The lonely dragon trudged through the foot deep snow as the blizzard howled around him. It was almost pitch dark, the only way that he could navigate was by the faint glow of the village ahead. He was heading up a gentle incline, and he thanked his lucky stars that it wasn’t more sheer than it was. The faint flecks of snow whipped in front of his eyes and he found that if he focused on them for too long it created a mesmerizing effect that made him feel dizzy. Instead, he tried to keep his eyes fixed on the silhouettes of the thatched hut-tops against the glow of numerous torchlights and at least one bonfire.
“Come on Spike,” He muttered to himself. “Just a little further.”
The wind snatched the words from his lips as soon as he’d spoken them, and if it wasn’t for the inner monologue running through his mind, he might’ve been convinced he’d never uttered them at all. Despite being able to see the village he was still at least a good ten minutes' walk away, and although his kind were resistant to the cold, he knew he had to find shelter, and fast. He’d long since removed his blanket from his backpack, and he clutched it around his shoulders, though it offered precious little protection against the elements. In retrospect, it had been foolish of him to go gallivanting off to Yakyakistan without so much as a coat or a pair of boots, but then, he hadn’t expected to be travelling anywhere at night. He gritted his teeth against the cold. Easy peasy marinated in citrus juice his ass. He’d forgotten how stubborn and arrogant Yaks could be. What an idiot he’d been for expecting that all it would take would be a flash of the royal seal to get that flea-bitten trader to move. It had taken hours of negotiation, persuasion and veiled threats to convince him, and he’d still have to have a follow-up meeting to ensure that their final agreement had stuck. Now it was the dead of night, he was forced to walk to the nearest village in desperate search of sanctuary, and what was somehow worse, he’d lost a day of being able to drop in on Rarity. Oh well. He’d waited this long. Spike wiped at his goggles, once again mentally thanking his super-sonic friend for her gift. Of course, he could be at the Yak village within thirty seconds by flight, but he daren’t, not in these conditions. He wasn’t a bad flyer, but he reckoned that Rainbow Dash herself would have difficulty in this. Grimly he continued his slow but steady pace, eyes fixed dead head on his destination.
By the time he actually approached the gates of the village he was physically shivering, something that he couldn’t remember ever having happened to him before. The two guard Yaks on either side of the open wooden gate regarded him with mild curiosity, and despite the bitter cold Spike allowed his blanket to fall open at the front, and he made both of his palms visible, showing the Yaks that he was unarmed, and not looking for trouble. One of the guards gave a low whistle when they saw his bare chest.
“Huh. Dragon made of tough stuff.” He said once Spike had stepped within earshot. “Yaks like that. Tourist?”
“I, uh...yeah.” Spike replied feebly. It wasn’t technically true, but he really wasn’t in the mood for a long conversation about why he was really in Yakyakistan. His eyes were drawn past the guardsyaks, down the path to what looked like the village square, where right in the middle there raged a huge bonfire, twice his height. He eyeballed it longingly, the dancing flames reflected in his emerald eyes. The Yaks looked him up and down for what felt like an eternity. They were both brown furred, their eyes obscured by their long, braided hair. Each of them wore canvas straps around their midriff which suspended a scabbarded short sword, and each of them blew plumes of steam into the frigid air as they breathed. Their huge horns glistened in the torch light as they moved their heads up and down, thoroughly inspecting the purple dragon. Spike wasn’t sure how they could even see him though their fur, but apparently see him they most assuredly did. He was about to speak to try and convince them to let him pass, but the rightmost Yak beat him to it.
“Dragon welcome.” He said in a gruff but welcoming tone. “Yaks best hosts. This best Yak village. Home of Prince Rutherford!”
“Thank you,” Spike breathed, forcing his teeth not to chatter as he spoke. He stepped forward, and was just about to cross the threshold, when the other Yak held across a foreleg to block his progress.
“Dragon no cause trouble,” He warned, gesturing to his sword with a mighty horn. “Dragon regret it if do.”
“I won’t.” Spike pleaded. “I promise.”
The Yak nodded, satisfied. He lowered his leg, and Spike half walked, half jogged down the ramshackle street to the sweet, sweet warmth of the bonfire.
The Dragon bounded down the gravelly pathway, not really taking in his surroundings. Various mud and straw huts with thatched roofs blurred past his peripheral vision, but all of his attention was focused on the fire in front of him. After a few more moments of labored running, he was there, and he felt his cold skin get the tingle of warmth from the flames. There were two rings of logs around it, the outer one had gaps of several feet between each one, and Spike supposed that these were makeshift benches for creatures to perch on to heat themselves for a few minutes. There was nocreature about right now though, and Spike couldn’t say he blamed them. The inner ring of logs contained no gaps and was only a meter away from the raging inferno, probably as a low-key safety feature. Spike snorted a laugh as he dropped his backpack and blanket on the ground, before stepping over the inner ring. Clearly, they weren’t laid here with Dragons in mind. Once he was over and had taken a step and half towards the flames he began to feel like his old self once again. The shivering ceased, and the feeling began to come back into his hands and feet. He sighed a sigh that was one-part relief, one-part contentment. He faced the fire for a few minutes, before rotating his body so he could toast his back. OK, then. Now what?
The Dragon blew out a lungful of steam and looked around the dimly lit streets. There were lit torches at the corners and at regular intervals thereafter, but so far all he had seen was row after row of dark huts. There were a few that had the suggestion of lamplight coming from their curtained windows, but they weren’t of much help. Everything he was seeing was telling him that these were all private dwellings. There had to be a hotel or something somewhere, didn’t there? Tartarus, he’d take a shed at this point. He took a tiny stroll around the circumference of the fire, just to see if he could see anything promising on the other side. He glanced around, and then found what he was looking for. There was a hut over on the far corner that was maybe twice as large as the rest, with saloon style doors and a hanging sign outside that he couldn’t make out at this distance, but it was a safe bet that it was a pub or tavern of some sort. Right then, he had a plan. Head over there, get something substantial to eat, and, if he was lucky, get a room for the night at the very least. He was about to turn back to retrieve his belongings, when an odd acrid smell entered his nostrils. What was that? Where was it coming from? It was getting more pronounced by the second. If it was the fire, why hadn’t he smelt it before? Then he looked down, and with horror he realized that his trousers were beginning to smolder.
“Oh, Celestia damn it!” He cursed under his breath as he leapt back over the inner ring of logs and began to frantically pat down his legs.
After inventing some new kind of Yakyakistan-Dragon dance and no doubt profoundly amusing any creature that happened to look his way, Spike huffily pushed open the doors to the tavern. The smell of stale booze and Yak hit him like a slap to the face, but he endured through gritted teeth. Once he’d gotten closer and had a chance to take a look, the sign outside had proclaimed the establishment to be ‘The Smashed Barrel’, so he was on the money with his earlier assumption. Inside the dimly lit-by-lamplight room, he could see that the whole building seemed to be just one big room filled with numerous tables with a circular open fireplace in the center. Over the fire there hung a large cauldron where something bubbled merrily inside. On the far side of the room there was a bar top, with a single Yak behind it. There were Yaks at various tables, but the tavern was at less than half capacity. None of the other patrons seemed to pay Spike much attention. He doubted Dragons were commonplace around these parts, but at least with the age of peace that Twilight and the gang had helped to usher in, they weren’t too much of a novelty. Spike weaved in between the tables, picking his way over the hay and sawdust strewn floor towards the bar. Once there he leaned against it, and the bar-Yak turned to face him, but said nothing. Spike produced a small coin purse from his pocket.
“I, uh, don’t suppose you take Equestrian bits, do you?” He said, holding open the purse. The Yak pulled aside a braid of hair and peered inside.
“I look like Pony to you?”
Spike sighed and re-pocketed his purse. He lifted his backpack and placed it on the bar top. Reaching inside, he retrieved his bag of snacking gems and spilled a few out.
“How about these?” he asked miserably. The Yak produced a jeweler's loupe from somewhere and began scrutinizing one of the rubies that had spilt from Spike’s bag.
“Hmm...” The Yak pondered. “These do nicely. What having?”
Spike glanced around the room, not really having thought this far ahead. Every other Yak in this place seemed to be swigging from wooden tankards.
“Just...one of what every-yak else is having, please.” He said finally. The bar-yak nodded sagely.
“Yak mead. Best in Yakyakistan!”
Spike nodded, then gestured in the direction of the bubbling pot in the middle of the room.
“What’s in that?
“Yak stew. Best in Yakyakistan!”
“No kidding.” Spike replied flatly. “I’ll take some of that too, I’m starved.”
The Yak separated a depressingly large number of gems from Spike’s bag, then slapped a wooden spoon and bowl in front of the Dragon.
“Help self,” he said simply, as he began pulling on one of the bar’s pump handles.
A few moments later, a tankard filled with a dark amber liquid joined the spoon and bowl. Spike retrieved what was left of his gems, grabbed his drink and bowl, and marched to the cauldron. He grabbed the ladle that was hanging off the pot handle and stirred it around in the earthy green mixture. A few cubed chunks of unknown matter bubbled to the surface. Visually it wasn’t the most appetizing thing he’d ever laid eyes on, but the smell that was wafting up from the cauldron wasn’t unappealing. Root vegetables with a hint of some spice that the Dragon couldn’t identify. He shrugged and filled his bowl with two ladle scoops. That done, he selected a table for himself in an as out of the way place as possible; next to the wall, a few tables down from the bar. He took a seat on a rickety chair and tried a spoonful of his meal. He was right it, was root vegetables, potatoes, turnips, parsnips, but it had an edge of chili peppers behind it too. He didn’t know about ‘best ever’, but honestly it wasn’t bad at all. He tucked in hungrily, and before long the bowl had been licked clean. As his grateful stomach settled, he took another look around the room. It dawned on him for the first time, this hut was just that; one big room. Which meant that he wasn’t getting a bed for the night, not here at least. He scowled and took a swig from his tankard. As the sweet liquid flowed down his throat, he retrieved his gem bag. Nearly half of them were gone already, and he’d only had one drink and a bowl of stew. He sucked air through his teeth and wracked his brain trying to think of what to do. OK, so assuming that none of the locals were interested in bits, there was no way he could afford a room anywhere. He tapped his foot in annoyance. Right then, he had only one option. He would return to the guard Yaks, flash the royal seal, explain who he was, and formally request sanctuary from the Yak kingdom. He’d have to pray that they recognized and respected the seal when they saw it, but if they did, then he shouldn’t have any problems getting somewhere to sleep. He might have to do some serious name-dropping to get them to listen, maybe bring up that time he brokered peace between the Yaks and the Dragons. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the best he had.
As he was sitting pondering his situation, the saloon doors on the opposite side of the room were pushed open with a soft creak. Spike glanced in their direction and ended up performing the double take to end all double takes. Rarity breezed into the bar, tapping some snow from her rear hooves as she crossed the doorway. She looked radiant, as ever, dressed in her flowing blue cloak trimmed with white imitation fur that matched her helmet style hat. The fur of it covered her ears, but allowed her horn to protrude, a fact that was signaled as it glowed a pale blue as she magically removed her saddle bags that bore a facsimile of her cutie mark and laid them out on a nearby table. Spike could only look in open mouthed awe as she took a seat, not ten meters away from him, and removed her headwear, allowing her purple curls to cascade out of it. She carefully laid the hat next to her bags and glanced around the room. Mercifully, she did not look in the Dragon’s direction, so Spike was free to observe her undetected for a few more moments. She had a single streak of grey running through her mane these days, a perfect band that ran from root to tip. Spike remembered the fuss that had been kicked up when that had started to appear; her friends had had to rally around her and constantly reassure her that it was not, in fact, a blemish; rather it gave her an air of gracefulness, a look of experience, rather distinguished. Spike wholeheartedly agreed, though admittedly he was somewhat biased. From where he was sitting, he thought it looked like the cutest thing he’d ever seen. The white Unicorn fiddled with her bag, and for an awful moment he thought she might be retrieving her purse so she could get up and order something. If she were to get up and head to the bar now she’d definitely spot him, and he wasn’t quite ready for that. He needed some kind of opening, something classy, understated. Something she’d appreciate. Fortunately for him, what she pulled from her bag appeared to be a sketchpad, which she flipped open and began to scribble in, magically manipulating a pencil that had been fished out of the pad’s ringlets. She was taking discreet glances at the Yaks who were close by, and Spike realized that she was most likely drawing outfit ideas. She was completely engrossed in her work, allowing her lower lip to protrude outwards as she lost herself in thought. Spike felt the familiar electrical charge of excitement in his belly as he watched, and he knew that this was the best chance he had to go and talk to her. But how? The question bounced around his mind for a few moments whilst he allowed himself a few more glorious seconds of just staring at her. Over the years, from time to time, he’d asked himself the question; did he really have feelings for her, or was this a childish infatuation that he’d just never quite been able to shake? Seeing her now, bathed in the yellow and orange glow of the firelight, he knew he had his answer. She was still doodling in her pad, her sky-blue eyes flitting from the page to the Yaks around her, the tip of her tongue just beginning to escape the corner of her mouth in concentration. Spike felt his heart melt. In the back of his mind, he was dimly aware of the unfairness of it all, of how highly unlikely it was that she’d ever see him the way he saw her. But that was a thought for another time. Right now he had better things to focus on. Like on how he was going to strike up a conversation. He snapped back to reality. Just then, luckily for him, inspiration struck. The corner of his mouth tugged upwards in a sly smile as he grabbed the remains of his gem bag and slinked quietly out of his chair. He crept to the bar, hoping against hope that he wasn’t too noticeable, and that Rarity hadn’t yet spotted him.
“What’s the fanciest drink you’ve got in this place?” He asked in a low voice.
“Yak sparkling wine! Best in...”
Spike silenced the barkeep by raising a finger to his lips.
“...Yakyakistan.” The Yak finished with a whisper, which by Yak standards probably put him somewhere comparable to normal speaking volume.
“OK, I’ll have a glass of that, and can you take it to the Unicorn sitting over there?” Spike asked, without turning around.
The Yak tilted to one side to look past the dragon, then tilted back.
“You know, Yak not normally work tables.”
Spike slammed his gem bag onto the bar top with a soft thud. The Yak nodded in agreement, and slid the gems, bag and all, under the bar.
************************************
There was a long silence. Followed by a second long silence. Succeeded by a third long silence. Universes formed and died. Ice ages began and ended. Civilizations rose and fell.
Twilight slowly lowered her wing from her face and uncurled her hooves from the dark void beneath her. Starlight sat unmoving in her chair; her hooves still pressed to her eyes. Twilight silently cursed herself. Why hadn’t she just left? She probably could have slipped out without being noticed, couldn’t she? In the heat of the moment she’d panicked, and she’d been about two seconds away from seeing something that she wouldn’t be able to unsee. Her face was still flushed, so she allowed herself a few moments of controlled breathing, in the hopes that she’d be able to persuade the blood in her cheeks to head somewhere else. That done, she strolled over to Starlight, who still hadn’t moved. Twilight was grateful for the fact that there wasn’t a physical floor, so her approach was silent. With a wave of her hoof, Starlight’s desk faded back into existence, complete with a chair for Twilight. The Princess willed the chair out from the desk and plopped herself into it soundlessly. Still Starlight hadn’t moved. Should...should she just leave? No, no, that would be even worse somehow. It might imply that Twilight was disgusted by what she saw, or that the Headmare was right to be humiliated, somehow. Not that Twilight herself wouldn’t be in Starlight’s shoes, oof. Tartarus, what little she had seen had given her secondhand embarrassment that she’d probably feel for years to come.
Twilight opened her mouth to speak, but inspiration failed her. She closed it again, as quietly as she could. Should she act like nothing had happened? That would be silly, but maybe under the circumstances it would be the best way forward.
“So Trixie, huh?” The Princess blurted out. Nice going, Twilight, she mentally admonished herself.
Starlight ripped her hooves from her face, her eyes too wide and smile too broad to be sane.
“Twilight!” Starlight cooed, hastily rebuttoning her shirt into the wrong holes. “I didn’t realize that this is what you meant when you said you’d find me.”
“Uh, yeah.” Twilight replied sheepishly. “I probably should have mentioned. I patrol the dream realm now, so...”
The Princess trailed off, awkwardly tapping her hooves together. There was a pause that was in its third trimester.
“Yes, I can see that.” Starlight said, her voice still too loud and cheerful. “Well, I’m ready to discuss this project you have for me!”
“Uhhh...” Twilight responded. “Maybe we should talk about what just happened first.”
Starlight’s expression darkened.
“No, we absolutely should not.”
“It’s just that this type of thing could be indicative of unresolved feelings. If you don’t mind my asking, is this a dream you’ve encountered before?”
Starlight looked away for a moment.
“Once or twice,” She mumbled softly, before she snapped to her senses. “No, no, we’re not doing this!”
“Starlight...”
“It’s just one of those things! Sometimes you have sex dreams about ponies you know! It doesn’t mean anything!”
“Right, but...”
“Plus, I’ve been working very hard lately, and I’ve been stressed out about this project thing, it’s no wonder I’m having weird dreams!” Starlight rose from her chair and gesticulated wildly.
“I’m sorry about that,” Twilight said quietly, looking up at her. “But have you considered the possibility that you might be in love with Trixie?”
Starlight froze, her expression settling somewhere between amusement and outrage.
“I... AM... NOT!” She half shouted, half laughed.
“Ok,” Twilight said as soothingly as she could, trying to introduce some serenity to the room. “It’s just you two have been really close for a while now, and the thought had occurred to me at least that you might be a little more than friends. I’m sure I’m not the only one.”
“How have I given you that impression?!” Starlight sat back down in her chair and leaned over the desk, glaring at the Princess.
“Well, you girls always hang out together, you went on that caravan trip together...”
“Oh, you mean the one where we almost killed each other?” Starlight interjected.
“...you two bicker. Like, all the time. Like you’re married.”
“All things that are comparable to things you’ve done with your friends in the past. Are you seriously going to sit there and tell me that you’ve never had an accidental erotic dream about one of your friends?”
Twilight’s expression remained neutral, but her eye twitched almost imperceptibly.
“We’re not talking about me.” She sniffed.
A faint, humorless smile flashed across Starlight’s face for the briefest of moments. Then she took a deep breath before letting it out slowly.
“Twilight, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. And it really means a lot to me that you care about me so much that you want to help me work through my feelings. But please believe me when I say, your assistance in this matter is neither wanted nor required.”
The Headmare fixed Twilight with a steely stare. Twilight narrowed her eyes at her, before sighing.
“Fine. We’ll stick a pin in this for now, but we are coming back to it.”
Starlight gave the slightest roll of her eyes.
“So then, to business?”
“To business.”
************************************
Rarity clenched her jaw as she furiously scribbled down outfit ideas into her pad. So far, Rarity 4 U Yakyakistan had been a bust. She had an excellent location, right in the heart of the ‘capital’, Prince Rutherford’s village, and the establishment was of the finest building materials that the Yaks had to offer. She’d tried to offer Yak approximations of the most popular lines from both her Canterlot and Manehatten stores, but so far, no Yak was buying. She scowled. Rugged traditionalists didn’t even begin to describe Yak tastes. Honestly, they wouldn’t know fabulous if it burned down their huts and stole their potatoes. Everything had to be brown, dark brown, light brown, terracotta, beige (if they felt like really pushing the boat out). Earth tones, blech. If one of them saw the colour purple, she honestly thought it might cause a heart attack. She re-focused her attention on the Yak mare sitting several tables away. She was sitting with a friend, gutturally laughing at something or other, slapping her hoof on the table-top repeatedly. She was wearing what looked like a woven shawl over her back, brown and white (surprise, surprise) with black piping around the edges. It appeared to be made of a coarse, hessian-like fabric, no doubt in order to weather the frankly absurd Yakyakistan climate, and it looked extremely itchy, not the kind of thing you’d want to feel close to your body. Not that that was much of a concern to the Yaks of course, their fur being as thick as it was. Rarity grumbled under her breath. That was something else she had to worry about when considering Yak fashion; whatever she designed had to be able to survive sub-zero temperatures, and ideally offer at least some modicum of protection. With every ensemble the Unicorn had ever designed, practicality usually ranked pretty low on the list of requirements. That school of thought was much more Applejack’s territory. Her mind briefly flitting to her orange friend, Rarity suddenly had a flash of inspiration. What about something in gingham? It was rustic, it was colourful, it was thin, but it shouldn’t be too hard to pad out for a winter climate. Winter gingham? That was just crazy enough to work. With a demented smile, she sketched a frilly dress on her hastily drawn Yak body template. Now, onto the hair. The Yak she was observing had hers tied in elaborate braids and loops, secured by bows and ribbons, in much the same way that her old student Yona used to have. Perhaps if she were to introduce something floral into the mix? Maybe give the impression that the hair was tied up with flowers rather than ribbon? She liked that, that was good. It would go well with the summer motif the fabric of the dress was suggesting. She could call the line ‘Summer in Winter’. Ok, now she was getting somewhere. Of course, the flowers would have to be...
There was a loud sound of a Yak clearing his throat just above her. Rarity looked up with a start; was she about to be told she had to order something or get out? At the risk of sounding disparaging, ordinarily this type of ‘spit and sawdust’ establishment wasn’t the type of place she’d frequent, a fact that was brought to the forefront of her mind as she curled her hooves on the hay-strewn floorboards. However, this type of place was one of the best locations for her to observe her clientele undetected, so frequent she must. She quickly threw on her best ‘innocent and vulnerable, but also ravishingly beautiful and sultry’ expression. To her surprise, a flute of sparkling wine was gently placed on the table in front of her by the hulking bar-Yak.
“Oh!” She exclaimed. “I’m terribly sorry, that’s not mine, I didn’t order that.”
She batted her eyelids sweetly at her waiter. Funny, she hadn’t thought this tavern actually waited tables.
“Comes compliments of gentle-Dragon over there,” He replied, pointing past the roaring fire in the general direction of the bar. “Him humbly request he might join you at your table.”
Rarity squinted in the direction the Yak was gesturing, her vision obscured by the licking flames. At first all she could see was a bulky silhouette of what was evidently a dragon perched on a bar stool. After a few seconds of her eyes adjusting, with some added help of a hoof raised to her brow, she began to make out some details; shiny purple scales, muscular build, green spikes...
“Spike?” She said softly. “Spike!”
The second ‘Spike’ had an edge of joyous recognition to it, as she rapidly beckoned him towards her with her hooves. The Dragon slid off his stool and purposely strode to her table. As he did so, the barkeep took his leave and returned to his post.
“Hello,” The Dragon spoke softly. He towered above Rarity, the tips of his head spikes not too far away from interfering with the ceiling. Rarity was for a moment taken aback; every time she saw her friend these days she forgot just how big he’d gotten. She took in his appearance for a split second then flawlessly regained her composure.
“Spike! What a pleasant surprise! Do take a chair, darling.”
With a nervous smile, the Dragon pulled out one of the wooden chairs at the table and gently lowered himself into it with a soft creak. He placed his tankard down in front of him and flashed a toothy grin at the Unicorn.
“Fancy running into you here!” She continued with delight. “I thought I was the only one from our neck of the woods within miles.”
“Uh, yeah, I just got here.” Spike replied. “I was doing a job for Twilight.”
“Of course,” Rarity nodded. “She has you running all over Equestria these days, doesn’t she?”
Spike arched his eyebrows and gave her a wide-eyed nod, his expression communicating ‘tell me about it’. Rarity traced her hoof-tip around the rim of her glass, the conversation having seemingly momentarily dried up.
“Where are my manners?” She said suddenly. “I haven’t even thanked you for my drink.”
“Not at all,” Spike beamed, glad to have something to say. “I thought you could use one.”
Rarity smiled sweetly.
“You know,” She cooed, “you could have just come over and said hello. We’re old friends, after all.”
Spike ran a hand over his head fins sheepishly and smiled while averting his gaze.
“Well, I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked kinda busy.”
He nodded in the direction of the notepad that lay open on the table. Rarity grimaced in its direction.
“Yes,” She sighed. “To tell you the truth though, I’m happy to take a break.”
The Unicorn leaned in over the table conspiratorially. Following her cue, Spike too leaned in close.
“I’m trying to come up with Yak fashion ideas.” She whispered. “Normally this sort of place isn’t...my cup of tea, but it’s good place to make observations.”
“You know, I didn’t want to say anything,” The Dragon whispered back, “but it did strike me as kinda odd when I saw you walk in here. You usually prefer places that are bit...well, fancier.”
Rarity grinned before sitting back on her stool.
“You know me so well, darling.”
“Well,” Spike laughed, “if it makes any difference I did ask for the fanciest drink in the place when I ordered that.”
Rarity glanced down at her glass before snorting with mirth. She raised a hoof to her mouth while her body rocked with chuckles.
“Well then,” She said, having partially recovered and raising her glass, “to fancy.”
“To fancy,” Spike smiled, raising his tankard and lightly tapping it to Rarity’s flute.
They both took a small sip of their respective drinks before setting their glasses back on the table. Rarity swilled the fluid around her mouth with a practiced motion before she swallowed.
“Not bad,” She stated. “I’m not sure about ‘fanciest’, but not bad.”
“You know, that’s pretty much exactly what I said about the stew.” Spike replied, nodding in the direction of the cauldron in the center of the room. Once again, Rarity laughed softly. Spike smiled, beginning to feel a little more at ease. At least now he knew that Rarity wasn’t irritated by his presence.
“So, what did Twilight have you doing up here?” The Unicorn questioned.
“Oh, I had a zoning dispute to iron out,” Spike replied, rolling his eyes at the memory. “There was a single Yak trader way up the mountain, which put him just inside the Dragon territory. I had to go and politely and carefully explain to him that his options were to either move his stall a couple of hundred feet down, or apply to the Dragonlord for retroactive planning permission and pay some fees.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Rarity commented.
“It should have been.” Spike sighed. “But some of these Yaks can be so...”
Spike caught himself, right before he said a sweeping statement about an entire race. Unfortunately for him, Rarity finished the thought for him.
“Stubborn?” Rarity said with a smile at the corner of her mouth and a raised eyebrow.
“Sorry,” Spike winced. “I shouldn’t make generalizations like that.”
Rarity’s smile widened, much to the Dragon’s surprise.
“No, I know what you mean. I’ve had a simply ghastly time trying to market fashions over here.”
“Really?” Spike gasped. “You? But...you’re like the queen of fashion.”
Rarity placed a hoof to her chest and cast her eyes to the ceiling in mock humility.
“You’re so sweet. But yes, I started out by rolling out a few of my old reliables, and I mean outfits that would absolutely slay in Manehatten or Canterlot, and these Yaks just don’t want to know. So now I have to come up with some lines that are specifically catered to their unique...tastes.”
“Well, if anyone can do it it’s you.” Spike stated simply.
“Spikey-wikey,” Rarity giggled. “You keep complementing me like this and I’m going to have to ask Twilight if I can borrow you for a while.”
Spike almost blurted out ‘please do’ but managed to bite the words back. Instead he settled on blushing slightly and awkwardly chuckling.
“So, are you up here on your own?” He enquired. Not the most subtle question he could have asked, but under the circumstances he was desperate to move the conversation along from Rarity’s last flirtatious statement. Celestia, she’d called him ‘Spikey-wikey'...
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Rarity sighed. “Coco and Sassy are too busy in the other branches, so it’s just me.”
Thankfully, Rarity appeared to have taken the question to be about colleagues rather than about her relationship status.
“Does that not get a bit...lonely?” Spike probed.
Rarity arched her eyebrows, slightly taken aback by the question.
“Well, sometimes,” She confessed. “But I have my work. And I’m often popping back to Canterlot for meet-ups with Twilight and the girls, as you know. We have one scheduled for tomorrow, as it happens.”
Spike nodded.
“That’s good. I’d hate to think of you in this freezing place with no pony to talk to.”
Rarity offered the Dragon a crafty smile, finally spotting the direction that he was leading the conversation in. Spike caught the look and knew that he was busted. Might as well rip the bandage off himself.
“Besides, I thought you might have a...”
He faltered at the last hurdle.
“A what, darling?” Rarity feigned innocence, once again leaning forward, folding her forelegs on the table in front of herself.
“Never mind,” Spike squirmed, hiding his face in his tankard.
“A coltfriend?” She smiled, quite enjoying the Dragon’s discomfort. “Is that what you were going to ask?”
The Unicorn cocked her head at Spike, her eyebrows raised and her grin wide. Spike pursed his lips and struggled to look her in the eye, his face practically on fire.
“Well, I just figured...you must have, right?”
“What makes you say that?” Rarity twisted the knife.
Spike looked into her eyes, silently pleading for mercy. Don’t make him say it, Celestia please...
There was a pause that lasted an instant for the Unicorn, an eternity for the Dragon, before Rarity threw her head back and emitted a loud laugh. The sound of it was like a beautiful otherworldly siren-song that instantly made the tension evaporate from the Dragon’s body. He slumped slightly in his chair, emotionally exhausted.
“Spike, Darling, I’m just kidding with you,” Rarity tittered.
The Dragon smiled weakly, his face still a deeper purple than was the norm.
“No, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment,” She continued, her expression becoming more melancholic. She turned away, staring into the fire behind Spike. “To tell you the truth, things have been rather barren on that front for a while now.”
“Oh,” Spike said quietly, genuinely upset that he’d brought her down. “Rarity, I am sorry.”
Rarity tore her eyes from the fire, suddenly aware that her veil of cheery indifference had flickered for a moment there.
“It’s fine,” she smiled, her momentary gloomy demeanor vanishing. “I’m far too busy anyway. How about you though? You’re visiting your ancestral lands often enough these days, surely there’s a Dragoness you’ve got your eye on.”
Spike snorted a laugh.
“No, no,” He said, taking another sip of his drink. “Nothing like that. Besides, I’m not really into...”
Once again he trailed off.
“Forget it.” He recovered. “No, I’m not seeing anyone either.”
Rarity narrowed her eyes at her friend. What had he been about to say just then? Wasn’t into what?
“Spiiike,” She elongated in a low tone. “Forget what? What aren’t you into?”
Once again Spike shifted uncomfortably in his seat and hid behind his drink.
“It doesn’t matter.” he mumbled.
“I’ll be the judge of that, darling.” Rarity said sternly. “Be a brave boy and tell me what you were going to say.”
Spike drained his tankard and looked at Rarity through terrified eyes. Her expression was quizzical, but she still looked just as gorgeous as ever. If the romantic atmosphere and her flirty behavior kept up, he might be in real danger of saying something really, really stupid. Ok, deep breath. Just tell her the truth.
“Dragons.” He uttered quietly.
Rarity cocked her head at him.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m not really into Dragons.” Spike repeated.
The alabaster Unicorn fixed him with a look of pure fascination, but said nothing, merely taking another sip from her glass, her eyes never leaving his. He allowed his gaze to drop to the table, where he lightly clawed a single finger at the worn wood. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak if he had to look into those beautiful sapphire pools.
“It’s...a symptom of being raised by Ponies, I think.” He continued. “During the years when my puberty hit, I only ever had mares around me, so I think my brain got a little re-wired. Now I only find Ponies attractive.”
“Oh Spike,” Rarity reached a hoof across the table and took his hand. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to...”
“It’s ok,” The Dragon smiled, giving Rarity’s hoof a light squeeze. “I don’t mind talking about it with a friend, but it’s not something I go out of my way to advertise.”
“Have you spoken to Twilight about it?”
“Twilight?” The Dragon balked. “Celestia no. I dread to think how awkward that would be, for the pair of us.”
“But maybe there’s something magical she could do?” Rarity said.
Spike chuckled. If it were anyone else speaking, he might have taken offence to that. The implication that the way he was was something that needed fixing. But this was Rarity, and he wasn’t sure he was even capable of taking offence to anything she said or did. Besides, her heart was in the right place, she just wanted him to be happy.
“It’s not something I’d change, even if I could,” he said gently. “It’s a part of who I am.”
Rarity nodded, understanding. She realized that she was still holding his hand, so she slowly relinquished it.
“Of course,” The dragon stated, folding his arms with his newly freed appendage and grinning, “the downside is that there isn’t a long line of mares who’re keen to cozy up to a Dragon. So I’m kinda stuck.”
Rarity nodded again, her expression somber. Poor Spike.
“We’re going to need some more drinks,” she said simply, sinking her glass.