//------------------------------//
// Chapter Two 
// Story: Exotic 
// by lines n stuff 
//------------------------------//

	The familiar racket of hooves against hardwood echoed about endlessly in your muddled, half-asleep state of mind, nothing but inconsequential noises to your slumbering form. You muster the willpower to lazily crack open your eyes, managing to catch a glimpse of whitish purple, before deeming the heroic act of 'waking up' a losing battle and burrowing further into the cloud-like mattress.

"Anonymous, have you really been sleeping this whole afternoon?"

A blinding flash of gleaming sunlight pulls you violently from your fitful snooze, eliciting high-pitched yelps of agony and three feet of airtime before you unceremoniously tumble off of the delightfully comfy bed and onto the wooden floor. "Owww," You groan, tangled in a knot of blankets that would earn a boy scout badge in rope-tying. "Rarity, what the- why are you in my hotel room?" The mare in question shakes her head disapprovingly, trotting to another window curtain and pulling it back to reveal the afternoon sun.

"We both agreed that, due to our... ahem, situation, it would be easier to just share a suite," Rarity huffs, picking you up by the seat of your pajamas with her unicorn magic and tossing you back into bed. "Or have you forgotten all about that?"

"Doesn't seem to ring a bell."

After all, you did attempt to render yourself unto eternal slumber with several barrels of wine after the events of last night.

Rarity stares at you blankly for a moment before rolling her eyes and surveying the state of the hotel suite. A pair of boxer shorts dangled from the corner of an expensive-looking armchair, pinned to the leather by a half-empty bottle of cider. A laundry hamper dutifully stood filled to the brim with a mound of dirty clothing, the elegant suit from the Gala of the night prior resting proudly on top, still damp with wine. Some cushions were stacked along the top of the antique couch, remnants of a long-forgotten pillow fort.

"How charming," She noted with a pained smile, as though she didn't think it charming at all.

"Don't worry, I'm not usually like this. I just wasn't expecting visitors," You reassured, suppressing a yawn. "Anyways, if you're only here to stop by, I'll just be getting back to sleep...Nighty night, Rares..."

"It happens to be one in the afternoon," Rarity chides, tearing away the thick blankets as you struggled to pull them around yourself. "Returning to bed is out of the question."

With a groan, you roll off of the mattress and perch on the side, accepting your fate.  

"Is every human as prone to napping the day away as you appear to be?" She inquires, eyeing a heap of luggage haphazardly strewn about a corner with distaste. "Surely even you aren't in need of that much beauty sleep."

"You'd be surprised," You retort, reaching behind your head and stretching, feeling the tensed muscles in your back loosen before settling down with a pleased sigh.  "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go put cucumber slices on my eyes."

"Very funny," Rarity replies curtly, beginning to organize your overstuffed bags into a neat pile as you walk past her and into the luxurious, lofty bathroom. "Perhaps once everypony tires of your 'human' novelty you can find work in a local theatre troupe."

"As long as you'd come watch, honeybuns," You respond, splashing a handful of cold water on your face. Rarity titters in amusement, resuming her difficult work of adjusting your suit jackets by designer brand. After a quiet moment, she suddenly jumps with realization.

"Now now, no need for that kind of talk in private," The fashionista filly sputtered, blowing a lock of indigo mane away from her eyes. "A-and this room is an absolute mess! You're lucky you have me around, for the time being."

You shake your head and fold your arms, unwilling to let her change the subject that easily. "Hey, wait. What's wrong with pet names, sugarmuffin?" You stick your head out of the doorway and smile mischievously. She rolls her eyes and sighs deeply, exasperatedly rubbing the bridge of her muzzle with a hoof. "I thought you were all about commitment to the role, my little butterscotch cookie mix."

Her face begins to take on a slight tinge of pinkish-red, and she opens and closes her mouth before pouting and furiously stuffing pairs of underwear into a luggage case haphazardly. "You know very well I have no problems with...us acting, as it were," She huffs, slamming the lid of the case shut and squaring it neatly in the pile. "But tone it down a bit, if you would, darling?"

"Did I do something wrong, my dearest sweetiebun berrybiscuit? My adorable marshmallow lemoncake-"

You're met with a pillow to the face.

A sudden rapping at the door is met with a simultaneous yelp of surprise, and Rarity answering the door as you rub your injured cheek. She glares at you and sticks a tongue out before cracking the door open with her telekinesis, nearly bumping snout-first into the creased cap of a young mailmare. The delivery pony waves a package casually in the grip of her hoof, squinting at a clipboard held behind the doorway. "Express delivery for a one mister A-nonnymous Human!"

"Oh, that's me," You reply, wandering over and delicately taking the elaborate-looking box from her hold. "Thanks, miss." She nods enthusiastically and darts down the hallway, saluting as she runs, nearly tripping over the carpet on more than one occasion.

You walk over to the bed and gingerly set the gift down, wrappings crackling incessantly. It was a box of some kind, expertly tied in a sleek layer of silvery paper, carved from bottom to top in a confusingly intricate design of weaving lines and diamond-shaped curves. It kind of reminded you of some installations from that Manehattan Modern Art museum you visited quite a while back, and- similar to those same installations- you didn't see the point of it.

"It certainly looks... interesting," Rarity notes, poking at the gaudy design of the box and frowning slightly. "Who do you suppose sent it?"

"Oh, it says right here," You exclaim, bending closer to read the tiny print attached to the lid. "Enclosed is as follows...an exclusive gift, a very high-class, haute couture, box designed and hand crafted by the hooves of only the most experienced designers in Prance, Hayris..."

"Though you certainly couldn't tell," The mare beside you voices dryly.

"Naught but the finest of materials were used in the development of this box- a true work of art, stylish and bold in it's simplicity..." You pause for a moment, glancing up from the card and whistling. "Wow, they really put a lot of work into this thing."

Rarity impatiently muscles the package from your arms and continues  from where you left off. "...It's a design that has lasted for generations- square, cubical, elegant. An abstract form of art, packaging an act of beauty in itself...?" She shakes her head, pouting. "My, I thought you were joking."

Her hooves dangle the box back towards your face, and you finish the last paragraph. "From time immortal boxes have accompanied Ponykind into new life, through trials and tribulations, centuries and decades. Yet none has ever existed a box so fine as this." The line of text trails off, leading down to the other side of the box in glittering gold ink. You sigh and twist Rarity's hooves forward.

"...Ordered and sent by Maynes DeVyne."

"Maynes De- open it open it open it!" Your companion yelps excitedly, clutching your arms and bouncing up and down.

You twist open the lid and lean over the hole, nearly smushing into Rarity's own muzzle as you both inspect the contents. Two silver-embroidered tickets lay intertwined upon a bed of shredded gold, shimmering in the morning sunlight.

"Tickets!" Rarity squeaks, tittering with delight.

"Tickets?" You question, scratching the back of your head.

"Anonymous! Tickets to the..." She reads one of the slips, "Selle Blanc?! One of the most exclusive and illustrious dining establishments in all of Canterlot?!"

"That sounds great and all," You sigh, picking up the box and studying the faceted designs. "But did you hear that box description? I was expecting...like diamonds, or something."

"The reservation is for tonight!" Rarity gasps, glancing about the hotel room with horror. "We simply must be getting ready! I've got to make adjustments to your suit...call in a favor at the mane salon..." The filly flitted back and forth across the floor, gathering up your wine-stained suit and a bundles of dresses, digging through her luggage case and throwing fabrics over her shoulder.

"...Or maybe at least a bracelet. Tickets? That box really prepped me up, and you know what? Didn't deliver."

Rarity pulls you into the bathroom by the collar of your shirt, hooves full of a vibrant array of clothing and sewing materials.

"No time to waste, darling! Now, to clean that suit of yours..."





The gravel from underneath crackled audibly as your carriage pulled before the Selle Blanc's marble stone pathway, grinding to an abrupt halt. Rarity glances at you, concerned, before sighing reluctantly and stepping out of the coach herself.

"You know I'd help you out under normal circumstances," You wheeze, chin nearly swallowed by your tuxedo's ridiculously tight collar. "But I can't seem to move my arms up more than a couple feet, for some reason." You demonstrate by flapping your arms furiously, rocking the carriage back and forth, and looking quite a bit like an injured bird under Fluttershy's care.

"I already apologized, Anonymous," Rarity huffed, attempting to conceal her smile with a stern face. "And it's not as though you could wear a stained suit to a place like the fabulous Selle Blanc!" She gestured to the sprawling, extravagant structure standing magnificently tall, framed by moonlight and overlooking the valleys of land beneath Canterlot.

Despite her well-practiced stain removal spell and several minutes of enthusiastic scrubbing, the wine from earlier had refused to come out. The filly's only possible course of action was, much to your chagrin, to stuff you inside a 'practice' tuxedo several sizes too small. It was an understandable decision, all things considered. However, right now, things like 'understanding' and 'reason' were starting to pale in comparison to 'not being eaten alive by your own tuxedo'.

After the arduous journey of waddling up the winding marble staircase to the restaurant- which comprised of Rarity turning towards you every few seconds to give you a polite word of encouragement- you find yourself in a soaking pile of sweat and tight fabric by the extravagantly decorated entrance.

"Raaaarity," You moan, clawing dramatically at the air. "I can barely... breathe... in this thing."

The fashionista filly offers a sympathetic coo and pats you on the head.

"Anonymous, darling, I know atmosphere in these high-class establishments can be suffocating," She sighed. "But we haven't even gone in yet."

Rarity barely contains an unladylike fit of laughter, ignoring the death glare on your face that would give even Princess Celestia pause.

"Oh, alright. Come on, get up, you ruffian," The 'element of Generosity' huffs. "This'll only be a one time thing, I promise! And after dinner, Nonny, maybe I'll even throw in a few tailored suits- free of charge, of course."

"That so?" You wheeze, perking up a little. Special-order clothing for someone of a unique stature, which you certainly had, was ridiculously expensive across Equestria. Hundreds of bits apiece was on the low end of prices in Canterlot. And, considering your habit of bartering with puppydog eyes and a quivering lip hardly ever worked with Rarity... it was a generous deal, alright. "Tall order."

She nods, unbuttoning the topmost collar on your tuxedo. "Celestia knows we can't let this happen again,"

You grin, clicking your tongue disapprovingly. "Again? Just how many dates do you plan to take me on?"

"Word of advice, dearest, don't provoke the mare with her hooves adjusting your bow tie," Rarity replies, smiling sweetly. "And that reminds me.  We really must establish some ground rules before we go on."

"Right, good idea," You nod in agreement. "Wouldn't want me to use the wrong soup spoon and dishonor you for life."

The filly considers this seriously for a moment before shaking her head. "Well, I was thinking more along the lines of 'no ill-timed jokes'," She explains. "Fair idea, though."

You stroke your chin thoughtfully. "I see. It's the salad fork that'll bring the dishonor upon your name, then."

"Rule number one, darling," Rarity chides. "Something I've read about- Maynes DeVyne is almost always surrounded by crowds of press when he goes out in public. If they happen to snap a few pictures of us, please try not to do anything embarrassing."

"Nothing I do is embarrassing."

She raises an eyebrow slightly and glances you up and down. "No comment, darling."

After making a few other last minute adjustments to the tuxedo, the two of you finally stand side by side at the entrance to the Selle Blanc. From outside you could see the silhouettes of ponies seated by candlelight, the occasional waiter sweeping by to cast dancing shadows on dimly lit walls. You take a sidelong look at Rarity, who doesn't notice you watching, as she takes a deep, rumbling breath that fogs the crystal glass before you.

"Shall we?" Your companion asks quietly.

You wordlessly take her hoof in your hand and step forward, ignoring her squeak of protest. "We shall."

The interior of the Selle Blanc was every bit as stunning as the building itself. Beyond the front desk of the restaurant was a wide, luxuriously spaced dining room, with room-high windows obscured by elegant curtains laced with golden thread. The first thing to catch your eye was the incredibly elaborate chandelier hanging center by a glowing aura of blue, spiral-shaped and dotted with orbs of spinning energy. You remember Rarity saying something about the chandelier actually being lit and held in the air by a unicorn who they payed to sit and focus.

Beneath the hanging light and across the center of the room were diamond-shaped tables of glimmering wood. Each was occupied by, from what you could tell, nobles and aristocrats with slicked-back hair and silver-rimmed monocles. Between the windows and red velvet walls were beige partitions of deep-button tufting half the height of the room, fitted with cushioned seats along the corners.

You draw up to the front desk, 'date' still in hand. "Reservation for Anonymous and Rarity," You nod at the stallion behind the table, staring bewilderingly.

"R-right this way, sir, madam," He stutters, noticeably surpressing a gulp. "Mr. DeVyne and his wife are expecting you."

As the server stallion makes his way through the restaurant, you turn and wink at Rarity.

"I bet the food here is simply DeVyne."

"Please behave."