Fear Of The Fall

by TheVulpineHero1

Chapter 8

Commander Cirrustrade Stormfield Rolofolos Ice-Cream-By-The-Riverhouse-On-A-Summer's-Day Spitbreak did not have much in the world, save for a belief that long names brought good luck. But one of the few things he did have was the responsibility of being Princess Luna's personal attendant, and for this, he was to be pitied. Whilst Her Highness did not go out of her way to make his job harder (for indeed, she very much enjoyed calling him by his full name in public and observing the confused glances), she had a predilection for disappearing, which made it difficult to attend her.

However, Commander Cirrustrade was an upstanding member of the Royal Guard, ever brave and faithful, and took his employer's disappearances as opportunities for personal improvement. Over his brief tenure of the post, he had created and employed many new Princess Retrieval Stratagems including such covert manoeuvres as 'Shouting', 'Sneaking Up On a Member of Royal Personage Whilst They are Unawares', and 'the Detainment and Interrogation of Passing Civilians, Regarding Such Matters as the Current Location of the Princess.' He had also developed a habit of using capital letters willy-nilly in personal correspondence, a second point of amusement for the erstwhile Luna.

Now, he began to use his entire arsenal of tactics to find her, sweeping through the hallways of the castle like a housebroken hurricane, his pride as a retainer spurring him on to ever-greater heights of detective prowess. Fortunately, he ran into her completely by accident as she strode towards the library.

“Your Highness!” he shouted, when she failed to acknowledge him.

Twilight Sparkle blinked, before remembering that she was still in disguise as Luna. “Oh, right. Yes. That is I. And... Forgive me, but who art thou?”

“Commander Cirrustrade Stormfield Rolofolos Ice-Cream-By-The-Riverhouse-On-A-Summer's-Day Spitbreak, your faithful retainer,” he said through gritted teeth. Nevertheless, he was an upstanding pony and rolled all his r's, even the ones that shouldn't technically be pronounced (the third in a holy trifecta of reasons why Luna found him too entertaining to fire). Twilight blinked once more. Someone in the HR department had plainly had a little too much fun with the new staff appointments.

“I bear a message for you, Your Highness,” he announced after she tried and failed to say anything without laughing.

“R-really? Who from?”

“A mare wearing a mask and a hat.”

“Well, that narrows it down,” Twilight muttered, throwing a glance at the ongoing masked ball behind her. “Was she terrified, at all?”

“Quite terrified, and acting very suspiciously – hiding behind bookcases and such. Had she not approached me first, I would have taken her in for questioning.”

“Ah, that'll be Fluttershy. She's in the library, correct? I'll go there directly. Please go and enjoy the party, Commander – that's an order,” she said and carried on down the corridor, leaving the poor stallion quite confused.

Although the Doozy had been the foremost concern in Twilight's mind during the run-up to the party, Fluttershy had been a close second. Although the timid pegasus had wanted to go and enjoy the party with her friends, and had promised to be brave, that was a little bit like a polar bear promising to stay cool in Appleoosa. The fact of the matter was that they'd be putting Fluttershy in a room packed full of masked strangers, most of whom were expecting more social interaction than she could be counted on to provide.

In light of that, Twilight had taken a few precautions. She'd set up a comfortable, quiet space in the library that the pegasus could retreat to, and informed the guards of her right to remain there. She had even revealed her disguise, just so that 'Shy had at least one pony she could call if things went south. It seemed that those measures had been justified.

Still, it was difficult not to feel anxious as she moved closer to the library. Every moment she spent away from the party proper was a moment in which the Doozy might present itself. But ignoring Fluttershy just wasn't an option. She broadened her step and resolved to deal with it quickly, her mind wondering what disasters could be taking place in her absence.

It was not often that things went well for Spike. He was the universe's unpaid valet, the clown on the business end of the cosmic custard pie. If he dropped his toast, not only was it certain to land butter-side down, but it would do so on somepony's wedding dress. Misfortune followed him like a small, smelly dog, waiting ever-vigilantly for an opportunity to urinate in his moccasains.

Spike, however, took a philosophical angle on his awful luck. In some ways, he considered it to be a strange form of karma. After all, he had a loving family, entertaining friends, a steady job, free rent and breakfast, and sometimes his cereal contained two prizes instead of one. Naturally, Mare Misfortune had to dole out some punishment to balance all that. In Spike's humble opinion, she may as well take the chance while she had it, because in a couple hundred years he'd be the size of a small barn and there wouldn't be too much that could bother him.

All this meant that Spike appreciated the rare moments in his life when nothing was going wrong. The party had been one of those. He'd eaten roughly a billion scoops of ice cream and gotten away with it, he had a dapper suit, and even the punch was pretty good (although it tasted too much of loganberries). All was well in the life of Ponyville's premier dragon. The only thing left to do was sit at the sidelines, enjoy the ambiance, and watch Sergeant Pie do a vague approximation of dancing.

Predictably, it all came crashing down.

“Oh, my dear Spikey-Wikey! I'm so glad to see you, darling,” said a voice behind him. They always came from behind when they were about to ruin your day, he noticed. It was a bit like being in prison.

He turned around, and was faced with the herald of his misfortune: what appeared to be an ice-skating wild west bandit with 80's glasses and a sequin fetish. After a moment of pause, Spike decided that this was not as unusual as it probably should have been.

“It's me. Rarity,” the bandit prompted after another second had passed.

Spike nodded sagely, before looking at his glass of punch and deciding that he had either drunk too much, or not enough. Since it was far harder and messier to undrink punch, he poured himself another glass. Seeing his obvious lack of belief, his companion gave an irritated huff and removed their glasses, revealing a pair of eyes Spike could have picked out in any crowd.

“O-oh! It is actually you. Sorry, I just… Y'know, you're usually so well dressed, and I didn't think you'd be wearing…” he began, making vague gestures with his claws. His tongue, predictably, was now refusing to work.

Rarity snorted. “Yes, yes, I know. I have my reasons, and a pack of wild minotaurs would not be sufficient to make me divulge them. After all, what is a lady without an air of mystery? By the way, I do love your suit, Spike. Very refined, very dignified. You could use a cummerbund, and the shoulders would look far better with a taper, but you wear it well, darling.”

“Well, uh, it's not actually real. I mean, the hat's real, but the rest of the suit is just an illusion spell attached to the hat, and it'll wear off in about twelve hours, so, um, yeah,” the dragon replied, fighting not to blush at the compliment. Red wasn't too fetching if your complexion was purple.

“Oh, even better! In that case, I shall make you a suit myself. It should be a valuable learning experience in designing non-equine fashion. Although, I probably shan't get around to it for a while, yet. You see, I made the mistake – although I shouldn't really call it that – of inviting some of my customers from Canterlot to the party, and, well, they invited their friends, and their friends invited their friends, and so on. Of course, then they all wanted costumes, so suddenly I found myself all but shackled to my sewing machine,” she went on.

Spike frowned. There was an edge of… something in her voice. He couldn't quite decide what – relief? Desperation? That was the problem, the big catch in his crush on Rarity. He wanted to make her happy, but the part of his brain that handled emotion melted into a soppy mess at the mere sight of her. The other bits were principally devoted to procuring unhealthy amounts of sugary treats and making clever remarks, and were of no help whatsoever in this situation.

“Spike? Darling, you're off in your own little world. Talk to me.”

“Rarity,” he said, carefully. “Are you okay?”

For a brief, shining moment, he thought all was well. But then, almost inevitably, Rarity's lower lip began to wobble. “No. No, Spike, I am not okay. I'm having a simply terrible evening. My reason for wearing this stupid, ugly affront to fashion didn't pan out at all, and now, nopony will even speak to me! All they say is 'nice hat' and back away! I mean, honestly now. This is a fancy dress party co-run by Pinkie, for goodness' sake. I wasn't aware that there would be a ceiling on costume weirdness.”

Spike listened, and found himself agreeing unconditionally with everything she said. Even the bits that didn't need agreeing with, like the 'ands' and the air-quotes around nice hat. However, despite this, a thought stirred in the back of his mind. “Uh... Why not find the others and talk to them? I know they're in costume, but it should be easy enough to work out. I mean, Pinkie's is obvious.”

“True, but... Pinkie is so very perceptive, in her own way. I can only imagine her reaction if she found out I wasn't enjoying a party she was responsible for.”

“Change costume?”

“I neglected to bring another with me. I didn't have time to make a better one for myself.”

Something clicked in Spike's brain. “We can get you a costume if you want. I mean, I know the castle staff. I'm sure I can persuade one of the maids to let us borrow her uniform for the night.”

In fact, he already had somepony in mind. Dragons, much like mafia dons, never forgot who owed them what, and there was a maid who was very much in Spike's debt. Three years ago, she'd dropped Princess Celestia's birthday cake, and Spike had very kindly taken the rap.

“Really? You'd do that? Pour moi? Oh, Spike, you're the best friend a mare could ask for!” she trilled.

“Don't mention it,” the dragon replied, although he sort've wished she would keep on mentioning it. There was a certain pleasure to basking in the appreciation. “I'll be back real soon with a costume. Don't go anywhere, okay?” With that, he turned tail and fled, on yet another mission for the good of the world.

Rarity sniffed. She really did adore Spike – he was so dependable. If you needed something done, he would get it done every nine times out of ten. That was valuable, in a town like Ponyville. Even Twilight was a seven out of ten most of the time. She was sure that he'd end up making somepony (or some dragon, she wasn't species-ist) very happy some day.

Maybe, in one of the countless alternate universes, Rarity would have done what Spike said and waited exactly where she was. He would have returned with an outfit that didn't make her want to throw herself off a bridge, and the rest of her evening would have been spent mingling, chatting, and experiencing that particular brand of social contact that she enjoyed so much. She never would have noticed the familiar hat and mask of a Mare Do Well making her way to the drinks table. But alas; it was not to be.

As she eyed the costumed mare, the thought occurred to her that she had, perhaps, given up a little too soon on her great Plan. After all, one never made a truly great dress without going back to the drawing board once or twice. Even if things didn't work out, it was Rainbow Dash. She was used to weird. Surely she'd provide some light conversation until Spike returned. And they'd already been 'introduced' earlier, so there was no need for ice-breaking. With that in mind, she began to move in on the Mare Do Well, already a touch excited by the prospect of some real talk for once.

“Oh, Rainbow Dash!”

The mare turned, slowly, and gave her a wary glance.

Rarity couldn't help but feel that the reception was a little chilly, but forged ahead regardless. “We talked earlier, don't you remember? How are you finding the party?”

“Do Ah look like Ah have wings?” the mare growled.

In a very quiet and dignified fashion, Rarity began to panic. How could she have not noticed that there were no wings on the costume? She'd just leapt straight in, not thinking, and had such an obvious thing elude her notice! It was as though some great, cosmic force had temporarily turned off her brain, for the sole purpose of allowing life to defecate in her breakfast cereal. And of all the ponies to be wearing it, Applejack was the one she had least wanted to run into!

“A-ah! I'm so sorry, I thought you were somepony else. Same costume, you see. Sorry to bother you –” Rarity began, starting to move backwards, but the farmer immediately closed the distance.

“Of course Ah'm wearin' the Mare Do Well getup! How many fancy costumes do y'all think Ah own, Rarity?”

“R-Rarity? I don't know who you mean. My name is Elusive–”

“Ah bet your name's elusive, because y'all just made the dang thing up! Y'all think Ah was born yesterday? That crazy outfit is like a big ole sign sayin', oh, lookee here everypony, Ah'm in disguise!”

Rarity decided that the best thing to do was fix her gaze a few feet above Applejack's shoulder and avoid lowering it for any reason. This, much like everything else she'd done that evening, was a mistake. It only served to confirm the inevitable: that everypony was now staring at her. Well, staring more. If she could have hidden herself within the vast chasm of her sombrero hat, she would have.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she muttered woodenly.

Applejack took another large step forward, and suddenly Rarity's personal space had become communal. “Now y'all listen here,” the farmer hissed. “Ah may not know a lot about how to act at a fancy shindig, but what Ah do know is that you showin' up in a ridiculous disguise and looking fer Dash just reeks of trouble. An' if y'all think for even a second, that Ah'm about to sit back and watch while you stick your nose where it ain't wanted, y'all have got –”

Rarity never found out what she all had got, because Applejack was interrupted by a blinding flash of light and a not inconsiderable amount of fire. With a weary, dangerous smile, Twilight Sparkle put out the flames and moved towards them. Her tail flicked ominously, and every pore seemed to radiate how impressed she wasn't.

“Hi. Sorry, but we need to talk,” she said, in the very specific tone of politeness that whispered, 'I am making a conscious effort to be friendly right now. Imagine what would happen if I were to stop.'

“Well, y'all can get in line, Twi. Me and Rarity were already havin' some words,” AJ snorted.

“Ra…” Twilight began, but the words died on her tongue. She looked at Applejack, then Rarity's sombrero, then at Applejack again. She closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them, there was a glint that hadn't been there before.

Rarity's panic very swiftly became terror. Not the melodramatic, damsel-tied-to-a-train-track terror she was so fond of, but the primal terror of a child caught by her mother with a hoof in the cookie jar. Twilight's eyes only ever glinted when she'd had a stroke of genius or when her paranoia had reached fever pitch, and there was no way of telling which was which until the fertiliser made contact with the air circulation systems.

Finally, the librarian gave Applejack a meaningful look, and asked: “…So, what've you got?”

Rarity stood in dreamlike horror as Applejack recounted, quickly and in great detail, the discussion they'd had about Rainbow Dash's love life over a week prior. Twilight nodded sagely as the farmer explained how stupid she thought the idea was, and how much trouble it would cause. Through it all, Rarity's tongue felt it was made of lead and welded to the roof of her mouth.

“I should have known,” Twilight said at last. “I knew there was something going on besides Rainbow Dash's… being Rainbow Dash, but I couldn't put my hoof on what.”

“So, what've you got?” Applejack asked.

“Well,” Twilight said, in the same faux-cheerful voice, “I've just been talking to Fluttershy, who's hiding in the library. According to her, a pony wearing a spangly leotard and a sombrero stalked her around the room, cornered her at the drinks table, and started asking her intrusive questions about her love life. I only know one pony dressed like that.”

Applejack's responded by becoming very still, and very quiet. This was not a good sign. Applejack was only quiet when she thought yelling had no chance of working. A quiet Applejack was usually a very violent one.

“Intervention?” she asked.

“W-wait. Darlings, you have to listen, I can explain, I didn't know it was–”

“Intervention,” Twilight agreed. Applejack took off her hat, and pulled a lariat out of it. “Rarity? I'd advise you not to move. I'll hear you out when the party's over.”

As the rope fell around her, Rarity sniffed, and consoled herself with the thought that sometimes, bad things happened to good ponies.