Prom and Circumstance

by TheMessenger

Chapter 9

Try as they might to avoid it, children will often inherit the traits of their parents. For many, this simply involves having a similar appearance to one or both parents, hence common phrases involving the acquisition of a father’s nose or a mother’s eyes. In these cases, neither party has much sway over the inheritance process outside of morally questionable magic and genetic modification along with a healthy interest in playing god. For less physical traits such as personality, interests and hobbies, habits, and moral stances, the parent has a little more control as they direct how the child will spend their formative years. Thus, we have blond farmers begetting blond farmers, gold diggers producing spoiled brats who think money can buy anything, and hundreds of individuals each year who will awake to their reflection and weep as they realize they’ve become their father or mother.

Now children rebel, it’s what they do, and it isn’t rare to find those who have rejected what their parents tried to pass on, intentionally or otherwise. Sometimes after enough pushing a child will push back, like choosing their father’s most hated fruit over his favorite, and such differences can test the strength of any familial bonds. Sometimes fate just has different plans, and that rock farmer’s daughter just doesn’t have the dour attitude necessary for the family business. And sometimes it’s just a matter of not liking the mane color you received from your father and buying some mane dye.

Who could say which parent gave Spike his purple scales? Who could say which parent gave Spike his green eyes and namesakes? Spike’d be lying if he said the lack of that knowledge didn’t bother him at times, but in the end he’d be fine because he knew exactly which parent gave him his quick wit, his appreciation for literature, which comic books certainly counted for, his occasionally misplaced confidence in his plans, and his rather extreme tendency to pace when stressed.

Had she been any other pony, Pinkie Pie might have been impressed by the depth of the groove Spike managed to wear into the hard paved walkway in front of the school’s entrance, but for her the novelty had long since died. She yawned and rolled onto her back. “When are those ponies going to get here?” she groaned.

The upside down dragon in front of her stopped. “Soon, I hope. They’re already half an hour late,” Spike said. “Any word from that party expert of yours?”

“Nope. Guess they couldn’t make it.”

“Hm.” Spike continued his pacing. Every third step, he would look up at the sky and frown. “Sun’s going down,” he finally announced.

“You sure? It’s going up for me.” Pinkie Pie popped back onto her hooves. “No wait, never mind. So.” She turned to Spike and stared for a good long minute. “I noticed you’re wearing a suit. Was there a change in this meeting’s dress code nopony told me about?”

“What? Oh, this?” Spike tried to scoff nonchalantly. It ended up being more of a sputter. “It’s, uh, just something I found while cleaning out my, you know, my closet and figured, eh, why not? So, what do you think?” Spike rubbed his knuckles against his chest as he leaned back against an imaginary wall. “Not too shabby, right?”

Pinkie shrugged. “Eh, it’s alright I guess. A little weird actually. I mean, I’m no clothing expert like Rarity, but it kind of looks like you’re going on a date or something. Hey, do you think we should’ve met them at the train station?”

“I thought about it,” Spike said, “but letter did say they’d meet us at the school, and it’s probably safer if we just follow their instructions. You know how uptight ponies from Canterlot can get.”

“But that’s just it. These are Canterlot ponies. What if telling us they’d meet us here is some aggressively passive way of saying they’re expecting us to pick them up at the station?”

“That’s, that’s silly. I mean, there’s no way. That’s a bit too much even for Canterlot. I think.” Spike looked back at the letter from the planning committee he was holding. “Maybe I should check the station, just in case,” he said. He bent his knees and spread out his wings, giving them a quick experimental flap to ready himself for takeoff.

“No wait, maybe that’s them,” Pinkie declared, pointing out to a trio of figures slowly approaching.

The distance and poor lighting made it difficult to see any features in detail, and all Spike could determine at this point were that they were all ponies. “You think so?” he whispered. “From what I can tell, they could be students or tourists or even ponies from town. Wait, is your Pinkie Sense going off?”

Pinkie nodded. “Flaring nostrils,” she said, pointing at her snout. “That means super judgmental ponies who think they’re better than you are approaching. That or I’ve got acute upper respiratory blockage. Hm, nah, definitely the first one.“

“Judgmental ponies that think they’re better than us, huh?” Spike sighed and tried to smooth out any wrinkles he couldn’t see. “Well, I guess that could describe the types of ponies who’d organize something as horrible as the Grand Galloping Gala. Thanks again for agreeing to meet them with me, by the way.”

“Aw, there’s no way I’d leave you all alone with those ponies,” Pinkie Pie assured. She wrapped her forelegs over Spike’s shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. “You might crack under pressure and accept and use all their advice without questioning any of it and then ruin prom for every creature by turning it into just another boring old gala.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Spike said, rolling his eyes as he shook Pinkie off.

The mare pounced right back onto her feet seconds after hitting the ground. “I said might. I mean, you’ve got to admit, you’re kind of a pushover when it comes to ponies telling you what to do. Ooh, look, here they are.”

At last their visitors had arrived, only a couple of meters away. Three figures shaped like ponies became three unicorns, two mares and a stallion. The stallion and one of the mares wore dark gray suits with a white shirt underneath and a tie around the collar fastened in such a complex and sophisticated knot that left Spike tugging at his own. The other mare, some several years older than her colleagues if the lines on her face and the gray in her mane were of any indication, was adorn in a dull pink blouse. Both mares wore their manes in a tight no-nonsense bun, and their lips were pressed just as tightly. The stallion was no less intimidating, the gleam from his glasses, an impressive feat in itself considering the only light source was a small lantern hanging over the doorway, leaving his eyes hidden from view.

Spike stepped forward, but Pinkie Pie was swifter. “Welcome to Princess Twilight Sparkle’s School of Friendship!” she greeted, grabbing and forcefully shaking hooves. “You must be the Grand Galloping Gala planning committee. Wow, I thought there’d be more of you. I mean, I figured a party as big as the Grand Galloping Gala would need like, way more than three ponies to organize.”

“Quite,” the stallion said. He checked the hoof Pinkie had grabbed, or at least Spike thought he was checking it, it was hard to tell with his glasses gleaming as they were. “Our most sincere apologies for the tardiness, but we were under the impression that a school directed by a princess would have had the foresight to provide an escort to meet us at the station and lead us here.”

Spike and Pinkie Pie drew in a short breath together and winced as the older mare sniffed and said, “I see the princess herself is not among us.”

This time, thankfully, Spike was quicker. “Yes, well, Princess Twilight Sparkle is currently on royal princess business that does not pertain to the school’s operations and is currently not available,” Spike said, placing a claw over Pinkie’s mouth as he did his best to smile.

“Ah yes, that would explain why a Starlight Glimmer had sent and signed that request as the acting headmare,” said the mare in the suit. “And is this Ms. Glimmer?” She gestured to Pinkie Pie.

“Oh, no. This is Pinkie Pie, a teacher and our, um, event planner. I’m afraid Starlight is also out of town. She, uh, you see, uh.” Spike bit back a curse as he pulled out a set of cards with notes on them. He began to rapidly sift through them, shuffling those in front to the back. “Ah. Okay.” The cards disappeared. “I’m afraid Acting Headmare Starlight Glimmer is unable to join us tonight as an urgent matter from out of town required her attention.” Spike placed his claws behind his back and tried to stand a little straighter. “Until the time of her or the princess’s return, I, Spike the Dragon, have been assigned the responsibilities and duties of the acting head of the School of Friendship, and it is my pleasure to have you here to help us with our event.”

Brows were raised. “Excuse us,” the younger mare said. The group stepped out of Spike and Pinkie’s earshot and began to whisper among themselves. The sole dragon and earth pony present shared a look and a shrug before turning back to their visitors. The whispers were growing louder, more heated, and though no words could be heard it was obvious that there was bickering and disagreements being made.

And then, silence. The ponies turned back to Spike and Pinkie and approached. “Well, this is all quite suspect,” the stallion stated, finally showing his eyes as he wiped his lens with a embroidered handkerchief. “We agreed to assist with this gala—“

“Prom.”

The stallion paused. “I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Spike interjected, again covering Pinkie’s mouth with a claw. “My colleague, she was just, um, clearing her throat. Anyways, you were saying something about agreeing to help us?”

“When the committee agreed to lend its expertise, it did so under the impression that we would be working with either the princess or the acting headmare who had sent the request,” the mare in the blouse said, frowning. It amazed Spike how despite being a good head shorter she still managed to successfully look down on him. “You however are neither, and that complicates things.”

Spike rubbed the back of his head. “I, suppose I can’t really argue with the first point. But?” he prompted, motioning to the younger mare to conclude.

“Oh, there is no but,” she said tersely. “We’re done here, but it wouldn’t be polite to leave without exchanging salutations. So, farewell.”

”Whoa, whoa!” Spike ran past the three and stood in their path. “You can’t leave. You said you’d help us.”

“That agreement was with the acting headmare, Starlight Glimmer,” the older mare said with a sniff, “who, as we can all see, couldn’t even be bothered to keep our meeting.”

“Hey, it’s not her fault the Manehattan legal system perpetuates the oppression of somewhat hard working, not-so-honest, two-bit show magicians,” Pinkie Pie protested. “And besides, that agreement was made on behalf of the School of Friendship.”

“And, and Princess Twilight Sparkle,” Spike added, an idea slowly taking form in his mind. “Yeah, you know, Princess Twilight Sparkle, the mare who runs the School of Friendship and planned this entire event until there, um, was that royal emergency. Yep, and she was really looking forward to it. You’re not really going to ruin this for her, the Princess of Friendship, over some technicalities about who sent what or what said what or whatever, are you?”

The three Canterlot ponies began to exchange looks. A predatory grin creep across Spike’s face as he pounced for the kill. “I mean, what would Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, no, Canterlot, no, all of Equestria think of the Grand Galloping Gala if they learned that the planning committee decided to back out of helping the Princess of Friendship?”

“Oh my gosh!” Pinkie sudden zipped forward and grabbed the stallion by his cheeks, knocking off his glasses. “That would ruin the Grand Galloping Gala’s reputation! What if ponies stop going or Princess Celestia decides not to host it any more?” She cut her own dramatic gasp short and dropped the stallion. “Meh, no huge loss.”

The older mare grew more and more purple as she glared at Spike and Pinkie. Her colleagues, however, appeared more nervous than angered. The two sighed, and as the stallion got back up and dusted himself off, the mare said, “Well, I suppose we could take a quick look and provide a little advice, as a favor to the princess.”

“Hey, that’s all we ask.” Spike motioned them forward toward the school’s entrance. “After you.” Safely behind their visitors, Spike and Pinkie shared a quick but satisfying claw-to-hoof bump before following closely behind, then taking the lead once inside.

“Quite a bit of room,” the stallion noted as they passed through the lobby and made their way through one of the hallways. “Yes, I can see quite an impressive opening ceremony back there.“

“Perhaps, but this hall is much too long,” the suited mare said. “The distance between the gala entrance and the gala proper is imperative. It mustn’t be too long or too short, and already this is on the long side. Is there a shorter path to the ballroom?”

“Ballroom, like the gym?” Pinkie asked. “I thought we were having everything out in the courtyard.”

“The gala is to take place outside?” the younger mare said. “How, novel I suppose.”

“Is it?” Spike asked. “Some of the Grand Galloping Gala happens in the castle’s gated garden.”

“Yes, some, but an entire gala?” The older mare shook her head. “What if it rains? Did any of you even consider that possibility?”

“Um, ponies control the weather,” Spike pointed out. “I really don’t think rain’ll be an issue.”

“Hmph. Lose that cocky attitude, Mr. the Dragon. That’s my first piece of advice,” the older mare grunted, her eyes narrowing. “If there’s anything I’ve learned from my years of planning galas, it’s that anything can happen.” She sighed and seemed to stare blankly at something in the far distance. “You can plan and plan and plan, and what ruins the whole night is the thing you never even thought about.”

“If you say so. Well, here we are,” Spike said, gesturing as they all stepped out into the courtyard.

The stallion looked around. “This, is it?”

“Well, kind of?” said Spike. He shot a nervous glance at Pinkie Pie who could only shrug in reply. “Is something wrong?”

“Is something wrong?” the stallion repeated. “Where do I begin? You only have a few streamers on the walls and in the trees as decorations, there’s only one table for beverages with no hors d’oeuvres in sight, and that punch bowl doesn’t even have anything in it, I see a phonograph where a band should be, the only lights are coming from the surrounding buildings, it’s just, I don’t, this is, I can hardly speak. How could you think this courtyard was even close to being ready for a gala?”

“Oh, the lights! Be right back.” Pinkie Pie ran off, and seconds later several colored light flashed from the trees and along the walls.

The younger mare visibly cringed. “Are those Hearth’s Warming lights?”

“Yep,” answered Pinkie who had returned without anyone noticing. “Those never go out of season.”

“It’s, uh, it’s a work in progress.” Spike chuckled nervously. “I mean, obviously. It’s just to get an idea of how everything show look, just an outline, that sort of thing. The real deal will have two, no, three tables with appetizers.” The three from Canterlot raised their brows. “Four?”

The oldest of the group sighed. “Let’s start with the largest issue at hoof. You cannot have a gala out here. Look at all these water hazards.” The mare pointed to the small moat surrounding the fountain in the center of the courtyard. “And then there’s all this grass. Where were you expecting ponies to dance?”

“On the, grass? I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Spike quickly added as the older mare turned pale and appeared close to fainting. “Okay, I guess we can have the dancing in the main building over there, and here in the courtyard creatures can relax and eat and stuff. Like at the Grand Galloping Gala.” He turned to Pinkie, then to the members of the planning committee. “How does that sound?”

“A party that takes place outside and inside, eh?” Pinkie scratched her chin. “That sounds crazy enough to work.”

“I suppose it is an adequate solution,” the younger mare allowed. “Now, on to the topic of refreshments. Would it be safe to assume based on the presence of that table with the empty punch bowl that you hadn’t thought to acquire a wait staff?”

“Well, we did ask the cafeteria staff if they could help, but that night‘s their monthly lunch ladies’s night, and even if it wasn’t I don’t think we could’ve convinced many of them to stand around all night serving drinks and food in a suit,” Spike explained. “Also, aren’t those waiter suits expensive? I don’t think we have the budget to cover the entire staff.”

“Hm, so you were going to leave your guests to serve themselves, is that correct?” the younger mare asked.

“Y-yes?”

The mare’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, but?”

“But, uh, maybe.” Spike turned to Pinkie with a silent plea on his features.

“Oh, I know, Fluttershy could ask some of her animal friends to act as waiters, like with Smokey and his family.”

“Interesting. And this Smokey is what exactly?” the older mare asked. “Sure nothing danger like bear.”

“Nope. A raccoon,” Pinkie answered with a grin.

The stallion managed to catch the fainting older mare before she hit the ground. “A, a raccoon,” the still standing mare repeated. “Ah, well, if there’s no alternative, perhaps your guests can be trusted to serve themselves. Now, what do you plan to have on the menu?”

“Oh, you know, a bit of this, a bit of that. Party food here, party food there.”

The mare in the suit frowned at Pinkie’s answer. She turned to Spike. “Specify.”

Spike pulled out a scroll and let it unravel. “For food, we have from the local bakery Sugarcube Corner cupcakes, chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry flavored, pumpkin pies, pecan pies, blueberry pies, peach pies, key lime pie, custard tarts, and fruit tarts. The Apple family’s providing some apple pies, candied apples, apple turnovers, and fritters, and maybe a barrel of cider if they can spare it. We’ve also got potato chips with bean dip and salsa, fries, and nachos, and we also have recipes for Griffonstone scones, kelp fritters from Mount Aris, and miniature imitation Yakyakistan vanilla cakes.”

“I’m sorry, nachos?” the mare in the suit inquired.

“You know. Tortilla chips with melted cheese, jalapeños, and onions and stuff on top,” Spike said. “Nachos.”

“Doesn’t it all sound delicious?” Pinkie smiled as her eyes grew misty and wistful. “Mmm, nacho cupcakes,” she said, salivating.

The suited stallion and mare both recoiled as drool leaked from Pinkie’s lips and soaked into the ground. The older mare, still recovering from her earlier fainting spell, was blissfully ignorant. “It sounds quite messy,” the stallion stated. “Nearly everything you just listed could leave crumbs or stains on somepony’s attire. May I?” He motioned to the scroll in Spike’s claw, then, once the list was safely in his magical grasp, he brought out an expensive looking fountain pen.

“Nothing with excessive frosting,” he said, crossing out items with a wild flourish. “And nothing that’s leave many crumbs. Nothing with too much juice of course, those leave the worst sort of stains, which of course means no fruit punch.” There was an excessive number of lines being drawn. “I’d recommend lemon and cucumber water or ice tea. Nothing oily either. No dips, no sauces. There you are, that should cover it.”

Spike quickly scanned through the revised list. “That just leaves the tarts.”

“Allow me.” The suited mare took hold of the list and pulled out her own elaborate pen. “Here are some appetizers you’ll find far more suitable for a gala.”

Again the list returned to Spike, and again he read through the changes. Pinkie leaned over his shoulder and read along. “What’s a canapé? Is that even food?”

“We’ll look it up later,” Spike whispered back. To the suited ponies before him he gave a smile, hoping it looked less forced than it felt, and said, “Thank you. This will be so much help. We’ll definitely be sure to take everything here in consideration when we set up the real thing. Was there anything else—“

“Entertainment! Music!” the older mare shrieked, suddenly up on her hooves. “I hear nothing but the silence of disappointment when I should be hearing the dulcet melodies of the greatest generation of composers played by the finest performers still of this world!“

“Well, okay. Let’s see.” Spike flipped through the stack of records beside the record player. “We’ve got, uh, a collection of the top greatest one-hit wonders from the last decade, a couple of old Sapphire Shore albums, some Hearth’s Warming carols, the Coloratura acoustic cover album—“

“Ooh, Ooh, do we have the pony pokey?” Pinkie Pie exclaimed.

“Six different versions. Classic, country cover, punk rock cover, big band, and dance party remix.”

“Would it be silly to ask if you had any symphonies or or at the very least a concerto?” the younger mare asked. “I’d even settle for something along those lines made in the past century.”

“Or perhaps a far better solution, why not arrange to have actual live musicians at the gala?” the stallion offered. “I’m certain any orchestral group worth their string and brass would know the classical classics one would expect to hear at such an event. Ponyville does have its own local orchestral group, does it not? Even a quartet would suffice.”

“Well, we’ve got a cellist, and her roommate is a DJ,” answered Pinkie Pie. “They sometimes do weddings and surprise fashion shows, but they told us they were both pretty busy this month when we asked.”

“Make it happen,” the older mare interjected sternly, emphasizing with a wave of her wrinkled hoof right under Spike’s nose. “You cannot, I repeat, cannot put on a gala without live music. If word got out that Princess Twilight Sparkle was having a gala at this school and was using a phonograph and records in the place of live musicians, both her reputation and the school’s would be destroyed. And if ponies somehow discovered that the Grand Galloping Gala’s planning committee was involved, never mind how involved, why, the very name of the Grand Galloping Gala could be tarnished. I do not care how you go about it, you hire that cellist and whatever that dee jay is. Do I make myself clear?”

Spike took a step back and swallowed. “Make it happen, got it.”

“Very good.” The older mare settled back down, the intensity in her eyes having burned itself out, leaving the mare momentarily exhausted. “Now,” she huffed as her breath slowly returned, “I believe that covers entertainment.”

“Wait, what about the games?” Pinkie Pie jumped in. “I mean, what would you even call a party without piñatas or pin the tail on the pony?”

“A gala,” was the sole stallion’s short response.

Pinkie raised her hoof and opened her mouth, but the protest she had planned never made it out of her throat. Instead, she sighed. “You know, you’re so right, I can’t even be mad.” Then, with her lips quivering and eyes welling, she turned to Spike.

“Don’t worry, we’ll work something out,” he assured Pinkie quietly. To their guests from Canterlot, Spike more audibly said, “So, I guess that covers entertainment and stuff. We got through location, got through refreshments and drinks. Sounds like that’s everything.” He glanced up toward the sky and winced. The sun has long since retired, leaving behind a blank dark blue canvas. The moon was slowly taking its position, accompanied by the first few bright stars. “Wow, it’s late. Why don’t I show you all to your rooms? Your letter mentioned something about returning to Canterlot first thing in the morning, right?”

“That is correct,” the mare in the suit confirmed. “The Grand Galloping Gala will be upon us in a few short months after all, and we will be needed back at Canterlot. I do hope you’ll come to appreciate how precious the time our committee has sacrificed here has been.”

“Oh definitely,” Spike said, steering everypony present back inside. “Totally, one hundred percent, thanks for everything. Now—“

“Wait! Decorations!” The mare in the blouse stopped and turned back toward the courtyard, her colleagues following closely behind. “We haven’t gone over the decorations.”

“Yes, yes, we mustn’t overlook presentation,” said the mare in the suit. She approached one of the dressed up trees. “Is this, paper?” she asked, lifting an end of a bright yellow streamer wrapped around the tree’s branches, the light of her magic faint and dim and dull compared to the dozens of little lights among the leaves. “Hm. Something of higher quality would have been preferable, but it looks at the very least, passable. From a distance.”

“Agreed,” the stallion said as he made his way to the younger mare’s side. “The colors all work well, everything’s in a relatively complementary location, it’s all done surprisingly well. I have to say, whoever was in charge of decorating here did quite an impressive job in spite of what they had to work with.”

“So it’s good?” Spike prompted.

“It’s passable. Adequate. The quality of the decorations leaves much to be desired, it gives off this feeling of cheapness,” the stallion explained. “The untrained eye might not be able to tell a difference, so if that’s what you’re aiming for, by all means continue forward. Just be sure to replicate what was done out here inside where the gala proper will take place.” The stallion pointed back at the main building. “Get the same pony who was in charge of decorations here for that.”

“Alrighty, you want me to go back and grab my party cannon and—“

“Why don’t we finish decorating tomorrow,” Spike interrupted, stopping Pinkie with a claw on her shoulder. “I mean, it’s already so late, and we’ve already done so much. Now, decorations, was there anything else—“

“The fountain needs something,” the mare in the blouse suddenly said. The others watched her circle around the structure, examining it from different angles. “Not streamers, those won’t be waterproof. A figurehead at the top perhaps, hm, no, I doubt something like that could be acquired around here on such short notice.“

“Perhaps they could organize an arrangement of colored lanterns under the water to give create a sort of light and water show,” the younger mare suggested.

“Perhaps,” the older mare said as she rubbed her chin in thought. “Well, regardless, something must be done with this fountain. And speaking of lights, that reminds me.” She turned to the strings of light weaved into the branches of trees and attached to the sides of walls. “I’m not certain how I feel about the use of these Hearth’s Warming lights.”

“Is it the color?” Pinkie Pie inquired. “Because we’ve got your traditional greens and reds too.”

“No, no, the color is fine,” the older mare assured. “It looks, well, I’ll admit it’s a tad less tacky than I initially thought when taking all of your decorations into account. They do contribute to that feeling of cheapness my colleague had mentioned, but I suppose it works with everything else.” She frowned. “There’s just a matter of visibility.”

“Visibility?” Spike echoed as the younger mare and the stallion ah’d and nodded.

“Yes, visibility,” the older mare said. “The light out here must be bright enough so that your guests can see as they move about without ruining the evening atmosphere. Your lights appear to be doing a sufficient job at the moment, but it is still rather early in the evening. I imagine this gala of yours will continue on until a late hour.”

“All night if we can help it,” Pinkie Pie declared proudly. “Or at least until the noise complaints start coming in.”

“And so who can say how this courtyard will appear at that later hour?” the older mare presented.

“So should we hang up more lights?” Spike asked. “Set up some lanterns?”

The older mare shook her head. “It’s not a simple matter of adding more lights. Too many lights can detract from the night ambience, and you must consider whether your arrangement works with the natural lights of the moon and stars. That would mean, however, we would have to wait for night to truly be upon us before we could give a final assessment.”

“Okay. Waiting. Right.” Spike’s claws nervously wrapped and wrung around each other. “So, uh, how long do you think we’ll have to wait.”

“Peak conditions would be around midnight,” the older mare said as her committee associates nodded their confirmation.

“Midnight?” Spike said, his eyes wide and his voice slightly hoarse as his mouth became dry. “You mean we have to stay here until midnight?”

“If you wish for the perfect presentation, well, as close to perfect as you can with what you have to work with, then yes,” said the younger mare. She frowned. “That is what we assumed Princess Twilight’s School of Friendship would want, would it not?”

“Well, I, I guess,” Spike admitted. “It’s just, midnight’s not for a while, and I’ve got a, I mean, I was just hoping, maybe, we could take a little break first? Like, just a couple of hours?”

“If it is necessary,” the stallion permitted with an annoyed sigh. “Excuse me, I tend to forget that those inexperienced in the gala business lack our constitution when it comes to event planning.”

“Great!” Spike exclaimed. He lowered the fist he punched the air with as the others, even Pinkie Pie, stared with judgmental eyes and raised brows. “Because I, uh, need to step out right quick. If you’ve got any questions, Pinkie’ll be right here. See you in a bit.”

“Wait!” Pinkie Pie grabbed hold of the dragon just as he began to flee. “Where are you going? You can’t leave me alone with these ponies. They’re like, the worst parts of the Grand Galloping Gala all wrapped up nicely in Hearth’s Warming wax paper, all stuffy and fun-hating and stuff.”

“Yeah, I know,” Spike whispered back. “Sorry, it’s just, I’ve got something really, really important to do first.”

“More important than the prom?”

“Well, yeah.”

Pinkie Pie’s gasp rang through the entire courtyard.

“Look, I’m already super late, I think. Just think of it as a friend-making challenge. Sorry, but I’ve got to go.”

Spike freed himself from Pinkie’s grasp and hurried away, breaking every rule in both Twilight’s and the EEA’s book on running in the halls. Little Twilights danced in his head singing a little song with a single word for lyrics, a dark, accursed word: tardy. “It’s fine,” he muttered as he tried to banish the Twilights. “Just running a little late. Rarity’ll understand, it’ll be fine.”

The front entrance flung open as Spike pushed through, nearly tripping down the steps in his rush toward town. His limbs struggled against the constrains of his attire that grew dirtier with each step against the dusty road. Spike’s appearance only worsened once he took flight, the suit clearly not meant for the wing beats and winds that came with such intensive and panicked flying. Guided by the lights of the buildings, Spike made his way through Ponyville.

The town’s auditorium, to his overwhelming relief, soon came into view, and he readied himself for a landing that came and ended more abruptly than Spike had planned. Slowly, he climbed out of the small crater he made.

“You alright, sir?” the uniformed stallion stationed at the entrance called from his stand.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Spike assured, dusting himself off. “Just fine. Um.” He reached into his pockets, turning them inside out until his claws found a small red ticket in the last one. “Here,” he said, all but throwing the ticket at the auditorium’s entrance vendor. “For the Method Mares’s show. Have you seen Rarity? Is she already inside? I’m not too late, am I?”

The stallion drew in a quick breath through the thin lines separating his teeth. “Ooh, actually—“

The entrance gates flung open, and a flood of ponies gushed out. “What a show,” Spike heard them say excitedly. Dozens of compliments and critiques followed from every direction for just about every aspect, from the acting and actors to the writing to the props and visuals.

Every mention of the costumes drew Spike’s attention toward the source, half-hoping half-dreading to spot a familiar mane style or color, a perfect alabaster coat, or a stunningly fashionable gown. Slowly, he forced himself through the crush. “Rarity?” he called out nervously, ignoring the odd stares he received from the ponies he pushed past.

He eventually made it to the end of the crowd and reached the auditorium’s interior. Only a couple of theater workers cleaning the bleachers of discarded snack wraps and pamphlets and a small team of ponies on stage tearing down the backdrop were present. With little else to see and no Rarity in sight, Spike turned around, the previous energy he had displayed absent, replaced by an air of dejection. The crowd outside had dispersed, the ponies gone. Even the vendor had gone home, leaving a closed sign hung over the glass of his stand.

Too drained to even sigh, Spike sat himself on the street’s edge and let his head fall limply into his open claws. Slowly, those claws closed into fists in an effort to fight back tears just as a certain white unicorn dressed in purple arrived some distance away.

Rarity took a hesitant step toward the shaking dragon but could go no further. Reluctantly, she retracted her hoof, and with her own eyes welling and her heart heavy, she ran home.