw a hoof to shield his eyes in mock-dramatic fashion. “I’ve seen Timberwolves who could recite lines better than a good population of what passes for drama students these days…”

“-And the ones who didn’t suck?”

“They were good. Mostly.” He sighed. A sparkle developed in his pupils. “But, oh Celestia, you should have seen White Mane’s audition. He did lines from some rom-com flick… he even had Piper play opposite of him. ”

Sunny Side’s pupils expanded.

“Oh my gosh.” He gasped, trying to catch his breath. “How adorable was it?”

Honey Drop bit his lower lip. A frown broke out and sullied his once neutral face.

“He was… adequate.” Said Honey Drop, nearly drawing blood from his lower lip. “Very, very, adequate…”

“But… not so great?”

“Well,” Honey Drop stopped abruptly and hooves that had once been tapping against the limestone tiles of the kitchen, suddenly found themselves ruining an otherwise well kept mane. “White Mane was... alright.”

“But?” Sunny Side, probed.

Honey Drop’s lower lip quivered and he found himself staring away from Sunny Side, transfixed first by the Wonderbolts analog clock on the wall, then, by the slowly dripping faucet behind his boyfriend’s head.

“The thing is; Piper was really, really, good.” He said, “And, well, I’m not exactly sure why… but… Ziggy thinks he’d be great in the play-”

“So, you have to cast him. So what?”

“Well… Ziggy thinks he’d be perfect for the lead…”

“That’s fantastic!” Sunny Side, shouted excitedly. “I didn’t even know Piper could act.”

He frowned when Honey Drop shook his head in defeat.

“Which is the exact same role that White Mane was auditioning for.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

The second hand of the clock ticked away. Then the minute hand. Five. Ten. Fifteen minutes of silence.

Sunny Side took it on himself to kill the deadness in the room.

“Can’t you cast them both?” he asked, “If Piper is only in the play to be closer with White Mane -- Which is totally adorable by the way -- then why don’t you just cast him in a smaller role and give White Mane the lead?”

“Because… Ziggy says...”

“Don’t you let her bully you into making a decision,” Sunny Side was frowning. “She’s just stage managing. She might have seniority over you, but you’re still the director.”

Honey Drop’s grunt filled the room and gave his boyfriend the impression that perhaps this was a topic he wanted to avoid.

“The thing is, I think she’s right. I love White Mane, but, I can get a better performance from Piper…”

He stamped a hoof hard against the floor. Glasses shook in their shelves.

“Honey. Darling.” Sunny Side moved forwards. His face, again, nuzzled against the other’s chest. “You’re going to get wrinkles with all this stress. Why don’t you just relax for tonight. You don’t have to make any serious decisions until tomorrow night, correct?”

Honey Drop’s head perked up from the floor.

“Yeah.” He said.

“Then, come lover.” He summoned Honey Drop with a brush of his tail against his boyfriend’s cheek. “We are going to open a bottle of Merlot. You’re going to relax. We’re both going to get a nice, mellow, buzz on before any guests show up. Agreeable?”

“Very,” Honey Drop grinned.

His magic, a neon blue aura, surrounded a bottle of Merlot and lifted it from the counter. In the calm minute that followed, Honey Drop took a moment gaze at the fruits of his boyfriend’s labour.

There were crystal glasses, and a silver tray with an assortment of different cheeses -- Gouda. Cheddar. Mozzarella -- all sliced neatly. Beside them a neat arrangement of sliced vegetables. Tomatoes. Olives. White and Red onions. This was garnished with two thick stalks of what smelled like basil.

Sunny Side had really given this his entire day’s effort.

The merlot lead the way for the two colts, who exited out of the kitchen and into the living room. Honey Drop flopped onto the rustic sectional with Sunny Side beside him. Sprawled out, Sunny Side lay himself against Honey Drop’s chest and fixed his body so that he used his other’s chest as a pillow.

Honey Drop opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses.

There were tough decisions to make in his future. The kinds that could spell certain disaster for a production he intended on putting all of his effort into, or, alternatively, potentially ruin a friendship. These were things he would tear hooffulls of his mane out about later. Right now he planned on getting a nice buzz and spending time with his boyfriend.

Another neon aura gripped the wine glass and brought it to his mouth. Two long sips -- gulps more so -- and the glass was empty. Mellow feelings washed over him. His eyes scanned the room, fell on bulky designer luggage bags and his inner zen was broken.

He topped off another glass of wine.

“Singer,” he grunted the name.

“Yes?” his boyfriend purred against him, half concerned, half not. “What about her?”

“Do you think she’s alright?”

For Sunny Side, the familiar concern for his sister was sweeter to hear than being reminded of the nightmare they had waiting for them for the next indeterminable time of their lives.

“I’m more worried about Vincent and Scout,” he said. “But, I haven’t heard any rumors about any ponies being arrested for sexual harassment, or Gryphons being deported for murder, so they must be doing alright…”

Morbid humor aside, Sunny Side’s point was well met by his boyfriend.

“Yeah,” was all Honey Drop had to say about the matter.

He sipped long and methodically from his second glass of wine.

“I’m sure they’re doing fine.”

***

Vincent the Gryphon held his head high and smiled politely at the passing section of pretty mares who trotted by him on the park bench. The girls smiled back. One of them -- a blonde with a grey coat -- whispered something to one of her friends and then all three were taken up in with a vicious case of flirty giggles. Vincent gave them a grin. The girls waved at him. The red and black checkered scarf that the blonde mare wore blew with the breeze.

They walked away still giggling. Vincent raised a large styrofoam cup to his beak and inhaled the aroma of a Pumpkin Spice Latte. There were many, many things he loved about Pony Culture that a gryphon simply didn’t have the opportunity to have and seasonally flavoured lattes were one of them.

“Vincent,” A feminine, voice rich with an exotic accent that tickled his eardrums, purred.

Vincent raised his head to face his audience.

He wasn’t sure who he’d expected. There were only a clawful of mares he knew who knew him by name on campus, and her voice carried a much too youthful and upbeat tone to be one of his professors -- she’d also addressed him under casual pretense, without the much professional ‘Mr.’ attached before his name.

And there before him was a mare. A pegasus, pretty and young with an impressive teal wingspan. Hints of her same coloured coat poked out from the throat of the chocolate fall jacket she wore. On her hind -- hips to her well past her calves -- a pair of ink black yoga pants hid her rear. Skin tight as they were, they were putting in the work of showing the tone and defined muscle of her legs.

“Hey,” greeted the gryphon. “What’s up?”

“I hate to be a bother,” she said, “But, I took a bathroom break during the lecture today and missed about a page worth of notes. I don’t suppose…?”

She didn’t have to say it for him to realize what she was asking.

“Of course,” Vincent responded.

He reached his claw into his shoulder bag and searched for his notepad. He kept his head up, his gaze on her, and smiled, politely. She smiled back. His claw touched against the roughness of faux rawhide. In one precise, swift movement, he pulled his notepad out and held it before him.

“You’re a life saver,” she sighed. She grabbed the notepad in her and tossed it into a suede saddlebag hung over her left shoulder. Her head lifted again. “I’m pretty sure I flunked that test last week and I really, really, need to ace this class to boost my G.P.A. I’m trying to get into Coltlumbia for grad school...”

“I could help you study?” he offered. “I’m sitting on an A- for this class.”

Her brows, both of them, raised curiously.

“Seriously?”

Vincent smiled and nodded.

“Yeah. The prof’s lectures are boring as sin, but if you can get past how much he talks about his divorce pretty much everything else he says is on the tests.”

She giggled.

“Well, uh, listen,” She said. Her hoof began curling a lock of her mane and her lower left hoof brushed the cobblestone. “I have a History of Equestrian Cartography make up test at four, then I have to meet my study group for Cultural Studies at six, but I’m free after if you are?”

“Ugh,” he grunted, scratching the underside of the park bench. “I have this… party that my friends invited me too.”

“Oh…”

It sounded like a defeat was in his future and if Vincent was anything else, he was strongly opposed to that.

“But,” he said, grinning, “I’m allowed to bring a plus one, as per the invite...”

When the words left his mouth he considered the idea that he might have gone from ‘charming’ and ‘quirky’, to ‘desperate’ and ‘needy’ in record time. He clicked his tongue in his mouth, waited, then prayed to a higher power for a time machine.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she said. Her hoof rubbed her chin, contemplatively. Vincent again humored the idea that perhaps he wasn’t as smooth and suave as he once thought. “Would anyone I know be going?”

“I couldn’t really say?”

“Why’s that?”

"We don’t really hang out enough for me to know your friends.”

“Wait a second,” In a heartbeat the soft features of her face turned hard. Her eyebrows furrowed together, her pupils shrunk into slants and her smile faltered, fizzled, then dropped. “Do you even know my name, Vincent?”

Vincent coughed into his curled claw.

This was the point where, if he was Scout’s Honor -- who wouldn’t have made it this far with a mare anyway -- he would pray that the powers that be guided his brain to tell his mouth the answer he was looking for. But, since Vincent the Gryphon was not his roommate, and had more than a shred of honor about him, he decided to act honestly.

“...No.” He sighed and stared down at the floor. He didn’t have to watch her walk away in anger.

The wind blew heavy and rustled the feathers on the back of his neck.

“Vincent,”

He peaked his head up to see her still standing before him and smiling.

“I was just messing around with you.”

He smiled back at her, and tried to contain his desire to wipe the sweat from his forehead. She made a move. Her hoof raised to him and she held it before her, aimed at his chest, ready for his claw to meet it, grip it and then shake it. Which he did.

“I’m Effy.”

“Effy?”

“On paper I’m Miss Turbulent Flight.” She stated, “My parents had a dark sense of humor.”

“Effy though?”

“It used to be ‘Flighty’, then I realized after I turned eleven that no one should ever self impose that on themselves, so I trimmed the fat a bit and went with ‘F.’ for a while, then, ‘Effy’. sort of came after that..’.”

Vincent nodded.

“Well, Effy, it’s nice to know you and then meet you. In that order.” said Vincent, “I’m just, Vincent. My parents were a different kind of cruel than yours.”

“The pleasure’s all mine Just Vincent.” She said, a crooked grin crawling up the side of her mouth. "And, as much as I'd love to come and hang out with you and a bunch of strangers, I really do need to study for at least one of the tests I have next week.

Vincent scratched a hoof under his furry chin. His jaw cracked left, then right. In a moment of calm his eyes popped out of his head and an agreement was reached in his mind.

"Compromise?" He suggested.

Effy raised a well earned brow.

"Come out with me tonight?" He stated, in a question, "We'll have a few drinks. You bring your friends? I'll introduce you to mine? We can make up for all the time we waste tonight by getting together and studying tomorrow?"

Effy said nothing for a quiet minute. Then a smile crawled up her cheeks and she spoke.

"Deal," She said, "But, you have to promise not to judge me based on my friends? They're all history majors so they're not the liveliest bunch."

Vincent laughed.

"Hey, fifty percent of my circle of friends are out of the closet drama majors."

Effy's turn to laugh. Vincent found it relaxing to hear.

"Should I be worried about you, Mr. Just Vincent?" She prosed, followed by a snarky giggle. "You know 'Birds of a feather' and all..."

Vincent puffed his chest out.

"I assure you," He said, grinning, "I am, and always have been, fascinated by the feminine form."

"Oh, really?" Effy snickered.

Vincent, not blushing, scratched his claw into the fur of his right arm.

"Relax," Effy said. She leaned forward and her hoof struck his chest, "I have faith in you..."

She pulled her hoof back and reached it into the pocket of her saddlebag. When it came out she held in her hoof a pack of menthols. The same brand -- he noted with wavering resentment -- that Singer, his friend's sister, smoked. She fished two out, one for her, one for Vincent.

"Smoke?" She offered.

Vincent shrugged and accepted.

Back home, in gryphon-land, most everyone smoked cigars. Fat, tobacco wrapped tubes that smelt like kibbel and tasted like stale vegetables. There were gryphons, of course, who smoked cigarettes, but they were less common. Vincent was one of them.

She puffed her cigarette like a cigar. Occasionally, Effy would blow smoke clouds. But, mostly she didn't. Vincent, for what it was worth, inhaled and exhaled methodically.

"Your friends are nice?" She asked, blowing another smoke ring. "I mean, they won't mind me showing up with some friends?"

Vincent, exhaling through his nose like a dragon, shook his head.

"Nah," He said, "They're all good ponies."

Effy smiled.

"Good, good." She said in response. "I'm always in the market of expanding my circle of friends. I haven't had a gay best friend since high school."

Vincent laughed. Low and heavy.

"White Mane is the way to go if you need a gay best friend," He jested. Grinning. "He's the nicest colt, who ever liked other colts, that I've ever met."

"Didn't he used to go out with Stormy?"

Vincent, surprised at her knowledge of his friend's love life (Or, rather, lack thereof.) found himself frowning.

"You know Stormy?"

"Please," Effy chuckled, "Every sexually active colt at this school knows Stormy..."

"There was a... thing between them. Yeah." Vincent shrugged, "I don't think White Mane got over it, though."

"That poor guy," she hummed.

"Yeah..." was all Vincent said to the matter.

Maybe she could tell it was a touchy subject, or, maybe she couldn't. One way or the other, Effy the Pegasus decided to change the subject.

"I should get going," She said. "It's been a slice."

"Wait,"

Effy waited.

"What's happening with you, and me, and the party tonight?"

Effy grinned, playfully.

"Do you have a pen?" she asked.

***

And that was how Vincent the Gryphon met Effy the Pegasus. Not long after -- sometime between when he was finished celebrating his personal victory over the forces of defeat, despair and rejection and when they parted ways -- he traded information with her about studying, parties, and who knew who on campus.

His night went as follows; At eight she was going to meet him at his place. If all went well, Scout would curb his enthusiasm at having Vincent invite not one but two mares to their dorm room long enough for Vincent to familiarize himself with Effy.

He had just the thing for the occasion.

Beneath his bed in a solid steel lock box, beside a small fortune of unsigned travellers cheques, postcards from his family, his passport, and a seldom used pack of rolling papers, was a bottle of Flor De Cana. Top shelf brand rum imported from home that had cost him a more than he’d care to admit -- he wasn’t the type to brag -- and aged for thirteen years.

Black feather gryphons of the lowlands -- of which Vincent was one -- had earned a reputation over centuries as providers and suppliers of the finest spiced rums to quench the thirsts and fog the minds of ponies and gryphons alike. Ponies were renown for a wide range of liquors -- Earth ponies had Cider and Bourbon to pride themselves on. Unicorns Gins, Liqueur and Brandy. Pegasi Vodka and Tequila -- but nothing beat a properly made bottle of gryphon rum.

Flor De Cana was just that.

Now all he had to worry about were Scout and Singer. The two wildcards who had the potential to stand in the way of his plans. If luck would have it, maybe they’d decided to use the time together that he’d given them to play the longest game of ‘Sitting silent and doing nothing’. He felt, however, that after dealing with Effy his luck for the day was properly tapped.

Only time would tell...

***

On the branch of a timeless spruce tree, overlooking an impressive Camden courtyard, right next to a row of windows attached to dorm rooms on the third floor of one of many student housing buildings, two white bellied squirrels sat perched and watching a scene unfold.

Through the window, and well beyond the realm of their understanding, a creature of black feathers and golden claws was surveying an otherwise empty room. Shirts, trousers and boxers fit for the size and shape of a pony were strewn across the floor.

The gryphon scratched its head with a golden claw. Confused.

He rifled through the wardrobe on the floor, tossing clothes onto a bed, until he stopped and stared at something that piqued his curiosity. Something shiny, square shaped and opened. If squirrels existed anywhere higher on the great Equestrian totem pole they would have recognized this as a lockbox. Or, rather, an opened lockbox.

Anger resonated on the gryphons face. Something, it seemed, was missing from the his collection of very much private possessions.

This was when the squirrels decided to carry on their days, blissfully unaware of the bomb about to explode.

***

Vincent, snarling, breathed heavy.

The lockbox -- His lockbox -- had been opened with a hairpin and though his fortune hadn’t been touched, nor his passport, two things were missing; half a pack’s worth of rolling papers… and his very expensive bottle of rum.

The rotten scoundrels responsible were nowhere to be found. Scout’s Honor and Singer had fled the scene of the crime, and now, in their wake, Vincent the gryphon was left to ponder what he’d done to deserve this perverted sense of karmic justice. He was a good gryphon. He lived with an age old code of honor burned into his moral fibre. He was polite, courteous, and most of all, he’d treated both Singer and Scout with the utmost respect.

For them to do this to him was more than a slight. It was an outright offense.

In the back of his mind he knew it was his fault. He’d been entrusted Singer’s well being by Honey Drop, and in return he’d promised her safety. Now, she and his roommate were loose on campus, running wild with forty ounces of high priced rum and each other’s energy to feed off of.

The party at Sunny Side and Honey Drop’s was only a few hours away. He had a date, no rum, no roommate, no friend’s sister, and no one but himself to blame. He swore, then and there, that before the clock struck nine o’clock he would hunt down the duo of lockpicking, hooch stealing ruffians, discipline them properly, and still make it with just enough time to look presentable for Effy.

Which is what he now set out to do.

Author's Note

I have no people to thank more than Einhander, Cola_Bubble_Gum, The Illusive Badgerpony, Nothing Is Constant, Scribble Script, Turai, Maskedferret and Avorin The Editor for helping make this chapter possible.

Extra special thanks goes to Einhander, Cola_Bubble_Gum and Nothing Is Constant for helping invent the characters of 'Ziggy' and 'Effy'.

Hope you guys enjoyed reading.