Chapter One
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I slammed a claw down on the snooze button, silencing the infernal thing that dared awaken me. A groan escaped my scaly lips as I glanced at the time. It read back a quarter to eight. Damn I hated mornings. I thanked Celestia for the deep red blackout curtains that covered my windows. Ironic I know but life’s like that. Alright you can do this old chum, just get out of bed and walk to the shower. My lack of movement slapped that idea in the face, promptly and with conviction. To which it rebutted in the form of my thrice damned memory; I had errands to run today, as in bills to pay and a certain fashionista to meet for lunch. I really hated my memory. But the icy death for missing a lunch date with Rarity was not how I wished to go out. Besides I never got to see her enough as it was.
With another groan, or creek of my bones, I could never quite tell in the mornings; either way my body was vocal in its protest. (It was too early alright!) Ahem, anyway I made for the bathroom in a crawl. By the way, my name is Spike the Dragon, and you guessed it I am in fact a dragon. I know just oozes creativity but what can you do I was named by a six year old. Granted said six year old was, and still is, a genius of a prodigy but still a six year old. Though it begs the question who in their right mind would let a six year old name a baby dragon; if you knew my mother and her sick sense of humor though said question would promptly and efficiently off itself in an out of the way corner of the world, never to be heard from again. And alas it was not missed.
The mirror revealed the havoc my pure silk sheets (heavily enchanted of course) had done to my scales and spines. I nearly gasped at the horror of purple and green I had become. A hot shower, a snip of a few errant spines and the careful arrangement of the rich scales that covered my body and I was ready to seize the day. With a flap of my wings I was out of the bathroom and down the hall. The apartment I’d called home for the last three years was small for a penthouse but cozy. dark earth tones was the color scheme and naval art lined the walls. Paintings of ships at sea and of stormy ocean currents lined the walls; bookcases dedicated to all forms of fictional literature such as epics, the occasional trashy romance novel (I grew up surrounded by mares who loved the stuff, get off my case!) and poems of all genres made up much of floor space of the halls.
The living room sported a large dark faux-leather sectional and a fireplace made up the north wall; pictures of friends, and family lined the mantle. So many memories locked in those pictures, all fond. I smiled gently and made for the kitchen. Popping the fridge open I pulled out the fixings for breakfast. Eggs, chilled sapphire dust, and bell peppers. The overhead cabinets offered up spices from around the world- a collection I was rather proud of I might add. The tip of my tale flicked the switch on the radio on the island as I set to work. Sapphire Shore’s sweet serenade came blasting out the speakers.
Oh hell yeah, Carriage Wash!
My tail swayed to the beat as I started chopping up the bell peppers, and scrambling the eggs. I hummed along as I lit the stove, the sizzle of eggs and bell peppers filling the air soon after. The aroma was alone enough to send my stomach into a rage. Another Shores’ classic burst through the speakers, sending me singing along softly. Two plates came dancing out the overhead cabinet courtesy of my tail and claws. One bell pepper omelet flipped off and landed deftly on a plate. There’s Pip’s.
The creak of a door down the hall summoned my attention. Speaking of Pip. Now would he be crawling, walking, or dead? Lets find out!
Out of his room waltzed Pipsqueak. Damn and I was going to bet on crawling.
Lanky, tall, and never without his trademark smirk (or smolder as he called it). Also by the opinion of every mare that has so foolishly followed him to our apartment with the promise of- and I do so quote- having their world thoroughly rocked, Pip was apparently handsome, dashingly so. Myself I think not! Oh and it seemed another mare had fallen victim to the lies. A pegasus mare who I had to admit was a smashing nine on the sacred hotness scale trailed after my obnoxious roommate. Lets see. Mental checklist is a go! Smeared, slept-in makeup (check), carrying shoes by straps on a primary (check), and- yes!- bright green dress is indeed wrinkled ever so slightly (All marks checked). Walk of shame in progress!
Pip hailed from Trottingham before ending up in Ponyville where he met one such as I. He has an accent thick as a stack of Twilight’s magical physics collection (a good fifty books strong this collection). My theory that stands as tall as the Lady of Harmony herself was that his accent was what reeled in the victims. He’s been my best friend for the better part of a decade, since those awkward puberty days. For him at least, dragons are ever in a state of flux, and its a right bitch let me tell you. I go to bed a stubby little hatchling one night and the next morning-bam!- taller than the average pony, slim, sleek and with a pair of wings to boot! Growing up came and went without so much as a first date. The nerve!
Back to our hero and his latest conquest. They were walking with barrels touching, whispering to each other in those cutesy voices. Pip was steering her to the door. A grin spread across my lips, my tail mischievously twitching behind me. Yes, we are going to mess with him, now handle the cooking food. Tail received the order and carried it out with gusto, even going so far as to flip my omelet. Such grace; a solid eight!
“Good morning!” I chirped as I rested my head on my claws, elbows propped up on the island.
The mare stopped in her tracks, her eyes fixing on me. Huh, violet irises, cute. “Honey I didn’t know you had a roommate.” Honey? Oh you poor misguided mare. I was tempted to break out the tissues now.
Pip’s eyes spoke vengeance most cruel and slow before he smiled. “Really? I thought I’d mentioned it last night. Ah well.”
“Yes I’m sure you did,” I said innocently. “I’m Spike. Do you two want some breakfast? I’m making omelets.”
I gave my wings a flap, allowing her a chance to see them at full span before snapping them back to my sides. Now little tidbit of info here. Pegasi love big wingspans, its like an aphrodisiac for them. Given my own wingspan, I’ve learned this fact the hard way. True to my ever working knowledge, the mare’s eyes followed my wings like a cat would follow a length of string. Would Pip end me if she actually pounced on me?
“That sounds wonderful,” she beamed then looked up at PIp. “Shall we honey?”
“But didn't you say you needed to leave early,” Pip responded. Points for the smooth attempt to overturn this potential train wreck, for him at least.
My omelet flipped onto my plate. Two points, I idly noted. The wings got another flap in, to waft the aroma of omelets made by a master chef. You want the eggy delight; yes you do.
“A little food wouldn't humph-” she was silenced by a pair of lips; Pip’s lips. He was able to pull her up to her hind hooves as he maneuvered her to the door. Moans sensual came from the pegasus’ throat as she was unwittingly moved toward the exit, and Pip’s escape. Crap that was smooth.
He broke the kiss as she cleared the threshold, beholding the gorgeous mare with a half lidded gaze. Damn it! That was checkmate. Curse his tongue with its swiftness and versatility. “I’ll call you tonight beautiful. Fly safe.” She nodded, that goofy grin still plastered there- with super glue no doubt. She stumbled a few steps toward the elevator.
Pip closed the door and whirled toward me, looking quite pleased with himself. “Lost this round.” Smug bastard…
I huffed, a stream of smoke escaping my snout. “Fine. Here’s your damn eggs.” I passed the plate over to him as he took his place at the bar.
“Ah. The fruits of victory.” He smacked his lips hungrily and chowed down. My, my the temptation to turn the work of art before my smug roommate to ash was nearly overwhelming. Realization came in knowing I'd made that work of art. Would a painter burn his prize piece after working so diligently to craft it? I think not!
I grumbled under my breath as I sprinkled the succulent sapphire dust on my bell pepper omelet. Wonderful combination really, the twist of cool minty flavor and peppered eggs. Call me crazy. I mean mint with eggs was peculiar, but it works. As I sat down Pip was already licking his lips and pushing his plate away.
“Would it kill you to just savor the meal instead of scarfing it down as if you hadn't eaten in days?”
“Take it as a complement.” He grinned and put the plate in the sink.
“More like a testament to the death of culture,” I grumbled and prepared to savor the first bite.
The phone rang just as the morsel was inches from my waiting tongue. Damn telemarketers. I tapped the speaker button. “Spike of Spike and Squeak speaking. How may I help you?” Pip flashed me a glare to which I stuck my tongue out at him, several times. His rebuttal was a shiver.
“Good its you.” I blinked. Prim Prose never called this early.
“Hi Primsy!” shouted Pip.
“Holy crap he’s alive. Spike why haven’t you killed him and devoured his corpse yet?” Yeah my agent hated my roommate.
“Love you too limp wings.” Feeling was mutual.
“Kill him and I will love you forever.” There was a shuffling on the other end. “Anyway listen.”
“You’re conscious at this hour,” I said with a grin, successfully interrupting her. “Surprise, surprise. “ I scooped up a mouthful of omelet. Mmmm so good.
“Oh haha.” Prim’s voice stayed monotone. Never a good sign. “Listen are you sitting down?”
Shit. “If I said yes will this news make me cry?”
“Depends,” she hesitated. “How emotional are you?”
“He bawled his eyes out at the end of Cloud Atlas. That should give you an idea.”
“Hey that was a damn good ending and you know it!” I turned on him with all the speed of a striking snake. “And don’t think I didn’t catch you wiping your eyes.”
“Ladies!” She sighed. “But true, dumb question. Spike sit.”
“I am not that emotional.” I’m not damn it. I crossed my arms over my chest and huffed indignantly. “Just tell me the news, I'm already sitting.”
“Okay.” She paused. “Get the phone off speaker.” I did just that. “Okay. Now its about your book.”
I paled. “W-what about it?” I gasped. “Has it dropped?! They’re taking it out of circulation aren’t they!” I’m screwed. My career, in shambles. My life, over- over I say! I may as well pack up and head for the nearest convent to serve Thoreil, the god of the fire-kin. ‘Woe is me!’, my mind cried along with me.
“Hey Drama Queen!” Prim is that you? I-I see the light. Should I go toward it?
A hoof collided with my skull, sending it slamming into the counter. A white flash of pain burst through my eyelids. I groaned, a claw going to my now aching skull as I glared at Pip. You little son of a…
Pip pressed the speaker button. “You’re welcome.” He clicked it once more, and I promised- nay!- swore fiery vengeance upon him and his descendants. I would live to see a thousand I could make it happen!
I put the receiver to my ear. “You know, he has his uses," Prim observed, her tone pensive. "You done freaking out? Okay, good. Now shut up and listen, I got a call from Canterlot today. Well it seems that someone is interested in turning your book into a play.” I blinked. And blinked again. Then once more for insurance purposes. “Spike?” I put the receiver down gently.
“Pip punch me in the shoulder.” My skull had already made contact with the marble counter once but it never hurt to be sure.
He looked at me like I was crazy, and trust me the feeling was mutual. “What?”
“Just do it.” And he did. Very, very hard. I wheezed at the pain. Yep I was lucid and awake, but damn that fucking hurt! “Geez not so hard!” I hissed through clenched teeth, rubbing my now sore shoulder with a tentative claw. .
“You asked, I delivered,” he replied with a chuckle. He gave a yawn and stretched. “Welp I’ve got auditions today, so I have to spruce up a bit.” He left with smug smirk. My glare followed him to his room, half hoping he would trip on that black silk robe of his. I know, I know petty thoughts. The robe hadn’t done anything to me, and it was such a fine silk garb. Got it for him for his twenty second birthday.
“Spike!!!” Whoops! I picked up the receiver in a hurry.
“Sorry. Can you repeat that?”
“Sweet Celestia, don’t scare me like that! I thought you’d keeled over or something.” She sighed for the third time I think. I never really kept count; she always sighs. “A big shot director from Canterlot wants to turn your book into a play.”
“One second Prim,” I said ever so sweetly and calmly. I set the receiver down once more, and stood up. “Yes!” I screamed as I jumped up and down, my wings aquiver at my sides. I felt like a million bits! My book, a play! I could hardly believe it! Hell to the yes! Ode to joy!
A muffled spew of profanities came from Pip’s room before he came stumbling into the living room, dripping wet no less with a soggy towel wrapped around him. “What?! What’s going on!?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I screamed some more and swept Pip up in a hug. I twirled the hapless stallion around like rag doll, I didn’t care that he was sopping wet. Hell, it didn’t even bother me that he was dripping on the mahogany floors that I painstakingly worked to keep at a polished shine. Bliss sang in my mind, my heart a flutter with an abundance of joy. It was like I was in love all over again!
He struggled to get out of my grasp and succeeded. “What the bloody hell you sod?! You nearly gave me a buggering heart attack!”
“My book's going to be a play!” I gushed with a grin that threatened to split my skull. I continued to give a victory dance. Pip rolled his eyes and picked up the receiver.
“What’s he on about? Uh huh. Really? Nice. Oh yeah, guess who’s in a towel, and pleasantly damp.”
I could hear Prim scream my name once more. Pip’s holding the phone away from his ear told me I’d heard right. He passed me the phone looking pleased with himself. “Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “So who is this director?” I ignored Pip’s snickers as he retreated into his bedroom
“Keep that mouth breather away from the phone Spike,” she deadpanned. I could have sworn I heard her shiver on the other end. “For all I know his condition of being a complete tool is contagious. Anyway, never met her myself but she’s made one hell of a splash in the theatre community. An agent I know in Trottingham told me she’s the pony actors dream of being under to get their big break. She directed The Thera Crisis a year ago.”
I remembered that. It was one of the most controversial plays of this century. Now it was a cult classic. Pip raved about, saying it was sheer brilliance. And I had to admit it was. “So congrats rookie you made to the big time. Now her secretary told me she wanted to meet us tomorrow for lunch at Rožu Dārzs. Got a pen and paper next to you?”
“Yeah.” I pulled over my notepad, flipped it open and pulled the pen out. With a click I assumed the position. “Ready?”
“Three thirty sharp.” I jotted it down. “One hell of a snazzy place too. I looked it up. Up-town to be sure. Expensive too, like really expensive. She apparently insisted on paying the bill.”
“Sweet, free food.”
“There’s that too.” She laughed sharply. “So can I count on you to be there?”
“I’d be stupid not to come. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Grand. And Spike, congrats. You really earned this.” I smiled and thanked her. The receiver found its way home finally. I sat back, oddly calm, the singing in my blood having died down. I was...at peace. Was this what a buzz felt like?
I sat there until Pip came back into the dining room. He sported a dark blue sports jacket over a black t-shirt. Ah, a twist of formal and casual. HIs customary form of dress, and it worked for him.
“You gonna sit there with a stupid grin on your face or you comin’?”
“Yeah,” I said with a short chuckle. I walked lazily to my bedroom and scoured my closet. Lets see. I wore a crimson yesterday. I rifled through my wardrobe until I retrieved a sports jack a shade darker than my scales and pulled it on. After I was sure I looked ready to carpe diem. I walked out of the room, satchel in tow filled with various items I would need: notepad, pens, bit-bag. Pip locked the apartment with his key and we made our way for the elevator. It opened with a ding and we stepped in. The first floor button found itself pushed and we descended. When it opened the lobby in the midst of a morning rush greeted us.
Fellow patrons just beginning their days like us went to the large ornate glass doors in quick, hurried steps, either eager to start the day, or get it over with. More than likely both. Most wore sharp suits, or dresses. Several greeted us, well I should say me. Pip usually got an upturned nose, or a sneer. They’d grown used to him too. The atmosphere, and the décor of the lobby, reminded me of those years I’d spent growing up in Canterlot castle. Polished marble floors, people in fancy clothes, and maid staff running through the day’s routine. All that was missing were the stoic guards in shiny gold armor.
Oh crap. Pip’s pissed off Ms. Roots again. She glared at the two of us, well more Pip than me. I was delightful. Let me tell you she was the meanest griffin on the face of the earth. She snapped her beak and exited front door. I nudged Pip none too gently when I caught his grin.
“What’d you do this time?”
“Just told her she looked lovely yesterday.” He shrugged.
“Let me guess you added innuendo to your flirting?” Don’t know why I’m asking.
“You know me so well.” He trotted up to the counter as I cursed his very wake. One of these days someone’s going to geld him. Its up for debate whether it will be by the decree of pony-kind as a whole and carried out as though it were a public execution or by my own claws but it would happen one day.
“Ah Mr. the Dragon, Mr. Fivestar.” Arrivederci said, greeting us. He was Casa d'Argento's owner, and had been a good friend to Pip and I for many years. He was a distinguished Bitalian earth pony well into his fifties. His accent betrayed his place of birth, the Cicilia Isles. It was beautiful country actually, all rolling hills, sparse forest, and breath taking views of the Mediterranean from steep white rock cliffs. Being the assistant to Equestria's Head of International Affairs had its advantages all those years ago. Arrivederci wore a dark blue suit with a dark purple tie, smartly pressed and with a gold shield pinned to his lapel. We greeted him in kind.
His dapper gaze fell on my roommate. “Mr. Fivestar, I received another- ahem- comment from Ms. Roots. I would ask you to tone it down a bit.” He turned on me, and pushed a small bundle of letters my way. “Mail arrived sirs. All for Mr. the Dragon I’m afraid.” Pip deflated slightly. “I’m sure you’ll be receiving mail soon signore.”
“Yeah I doubt it,” Pip grumbled under his breathe. He shook his head and flipped his collar. “I’ll see you mate.” He made for the door with a grim swiftness to his step. I watched him go.
“Tis that time of the year non,” Arrivederci said sadly. I only nodded. That was the only downside to winter; it brought back bad memories for my best friend.
“Thank you,” I said addressing Arrivederci's kindness in holding our letters. I rifled through them. Lets see: bill, bill, notice from The Orchard- from Stain Inks. I smiled gently as Twilight’s horn-writing flashed across the last envelope.
“One from Signorina Twilight.” Arrivederci gave me a knowing smile. Caught red clawed.
“Yep.” I pushed the letters in my bag. Outside right hand pocket, neatly filed for later reading. “Have a good day Arrivederci.”
“You as well Mr. the Dragon,” he called after me as I exited the dual glass doors of Casa d'Argento.