//------------------------------//
// Two Flare (4) 
// Story: Super Pony Roomies Season 2 
// by TheManehattanite 
//------------------------------//


12


Ponies on the ground craned their heads to take in two streaks circling the Trinity and Realty buildings, one twin lines of violet, the other a single tongue of golden flame. 

Lyja completed her spiral of the Realty building and sliced towards the bridge between the two. The Horseshoe Torch threw out his hooves, conjuring a giant flaming stop sign construct in front of it. 

Lyja let out a yelp and killed her ad-hoc hoof thrusters, dropping out of her flight path and grabbing the ledge, dangling above a twenty one story drop. A startled Horseshoe Torch sailed over her, his thwarted grab giving him too much momentum, and slammed through his own stop sign.

It came apart in chunks and tongues of flame, dragged back into his body. Johnny braked again mid-whirl, now upside down and snorting as sparks flew up his nose. 

He sneezed, inadvertently activating his thermal vision, which kinda worked out: he could see Lyja’s body heat, slightly bluer than the Equestrian average but with neat winking bits in it from her powers, galloping upside down across the roofs. He’d have missed her in disorientated normal vision. Now he could channel his anger productively, with a vengeance.

Lyja skidded to a startled halt as a soccer goal made of fire burst into existence in front of her. She spun around but another was already finishing off its burning netting. 

“Nowhere to run,” the Torch said grimly, hovering only a few feet above her. “No more games!” 

“Oh, honey,” Lyja sighed, then backflipped onto the ledge…and kept on going, into a dive towards the sidewalk. 

Johnny let out an involuntary interrobang, diving after her. She had the gall to causally reach out to him as if for a hug. 

Her smirk wavered as he drew level with her and she saw what he was pulling from his utility collar; a pair of hoof cuffs. Johnny grinned with vindictive mania as he snapped one around her right foreleg. 

Then realised that not only would Lyja probably not survive the torque of a sudden stop, not without losing her cuffed leg at least, neither would he, could he, and, cherry on top, they were still in freefall. 

He slapped a control rune on his collar to release his cuff and free his hoof, looped his now unlit foreleg around Lyja’s waist and spun, changing places with her. He channelled half his propulsion out through his free foreleg, aimed at the ground to keep them stable as he fired the rest out through his hind legs, shooting them forward and out of the dive, a few feet above the asphalt. Pedestrians on the sidewalks stared as one of the strangest meteors they’d ever seen raced down the road. 

“Cab!” Lyja shrieked over the wind, desperately waving her free foreleg, her left. 

Johnny twisted, gritting his teeth as they narrowly avoided colliding with the handsome. He could make out the startled faces of the driver and both passengers receding into the distance. He began fighting now not just to maintain their momentum and his grip on Lyja but to turn them right way round, so he could see where he was ever lovin’ going in moving traffic. In the wrong direction.

The things a pony had to do to be a superhero in this city…

“Truck!” Lyja yelled. Johnny swerved with each wave of her hoof. “Lamp! Tree! Carriage!” 

Johnny cut his flight, using his latest spin to push off the carriage fast enough to avoid setting fire to it, then gunned it. Now right side up and facing forward, both forehooves unlit to grip Lyja’s, her hind legs peddling helplessly above the asphalt, they shot down an intersection, finally out of incoming traffic. He curved sharply to keep Lyja disorientated and join ongoing traffic, rising steadily above it. 

“Don’t worry,” he called over rattling hooves and the occasional engine noise, “soon have you in a nice, quiet cell where the only carts you’ve gotta worry about are which one’s you’re making licence plates for.” 

Lyja snorted even as she had to cross her raised hind legs to avoid scraping a van roof. “Oh yeah, putting the bad guy in jail, that always works so well for you people.”

“So you admit you’re a bad person, great, the system works!”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, lover. These cuffs are made from Mr. Fantastic’s unstable molecules, right?”

“Duh,” Johnny said before he could stop himself, because she wouldn’t ask unless—

Lyja rammed her hoofs off a low-level flagpole, performing a powerful somersault that dragged the startled Torch with her. At its apex she grabbed the other cuff, which he’d completely forgotten about, and suddenly Johnny couldn’t breathe. In mere seconds of hangtime Lyja had stretched the cuff’s band as far as it would go, forming a helix as they flipped right side up that came down around his neck. 

River Reed’s unstable molecular magic reinforced any fabric it was cast into, allowing it to turn invisible with the Phantasmal Pony or survive the Torch’s intense temperatures. The team's utility collars were made of the same stuff and anything that could survive the Thing’s super strong movements would of course be sturdy enough to reduce dangers to the equine neck, but that wasn’t the same as being armoured. And the makeshift garrotte had Lyja’s full dangling body weight behind it. 

“oH cOmE oN!” Johnny gagged furiously, trying to wedge a foreleg into the helix to force it open as he began to dip and weave erratically. 

He attempted to use an involuntary swerve to smash Lyja against a wall, but she countered with this irritatingly awesome wall run out of a Hong Kong action movie. 

Their erratic flight path brought them over a flatbed cart hauling construction supplies. Lyja’s hoof scraped against bricks under a tarp, giving her enough leverage to plant herself and bring the Torch swinging down to slam onto a row of I-beams. Johnny flamed off from the sudden impact, sprawling stunned and breathless on his back like a phoenix cursed into a turtle. 

“You always…have to make…everything so…difficult,” Lyja snarled, twisting the cuff band even tighter, her voice warbling in the piercing ring in Johnny’s ears. 

“Meal…ticket…” he managed to wheeze. 

Lyja froze, giving Johnny enough seconds to slap his collar rune again. The closed cuff around her hoof released, the band loosening. The sudden release, combined with Johnny’s desperate surge upright, sent the Skull toppling backwards off the cart. 

“’Ey!” one of the hauler’s yelled as Johnny hacked and gulped his way back to all fours. “Whaddaya think this is, a parade float?” 

Johnny was too oxygen deprived for a retort, rubbing his throat as he scrambled to get to the edge of his perch without slipping off. The sound of bumping carts and indignant Manehattan accents was rising over the ringing in his ears, even more disorientating. 

He couldn’t have lost her, he couldn’t, not this close. Good news was this impromptu traffic jam would block her in, not enough pedestrians around for her to—

A green tiger with purple stripes and eyes snarled into the air, pouncing off the building supplies to launch itself from cart to cart to van to sidewalk, scattering startled ponies. 

Johnny took a final gulp of cold Manehattan night air, still close enough to the end of the island to taste slightly of salt, and reignited, rocketing after it. 


13


Twilight considered the row of faction masks and symbols as Peter finished laying them out. 

“Run us through them again?”

“Sure.” Peter indicated each face of evil with a hoof. “Everypony knows A.I.M. The Inner Demons’ve been in the news for a while now.” He waved the torn jacket symbol. “You and Applejack helped out with the Tracksuit Draculas—”

“Surprised they’re still up ‘n’ runnin’,” Applejack supplied from the speaker she was helping Pinkie set up. 

“—and this is where it gets interesting.” Peter indicated a crimson ninja hood. “The Hoof Clan.” The white ski mask with sewn in beret. “The Flag Smashers.” A puppet face. “The Tartarus Gate Club’s guards.” And a snake’s head. “And the Sons of the Serpent.” 

“Thought the Hoof were just an urban myth, but so are a lot of things,” Twilight mused, considering the row. “Seen these Flag people in the news now and then, and I recognize the Tartarus Gate heavies, unfortunately…”

“Have they been bothering you with membership again, darling?” Rarity asked, equally concerned and intrigued. She’d met Sir Bastion Shears, current Summer Sorcerer of the club, during her time in Canterlot and she had to admit he was very good at making his Club sound appealing, despite being exactly the sort of stallion you’d associate with Tartarus. 

“Oh, no!” Twilight assured. “But for a bunch of blank faced goons their, uh, goons leave an impression.” 

“Is it that rich people should dress their lackeys up like crash test dummies to save time?” Dash asked, ferrying snacks to the buffet table. 

Twilight smiled at her and returned her attention to the row of masks spread out on the one table that hadn’t been dragooned into poker night service, the one in front of Peter and Johnny’s ‘trophy wall’. 


***


The large amount of space between each resident’s room had been covered in items of dubious personal significance, though she had to admit it was nice how it was all arranged around a poster of Princess Celestia in the centre. But there was the collection itself…

Most of what she could recognise was hero related, scraps of costume, with items on two shelves and the table that were probably equipment. One of Kraken the Hunter’s vests, one of Mysterio’s helmets, that sort of thing. 

The rest was a chaotic mystery to her, such as why the boys felt it necessary to own a plastic alligator with a horned helmet. Or an animatronic werewolf head with a Captain Adventure mask. Or a disturbingly disgruntled looking rubber duck they’d dressed in a tiny suit and bowler hat for the Great Pony in the Sky knows what reason!

Where some cosmopolitan ponies might hang (hopefully fake) swords in imitation of ancient nobility, the boys’ affectionate armoury included a crossed pair of red and black hockey sticks confiscated from Deadfoal and a disassembled grappling gun, its line stretched across the wall, looped repeatedly in the middle so as not to take up the whole space. 

Under that was a shelf bearing assorted musical instruments you could tell were evil because they had little skulls on them, and a set of false Elements of Harmony from one of Flim and Flam’s more ambitious schemes. Twilight made a Marge Simpson-esque grunt of annoyance at the memory, which she still had a scar on her right foreleg from, but her annoyance subsided a little as her eyes automatically homed in on other, more pleasant reminders of her existence. 

Peter had framed an invitation to her coronation for the wall, and a brochure of Ponyville shared space with a collage of flyers. A model hot air balloon painted to look like her own had the honour of being on the table next to one of The Excelsior, the famous airship that had changed Johnny and his family’s lives forever. 

A zen garden on one shelf, another of Johnny’s ‘Oh,-This-Old-Thing?’ projects for dates, sported models of the Golden Oaks Library, Fluttershy’s cottage and Carousel Boutique. The Torch had even somehow found and added one of her new castle. 

Other nods to the Elements included a Pinkie Party invitation (custom party hats Pinkie had made for both roomies respectfully stashed on a shelf next to it), a poster for the opening of the Canterlot Carousel, packaging from Sugar Cube Corner and Sweet Apple Acres used for collage, and a shelf for homemade merch for Ponyville’s official Rainbow Dash fanclub. 

But the rest…

An airship’s wheel, a fake fire hydrant, a horsehead bust wearing sunglasses and one of those fake arrow through the head rigs…the arbitrary list went on and on. For every sincere memento in the boys’ collection there was some ‘DUDE!’ prop, drowning you with embarrassment by association. 

What really summed it up was a plaque under the Celestia poster. It’d originally been attached to the front door, but Twilight and Rarity had nagged the boys into removing it like adults, so they’d planted it here in moody compromise. For no reason Twilight could think of, but felt was unsettlingly apt, it read ‘Hope You Survive the Experience!’

It was like staring into Johnny and Peter’s brains…


***


“Twilight? Hon?” 

Peter had wandered off to pack away more trash bags and had noticed her just standing there, staring into the trophy wall. 

Twilight shook her head. “Sorry! Got…side-tracked.” 

She frowned at the row of faction paraphernalia spread out on the table among cleared memorabilia space, though they already fitted in perfectly. “So. These groups don’t collaborate, not normally.” 

“We’ve been over that,” Dash called irritably from across the room. “Hay, it’s basically the only thing we know!” 

“Well, we know what they were collaborating about, at least. Looting, you said?”

“Yeah, and pillaging.” 

“Alright.” Twilight’s hoof drifted over each mask, contemplatively pointing to the Inner Demon mask and the torn Tracksuit Dracula logo. “That would make sense for these two, but not the rest, right?”

“Right,” Peter agreed, his tone encouraging her to keep following her train of thought. 

“I suppose the Hoof wouldn’t be above robbery—”

“Pillaging,” Dash corrected. 

“—but they’re ninjas, you’d think they’d be stealthier. Why sack one of the city’s busiest streets at sunset when they could just steal whatever they wanted at night?” She tapped her chin. “The Serpents are a cult, maybe they’d think of it as a tribute to whatever it is they worship, but fanatics wouldn’t share, especially not with rival factions.” 

“An’ those Tartarus Gate people’re loaded,” Applejack supplied, helping Dash set up a chalkboard to keep track of tonight’s players. 

“Right,” Peter agreed. “Their corporate raiding’s usually way more subtle. A.I.M’s entire deal is that they don’t care about anything except pushing the envelope. So that’s two sides here that’d only supply muscle to each other. They might split the take, but they wouldn’t pull the job together. And not one that small time!” 

“Alright, let’s try this another way,” Twilight said distantly, telekinetically picking up the chalk without turning around. 

Dash and AJ backed up as it began to draw lines for rows. 

“Their means are similar, so let’s focus on methods and motives. The Inner Demons and the, uh, Tracksuits are local. Pillaging is something they do every day.”

The chalk wrote down both faction names under one line. 

“The Serpents and the Flag Smashers are both out to destroy Equestria as we know it, so they might partner up. Hmm, so why would the Tartarus Gate Club work with them? Their members are all ponies of influence, the last thing they’d want is an end to the status quo.” 

“Not if they can replace it with one more to their liking,” Rarity pointed out from arranging a seating area just so. “These A.I.M. people could be helping them in that regard.” 

“They want a world free of ethical limitations for their experiments,” Twilight agreed. “Hmm, so where does the Hoof fit in? And even then, that’s three groups with very tenuous reasons to work together. What do they all have in common that a ninja clan would want?” 

“Not to assume anything about anypony,” Fluttershy said carefully as Peter helped her put down another tablecloth, “but these kinds of ponies do have a habit of turning on each other.” 

“Like rabid dogs,” Rarity agreed as Twilight nodded, writing down (No) Honour amongst thieves. “They could’ve all gone in knowing they’d be at it later.” 

“Still leaves the question of a link, though,” Twilight said, doodling a money sack with a question mark on it. “And as Peter pointed out, A.I.M. and the club play for bigger stakes. It can’t just be money.” 

“Magic, then,” Dash said. She rolled her eyes as they turned to her. “It’s Equestria, guys.”

“Fair point,” Twilight sighed, sketching Magic? under the sack and writing Motives above both. “I suppose they could’ve used ransacking…42nd Street, was it?” Dash nodded. “As cover for an actual robbery, but again, why not just sneak it out?” 

“Maybe they couldn’t,” Peter suggested.

“Maybe,” Applejack said pointedly, flipping the board over to the blank side, “we should remember why we’re really here?”

“Uh, right, yeah,” Twilight agreed, abashed, and began drawing up three brackets for each of the game tables. “Sorry, mysteries, y’know? Heh!” 

“I know we’re probably better off lettin’ the M.E.U.P. handle it,” Applejack replied, starting to unstack some chairs for building meetings they’d found in the basement.

“You must be new here,” Peter quipped, taking his own stack. 

“Hey, you locals wanna kick over these rocks, go right ahead. Friendship problems keep us busy enough as is, is all I’m sayin’.” 

“Party pooper,” Dash muttered sullenly. 


14


The next few minutes went by fairly quickly, especially once Pinkie fired up the sound-system she’d borrowed from Vinyl Scratch with some motivating tunes. 

If Twilight and Rarity had their druthers the trophy wall would’ve been dismantled, but the boys always got huffy whenever the topic was even implied. In a mixed blessing its presence had meant Pinkie staying fairly restrained when choosing poker themed decorations, helping to give the space a little pizazz even without guests. 

The focus of the evening would be on three tables for the participants, the winners squaring off at the Thing’s central table for the final hands. Under Rarity’s careful arranging they formed a nice “nigh-triskelion” (her word choice, naturally) with the chalkboard both blocking off the left side windows to prevent intrusive street noises, forming a little corral for the game itself. 

The right side of the room held the buffet table, conveniently situated by the kitchen for refills, and two chill out areas made from the boys’ sofa and armchairs, with additional sofas from Twilight’s castle and some spare Sugar Cube Corner chairs around a table. 

There’d been the issue of how much space was still left between the two, even Pinkie’s sound system not filling it up, but Rarity had solved that with a few strategically placed lamps to give the place a club feel and by setting down one of her Saddle Arabian rugs. 


***


“Theeere we go,” Spike cooed, adjusting a corner to make it that little bit straighter. Rarity beamed with approval. 

Twilight hesitated, still telekinetically chalking down the guest list. Spike hadn’t been gone long, sequestering Peter’s costume away for washing somewhere, but he’d come back a bit too chipper for her liking. A lifetime in each other’s pockets meant she could tell when he was trying to drown something out with busywork, a trait she worried she’d imprinted on him. 

“Almost perfect,” Rarity decreed cheerfully, backing up to take it all in. 

“We’re movin’, we’re movin’,” Applejack grunted, pushing some last trash bags into Peter’s room with the stallion’s help. 

“Mmm? Oh, I meant in spite of the wall, darling.” Rarity indicated the trophies with a waving hoof, not dignifying them by turning around. 

“What if we put up some banners?” Spike asked perkily. Rarity blinked at him. “Y’know, tastefully frame some of ‘em, hide the ones that aren’t. We could make ‘em up like cards. If I hurry I could sow some up!” 

“That’s rather more a…renaissance fair type of thing,” Rarity said carefully, “but good thinking all the same.”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble!” 

Peter looked at Twilight, who shrugged haplessly, and then gave the wall of trash bags a final push. 

“An’ I thought Dash had too much junk,” Applejack sighed, removing her Stetson to mop her brow. “You guys ever think maybe ya’ll gotta spendin’ problem?” 

“Why?” Peter asked, slamming his door on most of his property. “Not like we actually paid for most of it.” 

“…that punch ready yet?” Applejack asked Pinkie. She didn’t wait for the party pony's “Yuh-huh.” before beelining for the kitchen. 

“You better not be expecting any help putting all that back,” Dash said, lounging in one of the chillout chairs. “We weren’t even halfway done with it before Twilight sent me out looking for your lazy butt. Plus, I basically did your job for you with quilt boy, and you don’t see my photo on the front page.” 

“Give it time,” Peter deadpanned. 

“Quilt Boy?” Twilight asked. “Is he new?”

“She means the Shaker.” 

“Oh. Was he part of that mess on 42nd?”

“Nah, just passing through. That happens sometimes.” 

“About that,” Dash said awkwardly, realising, “Night and Wings might, kinda, sorta--”

“Aww road apples.” Applejack took another, louder swig of punch. “Tell me ya didn’t say nothin’.”

“They’re on the list, Mom, that’s all.” 

“Oh great, they’re comin’ right to us, that’s swell.” Another pull. 

“Trying to drown yourself before Night comes up with something worse?” Dash leered. 

“Hey, filly is intense.” 

“Dandy’s coming,” Peter supplied, amused. Pinkie perked up but the others looked confused. “Aw nuts, uh, Iron Hoof.” 

“So he’ll calm ‘er down,” Applejack said, trying not to sound too hopeful. Peter hesitated then made a non-comital grunt. 


***


Twilight shook her head and considered the guest list. 


The Thing 


Sue and Reed (maybe) 



The Hex-Ponies 


Which Peter had said could mean either Timberwolf and a few tagalongs or every Hex-team ever, but hey, the bigger the pot, the better.  


Deerdevil 



The Falcon 



Power-Zebra



Iron Hoof



Arrowhead


Mockingbird


Scarlet Whisper


The Vision 


Captain Adventure 



Captain Marvel


Captain Universe 


She dutifully put down Misty Night and Crimson Wings’ names, then, remembering not everypony in the business knew Peter’s secret identity, added Spider-Pony. 

Even with some ‘maybes’ it sounded like a busy evening, including her, AJ, Dash and Rarity getting in on the action. She smirked slightly at the mental image of facing down Peter in the final round. Organizing all this for him at the drop of a hat and then winning the blasted thing? Oh yeah. 

She realised she’d put Iron Hoof’s name above the attending members of the Befrienders and winced, wondering if she should change that. For one thing it wasn’t in alphabetical order. Rainbow and Applejack’s bohemian tendencies rubbing off on her no doubt! But more pressingly…

Antimony ‘Tony’ Spark, the ever so modestly self-described Invincible Iron Mage, was still on the outs with his former teammates and most of the hero community, from what she remembered. She couldn’t blame them. Spark had come forward with the fact he’d founded the Befrienders to essentially spy on its members, in case they were dangerous. Some villain had found out and taken advantage. 

Spark wasn’t attending this year’s game, and no wonder. Twilight knew she’d have been hurting. Still, it was sad. A team could be pragmatic, reformat. If the months since Tirek had taught the Elements anything it was that friendships were wonderful, but not so easy to repair. 

What strange lives these ponies lead. Well, they’re not all ponies, but they ARE people. Maybe this’ll be good for us. 

She looked guiltily at Spike, who was now unnecessarily trying to help Pinkie line up the perfect party mix, as if she hadn’t thrown it together hours ago. 

And maybe being around all these heroes will make Spike feel safer.

Should I have told him about that stupid box? It was for Peter’s peace of mind, he’d have understood. But I didn’t want him to feel…whatever he’s feeling now! 

(Which he wouldn’t if you’d ponied up and done it before now.) Shut up! 

Ugh, I need to get in a party mood. Can’t just go hide in bed now, I made such a show of us joining in. And you’d better believe we’re going to talk about this, Peter Trotter! You too, Johnnycake Storm! 

Ooh, this feels good. I can use this. Sure, it’s totally my brain throwing up something to avoid the Spike problem but on the other hoof, I DO want to bonk their heads together.

“Sugar cube…” Applejack said from a long way away. 

Twilight turned to blink at her, then followed the farm pony’s gaze to her chalk, which had started doodling an X)-faced Alicorn, her stick figure forelegs attached to two scared D8-looking pony heads with familiar manes. 

Worse, over Princess Doodle-Corn’s shoulder the chalk had started on some mass times velocity equations. Twilight chuckled, hastily erasing all of it. 

“Normal!” she squawked. 

Applejack blinked at her. 

“I’m normal,” Twilight clarified. “Yes.” 

Then somepony screamed. Fluttershy! 


15


The tiger crashed through a park, sending terrified Pegasi into the air like pigeons, forcing Johnny to arc widely. One mercy was pedestrian airspace wasn’t as busy during the night, but this was still Manehattan. The further out of the Financial District this got the higher the odds of a civilian collision, especially if Lyja got airborne. 

Come to that, civilians on the ground weren’t exactly safe either. 

He looked up and felt his blood go cold under his blazing epidermis. Lyja was weaving across the road towards the Equitable Building. 

Sue loves going there. The offices on the upper floors have that fancy bank smell. Reed made her a scent bottle that squirts it for her birthday. Her favourite restaurant is in there. She loves their cheesecake. She’d kill for it. She’d kill ME. 

What if SHE’S in there? 

Terror is a one mother of an innovator. In a sudden burst a blazing, brick red fire lion was snarling in front of the Skrull-tiger. Lyja skidded, the tiger’s startled yowling becoming her own voice as she spontaneously shifted back to her true shape, her hooves going every which way as she tried to stop herself. 

The lion collapsed into epidermal fragments and sparks as the Torch swooped around her, his contrail forming a spiralling cage. 

“Sorry,” he smirked, indicating the nearby doors with his head, “too many chins and this is a respectable establishment, can’t let ya in.” 

“Too mainstream anyway,” Lyja smirked back, “think I’ll try somewhere more underground.”

The Torch floated closer as the flames of his cage grew hotter. Lyja winced, turning her face away behind a raised foreleg. 

“Putting you under has a lot of appeal,” Johnny warned. “If you want to make it easier on yourself then don’t wait until E.U.P. processing: what’ve you done with the real Aurora Sheen?” 

“Back up,” Lyja retorted. 

The Torch glared, plasma sheathed eyes glowing brighter than his flames, but relented. A blue edge to the flame spiral faded out as they inched away from the Skrull. Lyja sighed, mopping her brow. 

“Where is she?” Johnny reiterated. 

Lyja hesitated, considering him. “You liked her, huh?”

“Don’t.”

“How long have you known?” 

The Torch simply wafted in the air for a beat. 

“Since you showed up on my doorstep.” 

“What gave me away?”

“Where’s the real Aurora Sheen?” 

Lyja’s mouth curled at a corner. Might’ve been a smile, might’ve been a sneer. The Skrull race’s elfin countenance made it hard to tell without her showing teeth. “Did you at least like the ice cream?”

“Wonderbolts en route, Lyja. Last chance.”  

“Oh Johnny!” she cooed. “The game isn’t anywhere near over yet! You said it yourself, you’re my meal ticket.” She raised a warning hoof, glowing with her power, as he angrily floated closer again. “Now now! All those gas mains and the like, you could hurt somepony.” 

“Gas?” 

“I’m hurt, Johnny! I thought you noticed my little clubbing allusion. I tailored it to you and everything! Underground?”

Johnny’s eyes followed her still glowing hoof as she lowered it. Her other forehoof was lit up too. All her hooves. And she was standing on a steam vent. 

He blinked as Lyja became a slightly too large lizard, her paws still glowing, smoke rising from the melting grate bars. She winked one glowing, reptilian eye. And dropped into darkness. 

Johnny dived through his cage, reabsorbing the flames and hesitated above a mildew smelling stone floor. Even lit up the darkness of the tunnel was oppressive, like the cramped space. No sign of Lyja, but she’d not been subtle before. Gas mains. So many pipes around him, probably for steam, but she’d know he couldn’t be sure. 

Johnny felt strangely calm as he carefully drifted towards the sound of flowing water, taking in the three open tunnel mouth of a sewer junction and a complete absence of lizard or Skrull. Losing her had always been a possibility. 

Which was why he’d made sure to know exactly where to find her this time. 

This time was going to be different.


16


Then somepony screamed. Fluttershy! 

Dash was in the air instantly, her lounger overturning. Peter sprang onto the table in a combat crouch, Applejack almost skidding into Rarity as she raced over. Unnoticed by anypony, Discord’s head burst out of the fridge, looking around wildly. 

Fluttershy had been arranging some decorations around the balcony when a horned shadow had landed on the railing. Now she was backing into the room, hesitating as she recognized it for what it was. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry!” 

She turned to look at Peter over her shoulder. “Um. It’s for you?”

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” the deer said, stepping into the light. He gave Fluttershy a crooked but abashed smile, the confused faces of her friends reflecting in his dark glasses. 

Peter straightened up and sprang off the table. “Matt? Hey!” 

He trotted up to clasp the deer’s extending foreleg. Discord rolled his eyes and primly pulled the fridge shut.  

“Peter,” Matt Maplewood said, nodding around the room. “Ladies. Spike, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah,” the dragon agreed. “Hi?” 

“Mr. Maplewood!” Rarity breezed up for a hoofshake. “A pleasure to see you again.” 

“Ms. Belle.” At least he didn’t try to kiss her hoof. “Heard you ladies would be hosting this year. Glad to confirm it. Sorry again for the surprise, came over the roofs, was trying to be discreet.” 

Applejack rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t exactly blame Rarity. Maplewood wasn’t her type, but the guy clearly looked after himself. Good build. Solid but sleek. And the aesthetics! 

The reddish-brown tint of his coat with all those neat black patches, almost like inked on shadows, moving when he did. And pretty nicely set off by a white patch around his muzzle and his neatly cut orange-red hair. Framed it all real nice. His antlers weren’t as dynamic as the ones on his mask, but short and sleek enough. 

Thing was, Matt also came off like how Johnny would if he knew what he was doing, especially around a mare like Rarity. Who seemed to be trying to be just as bad to match him.

“You’re…not in costume,” Peter said carefully. 

Indeed not. Matt seemed to be in a business-casual mood tonight, wearing a black suit jacket over a simple red t-shirt. One of several he’d had printed recently, red to provide a background for the white letters ‘I'm Not Deer Devil.’ 





It was so striking you barely noticed his saddlebag or his cane, looped by a red strap around one foreleg. 

“Trying something out,” Matt smiled. 

Applejack and Twilight exchanged one of their Designated Sensible Ones glances. 

Matt Maplewood was good company when he wasn’t in a brooding mood, which you could have forgiven him for adopting full time since it was only a year and a half ago his secret identity had been leaked to the press. 


***


Of course the firm of Mason & Maplewood had been investigated, but to no definitive proof. Matt had been placed under protective custody for a while, coinciding with a rash of other creatures in Deerdevil costumes. 

Was he the Deer Without Fear? Medical examination proved he was blind, but could the docs have been in on it? If this guy was ol’ Horn Head how come the papers showed the Scarlet Swashbuckler kidnapping him? Was it true Fierce Wisdom, the alleged  Crime King, was anonymously paying his legal fees? So how come there was all those folks saying they got in a fight in some restaurant? (Others said it was on a freeway.) Didn’t Maplewood have an identical twin brother or something?  

Manehattan hadn’t known what to think, fascinated by this latest chapter of one of its urban legends. Princess Celestia’s official statement was that every citizen of Equestria, vigilante or not, was entitled to protection under the law, and had advised the city to drop the wheel spinning mess to focus on less high profile but just as vital everyday cases. 

Matt (though not the faux-Devils, apparently) had vanished for months (or, if you wanted to give yourself a headache, maybe Matt used their existence as cover to get his hero groove back?) before resuming something of his old existence with this new…attitude. 

From what Peter had confided to Twilight, his old friend seemed to be banking on the press losing interest now that ‘Deerdevil Exposed!’ wasn’t the hot story anymore, meaning nopony cared if Matt Maplewood and Deerdevil were the same or not. Hence his, ahem, devil may care approach to life. 

Such as making and actually wearing those shirts, which were also allegedly supplementing his income now that his law career was in flux. Technically Matt wasn’t disbarred, but in some ways he may as well have been. Judges raised eyebrows at the prospect of a vigilante arguing cases and any opposition was fully prepared to bring it up, fact or not. 

Mason & Maplewood was mostly Mason these days, with Matt stepping back to act as a legal advisor, coaching clients to represent themselves. Which didn’t pay nearly as well, even if the partners’ client list had doubled. After all, if he was Deerdevil…

In either identity, Matt seemed determined to make the most of his new situation, trying out new things, cooking, music, dancing, and flirting. Both with interested parties like Rarity and how exposed he now was. After all, if he wasn’t Deerdevil he was simply a quirky resident of Hob’s Garden, having a good laugh over a case of mistaken identity. 

If he was…wanna make something of it? 

So. Since Matt was one of Peter’s friends there were now higher odds of the Elements meeting him in more social circumstances. Deerdevil had worked with Pinkie Pie a few times, not as odd a pairing as you’d think, and Rarity certainly seemed willing to play whatever game was going on between them. Dash was very pro ‘Without Fear’. Hay, worse friends to have in a scap than a lawyer. Who could tell if anypony was lying to you. And knew kung fu! Matt had many sterling qualities. 

He might also be having a very gradual nervous breakdown. 


***


“Hi ya, Mr. Red!” Pinkie said, using the nickname she’d given the hero.  

“And a very good evening to you, Pinkie Pie!” Matt beamed, hugging her suddenly. Pinkie was as caught off guard as everypony else but returned it enthusiastically. 

He can hear heartbeats, Twilight thought as Matt promptly straightened up, simply patting Pinkie’s shoulder, pulse rates, changes in breathing. He knows how we just reacted to that better than we do. He’s fully aware how nervous he’s making me, and he’s known Peter for years. 

“Didn’t know you were taking this year so seriously, Peter,” Matt said, still casual. 

“Well yeah, it’s not over yet,” Peter retorted, smirking for a beat. “Oh, you meant poker night.” 

“I meant you don’t usually call in the Elements unless you’re totally out of your depth. Granted, they’re good people and you’re you, but...”

“I don’t—!” Peter began to protest, and stopped because he felt Twilight, Applejack, Rarity and Dash’s eyes snapping onto him. “They’ve, uh, agreed to join us. And this is all them.” He waved at the room, tables and decorations, then froze. 

“I can read the room,” Matt said smoothly. “Though I didn’t expect it to be so quiet.”

“Oh, I can turn down--” Pinkie began, turning towards her sound system. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Matt chuckled, waving her to a stop. “I meant I can’t pick up the Torch, nowhere on the block. When’s Johnny checking in?”

“Who knows?” Peter sighed. 

“Who cares?” Dash supplied. “He dumped all of this on us.” She waved pointedly at Peter.

“Let’s hope you’re that quick when the cards start flying,” Peter retorted. 

“Care to have a lil’ gentle-mare’s wager on it?” Dash simpered, leaning into his face. “Or should I just shove your hoof in your mouth now to save time?”

“On that note,” Matt chuckled, reaching into his bag. He passed Peter a crimson money pouch, which the pony had to quickly catch with his other hoof because it was just a little too large to be balanced in one pad. 

Peter raised an eyebrow and pulled the draw string with his teeth, Applejack and Dash craning over his shoulders to see inside. Their eyes widened to almost the size of the gems.

“For the pot,” Matt said cheerfully, probably enjoying the beats their hearts all skipped. 

“Whoa,” Spike said, hungrily. 

“People really like those shirts,” Matt smiled. 

Everyone turned, surprised as an appreciative whistle came not from Applejack but Rarity. “What? I’m the sophisticated one so I can’t express simple sentiments?” 

Twilight telekinetically pulled the bag shut again and levitated it into one of the bowls on a table, symbolizing the collective pot for the night. “Thank you, Mr. Maplewood.”

“Matt please, Princess.”

“Oh, of course, but only if you call me Twilight!” 

“I’d be delighted.” Matt turned to Fluttershy and held out his hoof as if for a shake. “And I’d like to apologize, Ms. Fluttershy. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, that’s--” Fluttershy began, stopping mid-reach as the stag flipped his cane into his hoof. Matt performed some sort of twist with the handle and it became his signature set of billy clubs. Fluttershy blinked as he flourished one to her and some flowers sprouted out of the head. “Oh! Gosh, thank you. These are some of my favourites!” 

“Luck of the devil, I suppose,” smiled Matt, a deer who could smell not only what kinds of fields someone spent their time in but also what the weather had been like. 

Rarity made a bit of a face as Fluttershy accepted the offering but not for long, as Matt offered her the other club, sprouting a bouquet of her favourites. Peter’s face was a mix of resigned and curious. It had been a while since Matt used that hidden compartment feature, usually for red coloured smoke to disorientate opponents. 

“Thanks,” Dash deadpanned, less easily impressed, as Matt offered up her favourites. She took the bouquet and pointedly took a bite out of it. 

“Since we’re ponyin’ up an’ all,” Applejack said, making it clear she wasn’t interested either. “How’s about we share a table? Not everyday ya get to play against a livin’ lie detector. Hay of a challenge.” 

She retrieved her own pay in, a small transparent bag of gems taken from the Bank of Ponyville earlier that evening, and lobbed it onto Matt’s table before Twilight could reach for it. 

“My pleasure,” Matt agreed. 

“I should probably start drawing up the brackets,” Twilight said, telekinetically accepting Dash, Rarity and Peter’s pay ins. 

She gave him a look over her shoulder as she put them in the same bracket. Matt smirked, raising an eyebrow over his glasses as Peter gulped. 

Spike padded up to Matt, trying not to fidget and not quite willing to break off his conversation with Pinkie, but somewhat motivated because it was also with Rarity, who was trying to draw him into a secluded corner. The stag turned to him, sensing his presence, waiting politely. 

“Hey, uh, Mr…Deer?”

“You can call me Matt, Spike.” 

Rarity smiled at that. 

“Cool. Uh, listen, this might be kinda tacky, but, well, don’t suppose you’d…that is if it’d be okay wouldja mind…?” Spike fumbled with his autograph book. 

“Spike’s my go to whenever I have to gussy up my store,” Rarity cut in. “And a great help tonight. He deserves a lot more, but he’s generously prepared to settle for a few autographs.” 

“My pleasure,” Matt said and held out his club. A flick and it now had the nib of a pen. 

“Wow. Thanks!” Spike admired the neat scrawl. “Heh, I like how your Ds have little horns.” 

“That way nobody suspects my real identity,” Matt smiled. “I hope the autograph hunt goes well. Pro tip, Timber’ll be happy to oblige but wait until the rest of the Hex-Ponies arrive.” 

“Uh, okay?” Spike squinted, sharing mystified looks with Rarity. 

He headed over to the tables to do one last inspection, where Dash was having a not-argument with Peter and Twilight. Peter waved Spike down, keeping an eye on Matt, who was talking to Applejack now but could still hear a concealed crossbow being loaded five blocks away. 

“We have a gentle-mare’s wager,” Dash stated bluntly, “even if he is trying to get out of it.”

“Am not,” Peter said, pointing to Spike’s autograph book. “And no we don’t!” 

“Not with that attitude.” 

“I’m not arguing about this,” Twilight said. “I’m facing him first. End of discussion.” 

“Thanks, honey,” Peter said dryly as Spike held up his fresh autograph. 

“Yours is still at home, man,” Spike assured. 

“Oh, it’s not that.” Peter looked guiltily at Matt, laughing at something Pinkie had said. He squinted at the stag’s message, not sure how to feel. 


To Matt’s friend Spike, 
DeerDevil


Matt was one of his oldest friends in the business and Peter would be lying if he said the zen master of Hob’s Garden routine never got under his coat. It was fun to bust schomes with the audacious, insouciant in the face of danger, Hey,-Look-At-What-I-Can-Do-With-My-Sticks Deerdevil he remembered from their early days, but was it a regression? Or something more? 

Best part, he didn’t have much room to judge; he wasn’t the one having to handle this nightmare scenario. At least Matt had coping mechanisms.

‘Matt’s friend’, though. Those shirts. 

“You’ll have your whole lives together,” Rainbow Dash was countering. 

“Seriously?” Twilight squinted. 

“No, I’m sayin’ stuff’ll add up.”

“True, but I’m mad now.”

“Wait.” Peter turned to her, handing Spike his book back. “You’re mad?”

Twilight’s eyes flashed solid purple. 

“Smooth,” Dash breezed. 

“No, I mean,” Peter clarified hurriedly, waving at the board. “I thought we were in the same bracket.”

“Oh yes,” Twilight said coldly. 

“So we aren’t teaming up?”

“…in a poker game?”

“It happens!” 

“No, we are not teaming up! You wanted me here, you can try your luck against me!” 

“Uh, no he can’t,” Dash insisted, “because I’m gonna win that side bet so hard he’ll wake up in a dumpster missing a kidney.”

They all blinked at her. 

“Just because poker’s a game doesn’t mean I’m playing around.” 

“It’s not happening, Rainbow,” Twilight said. 

“Thanks, honey.”

“You hush. I don’t care if I make it to Mr. Grim’s table, Johnny’s not here and Peter is, so he’s mine.” 

Dash considered the board for a beat, turning back before Spike could escape. “Okay, how about we double team him?” 

“Go on,” Twilight prompted as Peter’s eyes widened. 

“Eh, pretty basic. Put us in the same bracket, we both get what we want and have fun doing it. At his expense.” 

“You’re a true friend, Rainbow Dash.” Twilight reached out and shook her hoof as Peter facehoofed. 


***


Twilight began redrawing the brackets, which she’d adjust as more guests arrived. Not everypony would be playing and the Thing, founder and last year’s winner, would be sitting most of the game out until the final round. 

There was a thumping outside, then everypony but Matt flinched as somepony rapped at the door. It sounded like a log being swung against the door’s own wood. 

“It’s Timber,” Matt supplied, refilling Rarity’s drink. 

Peter opened his mouth, looking relived, then thought about it and slumped a little. The knocking started up again. He performed a Spidey-leap across the room and unlocked the door. “Timber,” he said, voice neutral. 

“Kid.” 

The other Earth Pony’s voice wasn’t a growl or a rumble exactly, more like…well, what you’d get if a timber wolf could talk. Earthy. Prowling. It felt like it was coming deep down from inside a chest far bigger than its owner. 

The Elements regarded the figure on the doorstep as Peter stepped aside. They’d rarely seen him out of costume, which…might be some tatters dangling from his neck, but they recognised his blue grey coat and of course his tangled, navy and cobalt streaked mane. It followed the curves of his face almost like a lion’s and swept up past his ears, practically into points. 

Timberwolf, best there was at what he did, was about Peter’s size, a little under the Equestrian stallion average, but stockier than the Spider-Pony. Compact was probably a good word, and Peter would’ve taken full advantage of an opportunity to say Timber was full of it.  


***


The two actually worked together a lot, like…a lot a lot, and worked well, but the magic of friendship would have its work cut out. Their respective rebellious streaks always scraped off each other. Without lives on the line, they didn’t have that many reasons to tamp it down. 

Twilight tried not to bite her lip. 

Full disclosure, yes, Timberwolf made her nervous but mainly because she’d seen him in action, and he seemed the type that would take that as a compliment. He’d actually struck her as a sort of gruffly sociable and even a little cheeky…when he wasn’t snarling like his namesake and hacking automatons to ribbons with his indestructible claws. 

Once you heard that distinctive SNIKT you could never forget it. 

She knew from many, many hours of Peter kvetching about the other hero that he respected Timber’s altruism but deplored his more, uh…extreme methods, even as simple scare tactics. She wasn’t sure how to feel about them herself. The Hex-Pony made no secret of being prepared to use those claws of his for more than just disarming an enemy if he thought it was necessary, seeming only to hold back in most cases out of respect of his team’s sensibilities. 

On the other hoof, she and Peter had methods of restraining enemies that other ponies didn’t, and while he didn’t seem as socially conscious as the rest of the Hex-Ponies Timberwolf was still a Hex-Breed. An Exquestrian. What you saw certain types of paper refer to as ‘The Mutant Menace’. The distrust he faced was very different from Spider-Pony or Deerdevil’s relatively simple masked vigilantism. 

And it wasn’t like Princess Celestia’s faithful student, who’d only had to think about a real job at age 17 because her parents had read magazines with phrases like ‘building character’, could comment much on any of their situations.


***


Timber also looked shorter than he actually was because of a large crate full of bottles on his back. Peter stepped aside and raised an eyebrow as it clanked past his nose. Small Folk Ale declared the labels. 

Timber’s chartreuse yellow eyes, slightly more canine than pony, swept the room once. Other than pausing on the sound system, furrowing his brow at the (insert old timey pejoratives here) the kids were listenin’ to these days, his expression was as impassive as ever. Sometimes you had to wonder why he bothered with a mask at all. 

“Hey,” Dash said, raising a hoof in greeting. “Long time no see.”

Timber nodded back. “Thought I recognised your scent, kid. Evenin’ all. Maplewood.” 

“Timber,” the lawyer acknowledged, saluting with his drink. 

It wasn’t just the crate. Timber’s body language, even at trotting pace, could put you in mind of a stalking wolf or lion. As he got closer, they could make out the sharper than normal slits of his nose, apparently as good if not better than Deerdevil’s own. 

The Elements tried not to stare at six streaks around the tips of his hooves. They knew what those were for. 

“Uh, wanna hoof with that?” Applejack asked, indicating the crate. 

“’S all good.” 

Timber turned, sliding the crate off his back and onto the counter. Everypony flinched at the clanging glass. Now they were trying not to stare at his cutie mark. It was two shadows, similar to the eye/ear segments of his mask, even coming with glaring white eyes of their own, but over it…it was a faint character, 蹄, directly over his mark. A brand? A tattoo? A burn? It didn’t look natural and almost like it should be glowing. 

Timber was fishing around inside the crate now and pulled out a folded scrap of leather. It smelled like him, not unpleasant but foresty, metallic, and very present. “Pay in,” he explained, holding it up. “Pot?”

“I’ll get that,” Twilight said quickly, smiling and taking it in her field. 

Timber nodded and pulled out a bottle of Small Folk. He pulled the cork with his teeth and spat it into the crate, reminding Applejack and Rainbow Dash why they didn’t mind teaming up with the guy. He turned to Rarity, surprised as she stepped up and held out a hoof. 

“Lovely to see you again, Mr. Timber.” Her smile became more genuine. “I know I must’ve thanked you for looking after Sweetie Belle during that one…incident a while ago, but I’d like to again.”

“All part’a the service, darlin’,” the Hex-Pony smiled, accepting her hoof. “You joinin’ in tonight?”

“Oh, depend upon it, darling,” Rarity chuckled. “Don’t expect me to take it easy on you!” 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Timber smirked, and relaxed against the counter with his brew. “Nice digs ya got here, kid. Doesn’t smell’a burnin’ as much as I’d figure. Where’s the matchstick, by the way?”

“Sitting this one out,” Peter said. “How about you guys? I know it’s a long way to come from San Foalsisco, it’s cool if not everypony can make it.” 

“Eh, everypony could use a break. ’Sides, Summers ‘n’ Chuck’re all about tradition.”

“Wait.” Peter perked up. “Cyclops is coming? Are…are we gonna get to see Sweater Vest Slim?!”    

Timber made an affirmative grunt and took another swig. 

“Who’s that?” Pinkie asked. “They sound fun!” 

“Sweater vests sound fun to you?” Dash asked. 

“If ponies have fun wearing them, sure!” 

“It’s awesome,” Peter enthused. “Slim Summers, y’know, Cyclops, guy with the…” He mimed a visor over his face. “See most ponies assume he must be a big stiff all the time, right, but no, get togethers like this he always makes an effort. It’s weird because he’s so tame but he’s putting so much energy into it, it’s super endearing, and oh man, he always, always comes in this mind-bending sweater vest! Rarity, wait’ll you see it, it’s like accessing the 5th dimension in yarn!” 

Rarity chuckled uncertainly. 

“So anyway,” Timber resumed, “him ‘n’ Jeanie, naturally--”

The Elements and Spike turned to Twilight instantly, who hadn’t moved because she’d started projecting a hardening, ceramic kind of aura. “Oh,” she said carefully. “Je Ne Ce Quoi. 'Call me Jean!' Her. That’s nice.” 

“An’ her an’ Ororo an’ the Elf an’ Hank an’ the ice cube, maybe the Cajun if he’s on the continent right now.” 

“Gambit?” Peter asked, glancing at Matt. “Huh. That’ll be interesting. Be good to see Rocky again.” 

“Yep.” 

“Dunno who most’ve those names’re supposed to be,” Applejack supplied, “but if they’re friends of yours then we’ll be happy to deal ‘em in. Won’t we, Twi?” 

“I won’t start anything if she won’t,” Twilight said primly. Timber looked amused. Matt, aware he was missing something, turned to Peter, who desperately shook his head. He silently prayed Twilight wouldn’t put herself and the psychic in the same bracket. 

“So how’s the Hex-biz these days?” Dash asked, perching on the counter next to Timber. 

“Eh. Foalsisco’s changed since my time, but the kids’re settelin’ in an’ that’s the main thing. Princess is dealin’ with this plan to kick us off the EEA, but we’re still an official school an’ everythin’. Couple rescues here, giant robots there, y’know how it is.” 

“The EEA,” Matt prompted, stepping forward. “Is it breed related? If you need any help, I have a licence to practice in Stallifornia.”

“It is what it is, bub, but Summers probably won’t say no. You can hash it out once the Blackbird’s parked.” Timber tossed his bottle into the recycling bin without looking and pulled out another. “Speakin’ of, clock’s tickin’. Shouldn’t you two get your party suits on, or are we gonna look like normal people for a change?” 

He said this while scratching his ear with his hindleg. 

“Suit…?” Spike’s eyes went wide. “Oh crud!” 

He spun on his tail and raced to the hall. The adults looked at each other. 

Matt shrugged. “Bathroom?” he asked Peter. 

“Uh, on the left,” Peter said, indicating the hall door with his tail. He was focused on Spike throwing the right-side closet door open and scrambling to climb over the mountains of junk 616B’s occupants had filled it with. 

Matt saluted the group with his drink, finished it and trotted off. Twilight and Applejack followed, heading for Spike. 

“I should get changed though, yeah,” Peter decided, popping his neck. 

“I’m so sorry!” Spike called from the closet. 

“…why?” Peter asked. 

“The washer, I completely forgot about it!”

“What washer?”

“Your washer,” Twilight shot back, standing by the door. “Clearly.”

A beat, everypony looking at Peter. 

“…we have a washer?” he asked the universe in general.

Twilight let out a restrained variant of her “UUUGH!” noise and levitated some junk out of the way. Peter looked sheepish. 

Spike came scrambling back out, holding something wet smelling in his paws. “I’m so sorry, Pete! I was just so busy checking on everything and then people started showing up, and, uh…”

Peter trotted over to take a look. At first he thought it was a set of Spike’s clothes, but the dragon hadn’t brought any over and apart from his Winter and formal wear he didn’t have much need of a wardrobe. The stretch of blue and red drying in his paws looked like it’d do for a teddy bear. 

Blue and red…

“Oh,” Peter said simply. 

He held out a hoof, mesmerised. Spike slid the shrunken Spider-Pony costume into his pad, equally transfixed. 

Timberwolf let out a barking sound. He was laughing, mixed with Rainbow Dash’s own howls as she toppled off the counter. 

“All good, Spike,” Peter assured, smiling. “I’ll just slip into my spare--”

“Nooooo you won’t, darling,” Rarity said, staring calculatingly into the distance. Peter turned to her. “Because you don’t have one.” 

“What?”

“You don’t have a spare costume,” Rarity clarified. “When we were casing…ahem, that is cleaning out your room I took a tiiiiny little itty-bitty peek in your closet. You’ve got some gloves, boots and an extra mask—all of which could do with a good cleaning, I must say—but no, you don’t have a full set. Spider-Pony: Not Right Now, as it were.” 

Peter stared at her as Rainbow Dash’s laughter redoubled. Twilight’s horn flashed, sealing the Pegasus inside a muffling bubble as she began to pound the floor. She trotted up to Spike, putting a hoof on his shoulder as Peter’s eyes began to track desperately back and forth. 

“I’m sure everypony won’t mind,” Fluttershy tried. 

“Yeah,” Pinkie agreed. “Hay, I forget to put on clothes all the time!”

“Not everypony in the business knows who I am,” Peter said, sounding like he was about to fall into a ravine. 

“Oh for…” Applejack bit down on the countryisim and adjusted her Stetson. “Will it matter? This is your place an’ all. Johnny bailed, his roomie stepped up, sounds clean cut to me.” 

“I don’t need that much attention!” Peter snapped. 

“I’m so sorry,” Spike repeated. 

“I can’t…” Peter ran a hoof through his mane. He squeezed his eyes shut. “No, and if I, that is, Spidey doesn’t show up people will wanna know why, and I can’t lie about some villain or whatever. Misty Night’s coming, she’ll check, Jean’s a mind reader. Ugh, but I’ve gotta keep the business out of my personal life, so many ponies know already!” 

“Ain’t a picknick for me either if that helps, bub,” Timber said casually. 

“Oh, shut up!”

“I could, uh, I could make you another?” Spike asked. “I mean, Rarity could maybe--”

“Not without a lot of extra fabric and even more time,” Rarity said. 

“It’s okay, Spike,” Twilight assured, patting his shoulders and leaning towards Peter to enunciate. “Isn’t it, Peter?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Peter was staring into the distance and danced a sudden jig of desperate inspiration. “Spike! Uh, Twilight! Both of you! Your place! We keep a spare at the castle!” 

“Well ain’t you movin’ up in the world,” Timber smirked. 

“How about I move my hoof upside your muttonchoped head, you--”

“Uh,” Twilight said, eyes desperately scanning the floor. “Uh. Good plan, dear, but. Uh.”

Peter followed her gaze, then began to turn around and around in place, coming to the same realisation. 

616B had been dolled up for poker night, its layout now disguised under tables and decorations. Twilight’s love portal back to Ponyville could technically be opened anywhere in Peter’s home, or any space they shared, magic, the point was it was advisable to do it in the centre of a room with plenty of space, a 3rd/4th dimensional all hooves and tails inside the ride at all times kind of deal. 

Twilight couldn’t make out her usual space, which was probably somewhere under Rarity’s rug, but there was so much occupying the living room now. They’d need some time to clear it, which would mean rearranging all the party stuff, and time was—

There was a knock at the door. 

Beat. Another knock. 

“Stall them,” Twilight and Peter said in sync. 

“How?” Rarity, Applejack and Spike asked at once. Dash was too busy laughing in her field. 

“Seems more like you need a good distraction,” Timber said idly. “A real good distraction.” 

The bathroom door swung open, and Matt casually trotted out. Everypony stared at him with varying expressions as Dash finally stopped laughing. Timberwolf simply raised an eyebrow. 

“A distraction, you say,” Deerdevil said pleasantly. 

He was wearing his full scarlet and crimson devil costume. And over that, his I'm Not Deerdevil shirt.


17


The hotel wasn’t the Ritz but was ritzy enough for her needs. 

She inhaled, squeezing her eyes shut as she trotted up the steps, savouring the feel of the red velvet and the scent of (moderate) success. What a day! 

“Long day, ma’am?” Door Handel the door pony asked. 

“Oh Handy, you have no idea. Any mail?” 

“Uh, while ago, yeah. Housekeeping took it up. If you check with reception the café’d be happy to send a cup of something up as well?” 

“Maybe after a shower, you absolute dream of a dear.” 

They looked after you here. Well, they looked after Ms. Imagine Berry here. 

She didn’t ask at reception, the best thing after a shower would be to relax in the in-house café’s cappuccino foam and faux-marble atmosphere, like a spa. Her legs could certainly use it, sweet suns. That run. She’d have to hit the gym later, maybe change first. Less ponies keeping track of her movements the better, but she couldn’t let tonight weigh her down. She needed to keep herself sharp while she laid low. 

She trotted to the line at the elevators, trying not to let her hair down too much. 

“Ms. Berry,” greeted a Pegasus business pony.

“Ms. Charter.”

“How goes…what is it you do again, sorry?” 

“Oh, hardly matters,” she said, suppressing a yawn. Stars, she was crashing. “I don’t know if I’m going to be doing it for a while.” 

The elevator dinged and up she went. 


***


She waited until the snob and the drone who handled the thing were behind the doors before enjoying another inhale, filling herself with the smell of her floor. Her floor. One she’d picked for tonight, one of several she could have all over this so-called Kingdom whenever she wanted. 

Yes, a shower, maybe a nap, some room service. Change and take in some nightlife? She did deserve it, date night turning into…whatever that was. That was the benefit of her assignment. She could twist it into what she wanted it to be. 

Hmm, no sign of the package by the door. (Her door!) Maybe she could complain, just for the fun of it. No, pointless to draw the attention, and she liked the place well enough to put up with the staff. She’d left her key in her stash, but the sun would go out before she couldn’t pick an Equestrian lock. 

She hesitated in the darkness. Smell of outside air even though she was sure the windows were shut. Could house keeping have opened one? If they’d made off with her package…

Which she didn’t remember ordering. 

She hit the lights as fast as she could, not crying out when she saw him sitting on his haunches in the living room. 

He kicked the box at his hooves towards her, but it wasn’t a combat move. She stared down at it, at the terrible sight of her other name, then up at him. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look happy either. 

“Who do you think—?!” she began, but it petered out as she looked into his eyes. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t know, what was the point. 

She wiped the look of surprise off her face and began to adopt a combat stance, but she could feel her body starting to shake. Not from fear, she’d never be afraid of him, but he was so still. He looked so tired. She didn’t know what was happening. 

“Alright Lyja,” Johnny Storm said quietly. “How're we really playing this?” 


To be Continued