Jack ran through the school grounds, an arm cradling her clothes as she tightened the band around the robe she wore. The knot she had tied earlier had come loose a few moments ago, giving a passing boy more than an eyeful, and she sure didn't want a repeat case. It was with a relieved breath when she found Will, wearing a surprisingly well-tailored red robe, pacing alongside the fountain. He spared a glance her way, then paused, doing a double-take.

“About time. Was thinking you had decided not to come.”

“Said I was gonna,” Jack replied. “Already hatin' this robe, though.”

“Never was a fan either,” Will agreed. “But you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“I'm changin' after this thing's done, by the way.” She lifted the clothes in her hand slightly. “Ain't wearin' this thing any longer than I gotta.”

Will led Jack into the academy's dance hall, where the low glow of light from dozens of candles lined the floor all the way to the center of the room; as the two walked shoulder to shoulder in the dimness, Celestia and a wizened, old norfolk woman came into appearance. Behind them, dozens of norfolk men in masks. Will's men.

The woman rose from the large, coffin-sized box she sat on and leaned heavily on a walking stick. She stared at Jack through rheumy eyes.

“Who stands before me?” she asked, her voice a strange mixture of sweet, meek and powerful. Reminded Jack of her grandma during her better days.

“I'm—“ the farmer began, only to get elbowed lightly in the ribs.

“Before you stands Jack of the Apple clan, daughter of Johnny and Aldonza, and future protege of William Kalaallit,” Iron Will proclaimed.

“Why does she stand before me?” the old woman asked.

“She seeks to carry Durendal.”

Jack raised a brow and subtly looked towards Will, then Celestia, utterly clueless to what was going on.

Play along. They're going to do a short, abridged ceremony for us, the unmistakable voice of Celestia said, her words bouncing and echoing through Jack's mind. The farmer glanced again at the Daywalker. Celestia pursed her lips and clasped her hands tightly together at the front of her armor, sparing not a glance to Jack.

“The blade crafted by our far-traveling kinsmen, carried by your father, his, and his before. Why are you granting it to one such as her?”

“She carries the heart of the norfolk in her, despite her lack of pure blood.” Will reached to Jack and gave a firm, proud shake of her shoulder. “Ronnel, Old Mother. She marches on the Path. As such, I want her to carry my legacy.”

The old norfolk nodded, a smile slowly creeping across her ancient face. “Our Kalaallit sings the songs of his father. You have my blessing, as well as the blessings of your family.”

She curtsied and gave a small tap to her left shoulder as Celestia mimicked the expression. Iron Will clenched a hand over his heart and gave a small bow, followed by a tap to the back of his hand, Jack followed him step-by-step. When she completed the gesture, Will's grim expression broke slightly.

“That's the masculine gesture of thanks, you should have followed Celestia and the Patron's lead.”

“Oh.”

The old woman smiled and gestured to her side, towards the large box on the floor. “Will, if you would do the honors.”

He moved over to the wooden chest and lifted its top clear off, then pulled out something that made Jack visibly pause.

Cradled reverently in the giant's hands was a massive, oversized sword, immaculate and flawless from its large, palm-sized blue with gold-trim pommel, to its wide, thick, mirror-polished blade. The handle was a yellowed spiral of metal, and its handguard reminded Jack of the open mandible of an ant.

Her first thought was how beautiful the weapon was; the sword was a far cry from the dull weaponry she had been training with. Her second thought, one that was heading frantically towards the forefront of her mind:

How would anyone but a norfolk use that?

Jack was no shrimp. She stood taller than every woman in her classes; could claim that for most men too, yet she felt like a midget next to Iron Will and the blade he carried.

The giant rested the tip of the sword on the high-polished wooden floor, leaving a single blemish on the flooring's flawless body.

Bet the guy that cleans this sucker jus' woke up in a cold sweat, Jack thought.

“Take it,” Will instructed, resting his hand easily on the guard.

Jack stepped forward, wincing when she saw the weapon's pommel went almost to her hairline. She grabbed the handle and tensed up, lifting with all her might and nearly falling backwards. Will snapped to action, grabbing her by the arm and hoisting her up.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I-it's light,” Jack marveled, holding the blade with one hand and slowly twisting it as she examined it from every angle.

“See?” Will smugly asked the other two observing them, a proud grin on his face. “This is what Caballan metalworkings get you—poor girl didn't know what a real two handed sword was like.”

“Do what now?” Jack asked, briefly pulled away from her autopsy of the weapon.

Will took a step back, running a thumb over his nose. “You've been around shoddy craftsmanship, Apple. A one-handed weapon here weighs about ten pounds—you realize how heavy that is for a weapon like that?” Throwing his arms to the air, he exclaimed. “By my ancestors! That's more than a Scottish claymore or Zweihander from Germany! It's like nobody here can understand that those things were crafted for speed and finesse in addition to their power, no matter what a Caballan smith would—“

Celestia coughed, breaking Will away from his passionate lecture. The man scratched at his unruly hair.

“Iron Will apologizes. He simply gets carried away in regards to weaponry.” He offered a youthful, almost boyish smile towards his student. “Take a few swings. Let me see your form.”

Jack nodded, giving the blade a small flourish as she adjusted it in her grip. She planted her boots into a spread-open stance and gave a hard horizontal swing, then quickly took a step forward, bringing the blade over her head and down. She stopped easily at her waist, still silently amazed at the weapon's lack of heft. However, she noticed something at the very base of the sword's handle. An odd, miniscule gear that reminded her of a flint lighter Macintosh used to own.

“Hey Will? What's this do?” she asked, casually pulling the gear downward.

“Wait! Don't—“

A loud grinding noise assaulted her senses and the extended prongs of the guard snapped inward, tightly squeezing the very base of the sword. On the flats of the blade, a blue marking appeared, almost instantly traveling from the prongs and snaking its way up the metal. When the blue markings reached the center of the blade and the tip of the coloration curved inward, Jack felt an almost painful amount of weight fill her hands—she toppled forward, being caught by Will's powerful arms, but losing the grip of her blade. It slammed hard to the ground; splinters of the polished wood erupted into the air as the weapon dug itself deep.

Jack stared down at the ruined floor in complete surprise. “W-what the hell?”

“Iron Will was, uh, gonna get to that,” he explained rubbing his forehead. He reached down to the handle and gave a small flick upward to the gear attached to it. The blade lost the blue, water-like markings at its sides instantly, and Will easily hoisted it up from the wrecked flooring then handed it over to Jack once more. The farmer gave a cautious glance down at the weapon.

“It gonna do that again?” Jack asked.

“If you adjust that gear down.”

She frowned. “Why in the Sam Hill do ya need—“

“Dragons, golems, dullahans—not all creatures fear a blade. Sometimes you need a bludgeoning weapon, or something to help your weapon pierce through scale. It's why a master smith and a whisperer worked together; made the weight adjustable.” Will nodded towards the sword. “Durendal was made for a knight even before Arthur's time. A man that they say was even stronger than the King.” He slapped her on the shoulder. “And he was a square peg like me and you, Apple.” Will raised a finger, looking as if he was in the middle of a philosophical debate, rather than discussing arms. “With a weapon like this at your side, the only thing you need to do now is train your body.” He then paused, glancing at the floor and kicking aside a piece of wood. “And I guess I should report this, uh, accident... man.” Will scratched his scraggly beard. “Shit's probably coming out of my pay.”

After Will left the ceremony to find a janitor, Jack bid farewell to Celestia and 'Old Mother,' as the norfolk had put it, and started towards her dorm. When she got to the main lobby, Celestia was waiting by the large window of the room, in obvious thought. Jack paused, glancing behind her, then towards the Daywalker.

“How in the...?” the farmer trailed off. “You were jus'—“

“Teleportation spell,” Celestia replied, moving towards Jack, then glancing at her back, where the sword sat proudly in its sheath. “Do you plan to carry that everywhere?”

Jack flicked an eye towards it. “Nah, ain't got no reason to. Jus' haulin' it back ta my room an' puttin' it by my armor.”

Celestia tapped the hilt of her own sword. “There's no shame in keeping yourself armed, provided you know to draw your blade only in desperate times.”

She glanced to the side, a small frown playing on her lips. “It don't feel right. Me havin' somethin' like this.”

The all-folk put a hand on Jack's shoulder. “Will thought it was right.”

“Guess so,” Jack agreed, adjusting the strap as it bit into her robe. “No matter how much he pounds it inta me, though, ain't sure why.”

“He sees himself in you,” Celestia commented, taking a few steps forward and glancing towards the farmer. Jack complied, following her as they passed by several curious looks from the other men and women in the lobby.

“We're both pretty simple people, I guess,” the farmer replied, turning and heading towards her dorms. “Click like you an' Twila.”

Celestia gave a slow nod, her natural grace making the simple action carry a weighty impact. “I suppose in a way, yes. However, Twila, to me...” The Daywalker shook her head. “It's far from your cut and dry relationship.”

“Ain't sure I get ya,” Jack said, walking down the hallway lined with doorways.

“It's something I should speak only to my student about, Jack.”

Silence rang through both their ears as they climbed a flight of stairs, then took a left.

“So, what was that deal with 'Ol' Mother' back there? An' how'd you get an invite?”

The princess quirked a brow, a smile at the corner of her mouth. “You do realize who you're speaking with, Jack. Gaining attendance wasn't difficult at all.”

“Oh.”

She gave a titter of laughter. “I'm joking, I wouldn't use my rank to interrupt an event like that without good reason. I actually knew Gauti when we were both children.”

“Gauti?” Jack repeated, traveling down the hallway. “That the woman's name?”

Celestia nodded. “Yes. Gauti of Whitehearth, one of the high-priestesses of Almyra.”

“An' Will's ma?”

She laughed, then looked over at Jack and noticed the farmer's serious face. “N-no, Jack.” She tapped the pommel of Excalibur in thought. “'Old Mother' is merely a formal title given to women leaders, Will would have used 'Old Father' if there was a man running Whitehearth. They're in charge of weapon ceremonies, holiday prayers, wedding blessings, and the day-to-day affairs of a town.”

“Traveled a long way fer a few minutes of talkin',” Jack said.

“If she's anything like me, she welcomes the break—I know I've been enthralled by my absence away from the council.” Her kindly features briefly faded, replaced by a more somber expression. “I simply wish it was centered around less grim circumstances.”

“We can hope it'll be the last of this nasty business,” Jack replied, going to her door and opening it. She paused. “Uh, were ya wantin' ta come in?”

Celestia shook her head. “I was hoping to speak with your roommate.”

The farmer stuck her head inside and noticed Dash's empty bed. “Outta luck. She ain't here.”

“Pity.” She glanced past the farmer. “May I come in for a moment?”

“Door's open,” Jack answered, gesturing towards the back of the room. Celestia marched towards the window and held a hand to the glass.

A moments pause, then the all-folk smiled slightly. “She's flying.”

Jack walked towards the woman. “How'd ya—magic, I'm guessin'?”

She tapped on the glass with a finger. The farmer traced where the Daywalker gestured and noticed Isabelle blasting through the sky, no more than the size of a bug at this distance.

“I suppose I should catch her.” Celestia sighed. She spoke a few words under her breath in a language Jack couldn't even come close to comprehending, then stepped forward, pressing a hand though the glass as if it was water. She pressed the rest of her body forward, phasing through to the other side of the glass and summoning ethereal wings of the purest snow. The wall briefly rippled after she had passed through, but was once more solid when Jack gave a cautious tap at it with her finger.

Celestia turned and gave a small wave at Jack, her large and expansive wings keeping her easily aloft with every slow, lazy beat.

Jack dumbly returned the gesture. It was all she could do to raise her hand in a halfhearted wave as the all-folk turned and took off, her stance regal and beautiful as her pastel hair lazily floated behind her.

If Gilda wasn't kidding about Twila holding an interest in the woman, Jack couldn't blame her.

After a moment of rest, Jack got ready to meet Rarity at the train station. Normally getting ready just meant a quick splash of water across her face and picking the least dirty of her clothes. With Rarity coming home from the hospital, though, Jack decided to take a few extra steps. She combed her unkempt hair down a bit, getting it into a respectable braid, then dug through a small drawer at the foot of her bed, looking through the handful of clothes she'd call 'halfway respectable.' Jack paused when she noticed a well made dress suit and slacks that she hadn't wore in months, but knew fit her like a glove.

Rarity was good with that kinda stuff. Curiosity got the best of her; she sniffed a cuff.

Spiced apples. The perfume Rarity wore that night back at the dance.

Jack felt the bitter sting of tears prick her eyes. She sucked in a few heavy breaths, moving to the side of her bed and putting her face in her hands. The farmer let out a pained, choked sob, and tried to control her rapid breathing.

It wasn't fair. Rarity didn't deserve any of this. Never had. Girl that kind and beautiful shouldn't have to worry about shit like this. Didn't deserve what Blueblood had tried to do, didn't deserve what Trixie tried to, and almost did, do. Didn't deserve nothin' like that.

Jack made a strangled groan, clenching her jaw and squinting her eyes shut. She rubbed them, furious at herself for crying.

Stop bein' like this, she quietly scolded herself. It is what it is. Yer gonna stop. For her. What'd Will call it? Ronnel? March on, ya dummy.

The farmer exhaled in slow, shuddering breaths, then took a deep breath in, squeezing her kneecaps tightly in her calloused hands. The pep talk, if she could call it that, didn't do much to help the pain in her, but it had kept her from having a sudden breakdown. Kept herself collected. Kept herself from giving in to the red beast she felt clawin' at her gut there.

Rising, the farmer grabbed the suit and went into the bathroom to change.

Jack boarded a carriage heading to Ponyville, speaking to Hans as they made the trip in what felt like the blink of an eye. She soon came to the double doors leading into the town's train station. Jack sucked in a breath and tossed them open, making her way through to the train platform and freezing at the sight that greeted her.

Her friends all stood at the station, all waiting for Rarity's train. Dash, frowning with her arms crossed over her track suit, tapping her foot in irritation. Chylene, nervously picking at a small frayed part of her sweater sleeve. Pinkie sat down cross-legged on the concrete, talking exuberantly to a laughing Spike, her hair bounding in a rhythm with every shake and nod of her quickly moving head. Spike's wide, youthful eyes sparkled in amusement at whatever the woman was telling her.

Lastly, Twila, who sat at the corner of one of the station's benches, a book in her lap and a cane resting in arm's length. Jack approached the group.

“Hey, y'all.”

Dash let out a low whistle. “Hayseed, all showing us up to her. Nice.”

“Thought she might enjoy seein' me with a spit-shine. I reckoned it was the least I could do.”

“H-how are...?” Chylene looked up at Jack's face, then hid behind her bangs, biting her lip.

“Scar's stayin'. Nose is gonna be good as new, acordin' ta the doc I spoke with.”

“Scars are cool, at least,” Spike offered with a shrug.

“Spike,” Twila said, a slight warning in her tone. “I know you're simply wanting to help, but—“

“Nah, it's alright, sug,” Jack dismissed. “All things considered, I was lucky. Could be dead.”

“Saying it so nonchalantly...” Twila marveled.

“Thinkin' 'bout it too hard ain't the smartest thing ta do.” Jack swallowed, glancing over the woman's own injures. “Feelin' any better?”

“I still suffer from the occasional dizzy spell, and my arm still has its problems, however, Celestia's been administering her magic into my body—that's exponentially increased my recovery rate.”

Jack was pretty sure she had heard that word from Twila before, but was coming up dry. Way she said it, Jack guessed it was a good thing.

“She going back anytime soon?” Dash asked, walking towards the two. “And how long am I gonna have to wait for this damn train?” she added under her breath with a grumble.

“Tomorrow,” the soul-folk replied. “The council's been getting restless without her guidance.”

“An' are you gonna be alright without her?” Jack asked, moving and taking a seat on the opposite end of the bench.

Twila narrowed her brow. “And what do you exactly mean by that?”

“Does she really have to spell it out, egghead?” Isabelle asked, moving behind the two and resting her arms on the back of the bench.

Twila hung her head. “I suppose not.”

“Ain't exactly what I was meanin', sug,” Jack said, putting a hand to her chin. “Jus' makin' sure yer gonna be square.”

“I... I will be, yes,” she answered after a hesitant pause. “A few more days and I'll even be off of the cane.” She met Jack's gaze. “We really were fortunate none of us were hurt critically.”

“Missed out on everything...” Dash whined, slumping forward and draping her hands onto the bench's seat.

“Only a dummy goes lookin' fer that kinda shit,” Jack sternly said, crossing her arms and glaring at Isabelle. “Ya have any idea how scary that—“

“Yeah, pal. I do.” She gave a knowing look Jack's way. It wasn't long before a memory bubbled up.

“Guess ya do,” the farmer admitted. The others listening in shared an unsure glance between themselves.

“Besides,” Dash shrugged. “I'm not trying to glory hound here. For once.” She gave an affectionate punch to Jack's shoulder. “Dummies like you need a hand sometimes, so, uh, sorry I wasn't there, bro,” she quietly said.

“Ain't like ya coulda known, Dash. Don't worry 'bout it.”

The athlete stood up. “Enough of this crap—where the hell's Rarity? I'm starving.”

“Just wait a bit longer, Dashie!” Pinkie proclaimed. “I have a whole buncha tasty treats and meaty meats and scrumptious sides and delicious drinks!”

“Y'all havin' a party or somethin'?” Jack asked.

“Yeparooni!” Pinkie nodded, grinning enthusiastically. “I call it a 'Rarity just got out of the hospital and we should totally welcome her back with a party' party!”

The farmer nodded. “An' does Rarity know 'bout this?”

“Nope! It wouldn't be a surprise if she did, now would it?”

“It's just going to be a l-little one... I'm sure she'll be tired when she gets back,” Chylene whispered.

“Indeed. It would be quite a problem, having a large scale event when she got back. It's just going to be us,” Twila agreed. “Provided she's interested, at least.”

“Totally,” Dash agreed. “I mean, we won't just rope h—“

In the distance, they heard the whistle of a train. Everyone snapped to attention. Jack swallowed, nervously rubbing at her mouth and rising, stepping back behind everyone. As excited as she was at seeing Rarity, she couldn't help the small stone of dread in her gut.

“Ohmygosh,ohmygosh,ohmygosh!” Pinkie chirped, bouncing up and down on her feet.

“Guess she's just about here,” Spike said, putting his hands in his pockets and nodding, a small half-smile on his face. Pinkie grabbed the teenager and easily lifted him up, twirling him around as he let out a surprised yelp. She brought him in for a tight squeeze, then set him down again as he tried to regain his balance. Chylene smiled tenderly at the two, then returned to staring at the incoming train.

The worn iron beast pulled into the station, releasing steam across the platform. A conductor opened the doors and a small group of people trickled out. Not even scant seconds later, Rarity.

She looked weak, dangling a small purse in her hand, while her other clutched a fashionable fur coat tightly against her collar. On seeing her friends, she gave a tender smile and approached them.

“Everyone...” she started, her shoulders held high as she gazed at her comrades. “I'm grateful you could all come to see my return,” she said, looking at them all in turn. Her sights briefly settled on Jack. Rarity seemed to want to say something, but instead glanced at everyone once again. “Well, ladies—and Spike,” she quickly added. “Have I missed quite a bit? I feel that I'm terribly behind on all the latest gossip!”

“Gossip about you, may—“ Dash began, only to have her sleeve pulled by Twila, alongside a warning glare. “Uh...” she stopped, looking away from Rarity and scratching her hair.

Spike, surprisingly, came to the rescue.

“Me and Pinkie have been taking care of the store for you.”

Rarity froze, the brief flush of raw panic on her face enough to make Jack smile slightly.

“I-Is that so?” she stammered. “How was—“

“Business was super-duper fast!” Pinkie replied. She reached into her back pocket, pulling out a coin-purse large enough that Jack wondered how in the hell it fit in the first place. “I made a list of all the thingies and stuff you need more of, too!”

Spike nodded. “And I have a ton of clientele messages for you when you're ready. Most are well-wishes, with a few low-priority orders.”

“I see. Thank you, dear.” Rarity smiled at the teenager, causing him to blush heavily.

“I'm glad you're ok,” Chylene spoke up finally, staring at her feet. Rarity reached over and put a hand on the girl's shoulder.

“Of course,” she reassured. “Thanks in part to you.”

The timid woman hid farther in her bangs. “And Jack.”

Rarity turned, looking strangely at the woman in question. “Yes... and Jack.”

The violet-haired woman took a few steps towards Twila, noting the cane beside her. “How are you, dear?”

“Fine, fine,” Twila dismissed with a wave of her good hand. “I'm simply fatigued. A few more days and I'll be more than adequate.” She looked over Rarity. “Yourself?”

“I'm quite well too. No lasting damage, anyway. I'd like to request your help regarding my schoolwork—I have a feeling I'm dreadfully behind at the moment.”

“Of course.”

Rarity swallowed hard, then took a few tentative steps towards the farmer. When she got within a few feet, she lunged forward, tightly wrapping Jack in an embrace. Jack paused, then quickly put her hand to the back of Rarity's hair, stroking it tenderly.

“Hey, sug,” Jack quietly said.

Rarity looked up at her, sucking in another breath. “Darling...” She turned, gazing once more at their friends. “I'm sorry to cut our reunion short, but I really wish to speak to Jack privately. Perhaps we could all agree on a luncheon date tomorrow?”

They gave a small nod.

“Expect a pretty good meal tomorrow, dude,” Dash said. “We'll have ourselves some leftovers.”

“Leftovers?” Rarity repeated.

“Might have had something planned for when you got back. We can wait, though.” She shrugged.

The soul-folk paused. “I'm sorry. I was unaware that you had a festivity planned for me. I suppose I—“

“You go on with the hayseed. You two have a ton to talk about,” Dash replied, giving a dismissive wave.

Rarity hesitated for a moment, then looked at Jack's face. “I suppose we do.”

Jack and Rarity wordlessly walked hand-in-hand down the streets of Ponyville, lost in their own somber world together. Jack wanted to break the quiet, but just didn't know where to even begin. It was Rarity who spoke first.

“The boutique. We'll speak there.”

Jack nodded, turning down the familiar alleyway that led to Rarity's shop. When they arrived at the front of the shop, Rarity reached into her purse, pulling out a set of keys and unlocking it. They walked inside, Rarity moved to the shop's glass counter; rested her hands against the glass top. Her shoulders visibly shook as Jack turned and shut the door behind them.

“J-Jack...” she tensely breathed out, not turning to face the farmer. The woman in question took a small, unsure step towards Rarity, yet still held back, limply letting her hands hang at her sides. “That night... I thought I would lose you.” Rarity twisted from the counter in one motion, glaring at Jack as tears soundlessly spilled from her. Jack took a few steps towards Rarity, eventually wrapping the soul-folk in a tender embrace.

“Ya didn't.” The farmer brought Rarity's head close and breathed in her violet hair. “I thought the same with ya.” Her embrace tightened briefly. “Was scared I was gonna lose you,” she quietly admitted, swallowing hard but refusing to cry. It was her turn to be Rarity's rock. She'd weather the woman's storm for her. Ronnel.

Rarity looked up at her face and ran a shaking hand over Jack's cheek. “Your...”

The blonde's lips turned into a grim line. “Jus' a scratch, Rare.”

She considered Jack, gazing deep into the farmer's green eyes. “You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met,” Rarity whispered, pain caked across her pale, flawless face. She stood on her tip-toes and kissed her. Hard. Jack leaned down into the kiss as Rarity took her work-worn hand and guided it to her waist, then the other to the back of her neck. The soul-folk broke away from their kiss to take a breath, still weeping slightly. Jack finally moved, running a thumb under Rarity's turquoise eyes, brushing away her tears.

“Don't cry, sug. I'm here,” Jack reassured in a near-whisper. “I'm here.”

Rarity let out a muted sob, grabbing Jack once more and giving the woman another deep, meaningful kiss. She pulled the farmer down by her neck, pressing her lips hard against Jack's once more, then moving her tongue into Jack's mouth. The farmer groaned lightly as Rarity guided her a few steps forward, until the tailor's shapely backside was flush against her glass countertop.

“Darling...” Rarity trailed off. She hopped onto the counter and met Jack's gaze. “It's unladylike, but I... I would request something of you.”

“Anythin',” Jack quickly said.

“It would ease my mind tremendously if you were to stay with me tonight.”

She weakly smiled at Rarity. “'Course I will.” She ran a finger through Rarity's hair. “Ya took care a me after the worst day of my life. Y-ya mean too much fer me ta jus'...”

Rarity offered her own smile at Jack, affectionately squeezing the farmer's hands. “I'm grateful. It will ease my mind a bit, I believe. Being by your side.”

Jack shook her head. “With all this shit goin' down—I ain't sure if ya should be alone period.” She sighed, breaking away from Rarity's embrace to lean her back against the countertop. “Yer tough, Rare, no matter how ya look, but... maybe ya should,” Jack gave a considering roll of her wrist, “hire a guard or somethin'.”

Rarity frowned, narrowing her brow. “I may be a lady; however, I can take care of myself, Jack.”

The farmer shook her head, rising. “Ya saw what Trixie did ta ya. What she... what she almost did ta me.” Jack moved a few steps away and took to staring out the window. “A few lil' spells or somethin' like ya know ain't gonna be enough ta keep ya protected—Christ, even Twila had a close call, an' she knows all kinds-a stuff.” She bit her lip. “I-I jus' want ya ta be safe, girl. ”

Rarity was ready to offer fiery retort. On seeing how solemn Jack looked, she relented a bit, sighing and taking in a calming breath. “I know.” Rarity walked over to Jack, wrapping her arm around Jack's and leaning into her broad shoulders. “I'll be fine. I know I will, Jack.” She entwined their fingers together. “If something like that happens again... I know you'll rescue me.”

“I ain't some kinda dashin' prince, Rare,” Jack objected, running a hand over her mouth and briefly pausing when she felt the texture of the scar on her face.

“You're not,” she agreed, smiling kindly. “You're better than that, darling. You're far more real than a character in one of my paperback novels. You're something... tangible that I can hold onto far better than a fairy-tale.”

“Rare...” the farmer quietly whispered, her eyes stinging slightly from the sunset pouring through the windows.

At least, she'd pretend it was the sunset.

Jack serenely smiled, quickly wiping her eyes with her free hand and changing the subject. “H-how 'bout we have dinner here? I'm sure I can cook ya somethin' right up.”

“I'll cook, dear. I already owe you immensely for agreeing to stay with me tonight.”

She snapped her fingers. “That reminds me; can I steal a blanket or two from ya? Yer couch might get a bit cold toni—“

“Jack, no,” Rarity replied, a flirtatious smile crossing her face as she ran a finger underneath Jack's chin. “I want you to stay with me tonight.”

It didn't take long for that to sink in for the blonde. “Are ya sure?” she asked, giving a slow, considering pause. “I don't want ya ta think that ya gotta jus' 'cause of—“

“I'm sure, Jack Apple. More sure about this than any man or woman I've had before,” she stated, her face serious and true. Jack paused at the words, seeming to want to say something, anything, but let it drop.

It wasn't long before Rarity's small, flirty smile returned. “I suppose I should cook something light. After all, we'll need to save room for dessert, darling.”

As the soul-folk sashayed away, swinging her beautiful body with every step, Jack felt a strange sense of anticipation and dread bubble through her at the same time when she thought of what would happen tonight. On one hand, she cared deeply for Rarity—cared for her more than any person she had ever known. Plus it'd make for a good distraction—keep Rarity's mind away from darker thoughts, even if it was only for a little while.

On the other...

On the other, there was a part of her afraid that what happened at the picnic would happen here. If it happened again, Jack wasn't sure what she'd do. If she couldn't... live up to Rarity's standards.

Jack's brow furrowed.

Rarity's standards. That was another elephant in the room. It was a small thing that just came from Rarity's mouth a moment ago; she had experience prior to Jack. The farmer wasn't a fool by any means—it wasn't that shocking to think Rarity had partners before. The soul-folk was beautiful and of marriage age; had been for some time now. It was only natural and expected she had... tested the waters some. There was no real shame to it. None at all.

If anything, Jack was the odd duck here.

“What have I got myself inta now?” the woman said to herself, resting her head in her hands and leaning with a sigh onto the counter.

Author's Notes:

As it's pretty obvious to tell, next chapter's going to have a sex scene, plus possibly some hyperlinked music and an image--it's going to be a new experience for me. If the sex doesn't interest you, no worries--chapter's gonna be a side-chapter, meaning I'll recap any of the plot points I introduce in it. Thanks like usual, guys! Couldn't do it without you!