Author's Notes:

Apologies for the delay. Due to school starting, a crush developing, and me in general not feeling satisfied with how this chapter initially ended, I had to push back on posting.

Bear in mind, this will probably be the last chapter you see for a while. This story is going on a more informal hiatus so that I can draft the next chapters early.

The next day, Ink’s exhaustion still had not set in, and so it was with great excitement on her part when the others awoke bleary-eyed and belligerent. It had snowed again during the night. Gaige’s bedroom window now was a plastered off-white color, and removing it would likely take a good while.

Ink’s two friends were by no means morning people, but Moxi, it seemed, was. By the time Ink had managed to persuade the two girls to leave the warmth of the bedroom, Moxi was cooking up a storm. They could smell fresh French toast, pancakes, and more all being created, and those smells alone were enough to wake up not just the two other girls, but the rest of the house as well.

A hulking, incredibly muscular man came down the stairs; Ink could not remember meeting him the previous night, so he might have come in during or after midnight. “MORNING, HONEY!” he cried, voice so loud the paintings and decorations shook. “SMELLS DELICIOUS!” He came up behind Moxi and kissed her on the cheek.

She giggled. “Thank you, dear. But now we’re running low on eggs. Could you be a darling and pick some up later?”

“SURE THING, HONEYBUN!” The man turned around. “OH, WHAT’S THIS? GAIGE’S FRIENDS?”

“Y-yeah,” Ink stuttered. This man was huge, easily touching the ceiling with his head.

“THAT’S STRANGE! I DIDN’T SEE YOU COME IN!”

“W-when did you come in?”

“ABOUT TWO OR SO IN THE MORNING!”

“Th-that’s why. We came earlier, after school. A-and kinda stayed in Gaige’s room for the rest of the day.”

She paused, remembering her manners. “U-um, I’m Ink. Ink Quill. And that’s Hazel over there.”

“H-hi, mister,” Hazel said.

The big man bellowed; it sounded like a foghorn. He pounded on his chest. “WELL, NICE TO YOU MEET YOU, INK AND HAZEL! I’M RIFT MIX, GAIGE AND TREBLE’S FATHER!”

“And Moxi’s plaything,” Moxi added from the kitchen. She winked.

Rift went beet-red, but nonetheless tried to remain composed. “TH-THAT TOO!”

“N-nice to meet you, Mr. Mix,” Hazel said. “You’re really—”

“TALL? I GET THAT A LOT!”

“… yeah. Tall. Ehehe…”

“SO! WHAT WERE YOU GIRLS DOING UP IN GAIGE’S ROOM?”

“U-uh, n-nothing. We were… sleeping.”

“SLEEPING, EH? WELL, I AM NOT ONE TO JUDGE! BACK WHEN I WAS GAIGE’S AGE, I HAD A WHOLE ARMY OF WOMEN SWOONING OVER ME! AIN’T NOTHING WRONG WITH HAVING SOME BACK-UP DANCERS, AM I RIGHT?”

Ink frowned and furrowed her brow, at a loss for words. Gaige, meanwhile, blushed deeply. “Dad! It’s not like that! They’re just friends!”

“OH, ALL RIGHT, THEN! JUST TEASING YOU!”

As he went into the dining room, Treble emerged from his room. He’d apparently taken the time to change out of his pajamas and was dressed in his usual light-blue checkered shirt and black jeans. Blue headphones covered his ears and a pair of black, shaded sunglasses covered his eyes; yet, despite the apparent intrusions on his sight and hearing, he saw and heard them fine.

He approached, arms wide, smile big and welcoming. “Behold! Your fanfiction god’s obligatory cameo!”

His sister was unimpressed. She crossed her arms. “Morning, bro. You look like crap.”

“Only because I haven’t combed my hair yet.” Ink took a second to check out his ‘do. It was spiked, but to her it didn’t look that bad. “See something you like?” he asked.

“Er, no, sorry. Just… um…”

Treble chuckled. “Nah, it’s cool. Your author has given you taste, that’s for sure.”

“My author?”

“Never mind that. So you’re Gaige’s latest friend, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ink said. “Ink Quill.”

“Treble Clef. I mean, Mix. Treble Mix.”

He tilted his head. “Huh. Not bad. Lilac skin, indigo hair with violet highlights, burgundy eyes. Jarvy knows his color schemes, that’s for sure.”

She blushed. “Uh, what?”

“Oh, nothing. Just talking to the author. Hey, by the way, am I gonna get a big role in this story? Cuz that would be nice, y’know?”

Ink turned to Gaige; then she turned away, realizing that she would probably be of no help. She turned instead to Hazel. “Okay, I think I’m starting to get an idea of how crazy this guy is.”

Treble walked away, already heading for the table. Gaige blew raspberries at him, before stomping off after him, and a moment later Ink and Hazel joined her. Moxi placed down plates upon plates of food. Ink doubted they could eat it all, and yet when Mr. Mix, Treble, and Gaige sat down, she was suddenly reminded of her friend’s enormous appetite, which she assumed was shared between all three other family members.

She thanked Moxi for breakfast (the woman politely accepted her thanks and said it was no problem at all) and dug in. The food was great. It was warm and soft and filling. Her sentiments were shared by everyone else, as Gaige, Treble, and Mr. Mix had no trouble at all with downing entire stacks in only a few minutes’ time. Hazel was much more conservative, taking a few bites and mostly trying not to stare at the older woman. Moxi herself refrained from eating as much as the rest of her family, choosing instead to bask in the glory of having served a delicious meal.

“So what’s you girls’ plan for today?” she asked as they were eating. “Because I don’t expect you to stay in the house all day.”

Hazel swallowed a piece of pancake. “Shopping!” she squealed. “We have to get Gaige some winter dresses!”

“What? No we don’t!” Gaige protested. “I already have one from last year!”

“Yeah, but that’s from last year,” Ink said. “You have to get a new one for this year. Don’t you want to impress Flash?”

“That’s actually really easy to do,” Treble said. “I mean, he’s dating you, isn’t he?”

“Baka, I will suplex you!”

“Now, now, both of you calm down.” Moxi waved her fork at them. “The girls speak the truth, though, Gaige. You ought to get some new dresses. And don’t you need to get a gift for that Artifex person for the gift exchange you will be hosting?”

“It’s Artemis.”

“No, it’s Artifex,” Ink said.

“Baka, be quiet.” Gaige glowered. “I mean, I guess I do have to get him something… but what? He’s him and I don’t even like him that much.”

“Well, that’s not very nice,” her mother said.

“Trust me, he thinks the same thing about me. It’s a relationship built on mutual dislike.”

“I thought he liked me,” Treble said.

“He’s never mentioned you, so I don’t know about that. Ink, what do you think I should get him? Since you’re his girlfriend and all.”

Ink nearly spat out her food. “I am not his girlfriend! Oh, my God, why does everyone think that? I already told you, he’s his eyes on someone else!”

Gaige smirked. “Yeah, we know. But it’s fun to tease you.”

“I’m going to buy you one of those really frilly dresses and make you wear it.”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try!”

“I’m bigger than you!”

“Not where it counts! Ha! C-cup master race!”

“But Ink has a bigger butt,” Hazel noted, “so she wins in that regard.”

“Does she really?” Treble asked.

Ink turned beet-red. “C-Can we change the topic, please?”

“Oh, look at the poor dear! She’s blushing!” Moxi winked at her. “Well, if your reaction is anything to go by, it’s that this Artifex fellow is quite the man.”

As Ink’s blush deepened, Gaige gagged, and Treble choked on his food while laughing his ass off; and Moxi laughed at the girl’s peril before relenting and saying, “I do like the idea of shopping today, though. Tell you what. Once we clear the driveway, we’ll all go to the mall together. I’ve some Christmas shopping I need to do as well. How does that sound?”

They all agreed it was a good idea. The food was finished and the table cleared; the dishes were washed; and in no time at all, Ink found herself back in her dark-purple down jacket, feeling much hotter. Her hand came to her chest; tucked in there was her notebook. She figured that between shopping she could at least maybe jot down an idea or two.

During the time she’d spent cleaning up and changing into some proper clothes, the driveway had been cleared. Thanks to the combined efforts of Treble, Mr. Mix, and a flamethrower-modified Deathtrap (where the hell did Gaige get a flamethrower, and why the hell did her family allow her to have one in the first place?!), the snow there had been flushed away, and now there was a substantial slide of black tar for them to walk on. A plow came by, clearing the street, rumbling and scraping against the road. Soon, it, too, was clear; they could leave for the city now.

But the snow still fell. Like little angels, they glided gracefully along a morning breeze. The sight was pretty, to be sure, but it filled Ink not just with a sense of quiet joy, but of quiet longing, the kind that crept out of its prison in her heart every now and then. It was like looking at a photograph, trying to figure out what it was displaying, but the photo was fuzzy, like a bad memory, and all she could remember for the most part was white…

“Hey, Ink!” Gaige called. “If you’re done staring off into the distance, then let’s go!”

“Eep! I mean, okay! I’ll be there, one sec!”

The fuzzy whiteness vanished, and Ink turned around and ran for the garage, where Gaige and everyone else were waiting for her. She tried not to look back through that window.

Canterlot was alive, and somehow it was more alive than when she and Artifex had come. More Christmas decorations had been set up, with lights adorning the streetlamps in much more complicated patterns. Some resembled snowmen; others, snowflakes. While crowds of children invaded the toy stores and the candy shops, adults flocked to the boutiques and millineries, like—Ink hated using this cliché analogy, but she figured it worked well enough here—moths to a flame.

They avoided the shops, though, and headed down Main Street. They passed the store where Artifex had gotten his gift for Sunset Shimmer. They passed Sugarcube Corner, where, surely, Pinkie and the Cakes were hard at work. Other buildings passed, mostly condos and small shops and the like, whizzing by as brick-colored blurs.

The eerie experience from before, when she’d been looking outside and had felt that odd sense of longing, had been pushed to the back of her mind. Now it was being drowned by Hazel’s screeches and Gaige’s curses as they rode along the road. Christmas music playing loudly over the radio threatened to dispose of her friends’ voices. Mr. Mix, singing along, seemed a more imminent threat in that regard.

Main Street ended in a T, being intersected by Park Row, but right in front was their destination: the Canterlot Mall. Standing an impressive height and being about the length of a football field, Ink did not doubt they’d find something in there right for each of them.

Miss Moxi parked in front of one of the big designer stores that always greeted mallgoers. The parking lot had been salted, so aside from the piles of snow that gathered at corners, it was clear to walk. They opened the doors and stepped out, and Ink took a moment to take in the fresh, cool air. This. This was what people like Artifex enjoyed: the crispness of the cold. She thought there was a hint of nutmeg in the air, which she found odd but pleasant.

“Come along, kids,” Moxi said as she began marching her way to the store’s entrance. They followed after her.

Inside, it was much warmer and also much louder. The music that was still playing the same Christmas songs over and over again was drowned out by the voices of mallgoers and mall-leavers. Ink was quick to realize this was not a typical designer store that only had clothes; it sold a whole lot more than that. Her senses were overloaded by the strong scent of far-too-expensive perfume (one of which was, oddly enough, named the Burgermeister; a reference to that old holiday movie, perhaps?) that some random customer was absentmindedly testing on the air. Feet scuffed against linoleum, not so much as squeaking so much as screeching. Her ears hurt, but only a little.

Moxi clapped her hands. “Ooh! This looks like a good place to start. Honey, I think we’ll start here.”

Treble snorted. “Please. I’m gonna go off to Hot Shots. Then the arcade. And then the food court.”

Gaige smirked. “What’s wrong, bro? Afraid of all the dresses? I thought you were into that stuff.”

“That was one time, and it was a mistake!” He then stomped away. “And you won’t hear from me until at least this chapter’s end!” he called back.

Moxi pursed her lips. “Very well, then. Shall we get going, then?”

“WE SHALL!”

They separated, with Ink and the girls going one way, and Gaige’s parents going another way. The racks of clothing closed the space between them.

“Oh, but Gaige! You’d look so cute in this one!”

“BAKA! Hazel, I’m not going to wear a yellow dress! Ever!”

“Aw, but it complements your hair!”

“No, red complements my hair! If anything, I’d wear a red dress before I wore a yellow one!”

“Fine, fine… but where are we going to find a red dress with a floral pattern?”

“We’d better not. And you’re not going to force me into anything—ACK!”

“Look, Gaige! More dresses! Ooh, you’re going to look so pretty in this one! And look over here! Isn’t that—”

“No, no! Not the makeup! Let go of me!”

As Hazel dragged Gaige away, Ink shook her head. Gaige was stubborn, that was for sure. They’d gone through nearly all of the racks on the left side of the store and she’d refused every dress on them. Granted, they’d moved kind of quickly, at Gaige’s insistence, so they didn’t have a lot of time to go over the nuances and aesthetics of each dress. But still, Ink hadn’t thought the girl would have rejected each and every garment presented.

At the very least, Hazel’s insistence that Gaige “wear something pretty so that my ship doesn’t look so stupid and bland” matched the girl’s own stubbornness. Ink wasn’t really needed in that regard. She didn’t mind.

The music changed and she found herself quietly humming along to it. Her fingers ran lightly upon the fabrics. She rubbed them between her fingers and stared at the designs, but she wasn’t really there. The song wormed its way into her mind and rested there, not invading any further, allowing her to grow accustomed to its presence.

“So lately, been wondering, who will be there to take my place… when I’m gone, you’ll need love, to light the shadows on your face…”

She stopping humming, and the song went on. There some interesting lines in there. She slipped a hand into her coat pocket and brought out her notebook. Opening it, she scribbled down:

The shadows that covered his face were like a mask, one that crossed his cheeks and blanketed his lips, but his eyes shone like flames in the night.

She paused. The song went on.

“If I could, then I would. I’ll go wherever you will go! Way up high, way down low, I’ll go wherever you will go… and maybe, I’ll work out, a way to make it back some day… towards you, to guide you, through the darkest of your days…”

They had a special kind of attraction; she found herself drawn towards him, not as a moth to a flame, but as a muse to a harp, or a man of thirst to a well of water. She needed him, she realized.

“If a great rain should fall, it’ll fall upon us all! Well, I hope there’s someone out there who can me bring me back to you!”

She was sure that was the song singing, not her, because she was still penning random markings in her notebook, and she’d slipped away from the clothing and gone off in another direction. And she would have gone off thinking that she’d fallen silent, while her mind whispered and encouraged with mercy, had she not bumped into her friends.

The song was still playing in her mind—“If I could make you mine, I’ll go wherever you will go! If I could turn back time, I’ll go wherever you will go!”—but then, suddenly, it faltered, playing like it was miles away. She realized her mouth was open but slowly closing.

“What is it?” Ink asked. The music was still playing. “Did I interrupt something?”

“N-no!” Hazel said. “It’s just… wow. I didn’t expect that.”

“Expect what?”

“Well, you’re… you. I mean, sometimes you’re loud, but I didn’t think someone like you could… I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that!” Hazel waved her arms. “I’m just, well, um, it’s just—”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Gaige smacked her forehead. “Ink, we didn’t know you could sing.”

“Sing? Wait, I was singing?”

“Hell yeah you were singing! I mean, sure, it sounds a bit untrained. But you’ve got a good voice!”

“I… do?” Ink blushed. “I-I mean, thanks, but I don’t think I’m that good… It’s just one of my favorite songs. It has a nice tune and all.” She blinked. “Was I really that loud that you could hear me over the song?”

Gaige smirked. “No, you were just close enough that we could hear you. In fact, I think the entire store could!”

Ink ducked behind a clothing rack. “The entire store?!”

“Gaige,” Hazel scolded, “you’re scaring her! Don’t worry, Ink. I’m pretty sure it was just us two who heard you.”

“Oh, okay.” She gulped. “Good. Sorry…”

“Don’t be! You were really good! That’s nothing to be embarrassed about!”

“I mean, not as good as me,” Gaige said, “but still pretty good.”

While Hazel fixed her with a harsh glare, Ink offered a giggle. It felt good to laugh it out. “Yeah, that’s probably true.”

She looked at the clothing rack they were next to, which was filled with the floral-pattern dresses Hazel had mentioned. Next to these were somewhat thicker outfits that somewhat resembled robes: kimonos, Ink thought, the word emerging from dusty pages.

“Find anything?” she said.

Gaige shook her head. “Nope. And we aren’t going to find anything here.”

Hazel was pouting. “Aw, but Gaige—”

“No buts! There’s nothing here, okay? Come on, let’s go.”

“Go? Go where?”

“Go to the rest of the mall, obviously. Clothes shopping is so boring.”

“You didn’t think that when you got that princess dress for Flash.”

Gaige turned bright-red. “That’s different! It was a one-time thing!”

“But it can be more than that if you just put on this dress God damn it Gaige—”

“No! Get away, Hazel! Hazel, aaaghh!”

She was screaming and darting away as Hazel chased after her with several dresses clutched firmly in her hand. Soon, she dropped them and opted to simply run after her. The dresses clattered on the floor. Ink stooped down, picked them up, put them on the rack, and shook her head, before following the girls. The music came back on. She was humming again.

There were more clothes stores, all open, all playing holiday-themed music, all with their fancy lights and Christmas specials and sales and perfumes and models and whatnot. In none of them did Ink find Hazel or Gaige, and in none of them did she expect to find them.

An onlooker might have found it comedic to see this lone girl trail after two others, who were obviously more excited and active than the former. They would have found it odd to see the lone girl with a pen in her mouth, carefully maneuvering past benches and sample reclining sofas, pausing at some of the store windows, scribbling something down in her notebook, murmuring something to herself; all while her companions jostled and teased and begged and pushed each other. Ink couldn’t really care, though. She was trying to craft a picture in her mind and transcribe it to her paper, but while she had some interesting lines, the problem, as always, persisted.

With a furrowed brow she followed them around a corner. Her eyes fell from them to her notebook. The words and lines danced around and around, like a waltz, spinning and twirling. She pictured them floating off of the page, becoming like blue, inky snowflakes. She read over the line about the man’s face and his shadows. She tried to see him in her mind, but found she could not. She did the same with the female’s line; but there was nothing there. Words without form. Words without substance. Words without real meaning or purpose or character.

Strange, she thought, chewing on her pen. Both Artifex and Gaige basically said the same thing. Character is important when you’re writing a story, but it’s got to be real character, not fake. Not something you pull out of… She paused, looked through one of the windows, saw one of the signs hanging there, with a long-sleeve-shirt-bound teen whose smile was too white to be natural and whose hair was too perfect to not have been condensed or cropped in some way. Not something you pull out of stock images, she decided.

Her friends went on, and so did she. There were a lot more people now. They came in great droves and Ink’s friends’ voices were quickly drowned out by theirs. Ink heard cackling parents and screeching children. Her mind was filled with noise. It did not annoy or bother her, but it was there, grating but not terribly so, background noise, white noise—that was what it was called, yes—noise that existed simply to fill a perceived, empty space.

They turned another corner and were in a huge opening. A column of invisible air rose between them and the floors above and below. She paused to look up, saw hundreds of feet thundering up and down and around. The escalators rumbled. People’s voices blurred together. Christmas music again filled everything that wasn’t already filled. Noise. Lots of noise.

She lost sight of Gaige and Hazel. She didn’t know this because she was busy scribbling and dodging and weaving, but she noticed anyway when she looked up, intending to call for her friends to slow down. They weren’t in front of her nor behind her. As far as she could tell, they were gone, lost in the crowd.

She felt a brief moment of panic, and the noise became a roaring tsunami. She stepped off to the side to catch her bearings. She couldn’t get them. She scanned the crowd, looking for orange pigtails or long, brown hair. Nothing. She stood on her tip-toes. Nothing. She rocked back and forth on her heels, humming, trying to stay calm. The panic nonetheless grew. She bit her lip, hard, not caring for the pain, feeling guilty and ashamed to have been so easily misguided. She’d been lost in her thoughts, a terrible place to be lost in—

“Fancy seeing you here.”

He was next to her, smiling thinly, his teeth just visible behind his lips. She nearly yelped, and even if she had, she doubted she’d be able to be heard. She turned around sharply and was met with cerulean. She spun too quickly and wobbled; a cane shot out and held her in place.

“Artifex!” she gasped. “How—why—”

“Luck,” he said. “Chance. Same thing, really.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Mallgoing, obviously. What else would you do at a mall?”

“Shop?”

“I could. But I’ve already gotten my gifts.”

He cocked his head. “You were panicking there, Ink.”

“Biting my lip, I know. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.”

“I was with some friends, see. And I was trying to write at the same time, and when I looked up, well, they were gone.”

“Lost in thought?”

“Was there any ever doubt?”

“You should work to keep your head on straight. You’ll miss many things with a nose in a book.”

“This isn’t an ordinary book; it’s a notebook.”

He smiled, then beckoned for her to follow. “Why?” she asked. “Do you know where they are?”

“No,” he said. “But maybe we’ll find them along the way.”

“Guess your company is better than no company. Marginally,” she added, flicking a stray strand of indigo hair out of her face.

“I’m glad you rank me so highly. Come on, you.”

They went, cutting through the crowd, to some destination that Ink could not see. But she trusted Artifex to know where he was going; he didn’t seem the type to get lost. More clothing stores and knickknack stores and miscellaneous stores popped up and vanished behind them. More people showed up. More crowds appeared. Where were they going and why were they going there? She didn’t know, but she didn’t ask.

They reached an opening, went through it, and Ink had to take a moment to gather her bearings. Now they were in front of the mall-entrance to another big designer store: Stacy’s, as the neon sign above demonstrated. It didn’t seem like a place Artifex would go to for a gift. But then again, stranger things had happened.

She had been lost in her thoughts long enough for Artifex to get away from her, and she hurried after him, still looking around.

“Oh, there you are,” came an unfamiliar voice. “What took you so long?”

“Found a friend in need,” Artifex replied.

Ink peeked around Artifex. Before him was a pale-yellow-skinned boy, his height, with baby-blue hair and dressed in a heavy winter coat. His set of bright, amethyst eyes were wide and curled up at the corners when he smiled. “Oh, hey!” he said when he saw Ink looking. “You’re Ink Quill, right?”

“U-uh, yeah.” She swallowed her confusion and nodded. “How’d you guess?”

“Artifex told me about you!” The boy held out a hand. “My name’s Nostradamus Clue, but my friends call me No Clue.”

Ink took his hand. The name was familiar. “Right, you, me, and Artifex all had Mr. Solil at the beginning of the year, but you dropped out, right?”

He winced, but nodded. “Yeah. It was more challenging than I expected. My new Language Arts class is better suited for my level, though.”

Ink said, “And you’re the guy who’s friends with Blueblood and Brutos?”

“Really? Are these really the things I’m known for?”

She shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t really know you that well beyond what people already know about you.”

He rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. “Well, I guess that’s better than nothing. Anyway, what brings you to the mall, Ink?”

“What else? Shopping.”

“Oh, right… should have guessed that.” They exchanged cordial giggles all around, while Artifex simply shook his head.

“That’s not all, though,” Ink continued. “I was actually with a group, but we got separated.”

“A group? Who was in it?”

“You probably don’t know them. Gaige and Hazel—”

“Gonna have to cut you off there, Ink,” Artifex said. “Our third party needs some help.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

He pointed with his cane. Clue and Ink both turned.

Someone emerged from Stacy’s, pushing a creaky, plastic shopping cart whose front wheels couldn’t touch the ground. Several boxes had been stacked inside of the cart, none of which looked particularly stable or balanced. Plastic bags hung by their corners and off of the handle of the cart, and these were filled with an assortment of items. There was so much that, at first, Ink couldn’t see exactly who the person was behind it. But judging from the grunting and groaning, they were having quite some trouble.

She heard No Clue let out a shrill whistle. “Dang! Big Mac got a lot more than I expected!”

Big Mac?

Sure enough, as he entered into their field of view, Ink caught sight of his peach skin. Sweat dripped off of his face and his arms were pushing against the cloth that covered them. To her continued shock, more bags hung around his shoulders and off of his elbows; despite his muscle-bound self, he seemed about to collapse. It didn’t help that he was limping.

“Big Mac?” Artifex said. “You need some help?”

“E-eenope,” he grunted out.

Artifex raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? You—oof!”

Ink brushed past him without a moment’s thought. She walked up to Mac and stopped him, laying an arm on his shoulder. “Don’t push yourself, Mac. Your leg’s still injured!”

He barely acknowledged her with a nod. “ ‘S’fine. It don’t hurt too bad.”

“Don’t be stubborn; you’re gonna collapse if you keep straining yourself like that!”

“Hrph. Thanks, Ink, but—mmph!—don’t need no help.”

“Well, I won’t take no for an answer. Here.” She took a bag from his shoulder and nearly fell over; looking inside, she saw he’d packaged several vases. “Geez! Mac, what’re you doing carrying around this stuff?”

He didn’t answer. He was still straining against the cart.

Ink turned to the other boys. They were, for some reason, just staring. “Don’t just stand there! Help him!”

They immediately leaped into action (figuratively speaking; No Clue was not athletic, and Artifex’s limp impaired him anyway). They pulled bags from the cart even as Mac protested, and he even attempted to swat them away, to no avail. The cart soon held a more reasonable amount of gifts; Artifex and Clue were burdened by the bags they had to carry; and while Ink appeared satisfied and smug, Mac looked none-too-happy.

“Ah was fine,” he grunted again.

Ink rolled her eyes. “Sure you were. But now you’re better, see?”

Mac groaned. “Arty, please, back me up here.”

“No can do, big guy. When Ink sets her mind on something, no one can stop her.”

“But you’ve got a limp, too!”

Artifex simply smiled, tapping the ground with his cane. “Sure. But you needed help and we gave you it—”

“At my insistence!”

“At your insistence, Ink, of course. No limp is going to stop me from doing that. Right, Clue?”

“Um, I don’t have a limp, but yeah.”

Mac groaned. “Fine. ‘Scuse me while Ah die from embarrassment.”

“Aw, there’s no need to be embarrassed!” Ink said, clapping him on the shoulder and immediately bouncing off. “Ow! Dang, you’re big…”

“It’s in my name.”

“Right, right.” She came forward and rubbed the part where she’d clapped him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Mac laughed. “Frankly, Ink, Ah don’t think you could.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Is that a challenge?”

“No-o! It’s a fact!”

“Facts can be challenged. Here, hold still—”

She tried to hit him again, only to bounce off and to be greeted with his laughter. “Y’know, Ah think that tickled a little,” he said. She could practically feel his grin cutting across his face.

She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Yeah? You think you’re so tough, big guy?” She reeled back and tried again, forgetting that 1) he was injured and 2) he was a literal big guy. She didn’t even pause when Artifex and Clue tried to protest her.

Just as she was about to go in for the final blow—

“INKY!”

She paused. “Is that who I think it is?”

“DAMN IT, HAZEL! QUIT YOUR SHOUTING!”

She saw Artifex raise an eyebrow. “Oh, good, her.”

No Clue appeared confused. “Wait, who are they?”

Artifex pinched his nose; Ink rolled her eyes. Together they said, “It’s a long story.”

“AND DON’T FORGET ABOUT ME!”

Clue said, “And that is?”

Artifex looked to Ink. “Treble?”

She nodded. “Treble.” He pinched his nose again.

They came around, toting weighted, plastic bags and bearing—for the most part—kind smiles, though Gaige’s seemed like it was being forced up by Hazel’s sheer, overwhelming personality.

They approached, and Gaige’s smile slipped off for a second as she and Artifex regarded each other. Ink felt a flutter in her chest; she knew the two weren’t particularly good friends, but Gaige looked like she was about to throttle him.

“Artemis,” Gaige said. Ink mentally face-palmed, expecting Artifex to call her out.

Instead, he replied, “Tool.” And Gaige laughed. It was short, but it was sweet; she had laughed.

“Someday I’ll get your name right,” she promised. Artifex shook his head, and Ink saw the barest hint of a smile on his face.

They greeted the others then, with less volatile reactions. Overall they were amicable and friendly. Gaige explained that she and Hazel had realized they’d lost Ink, then had seen her come this way with Artifex, and they had just happened to bump into Treble on the way over. “I was done saying hi to my girlfriend anyway,” he said.

“Girlfriend? Oh, Vinyl. Right,” Ink said.

He mock-glowered at her. “Hey, just because my story’s been on a hiatus for a while now doesn’t mean you can forget me and my relationship!”

“I… what?”

“Don’t question it,” said Gaige with a shake of her head. “Anyway, what are you all doing here?”

“Shopping,” Artifex immediately answered.

“Don’t you get smart with me, Frosty.”

“Someone has to be in this conversation—ow!” She’d somehow gotten close to him without noticing and had bopped him in the shoulder. “Fine. But it’s true. We four were all shopping together for the holidays.” He glanced up at Treble. “By the way, how’s the party planning coming along?”

“ ‘S good! Kinda shoehorned in, if I’m being honest, but hey, it seems appropriate. Right?”

“… right.”

“ ‘We four?’ ” Ink repeated. “You mean me? But I just got here.”

“Oh, no, not you. I meant—hey, Mac, where is he right now?”

“Last Ah saw, he was shopping still. Over by those bracelets, Ah think.”

“Actually,” said Clue, “here he comes now.”

They turned back to the Stacy’s and saw a blue-skinned, white-haired young man walking out. Amidst the colorful coats and jackets, he was a bit of an oddity, for he wore a plain, black sweater that probably had seen better days. He clutched in his hands a grey, plastic bag, and his smile was wide; obviously, he was happy with his purchase. Ink thought she could see a faint blush on his cheeks, not from shame, but from… nervousness? Trepidation? Maybe she was reading him all wrong.

He saw them, and the blush faded as he walked towards them. “Heya, Lone!” Clue chirped. “You certainly look happy.”

“Yeah,” “Lone” said. “It took a while and it cost me a whole lot, but I think I did okay.”

Artifex leaned over and took a peek in the bag. “I wouldn’t worry, man. I’m sure she’ll like it—whoever she is.”

Lone blushed. “C-can’t a guy have his secrets?”

“Sure he can. But his friends are going to pry them loose, I’ll tell you that.” He glanced at Ink; she pantomimed her confusion. “Ah, right. You two haven’t met yet. If you would step over here, Lone…”

Lone did so, and it was then that he finally saw Ink. She frowned. He was tall. Taller than she’d expected, at least, and was probably about Big Mac’s height. She realized she was staring, gasped, and shook herself.

“Ink Quill, please meet Lone Wolf,” Artifex said, gesturing between the two of them. “Lone here goes to Crystal Prep. Hopefully that won’t be a problem?”

“As long as he isn’t super pretentious about it,” she said, regarding the other boy with a measure of surprise. “You don’t seem that way, anyway.”

Lone rubbed his head. “To be fair, I’m—no pun intended, seriously—kind of the ‘lone wolf’ of Crystal Prep. I’m their newest kid, anyway, so I don’t really know or get why you guys all hate each other.”

He offered a hand. Ink smiled and took it, bowing slightly. “Well, I’m sure we’ll figure it all out one day. Nice to meet you, Lone.”

“You, too, Ink.” They released their hands. Lone smirked. “So. Artifex. Is she your girl—”

“No!” they both shouted. Ink thought she could hear a faint squealing from behind her; she could only guess who it was.

Lone shrugged. “Hey, you bother me about my love life, I bother you about yours.” He looked over Ink’s shoulder. “Oh! Hi, there, Gaige!”

“ACK! HE KNOWS ME!”

Ink turned around. Gaige’s face was lit up like a red, Christmas ornament.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” said Treble. He nudged her forward. “Go and say hi!”

“N-no! I-I-I mean—”

Too late. She was already next to Ink. She couldn’t even look straight at Lone. “U-um, h-hi, L-Lone. F-fancy seeing y-you h-here.”

Lone appeared confused, then shrugged. “Yeah. It’s nice seeing you, too, Gaige.” He pet her head; she appeared like she was about to faint.

They all exchanged pleasantries, and while they did that, Ink returned to trying to help Mac with his load. He tried to shoo her way, to no avail, as his arms were still stiff and tense from all that he had been holding. “Maybe you need a massage,” she suggested as she moved another bag off of him.

She caught his embarrassed glare and laughed. “What? It’s just a suggestion.”

“Ah don’t do massages.”

“Why not? You should consider it. I hear they work wonders.”

“Ain’t no way Ah’m letting some spa girl put her hands on my bare butt!”

She stifled a giggle as her cheeks warmed. “Uh, Big Mac? You know not all places make you strip down to nothing, right?”

His face was red again. It was too much; she broke out into more laughter, even as he tried to dissuade her from doing so.

Then she heard Moxi come around; she could tell by her sugary voice loudly greeting Gaige and the others. She heard Mac groan, “Is everyone coming here today? Who’s next, Pinkie?”

She couldn’t resist. “Actually…”

“AH WAS KIDDING!” And her laughter could not be contained any longer. Soon it spread past his embarrassed façade; they shared that warm mirth.

Eventually she went back to Gaige and Hazel. While the former was busy trying to hide behind her brother, the latter stared at Ink with a dazed expression, like she was in another world. Ink realized she’d probably been staring at her and Mac.

“Something wrong, Hazel?” she asked.

Hazel blinked, then shook her head and smiled. Her brown eyes returned to their happy-go-lucky normal. “O-oh, no. Just thinking, that’s all.”

Ink nodded. “Okay. If that’s all.”

“Say goodbye to your friends, dears,” Moxi said. They did, with Ink throwing in a comment about signing Mac up for a spa visit. He said he’d rather die, and to this she laughed. That laughter carried itself with her even as they all bid farewell and left their separate ways, even as they piled into Moxi’s car and drove off for home. It would carry itself with her and remain with her for the rest of the weekend.