Rarity plucked a flute of champagne from a nearby waiter, giving a little twirl before bringing the glass to her lips. A few of the young noblemen around her clapped--one even gave a small whistle. She bowed then took a sip, hoping her admirers didn’t notice her enthusiasm in the refreshment. And oh how the bubbly liquid refreshed her.

She had been dancing nearly nonstop for a while now, and she was beginning to feel sweat build on her lower back. It was about past time for a rest and a cool drink.

Finishing off the champagne, she deftly set the empty glass on yet another server’s tray as he passed. Scanning the crowd, Rarity hoped to find another glass. As much as she considered Alaurd von Blueblood to be an insufferable little fool, she had to hand it to him on his ball. The champagne and food was first class.

Excusing herself to her many dance partners, she made her way to the far wall, carefully taking a seat. She was mostly alone; the few others not dancing were mostly the older guests. Rarity waved yet another servant--Blueblood seemed to not be wanting for help--over and helped herself to more champagne. It was delightfully cold.

Looking about to make sure no one was watching her, she hefted the glass to her forehead, closing her eyes to more fully enjoy the cooling effect.

She gave a small sigh. Oh yes, that’s much better, she thought.

“It’s not like you to look so...oh, casually vulnerable, I think?”

She lowered the glass quickly--nearly spilling it on her dress--and took in her visitor. Her curt response died on her tongue, and her glare turned to a genuine smile when she saw who it was.

“Francis Pottager! I should have expected you to be here.” She stood, holding her hand to the older gentleman. He gently took it with his own gloved hand and gave a faux kiss to the back of her fingers.

“Miss Belle, a pleasure to see you again, as always. I admit to being surprised, though pleasantly so,” he said, smiling and gesturing for her to take back her seat. He took a seat beside her.

She made a thoughtful noise. “Well, yes, I do suppose it was relatively last minute of us to attend.”

“Might I ask what brings the likes of Miss Shields and her friends to Sir Blueblood’s little show?” Anyone who knew the older man less would have missed it, but Rarity caught an undercurrent of disdain in his tone.

She chose her words carefully. “Call it a...a business proposal, yes! Not to mention that both Twila and I have been out of the court scene for several months now. We felt tonight would be a good way to test the waters.”

He slowly nodded. “See which way the wind is blowing, yes? Understandable. So much changes by the day,” he said with some remorse.

“Is it so bad?” Rarity asked.

Shrugging, he replied, “Sometimes yes, sometimes I just don’t know. I’m afraid I don’t keep up that well, myself. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Fleur, I’d probably be even more in the dark than you are.”

Interested, Rarity asked, “How is she? Is she here? Usually you two are inseparable.”

Francis chuckled. “Isn’t that the truth. But no, she’s not here. I’d never make her suffer someone like Alaurd von Blueblood or his friends, hard as it is to be on my own. Honestly, Miss Belle--”

“You know to just call me Rarity, please.”

He tilted his head in acquiescence. “Of course, Rarity. But I’m quickly becoming the doddering old fool I was always destined to be. Now, don’t give me that look, it’s true. But Fleur keeps my head straight. In politics and business.” He waved a hand. “Better topic, that. How is business for you, my dear?”

“Frankly, I’ve been much too busy to do any work,” she replied, a trifle nervously. Francis was a curious soul, she knew, and she expected him to ask what exactly she had been busy with. Stalling the conversation for a moment by taking a long drink, her eyes quickly went over his outfit.

His suit was of the most modern of styles, which currently favored a deceptively simple cut. Any tailor worth their needles would goggle over the intricate trim and styling work. The thick cuffs were especially ornate, though Francis had offset them with simple opal cufflinks. Tails were back in as well--though whyever for, Rarity couldn’t guess. A dark charcoal grey, it evenly matched his salt and pepper hair. She noticed more grey than the last time they had met. But his features still held strength, tempered by wisdom.

She found her eyes wandering. He had always been a pleasant sight for any woman of refined tastes, though far too old--she hated thinking of him like that, but it was true--for her to ever pursue. His deep blue eyes still held intelligence, not quite covering the crafty wit he possessed that had let him succeed so much in his business ventures. She followed the wrinkles at his eyes around the firm lines of cheekbones, which led down to a strong chin. Even today, Rarity could easily see why so many different magazines always wanted his photo for their covers.

“Rarity, my dear, it’s flattering but you’re almost staring,” he said quietly, amused.

She almost choked on her champagne in surprise. “Sorry, just a bit distracted.”

“It’s a good thing Fleur isn’t here,” he said, laughing. “While not truly jealous, per se, she is occasionally overprotective.”

Her eyes widening, Rarity quickly said, “No no no, it’s nothing like that. Your suit! I was simply noticing how finely tailored it is. Though it’s clearly not my work, it looks familiar.”

He lifted his arms, turning them this way and that. “It should, I would think! It might as well be yours, in spirit at least. Every tailor I go to, I show them that wonderful suit you made for me and request they take after the design.” He gave her a wink. “I’m still amazed at how well you pulled off the stiff and uncomfortable look that tradition dictates for the upper class while keeping all the freedom of movement and comfort of, say, my evening robe.”

With a small blush, Rarity replied, “It was nothing, really. Honestly, I’m surprised no one had thought of it before.” Though usually she enjoyed praise about her work, she’d never fully known how to handle Francis’ genuinely kind words.

“Nonsense, my dear! Why, long after the suit you made for me went out of style, Fleur finally convinced me to wear something else. Not by you, unfortunately. I bloody well wanted to scratch my head off, I can tell you. If I hadn’t melted first,” he whispered to her. “Had Fleur throw them all out! ‘Never again,’ I cried. Oh, but that was an interesting couple of weeks.”

Rarity laughed and the two continued to make small talk for a while. Francis inquired after Rarity’s sister, her success in her schooling, what it was like to live in a small town like Mansfield--he never ceased finding that particularly fascinating--and having friends from all sorts of walks of life. The topic turned to more serious business affairs rather quickly, with Francis relating how, though he was far from being in any sort of dire financial straight, things had been far less profitable with the Queen’s recent adoption of a more aggressive foreign policy.

“And her domestic policy isn’t much better, I’m afraid,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s enough to wonder, sometimes, if she hasn’t gone mad!” Rarity looked at him aghast. “I know--that’s practically treason anymore. But what is a loyal man to do when our once-beloved ruler is destroying everything the nation stands for?”

Giving a solemn nod, Rarity said, “I completely understand and couldn’t agree more. You just have to be careful, especially at a place like this.”

“You may be surprised, my dear. I’m not the only one here with a purpose for tonight’s activities.”

“Oh?” Rarity asked, tilting her head. “And what exactly are you here for?”

The older gentleman looked a bit wounded. “Isn’t it obvious? To protect national history, my dear! What else does one do with exorbitant extraneous funds?”

“Throw parties, bribe officials, buy things you have absolutely no use for,” Rarity offered.

He laughed. “For twits like Blueblood, that seems to be the case. For a refined gentleman such as myself, it’s for the public good.”

“So you’re going to buy some of the auction sells to keep them safe.” Rarity nodded. “Respectable, though still giving Blueblood more funds to waste.”

He waved a hand. “Lesser of two evils. Blueblood’s money I can take again, Torani national treasures can not be replaced.”

“It’s amazing, though terrible. The Queen letting him just sell them off.”

“Well, it’s been a delicate balance for hundreds of years. It was terribly crafty of the family to gather them all together, effectively buying their title through blackmail. The Orlaiths didn’t dare interfere too much with some of the Bludeblood’s shadier dealings over the years, lest they lose those treasures forever. Now the Queen is supporting that loss.” He shook his head. “So yes, Rarity, there are several of us here doing our duty as good Torani men.”

Rarity asked, “But won’t they be relatively safe, no matter who buys them? I mean, if a noble purchases a piece of national history, they’re bound to use it to further their own prestige, showing it off or something of the like.”

“For some, perhaps,” he replied slowly. “But haven’t you noticed?”

She shook her head. “Noticed what?”

“The number of foreigners around!” he hissed. “And few of any decent respect. Kvaat pirates, at least one of the Somani’s war leaders, and a few mysterious guests that I’ll grant you ten to one are from the South.”

“Not exactly promising for some of the most important artifacts of the Northern power, no,” Rarity said with a wince.

“Well, we’ll all do our best. You can bet we won’t go down without a fight.”

Francis sounded confident, but that’s what worried Rarity most. Playing right into Blueblood’s hands, I bet. At least Jack and Dash should save plenty themselves. She realized that he had asked her something,

“What was that?” she asked.

“I said, ‘Are you going to be dancing more?’” He gave a rueful grin.

“Oh. Oh, well yes, probably,” she said weakly.

“In that case,” he said, rising and giving her a bow, “I’ll be off, my dear. It was lovely talking to you again--you’ll have to join Fleur and I for brunch sometime soon!”

She gave a warm smile. “It sounds lovely. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good! Remember, don’t hesitate to call on me. My support, for what it’s worth, is yours. Enjoy your evening, Miss Belle.”

“Rarity, please--and you as well, Sir Pottager. Thank you,” she said with a bow of her head.

Chuckling while he left, he gave her one last wave before vanishing in the mass of wandering couples.

Remembering her drink, she finished it off while going over what she had just learned. Though by accident, Rarity had succeeded in one of Twila’s assignments--find out what the general feel for tonight was. Though she was sure the older man was being a bit optimistic in his figures, to learn that even a few of tonight’s participants were against the Tyrant and Blueblood’s auction was good news.

It really had been rather foolish of them to ignore the opinions of the court. To not try and win their support. Why, even Jack, of all people, had come to Camelot and spoken about the injustices committed by the crown. True, it had amounted to her mostly being ignored and, ultimately, her fields being burned. But she had tried to work within the system. The others had happily stayed out and gone their own way.

“Drake,” she said quietly, hiding her lips behind the glass. “Are you there?”

“Always am,” he said.

She smirked despite herself. “You heard all that, right?”

“More-or-less. I had to switch channels to Dagger for a moment. They’ve just breached the back entrance and needed a hand.”

“Mmm. I just wonder--did we do the right thing, Drake?” she asked idly. “Are we doing the right thing?”

There was a brief moment of silence from Spike’s end. Finally, he spoke up. “I-I think so, Gems. We’re talking about an event that could affect the whole world, if it’s not stopped.” Another pregnant pause. “I hate how we have to topple over pawns to get to the Queen, though.”

“That’s how I’ve looked at it myself, actually. The goal is sound, clearly. We’re just taking some logically necessary steps.” She tapped the glass with one long, manicured nail. It gave a light ring in response. “I love the girls, but I sometimes wonder exactly why I’m doing this. I’ve taken to it rather better than expected. It’s easy to be cold about the whole process. I suppose I just I worry it might be too easy.”

Spike gave another pause in thought. Ask him to plant a keylogger on a computer, he’d be back to eating chips in five minutes. Ask him to talk about feelings... it took him a bit longer. “It’s obvious why you’re doing it, Gems. You love the girls. You already have your answer. I-I think. A cold person wouldn’t do this sort of thing, not without asking what was in it for them, y’know?” He swallowed heavily. “And I know you’re not a cold woman. You’re just good at treating it like a job, like--” A thought crossed the young man’s mind. “R-remember the first time I tried to help you on the automatic sewing machine?”

Rarity’s amusement had a touch of heat to it. “And ruined several hundred dollars’ worth of materials, yes.”

“Remember how I sewed my hand to those materials?”

“I-I do, though I’d rather I didn’t.” She shivered, the memory of it still clear. “You were lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“When it happened, I remember how different you acted. You were so... cool about it--cutting the thread, cleaning the punctures up, dressing it. You were, like, in control.” He laughed under his breath. “Then, when I had finally stopped crying, you nearly passed out at the sight of a bloody bandage.” He wrapped his story up, trying to drive his point home. “That’s what you’re doing now--taking care of an injury. You have a job to do--your emotions will come back when it’s over. That’s the woman I know.”

“I never thought about it like that, Drake,” she said, thoughtful. “All I can really remember is how worried I was, how much I hoped you were OK. Seems I’m doing much the same now.” She made a thoughtful noise. “Perspective, I suppose. I think that’s why I asked.” She stood, lightly stretching and hunting for waiter to take her empty glass. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Gems.”

“Tell Books what we’ve learned. I think I’m just about ready to find that little creep. But first,” she paused, looking over at a circle of young nobles who were eying her, “A few more dances.”

“Save the last one for me,” Spike weakly joked.

She laughed, “Some day, Drake. I promise. Be good, darling.”

Approaching the dance floor, it wasn’t long before she found herself in the attentions of more dance partners than any proper lady would or even could ask for. The music even changed to an up tempo waltz, a contemporary play on an old standard. Though not her favorite, she decided to let loose just a bit and enjoy the rapid dance.

Soon--the champagne she’d had not helping--she was a bit dizzy, being spun and passed from partner to partner. Had it been a half dozen young men? A full? Maybe a baker’s dozen! she thought, laughing and thinking of Pinkie. Whatever the number, Rarity had long since lost count, one dance leading right into the next, the music changing with no pause or notice.

“You dance quite as skillfully as I expected,” her current partner said, cutting into the music suddenly, breaking its spell.

That voice?! It’s...

“Blueblood,” she said breathlessly. Her feet stopped, but he grabbed her arm to pull her with him into the next dance. It was a slow, couple’s dance.

She tried to wrench herself free, but he gripped harder. “Let go,” she hissed. “You’re hurting me!”

“You’d refuse your host the pleasure of even one dance?” he asked, smirking. “And here I thought you were a lady. I suppose even the brightest jewels can fade in time.”

Inside she was furious, but she kept her composure, ceasing her struggle. “You simply startled me is all. I had every intent of sharing several dances with you--I merely wanted to present you a proper dance partner, refreshed and in order as befitting someone...of your station.” It grated terribly to talk up to the stuck up twit, but Rarity knew it was important. She had to work her way into Blueblood’s good graces.

Thankfully, her recovery had been quick enough. He gave her a smug look, his eyes twinkling with his own self-importance, as he said, “As a commoner should, but I’ll grant you an exception.” He lifted a hand. “Please, don’t thank me. It’s my duty as a respected gentleman, after all.”

To herself, Rarity thought, I wasn’t going to, but that works. She gave a girlish chuckle. “Oh how very generous, Alaurd--”

“Sir Blueblood,” he snapped.

She tilted her head lightly. “My apologies, Sir Blueblood.” Tittering again, she said, “You’ve really outdone yourself tonight. Though I’ve--”

“Yes, no expense has been spared.” His tone was the same haughty lecture Rarity remembered. “The Blueblood name has always been synonymous with only the best of anything and everything. This should quell those disgusting lies that I’m broke.”

She noticed he seemed to say that last to himself.

“But of course those are just rumors! I was scan--”

“They’ll all see soon enough,” he said, talking over her again. She almost screamed.

“I’m sure of it,” she said flatly. The music crested, and she grimaced as he sent her through an awkward dip. At least he’s not tromping all over my feet this time.

The couples on the dance floor bowed to one another--though Blueblood declined--and applauded the ensemble. Despite his usual arrogance, Rarity thought he seemed distracted. Whatever the reason, she was thankful. This might be easier than I thought.

“Sir Blueblood, might we move off the dancefloor to talk?” she asked, flitting her eyelashes.

His reply was more silence, though he did grab her wrist and pull her to the far side of the courtyard. The marble-tiled dancefloor ended, leading into carefully directed stone paths. This one spread out into a mini-courtyard, complete with massive, three layer fountain centered and lit up in a rainbow of colors. Though Rarity was pretty sure the main focus was blue.

Rubbing her wrist after he let go, she forced her frown away and gave him a sultry smile. “Ever the one to take what you want. It can be attractive in the right situations.”

“And who said you’re what I want?” he said with a sniff. “I could easily have anyone here. Or anywhere for that matter. Why should I settle for you?”

Her hand twitched, but she resisted the urge to slap his smug little face. Arching her back slightly, she ran a hand slowly from the top of her dress’ neck, carefully rounding over her breast, down along the opened side, and flourishing out at the upper cross cut of her dress. It was one of the more tasteless designs she had allowed herself, though it had its charms. She wasn’t one to shy from a little exposed skin, provided the situation was right for such things, but she hated to be wasting it on someone like Blueblood.

“Why, darling, just look around you,” she breathed. “Half are too old, the others all surgery and makeup tricks. I’m the only one here who has it to give by naught but my own graces. So, what do you say, darling? A little private time, upstairs, perhaps?”

She expected several reactions to her direct assault of sexual promise--a hunger in his eyes, perhaps even a lustful pounce, or, disgustingly, a more base form of his excitement--but she didn’t expect him to laugh as he slowly shook his head.

He gave her a disbelieving smirk. “Oh, Rarity. Rarity, Rarity, Rarity. You’ve some looks, I won’t deny. But you the top? You the best?” He laughed again, haughty and proud. “Such deluded naivete is hardly becoming of a proper lady. Though, that’d require you to actually be a lady.”

Rarity was taken aback. There was being rude, then there was this. She didn’t even know where to begin with him. But it seemed that he wasn’t done, as he continued.

“You insult and smear my name during one of the biggest, most historic events of the year. In front of Celestia, no less. Treat me rudely, making ludicrous demands of someone so far above your position you should feel awed I even allowed you to dance with me. Then you have the gall to think yourself desirable above most? You? Really? With your rustic sensibilities and cheap looks?”

“Cheap?!” Rarity hissed.

“At least the others have the respect of their positions to pay for proper beauty. But you?” He shook his head. “A rarity? A joke; a hopeless attempt for a dream bigger than reality could accept. I’ve suffered hundreds of your kind, and in my grace I’ve even tasted a few.” His lecherous grin turned Rarity’s stomach. “But don’t for one moment think I need a trollop like you, not when so many better options present themselves daily. Now, I’ve wasted enough of my time--I shan’t have pity on you again. Enjoy the party, or leave, I care not.” With that, he simply turned and left.

Rarity stood stock still, though deep within her a rage fought to burst free. She wasn’t entirely sure what kept her from slapping that ridiculous fake smile off his smug face--or, better yet, a knee to his undoubtedly pathetic groin.

Was it simply the shock of being rejected after she flat out offered herself? Rarity wasn’t one to sleep around, but still, a self-respecting woman believed herself irresistible to any simple man. Yet Blueblood had said no. And insulted her on top of it.

Realization dawned, and she cursed harshly. “This is not good. Not good at all.” Straightening her dress a bit to regain her composure, she huffed, took on a slow, sensual walk with her chest out, and set off to find the others.

The plan to trick Blueblood into showing or telling her where the list is with her womanly wiles had bombed. They needed to come up with a Plan B, and quickly.