Chylene slipped through the crowd, hugging herself and avoiding even brushing against someone if she could. It was hard trying to look for a friend at a huge party while not being daunted by the amount of people attending. These were nobles, and if she wronged them they could shame her, ruin her or maybe something even worse.

She had considered using the comms to find Pinkie, but thought that would only draw attention to herself. So she had to rely only on her senses, which were being bombarded enough as it was. She glanced around, trying to find her excitable friend.

She found nothing. Chylene sighed and wandered over to the edge of the room, sitting down on a regal looking chair next to a window. Beside it, a couple were chatting.

“I can’t help but feel that this is a distraction,” the man said, running a hand through his slick, black hair.

“What do you mean?” asked his brunette partner, her hair done up in a bun.

“An auction and ball? They claim it’s for charity, but the guest list is almost entirely serious money. They could just send a letter. No, this event will garner immense revenue. Combined with the Queen’s change of direction on foreign policy--the connections are terrifying. Not only will these people pay tonight, but with the new policies their businesses must be suffering--it’s affecting my business interests, certainly.” He took a moment to sip from his glass of champagne. “I know I’m not the only one.”

The woman pondered over his words. “Perhaps there are things you’re not aware of? I’m sure she knows what she’s doing. She is our Queen, after all.”

“Maybe...” He looked down, tapping his glass, before slowly raising his head and smiling at his partner. “Shall we have a dance?”

She grinned with delight, holding out a gloved hand which the man gladly took. “I was wondering when you would ask me that.”

Chylene watched them go, running the conversation over and over in her head. She didn’t know what that man’s ‘business interests’ were, but, from the sound of things, he was growing discontented with the Tyrant. And so were others, apparently.

Well, she had found something out. She wasn’t completely useless. Standing up, she headed back into the fray, when a pair of arms wrapped themselves around her waist.

“Chylene! There you are--I was getting so bored! Let’s do something fun!” Pinkie chirped, hugging Chylene tightly, although not enough to suffocate her.

The shy woman gasped, then had to regain her composure. “Pinkie, please don’t surprise me like that. Not here.”

“Oh, okay! Sorry.” Pinkie went around her friend to look at her face. “So whatcha wanna do?”

Chylene looked off into the distance. “Um...can we go to the bathroom?”

The party enthusiast followed Chylene’s gaze, spotting a door leading to the bathrooms. “Uh, okay. Doesn’t sound very fun but we’ll do it!”

“Thank you,” the timid woman replied, leading Pinkie along. They entered the door, which took them to a tiled lobby. In that were four doors, a pair for each gender. The two went for the furthest door marked for woman and entered, only to find it empty.

Chylene sighed with relief and went into one of the cubicles. Pinkie just stood there, admiring the room. The tiles were gorgeously decorated, each being a part of a mosaic on the floor. Each sink was far too big, a bar of soap and a neatly folded towel ready to hand for each bowl. She stared at the mirror that spanned across the row of sinks, checking her hair. Puffy as always!

She tapped her foot, waiting patiently for Chylene. At least no one else was coming in to see her standing there awkwardly. Though it wasn’t long before she grew impatient and put an ear to the cubicle her friend was in. The party girl became quickly concerned when she heard quiet sobs from within.

Pinkie tried to open the door but the lock in place wouldn’t allow it. “Chylene, are you okay?”

“I-I don’t want to go back out there!” she cried, yet not even that was very loud.

There was only one question Pinkie could ask. “Why’s that?”

“Because there’s s-so many people, they’re all staring at me and it’s really loud and crowded and I don’t like it!”

Pinkie frowned as she tried to think of something to say. “They’re not all staring at you. That’d be silly!”

There was a short pause. “O-Okay, not all of them...but a lot of people still are... I know it.”

“And what’s so bad about them looking anyway? They’re probably looking at you and going: ‘Wow, she looks really pretty and nice!’” Oddly enough, Pinkie didn’t put on an accent for that.

“But I don’t want them to think that...”

That got a gasp out from Pinkie. “What?! That’s ridiculous! Why wouldn’t you want anyone to appreciate the wonderful person you are?!”

“Because...” Chylene sniffed. “I always g-got singled out at the h-home for it...”

“Oh...” Pinkie fell silent. How could anyone respond to that? What could she say? After a few moments of thinking, a determined look appeared on her face. She was going to try her best to cheer up her friend. “Chy, open the door.”

“Wh-what?”

“Please.”

Silence. Pinkie closed her eyes and sighed, leaning against the door. She stumbled slightly when, to her surprise, it began to open slowly.

Chylene looked out from the small gap, her hair hiding one of her eyes and the visible one teary. Her makeup was ruined but Pinkie didn't care about that. She slipped in the cubicle and locked the door behind her, much to the crying woman’s surprise. Pinkie didn’t let her respond, instead wrapping her up in a warm hug.

“Don’tcha feel better already?”

“A b-bit...” Chylene sniffled.

Pinkie put her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “You should never ever feel bad about the good inside of you! You wanna know what I think?” Chylene nodded. “I think that you’re--” She stopped herself, opening the door and peering out before closing it again. “‘Kay. I think you’re the kindest one out of all of us and that you’re really special!” Pinkie licked her bottom lip before going on with a lowered voice, “I also think you’re the prettiest too. Even more than Rarity.”

Chylene felt her cheeks get hotter and she found it difficult to keep looking at Pinkie. “Um...I...um...”

Pinkie leaned in closer, whispering, “Don’t tell the others. Especially Rarity ‘cause she might slap me.” That got a small giggle out of Chylene and she nodded in understanding.

“Look, Chy, you just gotta embrace who you are. Because you make all of us happy. Forget about everyone else, ‘cause they don’t know you like I--we do. Just look at me!” She pointed a thumb at her chest, grinning. “I hop, skip, and jump around and I don’t care ‘cause I know that’s who I am, and I know that’s what my friends love me for.”

Chylene nodded after a short pause. “Yes, you’re right.” She sniffed again. “I’m sorry, Pinkie. You’re just so confident and I’m...not.” She ran a hand through her hair, which was thankfully still relatively neat. “Why am I even here?! I’m not like the rest of you--I barely held it together last time! I can’t do this... I can’t.”

Pinkie grabbed Chy’s hands. “None of us really wanna do this but...we just gotta. Not just for us, but for the whole country!” She gently rubbed her friend’s palms with her thumbs. “You can do this. We all can. Nobody likes it...but it’s our duty.”

Chylene wiped her eyes with her arm. “I’m trying, Pinkie, but...I just don’t feel c-capable...”

“Trust me. Just by being there, you make a huge difference. Everyone would be sadder and more frowny if you weren’t around!” Pinkie gave her a hopeful smile. “I know I would be.”

The teary eyed woman looked away, considering Pinkie’s words. “Yeah... It’s really hard but...I can try...”

“Great!” Pinkie wrapped Chylene up in another warm embrace. “And if you ever wanna talk about stuff, then I’m just the girl! Unless you wanna talk to someone else, ‘cause that’s fine too.”

Chylene sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Thanks, Pinkie. We should head back to the party now. Can you stay with me...?”

“Of course I can!” Pinkie exclaimed, swinging the door open and leading them out. “This party’s kinda boring by your lonesome anyways.”

“I think it’s...nice,” Chylene replied, wiping away the ruined makeup on her face. She didn’t wear much, so it wasn’t a huge problem. Pinkie wrapped an arm around her and the two went back into the hustle and bustle together.

*-*-*-*-*

Jack and Isabelle traveled through the dark, unlit hallways, each one wordless and high-strung, completely out of their element. Neither really knew what to be looking out for--it wasn’t like they came across laser trip mines or pressure plates often, and one false step could completely ruin their chance at getting the goods. Their only saving grace was how straightforward the way had been so far--there had been very few paths aside from the one they walked right now, and the ones that did turn off led to dead ends and single rooms filled with mechanical shit that only a techie could understand.

That word reminded Dash of a question--the athlete put a hand to her earset. “Yo, Drake,” she quietly whispered as they passed by a doorway labeled ‘break room’. “What do triplines look like?”

“Electronic, correct?” he surmised.

“The fuck you think?” she hissed back.

Spike ignored Isabelle’s sharp tongue. “Well, keep an eye out on the walls. They’ll look similar to doorstops--sort of a prong on either side. Usually they put them about a foot or so off of the ground.”

“Alrighty. We’ll be careful. Bolt,” Jack addressed, her eyes briefly skimming the paintings decorating the walls. It seemed even down here, which would never host visitors, Blueblood enjoyed showing off. “You still got the layout of the place?”

The athlete tapped her skull. Jack didn’t have to see her face to know the woman was smirking. “All up in here, dude.”

“Pressure plates and shit too?”

“Everything but the triplines. Smooth sail--”

Jack jerked her hand out in front, stopping Isabelle dead in her tracks. The athlete grunted at the impact. Jack pointed down. Hidden behind a potted plant was one of the prongs Spike had warned them about. Isabelle had very nearly stepped through it without noticing.

“Shiiit,” Dash hissed, almost silently. She looked at Jack, eyes wide and gulped. Reaching into her pocket, she pulling out a small bottle of hairspray. With a quick shake and spurt of it, the invisible laser became illuminated by the chemicals floating through the air. They both stepped carefully over the tripline and made their way along.

They came to a T-junction. Isabelle paused this time. “Hold the fuck on. This isn’t right.”

“What ain’t?”

“There’s not supposed to be a crossroad here, bro. Just a right turn.”

Jack frowned. “Are ya sure?”

“Totally.” She jammed her earpiece once more. “Drake-a-rooni.”

“Here, Bolt,” the young man addressed.

“Those schematics of the way through here. Go to section E-13.”

There was a brief pause, finally, Spike spoke once more. “What about it?”

“Just a right turn, yeah?” Jack could hear the concern in Dash’s voice.

Spike’s reply was a bit flat. “... On the mark, Bolt. That’s right.”

“Fuck! Schematics are wrong,” Dash said, stamping a foot.

“Stop with the noise!” Jack whispered in a harsh tone. “And even then, who cares? They probably jus’ added another managment room or some shit ta the left. Let’s jus’ stay the course.”

“I hope you’re right, Stetson.”

They turned right and started down the hallway. Without preamble, Isabelle hugged the wall to her left. “On me, Stetson,” the athlete addressed. “Pressure plates should be on the right of us.”

Jack nodded, following after Dash. The athlete waved a hand as they approached a solid iron door. Jack tried it, nearly recoiling in surprise when it opened easily inward.

“Expecting it would be locked, hayseed?”

“As often as it’s happened ta us tonight, yeah. I was.” She nodded. They both shut up and crouched low, cracking the door open a hair farther. Jack scanned the room and let out a sigh. “Empty. Door on the other side, though.”

Dash nodded, both of them entering.

The room was lined on the walls with tools of a craftsman’s trade. Chisels, hair-lined brushes, hammers. Each seemed worn with constant use. The counter to their left had various items as well. Sponges, small pans, forceps. Long tables dotted the tiled floor, each was coated in dust and clay.

“Some kinda restoration room?” Jack guessed. “Used ta watch a lot of history docs on TV--they’d always take, like, clay pots an’ shit ta rooms like these an’ clean ‘em up.”

“Makes sense,” Isabelle agreed. “I mean, if Blueballs--”

“Cute,” Jack dryly said.

“--Anyway,” Dash continued with a roll of her eyes. “If that cocksucker’s got as much shit as Twila’s saying, he’d probably need repair work and restoration done on occasion.”

“Repair work... Wonder if anythin’ is worth takin’ in here...”

The lithe woman shook her head. “Doubt it, Stetson. I skimmed the room. Just a few pot pieces and broken knick-knacks.”

“In that case, let’s press on, pardner.” The farmer moved to the other set of doors, tossing them open, only to be nearly blinded by a pair of flashlights rounding a corner up ahead. Jack quickly shut the door and turned to Isabelle. “Couple comin’!” she whispered.

“Fuck. Think they saw you?”

“If not me, definitely the door shuttin’.” Jack rubbed her chin and quickly looked around the room in a panic, finally setting her sights on a clay-caked table. “Got an idea.”