The rasp of glass on hardwood shook Spike from his ill-humored trance.

Lifting his head from the fold of his arms, he glanced up at the man behind the bar, who was in the middle of eyeballing Spike over his glasses rather openly. A glass filled with some mixture of cream and chocolate lay before him.

He was grinning. His arms were crossed over his black t-shirt and his mouth was hidden behind a tangled salt and pepper forest of a beard, but he was definitely grinning.

The bar, if indeed it could be labeled as such in spite of its admittance of patrons of all ages, was currently stocked with no more than its usual number of consumers. That would soon be subject to change, however, as surely as the oncoming tide of nine-to-fivers must needs leave their day jobs for a brief respite, before starting their daily cycle anew.

Spike had frequented The Brass Trouble ever since he had discovered it roughly two years ago. The owner, Nightjar, had bought out the property some years before and had conducted the gastropub’s business by himself to this day.

The enigmatic name of his small enterprise was a tongue-in-cheek tribute to his much loved daughter, a young brunette woman about Spike's age. Despite the origins of the bar's title, however, the stonemason-like approach to the construction of the building, as seen in the build of the brusque slate walls and warm amber woodwork, lent the bar the unmistakable air of maleness, making the Brass a rarely-enough seen haven for the town’s rougher sex.

The food was satisfactory, and the drinks, as Spike had pleasantly discovered after his recent birthday, were hearty, delightful bargains. The overall ambiance of the Brass was one that was universally agreed upon to be conducive to one’s well-being. For Spike, it was a good place to retire to when he needed to withdraw from Twilight and the burdens that came with his life.

Groggy and more than a little suspicious, Spike narrowed his eyes at the bartender, then at the drink. "What the heck is this, Nightjar?"

The older man gestured to the mug currently resting inches from Spike's hands. "Milkshake. Bourbon and chocolate, with a cherry on top," he explained, unable to keep his chuckling in. He stepped back to watch Spike's expression, biting the inside of his cheek.

Spike frowned even as he clutched the drink closer to his chest. "I didn't order this," he said cautiously, ever conscious of his recently-thinned wallet pressing against the warm wood of his stool.

"Yeah, well," Nightjar said, his rumbling laughter starting anew at some private joke, "she did." He pointed down the bar, and Spike followed the direction of his finger.

Far on the opposite end of the bar, resting near the corner of the dark lacquered long bar, was Pinkie Pie. Noticing the attention of the two men, she sat up in excitement and wiggled her fingers at them energetically. Nightjar laughed and waved back.

Spike grumbled and rested his head on his hands once more. "I don't want to talk to her."

Nightjar shrugged, uncrossing his arms and leaning back against the patch of bare wall behind him. "If you don't want to, don't. I already got paid."

Unseen by Spike, Pinkie rose to her feet on the stool, balancing herself on the thick wooden rungs, and stared openly at him, smiling and waiting to see how he reacted. If she cared for the attention she brought to herself, and by extension Spike, she didn't show it.

There was a warm, itching sensation reaching Spike's ears and forehead, and by its presence he somehow knew that Nightjar had laid his gaze upon him. "I didn't know you were already looking to date," the older man said with professional casualness. The statement seemed more like an inquiry than a confession, a probe into unexplored territories.

Spike shrugged, his eyes level with the milkshake in front of him. "Neither did I."

Despite the small, budding notion of anger he currently felt at Pinkie for their 'encounter' the other night, Spike couldn't help but appreciate free food. He noted that even someone like Pinkie—or, perhaps, especially someone like Pinkie—would have known to appeal to his stomach to win his favor back.

The glass was frosted with cold, with whispers of frost curling from the top and chilling Spike's face. The deep, sweet smell of sugar and whiskey rolled against his nostrils, followed by a rich undertone of chocolate and cream. A glance verified it: the drink was beige, with shavings of cocoa deposited on the top and throughout the body of the drink. Chocolate chips and a lone maraschino cherry decorated the crown of the drink, while a heaping of deceptively warm fudge rested at the bottom. A delicate brushing of what seemed to be salted caramel flirted with the edges of the curved glass, leaned on by a dark brown cookie straw.

The young man resisted the urge to receive the drink. While he would have loved nothing more than to spend the next hour or two savoring the treasure in front of him, Spike knew enough of social cues to understand that to accept the treat was to accept Pinkie's apology, and possibly signal to her that he was prepared to allow conversation.

And it didn't matter how good of a kisser she was, he wasn't sure if he was ready to forgive her just yet.

Pinkie seemed to reach the same conclusion. When Spike made no move to acknowledge her gesture, her smile lessened, and Pinkie lowered herself in her seat. Some part of her remained eager, however, and she continued to monitor Spike from across the room with an uncommonly keen eye.

"Say...Spike," Nightjar started to say, and Spike noted that he held the air of a man trying to pitch an idea. He was cleaning a dirty glass with a dishtowel—a habit known by Spike by virtue of association with the older man as a method of keeping one's hands busy and hiding one's thoughts.

"Yeah?" Spike asked, absently sliding the creamed treat from side to side with one lazy palm.

"Well...y'know," he said, his voice sounding more than a tad pained and awkward while also trying to maintain an semblance of nonchalance, "you're a good kid and all." Spike blinked at the unexpected praise. "And since you're already looking, y'see..." Nightjar shrugged, staring down at the dish rack while his hands worked, "Well, Zipporwhill's getting to be that age—"

Spike leaned back in his seat, eyes wide. "Oh my God."

"Now hold on just a minute," Nightjar said, holding up his hands. "I know she can be a bit of a handful—"

"You're actually pitching your daughter to me."

Nightjar leaned over on the bar. "Look, I know she's not exactly the greatest catch in the sea, but she's a good girl." The older man tapped the edge of the wood as he slowly got more comfortable talking on the topic of his daughter. "And, I mean, it's not exactly like there's a huge market for her in the first place."

That much, Spike had to agree with. Their country had always been one plagued by population disparity when it came to the genders, and Ponyville had been no exception. As men tended to be outnumbered by the fairer sex by a wide margin, it was little wonder Nightjar had steered their conversation that way, despite the inherent awkwardness of the subject. It wasn't uncommon for many women to go their entire lives without ever finding a partner.

In Nightjar's case, especially with him being a single father, the thought of seeing his only child grow up to be a spinster would undoubtedly cause him no small amount of discomfort.

Spike placed the straw to his lips as he considered Zipporwhill's merits. He didn't know much about the girl outside of her looks, to be honest: pale and petite, with big sea-green eyes hidden behind that dijon brown hair and those strangely thick glasses. She had made a habit of wearing sundresses as of late, if Spike remembered correctly; she was just at that age where she had fully come to terms with her femininity.

"I mean," Spike said, cringing awkwardly and taking up the milkshake in his distracted state, "I guess she's kind of...cute."

"And smart," Nightjar added.

Spike nodded slowly, shrugging. I bet she's got a small tongue, he thought to himself, and it was a matter of seconds before the fact of his observation struck him. He nearly recoiled in his seat at the realization. Where the hell did that come from?

A stream of guests suddenly entered the eatery, prompting Nightjar to step away and welcome them. "Think about it!" he said to Spike, smiling cautiously, before addressing those newcomers who had so quickly flooded the restaurant.

The mass of bodies obscured Spike's vision, until he glanced toward where Pinkie had been and found her seat empty.

"Looking for someone?"

Spike pivoted to face the familiar voice, only to meet Pinkie's smiling expression. "Hmph," he grunted, turning away from her before being stopped by hands on his waist. "Don't touch me," he growled.

"Only if you hear me out," Pinkie said, gentle but firm. Spike's face softened at her frowning, apologetic look.

"I'm listening," Spike said lowly, and the timbre of his voice brokered the fact that he would only be so patient with her. When his body relaxed in her presence, Pinkie released her grip on him, albeit with slow, visible reluctance.

"I'm sorry," Pinkie said immediately, and her spine went straight as she felt the gaze of nearby strangers pin to her back. A swath of listeners halted their conversations to hear her, a fact that ate away at Pinkie's nerves and suddenly made her feel much more agitated than usual.

Lowering her voice, she moved closer to Spike so that only he could hear her, and his legs parted slightly—unconsciously—to welcome her proximity. "I'm sorry that I made you uncomfortable, and that I made you feel embarrassed. That's the last thing I ever wanted, believe me." She reached for his shoulder, only to hesitate at the last moment, a gesture that went unnoticed by Spike, who refused still to look at her. "So...even if you're still mad at me," Pinkie said slowly, swallowing hard and wanting this embarrassing but necessary exchange to be over, "you should at least know that."

Spike remained quiet, not looking at her but neither forcing her away. He ground his teeth silently, and imagined his anger to be a tearable thing that rolled between his jaws, capable of being gnawed at with visceral gratification.

But even as he tried to nurse his displeasure of Pinkie, Spike knew it was a futile effort; already he felt his resentment fading, and with it his resolve to keep blocking her out.

He sighed and glanced just below Pinkie's neckline, rubbing his own neck complacently. "You weren't yourself, so...it'd be pretty messed up of me to hold a grudge, right?"

Pinkie beamed gratefully, and squeezed his shoulder gently to show it. "Thank you for saying that," she said with a genuine smile.

Spike tried for a smile in return, only to have it marred by a slight grimace.

"What is it?" the baker asked, frowning and leaning in closer. "What's wrong?"

Spike exhaled heavily, causing Pinkie to flinch imperceptibly and strain her nostrils at the sweetness of his breath. "It's just..." Spike said, fidgeting with the neglected milkshake in hand, "this whole thing only happened because of that stupid wager match." He looked up at the pink-haired woman. "You wouldn't have even looked at me twice otherwise."

Pinkie grinned at him cockily, eyes half-closed but not lacking for intensity. She leaned closer to him, her arms crossed over her chest, and again she stared at him in that piercing way, pinning Spike in place without touching him. "What makes you say that?"

Spike shuffled in place, suddenly antsy at her closeness. "Because," he said, voice lowered in case of eavesdroppers, "you only...came on to me because of that game."

Right? his expression seemed to ask.

Instead of answering immediately, Pinkie continued to stare at him, into him, until it became clear that she would offer up no response of her own accord. Spike returned her gaze in kind, though the beads of sweat trailing down his temple ruined the illusion of concentration that he had striven to replicate.

She took in his scent, inhaled the salt of his maleness which contrasted so strangely with the chilled sweetness that drifted gently from his mouth. Pinkie suppressed a shudder; while she would have loved nothing more than to spend the next hour or two savoring the treasure in front of her, this wasn't the time or place for it. She needed him alone, where their interactions wouldn't be influenced by onlookers.

"Are you going to be busy tomorrow night at five?" Pinkie asked, blinking slowly. Her hands lay just under her belt line, clasped together.

Spike's eyes widened ever so slightly. "Why?"

"I just think we should talk," she said honestly, shrugging and smiling mildly. "So we can figure out whatever...this is," she said, gesturing to the two of them.

Spike's eyes narrowed. "Why would I agree to that?"

"I'd make you dinner?"

A pause. "You mean...kind of like a date?"

Pinkie shrugged again, her mouth set in a half grin. "Kind of definitely like a date." Her arms squeezed together, prompting her chest to bulge out slightly, an action that wasn't lost on Spike. "Is that okay with you?"

Spike shifted in his seat, grunting as he felt a headache coming on. His milkshake lay off to the side, melting. "Why are you doing this to me all of a sudden," he groaned to himself, massaging his temples.

"I'll tell you!" Pinkie said energetically, brushing her hair over her shoulder and beaming brilliantly. "But only if you show up."

Frowning, Spike looked exasperatedly at her stupid, annoying full lips and felt an exciting conflict at her proposal. "You're putting me in a really awkward position, Pinkie."

Her lips quirked, quirked in the way that they always did when she was about to something witty or smart-assed. "What position should I put you in, then?"

And when Spike looked back up at her, face flushed red, angry, and incredulous, Pinkie matched it—and then some. Her unflinching blue eyes called his bluff, daring him to challenge her despite the friendliness of her smile.

Just let it happen, her face seemed to convey, her eyes conveying the hypocrisy and pointlessness of Spike's offense. We both know what you want me to do to you.

Spike's face scrunched in protest of her silent accusations, and with a grimace, he said under his breath, "What makes you think you know what I want?"

"I'll tell you in private," Pinkie said sweetly, speaking through her teeth as she jerked her head at the audience of eavesdroppers still behind her. At her gesture, some dozen watchers turned their heads sharply back to their own table, restoring a buzzing din of chatter and conversations made in underlying tones. Even Nightjar turned his back, whistling innocently as he returned to cleaning dishware behind the counter.

Newly conscious of the other patrons of the restaurant, Spike lowered his voice. "I'm not sure I should be 'in private' with you," he said, clutching his drink to his chest as if it were some barrier to hold between the two of them.

But Pinkie pressed forward, pulling up the drink and taking a slow draught from it, maintaining eye contact the entire time. Swallowing, she leaned back and grinned in a disarming fashion. "You will soon."

And as she withdrew from the restaurant and out of Spike's line of sight, a trio of eavesdropping women keeled over in a dead faint.

"Did you see her proposition the young man like that?" one whispered frantically.

"The horror! The horror!"

As Twilight sat hunched over the bench, with Rarity and Rainbow Dash sitting some feet away from her, she eyed Pinkie skipping her way from The Trouble Brass, after some fifteen minutes of waiting.

Finally.

Forgetting her friend for the moment, Twilight scrunched her nose in distaste at the thought of the gastropub: Spike swore by the establishment and had frequented it ever since he was sixteen, and while Twilight could see its merits, she could never stand to go in. The Brass was a male-dominated area, a kind of place that Twilight rarely had cause or occasion to deal with. She'd always felt on edge in such high-energy places, and while the men coming to and fro from the restaurant never failed to smell excellent, the oppressive musk on the inside might as well have been a hotbox to her.

I don't see how she can stand it, Twilight thought to herself as her eyes found Pinkie again. Maybe the younger woman was simply used to the sweat and the heat and the heavy air of so many men in such a small place—maybe she even liked it. It was always a guess with Pinkie, and Twilight had long stopped trying to rationalize the girl's decisions, and had instead continued to attribute Pinkie's actions to the inexplicable.

Across from Twilight, Rainbow Dash snorted in amusement as Pinkie bounced her way to their table, the girl's thick magenta curls jostling with every crunch of rubber-soled feet on loose cobblestone. "Twenty bucks says Pinkie was a band geek back in high school."

"Thirty says she was a thespian," Rarity countered, crossing one leg over the other in boredom as she lay face-down.

Rainbow Dash shrugged, before turning to Twilight. "What's your money on, Twi?"

"Magic school," the Princess reminded her, never looking away from Pinkie.

"Oh, right," Dash said, grunting. "Guess you guys didn't have cliques, then," conceding the point and making Twilight somewhat glad that she hadn't been expected to fully answer the question.

And truth be told, of Pinkie herself, well...Twilight was muddled in the usual emotions concerning that girl; love, compassion, that high-octane excitement of never knowing what was around the corner, as well as the need to protect her from as much harm as possible, whether it be physical or emotional. But at the top of that long list of conflicting and complimentary feelings for Pinkie was confusion.

Acceptance, tolerance, but always confusion.

Unlike anything that Twilight had ever seen in life, whether it be magic, love, duty, or friendship, Pinkie was still as unexplainable as the day that the two women had met. She was a person who defied understanding, and no amount of research in regards to Pinkie's background or past actions gave any insight into why Pinkie worked the way she worked. And while that always had made her entertaining and refreshing to be around for many people, to Twilight it was a reminder to always stay on her toes.

It didn't mean that Twilight didn't trust Pinkie, the Princess reflected to herself as she noted the sweetening of the air as the pink-haired woman approached, but rather that Twilight didn't trust whether or not her friend would ever do the wrong thing for the right reasons. Pinkie wasn't the sort of person to do anything out of ill-will to others; in fact, nearly everything she did was out of her benevolent nature.

But Pinkie didn't work like a normal person; she didn't think along the same lines, didn't come to the same conclusions, and was apt to veer to extremes that the average person wouldn't even think to entertain. And while in the midst of her good intentions, she could potentially cause terrible things to happen.

It hadn't happened yet, and there was a chance it would never would. But then, all it really took was one mistake.

And those kinds of thoughts made Twilight nervous.

We're opposites, Twilight concluded as Pinkie reached their meeting place, her face all smiles.

"How'd it go?" Rainbow Dash asked, raising herself up in her seat and removing her shades.

"I," Pinkie said proudly, her fists pressed to her waist in a pose of triumph, "am a master of seduction."

Rarity yawned, her face in her palm as she looked up in boredom. "That badly, huh?"

"Ha ha," Pinkie said dryly, rolling her eyes as she sat on top of the table, her back to Rarity and Rainbow Dash. She looped a hand under her wide expanse of thick pink curls and brushed them from her shoulders. "We'll see who's laughing tomorrow night, girly."

Rainbow Dash whistled, and Twilight rose up in her seat. "What's happening tomorrow night?" she asked, eyes bright and piercing.

"I invited him over for dinner," Pinkie said, her face jolly as it peered down at Twilight.

"Not bad," Dash said, smiling and wincing at the same time. "How'd you get him to agree to it?"

"I'd like to know that as well," Rarity added, looking skeptical and, oddly enough, somewhat proud.

Giggling, Pinkie grabbed Twilight by the arms and drew the girl up into her waist, until her head rested just beneath Pinkie's bosom. "President Princess Egghead," Pinkie sang sweetly, brushing her fingers through Twilight's hair with one hand and holding her by the midriff with the other, "what's the first rule of war?"

Rolling her eyes but not bothering to fight Pinkie's grasp, Twilight recited automatically, "'Know your enemy.'" Her arms rested on Pinkie's bare knees.

"Right-o!" the baker agreed, smiling and looking over her shoulder at the other two women, eyes radiant. "Once I apologized to Spike, all it took was some good ol' made-to-order flirting!" A deep rumble of a laugh made its presence known in her chest, which Twilight felt but didn't hear. "If you know what a boy wants to hear, all you have to do is say it. You just have to play a little dumb, so that he doesn't know he's being baited."

Dash's face was one of amazement, and even Rarity blinked in surprise. "That's...actually rather insightful," the dressmaker admitted.

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't think it by looking at him," Pinkie said, twirling Twilight's hair on a finger unconcernedly, "but Spike's actually really passive. I dunno, maybe it's a dragon guy thing, but if he doesn't respect you from the get-go, it's like you gotta prove yourself or something."

"Yeah," Dash said, frowning as she supported her chin with her hand, "I got that from him too. He digs powerful women."

"That's probably why he listens to Twilight and Rarity so well," Pinkie said offhandedly.

At this, Rarity blinked. "Twilight, I can understand, but me, powerful? Is it because I can use magic?"

Pinkie snorted as she continued playing with Twilight's hair. "Hardly. He strikes me as the kind of guy who associates beauty with power."

Even Twilight, despite her increasing discomfort with Pinkie's eerily thorough understanding of Spike, had to admit that Pinkie had been uncommonly precise in her interactions. Pinkie, Twilight realized, was a natural-born people person, the same way that Twilight herself was a prodigy in concern to both magic and education. Some things, like flirting, came so naturally to her that Pinkie could wade through conversations as easily as an ankle-deep stream.

Looking at Rarity and seeing the older woman's gaze of admiration, Twilight knew it to be true: while Rarity was known for her discerning eye and aptitude for dealing with others, even she didn't subject herself to the insane levels of social contact that Pinkie Pie willingly embraced. Now that she thought about it, it only made sense that Pinkie would have an unparalleled understanding of people, and how to press their buttons to get them to do what she wanted—years of being around Rarity would've been instruction enough. And Pinkie herself was just so absurd by nature, that no one would reason that her actions were anything more than random acts of impulse.

Pinkie stood up on the table, dropping Twilight gently back into her seat. The party girl strode forward, grasped the thin branch of a nearby overhanging tree and broke it off, holding it clenched behind her back like an imitation riding crop. "Yes, it's all quite simple," she barked, patrolling back and forth on the picnic bench in parody of a drill sergeant. "Growing up, dear old mom and dad would have you believe that all it takes to get your man is a smile and a come-hither stare, the bastards." Pinkie shook her head. "But war, my friends...war has changed."

Rainbow Dash sat back in her seat and snapped her fingers, nodding her head in agreement. "Preach it, sister!"

"We live in a day and age where 'sitting pretty' doesn't guarantee you anything but a cold bed and a dry streak!" Pinkie marched back and forth dutifully, her face laughably serious and uncaring of any who saw her. Even Twilight couldn't resist a chuckle. "We're losing the war, ladies! It's a seller's market, and we're hard up!"

"Hear hear!" Rarity cried out, clapping and smiling.

"It's a mad world out there, my sisters," Pinkie claimed with dogmatic zeal, "and there's no room for namby-pamby cookie cutter pillow princesses!" She spun to face Rarity, leaning closer until their eyes nearly touched. "If you want some ass, then by Jove, you've gotta grind for it! We need to get aggressive! Because you can believe me when I say there's no such thing as a free train ticket to Pound Town!"

"Oh my," gasped Cheerilee, hand to her mouth as she looked over her grocery bags at Pinkie as she walked by.

Unperturbed, Pinkie continued her rant. "Love is war, ladies, and war. Is. Hell." She reached into her purse and yanked out a film reel projector and screen.

"Not even touching that one," Twilight muttered under her breath.

"Exhibit A!"

Twilight, Rainbow and Rarity blinked as the projector sputtered to life and shone its images onto the screen. The very first slide was of Spike and another person, whose figure was painted over by an impatient editor. The green-haired teenager was smiling and resting on a stool, listening with visible interest to the unseen speaker. His elbows rested on a table, his hands supporting his head.

Pinkie thrust the tip of her branch at Spike's face. "Observe! The target's vibrant, colorful green hair! Delightfully soft but unyielding to the touch!" She clasped a hand to her heart as she continued. "His lips! Firm, tasty, and sinfully innocent!" Pinkie shook her head as a dog would shake off water. "Pure as a schoolboy's and twice as sweet!"

"How do you know that," Twilight asked.

"Exhibit B!" Pinkie barked, this time pointing to an image of Spike laughing and running towards a beach. He wore a pair of swim trunks and held a surf board with both hands. "His back muscles," Pinkie groaned, "his leg muscles! Not too big, not too small, but just right." She ran a hand over the projector's screen, distorting the picture. "Goldilocks would have a field day with this boy."

"Oh dear." Fanning herself with her hand, Rarity turned to Rainbow Dash with a raised eyebrow. "Thespian," she said through her teeth while Pinkie wasn't looking.

Rainbow Dash shrugged, made the universal 'not bad' face, and leaned in closer.

"His biceps, his triceps, his ass, dear sweet God above, his ass. You could bounce a roll of quarters off of that nonsense!" Pinkie knelt down to kiss Twilight's hand. "Thank you, from women everywhere, for making him climb ladders every day of his life."

Twilight crossed her arms and looked guiltily to the side. "...wasn't every day..."

Stopping in place, Pinkie chucked the branch over her shoulder, striking the projector screen and—oddly enough—causing it to collapse in the same small package as before. Unbidden, the projector next to Pinkie ceased its sputtering, and was still.

"Yet, despite the aforementioned majesty that is the target's body," Pinkie said, returning to her pacing and looking contemplative, "the target himself is unaware of his merits." Pinkie turned to her friends, and looked them each in the eye with comical solemnity. "Spike doesn't know he's hot."

Rainbow Dash and Rarity gasped. Twilight rolled her eyes.

"Ladies," Pinkie continued, "this is an unacceptable mistake, one that I intend to fix." She bent to her knees to face them. "But I can't do it alone."

Dash snorted and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "We already promised to help you, Pinkie. We're not going to back out now."

"For better or worse," Twilight said dryly.

Pinkie shifted her eyes to accost Twilight with a speed that was disturbing, if not familiar. "I'll need more than a week," she said in a warning voice.

Twilight shrugged with feigned carelessness, unable to see a way around granting Pinkie more time without going back on her promise. "Eh, I'd rather you have more time than do something reckless out of desperation."

Satisfied, Pinkie rolled to her feet and made her way to the head of the table, prompting the others to look at her. "That, we can agree on!" she exclaimed, plopping down from the tabletop and pivoting to face her girls. "Rainbow Dash, I need you to take this list," she said, pulling a rolled-up piece of paper from her purse, "fly by the vendors, and pick up everything before the market closes. Can you do that?"

Dash nodded shortly, taking the list and unraveling it. When it unfurled, level with her chest, only to hit the ground and keep moving, she had to bite back a curse. "I'll be running through town all day with this! How the heck am I supposed to even pay for any of this crap, Pinkie?"

The party planner waved off Dash's concerns as easily as if they were flies. "I've got tabs at each place listed on there, so don't you worry your feisty lil' head." Turning to Rarity next, Pinkie reached into her purse again and drew out a small rectangular card, the back of which was besmirched with a bright pink lipstick stain. "In Manehattan, there's a woman at this address with a package waiting for me. Make sure you're not followed when you arrive."

Eyes wide, Rarity received the card and gazed down at it in wonder, then back up at Pinkie. "What should I do when I get there?"

"I need you to pick up the package, then lay low for a couple of days," Pinkie said seriously, holding Rarity by the shoulders and looking into her eyes with startling conviction. "After you arrive at the apartment, knock on the door exactly thirteen times. When you hear a voice ask what you want, tell them 'the tiger needs glasses.'"

Mystified and unsure of what to say, Rarity saluted energetically at the prospect of danger and espionage. "Consider it done!" she cried.

"Dude, what?" Rainbow Dash said, looking extremely put out. "Rarity gets to go on some cloak-and-dagger mission halfway across the country, and I get sacked with some bogus grocery run?"

"Not all heroes wear capes, Dashie," Pinkie said, hugging the shorter girl by the shoulder and smooching her on the cheek. Dash groaned and crossed her arms petulantly. Rarity stuck her tongue out at the athlete and winked.

"And what about me?" Twilight asked, genuinely curious as she sat on the bench. Both of her hands rested on her lap as she awaited her assignment. Despite herself, she looked forward to whatever it was Pinkie had singled out for her to do.

Pinkie turned to match Twilight's gaze, her visage uncharacteristically blank, until her face slowly split into a cheek-wide grin. Holding out her arm for Twilight to latch on to, Pinkie winked at her friend, almost as if she knew of the conflict bubbling down in Twilight's gut and found it amusing.

"Let's walk, shall we?" she asked, and as Twilight's adrenaline was exchanged for a migraine, she swore she could hear the gears in Pinkie's head whirring.

For all she knew, though, they were spinning in reverse...

Twilight didn't know why she had expected Pinkie to take their private conversation seriously. By all means, the last eight years would logically have been indication enough that the woman simply couldn't straighten out her goofy attitude unless people were about to die.

Still, that did nothing to improve Twilight's mood, especially after Pinkie had insisted on doing the running man for the better part of the last two miles through town, to the beat of her own improvised scat music.

"Skee-da do-de-be-da-dee-dop duh da doo-da duh doo-da-doooo," she sang, "they're calling again!"

"What are you talking about?" Twilight finally asked, exasperated. She knew by now that letting Pinkie's antics get to her wouldn't solve anything, but something about the girl's recent behavior had rattled Twilight. Her fraying hairs were sufficient proof of that.

Pinkie looked back at Twilight and smiled sweetly. "Just an old showtune from way back when." She jumped with practiced ease to the edge of a bridge, which overlooked a calm, unobtrusive stream. She kicked her feet to and fro as she rested on the aged railing, nodding her head back and forth at some unheard music.

Taking a deep breath, Twilight smoothed her frazzled bangs back into shape before taking her place at Pinkie's side. Resting both arms on the bridge, she turned her head ever so slightly to the enigma of a woman sitting next to her. Twilight's brow narrowed as she tried for what must have been the millionth time to divine what Pinkie was thinking.

"Go ahead," Pinkie said calmly, still looking off into the distance and smiling. "Ask away."

Twilight's lips flattened into a line, but she kept her innermost thoughts to herself. "What's in Manehattan?" she finally asked.

Snorting, Pinkie leaned back and swung her feet even harder. "Nothing," she said, chuckling feverishly. "I just needed to get Rarity out of town for a couple of days."

Twilight's eyes widened. "You're sending her on a wild goose chase?"

"Well, duh," Pinkie said, smiling and poking Twilight on the point of her nose. "Rarity's the second-most important woman in Spike's life. If I'm gonna have a chance with him, I can't let them be around each other or it'll weaken my position."

"That's awfully...methodical of you," Twilight said, allowing a shred of disdain to color her speech. A queasy feeling sprung up in the very bottom of her gut.

Pinkie looked over her shoulder at Twilight. "There's nothing wrong with knowing how romance works." She flipped her hair over a shoulder. "And as it so happens, I'm just a precise romantic," she said, accenting her statement with a playful hmph.

"It still sounds wrong," Twilight stressed, her arms growing tighter around each other as she clenched them to her chest.

"You're only saying that because it's Spike," Pinkie countered lightly. She returned her gaze downstream. "Applejack and Fluttershy would've done the same thing."

"What makes you say that?" the Princess asked, raising an eyebrow.

Pinkie suddenly stopped her leg-swinging, and turned to accost Twilight. A look of surprise was on her face. "You don't know?" At Twilight's stare of incomprehension, Pinkie frowned. "I thought you'd know."

"Know what, exactly?" Twilight pressed. Despite her best efforts, Pinkie's intentional vagueness was doing a darned good job of eating away at Twilight's patience.

Pinkie swung down from her seat, eyeing Twilight the entire time. That marked the second time today that one of her friends didn't know something they ought to have known, she thought to herself as she clasped her hands behind her back and began to circle Twilight slowly.

"You remember what Rainbow Dash said earlier?" Pinkie asked, cocking her head to the side as she walked. Her shoulder brushed lightly against Twilight's, causing the taller girl to tense in wary anticipation. "About Spike?"

Twilight nodded as she felt Pinkie's eyes on her back. "Something about him and powerful women?"

Pinkie nodded, once again in Twilight's line of sight. "I got a theory about it."

The Princess raised an eyebrow, and at once she was both skeptical and curious of Pinkie. "I'm all ears."

She was silent for a time, but as Pinkie circled back to Twilight's front, the latter noticed that Pinkie had donned a deerstalker cap and pipe that definitely hadn't been there five seconds ago.

"It seems to me," Pinkie said, rubbing her chin as she continued down the path, Twilight following her with a sigh of weary resignation, "that our 'mutual friend' tends to favor women who demand his utmost respect." They were in the park now, heading towards a grassy downward-sloping plain. "Now, Rarity, I can get. She's beautiful, generous, and pretty much everything that a dragon-person would want in a woman."

Twilight scrunched her nose in distaste. "You say that like they're made for each other."

"He's part dragon, and she literally has a pattern of gems on her ass."

The Princess rolled her eyes, but didn't challenge Pinkie's point. "Alright then, fine. Who else?"

"Dash, probably," Pinkie said, still hunched over as she skipped down the slope from one standing stone to another. As if she had predicted the shocked look on Twilight's face, she elaborated. "I mean, when she's not busy being obsessed with herself, and she's doing her whole 'iron woman' schtick, she's actually really cool." She held out her hand to help Twilight navigate her way down, which the taller girl gratefully accepted.

Twilight stared straight ahead as she hit the bottom of the hill, before nodding slowly. "I guess you're right. Spike's always been impressed by alpha women."

Pinkie snorted, shoving her cap and pipe into her hair that seemingly doubled as a purse. "He's kind of impressed by alpha-anything."

The Princess giggled. "No arguments there."

"What's that?" Pinkie said in mock-surprise. She raised a hand to her ear. "Mayhap I heard a titter?"

Rolling her eyes and smiling, Twilight pushed her friend gently on the shoulder. "You didn't hear anything."

Pinkie said nothing, but hummed softly as she continued walking forward. "You should do that more often, you know."

Twilight blinked. "Laugh?"

"Yeah." She looked over her shoulder back at her purple-haired friend. "You know me, I love to make people laugh, but..." She shrugged and scratched her cheek, her mouth set in a quirky half-smile. "When it's you, it's...I dunno. It just makes me feel like everything's going to be alright."

Twilight’s mouth loosened ever so slightly, and immediately clamped shut. A feeling of dry heat at the base of her eyeballs nearly consumed her, until she felt a guilt-ridden irritation that threatened to spill over as warm tears on her face. “You can’t...you can't mean that,” she said through her choked throat and halting tongue.

“You know when I’m lying,” Pinkie said with a smile, both hands on her hips. “Dash isn’t the only alpha woman, you know.”

Blinking, Twilight rubbed the wetness from her eyes, before freezing as the implications of Pinkie’s words hit home. She looked up, her eyes rimmed with redness. “Never. Not with him.” Her lips flattened to a line, her arms crossed on her chest as she stared at Pinkie with big eyes, as if trying to convince the other girl of her innocence.

Pinkie shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong about it, Twilight.” She moved to sit at the base of a nearby tree. “If the bottle had landed on you…” she chuckled, “oh man, that would’ve been a mess.”

In the back of her mind, Twilight considered what might have happened if things had turned out that way. Part of her believed that things would’ve gone back to normal, and nothing would be said of the would-be wager.

But then they had to go downstairs. They had to talk, and argue, and embrace, and so suddenly was that disquieting indifference thrust upon her that Twilight wasn’t so sure that life would have returned to the way it was. It should have disturbed her, Spike’s indifference, because that had meant that he was okay with it, which would mean that she could be okay with it, and after all it did seem like an awfully natural progression from their lifelong companionship—

“But it didn’t,” Twilight asserted, squelching that line of thought before it could grow on her.

“But it didn’t,” Pinkie agreed. “It’d be different if it was with you three. I just know it.”

“But how?” Twilight pressed, her voice uncomfortably thick and her tongue unusually sticky. “What makes you so sure?”

“Well,” Pinkie said, shrugging her shoulders, “look at it from Spike’s perspective. You’ve got a farmer, an animal caretaker, and a baker. They may be the greatest, hottest, funnest girls in the world, but at the end of the day, that’s all they are. That’s all they’re gonna be, cause that’s all they wanna be.”

Twilight’s eyes widened at her logic, and she felt an inkling of understanding begin to spread throughout her thoughts.

“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” Pinkie said. “Not everybody wants to be the best at everything," she said. "But on the flip side,” motioning with her hands in a spinning fashion, “you’d have to work that much harder to get with someone who does.”

“I get what you’re saying,” Twilight said, her guilt forgotten in the excitement in light of her newfound comprehension. “If you're right, it really must be a dragon thing. I know Spike, and he'd never think that consciously.”

Pinkie nodded. “You three are more impressive to him, I think. You’ve got ambition, which I sure as heck don’t have.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope! I like my life as it is. Wouldn’t change it for the world.” Pinkie said with a smile. “The world does enough changing for me anyway.”

Twilight chuckled, rubbing her arm as she sat down next to Pinkie to rest her feet. Her back aligned with the rough bark of the tree, which tugged on her shirt and rubbed against her skin somewhat pleasantly. “That’s very wise of you.”

“It’s been known to happen.” Pinkie hugged her knees to her chest, her face a show of soporific contentment. “Rarity and Rainbow Dash are always trying to move up in the world, and you’re always trying to save it. He thinks that's really cool.”

“That’s true,” Twilight breathed, raising her shoulders and lowering them. Her eyes caught the rim of the Smoky Mountains off in the distance, and how the sunlight painted the snowcapped peaks in a nearly blinding whiteness. “I hope Applejack’s having fun.”

“Yeah.”

Seized by a sudden feeling of closeness, Twilight grabbed Pinkie about the shoulders and hugged her closer. The younger woman complied easily, as if the gesture was a kind of ritual that was common between the two of them.

They remained like that for a time, merely residing in the other’s presence. Slowly, the ball of apprehension and frustration lessened, until it was but a knot of warm tension in Twilight's chest. "You never told me what you needed me to do for you," Twilight mentioned offhandedly.

"Oh, it's easy," Pinkie said, leaning her head against the taller girl's shoulder. "I just need you to trust me."

Twilight blinked slowly. "Oh."

Of all the things Pinkie could've asked for, trust was the hardest to give. Not that she hadn't earned it—she'd earned it time and time again, in spades—but trusting someone like Pinkie with something as delicate as intimacy was perilous. It was, Twilight thought, like plummeting backwards and trusting her friend to catch her: reason said that Pinkie wouldn't let her down, but that didn't make the fall any less terrifying.

"Pinkie?"

A shuffle of hair and skin, and then there were blue eyes tracing her face. "Yeah?"

"It may not count for much," Twilight said quietly, sifting through the labyrinth of pink hair with her fingers, "but I always thought you were pretty cool."

Pinkie leaned back, mouth ajar, and for the second time that afternoon she found herself caught off guard by Twilight. "Are you making fun of me?" she asked weakly, shrinking away.

"No, I'm not," Twilight reassured her, half-smiling as she continued to comb her friend's hair. "I've never met anyone like you, and...I'm glad for that."

Pinkie held her stance of suspicion for a moment longer, before relaxing and returned to her place next to Twilight. She adopted her friend's somber half-smile. "You're really weird sometimes, Twilight."

Blinking, Twilight balked at the hypocrisy of the statement, before bursting out into a mad fit of chortling.

How odd it was, she thought to herself, that everything seemed to be turned on its head. How she should be the one bending over laughing until her gut hurt, and Pinkie of all people should sit next to her, face sobered but Twilight's own knowing smirk on it. How very strange that Pinkie knew so much more than she should have about her friends, so much more than Twilight herself could've known.

It was as if Pinkie had stood in the blind spots of Twilight's reasoning and had flipped the world upside down, until Twilight would be the one watching an empty house while her own assistant spent the night away from the woman he knew most, in the company of the one he knew least. And with each passing moment, it became more and more likely that, despite all odds, things would turn out in her favor.

It was all quite funny.