//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Prom and Circumstance // by TheMessenger //------------------------------// There exists a certain saying, one whose origins have long since been lost to even those as ancient as the dragons, not that dragons cared for the survival of such history, that has fallen from sagely advice and direction passed down from generation to generation of sweet-talkers, seducers, and the necessary evil we group lawyers and politicians to a ridiculed cliche used only as a writing clutch for half-bit smut authors and those degenerates that pervert original works to fit their own twisted narratives. Despite the stigma the phrase now carries and the inevitable wave of groans that follows its utterance, most ponies, at the very least, have heard the saying, “The eyes are the windows to the soul,” or something along the lines. Some speculate that the decline of this phrase correlates with a rise in questions on the nature of the soul. Now depending on the ideology of the being asked, a soul may or may not exist, and it may or may not be the most important and defining part of an individual, and it may or may not only inhabit the bodies of ponies and separates ponies from the rest of Equestria’s creatures and as such is undeniable evidence of pony supremacy. It could argue that this ambiguity is what eventually shook the collective faith in the wisdom of the idiom. That’s not say, of course, that the saying isn’t completely without merit. Much can still be discern about an individual based on the movement of their eyes, and it has been said that when you can’t trust the mouth, look to the eyes for the truth, advice applicable for both everyday social interactions and the more cutthroat engagements of business dealings and judiciary settlements. In Equestria and its surrounding lands, eye contact continues to be an important sign of trust and honesty, and perhaps that is why out of all of Equestria’s sapient creatures, changelings are perceived as the least trustworthy. Well, that in addition to the whole history of kidnapping and espionage. See, while ponies, griffons, hippogriffs, yaks, and even dragons share a similar structure in their eyes, changelings do not. Unlike the aforementioned creatures, whose eyes consist of a simple black pupil centered within a colored iris surround by the milky white sclera, changeling eyes have neither sclera nor easily discernible pupils, making it somewhat difficult for one to determine what a changeling is looking at beyond a direction. Even to this day, Smolder still had trouble determining what the changeling across from her was exactly focusing on. Oh sure, after spending all these years together as fellow friendship pupils, it was obvious to the young dragon that Ocellus, perfect student that she was, was focused on the assigned project before her, but that was the extent of what Smolder could deduce. Was she staring at the stack of cloth next to her foreleg, the delectable rainbow of gems peeking out of their shared sack, the needle of the sewing machine rapidly stabbing into and retreating out of the nearly finished handkerchief that was to be given to her as a gift at the end of class, Smolder couldn’t tell. It wasn’t something Smolder normally took interest in, but it served as a somewhat adequate distraction from the delicious gemstones begging to be eaten and from the depressing excuse of a gift she had been trying to make for Ocellus. Like her partner, Smolder had decided to make a custom handkerchief, with all those unnecessary frills and sparkles ponies seemed to enjoy, but at some point the needle of Smolder’s sewing machine broke against her scale-enforced claw, and by the time she noticed, there wasn’t enough time for a replacement. Dragon determination and stubbornness may have contributed to her survival in the harsh lands she considered home, but they provided nothing in Smolder’s attempts to salvage the project. Her manual attempts at stitching with what was left of the needle were uneven, too thick in some areas and barely existent in others, and the thread continually threatened to loosen and escape, hold the entire project for ransom without placing any demands. The heart of aquamarines and rubies Smolder managed to arrange and refrain from devouring had barely been in shape when she initially positioned them and were now so out of line Smolder was sure she had invented a new shape. It soon became apparent to Smolder that saving the project was beyond her meager abilities, and a quick glance at the clock sitting on Professor Rarity’s desk told her that there wouldn’t have been enough time even if she had the talent, so Smolder spent the last few minutes of class practicing her apology to Ocellus, brainstorming means of making it up to her, and generally just trying to distract herself from imagining Ocellus’s disappointed face. “Time’s up!” Smolder, though she would’ve denied it if confronted, jumped a little in her seat at Rarity’s sudden exclamation, the unicorn’s voice shrill enough to heard over the hum of the dozen or so sewing machines without becoming too unpleasant. The unicorn had been patrolling the classroom as her students worked, giving advice only when prompted and even then her directions were uncharacteristically vague and of little use. “Please turn your machines off and set down the supplies.” “Already? But Yona not finished yet!” Smolder glanced over her shoulder to gawk at the impossible patchwork quilt the yak had somehow created within an hour. Her amazement was evidently shared as a few students began mutter in hushed reverent tones. “Yes, well, I’m afraid we are out of time. This isn’t your only class for today, after all.” Rarity chuckled softly as she approached the front of her room. “Now, please present your, ahem, present to your partner.” Smolder took a deeper breath and tried to smoothen out the cloth that had crumpled within her claws. “Alright, let’s do this.” She turned to the changeling beside her. “Hey, Ocellus?” Ocellus has been in the process of neatening the scattered supplies. She looked up, and for a short second Smolder thought she saw a flash of fear in the changeling’s feature. Her smile was just a little too tense and the dragon felt that those pupil-less eyes were a bit too wide, maybe a little unfocused, it was difficult to say for certain, but before Smolder could consider it further, any hint of discomfort in Ocellus’s appearance had vanished. “Hey, um, Smolder?” The caution in Ocellus’s voice, however, was obvious. Something was making the changeling nervous, and the first explanation Smolder could come up with was a distressing one. Try as the dragon might, Smolder couldn’t squash the wave of disappointment she felt toward the creature before her, the changeling she considered her friend. At the same time, however, there was a separate wave of disappointment and shame directed at herself, and Smolder did little to defend herself from it. As much as she loved being a dragon, greed-induced bigness really sucks, and Smolder stopped trying to defend its evolutionary benefits in times of want after personally ruining two Hearth’s Warmings and several birthdays. Smolder rubbed the back of her head and looked away. “Look,” she said, “you can keep your handkerchief if you want.” “Y-you don’t want it?” The changrling’s entire body seemed to droop. The drastic change in body language and the devastation in her voice shook Smolder, and the dragon turned back to face Ocellus so suddenly both winced at the audible crack. “No, ow, no, that’s not what I meant,” Smolder stammered. “I mean, I want it, kind of, but not in a want it, want it sort of thing, because, you know, and I thought, I mean, it’s just a piece of cloth, no, it’s more than that, I just meant it’s not, not that it’s not special or anything, but it’s—“ Smolder let out an exasperated noise, something between a strangled scream and a whimper, before slamming her head into the desk with a loud thud. “Smolder, are, are you okay?” It was a foolish question, and both creatures knew it and its very obvious answer. Instead of lifting her head, the dragon simply lifted a weary claw. “Here,” she mumbled, waving the accursed handkerchief that had given her so much trouble. “Yours.” The cloth slipped through Smolder’s grasp far too easily, her lack of resistance atypical to a dragon’s common reaction to the removal of their possessions. “Oh, wow.” “Yeah, yeah.” Slowly, Smolder rolled her head onto its side. “I know, it looks like—“ “It looks amazing!” Ocellus grimaced as Smolder fell back in her seat, scattering the leftover supplies Ocellus had tried organizing about in every direction. “Wait, what?” exclaimed Smolder as she picked herself up. She glared at the handkerchief Ocellus now held, trying to find what of the crudely stitched and poorly decorated cloth had impressed the changeling. Finding nothing, Smolder turned to Ocellus with a questioning look, her mouth slightly agape and a brow raised. “Huh?” Ocellus’s all too wide smile crumbling into a genuine grin as she broke into a giggle. “Well, okay, maybe amazing is a little strong, but it’s still better than mine. Er, yours, I mean, the one I made.” Ocellus slid her project forward and watched as Smolder’s eyes grew wide. If she hadn’t known beforehand, Smolder would’ve never guessed that there was a handkerchief somewhere beneath that mountain range of gems and sparkles. Every inch of cloth had been covered by something shiny or sparkly, and the utter lack of coordination hurt even Smolder’s relatively untrained eyes, with colors clashing violently in a manner that could only be described as a deliberate form or visual torture had it been done by any creature besides Ocellus. Glitter and smaller gemstones escaped as Smolder attempted to lift the collage, which was surprisingly heavy considering its size. Ocellus rubbed the back of her head. “I know you like gems, but I kind of went overboard.” She laughed softly. “Anyways, you, well, you don’t have to keep it if you don’t want it.” “You kidding?” Smolder scoffed. “I love it.” Ocellus perked up immediately. “Really?” “Okay, love might be too strong,” Smolder admitted, gesturing with a shake of her claw, “but you’re crazy thinking what I got you is better.” “Well, I guess it’s a little, um.” Ocellus held up the cloth wrinkled with claw marks, already fraying at the stitchings. “At least I can tell what it’s supposed to be. And I really like the, uh, the, hmm.” Smolder watched Ocellus traced the odd outline of blue and red gemstones with the end of her foreleg. “It’s supposed to be a heart,” explained Smolder. “Or, you know, at least, that weird pony symbol of one.” “Oh, I see it now!” “No you don’t.” “No, not really.” The two added their laughs to the rest of the room. Rarity allowed herself a prideful smile as she looked around the classroom at her satisfied students and their admittedly less than satisfactory gifts. The unicorn released an internal sigh of relief. The lesson had been a success, and all it took were some frighteningly inferior supplies and a little bit of sabotage; the warranty on the machines had expired moons ago anyways. She clapped her hooves together, drawing the class’s attention. Now came the hard part, the lecture. “Who can remind the class what we spent yesterday’s lesson reviewing?” Several hooves and forelegs were raised, but Ocellus was quickest. “When it comes to gifts, quality is second to effort.” Rarity tried to keep composure as her words were recited back at her. They had sounded deep and meaningful when she first said them, but hearing them now set her teeth on edge. They were a little too, oh what was the word? Cheesy? Cliche? Trite? They probably would have sounded better on paper, as a letter in the form of a report perhaps, a characteristic that could describe most of her attempts at formal lecturing, even after all these years of practice. Still, that didn’t diminish the lesson importance. “That is correct,” Rarity said, “and I hope today’s activity has demonstrated this to you all. For, well, most of you at least...” Rarity nodded to the traditional yak patch quilt draped over a young pegasus mare’s head. “Many of you may not have been entirely content with the present you were to, ahem, present to your partner.” There was a collective nod from the students along with a couple of murmurs of realization. “And yet, based on the reactions I’ve seen, all of you appear quite happy with the gifts you’ve received.” More faces lit up as realization and understanding dawned upon the class. Rarity seemed to feed off of her students’ growing excitement and found herself suddenly pacing in front of the blackboard to spend the excess energy. “There is more appreciation to be found in a gift that the giver has given heart to...” (she briefly considered adding soul before finding the whole thing a little too tacky even for herself and adamantly refused to include the word sweat) “...than an extravagant one with little effort or thought placed into. Though, a little quality is always nice,” Rarity added with a short chuckle. She stopped pacing then turned to the multitude of impressionable eyes. “There’s a common phrase ponies use, it might not be as well known among other creatures, that in regards to gifts, it’s the thought that counts.” Rarity returned to her seat behind her desk. “More often than not, it’s used to lessen the blow of disappointment, as an excuse for poor gifts. Well, I hope this little exercise of ours shows how true that saying is. After all, it is through our thoughts of whomever the receiver is that drives us to work towards the best gift we can possible give!” The shrill ring of a bell echoed through all the school. Rarity, now breathless, dropped her pose and slowly climbed off her desk, fighting the blush creeping over her white checks. She cleared her throat. “Ahem, well, look at the time. That will be all for today, class is dismissed. If you have any questions, you know when I’m available. Oh, and a reminder from the headmare,” she added as the students cleared their desks and made their way out the room, “your final friendship thesis is due at the end of the month. I know that seems far away, but let’s not leave anything to the last minute!” The last word left her lips as the last of her students left the room. Rarity let the silence linger before releasing an exhausted but relieved sigh. She walked between the desks, her horn glowing as she swept the floors for glitter and such. A thorough inventory of the leftover gems and cloth would have to be taken, and the sewing machines needed to be moved. A small part of Rarity had wished for a small incident, for a reason to detain a delinquent student after class and have them clean the room up instead of her. At least this was her last class for the day so there was no real rush. “I’ll have to see if anypony else is busy,” Rarity muttered to herself as she began to lift one of the heavy machines. Even with her magic, the machine struggled to move. “Another unicorn would work wonders, or maybe Spike...” As she let the machine fall, the door to the room swung open. In the short second between the door opening and the door opener stepping inside, Rarity had removed any trace of sweat from her brow, banished the dust from her front hooves, and returned her mane to its perfectly arranged coiffure in a manner that may have even impressed a certain pink party pony on an off day. A dragon stood before her, bipedal like Smolder but with purple scales instead of orange ones and a good couple of inches shorter. He slowly approached, his claws fidgeting with the leathery membrane of his wing. “Hey, uh, hi Rarity,” he said with a small wave. Rarity’s practiced smile widened, and she allowed herself to relax, letting her shoulders lower. “Spikey!” she cooed. “Oh, would you come to my rescue and help me move these machines please?” “Help you?” Spike’s back straightened, and his head raised, his odd nervous demeanor gone and replaced with eagerness. “Yeah, of course!” He picked up one of the sewing machines off its messy desk. “Where do you want this?” “Over there in that corner,” Rarity answered with a gesture. “Oh, and do be careful, they’re quite heavy.” “Got it,” Spike grunted. He started toward the area directed, passing by Rarity as the unicorn made her way to the desk to clean it. She looked up once the desk had been cleared of glitter and gem dust and saw Spike already moving his third machine. While she was no stranger to the physical strength the little dragon possessed, having used him as an entire team of luggage porters multiple times, Rarity still found herself impressed by how effortless Spike made the job seem. Well, maybe little wasn’t the right descriptor anymore. He now at the very least stood up to her eye level, and his shoulder width expanded and became bulkier as his wings grew larger. His body now better reflected the maturity he occasionally shared, more often than not hidden behind childish tendencies. Despite his physical growth, however, Rarity found that the baby dragon she knew was still very much present, still always there to lend a friend a helpful claw. “Hey, Rarity?” Spike said, unknowingly waking the unicorn from her reminiscing. “Yes, is something the matter? If it’s about the gems here, I have much better ones for you after we’re done.” “No, it’s not that. It’s uh, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. You see, I...” Spike reached down to his side. Color left his face, his natural purple replaced with a much lighter shade. “Oh no.” “Is something the matter?” “No, no, just give me a sec,” the dragon assured as he began to twist and turn, patting his hips and sides frantically. “Come on, where is it?” Rarity sighed. “Let me reword that. What, is the matter?” she asked more directly. “Nothing, it’s, uh, just something I’ve been wanting to ask, but I just, I just had it. We’ve, uh, known each other for, come on, a while, and, uh—“ The classroom door opened once again, and in stepped a griffon, his blue feathers ruffled and the light tan fur on his front unkempt as usual. “Hey, Spike, er, Professor, I found these with my test scores.” Gallus held a pair of scarlet tickets in his talons. “Yeah, figured you might want—“ “Rarity, please go out with me!” Spike’s claws immediately rose to his mouth, covering it seconds too late as the outburst rang through the classroom. His features reddened, and smoke billowed from his ears and nostrils. The air grew oppressive with silence, daring any of the three to break it. Reluctantly, Spike looked to Rarity and found her face unreadable as any emotion or thought the unicorn may have been having was hidden beneath of mask of shock and surprise. It was Gallus’s footsteps that finally ended the silence. The griffon laid the tickets on the floor, then slowly backed out of the room. As the door shut, Rarity found her breath. “Ah, well.” She swallowed, but the clump in her throat refused to budge. Before the unicorn could recover, Spike had taken a step forward and held up the pair of tickets Gallus had left behind to her. “So, you’ve probably already heard, but the Method Mares are coming to Ponyville,” Spike said. “Oh, yes.” Rarity took the tickets. Indeed, the symbol of the theater group, two ponies wearing those classic masks of comedy and tragedy, was stamped on the face of both, right next to the image of a silver treble clef and and gold bass clef on top of the sun and the moon. “Testing the waters, so to speak, of a collaboration between them and the Canterlot Choir. Or so I’ve heard. Rumor has it that they’re performing some sort of musical adaption of Daring Do.” ”Actually, it’s Shadow Spade.” “Really?” Rarity’s eyes grew wide. Spike had to step back as Rarity approached with excitement. “Is it The Colt of Crimson? The Aviator’s Affair? Ooh, ooh, could it possibly be Poaching of a Prince?” “I, I think it’s an original story. They’ve got the series’s author on board, but I don’t know anything else.” “A mystery before the mystery!” Rarity giggled. “How—“ Rarity quickly composed herself, taking a deep calming breath. “How intriguing,” she said more steadily. “And you were planning...” “I wanted, er, want, I would like to see the performance with you,” Spike said. “You know, together, the two of us.” “Of course, that sounds—“ ”As more than friends.” There was a lengthy pause, then, “Oh.” “It’s just...” Spike took a deep breath before continuing. “I really like you, Rarity. I love spending time with you, no matter what we do. And, I want a chance to, to show you how much you mean to me, and I don’t think, I can’t do that with how we are now. As just friends.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know, it’s kind of, sort of, maybe, weird?” The last word has hesitant. “I’m a dragon, you’re a pony. You’re, ah, I’m a bit, er, well, there’s a bit an age gap, and we’ve both got stuff going on.” Spike looked away. “A-anyways, I’m not looking for, you don’t need to answer right away, take your time. It’s a lot to take in, so I’ll just, go and—“ “Yes.” The single word froze Spike in mid step. “What?” “I, yes, I said yes.” Rarity tried to appear indignant, but the best she could muster was a small pout. “Honestly, Spike, I thought you’d look happier.” “I am, I mean, I will, just—“ Spike slapped his cheeks and gave them a hard rub. “Okay, just, I wasn’t expecting, a, you know.” “An acceptance?” “A response. I mean, I thought, I figured you’d need some time to think about it,” Spike said. “Just, and you said yes, wow. This is, this has got to be, wow. Okay, so the show’s in the evening so there’ll be time for dinner first. Is there anything you’d want to eat? I’ve got some bits and a few gems leftover, or I could make us something.” “First, perhaps we could finish cleaning up.” Rarity gestured to the still messy desks and the remaining sewing machines. Spike blushed and tried to laugh away his embarrassment. “Yeah, of course,” he said before returning to work.