It took a bit of asking around, but she had finally found something to entertain herself with. As it turned out, Cloudsdale had something she absolutely loved doing back on the farm. Well, two things, actually. Though she'd save the horseshoes for later. It wasn't as fun playing by yourself, and she hardly had time to make friends so far. Instead, she got directions, filled a bottle with water, and headed to a separate building around the back of the academy.

Despite her reluctance at coming to the college, now that she was here a small part of her was filled to bursting. There was just so much stuff to do here to fill her exercise itch. Bike routes, a track team, swimming, weights, all of it called to her. But not a single one of them called as much as the building she just stuck her head into.

It was an out of the way thing from the school proper, and as dirty as a high-end place could get away with, but it welcomed her with open arms.

She took a few steps inside the empty building, enjoying the quiet echo her footsteps made as she walked to the center of the room, where a risen and squared off arena lined with ropes awaited challengers.

As frail as some of the people had looked out there, she had a feeling the poor thing had a lot of downtime between matches. She shed off her half jacket and hat, tossing her billfold in the pile for good measure. Jack rolled her shoulders and moved over to a punching bag in the corner of the room.

She took her time, warming up with several slow aimed blows. Once she got her heartbeat up, she started to get more into it, expertly dodging imagined blows and countering. Soon, she had a tempo with her footwork, juking and delivering multiple hits with her fists. She stopped after a few moments of this, panting heavily.

Behind her, she could hear slow clapping. Jack wiped at her brow and turned around.

“Pretty nice show you put on there, rookie,” a woman said, a cocky grin plastered on her face. Jack guessed the girl was part of the track team—she had the taut, trim look of a runner. Not to mention the baby blue tracksuit. What really drew Jack's attention, however, was the hair. She didn't have a whole lot of experience with city folk, but that short cut mop had to be weird, even by more liberal standards. It was streaked with all the colors of the rainbow.

The girl stuck a thumb up, and brushed it past her nose. “Now, I wonder if you'd be that flashy in the ring?”

Jack crossed her arms, looking at the woman. “That a challenge?”

The multi-hued girl held back a laugh. “It depends on how tough you are, I guess. I don't think it'll be much of a challenge at all.”

Jack crossly frowned, already tired of this girl's smug attitude. “Get on some pads an' get in the ring.”

“With pleasure.”

The two entered at opposite corners of the ring. Jack slapped her hands against the padded helmet she had donned. Pleased at its performance, she waited for the other to begin.

The athlete unbuttoned her tracksuit and tossed it to the side. She gave a small adjustment at the black sports bra she wore, and Applejack noticed a stylized mark in the shape of a cloud and a rainbow colored lighting bolt just below the girl's neckline.

Explains the hair a little, the farmer thought. Actually, no. The hair's still weird.

The runner gave a small gesture to the side, simulating ringing a bell.

“Ding, ding,” the girl said, grinning and putting in her mouthpiece.

In a flash, she had moved over eight feet, meeting Jack head on before she had even taken a step towards the center. The farmer gave a small gasp of surprise at the other's speed. She knew fast, but that girl was something else.

In less than two seconds since the fight started, the athletic woman had already started wildly attacking Jack, delivering dozens of punches at such a speed that her arms were blurs of color. Jack stood tall like a mountain and weathered the storm of blows, putting her forearms up to her face and moving her body like clockwork to avoid any lasting damage from the girl's unfocused swings. The southerner waited patiently for an opportunity to return the favor.

She found it seconds later, when the other briefly stalled on her punching tempo. Jack guessed the other girl was coming in for a cross; Jack suddenly snapped her entire torso backwards, going so horizontal on her dodge that her upper back was nearly parallel with the floor. She smiled grimly when she saw the cross sail over her head.

For a brief moment, Jack was a primal, hauntingly beautiful force of nature. Her long untied hair seemed frozen in space, and her tanned, taunt skin was coated in the sheen of sweat. Her green eyes were pinprick dots in a sea of ivory. She was, plain and simple, a tiger, finally done stalking its prey.

Jack rose her hand up and pushed aside the girl's arm with her right, then shifted her foot. She was as taunt as a spring, and with a burst of energy she propelled her torso upwards and twisted her shoulder, calling forth one powerful arching downward strike, fulled by inertia and the farmer's own rock hard muscles. It connected directly onto the top of the girl's leather helmet with a crack.

The runner didn't stumble or shift from the blow; rather, she dropped like a sack of hammers, kissing the floor before Jack could even get back into her southpaw stance.

Jack hurried to the other's side, afraid she had honestly hurt the girl. She had been holding back quite a bit of her strength, but it didn't help that everybody in this school seemed to be made of paper. With a tender care, the blonde took off the girl's helmet, and examined her.

The runner groaned, opening her rose colored eyes and reaching up to her head. “Damn, bro.” She looked at her fingers, amazed they came back clean of blood. “Nice shot,” she allowed, grinning weakly.

Jack reached down and took her hand, hoisting the runner up. The multi-hued woman nodded in appreciation, and took her time examining the southerner.

Finally, she came to a conclusion. “For a hayseed, you know how to handle yourself. I can dig that.” She extended her hand once more. “Name's Dash.”

“Jack,” the farmer answered, shaking the girl's hand.

“Well, Jack. It was fun. I've been waiting for someone able to match me step for step--you would not believe how twiggy some of these guys are.”

Jack nodded, moving to the corner of the ring and donning her jacket and hat again. “Next time, don't extend yer arm like that. Ya mighta actually got a good lick or two on me if ya were cautious.”

Dash rolled her eyes. “Yeah, ok, mom. Cautious doesn't win you anything in racing, why should it win you fights?” The athlete put her track jacket back on, and gave her pixie cut hair a quick run through with her fingers, mussing it up. She ducked through the ropes around the ring, and headed for the door, Jack on her heels.

When they got outside, Dash gave a quick glance to the sky. “Tell you what, Jackie, tomorrow. Two outta three. I'm picking the sport, though.”

“Fair enough, Dashie.” The country girl snorted.

The athlete gave a small thumbs up. “Welp. I got places to go and things to do. Catch you in the funny papers, hayseed.”

With that, the girl closed her eyes, and concentrated. She rested her hands at the base of her neckline. After a brief moment, two shimmering and translucent golden wings appeared inches away from Dash's back. She gave the slightest flex of her eyes and unfurled them, smugly grinning at the farmer the whole time. With a brisk leap into the air, she was off, the shimmering wings behind her easily carrying the woman towards the academy.

“Fancy pants sky-folk,” Jack grunted with a smirk, taking easy footsteps back towards the main building,

Jack returned back to her dorm room and washed up; after she got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body, she noted a black duffel bag plopped on the bed she hadn't claimed, and four posters on the wall away from the window. Her roommate must have came and went already while she was bathing. Feeling curious, she examined the posters.

One was a poster of Black Sabbath. Jack gave a small shrug, accepting what she saw so far. At least metal wasn't classical. The other three were of a girl a few years older than her with a golden bob-cut in various stages of undress. The first the woman had on a yellow flight suit, partially unzipped to show off her lithe body. Another had her dressed like a walking southern parody, complete with Daisy Duke shorts, a plaid shirt that was tied over her narrow bust, and a coil of rope wrapped around her waist in place of a belt.

“Yeah. Good luck gettin' work done in that gitup, sister,” Jack said under her breath. She had tried working the fields in shorts. Once. After falling into a thorn-bush and cutting up her legs though, she promptly retired them. Though she had admittedly done the tied-over shirt once or twice as a joke with a few of Mac's friends.

The last image was simply her wearing what seemed to be a military garb for a scout of some kind—light leather armor, a padded open helmet, and a repeating crossbow with a flashlight at the end. Below her, in bright yellow font was one word: Spitfire.

Jack rolled her eyes.

“Pfft. What kinda stage name is 'Spitfire,' anyway?” she asked the empty room. On hearing no reply, she tossed aside her towel and donned some fresh clothing. Jack debated on grabbing the dirty laundry she had tossed onto the bathroom floor, but shrugged, deciding to worry about it later.

Jack was once again at the mercy of strangers as she asked around for the location to the student council room. Thankfully, she found someone who knew where it was after a few rounds.

She approached the door and gave a small, hesitant knock. After a few moments of not hearing anyone coming, she shrugged and entered, leaving the door open.

The room was apparently a slightly modified classroom—it had a few tables forming a perfect, angled square that encompassed most of the floor space. At the far end of the room was a podium loaded down with thick tomes that were probably light years away from Jack's interests.

On noticing nobody around, the woman took a window seat. The sunlight streamed through the windows, making where she sat a pocket of warmth and comfort. Seeing no harm in it, Jack kicked her feet onto the top of the table and leaned back in the chair. She tiled her hat forward, and shut her eyes. Just as she was about to nod off, a scratchy voice spoke up from the hallway.

“Hey guys! Sorry I'm-” Dash began, only to pause.

At the sound of the woman's voice, Jack tilted her hat back and stared.

The athlete stood frozen at the door, keeping an icepack flush with the top of her head as she looked over the country girl.

They both instantly pointed at one another.

“You!” they shouted in unison.

“What the heck you doin' here, hayseed?”

“I could ask ya the same question!”

Dash gave an incredulous look at Jack. “...Because... I'm... a student council member?” she slowly answered, as if explaining the fact to a lower life form.

“You? Really?” Jack asked, tilting her head at the girl. “Kinda surprisin'.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Dash replied, narrowing her eyes.

“'Cause ya seemed like a jock, is all.” Jack bluntly retorted, putting her chair down on all fours and meeting Dash's gaze.

“High School GPA of 3.2 good enough for you, hayseed?” the athlete countered, moving across the room and sitting next to the girl. “Or you gonna wow me with yours?”

Jack blushed, mumbling something under her breath. Dash raised a brow.

“Wanna lay that down again for me, Jackie?”

“2.0. There. Happy, Egghead?” Jack snapped, crossing her arms with a deep frown.

Dash put her free hand up to her mouth in an attempt to hold back her laughter.

It failed. Horribly.

“Hahaha! That's great! You're nothing but muscle!” she howled, pounding on the table.

On seeing Jack's intense scowl and clenched fists, she lightened up.

A bit.

“J-just kiddin', Jack.” She snorted back another titter of laughter. “Still though, how in God's name did you get in here with a GPA like that?”

Jack grew slightly morose. “I, uh, dunno,” she honestly answered, rising to look out the window at the people still wandering the grounds. “I really am the odd man out here, ain't I? Ain't sure how in the hell I got in.”

The woman glared down at the carpeted floor. “An' I ain't sure how long I'll even be able ta keep up with the smart folks 'round here, ya know?” She shook her head, bitterly wiping at her nose. “I'm jus' a dummy that's lucked out.”

Jack felt a tender hand rest on her left shoulder.

“Bro, lighten up,” Dash ordered, leaning forward to meet Jack's glance. “How you got her doesn't matter—hell, I bet half the guys and gals here bought their way in—what matters is that you slog through this, you know?”

Jack sighed, visibly slumping. “I—I guess, but-”

“No 'buts,' dude,” the multi-hued girl instructed, giving a playful punch onto the farmer's shoulder as she guided the girl back to her seat. “Look, class hasn't even started yet; maybe you're freaking out for no reason. For all we know, you might do just fine on your own. If not...” Dash smirked, leaning back in her chair. “I'll give you a hand, me being an egghead and all.”

She stared at the girl, her mouth slightly agape at the other's kind offer. “Dash... thanks.”

“Gotta make sure my rival sticks around. Been forever since someone's actually got me pumped for a rematch.” Dash winked, giving a brief showing of her injury. The farmer recoiled slightly at the discolored bump adorning Dash's crown.

“Shoulda held back more on my strength.” Jack winced, feeling sorry for the athlete.

“Wait.” Dash blinked. “You were holding back?!”

“Well, yeah,” Jack countered, drumming her fingers on the table. “If I had went full force, I woulda cracked yer skull like a grapefruit, with or without gloves.”

The athlete snorted. “Whatev.” She stared at the ceiling briefly, before smiling and turning to face the farmer. “Oh yeah dude; speaking of eggheads, right? I have a feeling my roommate's an egghead from hell.”

“Ah yeah?” Jack drawled, resting her chin on the palm of her hand.

“Totally.” Dash nodded. She placed an arm around the back of her chair and kicked up her feet onto the table. “So, get this: I cruise through there to drop off my stuff, you know? I get to the room, and the gal's got all these books in the drawers already and a bible on the nightstand. Total square. I probably would have found like, a pair of rimmed glasses and a pocket protector if I had searched hard enough.”

“Ain't nothin' wrong with a bit of readin',” Jack said, the girl's words hitting a bit close to home.

“Why read when you can go out and do stuff?” Dash replied, giving an exasperated shake of her head and a tired smile. “You just don't get it.”

“I don't. How can someone with a higher GPA than me jus' blow off readin'? I had ta study all night fer a few of those C pluses.”

“Just comes natural to me I guess.”

Before Jack could express her disgust, a bouncing pink haired girl popped in through the door.

“Hi guys!” she chirped, moving to take a seat next to Dash. She waved with excitement to Jack, and began to babble, moving her mouth quicker than the southerner could keep up. “Wow, Jack! It's great to see you! I was wondering what you were doing after I ran off to talk to some people because I know the first day at school is scary and if I had time I was gonna throw a party for you and invite everyone in the school but then I realized that I wouldn't have time today but I was gonna come to your dorm room for a bit anyway in order to say hello but when I talked to the receptionist about where you lived at he told me you were coming to a student council meeting anyway so I thought I'd jus-”

The girl was silenced by a hand.

“Yeah, no. I'm getting a headache,” Dash briskly said. “And where the heck are the others?”

“Shouldn't be too long! They're just busy!”

Jack shifted in her chair, taking off her hat and putting it on the table. “Who are these 'others?'” she asked.

“Mostly just nerds, but they're alright.” Dash shrugged. “There's three others besides us. Uh, let's see...” She counted on a finger. “There's Chylene. She's a great gal who'd do anything to help someone who needed it—and I'm proud to say one of my first and best friends.” The athlete spoke this tenderly, fondly smiling at the thought of the woman. “Though a bit quiet. Just don't do anything stupid and I'm sure she'll warm up to you.

“Then there's Twila Shields. She's, uh, interesting.”

Jack gave a roll of her hand, encouraging the other to keep talking.

“The girl graduated from Camelot as a Summa Cum Laude with a 4.0 GPA.”

“Sweet. Jesus.” Jack nearly recoiled in shock. “How?!”

“She's scary smart.” Pinkie nodded sagely.

“And that's not all. She's the Princess's private protege--”

“That was a lot of 'p's,' wasn't it?” Pinkie precariously pondered.

“Uh... yeah,” Dash agreed.

“So ya mean ta tell me Celestia's sent one of her own ta this school?” Jack whistled. “Ain't that somethin'.”

“Last one's Rarity Belle. She's a high-class type, so she fits right in here,” Dash said, taking the icepack off of her head.

The farmer rubbed her chin. “'Belle' sounds familiar ta me.”

“Shouldn't be surprising. Her daddy's all over the news.”

It finally clicked for the farmer. “Ah, yeah. He's a, uh, diplomat, ain't he?”

Dash nodded. “Been hashing out trade negotiations with the Maconites for years now. He's single-handily got us close to opening trade routes with them. Imagine, bro; we'd have access to things from across the world at our fingertips! I hear Maconites have this, like, combustion engine that kicks the crap outta our steam ones.”

Jack crossed her hands behind her head, looking over at the girl. “No kiddin'? That'd be somethin' mighty nifty ta have 'round fer sure.”

The sound of heels clicking near the door alerted them of another person entering.

“My apologies,” an ebony-toned woman dressed in a lavender button up shirt said, pushing her violet bangs back behind her ear and shuffling the collection of notebooks in her arm. “I had to inform Spike of a few things, and lost track of the time.”

“No big, Twi.” Dash shrugged. “Ain't like Rarity or Chy are here yet anyway.”

“Still?” the woman questioned, pushing her black rimmed glasses up the bridge of her narrow nose. “I had not expected them to take this long. I suppose we should begin regardless.” She gave a warm smile towards Jack. “Miss Apple, correct?”

“Uh, eyup. That's me.”

The woman extended her hand. “Quite the pleasure to meet you. My name's Twila Shields. You're welcome to call me Twila, Twi, or, well, anything in between.”

“Just don't call her Shirley!” Diane butted in cheerfully.

Twila looked at Pinkie, scratching the star shaped mark on her cheek. “Who's Shirley?”

“I dunno.” The pink haired girl shrugged.

Twila sighed, dropping the conversation and returning her attention back to Jack. “Well, it's quite the pleasure to meet you, Miss Apple.”

“Jus' call me Jack. Miss Apple was my mama; God rest her soul.”

The girl pushed up her glasses once more, and brushed off a piece of lint off of her black skirt. “Well, in any case, Jack, I am correct in assuming you are curious as to why you are here, yes?”

The farmer rubbed her mouth. “Uh, yeah, kinda.”

“A fair question.” Twila took a few steps and went behind the podium. “And one we shall address in but a moment—first, however,” She looked down on a sheet of paper. “We need to officially check attendance.”

“Oh come on!” Dash exclaimed, gesturing to the two girls at either side of her. “We're right here!”

“We have a procedure to follow!” Twi tapped the paper with the back of her fingers. “So let's start it so we can get to the next order of business.” She cleared her throat. “Diane Pie.”

“That's me!” Pinkie exclaimed, jumping from her seat and waving a hand in the air. “Here! I'm here!”

Twila gave a brisk nod, returning to her paper. “Hmm. Good. Chylene Hutchinson?”

“Um... I-I'm here.” A quiet, demure voice whispered from the other side of the room. Everyone turned their attention towards the voice. In the shadows sat a pale girl who nervously fidgeted with her hands. She reached for a napkin that was on the table and took to folding it, running it over her slender, delicate fingers as she stared straight down.

“Yo, Chy. ‘Sup?” Dash called over to her. “Didn't even hear you walk in.”

The girl seemed perplexed, putting her hands up to the top of yellow sweater in surprise. “I-I said 'hello' to everyone...”

Twila nodded, making a check on her paper with a pencil. “Alright then. Rarity Belle?”

Dead silence.

The girl sighed, pushing up her glasses. “Well. I suppose I should mark her abs--”

“Right here, darlings!” a chipper tone called out.

In walked a woman with precisely curled and dolled up purple hair, dangling silver earrings, and azure eyes that seemed to pierce through Jack's soul. On her cheek were three diamonds that spoke of utter perfection. The woman—because calling an object of such feminine charm and grace a girl would be tantamount to sacrilege—ran a well manicured hand over her pure white dress that left very little to the imagination, thanks to the low cut that exposed her ample cleavage, and the slit that ran up to her thigh at the right. Yep. She was the epitome of class in Jack's eyes.

Which meant that the farmer had an instant dislike of her.

The woman walked easily across the room in her high heels and sat dainty upon a chair next to Chylene, crossing her legs and resting her hands on top of one knee.

“Good, good.” Twilight nodded. “That just leaves Isabelle Ritter.”

Dead silence rang throughout the room. Jack felt a sudden shift as everybody's eyes turned to focus on Dash.

She scrunched up her face. “Damn it, Twila, I don't like being called that.”

“But it's your na-”

“Yeah. Yeah. I know, believe me.” Dash waved a nonchalant hand. “Here.”

“Good!” The girl of the soul-folk beamed, looking at everybody present from behind the podium. “We're all present and accounted for. Next up on the list is the notes from yesterday's meeting. Please do the honors, Miss Belle.”

“With pleasure,” the beautiful woman cooed, fluttering her eyelashes briefly in a joking attempt to be coy. Rarity took a glance at a small day-planner, and began reading. “Attendance is called. Everybody absent save for Rarity Belle and Twila Shields. Three rounds of bridge are played instead of discussing topics, with Rarity being the winner in all occurrences.”

“Ok, ok. That's enough recapping, Miss Belle.”

“Glad to be of service, darling.”

Twila turned her attention back to the farmer. “Right. Let's get to business then.” She raised her finger, and it suddenly became enveloped in a purple aura. With that, she pointed to the center of the room, where a strange violet portal seemed to open up. Suddenly, an image appeared inside the portal of dozens of papers, all with middling grades at best. Jack identified them as her own work.

“Jack Apple. You've never been the best student, have you?”

“Uh, no ma'am.”

“Yet you're here. Why is that?”

At that, Jack scowled. “I've put myself through that same damn song and dance earlier, I don't know.”

“I'll tell you why,” Twila quietly said. She waved her hand once to the left, and the portal blinked, revealing a new set of papers. “What can you tell me about these?”

Jack squinted at the picture, before realization suddenly snapped into her. “Oh! Ain't that stuff from my Agriculture class?”

“Correct.” Twila leaned slightly on Jack's table, giving a sidelong glance towards the farmer. “Anything different about this compared to the ones I showed you earlier?”

The farmer wryly smiled. “Well, I sure as sugar didn't see near as much red on those.”

“Jack. In between the two Agriculture related classes you took throughout your academic career, you averaged a 99.8%. I didn't even average that in an Ag class.”

With a quick pinching motion of her finger and thumb, the image zoomed in on the top left segment. Twila gave a gentle brush left and right with her hand, shifting a few other papers in the image to the side, showcasing a single, modestly thick report.

“This was your final paper, correct? The one about mutating a strain of DNA in the Apple genome to produce a more bountiful crop, and how it might be applicable in other vegetable and fruit production?”

The farmer took off her hat and scratched at her head. She was pretty sure she never made a paper sound that fancy in her life, but she did recall writing one about hybrid apple types. “Uh, yeah. I did. Why?”

Twila gazed, flabbergasted. “Jack,” she said, gesturing intently at the paper shown at the portal's mouth. “With this formula and design you just potentially increased food production for the entire nation--provided it’s applicable to other fruit bearing trees.”

“Sugar, all I did was luck out an' make an' apple hybrid that gets 'em to produce in tighter clusters on trees. I ain't solvin' world hunger or nothin'.”

“Not yet, at least,” Twi retorted. “But if we were to allow you a chance to bring your knowledge forward to other bright minds that are more... refined than yours? Can you imagine what we could do?” Twila stared hard at the woman, seemingly debating on sharing something. She decided to go ahead. “It's why you're enrolled here. I pulled a few strings in order for the academy to forgive you regarding your lower grades.”

She gave a slow turn of her head, meeting everyone's eyes as she circled the room. “Every single one of you I believe belongs in Camelot due to your abilities. Being here in the school is the first step towards a brighter tomorrow.”

Jack held her tongue. Frankly, she didn't care about about Camelot; she was just as happy as could be on the farm. However, since Twila had revealed that she had twisted a few arms in order to help, the farmer would at least briefly consider the possibility before throwing it away.

“Now, due to you being new at the academy, I suggest you take some time to grow accustomed with your classmates. School doesn't begin officially until Wednesday, so prepare while you can.”

Jack put her hat back on. Her plans for tomorrow were more or less the same thing.

“Just be prepared, Jackie. I'm not gonna lose at my own game tomorrow.” Dash spoke up, grinning defiantly.

“Goshin'! We'll be a—seesin' 'bout that, Miz Isbelle,” Jack spoke, intentionally amplifying her accent to almost unintelligible malarkey.

“Don't call me that,” Dash snapped back. “Hate it.”

“Well, I for one think it's positivity radiant name.” Rarity beamed, leaning forward as she watched the two staring daggers at one another.

“It's a dumb name,” the athlete countered.

“If you say so, dear.” The mature woman easily shrugged.

Twila butted into the conversation, glancing at everyone present. “Now, I'm sure all of you want to return to your dormitories in order to resume unpacking, so I'm going to adjourn this meeting. Before we depart, let's give a big round of applause for our newest member, Jack Apple.”

The farmer was soon surrounded by the noise of clapping, with Dash giving her a hard slap on the back. Jack wanted to protest joining the council but held her tongue. Again.

The fact of the matter was: she owed Twi a lot more than just joining the group. Jack should be cleaning toilets or something due to her terrible GPA, and instead she was drafted into student council? Only one thing to say to that.

“Uh, pleasure ta be aboard.” Jack nervously grinned.

Jack spent the rest of the day exploring the school with Pinkie Pie at her side. It was close to ten when she retired to her room; Jack was always more of an early riser, so she changed, grabbed her dirty clothes and chucked them into a pile on her side, then sat and read a bit by the light of a lamp. After finishing a few verses, she put the book back on top of her nightstand, and splayed her tall body across the bed, noting with a bit of irritation that the lower part of her legs dangled freely over the footrest.

Moments before she was about to drift off, she was startled alert by the sound of loud footsteps and humming. The doorknob leading to the hallway twisted, and the silhouette of a person walked into the dark room.

The farmer couldn't resist. After a few moments, she flicked on her lamp, lighting the room and drawing her attention to the lithe, nearly nude form of Dash. The athlete stared in surprise, so shocked at the sudden light that she froze, still in the middle of taking off her shirt.

Jack stared hard at Isabelle, equally frozen at the switch on her lamp. So she was the square that Dash was talking about earlier?

Both of them were spurred into action at the same time, and only one expression fit their feelings right now. Both pointed boldly at the other in shock and exclaimed in unison, “You!”

The man stared, looking out of his office windows at the lit skyscrapers battling against the dark night. He was the picture of calm, from his muscular, still body adorned in a well pressed suit, to his black leather shoes, polished to a nearly mirror shine. He observed the nighttime ambiance with both of his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

From behind him, the man heard a sharp knock at his door. He waited patiently by the large bay window, far from concerned at who could be disturbing him at this hour. He didn't have to wait long; in stumbled a young man dressed in a slightly more frumpy suit. The younger of the two nervously adjusted his tie, and fought back the butterflies in his stomach as he approached near the well crafted mahogany desk.

The man by the window spoke. “Mr. Blueblood. I appreciate your prompt arrival.”

“O-of course, sir.” He nodded, sweating slightly. He felt like vomiting just from being close to the man, but fought back his fright, speaking as calmly as he could. “M-might I ask what you need me for, sir?”

The man finally turned from the window.

He gave an approving glace at Blueblood that sent shivers of discomfort up the younger one's spine, and spoke, stroking his silvery-gray goatee. “I have a... request I believe you may be able to help me with.”

The man moved to the nearby desk, sitting in an overstuffed black leather chair with a small sigh of contentment. “She's at Cloudsdale Academy right now. It'd be the perfect time to send a message, wouldn't you say?”

Blueblood nodded, needing no clarification on who the man meant. “You can count on me.” He bowed, turning to leave. Before he could move, he felt a hard hand on his shoulder. The youngster winced and turned his head, nearly coming face to face with his employer.

How did he—he was sitting down just a second ago! Blueblood's panicked thoughts screamed at him.

“Remember...” the man started in a low, quiet voice. “A message. Scare her. We don't need to resort to violence.” At that, his face split into a wide, sickly grin that made Blueblood nearly recoil.

“Yet,” the man added, punctuating the sentence with a single, low chuckle filled to the brim with threats and actions that shouldn't exist in a civilized world. Or an uncivilized one, for that matter.

Blueblood nodded, self preservation the only thing keeping him from fainting at the dangerous glint in the other's eyes. “O-of course, Mr. Dorcis.”

The man quickly (but politely) walked out of the office at that point. Dmitri laughed once more at his assistant's actions, and plopped back down into his chair. After a quick adjustment of his cufflinks, he lit a cigar and returned to work.