Pinkie was doing something crazy again. Okay, she always did crazy things, but this time it was crazy crazy. Following Chylene to Blueblood’s personal quarters was a risky gambit--guards had probably been placed everywhere--and no one else was willing to do it. But friends didn’t. abandon each other. Not that the others were bad for staying behind, it was just that Pinkie always took the extra mile.

Her first obstacle was the attendant standing at the base of the main stairs. Pinkie had been watching him from afar for a while, and no guest had ever ventured upstairs. Which meant that she had to be sneaky and sly. Like a fox or something. What was that saying? Like a bull in a china shop! Like a bull in a china shop, she’d have to be extra careful.

A distraction was needed and, luckily, Pinkie had all the tools she needed: a crowd full of stuffy, posh people and a wine glass. She ran a finger over the rim of the glass, eyeing a group of nobles not too far away from the attendant. She then grabbed the handle of the glass and aimed carefully, sticking her tongue out.

She had to throw hard enough to smash the glass, but not so much as to injure anyone in the process. She narrowed her eyes and counted to three. One. Two.

Three.

She flung her arm forward and let go. The glass flew towards the nobles, landing near their feet. There was a loud smash. Then some shocked gasps and screams.

The attendant looked towards the commotion. He ran a hand over his bald head and headed to the scene. Pinkie took her chance. She picked up her dress and quickly hurried up the stairs. It wasn’t easy in her fancy clothes, but she managed.

The stairs split off in the middle. She looked left and right repeatedly. Which was the right direction? Or should that be the left direction? Pinkie always liked lefts--she was left handed. She went in that direction and quickly opened and slipped by a big, wooden double door.

The door quietly closed behind her, but things had only gotten harder. Up ahead, down the long hallway, guards were stationed. Thankfully, they hadn’t noticed her yet. Pinkie looked to her side, spotting a door. She sneakily opened it and stepped into the room.

Having seen most of the rest of it, Pinkie was pretty sure this was the smallest room in the whole manor. However, it was full of sheets, stacked up on row after row of shelves. It was pretty dark too, so Pinkie traced the walls near the door, looking for a switch. She didn’t find a switch, but a cord hanging from the ceiling. A simple pull and light flooded the room.

Now Pinkie had the chance to think. The first thing that came to her were her clothes. They were too cumbersome to allow much stealth. So she did the only logical thing, although Rarity would kill her for it.

“Sorry, Rarity,” she said to herself, taking off her dress and throwing it over her head. Underneath her dress, she had been wearing a simple white tank top that left her midriff exposed and some shorts that ended above the knees. Next, she undid her hair and let it become its natural puffiness it always was. Any noble that caught her now would’ve been appalled, but Pinkie was thankful for shedding the weight. She then kicked off her heeled shoes and wiggled her toes. All in all, she felt free to do whatever she wanted.

Approaching the door, she opened it ajar and poked out to look down the hall. Most of the guards were standing nearby doors, quite close to each other, while one man simply patrolled up and down. Pinkie scowled, biting her lip. There had to be some way around. Vents or something!

Then another bright idea entered her head. She shut the door and put a finger to her ear. Spike would know the place like the back of his hand!

“Drake!” she whispered into her comm. “Is there any sneaky places a girl like me can use? Past guards and stuff?”

“Sneaky?” he repeated. The party-goer could hear Spike swallow nervously on the line. “...Party, should I ask what you’re doing?”

“Juuuuuust Me stuff!” she happily replied, nodding as if Spike was in the room with her.

“Where at?” Spike asked. “You’re not in the basement, are you?”

“Nuh-huh! I think I’m near Blueblood’s room.” Pinkie let out a little gasp, realizing something. “You Party promise to keep this secret, okay? It’s just... something I gotta do, okay?”

The man paused once more. “Will this affect the mission?”

“Not if I pull it off right. Um...” Pinkie scratched her cheek. “Think about it like I’m a guardian angel or something! I’m not actively messing about, but if I get caught, I will do.”

He sighed. “Let me see...” Pinkie could hear Spike humming chipperly on the other end. “Ah. The servant's quarters has a ventilation shaft you could squeeze through. It leads across the ceiling--once you get there, I can easily guide you to Blueblood’s room.” He paused again. “Where, exactly, are you at now?”

“Just went up the main stairs, turned left and hid in a little room full of sheets.” Pinkie rubbed her arm, starting to sweat. “It’s kind of hot in here. I saw guards down the hall before I went in though.”

“One second...OK. When you leave, go right across the stairwell and enter the doors straight across. From there, round a corner and it’ll be the second door on your right.”

“Okey dokey lokey! Thanks, Drake!” She was about to put her door on the handle when she stopped and looked back at her dress, lying on the floor. “Can you do me another quick favor? Please?”

“What is it?”

“Tell Gems I had to leave the dress behind, ‘cause it’s really awkward to be stealthy in,” Pinkie said, bending down and picking up the dress, only to stuff it in between the sheets to obscure it. “And say that I’m really sorry, but also grateful that she made it for me.”

There was a moment of silence where it seemed like Spike was talking to someone else, followed by a loud, “Whaaaat?!”

Pinkie thought that was odd. It almost sounded like Rarity was coming through Spike’s radio--but that couldn’t be right, could it?

The tirade continued. “Does she know how much time I spent on those individual candies, getting them to look just right, just like the real thing! And ano--”

Spike’s voice cut in hurriedly. “O-O-OK, Party, I’ll l-let her know. Keep in radio silence unless you absolutely have to. No idea what sort of security Blueblood will run in his personal apartments. But I’ll be here if you need me, roger?”

Pinkie couldn’t help but giggle at Spike’s last question, despite Rarity’s rage. “Silly Drake. My callsign is Party, not Roger! But I read you loud and clear! Party--not Roger--out!”

Pinkie removed her fingers from her ear piece and put them around the door knob. A quick turn of her wrist and the door was open. She slipped through, turned right and went through the double doors.

She crouched down, hiding behind the banister, which thankfully didn’t have any gaps in it. She raised herself only slightly, peeking over. The attendant was at the base of the stairs again, although he would never think to look behind him. Pinkie seized the pretty wide opportunity she had and crept across the stairs, entering the right wing of the manor.

She closed the door behind her, not making too much noise. Sure enough, Spike was right. The hallway was less grand than the one she was in prior and it turned right so there was only one corner for Pinkie to go around. Once she did that, it would be the second door on her right.

Pinkie went on her tiptoes and crept round to the corner. She peeked out from it and looked ahead. Clear. Seems Blueblood didn’t care much for the security of his servants. She shrugged and swiftly went to the correct door.

When she entered what was within, she only found another hall, although this one was simpler and wider than the others. Plain, wooden doors were on the walls, which Pinkie assumed were the servant’s rooms. She gave the room a once-over and went to the first door on her left.

When she got in, she found a small, square room that was very dull in design. It had cream walls and a brown carpet, a single but rather big wardrobe and two bunk beds. Oh, and a young, freckled servant was lying on one of the bottom bunks, reading one of those dirty magazines Pinkie found Dash reading once.

There was an awkward silence as both parties stared at each other.

“Uh...” The man glanced from his magazine to Pinkie. “I didn’t think we were getting entertainment...um...” He speedily hid the magazine under his pillow, blushing.

Pinkie glanced over the uniform the servant was wearing and hatched another brilliant idea. “I need your boots, your clothes, and--” She looked over to the bedside table. “Ooo! Is that a cookie?!”

“Er, yeah, it is. Have it.” The man pointed to the snack, still looking at Pinkie, who quickly went over and gobbled it up. “So... are you gonna do something to me?”

Pinkie wiped the crumbs from around her mouth. “Oh, yeah. We’re gonna have a real fun time,” she said with a sultry grin. At first glance, she didn’t seem like the type of woman to know about the art of seduction. That wasn’t the case, it was simply that she never had to use it before. Dash’s phone was a pretty good resource for smutty stuff anyway.

She giggled, then sat on the man’s stomach. He gulped. “Um, what are you...” She started unbuttoning his shirt. “O-Okay, guess we’re doing this.”

“Yep,” Pinkie replied, undoing his belt and loosening his pants. She then placed a hand on his chest and leant closer to him. “Time to play.”

The servant couldn’t help but smile as he felt Pinkie’s warm breath upon his lips. “W-Wow, I think I’ll like this game...”

“Oh, you will,” Pinkie said, voice laced with seduction. She brought her lips closer and then...

“HIYAH!!”

The man blinked, staring up at Pinkie in surprise. “Wait, wha--”

He was cut off by Pinkie’s forehead coming down and colliding hard with his own. He went out like a light.

Pinkie groaned, rubbing her head. The impact was pretty hard but she knew the throbbing pain would pass. She looked over the unconscious servant. “Okey dokey lokey, time to change.”

She quickly took off the man’s clothes, except his underwear, and put them on. Luckily they were close to her size, although the belt did help. Slipping on his shoes, she looked at him, tapping her chin in thought.

“Hmm... what to do with you, mister?” She glanced around the room, brightening up when she saw the wardrobe. “Binga banga bingo!”

She gently picked up the knocked out guy and managed, with some effort, to stuff him into the wardrobe and shut the doors. “Phew! Okay, mister, have a good nap!”

That out of the way, Pinkie confidently stepped out of the room. As long as she kept her head down, she would probably be able to slip by unnoticed. She inspected herself. The shoes rubbed against her feet a little, being a bit loose. She was wearing a black waistcoat, with a white shirt and a red bowtie. The black trousers were a little big, so she had to raise them a bit under her shirt so she didn’t seem suspicious. Her disguise would do.

She opened the door ajar and passed through, peering about. Luckily enough, she found the ventilation shaft--near the door at the end of the room. Casually, she walked up to it and tried to pull the grate off.

“Nrrgh!” The grate budged, but did not escape from its bounds. Pinkie rubbed her sore fingers, frowning. “That thing is stuck tight... Hmm...” She checked her trouser pockets and got out a rusted coin. It would do. Using the coin, she undid the bolts on the grate. It took a while, and her hands got sweaty and tired from the effort, but eventually the grate came loose. Pinkie scuttled in, remembering to put the grate back on behind her so everything looked okay.

The space was tight and a cool breeze blew through the metal passageways. She slowly crawled, even her careful movements making quiet thuds on the metal. The vent went straight up, so she had to squeeze and squirm her way up, her joints aching from the pressure being put on them. She felt like toothpaste coming out of a tube.

Once she was on top, she had two options: left or right. She went left, because that’s where all the guards were. Hopefully the vent would take her across the stairs and right to them. Well, above them.

As she crawled along, she heard a few voices from the rooms below. None of them were Chylene’s or Blueblood’s, and all were talking about boring, casual stuff. Disregarding them, she soldiered onwards.

Chylene walked through the long halls of Blueblood’s mansion. Finally alone, everything was quiet, but she was no less uneasy. She kept looking down at the floor, ignoring all the grand decor around, simply thinking.

Could she do this? Well, she had to, didn’t she? Blueblood chose her...but what if he chose her because he knew she would fail? How much did he know? Not much, surely? Yet, if he did know their plan and was summoning her alone...

“No!” she whispered to herself, stopping. “I can’t think like that. Think of the positives...”

Except there were none. Not for herself, anyway. This wasn’t about her. Much bigger things were at stake here.

And they all rested upon her shoulders.

She let out a terrified squeak, not taking another step forward. There was only one thing she could do now. The thing she had always done, ever since she was a child. Close her eyes and escape it all, just for a little while.

She saw her friends, each of them crystal clear in her mind, one at a time.

Twila. She had learned so much ever since she moved to Mansfield and met everyone. Now? She was irreplaceable. She was the glue that bound everyone together. And all the details in the planning too.

Spike. A real trier. The pepper to Twila’s salt. A gentlemen, but still finding himself. Sincere, above all.

Pinkie. She had confidence in truck loads. Always cared for others, but rarely for herself. A source of inspiration, every day.

Rarity. Generosity and beauty incarnate, and not just on the outside. Different from everyone else, but a part of the group all the same.

Jack. Strong, just like all her family. Dependable above all. She wouldn’t let any of her friends down. Ever.

And Isabelle. She had stuck by Chylene ever since she was first dropped off at that orphanage. She stood up for her against the other kids and provided something that Chy really needed at the time: a friend. She had her faults--everyone did--but she was one of the most loyal people she knew.

With a deep breath, Chylene opened her eyes. Now, she was ready. Maybe not completely, but more so than ever before. Now she knew who she was doing this for. Not herself, not even the country, but her friends.

She slowly started walking again and reached Blueblood within minutes.

Her instructions at the base of the stairs had been clear. Up, through the large double doors that stood open, then straight down to the far side of the house. Blueblood’s room took up most of the far side, high up on the hill, overlooking the city below. When she arrived at the door--it was thick with golden trim, so she was pretty sure it was his--she was to knock twice, then await to be summoned. No matter how long it took.

Chylene brought a trembling hand to the door and softly knocked twice. After a couple of minutes, there was no response, so she repeated herself, a little more forceful this time.

Again no response. Another minute, another minute. Now that Chy had readied herself, she wanted to begin. What was Blueblood waiting for? Was this another trick like he used with the guests before the ball started? Well, she wasn’t going to fall for it.

She raised her hand, ready to try again, when the door opened about halfway, revealing another servant. He was an older man; much, much older. The little of his hair left was white with age, and his posture was impeccably straight. Yet there was some wear around his eyes, though they were sharp, even a little angry, to denote his stance was one developed from years of correction and harsh beratement.

A long time family servant, perhaps? she thought to herself. Opening her mouth to speak, he interrupted her with a sharp, “Your instructions were to knock twice once and wait. The master’s demands are very specific and not to be ignored.” His voice was stronger than his age would suggest--his enunciation precise, even. But a little forced, as if here he was trying too hard to assert his authority, as anywhere else he’d have none.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir! I just thought that maybe you didn’t hear me knock the first time, but if you did I’m very sorry!” Chylene squeaked, beginning to shuffle behind the door so she could hide.

Opening the door the rest of the way, the servant--butler, Chy corrected--gave her a measured look. He tsked to himself, then said, “Well, I see why you were chosen.” Suddenly, he barked, “Stand up straight, stop hunching those shoulders! And for the love of God, cease your incessant squirreling and fidgeting!”

Chylene shot up, standing straight like a frightened rabbit. “Yes, sir!” Fear of getting reprimanded by the butler overpowered all urges to fidget and retreat.

“Better. Better,” he said quietly, nodding slowly. “Inside, have a seat anywhere. I’ll go alert the master.” With that, he turned and headed through a door across the room.

Chylene crept in, her steps small, and made her way over to one of the seats near a roaring fireplace. The seat she chose was the least lavish one, but in truth all of them were.

For all the rooms she had seen, this was the smallest, only a little larger than the bottom floor of her cottage. Perhaps Blueblood, despite his upbringing and attitude, still felt that a certain moderation created a more homely feeling. Beyond the chair she sat in, there were two others facing the fireplace. A couch, facing the opposite way, was behind them. Three walls were mostly covered by bookshelves. A chilling bottle of wine set the scene, so much like many she had read in books borrowed from Rarity.

Chylene wasn’t sure she cared to be the heroine in one of those sort of books. She sat upright in her chair, hands on her knees, waiting for the man of the hour to arrive. What was taking him so long? Did he have something special planned for her? She certainly hoped not.

A small clock on the mantle chimed out the hour. It reminded Chy of how late it was--she wasn’t usually one to stay up much beyond nine or ten, most nights--and she yawned.

“Does my company bore you so much so quickly?” a voice from behind her said.

She turned in her chair quickly to find Blueblood standing next to a shelf, an open book in his hands. Turning again, she saw the door that led to the hallway on one end and the door to what she assumed was the bedroom on the other. Had she been that distracted that she hadn’t seen him come through the door?

“Oh, no no!” Chylene said quickly, standing up and giving Blueblood a little bow. “It’s just quite late, that’s all.”

He closed the book with a snap, replacing it on the shelf. For a moment, he stood there, simply looking at her. Offhandedly, he said, “For some. Let me ask you this--do you know why I’ve called you here?”

Chylene began fidgeting, but quickly stopped herself before answering. “I’m not really s-sure, sir.”

He nodded. “That’s good, you know your place. But you could hardly be so naive...?” He was more talking to himself. “Or perhaps so. It hardly matters.” He started pacing the room, slowly, as he spoke. “I’m going to try something new. You see, I’ve become bored with this game. So we’ll play by some more common rules.” He stopped, looking at her. “This is how it goes, isn’t it? We talk, we learn, before the end? That’s right, isn’t it, Chylene... Chylene...” He was waving a hand, offering to her to fill the blank.

“Hutchison, sir,” Chylene answered politely.

“Just so. Sit,” he commanded, walking towards a nearby chair. “And I suppose talk.”

Chylene sat back down in her chair straight away, giving Blueblood all of her attention. Was she supposed to say something? She figured that if he started the conversation, it’d be easier to sound invested in him.

She was silent the entire time it took him to sit. Then she saw his face showed annoyance, and he snapped, “I said talk!” It wasn’t quite a yell, he didn’t raise his voice. Simply impatience.

Chylene flinched very slightly. “Oh, um...” She had to think on the spot here. She needed to say something that would actually interest Blueblood... “Uh, you’re looking very handsome today, sir,” she said, with a nice, although fake, smile.

He waved a hand, dismissing the fake compliment. “Pleasing, but part of the same game. Boring. There’ll be time to admire and remark upon my many magnificent traits in due time.” Despite his words, Chy could see he did enjoy the remark. He went on. “I should clarify--not all of us can have the gifted distinction of attending the Royal Academy in our youth. When I say ‘talk’, I mean ‘converse’. Whatever it is you and your folk talk about. Normal, I suppose one would say.”

Chylene swallowed and racked her brain for ideas. She couldn’t come up with anything good. “Um... well to do that, I’d really need to know more about you.”

Blueblood’s face was stoic for a moment, before cracking into laughter. At first Chy took this as a good sign, but his laugh was...unsettling, as if he wasn’t used to the act. It stuttered, rising in intensity and pitch, then lowering, back and forth in jagged, unpredictable waves. It was too fast, like a child’s laugh, ignorant of the depths and meanings of a true, joyous laugh.

Chylene wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. “...what’s so funny?” she asked, without being defensive. “Is it me? Am I funny?”

He raised a hand as the laugh subsided. “It’s simply--hehehe--simply too hilarious. Strilv insisted I try to let my women talk to me, tell me about themselves. Yet here you are, still so captivated and curious you must ask about me. Inevitable, I told him, yet he insisted. But of course, it turns out I was right all along.”

In his words, Chylene saw an opportunity. “Well, of course you are! It’s obvious that you would know such fine etiquette.”

Leaning forward with a smile, he began working on the bottle of wine as he said, “Indeed I do. Fine, let it not be said I’m not considerate of my consort’s wishes. But, perhaps I’ll combine as much with Strilv’s advice. Questions--I’m sure you have some. Ask them.”

So many possibilities were at Chylene’s grasp, but she had to take the right ones. “What are your interests? Maybe we have something in common, which would be nice, would it not?” she said with a smile, that was actually genuine.

He made a noncommittal sound as he finished pouring two glasses of the wine. Handing one over for her, he took a sip on his own. His brow furrowed a bit in thought.

“I like what any man of sophistication and worth can enjoy, I suppose. The nighttime visits of an opera or classical Torani theatre.” He swirled the glass as he thought. “Many of my friends tried to convince me to visit the latest so called night clubs--but they’re open to all. Hardly fit for someone like myself with such tasteful requirements.” Taking another sip, he asked, “You mentioned reading stories about people--biographies. Tell me, have you read my own?”

Chylene shuffled in her seat. “Oh... I’m afraid not, sorry. Might you have a copy to spare?”

“You wouldn’t have time to even skim it. Our evening is somewhat limited, and it’s a fairly difficult read.” He stood up and took a spot next to the fireplace, leaning one hand on the mantle. “So, Miss Hutchinson, how does a rare soul like yourself becoming trapped in a lonesome little hole like Mansfield?”

“Uh...” Turning away slightly, she scratched her leg. “I was adopted.”

Nodding as if that explained everything, Blueblood simply said, “Go on.”

She hesitated. Above all, she wanted to keep her parents safe. If this all went badly, and she and her friends got caught... family would be next. “It’s not something I like to dwell on, sir...”

“I completely understand,” he said, taking an uncomfortably close seat next to her. “It would be hard coming from such rough and uncivilized beginnings. That you’ve come so far--dined at both Orleith castle and the Crystal Manor in the north, not to mention your personal invite at my own will--shows your inner quality. So rare to see someone rise above their common station, unlike certain tailors who will remain nameless.”

Chylene tried to inconspicuously move away from him. “That tailor isn’t as bad as some may think...”

“Well, some think better than others,” he replied flatly. “This is dull, a waste of time. We should just get on with it, shouldn’t we?” He raised an eyebrow as he saw her full glass. “Aren’t you going to drink?”

“Uh, ‘get on with it’?” She coughed awkwardly “And, um, I don’t drink alcohol.”

“Maybe not.” He still seemed to be halfway talking to himself. He stood up again, walking to one of the bookshelves, sliding one hand along the books until he stopped and stroked the spine of a particularly hefty volume. “I didn’t make you. I could have, but I chose not to. So why...” He paused, licking his lips. “Why did you come?”

She refrained from shrugging. It wasn’t a proper gesture, after all. “Because it’s polite to do so,” she replied, trying to sound sure of herself, but her voice wobbled at the end.

“Polite. Polite... That’s better than most, if I’m to be honest.” He continued to lazily trail along the books in front of him, his tone wistful. “If I’m to be honest, that’s perhaps the best reason anyone has ever had. I’m...not well liked, you know. Few people would come here of their own will, let alone for any selfless reason.”

Chylene rose from her chair. She blinked. Why had she done that? Shaking her head, she then said, “Perhaps if you gave them a chance and... let them be them?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” he snapped, turning to her. “They don’t like me as they are. Even my friends are more through business or family. So really, why are you here? Being polite? No. That’s not it. That could never be it.” He turned back to his books, his last few words being only just above a whisper.

Carefully, she took a few steps closer to him. She saw an opportunity here for a new ally. Maybe even a double agent. The Tyrant would never suspect a thing. “I can be a friend,” she offered.

“Could you? Would you?” he asked mockingly with a heavy scoffing laugh. “I’m not quite so sure. Others have promised as much. Not one has followed through.”

Chylene twitched. He wanted that offer, she knew it. So she heeded Rarity’s advice and turned on her heel, folding her arms. “Well... if you don’t want it...” She tried to sound firm, but her unsureness gave her the effect of being his superior. Like she was a parent dealing with a stubborn child.

A shocked look in his face, Blueblood sputtered, disbelieving, “You mock me!” Cautiously, he added, “Or is that a joke? You’re...serious?”

“I’m giving you the option, Mr. Blueblood,” Chylene replied. At least, turned away from him, she could bite her lip.

He said nothing for a full minute, then two, the silence stretching on.

Finally, he replied, “Maybe... Maybe you are different.”