Rarity smiled, and the mare behind the mirror smiled back. "Not bad," she complimented her reflection. "Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear it was the genuine article."
A wad of blackened paper towels lay discarded in the sink, coated in the remnants of her mascara. Her make-up had been a disaster when she first saw herself in the mirror, and her shriek of shock even drew Spike inside before she shooed him away. The bathroom's resources were sufficient to fix most of the damage, to the point where Rarity felt comfortable in upgrading her appearance from disaster on four legs to adequate. The dress was a different story. Park bathroom tap water was not sufficient to clean off chocolate and ice cream.
But at least she'd managed to fix up her face. Nopony would be launching any ships on its account any time soon, but it was clean. Clean, and plain, and decidedly non-radiant. All she had left to set herself apart from the herd were her poise and natural beauty.
Which is, admittedly, not inconsiderable. The thought offered some small comfort.
I also have a filthy dinner dress to set myself apart from the herd. And there went that comfort, quick as it had come.
"Well, Rarity," said Rarity to her reflection, stretching her smile wider. "Ready to face the world again?"
Her smile collapsed in response to her own question. Rarity groaned. "Nor am I. But come on. Let's make an effort at least, alright? If not for yourself, then for Spike." Sweet, thoughtful, generous Spikey-Wikey deserved better company than a mopey mare with a worryingly strong urge to get drunk.
Unfortunately, he has to settle for me. She sighed. The least I can do is try to make his night a good one. With one last wan smile to herself, Rarity left the bathroom, floating her used paper towels into the garbage as she left.
She emerged to find Spike rocking on his heels outside. When he noticed her coming, he stopped and quickly straightened his posture.
Rarity turned to give Spike a profile view and struck a pose. "How do I look?"
She watched his reaction from the corner of her eye, and pretended not to notice the slight cringe as Spike glanced at the stain on her chest. "Like a vision," he said, a little too quickly.
I look like a weeping dairy farmer who sought to live the high life and got smacked with a heaping helping of irony, you mean. She was a hot mess, and Spike a terrible liar, but Rarity could hardly fault him for being gentlemanly.
"You flatterer, you." Rarity tittered, relaxing her body. "So what else is on tonight's agenda?"
"Are you sure you want to stay?" Spike rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes from hers. "I was gonna ask if you just wanted to call it a night."
Part of Rarity wanted nothing more than to take him up on that, but she refused to end their trip with the both of them feeling worse for it. Instead, she waved her hoof dismissively, now positive that Spike had picked up the gesture from her.
"Pish-posh! I did agree to an hour, didn't I?" Rarity batted her eyelashes at the little dragon. "Not to mention, there are certain parts of your end of the bargain which have yet to be fulfilled. I distinctly recall being promised games, prizes, rides, and fireworks, in addition to dessert. You wouldn't break your word to a lady, would you?"
Spike's cheeks reddened as he shook his head.
"Good." Rarity held out a hoof, crooking her foreleg invitingly. "As you said, after all, the night is still young."
The thought hardly came as comfort to her.
Going arm-in-arm (or arm-in-hoof, as it were) had been an affectionate gesture, but it soon became a practical necessity. They chose to bypass the stalls lining the main thoroughfare and head straight into the heart of the carnival, where the Ferris wheel towered over the densest concentration of activity like the sun come down from the heavens. It was a hub packed so densely that Rarity, sweating profusely from the heat of so many ponies so close together, started to worry she would lose Spike in the crowd.
She was also worried about her poor, abused dress. It had never been meant to be worn in such a tightly packed environment, where ponies could push into her and tear it accidentally, or where the hem could be stomped on and ripped by a stray hoof. She tried to mitigate that by using her magic to lift and bunch the hem above her hooves, as though she were wading in a pond. Her body shimmered and sparkled from the effort, and the constant tingling sound that followed her every step was starting to grate on her nerves. Not going home to change had been a foolish mistake, in hindsight. Whatever could have possessed her not to do so?
Oh, right. Spike convinced me not to. At least he meant well.
She heard Spike say something, but his voice was swallowed up by the noises of the crowd. She leaned closer to him, tilting one ear in his direction. "Say that again, dear?"
Spike took a deep breath. "I said—"
"Spike, I'm right here!" Rarity snapped, cringing at the volume with which Spike yelled. Oh, wouldn't it be simply lovely if I came away from tonight with a case of tinnitus?
"Sorry," said Spike, pulling farther from her ear. "I said that the crowd thins out a little over that way." He indicated a gap in the throng not far from where they were, and an open space in front of an isolated stall. Odd that such a space would exist when the rest of the carnival was so crowded. It was almost as if ponies were keeping their distance on purpose.
That's not ominous at all. Still, Rarity desperately needed to get away from the sweltering heat of the crowd. Any port in a storm...
The pair pushed toward the stall, Rarity periodically murmuring excuse mes and beg pardons as she and Spike maneuvered together past other carnival-goers. At the edge of the crowd was a dense wall of slow-moving ponies packed shoulder-to-shoulder and flank-to-flank, with nary a nook or cranny to squeeze through. Rarity began to despair of ever extricating herself from the morass. Is this how it ends for you, Rarity? As a hot mess in the middle of a carnival without even the dignity of leaving behind a beautiful corpse?
Rarity was pleasantly surprised to find that she still had some capacity for morbidity.
Spike separated from her and ducked under a passing pony's legs to get free of the crowd. Then, with some effort, he wedged his hands between two ponies who were close enough that one's shoulder pressed against the other's flank and pulled them aside, prying enough of a gap for him to get an arm through. He held his hand out to Rarity, ignoring the indignant exclamations and glares from the two ponies. She let Spike take her by the hoof and pull him through the gap he'd created.
"Excuse me," she said to one of the ponies; "beg your pardon," she said to the other as she squeezed between them. Spike pulled on his end, and through their efforts, they managed to pop Rarity free of the crowd. Momentum carried her forward, and she stumbled and fell, her chest skidding against the dirt.
Spike tried to help her back up, but Rarity waved him off and rose on her own. She looked herself over, inspecting the damage to her dress. It was physically undamaged, no rips, no tears, but her interactions with the crowd and her brief visit with the ground nevertheless had severe ramifications. The ice cream stain was now joined by swirls and skids of dirt and dark, damp spots where her sweat bled through the fabric.
So much for her damage control; if anything, she looked worse than before. That wasn't even taking into account her coif, which she knew was unraveling into a tangled nest without even having to see it. Rarity pined for the time when she could call herself a mere hot mess. Now, she was a hot, filthy, sticky mess, sweating through her outfit like a witty and sophisticated hog.
"Are you alright?" Spike had the temerity to ask.
When in doubt, lie your little heart out. "Fine, thank you," she said curtly.
"How about the dress?" Spike asked. "Is it—"
"The dress is fine, thank you," Rarity said, more unkindly than she'd meant to. She cleared her throat and added, in a more controlled voice, "It's nothing that can't be cleaned or mended. All is well."
Spike swallowed and nodded, and Rarity felt a pang of guilt for letting her frustration get the better of her. He had no control over the situation, and she did him a disservice by taking her anger out on him. Granted, she was still mildly miffed at him for shouting into her ear earlier... and it had been his idea for her to wear the dress to the carnival... and the only reason she was there in the first place was because he'd begged her to go with him... but those were poor excuses for flying off the handle.
I think.
"Spike, I'm—"
"Hey, wait." Spike pointed to the nearby stall. Without the crowd to block her view, she read the signage clearly:
KING UNDER THE MOUNTAIN
(No refunds!)
"Is that who I think it is?" said Spike.
A familiar unicorn – creme-coated, wearing a blue-striped vest and black bowtie, with his mane a candy-striped weave of white and red – leaned against the stall's counter. Behind him were ten glass bottles stacked on top of one another to form a pyramid on a rickety table, and a wall mounted with various stuffed animals of different types and sizes. Two in particular caught Rarity's eye: One was a brown bear, half again her size, with an embroidered pink heart on its stomach, hung on a metal hook directly over the table. The other was a fuzzy walrus with big blue eyes, long, curled eyelashes, and a pristine white coat. A little pink tongue poked out between its tusks, giving it a goofy, dog-like appearance.
Why, it's... it's me! In cute little walrus form! Walrus-Rarity? No... Wal-Rarity! Rarity smiled, delighted. I should like to take it home with me...
Then again, that would mean contending with the con artist behind the counter. Rarity's delighted smile withered at the thought.
Ah, yes. Him.
Flim (or Flam; the pony was clean-shaven and Rarity couldn't remember which of the two had the mustache) was engaged in calling out to ponies in the crowd, trying to entice any of them into taking their chances at his game. Judging by the vast swath of empty ground in front of his stall, he wasn't having much success.
"That's right folks," he called, "step right up for a true test of strength and will, as much a game of skill and finesse as a game of raw physical power!" He flexed one of his forelegs for emphasis. "Just six bits a pop, six bits for a chance to win riches and glory beyond your wildest dreams!" His eyes glinted at the sight of Spike and Rarity. "You, sir, in the purple sequins! Have you what it takes?"
"'Sequins,'" huffed Spike. In response, he cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled "They're scales!"
"Could have fooled me," replied the unicorn. "I just assumed that you were an exceptionally flamboyant colt in a gaudy outfit who taught himself to walk upright."
Spike flushed. "But we've met before! I was standing, like, right in front of you while you sang your stupid apple cider song!"
The unicorn tugged the collar of his shirt. "I'm afraid I don't recall—"
"Oh, don't insult us," said Rarity, stepping forward and pointing her hoof at him accusingly. "You're one of those Flim-Flam brothers that tried to swindle the Apple family out of their land! With your... your... Super Something Cider Something... thingy!" She tossed her head back spitefully. "To think I ever once swooned for the likes of you."
"Actually, that was Flam – er, I mean, young filly, I daresay you have me mistaken for another. You see, my name is neither Flim nor Flam, but, ah... Milf!" To himself, he muttered "yes, that'll do."
"'Milf'." Rarity raised an eyebrow. "The phonetic inversion of 'Flim'?"
"Sure, sure, whatever." A greasy grin spread across Flim's face. "Sharp little tongue you got there. What else can you do with it?" Flim purred lasciviously.
Rarity recoiled in disgust as Spike darted forward. The counter came up to his neck, so he had to stand on tiptoe and crane his head back to glare at Flim. "Hey, you watch how you talk to her!"
"Ah, anger! Fantastic!" said Flim. "Channel it through your throwing arm, my lizardly friend, and you may yet overcome the trials of..." He gestured to a pyramid of stacked glass bottles to his right. "Sharpshard Mountain!" He leaned forward, beckoning the two closer.
Spike stepped back toward Rarity and folded his arms. Rarity didn't move, and continued to regard Flim with a revolted look on her face.
Flim quickly realized they weren't coming any closer and continued his spiel. "See, in ancient times, the great king of the dwarven ponies sealed his menagerie of rare and fantastic beasts away deep within the vaults of Sharpshard Mountain. Legend has it that the mountain will open and share them only with those deemed worthy. And how does one prove themselves worthy of this kingly hoard?"
"By sucking on my toes," muttered Spike.
Rarity smacked him lightly on the shoulder, but couldn't stop herself from snickering.
"Exactly! By conquering the mountain with the Spheres of Dwarven Fortitude Three!" Flim levitated a trio of dirty green balls onto the counter in front of him. "And he who conquers the mountain may lay claim to..." He stepped aside and waved his hoof at the wall of stuffed animals. "The Ancient Dwarven King's Fabled Menagerie of Fluffable Fuzzies!"
Rarity and Spike exchanged a look. "That's a stack of empty bottles and three cheap rubber balls," said Spike. "And you're a fraud." Together, they turned and headed back toward the crowd. Flim may have been a disgusting con artist, but seeing his paltry operation was at least an entertaining diversion – the high water mark of the evening so far.
Although it begs the question of where Flam is.
"What's the matter?" Flim's cloying voice called after them. "Afraid of looking like a chump in front of your lady friend?"
Spike stopped and glared at Flim over his shoulder.
Flim, emboldened, added "C'mon, kid, it's not like you could possibly look any worse than she does. Rough night, sweetheart?"
Rarity's face twisted, smoldering. Flim had clearly Spike pegged as a mark; he was trying to manipulate him into throwing his bits away at his game.
And, of course, he's succeeding, because, as you know too well, dear Spikey-Wikey, has a weakness where you are concerned, Rarity. Not to mention an occasionally troublesome streak of chivalry. Dear oh dear, but Spike was just immature and just deeply enough in love to do something foolish like waste his time and money standing up for her.
"Ignore him. Let's just go, Spike," said Rarity, tugging insistently on the strap of his courier bag.
"No. No, he's asking for it." Spike pulled away from Rarity's grasp and stomped back toward Flim's stall. One hand was clenched tightly into a fist, and the other went into his bag to root around for money.
A smirk played across Flim's face. "Ooh, you're pretty mad, aren't you? I bet you want nothing more than to put me in my place now." Flim's horn glowed green, and the balls rolled toward the edge of the counter, closer to Spike. "Well, come now, little dragon. If honor be the stakes, then surely you have what it takes? Overcome the terrors of Sharpshard Mountain, or live forever with the shame of letting your lady friend be insulted by carnival folk!"
"Spike." Rarity moved to stand beside him and leaned in close. "Darling, don't. He's playing you."
"Well, duh," Spike hissed. "I'm not stupid. But I can't let him get away with what he said to you."
His devotion was touching – and entirely unnecessary. Though she played the part when it pleased her to, Rarity was no wilting waif in need of rescue.
And that "duh" was just downright patronizing.
"Spike, I don't need protecting," she said, holding her irritation in check for his sake. "But standing up to him is quite simply beneath my dignity."
Flim rested his chin on his hoof. "Hey, Pit Stains, what's dignity to you, anyway?"
Spike growled and turned on Flim again, but Rarity rested her hoof on his shoulder, and he froze before he could say anything.
Touche, Flim. But two can play at this game. And nopony knows how to play Spike quite like Rarity.
"Come now. I know you promised me games, but must it really be this one?" She summoned a winning smile, the kind that always turned his insides to butter.
Spike's muscles relaxed, the fight draining out of him. A little smile of his own crept across his face.
Flim suddenly broke into a series of loud, obnoxious clucks, tucking his hooves under his armpits and flapping them incessantly.
Spike snorted green-tinted smoke from his nostrils. He whirled around and slammed a handful of bits onto the counter. "Rarity, do you see that bear?" He pointed to the same bear Rarity had noticed earlier. "I. Am going. To win you. That bear. Or die trying."
Rarity despaired at being outmaneuvered by something so puerile.
It was his money to waste, she supposed, but she didn't particularly like that he was wasting it on her behalf, and after she'd expressly told him she neither wanted nor expected him to. Spike may have been a gentleman of uncommon gallantry, but he was also rash, stubborn, and desperately needed to learn how to pick his battles.
Also, if I had to choose, I'd really prefer that nice fuzzy walrus.
Flim scraped the bits off of the counter, chuckling to himself, and stepped aside to give Spike a clear lane to throw.
Spike picked up the first ball and cradled it in his palm, rapping his claws against it. Handicapped by his height relative to the counter, he had to take two steps back in order to give himself enough of an angle to hit the bottles effectively. Still, he played the part of the avenging hero well; he stood straight, as tall as he could, with a resolute mask over his face, staring the bottles down like a knight on a tilt. Except for a slight trembling in his shoulders, Rarity thought he looked very confident.
Spike stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. Then he planted his weight on his back foot, drew his arm back, and stepped forward to hurl the ball through the air. The angle was poor, but the force behind the ball tremendous; he had much stronger arms than his pudgy little body would attest to. The ball sailed true, and struck the bottle at the bottom-left corner...
...and rebounded harmlessly away with a ping. The rickety table wobbled slightly from the impact, but the pyramid held firm.
Spike blanched. "Whubbuhwuh?"
"Ooh," hissed Flim. "So very close; so painfully close. Don't sweat it, son; you've still got two throws left. So far, you're just a third of a failure!"
Spike, growling, picked up and threw the second ball. Again, it struck the pyramid; again, it ricocheted off, this time hurtling toward Flim, who ducked under it with a laugh. "Two-thirds a failure! Hey now, watch where you're aiming. I know you're having performance issues, but c'mon, you're not supposed to take it out on me!"
Rarity watched Flim closely, waiting for some telltale sign that the shifty unicorn was cheating. He must be using his magic to shield the bottles and deflect the ball, or... or something! Spike, you gallant fool, you've wasted your money...
With a cry of frustration, Spike grabbed the final ball and flung it. She kept her eyes on Flim, waiting for the giveaway, a spark at the end of his horn, a shimmer, a flash of aura. Not a thing.
Confusion gave way to frustration and anger, and Rarity clenched her teeth together.
This time, the ball struck the pyramid dead-center. The ball rebounded upward, ricocheted off the overhanging sign's edge, and hurtled downward toward Spike. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped just before the ball struck him between the teeth, lodging in his mouth and knocking him backward.
"Spike!" Rarity fell beside him, ignoring the cold sensation of dirt rubbing against her knees through the fabric of her dress.
Flim laughed and pounded his hoof on the counter. "That's three, and you're out!" he gasped between guffaws, wiping a tear from his eye. "Congratulations, kid, you're a fully-fledged failure!"
Concerned ponies detached from the crowd at the sight of the fallen dragon, and they gathered around Spike and Rarity, murmuring. Several cast dirty looks at Flim and whispered to one another. It occurred to Rarity that Spike was probably not the first mark Flim had found tonight. Small wonder the crowd was giving his booth a wide berth.
"Give us some room," Rarity said to the sympathetic ponies, waving them back. "Please, don't crowd him. Spike..." Rarity cradled his head in her hooves. "Are you alright? Come back to me now."
Spike blinked slowly as his wits returned. He spat the ball out the side of his mouth and shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Then he pulled away from Rarity, jumped to his feet, dug his claws into the wooden surface of the counter, and glared furiously at Flim. "You cheat! Give me back my money!"
Flim's mocking laughter died down to a chuckle. "Cheat? Me? Why, I'm a legitimate businesspony, my boy, nothing more. You had your chance for glory and you blew it."
"But I—"
"Buh-leeeew it!" Flim sang. "You've got wet noodles for arms, kid! Don't take it too hard, though; not everypony's cut out to be a champion!" Another string of ugly, mocking laughter followed the insult.
The crowd's murmurs grew louder, angrier, words of encouragement for Spike alongside cries of "cheater" and "scam". But Spike's infuriated expression faltered; he sagged back onto his feet, slumped his shoulders, and his fingers slipped away from the counter to hang limply at his sides.
Rarity hadn't asked him to stand up for her – hadn't even wanted him to, really. But he put his own dignity on the line for hers just on principle, and Flim had publicly shamed him for it. She could relate, of course, but even if she couldn't, the insult to her friend was something she could not let pass unanswered. The whole night's worth of negativity, all the feelings of frustration and rejection and self-pity, bubbled back to the surface, and Rarity forged it into a red-hot spear of fury thrust toward Flim.
He shan't get the last laugh. I'll see him beaten yet.
How, though? He was clearly cheating; there was simply no way every single one of Spike's throws should have been so ineffective. But if he wasn't using magic, then how...?
Rarity cast a look at Sharpshard Mountain itself.
Of course. Silly Rarity, so used to looking for the glitz and glamour in everything that you'd overlook the completely mundane. This isn't magical at all.
It's the bottles. They're glued together. To the table, too. What to do, then, what to do...?
Rarity searched the stall for the answer, passing over smugly grinning Flim, over Sharpshard Mountain itself, over the Menagerie of Fluffable Fuzzies (lingering on the little walrus for just a moment), to the oversized bear... the bear hanging directly over the mountain... the mountain glued to that dinky old table... looks like it'd fall to pieces in a stiff breeze. I wonder just how much that bear weighs, relative to its size... Rarity tilted her head just enough to see the thin strip of white fabric on the back of the bear's neck, looped around the hook. And I wonder just how strong the stitching on that tag is.
A devious smirk flashed across Rarity's face for a split second before she stifled it, not wanting to give the game away. Oh yes, he would get his, and it would be glorious.
"Double or nothing!" she called. The crowd gasped.
Flim's ears pricked. "Say what now?"
"Double. Or nothing." Rarity stomped toward the counter and planted her hooves on it, leaning close to Flim with a vicious glare. "I would have gladly walked away from you and your chicanery, but you went and forced the issue. Now I'll see you humbled for it."
"Rarity." Spike's voice sounded as grim and tired as he looked. "What are you doing?"
None of that. If this is to work, I'll need you on my side.
Rarity knelt and rested her hooves on his shoulders. "Spike."
"You were right," he muttered, lowering his head.
"Spike, listen to me."
"I shouldn't have—"
Rarity tucked her hoof under his chin and raised his head to gaze into his eyes. "Forget what I said before, darling. This isn't about games, or prizes. This isn't even about me. That charlatan does not deserve to get the better of you. You are better than that. You are better than him."
Spike's eyes glistened. "I... but..." He gulped, and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Rarity, it's rigged. There's no way for us to win."
"Have faith in me. As I have in you." She patted the dumbstruck dragon on the cheek. Then, rising, she turned back to Flim. "Twice the payoff for you if we lose, twice the prizes for us if we win. And we'll be wanting our money back. Deal?"
"Oh, most definitely, ma'am," said Flim with a smarmy laugh. He levitated another pile of balls onto the counter.
Spike hesitantly reached for one of the balls. His hand hovered over it as though he were afraid it might leap up and bite him if he touched it.
Rarity leaned close to his ear. "As hard as you can. Do you understand?"
Spike gulped, but nodded, and closed trembling fingers around the ball. He took a deep breath to steady himself, stepped back a pace, and focused squarely on the bottle in the center of the pyramid. Rarity kept watching Flim, whose smug, half-lidded expression sickened her.
We'll see who's smiling when I'm done with you.
Spike took a deep breath, wound his arm back to build momentum, and hurled the ball hard enough that Rarity swore she saw it smoking. It struck the pyramid; it rebounded away, and Flim laughed triumphantly at the look of despair on Spike's face.
All eyes were on Spike and Flim. Nopony was watching Rarity, nor the bear mounted above the pyramid. Rarity's horn shimmered a pale blue; she wrapped her magic around the tag securing the bear to its hook. All it took was a tiny little tear at the edge of the fabric to make it rip and give way. Gravity and entropy did the rest.
The bear plummeted onto the table, its wide-open arms encircling Sharpshard Mountain. The bottles held, as expected. But the added weight of the bear, the angle at which it pressed against the table, was too much for it to stay upright. The table's rickety legs shook under its additional burden and buckled, and the tabletop fell, the weight of the bottles canting it to the right. Sharpshard Mountain settled onto its side intact and stuck to the surface of the table, wrapped in the loving embrace of the bear.
"Oh, Spike!" Rarity sang, hamming it up for the crowd. "Fancy that! You hurled that ball with such strength and force that you knocked that bear free from its hook! And, in what is surely an spectacular coincidence, set into motion a chain of events which culminated..." She darted to the counter and waved her hoof in a sweeping, grandiose gesture at the sideways pyramid of glass bottles. "In Sharpshard Mountain being knocked over." She smirked at Flim. "Albeit indirectly, but that's neither here nor there. Sharpshard Mountain is conquered, as are you, sir."
The gathered crowd was silent. Flim's eyes bulged, and his mouth worked open and closed without any sounds coming out of it. Spike stood rooted to the ground in shock, his eyes fixed on the spot of air formerly occupied by Sharpshard Mountain. "I... I..."
Rarity turned, met his searching gaze, and winked at him.
Then the crowd erupted into stomping, whistling applause. Rarity leaned down and pressed her lips against Spike's cheek. "My knight in shining scales." She nuzzled him, giggling at the warmth of his blush against her skin.
"That doesn't count!" Flim fumed. "He didn't knock over the bottles! You have to knock over the bottles! Those are the rules!"
"Why, of course he knocked over the bottles!" said Rarity. "He knocked over the bear, which knocked over the table, which knocked over the bottles in turn. If you didn't want that to count as a win, you ought to have specified as such. And you probably shouldn't have hung that bear right over the mountain. That was just poor planning."
"You... you..." Flim stammered. "You cheater! You cheated me!"
"Tut tut," said Rarity. "You speak to me of cheating? When those bottles remain so obviously glued to the tabletop?"
Flim began to sweat. "A... a trick of magnetism. Nothing more!"
"You give two-bit con-artists all over Equestria a bad name. There's magnetism, and there's miraculous, and there's just plain old glue. Which of the three seems the most likely culprit in this case?" Rarity turned to address the crowd. "What do you think, my good ponies? Magnetism or miraculous or plain old glue?"
More stomps and cheers and whinnies.
"Sorry, Milf, the mob has spoken." Rarity clicked her tongue. "Honestly, you ought to face defeat with dignity. But then, what's dignity to you, anyway?"
Flim's lips curled into a sour grimace.
"Now," said Rarity, "I believe that, in addition to a full refund, you owe my friend and I two prizes, as per our arrangement." She separated the bear from the mountain, levitated it out behind the counter, and draped it over her back, its arms and legs dangling over either flank. "Spike, you promised me this bear, of course. And since this is really your victory, you ought to choose a prize of your own."
Spike, blushing and smiling and eyes watering, said nothing. Rarity could only wonder what was going on in his head.
Do you relish the approval of the crowd, Spikey-Wikey? Does this farce I've concocted to spare your honor please you? It pleases me, I must admit. The victory, yes, but more than that...
A blush of her own bloomed on her cheeks, and she turned away bashfully.
I rather like being your white knight for a change.
"What's all this commotion?"
The voice cut through Rarity's good mood like a knife. Another unicorn strode through the crowd – creme-coated, candy-striped mane, a dead ringer for the stallion behind the game counter except for the curly red mustache on his upper lip.
Flim's eyes lit up, and a victorious smile crossed his face. "Ah, Malf! My dear... er, second cousin! With whom I share an uncanny physical resemblance!" He jerked his hoof toward Spike and Rarity. "Those two couldn't conquer Sharpshard Mountain without resorting to cheating, and now they're trying to shake me down for prizes they didn't even earn!"
Flam gasped melodramatically as the crowd booed, and turned upon Spike and Rarity. "Is this true?"
"Wha – bu – no! That's – no!" Rarity stammered. "This game was rigged! He's the cheat!"
"Lies, damn lies!" Flim levitated up the tabletop, mountain and all, and set it on the counter. "Look here, cousin; they accuse me of gluing these bottles to the table and rigging the game against them. In reality, they hatched a despicable con to break our property and scam us out of prizes that are rightly earned!"
Flim was met with more booing and hissing from the crowd. Rarity, emboldened by their support, stood her ground. "Those bottles were obviously glued together and to the table. Spike's throws struck them thrice, direct hits all, but they wavered not one iota! What are the odds of that?"
Flim chuckled. "Clearly, dear cousin, this ignorant mare has never heard of the... the, uh, third law of magnetism. Which was, of course, codified by..."
"By Starsailor!" Flam coughed. "You've truly never heard of Starsailor's Third Law of Magnetism?"
"Do you mean 'Starswirl?'" asked Rarity skeptically. "The Bearded?"
"Sure, sure, whatever." Flam rolled his eyes. "Point is, when wood and glass interact in a certain way, they have a tendency to adhere to one another. Common knowledge in academic circles. The principles behind it are quite complex, and I wouldn't want you to strain your little brain over them, but suffice to say!"
Flam swung his hoof toward the pyramid on the counter, and in the split second before it made contact, sparks of green light appeared and winked out at every point of contact between the bottles on the pyramid. He struck the bottle in the far left side of the center row, sweeping the whole row and everything above it onto the counter and floor.
"With sufficient force, those magnetic bonds can be broken." Flam rubbed his hoof and shook it in the air, pain spasming across his face. "Maybe if your friend had put enough oomph behind his throws, you might've won this game legitimately."
"Indeed. But look at the flimsy little wrists on him. Some dragon he is." Flim smirked at Spike. "My thanks to you, Malf. As a token of my appreciation, please accept this gift!"
A green aura nabbed the bear on Rarity's back and hoisted it into the air before the cry of protest could leave her mouth. The bear dropped onto Flam's back. Flam chuckled, and bounced the bear like a foal with a new toy.
"Now then," said Flim, turning back to Spike. "I believe you owe me an apology. And another six bits."
Around them, the angry murmuring of the crowd resumed. Rarity tried to summon the words to express her outrage in a manner befitting a lady of poise and stature, but before she could speak her mind, Spike stepped forward, dropped another handful of coins on the counter, and turned away, head hung low. "Let's go, Rarity."
"Spike, but—"
"Let's just go. They won."
Her knight in shining scales tread listlessly away. Ignoring the crowd's sympathetic noises, she followed after him.
Rarity and Spike said nothing as they walked together through a carnival which felt decidedly emptier than it had before. Most of the attendees had wandered off to stake out vantage points for the fireworks elsewhere on the green, so the crowd had thinned considerably. The stalls and stands and rides were still lit up, bathing them in light from all sides, but the ponies operating the games and concessions were starting to close up shop, and the lines for the rides were down to nothing. Even the densest part of the carnival behind them had become a ghost town. Ride attendants and shop runners flitted like specters between the attractions, and only the eerie whistle of calliope underscored the scene. They passed the stand where Pinkie had set up shop; the chalkboard was gone, and Pinkie was nowhere to be seen.
The silence and emptiness were starting to make Rarity anxious. She needed a conversation almost as badly as she'd needed that drink earlier.
"You know," Rarity remarked to the little dragon walking beside her. "You've got quite a throwing arm, Spike. I'm impressed. Honestly."
Spike said nothing. His feet dragged as he walked, making loud scraping sounds as his claws dug into the dirt.
His silence hurt, almost physically hurt. Rarity cantered forward and wheeled around to intercept Spike and stopped him with a hoof against his chest.
"Spike, please. Talk to me."
Spike wrapped his arms around his stomach, looking downward. "I should have just let you go home the way you wanted," he said to his feet. "So stupid."
"Don't talk like that," said Rarity sharply. She pressed her hoof against his chest harder "You're a decent young dragon who made a gallant effort—"
"I'm a selfish and stupid little failure and I made everything worse for you." This time, he did look her in the eye. "You were upset, and all I could think about was how I could make you feel better. All because I—" He stopped, bit back the rest of his sentence.
Rarity felt her chest tighten, her blood run cold.
Not tonight, Spike. Don't make us have this talk tonight.
Spike sighed. He wrapped his fingers around Rarity's hoof and gently pushed it off his chest. "Forget it. Let's just call it a night." He turned on his heels and continued his march toward the exit. One hand hung limply at his side; the other found its way into his bag.
Rarity stood alone in an emptying carnival, watching her friend leave and wishing she knew how to make him stop. Things had started with such promise; for a fleeting moment, she actually believed she'd pull out of the depression that her night began with. Now? Spike was right. She was going to go home feeling worse.
But because of something he did? No... Spike had his more aggravating moments, sure, but the night didn't turn over because of anything he said or did. Nor did he fail her in any meaningful way. But he was going home feeling as though he'd let her down anyway, hurt and subjected to public humiliation that nopony deserved.
Well, perhaps Flim and Flam do. But not Spike. Dear, noble, good-hearted Spike... There's a lesson to be learned from tonight; I know there is. But must the lesson's cost be your self-respect and happiness?
Not if she had any say in the matter.
The light, the warmth, of the grossly incandescent monument to revelry that was the Ferris wheel, washed over her, wrapping her body in a halo of white and yellow.
Give me a chance. Let me try again to be your white knight.
"Spike, wait. A moment, please?"
Her voice, a siren's call that she knew he could never resist, pulled him to a stop. He half-turned, looking at her in profile with sad, drooping eyes.
"You brought me here to make me happy." Rarity put a tentative hoof forward, smiled a shaky smile. "And what would truly make me happy..."
She stepped to the side and turned her gaze to the Ferris wheel. She heard the sound of Spike's toes scraping through the dirt as he closed the distance between the two of them.
"Is if you would make good on the rest of your promise."