Jack gripped the broadsword in her hand as the morning light filtered through the sweet smelling and tranquil forest. The blonde concentrated on the suit of iron fitted to a log in front of her and targeted the heavy pauldron, doing her best to ignore the presence of Iron Will, standing observantly on the edge of the circular arena the farmer was in. The only sound she could hear was the quiet murmur of people in the far distance at a few of the other weapon stations Iron Will set up and the gold and orange leaves scratching the ground as they ran along the wind. In one fluid motion, Jack lifted the sword up over her head and swung down at an angle, putting her full arm strength behind the one-handed blow.

The days and weeks had scattered like the very leaves brushing past the farmer now. Late August bled into September. September to the middle of October. Piece by piece, Jack glued herself back together. The letter from home had helped close the wound. As she had expected from the stoic man, his letter was short, blunt and to the point. The farm was steady, Bloom was doing surprisingly well in school—even placing third in a spelling bee. Their granny? Well... she was doing well enough. Mac had mentioned she even had a clear day a few days before Jack had sent her letter. Which, considering how delusional the gray-haired matriarch was anymore, was a miracle in and of itself.

Surprisingly enough, Macintosh closed the letter by mentioning that Zecora had taken to staying at the house a day or two a week. (Not what you think, sis, she's been helping me by cooking dinner and doing morning chores. His words.) Jack had sent a few more letters over the months, though their content remained much the same.

Jack brought the weight of the blade down, connecting square against the brunt of the armor and surprisingly tearing through the iron in one hard, forceful strike. The blade remained deeply imbedded into the wooden log, halfway through the hard wood and metal. She reached forward and grabbed hold of the log with an arm, then stuck her leg on the side. With a yank, she pulled out the blade. It was warped, bent and showing a hairline crack where Jack impacted it against the heavy plate.

“Iron Will was going to speak to you about the importance of targeting joints in the armor in order to effectively cut through their defenses, but...” He scratched at his head, then laughed, no small amount of pride in his voice. “If you can swing as hard as I can, then armor? Who gives a damn!”

He noticed Jack's ruined blade. The farmer offered the handle to Iron Will. He took the useless piece and stepped towards a cloth roll he kept nearby. Unrolling a segment of the red, silken piece, he produced another broadsword. Her instructor gestured to another set of armor strapped to a tree.

“Helmet,” William instructed, putting his hands at his hips and silently observing the woman. In another fluid motion, Jack brought the sword crashing down, cleaving the helmet vertically and embedding her blade deep into the log, leaving only the last quarter of wood untouched. With a hard grunt, Jack struggled and yanked out her blade, hearing a snapping noise as she did it. The weapon was in pieces, only the handle and a few splinters of metal were salvaged from the log. She gave a nervous and wide smile towards the minotaur.

“Tomorrow we're weaning you off Caballien swords. You've got the problem us norfolk got: too much power behind your blows.” He shook his head, taking the ruined weapon. “Caballo may have a lot of good things. Blacksmith's aren't one. Wouldn't trust them to even make good plowshares.” He pointed a finger at Jack. “Until we can get you a good piece of norfolk steel, you're training with a reinforced axe. Have a feeling that'll be the only tool you can use from around here that won't snap like a damn twig in your hands.”

“Not true,” Jack retorted. “I've yet ta break a hoe or rake back home, an' I use those tools all the time.”

William leaned back and laughed loudly. The loud whooping noise melted any form of intimidation the scarred man held. “By my ancestors. You carry your father's song in you.”

Jack gave an unsure smile. “I didn't even think I made a joke,” she said.

“Just the way you said it,” Iron Will dismissed, still holding an ear-to-ear grin. “That sorta practical reply came from Johnny's mouth all the time—even when we were joking with him.”

“Hmm,” the blonde grunted, putting a hand to her chin. Her smile widened as she thought of her father. Though the memories had lost their luster over the years, she could still remember his kind and humble ways, and how flustered he'd get when she got to crying over a skinned knee. “He was somethin' else.”

“Apple didn't fall far from the tree.”

“You wouldn't believe how many times I've heard that growin' up,” Jack replied. She grew thoughtful and somber, albeit briefly. “Though I ain't sure jus' how far from him I fell.”

“You're doing him proud, kid.” William's meaty hand sprang into a thumbs up. “In fact, you're in my top three students this year. You blew through practice weapon training easily.” He cocked his head towards the ruined suits of armor and busted logs. “And it looks like the real deal hasn't phased you either. Hell, we get you some armor and I bet you'd be battle ready in no time!”

She briefly flashed back to the warehouse, and the memories left cold and dead inside. Her expression darkened. “I, uh, wouldn't know 'bout that,” she muttered. The dark skinned man's expression narrowed in concern; just before he could speak, Jack changed the subject. “So, who are the other two top dogs? If ya don't mind me askin'.”

“You know one. The Ritter.”

“Dash?” Jack dubiously questioned. Though the farmer knew Isabelle could hold her own, Jack hadn't seen Dash do anything of note during their time under Iron Will's tutelage. Dash hardly sparred, napped regularly in all manner of odd places—Jack saw her on a cloud of all things once. The blonde still didn't know if Dash was just messing with her or... hell, Jack was pretty sure sleeping on a cloud wasn't even possible—not even to mention all the times she skipped because she 'wasn't feeling it.'

Jack knew when Dash took off like that, she normally spent all day running or flying, but the tall woman thought it wouldn't kill the other to actually buckle down and train with everyone else more often.

“I know that doesn't sound right,” The norfolk said, reading Jack's mind, “But wait until we get everyone armor trained and full-on weapon sparring. It's awesome watching the girl fight.” He clenched a fist in front of him and drove it into his palm. “Footwork, wingwork, precision strikes with a long sword, and shield expertise I've seen battle tested men not have. If that girl's not Wonderbolt material, nobody is.”

“And, uh, how do ya think a Wonderbolt would handle an Apple?” the question came out before she even had a chance to think it over. Her competitive spirit just couldn't resist testing the waters.

Iron Will replied just as quickly. “That's up to you, Jack. You've got a warrior's heart in you. Just a matter of making sure it beats.” He gave a considering pause. “Though I'd bet on you one-hundred percent if we can get a good piece of norfolk steel on you.”

“Yer really crazy 'bout norfolk weaponry,” Jack said.

“You'll see, Apple. You'll see.” He smirked.

Before either could continue their conversation, the two heard a loud group of people cheering from the outskirts of the woods. William pointed towards the sound.

“I have a feeling that's my third.”

They traveled for a few minutes, soon coming to the archery fields, where a large group of students had gathered, forming a crescent that overlooked a large line of targets painted on hay bales and a few logs. A lone figure stood apart from the crowd, observing the targets.

Jack squinted, trying to make out the person in the late morning sun.

It was a brown-skinned woman of average height, possessing a well-toned build, if the woman's visible stomach and exposed lower back gave any clue to the rest of her, which was buried under heavy black leather. The woman reached behind her, pulling out an arrow from a quiver resting on her shoulder. She turned towards the crowd; Jack froze when she saw the woman's eyes. They were piercingly yellow and unflinching. Despite the archer's confident, condescending smirk, the expression didn't reach those hollow eyes. They continued to observe the world with the slow, confidant gaze of a predator on the prowl.

Jack followed the yellow eyed woman's stare. For a reason she couldn't explain, Jack was hardly surprised that the woman's prey was Dash, who stood in the crowd with her arms crossed and an unreadable expression on her face. The leather-clad woman's smile died; she returned to her targets. The white haired woman lined up her shot and fired at the target farthest from her. The arrow sailed over five hundred feet, cracking hard against the hay bale. Bull's eye.

The archer gave a casual smirk. Without pause, she rapidly took another arrow and fired. Another and fired. Another and fired. Each one smacked against the bale, each dead-on target. She turned to the target closest to her. She turned to the crowd and blindly fired over her shoulder. Jack wasn't surprised when it struck as well, embedding deep into the wooden log the target was painted on.

The archer put the bow to the side and pulled back her right sleeve, revealing a wrist mounted crossbow. She cocked it back and pointed with her fingerless gloves at the arrow she had just landed.

With an uncanny amount of grace, she rolled to the side, doing a one-handed cartwheel. She stopped at the apex of the trick, upside-down and one hand firmly dug into the ground to support her weight. Without hesitation, she fired the crossbow. It flew like a crack of lightening across the sky, striking true and piercing the back of her arrow, splitting it in half all the way to the target.

The crowd went ballistic, cheers exploded out at the woman's feat. Iron Will clapped loudly, pride radiating off of his face at the sight of one of his students doing so well, and Jack took off her hat and waved it loudly in the air, calling out a cheer just as loud as the crowd.

The yellow-eyed woman rolled over and stood, smiling at her adoring fans. She locked a glance with Isabelle once more. Dash retained that same unreadable expression and turned, leaving the crowd without a sound. It wasn't much, but Jack was pretty sure she saw a small flicker of hurt in the archer's otherwise expressionless eyes.

“Show's over,” the leather-clad woman shot out to everyone, her smile dropping off her face in a heartbeat. “Get your asses back to work!”

There was a collective rumbling groan from the students, but underneath the archer's glare, they offered no resistance, begrudgingly splitting up and scattering in multiple directions. The earthen toned woman shook her head in irritation, collected her bow and started to slowly walk east, away from Jack and Iron Will.

The farmer quirked a brow towards her instructor. “Guessin' that was the third one you were talkin' 'bout ta me?”

“Gilda Harding.” He nodded, staring at the figure slowly walking away. “That woman could put those damn griffons to shame.” Jack tilted her head, not following. William sighed at the woman's clueless nature. “Forgot you're not the history type.” He crossed his arms over his bare and scarred chest and stared hard at the farmer. “The cult of the Griffon, or, as our eastern friends would call them in an attempt to distance themselves from their own embarrassment, 'The Retainers of the Wind,' were a lot of things. Cowards and bigots, mostly. But, one thing that they have my respect for is archery.” Iron Will nodded to himself. “During their westward campaign, the griffons proved time and time again not to engage them in the open unless we had a death wish.” He looked over at the targets in the distance. “You shoot much?”

“Never got the knack fer it,” Jack said.

“Same. You and me, Apple? We're creatures of instinct in battle. It takes quite the mind to use a bow. Has to be tight like a steel trap.” He put his hands forward, as if physically grasping the idea he was speaking about. “Altitude, wind factor, condition of your weapon, humidity, and how your target is moving. Every single one of those things need to be factored before taking a shot.” He grinned. “I'd much prefer just running up and smacking someone, you know? Easier on the noggin.”

I'd prefer not to do it at all, Jack thought briefly. “So, yer sayin' that Gilda's got a brain on her?”

He rubbed at his chin, smiling at his pupil. “Maybe not that, Apple. She's just wired differently.” Will's kind expression died down a bit. “I think it makes her lonely, in a way.”

Jack said nothing, watching the figure of Gilda leave. Iron Will clasped Jack hard on the back, the farmer stumbled forward a step.

“Iron Will's going to check on our spear users. Make sure none of them are screwing up too bad.” He suddenly snapped his fingers as a thought crossed his mind. “Oh, and make sure you're free Nightmare Night!”

“Do what now?” Jack drawled out.

“The princesses are going to be here visiting a... Twily? Twilight? Uh...”

“Twila Shields?”

The giant smiled, pointing both his fingers at the woman. “That's the one! Long story short, I offered the princesses our swords. We're patrolling all night about the school, rather than her guards. It'll be good practice to teach you how to work as a team.” He turned, leaving with a wave backward. “I suppose I'll see you day after tomorrow, Apple. Get some rest, 'cause if you don't stop on occasion to take a nap, then you'll find that your strength has been sapped!”

“Don't worry. Got myself a break planned.” Jack smiled.

She hoped it was a good one.

The farmer found herself outside Sugar Cube Corner two hours later. She entered and was pleased to see Pinkie wiping the counter down. Jack glanced around the small showroom briefly, before leaning in close to the pink-haired ball of energy.

“So, uh... ya drop off that stuff like I asked ya?”

Diane ducked under the counter. Within seconds, she came back up wearing a heavy detective's coat and a dark pair of sunglasses. “It took some... convincing of certain parties, but I've got your goods.” She adjusted the brown fedora on her puffy hair and reached into her pocket, pulling out a cigarette.

“Uh...” Jack trailed off, confused at Pinkie's sudden costume change. “Ya put it all out in that clearin', then?” Her head finally cleared enough that she reached over the counter and yanked the cigarette out of the woman's mouth. “An' don't smoke in a bakery.”

Pinkie pouted, pulling pathetically at a strand of pink hair. “Spoilsport,” she said. Her expression brightened after a moment. “But yeppers! I put a nice little pic-tastistic-a-nick basket over where you wanted! Even loaded it with goodies!” She rocked on the balls of her feet.

“Great, sugar. Thanks.” Jack reached to her back pocket. She pulled out a small bit purse and gazed down at its contents. “How much I owe ya?”

“Free of charge!” the cheerful woman chirped. In between Jack looking down at her purse and looking back up, Pinkie had thrown away her costume and stood in her normal attire of a pink summer dress.

“Pinkie...” Jack warned, shaking her head. “Nah, I gotta pay ya somethin'.”

The life of the party tapped a finger to her chin in thought. “I know!” she exclaimed. “When you're done having your special night, you can give ol' Pinkie alllll the details!”

Jack turned beet red. The farmer hadn't told anyone what she had planned tonight, how could...?

“I mean, Griffon fireworks are super hard to get 'cause of the embargo on most things east, but I got some because I know some people and I think you'll really like them I just want tohearaboutwhattheylookedlikeyouknow?Ihearthereareafewthatmakefacesintheai--”

The farmer put her palm over Diane's moth. “That's, uh, great, darlin'.” She let the words sink in briefly. “So, you were, uh, talkin' 'bout wantin' ta know how we liked the fireworks?”

Diane took Jack's hand away from her mouth. “Well yeah, silly-billy! What else would I mean?”

“Nothing,” the farmer instantly dismissed. “An' don't worry, I'll fer sure tell ya 'bout what they look like, ok?”

Pinkie nodded with such enthusiasm that her hair bounced. “Okey-dokey-loki!” she sang out.

Jack said her farewells and left.

She slowly walked to Rarity's, her thoughts turning more and more towards the beautiful work of art with every footstep.

While neither had sat down and called themselves a couple, Jack saw them as nothing less at this point. They had been on six additional dates over the months and, while nothing had topped the emotional kiss they had shared during one of Jack's darkest days, there were dozens of memories the tall woman held onto involving Rarity, each one a treasured gem. Sharing homemade cookies in the student council room, teaching the prim and proper woman how to ride bareback on a horse, sneaking off with the rest of their friends and sitting by a bonfire, the time Rarity got her buzzed enough to get her nails done—each one was special in their own way.

Jack came to the boutique and rapped on the door. After a beat of nobody coming to answer, she tried the handle. She was hardly surprised to find it unlocked.

“One day yer gonna regret not lockin' this,” Jack said with a small smile and a shake of her head. She walked through the showroom and was about to call out again when she heard a melodious voice fill the air, singing a slow, folksy blues song.

“Boy, let me tell you, can't you see? She's got a heart like... Damocles. Her love's above you, on a tight string... you've no idea the pain she'll bring...”

Jack followed the low-key tune toward the kitchen, where Rarity stood in a brown apron, doing dishes in the sink. Rarity was oblivious to Jack's presence—she continued to clean in the suds, humming the piano's part in the song. Jack smiled softly. 'Heart of Damocles' was one of her mother's favorites.

After the tailor put up a bowl into a cabinet and returned to the sink, Jack couldn't help herself.

“Good voice.”

Rarity yelped in a very unladylike fashion, whipping toward the farmer.

“Jack!” she called out in exasperation, frowning and flicking her sudsy hands towards the woman. Jack cackled, clutching her gut over Rarity's distress. “What are you doing here, aside from scaring me into an early grave?” Rarity wiped her hands on the apron, shaking her head.

Jack sauntered into the room, rolling up her sleeves. She went to work on the remainder of the dishes, wiping them clean with a wet rag. Rarity moved to the woman's right.

“Jus' wanted ta see if you were busy.” She handed a plate to Rarity, who promptly dried it.

“I have four orders needing shipped to a gathering in Philadelphia by Friday. Frankly, I've been swamped today, and will probably be at it well onto midnight, I'm afraid.”

Jack froze, her hands still deep in the dishwater. She looked towards Rarity out of the corner of her eye. “Oh,” she abruptly said.

After a pause, Rarity let a small tittering of laughter out. “Darling, I'm simply teasing—though your face was priceless. I'll be free after an hour or so, once I finish a few more orders I'm finalizing. Why?”

Jack handed her another dish. “Might have somethin' planned. If yer up for it.”

“You? Planning something? What a change of pace!”

“...Chylene may have helped,” Jack freely admitted, wiping down knives and forks.

“Well, with Chylene helping you, I can't imagine it would be too disastrous.”

“Thanks fer yer vote of confidence,” Jack grumbled, putting the silverware on a washcloth resting on the counter. She briefly looked around for something to wipe her dripping hands on. Just as she gave up and reached for the backside of her jeans, Rarity cleared her throat, offering the bottom of her apron. After Jack was done, Rarity stepped forward. She rose onto her toes, grabbed the back of Jack's neck for balance, and planted a deep kiss onto the farmer's lips.

“And I suppose if you're going, I can manage, even if it does end in disaster.” She gave a coy wink Jack's way. Even after all the months, that wink...

Jack recovered eventually enough to grin. “Great. Want me ta swing back in an hour, or do ya jus' wanna meet me there?”

Rarity shook her head. “You're welcome to stay for a while, darling. Feel free to rest in the lounge upstairs.”

The tall woman gave a nod, alright with the idea. In fact, a little nap sounded perfect to her right now. “Ya know? I think I'll take ya up on yer hospitality, Rare. Thank ya kindly.”

The violet-haired woman smiled, moving past Jack and out into the hallway. “I'll be up as soon as I'm done with these dresses, dear!”

The farmer went upstairs and all but collapsed on the couch. She kicked off her boots and tilted her trusty stetson over her eyes. Within moments, she drifted off.

Jack awoke to the sound of running water. She stretched out a kink in her back and rose to a sitting position. After getting her boots back on and slapping herself a bit more awake, she heard the water turn off. Within moments, Rarity came out of the bathroom wearing two white towels—one wrapped snugly around her curvacious body and the other protecting her hair.

“Ah. You woke up just in time. Allow me to change, and we can go.”

“A-alright, Rare,” Jack said, doing her best to look away from the tailor.

“Something wrong, darling?” Rarity asked. Jack wasn't sure if she was teasing or not.

“N-nothin'. Jus' waitin' on ya ta get proper.”

“'Proper?'” the violet-haired woman echoed. She couldn't help but laugh. “Considering the amount of times you've answered the door in nothing but your undergarments, I wouldn't believe you'd worry about something being proper.”

“That's different,” Jack argued, looking towards Rarity out of habit. She saw the towels again and looked away.

“How?” Rarity asked, finally moving from where she stood, towards her bedroom.

“Well... yer you, an' I'm me.” Jack shrugged. “I ain't exactly a work of art.”

“Nonsense!” Rarity called out from her room. “Simply because you're not exactly proportioned right, too tall, and too muscular, that doesn't mean you're not art.”

Jack grinned with a mild sense of humor. “Ya jus' proved my point, Rare. I ain't like you. You've got yerself some looks.” She tilted her head, debating. With a shrug, she continued “An', I mean, we're sorta... you know... it wouldn't be right fer me ta look at ya when yer not exactly dressed.”

“Even if I wanted you to?” her voice coyly suggested. Jack could feel her ears heat up.

“Well...” Jack stammered out. Sad part was, tonight she was going to ask a question that was in the same ballpark. Rarity stepped out of her room, dressed in a sharp violet blouse and a dark black miniskirt. She wore a single gold band around her neck, and had her hair styled. It lay down in violet layers, spiraling just below her shoulder blades. Rarity smiled, showcasing the violet lipstick she wore.

“Wabi-Sabi,” she said. Jack paused, raising a brow.

“What?”

“The Japanese belief that true beauty comes from imperfection.” She sauntered forward, her heels clicking smartly against the wooden floor. Rarity reached up and put a hand to Jack's dark brown skin. She gave a small kiss to Jack's neck, leaning into the farmer's broad shoulders. “You're art,” she whispered into Jack's ears, sending shivers running through the tall woman's body.

Jack stared deeply into Rarity's blue eyes. In the few romance books she had read, she always heard about someone getting drunk on another person's gaze. While she wasn't drunk looking into the tailor's expression, she was sure feeling buzzed. “We should go,” Jack quickly announced—any longer like this would drive her mad.

Rarity daintily offered her hand. Jack took it and escorted the beauty downstairs.

They arrived at the field just before the sunset. The plot of barley was a distance away from Ponyville, but in Jack's mind, there was no other spot she'd like to be with the woman at her arm. The field of gold rolled on like a wave in the breeze, creating the image of a gentle ocean current. Rarity wordlessly tightened her grip on Jack. The farmer squeezed back, never taking her eyes off of the land. In the far horizon was a solitary farmhouse, a weathervane slowly moving back and forth on its rooftop. Each could hear the quiet, muted creak as it turned in the wind's dance. Farther back still were the outlines of two distant hills, each covered in small purple and yellow splotches of color—flowers that were still fighting against the incoming cold.

“I didn't realize there was some place like this near me,” Rarity admitted.

“Chylene told me 'bout it. Said it was a nice place.” Jack looked up at the sky. “I mean, I wanted ta take ya somewhere nice 'fore I talked ta ya 'bout...”

“About what, dear?”

Jack wordlessly held onto Rarity's hand and began to take her across the ocean.

Rarity followed along then stumbled, nearly dropping to her knees as she struck a small hole in the ground. “Try walking through fields with heels,” she growled as she rose and begun to carefully navigate her way along. Jack rolled her eyes and simply hoisted the woman up in her arms, carrying her bridal style down the way. Rarity squealed in surprise, but recovered promptly enough and began to speak as the Apple carried her.

“If I had known you'd be doing something like this, I would have worn more practical footwear. Not to imply I'm unappreciative, of course. It's just simply--” she stopped, instead looking at what lay out before her.

It was a simple thing. A small picnic basket with a large blanket underneath. In fact, from anyone else, Rarity would almost consider it too cliche. Yet, since it came from the sincere farmer holding her, Rarity decided to make an exception.

“It's lovely, Jack.”

The farmer smiled sheepishly. “T-thanks. I thought it might be too... uh... 'rustic,' fer ya, maybe.”

The tailor batted her eyes. “Look at who I'm with. I don't believe I have a problem with a rustic flavor on occasion.”

Jack felt heat rising to her face again. She took Rarity to the blanket and sat her down, then reached into the basket. She pulled out two plastic wrapped tuna sandwiches, giving one to Rarity. She then took out a bottle of white wine. Rarity's eyes widened when she noticed the markings on the bottle.

“Aged Riesling,” she said. “Good selection.”

Jack snorted. “I wouldn't know. I jus' picked a white wine 'cause that's supposed ta go with fish. Uh, right?”

“It's a good assumption, darling. However, Riesling's are typically sweeter than the average white wine. The bottle you're holding at the moment isn't dry at all.”

“'Course not. It's ain't even been opened yet,” Jack said defensively.

Rarity debated on arguing, but decided to let that particular dog lie. She looked down and started to unwrap her food. “Tuna sandwiches and wine. They really seem to be on opposite ends of the spectrum.”

Jack grunted, already halfway through her sandwich. She swallowed. “What was that, Rare?”

Rarity shook her head, smiling with a certain world-weariness. “You've got some mayonnaise on your cheek.”

“Oh.” Jack reached up and wiped by her mouth with the back of her hand.

“...The other cheek,” Rarity corrected, sighing with exasperation. Though her eyes sparkled with humor.

“Oh.”

The two ate and cracked open the wine. Rarity drank more than she knew she should, while Jack seemed to be simply nursing her drink as she sat in nervous thought.

After clearing her fourth glass, Rarity put it to the side and rested her hands in her lap. “So. What is it you wished to talk to me about?”

The blonde froze, her glass still in her hand. “Uh... I...” Jack swallowed, facing the music. “We've been 'round each other fer a few months, yeah?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed. She looked at the bottle, then back to her empty glass. With a slight smile, she filled up once more.

The farmer took another steadying breath. “An', uh, what do ya think 'bout me?”

Rarity laughed, taking another sip of her drink. She ran a hand through her silken hair. “I'm sitting in a field having a picnic with you. What do you believe, darling?”

That gave Jack the courage to speak her next words. “I want ta go farther.”

“Farther?” Rarity repeated. Jack nodded.

“I-in our relationship.” She rubbed at her temple, not sure how to explain without her seeming like a naive schoolgirl. Or, worse, a creep. “Truth is, Rare, I think yer somethin'. Somethin' e-else.” She narrowed her gaze towards the beauty. “I wanna hold ya. I...I wanna kiss ya. Hard. I want ta--”

“--I know what you want.” Rarity coyly smirked, interrupting the farmer. “I was just afraid you'd never come out and say it. It wouldn't be right for the woman of the relationship to be the first to move.”

“...Rare, we're both women. 'Least, since last time I checked.”

The tailor tittered at Jack's revelation, looking briefly at her once more empty glass. She then faced the farmer, broadly smiling. “Just shut up and come kiss me,” she commanded, the smallest slur in her voice.

Jack let out a relieved laugh at Rarity's acceptance. The farmer's heart pounded in her chest as she slowly crawled on all fours towards the woman. When she was close enough to touch Rarity, Jack sat down face-to-face with the tailor and was briefly struck numb at the woman's sensual, classic beauty. Rarity, for her part, gazed expectantly at Jack, waiting for the farmer to make the first move. When the farmer was hesitant, unsure on where to begin, the tailor took Jack's hand and placed it just above Rarity's knee. She then leaned forward, kissing Jack hard on the mouth. Jack gasped in surprise at the sudden affections; Rarity took that moment of vulnerability to go deep into Jack, the tailor ran her tongue along the roof of the farmer's mouth. The blonde shut her eyes as pleasure came in waves up and down her spine. Jack moved her other hand to Rarity's knee. Both of her digits worked together as she ran on complete instinct, moving her hands up along the tailor's soft thighs, rolling up Rarity's miniskirt past her wide, sensual hips.

Rarity broke the kiss—Jack opened her eyes and was about to ask what was wrong, when Rarity, still staring deeply into the blonde's green, longing eyes, reached for Jack's belt.

She felt Rarity tugging hard, then the release as her belt came undone. She heard a zipper, and felt her jeans loosen. Rarity ran a finger under the elastic of Jack's underwear, sending electric currents down to the blonde's toes.

“Boxers,” she scoffed, partially in humor. The tailor then leaned back onto her elbows and waited for the farmer. Jack took a look down and noticed two things. One; Rarity wore some of the smallest bottoms the farmer had ever seen. Any less, and they wouldn't even cover her modesty. The other was the large design on the violet-haired woman's thigh, in the shape of three diamonds.

“A-all soul-folk's got somethin' like...?” Jack panted out, heat flooding throughout her body.

'No, darling. It's a tattoo,” Rarity said, her chest rising and falling as she tried to calm down from her own building excitement. Jack stared hard at it, then bent down, kissing the woman's creamy thigh. Without thinking, her kiss turned into a slow, deliberate lick. Rarity gasped at the unexpected stimulation. She quickly reached down with a hand and touched Jack's face. The farmer stopped, briefly concerned that she crossed a boundary.

“C-come closer. I want to unbutton you,” Rarity whispered, her eyes sparking with arousal as she turned the farmer's face towards her own. Jack felt another shiver of excitement radiate through her body and she crawled on top of Rarity. The tall woman gently sat on Rarity's torso, just below the tailor's palmable breasts. Rarity reached up and began to unbutton Jack's plaid shirt. The farmer shut her eyes, and ran her fingers through Rarity's silky hair while the beauty worked her delicate fingers at Jack's neckline, then began their journey south.

Halfway down her shirt, Jack felt something was wrong. The feeling came instantly, as if a switch got flicked on inside her mind. Jack felt a shiver run down her body as the wind suddenly pierced through her dark skin. She opened her eyes and gasped at what she saw. She wasn't in a field with the most beautiful girl she knew—Jack was pinning a man underneath her knees, his face smashed and pulpy well beyond recognition. The farmer's jaw clenched as the man called Dorado stared straight up at the ceiling with an unblinking, dislocated eye. An eye that turned slightly, focusing on her.

The farmer yelped, stumbling backwards and launching herself away from Rarity. She got caught in her own halfway-off pants and landed hard on the blanket underneath her. Jack stared blankly ahead, panting heavily at the vision that had came to her.

“J-Jack?! What's wrong?” Rarity frantically asked, getting up off the ground and quickly moving to the farmer's side.

“I saw it again, Rare,” Jack answered after a brief moment of what felt like weightlessness. “I-I was there. The warehouse.” She curled up her legs, bringing her knees to her chest, all interest in their previous activity gone. “I... I... shit.”

Rarity adjusted her skirt, making herself proper once more, then fell to her knees and brought Jack in close, resting the side of the farmer's head against her beating heart. “It's quite alright, dear. W-we can wait until you're ready.”

Though Jack didn't look up, she could hear the longing in Rarity's voice, and Jack could easily guess the disappointment in her blue, gentle eyes.

“I-I wanna be ready. I am ready. Jus'... Goddamn,” she choked out, putting her thumbs to her brow, embarrassed beyond words at her inability to perform, and still shivering at the memory of that August night.

Among them, the sea of gold danced and swayed in the breeze.

Twila walked through the botany department of the school, shaking her head in confusion. She came to the busted display one of the first-years had told her about. It just didn't make sense to her. This was the third sample that had been stolen in the past month—Twila just didn't get it. There were never any fingerprints, no magical aura, nothing to identify the thief. In addition, Twila could think of nothing the plants had that could be used for anything. While her knowledge of botany was more limited than other fields of study, she knew none of the plants had a hallucinogenic effect when smoked or inhaled, and she knew they didn't have much of a market value.

She scratched her head. From beside her, a haughty voice spoke up, seeped in sarcasm. ”A mouse crept under your watchful cat's-eye. Trixie's not surprised.”

Twila briefly glared Trixie's way, then resumed studying the broken display. She looked down at the plaque below the model.

“Chondrodendron tomentosum.” She ran the word through the encyclopedia in her head. “Vine plant from the north.” It felt like she was missing something, but she wasn't sure what.

“Trixie scoffs at your limited knowledge. Trixie knows that the Curare plant houses tubocurarine—a muscle relaxant.” She crossed her arms and turned her nose to Twila. “The other plants that were taken are much the same.”

“So is someone making a poison?” Twila quietly asked, rubbing her dark skin.

“The Great and Pow--”

“That moniker is ridiculous!” The lavender-haired soul-folk snapped. Though she had tried her best to stand Trixie's constant belittling and self-righteous attitude, she was starting to get at the end of her rope.

“It sounds better than the second-best and can barely channel magic Twila,” Trixie instantly shot back, brushing the curl of her hair out of the way. Before the other could interject, Trixie continued. “And a poison would fit with the time frame.”

“Time frame?” Twila repeated. “What do you mean?”

“You should look at your social calender, second-best and half-assed.” She pointed a blue-tipped finger towards the scholar. “The princesses are soon coming to visit you out of pity, are they not?”

“Yes—no!” The lavender-haired girl rolled her eyes. “Yes to visiting, no on it being out of pity.” Twila narrowed her brow. “Wait. So you're suggesting...?”

“Trixie isn't suggesting. She is telling you that there's going to be an attack on the princesses.”

Twila turned, getting ready to head through the rows of plant displays towards the room's exit. “Then I'll just contact them! Tell them to call the whole thing off.”

“And let the person trying this bide their time? The Great and Powerful Trixie questions your logic. No. My suggestion is this: We hold a stakeout. Despite your ineptness in magical casting, you do know an invisibility spell?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, I simply suggest we draft a few other soul-folk and keep a watch. That way the thief will be caught red-handed.” She narrowed her eyes at Twila, still retaining that egotistical and smug expression. “Trixie assumes you know that would hold up in a court of law far more than aura coloration or a circumstantial fingerprint.”

Twila hated agreeing with the woman, but she did see the logic. “I'm at least letting Celestia and Luna know our plan.” She gestured toward the broken stand. “Look that over—try to find some form of identification regarding the thief. I'm going to go have Spike take a letter.” The lavender-haired woman shot out of the room in a near panic. Trixie scowled, her sour disposition even more sour than normal. The indignity of Twila assuming Trixie would leave prints was nearly too much to bear. She was a showwoman, after all. It wouldn't be good at all if she messed up on something that simple.

Trixie smiled darkly, running a thumb along the wand and moon shaped mark on her cheek. The soul-folk admitted to herself that she probably shouldn't have given that dense fool even a hint on what the plants were used for, but it wasn't much of a show if only one person acted. Besides, if she played her cards right, Trixie just got herself a duel with Celestia's protege. If that wasn't a once in a lifetime show, nothing was. Add on all the bits she'd be making from her real reason for getting the plants and...

Trixie's grin broadened. Sometimes, things just worked out for the best.