Jack awoke from her slumber easily enough, but it still took her a while to rise, namely due to the soul-folk laying next to her, the woman's arms and a leg wrapped possessively around Jack. She had wanted up—needed to pee, to be honest—but Rarity looked so peaceful that she couldn't help but lay there with her.

Finally, Rarity shifted and awoke, yawning daintily.

She jus' does everythin' precise an' delicate-like, Jack thought. The idea, not too long ago, would have annoyed her, now, the farmer couldn't help the goofy grin that crossed her face.

“Mornin', sug,” Jack said.

Rarity scooted up the bed and planted a deep, slow kiss to the farmer's lips in response.

They lay quietly together, listening to the town outside slowly awaken.

It was Rarity that finally broke their embrace. She moved to the window and opened it, taking a deep breath of air, only to cough hard into a clenched fist.

Jack laughed, but quickly changed her tone when Rarity didn't stop. She leaned over, her hand clutching her neck and holding onto her stomach, belting out hard, heavy coughs. The farmer rose, moving over to her and patting at her back. “Hey now, ya alright?”

Rarity nodded, covering her mouth and doing her best to breath evenly. “I-it was simply a coughing fit, thanks to those dreadful items in Trixie's potion. They made me a bit more sensitive to pollutants than normal.” The woman gave a reassuring smile Jack's way. “It's not so bad after I've been awake for a while, but mornings over the last few days...” She sighed, rolling one of her strands of violet hair in between her fingers. “It's really put a damper for my plans on Hearth's Warming.”

“Plans?” Jack repeated.

Rarity nodded. “My father wished for me and my sister to take an extended vacation and sail to Macon. However, I am well aware of their usage of coal and a type of... crude oil, I believe it's called. I have no doubts being in the industrial area of their capital with my father would make me physically ill.”

Jack quirked a brow. “Industrial? Figure with him bein' a diplomat, they'd give him somethin' a bit more fancy.”

“Aye, there's the rub,” Rarity exclaimed. Jack kept the roll of her eyes at Rarity's dramatic tone in-check. “The reason the Maconites respect him is in-part due to his background as a builder—he seems to talk 'shop,' if you will, easily. Keeping up appearances and interest in their work makes for a brilliant political move.”

Or maybe he jus' likes workin' with his hands, Jack thought. Not everything had to be so cloak and dagger.

“Which brings me to the earlier point. Forgoing his ties to Macon's industrial district would be suicide. If he wants their technology to eventually be imported here, he needs every advantage he can get in regards to dealing with them.” She weakly smiled. “I do love my father, however, I know his work requires sacrifices, one of which is time with his family. There's always next year for Hearth's Warming, after all.”

Jack thought for a moment, moving to gather her scattered clothes off of the ground and back onto her. “So, any backup plans?”

“Mmm,” Rarity shook her head. “None. Stephanie and I will probably spend the week's break recuperating here at the boutique. Heaven knows I need it thanks to the recent activity, but she'll be bored to tears, I'm sure.”

“Why don't you an' yer sister come with me ta the farm fer break?” the words out of her mouth before she even stopped to think about them.

“W-well...” Rarity blanched a bit, as Jack slowly sauntered closer. “I couldn't impose that much on you, darling. Stephanie's such a handful, and I'm sure you'd want the time alone with your family,” she then glanced to the side, adding under her breath, “plus the dirt and grime...”

“Fresh air'd do ya good. An' there's always somethin' ta do, either 'round the farm or in town. Yer sister'd have fun.” She gave a small nudge to Rarity's shoulder. “Plus, I'd like ta show ya off. I'm sure my family'll think yer a keeper, jus' like I do!”

“A keeper?” the soul-folk repeated, a small smile on her lips.

Jack's own smile died a bit as she stood there in the morning sun. “Guess it's still a bit too early ta be talkin' rings an' stuff like that, sug. Sorry.”

Rarity patted the back of Jack's hand. “It's fine, darling. It's charming in its own way.” She smirked, “Like everything you do. Besides, if anyone were to keep me...” She stood on her tip-toes and clasped the side of Jack's face, bending it down to meet her eyes. “I'd wish it to be you.”

Jack felt heat rise and overtake her cheeks. How did Rarity always manage to do that? Before she knew it, Rarity had kissed her once again on the lips, then slowly pulled away, never breaking contact with Jack's eyes.

After a pause, the violet-haired woman tenderly spoke. “I could ravish you right here and now. You're so beautiful.”

“You an' that talk,” Jack scoffed, smiling self-consciously despite herself. The soul-folk gave another small titter of laughter.

“It's hidden, deep, deep in you, Jack Apple. But there is a delicate, sensual, lovely woman that comes awake during times like these.” She trailed her hand down, resting her fingertips against Jack's fast-beating heart. “One I wish to take as mine over and over again. In a way, I suppose you're my keeper too.”

The farmer wasn't a romantic woman by any means. So she just spoke what came natural to her. The truth.

“I wanna let ya... have me, that is.” She kissed Rarity's forehead. “An' I wanna wake up in the mornin' with ya. I-I wanna smell yer perfume. I wanna listen ta yer voice.”

“Jack...” Rarity breathed, her loving eyes watering as she gazed transfixed on the farmer's scarred face.

The sound of Jack's stomach growling interrupted any more talk between the two. Rarity gave a tap at the farmer's hard stomach.

“I suppose we'll need to feed you. I have no clue as to how you're hungry—I still feel quite full from last night's meal and... dessert.” She coyly batted her eyes at the earth-folk.

“Aw, come on now, Rare. Ain't no need for that kinda talk.” Before Rarity could reply, Jack leaned forward. “We burned off enough calories last night ta need a bite,” she concluded with a waggle of her eyebrows.

Rarity laughed, reluctantly moving from Jack's embrace and towards a chest of drawers. She opened it and quickly started to don underwear.

“How do you like your eggs, dear?”

“Scrambled with some sausage or ham,” Jack said, finishing up buttoning her shirt.

“I suppose I could take a break from eating poached eggs,” she conceded. “Alright, Jack. Let's eat, then go celebrate our vacation plans!”

Jack beamed to Rarity's agreement, she almost suggested returning to the academy instead—she was behind in her history class thanks to everything that had happened. With a shrug, she decided to drop it and go along with Rarity.

Days like today were few and far between.

Twila leaned over the heavy oak desk in her study. The ticking of a clock broke the otherwise heavy silence of the place as the light of dawn bathed the room in its glow.

She looked up from the stacks of paper and gave a longing glance out towards the hundreds of books lining the walls, then towards the glass double doors leading to a stone balcony overlooking the pristine city-streets of Camelot, alongside a breathtaking view of the ocean running nearby.

Maybe a few moments away from my work... she considered. Study Ivan Kireyevsky—I've been wanting to read his biography. She tapped a finger to her chin. Or maybe start reading Daren Doo and the Whip of Fording. I've been waiting for that one for so long.

Before she could rise, there was a knock at her chamber door.

“Come in,” she addressed, expecting Wadsworth, her butler.

Celestia arrived instead, carrying a tray with two gin and tonics. Twila's eyes widened on seeing the all-folk and her unusual appearance. Gone was her white armor and Excalibur. Instead, a simple tan tunic that hugged her curves graced her body, a golden, oversized buckle at the stomach, and large, golden hoop-earrings the only objects of value on her person. Twila nervously smiled. It wasn't common to see others in a private dreamscape—usually it required a bit more work, such as physical contact or a prepared ritual.

All-folks, on the other hand... they could bend the rules just a bit. Considering Twila left her mental 'door' open, as it were, all it took for Celestia to join her were a few simple thoughts and a small amount of time to meditate and detach her spirit.

Celestia glanced at the room. “You've made improvements,” she remarked, sitting on a couch by the window and resting the tray on a coffee table. Twila wordlessly moved to the opposite end of the couch, grabbing a glass and taking a drink, only wincing slightly at the bite of the beverage.

“The view,” the all-folk continued. “It's from your room at the castle, correct?”

“Yes, Princess. Save for the ocean. That's from a port town we visited together a few years back.” Twila nodded.

“Ah... Baltimore.” The woman smiled behind the lip of her glass. “We had some good memories there, did we not?”

“Tons!” Twila agreed enthusiastically, then retreated a bit into herself. “I mean, yes, Princess.”

Celestia stared her protegee, then gave a slow nod. “Do you remember what I said to you in our hotel room?”

Twila scrunched her face in thought, the effects of her drink slightly dulling her otherwise sharp mind. “You told me of the future, how I shouldn't be afraid.”

“There was that. And also I spoke of how you've... blossomed into a beautiful, kind, intelligent woman that I have no doubt could run the country twice as effective as me.” She gestured outside, towards the ocean that complemented the streets of the country's gem. “It's always amazed me how you're able to add on small details to improve an overall piece. There are very few people that can observe things with such scrutiny as you.”

“Princess...”

“Just Celestia,” the all-folk said. “You're my equal. Or at least will be some day soon.”

Twila nervously smiled, running her fingers though her hair.

After a few moments, Celestia sighed. “I have to say a few words to you, Twila. You know I don't enter here to simply speak idle conversation with you.” She finished her drink, quickly running her tongue over her lips. “First, I was wondering if you had found any leads on Trixie's actions.”

“No.” She shook her head, crossing her legs in thought. “She, however, was imprisoned three times for necromancy.”

“Yet she still wandered our streets.” Celestia shook her head in disgust.

“Her lawyers pulled some strings. She was out within days of being in jail, thanks to a few technical loopholes.”

“And Rarity or her family had nothing to do with the cases?”

“See?” Twila asked, gesturing a hand towards the Daywalker. “I checked that. Not a single person had any relation or ties to Rarity's family.”

“There has to be a connection somewhere...” Celestia put a thumb to her mouth and bit at the nail—a nervous habit Twila found endearing. “Which is why I've instructed Isabelle Ritter to help you review what we know.”

“I'm not sure how Dash'll help. I've went over about every scrap of paper we got on Trixie and still haven't found much on why she'd target Rarity.”

“Sometimes a second head helps. You know that.”

“I do,” Twila admitted with a sigh.

Almost as if on cue, the two heard a loud, scratchy voice that seemed to come from everywhere in the room, assaulting her dreamscape with the subtlety of a jackhammer. “Yo, Twila? You in there, bro?”

“D-did she just walk into my dorm without saying anything?” Twila stammered out. Celestia gave a small laugh.

“Best not to keep her waiting. You know she isn't the patient type.”

“Suppose so...” Twila began to relax, focusing on dispelling the world she created. The all-folk reached over to clasp her hand, briefly stopping her.

“One last thing before you go.” She gazed hard at Twila. “You need to stop using your magic so often. It's dangerous. Very dangerous, to be using it after you've been sapped of your powers.”

“I'll... keep it in mind,” Twila agreed, canceling her dreamscape. The edges of her vision faded to white as Celestia gazed at her; the white quickly took over completely, leaving her standing in a pure white void, as far as the eye could see. She made the familiar gesture to return to the living world. Instead, her sights flickered back to her self-made study, the gray, nearly black clouds of rain on the horizon, and Celestia's shocked expression giving the room a far more uneasy feeling—as if the slightest pen drop would dispel the tranquility, summoning forth something horrific.

As quick as the vision appeared, it vanished, leaving Twila in the pure white void. She frantically made the gestures to dispel the world and this time succeeded, coming back to her meager dorm and the wooden chair she sat on next to her bed.

“Damn, man. You don't look so hot,” Dash commented, taking a few steps towards her from the door.

“I'm fine,” Twila said after a moment's hesitation, rubbing her furiously throbbing head. What was that? Her hands shook even now from that brief, foreboding flicker in her mind's world.

“Alright,” Isabelle dubiously commented, glancing at the woman out of the corner of her eye. She raised a manilla folder up to her head and gave it a tap with her free hand.

“What's that?”

“A dossier on Blueblood. Got it from my uncle.” She tossed it onto Twila's work desk. “We're cross-referencing it with Trixie. There's got to be something that connects them, yeah?”

“Lightning doesn't strike the same place twice...” Twila agreed, then paused, “Well, technically it can, but, that is—“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, alright.” Dash waved her hand, dismissing the words. “Just help me take a look through these. We'll find something, just you watch.”

They worked together, wading through the files, checking and cross-referencing them together. After a few minutes, Dash seemed all but ready to throw her chair in frustration at having to sit around for so long, yet kept herself at least moderately restrained. They spent nearly an hour working on it, and they had nothing. Trixie and Blueblood grew up on opposite ends of the country, had no relations between one-another, and as far as they could tell each had different social cliques. The only in-common thing they had was the fact they both had criminal records, though they were exceedingly different crimes, and both were soul-folks.

An idea clicked in Isabelle's head. “Soul-folk school, yeah? May—“

“Already checked it out.” Twila shook her head. “Two different ones.”

Dash gave a small, frustrated 'tsk'. “Hell. Figures.”

Twila gave pause. “I wonder...” She quickly tore into Blueblood's report, flipping through it like a woman possessed. She ran a finger down a list. “Perhaps...”

Isabelle rolled her eyes. “Yo, egghead. Don't keep me in suspense. What are you—“

The soul-folk made a small gesture, bringing up a translucent screen in the air. Text quickly appeared, filling the screen with information, height, blood type, magical aura, age. She waved her hand to the side, the image changed, more text, this relating to her schooling, filled the image. At the bottom, she made a circling gesture with a finger; a red circle appeared, highlighting a small line of text. Dash leaned closer and read it out loud.

“Dmitri Dorcis's grant for better understanding and equal privilege?” She tilted her head. “Dmitri Dorcis... that's that, uh, railway tycoon, ain't it?”

“Tycoon, businessman, philanthropist,” Twila agreed. “And, apparently, has a grant set up for underprivileged men and women entering college.”

“Wouldn't exactly call Trixie 'underprivileged.'” Dash replied. “Woman had money.”

“As did Blueblood.”

“That doesn't make sense.”

“And it's something both of them have. Same grant.” The soul-folk rubbed at her mouth.

“You thinkin' what I'm thinking, bro?” Dash asked, putting a hand at her hip.

Twila rose and gave a hard, serious nod Isabelle's way. “I'm thinking this warrants further investigation.”

She smirked. “Damn right.”

“Your coffee, sir,” a waitress said. Dmitri nodded, not looking up from the newspaper he read. She placed it at the side of the table and walked off.

“You know,” he began, lowering the paper slightly to look over it at his dining companion, “our little problem has the devil's luck, wouldn't you agree?”

“She's been luckier than most you've persuaded, my good man,” he agreed, twirling his fork over and under his fingers. He finally let it slam into his steak, sticking the utensil straight up as he reached for a knife. “Or maybe it's the hired help that's your problem.”

“Perhaps,” Dmitri mused as he sipped his coffee. He reached for a packet of sugar, then instead grabbed the salt shaker. He pored a liberal amount into his drink, then stirred it up with a finger, not even wincing at the near broiling heat. “There's one more candidate I want to try. This one, however, I'll want a hands-on approach with.” He sighed wistfully, glancing out the shop's windows and into Camelot's busy streets. “It's not fun at all when they're like this, Mr. Flam. Not fun at all.”

“You never were a fan of the cut and dry, even if it was the far easier approach.”

“Where's the fun?” Dmitri held out a clawed palm at eye-level. “I know I can take what I need to, but it's so much better giving people a sporting chance. Watching them squirm...” He smugly clenched his fist. “Then seeing them trapped.” Dmitri rolled his eyes. “It makes kidnapping look so benign and tepid in comparison to what's normally done.” The man took a drink of his coffee and gave a nod of approval as he stroked his gray goatee, then, after another pause, he reached into his breast pocket and slid over a small piece of paper. “Tell my client to meet me... hmm...” He gave pause, the downside of having so much is that sometimes it was up for debate where he'd be on a set date. “The offices in Middleburg, when the academy starts their vacation.”

Mr. Flam looked over the paper, noting everything he'd need to identify the woman, all there below her photograph. “If she refuses, Mr. Dorcis?”

Dmitri leaned forward. “We'll just tell her I know. After all, I have always been a bit of a gossiper. Maybe she'll understand what I mean.” He viciously smiled, his open grin looking horrific enough that for a brief moment, his dining companion looked ready to run out of the room screaming, despite years of knowing one-another. “I'll see to it that this little game ends in short order. All I need is the woman to play her role, then it's a simple matter of waiting.” He took another drink. “And over the decades, waiting has become a bit of a talent of mine.”