Blueblood gave a haughty grin. “Well, a commoner parade. How uniquely simple of you.” Some of the younger men nearby sniggered. “Can we help you, ladies?” His tone smeared the usually polite description to an obvious insult.

Pinkie batted her eyes at the men... perhaps a bit too much. “More like how can weeeeeee help yooooooou, you handsome gentlemen!”

A black-haired youth, a little younger than Rarity, questioned, “And, uh, how exactly can you help us?”

Smiling wide, Rarity took a seat, crossing her legs to hitch her dress up just enough to promise without being obvious. More like she had merely not paid enough attention, focusing instead on the conversation. “Why, adding in novel value, of course.” She waved a hand. “These parties and balls are all the same. The same crowd talking about the same topics or bringing up the same type of scandals. Boooriiing!” She rested a hand on her chest, drawing attention to herself with a slightly deeper than normal breath, using the other to gesture to Chy and Diane. “While we three are something new, something singularly unique.” She paused, letting her eyes wander around a bit. “Something not a one of you has known before.”

“Yep! I betcha never had a girl like me!” Pinkie exclaimed, swaying her hips from side to side. “I can keep up with all of you men!”

Chylene kept quiet, avoiding looking at the men directly. Some men liked that, right? The quiet, mysterious type of woman? She tuned out the conversation, led mostly by Rarity with the occasional burst by Pinkie. She had ensnared all their attentions easily, they hung on every word. All save Blueblood--Chy noticed his eyes never seemed to leave her for long.

“...true you live in the woods?” an older gentleman asked.

“Um.” Chylene scratched her cheek. “Just outside them...”

There was some general wonder to this, with a few exclaiming pity that she should be forced into such a situation.

“It’s appalling,” Blueblood said, offhand, “that such beauty should be forced to live in squalor. If Celestia had any sense in her, she would’ve ensured those deserving had as much and the rest put into their place.”

“Squalor? Oh no,” she replied, shaking her head, “I make sure that my house is always clean and tidy, especially for my animal friends.”

An older woman gasped, raising a hand to her throat. In a shrill voice, she cried, “Animals?! In your house? How dreadful! How unseemly! Tell me, are there no exterminators in... What is it? Melville?”

To have her friends insulted, even threatened, in such a manner did anger Chylene. But, she kept her composure. “My friends are very polite and would not appreciate you calling them ‘dreadful’, miss.”

Rarity cleared her throat noticeably, trying to stop what she could see would be a disastrous argument. “But, as Sir Blueblood pointed out, Chylene here is one of the fairest ladies in all of Mansfield. Surely you’ve read the old children’s stories? Of princesses, alone and hidden in some wood, save for their animal companions? Why, Chy is just a living example of such things!”

Some of the younger ladies present gave each other looks, expressing just how delightful it must be to live as a princess in a story. They had often dreamed of such things themselves.

“Alone?” Blueblood asked, bored interest in his voice. “No caretaker or guardian, you say? No nearby family?”

Pinkie threw an arm around Chylene and pointed at her. “No, sir! She does everything by herself! I offer to help, but she’s so independent she doesn’t need it!”

Chylene raised a finger in timid protest. “Well, um, I’m happy for you to help, Pinkie, but I’ve looked after them for so long now, it just feels like normal routine to me.”

“You have such spirit in you, dear,” said the same older woman. “To go through these things with a positive outlook. Both of my daughters--and their daughters--could learn a thing or two from you.”

“O-oh, uh, thank you...” Chylene replied, giving a small blush.

Rarity watched Blueblood carefully. He seemed separated from the company, his mind focused on thoughts elsewhere. But with every small hesitation, every blush, every little gasp of surprise Chylene gave as a result of the attention she was receiving, Blueblood turned his own her way a little bit more.

So I was right, she told herself. Blueblood likes the innocent. Something pure he can dominate and control, someone weak to suffer his will. She closed her eyes, taking a long, slow breath in, then out. Elondrie forgive me ...It must be done.

Leaning in near Pinkie, she whispered, “Pinkie, try and get Chy to blush some more. Keep her the main topic.”

Giving a conspiratorial nod, Pinkie hissed back, “Gotcha!” She saluted Rarity, then put her hands on Chylene’s shoulders, prompting a squeak from the timid woman. “And she’s such a great host! Whenever I go ‘round her cottage, she’s super welcoming and always makes real good tea and food!”

“Um, th-thank you, Pinkie...” Chylene stuttered out, her cheeks turning a delightful rose color. The gentlemen were starting to eye her up, much to the not-so-discreet jealousy of the ladies.

“And you cannot forget her skill regarding animals,” Rarity added. “She could tame any beast with a simple word.”

“It comes to me naturally—” Chylene blinked, remembering that she was the center of attention. Her blush grew more furious. “M-Maybe we can talk about the others now...?” she pleaded.

Blueblood leaned forward in his chair, giving a small glance Chylene’s way. Rarity wrapped her arms around the timid woman’s shoulders. “Oh, but darling, you’re such an interesting subject! Is it not true that you’re usually absent at events like this? Fresh blood is so exciting!” She gave a small, gentle poke at Chylene’s cheek. The men started to show the same enthusiasm Rarity put into her voice.

“Rarity, you know I’m s-shy...” she mumbled. “A perfect e-evening for me is, uh, cuddling up with Angel Bunny and reading a book.”

“But that’s exactly why you’re so interesting, silly. You’re like a mystery, wrapped up in adorable wrapping paper!” Pinkie exclaimed, rubbing Chylene’s arms. The latter was getting as red as a tomato.

“Quite interesting,” Blueblood muttered, glancing at the men by him. “What, exactly, do you read?”

Chylene twiddled with her hair as she spoke, “Simple stories really. Well, not simple, but—they’re about people, not adventures... if you understand that...”

“Biographies, or, perhaps, romance novels?” He smiled slyly.

“A bit of b-both. A biography is only as interesting as the person it’s based on...” She added quietly, “So I feel guilty if I read a bad one...”

“I have quite the selection in my personal library. Perhaps I could show it to you?”

“Oh, um...”

“I’m afraid not,” Rarity quickly addressed. “We have so many more sights to see this evening, and I’m sure she’d hate to intrude.” She gave a knowing smile Chylene’s way. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

Chylene nodded quickly. “Oh, yes! There’s still more time to...to—”

“Paaaaaartay!!” Pinkie blurted out.

“Yes, that,” Chy hastily added.

Blueblood ignored the pair, turning his gaze to Rarity. She looked him hard in the eye, and the two understood each other. The game they were both playing--though, Rarity was sure he couldn’t see through to the game behind the game. So she hoped.

He seemed to tell her, I know what you want, but you shan’t have it.

Then he smiled. Small, but cold and calculating. His eyes changed. Now they said, But I know who will. Someone worthy of my intentions, far above you.

With all her will, Rarity tried to look crestfallen, even despairing, at her supposed ‘loss’. Blueblood’s smile grew, and Rarity let loose a mental sigh of relief.

He rose, which cut off the various other bits of conversation that were going on. His gaze wandered around the circle, then stopped on Chylene. “You’ll join me upstairs for a more private conversation.” Arrogantly, Blueblood’s tone implied he was stating fact, not making a request. “Ask the attendant at the base of the main staircase, he will direct you to my personal chambers.” He looked her up and down. “You might wish to...freshen up before you come. But don’t keep me waiting long.”

He turned and left the room without any further ado. The others gave each other knowing looks, with some of the young men snickering to themselves, and the younger women--and one well into her sixth decade--gave jealous glares to Chy.

“F-freshen up?” Chylene stammered. She gave a pitiful glance Rarity’s way. “O-oh my... W-what should I--I mean, I know we need the List, but...”

Not saying a word, Rarity carefully directed Chy away from the others. Pinkie followed. When she was certain they couldn’t be overhead, she leaned in a said, serious, “OK, OK. He won’t wait long, and you don’t want to start off behind.” She raised a thoughtful finger to her lips. “Speaking of, I wonder which Blueblood prefers... Well, thankfully you’re doing just well for all tastes, Chylene, dear. Anyways, listen--I know this isn’t exactly your sort of thing, dear, but... As you said, we need the List. You’re the only one who can get it, or at least find out where it is.”

The timid girl swallowed. “I-I know. It’s just, um, scary.”

“Scary? Remember what I told you about scary things? Just laugh at them!” Pinkie exclaimed, then paused, rubbing her chin in thought. “Although maybe you should laugh in your head for this...”

“I know, but you must be strong.” Rarity gave a lopsided smile. “Besides, play it right and you won’t even have to do anything. As scary as he seems, Blueblood’s a simple fool. Keep in mind how he works, how he thinks, and you can turn his pride against itself.”

“I’ll try, Rarity. I will,” Chylene said, squinting her eyes shut and nodding. She bit her lip, taking a few timid steps forward, wringing the front of her dress with her hands. She glanced behind at her one more time. The tailor gave an encouraging nod, gesturing forward. Chylene briskly turned, stepping out of the lounge.

Pinkie watched her go, looking particularly conflicted.

“Pinkie...” Rarity said quietly. It was almost a question.

The party girl blinked, as if woken from a dream. “Huh? What?”

“I just did a terrible thing. A necessary thing, but terrible. I’m sorry,” she said, still quiet, her voice sounding like it was on the cusp of breaking.

Pinkie brought her hand to Rarity’s squeezing it gently, but still stared at where Chylene had left. “Don’t be sorry, silly... I’m just thinking...”

“I’m worried, too,” she said, squeezing back. “She’ll be OK, though--you and I both know, she’s strong where it counts.”

“Should I go with her?” Pinkie asked, looking at Rarity, deeply troubled and concerned. “Not literally but like I’m some guardian angel or something.”

Frowning, Rarity chose her words carefully. “I know what you mean, but it’s most likely too risky. Blueblood has set the entire upper floor off limits, so he probably has guards. Or even if he discovered you--then we’d really be done for.” Patting her friend on the shoulder, she gave a small smile. “We’ll just have to trust in Chylene, alright? Now, I’m going to either find Twila or a nice place to sit. We can only hope and wait, Pinkie. Hope and wait.” She turned to go, but then turned back and said, “You can come with me, if you like?”

Pinkie looked at her friend, beaming. “No thanks, I still need some party grub in my tummy!” With a giggle, she waved at Rarity as the lady left, sighing in relief when she was out of earshot. She then looked back and forth between where her friends had gone. Who did she go with?

She started walking towards where Rarity had gone, but stopped herself and turned around. Then turned back. Another switch in direction. And another. Then one more.

She clenched a trembling fist and made her decision. If Rarity found Twila, they would be fine, but Chylene needed someone right now. Steeling herself for the challenge ahead, she swiftly slipped through the crowd, going towards Chylene.

Jack followed Spike’s guidance, taking a few more twists and turns until she came to an exceptionally wide hallway lined with bullet ridden bodies. She stepped over the corpses, a small part of her sickened at how nonchalant she was regarding the dead men. To her left, about thirty feet ahead, was a massive vault door, it’s solid steel open wide, and what appeared to be at least four heavily fortified metal shutters behind it open, revealing the start of a well-furnished room. The farmer approached. As soon as she came within ten feet, she heard frantic steps coming from the opposite side.

Around the bend, a short, lean teenager wearing fatigues sprinted and cleared a line of corpses with a well timed leap. Jack raised her gun, reluctant to shoot someone so young, but frightened that he might be as crazy as the man from earlier.

He was saved from a bullet in the gut by speaking. Jack knew the voice.

“D-don’t shoot, missus! There’s more daft bastards coming!” he spoke in a panicked, oddly accented tone, gesturing. “Me gun’s outta ammo, it is!”

“Inside, Pip!” Jack commanded, gesturing to the open vault.

The other paused. “How did ye know me na--”

A howl from around the bend the young man entered from shut up any conversation Jack was willing to have at the moment. Another one of the feral men skirted by the corner, then charged blindly towards the two, jumping over the corpses littering the area. The young, lanky man panicked and ducked as Jack leveled her shoulders and squeezed off a round, slamming into the beast’s shoulder. As soon as he landed on the floor, Jack fired off another round at his collapsed body, just in case.

“Now!” she barked, staring intently down the bloody hallway.

“R-right!” he cried back, heading towards the vault.

A thought came to Jack. “Hold!”

“But you jus’ sai--”

“I know what I said. My partner’s probably in there--she might blow yer head off if I don’t go first.”

“Then bloody well get! I don’t wanna be out here nomores!” Pip croaked out.

Jack quickly moved to the vault door. “Bolt! Ya in here?” She moved inside and took stock of the dozens of lined display cases housing treasures from countless countries. Each various bauble, trinket and artifact stood proudly on an encased pedestal with a small card detailing their name and year of origin. To her left was a small office--probably where they inventoried artifacts departing and entering the room. To her right were several paintings of various sizes and art styles. Dead center, flush against a back wall, was a posh loveseat, where Dash sat, looking down and clutching her hand tight against her bleeding forearm.

“Bolt...?” Jack quietly addressed as she stepped forward.

Dash jumped at the noise; she shot a glance towards Jack, then towards the young man timidly trailing behind the tall woman. “What the fuck you doin’ here?” she asked, staring daggers at the youngster.

“I-I don’t want out there with those monsters!” he said.

“No, kid.” She looked him over. “Working here. The soldier getup. You’re too young.”

He looked briefly offended. “I’m right and proper at sixteen, that’s legal to serve, miss.”

She shook her head. “Bullshit. You’re fuckin’ fourteen, same as Al--”

“Careful, Bolt,” Jack warned quickly.

Dash tilted her head, not quite following. Then it dawned on her like a spark coming to life. “I, uh, mean to say you don’t look sixteen.”

“Most of me family’s short.”

“If you say so,” Isabelle replied, shaking her head in disgust at the kid’s bold-faced lie.

“The hell happened ta yer arm?” Jack finally asked, moving over to the athlete.

“A fucker bit me on my way here. Just jumped out of a room.” Jack could tell she was scowling under the mask. “He pounced on me. Had to gouge the cocksucker’s eyes out just to get him off.”

The farmer shook her head. “Elondrie’s light...” she muttered under her breath, tearing off a strip of clothing from her torso. She quickly dressed up Dash’s wound. Just as she was about to speak, Pip let out a gasp.

“G-guys!” he called out. Jack turned and noticed he was pointing towards the vault’s entrance, where a head peeked out from around the edge of the door. A head whose mouth was caked in blood and gore. With a howl, the man rounded the doorway and charged. Jack reacted in a heartbeat, slapping leather and firing. Her shot ripped across the room, striking him square in his bald head and launching him out into the hall. He collapsed, as dozens of howls tore across the hallways outside.

“Shit!” Jack called out. “Sounds like more of ‘em on the way!” The farmer pressed on her earpiece. “Drake! Can you close the goddamn shutters to the vault?”

“I opened them, odds are I can reverse my steps to shut it. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

“I don’t think we got a few minutes.” She quickly glanced at her two companions. “Any of y’all got more bullets?”

“N-no ma’am. Said earlier, used me last runnin’ from the daft bastards.”

“Bolt?”

“Got a full mag and a spare clip. Lost the other gun when I got bit.”

Jack frowned. She unholstered her gun and handed it and a small fistfull of bullets to Dash. “Take it. Give the kid yours and the ammo--I wouldn’t trust him with the kick my piece has.”

“The hell are you gonna do?”

Jack rubbed her mouth as she looked around the room. “There’s gotta be somethin’ ‘round here I can use.” She pressed her earpiece down. “Drake! Any sorta weapons locked up in display?”

“There’s gotta be at least--ah! How about a blade once carried by King Pyth?” Spike replied.

“Whatever’s fine--where is it?”

“If you’re just entering the vault, farthest left aisle, very last exhibit.”

Jack turned to face Isabelle and Pip. “Yer gonna have ta hold ‘em off ‘til I get that sword an’ Drake gets the shutter ready ta close again. Each of ya take a side--I’mma be back as soon as I can.”

The two nodded and quickly stepped outside as Jack jogged alongside the dozens of displays baring artifacts. She heard a shot as she came to the end of storage. Low caliber. Dash’s nine millimeter. Pip must have seen them first.

The farmer tried to shut out the gunfire--her stomach was a knot of worry for the two outside, thinking about it just made things worse. She instead focused on searching through the displays. Jack paused on seeing the weapon, struck briefly dumb by the blade.

It wasn’t a beautiful piece. In fact, she’d go far to say it was ugly as hell--a chunk of beaten, chipped black metal on a brushed, unordained steel hilt, with numerous scratches on the handle and blade.

“I ain’t sure if this thing can cut butter, Drake,” Jack said, giving an antsy glance towards the vault’s exit.

“Stetson. That thing’s cut car engines before. Might not look like much--functional blades never did back in the day.”

“Alright, I’ll trust ya,” Jack replied. She paused, noticing a keypad beside the display. With a shrug, the farmer ignored it, instead elbowing the glass casing. It shattered, spraying the floor with shards and setting off an alarm inside the room.

Wasn’t like the stealthy approach was working for them anyway.

She carefully reached inside, grasping the blade and pulling it out of the stand. Jack paused when she clasped the weapon in her hands. Something felt off.

This ain’t right, she thought. Blade width, height, weight. Norfolk steel ain’t like this. An’ it’s missin’ somethin’--ain’t it? I--

Jack froze. Her brain felt like it was on fire--split down the center. With a grunt of pain, she clutched the side of her head.

“Stetson!” Isabelle called out. “Move your fucking ass! They’re coming hot and heavy!”

The farmer nodded, snapping out of...whatever it was she just felt. She clenched the blade tight in her palms and ran towards the shutters.

Isabelle and Pip were almost back to back, Pip frantically shooting at a horde of feral men running on their hands and feet as Dash desperately fed bullets into Jack’s revolver. The farmer quickly decided to buy Dash some time to get reloaded, turning left as she passed the shutters.

Seeing Jack out of the corner of her eye, Dash fell a few steps back, twisting the other direction as she finished topping the gun off. She took aim and fired at the quickly approaching group just as Jack hoisted the blade level with her shoulder and swung.

She cut them like a sickle through grain, breaking through their torsos and embedding the weapon deeply into the wall. Jack did her best to ignore the wave of gore she created--though she still dry heaved as she tugged and yanked at her blade.

Their earpieces came to life, though static was starting to cut through. “It’s reversing--get inside! It’ll be closing in--”

The hard grind of metal finished Spike’s sentence.

“Go! Go! Go!” Jack ordered, trying again to pull out the sword, but to no avail.

Dash fired off another round, quickly falling back towards the slowly rising shutter. She stepped inside and opened the chamber of Jack’s revolver once more, feeding the hungry beast bullets again, as Pip darted towards the shutter. He hopped over the rising shutter--it was rising more quickly now.

Jack ran for the shutter and reached for the waist-high blockade just as she was grabbed from behind by multiple hands. They pinned her arm back and tried to pull her away by her torso. Jack fought against them as hard as she could and managed to barely crawl forward, reaching a hand up and over the sealing gate.

“Don’t shoot, you’ll hit her!” Jack heard Dash order amid her overwhelming panic. “Help me! Help me fucking grab her!”

The farmer felt a sharp tug at her left arm. Panicking, she fought and swung with the rest of her body, doing her best to shake off her assailants as she lunged forward, cracking her ribs against the rising wall. She scrambled, getting pulled down by both Dash and Pip as she tried to lift her own weight over the shutter.

Hoisting herself upwards, Jack crawled desperately forward with a man tugging at her leg. Her stomach rested against the top of the quickly closing shutter; she glanced up in a panic at the ceiling and summoned one more burst of strength--yanking her body into the safety of the vault as the man clawed fruitlessly over the separation.

It slammed closed with a grinding, pulpy, wet groan, severing the man’s arm. It twitched violently, grasping at the air for a few fleeting moments, before falling to rest.

“I’m g-gonna be sick,” Pip groaned, putting a hand to his mouth. Jack couldn’t blame him--her last meal threatened to come back as well. Something like this was different than a bullet. It felt worse, more personal.

“Puke in the corner, kid. We’ll do something to clean up the...” Isabelle trailed off with her instructions, rubbing at her mouth in disgust. “God...”

Jack took off her jacket, tossing it over the severed limb. She scooped the appendage up and gently cradled it against her chest with her gloved hand, deciding to set it at a corner of the room. The farmer never thought she’d be grateful handling dead animals on a semi-regular basis, but it was helping her flip her brain off for a second--if she really thought about what she was doing, she’d probably snap.

Laying it on the ground, Jack wiped her hand vigorously at the seat of her pants. Glove or not, touching that was gross as hell.

She returned to Isabelle. Now that the danger was momentarily over, she could feel the weariness seep into her bones. “Bolt, I--”

A heavy pounding against the shutters interrupted Jack. She reached for where her gun was normally holstered only to grasp air. Dash was on the ball though, clutching Jack’s revolver and aiming it square at the steel. They waited several long beats, before the farmer put a comforting hand on Dash’s shoulder.

“They ain’t gettin’ in, sug. Lower the piece.”

“What do you think we should do about them?” Dash questioned. “Not like we have any other fuckin’ exits around, hayseed.”

“We ignore ‘em ‘till they’re a problem again. Now though...” She glanced around the room, across the dozens and dozens of valuable pieces of history. “It’s time we have ourselves a lil’ treasure hunt.”