Night has fallen, the clock's hands strike time.

With a weary yawn, a guard who dons golden armor puts his hoof to his mouth. His unenthused attention scans the Royal Gardens. To his unsurprise, nothing has changed, just like the hundred other nights he has had to remain posted here. At this point, he is used to the shivers he gets from astray droplets tacking him that come from the waterfall a few meters from his side. The humidity is still something he dreads. Good thing summer still has a way to go before it arrives.

One of his colleagues, who stands at the far end of the Gardens, lifts his hoof to waive him over. "Huh, lunchtime already,” he whispers to himself. “Night's going by fast." He smiles at the prospect of food and walks towards his companion. They proceed into the Castle through the enormous archway at the very back.

Their turned backs completely miss the shadow that dashes out of the brush behind them.

Crimson's silent steps tuft the grass under him as he sprints at full speed towards one of the trees grown right next to the Castle. The perfect size to be scaled, he jumps onto the trunk and latches both hands around it while the balls of his feet press against it. He shimmies up quickly until he reaches untrimmed branches to give himself better leverage. He continues to nearly the pinnacle of the tree, stopping once he is leveled with a sectioned window pane on the second floor.

He peers through the glass, seeing no bodies on the other side. Perfect timing. He winds up to push off the tree, perhaps a little harder than intended as the tree rocks wildly for a handful of seconds. He lands on a marble railing before the window sill, looking back and waiting until the tree stabilizes. Relief comes through his nostrils when it does and no one is the wiser.

He clambers up the railing and peeks his head over the sill, seeing a pair of guards traversing the halls at the far end. He keeps low and continues eyeing them, waiting for them to take their predicted turn...

... and they do. Crimson rushes to get onto the sill and pinch the window clamp to open it up and hop in. He lands onto the polished floor of the Castle with the lightest thump, turning about-face to close the window before crouching low to the ground. It is at this point that he has to rely on his partner to keep the unblinking eyes that are the wards from spotting him and alerting the royalty.

He waits ten seconds before continuing forward, assuming Dahlia is protecting him already. He dashes to the giant half-pillars found along the walls, bouncing and hiding between them as he takes precaution against the guards. Said guards stick to their usual routines, and avoiding them is only made easier as they are not paying very much attention to their surroundings. He had already snuck past the night-watch when he unexpectedly visited Luna, he supposes the wards intentionally did not report him then. As long as Dahlia is duping them as she should be, it will be just as simple as before.

It proves to be elementary. The dozing guards are completely clueless and he successfully rounds the grand halls of the second floor. From here, it is as simple as waiting for the occasional guard to walk up, turn their back, and walk off, all while he bounces between each pillar until the great arches are found.

He repeats this tedious cycle for the final time - a gold-clad guard walks along the middle of the hall until he reaches a certain point. He stops. His eyes are lazily glued forward. He yawns and smacks his lips. He turns, walking off towards the opposite end of the hall. Once his back is turned, the ghost slips out from the shadows and sprints silently towards the Royal Research Labs.

Crimson slides on his feet until his shoulder hits the archway which leads into the labs. He stops, slows his breathing, and peeks in. The gyroscope spins even now in the middle of the night, producing a soft blue light from the very center. He focuses his hearing for any sounds that may come from any of six lab rooms. None do.

Confident that no one is performing a midnight experiment, he slips in. He keeps his form low, hunched, and constantly glancing around as he crouch-runs to the farthest right room in the lab. Everything is just as Magnifying's vision illustrated, only now coated in the dark of night. He approaches the metal box which contains his objective.

He comes down on one knee to level his face with it. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table just before it. Taking the lock into his hand, he presents the bottom side of it to himself, seeing four dials with symbols. Recalling the combination, he uses his right thumb to tick each dial and offer the correct combination.

"Fish thing, fish thing, uh... flower. Flower petal, and arrow goin' up."

Cl-click-chk...

The lock gives in with a satisfying sound, one not loud enough to give him worry. He twists the lock and pulls it up from the latch. He then pinches the clamp that held the metal box shut and opens it. Carefully, he retrieves the amulet with his right hand.

Half expecting some sort of alarm or giveaway that the relic was abducted, he breathes out some tension from his nose when nothing happens. He figures Kleid would have told him if there was a security system, or Magnifying may have included it in the vision. Still, he cannot let his nerves rest.

Nicking the amulet safely in one of many pockets his suit has, he closes the metal box and hitches the lock back into place. He takes his thumb to scramble the combination and secures it once again. Wasting no more time, he turns and books it out of the lab.

The procedure of escaping the Castle follows the same song and dance, with slightly more stress clamping his back and shoulders since he now carries his objective. Ever yet, the sleepy guards are ignorant to his swift passing.

Returning to the window in which he first infiltrated, he pinches open the latch and gets the window open. A cool gust of wind blows from the outside. He clambers out quickly and turns to close the window without further incident.

The same tree which assisted his infiltration serves him again as he jumps from the window sill. He catches himself with the upper bark of the tree, thin enough to wrap his arms and legs around. The tree jostles slightly from the force, luckily enough to not be seen by any wayward eyes. He uses the branches to aid his descent until he is about one floor off the ground and clear to leap off. With a gentle kickoff from the bark, he descends onto the grass below and rolls across his shoulder and back to seamlessly return to his feet and crouch sprint back towards the waterfall.

"You drink WAAAY too much of that stuff."

Crimson's chest tightens. The unruly bicker of a stallion coming from the rear Castle archway exit sounds off just before he and his partner emerge. In a panic, the man throws himself left, behind one of many two-foot tall bush hedges that are grown as aesthetic walls all around the gardens.

"Let me live my life the way I want," the second stallion harps in return.

"You should visit the doctor, see if they find blood inside your coffee stream."

"And you should join the Sunday night comedy club. Your jokes are killing me to death."

"Not any faster than your sixth mug of coffee."

Crimson slowly peeks over the hedge he lays behind. His trembling hazel orbs are but six feet away from the two stallions which stand with backs turned to him. He witnesses the stallions smack each other playfully on their helmets.

"Get to your damn post, joker."

"Don’t miss me too much."

They break off, one heading to the left with a mug of coffee in his blue magic, closer to the waterfall. The other branches off to the right closer to the edge of the city. Crimson watches them separate, which gives him a little more room to breathe, but he quickly realizes now he may have another predicament. He waits for the stallion to stop moving.

...

It is just as he feared. This stallion is very close by to the waterfall. He will undoubtedly catch him if he tried passing through it to enter the bunker. He clenches his jaw for an idea to strike him. He glances around where he lays, trying to find something useful. He notices the waterfall creates a river which is not too far off from him, maybe ten meters away just over another hedge. Beyond the river is an orchard of fruit-bearing trees.

He glances towards the guards. Their attention is fixed contrary to the river.

...

Crimson scampers onto his fours and leaps over the hedge between him and the river. He continues his mad crawl until he reaches the bank of the river. As soon as he reaches it, he comes onto his feet for a tense crouch, one which springs him over the chasm of the river safely.

He lands on the other end and immediately continues to crouch-sprint until he reaches the nearest tree. Just as he hoped, there are some fruits resting on the ground around it, having fallen from the tree itself. He picks one up, noting that it is a healthy-looking pear. It sure looks pretty damn tasty.

Against his better judgment, he picks up two more and shoves them in his left pocket, opposite to the amulet. The third pear he holds and runs closer to the waterfall. The closer he gets to the guard, the more he slows down and lowers himself to the grass. He eyeballs the guard for a moment, curious if to whether he will move eventually.

Roughly a minute of nothing happening, he clenches the pear. He looks up to the night sky and pitches the pear directly upwards. It soars into the sky, hangs high, then falls onto the grass with a splat a few meters in front of the guard.

This visibly confuses the guard. He breaks his post to slowly creep towards the suddenly fallen fruit.

Crimson dashes like an animal towards the waterfall. He leaps from the grass into the waterfall's side, popping out behind it while getting only a tad bit wet. He moves to the hidden latch, one perfectly blended with the rocky ground and walls this hidden pocket is made from. Had he not known where it already was, it would be nearly impossible to find.

He opens it and comes down, sliding the hatch back into place until it is flushed. He leaps off the ladder and lands gracefully, closing his eyes and huffing out several pounds of anxiety. Once he reopens his eyes, he looks over towards the lower bunk bed, to where a tan pegasus mare is already smiling at him very adorably.

"... Hey," Crimson smirks wryly, putting his left hand behind his neck.

"... That... was... AWESOME!" Dahlia's eyes twinkle as she flies off the bed to hover in front of him. "I didn't even think of using that tree! Skipped the whole first floor in a breeze! And the pattern you did with the pillars, the cool swerve you were doing? Hah! And don't even get me started on how you used the pear at the end!"

The man feels his face heating up slightly at the barrage of compliments coming from such a taut mare. "Appreciate you thinkin' so. Didn't know you could see that, thought the magic eyes don't stretch out that far."

"The Gardens’ ward doesn't catch the orchard, but I saw that! I saw that pear fall from the sky! Dirty little trick, and that doofus wasn't any wiser!"

"Heh, heck no he wasn't. Speakin' of that." Crimson fishes into both pockets, getting something out from each before offering them to Dahlia.

A pear and the relic. Her eyes glimmer again at their sight. She takes both of them and takes a bite out of the pear. She moans her satisfaction. Crimson opts to join her and takes out the second one he stowed away, biting a sizable chunk out of the delicious fruit. As the two chew their snack, they silently agree to return to the bunk bed and sit down. Crimson is the first to finish, eating everything including the stem. Dahlia does the same shortly after, sighing happily and setting the amulet down atop a stack of clothing at the foot-end of the bunk bed.

The two share eye contact. The man sees that there's still some bottled-up giddiness in the little pegasus, and her happiness is rubbing off on him.

Once she realizes they're simply staring at each other with nothing being said, she looks away with rising embarrassment. "You did a really good job out there, Crim."

"Thanks, girly. It went off smoother than I thought it would. Guess some things don't change, especially not in the Guard. Makes me realize their security arrangements need some work. Couldn't dream of pullin' somethin' like this off against the Horseshoes."

"You're right about that, Horseshoes got every inch of their hides covered. I think the Consortium's been getting soft over the years, probably because they're being babied by the gang so hard."

"Makes our job easier. Say, you figure out what we're gonna do tomorrow?"

"Nope, not yet, but I have figured out where I'm gonna get some ideas. Now that you're back, I'll sneak out of here and fly into the city. There's some public booths scattered across Canterlot that have tourism pamphlets. They're pretty much dotted calendars that let you know about interesting stuff happening for the month."

"You sure showin' yer face in public's a good idea?"

"Don't worry about it, Crim. Common ponies don't even know I exist."

"What about our friends in the Gardens?"

Dahlia shoots him a bored look, one which speaks 'really?'

"Right, pardon me, Equestria's best treasure hunner."

"Apology accepted! Now sit tight, I'll be back before you know it."

Crimson nods to her, prompting the mare to hop off the bed and hover to the stone hatch. With only a small struggle does she lift the heavy stone - the sound of rushing water invading the bunker. She takes her leave and closes the latch carefully, leaving the man to his lonesome.

He sighs as his eyes drift into the void. He cannot stop himself from being just a bit worried for her, even though he likely has nothing to worry about.

"Likely."

He tries to keep his mind off her potential endangerment, instead looking at the collection of items set on the bed next to him. The throw-projector is first to take his attention. It appears that Dahlia powered it off, it looks the same as it did before he left. He wonders how it works, how it taps into wards, how it does... anything, really. He accepts the fact that there are people, or ponies, out there who are smarter and always will be smarter than him.

He then turns his attention to the amulet, but only briefly. Dahlia set it down atop of his duster coat, which is the true item of his interest. He moves the relic next to the throw-projector and picks up his duster, extending it out from its neatly folded state. He fishes into one of the inner chest pockets, retrieving the stuffed plush from inside. He rests his duster on his lap while taking the bunny into both hands.

Poor little thing is a bit compressed, appearing now as an oval rather than a circle. He tries to mend this by squeezing it at the farthest oblongs. The first few attempts do not result in much of a fix, the little red bunny ends up fluffing back out to a distorted shape. He opts to squeeze it again a bit harder this time, and keeping the clamp on it down for a minute.

His fingers ease up on the pressure and the bunny pops back out... into a perfect circle. The man smiles while rotating it around, admiring its restored state. Satisfied, he lets his arms and hands fall atop of his duster, still holding the bunny. He makes eye-contact with its little black beads. His mind begins to wander again.

He hopes Autumn is doing well. Maybe one day he can visit her again once this is all over. Just to show her that he still cares. Or maybe he should not. He could be intruding into the new life she made for herself, one that very clearly does not include him. Perhaps its best to let sleeping dogs lie. An unfolding completely due to happenstance. He does not regret his decision, but he cannot bring himself to unstaple the wound.

Maybe he does not have to. He was meant to move on, and this little plush might be the representation of that. The hell he parted from gave him a new beginning and a new mask. He supposes he is not meant to take this bunny back to that hell, instead take it with him as life ushers him forward.

Crimson picks his duster back up and returns the bunny to its home. He folds the duster up again, this time being mindful of the chest region and folding everything around it. He sets it back down on the pile of his clothes and returns the amulet to the top, leaving Dahlia's organization undisturbed.

His eyes dilate when the sound of scraping stone startles him. He throws his attention to the latch, it opens up and a tan pegasus comes hovering down. She closes the latch with a grunt, one muffled from having something in her mouth.

"Welcome back," the man greets.

Dahlia hovers over to the bed and sits back down, her breath slightly elevated from her recent activity. She takes the thing from her mouth into her hoof, something which looks to be a magazine. "Behold!" she holds it in front of Crimson's face, "the Canterlot Manifest! This bad boy has all the news and insights we need to find a sweet activity to spend tomorrow with!"

"Hell of a job gettin' this, Deedee. Didn't run into any trouble, did'ya?"

"Ppft, not even. Flew in and outta here while those dumb mugs out there were dozing off. Let me tell ya', zero flight control at night in Canterlot. Airspace up for grabs for any runaway thieves. Besides, I didn't have to steal this pamphlet. They're public. I just found a booth, asked the annoyingly peppy mare there to give me one, and that was that."

"Surprised them community clerks are still open at midnight."

"You should be surprised if they're closed. Canterlot's still brimming with life at night, which is prime time for most of the shit going on around here. But come on! We won't be able to pick out anything good if we take too long."

"Righty-o. Take a look-see."

"Hmm..." Dahlia flips the pages of the magazine, seeing plenty of adverts, happenings of famous ponies, and other presentations completely uninteresting to her. She finds the calendar inside the very last page, sounding an, "Ah, here we go." Her magenta orbs scan the page quickly. "So according to the mare I asked, an hour ago was April sixth, midnight now is April seventh. So we can pick anything that's happening on the seventh. Huh, lucky us. Today's a Friday."

"Lucky’s right. Got me thinkin’ how coincidental it is that y'all have the same names fer months like I do back home. Been so caught up with shit happenin’, I hadn't even come to consider that, much less what day we're actually in."

"Well we speak the same language, so it shouldn't be that surprising. But what do I know, I'm not a Ponish major or something stupid like that."

"That makes two of us. What do they got in terms of food ‘round here? My treat."

“I’ll look, but probably nothing you’d like.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Dahlia shrugs, scanning the list again. “Ignoring the ones that strictly deny pets or human entry, they’ve got… mm… huh. They've actually got lots of options for restaurants. Wow. Way too many. Live shows, mellow, hookah, all you can eat, eastern banquet.”

“Anythin’ you prefer?”

“Nah, not really. It's all the same to me.”

“What about a place that’s got some good beer?”

“Blegh,” Dahlia gags exaggeratedly. “Crim, this is Canterlot, the city of the rich. They’re not known for beer here. Just wines and spirits.”

“Hell, I could go for wine. Been years since I’ve had it.”

Dahlia purses her lips, now using his sought beverage as a method to thin down the list. “Hmm… looks like we have two options for good wine. Diamond Chisel and Maroon’s Exquisite Platters.”

“Mm. One sounds pretentious, the other sounds conceited.”

“And those aren’t even the worst. All of the restaurant names are unbearable, just like anything the wealthy does.”

“Considerin’ the hauls we’ve made, I’d watch how we talk about ourselves.”

Dahlia cannot help but smirk at him, finding joy in him being quite right about their current payroll.

“How ‘bout we take a leap’a faith on the Diamonds place. Only folk I’ve met who put their name on their product are snake oil peddlers.”

“If that’s what you want, sure. Looks like you picked right, they don’t require reservations ahead of time or anything dumb like that. Only thing we might have to worry about is the wait time for a table.”

“Not a big deal if we show up in the early afternoon. Now how ‘bout somethin’ to end the night with? They got any entertainment? Theater 'n such?”

Dahlia’s tongue comes out between her lips as she looks over the page again. “A few things, from the looks of it. Sucks most of it needs tickets that are sold out or a reservation months in advance. We've got… more live shows. Local musicians,” she chuckles, “including some band named Tu-Tu Du-Du. The Miss Canterlot pony pageant, tickets available for that. The Vox Humana Runway. Nope, that’s sold out. Oh! This one sounds promising," she smacks the paper twice with her hoof, "Superplex Cinema just opened a week ago, so they’ve probably got loads of stuff there. Huh, a roaming stallion magician named the Great and Powerful Tirade—”

“Hold up,” he suddenly stops her. “… What was that one you said earlier?”

“The Superplex Theater?”

“Nah, nah, before that.”

“The Runway?”

“That. … That ain’t what I think it is, is it?”

Now understanding his sudden caution, she puts the magazine on her lap and gazes over to him. His eyes are still fixed on the magazine. “Yeah. It is. But like I said, Crim, it's sold out.”

“C'mon, ain’t there no way we can get in there? There’s gotta be a way.”

“Why do you wanna go to a human fashion show so bad? It doesn’t seem like your style.”

“It’s… it…” He lines his brows, finding no way to sugar coat it. “… I… just wanna see ‘em. What they’re like. Other than the wild humans ‘n a… few experiences I’ve had with ‘em, that’s just it. Only had a few experiences. I can’t help myself.”

“It’s a full show, Crimson, they literally don’t have any more spots left. We should just pick something else.”

He squints and clenches his fists. “… You can pick.”

“What? No, come on, I wanted to take this day off for you. It wouldn't make sense if I picked.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but… I ain’t up fer makin’ a decision. I’ll just… go wherever you take me.”

“That’s no fun, man, stop being like this.”

Crimson sighs and finally lifts his eyes to her. She can see it, a depressive void deep within his pupils - suppressed sadness emerging. The man smiles, contrasting this sight. “As long as we do it together, I don’t care what it is. I’ll enjoy it either way.”

The tan mare blushes lightly at his turn of mind. She lines her lips and picks the magazine back up. She looks at it again, her eyes scan words, but none of them are registered in her head. Her broken focus only puts attention to Crimson.

After a few seconds of looking at words but not actually reading them, Dahlia takes in a deep, quiet breath through her nose. She sets the magazine back down and looks to the man again. “Already got it planned out. You’ll like it, just you wait.”

“Lookin’ forward to it. ‘Bout time we get some shuteye.”

“You get a head start, I wanna give Kleid the relic before anything else. Least he’ll have something that shows our progress."

"Sounds good.”

Dahlia takes the initiative to flap her wings and hover to Crimson’s other side. She takes his clothes, the throw-projector, and the amulet between her chest and arms. She sets them on the second bunk so they are out of the way. Bringing just the relic with her, she hovers over to the transponder machine.

Landing next to the lever, she glances over to Crimson, who still sits idly and in thought at the edge of the bed. “Don’t mind the noise,” she comments light-heartedly.

Crimson lifts his palm to her and smiles wryly.

With that, she pulls the lever to activate the machine. Once charged, she walks onto the platform, allowing her body to become enveloped by the blue magic before it sends her away with a zoom.

‎ ‎ ‎

‎ ‎

The transponder in Cosma’s lab spits her out, the mare herself braces and lands gracefully. She lifts her eyes and looks around the lab, somewhat surprised to see nopony around. It is late, it is to be expected that the Brains sleep at some point, but she still finds it strange not to see them waiting for her return.

She walks further into Cosma’s lab, letting her eyes dance about as if something were to sneak up on her otherwise. When no one shows, she resorts to the memory of Cosma pressing a button to call the attention of a certain somepony. She meanders to the desk, glazing the left over paperwork that was left scattered about. The button sits on the inner left corner, she reaches in and presses it in with a satisfying ‘click.’

“… Uh… hello?” she asks into the empty office.

Static comes from the little speaker next to the button, awaiting the receiver’s end of the transmission. Nothing happens for a few seconds, so she lets go of it and presses it again.

“Hel—?"

“What, what!? Hello!?”

Finally, someone picks up on the other end. It is Kleid, sounding slightly out of breath and very frantic. This takes Dahlia for a mild surprise. “Uh… hey. It’s me.”

“Who...? -- Oh!”

“Who is it, honey bee?” A faint voice speaks in the background, one also mildly tired and breathy. It sounds awfully like… Cosma. Dahlia’s muzzle scrunches.

“Wisp!” Kleid exclaims, “I wasn’t expecting you to return so quickly!”

“I can tell,” she replies, attempting to push down her disgust. “I, uh… I have one of the relics.”

Two gasps come from the other end. “Wohah! Really? You aren’t pulling my leg, are you?”

“Nope, come see it for yourself.”

Some silence comes from the speaker. “… Sorry, honey comb,” his voice is further away, but comes back at full volume just after. “A few seconds, Wisp!”

The transmission dies on Kleid’s end. Dahlia lets go of the button, feeling somewhat repulsed. She steps away from the desk, remaining still as to not touch something potentially defiled.

Not long after, the mechanical door to the lab rises, and in comes a frazzled stallion wearing a white bathrobe. Donning a unnaturally large smile, he trots right up to Dahlia. She reaches into her shirt pocket and pulls out the amulet.

“Hoaaah! Hahaha!” Kleid relishes as his pupils expand. “You weren’t kidding!”

“Can’t believe you thought I was.”

“The level of your proficiency is to be praised, Wisp! I’ve never contracted outside help with as much efficiency and professionalism as you!”

“It's not just me.”

“But of course! You and your human receive credit equally! You’ve made this Brain as happy as can be! The unstoppable duo we’ve been looking for! Many years of failure, but you’ve come and completely turned the tables in our favor! As agreed upon, your payment will be deposited directly into your treasury!”

Dahlia cracks an awkward smile, somehow not finding grand stacks of bits all that rewarding. “Yeah, thanks. … Uh…” She contemplates whether she should speak her mind.

Kleid catches this internal dilemma quickly, causing him to lean closer with one popped eye.

“… Nevermind, I’ve gotta get going,” she says as she begins to turn towards the transponder.

“That which is not spoken will never be heard.” She stops, the inner debate flares up again at his instigation. “Release the inner tension through your words, Wisp.”

Dahlia caves in and lets her ears drop, not quite understanding herself for being so influenced by somepony who is just her headhunter. It passes by her mind briefly that maybe it is not Kleid himself causing her to get soft, that perhaps another force is urging her to shoot in the darkness. Worth it or not, she turns around and faces the stallion, but keeps her eyes on the ground. “Listen… me and Sky are gonna take the day off tomorrow to blow off some steam. We’ll be after the last relic the next day.”

“Well no complaints here! The Rhye situation is still under wraps. I think you two deserve a little r-n-r after all you’ve done in such little time!”

“Yeah, so, the thing is… we kinda… well, there’s this thing we wanna do, but because we’ve been caught up with work, we missed the chance to fetch tickets for it. You can take it outta my pay or whatever, but... I was hoping maybe you can work your magic and get us into a full event.”

“Hmm. What would this particular event happen to be?”

“… A human fashion show.”

Kleid raises his left brow, looking very interested in this revelation. “And I assume this event is being held in… Canterlot?”

“Yeah.”

“The Vox Humana Runway, per chance?"

Dahlia’s ears stand back up to their full height. “Wh-- Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Not only is it a staple attraction in Canterlot, it’s owned by yours truly~” he raises his brows up and down repeatedly. “Well, more specifically, owned by Ruby, but subsidized by me. Did the tickets already sell out?” Still taken aback by this information, she barely delivers a nod. “Wow, that was fast. Ruby’s P.R team put the advertisement out four days ago.”

“I guess watching humans walk in dumb dresses is popular?”

"More-so than you think!"

"So... can you, uh... get us in?"

Kleid's eyes look to the ceiling and he smiles, as if planning something sinister. "... Get you in? Hmhm. I can do more than just 'get you in,' my dear friend." Dahlia's lips forms an 'o,' her impressed delight showing itself on her face. "Consider it a favor from me, Wisp. I'll get word to Ruby and her kin by seven A.M. Feel free to... cut the line. Just give our muscle your name, and you'll be in the VIP lounge before you know it. Full access, behind the stage permissions too, if you are so inclined~"

Dahlia's mouth falls for an open smile. "You serious? And you're not taking it outta my pay?" The stallion cockily shakes his head. "Haha, thanks, Kleid! Y’know, for a Horseshoe, you're pretty sick."

"Only in the head, by most physicians' standards! Now you get out and enjoy your time off! We expect great results the following day!"

She nods to him with a firm smile. She leaves the amulet in Kleid's care, turning to take her leave using the transponder again. Kleid pulls the lever down with his magic for her, smiling at her the whole way until she is teleported out.

The tan mare emerges from the magical machine inside the cement bunker behind the waterfall in Canterlot. She orients quickly, seeing that Crimson is laying down on the bed, noticing that he has changed into his original clothes, save for his duster and boots.

The man raises his brows wonderingly. "What's got you so smiley?"

Only then does Dahlia realize she is still smiling from her interaction with Kleid. Her simper drops immediately and tries to play it cool. "Uh, well, y'know... just got paid thousands of bits. Why wouldn't I be happy?"

"Hm. True." He returns his eyes to the bottom of the upper bunk without further questioning.

Dahlia trots to him and hops up onto the edge of the bed, sitting down and giving him her back. "... One more relic."

"One more 'n we're done. We get what we need 'n get the hell outta this nightmare."

"Let's hope it's as easy at it sounds."

“Best to brace fer the worst, can’t be let down if things don’t go smoothly.”

“You’re not really an optimistic type, are you?”

“Don’t like keepin’ my hopes high.”

“But you’re not pessimistic.”

“I wouldn’t say so.”

“Which is good, I hate pessimists. Being around those types of ponies kills my flow. I’d say you’re more of a realist.”

“Folks with degrees in the human mind would often call me that. Never meant much to me.”

“Because it’s true, you take things as you see them.”

“A word that describes what people should already be doin’ sounds a little pointless, don’tcha think?”

“Not really. All types of minds think differently. There’s no ‘normal’ way to think.”

“Well, what about you? Seem to know a lot about this kinda stuff. How’d you describe your purview of philosophy?”

“Me? An optimist for sure. I’m good at what I do, and I’ll make sure I win. Doesn’t mean I’ll always win, but I like to believe my chances go down when I’m doubting myself or the situation.”

“Hmh, some sort of supernatural force judging yer success based on if you believe hard enough?”

“Heh, yeah, something like that. Shit goes bad when you think it will.”

Crimson purses his lips and tilts his head in acknowledgement. He scoots himself further to the side of the bed, creating more space between him and the mare who sits at the edge.

Dahlia raises her left brow questioning and glances back at him. “What? You move away because I smell bad or something?” He extends his arm out in a gesture of invitation. Her front hardens when she understands it. “Are you seriously asking me to lay down next to you? There’s two beds, dude.”

Crimson shrugs, bringing his arm back in. He locks his fingers behind his head and closes his eyes, saying nothing further.

Dahlia watches him sourly, as if he just insulted her then blew her off. She holds this glare for a few seconds. He does not seem keen on giving her any more attention, she thinks. This thought alone is making her upset.

Eyes closed, he cannot see what she is doing. He hears her huff before a weight comes down just beside him. A warm, soft, firm weight that has feathers. A smile creeps onto his face.

Silence engulfs the room, the depravation of sleep is pushing both parties into the dreamscape. Dahlia falls asleep within minutes. To his satisfaction, he follows behind not long after.

‎

‎

By the time Dahlia returns from slumber, Crimson is already awake and sitting at the edge of the bed. He dons his duster and boots, giving the impression he is already prepared for today’s venture. With a silent yawn and a grunt to clear her throat, she says to him, “Didn’t even feel you get up.”

“Glad you didn’t.”

“… You been awake long?”

“Nah, few minutes at most.”

Dahlia yawns again and stretches her body, rolling onto her tummy as to spread her wings and flap them. Crimson feels the cool breeze of the wind they produce tickling the back of his head. She rolls over and throws her hindlegs off the side of the bed, sitting next to him. She looks up at the clock, seeing that it is already noon. “Sheesh, we were out for a good while.”

“What happens when you sleep late. Gonna have to do it again fer tomorrow anyway.”

“I know, just hate wasting the day like that.”

“Know how you feel. But that just means we gotta get a move on now rather than later, right?”

“Yuppers. Gimme a sec.” She flies up to the second bunk and retrieves the throw-projector. Coming back down to her original spot, she turns the device on by flipping a small bulb on the right side from down to up.

The device sputters magic in between the two steel rods that are propped up at the top, distorted and incomprehensible until she moves the antenna on the left side. An image is produced, one eerily clear that displays what is currently happening in the Gardens. Crimson watches this device work with intrigue and awe. From what he and Dahlia can tell, there is a sparse few ponies roaming about the back of the Gardens. Surprisingly, two pet humans are seen as well. No one is close to the waterfall.

“Looks like we’re good,” Dahlia affirms. “Wanna head out now?”

“Sure do, hungrier than hell.”

With that, Dahlia powers off the device and they both ready their leave. They replace the stone slab to hide the bunker from the outside world, peek from behind the edge of the waterfall, and step out into the pear orchard without being spotted.

Coming into character, Crimson keeps a listless look while keeping most of his face hidden behind his hair. He hunches to bring down his height and sticks close to Dahlia’s behind, careful not to step on her tail.

She leads him across a stone bridge that passes over the river, officially stepping into the Gardens of the Castle. He notes that she guides him to the far end of the Gardens, where the edge of the city is closest. He quickly realizes why. Walking along this side of the Castle completely avoids the training grounds and fields of the Royal Guard, instead they traverse through miniature mazes of flowers, plants and shrubs, comically small trees and larger ones. The occasional odd pony is passed, still early enough in the afternoon where the jobs and the bustle of life stifle luxury.

It is not long before they cross the length of the Canterlot Castle property, exiting through the massive gold and concrete walls that surround the perimeter. Out in the open span of Canterlot itself, Crimson absorbs the environment. Obviously nothing has changed since he had last been walking its streets with Dahlia, but the energy the city emits feels… different.

He hates it. He hates this city. With a burning fucking passion. Nothing but corruption and lies hidden behind the appearance of beauty. He recalls what Dahlia had said to him months ago on the train ride here. And he comes to realize, she was right about everything she said.

He keeps his inquisitive eyes moving behind his hair. The city has a larger population of moving bodies, which he expected. He pays more attention to the humans which roam along with their pony owners. One small amendment in a rulebook possibly hundreds of pages long completely changed society. Where he was seen as a foreign creature and abducted by the law, here his fellow man wanders free without judgement. Or at least, judgement which does not result in ill action.

Her hooves clop the marble, his boots clack it. After traversing past immensely tall buildings, being flooded by sunlight which reflects on practically every surface of this polished city, the district they enter is very obviously commercial. Stores and restaurants aplenty, his pegasus guide seems to know exactly where she is going.

A structure painted sky blue and white is where Dahlia lays her attention. A restaurant with windows surrounding it on all angles, one with a eloquently painted sign at the front. The sign illustrates a diamond which has been hollowed out at the top, acting as a wine glass with the appropriate dark purple liquid being found inside.

Without hesitation, Dahlia enters and takes Crimson in with her. They enter through a contraption the man has never seen, some kind of assortment of four doors all bound together at a center point, which rotates and allows access by walking between two doors as it spins. The situation is mildly disorientating to Crimson, but he successfully follows Dahlia through it to enter the air conditioned building.

The tan pegasus approaches an attractive, spruced-up unicorn mare standing behind a podium at the front. She, and a gruff-looking stallion with a large white beard wiping down pitchers with a towel, are the only two at the front. “For how many?” the unicorn mare asks with a smile.

“Just two,” Dahlia responds. Both she and the receptionist look towards the man, who silently observes his respectably fancy surroundings. He notes that it is fairly slow at the moment, with a select few others at tables, each party enjoying and savoring wines with overdesigned bottles and labels.

“Of course, ma’am. Please be aware that there is a forty bit servicing fee for humans. You must also provide a veterinarian’s note indicating they are socially acclimated.”

“You serious?” The mare nods with an obviously acted frown. “That wasn't on your advert in the Canterlot Manifest."

"I am very sorry, ma'am, but that is store policy."

"Man," she grunts with furrowing brows. "Listen, I don’t have a note, but he’s well trained. He won’t be causing any issues. I can pay double the fee if that helps any.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, we—"

“Table for two,” the stallion who is wiping pitchers suddenly states, not looking over to them. “Sixty bit service fee. Table available in the rose lounge. Please escort them to their seats.”

The unicorn mare furrows her brows momentarily, almost confused at the demand of the stallion who is very obviously her superior. She looks back to the duo with a forced smile and chuckles airily. “My apologies. Please, follow me.”

Dahlia follows, Crimson tags just behind. As she passes by the burly stallion, she looks over to him and delivers an amicable smile. The stallion does nothing but wink back in return, setting down his pitcher and picking up another to wipe down.

The two are escorted to a booth table at the far right end of the restaurant, a section which is designed with many red flowers, tapestries, paintings, and hanging presentations, all designed with ‘red’ in mind. They are seated across from each other, a menu and a utensil bundle at their fronts.

“May I start you with drinks?” the mare asks.

“Uuuh,” Dahlia shifts her attention between the menu, Crimson, and the unicorn mare. The man sits idly and blankly, the overenthusiastic mare adds nothing but pressure. “… I’ll look through the menu first.”

“Not a problem! Your waitress will be with you shortly!”

“Thanks.”

“Of course!”

The mare trots off. Dahlia watches her go, and once out of sight and mind, she faces Crimson. “So, uh… I guess I gotta read the menu to you, huh.”

Crimson delivers a barely noticeable nod.

“Drinks first or food?”

Crimson does not move at this question.

Dahlia gives him a wondering look. “… Oh, right,” she realizes and drops her expression, acknowledging that she didn’t ask a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question. “Drinks first?”

He nods again in the same manner as before.

“Cool, so…” She takes the menu and looks through it, flipping through the whole thing until she stares at the back page of it. “Ugh, why the hell do they have the drinks all the way in the back of the menu? It’s the first damn thing they ask you to pick, and it’s in the fucking back. How stupid is that.”

Crimson’s lips quiver at her exasperation.

“So they got… a bunch of weird ass wine names I don’t know how to say. Hrh, this is so annoying... mm… okay, so at least these highfalutin morons had the decency to put colors and… ‘flavor profiles.’ So what do you want? Something dry, soft, smooth, woody, nutty, floral, fruity, herb-- … herbaceous? Man, what the fuck.”

Crimson is gradually losing his composure at her expense.

“Do you just… do you want something specific? I have no idea what the hell any of this shit is.”

Crimson discreetly takes a glance at his surroundings. He notices an older couple of ponies a few tables away, smiling lovingly at each other and talking their hearts out quietly. He keeps his eyes on them, ensuring they do not see him as he mouths ‘sweet’ to Dahlia with emphasized phonemes. They are none the wiser.

“Sweet? … Sweet. Hmm. Okay, there’s a few here. I’ll just—”

“Hello! Good afternoon!” Dahlia is suddenly interrupted by a different mare, a teal pegasus with a blonde mane and tail. “My name is Morning, and I’ll be your server today!”

“Morning?” Dahlia asks. “Bet you’ve had lots of ponies crack the best jokes with your name as the punchline,” she states sarcastically.

The waitress mare suddenly drops her peppy attitude for one of genuine annoyance. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Dahlia smirks, taking a small liking into this waitress. “So, uh… about the wines you guys got. What’s the sweetest one?”

“The sweetest one would definitely be the Gala Rosebush. It's the go-to if you're looking to get a little 'happy'~"

Dahlia throws another pursed glance to Crimson, as if hoping to get some sort of input from him. Of course, that does not happen. She looks to the waitress again and delivers a waned smile. "Yeah, we'll get a bottle of that," she accepts, closing her menu as if she was done ordering.

"Splendid! Chilled or at room?"

"... Chilled."

"Of course! Were you ready to order, or did you need more time?"

"Oh, uh... more time, thanks."

"No, thank you! I'll be back with your wine!"

The mare dashes off despite there being no rush to do so. Both Crimson and Dahlia watch her wander off, eventually disappearing into the swinging saloon doors which lead into the kitchen at the far back. "... She seems... nice," Dahlia comments. She looks back to Crimson, who is staring blank-faced at her. Only then does she realize she made a grave social sin: idle small talk. "... Why did I say that."

Crimson cracks a full smile before forcing his lips back to where they were before.

"Hey! Don't make fun of me!" Both of their eyes bulge at the volume of her voice. "-- S-Sorry!" she whisper-shouts, lowering down her voice substantially. "I just... well, I mean, she's nice, right?"

The man remains completely still.

"Yeah, see? Glad you agree."

He still does not move.

Dahlia hunches slightly and puts her hooves on the table, letting her eyes wander.

She lines her lips and begins tapping the table quickly and repeatedly. She glances to the other parts of the restaurant, seeing many little things of interest. She sighs quickly, tapping the table just a bit faster. "Thought she'd be back with our wine by now."

The man tilts his head slightly.

"... Yeah. Kinda like you, I haven't had wine in years. Last time I actually drank it was when I still worked for that prick Pockets. I didn't even wanna drink it, it was more of a courtesy. It was the only drink he wanted served at dinner time every day. I got so sick of it, but I still forced myself to drink with him and the others. One of the other maids cleaned and closed the kitchen by the time dinner was done, and I didn't want her tattling if she caught me going through the fridge at night. So every morning I started hiding cups of water or juice behind some of the pottery around the mansion so I'd have something to drink that wasn't wine. I, uh... ended up getting caught a few weeks in. And that's when Pockets told me I was free to run through his fridge if I wanted to. Felt really stupid after that."

If Crimson could make a face, amused would be it. Yet, it remains stagnant. Dahlia returns to looking around and tapping the table again.

Finally, something to break the tension comes. The waitress appears from a far corner with a chilled bottle balanced on the major feather of her right wing. "Here we are!" She takes something out of her black apron's pocket with her left wing - a cork screw. With a display of dexterity only a pegasus can illustrate, she pokes the cork on the bottle and spins it once. Half of the cork comes out in that twirl. Another spin, and the cork comes right off with a pop. A mist comes from the neck of the bottle and seeps out hypnotically. The waitress sets the wine down in the center of the table, followed by two wine glasses she had hung on her apron. She notes the menu still being closed. "Still need more time to order?"

"Y-Yeah, just a bit more."

"Take your time! If you have any questions or concerns, please let me know!"

"Thanks."

The mare nods with some pep and trots off again post-haste. Once she is out of sight for a second time, a double tap on the table causes Dahlia to jump slightly. She glares over to him, seeing that he is tapping a finger on the closed menu. "Yeah, yeah, I'm getting to it!" she puffs with agitation while picking up the menu and sticking her muzzle in it. "... They don't have any meat, if you're wondering." She flips the page, towards the back end of the menu. Just then, her ears perk up. "... Oh. Oh, shit, wait. Maybe they do. They have one plate exclusively for humans. 'Hushies and Fishies.' Says: 'borrowed by famous griffon chefs - deboned cooked fished, served with a side of deep-fried round balls of cornmeal-based batter and seasoned fries.' That sound good?"

Crimson demonstrates his desire with many slight quick nods.

"Cool." She smiles at him before looking back down at the menu. "... I think I'll go with a house salad."

He tilts his head at her decision.

Dahlia notes this and decides to re-enact it as a gesture of mocking. "Oh, what? I can't have a salad?"

He shrugs his shoulders lightly.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Besides, almost everything else here uses basil for whatever reason. I hate basil." She fixes her attention to the bottle which still emanates a soft cool mist. She reaches with both of her hooves to take the sizable bottle, one with a design of pink flowers printed on the label. "'Gala Rosebush. Eight-teen percent. Aged to perfection, flavored with love.' Huh, tall words. We'll see about that." She proceeds to gracelessly pour the contents into both glasses for herself and the man. Setting the bottle down, she takes her own glass and waits for him to take his.

Catching on, Crimson reaches to take his glass. He holds it in front of him idly, waiting for her call.

"... Cheers," she states softly, feeling somewhat embarrassed to say it alone. Together, they reach their glasses to their lips and sip their drinks. Crimson's is more of an inelegant chug, Dahlia's is a careful quaff. Retracting their glasses, their reactions contrast by a mile. "Ho-woah!" she beams in surprise, throwing her eyes to the liquid in her glass.

Crimson is completely still, save for lifting his left sleeve to wipe his lips.

"Man, this stuff is like candy! I can't even taste the alcohol!" She moves in for another drink, one almost as brutish as Crimson's. She downs three gulps of her fruity drink before pulling it away and sighing. "We need to get more of this stuff!"

Bringing the glass back up to his lips, he nods once and drinks again.

‎

‎

Her lips come off her drinking glass with a kiss. After swallowing more of her poison, she sets the empty glass down with a little more force than necessary, causing an audible clank on the polished wood table. The table is littered with plates of already devoured food, two bottles of wine, with a third being tackled.

Her head hangs for a moment, she burps tactlessly, then throws peircing eyes to the man. "And that's why I don't eat bread after seven, Crim. That's. Fucking. Why."

Crimson's eyes widen and he leans in to loom at her.

This freaks out Dahlia and she recoils, "W-What? What'd I do?"

He ensures his surroundings are clear, which is slightly more difficult since more clientele now populate the restaurant - pony and human alike. Fortunately for him, no one is sitting on the one table behind Dahlia. He mouths, 'CRIM' with stark lip and jaw movement. He leans back and acts casually again, relieved to see the ponies around do not really care about them all that much.

Dahlia squints, wondering what he means... and after three seconds, it clicks. Her eyes widen, she puts both hooves over her mouth and she gasps loudly. "I-Ih'm shorry!" she stammers with her mouth covered.

Crimson glances around again, finding it an appropriate moment to make an exit. He reaches into his duster coat and retrieves a note, the one which jots his treasury number. He leans forward and passes it discreetly to Dahlia.

She leans forward with a mild sway. Her hoof lands atop the note with a bit too much force before she drags it back to herself. She looks at the note with multiple blinks. "... Eight-six-seven-seven-seven-eight-one-two-one? Huh, well happy Hearth's Warming Eve to me!"

Crimson clenches his jaw. He throws his attention around the restaurant again, noticing a few eyes on his little tan partner. He desperately hopes their waitress comes sooner rather than later.

And oh hallelujah, here she comes. She promptly arrives to the table with a smile. "Clean plates and big smiles! I assume everything was satisfactory today?"

"No!" Dahlia calls angrily. "You still haven't brought me my other bottle of... Gala whatever!"

The waitress looks between her and Crimson with confusion. "I'm sorry, but you haven't ordered another bottle yet, ma'am."

"... I swear I did." She throws a squint to the third bottle which has yet to be finished.

Understanding now that Dahlia has lost nearly all social aptitude, Crimson takes a flying leap of faith by reaching forward and pulling the note which contains his information. He drags it across the table and leaves it directly in front of the waitress.

She looks to it, realizes what it is, and chuckles lightheartedly. "Eight-six-seven - this would be a Baltimare account, correct?" The man delivers one simple nod, hoping nothing comes of it that would not be any worse than what his intoxicated partner could potentially achieve. "Perfect! I'll be back with your receipt!" She takes the note and trots off gleefully.

Crimson cranes his neck as she leaves... and once she does, he pins his eyes on Dahlia who smirks back at him lazily. He hopes she is well enough to end the night with... whatever the hell she had planned. He glances to the wine bottle which is still half full, and deciding it is best that this little mare does not hamper herself any further, he takes it and begins to chug the rest of it down.

"Hey!"

He ignores her fussy calling.

‎

‎

After a fairly pleasant dinner, despite the end, and a rather unreasonable bill to pay, the two head back out into the streets of Canterlot. Dahlia is surprisingly good on her hooves even though she has had a bit more to drink than her little body is conditioned to handle. She guides him well enough, even if she mumbles randomly into the air. He tries to catch what she is saying, if to hold onto it and cherish it for what it is worth, but it seems to be mostly her talking to... herself.

Evening has struck, the sun recedes as the moon shines high above the city, partially hidden behind dense clouds. The marble roads are lit by golden streetlamps. The man lifts his face to the sky, the buzz of the wine setting in comfortably. He watches the peeking moon, it provides little to no light tonight. As if it were too tired to shine brightly, or some outside force is causing the moon to take on this depressed, it takes on a melancholic nature. A very odd sensation acquired from staring at the moon gives this inexplicable feeling, and he is unsure why. He begins to think he is being too cynical, that there is really no way the moon could display emotions like this. If the moon could, it definitely would not be sad, more like ‘calm’ and ‘comforting.’ He feels that he is selfishly projecting his own emotions onto the poor moon. She never did anything to deserve being called a depressive ball of light.

He feels his thigh nudged on by Dahlia, “Cr-- ... Sky?”

Crimson snaps out of his 'nightdreaming' state and stares forward. He sees that they are approaching a large, asymmetrical building that is strobing with all sorts of lights. The entire building is watched by a plethora of pony security guards, so many they could form a small army. One unicorn guard is letting everyone in after taking their ticket, analyzing it, and tearing it in half. Judging from the posters scattered all around the building and the strobing of lights, this edifice is backed by quite a powerful being. One which is making lucrative money on...

His chest feels heavier. "Could this be...?"

"Feast..." Dahlia starts with a snarky smile, "... your eyes... on the Humana Runway~"

"... It is." Crimson can't believe it, but physically cannot question her. "Is she too drunk to realize she might be taking us to the wrong place?"

She continues toward it, and by default, he does as well. By the time they arrive to the massive unicorn stallion bouncer who guards the double doors, all eyes from the hundreds of waiting ponies in line glare spite to them. "Hey," she starts through her buzz.

The stallion says nothing.

"... Wwwisp. Y'know what'm saying?"

The stallions eyes bulge. He bows with great respect before channeling his magic to pull out two glowing neon red strips of plastic from his coat pocket. He levitates one to Dahlia and clamps it around her foreleg, the other on Crimson's wrist. He then steps aside, allowing entry to her and her human. The other ponies in line witness this, and the first to advocate their displeasure is a pegasus stallion who was next in line.

"What the fuck! I was next!" the pegasus stallion cries. "I paid good money for this event, I shan't be--! OUHFH!"

Shock takes the crowd when the bouncer suddenly rears up and clocks the pegasus in the jaw, throwing his immediately unconscious body onto the marble floor of the city.

Dahlia and Crimson see this happen as they walk through the front doors, with the mare cringing a little on the downed pegasus' behalf. Entry resumes like normal after the duo has entered, the unconscious stallion left on the ground without question.

Once inside, the colorful, dimly lit stadium-like room blares some sort of futuristic music. The odd sounds emitted from magical speakers are of the likes at the Gloriosa. The enclosed structure they enter into has a large catwalk-stage in the center. The right side to the stage has comfy-looking seats in ascending rows. The left side, behind the stage and its curtains, is probably where all of the preparation happens. Opposing the stage, metal bleachers line up and climb almost all the way to the high-up ceiling. It seems that many of Canterlot’s citizens, who pack the house to near-full, are waiting for this show to begin. Most of the seats on the bottom rows are already filled, leaving only seats that are higher and farther away from the stage.

Just before Dahlia could orient herself to her surroundings, she is confronted by a short, chubby mare that looks to be taking on some age. She wears glasses and dons very snappy business attire. She has this huge, toothy smile on her face when she first notices the glowing red band on her leg. She then stares directly at her.

She introduces herself as Pennyside, the director of the show tonight. Dahlia acknowledges this, but occasionally glances to Crimson to see if he is fairing well in this new environment. This overweight mare exclaims how happy she is to have a pony of her status attend her show. Then, she suddenly presents Dahlia with an opportunity to be a judge for tonight’s competition. She declines the offer with a somewhat disgusted shaking of her head. The mare gives an unnecessarily hearty laugh and nods with understanding. She offers to guide her to her seat, which Dahlia agrees to.

This round mare takes the lead, Dahlia and Crimson in tow. They walk across the first row of bleachers towards the right side of the stage. At this right end, a small lounge blocked off by over ten built stallions is stationed. It provides an excellent view of the stage being so close up. Arriving at this lounge, the two bouncers guarding the velvet rope move quickly to grant access to Pennyside and her important attendants. It seems that this section exclusively allows ponies and humans, since no humans are to be found in the general bleachers, yet some are seated here with their pony owners.

Pennyside ushers the two in and plants them on isolated cobalt velvet couches facing directly to the stage, much more luxurious and comfortable than the metal stands where the masses sit.

Asking above the boisterous music, Pennyside offers further assistance. Dahlia again declines and the mare takes a polite leave.

Now left to their lonesome, Dahlia and Crimson share a three cushion couch with round tables after both armrests. The tables rest bottles of alcohol, potentially more wine, but neither of them are up for more drinking.

Crimson feels his heart beating a bit faster, having absolutely no idea how Dahlia managed to get them in with little other than her name. He cannot question it now, so it rolls with whatever is going on and presses down his anxiety.

He catches that he is not the only one feeling anxious. Dahlia's hazy self seems to glancing around very trepidly, as if hearing her name being called and trying to find the source of it. Brazenly, he reaches in and pulls her close. Her inebriated self does not fight it whatsoever, and as a matter of fact, accepts it. She wraps her arms around his chest and back, resting her head on his inner chest. Crimson finds this consenting of his embrace very endearing and makes sure to keep her tension down as best as he can.

He faces the stage and sighs out some stress of his own. With so much going on, he cannot tell if he's being stared at or not. Probably not, since all of these high-class ponies in extravagant clothing are too full of themselves to really pay mind to one human amongst a crowd. The first noteworthy happening is the switching of ambient colors. He looks at the stage where a mare appears from behind the curtains. The stage itself is ample, pristine, and the floor of it is shiny. The curtains that shadow off the back scenes are what the man focuses on the most, everything happening behind there is what piques his interest. From where he is seated in the VIP lounge, he has a small peek at behind the curtains, where most of it is completely black and shadowed, with occasional silhouettes wearing the same red glowing band he does passing about.

The music begins to pick up in speed and increase in volume, the lights of the room strobe according to the music. Colored lights, weird music, the architecture of this building, it is all feeding him a single energy: Black Horseshoes. More-so than the Gloriosa.

“Fillies and gentlecolts!” calls the youthful mare wearing too much makeup, the one who took the stage earlier. She speaks into a microphone, “We are nearing tonight’s Lovely Lady competition! The four judges tonight will be rating—!”

Crimson ends up blocking out what the mare is saying, focusing on looking around instead. There are still no signs of acting humans anywhere. He sighs sits back in the seat that he hardly fits in, accommodating for Dahlia by taking her back with him. After some more staring around and finding nothing, he returns his attention to the talking pony onstage.

“—And we would like to take this time to give a word to our sponsors tonight!” the mare cheerfully calls.

The music changes in tone, the lights focus on the stage. Several ponies emerge from the curtains, all wearing distinct and obviously branded clothing. Soon after, one single human appears just behind them. She is dressed in awfully ridiculous attire. She looks like a walking circus tent from the waist down. He examines the woman’s face, she too has been prettied up by makeup and fancy combing. The expression she is making seems… exactly how he feels watching this. Unimpressed, bored, half-lidded eyes, the same expression that every human he has seen take on. That emotionless energy.

He recalls being told by Dahlia that humans never make faces, other than angry ones. He knows this to be untrue, yet... he understands why ponies come to this conclusion. He never sees anything but a dull, blank look on the few humans he has encountered. The wild humans he has faced were snarling and savage. The tamed humans back at the Gloriosa were something he could only describe as... uncanny. Abnormal. Those girls working the poles had expressions other than bland, but it was too obvious it was fake, potentially trained into their routines to make such expressions. Nothing felt organic.

He looks at the woman on the stage again. The muscle groups in these humans' faces, those responsible for expression, are very much functional. Each and every human in Equestria is capable of smiling... but never do. This very thought irks him. The only one girl who had been able to illustrate to him something new, something outside of the common mold, was Autumn. Thinking about her again, along with the wine he has drank, it is forcing a feeling to arise which he would rather not feel.

He throws his attention to his surroundings as the uninteresting adverts run their course. He looks down at Dahlia, seeing that she is barely keeping her eyes open. It looks like the food and alcohol she had is catching up to her. He then looks past her and over his right shoulder, into a dark corner where steps enter the back of the stage. His attention fixes on something he just now notices - two ponies and a human attempting to move luggage to the back of the stage. These two ponies, one a pegasus mare and the other a unicorn stallion, seem to be having trouble doing this exact task. The human stands idly behind her owner, uncaring of the struggle the two go through. By the looks of it, the mare is barking at the stallion for being unable to carry the two large luggage cases with his magic.

He hones in on the girl, her features are not very clear in the darkness and sporadic neon lights. Not a rhyme or a reason to her inaction.

The mare shouts something he barely catches over the thumping music. "-- AND WE'LL BE DISQUALIFIED!"

The altercation begins to pique his amusement. What she has stated, along with the fact that the dotted muscle around the stadium isn't bothering to assist them in any way, has him debating a course he probably should not be. He looks down to Dahlia again. At the very least, she looks comfortable now. Her eyes are dancing across the presentations on the stage in a relaxed manner. He then looks up to the debacle happening in the dark. The mare over there looks almost ready to cry.

Crimson takes a moment to look at the glowing red bands that they wear. He then looks down at his left wrist, where he wears this exact piece. An idea congeals, he figures he may be able to confront their issue himself.

He certainly thinks he may have drank more than he should of to keep himself sane, he has coaxed himself to do it. He gently releases his hold on Dahlia, which she looks to him and wonders what he is doing. He throws his chin to the scene in question. She looks to it, does not find it all that fascinating, and looks back to him questioningly. He puts his face closer to hers, their lips but an inch apart. With his and her hair shrouding both their faces, "I'll be back," he speaks his words with enough volume to allow her to hear it, but soft enough to let the music kill it quickly. He rises from his seat, Dahlia watches him do so with an opened mouth and continued wariness.

He uses the dimly lit environment to his advantage as the darkness allows him to travel to the velvet ropes that surround the far end of the VIP section. He passes by couches just like his, where other VIP attendants are seated. They see him, they eyeball him, but they do not question his movement. They watch him pass, then refocus on the stage. He hopes the same can be said about the bouncers. Considering the magical red piece of 'don't fuck with me' plastic his wrist dons, he doubts they will interfere.

He arrives at the bordering rope at the edge of the lounge. He steps over the rope one leg at a time, getting himself in between two bouncers that are guarding this section. They snap their heads at him, gawk at him as he passes them, and watch him approach the two ponies and their human.

As Crimson walks up to the trio, he witnesses the stallion channel his purple magic and fail once again to lift the luggage. After this pathetic display, the mare and stallion shift their defeated attention to him. To his interest, the human stops void-gazing to look his way as well. Their stares are both curious and horribly afraid.

Ignoring them, Crimson looks at the bags of luggage. He struts up to them, extending his hands out to grasp each of them by the handle. He lifts them up effortlessly, holding them at his sides, then faces the mare who nearly has tears of frustration ruining her makeup. Only then does she realize what this man is doing.

"THANK YOU!" the mare squeals over the music. "OH MY GOODNESS, OH MY GOODNESS! THA-HA-HA-HANK YOOOOU!"

The stallion, while skeptical, takes a step back and wipes his forehead in relief.

Crimson turns towards the stage, prompting the mare to lead. Right on cue, she does so with a rejuvenated trot. The stallion and the human follow right behind her. He tags along at the end of the line, noticing that he is being glanced at occasionally by the ecstatic mare. They ascend the wide stairs to enter the backstage.

He harbors a mixture of tension and ease, both that this completely thoughtless stunt netted him the result he wanted, but now he is in this predicament. He uses this opportunity to take in the backstage, seeing a long line of humans standing on the stage behind the curtains, waiting in line for the show to begin. With these humans, their pony owners stand next to them. The faces of these ponies are almost worse than those of their humans, restless and disgruntled. The air they give off makes them look very full of themselves and very stressed out, a stark contrast to the mare he is currently assisting.

To the farthest back of the stage, the polished marble floor gives way to waxed wood, leading into a long hallway that is lit up by white fluorescent bulbs. The hall contains all sorts of doors with names tagged onto them. They enter these halls as a group. Some humans are still preparing for their performance, the wafting of different perfumes emanates from the dressing rooms.

Now that the lighting has improved drastically, Crimson is able to take in the details of the party in front of him. He is not sure why the pegasus mare is so familiar, strikingly so, but it starts to irk him. The stallion for sure is a new face, no issues there. Same for this human. Both ponies are dressed in dark blue suits of matching design, and the girl wears something - a dress, modest and simple - which he is not familiar with. Flora prints, two-inch wide straps that hold the dress from her shoulders, tight and well fitted at the torso while the skirt portion flows down elegantly to her knees. He does not know what type of dress it is, but it sure looks pretty. He comes to consider what a certain someone would look like in it, a girl who is woefully far way.

One of these rooms seems to belong to this mare as she reaches into chest pocket of the dark blue suit she wears, taking a key into her hoof and unlocking the door. She pushes the door in with haste and turns on the lights via a switch, the stallion and girl enter before Crimson does. "There, please!" She points her hoof where she wants the man to set down her belongings. He obliges and moves to set down both cases next to the door. He steps back, trying to ignore the fact that the human girl is staring at him, and has been staring at him constantly.

The uneasiness in this pegasus mare does not relent yet, she trots in place very quickly like if needing to relieve herself. "Thank you, thank you! Uugh, we still need to sign in!" She glares angrily at the stallion, who stands idle like a statue. "Telles, be useful for once and get us signed in! I need to use the little filly's room!"

"Uh-Yh-- Yes! Ma'am! Right away!" He submits easily and aims to dash out of the room.

Before he can exit, the mare extends her wing to stop him in his tracks before the doorway. She glares at him, unapologetically reaches into the inner chest pocket of his dark blue suit, and pulls out a small tied coin purse from inside. The stallion's ears drop just as his expression does. She puts down her wing and throws her head towards the door. He runs out, head hung low.

She shakes her head and attempts to settle her nerves through a deep exhale. She trots towards the man and takes the initiative to place the coin purse into one of his pockets. It slips in harmlessly, makes a peculiar sound at making contact with the ammo boxes. Luckily, she does not mind the sound or question it, instead she turns and says, "Thank you! If your owner frequents the Castle, please take them to the Royal Tailor's! A personal discount from me awaits them! From yours truly, Yuvia Lace!" She looks towards the girl. "Please get into make up Clarie! I'll be back!"

As the mare named Yuvia Lace leaves, it hits him like a rock. This mare is one of the Royal Tailors. One of many that lined up to kiss his face after making his new set of clothing. The pit in his gut is satisfied at solving the mystery, and best of all, she was none the wiser to who he really is. Crimson barely realizes that he is alone with the human. She has not taken her eyes off of him once the entire time he has made his presence.

The skin of this woman is light pink, her hair is light blue with white streaks. Her green orbs lock onto him and do not relent. Her expression is callous, almost judgmentally, yet she continues to stare. Crimson eyes her back with equal listlessness.

Without prompting, Claire slowly walks towards him until she stands directly before him. Her eyes level out with his abdomen, making her tilt her head up to continue staring at his face.

He remains still as to possibly avoid agitating her. He is not sure what is causing her to do this, but he relishes the opportunity to study her face, it being so close up to him. No makeup, nothing to bastardize her original form unlike the other humans outside. Her nose is small and shapely, her lower lip is filled while her upper lip is thin. The general shape of her face certainly reminds him of Autumn, but with enough distinctions to tell that this is a completely different girl, colors aside.

Her large, reflective eyes gaze with their bored, unamused nature, but they contain an odd sense of conviction. One that seems to be building every passing second.

Satisfied that he at least got this close to another human, he reckons he should not overstay his welcome. He politely takes one step back from Claire, turns on his heels, and moves to exit--

Clasp...

He stops on a dime. He looks down to his left arm, seeing a pink hand detaining the cuff of his sleeve. He turns himself back around, and only then does the girl stop holding his sleeve. He stares into her eyes once again, finding that conviction stronger than ever. There is a hundred different things she could possibly want... he does not want to risk a wrong guess.

Claire begins to stand on the tippy toes of her dress sandals and extends her hands out towards his face. Too short to actually reach him, he entertains her by coming down enough for her to touch him. She plants her hands on his cheeks and simply holds them.

"Kind... ness..."

His eyes dilate and a breath escapes his mouth. Words. Her words, the voice of a young woman. Furthermore, he feels-- hears... sees something. Upon this girl making contact with him, his Arch begins to burn his blood. A sensation so familiar, he recalls it as clear as day. In the glow after their dance, he was able to 'feel' Autumn in the same way he does Claire at this moment. A gentle contact which streams emotion and intention into his psyche. It is incomprehensible. He quickly understands now that his passive radiation of Arch, which can absorb the tension and stress from the one he holds, is also capturing emotions, foggy memories, and intentions.

He knows this is a bad idea, and he sincerely hopes no one comes back... but he reaches his hands towards her cheeks and cups them as well. His hands feel their warm, smooth fullness - cheeks one would love to pinch and stretch. He simply holds her, mirroring what she does to him.

Like fixing the reception on a satellite, the blurry thoughts and ideas that were scattered in his own mind become readable, barely so but nevertheless. He catches everything that she is thinking, and to his surprise, she is intentionally thinking with him in mind. Small fragments of visions, places, things, the theme she is showing him slowly replaces the pieces of broken glass which illustrate the picture. White dresses, beautiful rings, flower bouquets, chirping doves as they fly past a sunset. A perfect and optimal moment.

Everything he sees in her begins to dispirit him. It becomes obvious what she wants. The projections and pieces of her life she allowed him to see, there is simply no time or opportunity for it. Most other humans she has had to interact with or spend time around were all female - none a contender for that special day that she yearns so deeply for.

"Hap... py."

Her voice echoes in his head again. He blinks once, trying to stave off the building sorrow he feels for this woman. He analyzes her face again. She commits the same expression, but... it speaks a different story now. The twinkle in her eyes cry out that she yearns for more than just... this. Whatever her life is and has become. Yet, she is powerless to stop it. All of her tears and agony are stuffed inside the farthest reaches of her conscious, while her mind and body do as whatever commanding force obligates them to.

Equally so, he is powerless to help in any way. This single thought sets his heart ablaze.

Slowly, he lets go of Claire's cheeks and lets his arms fall to his sides. She refuses to let go, but they both know it is an inevitability. Crimson steadily stands back up to his full height, effectively causing her hands to slip away from his cheeks and onto his chest.

Crimson lines his lips, unable to hide his remorse. Claire's face does not change. The glittering in her eyes only strengthens, until inner corners of her eyes drop one tear each. An emotional pain he will never be able to shrug off attacks his soul. He takes a step back, excusing himself silently, and takes his leave from the dressing room.

Before he disappears past the doorway, he takes one last look at her. She stands idle, both tears reaching her chin though none further come. That gleam in her eye which speaks her sadness twinkles one last time.

He begins to walk and break line of sight with her. He balls his hands into fists to contain his enflamed emotions. He turns around and walks out to the backstage and returns to the staircase he used to enter it. He directs himself to the VIP lounge he was sitting at before, seeing that a few more ponies and humans have arrived. Judging by the humans already strutting across the stage in absolutely ridiculous attire, the show has already begun. As he approaches the muscle surrounding the VIP area, much to his satisfaction, one of them unhitches the velvet rope to allow him re-entry. He treks past them, actively holding in his instinctual words of appreciation for such a gesture.

He weaves past the curious ponies seated in their couches in the VIP section, catching Dahlia from a distance. She is sitting up straight and focusing on the stage, not aware of his impending return. She looks very much worried, but still watches the show. Once he arrives and props himself up to sit down, she immediately snaps her attention to him like a sentry. He sits and leans back in the sofa. He extends his arm out for her again, which she couples into his embrace once more, as if he were to leave again if she did not.

The man looks down towards her, expression blank. She looks up towards him, brows furrowed in something akin to annoyance. He will definitely have to explain himself later. Now that everything is said and done, what he pulled was possibly the most idiotic thing imaginable, considering who he works for and what he is doing here.

No matter, nothing happened at the end of the day. At least, he hopes so. The evening is still young, and the show has just begun.

He sets his sights on the stage. More females in insane dress-wear strut back and forth, coming in and out of the curtains. He finds himself unable to focus on them. A pressing guilt weighs on his shoulders, an uneasiness in his heart watching the humans as they move. They are not happy. Who knows if they have ever been happy. Just like Claire, they are in a perpetual state of depression. Either pet-slaves to an unmindful pony, or a wild creature that hides in a cave.

Their lives are... pointless. Whatever dreams or aspirations they harbor, something causes them to remain unfulfilled.

Crimson’s eyes widen and he leans forward upon seeing Claire taking the stage. She now wears silly clothing as well, something like a giant cyan snake formed as a dress that slinks around her entire body, but that is seldom the issue. She performs most of her run as well as one would expect from a professional model, save for... the very end. As she strikes several different poses and turns, there is a brief moment where her wandering eyes meet Crimson in the crowd.

She keeps going, as if not even acknowledging him. The pink girl, with her gorgeous hair and thriftless dress, finishes her poses and the crowd cheers for her. She remains still, allowing the judges time to jot down their opinions. As soon as she turns to take her leave, another tear races down her cheek - one which no one seems to catch. It travels quickly, emphasized by her congealing makeup. One single tear.

She disappears past the curtains, never to be seen again.

Next Chapter: Chapter 12: Face of a Stranger Estimated time remaining: 5 Hours, 35 Minutes