DC 15 gaze attack
“It's really the first sentence that's the hardest,” the woman complained, hiking a leg up to the chair and staring at the computer screen, the mouse's cruiser blinking slowly on the blank word document. “I mean, after you got that, it's a breeze, y'know?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Rarity said from across the room, staring out of the large bay windows at the street. “Of course, a topic would be most helpful as well. Not to rain on your parade, of course.”
“Yeah, well, you know...” the woman grumbled, tugging at her rainbow-hued hair. After a beat, she glanced Rarity's way. “I don't know why the professor has to dump this crap on us. It's like he forgot what Spring Break is about.”
“And what, exactly, is it about, Dash?” Rarity questioned, already knowing the woman's answer. Her flat chest puffing out, she slammed a thumb directly into it.
“Rarity, it's about having fun. Like, hanging with the girls, getting in trouble, letting loose.” She gestured to the screen. “Not writing a ten-page paper with a partner.”
“Well, I hear Twila and Chylene are done with theirs already,” Rarity remarked. She leaned forward, grabbing a nail file and took it to her fingertips, blowing on them periodically.
“That’s because they’re frickin’ smart,” she countered, twisting the desk chair around. “I mean, it’s not like the Princesses’ own student would have a problem doing this junk.”
“And for Jack and Pinkie?” Rarity replied, satisfied with her nails. She gave them one final blow, then lowered her arm to a purse on the ground. She reached in, taking a small amount of moisturizer and took to rubbing it on her arms.
“Diane’s good at shooting from the hip.”
“Ten pages is ‘shooting from the hip?’”
“No. But the first sentence sure is.” She twisted around again and threw her head back. “Argh! It’s unfaaaair,” she whined.
“And the girls say I’m the dramatic one,” Rarity mused, brushing back her thick violet locks. “Isabelle, darling, perhaps—” She paused as the sound of clicking keys filled the room. The woman smiled, nodding. “See? That sudden jolt of inspiration can come out of nowhere. It’s just like when I work cloth at the boutique. You work, think, a—”
Loud orchestrated music filled the room, blasting from Isabelle’s speakers. Rarity took a few cautious steps forward and leaned over Dash’s chair, barely suppressing a groan.
“I got a great idea,” Dash remarked, pointing a finger on her screen, where a tall, attractive lady in leather armor and rainbow-hued hair stared back at them, a dagger at the ready.
“Waste another day playing that game?” Rarity guessed.
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” Dash shot back, moving her mouse over to a red button marked ‘select character.’ She clicked it and the screen briefly turned blue and translucent, before the woman appeared on screen again, this time her back facing Dash and Rarity, and a large, sprawling town with what seemed to be hundreds of other men and women running around, some humans, others monstrous races. Orcs, gnomes, trolls, even a centaur strode past Dash’s character, decked out in golden armor with a massive tower shield with strange, archaic writings on his back.
“Damn, nice drop,” Isabelle commented. “That shield is like a one in fifty chance against the last boss in the Quick Sink.”
Rarity said nothing, rolling her eyes instead at Dash as she pressed down on a key, sending her character forward.
“And how, pray tell, is this going to help with our paper?” Rarity asked.
“Watch and learn, girly.” Dash tapped another key once her character touched a door; the woman reached into a pocket that wasn’t there on her armor and pushed the door open. They were greeted with another blue screen—Rarity guessed it was to hide loading other areas—and they found themselves inside a pub, where dozens of characters sat around on tables, and a few others danced in jilted, stuttering movements next to a man playing piano.
“Aw man,” Isabelle whined. “Someone’s already doing the piano minigame. Lame.”
“Should I ask where this is going?” Rarity muttered.
“Easy-peasy.” Isabelle smirked. She cracked her knuckles and laid her fingertips delicately over the keyboard, then laid out her thoughts.
“U GUIZ, I NEED AN IDEA 4A PAPER,” her character exclaimed, text appearing over her head.
One of the dancers paused, his character model twitching in place for a brief moment before another text bubble appeared.
“A paper? Top kek. What are you, 12? Kill urself, faggt.”
“How’d he know?” Dash said.
“I think he meant it as a general insult, not your preference, dear,” Rarity offered.
“Oh. Right.” She narrowed her brow and began slamming on the keyboard. At the bottom left, Rarity saw words drum to life. What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my high-school, and have been involved in numerous publish-worthy novels, and have over 300 confirmed articles—
“Dash… maybe tone it back. Just a hair.” Rarity offered, squeezing her finger and thumb tightly together.
Isabelle scowled. “Alright. I will.” She quickly deleted her text and replaced it, the words appearing above her characters portrait once more.
“UR fag. I’m in college. Double-fag.” Dash could hear Rarity slapping her forehead from behind the chair.
The man paused, then went back to dancing in his broken, jilted way.
“Ha!” Dash remarked, holding her palm up to Rarity. “No country for told men.”
“Uh…”
“Told kill a mockingbird.”
“Well…”
“Battletolds!”
“I don’t think…”
“Tic-Tac-Told!”
“He probably just…”
“El Dorado, the lost city of Told!”
“Dash!” Rarity barked, stopping the woman. “If I slap your hand, will you please stop.”
“Fine,” Isabelle glowered. Rarity reached forward, high-fiving the girl.
“Toldspice,” Dash said. On seeing the tailor’s face, she laughed nervously. “Had to get that one out of my system.”
They heard a knocking from downstairs. Each shared a glance with one-another.
“Were you planning to have guests?” Rarity asked.
“Nah man.” She paused. “Oh wait. Spike was gonna come by for a bit.”
“Spikie?” Rarity repeated, blinking. “Whatever for?”
“He was going to pick up a copy of the game. Kid saw me playing it a few days back and wanted to give it a shot.”
Rarity sniffed. “I knew he engaged in things like that on occasion, however, I thought his taste was more… refined than yours regarding entertainment.”
“Hey now, no need for that,” Dash countered. From downstairs, they heard a door opening, followed by a hesitant, “Hello?”
“Up here, dog!” Dash called out. They each heard light footsteps trip up the stairs and soon Spike rounded the corner, his green hair a curly, undignified mess. He gave a roll of his lanky shoulders, adjusting the backpack he wore.
“Hey Isabelle,” he said, then paused, blinking. “H-hey to you too, Rarity.”
“Hello, dear,” Rarity replied, smiling warmly down to the short man. “How was class?”
“Pretty good,” he said. “Got a bit too much homework, but what else is new?”
Rarity laughed, her voice like the tinkling of bells to the boy. “Oh Spikie. You need to enjoy high-school while you can, dear. Once you’re college-bound, you’ll understand that the workload doesn’t get any better.”
“I don’t mind work,” Spike said. “Considering what I’ve done for Twila almost all my life, and what I’ve done around your shop, I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty.”
“Well, I hope you at least wash them, dear.” She gave a sly wink Spike’s way. “Most ladies can’t stand a dirty boy. And those that can… well, you don’t want to associate with them.”
“O-of course!” he agreed with a bit too much enthusiasm. “I wash my hands at least three times a day!”
Dash snorted derisively. After a beat, she cocked her head out to the hall. “Hey, Spike, my man, grab me a soda from downstairs.”
“Alright,” he said, blinking. He tossed his backpack down and left the room. On hearing his footsteps fade downstairs, Dash turned to Rarity and stared up at the woman. After a pause, she casually rose, stretching up to the ceiling. Or, as close to the ceiling as she could get from her short stature.
“He’s older now.”
Rarity observed the woman. After a long, thoughtful pause, she nodded in a slow agreement, her stylized violet hair bouncing with the motion. “That he is.”
“Have you thought that you might be giving him the wrong idea with the teasing?”
The tailor narrowed her brow. “Whatever do you mean, Isabelle?”
She shrugged, lazily lifting her palms into the air and sighing. “I’m just saying he’s got a hormonal cocktail sloshing in his system right now, and I bet you’re not doing him any favors by shaking the hell out of him.”
“What a… charming image,” Rarity replied, her pale features loosing even more color for a moment. “But I’ll have you know I treat him the same as any other friend. A little fun doesn’t hurt anyone, Isabelle. You of all people should realize this.”
Isabelle rolled her eyes, falling into a familiar pattern with Rarity. She didn’t argue with the tailor nearly as much as their friend Jack, but there were rows now and again. “That’s different.”
“How, pray tell, is that different?”
Dash crossed her arms and gave her a flat look. “Kid’s crazy for you and you know it. That different enough?”
That threw Rarity briefly off-kilter, she glanced to the side, rubbing the back of her neck. “I suppose he is,” she agreed.
Dash, feeling like she proved her point, returned back to her chair, sitting and turning to the computer. She exited her game and then reached down, plugging a flash drive into a USB port. “Have you considered… you know…?” she said after a moment.
This time Rarity didn’t need clarification. “Dash… I’d rather not discuss it, if I could. It’s complicated, you do understand?”
“It’s not a big deal if the kid’s younger than you,” Isabelle dismissed.
Rarity put her delicate fingers to the bridge of her nose. “You calling him a child does not help.”
Before they could carry on the conversation, Spike returned, three glasses of cola resting on a tray, a single tear of condensation rolling down one and pooling on the tray.
“Took me forever to find straws,” he explained, handing a glass to Dash then moving over to Rarity. He smiled self-consciously at her, handing the beauty a drink then taking one for himself, placing the tray to the side and staring expectantly at the computer. “So,” he began, taking a sip of his beverage, “what do I need to know about this one?”
“You only need to know that the thing is as awesome as I am, kid.” Dash nodded sagely. “It’s got everything: Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles…”
“That sounds pretty cool!” Spike agreed.
“And familiar,” Rarity added as an afterthought.
“Of course it’s cool, I’m playing it.” She gave a snap of her fingers towards Spike. “My charm rubs off on it.” She tilted her head. “So, what you rollin’?”
“Rolling?” he repeated. After a moment, it sank it. “Oh, uh, class?”
“I sure don’t mean dice.” Dash bridged her fingers together. “Maybe you wanna tank? Me and the girls could use one.”
Rarity blinked. “The girls? Our girls?”
“Yeah. I may have gotten them all into this in the last couple of days. Thought it might be a fun game for us to try.”
“Well I was more than happy with bridge every other sunday at the library,” Rarity haughtily replied, tilting her nose up.
“First,” Isabelle began, crossing her legs and kicking back in her chair, “half of us hated bridge, and second, in my game we totally kick monster ass!” She quirked a brow. “Tell me how that sounds lamer than a game named after something you walked on. Answer: you can’t.”
“Plus there’s the social aspect,” Spike added. “People from across the world play it. It’s not about just killing monsters from what I hear. There’s a whole world to explore, alongside a community, an open market, where cooks, blacksmiths, tailors, leatherworkers, they—”
“Tailors?” Rarity questioned, a brow arching in curiosity. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you can craft clothing, bags, uh—”
“How delightful!” Rarity exclaimed, clapping. “Why, I have never heard of a tailoring-based game! That sounds right up my alley.” She gave a throaty chuckle. “And not to toot my own horn, but I have a feeling there will be very few people able to keep up with my designs.”
Isabelle shook her head. “Uh, Rarity, it’s not that big. It’s not like you can customiz—”
Rarity rose, giving a brisk wave behind her as she walked across the room. “Tah-tah for now, darlings! My craft awaits!”
It was seconds later that the two heard Dash’s front door open and shut.
Spike scratched at the back of his head. “Do you think we should tell her?”
“Let her figure it out,” Dash replied. “What I had to do when I was a lowbie.”
000
Rarity sat in front of her computer, a small container of yogurt at her side as she finished creating her account for the game.
While her computer wasn’t state of the art by any means, it was still a reliable enough device due to her need for photo editing and the like, so it setup with very little issue and she soon found herself staring at a bright screen. Lava crashed upon shattered rocks like a violent ocean, sending up fiery sparks into the air. The camera pulled back, revealing that the rocks spelled out a word: Hacktivision.
“Gracious,” Rarity remarked. “I haven’t even pressed a button yet and this is already too much for me.”
A title screen appeared, Rarity typed in her credentials and was greeted by a screen with a single button, Create New Character.
Rarity clicked it and began thumbing through the options.
“Well,” she began, going down the list. “Sex? Woman, obviously. Height… tall, I suppose. I hope I’m not freakishly tall, though. I’d never want to stand out in a crowd like Jack or her siblings. Bust?” She took her mouse and dragged it across the slider, going from the minimum size to the maximum, her jaw dropping when she did.
“Good heavens,” she exclaimed, a hand covering her mouth in shock. “How is her back not snapping like a twig?” She glanced down at her own briefly, then back up at the screen. After a moment’s consideration, she brought it down a third. Then paused, raising it up just a notch.
“No need to be modest. Lying on the internet is poor form, after all,” she explained to herself.
After finishing her character’s appearance, settling on at least a sort of facsimile of her well-made, curled hair and luscious violet color, she paused as a collection of cards filled the screen, each with her character in a different pose and weapon at the ready.
“Hmm…” she pondered, putting a hand to her chin. “Where’s the tailor class, I wonder?” She scanned over the selections once more, frowning more with every second she passed over the collection of cards. “Is it an unlockable class, perhaps? That seems a bit foolish if that’s so. I’m sure there are hundreds of players that want to enter the world of fashion right awa—” She paused, smiling at the computer and shaking her finger at the screen. “Oh ho ho, that’s your plan, isn’t it? Keep the beginners away from such a dynamic and complex class, save it for the truly skilled, is that it?” She smirked, picking a card at random.
“Challenge accepted.”
000
“So you’re saying that there’s a difference between a class and a profession?” Rarity said, cradling her cellphone up to her ear as she painted her toenails. Done with the task, she leaned backward, resting on her bed and staring at the ceiling.
“Yep,” Twila agreed. Rarity heard the telltale sound of a page being flipped. “Professions are something your class can learn. Surprised you didn’t figure that out when you didn’t have an option for a tailor class.”
“I simply assumed it was a unlockable class. You know I don’t tend to touch these sort of things, dear.”
“Who would want to become a tailor when you have a wizard?” Twila asked, obviously enthused. “I mean, every fight’s a mental battle, your robes are stylish and nifty, plus don’t even get me started on the simple pleasures of casting a whirlwind to launch a player into a chasm.” Twila gave a small snort of laughter, then paused, becoming a bit self-conscious. “What class did you pick, by the way?”
Rarity hummed in thought. “W-well, I just picked one at random. I’d have to check. I think it was called a ‘Prancer,’ perhaps?”
“A lancer?” Twila offered. Rarity could hear a small grunt as the woman presumably rose.
“Perhaps that’s the one.”
“Huh. Doesn’t seem your style.”
“How so?” she asked, glancing out her bedroom’s window at the quickly vanishing evening sunlight.
“Heavy weapons, plate armor, a melee character. Should I go on?”
“O-oh,” Rarity stammered out. “I see.”
“You really didn’t read anything, did you?”
“Not… especially.”
“Have you even started playing the actual game?”
Again Rarity paused. “Not… especially.”
Twila sighed. “Alright. Tomorrow we’ll group up and get you trained.”
“Darling, how hard can it be?”
“True enough. I mean, it’s not like it’s brain surgery by any means.”
Rarity heard a door shut from Twila’s side, alongside a few muted greetings. Rarity could tell who it was just from the quiet mutterings.
“Spike’s back, I’ll talk with you later,” Twila said, confirming Rarity’s beliefs.
“O-of course, dear. Do tell Spikie that I say hello, would you?”
Hearing a noncommittal grunt of agreement, Rarity shut off her phone. She looked across her room, at the familiar wooden walls and floor. The rug she crafted herself that lay at the side of her bed, the chest of drawers made from rich mahogany that was so well-polished the surface was nearly slick, and her vanity at the far side of the room.
An object caught Rarity’s eye; she gave a lazy saunter over to it and lifted it up.
A small, framed photograph. One taken almost five years ago, during the fall. Rarity had just gotten back from a fashion show in Camelot and bought a souvenir for Spike. Before she knew it, the boy had lept up and wrapped her in a tight hug. It was all she could do to not burst into laughter at the cute, loving gesture of the boy and the excitement he had at the gift.
Rarity put the picture back down and sat herself at the vanity, bridging her fingers together and staring at her reflection in the three mirrors standing on the table.
Spike…
Rarity had agreed with Isabelle earlier. Spike was no longer a child by any stretch of the imagination. While he was still short-statured, his body had changed, the tides of adolescence washing over him like a fast paced river. He body was leaner, his face had lost its childish shape and matured, his eyes, still soft and caring, now had a faint spark in them, showcasing a glimmer that spoke loudly of his intelligence.
And the boy had a certain quality to him that Rarity couldn’t help but enjoy. His kind nature, his eagerness to help not only her, but every single one of her friends, his clumsiness. Rarity quirked a small smile, stifling back a single laugh.
Even his clumsiness was charming to her! The thought, the very idea should seem foolish, yet it was true. She wasn’t sure when she started to notice it in him, be it days, weeks, or even months ago—perhaps even back then, she saw the faintest sparks in him.
“No,” Rarity said to herself. That was too far. That was beyond reason, yet…
She rose, wrapping her arms under her breasts and attempting to rationalize her emotions as she walked back to her bed, but not before turning off the lights.
“How do you know he’s not dating someone already, Rarity?” she offered to herself. After a moment, she lay down and stared at the ceiling.
“I mean, just because he hasn’t mentioned a woman—or a man, this is a progressive country with progressive people after all—that doesn’t mean he’s not dating. He’s probably forgotten all about you.”
Rarity rolled over to her side, taking a keen interest in the wall. “But you know that’s not true, don’t you, dear? Considering everything he does for you, I honestly doubt that he’d have a girlfriend. Yet, I know he does things for the other girls. Maybe he just has given up on me after the years of the one-sided attraction.”
She rolled once more onto her back and rested her hands behind her head. “And perhaps he simply feels embarrassed for the constant harassment he put me through in his younger years—unintentional harassment, mind, but there were a few times when he ruined perfectly good cloth or supplies because he tried to do too much at one time. So like my Stephanie in a way. I know she looks up to me because I’m older and she’s such a sweetie for doing so, but I do wish she’d figure out her own way a bit better.”
Rarity put her fist into her palm at a sudden realization. “Ah-ha! That’s it! I’ll play matchmaker between the two! Surely that wouldn’t have repercussions in the slightest!”
“Sis?” she heard a voice grumble out through the walls of the boutique.
“Yes, sweetie?” Rarity questioned, glancing towards her closed door.
“Could you please stop with your soliloquy in there? Sheesh, I have an algebra test tomorrow.”
Rarity winced. “O-of course, dear. Goodnight.”
000
Elusive let out a squeal, bringing up her massive tower shield just in the nick of time as a thick, unwieldy club came tumbling down from a kobold’s blow. The waist-high creature let out a chattering complaint, its slobbered-coated muzzle distorting for a brief moment as Elusive shoved him back with a slap from her shield. The rat-like beast charged again, prompting Elusive to swing her sword desperately to attack.
“Twila!” she cried out, turning her head to look at her side and frowning at the heavy iron pauldrons that blocked her view. “This thing is disgusting. Why do we have to fight this disease-filled beast? Why can’t we just go back to the Inn?”
A woman wearing a black robe adorned with a skull-shaped belt buckle glared hard at her. “Silence, knave,” she bellowed, her gaunt face looking even more pale and deathly with her contrasting lavender hair. “‘Lest I find some other foolish knight to serve me!”
Rarity scowled, staring at the computer screen. After a moment, she typed out a reply.
“Twila, what’s with the language? You’re sounding like Princess Luna.” The text appeared above Elusive’s head, just as the kobold struck a glancing blow on her pauldron.
“((This is a roleplaying server, Rarity. Stay in character for crying out loud.))” She turned to face the kobold and with a quick hop forward, struck it once with her staff, killing it instantly and watching its body vanish into a red mist.
“See? There’s nothing to be afraid of here, knight. At least I, the powerful Dusk Sparkle have nothing to fear.”
Rarity could almost feel the smugness radiating off the woman.
“So, in character…” Rarity remarked. After a moment, she typed.
“That… indeed was a brave action, m’lady. Perhaps now that the danger has passed, we can return to the inn?”
“The blows to the head have done you no service, fool knight. We are here for the satchels the kobolds carry. We need one more to have the required five.”
“Twilight.” Rarity paused, then corrected herself, deleting the text. “Dusk. We’ve slain at least thirty of the icky things. Surely we should have enough.”
“I shall say when we are done!” Dusk barked, “And not a moment before that! So fight, my minion! Fight!”
Rarity rolled her eyes, taking a sip at her tea and frowning at how cold it was getting. “I’ll be right back, dea—” She nearly slapped her head, quickly typing out her words instead of speaking them and rose, moving through her home until she got to the kitchen, where a teakettle sat, ready to heat. Turning it on, she moved to the storefront of the boutique, humming to herself as she straightened the place up, adjusting a few of her designs she displayed on mannequins and sweeping up the place. A chime alerted her to the front door opening behind her; she put on a smile and turned with a practiced grace.
“Good afternoon and welcome to the Carousel Boutique; home of things tres chic and magnifique! How…” She paused on seeing who it was, relaxing herself, albeit slightly. “Well hello there, Spikie, what brings you here?”
The young man adjusted the backpack he wore and smiled up at the woman. “W-well… I just figured you might need a hand around here.”
The tailor was about to remind Spike that right now was her slow season, but a small, selfish part of her instead pushed her forward to say her next words.
“As you wish,” she replied. “Why don’t you have a seat in the kitchen, dear? I’ll pour you a cup of tea.”
He slung off his backpack at the door and wordlessly entered the kitchen, heading to the table, where he sat, kneading his hands in thought. Rarity sauntered past him, reaching up to the cabinet with teabags. Grabbing two, she took two fine porcelain cups and stood by the kettle, knowing it was close to ready.
“How was school today, dear?” Rarity asked, leaning back on the counter and crossing her ankles.
He seemed to snap awake, sparing a glance her way. “I-I guess it was alright. Though I had a plan end up kinda crappy.”
“That so?” She heard the tell-tale whistle of the kettle go off. Pouring each of them a glass and taking it to the table, she appraised the boy briefly before sitting opposite of him.
“You do seem pretty down about it, Spike. Is there anything I can help with?”
“You’re part of the problem,” he said back, blanching after only a second. “That’s… I didn’t mean it like that.”
Patiently, she leaned forward, staring at him as she absentmindedly stirred her drink with a long, narrow spoon. “Then how did you mean it?”
Spike looked down at his drink. “I can’t say,” he stated quietly. “I want to, but I just can’t.”
“Come now, we’re both adults here.” Rarity paused at the words, but after a moment, accepted them. If he wasn’t one yet, it was something that’d happen to him any day.
“We are?” Spike questioned. Then he nodded. “Yeah, we are.” He took a drink of tea. “Thanks, Rarity.”
“Mmm?”
“That helped a bit more than you’d think. Saying that.” He leaned forward, gesturing with his hands as if grasping some elusive object. “It’s like, people still think I’m just this dumb kid, you know? Like if I even tried something, it’d end up terrible.”
“You… have some learning to do, but I never thought you were dumb, dear. Perhaps a bit naive, but that subsides with age.” Rarity reached forward across the table, taking Spike’s hand. The boy shivered as if shocked by an electric current, but tentatively met her gaze.
Rarity smiled at the boy. After a long, quiet pause where they wordlessly stared into one-another’s eyes, she looked down at her hand and jerked it free, glancing away and berating herself mentally for the slip.
“I believe I should clean up the back. Th-the back of the store, is what I mean, of course. Not the back of the lawn—that’d be simply foolish,” Rarity stammered out.
Take control of the situation, Rarity thought. Start by not prattling like a ninny. You’ve dealt with far more charming, suave men than little Spikie could ever hope to be, so don’t let him throw you for a loop. Deep breaths. Rarity took the advice to heart, inhaling and exhaling, then repeating. There’s a good girl.
“A-are you ok, Rarity?”
Feeling a bit better, she smiled. “Of course, dear.”
“Alright. Just was making sure. You’ve been standing there breathing hard for a good five minutes.”
“Oh.” Glancing to the side, she muttered under her breath. “That’s what I get for following my own advice, I suppose.”
Spike cracked a grin and rose. “Well… if you’re going to straighten up the back, I’ll sweep up the front. Oh!” He glanced her way. “Have you started Black Sunset yet?”
“Only a bit,” she replied. “You know how it goes, I’m not quite the best at electronic games, and I spent a good portion of the morning balancing my checkbook.”
“I only started earlier today too. I guess we’ll be about the same level, then, if Twila was—”
“Oh gracious!” Rarity exclaimed, putting a hand to her cheek. “I forgot I was with her upstairs!”
“What?” Spike squeaked out.
“On the game, I forgot I told her I’d just be a moment!”
“Oh.” He gave a small run of a thumb over his nose. “Can I check out your character?”
“Of course, dear. Come along.”
They tromped up the stairs and ducked into Rarity’s room. Spike blushed a bit at being in her room, alone with her, but carried himself surprisingly well; he even avoiding staring at the set of clothes folded crisply on the bed, and the large black brassiere standing proudly on top of the pile.
At least for a few seconds.
“My computer’s over here,” she said, coughing discreetly in her hand. He turned away from the bed and stared at her desk computer, where her character sat in a small field of grass, and a woman with violet-streaked hair danced with reckless abandon nearby, her pale, sweating skin gleaming in the evening sunset. Rarity sat at the computer and cracked her fingers.
“Back,” Rarity typed in the chat. It wasn’t a moment later before the woman stopped dancing and returned to an alluring, dark expression.
“Back?” she questioned. “Elusive, you’ve been here all this time meditating.”
“I forgot it was a roleplaying server…” Spike muttered, then added dryly, “Great.” He leaned forward, peering over the desk chair and pausing, glancing at her user interface.
“You’re already level twelve?” he asked.
“I suppose I am,” she answered. “I’ve been leveling my tailoring at the Inn and it apparently rewards me for my creations.”
“So, what spec are you gonna go?”
Rarity turned to glance at him. “Spec? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Yeah. Specialization. What your character’s good at. You should have at least five or so points at your level.”
“And how do I put that into my tailoring?”
“Y-you can’t,” Spike replied, putting his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “That’s a profession. This is skills for your class.”
“Oh. Pity.”
“I’ll tell you what: Twila wanted us all on tonight, so we’ll get you figured out when I get logged on, alright?” He cocked a thumb to the door. “I’ll, uh, clean up a bit then lock up, how’s that?”
“Alright, dear. Thank you, you’re such a sweetheart.”
“Glad to help. See you online.”
000
Elusive walked alongside Dusk as they traveled alongside a dirt road in the moonlit evening, heading to the capitol.
The lancer frowned at the noise her plate mail made with every step. If it wasn’t for the charming countryside view, she felt she’d let out a frustrated scream at the damnable chinking of her armor.
“So,” Elusive began, sparing a small glance Dusk’s way. “What, pray tell, can we do in the capitol?”
“Anything, provided you have the coin.” Dusk offered a smirk. “Food, fine wine, the best inns in the country, and a warm body or two to share it with you.”
Elusive paused, shaking her head. “I didn’t realize it was that kind of game.”
Dusk rolled her eyes. “((Double-brackets for out of character actions, Rarity. And it’s not—it’s only Teen rated, it’s just what my character would say.))”
Rarity ran a hand through her hair and crossed her legs under her table. “We slaughter thousands of sentient beings just for their bags and candles and it’s only a Teen rating?” She blinked. “There’s a message here, I’m quite sure of it.” She bridged her fingers together and cracked them. “Time to get my thespian on.”
“M’lady, I can’t condone that,” Elusive replied, running a thumb over the strap wrapped over one shoulder. “‘Tis an unsightly thing.”
“Perhaps. But I won’t be drinking alone tonight at least. Unlike you, fool knight.”
Rarity frowned. “Now, now, no need to take it personal. Let Twila have her fun. I have thick skin—”
“Besides,” Dusk continued, sparing a glance at Elusive. “With all that armor on, I doubt you’d even attract any company. They’ll assume you’re a man.”
“How dare you!” Rarity screeched, pouncing on her keyboard to type out a response.
000
They arrived at the capital's outskirts after a good five minutes of walking. Dozens of players stood outside the massive iron gate marking the entrance, some talking to one-another, others sleeping, and a select few battling one-another with wooden weapons.
“Any reason there’s so many people outside the gates?” Elusive asked, sparing a glance at the collection of men, women, and beasts flooding the area.
“((No dueling in city walls.))” Dusk, or, rather, Twila explained. “((At least not since the patch after a group of rogues killed the king with AOE spam.))”
“AOE spam?” Rarity said to herself. “Like mass junk e-mail?”
“((Just as well, I think Chylene and Jack will be around here. I told them we were heading to the capital city.))”
And sure enough, in the distance next to a tree, sat two very familiar faces. Or, rather, one familiar face, and the other obscured by a very familiar stetson as she laid under the tree’s shade, seeming for all intents and purposes asleep.
Rarity prepared to type out her response, but caught herself at the last moment, adding brackets to the words she typed. “((Chylene and Jack, I presume?))”
Dusk nodded on screen. “The other part of the group I hired. Cennina, the druid, and J.”
“J.”
Dusk nodded again. “J.”
“N-nothing else. Just J?” Elusive stammered out, scratching at her chin with a gauntlet.
“Just J.”
“You know, I presumed there would be a character minimum for names in this,” Rarity remarked, snapping her finger down the wheel of the mouse, causing the thing to buzz like a wasp for a moment and pulling the camera on the game back far enough that she was a mere splotch of color.
“I guess we should go and greet them, we’ll need their hand when it comes to tonight’s mission,” Dusk remarked. “Though I’m going to hate having to split the loot this many ways.”
They walked forward until they were about twenty feet away from Chylene’s character. She noticed them and rose, clothed in a simple brown robe, spartan in design. On her shoulders rested a clump of orange leaves and branches and she wore fingerless cloth gloves on her hands. Around her legs were bronze anklets, but they were obscured by her vestments and her long pink hair trailed down past her shoulders. Her only weapon to speak off was a gnarled, wooden staff.
“Welcome back, Dusk,” she said, glancing at Rarity. “I see you have brought a new face to the group?”
“Hey Chylene. It’s Rarity, how are you doing, dear?” Rarity asked. Meanwhile, she rose from her chair, stretching her back and legs. She had no idea how someone could sit all day and night to play something like this.
Chy turned to Twi, silent for a moments before saying, “((Um, does she know that this is a…))”
Rarity swore, putting a palm to her face. “Damnable brackets. They drive me to drink,” she said to her empty room. “And why must I express myself vocally to nobody but myself?”
“((She knows,)) Twila stated, brushing her character’s hair back then tucking her arms into the raven-colored cloak she wore. “((Old habits just die hard. Painfully hard.))”
“((Oh, okay.))” Chylene looked back at Rarity, “I’m afraid you must be mistaken. I am Cennina,” she said, giving a little curtsy.
A few seconds later and a different colored piece of text flashed on Rarity’s screen, which only she could see. “((I’m fine, thanks. And I’m sure you’ll get used to it. :) ))”
“Oh, that’s a private message,” Rarity remarked, tapping a finger to her chin. “I remember seeing that in the instructions. How do I…?” She pressed the keys on her keyboard row by row, bringing up her inventory, her map, withdrawing her spear, sheathing her spear, jumping, withdrawing her spear, squatting, sheathing her spear, unequiping all her armor, leaving her in her underwear, withdrawing her spear, dancing provocatively, reequiping her armor, then finally, mercifully, finding the response button.
“((Thank you.))” Rarity typed in, feeling more accomplished at those words above Elusive’s head than everything prior she had done today.
“Is J not up yet?” Dusk questioned, sneering at the woman still laying on the ground.
“No, but you know what she’s like; prefers to gather up her strength before going into battle.” Cennina pointed at the city, a myriad of different types of people riding in and out. “The others are in the city, finishing off some business. I’d accompany them, but cities are so…” She frowned, muttering, “Unnatural.”
Rarity laughed, leaning forward. “It’s amusing seeing how different her and Twila are acting in game, and here I am simply playing myself in this tale. Oh well, what matter is that when it’s all considered?” Rarity proceeded to type. “There’s plenty of unnatural things that are enjoyable, dear. Why, I’m sure our friend Jack over there would have no qualm admitting her hat was made from faux leather.”
“Faux?” a bubble of dialogue appeared over the sleeping woman’s body. “Ya callin’ me a liar? ‘Cause I don’t take that sorta thing lyin’ down.”
Rarity stared towards her monitor, a nut from a nearby bowl of almonds at her fingertips in midflight to her mouth. “I-is she honestly typing out her accent?”
The woman tilted her stetson back, showcasing Jack’s face, lined and covered in scars. She rose, flexing and unflexing her leather gloves, then running a hand down her long red poncho. Elusive noticed the faint, dull gleam of a sword handle on J’s back.
Rarity shrugged. “I suppose I should roleplay. It’s what the server’s for, after all.”
“Gracious,” Elusive remarked. “That is quite a few scars.”
“I’ve seen quite a few fights,” J promptly replied, reaching into the satchel she carried at her side and pulling out a crumpled, bent cigarette. Without taking a glance away from Elusive, she lit up, shutting the lighter and pocketing it with a blur of her hands.
“And what, pray tell, are you supposed to be even?”
“A little of everythin’, I reckon.” She paused for a moment, before typing more. “((Gunslinger x Berserker. Odd combo, I know, but Mac and Alice play my guy too.))
“((That does explain being level fifty-three.))”
“((Yeah, back when Mac busted his leg after dropping that compressor? He was playing this fairly often.))”
J stood for a few moments, wordlessly gauging Elusive, before vanishing, not a trace to be found of her.
“What the devil?” Rarity questioned.
“((Looks like her net’s bad. Again,))” Rarity could almost hear Twila sighing in irritation.
“((Does that happen often?))” Rarity asked.
“((More than we like. But enough of that, we’ll keep going—the quest we’re going to do isn’t a huge problem, just more fun with friends.))” Dusk gestured to Cennina. “We have no time to tarry, dagger-ears. Guide us to the rest of the lot coming with us on this job.”
Cennina crossed her arms and frowned at the insult. “Hmph. Rude.” She turned to face the city, looking back at her companions. “But you’re only human, so that isn’t too surprising.” Walking into the city, she weaved around the many people heading in and out, but sometimes she just passed straight through, parting the crowds as if they were mere drops of water. They finally came to an inn, located in a grimy, soot-coated part of town.
“Ugh, my poor character’s complexion,” Rarity bemoaned, putting the back of her hand against her forehead. “Almost a half-hour of makeup, ruined thanks to that filthy soot. How is this game Teen rated?!”
“I can’t say I like the city so far,” Elusive said to her companions. Dusk shrugged.
“It grows on you.”
“As does cancer and fungal infections, m’lady,” Elusive retorted, sticking her nose up in the air.
“Well there goes my appetite.” Dusk walked forward to the battered, splintered door and knocked three times on its decaying features. An eye-slit opened up and a pair of hard eyes glared down at them.
“Password?” the eyes growled out.
Dusk paused, tsking. “Hey, Cennina, you handle this guy.” Then, as an afterthought, Twila added, “((I may have not done the quest for the password yet…))”
((Oh, um, that’s alright. We can do it later.)) Chy said, then leapt into her role. Cennina leant towards the door and muttered, “Mankirk’s Wife sent me.”
“Come on in, girls.” He stared at Elusive, narrowing his brow. “And you watch your ass and keep your head down. Don’t cause trouble.”
“Well I never,” Rarity said. “Does he think my character is some sort of, of floozy?!” She crossed her arms, pouting. “The nerve of artificial intelligence.”
“Where are our companions?” Dusk questioned, stealing a glance towards Cennina. After a beat, she ran a finger along the neckline of her shirt. “Warm in here.”
“Patience. I’ll find them in here.” The door opened and the druid led the way in, peering about the room. Going past the numerous rough-looking men and women resting at bars, past the minotaur warming his hands by the fire, and the muscle-bound cat-folk playing a card game on a table, she finally caught sight of what she wanted to see, and pointed towards a far-off corner, where two people sat in relative seclusion. One, a woman Rarity instantly recognised as Isabelle from yesterday, sat, her foot on the table and leaned back, chewing lazially on an apple, and the other a giant beast well over eight feet tall, with bulging muscles covered in a layer of dark fur. Whether it was male or female was uncertain; a huge maw was a rather asexual feature. Long, sharp claws tapped on the table rhythmically, near an instrument that somewhat resembled a flugelhorn. The wolf-beast-thing stood up, stomping over to Elusive and the others. It glared at them with orange beady eyes and growled, “Is this what I’m going to have to work with?”
“((Hiya guys, it’s Pinkie! :D I’m super excited you could be here, ‘cause this is a real fun game. They said I could be whatever I wanted so I chose to be a wolfman ‘cause they’re fluffy but also real toughies too! We’re gonna have lots of fun, I just know it!))” The huge wolf then started jumping around repeatedly, saying more nonsense surrounded by double brackets.
“((Um, Pinkie…)) Chy typed in.
Pinkie suddenly stopped. “((Oh, IC. Right! My bad. :P)) The wolf-man coughed. “If you need a name… Ghostclaw.”
Rarity swore she could hear Pinkie whisper that name into her ear.
“Right, Ghostclaw, I’m—” Rarity began, only to have the wolf-man hold out his massive hand.
“—Elusive. I know you,” he replied. The woman stared up at him, feeling her jaw drop.
“How did she interrupt me typing?” Rarity questioned, gesturing in confusion at the screen then glancing behind her for a moment, desperately wanting an answer from some unseen spector.
“Let’s have a seat and discuss tonight’s plan,” Dusk said, glancing at everyone.
“Ahem,” the rainbow-hued girl mock-coughed, taking another bite of her apple. “Aren’t you, uh, forgetting the most important person here?”
Dusk slapped her cheek in surprise. “Blast and damnation! I forgot about J! Hopefully she’ll return to us soon.”
“No,” she shook her head in disgust, then cocked a thumb to her chest. “The one and only.”
“Do I have to introduce you?” Dusk asked dryly, no enthusiasm behind her words.
“Duh, man. stop being this new.”
Dusk sighed. “Very well. Women… meet…” Dusk sighed again. “Broseidon…”
“Apparently the lost daughter of Poseidon when he had an affair,” Ghostclaw explained. “She tells me she was raised in the woods alone, and strangled a snake to death when she was only three years old.” He flashed the rogue a dirty grin. “Also, she’s a huge liar and thief.”
“Nub. We’ve been over this. It’s treasure hunter.”
“I’m not sure you understand what that word means…” he replied.
“And treasure hunters are technically thieves, so our furry friend is correct,” Cennina clarified.
“Whatev. Just jelly of my treasure gainz.” She blew on her fingertips and rubbed them against her studded leather armor.
“She does indeed speak a strange way. Mayhaps ‘tis the tongue of gods,” Elusive offered. Rarity gave a disinterested shrug and once more found herself standing up from the computer for a moment. She was going to need a new desk chair fairly soon, this thing was hell on her posture. It dawned on her that they were missing someone, someone aside from Jack.
Fumbling on her keyboard once more, Rarity found the privite message button and dropped a line to Twila.
“Where’s Spike?” she asked.
“Who?” Dusk responded.
“No,” Rarity began. “This is a private message, there is no way I’m doing brackets here, nor am I playing a role. Stop.”
“...You’re no fun sometimes. He should be dropping by any moment.”
And, sure enough, the door opened once more, revealing a young, boyish man about three-fourths the height of Rarity. He scanned the area before setting his sights on Dusk, scratching at his unkempt green hair and walking towards the group.
“Ladies,” he said. Elusive couldn’t help but notice his strange, slitted eyes, or the sharp teeth he had when he spoke.
“You’re late, whelp,” Dusk warned. “See to it that doesn’t happen again.”
“You try walking with these nubby legs and see how fast you go.”
“Growing up with them would let you get used to their length, I would assume,” Elusive remarked, quirking a brow at the boy.
“((Hi Rarity,))” Spike addressed. “((I’m playing a Dragonblood class—they were full sized dragons that got cursed last expansion by the dark lord Aku to have this kinda appearance—it’s pretty common knowledge, so your character would know that.))”
“((Ah.))” Rarity ate another nut from the bowl on her desk. “I’m glad they told me about that before I made a fool out of myself.”
“((You should have seen me before I got a few levels under my belt. I was literally playing a baby with a stick and fire breath. The classes gimmick is that they age with levels, so I won’t look this bad for too long.))”
“((Well you look just fine right now, dear. I’d even go as far to say you look adorable.))”
Spike seemed to pause. “((Rarity, I look like I do RL right now.))”
Rarity tapped her keyboard. “Now, here’s the problem,” she explained to herself. “I believe I put myself in a bad position here. On one hand, maybe he didn’t appreciate the ‘adorable’ remark. On the other, maybe he’s in a way fishing for a compliment—perhaps he’s wanting me to admit that I find him attractive in the RL!” She mulled over the word, shaking her head. “Real life. There. That has a much better ring to it.” Returning to the problem at hand, she continued. “Has my little Spikie gotten that smart, can he play me like a fiddle that well already? Gracious, who taught him that?” On realizing how long she was taking for a response, she quickly typed out what she hoped would be a good middle ground response.
“((Oh.))”
Rarity put her face into her palm the instant she hit enter. “You’re a real Lady Casanova, aren’t you, Rarity? Such a way with words.”
“I should introduce you two,” Dusk quickly said before anything else could come up. “Drake, meet our newest companion, Elusive.”
“Drake the dragon?” Elusive said, taking a drink from her cup. “Seems a bit droll.”
Drake put his hands to his sides. “My true name is over fourteen syllables long. I chose this one in order for you sons and daughters of the High-King to easily address me by.” He pointed to Ghostclaw. “As he has done too.”
The beast snickered. “Indeed so. And let us hope that, like me, you can keep control of your own bloodlust, dragonchild.”
“As we all hope. I’d hate to lay a finger on either of you if you get too aggressive.” Dusk let out a slow laugh. “My minions, on the other hand…”
Cennina wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Can we get on with it, warlock?”
“Very well.” She gestured for everyone to lean in, then paused, noticing J standing beside her. “When did you get in?”
“((Damn weather was messing with my net, LOL,))” Jack replied, then looked around the area. “((Oh, I know what quest you guys are on. Count… something or another, right?))”
J squinted at the group among them, wiping at her scarred face. “Y’all got any good clothes? We’re gonna need a more fancy look fer this.”
Elusive stared, surprised. After a beat, she shot her hand up, shaking it with enthusiasm. “I do. I absolutely do.”
“((Of course she’s a tailor,))” Jack remarked. Rarity could almost imagine the girl grumbling under her breath back at her house.
“Well, good,” J said. “Tonight’s a job a bit different than ya rookies are used ta. It’s an’ assassination job.” She pointed a finger at Dusk. “Give ‘em the ground rules. I ain’t the best at speakin’ ta crowds.”
“I still can’t believe she’s typing her accent,” Rarity remarked, reaching over and taking a drink of merlot she poured. “It all seems very silly.”
“Right,” Dust leaned forward, rolling out a small map which Rarity recognized as a home blueprint.
“Tonight, our mission goal is Count Kilpatrick—a foreign delegate representing the eastern tyrant, King Grimblade.”
“‘Grimblade?’” Rarity repeated. “Who wrote this? It’s like a thirteen-year old searched an entire thesaurus for ‘cool’ sounding names.”
“Any reason we cnt jst shank the dude?” Broseidon asked. “I doubt he’d be a tough fight. Jst gotta vanish, nightjump behind and bang.”
“((Please try to spell right, Dash. It’s a mood killer when you don’t.))” Twila asked, then quickly returned to character.
“Because we’re going to pin it on someone else.” She put her palms down and gave one more sweep of the group. “Zypher the conqueror.”
“That’ll shake up the hornet’s nest ‘tween the north an’ east fer sure. Once we get ‘em both riled up, we simply wait ‘til we can pick over the bones of the winner.”
“And we know of his whereabouts, yes?” Ghostclaw inquired, snorting. “I’d hate for this to be a wild goose chase.”
“Of course,” Dusk gestured at the blueprints. “There’s a party going on in the northern segment of town. We’re entering it with a collection of fake passes labeling us as counts and duchesses. He’ll be in attendance, and we’ll be poisoning his drink. Considering the butlers serving the guests are from the north…”
The beast of a man growled in distaste, scratching at his leather chestguard. “I’ll need a suit then… one that actually fits.”
“Easy enough, dear. Consider it already crafted!” Elusive replied, giving a small, excited clap.
“You do that, J and I will plan out our route leading there. I hope you all can act inconspicuous at a party, as I have a feeling the guards will be wary for odd behavior.”
“I was made for this scenario, darling! Consider me prepared and ready to take the fashion world by force.” She quickly pointed at Ghostclaw. “And I’ll need someone’s measurements.”
“Very well…” He seemed to shuffle on the spot. “Just be delicate around my form.”
Cennina let out a thoughtful noise, tapping her chin. “Hm. Should this all go according to plan, and I should think we won’t enter combat of any sort.”
“As long as we have most of our group acting normal, it shouldn’t be a problem at all,” Dusk agreed. “Let’s regroup in an hour and get ready for the party.”
000
The group marched up the cobblestone pathway in the center of the city, heading to uppertown, home of the high-class and nobles. As they passed past gated building after gated building, Elusive looked up to the sky, the feeling of the wind against her creamy skin a welcome pleasure after being used to that unwieldy armor. She rested a gloved palm against a large diamond pendent, then trailed her hand down her shimmering white dress, resting at her stomach.
“Well, considering my short schedule, I feel these are more than adequate,” Elusive stated, running a hand through her loosely curled hair.
Brosiedon looked down at her own airy, free dress, rolling her shoulder, then adjusting the front a bit, lifting the cloud-style fray up.
“Totally. I can tell these really giv the girls a xtra panache.”
“Surprised ya even know what panache means. Let alone spell that right.” J quirked a brow, looking over the other woman from behind the safety of a crisp, three-piece suit with a sequined tie. She tilted her stetson back. “Though yer right. Yer girls need all the, uh, panache they can get.”
“Wow, if only I could make a boob joke,” Broseidon dryly answered. “Maybe then I could be funny. Oh wait,” she added in mock surprise. “I forgot that it’s a ded subject for normal people.”
“And what of undead folk?” Ghostclaw snickered, adjusting his collared suit with surprising dexterity by using his claws.
Dusk glanced behind them, looking borderline gothic in her ebony, tailed dress and black lipstick. “Well, considering breasts are simply lumps of fat, they wouldn’t last long on a corpse reanimated by magic, so it’s a moot point if they are Broseidon’s size or J’s borderline offensive assets.”
Rarity rubbed at her freshly washed hair, having taken a break earlier to shower and walk for a bit. “This is what happens when when Twila takes a joke and doesn’t realize it’s supposed to be humorous, I suppose…”
Cennina rolled her eyes, rubbing down her flowing green dress. “Could we please focus? I’d like to actually enjoy some of the celebration before we do the deed.”
“I’d like that too,” Drake agreed with a nod. “Seems like it’d be fun.”
A throng of people came into view, all surrounding a massive two-story home. Dusk gestured for the others to follow and they hopped in a line, eventually approaching a large bouncer standing at the ready.
Dusk whipped out several cards and handed them over to the burly man.
“One for me and each of my friends here.” She paused, glancing back at the group. “Wait. Friends is too strong of word. My associates.”
“Call ‘em whatever you want. You got the passes, so get in and stop holding the line up,” he growled out.
The group entered a large foyer, filled to the brim with dozens of people standing and walking around. From deeper inside the mansion, the group could hear the faint, quiet sound of a cello playing. On stepping foot inside the building proper, Rarity noticed an empty bar appear on her UI labeled suspicion.
“((Ok,))” Twila began, “((You guys see the bar? It fills up when we do suspicious behavior like running, being aggressive around other patrons, wandering unpopulated areas—things like that. We can bring it down by having a few people running interference, eating snacks, dancing, that sorta thing, while the rest of us search for the Count.))”
Jack looked at their characters and shrugged, reaching into her breast pocket and pulling out another smoke. “((So, who wants to do what? I kinda remember sorta where the guy can spawn, so I’ll hunt for him, I’m sure Twila’s read a guide or two so she knows where he comes in as well.))” After lighting up, Rarity noticed the suspicion meter blip up slightly. Jack seemed to pause before extinguishing her cigarette.
“((>Using guides in an MMO. Filthy casual confirmed,))” Dash remarked, cracking her knuckles. “((I’ll keep the guards distracted, I’m sure they’ll dig my virtual goods.))”
“((Ooo! I wanna do all the fun stuff! Like dancing and singing—I can do that with my mic—and eating all the food!))” Pinkie typed.
“((Rarity, you handle dancing with Spike. Chylene, your call on where to go,))” Twila directed.
“((Oh, um… I’ll just be on standby in case any of you need me.))” she replied, keeping her character’s movements on the downlow.
“Alright,” Dusk proclaimed. “Let’s get this party started.”
“That was a terrible one-liner,” Rarity commented to herself, resting an elbow on the desk.
“I look forward to their reaction when I ask to play with the band,” Ghostclaw remarked, keeping his claws close to his flugelhorn.
“Well, I’ll keep to myself, if you don’t mind,” Ceninna commented. “I have a feeling I’ll enjoy this more if I’m not forced to listen to nobles’ pointless rambles.”
“Me and Dusk’ll find the guy an’ do the deed, I reckon,” J drawled out.
“I can’t be sure of that was a double-entendre or not,” Rarity remarked, then put a finger once more to her chin in thought. “Perhaps I should invest in a microphone or at least a notepad. I feel as if my quips are wasted on simply myself.”
Drake looked up at her, a shy smile on his face. “May I have this dance?”
“Of course,” Elusive replied, smiling just as kindly down at him. They walked, side by side through another set of double-doors under the foyer’s stairwell, where they were greeted by a large ballroom and dozens of couples swaying to the tune played by a nearby band. Elusive gently pulled Drake along until they reached the center of the decorated marble floors.
“Do you know how to dance?” she asked, taking Drake’s hand and putting it up to her neck, then his other hand to her waist.
“Nothing slow…” he admitted. “Human feet tend to baffle me when dexterity is involved.”
“It’s not too bad, dear. I’ll show you how.” Rarity paused when a small box came up on her monitor asking her to select a dance style. Rolling her mouse wheel down to cycle through the options, she finally nodded, following the tempo of the music. “Schottische. That should fit the quicker pace of the current song.” She bit her lip. “Though not my favorite form of dance—far too close to the boorish folk dancing Jack takes such pleasure in, I feel that—”
A dull buzz invaded her speakers when she attempted to select the dance in question.
Your partner lacks the Dexterity to perform this adequately, it said. Rarity grit her teeth.
“How dare they!” she said to nobody in particular. “My Spikie can perform anything he wants to, I’m sure. It isn’t always about dexterity, or, or reach.”
Seeing no way to argue with the computer, she scrolled up until two choices were highlighted. “Rave” or “Box step.”
Tsking, Rarity selected “Box Step,” and their characters promptly began dancing, the motions a bit more reserved than she’d like, but still nice in their simplicity.
Elusive looked down at the young man before her, his draconic features doing nothing to draw her attention away from his eyes.
Here, they were still the same emerald green as they were in real life. Rarity noticed how well their color meshed with his skin, especially when his face was flushed red in embarrassment, or when his eyes twinkled with pleasure when she praised him.
She looked further down, smiling thoughtfully at his mouth and at the grin it bore. If it were real, she could point out the small dimple that came to his cheek when he grinned. The small chip in his front tooth from trying to skateboard two years ago. There were many things that this game could get almost right, but not quite. His timid, devoted nature, the way he carried himself, mature, intelligent and disarmingly sweet when he wanted to be, despite his age.
The way he said her name sometimes, a high-tenor voice that sent shivers across her body.
The way she could, even now as she rested her hands on her keyboard, feel his soft hands and the faint muscles that came from adolescence the times she touched his body, be it measuring him for new clothes, or when one or both of them lost their composure and embraced.
A ghost of a blush came to Rarity’s pale features as she thought long and hard about the boy.
As they slowly sauntered across the dance floor, Rarity smiled to herself, reaching forward and typing a message.
“Do you realize how handsome you are?” Elusive asked, reaching forward and tenderly brushing one of the Dragonblood’s bangs behind his ears. “It’s awfully distracting.”
“It’s… not something I’ve heard often,” Drake cautiously replied, glancing to the side. “This body just doesn’t function as well as I’d like. By now, I thought I’d be something more than this. Still childish proportions, still this short stature, still these maddening thoughts… It’s something I don’t enjoy, Lady Elusive.”
“Some women prefer a figure such as yours, you know,” she offered, glancing at some of the other patrons as they stepped in time together.
“Some women might, but not the one I want,” Drake said, biting his lip. “I’ve seen the men she prefers. High-class, charming, smart, strong. Everything I’m not.”
Elusive looked down at Drake. Rarity turned, briefly glancing at the photo she had of the two, then at her phone, resting on the computer desk. “She’s a fool if she doesn’t see what you have is better than anything you just listed.”
“She’s not a fool,” Drake instantly replied. “She just…”
He remained silent for a long period of time. The other guests spoke amongst themselves, the violin played, and Rarity felt a want, growing stronger with every passing second. The want consumed her, emboldening her words, removing the tact and reserved nature she normally fought so hard to carry in every social situation.
“She never thought it’d come to this, perhaps,” Elusive replied. “She kept looking for a Prince Charming, or, rather, what she wished a Prince Charming would be, and instead ignored one of the best things that ever happened to her.”
Spike once more didn't respond; Rarity took to her keyboard and typed out a small message: “((Do we honestly need to beat around the bush here, Spike?))
Drake seemed to pause. Rarity nearly jumped when her phone vibrated on the table. She tapped the screen and saw a single message from him.
Guess not, he said.
Rarity glanced away from the computer and quickly ran her thumb along her phone’s face.
Is there any chance you could come over for just a moment? I wish to speak with you.
Spike’s character vanished from the screen. After a beat, she got another text.
Be there in 10.
Rarity logged off of her account and quickly ran to the mirror.
“Gracious, I didn’t even think to dress appropriately—and I should take a shower, put on some eyeliner and—no, concentrate, Rarity!” she proclaimed, slapping herself lightly on her cheeks. “You just took a shower. Yet, ten minutes is too short of a time to truly get ready, put on a shirt, some perfume and rush downstairs and—you haven’t cleaned up the front from working earlier! Rarity, you buffon!” she called out in alarm. She put the back of her hand against her forehead and swooned, landing neatly on the bed.
She heard a knocking at her bedroom door and let out an overdramatic gasp.
“Spike, darling, I haven’t even had a moment to get dressed! Please give me some privacy, dear!”
She could heard an irritated sigh from behind the door. “It’s me,” Stephine said, irritation once more obvious in her voice. “Can you please keep it down? I still have homework to do.”
Stephanie opened the door, brushing her fluffed two-toned hair with a hand. She looked flatly at Rarity.
“Now, I know you talk to yourself sometimes, but wow today and last night. How am I gonna even study when you’re making this much noise!” her voice squeaked and she coughed into her hand. “And what’s the problem now? Spike comes over all the time. It’s not like you—”
“I may have mentioned I find him charming, and invited him to the boutique in very short order so we could speak face to face.”
Stephanie's expression did a complete 180. Her eyes softened and she put her hands to her cherry-red cheeks. “Awwww,” she gushed earnestly. “That’s so sweet! And you two would be perfect together—he’s always talking about you at lunch in the cafeteria!”
“Please don’t remind me he’s still in high-school,” Rarity said, blanching. “That’s… something I try not to dwell on.”
“Why not?” Stephanie replied, tilting her head.
Rarity stared hard at her sister’s innocent face. “W-well…” The tailor swallowed. “People might think I have a sort of complex, if you will.”
“A complex?” Stephanie repeated.
Rarity tilted her head back. “How to explain this to you, sweetie…”
“You’re afraid people will think you’re a pedophile?” the girl theorized. Rarity felt goosebumps swarm her entire body as she quickly shook her head and arms, dismissing the idea.
“What? Of course I’m not—he’s even past the age of consent. I think.” She put a hand to her face and sighed. “At least, I presume. I mean, if I may be honest with you, sweetie, it’s been a bit since I looked at the laws in this country.”
“He is, actually. But, well, we can maybe get rid of the idea that you’re a creep. Do you normally like boyish men?” Stephanie asked.
“No,” Rarity instantly replied.
“Younger men?”
“No.”
“Tomboys?”
“That’s more of Jack’s area of expertise, no.”
She put a finger to her chin, her face scrunched up in thought briefly reminding Rarity of a younger version of herself.
“What about traps? I heard about them from one of the guys in chess club.”
The tailor blinked. “Traps? Like ones you find in a dungeon?”
“Like the ones you find on the internet.”
“I surely have no idea what you’re referring to, dear.”
“Oh. W-well, we can scratch that one off the list too.” Stephanie nodded sagely. “Do you like Spike?”
“Yes,” Rarity said, without even a pause in her words.
Her sister nodded. “I see, I see.” She put her hands to her hips and hummed. “It’s official then, you don’t have a complex. You just happen to like this one incidental case. That’s a load off my mind.”
“Mine too.”
“Yep. It’s good to know, in case a non-objective third party were ever to wonder about your actions.”
Rarity blinked. “Well, I mean, I can think of worse crimes than being with someone a few years before a randomly established age limitation that varies from country to country.”
“Within reason,” Stephanie replied quickly as Rarity nodded.
“Within reason,” she agreed. “Common sense should dictate something of that effect, perhaps on a case-by-case basis.”
“That’d cause a strain on our already overworked courts, though. I read that in my ‘modern history’ class.”
Rarity shrugged. “Then create more of an incentive for young folks to go into law. The free market can fix anything.”
A knock at the front door snapped them away from their debate. Rarity gasped.
“I’m not even dressed yet! Why did you distract me?!” she whined. Stephanie shook her head.
“I didn’t… ok, maybe I did distract you a bit. But—” she quickly gestured to Rarity’s wardrobe. “Get something on, I’ll run interference.”
Stephanie stepped out and quickly tromped down the stairs as Rarity threw clothes over her shoulder in a desperate bid to find the perfect selection. Finally letting out a pleased nod, she threw a white dress on, enough thigh showing to let his eyes wander, but not enough to have her come across as a slut, and bounded down the stairs, just overhearing Stephanie finishing her chat with Spike.
“...And that’s why I walk with a limp when it’s raining sometime.” She looked behind her. “Oh, hi, Rarity.”
Spike looked at her. She felt a bit silly when she spotted his jacket and casual clothing that clashed strongly with her own semi-formal wear. Stephanie slyly smiled at the two and walked past Rarity, giving her a gentle elbow in the side as she walked past.
“So…” she began. “Where do we start?”
“We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, don’t we?” he asked quietly.
“It’s up to you, Spike. I don’t want to pressure you into anything you don’t like.”
“Can we go to the living room? I’d like to sit down.”
On Rarity’s affirmation, they went deeper into the boutique, where an open lounge greeted the two, a small fireplace dispelling the chill autumn air. They took a rest on the couch, both at either end. Rarity fidgeted a bit, while Spike crossed his legs. They turned, each speaking at once.
“I—”
“There’s—”
They both grew silent once more. Rarity shook her head, staring down at her bare feet. An alarm went of in her head when she realized she was in her bare feet. She forgot her shoes in her mad scramble.
“This is not how I imagined this. Not at all,” she admitted.
“Imagined what?” Spike said, his eyes leaving hers only for scant moments to glance at the fire.
“This… whole situation, really.” She gestured at Spike. It was unspoken between them, but Rarity had known what might have been coming since the day Spike showed up with his adoptive sister at Rarity’s store. “For years, I had thought you’d be the one to confess. Provided, of course, you didn’t grow out of it.”
“It’s not that simple anymore,” Spike admitted, bridging his fingers together and squeezing them.
“I know,” she stated. Rarity rested her hands in her lap and continued. “I remember when you were a child—and make no mistake, you are no child now—I was waiting for your confession. It’d be something I could, of course, deny, and we could move on.” Her lips pursed, in thought.
“But it never came. I waited for it for years. At first I thought you had forgotten about me, but you were still always there, coming to the boutique after school, doing errands for me, listening to me…” Rarity smiled to herself. “And I still waited.”
“Rarity…”
“It’s… not how I planned this at all, dear,” Rarity repeated to herself. “You were supposed to make the first motion. I was supposed to keep my head held high and let you down gently as part of the growing process. I wasn’t supposed to develop an attachment. A fondness. Especially not in someone so young, yet…”
He scooted a bit over on the couch and cautiously reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Like you said, we’re both adults here, right?”
“You’re correct, of course,” she said, a twinge of relief in her voice.
“And sometimes… sometimes things change.” He weakly smiled. “And sometimes things stay the same. Or, mostly the same.” Spike shook his head, looking at the woman. “Earlier, in the kitchen, remember how I said you were part of the problem?”
She nodded, quietly waiting for him to continue.
“I, uh, was going to today. Talk about us.” He rubbed at his mouth. “I wanted you to be my prom date. I got the paperwork, I rented a tux, I even spent two months of my allowance in order to get a carriage, but I found out that you’re too old—old for the event, old for the event,” Spike quickly corrected. “It’s twenty-one and younger, so…”
“I see,” Rarity remarked. She rose, walking to the end of the room, where a vinyl record player sat, cases lined with music right beside. “What were you wanting to do with me there?”
“What else? Introduce you to everyone, eat, dance. I—”
A slow tune started to play. Rarity glanced towards Spike.
“At least one of those can be arranged,” she cooed out, stepping towards him and offering her hand.
Spike took it, swallowing as she pulled him up and a jazz piece began to play.
Rarity brought him in close, entwining his hand with hers and pushing the side of his head towards her chest. He could feel the throbbing of her heart against his ear as she put an arm around his torso. Then she slowly swayed with him, back and forth along the carpet in front of the fireplace.
“It’s not prom, I know, but…” Rarity whispered.
Spike tightened his grip briefly, squeezing her. “No. It’s better. I mean that.”
The tailor smiled, resting her chin on the top of his head. “I’m glad.”
“I think there’s one more thing I’d like to really cap the night…” Spike said, looking up to her. Rarity’s head tilted instinctively downward, staring into his beautiful, sensual, earnest green eyes.
“I think I know what you mean,” she easily replied. They stopped their rocking dance and Rarity trailed her hands up to his shoulders, his neck, then finally rested her palms against his cheeks. She could feel him melt into her hands as she bent down towards his face and—
—a loud ringing snatched the moment away from them.
“Oh come on!” the unmistakable voice of her sister proclaimed from the hallway.
“Sweetie, go to bed,” Rarity said, not even looking at her and instead, glancing down at her phone. Dash was calling. She quickly answered, rolling her eyes.
“Yes?”
“Where the hell are you and Spike at?” Dash asked. “We got alerted because you guys weren’t distracting the guards!”
“Isabelle, this really isn’t the best time.”
“You have any idea how much damage you take in that game without armor?!“ A pause. “He’s at your house, isn’t he?”
Rarity sighed as Dash pressed the matter.
“Dude, he’s totally at your house! Wow.”
“He’s not—” she let out an exasperated sigh. “Alright, he’s here. But—”
“I called it about you two! Awesome. I so ship it!”
“Ship?” Rarity repeated.
“Has he given you the D yet?”
“D? I… wait, no!”
“Tell Spike he needs to give you the D!” she called out.
“I’m hanging up the phone now. Goodnight, dear.” Without waiting for a response, she quickly killed the call and put her phone on vibrate
“What did she mean by ‘give her the D?” Spike questioned.
“It’s something you shouldn’t worry about, dear. Just ignore about half of what Isabelle says: it’s better that way.” Clearing her throat, she looked down at him. “Now… where were we?”
“The best part,” he replied. Rarity offered a chuckle, brushing his green hair to the side and leaned down expectantly towards the boy.
“The best part,” she agreed in a whisper.
This time, there were no interruptions.