“Well well well. Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” Blueblood said, his words honeyed, but too much so. They sickened rather than sweetened, but even still, they drew all attention to the speaker. “Servants, spotlights, please.”

The few street lights that had illuminated the courtyard dimmed, darkening the surrounding area. A few seconds later, a pair of bright, thick beams shined into the crowd from the manor’s roof. They wound around a bit before alighting on Twila and the others, causing them to raise a hand to shield their eyes.

“Twila Shields herself! And most of her esteemed...associates.” The nobleman sneered at that. “I must admit, I didn’t expect the honorable Miss Shields to accept my invitation. Being so busy with her important work in Mansfield, I was certain she’d have to decline. Oh, I am nearly moved to tears you could find some time for little old me.”

Twila grimaced slightly. The tone to the words was all right--but the undertone was pure Blueblood, mocking and belittling. Their families had been at odds for generations, but Alaurd held a particular hatred for Twila. Years ago, he’d bribed his way to passing the Royal Academy’s entrance exam, setting an unheard of score as a record that would last well beyond his own lifetime. Just a few years later, however, Twila had beaten that score. Not just beaten it, but earned it.

“Yes, I don’t think anyone here doesn’t know you and yours, Twila Shields. The honor you do us all by attending,” he said, pacing along the balcony. “The honor you’ve done your country, despite such humble beginnings.”

He stopped and gestured to the gathered nobles. “Everyone here knows how you protected the crown from usurpation, saving our dear Princess Luna in the process.”

Twila caught murmurs of Luna’s still recent banishment. Blueblood’s supposed praise was so hollow it nearly hurt--he knew exactly what he was saying, how it would be received. And it seemed he wasn’t done.

“The traitor Ddorcis still rots in a cell, a symbol to your neverwavivering loyalty and bravery. But that was merely the first of your achievements as Torani’s favored, wasn’t it? Why, not a year later you protected our glorious northern Crystal territory from a fiend straight out of the history texts. Or, rather, the demented cult who worshipped their so-called Dark King.” He paused, frowning. “Who could blame you for not being quite thorough enough. I’m sure you, as any of us here, hope for a speedy resolution to the recent uprisings.”

“Darling, stop, you’ll hurt yourself!” Rarity whispered to Twila, gesturing down. She turned to the tailor, noticing her gaze, then realized she was clenching her hands almost tight enough to draw blood. She crossed her arms instead, waiting for the joke of a speech to be over, willing her cheeks to cool.

“Yes, Miss Shields. You and your friends have served Torani well. Served her Queen well!” Blueblood’s smirk grew. He gave a small bow, barely more than a nodding of his head, and said, almost too quiet to hear, “May you continue to serve her. Effectively. Obediently. Eternally. As any good citizen should strive to do.”

He raised his hands, palms spread outward and upward, a gesture of connection with the crowd. “Friends, fellow Torani--a round of applause for our Queen’s most loyal subject and her friends!” he cried as he began to clap.

Chylene’s face turned red as she gave the smallest of waves to their audience. Pinkie did the same, but her movements were a lot more exaggerated. Either they didn’t catch the intention behind Blueblood’s words, or they were doing their best to ignore it.

Both Twila and Rarity didn’t even pretend to play along; they simply stood still, eyes trained at Blueblood as he slowly finished his clapping.

“With proper introductions concluded, I, Alaurd von Blueblood, do hereby invite you all into my humble abode. The entire first floor is free for your use, and you can find the dance hall in the back courtyard. If you require anything, do not hesitate to command the nearest servant at your leisure.” He threw both fists into the air. “Let the celebrations begin!”

Without warning, a dazzling display of coruscating colour and explosive sound lit up the sky above the manor. With the initial burst, the crowd almost collectively flinched, a few onlookers letting out frightened gasps, but the surprise quickly turned to delight as the clapping resumed, twice as loud as it had been for the girls. Another statement by Blueblood, no doubt.

“You gotta admit, those fireworks are fan dabby dozy!” Pinkie exclaimed, pointing up at the explosive filled sky.

Noticing the crowd beginning to surge forward, Twila replied, “But where did he possibly get the money for all of this, I wonder?” She frowned. “Blackmail or embezzling would be my guess. All so he could send us a message.”

“So I wasn’t the only one who caught that,” Rarity said. “The little ass has taken some lessons, it seems. Then again, he always had a special talent for living true his deluded fantasies of superiority.”

Nodding, Twila started moving with the surrounding crowd. She could see that the manor’s doors had been opened wide--though the spotlights were gone, the radiance spilling from inside lit up the landing quite well.

“Here we go, girls,” Twila said. “Into the mouth of the beast’s favored pet.”

Pinkie threw a fist pump into the air. “Yeah! Let’s do this thang!”

Chylene folded her arms, mumbling, “Hopefully it’ll all go well...” She sighed, whispering to herself, “Please...”

“Good luck,” Spike said, encouragingly. “Time to keep things quiet unless absolutely necessary. Drake out for now.”

And with that, the four walked through the doors. Twila felt a chill go through her as realization set in. Though Pinkie, Chy, and Rarity were with her, so many of her usual allies were gone. And now Spike could be added to the list, for the most part. It would only get worse with her next order.

Shaking her head, she steeled herself as best she could. “We’ve got some time, so split up. Listen in, find out what the general attitude on the Tyrant is. See who we can trust and who we can’t. Rarity, try and keep an eye on Blueblood. We don’t want to lose track of him.”

“Right,” the tailor replied, nodding, her eyes examining the massive foyer. The place was entirely made of stone, decorated with carpets and tapestries of incalculable worth. It stretched wider than it did long, ending in large, ornately carved doorways that opened up to the hallways leading to the east and west wings. In front of them, a twin pair of stairs, bedecked with golden trim and a silver railing, led both left and right before turning inwards and up to the second floor.

Blueblood stood there, leaning on the railing and watching his guests enter with a wry smile. Occasionally he’d nod or give a small wave. Twila was curious to see who was on the receiving end of his recognition.

From the upper rails to down below led streamers, alternating in colour between the Blueblood’s midnight blue and black--nearly indistinguishable from one another--to the Orleith royal gold and Celestia’s personal red and cinnabar. Anywhere else, it’d be an appropriate showing of loyalty and filial pride. But combined with the expensive architecture, the seemingly endless ornamentation and gilding, and the showy examples of Torani art on every wall and pedestal table, it went well and above pride to, quite simply, snobbishness.

“At least the music is nice,” Twila commented offhand. It was faint, but she could hear the tell-tale grace of expertly played strings. Wracking her brain, she recognized it as the Torani royal anthem, though with a quicker tempo and heavier percussion than it was usually performed with. “Chylene?”

“Uh, wha--” She blinked, looking around. She had been staring at the floor, ignoring everything else around her. “Sorry, I got a little bit distracted. Um, yes?”

“You probably have the quietest profile of all of us. So eavesdropping will be your best bet tonight. Leave most of the talking to Rarity or I--we’ve the most experience in this sort of crowd. And Pinkie--” Twila cut off, finding the party lover gone. She turned, looking right and left. “Pinkie? Did either of you see where Pinkie went?”

“She can’t have gone far...maybe by the food?” Chylene suggested.

Sighing in frustration, Twila waved a hand. “Oh well, she can’t get into too much trouble. Good luck, girls. We’ll meet up just before the auction, if nothing prompts it sooner.”

“To the dance!” Rarity declared, heading towards the east door. The majority of the younger couples seemed to be headed that way.

“I’ll try to find Pinkie and eavesdrop too.” Despite her words, Chylene didn’t start moving yet.

Suddenly, Blueblood’s voice echoed through the entranceway. “I almost forgot! Do enjoy the card tables in the west study. Any interested will be gifted one hundred dollars to get them started. House winnings will go to charity, of course--but you’re welcome to keep your own!” With that, he turned and disappeared behind a set of doors that closed with a resounding boom.

Pinching her nose, Twila grumbled, “Well, there went that plan.” But the idea of the card tables excited her. She headed towards the western hallway. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be trying my hand at a little game of chance. I’ve a few strategies I’d like to test out.”

Chylene stood in the quickly emptying foyer until Twila passed through the doorway, out of sight. She felt small, being so alone, but she was also nervous about mingling with the party’s crowd. Finally, her fear of being alone pushed her to the east, after Pinkie. Wherever she was, Chy hoped she could find her quickly.

In front of Pinkie was food, glorious food. An extremely long table spanned from one end of the room to the other, covered in a huge variety of different foods. Salad, wine, champagne, mushrooms, meat and even a huge roasted boar sat in the middle, apple in its mouth. Everything was set out to look as appealing as possible. For example, the boar had an entourage of lettuce gathered around it. But none of that mattered, not when Pinkie had cupcakes.

Sure, they were bland and not as sugary as the ones she made were, but cupcakes were cupcakes. She eagerly grabbed one and inserted it into her mouth whole, glancing around. Nobody was paying attention to her. So she had another. And another. And perhaps one more--

Or rather, no more: Pinkie stared in dismay at the crumb filled plate before her. Even if she had set a new world record, that didn’t make the fact that she had eaten all of the cupcakes any better.

At least there was still wine and champagne. Diane wandered over to a series of wine glasses, each filled with either pale or red liquid. She picked a glass full of red wine because red wine was more colorful than the rest, so it was automatically the best. She took a sip, licking her lips as she stared at the rest of the glasses.The woman grinned as a really really cool idea came to her head.

She dipped all her fingers in the wine, then put the glass along with the rest. Next, she rubbed her moist digits all over the rims of the glasses, making a harmonious sound. She giggled and kept going, making an upbeat, fast paced tune, much to the amazement of people nearby. They gave her curious looks, but didn’t comment on her skill.

Soon enough, Pinkie got bored. All the glasses had roughly the same pitch and she wasn’t going to drink from all of them to get anything different. Sighing, she downed her wine and put the empty glass on the table. This party was quickly becoming as boring as listening to Twila lecture about particle physics.

Why did Pinkie agree to that?

Shrugging to herself, she took another wine glass with her and left the banquet. Tapping the edge of the glass, she peered around. She should’ve gone with Dashie and Jackie, even if what they were doing was more dangerous. Maybe they could’ve used one more person?

No. I’m here now and I’m gonna try and enjoy myself. Um. Um. Um. Argh, what can I doooooooo?! she thought to herself, frowning as she saw only boredom. Under normal circumstances, she would have acted wilder and more carefree. Like the time she took over the band at the last Gala. It hadn’t ended well but it was at least something.

Her arm began to itch, so she scratched it as any normal person would. It felt good until she glanced at where she was itching: her bullet wound. She gently lowered her long glove that just covered the scar. It was a pink little thing and looked harmless enough. It even looked healthy, for a scar.

Pinkie kept scratching at the scar, becoming more forceful the longer she went on. The itch just wouldn’t go away. Gritting her teeth, she pressed her nails harder into her skin. She only stopped when she saw that she was drawing blood. Gasping quietly to herself, she pulled up her glove and walked away from her spot, weaving between nobles.

It was then that she realized that she wasn’t even itchy at all.