Jack and Rarity grabbed a carriage once they made it to the busy main street. Jack was disappointed that Hans wasn't the operator, but the driver was a pleasant enough young man who took Jack's bits with such an exuberant eagerness that would have been almost endearing, if Jack had more money to spend.
Jack decided to ride inside the carriage with Rarity tonight and, while she wasn't a woman who valued comfort as much as practical applications, she had to admit it was a nice break from the hard wooden bench she favored when riding with Hans. The plush red fabric seats took out a good chunk of the normally jolting ride and the weak evening sunlight filtering in through the slitted windows gave the small compartment a rather calming feel. She glanced over at Rarity, just barely catching the tailor turning her head quickly away from the farmer, a small amount of heat traveling along the tailor's cheeks.
"I do hope the play is good," Rarity said.
"Book ain't too bad," Jack easily replied, staring out the window. Though they'll probably ruin it with song numbers or somethin', she thought.
"I didn't take you for the reading kind."
She shrugged. "I don't do it often, but I like ta crack open a book from time ta time."
"You're a far cry from Isabelle, then," Rarity huffed. "I don't believe I've ever seen her sit down and read anything for entertainment."
The conversation dried up shortly afterward, leaving Rarity and Jack staring out their respective windows at the slowly passing landscape. It gave the farmer some time to think. Well, maybe not think.
Hope would be the better word.
She hoped the farm was doing ok, despite her absence. She hoped Bloom was keeping up on school. Most importantly, she hoped her Granny was having good days while Jack was gone—the matriarch seemed to have been sinking more and more into her own disillusioned world, one far away from Jack and the rest of her family. It tore at the farmer every time she thought of it, but from a practical perspective, it wasn't like the Apples' could do much for their ailing grandmother, besides herbal remedies provided by one of their closest neighbors—the medicine woman, Zecora.
The African had proved herself countless times in Jack's eyes—she was a good woman that had quite a bit of expertise in potion-making and had even helped with some of the repairs and harvesting around the farm when they were desperate for hands. Mac thought the world of the dark skinned woman, though he wasn't the type to talk out his emotions.
"So, I believe that there will be a dance before the play. Would you like to be my partner?" Rarity suddenly asked, breaking Jack away from her thoughts.
"Well..." the farmer trailed off.
"Oh, come now, Jack. You look quite stylish. I'd love to show you off! It's not often I get to advertise my own designs on other people." She smiled sweetly. "Well, people that are a far cry from my normal clientele, anyway."
"Ya mean people that actually work a day in their lives?" Jack said dryly.
"I wouldn't call my clients 'blue collar' by any means, but some of them do work." Her brow furrowed as she looked to the ceiling. "Occasionally."
000
Isabelle sat at the far corner of the student council room. Her slouched body tipped forward as exhaustion crept over her body—it was all she could do to stop herself from sliding off the chair and smacking her face onto the files she had spread all across the table. She numbly went back to examining the handwritten files, breezing through several profiles of the soul-folk teachers that resided here. With a heavy grunt of irritation, she called out to the only other person in the room.
"Yo, Twila. Any luck?"
Twila continued to look hard at the two dimensional screen levitating in front of her, seemingly oblivious to Dash's words. With a concentrated flick of the dark skinned woman's hand, the magical screen shifted images, flying through a large collection of faces, names, and student ID numbers in an uncanny blur. Every file she skimmed over had a wealth of information on it, but what drew her attention was the small, almost inconsequential stamp at the bottom right.
Red, orange, yellow, green. Each note on their documentation seemed out of place on something as benign as a school dossier, but, for their purposes, it was the most important aspect of the entire damn paper.
Earlier, Isabelle had found Twila and told the soul-folk the truth about yesterday's scare. The genius finally got the chance to do something to help only an hour ago, using her magic to infiltrate a secured and guarded room where the student records were held. To a normal soul-folk, the locked, lead based door leading inside would have been impossible to sneak magic through.
Shame for them she was no ordinary soul-folk.
When you had magic as your talent, impossible was met with a roll of the eyes-nothing more, nothing less.
The violet haired woman leaned back in her chair briefly and closed her eyes in thought.
Twila hid herself well in a janitorial closet a few rooms over from her target. She closed her eyes. Focused. Channeled her spirit into the aura of magic that surround her. She clenched her fist instinctively, bringing her aura to a point on her knuckle—a small dot of lavender the only clue she was using magic at all. She stumbled briefly, enveloped in the limbo between her body and her mind. With a quick press onto the ground, her spirit branched out, turning into into a small trickle-trail of magic. The woman's essence crept under the door and along the floor, wary of the guard nearby.
The guard had her feet propped on top of a table and a magazine resting in her hands, working diligently on a long necked bottle of lukewarm beer. Twila's essence, though lacking ears, could pick up the start of, "Paint it Black."
Twila didn't fear the guard. The trail, her consciousness, was so insignificant and borderline transparent at the moment that only the well trained or alert could spot it. The woman didn't appear to be either.
The soul-folk's essence moved to the locked door and searched carefully along its edges. She found what she was looking for—a small crack between the doorframe and the floor. She wiggled through, a mouse entering a small home.
Twila hissed briefly when she accidentally guided her essence upward and touched the lead with her magic; the odd feeling of a numbing jolt tingled her hands and for a brief flicker, she could feel her consciousness returning to her body, being pulled away from the steps she had crawled across moments ago.
Then that flicker of doubt was gone, replaced by a stubborn determination. With a doubling of effort, she pressed on, mentally enduring and marching forward through the miniscule hole. Soon, she felt a sweet release of the door's pressure—Twila's magic had overpowered the lead-based resistances and was now inside a small office. She took stock of the area, and her essence began to quickly change shape. Twila felt her form alter from a needle-thin stream into a stretching mass of magic similar to a thin glob of viscous jelly smeared on a concrete sandwich. It expanded, turning into a small puddle of violet. From it, rising as if climbing a steep stairwell, came first a gelatinous head, then, moments later, a neck. Torso. Arms and legs. Finally, free from the puddle, stood a lavender gel in the shape of Twila.
Twila examined her doppelganger's bare body, running an appraising eye up and down her arms and legs. She nodded in approval—everything seemed in working order.
Worked like a charm, Twila thought. It wasn't often she had to create a doppelganger—usually an astral projection was a far more efficient way to use her powers, but considering she would need to physically interact with the objects around her, a spell from the illusion school just wouldn't work.
She frowned as a small dollop of her slimy shoulder slid down like sweat across her arm, and splattered to the ground. She needed to work fast, before this body collapsed in on itself.
The soul-folk stepped forward, her bare feet squelching on the concrete floor. Twila looked over the room, her eyes flowing over the desk and a small map of the school's floorplan, before finally settling on a large filing cabinet. She reached out, opening the cabinet's top drawer with a wet yank.
Inside would have been the jackpot, if she had been searching for money. A bag, nearly ruptured from all the bits inside, greeted her eyes. Twila figured it was part of the school's donations from some of the bigger businesses' owners. Between the Belle clan and Dorcis, the place was raking in cash.
Twila shut the drawer, moving on to greater things. She tried the second highest. This time, she lucked out. Inside was a book. She carefully used her magic to turn a page and was greeted with the beginning of an expansive list of the entire student roster—age, race, photograph, room location—it was all there and ready for her fingertips.
She looked down at her slimy hand. On second thought, she decided, magic would have to suffice.
Twila quickly levitated the book over to the desk and pointed. The book cracked open, and began to rapidly flip through its pages. The scholar could feel the information swimming in her magical essence, a mere gesture could bring it to light. When she returned to her true body, she'd be able to regurgitate the information her magic was absorbing into something cohesive enough to read and hopefully make sense of.
As she let her magic absorb the information, she took to making sure the room looked the same as when she came in—using her magic to deal with the jelly-like substance that peppered her footsteps and covered the drawer handles. Twila heard the book snap shut with a finality only a finished story provided as she cleaned up. With another quick gesture, she picked up the book with her magic, and placed it back into its normal location. She gave a quick nod of approval at the accomplished job, and finished the last of her cleaning up. Soon, the only thing left was the puddle of goo the doppelganger originated from. Twila waved her hand over it and watched it vanish underneath, as if it had never existed in the first place.
On seeing the room was clean, Twila formed another quick gesture, making her two ring fingers and thumbs into a large circle. She then blew into the center. The room seemed to briefly turn monochrome to her gelatinous eyes, then reverted to normal.
She doubted that they'd look over the room, doubted that they'd bring someone that could identify auras even more. But it never hurt to be safe. Better to cast a masking spell and not have it checked, then not cast one at all and risk detection.
With a muttered incantation and a snap of her fingers, the doppelganger she was housed in vanished into thin air. Twila felt the briefest moment of duality as her consciousness was torn between the vanished creature and her own physical body. In a heartbeat, she was back in her own body, drawing a deep breath of the stale air.
She rose, carrying a wealth of new information in her mind.
"Yo, Twi!" Dash loudly called once more across the room, irritation evident in the athlete's words. Twila snapped back to the task at hand.
"Sorry, Isabelle-"
"Don't call me that." Dash frowned, shaking her head at the name. "Did you find anything yet, egghead?"
"I've whittled our potential suspect list down to a far more sizable pool." Twila glanced at the magical screen still levitating prominently in front of her. "Thanks to being able to get a match on the aura saturating the rope, I've been able to narrow it down to thirty names."
"Can't ever be just one or two, can it?" the athlete swore under her breath.
Twila shook her head. "Sorry, Dash. The aura was a light blue-"
"One of the most common colors, yeah, yeah, yeah," Dash quickly answered, putting a finger to her temple. "Have you dug any deeper on those thirty? Previous clubs, arrival dates—something like that?"
Twila put her hand on the table and tapped a small notepad of a similar design to Dash's. She opened it and turned the book, handing it to Isabelle. "Going by attendance records for classes, we can reduce our pool by half—unless you still hold onto the notion that we cannot trust the word of the teachers."
Dash mulled it over, skimming through the names with a thumb. "I don't think any of the teaches would lie about a student being in their class at the time. That's something pretty easy to confirm, bro."
Twila sat in contemplation for a moment as Isabelle looked over her quickly created list. She sighed, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. The magic was starting to throb at her temples—it was about time to shut it down for an hour or two. "There's a person within those fifteen I feel warrants an investigation into," she reluctantly said, bridging her fingers underneath her chin.
Dash glanced up from the notes, waiting for Twila to continue.
"Alard von Blueblood." After dropping the name, she paused. "He's a cousin to the Pendragon's and a potential candidate for the crown. I-it's possible he was jealous of the time I spent with Celestia. That would give him motive..."
"For the cherry on top, he was an old flame of Rarity's," Dash continued, snapping the notebook shut and handing it back to Twila. She paced to the center of the room. "When you're part of my family, you're taught not to believe in coincidence, bro. Him being on that list and having a beef with both of you just puts the nail in the coffin." Isabelle smirked. While she didn't have quite the dedication to do the duller aspects of detective work, she was like her uncle when it came to actually putting the pieces together and solving a puzzle like this—it gave her a feeling of accomplishment and euphoria only a runner's high could top. "Blueblood wanted to scare you two away, maybe damage the school's rep as insult to injury. It would have worked well, had he actually missed the blow; but that's the problem with domino plans like that—mess up one piece and it goes nowhere. It's bugging me on what he would have done next—it's not often you see someone with a loose gameplan like that."
Twila nodded. "What do you recommend we do?"
The Ritter popped her knuckles, smirking. "Tonight we'll have ourselves a social call."
000
The carriage pulled up by the school's fountain and started back towards St. Charles within moments of Jack and Rarity exiting. Not that they could blame the driver—the place was swamped with well dressed party goers spilling out from carriages and walking arm-and-arm down a plush red rug leading to the front entrance. Jack noticed a few stoic women adorned in the golden armor of Celestia's guard lining the walkway. They cast an appraising eye on everyone that walked towards the doors, keeping an eye out for troublemakers. It unnerved the farmer a bit—wasn't like she dealt with authority often.
"Last chance ta jus' go an' grab a bite ta eat instead," Jack offered half in jest.
"Oh hush," Rarity dismissed, closing her eyes and tilting her nose up. "I'm quite certain that this will be an enjoyable evening if you simply accept it." She approached the velvet rug alongside the farmer, then, with surprising speed and deftness, she snaked her delicate arm around the tanned woman's. Jack glanced down, then back up at Rarity.
"Ya weren't kiddin' bout that 'arm-in-arm' stuff, were ya?" the tall woman dryly asked, scratching at a freckled cheek.
"A lady does not 'kid,' Jack. She jests," Rarity corrected. As they continued walking the carpet, she lowered her voice slightly, leaning to the farmer's ear. "Do you not like it?"
"Like what?"
The violet-haired beauty wordlessly lifted up their entwined arms.
"Oh," Jack realized. The blonde scratched at the tip of her nose—furrowing her brow suddenly when she realized how much she was touching her face—then shook her head. "I dunno—I mean, it's nice enough, I guess."
The two soon entered the busy lobby. Jack gave a small tap on the other woman's shoulder and broke her hold. "I'll be back in a few. I really gotta pee."
Rarity very nearly put her palm up to her face in exasperation. "I don't suppose you could have said you were powdering up, or you needed to step away for a minute?"
Jack blinked. "Heck no. I ain't touchin' no makeup ta my fac-"
"Never mind," Rarity quickly said. "I'll just wait for you here."
The farmer wandered off. Rarity sighed, moving to one of the large windows that lined the wall. Over on the other side, a woman on piano slowly played the opening of a slow blues song Jack was familiar with, "The heart of Damocles."
Rarity heard a presence walk close to her; she glanced to her side expecting Jack.
It was Isabelle, dressed less like a party goer and more like an ancient Greek goddess, with long white robes and golden trim at the waist and hem.
"Why, good evening, darling. How do you like the dress?" Rarity questioned.
Dash gave a quick glance over herself, from the golden circlet at her temples to her brown sandals. "I'll give you cred: it's pretty nice. Still too girly, but at least it's pretty cool." She rolled her neck. "Then again, it might just be cool because I'm in it." The athlete moved towards the window as Rarity scoffed. The two stared out towards the stars. "Not too bad of a night."
"Indeed. It is a magnificent one." Rarity smiled.
They stood in a companionable silence for a moment, before Isabelle spoke again. "So, I saw who you came in with," she said, smirking. "Never thought you'd shoot for the naive country girl—you were always more of a high-class broad."
Rarity felt like the conversation had turned into a minefield. "Do not call me a broad, you imbecile. As for my type... I will admit, Jack is a far cry from the people I usually mingle with. Yet she's intriguing enough that I wanted a chance to get to know her, especially after she expressed an interest in me."
That got Dash's attention. "Really? Less than a week in and she's already hitting on people? I'm impressed."
"It wasn't something so unseemly as hitting on me, Isabelle. She sent me a token of her affection."
"I did what now?" a familiar drawl curiously chimed in. Jack moved carefully in her heels towards Isabelle and Rarity. She raised her eyebrow.
Rarity coyly smiled. "No need to hide the truth, darling. I thought it was a fabulous gift—especially considering how expensive I'm sure it was."
"What, the lemon bars?" She scratched behind her ear. "Rare, those cost me like two bits."
"Including a zapapple topping? I doubt it," Rarity stated. "A pan of lemon bars from Sugar Cube Corner runs at least eight bits."
"I shoulda guessed Pinkie was givin' me some kinda deal..." She took in a breath. "Look, I got those ta make up fer me bein' an ass ta ya at breakfast the other day—ain't nothin' more than that."
"Oh," Rarity simply said. After a beat, she swallowed. "I mistook your actions, Jack. For that, I apologize. Please forgive my... earlier mannerisms. I thought you had simply taken an interest to me."
"That's not-"
Before Jack could say anything more, Rarity took a brisk step towards the grand stairwell at the far end of the room. She stole one more glance out the large windows. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I shall head to the auditorium. My offer still stands regarding the theater box, Jack. One misunderstanding shouldn't ruin a new friendship, after all, and I did promise you a fantastic seat for the play."
Jack watched Rarity leave. After a beat, she made a motion to follow the violet haired beauty, but was promptly stopped by Dash's hand on her arm.
"Real talk, bro?" Isabelle asked, meeting the tall girl's gaze.
"What?"
"You're not some kinda... you know... floozy or player or something, right? 'Cause I know the tricks, pretending you're hot for her one moment, then cold the next, and-"
The farmer leaned forward, coming close to the others face. "Dash," she growled in warning.
Isabelle shook her head, putting her hands up defensively. Though she couldn't help the small smirk that popped up from the corner of her lip. "Look, I'm only asking because it's her, alright? She's had a few snobs do her wrong in the past. I'm keeping an eye out."
"A shepherd tending to their flock," Jack dryly answered, still in a sour mood about Isabelle's question. Her family never had wandering eyes, and Jack would be damned if she would.
"That's worded a bit different than what I'd say, but sure." She scratched at her neck and stepped to the side. "If you're thinking abou—"
"I ain't thinkin' bout nothin' right now, Dash. I'd like ta jus' get ta know her better first. If she had jus' listened ta me a damn second ago instead of takin' off..."
The girl smirked, running a hand through her multi-hued bangs. "If you end up, you know, going after her, well, she could do worse." Her expression fell. "But that's not all I needed to say to you, hayseed. We might have found the guy responsible for last night's scare. I wanted to see if you were game on joining me and Twila later on."
Jack quickly nodded. "I wanna find the guy jus' as much as you, I reckon."
"That's what I expected of you, bro." Isabelle smiled. She tapped the farmer's shoulder with her fist. "Meet me and the bookworm in our dorm after the play and whatev. I'll let you chase after the dame now."
"Glad I got yer permission," the farmer grunted, heading towards the stairwell.
000
Rarity sighed, standing near the wall of the theater. The woman didn't know why she had decided to stay on the floor without a partner—it was an exercise in frustration. She was being bombarded by offers to dance, but right now she didn't have the heart to join any of the bachelors or bachelorettes seeking her favor.
I was so naive, she brooded, watching the swaying crowd make their way through a violin piece.
It really had seemed too good to be true, in retrospect. A stranger shows up and not only grants a token of her affection, but saves Rarity's life all within the same week? It was ridiculous.
It was even more ridiculous that Rarity was so intrigued by Jack. They had only known one another for a few days now—far too short to develop any sort of real attachment, romantic or otherwise.
But, still...
The flower might not be in bloom, but I think the seeds were at least planted, Rarity heard in her mother's, sweet, kindly voice.
She frowned at the words, hating how close to true they were.
"There ya are," she heard a familiar drawl say. Rarity pushed her thoughts to the side and did her best to smile through the hurt.
"Jack." She nodded politely, watching the girl move and lean against the theater wall. Rarity mentally screamed at the thought of Jack's suit and the grime that might be on it now. "The play's not for another hour."
"I ain't dumb. I know it's not time fer it. I, uh." She cocked her head towards the crowd.. "I jus' wanted ta see if you were up fer a dance."
Rarity narrowed her gaze at the farmer. "So, let me understand this: you tell me mere moments ago that you had no interest in me. Now you're asking for a dance?" She scowled. "That is far from proper manners, Ms. Apple."
The farmer sighed. "When ya put it that way, it makes me sound like an ass." She briefly put a finger to her temple. "Look, Rare, honest. I ain't tryin' ta yank yer chain left an' right. I'm jus' makin' sure we're straight regardin' one another."
"Straight?" Rarity repeated, tilting her head at Jack's choice of words.
"Yeah. Straight. Like on the level." she thought briefly. "When I first met ya, I thought that you were the very definition of a pampered pain in the ass." Rarity's fists balled up; Jack quickly rushed to finish. "But then I had a chance ta talk with ya an' I realized that under the makeup an' dress was a sweet woman that could take a joke, ya know?" The farmer crossed her arms. "I don't want ya ta make the same mistake I did, judgin' a book 'fore ya know 'bout it. I ain't no Princess Charmin'. I don't do lil' romantic gifts or gestures—hell, I ain't got a damn clue on how ta really do dates an' the like." The tanned woman breathed out, stressed at having to actually talk out her thoughts on the matter. "If yer interested in me, I want it ta be fer me, not someone ya think I am, ya know? I want us both ta have clean slates on the matter. I don't see you as a spoiled brat, an' you don't see me as a white knight." After she said her peace, she scowled. "Damn it. I probably done hosed that up. Sorry, Rare. I ain't never been good with words."
The beauty smiled at Jack. "I can forgive you, Jack. I think I understand where you're coming from regarding how I've treated you. If you wish, I'm more than happy to drop the flirtatious acts and hand-holding."
"I... I don't mind the flirtin'," Jack quickly replied, scratching at her cheek. "It's, uh, nice ta get a complement every now an' again."
Rarity held back a laugh at watching the farmer stammer. There was something quite enjoyable indeed about reducing Jack to an unsure pile of nerves.
The two stood silently for a moment, before Rarity coyly smiled. "Well, Jack. I do believe you were offering me the opportunity to dance..." she encouraged, holding out her arm.
"Hang on a sec." The Apple kicked off her dress shoes and put them to the side. The beauty glanced down distastefully at Jack's bare feet. Before she could voice her complaint, the Apple took Rarity's hand and walked out onto the floor just as the music increased in tempo. Jack rested one hand on the small of Rarity's back, and the other held out to the side. They began moving in synchronicity, floating, turning, and swaying across the ballroom.
"Viennese Waltz," Rarity marveled as Jack dipped her.
"I thought ya might like it more than the Foxtrot, an' the music ain't exactly good fer the Mambo," the farmer easily said, bringing Rarity back up and quickly moving back to the brisk turning motion.
"Where did you learn to dance like this?"
Jack wryly smiled, giving the violet-haired beauty another dip. "Spent a year an' a half in Manhattan with my Aunt an' Uncle. Dancin' was 'bout the only thing I did regularly—got pretty good at leadin' an' followin', if ya ask me."
Rarity's face glowed. "Fascinating. What was the gem of Caballo like?"
The blonde seemed hesitant to answer; she brought Rarity in close and began to spin once more. "Place wasn't no gem, Rare," she adamantly said.
"I just can't understand that, Jack. I've always heard glowing recommendations to visit it. Why, in one of my fashion magazines, it says that Manhattan's the love capital of the world!"
"If by love, ya mean brothels on every corner fer the poor folk an' two wives on each arm fer the rich, I'd agree," Jack dryly said.
"My, you really didn't like the place."
"Ya think?" The farmer scowled, moving aggressively across the floor. Rarity held on, being careful not to suffer whiplash.
"Why did you remain there for so long if you despised it that much?"
The southerner glanced to the ground. "I hated the farm jus' as bad fer a bit there," Jack admitted.
"Hmm?" Rarity blinked. "Really? From the way you held yourself, I presumed that you were quite proud of your roots."
"'Course I am!" Jack argued. The song finished. Everyone dancing paused, taking a bow amid a clapping audience. A slower tune began—the farmer brought the tailor in closer, transitioning her stepping pattern into an English Waltz. She began to speak again once the two regained their correct tempo. "I jus' couldn't look at the place without cringing when I was younger."
"Did something happen, or...?" Rarity trailed off, suddenly looking askance. "I'm sorry, darling. I'm sure you don't want to talk about it."
"It was years ago-'fore I even got my Mark. Time heals wounds on yer body an' yer mind, ya know? It really ain't too much of a sore subject no more." She threw out her leading arm; Rarity followed it with her body, spinning briefly on one foot before being pulled back into Jack's grip. "Lost my Ma and Pa when I was a young'in. Farm felt pretty empty after that." She thought briefly, staring deep into Rarity's azure eyes. "I left fer a bit. Had ta get away from the hurt. So I traveled. Eventually, the road took me ta Manhattan." Jack gave Rarity another tilt, holding the woman safe as the tailor arched her back and her violet hair swam in poetic motion. The farmer smiled slightly at the sight. Rarity seemed to be made for dancing. "Guess the rest tells itself, huh?"
"Mmm, I suppose it does, judging by your behavior and accent. However, the fact you forgot how to speak like a proper woman after being exposed to high society for a year astounds me."
"It's jus' like ridin' a bike, Rare." Jack briefly shifted her pose, tilting her nose up and gazing to the distance at an object only she could see. "For, you see, it is a talent one can easily show to others, if the need arises, my dear," she said in the regal, near perfect dialect of Camelot's rich. Rarity stumbled briefly, caught off balance by Jack's cultured, reserved tone. The farmer snorted and promptly gave up her stance, seeming to revert back to the easygoing country girl in a matter of seconds.
"S-so the southern accent is fake? You can speak like a normal person?" Rarity questioned. Jack glared daggers at the woman she held in her arms. "You know what I meant," the violet-haired woman said.
The two danced each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Jack broke the silence that had cast a spell on the two. "Accent ain't fake," Jack dismissed. "All that fancy stuff is. I came from the country—my country. If I talked fancy, wore fancy clothes, ate fancy food? I'd jus' be lyin' ta myself. Like I said, Rare, I am who I am. Ain't got no need or want ta change myself."
And amid the other dancers, each was lost to the other as the band played on.
000
The dance event ended soon after. Jack and Rarity wadded through the crowds and retired to the Belle's private booth overlooking the stage. The farmer stared down at the floor, her thoughts briefly returning to Rarity nearly splitting her skull open. As she looked over the still dissipating crowd of people, she noticed the staff carrying in dozens of tables.
"Wonder what's goin' on there?" Jack pondered.
"Guests of honor. Namely supporters for the school, board directors, and the principal."
"Princesses gonna be down there tonight?"
"Actually, they're already seated at a box like ours." Rarity gestured, pointing towards a seating area on the opposite side of the room from the stage. In it were two regal and, frankly, imposing figures.
One was a beautiful woman with a motherly build, adorned in plate armor of the finest silvers. On her shoulder was a piece of white cloth, boldly showcasing Caballo's national symbol of prosperity—a blazing orange sun. Resting at her side was a rapier with a humble brass finish. It seemed almost out of place on the heavily tanned Princess. She ran a hand through her multicolored, billowing hair, and smiled politely at the workers below her.
Sitting next to the Princess of the day was what seemed to be her polar opposite. It was a woman about ten years younger than the Daywalker, with pale skin that reminded Jack of ice. She wore dark, violet armor and sat in a regal, militaristic posture. She held the shaft of a spear carefully in one hand and tapped her finger against the pommel of a short sword at her side. Her cyan eyes flickered in in out of sight, as her night colored hair floated in an unfelt breeze.
"Celestia and Luna in the flesh. I'll be damned if I ever thought I'd see 'em in person," Jack said.
Rarity glanced at the farmer. "I forget you haven't been around much, Jack. Celestia visits Twila on occasion here. She really is quite the lady, even if she does mask it under armor and blade."
"Excalibur..." Jack marveled. "A divine sword only the rightful heir to Arthur Pendragon's throne is said to be able to unsheathe."
"It's just a sword, darling," Rarity retorted.
"Probably," the tanned woman agreed, hoisting her legs up on the boxes safety rail. "But it's still a nifty thing, ya know? Same as Luna's spear. That, uh, Ron-somethin'?"
"Rhongomyniad," Rarity easily answered, glancing over her nails.
"... The hell kinda name is that? Yeah. Ron-somethin'."
The violet-haired woman rolled her eyes. Before she could retort, the lights dimmed and the elderly figure of Hans stepped onto stage.
"Good evening," he addressed the audience. "Tonight's presentation will be in honor of Lady Luna Pendragon, home after a long and tiring crusade into the untamed northlands. I would like a round of applause for the two living legends gracing us with their presence."
The auditorium thundered with clapping; Luna still held her posture, but there was obvious heat flooding her face thanks to the attention.
"Lady Pendragon, you have always done well to remember Uther and Arthur in your actions, as has your sister," Hans complemented. "I can only hope that the show we're going to put on tonight shows at least a fraction of our appreciation." He glanced easily at the crowd, scratching at his dark and lined face. "As for the rest of you, don't worry. We'll get you all some food served up soon." He gestured behind him, towards the curtain. "With that, I present to you The Count of Monte Cristo."
000
Dmitri ate at his table as he watched the play in rapt attention. He cut into his steak and dabbed at the juices leaking out of the meat with a roll.
"Quite a show they're putting on," he said to the large, imposing man in a suit standing near him.
"If you say so, Mr. Dorcas," came the dismissive reply. The man ran a hand over the large and garish burn mark on his cheek as he kept an eye out for any trouble. After a beat, the guard sniffed loudly and scrunched his nose.
"Hitting your goods is more trouble than it's worth, Dorado," Dmitri cheerfully advised, cutting once more into his steak. The muscle-bound man was not amused—he briefly gave thought to yanking the other's silvery-gray goatee right off his stupid face.
Instead he crossed his arms behind his back and replied, "I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Dorcas."
"Good." The older of the two reached over and took a sip of his wine. "It would be quite a shame to lose you. Especially considering what may happen to my young associate tonight."
"Blueblood not living up to expectations?"
"He's late. That wouldn't happen if he hadn't made a mistake somewhere along the line," Dorcas reasoned with a sigh. "Shame too. I had hopes that he could be counted on. Oh well, plenty of fish, Elton."
Dorado nodded in agreement, inwardly scowling at Dorcas's use of his first name. "Shall I get a list of candidates composed?"
Dmitri was about to sound off his agreement, when he saw Blueblood trying his best to sneak around the other tables. "Mmm. Wait for a moment. I'm curious what he has to say first."
Alard arrived at the table to see Dorcas finishing up the last of his steak and his hired muscle regarding Blueblood with a stare normally reserved for annoying insects.
"Good evening, Mr. Blueblood. I trust you are well?" Dorcas asked.
"Q-quite." Alard nodded. "Yourself?"
"Fine. Save for the fact that they're still sitting smugly where I should be," he huffed like a child, giving a nod towards the Princesses and their box seat.
"They shouldn't' be in there," Blueblood promptly agreed, nodding his head so briskly that it might snap. "Why-"
"Not that seat, whelp," Dorcas argued, glancing towards the young man. "I mean the seat of Caballo's power." He thrust a thumb towards his chest with his free hand. "Me. I deserve it far more than they do. With what I have coursing through my veins, I-" he cut himself off, realizing his grip on his drinking glass had created a small network of hairline cracks all along the object. He took a breath and forced himself to speak in a chipper tone once more. "But enough of them," he said with disgust. "After all, we're working to resolve that problem, one small step at a time. Rather, let's turn the conversation to you. You're late with your report. I was afraid something had happened," Dorcas said, his smile cold. Calculating.
"No. N-nothing's happened," Alard lied, already beginning to sweat. This wasn't going to plan at all.
"Come on now. Do you really think I'd believe that?" The middle-aged man said, casually playing with his steak knife. "You've never been late telling me anything, especially simple updates. Something has clearly happened, Mr. Blueblood. Would you be so kind as to say what?"
He clenched his eyes shut. "I-I made a miscalculation. Nothing mor-"
Dmitri leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "What sort of... 'miscalculation,' Mr. Blueblood?"
"I-I just meant to give her a scare, like you mentioned, Mr. Dorcas. I didn't mean for someone to nearly get hurt, honest," Alard blubbered, slightly cowering under Dmitri's unchanging gaze.
The man adjusted his tie and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "You know I hate mistakes almost as much as I hate your pathetic groveling. I specifically said not to harm her. How can you fail such an easy concept?" Dorcas sighed, leaning back in his chair.
"G-give me another chance, sir. I can do this."
"I don't know. How would I be certain that you wouldn't ruin my fun again?"
"I'll do anything! Please!"
Dorcas stroked his goatee. After a beat, he beckoned Dorado over. The scarred man moved in close—Dorcas whispered something into his ear. The other raised his brow, interested.
"If that's what you wanna do," the bodyguard said.
"Good!" Dimitri clasped his hands together. "Ok, Blueblood, let's make a game of it—after all, what's the point if you can't have a bit of fun now and again?"
"A... game?" Alard slowly said.
"Of course." Dmitri earnestly nodded. "A game. If you win, you get to stay in my good graces, and I'll give you that second chance you so desperately want."
Blueblood took in a shaky breath. At least now he stood a chance. "W-what if I lose?"
The other's smile evaporated. He gazed hard at the young man. "The same thing that happens to everyone that stops entertaining me."
"I'll do it," Alard instantly replied. "Whatever you want."
Dorcas's toothy smile quickly returned. "Good, good, good. I knew you'd take the chance. Mr. Dorado will show you what you need to do."
"Y-yes sir." Alard instantly rose as the guard walked towards him. "I won't forget your kindness."
"You won't forget much of anything tonight, I believe." Dorcas cracked a half-smile as the two walked away from the table. Without missing a beat, he returned his attention back to the play.
~000~
Jack awoke with a start to thunderous applause. She twitched in her chair, nearly toppling over at the sudden noise. "I-I'm up!" she called, glancing around the box seat. "Oh."
"You've been asleep for the past hour and a half," Rarity stated, shooting a disapproving glare. "We're at intermission."
"The play still ain't done yet?" Jack asked, rising from her chair and popping her back.
"It's intermission, darling. We're only halfway there."
Jack suppressed a weary groan.
"Y-you've got a bit of..." Rarity gestured to the corner of her mouth. Jack mirrored the action, rubbing at the spot with the back of her hand. "Better." The tailor nodded. She rose and headed towards the booth's exit. "Come on, Ms. Apple. We have a rendezvous to attend."
000
Rarity escorted Jack to the student counsel room. As they opened it, they were greeted by two figures standing at the far end of the room, and four more sitting at the long table by the windows.
"Lady Belle! It's quite nice seeing you once again," Celestia beamed, raising a gauntlet hand from her position near the blackboard. Rarity curtsied, smiling at the earthen-skinned woman as Jack stared, open mouthed at the two living legends. "Please, have a seat. I'd love to catch up with what you've been doing."
"Things far more trivial than you, of that I can guarantee," Rarity humbly said.
"The mundane begets the grand, does it not?" the pale, black armored woman to Celestia's side retorted.
"Wise words, Luna," her sister agreed. Celestia's attention briefly turned to Jack. "So, this must be the farmer, Jack. Am I correct?"
It took several seconds for Jack to overcome her near mental breakdown. The rulers of the country. The leaders of the Caballien council here. In this room. "Uh, eyup," the farmer said after a long pause. She swallowed nervously and bowed. "R-right pleased ta meet ya."
"Arise, Jack of the Apple clan," Luna ordered. The farmer complied instantly. The Nightwalker smiled—an action that was no more than a pencil-thin line on her snowy features. "Pull up a chair, daughter of Johnny. Rarity and thou hath arrived just as we have begun palaver."
Jack grabbed a seat next to the grinning Diane. The pink haired woman laughed.
"Aren't you just a gussied-up goosie?" Pinkie chortled, clapping her hands cheerfully. "With your nicely nice suit and hair all braidalaidaley."
"Uh... thank... you?" Jack replied, guessing that was a complement. She turned her attention back to the two leaders of Caballo. "So, what's this palaver business? It a game?"
Luna rubbed at her chin, giving a confused glance towards the blonde. "Nay, tis palaver—where we may speak to our dear fellows without a care of title nor rank. I was merely going to tell young Lady Shields about a discovery up north that could revolutionize the world. Mayhaps not in our time, but in the time of our children's children." She looked at Twila. "Thou art aware of the Scale theory, correct?"
Twila smiled. "What a surprise! I was actually speaking to Jack about that very thing a few days ago."
"In the far north, past the claimed lands of the Norfolk and the craggy mountain ranges of Everwinter, our adventuring party discovered a magic anomaly. Twas a pool akin to a hot springs, nestled on a small plateau between two of the largest mountains in the area. Though we were surely tempted to jump in and awash ourselves free of the biting cold, we took precautions—the burnt scent of magic all but spilled from the shoreleine of those waters, and none of us were keen on stepping into an unknown magic."
At this, the pale woman leaned forward, smiling. "We examined it and discovered it was a gateway."
"To where?" Twila asked, just as enthused as the Nightwalker. "The Everfree forest in the land of the griffons?"
"Farther." Luna's smile widened.
Twila gave it another brief moment. "The Everlost desert in the west?"
"We shall tell thou where it took us: a small island inside the Bermuda Triangle."
The scholar narrowed her brow. She ran her fingers through her lavender hair. "I've never heard of the place."
"Because it is not part of this world."
The words hit Twila like a sack of bricks—she shot out of her chair and leaned forward on the table. "Y-you found another world?!" she proclaimed.
"Mayhaps 'another world' isn't right. 'Another dimension' would be the more precise. There were many similarities to our own—music, variations of our own history and, as icing on the cake, a similar language, at least with the single native I encountered."
"Fascinating. Was the native a tribal of some sort?"
"Nay, Lady Shields. He was a commercial piloting what they call an aerodynamic plane—a ship that flies the air rather than the sea. He lost his vessel traveling what he called 'the Devil's Triangle.' He was akin to an earth-folk—he had no magic to claim, and seemed frightened when I produced spells of my own. He was convinced that he was suffering a fever dream."
"So, the world had no magic?"
Luna nodded, absentmindedly tapping the pommel of her sword. "According to him, thou art correct. He was from the town of Manhattan in Amarenihka, and that it was their most advanced town in the world. If his people didn't know about magic, I have doubts that anyone else in their world does."
"Manhattan?" Jack spoke up. "How do they got one of them too?"
"As We mentioned, their lands are a parallel to our own. For example, during one of our nightly palavers, the man mentioned that I looked akin to a knight from King Arthur's round table. I pressed him on the matter; I thought if he knew of my father, then he might know of myself."
"And...?" Twila pressed. Luna shook her head.
"Not only had he never heard of me, but he stated that Arthur Pendragon was a simple story designed to inspire people in a dark period of their history."
"That don't make a lick a damn sense," Jack argued. "If it's a parallel like yer sayin', then where's the connections? How do we get spells an they get flyin' ships or whatever you were sayin'?"
Luna crossed her arms and bounced her head briefly. "A parallel does not follow line for line, Jack."
"But-"
"-I consider the two worlds closest to a game of chance using dice. The numbers rolled may be different, but is it not true that they abide by the same rules, correct? Both sets are made from bone and decorated with ink, both have similar weight, both are rolled from the same cup. One world's myth may very well be fact in the other, due to extenuating circumstances, and vice versa.."
"Hmm," Jack grunted, crossing her arms. "I ain't sure if I like the idea of me jus' bein' a story or somethin' in another world."
"Myth wouldn't be so bad, methinks. Tis when you meet yourself in flesh and bone—that is when the problems would arise."
"A second me..." Jack trailed off, the thought filling her gut with a deep seated dread.
"God help us all if there were two of the hayseed in the same room," Dash disinterestedly quipped, propping her feet onto the table and gazing at the Nightwalker. "Now, not to hurry you along, your highness, but when are you going to mention why you're telling us all of this?"
"I simply thought I'd share some of my findings with you all. Lady Shields has always been interested in the sciences, and I believed she would appreciate our discovery." The pale woman looked towards the scholar. "That, and with this new information, I was hoping to bring forth a proposition."
"For me?" Twila said, pointing a finger at her chest.
"Indeed. I was hoping on our next excursion to this other world, you could venture with me."
Twila's eyes widened to almost comedic proportions. "M-me?! Going to a world only a handful have visited?" She clapped her hands gleefully. "L-let me go get packed!"
Luna chuckled, the action strange coming from such a serious and somber looking individual. "Nay, Twila. I only arrived back in my homeland days ago. I shan't be leaving for a while. Besides, thou needs to complete your education here as well."
At Luna's words, the young woman calmed down a bit. "Right." She coughed into her hand. "My apologies—I was far too enthused at the idea."
"Tis an exciting concept. While my knowledge has always been focused upon warfare and tactics, I cannot help but be enthralled by the new world myself." She stole a glance to the Daywalker. "My apologies, Celestia. I spoke far beyond my normal amount. I fear I may have stole thine thunder."
Celestia smiled good-naturedly. "I was not the one traveling to exotic locations and speaking to outworlders. Please, speak as much as you like—the floor is yours. I'm sure they have questions."
"Ooh! Ooh!" Pinkie shouted, lifting her hand up as high as she could and waving her arm frantically.
"Mmm?" Celestia questioned. "Is something the matter, Diane?"
"I was just wondering if they had video games a-and pizza and dinosaurs there!"
Luna tilted her head, recalling the many nights of palaver she held with the native. "I, uh, believe they did have the first two, mayhaps even the third. However, I cannot say our topics crossed over much regarding entertainment, save for music. "
Pinkie nodded, content with the answer.
"Could We ask why thou were wondering those... very specific items?"
"Simple! Because any world with pizza and video games in it can't be evil, right?"
Dash felt like she was stepping onto a landmine. "A-and the dinosaurs?" she asked.
Pinkie grinned and put two fingers next to her jaw. "Because dinosaurs are, like, super-cool! Raaaahhhh!" she bellowed, hopping above her chair and standing proudly on top of the wooden table.
The rest in the room did their best to ignore her.
Celestia seemed to suddenly perk up. "Does anyone have the time?"
Twila snapped her fingers. An ethereal grandfather clock rose from the floor. Its ghostly visage shown five minutes until the hour.
"Showboat," Isabelle said.
"A little bit," Twila admitted, blushing slightly. "I was mostly curious if I could get the shape and consistency of a time-measuring device that large."
"Something like this should be cake for a soul-folk as strong as you are. Heck, you could probably do a clock-tower without breaking a sweat." Dash smirked, playing with a strand of hair.
The talented soul-folk smiled at her friend, saying nothing.
"As much as it pains me to say so, we should return to the theater box—the play will return in moments, and twould be folly to miss even a moment," Luna said politely. "While mine sister and I have pressing matters after the play, we will be returning to campus soon. We may..." she put a gauntleted finger to her chin in thought. "Hang out then. H-hang out? Is that atypical speech for this generation?" she asked herself.
"Close enough, bro," Dash answered with a shrug.
000
The play finally ended two hours later. Rarity was in tears at its conclusion. She rose amid the roar of clapping, cheering the play with a whistle.
Jack was in tears too, for entirely different reasons. The damn thing was just so boring. She was lucky it didn't have any musical numbers, or she would have lept from the box seat and hoped the impact would be enough to kill her.
"T-that was such a magnificent piece!" Rarity said, dabbing at the corner of her eye with a napkin. "Maximilian was so noble!"
"It was, uh, somethin'," Jack said, being as vague as she could get away with. She rose from her chair and massaged her shoulder. It was throbbing again. Thankfully, that's all it was doing—no shooting pains, no numbness, just throbbing. Jack was grateful she bounced back from injuries pretty quick. "I got a feelin' the road's gonna be pretty crowded. Ya wanna jus' walk back?"
"Well..." Rarity debated. "A lady walking down the road at night? I'm afraid I might be a target..."
Especially after yesterday, Jack finished in her mind. Rarity didn't have to finish her implication—the farmer could tell she was worried just by her body language.
"I'll go with ya, sugar. Let me jus' head back ta my room an' change outta these damn shoes first."
000
They walked the miles together in silence. It was far from awkward, however. The small half-smiles each swapped back and forth were simply all the conversation either one needed. As gorgeous as the night was, breaking the spell it had cast on the world with talking seemed like a mortal sin.
The two passed through town, and finally ended up at the entrance of the Carousel Boutique.
"Well, here we are," Rarity said, moving to the door. She turned to face the earth-folk. "Thank you for escorting me back."
"Ain't a problem." the farmer nodded.
"And thank you for joining me tonight. I had a good time."
"Eyup." Never doin' a play again, though, Jack thought. "If we do somethin' again, I'm pickin' what."
"I suppose I can understand that logic," Rarity said. She stood silently on the doorstep, seeming to want to say something. "Well..." She looked up with a sly smile, waiting for Jack to take initiative.
The farmer leaned forward. "Hey Rare?" she quietly whispered.
"Y-yes?" The tailor blushed.
"Can I come inside fer a minute?"
Rarity crossed her arms and shook her head. "I said the date was 'good,' not 'phenomenal,'" she dryly retorted.
"What? N-no, I, uh, jus' wanted ta get my hat," the farmer stammered, her face hot.
"Oh," Rarity eloquently stated. "Figures," she muttered under her breath.
The tailor let Jack inside and waited by the front—the farmer quickly grabbed her trusty stetson, then tromped back downstairs. She scooted past Rarity and stepped once more into the tranquil night.
"I reckon I'll head out now. Gotta take care of a few odds an' ends," the farmer said. She took a step forward, but was stopped by Rarity grabbing her hand. Jack turned slightly, raising her brow. "Uh, somethin' ya ne-"
The tailor stood on her toes and leaned forward, pecking Jack's check with a kiss. Before the blonde could say anything, Rarity winked and disappeared into her home, shutting the door behind her. The Apple pushed up her hat and scratched her forehead.
"I ain't never gonna understand that woman."
000
Jack decided to fight through the crowd and hitch a ride on one of the wagons—she had already ate enough time walking to Ponyville, now she needed to get back to Dash.
After a dull ride back to the school, the tall woman quickly traveled to her dorm, where she found Twila thumbing through a novel, and Dash half-asleep on her bed, listening to a metal song on a small radio.
"Bout damn time, hayseed," Isabelle remarked, opening a rose colored eye. She stretched out and sat up. "Was starting to think you'd ditched."
"I ain't the type. Jus' took me longer ta get ta St. Charles an' back than I woulda liked."
"Well," Twila started, snapping the book in her hands shut. "Now that we're here, we can see about getting answers."
"Alright. What's the plan?" Jack said, leaning against a wall. She tugged her fingers through her hair, getting rid of the pesky braid she had been wearing it in.
"Simple enough for now. I did some investigation and found his room number. We enter and ask him some questions."
"At this time of night?" Jack glanced over at the clock on the small table by her bed. "I ain't sure if he'll be awake."
"Groggy's good for answers, bro," Isabelle said, popping her neck. "It'll throw him off guard being woke up like this."
"An' are ya sure he's the right fella?" the farmer questioned.
"We looked through quite a few names, Jack. He's the only one that really jumped out at us," Twila reasoned. "That, and the aura I pulled from the rope matches his. Statistically, he's 80% more likely than the rest of our potential candidates to commit a crime like this."
"That still leaves us with a 25% chance he ain't," Jack argued.
"20%, bro," Dash corrected.
"Whatever."
"I'm willing to take a chance. Worst thing that could happen is that we get expelled," the athlete casually remarked with a shrug. The other two in the room shared nervous glances. Twila nervously tugged at her neckline. "I'd kill for answers at this point, so..."
"Alright, alright. I'm game," Jack agreed.
"I cannot say I enjoy the risk, but we can't let him potentially walk away from something like what he did." Twila headed towards the door. "Let's see what we can find out."
000
The three soon found themselves in front of room 215. Twila exchanged glances with Dash and Jack.
"Either of you know how to pick a lock?" she asked. Isabelle smirked, moving towards the door. With one well-placed kick above the doorknob, the lock snapped, forcing the door open and leaving the top hinge loose.
"I've always wanted to do that," Isabelle quipped.
"Jesus, Dash," the farmer hissed, looking nervously around. "Think anyone heard?"
"You kidding? This floor's for the high-class guys and gals. The rooms might as well be sound-proof."
The quiet hallway seemed to show that Isabelle was speaking the truth.
"Let's go," Twila urged, stepping inside. She felt along the wall and flicked on the lights, illuminating the room.
It was lavish. A large double bed and bathroom to their left, a furnished living room with a television screen dead ahead, and a comfortable kitchen area separated from the living room by a waist high counter to their right.
"Shit. Why can't I have a room like this?" Dash quipped.
"Cause I'm guessin' yer 'bout as bone-dry on bits as I am, sugar," the farmer replied.
"Guys. We're missing something," Twila quickly said, snapping her friends back into the game.
Dash looked over at the bed. "Where's our man?" she asked as she took a few tentative steps towards the living room.
"With him not around, guess this was a wasted trip," Jack crossly said.
"Not quite," Twila said. "If he was an earth or sky-folk, maybe. Soul-folk, however..." She leaned to the side, looking past the blonde. "Isabelle? Do you see anything I could use as a catalyst?"
"What?" Jack asked.
"Search the room. Try to find something sentimental looking," the soul-folk instructed. "Easier to show than tell."
The farmer did as instructed, moving to the bed. She checked a nightstand nearby and noticed a small portrait of a blond haired man smiling broadly at the camera. "Somethin' like this?" she asked, returning to Twila.
"Really? A portrait of himself? Figures." Twila shook her head, then glanced to Jack. "Remember what I told you a few days back regarding soul-folk, and how they go to school to control their emotions?"
"More or less."
"Well, we're obviously not perfect. We can't remove our emotions at the drop of a hat—we simply suppress them when we're utilizing magic. Still with me?"
"Eyup."
"Well, really strong emotions? They leave behind an aura all of their own. If we have an object that contains some sort of connection to the person, we can briefly see where they're at, before the link between the two is severed."
"So... kinda like lickin' a fuse ta make it work fer a bit? Once yer spit's gone, the thing craps out again."
Twila tilted her head. "That's... actually a pretty apt description. As long as his essence hasn't been hidden by magic, we should briefly be able to see where he's at. We might be able to recognize the location." She put her hand on top of the picture and concentrated, wincing as the familiar tingle of a spell escaped her fingertips and touched the photograph.
Without even a moment's pause, her perspective became distorted, shifting the room she stood in to bizarre, impossible shapes and angles. Jack said something, Twila believed, but the purple-haired woman couldn't tell what it was. She felt drugged, weak. The soul-folk summoned the strength to swivel her head to the side, and noted that the door leading to Blueblood's bathroom appeared to be leaking—it's off white color was vanishing, as was the color of the burgundy carpet, being painted black instead. The walls, Jack, Isabelle. They were all being painted black. Twila weakly tried to say something, but found herself speechless. As she watched, horrified, the whole world was painted black.
000
When the blackness cleared, Twila found herself sitting on a bar-stool in an off-white room, looking dead on at the lens of a camera. Subconsciously, Twila adjusted a tie with her hands. Or, to be more precise, Blueblood's hand. He gazed at the young woman fiddling with the large and cumbersome device.
"Are you nearly finished? I've been sitting here for almost five minutes," Twila said, her tenor voice pompous and demeaning.
Blueblood's voice, she reminded herself frantically. This wasn't her. It couldn't be.
"A few more adjustments, Mr. Blueblood," the woman nervously said, biting her lip.
"Well, hurry up. I've little time to deal with incompetent mud-girls like yourself."
The photographer clenched her fists, but said nothing, instead ducking her head behind the small cloth that obscured the back of the camera and raising a large blub overhead.
"And be sure to capture my chin. It's not often you see a man of breeding and culture such as myself exhibiting such a strong jawline."
Twila heard the photographer mutter something under her breath. The lavender-haired scholar could guess what was said. Shortly after, the woman spoke up.
"Shooting in three. One... Two... Three."
The white-hot light of the camera overtook her senses, blinding her. She groped futilely in the air, trying to regain some sense of control, her panic stopping her from even considering to use magic to escape this madness. She felt something just brush her fingers and blindly lunged for it.
000
She found herself back in her own body and her own senses, clutching desperately against the door handle leading out into the hallway. Twila drew a shaky, nervous breath. She took a step towards the living room and felt her knees buckle briefly.
"What in the Sam Hill happened, sugar?" Jack quickly asked, putting a hand on Twila's shoulder and steadying the woman. "You've been standin' there fer a good half-minute."
"Nothing," the soul-folk lied in an attempt to reassure the woman."It's just sometimes with catalysts, you can get a flashback on a memory involving them. Give me a moment to collect my thoughts."
Twila had always heard about memory jumping, but had yet to experience one that... intense. It briefly felt like she had been ripped from her body and placed inside Blueblood's. Unlike with her doppelganger, though, she had lost all sense of her physical self. She put a hand to her forehead and wiped the sweet from her brow.
Dash and Jack exchanged looks on seeing how taxed Twila appeared.
"I-I'm fine," she lied once more. Perhaps when she was around some like-minded soul-folks, they could explain what she had just went through. "Just a bit winded. Let me do this next projection on the screen. It won't be quite as taxing compared to producing information in air."
The woman pointed her finger towards the large television screen. A brief lavender glow surrounded her finger as the TV sparked to life. The sound of static pierced the room's otherwise muted silence. Twila winced and made a pinching motion. The television lowered in volume, becoming nothing more than a dull background hiss.
She focused once more on the photograph and cautiously let her magic seep into it.
The static vanished from the screen, being replaced by a dimly lit room that stretched off into the distance. Twila, Jack and Isabelle shared a glance at one another.
"Hey, Twi... what's showin' up, that...?"
"Yes. It's his vision. He looks to be in a warehouse," Twila said, taking stock of everything she could regarding the room.
A solitary light hung overhead, showcasing a table to the man's left. From the few fleeting moments his view looked in that direction, the women could see that the table was all but overflowing in small bags, filled to near bursting with a blue liquid.
Dash's lips curled back in a snarl at seeing the object, but she said nothing.
To Alaurd's immediate right was a wide conveyer belt that was rotating at a modest pace; occasionally a wooden container loaded with small vials would roll by his sight. At the edge of the light's illumination, they could see a hatch that spat out the vials and a lever that Jack assumed was for controlling the machine. Blueblood looked up and sighed. He briefly glanced at the large ventilation system and brought his hands up to rub at his face.
"Man, this is disorientin'," Jack said.
"Shh," Dash ordered, soaking up everything she could about the place.
"Mr. Blueblood," a deep voice said, radiating indifference. The screen's vision whirled as the pompous man quickly did an about-face. His eyes flicked around, briefly showcasing the remainder of the room. A door marked 'Freezer storage' straight ahead, an unmarked door to his far right, and, lastly, a large green box with a gaping maw at the end of the conveyer system. From it, Jack could hear a faint mechanical crunching.
A muscle-bound man stepped from behind the machine. He appraised Blueblood over the rim of his expensive looking sunglasses and adjusted his almost too-small tie.
"So, Alaurd, do you need me to repeat what was asked of you?"
Blueblood didn't reply. He put a hand to his face. Jack instinctively recoiled at the sight of the appendage—it seemed to almost jump out of the television screen.
"I..." Blueblood trailed off. "I do, Dorado."
"Good." 'Dorado' sniffed and rubbed at his nose. Jack noticed he was bleeding from one nostril. "I suppose I should leave you to it, then." The muscular man turned and started to walk towards the unmarked door.
"Hey," Alaurd quietly said. The man stopped in his tracks. "D-do I have to?"
Dorado looked towards the young man with a smug smirk. What Dorado saw when looking at Blueblood made his expression quickly drop to a frown that was almost empathetic. He crossed his arms. "Sorry, kid. Yeah."
"B-but you could just tell him-"
"You know he's good at smelling bullshit. I gotta watch out for my own ass," Dorado countered. "If anything, you should be proud he's giving you a chance to prove yourself. I doubt he'd do the same for me." He gestured to the conveyer. "So show him you won't make another mistake."
The view on the screen changed as Blueblood hoisted himself up. He approached the conveyer and looked down the belt's path, seeming to study it intently. With a grunt, he hoisted himself onto the small metallic guard beside the belt. He quickly straddled his bare feet to either side of the conveyer.
"Wait, is he gonna...?" Jack trailed off as Blueblood stepped onto the moving platform. He was quickly jerked back and nearly dropped to a knee as the treadmill threw him off balance. Through a herculean effort, he rose and kept walking, struggling to make progress against the rotating platform.
He made it almost a quarter of the way to the conveyer's end when he stumbled. His bare foot caught one of the glass vials running along the belt. His weigh pressed into it and it shattered, coating his tender flesh in agony. He screamed—the three girls watching covered their ears from the volume—and collapsed onto his back. He looked behind him and saw how close the green maw was to his own head. The brief glimpse into it informed Jack that it was some form of industrial crusher. If the man got a leg in that, or worse, his head...
"Get offa there!" Jack called out, knowing that he couldn't hear her, but calling out regardless. "Why doesn't he jus' roll onta the floor?" she asked her companions.
Neither had an answer.
Blueblood stood up and took one step onto his injured leg. He whimpered as the glass shards dug deeper into his white skin, but managed two steps on the bleeding and tender leg before collapsing. He gave one desperate look to the floor beside him before resorting to crawling along the conveyer.
It wasn't enough. For every foot he gained to escape his fate, two more would bring him back. He glanced behind him and noticed his leg had entered the blackness he fought so hard to escape. He opened his mouth to scream as the dark abyss spouted mechanical teeth and-
Twila canceled the spell, rendering the television to mere static. She clutched her hand tightly to the side. "I'm sorry," she stated. "I-I couldn't watch that."
Jack sucked in a breath. "My God..."
The three women were speechless. All they could offer one another were shocked glances.
It was several minutes later when Dash spoke up. "I know it's not the best time, Twila, but were you focused on him long enough to get a sense of where he was at?"
The scholar shook her head. "Only that it was north... maybe an hour or so," she quietly said, before furrowing her brow. "Perhaps the business district of Middleburg?"
Isabelle put her hands behind her head and stared up towards the ceiling. "Was my guess too. You can't find warehouses like that in St. Charles, anyway. But that still leaves a problem. There's a lot of buildings like that in Middleburg. We can't just barge into each one demanding answers..." She trailed off briefly before pausing. As quick as a bolt, she moved past her friends and stepped into the bedroom. Jack and Twila were just about to join her when they heard a satisfying "Ah-ha!"
Dash returned, triumphantly holding a Rolodex filled to bursting with cards.
"Hmm, I see," Twila said, putting a finger to her chin. "You believe Blueblood would have had business association with the man he was speaking with, ergo, this... 'Dorado' would be listed."
"Words right outta my mouth, bro." Dash nodded, tapping their new source of information with the back of her fingers. "And if Dorado's an alias, we saw enough of his ass to get an ID from photographs. Though I gotta wonder what he meant about a 'boss' when he was talking to Blueblood. You think this shit goes up past even him?"
"Perhaps. I wouldn't doubt it, anyway."
"Wait a damn minute here," Jack said. She stared at the athlete. "Yer not thinkin' 'bout turnin' this over ta the cops?!" She pointed at the screen. "We jus' saw a man die, in case ya forgot!"
"I know, hayseed. I was watching too." Dash scowled, tossing the Rolodex up and down in the air. "But with the cops comes questions. Some of which I don't wanna answer."
"Name one," Jack snapped back.
"'How did we find out about his murder?'" Isabelle retorted. "What would we tell 'em, 'Oh, we just broke into his bedroom, used a vaguely legal tracer spell to find him and watched him die.' No big." She pointed a finger hard at the farmer. "I'm not getting in trouble for doing the right thing, bro. We're in too deep now to pull out."
"As much as I hate to say it, I agree." Twila chimed in, looking between the earth and sky folk. "It defeats the point if we simply roll over now. We'd have no answers, and if we tell the police the truth, we would quite possibly get expelled thanks to our actions tonight. It's better to at least try to resolve this as far as we can, before resorting to the police—provided we don't risk our lives by doing something as absolutely ridiculous as engaging in an altercation with the murderer."
"Scout's honor, Twi. I don't plan on you getting hurt," Dash said.
"Shit, man." Jack finally said. She scratched her arm as she thought. Trying to find out who nearly killed Rarity on accident was one thing, but tracking down someone as twisted as what they just saw on the television? There was only one answer to a question like that. She heaved a sigh and met Isabelle's gaze. "I'm gonna regret this, but, yeah. I got yer back."