//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1:  Ablutions 
// Story: A Long Night at the Hippodrome 
// by Jordan179 
//------------------------------//

Piercing Gaze woke up alone, as he had most of the time over the last year.  He woke confused.  He felt that he had overslept, and that this was a very bad thing.  He looked blearly at his bedside, blinking the sleep-dust from his eyes.  It seemed too late and too early -- but if he'd overslept, why hadn't any of his assistants awoken him?  The hands of his bedside alarm clock came into focus -- one in the afternoon.  Normally, he rose at noon.  Had he overslept an hour?

Then his brain focused and he remembered just what was happening this night.  The Summer Sun Celebration.  And an Equestriad Celebration at that -- those came only once every four years.  This night, everyone who could possibly afford to do so would stay up all night, and watch Celestia's Sun rise on the longest day of the year.  And while they were waiting, they would want to eat, drink, enjoy music and song, watch performances of every conceivable variety.

It was the biggest night of the year for anyone in the entertainment business, because it lasted all night, from sunset to sunrise.  On this one night, Piercing would make something like a quarter of his whole year's expected net.  He needed to be in tip top shape, ready to deal with any emergencies, for a problem could not only mean major public embarrassment, but also mean the difference between profit and loss for the entire year.

So, on the advice of Red Ink, his partner and business manager, he'd given himself an extra hour of sleep in the morning.  He didn't like doing so.  It smacked of laziness, and Piercing hadn't gotten almost to the top of the theatrical profession by literally lying down on the job.  Still ... at his age he was no longer as alert after missing sleep as he had been when he got into the stage life.  Red was right.  He'd needed the extra rest today.

He sat up as the alarm started ringing.  At least his good sense of timing hadn't deserted him.  He turned off the alarm with one fumbling hoof, nearly knocking the clock off his night-table in the process, rolled to his hooves and staggered into the bathroom.  He turned on the shower and stepped into his bath-tub, drew the curtain.  The hot water caressed him with its wet warmth, and he sighed in relief as the heat began to unknot all his muscle cramps.  There were more of those at 42 than there had been at 22, when he'd first met Red.

Though of course at 22 he hadn't had his own bathroom with hot and cold running water.  He and Red had been attached to a traveling show, basing out of caravan wagons, playing a different town every week.  They were lucky when they had the luxury of a bathroom -- most of the time it was portable tubs and ladles of cold water for hygiene, when they even had the time for it.  When they did get to stay over at a hotel, at one of the bigger towns, it often didn't have hot water baths -- back then, they were still uncommon save for the prosperous.

Now, of course, hot-water baths were common throughout Equestria -- and Piercing was prosperous.  His own talent -- particularly the one for which he bore both name and cutie mark -- was in part responsible for that.  So was Red Ink's business acumen.  Neither of their talents would have done them much good, though, without a heck of a lot of hard work.  At least half of success in any business -- and the stage was a business, though not exactly like any other -- was hard work.  That was something all the true professionals knew.

He soaped, washed, and enjoyed the decadence of hot running water just a little bit longer.  Then with a sigh at pleasure ending he turned off the water, padded out of the shower and toweled-off.  Wiping off the steam from his mirror, he began the necessary maintenance to his mane and coat, both very important on this night of nights.  His appearance was not the primary source of his charisma, but it contributed, and ultimately he still had to sell himself, simply at a higher level than when he was doing mind-reading and card tricks on stage personally.

Piercing liked the looks of the stallion in the mirror.  Dramatic black mane and eyebrows against his light-gray coat.  Handsome face, firm muzzle, and above the muzzle his expressive dark-brown eyes.  Above those, his short but thick horn.  A bit stocky, but a large muscular kind of stocky, even if he was going a bit to flab these days.  He'd have to get off his rump more -- these last few years he'd been spending too much time just sitting in his office, instead of running things more hooves-on.  Another effect of growing age, he sadly supposed.

I look like a full Pony, he thought, unless you know exactly what to look for.  Most people know what I am, of course ... I'm famous in my home town.  But when Ponies look at me, they think "Unicorn."  Not "Onager."  And that helps me deal with them -- though sometimes I feel a little like some kind of disguised creature, like the buzzing dybbuks in the Old-World tales.

And certainly, they don't think "mule."  I don't look the part.  Though I am, in both senses.  The line ends with me, as I've known since I turned 21.  It shouldn't matter.  I never wanted foals, anyway.

Not much.

He stepped out of the bathroom, sufficiently groomed for the moment, and opened his wardrobe.  The nice clean white shirt-front, jacket and topcoat with tails awaited him.  He dressed, careful attention to every detail, readying himself for the big night.

As is pretty much everyone in the business, all across Equestria, right now.  Everyone at the Hippodrome.  Everyone in every theatre.  Everyone on the road.

Everyone ... including her.

For a brief moment the vision of her fragile, sharp-featured, brilliant blue face, her dark flashing eyes more alive than any he'd ever seen outside a mirror, framed in hair so pale-blue that it sometimes seemed white, was before him.  Her imagined expression was sarcastic, mocking ... teasing ... irresistible.

He winced, and banished the image.  He needed no distractions tonight.  And thoughts of her were nothing but distraction.

Still, as he checked his case to make sure that he had everything he'd need for the night, he could not entirely avoid the obvious questions.  Where was she performing tonight? he asked himself.  She obviously was performing; she'd perform if you gave her a board to stand on and an audience of three half-asleep foals.  Had she found a good gig?  Was she playing to a good crowd?  Did she have a good contract?  Was she safe and happy and ...? 

No.

This was pointless.  He didn't know where she was.  The last he'd seen of her had been a glare of utter horrified disgust on that pretty little face, the indignant swish of that long, lovely tail as she almost galloped out his door.  The next morning he learned she'd pulled up stakes, trotted off with that little caravan stage of hers in tow.  He'd neither seen nor heard from her again.  

Why can't you just accept the obvious conclusion, Piercing? he asked himself.  She hates you.  Give it up.  Just find some more mare-friends.  Yehveh knows they go gaga over you.

Of course, he'd already tried that.  A month or so after she left.  And he'd given up a few months' later.  Why?  He knew the answer.  

Because none of them can hold a candle to her.  Either on or off the stage.  The most talented stage magician I've ever seen.  Class and moxie, in one adorably perfect package.  The kind of fire, inside, that no one could fake.

Yeah, Piercing, he pointed out to himself, but she was never really yours!  Not your mare-friend.  Not anyone's mare friend.  You were just pals, that's all.

Friends.  A closer friend, on just a few weeks' close acquaintance, than he was with ponies -- both mares and stallions -- that he'd known for years.  And they were attracted to each other.  There was a term for that.

Soul-mate, he thought.  

And I blew it.  On a stupid impulse.

And that's that, he told himself.  Over.  Done.  Finished.  End of last act, curtain closed.  No point stretching out the last bows.  The audience didn't much like your last act, anyway.

He picked up his case, headed for the door.

Tonight, he told himself, At the after-party, I'll be surrounded by hundreds of deliriously-celebrating citizens of Baltimare.  Some of whom are bound to be female, willing and experienced enough to know what they want.  You, Piercing Gaze, are going to forget about Trixie Lulamoon the good old-fashioned way.

As he stepped out the door, his optimism rose, and he managed to convince himself that, this time, it would work.