//------------------------------// // Chapter 11 // Story: Prom and Circumstance // by TheMessenger //------------------------------// Much can change in a thousand years. Now the sentence above may seem rather obvious, much can change in just a year after all, but a thousand year can be difficult to appreciate by those who measure their lives in mere decades. It’s one thing to recognize that a thousand years ago, most ponies lived in small villages made up of quaint little one floor houses that lack proper plumbing, literacy was considered a self-indulgent luxury by many outside the realm of scholars and the governing body, and nighttime was a time for sleep and burglary, it was another to watch as massive structures stretching up to the heavens replaced those quaint little houses, as reading became commonplace and writing became less of a means of communication and preservation and more for expanding and revising literary works of others to fit one’s own preferred narrative, and as the advent of electricity and caffeinated beverages led to the questioning of how much sleep was actually necessary for a functional life. And it was another thing entirely to awaken to that change after a thousand year absence, like with Princess Luna. For a time, the change had been overwhelming, and the younger of the royal sisters struggled with this brave new world she had suddenly crashed into, and of the three aforementioned examples, she had the most difficulty coming to terms with the third. Ponies out and about while the hour late and sky dark, working and playing almost as if it were day? It was utter madness, and the night, once Luna’s domain, was now as mysterious and terrifying to her as it had been to her subjects a thousand years ago. For a time, she refused to return to her old duties despite her sister’s pleas. This adoration ponies now had for the night, this new appreciation of the stars and moon, they were of Celestia’s doing, not hers, Luna argued, and perhaps it would be for the best if Celestia remained the night’s custodian. Months of prodding and persuasion came to a head when Princess Celestia, tired of arguing, simply refused to lower the sun until Luna raised the moon. Reckless, yes, but Luna did return to her duties that night, and as she got back into the swung of things and discovered that there had been areas her sister had been rather lax about during her stint as the guardian of the night, namely the monitoring of the dream realm, her apprehension in returning to her old position lessened, and she could focus on integrating into the modern nightlife of which just about every settlement had some sort. Even towns and villages as small as Ponyville could be seen celebrating late into the evening on nights like Nightmare Night and other special occasions. This night was one such occasion for at least a small portion of Ponyville’s population, and while much of the town was quieting down as businesses closed for the day and ponies headed home to prepare for supper, Princess Twilight Sparkle’s School of Friendship buzzed with excitement. The halls were packed with murmurs as the school’s very first year of graduates got ready. Giggles came from the dormitories and the multitude of makeover sessions they housed. Those who had finished dressing waited impatiently at the doors of the friends who had not, counting the minutes that passed and preparing to add ten more so that their future complaining would appear less petty. Sandbar was one such creature, the wait and boredom testing even his laidback nature. For the third time that night, the earth pony knocked on the door barring his entrance. “Come on, Gallus,” he said, almost whined. “You alright in there?” “Uh huh,” came the reply from the other side. Sandbar took in a deep breath and released it along with some of his frustration. He grabbed the doorknob and turned, trying to make as much of an annoying rattle as he could against the locking mechanism. To his surprise, the knob moved unhindered by any lock. “Hey, dude? You forgot to lock the door.” “Uh huh.” “You mind if I step in?” Sandbar asked. He forced a smile at a pair of mares in dresses who gave him an odd look as they walked by. “This is getting real awkward.” “Uh huh.” “Okay? Uh, do you not mind if I step in?” “Uh huh.” “So I can go in, right?” “Uh huh.” “Great, I’ll just—“ “What’re you doing?” With a sigh, Sandbar turned away from the door to the approaching group consisting of Ocellus, Silverstream, Smolder who had been the one to speak, and Yona. “Wait, are you guys still not ready?” Smolder asked. “How did we finish before you two?” “Maybe suits are harder to put on than dresses,” suggested Silverstream. “We’ve got zippers, and they’ve got those round things that you stick into those little holes and kind of look like bits sometimes but don’t have any actual monetary value.” “You mean buttons?” Ocellus asked. “Yeah, buttons. Those are way harder to use than zippers. Oh, and look!” Silverstream pointed first to Sandbar, then to Smolder. “You two match.” Smolder looked Sandbar over, taking in the dull light red suit jacket he was wearing over his rather pink shirt with a blue bow tie around the collar. She glanced down at herself and the dress Rarity had made for her. It was just about everything she had ever denied of dreaming of, with those soft puffy shoulders and a bow around her waist and lace and ribbons running along her sleeves and the edge of her skirt that extended to the point where her feet were completely hidden. “I don’t see it,” Smolder said. “How are we matching?” “Yona see it,” Yona declared, pointing and stomping. “Smolder and Sandbar both pink.” “Oh, that’s right. Hey Sandbar, Sandbar?” Ocellus waved her leg in front of the earth pony’s face. “Sandbar, are you alright?” “Huh?” Sandbar shook himself. “Y-Yeah, just great. Just, ah, well, you all look super amazing. Like, wow. It’s honestly kind of freaking me out here,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “Aw,” Silverstream cooed, flinging a foreleg over Sandbar’s shoulders as Ocellus ducked her head and tried to hide her blushing face. The hippogriff wore a light purple, open back gown with a neckline of amethysts similar to the piece of magic pearl she always wore and a thin train made up of a mosaic of blue, greens, and reds that gave the impression of a seapony’s tail. Ocellus, meanwhile, had decided on the Water Filly and its beautiful spectrum of blues and greens and decorative additions with a reddish silk waist wrap that matched the color of the changeling’s wings. “I think that has been the nicest way that anyone’s told me I freak them out.” Yona laughed and pounded her hoof against her chest. Hers was a gown of gold, with layers of yellows flowing over her back and trailing behind her and shawls of silvers wrapped around the her neck and front. “Yaks look good in anything,” she boasted. “Right.” Sandbar nodded and tugged at his collar. “Um, what were we talking about again?” “How you and Gallus still aren’t ready yet,” Smolder answered, placing her claws on her hips. “And, uh, we sort of match. That’s what they’re saying anyways. Is it supposed to be pink?” “What’re you talking about? It’s not pink,” Sandbar insisted. “It’s totally red.” Smolder gestured to what was viable of the shirt beneath Sandbar’s jacket. “What about the shirt?” “Oh. That.” Sandbar rubbed the back of his head as he put on a small, silly smile. “I kind of washed it with the jacket and, well, you know what happens when you don’t separate your whites from your colors.” The four turned to each other with questioning stares. “Is this a race thing?” asked Silverstream. “‘Cause it sounds like a race thing.” “What, no! No, I meant with laundry.” “Sandbar, the only one here who has any clothes is Yona,” said Smolder. “And I’m pretty sure the only times she washes it is when she goes home for the holidays.” “Lucky yak cloak sacred, must clean in sacred water blessed in Yakyakistan.” “Anyways,” the dragon continued, “what’s taking Gallus?” She walked over to the door and knocked, but there was no reply. Sandbar shrugged. “No idea. He sounds distracted by something, even forgot to lock his door.” “Then why are we still just standing here?” Smolder grabbed hold of the knob and started to turn it. “Wait, what if he’s getting dressed?” Ocellus interjected. “So? It’s not like we’re going to see anything we haven’t seen already.” The changeling took a moment to consider Smolder’s retort. “Right. Carry on.” Smolder nodded and looked the group over. Hearing no further objections, she turned the knob and pushed. The door swung open to reveal a griffon in his borrowed blue tuxedo puffing his chest out at the mirror. He began to turn away only to suddenly snap back to the reflective glass, and with a massive smirk on his face, Gallus raised his talons and pointed at the griffon pointing back, clicking his tongue against his beak. Moments passed as in a combination of curious fascination, concern, shame and sympathy, and amusement his friends simply watched him enact an entire fashion runway worth of poses. “Okay, that we haven’t seen,” Smolder said at last, breaking the silence. Her words seemed to have also broken Gallus out whatever trance the griffon had gotten himself in as he suddenly shook himself and turned to the room’s doorway to discover the intruders. Gallus released a yelp and threw one claw over his front and the other over his face to cover the reddening of its color. “Don’t any of you knock?” he demanded. A collection of eye rolls was the group’s answer to Gallus’s indignant accusation. “So are you done here, or do you need a few more minutes alone with your date?” Smolder teased, earning a few snickers from the others. “Oh ha ha,” Gallus deadpanned. He gave his reflection one last glance, straightened the tie and collar, and started toward his friends. “Alright, let’s get going.” The group welcomed the griffon into their fold with a cheer and made their way through the school. Other groups of students from their year walked with them, all headed in the same direction and emitting the same air of anticipation. Dresses, suits, and accessories of all sorts of shape, size, and color could be seen as the beings in them chatted amongst each other, exchanging compliments and smiles and sharing the contagious excitement. It didn’t take long before every being began to march in rhythm and the chatter became harmonic, a prelude to the inevitable musical number; soon, even Gallus and Smolder found themselves contributing their voices to the chorus. Applejack’s ears twitched as the echoes of song reached them. “Something wrong?” Spike, looking up from his notecards, asked as the farmer turned toward the end of the hall. “Thought I heard something,” Applejack said, rubbing the interior of her ear with a hoof. Like the approaching students, she too was in formal wear, a rather simple ensemble of brown and burgundy with green accents that would not clash with her ever-present farmer’s hat. “Gone now, whatever it was. So what you got there?” She pointed to the cards Spike had been reviewing. “Oh, you know. Just making sure I’ve got this welcoming speech down.” Spike laughed weakly. “Can’t believe I almost forgot to prepare one.” “Well, you’ve been busy, what with having to finish those graduate theses and stuff on top of getting this shindig put together with Pinkie Pie. Ain’t no creature here’d blame you if you just kicked things off with a howdy and a have fun.” Applejack shrugged. “You really need a fancy introduction?” “Maybe.” The dragon sighed. “Twilight would know better, Starlight too. Wish they were standing up here instead of me.” “Not a fan of public speaking, huh?” “Nope. Or yeah. I mean, no, I’m not a fan,” Spike said, putting away the notecards. “I mean, I’ve been in plays and led a few lectures in class, but this? Giving a speech?” He shook his head. “Gah, I can’t help but be nervous. Hey, Applejack?” “Yeah?” “Just wanted to say thanks.” Spike slipped his claws into the pockets of his suit jacket and began to rock back on his heels. “You know, for being up here on this podium with. I don’t think I’d be able to do this alone.” Applejack coughed. “So, uh, about that.” She rubbed the back of her head. “You know how sometimes something comes up, and there has to be a change of plans?” Taking a deep breath, Spike opened his eyes and forced his clenched fists open. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, why?” “Well, something came up.” Applejack’s eyes began to wander. “I’ve got to help Pinkie Pie with, uh, that one thing she always does before she, you know, starts a party, and and ‘cause this is such a big party, she needs my help!” She took a couple of steps back, removing herself from the raised platform. “Yeah, she needs my help something fierce, and I’ve got to get going. Anyways, I’m not going to be able to help you with the introduction, but don’t worry, somepony else’ll be here soon to help.” Spike considered the retreating mare with a raised brow. “Okay? I mean, I wish you’d have said something sooner.” “Well, it was kind of, you know, a last minute sort of thing.” Applejack tried to laugh. “Right. So what does Pinkie need help with?” “What was that? I think I hear Pinkie Pie calling my name! I’d better hurry! To see what she needs!” “Right,” Spike muttered as he watched Applejack run off, the sounds of her steps against the floor becoming more and more tapered as the distance between she and him grew. With little else to do, Spike pulled out his cards for another review, but it wasn’t long before a new set of hoofsteps caught his attention, this time getting louder as time passed. He looked up. Headed toward him was Rainbow Dash in a gown, the front consisting of orange cloth that hung loosely from the pegasus’s shoulders and crossed over her chest before extending under her stomach. From there the cloth was wrapped around her flanks and rump, leaving her back completely uncovered and her wings unhindered, which was then followed by a long skirt of violet and navy blue that fell past Rainbow’s hind hooves. Some effort had been made to straighten Rainbow Dash’s typically messy mane and tail, but there was nothing special or notable, no bands or braids, a stark contrast to the mane of the mare following a step behind whose indigo curls were more prominent and pronounced and held in place by clips encrusted with small diamonds. Green eyes met azure eyes for the briefest of seconds before their owners quickly found something else of interest and pointed their gazes elsewhere, Spike to the cards that had slipped from his fumbling fingers and Rarity to the grinning mare next to her who for whatever reason was looking quite pleased with herself. “What?” Rainbow asked, still smiling. The single spoken word sounded less of an inquiry and more of a challenge. “Nothing, nothing. Just, ah.” Rarity bit her lip. “From what you had told me, I was under the impression that I was to assist Applejack with the gala’s welcoming ceremony.” “Nah, pretty sure I said Spike needed your help, not Applejack. I mean, obviously,” Rainbow scoffed. “Spike’s headdragon after all, of course he’d be the one to make the big introduction speech.” “Yes, I suppose that would make sense.” Rarity’s chuckle was forced. “Silly me.” “Well, have fun.” Rainbow nudged the unicorn forward with her wing. “As fun as you can with speeches anyways.” The second push by Rainbow’s feathery appendage was much less gentle, sending Rarity stumbling toward the platform and Spike. She turned to glare at the pegasus, but Rainbow Dash had already flown off. With a soft sigh, Rarity slowly made her way to the podium, carefully keeping her gaze averted as she took her position next to Spike. From the very end of the hall, around the corner, peeked Applejack and Rainbow Dash. “Is this really the best idea we could come up with?” Applejack whispered as she watched. “Hey, being artificially forced to work together to solve some problem worked with Rarity and me,” Rainbow declared. “Better than, what was your idea again? Tie them up together and leave them in your barn until they figured whatever was going on all out?” “That was a joke. Mostly. Can you make anything out?” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “Can’t tell. Maybe if we could get a little closer, wait. I think Spike’s going to say something,” she whispered, pointing at the dragon as he slowly raised a claw to his mouth. The two mares held their breath only to have to release it in disappointment when Spike simply coughed and lowered the claw back to his side. The next few moments passed in uncomfortable silence, broken by a gasp from the end of the hall whenever either Spike or Rarity made any move that could be interpreted, however wildly, as a motion to speak or get the other’s attention. All four sighed, the frustration, at least in part, shared. “Okay, we can’t let this continue on like it is,” Applejack said. “This ain’t working, we got try something else.” “Like what?” Rainbow whispered back. “I’m thinking, I’m thinking. We could always try confronting them directly about it.” “We’ve tried that already, remember? And they probably just find some excuse and run off again or something.” “But now’s different. We’ve already managed to get them together in the same room, that’s something, and they’re not going to run when they’ve got a job to do.” “We don’t even know what’s going on. One wrong word could ruin everything.” Rainbow frowned and shook her head. “Us going up there and making them talk could end up making things way worse. Come on, AJ, you’re supposed to be the rational one, not me.” “I‘m being perfectly rational. Heck, and if I ain’t, it’s ‘cause I let you talk me into this plan in the first place.” “Hey!” As the discussion began to devolve into bickering, Rarity found herself unknowingly agreeing with Applejack’s first point; things couldn’t continue as they were between her and Spike. She couldn’t keep avoiding him like she had been and hoping that somehow, by some miracle, everything would fix itself on its own, that they could return to their old friendship as if nothing had ever happened. It wasn’t fair, not to Spike nor to herself, not after all the years they had been together as friends and certainly not after what she had done to him. Rarity took in a deep breath, and then another, bracing herself for the response she feared as she prepared to speak, to turn and finally look him in the eye. “So.” They had spoken the sole word together, she and Spike, and together they shut themselves up again, quickly looking away as they grabbed at the back of their neck awkwardly or fiddled with the end of their dress. “So.” Another mutual attempt to salvage their relationship, another mutual display of cowardice. The pained silence continued its reign, mocking her efforts with a cruel laugh only she could hear. Rarity’s frustration, directed at herself and at the situation, quickly returned to a boil, and again she breathed in deeply to ready herself once more. This time, she promised, this time. “Spike, I—“ “Rarity, there’s—“ “—and have the best night ever!” Rarity and Spike turned to discover the quiet, empty hall no longer quiet nor empty. Students were making their way to them, babbling away excitedly as they rode the euphoria that came with song and improvised choreography, the last couple or so bars still ringing out through the school. A crowd of well dressed individuals soon formed in front of the podium Rarity and Spike stood upon, slowly quieting as they waited and watched with expectant eyes. The excited stares grew curious and confused as time went on in silence, and few restless whispers begun to spread among the crowd. Rarity, recovering first, cleared her throat and put on a wide, warm smile. “Good evening, every creature,” she projected to the end of the hall. “Welcome to the School of Friendship’s first ever graduates’s gala ball, or prom if you prefer.” A cheer rippled through the students, and those with hooves stopped their applause out against the floor as the students with claws and hands clapped them together. Rarity raised her hoof, calling for quiet. “Now, I’m sure we are all eager to begin, but first I am certain our acting headdragon would like to say a few words. Isn’t.” She swallowed. “Isn’t that right, Spike?” “Y-yes. Yes! Er, right. Ahem.” Spike straightened his back and stepped forward. “Yes, right. Um, thank you, Rarity,” he managed to say as he retrieved his notecards from his pocket. “So, uh, so Twilight couldn’t make it tonight, but if she was here, I bet she’d go around the room and tell each and every single one of you how proud she was of you. Now I know final grades aren’t out just yet, and none of you have actually graduated, but—“ “We have!” cried out a trio of young mares. “Besides our honorary graduates,” Spike amended with a roll of his eyes as the crowd started to laugh. “Now I know final grades are, wait, um, where was I? Oh, right. Anyways, just by getting to this point is proof enough that all of you can truly demonstrate how to be a good friends and have taken this school’s teachings and ideals to heart, those ideals being...” Spike moved to the next card on the stack. “...not important. What is important is that tonight, we all have fun. So please, enjoy the School of Friendship’s first ever prom. Just follow the hall to the courtyard. Thank you.” There was a moment of uncertain silence as the group before Spike stared blankly at him. Then, almost as one, they shrugged and started toward the direction they were given, the excited chatter and noise returning. Eventually, all the students had gone from sight, giving Spike the necessary privacy to groan and smack himself in the forehead with an open claw. “That. Was awful.” “Well, I wouldn’t say awful,” Rarity tried to assure. “I mean, it was certainly a rather, interesting speech.” “It wasn’t supposed to go like that,” Spike grumbled as he glared at his notecards. “I mixed up the speech’s order and ended up panicking.” He crumbled the cards all into a ball, and finding no wastebasket around, he shoved the ball into his pocket. “Ah.” And like that, the greatest exchange of words between she and Spike in a significant while was over. The awkward silence had returned with the most triumphant roar it could muster. It was back to coughing and clearing of throats as the two avoided eye contact. “So,” Spike said, a claw nervously grasping at the front of his neck, “I should probably check up on how the prom’s doing. You know, make sure everyone’s having a good time, see if anyone needs me. Acting headdragon stuff.” “Oh, yes, of course. I, I suppose.” “Yeah. Um, have a good night.” “Yes, good night, to you as well.” Some several long seconds passed, yet Spike made no move to leave. There he lingered, dragging his feet back and forth. “Um—“ “Spike, I-I know this rather sudden,” Rarity suddenly exclaimed, “but, ah, I wasn’t given any details on what my responsibilities were tonight, just to act as a chaperone.“ She tried laughing. “Could I, that is to say, would you mind if I were to, accompany you tonight? As an assistant?” “Y-Yeah. Yeah, sure. I’d like that. I mean, if that’s what you want.” More seconds passed. “Then, then perhaps we should be on our way?” Rarity suggested. “Right! Sorry, let’s get going.” And with that, with the same first step, Spike and Rarity began making their way to the courtyard, to the party neither was finding much stomach for. Together.