//------------------------------// // 1. Ace // Story: Queen of Clubs // by horizon //------------------------------// When the dark alicorn introduced herself to the Imperial Academy by making a rude hoof gesture at the entire class, Drying Paint knew it was love at first sight. He leaned over to Moon Shot while Professor Professor was shouting at the newcomers — Luna defiantly glaring at nothing in particular, Celestia cringing and waving at the class with an apologetic smile. "I want to ask her out," Paint whispered. Both of Shot's eyebrows quirked up. "You're crazy," he whispered back, a dubious expression on his clay-colored muzzle. "And that's me saying that." Paint glanced down at his magical theory text, white cheeks flushing red, as Luna's withering gaze swept the room and the rest of the class began whispering and snickering in a way that felt all too familiar. "Probably," Paint muttered, and returned to staring as Professor Professor shouted something about detention and the dark alicorn whirled and stomped toward the door. "But I'm serious." "Do you realize who she —" Shot hissed, then abruptly shut up and flipped a page in his textbook as the professor turned back around. Celestia sighed deeply, running her hoof through her vibrant pink mane, and trudged past them to sit down. Shot's eyes followed her down the aisle. Paint's didn't. When Luna bucked the classroom door shut with a slam like an explosion, his eyes remained locked on it. He listened to the sounds of stomping recede down the hall, a vision lingering of taut muscles tracing the curve of Luna's dark hips. "As I was saying," Shot said as they walked home through the Crystal Empire's gleaming streets, "maybe you somehow failed all day long to notice the wings and horn, but she's an alicorn. Two, maybe you also failed to notice the bearded stallion who walked them in, or how Professor Professor bowed to him as if it was Queen Amore coming into the room —" "Star Swirl the Bearded, yes, I know," Paint said distantly. He'd been wondering all day why the Equestrian regent had brought the fillies all the way to the Crystal Empire. Probably wanted them to get some magical education in a place where they might fit in, he'd thought at first, but a single glance around the gleaming gemstone hides of three-quarters of the class had been enough to shoot that idea down — never mind their wings. "Yeah," Shot said. "You might as well ask out her tiara. At least that won't tell you no." Paint blinked, then bristled. "Ex-cuse me? Even you, Shot? I thought you were better than those insincere snobs and their petty social games, but if you're implying she's out of my league —" "What? No no no." Shot hurriedly held a placating hoof up. "You're too good for her — " "I'm not a fan of empty flattery, either." Shot swallowed, but pressed on. "What I mean is, you'd have to lower yourself to petty social games to even get her attention. She's a princess, Paint — that's all she does. She doesn't have problems. Her life is a game." Paint frowned. "She is a princess, yes. But that's not what it looked like." "How badly did the lecture distract you? Within five minutes after she sat down, she was whispering back and forth with the hoofball captain and giggling —" "What are you talking about? She was in detention all day." Shot paused, and then his eyebrows shot up. "Wait. You want to ask out Luna?" Paint rolled his eyes. "Come on. Why would you even assume I meant Little Miss Popular?" "Well. I mean. Celestia turned the head of everypony in the class." Shot's cheeks flushed, and he turned his head away. "Even if some of us know better than to chase nobility." Paint abruptly stopped walking, a scowl curling his muzzle. Shot took a few more steps, then stopped as well, looking back over his shoulder with one eyebrow still arched. "I can't believe it." Paint roughly swatted Shot's mark — a silhouette of a bow and arrow over a lunar crescent — making the colt jump. "You're abandoning me on this? The colt with the mark about hitting impossible targets? After all the times you've told me the legend of The Stallion Who Shot The Moon?" "Paint!" Shot said pleadingly. "Please, buddy, you know I've got your back. It's just …" "Just what?" Paint snapped — and then, at the look in Shot's eyes, forced himself to take a deep breath and step backward. "Sorry. I … sorry." Shot stayed frozen for several seconds, then gradually untensed as Paint calmed, letting out a long sigh. "Paint, they're everything we hate," Shot finally said. "Just because something's hard doesn't automatically make it worthwhile." "This is," Paint said quietly. "Uh-huh," Shot said, one eyebrow raising. "… You don't believe me." "It's just … can I be blunt?" Shot paused for a moment, waiting for Paint's nod. "Luna's not just shallow nobility, she's also a psychotic juvenile delinquent that everypony's whispering about. She's the one pony in school that we'll get bullied more for talking to. By the Heart, what could you possibly see in her that's worth the trouble from Gilt Edge?" Paint felt his cheeks redden. He thought back to the fire in her eyes as she flipped a frog to the class. Her iron self-assurance as the students' titters and the professor's shouts had washed over her. Her unbowed pride as she had stalked away. And the sway of her hinds. Oh, stars, those hinds. He swallowed and licked suddenly-dry lips. The strength I've never had, Paint didn't say. Not giving a single care about what other ponies think of her. Not needing to. "Does it matter?" he said instead. "It's love, Shot. I look at her and my heart quickens. You don't ignore that. You know what they say — 'When the heart speaks its deepest truths, the whole Empire listens.'" Shot rolled his eyes. "They also say, 'It's called a crush because that's what happens to your heart when you chase it.'" Paint snorted — trying to tamp down the doubts suddenly churning in his gut. "Look. The point is, I'm talking to her tomorrow. Are you gonna help me or not?" "Tomorrow?" Shot opened and closed his mouth, then sighed. "Look, buddy, love I'll help with — show me you've got the tiniest chance and I'll figure out how to make it happen. But this is just madness, and you don't need my talent to get your heart flattened into paste." His heart was a knot in his chest. His hooves were shaking. His head was swimming, and sweat was beading at his brow. Paint had known it was going to be bad, but not this bad. Luna took a half-step forward, eyes locked to his like a snake's to a rabbit's. The sky-blue of her mane was smooth and silky, almost ethereal, yet had managed to impossibly bunch and mat where it pooled over her whipcord withers. One of her wings was still scuffed, feathers lopsided, from where she'd clocked a mouthy classmate with the elbow while Professor Professor's back was turned. Her Academy uniform still smelled faintly of starch and dye, and its fabric was rack-stiff, yet in less than 24 hours it had developed two different rips. He'd scripted this. Planned where to intercept her that would attract the least attention. Rehearsed it dozens of times. The words were seared into his brain like a brand, and yet they refused to make the leap to his muzzle. Hello, Luna. My name is Drying Paint, in third-year with you. I'm sorry to bother you, but it looks like you haven't had a great introduction to the Academy yet, and I thought you might want someone to show you around … She snorted, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her exhalation. Paint flinched, but held his ground. "Stop blocking the hall," she growled. A deeper panic strangled the panic choking the life out of Paint, easing the pressure for a moment. I'm losing my chance! he thought, and frantically forced words through a numb muzzle: "H-h-hello, i-i, i-i'm — s-sorry to b-bother, ac-cademmhnh. Hhhh." He swallowed and tried again. "Th-thought y-you w-want, s-someone, a-around —" Luna snorted again. Paint's throat locked up. She took another step forward, and with a casual shoulder-nudge sent him staggering sideways into the wall. He hit with a skull-rattling thump, air wheezing from his lungs. She stalked past him without another word. Paint gasped for breath. A corner of his brain suddenly reminded him how, after getting out of detention the previous afternoon, she'd supposedly confronted a mouthy earth pony, wrestled him into submission, and almost made good on an anatomically impossible threat. Not only did that suddenly feel all too plausible, but he had to count himself very, very lucky that she'd decided to apply her formidable strength with such restraint. "Hah!" a jeering voice brayed from behind him as Paint numbly watched Luna tromp away — and an entirely new panic flooded in. Gilt Edge — the Academy's cruelest bully. Oh no. Where had HE come from? "What have we here?" the fifth-year said as he strutted toward Paint, a cruel smile on his muzzle. "Was the loser making a move on the psycho —" Without turning around, without even breaking stride. Luna's horn lit. Gilt's eyes widened as a blue field encircled him, and he yelped, hooves flailing, as he was wrenched from the floor. Off to one side, a refuse bin's lid shot off as if flicked by a dragon's claw, and Gilt sailed into the bin face-first with a wet squelch. The momentum of the impact sent him somersaulting down the hallway, garbage flinging everywhere. Paint's mouth opened and closed. He glanced around helplessly. The few ponies in eyeshot — and a cluster of others attracted by the noise — were staring in shocked silence. At the retreating Luna. At the moaning pony in the garbage can. At him. It was all too much. He bolted. Drying Paint lay awake most of the night, thoughts whirling as he stared at the ceiling. He was good at that, he mused bitterly. Staring. Waiting. Thinking. Freezing up when others were watching. Choking, like he'd choked that day, in the iron grip of self-consciousness. In his own way, a dark little voice whispered, he was as bad as the hoofball players and the nobles and the nattering cliques — they spent their lives preening to uphold their reputation, and he spent his life avoiding one. Oh, the things he could do if he no longer cared! But that was Luna's thing, and he was no alicorn. He wasn't, he glumly reflected, even a particularly good pony. He felt like a shadow, flitting around the edges of a life he could fit into if he just gave up and let himself get hammered into the shape the world wanted him to be. Paint's mind kept chasing its tail in smaller and smaller spirals, until finally he arrived at the center with a mute sort of resignation: Moon Shot was right. Luna is out of my league. It hurt, but it was a good sort of hurt. Instead of his heart leaping into his throat when he thought about the alicorn, there was just an achy sort of distance. And, he realized from that new calm remove, he owed her a thank-you for saving him from Gilt. It felt like it would be good closure to give that to her and then let her swing out into her distant, independent orbit. When Paint shuffled out of first class after Luna the next morning, that eerie calm hadn't left him. He fell into pace beside her, ignoring her icy glare, feeling little more than an unsettled gut despite his lack of memorized words. "Hey," Paint said. Luna ignored him entirely. "I … um." Despite his mind going blank, it was marvelous how much easier the words flowed when he wasn't terrified of getting it wrong. "Do you remember me from yesterday? We talked in the hall?" At that, Luna snorted. "Yeah, I do," she said, with a touch of venom at the edge of her tone. "And if you think you can sweet-talk me into introducing you to my sister, throw yourself in the trash now and save me the trouble." Paint recoiled, visions dancing in his head of a grinning Celestia breezing back and forth between all the cliques that made his life so miserable. "What? Ew! Are you kidding?" At that, Luna turned her head. The sharp doubt on her muzzle softened with one look at Paint's features, and curved into a brief … smile? No, smirk … before slowly resettling into a milder and more neutral distrust. "Hmmh," she grunted, refocusing on the hallway as they walked. "I — I just …" Paint faltered as thoughts intruded: Why am I doing this? He steadied himself, banishing that voice to the back of his head, and pressed on: "Wanted to thank you for saving me from Gilt yesterday." "Whatever," Luna said neutrally. Paint rubbed the back of his head with a hoof, as if to massage out his doubts. "It was … um. Pretty awesome, actually. To see that. You were pretty awesome." Luna said nothing. But for the first time since she'd arrived at the Imperial Academy, she smiled. Really, this time, smiled. It was faint, and guarded, but unmistakable. Paint's heart leapt, and fluttered, and the adrenaline began to tickle at his throat again. Then her smile vanished like noonday dew, and her iron wall clamped back in. "It's all anyone here deserves," Luna snarled. "Including you. Buck off." Her tone lacked its earlier venom. Regardless, Paint did.