“That’s what you’re wearing?” Luke asked, after finally managing to pick his jaw up off the lime tinted cobble lining Mane Street.

There weren’t really words in his vocabulary adequate enough to describe just how beautiful Fleur looked. Yeah, she was a supermodel. It was to be expected, right? But holy crap. At this moment in time, she was making every other supermodel look like a mountain troll with lyme disease.

“Do you not like it?” she asked, examining the short little number she was sporting—a deep purple, deliciously fur-tight one piece with the tiniest pleated skirt. In fact, it was perhaps the tiniest dress Luke had ever seen a pony wear—the perfect balance of slutty and sophisticated. The whole ensemble appeared to be fashioned out of a fine silk, and was accented with gold, including the large purple bow tied at the top of her mane.

“Do I like it?” Luke repeated, dumbfounded. That bow made her look freakin’ adorable. “Fleur, you look… amazing. I…” he faltered, grimacing down at his own attire, which paled in comparison. “Are we going to a high-society place, or something? I’m starting to feel a little underdressed.” Very underdressed. Like, shorts and a T-shirt underdressed, to be precise.

“Nonsense, you look positively dashing, mon cher,” Fleur replied, looking a little pleased with herself as she trotted a few paces down the street. She didn’t make it very far before stopping to glance back over her withers at him, those long black eyelashes fluttering so blatantly on purpose. “Come, mon cher. We mustn’t be late.”

Luke swallowed, taking a few steps towards his date. Wait, was this a date? It kinda felt like one. Fuck. He didn’t really know.

The working day had just drawn to a close, although Luke had gone home hours ago. Fleur had instructed a rather surprised-looking Vert to allow him to leave early in order to change for the Wonderbolts Derby. If only he’d done a bit more research, he might’ve returned wearing something that didn’t suggest he was going to a fucking beach party.

The stream of ponies spilling out from the five revolving doors of the J’adore tower was already starting to become a torrent. It was fairly evident by the all of the raised brows, shoulder bumping and hoof pointing that Fleur’s employees were perhaps not accustomed to seeing her casually standing just outside the building at kicking-out time looking like sex on a stick. In fact, many of them were throwing confused glances to Luke himself, probably because she was still beaming at him expectantly with those beautiful eyes of hers.

Fuck. Why did he agree to meet her right outside the building at five O'clock? There were bound be some rumours making the rounds after this. Knowing nobles and their love of gossip, some pretty huge rumours. Hell, even Vert was already beginning to notice that Fleur had been spending more time up at the dock than she used to, even with her busy schedule.

“Maybe I should go home and change?” Luke muttered, second guessing his attire once more as they strolled past Rosewood Entertainment.

“Zere is no time for zat, Luc. Stop stressing,” Fleur admonished, turning to glance up at him. “You look very handsome.”

Luke barely held back a snort. “Yeah, sure I do. Y’know, I’m starting to think you see me through rose tinted glasses, ‘cause I don’t think many ponies would agree with you on that one,” he chuckled, before realising just what he’d implied.

She’s your boss, dumbass!

Instead of the scathing look he’d expected, Fleur just laughed, and it was hard not to smile at the way her face seemed to light up. “Per’aps you are right, mon amour, but ask yourself zis—do you really care what a bunch of old nobles think?”

“Well, I care what one noble thinks, and she’s pretty damn old.”

Fleur’s eyes widened in mock disgrace. Totally worth it. “Were you never taught to respect your elders? I am over one ‘undred times your age, after all.”

Luke blinked, completely thrown. Holy shit… Was that true? “You’re over two and a half thousand years old?”

Fleur merely gave him a wry smile as she trotted straight through a group of photographers that were in the process of papping her. “It is not polite to ask a lady ‘er age, mon cher,” she purred, the camera wielding vultures scrambling out of her way like rats running from a wildcat. Fleur might’ve trampled them flat had they stayed put. Such deliberate ignorance was actually quite impressive.

Made sense. She was probably used to their shit by now.

After fifteen minutes of walking, the paparazzi having been finally chased away by a couple of pegasi mares from the royal guard, Fleur took a left onto the large boulevard where the Canterlot amphitheatre was situated. The building gave off the impression of being extremely old, and where most of the city’s palette was comprised of white marble and gold accents, this structure was made almost entirely of stone. It bore an uncanny resemblance to the Colosseum of Rome, back on Earth. Four storeys of meticulously detailed arches made up the outer shell of its slightly elliptical shape, each running the entire circumference.

“I’ve always wanted to see what’s inside this place,” Luke admitted. Being previously poorer than the lowliest peasant, he’d never had the bits to attend any of the events that had taken place at this particular venue. “This place, and that bathhouse across the street,” he added, nodding to a sprawling complex of beautiful flora and gleaming marble opposite the amphitheatre. Part manicured garden, part ionic temple, the place was huge, and looked rather inviting, to say the least.

“Non, Luc! Don’t you ever go in there!” Fleur snapped, spinning on her hooves to face him with a torrent of blue fire in her eyes. As if that wasn’t alarming enough, her fangs shot out, two gleaming white shards glinting in the afternoon sun.

Luke nearly jumped out of his shorts. “What? Why?” he half yelled back, eyes darting up and down to the street as though someone was about to jump out and murder him. When no one did, he levelled Fleur with a look of utter confusion.

“That’s the ‘Ouse of the Rising Sun, Luc,” Fleur explained, flicking her tongue over her fangs, which disappeared with the contact.

Luke blinked. “I don’t follow.”

“It’s a whorehouse,” she deadpanned.

“Oh…” he murmured, her reaction finally starting to make sense. “Wait, you honestly think I’d go to a whorehouse?”

Fleur gave him a pitiful look, and it worried him perhaps even more than her little demonic flare up. “Oh, Luc… The whores aren’t mares. Zey’re stallions.”

“Huh?”

“If you went in there, zey would snap you up quicker than Celestia swipes the last piece of cake.”

“Wait… Are you saying?” Luke trailed off, the colour draining from his face. The only reason he hadn’t went in there looking for a job was because he’d thought it was a bathhouse, and he wouldn’t have liked the humidity. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d have signed up to be a prostitute.

“Zey are always looking for exotic species to ‘ire. The mares that frequent zat place like a bit of variety, so I’m told.”

“I can’t believe Celestia lets this happen,” Luke pondered aloud, glancing at the tall marble pillars and perfectly trimmed rose bushes. The place looked like a national heritage site. Never in a million years would he have guessed it was actually a brothel.

Fleur let out a snort that quickly turned into a fully fledged laugh. “Oh, Luc… Celestia owns the place—it’s hers!”

“Celestia owns the place?” Luke repeated, incredulous. The tea drinking, cake loving, beloved ruler of Equestria and sole matriarch of the sun owned a fucking stallion whorehouse? “Holy shit, really?”

“It was built for ‘er as a gift, to ‘ouse the ‘arem of stallions she used to keep, back in the day,” Fleur explained, turning her back on the place. “I don’t think she visits much nowadays, if at all.” She looked up at Luke with wide eyes. “Promise me you will never go in zere, Luc.”

Luke met her concern with a reassuring grin. He didn’t need convincing to not step foot in the place. He already had a job he enjoyed immensely, at a company he was beginning to adore. “I promise,” he said, and before he knew what he was doing, his fingers had found the base of her ear.

Almost instantaneously, Fleur’s eyes were blue again, and she gently leaned into the contact, the furry appendage atop her head flicking uncontrollably. A feminine moan slipped from her lips, accompanied by a low purr that created an odd unison effect. Luke faltered, the eerie sound making him lose his nerve a bit. If he’d needed any more proof she was harbouring a demon inside her, there it was, clear as day.

“Uhh… Fleur? Are you okay?” Luke muttered, trying to ignore the ungodly racket his heart was making in his chest. She’d already stated on several occasions he had nothing to fear from her—and he believed her—but holy shit, did that sound creepy as fuck.

Fleur blinked, her eyes violet again. She looked flustered, and a little lost. After a short pause, she spoke. “I’m not saying I didn’t like zat, but I’d rather you didn’t touch me like zat in the middle of Starswirl Boulevard,” she flatly stated, her eyes worriedly darting around at the ponies passing by… ponies, Luke realised, that were looking at them with wide-eyed expressions of shock.

“Did I just do something stupid?” Luke slowly said, his eyes scanning the onlookers with steadily rising panic. Pretty much all of them were looking at him like… Oh, shit. An excerpt from a book on pony social behaviours came back to him with all the force of a speeding truck. Pony ears! Ponies don’t like their ears touched by strangers because… they’re a sensitive area. Fuck!

“Shit… Fleur, I forgot about… Ears aren’t sensitive on humans, I just assumed…” Wait… Luke’s thoughts caught up with him. Did she just say she wouldn’t have minded, otherwise?

“It is okay, Luc,” she quietly reassured, the fine fur of her cheeks reddening adorably. Her eyes flicked to the majestic arches of the amphitheatre lobby. “Just… wait until we are alone next time,” she added, her voice barely audible.

Next time?

So, there was going to be a next time. A wave of anxiety hit Luke like a battering ram. If he wasn’t mistaken, he had just been given permission to ‘pet’ his siren-harbouring, ancient-unicorn boss on her ears—which were supposedly an erogenous zone for a pony. Well, that’s what the book had said, anyway. Up until this point, he’d kinda figured Fleur was just being friendly, but even he couldn’t write this off as anything other than an obvious green light.

Was she actually interested in him?

She had been upfront about the fact her little dark counterpart had taken a liking to him, but as far as he could recall, Fleur herself hadn’t really discussed her personal feelings in great detail. Maybe they weren’t all that different from the siren’s?

“Ahh, Fleur! I was wondering when you were going to turn up,” said a familiar voice from inside the building reception, a familiar voice that positively wrenched Luke from his thoughts in an instant.

Glossy white coat, dirty blond mane with way too much product, and a look on his stupid face like butter wouldn’t melt in his stupid mouth. Of all the nobles in Canterlot, this asshat was amongst Luke’s least favourite.

“Good afternoon, Blueblood,” Fleur said, her voice perhaps a little colder than it usually was. Luke followed her into the reception area, trying to keep his eyes from straying down to her flanks. Even though her tail was maintaining her modesty like it always did, he still kinda felt like a bit of a creep eyeing up her rear end when it was sticking out of that tiny little skirt.

“All set for our dinner at the castle later this evening?” Blueblood asked, leaning against the long wooden lobby reception desk like he fucking owned the thing.

“Say what?” Luke blurted out, before he could stop himself. Were they going to dinner later on? It probably wasn’t any of his business if they were, but after everything that had happened, it sure as hell felt like it should be.

Fleur flashed Luke a bemused look, and he could have sworn it had morphed into a smile before she turned back to Blueblood. “Sorry, mon ami, but Photo Finish meant what she said when she told you I couldn’t make it.”

The prince stopped leaning, slowly raising himself up to his fullest height, which was rather sadly still a good three inches shorter than Fleur. Half a foot if you took horns into consideration. He flicked his mane out behind himself, and Luke was surprised it was even able to move with the amount of wax caked in it. Levelling her with a slightly overconfident look, he launched into what sounded like a rather rehearsed argument. “The derby only lasts two hours, I’m sure you’ll have everything wrapped up here by about nine PM. That leaves us plenty of time to have a wonderful meal, and perhaps a few drinks afterward?” He wiggled his eyebrows, and the sight quite forcefully reminded Luke of a fedora-tipping Nice Guy™. Hell, all he needed was a neckbeard and he’d be set.

Fleur visibly cringed, taking a step backwards. “Maybe some other time,” she said, though her tone wasn’t particularly convincing.

Luke contemplated just telling the prince to shove his offer up his plot hole, but he doubted Fleur would appreciate him trying to butt in and fight her battles for her. She was probably older than the ancient-looking amphitheatre they were currently stood in, after all.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the golden-coated unicorn receptionist mare began, her magenta eyes flicking between Fleur and Blueblood. “But, you’re needed up on the production stage for sound check,” she addressed Fleur. “Your friend has a seat in the Somnambula box, as you requested.

“Merci, mon cherie,” Fleur quickly replied, looking quite relieved. She gave Luke a nudge with her flank, before quickly rearing up on her hind legs and following up with a stealthy nuzzle to his cheek. “I ‘ave to go. I will probably ‘ave to stay on the production stage during the show, but I will meet up with you as soon as it ends, mon cher,” she whispered, her forhooves draped over his shoulders.

“Oh… Okay,” Luke muttered, caught completely off guard by the contact. His palms instinctively flew to her sides to help steady her, and Blueblood adopted the expression a bulldog might have when chewing on a wasp. “I’ll be waiting in the… Um…” Luke glanced at the receptionist.

“Somnambula box,” she repeated, her eyes wandering to Blueblood, who was now looking like he might have an aneurysm.

“Do you want me to take you zere?” Fleur asked, her large violet eyes mere inches from his own, full of concern.

“No, no… I’ll find it.”

The soft fur of her cheek nuzzled against his skin again, and Luke felt his heart flutter in his chest as Fleur dropped back down to her hooves. “Thank you for accompanying me, Luc. Au revoir!.”

CRACK.

A flash of pink light, and she was gone.

“Since when did you start hanging about with Fleur de Lis!? Have you put some sort of alien monkey spell on her so she’ll like you? I simply cannot believe that she would ever have anything to do with you otherwise-”

Luke sighed, slapping a palm to his forehead and resting his elbows on his knees. He’d found the Somnambula box, but unfortunately, so had Prince Blueblood.

The room was unlike any other he’d ever set foot in. It was located dead center, right at the top level of the ampitheatre. The large panoramic window offered a magnificent view of the cloud-comprised floating raceway below, where some of the Wonderbolts could be seen starting their warm up routines. A quick scan of the production stage down at ground level revealed Fleur, easy to spot as she was the tallest pony there, chatting to a couple of mares, one of them wearing a flight suit.

There were only eight seats in the box, all on one row, each constructed of solid gold and red velvet. Shit, they looked more like thrones than event seating. Luke felt ridiculously out of place. He was wearing a pair of shorts and a crappy T-Shirt for fuck’s sake. Just about everywhere you looked, there was a hoof-carved sculpture or a priceless painting depicting some famous mare or stallion from throughout pony history. Even the artex pattern on the ceiling looked like a fucking masterpiece.

But all of it paled in comparison to the larger-than-life painted statue of a beautiful pegasus, by far the biggest art exhibit in the room. Clearly the centrepiece of the box, she sat on her haunches between the fourth and fifth seat like a stoney sentinel, her wings neatly folded against her sides. Her coat was pale scarlet in colour, her mane and tail dual-tone dark blue and turquoise. The golden diadem of ancient Egyptian styling she was wearing gave her a distinct Cleopatra vibe. Just the sight of her was making him feel better. He had no idea why. All he knew about her was her name.

Somnambula.

He was half tempted to ask the mare and stallion sitting on the other side of the box for more info on the mysterious pegasus, but they seemed to be doing their best to ignore his existence. If only Blueblood would do the same…

“-how? Just how is this even possible? Why, Fleur de Lis is practically a nonpareil among the nobility. What on Equador would she be doing entertaining the likes of you?”

“Would you just be quiet, already?” Luke muttered, gazing out of the window again.

“How? You were always such an oddball when you lived in the castle. How did you gain Fleur’s approval? She has never invited anypony to attend a prestigious event with her before. What makes you so special?”

“I dunno. You’d have to ask her,” Luke lazily replied, leaning back on his throne and placing a hand on the pegasus statue. The sound of stone shifting met his ears as she suddenly turned to peer down at him, her eyes glowing yellow.

Luke’s jaw dropped, and he was suddenly smacked in the gut with that feeling you get when you miss a step going down a staircase… multiplied by about a thousand. “FACKING HELL!”

Blueblood promptly fell off his seat. Good thing, too, as he would have been wiped out by Luke scrambling arse over bollock toward the door if he’d stayed put.

A fleeting glance over his shoulder upon reaching the door revealed the statue’s forlorn expression; her ears, once alert, now hanging limply against her mane. “What… What the flying fuck?” Luke panted, doubled over and gasping for breath, one hand on the golden door handle. He still had half a mind to run screaming from the room like a mental case.

Blueblood picked himself up off the floor, his face the picture of irritability. The mare and stallion on the other side of the room were also silently making their outrage known through the use of some pretty interesting facial expressions. Luke may well have found them hilarious, but he was a bit preoccupied with the apparently very much alive stone pegasus statue in the middle of the room.

“It’s enchanted, you moron,” Blueblood cried, conjuring a paper fan out of the air to wafting himself with it.

“Well, no one told me! Jesus!” Sometimes, it was easy to forget there was a lot more to magic than glowing horns and bangs and smoke.

“Look—you’ve upset her, now,” the prince accosted, reclaiming his seat. “Just wait till I tell Fleur.”

“Why would Fleur care?” Luke shot back at him, gingerly sitting down next to the statue again. All of the other seats were reserved, and Fleur hadn’t bothered keeping one for herself, seeing as she was hosting the derby. The pegasus continued to gaze at him dolefully. Ugh… as if he was actually freakin’ guilt tripping over a statue. She just looked so sad. He kind of wanted to pet her, but he kept his hands to himself, for now.

“Don’t you know anything? Somnambula was one of the Pillars of Equestria back in the day. She lived over a thousand years ago, and was Fleur’s closest friend,” Blueblood explained, as though such a tidbit should be common knowledge.

“Oh,” Luke muttered, looking at the pegasus in a whole new light. So, this was Fleur’s old friend. Great. Now he felt even worse. Holding out a palm, he slowly ran it over one of her wings. I’m sorry.

As though she had heard his thoughts, a small smile split the mare’s muzzle, and she closed her eyes, her ears perking up once again.

“Hanging about with Fleur like the two of you are best pals… You don’t even know anything about her,” Blueblood huffed, glaring out of the window with a face like a smacked flank.

“Why do you even want Fleur? You’re a Prince, you could probably have just about anyone else,” Luke argued, rounding on the stallion. “You had all those mares fighting over you at the castle—good looking mares, too, I might add, yet you’re sitting here in Fleur’s favourite box just hoping she’ll come up here.”

Blueblood scowled. “I don’t have to explain my reasoning to you.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. The prince was still ridiculously easy to read. “Is it ‘cause she’s immortal and she’ll stay ‘young’ and hot forever?”

Blueblood didn’t answer, instead crossing his forehooves and avoiding Luke’s gaze. Thank Celestia for small miracles, the silence was golden, but Luke wasn’t about to waste an opportunity. “Don’t you think you’re maybe… ehh, reaching, a bit?”

That got his attention. “I do not reach for anypony!” he bit, his waxed up mane practically vibrating with butthurt. “If either of us are reaching, it would be you!”

Luke leaned back in his seat once again, his fingertips still stroking Somnambula’s wing. The stoney mare was mute, presumably, but her face suggested she’d be purring like a kitten if she had vocal chords. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. Fleur is just my boss, and she asked me here as a friend. You’re reading all kinds of crazy things outta nothin’, if you ask me,” he replied, with a wide grin.

“Oh, whatever. It matters not. She will soon realise that I am a much more superior suitor than you could ever hope to be,” Blueblood said, with an air of haughty finality.

Luke snorted.

“Fillies and gentlecolts!” Fleur’s magically amplified voice rang through the whole amphitheatre, breaking up the tension that had accumulated. “Welcome to the Wonderbolts’ Derby. The competitors are taking zeir place at the starting line, and our race will begin momentarily.”

No sooner had she finished making the announcement, four ponies spilled into the room looking like they’d just ran a small marathon—another middle-aged noble couple, who quickly trotted past Luke with their muzzles upturned, and two younger stallions wearing top hats that hailed Prince Blueblood as soon as they spotted him.

Thankfully, they acted as though Luke was an inanimate fixture to the room—something that suited him just fine, truth be told. He had all the company he needed in Somnambula, anyway.

Grinning at the stoic mare’s contented expression, he settled in to watch the race, with hope, in the archaic sense of the word, filling his heart.

Why, yes, I do plan to write a Somnambula x human fic at some point.

Let me know if I derped editing this so I can blame it on JimboTex.