Our Eminence

by Kegisak

Act 2, Part 2: Of Past and Parties

Act 2 Part 2: Of Past and Parties

The sun hung just over the horizon like a weary head, seeming to sway and bob in the shimmering heat of midsummer air. Streaks of red and orange slashed across the sky. Their vivid light stood at stark contrast with the shadows that stretched across the ground like long, cloying fingers. Those shadows pointed to a row of wide mansions, almost supernatural in the choice to pass over the tracks of land that separated them.

The mansions were humble, from a certain point of view. That there were more than one on a street set them apart from the massive homes in the Upper Quarter. Still, each mansion must have housed no less than thirty rooms, more than ample space for a pony, or a family of ponies. More than enough room for ponies to stay in, and never be seen by anypony outside.

In a mansion at the end of the lane, a mansion touched by the final claw-like finger of shadow, a cabal of ponies gathered in the foyer. There were five in all: four stallions and two mares. To the last they were dressed in finery, and to the last an air of tension hung over the group. The two largest stallions stood dead still, barely breathing, but the next largest stallion shifted from one hoof to another. It seemed as though they were preparing for something. Something big. The larger stallions glanced to the window now and then, waiting for the sun to dip below the horizon...

“Oh Erin, do stop fidgeting,” the smallest stallion said, slapping at the mare's hooves. Erin grunted and shifted away from the stallion, who continued. “That scarf is barely even gauze. If you keep playing with it you're going to tear it, or get it greasy.”

“I'm not greasy,” Erin said, scowling at the stallion. “Honestly Singsong, you're the one who insisted I clean so thoroughly, you ought to know. It's not as if I don't wash myself normally. Just because we don't all use weird scented shampoos and stuff.”

“I happen to have expensive taste,” Singsong said, poking out his tongue. As if to demonstrate he brushed his hoof over the front of his coat. It was a crimson jacket, fit tight around his legs and chest and cut from fine El'Bian cotton with a velvet trim. The front was double breasted, beginning just below the ascot at his neckline and ending at the mid of his barrel. The back stretched into a long tail that split down the middle fell over both sides of his croup. He hummed for a moment. “And frankly I have no excuse for it; I grew up on a farmer's hoof-me-downs. You were born rich. You should know far more about this than me.” He reached up for the scarf at Erin's shoulders again before she swatted his hoof away.

“I never liked fashion,” Erin said. “I followed the mousing cats while they hunted, and played with bugs. And if you keep fiddling with it you're going to tear the blasted thing. I look fine.”

And she did. So much so, in fact, that one could be forgiven for not believing that it was the same mare who spent all her night holed in a laboratory. Her mane had been combed and washed close to a dozen times, and when it had finally been tamed it was tied in a wide braid, then that braid folded to run up the back of her neck and head, leaving a loose fringe pointed up and slightly off-center. Only her bangs were truly loose, and even then had been combed in just the right way to remain alluring – and keep attention off of her hard as ever eyes.

She wore a dress of deep, rich purple – a tad egotistical, she had thought, but Singsong and his clutch of stylists had insisted it was her colour. And she supposed, with no actual royals in attendance, she would be the closest to it there. To hammer the point home the dress was Empress-styled, sleeveless but clinging tight to her chest before billowing out around her flanks and legs in a subtle swirl. The object of all their attentions, a gauze-like scarf, was draped across her shoulders and coiled down her forelegs. She had even managed to shoo away the bags under her eyes for the night. Truly, if it were not for her tiny, permanent scowl she would be quite beautiful.

“She does, Singsong,” Backstage smiles said, putting a hoof on his husband's shoulder. In stark contrast to the rest of the group his attire was very plain – nothing more than a simple gray tuxedo - though an eye that knew about such things would see that it was made of the finest materials, by the finest tailors an exorbitant amount of money could buy. The head of the family had to make a good impression, and there was no room for taste. Only the classics. “We all look fine. Even Meadowlark and Nightingale managed to look more at home in those suits of theirs.”

All eyes turned to the pair of Bat Ponies, who stood stock still – save for Meadowlark turning occasionally to look out the window. The sun was nearly below the horizon now.

The pair were wearing the same clothes they had at the scientific conference a month ago, but the time in between had allowed for tailors to come in and fit the suits better to them. It had not been what one might call an easy task. The tailors had been reluctant to get close enough to fully inspect and measure the brothers, no matter how much they were assured. Nightingale had managed to calm one by reciting poetry while the tailor worked, but Meadowlark's talents were not so easy to present while standing still. It had taken hours of poking with needles and too-tight measuring tapes before his coat finally fit him well, but the result was much more comfortable than it had been.

At the very least, Meadowlark mused to himself, it had gone better than having their manes styled this evening. All he had wanted was to watch the stylist work, but evidently being that close to his eyes was... disquieting, Nightingale had called it. The mare had yelped enough to not count as quiet, that much was certain.

He would have liked to say it saddened him, but in truth he was used to it. Erin had allowed the pair more freedom since they had moved in with Singsong and Stage, and not even begrudgingly as he had expected. Perhaps because it was inevitable – try as he might to stay in the mansion every room had a window, and ponies were close at hoof here. It had scarcely been a day before a neighbor had seen him through a window, practicing on the Grand Piano Stage kept in the foyer. The pony, a middle-aged mare, had hammered on the door then and there, demanding loudly to know whether it was Singsong or Stage who had betrayed the other with this allegedly illicit guest. That same mare had nearly died of shock when Meadowlark opened the door and stared at her. It was the eyes again. He was certain of this, because when he opened his mouth to speak she had fainted from the sight of his teeth.

No, he was used to that treatment by now. It was the reason he was so still where he otherwise would have been dancing with excitement. It was the reason why they were waiting until the sun had gone down to leave. The party had started almost an hour ago now, but it had been agreed by all of them that it was best that they move under the cover of night, so as to draw as little attention to Meadowlark and Nightingale as possible. Meadowlark understood that. Still...

Meadowlark felt a hoof on his shoulder. He looked down and saw Erin smiling faintly up at him. “It's still true, you know,” she said. “Nothing has changed. You're still gonna get to meet lots of ponies tonight. I just didn't want to sour your mood by, well...”

“Seeing ponies run and scream from us?” Nightingale offered in his usual dry tone. He looked listless without a book in his hooves, but he mirrored Meadowlark's actions nevertheless.

Erin rolled her eyes. “Nopony reacts that bad,” she said. “Especially not while Stage or I are with you. But yes... I don't want you to be bummed out by bad reactions, or judge the party before we see the real thing. This is going to be a casual event, and you're both handsome and clever and talented. You'll fit right in, I'm sure of it. We just need to let them get used to you.” She smiled. “Do you know, a thousand years ago a Pegasus like Singsong and a Unicorn like Stage would have hated each other on sight? They could hardly be in the same room, much less share a house and bed. Ponies take time to adjust to new things. You just have to give them that time.”

Meadowlark nodded slowly. She had told him as much before, and he had told himself the same ever since. He really, truly did not get upset when ponies were afraid of him anymore, but he was weary of the hollow feeling it gave him. No less hollow than the Mareless moon had made him feel. He wondered if it was how the moon felt without its mare. Or how the mare, wherever she might be, felt without the moon. Still, he nodded, and touched the back of Erin's hoof. “Okay,” he said. “Time. I'll give them time. I'll be patient, until they feel comfortable. Like hun...” He stopped the thought in its tracks and peered out the window, and saw a sliver of silver in the distance. “The moon is up.”

Erin peered out over his shoulder. “So it is,” she said with a nod. “I guess that's our cue to head out... Stage? Singsong? You're both ready?”

“Of course,” Singsong said with a small flourish.

Stage simply nodded. “I am,” he said. “The carriage has been waiting for a few minutes. I had them pull around to the front when the sun started to go down.”

“Good,” Erin said. She stepped away from Meadowlark and adjusted her scarf. “Well... you two ready to really get out there in the world?”

Meadowlark smiled meekly, and after a moment he did not feel so meek. He nodded. “Of course,” he said. “We've been waiting for this. To be ponies.”

“Regardless, the world spins on,” Nightingale said in a vaguely somber tone. “Both we, and the party goers have no choice. Ready or not, we are coming.”

Singsong chuckled and patted Nightingale's shoulder. “I'll introduce you to some stallions I know there,” he said. “Hopefully they'll be able to get you to lighten up a little. You can't spend all your time with your nose in some dusty old book.” He trotted off, falling in line alongside Stage as the two headed for the door.

“That was mine, actually,” Nightingale said, trotting after them.

“Then I'll introduce you to a writer,” Singsong chirped back. “If you're going to start writing your own dusty old books, I think you should be a bit more... eloquent.”

“I'm eloquent enough,” Nightingale said with a harrumph. The trio were out the door now, leaving Erin and Meadowlark alone. Meadowlark chuckled to himself.

“... It's funny,” he said. “I barely remember the forest now. It seems so far away... but Nightingale always over-thought everything, and then was so... calm, when it happened.”

“He's a planner,” Erin said with a nod. “My father was like that. He'd drive himself mad thinking through every possibility, and then when the time came to actually do whatever he'd been fretting over it was so much, it was always easier than he expected.” She smiled. “You're a bit like that too, you know. This won't be as bad as you're thinking.”

“I don't think it'll be bad,” Meadowlark said with a shake of his head. “I'm excited, really. Just... I don't know how ponies will react, I guess.” He sighed and idly tapped his hoof against the ground. Erin giggled suddenly.

“Look at you,” she said, adjusting one of his lapels. “Picking up my bad habits... you look just like me the first time I went to one of these things.”

Meadowlark blinked. “You've been to these before?” he asked. He looked down, and added, “... in a suit?”

Erin rolled her eyes, but giggled again. “No, not in a suit. But yes, I have been to these before a few times. And a few other things like them – let me tell you, this is nothing compared to some of the things I've been to...” She shook her head. “I know how you feel, for what it's worth. Ponies like you and me... it's hard to feel like this sort of thing,” she plucked at the scarf around her shoulders, “is our world... It's hard to feel like the kinds of ponies who live around this neighborhood are like us. They certainly don't want to think so.” She made a wry face. “Funny thing is, half the ponies here are New Money – but they're all so desperate to forget that they were ever not rich.” She shrugged and adjusted the scarf again, turning to the door. “But this party will be different. There'll be a lot of ponies like that, sure, but there'll be just as many artists or scientists... ponies who don't care about who you are, so much as what you can do.” She smiled and gestured for Meadowlark to follow her. “I'm sure they'll be happy to meet you. Especially the musicians. I think you're almost making Stage jealous, with how fast you picked up the Piano.”

In spite of his still-lingering apprehensions, Meadowlark smiled. He bobbed his head and trotted after her as they walked out the door and into the night. “You think so?” he asked. “Should I stop?”

“Don't you dare,” Erin said with a laugh as she clambered into the waiting carriage. She sat down across from Stage, who was sitting between Singsong and Nightingale. “Stage could stand to have his ego deflated occasionally, especially with all those great reviews he buys. Right Stage?

“Uh huh,” Stage answered with a humourless smile. “It's not like I have the absolutely horrendous review of my first musical framed in my office to remind me my name doesn't count for anything in this field.”

“He talks to it sometimes,” Singsong put in.

As the cart lurched to life Stage objected, setting the tone of the carriage ride to one of light, jovial ribbing and bickering. With the cheerful tone it seemed like no time at all before they had arrived at the party. Though in truth very little time had passed. The event was hosted by the Dean of Canterlot University and his wife in their mansion, a home that rivaled the old Smiles Manor where Erin lived. Indeed, it seemed almost desperate to be compared to the more ancient and refined homes in the Upper Quarter.

The mansion consisted of three great wings, the central wing sitting forward from the east and west like a puffed-out chest and jutting out into the enormous driveway and front yard. Bushes of summer roses were arranged intricately around the exterior, and in the middle of the yard was a paved walkway around a large decorative fountain. At least, Meadowlark thought as he peered out the window at it, he assumed it was meant to be decorative. He had read about decorative fountains before. He supposed that somepony might intentionally commission one as ugly as this, but he could scarcely imagine why.

Meadowlark shrugged internally and turned his gaze over the rest of the yard. A long line of carriages had formed through the drive, despite it being well over an hour past the time when the event was supposed to begin.

“They're all being fashionably late,” Singsong said when Meadowlark pointed this out. “I don't doubt that the earliest ponies here arrived no sooner than Fifteen minutes after we were supposed to.” He waved a hoof limply at the lineup. “A lot of these ponies probably arrived fifteen or twenty minutes ago, and they're just taking their time ushering them in.”

Meadowlark frowned at this. “Why would they be late on purpose?” he asked.

Stage shrugged. “It's... difficult to explain?” he said. “It's this sort of posturing thing... this is a scholastic event at its core. Ponies like us get invited to get visibility and funding for the university, but it's good for us to talk amongst each other... except we don't want to let anypony know what we're looking for, so we have to play it close to the chest, and, uh...” He saw Meadowlark's utterly lost expression, and sighed.

“They're hunting each other,” Nightingale said bluntly. He peered out the window of the carriage. There were only a few between them and the front door, now. “Sometimes we can't catch a rabbit on our own – it's in a bad place. It'd hear us, or smell us. So we let it see one of us... then it runs. If it's in a bad spot, there's usually only one way out...”

“And the other one of us is right there,” Meadowlark finished, nodding slowly. “Waiting to catch it.”

Stage blinked. “Okay, now you've lost me,” he said.

“They're trying to spook each other,” Meadowlark explained. “They make a mistake, except it's not a mistake. That puts everypony else off, and they can get... well, they probably don't eat each other,” he said, trailing off with a shrug.

“Barely,” Erin said with a snort. “That's rather on the nose, actually.”

“I suppose...” Nightingale said, apparently cutting himself off to peer at Singsong and cough to himself. “Hrmm...well. I suppose if it's how they hunt... then it's how they live. I don't understand it, but I'm not certain I can judge it.” He eyed Singsong again. “Eloquent?”

That seemed to strike a chord with the passengers of the carriage. Singsong blinked once before answering. “Well,” he said slowly, “It could use some prose-ing up, but I suppose you're right.”

Erin, true to form, snorted. “Well I do understand it,” she said. “It's not as if most of these ponies need to put in all that effort to get another drop in the flood. And they certainly don't need to do it at the expense of one another. Our family got by on nothing more than good de-” she stopped dead as she caught Stage's distinctly unimpressed eye. She snorted again, and looked out the window. “Well... that's culture for you, I guess. Even if we're not raised into this, you get thrown in and you do what you can. I feel bad for the ones who earned this, most of all. Stage and I grew up being told it didn't make a difference in the long run, but for them... must be all they can do not to forget.

That didn't seem to be what Stage expected out of her, but it was enough for him at the very least. He rolled his eyes and peered around Nightingale. “Well at any rate, let's try to keep our discussions of the rich and famous outside of the party with the rich and famous. We're here.”

A tall, slender stallion stepped up to the carriage door and opened it. “If you would care to step out, Sirs and Madam, we shall receive you now.”

“Yes, of course,” Stage said with a nod. “Nightingale, why don't you get out first?”

Nightingale nodded silently, slipping passed the stallion who had opened the door. He was followed by Stage, then Singsong and then Erin. Meadowlark was the last to leave the carriage, nodding gratefully to the doorstallion.

“Thank yo-” he started, before blinking. He had looked the doorstallion dead in the eye, hardly more than a foot away, and the stallion hadn't even reacted. True, the light was dim and his pupils would not be so narrow, but they still had the same golden glow as ever. “Thank you,” Meadowlark said again, more quietly this time. “Will you be in the party as well?”

“I have many duties to attend, sir,” the stallion said with a bow. “There will be many other servants attending, however, and I assure you there are all of the utmost.”

“Shame,” Nightingale said, looking the stallion up and down slowly. Singsong smirked at this, though why Meadowlark could not say.

“Well, thank you again,” Meadowlark said with a nod. The doorstallion bowed once more before shutting the carriage door and signaling to the cart puller to move along. The next carriage pulled into place and the doorstallion stepped up to it as Erin gestured for Meadowlark to follow.

The were directed into the mansion by a line of silent butlers who used nothing more than themselves to signal the path. Not that they were necessary. An even moderately perceptive pony could hear the deep, distant rumble of voices and music. As they walked through the halls the sound of their hooves clopping against marble was slowly overtaken by the drone, as well as the bellowing voice of somepony slightly closer. Meadowlark began to feel a tight apprehension swirling in his gut. His confidence had been bolstered somewhat by the door stallion, and he had meant it when he said he was eager, but eagerness came with nerves, it seemed. He recalled a similar feeling from Erin's home, when he had first arrived. All the strange new sights, sounds and smells all around him. He had had a desperate need to discover what it all was, but knew was dangerous. New deserved caution. It took him a moment to realize his wings were lifted slightly off his sides, his hooves falling silently even on the hard floors. Nopony else seemed to notice however, and they rounded the final corner between themselves and the booming voice.

“-ores, Generous patron of the Music Department!” The voice cried, apparently emanating from a surprisingly small, though quite barrel-chested stallion.

“Why thank you, darling.” A blue and beige mare said as she trotted past him. Stage approached the stallion, handing him a pair of cards. The stallion looked between the two cards, then gave the group a gauging look. After a moment he gestured to Stage and Singsong.

The pair stepped up, shoulder to shoulder beside the stallion, who took a deep breath and bellowed out to the party: “Mister Backstage Smiles, Patriarch of the Smiles Family and generous patron of the Theater Department! And Husband, Singsong Smiles, patron of the Theater and Agriculture Departments!”

Stage bowed solemnly to the crowd of onlooking ponies before walking down the stairs with Singsong at his side. When he was gone, the stallion gestured to Erin. She stepped up, and the stallion called out again.

“Miss Summer Smiles, of the Smiles Family, Professor of Zoology and Ethology!”

Erin trotted briskly down into the crowd, apparently eager to stop being seen, while muttering something to herself. She took just enough time to look back to Meadowlark and Nightingale and shoot them an encouraging smile. Meadowlark breathed deeply, watching the stallion. After a moment the stallion beckoned them forward. Meadowlark did so, Nightingale beside him.

The stallion looked them up and down for a moment, before turning slowly. He cleared his voice and shifted his shoulders. It seemed to Meadowlark that he considered them, in particular, to be of some import.

“For the first time,” the stallion bellowed, “Honoured guests Meadowlark and Nightingale Smiles, of the Smiles Family... and Bat-Stallions!”

A hushed silence fell over the room. Even ponies who had not been paying attention to the arriving guests looked up from their business. All was silent. All eyes were on the pair.

Beside Meadowlark, Nightingale threw his wings open with a snap. A gasp erupted from the crowd, but Nightingale quickly closed his wings again, shuffling them as though he had only been adjusting their position. Meadowlark peered at him, and smiled.

“It's what they wanted,” Nightingale said quietly.

“Or expected, at least,” Meadowlark replied.

“Are they not the same, in the end?” Nightingale asked with a subtle shrug. “Ah well. What is it Singsong always says?”

Meadowlark smiled wider as he gazed over their impromptu audience. “If somepony wants a show, they'll make one for themselves, so you may as well give them one first.”

The eyes were different. Different from how ponies normally looked at him. There was fear – oh, was there fear in their eyes. Instinctive, wild fears, the fears that creep forever at the back of the mind. Fear that ponies forget they have until something falls off the shelf at night, until unexpected thunder rolls. Until they see a predator within hoof's reach.

But there was awe in those eyes.

Meadowlark moved slowly at first. With each step he took though, with every moment he saw that awe mingling with fear he grew a bit more confident. His heart thudded in his chest, but he could see what Singsong meant. He could see it in the eyes of the ponies staring, how they wanted their show. He smiled.

Nightingale was many things Meadowlark was not – Nightingale was patient and careful and creative. Nightingale was devious and surreptitious. He was a terribly, savagely clever beast, Nightingale was, but Meadowlark was one thing Nightingale never would be: He was a showstallion.

Meadowlark let his wings go slack, their tips dipping and trailing after him. He twitched the tips of those long, bony fingers, stretching the leather of his wings to catch the light at just the right angle angle to give them a dark sheen. He stared out into the crowd, locking his slit-pupiled eyes with a pony here and there until he was sure they noticed.

He held his head high through it all. He was strange to them, frightening, but they didn't want an animal. He didn't want to be an animal. He watched as the fear and the awe fought, and was surprised to see awe winning out on most of the faces. Many of them had seen him once before, he realized – he recognized some of those faces in the crowd, faces belonging to scientists and students, but none had ever seen him so close before, so real. He smiled. It felt... good, to be seen. After he had drank his fill he quickened his pace and strode into the crowd, Nightingale at his side, until they reached Erin, Stage and Singsong.

Singsong gave a quiet clap. “Well done colts,” he said with a giggle. “Especially you Meadowlark. That was some show you put on up there... you two should audition for a play some time, you know.”

“Can one make a career out of playing villains?” Nightingale asked with a wry smile.

“Only the very best,” Stage replied.

Even Erin was grinning as she patted Meadowlark's back. “Thanks for getting the heat off me,” she said. “I haven't been to one of these in years, I thought for sure I was gonna get swamped with ponies finally getting their chance again. Thanks to you little entrance, I think I can rule that out.” Her smiled softened a bit, and she patted his shoulder more gently. “I told you ponies would like you when you got here. These aren't some mare who thinks it's her business to stick her nose in other ponies', there are some smart, talented folks, and they know their kind.”

“Their kind?” Meadowlark asked, tilting his head in confusion.

“Didn't I just say?” Erin asked. “Smart, talented ponies. That's what you two are... and don't you forget it.”

Meadowlark was quiet for a moment before he broke into a grin again, much wider than his smile on the stairs. Erin's hoof against him suddenly felt warm. Not hot, more like the warmth of sitting in front of a fire. “You think so?” he said.

“We all do, Meadowlark,” Singsong said, nudging Meadowlark with a wing.

“And we're not the only ones, it seems,” Stage said, peering through the crowd. “Don't look now, Nightingale, but I think you have company.

Nightingale, as beckoned, did not look. At least, not until a round, bearded stallion emerged from the throng of onlookers and clapped Nightingale on the back. Nightingale's head snapped to stare at this new stallion, and Meadowlark saw a barely-suppressed snarl on his lips.

“Sorry lad, sorry,” the stallion said, throwing up his hooves to show he was no threat. “I didn't mean to frighten you.” He adjusted a the pair of thick spectacles sitting on his nose, and laughed. “My name is Feather Quill.” He extended his hoof to Nightingale, who eyed it. Slowly Nightingale took the hoof and gave it a shake.

“A pleasure, Feather Quill,” he said. “I don't believe you were at the conference... do you know me?”

“Please lad, just Quill will do,” Quill said with a laugh. Amazingly, the laughs didn't seem at all forced to Meadowlark. He was genuinely jovial despite being near sandwiched in between the Bat Ponies. He didn't even have the look of awe, though there was something similar. Meadowlark had seen that look in Stage's eyes when he had talked of his favourite composers. “And no, I wasn't at the conference. Science, well... it's good, it's good, but it's not my area of expertise. You see, I'm the head of the Philosophy department at Canterlot University...”

Nightingale's ears perked up at this. “Really,” he said. There was only a hint more interest in his voice, but it was enough for Meadowlark to know he was very interested in this prospect indeed. “I didn't know the university had one of those.”

“Indeed it does!” Quill said. “Second only to Manehattan's in the entire country, you know. But you see, a student of mine is dual-majoring in Psychology, and so of course he's studying a bit of medicine, so he was at the conference, and he told me... remarkable things about you. I wonder if I could talk to you about some of things you said – I know more than a few department chairs here who would love to have the opportunity to listen in as well, you know.”

Nightingale gave Quill an even stare, obviously considering this quite seriously. He hummed and shuffled his wings, before turning to look at Erin, who simply waved a hoof.

“Oh, go on,” she said. “Quill is a good stallion, and I'm sure this sort of thing is why you two were invited. Besides,” she added, straightening her scarf, “I was hoping to go hunting for the head of the Paleontology Department. I have a few things I'd like to ask him.”

“I have the usual affairs to get to as well,” Stage said with a weary but amused sigh. “At least a dozen departments will be wanting me to start backing them as well, and some of the new social crowd will want to meet, and there are some business ponies I've been dodging for months now...”

“And you're going to take me to the buffet table and get me some hors-d'oeuvres so I can stuff my face while I look pretty beside you,” Singsong said, wrapping his foreleg around Stage's and tugging him lightly. “Now do hush up. You can handle these ponies in your sleep. I've seen you do it.”

Stage laughed and allowed himself to be pulled back to the crowd. “Well as you can see,” he said before he disappeared, “I'm going to be busy for a while.”

“See?” Erin said, turning back to Nightingale. “You both go and enjoy yourselves. Talk to ponies. Get yourselves out there in the world. That's why you're here.”

Nightingale nodded. “Well... alright then,” he said. “I would like to meet the ponies who want to meet me.”

“Glad to hear it!” Quill said, clapping Nightingale on the shoulder again. “Now come along my lad, come now. We're off in a little corner of our own, as it always is, of course. You'll get used to being in a corner of your own as a philosopher, you know.”

Quill and Nightingale plodded off into the crowd, and Meadowlark followed after them. The shock of their entrance had subsided, and most ponies were returning to their previous business now, and many were too preoccupied to move aside for them. Meadowlark looked back over his shoulder and saw Erin rubbing her neck, looking desperately tired already. She looked up and caught Meadowlark's eye, and smiled at him. She waved once or twice before making a shooing motion.

Meadowlark smiled back, then turned around and found his smile fading instantly. A throng of ponies had begun to close in between him and Nightingale, who seemed to hardly notice that he had fallen behind. Meadowlark surged forward, dancing and dodging to avoid shouldering ponies out of the way. As Nightingale pulled further in front of him, however, Meadowlark's heart clenched, and he gave up the effort, near barreling to be back with his brother.

***

Erin watched Meadowlark and Nightingale disappear for only a moment or two before smirking and sauntering away. With Stage and the twins elsewhere any attention she would have otherwise received had melted away, which suited her just fine. No doubt she would draw somepony's eye eventually, but for now she had a moment of reprieve.

She took a moment to remark to herself on the irony of that. Just a few weeks ago she was begging for attention to be paid, and now she would have much rather gone without. Only a moment though, for she quickly decided that no, it wasn't that ironic after all. The situation was different. All this was more Stage's world than hers. No, she was more than happy to be ignored here.

Of course history had proven that when Erin would be happy with something, she rarely got it.

Erin was at the buffet table when she heard it first, helping herself to some deviled eggs and a small glass of cider. An all-too-familiar voice lilted over the crowd.

“-be just a while, Misty. Go off and have fun. You deserve it, you know.”

Erin winced internally, fighting off the urge to drown herself in a decorative gelatin mold. As it stood she angled herself as far away from the voice as she could, hunkering down and trying to turn invisible.

It didn't work. She heard a set of hooves stop just behind her, followed by an almost palpable sense of shock.

“Summer?” the voice asked. A stallion, maybe a year or two older than herself, but worn from years of spending all day talking. Soft and slightly rough, like satin. Erin winced externally now.

“Hello, Jewel,” she grumbled, stuffing another deviled egg in her mouth before turning a weary eye on the unicorn.

For a stallion who spent all day every day wearing suits, Gleaming Jewel knew how to step up his dress. He wore, to a casual observer, a simple black tuxedo. A simple black tuxedo of exquisite, sharp cut, the fabric nearly gleaming in how black it was. The white shirt underneath the jacket was pristine, and looked a though a dozen ponies had worked for hours to iron it so thoroughly it would not wrinkle for generations. Every last thread was made from some material too far-off to be even remotely affordable. El'Bian cotton, Mitaanii silk – Erin mused that if Zohannonite hemp were not so atrociously uncomfortable and utilitarian, Jewel would have found some part to make out of it just to prove he could. The suit must have cost more than most ponies made in a year. Which for the Jewel family, she supposed, was a good day's work.

Erin's eyes followed the line of the suit up. His mane was, as ever, expertly looped in its ponytail, though the simple black tie had been replaced by a deep violet ribbon. Almost certainly egotism, on his part. It was not until she saw his face that Erin paused. For once, Jewel looked genuinely taken aback. Erin blinked.

“You called me Summer,” she said. “Not 'Miss Smiles'.”

“I... suppose I did,” Jewel said, smiling faintly. This did not put Erin any more at ease. “I was... surprised. Please forgive me. I must admit, I didn't expect to see you here.”

“... Uh huh,” Erin said, not at all convinced. She looked him up and down for a moment. She had forgotten how well he cleaned up. “Jewel, I know you. I know you take stock of who gets invitations to these things. Heck, you donate so much money to get half of these rolling that you probably get a hoof in picking who gets those invites.”

“Well, yes,” Jewel said with a nod. For all his surprise, real or feigned, he didn't seem particularly embarrassed to be caught on it. “I must admit, this is true. I had seen your name on the invite list. Still, you have been on the invite list for several such events, and you've never attended. At least, not for a good many years... and yet here you are.” He rubbed his chin contemplatively. “Here you are indeed.”

Erin suppressed a small urge to cover herself. “Yeah, well,” she said, popping another deviled egg in her mouth. “I just happened to have a reason to come this time. Stage has always handled the family's business stuff.”

“These parties aren't merely business, Summer,” Jewel said. He smiled wryly. “Most ponies tend to enjoy socialization. It's nice to be amongst our own.”

Erin just rolled her eyes. “Did you ever really believe that?” she asked.

Jewel's smile fell away. “Well.” he said. He paused for a moment, gazing out over the crowd. “Summer... I wanted to apologize.”

It was Erin's turn to be taken aback. “What?” she asked, dumbfounded. “For what? I mean, I'm not gonna say you have nothing to apologize for, but – seriously, what for? I have a list about ten years long.” She laughed. “Heck, I wasn't sure you even knew how to apologize.”

Jewel's wry smile returned. “That's hardly kind,” he said.

“Accurate, though,” Erin retorted. “There's a reason we're here and not there, Gleam.” She jerked her head towards the floor, where several ponies had begun to dance a waltz. “There's lots of reasons.”

“Reasons I stand by, for the record,” Jewel said. For just a moment, he almost looked remorseful. It was longer than Erin had ever see him look so before, at least. “No,” he said as he regained his composure, “I wanted to apologize for the, ah... Nocturnes, I suppose you call them now.”

Erin looked at Jewel sidelong. “Meadowlark and Nightingale,” she said. “The bat stallions you wanted to kill. You know the name I gave them?”

“Misty attended the conference,” Jewel said, scanning the crowd for his cousin. Erin looked out as well, though she couldn't spot the mare. Misty had always been more than happy to blend into the crowd, she supposed. “She's studying biology, you know. Her professor suggested she attend, and she saw, well... them. She told me about them.” He rolled his shoulders idly. “I was wrong about them. I had no idea that they were...”

“Ponies?” Erin suggested. Jewel was quiet for a long while.

“I suppose so,” he said finally. “Regardless, what I did – what I wanted to do – was wrong of me. Had I know their true nature, I wouldn't have tried to have them killed.”

Erin considered this. She considered it for a good, long while. She had genuinely never known Jewel to be truly remorseful over anything. Then again, for as vile as he could be he had never done anything as bad as lobby for the execution of a pony. Even if they had attacked his family.

That was hardly their fault, though, and he had to have known that. If some strange pony walked into what he considered his home and started yelling at him, wouldn't he react the same? Hadn't he always said...

Hadn't he always said that as the upper class they had to forgive lower ponies for mistakes they couldn't know they were making?

Erin frowned and sighed. Well, so much for her good mood. She swirled her cider – didn't they usually put out non-alcoholic cider at these things? She could taste the telltale grunge of alcohol, feel it in her cheeks – and hummed to herself.

The band changed tunes, starting up a new song. It was a still a waltz, but a more chipper tune, and she knew without looking that the dancers would be changing their step. In a way she was glad these kinds of waltzes hadn't gone out of style. She had never liked them, but it was all she had ever been able to dance to. Something about slower dances always threw her off her hooves.

She was shaken out of her stupor when she spotted Jewel lift a hoof out of the corner of her eye. He smiled and gestured idly to the dancing ponies. “This was always your favourite, wasn't it Summer?” he asked. “You would always dance to it. Would you dance with me, darling?”

In spite of herself, Erin found she was smiling. Not just smirking, but smiling. Not out of humour, mind, unless it was a particularly dark breed even for her. Nor out of happiness. She was smiling out of nostalgia, she supposed. “... Sure,” she said with a shrug. “Why not.”

Erin polished off her glass of cider and set it down on the table, allowing Jewel to lead her by the hoof onto the dance floor. They slipped into the flow of dancers effortlessly, falling into their own stance. Erin remembered the feeling intimately. She remembered the heft of Jewel's hoof on her shoulder and hip, the bulk of his bicep under her own hoof. He had gained wait. They were neither one as young as they once were, she supposed. He still felt warm, though. Or maybe that was her?

They danced as though they were young. The dance was muscle memory for both of them, drilled almost since birth to step those same steps, over and over. They swirled in time with the music, to the left, to the right. Then they span.

“Ah,” Jewel said softly, “How long has it been since we danced, Summer? I don't know when...” His voice was almost dreamy. Erin's face felt hot. How strong was that cider?

“Ten years, isn't it?” she asked.

Jewel considered this. “Is that all?” he asked finally. “It seems...”

“A lifetime ago,” Erin said with a nod. “Two, even.”

They span again. To an outside observer it would be impossible to tell that Erin hadn't danced in ten years, and that Jewel... how long had it been since Jewel danced, Erin wondered. He obviously didn't have anypony special now. Had he found anypony in the meantime? She realized she had no idea. Jewel had been an antagonistic force in her life for so long... but nothing more. A force, not a pony.

“I hope I'm not stepping on anyponies' hooves,” Erin said.

“Not mine,” Jewel said with a smirk.

“Any mares?” Erin asked again, raising an eyebrow at Jewel, whose smirk only grew wider.

“Now Summer,” he said, “in all of your thoughts about me, I'd be amazed to hear you considered me a family stallion.”

“I thought you were a callous bastard,” Erin pointed out as the tune of the music picked up. “There's nothing that precludes a callous bastard from marrying and having a family. Many have done it in the past.”

“I suppose so,” Jewel said with a chuckle. “Still, don't count me among their numbers. I have dated, here and there, to appease my family... but as Misty and her coltfriend grow closer and closer I find there is less and less weight on my shoulders, as far as nuptial matters are concerned.”

“I'm glad she's getting along,” Erin said. “How is she doing?”

“It left a scar,” Jewel said with a solemn nod. “A small one, but still there. It seems your Nocturnes had... less than clean teeth.”

“That's not uncommon among predatory species,” Erin said reflexively. “It helps with hunting, since it makes things less likely to get away from them for long, but it's mostly because fresh tissue tends to leave hitchhikers behind. Though at the end of the day most of their mouths are cleaner than ours...” She blinked, and shook her head. “But,” she said, “I meant more generally. How is she? You said she was studying biology?”

“Ah,” Jewel said with a faint chuckle. “My mistake. Yes, biology. She's working towards veterinary sciences, she has mentioned.”

“That's good work,” Erin said with a nod. “Won't get your rich, but it's a good job. Not that she'll need any help in the money department.”

“I rather thought you'd feel that way,” Jewel said. “It makes her happy, I suppose. And, yes, she will not truly need monetary aid, if things keep going the way they are. Still, I wonder how such work will suit her.”

“It suits me fine,” Erin pointed out. “And not that anypony cares to measure dicks anymore, but last time they looked the Smileses out-valued the Jewels by some billion bits.”

“Yes, but you were always unique,” Jewel said. “Uniquely...” He rolled his head back slightly as he thought about it. He had done that as long as Erin had known him, in just such a way as to show the sharpness of his jaw and longness of his neck. Idly she wondered if he had known what he was doing even as a foal.

“Common?” Erin offered with a snort.

Jewel laughed. Surprisingly it was not derisive, or egotistical, or any of his usual varieties of laugh. It was real, and genuine. He hadn't laughed like that in ages. “Uniquely grounded,” he said. “You have your hooves firmly planted in the earth, far beneath all of us.”

Erin cocked an unimpressed eyebrow at this, but Jewel continued before she could comment. “I do not mean you act below your station, of course,” he said. “Just that... all of us here, we live high up in the clouds amidst gold and silver and silk. It gets to them, I think. Ponies get too rich, and then...”

“They forget,” Erin said.

“Precisely,” Jewel said with a nod. “They forget what they are. You never have, though. You know Summer, in spite of all our differences, and disagreements... I admire that about you. I admire your practicality. That is a rare quality among these ponies.”

“You're wearing a suit that's at least a few thousand bits,” Erin point out. If anypony else had been saying this she would have agreed with them – begrudgingly, she would admit, but agreeing nevertheless. To hear it from Jewel, though, it rang false. “I'm not sure you're in a position to give me 'they'.”

“This is an event, you know,” Jewel pointed out. “We're rather supposed to be excessive. Even you're dressed quite richly this evening... though I suppose you likely borrowed it from Backstage's, ah... husband.” He smirked. “I know the fellow was small, but in your size...”

“Singsong's friend had it made,” Erin said, a hard edge to her voice. “Thank you very much.”

“Ah yes, of course,” Jewel said. If he heard the edge he gave no sign of it. “All the more point, my darling – in all the time I've known you you've never had a taste for frivolity. All of your interests are practical. In the scientific world, in education... I don't believe I've ever even thought of you as much for being a mother. Though these days, who can say?”

“Well there's one thing we had in common, I suppose,” Erin said, her tone dry. Jewel was going somewhere with this. He might have caught her off guard by seeming genuinely surprised and repentant – he may have even truly been – but she had learned long ago to look past his exterior and see when he had an angle.

Jewel carried on as though she hadn't said anything. “It's a shame... but then, perhaps it's for the best, that. After all, I know how proud the Smiles family has been of that peculiar face of yours, historically... it's almost a shame there's no way to keep that going.”

That was it. “Don't you dare bring Stage into this,” she hissed at him. “When Stage and Singsong decide to adopt, that foal will be every bit as much a part of the Smiles family as Stage or I am.”

Jewel merely blinked. “Of course, Summer,” he said. “I would never dream of suggesting otherwise.”

“Yeah, right,” Erin snorted. She was about to ask what else he could possibly be implying when she caught his eye, looking to the far wall of the ballroom. She followed his gaze, and spotted Meadowlark, slumped listlessly against the wall beside Nightingale, who was speaking animatedly with a young stallion.

She looked back at Jewel, who merely smirked. “You brought them into this world,” he said. “A magnificent thing, that. A pair of... Nocturnes, amongst the pony elite. I suppose that makes them your responsibility.”

“Nocturnes are ponies, Jewel,” Erin said with a grimace. “They're their own ponies, their own responsibility, not mine, now, and they have just as much right to be here as anypony else.”

“Are they, now,” Jewel said. His smirk was small, but definitely still there. “Are they. Have you thought about their paperwork yet, Summer? Making things official? If things keep going this way they'll have to become citizens sometime, you know. Especially if they are to be... their own responsibility.”

“Maybe I have,” Erin replied. “You can't just get documents overnight, though. Frankly I'm not even sure who I should contact about it. What's it to you?”

“I am a lawyer, darling,” Jewel said with a shrug. “We think about these things. I suppose immigration is out of the question... with no nation to come from, they could hardly be refuge-ed or extradited. Is it even possible for them to get birth certificates, anymore?”

Erin breathed deeply. She was tired of playing Jewel's game now. She had forgotten how much it exhausted her. “What do you want, Jewel?” she asked. “Why did you ask me to dance? You haven't changed at all in ten years, so why bother?”

“Neither of us has changed, Erin,” Jewel said. “I think we've forgotten how. Nostalgia, I suppose.”

The song had finished, and as far as Erin was concerned so had the dancing. She shoved away from Jewel and turned her back on him sharply. “Well, you've had it then,” She growled. “Here's some more for you: You treat everypony else like they're your plaything – everypony else – but I'm no toy, and I don't do games. You're a bastard, Gleam. You're a bastard, and I hope you die alone. At this rate, I'm getting my wish.”

She marched off. She hoped that had hurt him. She hoped it stung, and that he knew somepony near them had heard. She knew it didn't, though. He was probably smiling to himself, just like he had last time. And just like last time, she wished there was some way to make him feel as torn up inside as she did.

Comments

[CommandoDude]

Oh hey, this thing.

It's a thing again.

Cool.

[Pillbug]

Oh my god yes it isn't dead happy face :DDDDDDD

[pahnazd]

Great chapter, once again!
The introduction was pretty great. Well as they said - they want a show, so give them one!

And the dance itself and the conversation - well, I have a feeling that if Erin turned around after she said her last words, she might have seen something surprising.
Maybe.

Still, even though we have no idea when the next update will be, I'll be waiting for it (im)patiently

[Buzzard]

is more of this a possibility?

[Kegisak]

6225060

I'll likely get around to finishing it eventually, but... at the moment my writing is a bit eclectic, I'll admit. I'm having a bit of trouble finding the motivation to work on this again amidst my other projects. That said, there's enough left of it I do like that I'll try and get back to it, but I can't reliably say when, I'm afraid.

[Centurion Pike-Wall]

6227315
So?

[Clear_Skies]

6227315