There's Something About White Mane...

All Tomorrow's Parties.

“Are you really going to wear that dress?”

Ziggy/Stardust stared down at herself wondering what offense her roommate could possibly have with the outfit that she wore. The dress in question was something her father had picked up from someplace in a town called Ponyville and displayed, with unrestrained gusto, the regal charms from where it came. There was nothing on it to compulsively draw the eye, no frills, no sequin trim around the throat. Just a nice plain satin dress from Ponyville.

The multipurpose army knife of dresses. Or, so she had thought.

The look her roommate gave her said otherwise.

Tonight was going to be a formal gather, and, in that spirit there were ponies tonight who would be dressing formally. Ziggy had every intention of being one of them. She was a senior and they were mostly freshmen. She wanted to look good.

Good.

Not great.

Not fantastic.

Just. Good.

Where was the harm in that?

“What’s wrong with this dress?” She posed, her eyes soft and quizzical. She did a quick spin, on the tips of her hooves, one hundred and eighty degrees to face her accuser.

Lemon Twist -- her roommate -- stood staring back at Ziggy. By virtue and by lifestyle Twist was every bit the opposite of Ziggy. Where Ziggy was strikingly beautiful, in the classic, literary, sense, Twist was pretty. She stood a head taller, was thinner and carried herself with flighty distinction. She moved as if the ground always beneath her was the floor of a bouncy castle. She was always moving, skipping, hopping, jumping. Walking a straight line was never an easily achievable goal with Twist.

“Nothing,” she replied, although Ziggy already knew that wasn’t the end of her train of thought.. “It’s just… you’re so pretty Ziggy and… well… are you sure that’s the right dress to show it off?”

Violent, angry waves of discomfort, disgust and depression crashed against the hull of the S.S. Self Confidence. The waves did damage; they shattered beams and cracked in half levels of the wooden frame, but never did enough harm to sink the ship.

Ziggy/Stardust stared down at her flat stomach, at her plain and regal legs, and then at her uninteresting rear.

She had confidence and self worth. She was pretty. She wasn’t ugly, or dumpy, or a nasty thing to look at. She liked herself. Maybe not enough get a conceited high off of -- that was more Twist’s thing -- but, she certainly wasn’t going to let herself slink into a depression over her looks.

“Oh, Ziggy,” Twist said, skipping over a pile of clothes fit for a lumberjack -- all plaid shirts in muted colours. She managed to pull Ziggy from her self assesment and when she did, Ziggy noticed that Twist was smiling at her. “You’re so beautiful.”

Twist moved a step closer and her smile grew with it. “Really. You’re totally gorgeous.” She paused and threw her braided mane over her face, melodramatically. It’s just… maybe you’re not so gorgeous in that dress, is all...”

Ziggy tore the dress off her body so hard and so fast that the straps at the top snapped in half. She threw it on a pile other outfits her roommate had shot down with extreme prejudice; The purple sweater with the cotton ball buttons and puffed out wrists made her look too ‘Dumpy’. The white sleeveless top with the Wonderbolts logo (Ironically, of course) made her look like a ‘Peasant’. The green checkered flannel shirt with silver buttons that her mother had sent from her latest trip to Canterlot was too ‘Grungy’. She looked like she wanted to hook up with some freshman whose major was in musical theory, said her roommate.

At this rate, and without Twist’s seal of approval, she’d go through her entire closet before she ever decided on an outfit.

“Why are you so particular about your clothes all of the sudden?” Twist asked raising an inquisitive brow while a curious little smirk lifted up her cheeks, “Isn’t everyone going to the party part of your drama class?”

“Yeah,” Ziggy turned away from her roommate and back into her closet. “So what?”

“I thought they were all gay?” Twist enquired cocking her head sideways and raising her brows ever so slightly up her head. “Isn’t that what you said?”

“That’s-”

Ziggy wanted to express doubt and anguish at such a simple-minded view. She wanted too, but it just so happened that Twist was almost entirely right. As far as she could tell, everyone attending Sunny Side and Honey Drop’s (Who were also gay. Together.) would most likely be fond of the same sex.

“-Mildly accurate.”

Two braided locks of amber (Twist would be appaled to call it anything less.) flew backwards and landed back down as Twist finished another skip over another pile of outcasted clothing. A bountiful smile spread across her face.

“Oh, I love the gays,” She claimed, “They have the most adorable parties. And, oh-my-gosh, they can dance!”

Twist rambled to herself -- and by extension, Ziggy -- about all the merits that gay freshman held. How they always were well mannered and courteous. How they drank wine even at frat parties. How she once slept with a colt because he said he was bisexual and she thought it meant he would be great (He wasn’t.) Ziggy exiled herself further into her closet and away from Twist, so that her words became muffled and she could play ignorant to the thoughts escaping her roommate’s mouth in rapid succession.

The task was more daunting than she’d imagined.

“Why worry so much about what to wear?” Twist asked, taking a break from discussing colts who cuddled with colts. “It’s not like you’re going to be catching anyone’s eye...”

The vision of a pinto colt with humbled bewilderment at receiving compliments, and an adorably modest sense of self worth filled Ziggy’s head. Piper. Sweet and innocent, Piper. For reasons she couldn’t explain she found him interesteing, and for reasons she wouldn’t tell her roommate, she was eager to have him say the same of her.

She bit down on her lower lip, hard, “No reason.”

Through the wall of the closet, muffled by inches of drywall and too many coats of matte paint, Twist’s high pitched giggle sounded almost manic.

“Oh-my-gosh,” Ziggy heard her squeal. “Shut up and tell me his name right now!”

“Don’t be stupid.” Ziggy fired back at her roommate through the wall, “There’s no ‘him’, Twist.”

Twist snicker was a three note crescendo.

“Oh, please.” she said, “You wouldn’t possibly be this worried about dressing appropriately for a bunch of queer drama students if there wasn’t at least one straight colt who would appreciate it.”

Her logic was far from misguided, but Ziggy didn’t intend to let her roommate know this.

“I repeat,” She stated in a strong, militant, tone, “There is absolutely no colt in my life who I am interested in right now. Plain and simple.”

“Sure, sure,”

She didn’t have to see Twist’s face to know she was grinning.

“I suppose I’ll just have to tag along with you tonight, darling,”

Ziggy coughed and the weak walls of the closet shook. A scrap of dry paint fell from the ceiling and landed an inch before her hoof. “Excuse you?”

“Yes,” Twist said, “I’ll throw off studying with silly Effy and her friends and attend.”

“No.”

Ziggy tore herself out of the closet with all the speed and determination of a Royal Guard called to duty. When her head was just out the open door, she stared coldly at her roommate, who remained entirely unphased.

“No, you will not.”

“Ziggy, please.” Twist laughed. “You’re being morose.”

“Twist,” Ziggy breathed heavy, sighing. “I love you, but you can’t throw yourself into my life like this. You’re as bad as my mother...”

“Well, excuse you,” Twist threw her head backwards and pulled a hoof over her eyes. “I have never been so insulted in my life.”

“Look… I’m… Sorry,” Ziggy muttered grimly. “It’s only that…” She stopped to click her tongue in her mouth, “Okay, let’s say, hypothetically, there was a colt I was interested in, and-”

“-I knew it!” Twist cheered throwing herself in the air so that her blonde braided pigtails bounced up and down her head and her heels -- all four of them -- clicked together, “I knew you weren’t turning into a lesbian.”

“Wow,” Ziggy rubbed her forehead, pressing hard into the fur and wrinkling the flesh along her browline. “I don’t even know what to say to that?”

Unphased, Twist smiled down at her roommate. The whites of her eyes reflecting light and her pupils dilated as if she’d spent half her morning popping ‘Pick me up’ pills from an unlabeled bottle.

“So, what’s his name?”

“I said ‘hypothetically’,” Ziggy reminded, shooting a distinct glare at her roommate. “Hypothetically if there was a colt I was interested in, who also happened to be at this party, what would you recommend I wear?”

“That dress at the back of your side of the closet, I think.” Twist said without missing a beat, “The black one with the white satin straps and the golden lace trim around the chest. It would look just darling on you, and, black really is your colour. It’s very… slimming.”

Ignoring the backhoofed nature of her roommate’s recent statement and subsequent breakdown of her entire character, Ziggy sought to take her roommate’s advice and indeed pick the dress that sat in the back of her closet. She wasn’t one for dresses to begin with. She knew there was a time and a place for them, yes, but to her credit she’d rather wear a sweater, or a shirt, anything to to shatter conformist ideals.

The idea that Piper might like to see her in a dress, was another concern she had. It outweighed her desire to come across as a post-modern radical idealist who had transcended gender roles and lived freely. Tonight wasn’t the right opportunity to show off her ideals, moreso, it was a perfect chance to give Piper an eyeful of her assets.

“I have to come along now,” Twist decided, bouncing her pigtails with her right hoof. “I mean, if only to meet this guy.”

Ziggy knew no string of words thrown together in a sentence could ever dissuade Twist once her mind was made up. Four years of close friendship had taught her as much. Twist was every bit determined when she had a strong desire. Ziggy thought it a shame that this logic didn’t apply to her scholarly pursuits at Camden, but, such was the way it went.

“Fine,” she ended up saying, deciding it the lesser of two very bad evils, “Just… if he’s there, please, please, please, don’t make it awkward?”

“Moi? Awkward?” Twist was shocked, or faking it. It was hard to tell with her. “Well, I’ve-”

“I know, I know,” sighed Ziggy, “You’ve never been so offended, right?”

“Well… no, I mean..” Twist, dumbstruck, tapped her hooves against the floor. “Okay,” she said, “I promise, honestly, that if you point him out I will not do anything more than introduce myself and shake his hoof. Deal?”

“Fine,” Ziggy nodded, “It won’t be very exciting, though.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Twist shook her head woefully and clicked her heels together. The dull and faraway look on her face told Ziggy two things; the first that she was already deciding on an outfit to wear tonight, and the second that she was already pairing herself off and dancing to a Salsa song in the company of a colt who also happened to like colts (And not in the platonic sense).

Typical Twist. She’d survived just as many semesters at Camden as Ziggy had, but unlike Ziggy, Twist didn’t seem to excel at anything. She switched majors on a whim. When they were first paired together Twist was going to become a criminal lawyer and only needed a reference from Camden to boost her chances of getting into Coltlumbia. Six weeks later her major was pottery. When she couldn’t make an ashtray for her mom (Her hooves were too small, she claimed) she switched majors to poetry. When she couldn’t rhyme anything with ‘Orange’ she decided that she’d actually always been fascinated by English Lit.

That was Twist’s entire four year tour de force at Camden. She came from money -- as most Camden students did -- and so her detour in post secondary education could last as long as mommy and daddy were fronting the bill.

“Oh, Ziggy,” Twist sighed the words and folded herself forwards until she touched the ground “Should I wear my dancing shoes tonight? Or my high heels?”

“Whatever.” Ziggy said.

Somewhere in the mess that was their closet was the perfect dress to wear. Now she only had to find it. There were treasures in Equestria with maps drawn by pirates or bandits which would have been less impossible to find.

How could she possibly own so many ironic tank tops?

She rifled through shirts and gowns, ignoring the idea that the homeless shelter in Barstow was always looking for handouts by imagining how awkward it would be to find a generation of homeless ponies wearing ‘Luna was right’ V-necks and ‘Democracy now!’ T’s.

“Should I do ‘I like to party’ pigtails, or an ‘I’m all about education’ bun?” Twist asked.

Far behind the sea of checkered button ups and ironic punk-tees, in all of it’s glory was that little black dress in a state of unwrinkled perfection. That was good. It saved her a trip to the R.A. to ask if using a flatiron was a fire hazard, and if it was, how much the fine for using said iron was going to be.

“It’s really up to you, Twist,”

She pried the fabric off of the hanger.

“Should we drink here first, or there?”

She slipped the dress over her head and felt comfort when it fit damn near perfect against her body. Not too tight. Not too loose. The halfway mirror in the back of the closet was a miracle. She spent several long moments staring at herself. She liked what she saw. Twist’s logic was sound and reasonable, Ziggy hadn’t ever been one for personal glory but she looked drop dead in the dress.

“Here,” she said to her roommate, smiling honestly. “I think we should start here and carry over to theirs?”

She stepped out of the closet and Twist’s jaw dropped.

“Ms. Stardust,” Twist breathed “You sexy, beautiful, butterfly.”

She moved towards her at a speed that didn’t give Ziggy enough time to dodge the hug she found her roommate forcing on her. Her hooves tight around her throat, Twist rubbed her face in the arch of Ziggy’s neck.

“You finally decided to come out of your cocoon.” said Twist, rubbing Ziggy’s back with her hooves. “You look so gorgeous.”

A flash of crimson spread across Ziggy’s cheeks and for once, she actually couldn’t think of a single mean spirited thing to say to her roommate. “Thank you, Twist,” she said and she was smiling. Sincerely.

Twist was smiling back.

“What time is the party?” Twist asked.

The clock in the room flashed ‘6:24’ in bright neon green. The party started at seven thirty. This was good. It meant she had enough time to get buzzed -- not drunk -- with Twist before the party. She wasn’t one to excess, but, a bottle of merlot split between the two would do just enough for her to have her walking into Sunny Side and Honey Drop’s place feeling cool and mellow.

Cool and mellow was what Ziggy/Stardust was all about.

***

“My goodness Nell’s was busy today.” White Mane, exasperated and short of breath, claimed as he led himself through the doorway to his room. Short a few paces behind him was Piper, who had just bought the two lunch. Because he was the best friend in the world.

Just as soon as he had entered the room White Mane had collapsed backwards onto his bed. The bedsprings sunk a few inches and White Mane grabbed a pillow then hugged it against his stomach.

“I am so full,” He grunted, staring at the pillow on top of his stomach. “I can’t believe I drank two strawberry milkshakes with lunch.”

“Yeah,” Piper chuckled. “If you’re not careful you’re gonna turn into a pudgy little pony.”

White Mane loosened his grip on the pillow. When Piper turned his head away from him and set about putting the doggy bags of leftovers from lunch in the fridge, White Mane made his move. He fired the pillow at the inattentive Piper. When it hit, it struck him on the side of the head and nearly knocked him to the ground.

“Take that back,” White Mane was shouting, but his tone was playful and childlike. He wasn’t mad at Piper. Not really. This was just the build up to a potentially epic pillow fight. “I won’t ever let myself get fat!”

Laughing, Piper lifted the pillow off the ground and shot it back at his roommate. The Royal Guard training printed deep in his mind kicked in and White Mane caught the projectile a half a foot before it struck his body. To counter, Piper rushed his roommate with the intention of a tackle, but, White Mane was prepared.

Piper pounced at White Mane, who swung the pillow at him. The marshmallow shaped weapon struck Piper on the right side of his throat while he was still mid pounce, startling him and stopping him dead in his tracks. He fell to the ground by White Mane’s legs defeated.

“You’ll never win a pillow fight against me,” White Mane stated in a bold voice. He pumped his chest out and flexed the muscles in his front legs, “Princess Celestia’s Royal Army taught me everything I know about combat and tactics.”

“Our tax dollars at work,” Piper grinned from the floor. He slapped at White Mane’s lower legs, then, when he gripped one, he pressed into the tense muscles and White Mane exploded with noise.

“Piper, stop!” shouted the colt between pants of laughter, “That tickles!”

Piper would do no such thing.

“Never!” he shouted.

White Mane’s legs kicked feebly, but Piper kept up his assault. On the bed, with his head rolling against a pillow, White Mane was laughing so loud -- which he tried to muffle by biting onto his hoof -- that glasses on the shelf above his head shook in place.

A muscle spasm overcame the nervous system in White Mane’s leg and shot it forwards and upwards and his hoof struck Piper’s right cheek with all the force that a Royal Guard recruit/drop out could muster by accident. In slow motion, the pinto colt’s head shot backwards and a groan from the depths of Tartarus came out of his mouth. When his back touched against the hardwood floor of their dorm room, Piper was done for.

“Oh my gosh, Piper!” shrieked his assaulter, “Are you okay?”

Piper, dazed, rolled his eyes around in his head. “I think so.”

The room was spinning and the words he’d just spoken echoed in his mind. He thought, for a brief moment in time, that he was suffering from a concussion but the idea quickly passed. Instead, he righted himself out and tried to shake the sounds of echos from his head.

“I’m so, so, so, so, so sorry, Piper,” said White Mane in a hushed tone. “I didn’t mean to do that… but, you were tickling me and, well, sometimes I accidently tense up, and-”

“-S’okay,” Piper said, trying to decide which one of the two White Mane’s he was staring at was the real one and which was the fake. “It was an accident… right?”

White Mane nodded without hesitation.

Finally, the room was centered again and only one apparition of his roommate was left. Blinking open and shut his eyes to be safe, Piper sighed. “I guess you win this round?”

He grinned at his roommate.

White Mane rolled his pink tongue out of his mouth and blew a raspberry. “I always do,”

There were times when White Mane said more with a look than he ever could with his words. It wasn’t because White Mane wasn’t fluent, nor did he lack a proper grasp of the langauge, it was a simple matter of him being outwardly expressive with his facial features. The look on his face at that moment was one of those times. His eyes wide with pupils the size of milk saucers, his lashes just barely ticking the tops of his brows while his tongue hung out his mouth and overtop his lower lip. How any pony could look at White Mane and not imagine the most innocent creature to ever walk Equestrian soil was a wonder to Piper.

Piper shook silly and dirty ideas out of his head and trotted towards the mini fridge in the corner of the room.

“Wanna have a few drinks before the party?” he asked, turning back to face White Mane “You have a couple bottles of Skynoff Ice in the fridge, and I could run out and pick up a six pack of Buckweiser or something?”

“Yes, please.” White Mane said, clapping his forelegs together and swatting his rear end with his tail. “You could have one of mine if you’d like? It saves you a trip.”

Piper shrugged, “Nah,” he said, “Those things are like all sugar, dude.”

“Nuh-uh” White Mane huffed. “They’re the Lo-Cal ones. I bought them in Barstow last time I went shopping. They’re only eighty calories each and they only have half a gram of fat per bottle.”

Piper was often astounded by the logic that White Mane used to guide him throughout his life. This was certainly one of those times. Regardless, he said nothing about it and reached for a pair of bottles from the fridge with his teeth. He took a few paces forward, set the bottles on the floor and catapulted one of the bottles to White Mane, who, caught it in the air. The second he kept for himself. He wasn’t going to pass judgement on diet alcoholic drinks without at least giving them a try.

He flopped backwards onto his bed and twisted the cap off with his teeth.

“Hey, Piper?” White Mane, who lay on his belly, called to him. “Did you have fun at the auditions today?”

Piper took a sip of ‘Skynoff Ice-Lite’ and smiled, “Yup.”

White Mane’s cheeks lifted and a smile of immeasurable joy came with it.

“That’s great!” he cheered, “You really are a natural when it comes to acting,” White Mane breathed, sighing. “It’s too bad you’re not going to be in the play.”

Piper swallowed and coughed into his hoof. “Yeah…”

He hadn’t yet shared any the details of his private conversation with Ziggy. He hadn’t told White Mane how Ziggy was fond of his acting prowess, nor how Ziggy had practically handed him the lead role in the play. Least of all, he neglected to mention how he had indeed signed his name onto the casting sheet.

Some things were better left unsaid, Piper thought.

“I’m sure you stand a good chance,” Piper, white lie on his tongue, said, smiling at his roommate. “Ziggy said she was really impressed with your performance…”

Sometimes a colt just had to lie to his roommate/crush/one sided love interest in order to make him a happy pony. White Mane rolled onto his tummy and kicked his lower legs against his back.

In Piper-Land, the pinto colt was far gone from the world he inhabited physically. His mind was a mess of ideas, fantasies, fallacies, hopes, dreams and desires. Ones that he'd never share vocally with anyone else in his life. Stuck in his mind, he waded past the province of White Mane, taking a sideways glance back, and then made it to Ziggy-Landia where he nestled on a tree and waited for ideas and thoughts about the older mare to reach him.

Ziggy wanted him to be in the play. Ziggy wanted to have a drink with him. Ziggy, Ziggy, Ziggy. Ziggy held the power to making White Mane happy. Ziggy made him happy. She was kind, and funny, and clever and witty, and, well, she was pretty too. She was older. Mature. He was young, but, also a leap ahead of the likes of Scout, Sunny Side and White Mane in terms of acting their age. The only two characters who held a candle to him on that level were Vincent and Honey Drop. And Ziggy.

Ziggy/Stardust.

Piper thought that if nothing else happened that night, he might just have to have a conversation with her about plays, drinking, and anything else under the sun he could possibly speak about.

***

“What do you mean you lost her?”

Honey Drop, glaring frown on his usually temperamental face, posed to Vincent The Gryphon and accented his statement by prodding him in the feathered chest with his right hoof. Taken back, Vincent winced and bowed his head. Nobility was in his blood. So was being honest.

“I don't really know how else I can explain it," Vincent mumbled, "Your sister was with me and now she isn't anymore." he scratched his claws along the back of his neck and his eyes fell into a humored squint, "What about that are you not getting?"

Honey Drop wasn't smiling. "Well, obviously the core concept, Vincent!"

He locked eyes with the Gryphon in the room and took a few paces forwards, never smiling, or grinning, but remaining entirely committed to his aggressive stance and mindset. This was troubling to Vincent, who had only ever known Honey Drop to be the 'passive' sort of aggressive. The kind of pony who preferred catty comments about improper mane care or who would make an observation to a room full of strangers about how squares of toilet paper were stuck to his claws.

Never had Vincent seen Honey Drop this upset. It troubled him.

“Alright look,” said the Gryphon, running a claw through the feathers at the back of his head, “You told me to be responsible for taking care of your sister, and I let you down. I can own up to that.”

Sunny Side stood behind Honey Drop. He too was glaring, though, truthfully, his glare was more subdued and understanding. If anypony present was going to appeal to Vincent’s side of the story, it would be him.

Honey Drop was not so easily swayed. “But?”

“But, she’s also an adult.” Vincent said, “And, you need to respect that about her.”

“Oh, please,” Honey Drop snickered, “She’s a spoiled brat stuck in a young adult’s body. She’s not nearly as mature as…”

Vincent cocked an eyebrow “You?”

“Yes, me.” Honey Drop said, nodding. He raised his head and held his chin at an upward angle, so that his eyes were barely visible to the Gryphon, who was rolling his own.

“You two were the ones who pawned her off on me,” Vincent grunted, “This is as much my fault as it is yours!”

“It most certainly is not!” Sunny Side chimed in, moving forwards and throwing his hoof over Honey Drop’s shoulder, protecting his own.

“It most certainly is.”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is… Wait," Vincent stopped mid sentence to tilt his head sideways and gawk, "Are we doing a bit here?” He cocked his head to the opposite side and scrunched up his beak, “Is this some kind of improv thing?”

“Classic misdirection!” accused Sunny Side, throwing his right hoof at Vincent's face. “Your Jet-Eyed mind tricks won’t work on us!”

Vincent raised an eyebrow “Jet Eyed?”

Silence fell onto Sunny Side, who stood biting his lower lip and staring blankly first at Vincent, then at the equally as curious look on his boyfriend’s face. He bowed his head onto the floor and mumbled something about hearing the expression in a movie about space.

“I know I messed up.” admitted the Gryphon, “But, to be totally honest, she’s not exactly an innocent victim here, either.”

Sunny Side stepped forwards and placed a hoof gently onto his boyfriend’s shoulder, rubbing the muscles beneath his fur and earning a purring moan from Honey Drop. Flared as tempers might have been, Sunny Side tried to remain neutral.

“Please, do go on.” Sunny Side said, smiling sincerely and genuinely towards Vincent. “Anything can help us out here.”

“Well, I left for a class.” said the Gryphon. He thought to neglect the side information about his meeting with Effy, “And, when I came back to our room… somepony, or, ponies, had gone through all my stuff and stolen a bottle of Flor De Cana from me. Just the same, Scout’s side of the room was untouched and both ponies were missing. Coincidence?”

“Oh, that has Singer written all over it.” Honey Drop sighed, head shaking in anger. “When she was seventeen she stole two bottles of Johnny Trotter Blue from my father.” A little twitch in his face muscles and he was grinning. “He was more upset that she mixed them with cola than he was about her stealing, though.”

“I think what’s important,” Sunny Side interrupted, “Is that she is with Scout and he's responsible, mature and able bodied enough to take proper care of her.”

For the longest time of any of their lives nobody present made a sound, then, Honey Drop snickered, which made Vincent laugh and Sunny Side slap his thigh with his hoof and fall on the floor, howling with laughter.

The tension in the air was clear now.

Vincent found the strength to stop laughing and wiped a claw across his mouth. “I know I messed up,” he said, “But, you do have all of her belongings. Eventually, at some point tonight, she’ll have to come back here, right?”

Honey Drop nodded. The mood was relaxed and calming now. No one present was about to throw blame at a mistake like this onto anyone, no curses of bloody murder were going to be uttered, either. All three seemed neutral on the fact that while Vincent had certainly messed up, he also owned up to his mistakes, which was the reasonable thing to do.

The flipside was there was a worse criminal set loose in the cobblestone streets, back alleys, courtyards and frat homes of Camden: Singer. Her actions were fueled by rum and with Scout as her co-conspirator, there was no telling what mischief and monkey shines the dynamic duo could find themselves in.

Singer was the mastermind, Scout her hapless servant. The Igor to her Doctor Flankenstein. The lesser of two evils.

“Hey,” Vincent interjected, “I have, uh, this thing I have to do… It's for a class." He rolled the tongue in his mouth along his molars, "Would you guys hate me forever if I blew off looking for them for a few hours?” He asked this and uncurled a claw then tapped the fingers against the floor, “It’s… vaguely important?”

“You’d willingly abandon us in our darkest moment?” Sunny Side, grinning like a colt stricken with a sickness of the mind, asked. “When all hope is lost and you’re our last vessel of courage and inspiration?”

“You’re really getting some mileage out of this, aren’t you?”

“Oh, hush,” Sunny Side cooed, stroking a hoof against Vincent’s feathered neck. “Even though this is almost entirely your fault, we’ll find a way to forgive you, Vincent.”

Honey Drop, smiling at his lover, nodded his head. “I suppose there’ll be some favor you could do for us in the future.”

Vincent’s beak opened to speak and he raised a claw, lowered it and then shut his mouth. Every word he could speak would only be a shovel digging him deeper and deeper into a grave. He tapped the floor at his feet and claws, but made no noises otherwise. He knew when he was bested, and, this was one of those moments.

For the rest of the week, possibly the semester, Sunny Side and Honey Drop had something to hang over his head. A favor, which, truthfully, could be anything from a simple grocery run, to something abstract and decidedly gayer, like dressing him up in all manner of formal wear to settle an argument whether Gryphons could pull off a three piece suit or not.

Vincent shuddered at the idea.

“You’re thinking about us dressing you up in some delightfully eccentric outfit to settle a bet, aren’t you?”

On top of being gay, madly in love and, by their own admittance, well sought after dinner guests, Sunny Side and Honey Drop also appeared to be telepathic.

“No,” Vincent said, stepping backwards and throwing his wingspan around his body like a shield. “Don’t be silly.”

“Vincent, Vincent, Vincent,” Sunny Side cooed once again, “Some day, and that day may never come, we will call upon you to do a service for us. Until then, you can run along and be merry, but remember, we own you now.”

Vincent looked to Honey Drop, who looked just as astounded at this revelation as Vincent must have himself. Sunny Side, all the while, was laughing and smiling stupidly.

“Sorry,” laughed the colt, “I’m just getting prepared to face an army of actors tonight in one on one conversation. The best of them are such fickle little ponies...”

Not a soul in the room had a comment to make about his statement. If this was Sunny Side being nervous, Vincent -- and also even Honey Drop -- prayed to higher powers that they never saw him truly worried. He was delirious within his eccentric behavior, as if the thought of this night going southwards might ruin his social standing.

At least, that’s how it looked to Vincent.

“Right, well,” Vincent cleared his throat, “I’m gonna take off… and, uh, see you guys in a couple hours?”

“Yes,” Honey Drop smiled, “Sounds good.”

Vincent was halfway out the door when he heard a quote that left him ill at uneasy. From the mouth of Sunny Side, a terrible reminder of “We’ll be watching you.” echoed in his head and followed him out the door. When it slammed shut, Honey Drop turned to his boyfriend and leaned his face forwards. He pecked him on the left cheek and nuzzled his head against the wet stain he left behind.

“You seem tense,” he said. “Are this worried about Singer, or is about tonight?”

Sunny Side saved himself from saying a nasty comment, and instead sighed heavy. “Tonight..”

“Everything is going to be fine, babe” Honey Drop reassured. He pecked his cheek again, then, kiss by kiss, he moved past his cheek, down to his chin, then his neck and nibbled at the fur. “You’ll see.” he said when he surfaced for air.

Sunny Side sighed, “I just…”

“What?”

“Well, you know how every time we think something is going to go okay, something extra stupid and extraordinarily outlandish happens?" He asked nudging his boyfriend's stomach, "Remember last week when we were having wine and cheese night and you found out that we didn't have a corkscrew to open the merlot with, so we had to have that awful Chardonnay instead?"

Honey Drop nodded solemnly.

"Or, how about your sister coming in the same exact weekend that we're supposed to throw a cocktail social that could really, really, show the ponies here that we're not just another tacky gay couple?" Sunny Side sighed and dipped his head to the floor, "I think the powers that be love to see us suffer."

Honey Drop dipped the tongue out of his mouth and ran it just behind the cuff of Sunny Side's right ear, earning a muffled moan and a body shake. “And you’re worried that something like that will happen to us tonight?”

“Yes.” Sunny Side, wry and jittery, nodded, “Very.”

“You’ll get wrinkles from worrying so much,” Honey Drop laughed, nuzzling his mouth over the back of his head and then into the space behind his left ear, “Nothing could possiblie go wrong tonight.”

Sunny Side stared curiously. “Possib-lie?”

Honey Drop stopped, his head shot back and his eyebrows raised, "Oh sorry,", he scratched the back of his mane, nervously, and chuckled, "I meant ‘Possibly go wrong'."

“Right...”

“You know what will help you take your mind off of this?” Honey Drop asked, nudging his boyfriend in the side and giving a knowing smile towards him, “What if we put out those themed coasters you bought last week?”

Sunny Side’s face lit and a smile wider and more heartfelt than any his boyfriend had seen on his face in a long time appeared from the faintest look of nothingness.

"Oh,” he clicked his tongue in his mouth and his eyes went wide and wild, “Should we use the ones with the pictures of kittens hanging off of tree branches with inspiring phrases written in cursive? Or, the ones of paintings that look suspiciously like vaginas?"

“Would it be too campy to use both?”

Sunny Side leaned forwards and his mouth brushed against his boyfriend’s, catching him off guard. When he pulled back he was grinning at the happily sedated colt before him.

“Sometimes,” Sunny Side whispered, “I realize just how much I love you all over again.”

Sunny Side kissed Honey Drop again and when he did, the larger colt wrapped his hoof around his neck. Never one to be outdone, Sunny Side pushed his chest against Honey Drop, which was the wrong thing to do in that moment as it sent the colt backwards and onto the floor.

This wasn’t a problem for Sunny Side. He dove atop of him and together they nuzzled, kissed, caressed, stroked and toyed with and against each other. Honey Drop would nip at Sunny Side’s ears, and Sunny Side would pinch his rear to get back at him.

Honey Drop was right on all accounts Sunny Side knew this. The forces that be may transpire against him from time to time, but, as long as he had the support -- emotionally and more frequently physically -- of his boyfriend, Sunny Side was willing to face any hitches in his best laid plans for the night.

The party was in an hour.

What was the worst thing the powers that be could cook up for them in sixty minutes? After all, with Scout and Singer unaccounted for, it really only meant two less possible hitches in their plans. No Scout meant none of the mares at the party would walk out that night feeling like they were the victims of sexual abuse, and, without Singer, well, he didn’t want to imagine what kind of fresh hells she could bring to the table.

Things were going to be okay.