Fleur de Lis was ashamedly unfamiliar with Canterlot's art district. The museums and galleries were all strikingly new to her, works hanging on walls or otherwise proudly displayed representing the culmination of hundreds or even thousands of talented minds, each one of them a creative genius in their own right.

Fleur? She had some proficiency with the craft; she had attempted painting a few times and even tried her hand at sculpting, but she was by no means an expert and mostly relied on a pencil. Her secretary told her she had an innate talent, but standing and marvelling at what was considered to be the peak of Canterlot art, she wasn't so sure she could ever match up.

She found sullen, sombre, and moving notes in a portrait that was simple on the surface or vibrant colours swirling in a hurricane of emotion strong enough to bring her to silence, her body ceasing to move and her lips parting as she took in every line, every layer of detail and complexity.

Not all of them were life changing, mind altering masterpieces. Some just looked nice, but even allowing her eyes to settle on those would evoke a short smile and a moment of inactivity, as if she could carry on standing there and looking for a straight minute and find no reason whatsoever to avert her eyes.

In short, she was awe-struck and a little overwhelmed. Leaving the third gallery in a row behind, Fleur set out to find what she was looking for, the reason she had come to this unfamiliar, thriving area of Canterlot in the first place: the life drawing classes.

Fleur had first picked up the habit a few years ago, sketching ideas for the next issue of her magazine, watching a model pose and attempting to capture their likeness in her draft pages even as ponies continued to snap photos. It was an effective planning tool, but the more she continued to practice, the more real her sketches began to become, the more lifelike and defined the small scribbles in her notepad became until eventually, she came to appreciate them as more than just a preparatory necessity.

She wanted to get better, to learn how to draw a pony properly. It was a wholly unnecessary ambition, she realised, but there was an allure to the creation of art, one she had never realised existed until experiencing the sensation firsthand. Her sketches captured the poses and the figures of her models, but with refinement, she could permanently highlight their beauty, even play with it to accentuate or tone down certain aspects.

It was the ability to breathe the thoughts she had visualised into reality that took her. It didn't end at her work, either, fashion was only a factor. The more she began to think as a fledgeling artist, the more her surroundings began to offer her inspiration, from the city to the mountain to the castle, everything she saw was begging to be brought to life, to be redesigned, to be loved and appreciated by the stroke of brush or pencil.

And all of those paled before the visage of a pony themselves. That was a real and powerful source of beauty, one that she yearned to fully understand. Fleur walked through the congested, cobbled streets of Canterlot, winding through a sea of ponies of all classes, ages, and colours. It was a tangible feast of visuals, one that made even the most stunning art pale in comparison.

Fleur wore a dumb smile as she walked. There was something about the look of a pony that brought forth joy, and from the snooty critics to the excited teenagers, each had their own features, their own mannerisms, their own gait, and they celebrated that individuality with their discordant march past one another, each glance to the side another imperfectly impeccable soul for her to bear witness to.

She didn't let it distract her for too long. Soon enough, she found the building she was looking for, a large modernised studio made primarily of metal and glass, not in keeping with the Canterlot aesthetic but charmingly unique for that fact. She stepped inside, finding the help desk and approaching the receptionist. "Hello," she said, her voice smooth and cordial. "I'm here to enquire about the life drawing classes?"

The mare at the desk craned her neck to check the nearby clock, her earrings jangling, and she turned back with a smile on her face. "We usually charge twenty bits for the first three sessions, and then you're able to pay monthly for access to all classes as well as the use of any equipment."

Fleur nodded her head, the money wasn't an issue. Honestly, she was just glad to see that the receptionist didn't recognise her face.

"However, there is a session already in progress today. Started around half an hour ago, in fact. The classes usually go on for about two hours, but considering you've missed the start, I think you could get away with heading up without signing up if you wanted. Consider it a free taste!"

"No no, I'm happy to pay," Fleur said, shaking her head as she went to reach for her purse.

"Honestly, don't worry about it. You'll have missed most of the instructions, so you're not going to be getting as much out of the class as you usually would. The majority of the session is reserved for the drawing, after all." With an understanding look, she said: "I think it would be good for you to attend anyway though. Being around a naked female can be quite daunting for a lot of mares, let alone drawing one, so it'll give you a chance to see if it's in your taste. And if it isn't? Well, you've not wasted any money."

Fleur tried her best to suppress a giggle but only managed to limit it to a titter. "I think I'll be fine," she assured her, throwing her hand. "I work in fashion journalism, after all. I've seen it all before." She almost wanted to add that she wouldn't have a problem with it because she had posed nude plenty of times before when she was younger, but she refrained.

"If that's the case, feel free to go up!" the receptionist said, pointing a finger at Fleur's right. "Up the spiral stairs, take the corridor to the right, and it's three doors down."

Reluctantly, Fleur put her purse away, thanking the mare. She began to walk up the carpeted metallic stairs, her peach heels sometimes clacking against the metal on the outskirts of each stair, making her ascension loud and pronounced as echoes rang out.

She reached the top of the metallic mountain soon enough, her shoes continuing to tap against the floor as she walked through the building. Fleur had often been told that she had a scary walk, that she moved with purpose and conviction and could look quite intimidating at times, but in all honesty, she felt it came with the position. She had to be confident, she had to be fierce—it was dog eat dog in the fashion industry.

Fleur continued to marvel at the architecture as she strode through the building, walking through the main theatre to the far corridor, the buzz of activity to either side of her as art enthusiasts spoke and texted one another. Through her enthusiasm, she felt an iota of doubt. She was hoping it would be a group of mixed age and experience, but there was always the chance that everyone there would be more skilled, more versed in theory than she was. That might not necessarily be a bad thing if she was looking to improve, but she hoped she wouldn't be looked down on.

She heard a couple of people begin to murmur and talk amongst themselves as she walked, their utterances ringing conspiratorial to her ears. Doubtless some recognised her and were wondering what she was doing here, others probably thought this French prissy had gotten lost on the way to the upper districts, and she at least hoped that some of them were complimenting her outfit, a cream pencil skirt that hugged her figure along with a white blouse that cut just far enough down to show a small amount of cleavage.

She used to be curious about what other ponies thought of her, what they said about her, now she was surprised to ever find someone that didn't fall into an archetype. After having met and communicated with so many ponies, you realise that many of them really are quite similar. Walking through the corridor she absentmindedly counted the doors, one, two, and eventually three as she reached a white wooden one pulled to.

Softly pushing it open, Fleur entered the wide room to find a group of ponies all with drawing instruments in hand, going from their sketches of various details and back to the model, their eyes flicking to and fro. Fleur's eyes travelled over some of the works initially, and she found herself a little intimidated by the skill that some of the artists seemed to possess.

The proportions and linework on one pencil-drawn sketch were near-perfect and depicted a stunning woman in the process of having definition added to her shoulders, the work of another was a blissful painting, electric blues fading into a soft, almost white shade of yellow, the tiniest pigmentation to an otherwise sheet white coat.

When Fleur's eyes finally travelled to the model they were basing their works on, her eyes widened in shock. She recognised the mare, DJ Pon-3, a local celebrity that was steadily gaining popularity. She was notoriously enigmatic from what Fleur had heard and having read one of her interviews in the past, it was clear that she wasn't particularly open.

Then why would such a private mare be here baring all? It was unmistakably her, laid on her front with her arms forwards and legs pressed together, her face fixed in a position that exuded confidence, power. There was something quite captivating about her, from the curves of her body unlike those Fleur witnessed on her models to the messiness of her hair and the strongly defined features of her face.

Slowly stepping inside, she swore the DJ's eyes flashed to her, ever so briefly. She didn't break pose once, but Fleur felt the shift, and for some reason unbeknownst to her, it sent a small jolt through her body, one of wonder and intrigue.

"Ahh, a new student?" sounded a voice from the left, and Fleur pulled her eyes off of the naked musician, remembering there were, in fact, other people in the room.

"Y-yes," Fleur said, more flustered than she felt she should have been as she looked at the stallion, a man perhaps in his late thirties with a short beard and a comb-over. "I was told I could observe a session, as I arrived late?"

"Observe?" the stallion laughed, shaking his head. "Nonsense, we'll get you an easel. It's not often you get to have a celebrity as your muse, after all! What's your poison?" Tutting to himself, he answered his own question. "No, don't you worry, I'll bring you a little of everything. Just use this as a chance to be creative, and we can discuss the work when you're finished."

There was nothing else to be said, it seemed, and soon enough Fleur had been set up in the middle of the students, an easel in front of her with a blank page. "Enjoy," the stallion said as he stepped back, allowing her space.

"Thank you," Fleur said, slightly breathy. The blank page was imposing, especially when so many others around her were already in the later stages of their projects, finishing up specific details and beginning to polish. Fleur hadn't even drawn an outline yet.

Knowing that she would have to do the awkward thing of peering around the easel, she poked her head out to get another look at Pon-3. There really was something quite special in how she looked, from the spikes of her mane to the shapes of her body. Her breasts were a little larger than Fleur's, pressing against the table she laid on and looking as if they could burst out at any time if she but moved an inch, but she never did.

Her back was arched, its curve subtle and leaning outwards to a particularly voluptuous behind, one Fleur had to admit she kept her eyes trained on for longer than was proper. She knew the famous model could feel her staring, but surely that was what she was supposed to do?

Fleur had never had this exact feeling from looking at one of her models, whether she was sketching them or not. While they were very rarely nude in front of her, she had worked with underwear lines on multiple occasions, and the models there bared just as much skin as this, yet for some unfathomable reason, they merely appeared as attractive to her, while this mare got her heart racing.

Perhaps it was the presence she had, as if she knew she was sexy and chose to wear that fact with confidence, owning it and using it not because she needed to, but because she wanted to. The models Fleur had worked with were professionals, beautiful women that made a good living doing what they did, whereas this mare despite all of her notoriety was still an amateur, but perhaps that was part of the enticement...

Fleur could feel herself beginning to grow hot as her eyes trailed over her body, and she had to mentally kick herself for checking her out. She was here for the art. Feeling as if she would begin to look strange if she carried on doing nothing, knowing that the DJ was likely to be able to feel Fleur's eyes on her, she grabbed a softer pencil and began to draw an outline of her body, delicately gliding the pencil over the surface of the sheet as she attempted to commit the mare to memory.

The result came out as intended, the proportions of her drawing decent but not spectacular, the rough outline of certain details such as her floofy tail and dynamic mane being put into place as she stole small glances, hiding back behind her sheet whenever she could. It was like playing a game of spying with the beautiful mare, but Fleur couldn't understand why it would feel that way.

Still, her work progressed. She switched to harder pencils as she solidified the structure of the sketch, drawing in specific aspects of her face and attempting to capture each detail with a measure of proficiency. Occasionally, she would look to another student for guidance—none of whom seemed to mind, or really turn to look at her—and find that their work, while usually superior, followed the same style, the same structure.

Fleur wondered if such a thing was common, or if this mare commanded a certain look to be translated onto paper with her charm and quiet ferocity, her burning magenta eyes, boring into a space above all of their heads, as they had been for almost half an hour since Fleur arrived.

There was something wrong with it. Fleur couldn't describe it, she couldn't even make sense of it. By all means, her work should have been perfect for what it was, a good first attempt, but the more she looked at it and back to the model, the more she found it to be inadequate. In fact, she found the best piece there to be inadequate, even the one that seemed to be a carbon copy of her look and pose.

Was it about the pose, or about the expression that the pose represented, that the model wished to put out? Was simply attempting to replicate her look enough to do justice to something so gorgeous, to truly capture the moment?

Fleur ripped away her sheet with a loud noise, screwing it up and binning it, attracting the attention of the other painters. It seemed that some of them finally noticed her and who she was, as that's when the mumbles started, but even still, the model remained almost the perfect picture of passionate, unmoving serenity.

"Is something the matter?" the course leader asked as Fleur returned to her seat, a few eyes still on her.

"Not at all," she answered with a smirk, an idea already working its way through her mind. They had it all wrong, these talented and proficient artists. This wasn't a mare that was simply sitting there, she was trying to communicate something. She was beautiful and attention-grabbing, yet defiant and loud in her expression and professional and graceful in her stillness. This was a mare of complexity, and the more Fleur looked at her, the more she began to see that there was a lot more to her than that which was readily available on the surface.

Which meant that to get an honest assessment of just what she was attempting to convey, Fleur simply had to dig beneath the surface, be like her. Grabbing a piece of charcoal, she scratched over the sheet and created lines with one hand, the other holding a stump which she used to redistribute any off smudges of charcoal, of which there were plenty.

She attempted to distribute it evenly over her body, trying to add tone and depth to the colour in certain areas so as to accentuate her features, her slender body, her long legs, and her absolutely fantastic ass.

How she hadn't gone numb yet, Fleur didn't know, but needless to say, she was glad for the fact as she scribbled out long and spindly bits of tail, the streaks of black jagged and off, just as the mare's hair was. She looked at the other students' work and back to hers, now seeing a profound change. She was either doing the right thing or completely butchering it at the expense of her last attempt, which was mediocre at best.

Fleur could feel herself beginning to care less about that with each brush stroke—she was having fun. Never mind generic, formulaic, or artificially manufactured art, this was the truest expression, the kind that you had to record in an instant or it would be gone as quickly as the raw emotion spiked. No refining, no worrying, no second guessing, Fleur was guided by the charcoal and eventually the paints, her hands evoking each of the myriad thoughts that flashed through her mind as she looked back to the model, the usual, the unusual, and even the ones she didn't really understand.

After a manic flurry of activity, her hands moving in every direction and her magic even being incorporated once or twice, she withdrew with a sigh, lightly panting from the exertion. Before her laid something flawed and confusing, something asymmetrical and completely out of whack, crazy and exciting. Her mane was incredibly jagged, her frown was strongly defined, her eyes were larger than they should have been, and her ass had more detail than Fleur would care to admit putting into it.

She loved it; it captured the DJ perfectly, and the more she looked from one to the other, she began to realise that despite the fact that the other painters had managed to capture a more realistic representation of her pose, her body, her face, her hair, this one really seemed to capture her essence. Fleur couldn't explain it, she didn't know the mare, but neither did her art. It assumed little, depicting her as she was but with adventurous hyperbole, leaving as much to the imagination as it revealed, much as her teasing pose did.

Fleur finally witnessed her move. Around an hour after arriving, she began to roll her neck along her shoulders, causing her to let out a small crack! as she 'ahh'd in appreciation. She placed her hands under her breasts as she stretched upwards, barely not revealing her nipples as she arched her back further, a small series of pops sounding as she gave her legs a small stretch before returning to her previous position, the only exception being her closed eyes.

It changed her image in a thousand ways. What had once been fiery defiance was relegated to begrudging acceptance, her mien now one of vulnerability without her stunning eyes to offset the notion.

It made Fleur feel guilty for looking at her, and the longer she spent with her eyes closed the less Fleur wished to cast eyes on her until eventually they fluttered open, and her entire body seemed to rejuvenate with the simple motion. What a curious mare that could change your perception so effortlessly, how Fleur would like to learn more about her...

Her train of thought was broken by the leader's striding straight up to her, his eyes travelling over the sheet that laid before her. "This is..."

Fleur braced herself for criticism, knowing that she had gone completely against the curve. It wasn't what she had come to learn at all, and part of her felt silly for having wasted her time, but it had been so enjoyable, and the mare had inspired her so, she just had to do it.

"Inspired," the leader finished, giving her an approving nod. "It's raw and unrefined, but I think that's part of what makes it work. I feel like there's real emotion in this piece, or an indication of emotion, at least, and that's what does it for me. Good first attempt! I can see you have potential, but I'd encourage you to also attempt something less abstract when you get a chance."

Fleur felt a small blush at the compliment and its implications, as much as she appreciated it. She wondered if the DJ heard it, what she might connote from it? "Thank you," she said after a brief stammer, her eyes flicking back to the product of her labour.

"I think you'd enjoy this one, Vinyl. You should take a look at it," the leader said, looking straight ahead.

To Fleur's mild surprise, the model replied. "I'll check it when I get a minute, Stencil. Kinda not decent right now," she snickered, waving a hand at her current unclothed state.

"Yes yes, of course," he laughed, looking at the students around him. "Wouldn't want to give these ones a heart attack, would we?"

Fleur couldn't help but consider the fact that she really wouldn't mind. In fact, if the DJ she now knew was called Vinyl felt like getting up and walking over to her looking like that, she'd more than welcome it. She was that special type of beautiful, the type that wasn't flawless but was pretty damn close, and she clearly knew it. If anything, her flaws seemed to be what made her more special.

The class soon wrapped up as everyone finished their projects, and one by one ponies began to disperse. Soon enough, only a few remained, and despite wanting to, Fleur saw no excuse to stay and began to take her leave. She was plagued with questions about the mysterious Vinyl, what she was doing there, what she was like in person, but she could think of no way to approach her in front of the whole class.

It was when she had nearly reached the stairs that she realised she'd left her bag behind. Withholding a small sigh, she spun around and strutted her way back to the studio. Arriving, she found the room to be empty and quickly made a grab for her bag, making sure her purse was still inside. She was so occupied with checking off each of her possessions that she barely noticed Vinyl walking back in from a side room, now dressed in a soft blue dress that travelled around halfway down the thigh.

Fleur instantly panicked, worrying that Vinyl might have thought her to be peeking, but she quickly offered a smile, assuaging her concern. It was a short thing, but again, her face was so emotive that it almost brought a curve to Fleur's lips. In fact, it soon enough did. "Usually people come back the next day, not the next minute," she said, walking through the room and beginning to pack away what Fleur assumed were some of her things.

"I forgot my bag," Fleur said, resisting the urge to scratch her head.

"Is that so?" Vinyl replied, her eyes still not on her.

"Y-yes," Fleur couldn't help but stutter, something about this mare and her carefree attitude was a little intimidating, even to her. Fleur hesitated for a moment, then proceeded in asking one of the many questions on her mind. "Why do you do it? You've got a career elsewhere, you surely make a good living."

For the second time that day, Vinyl's eyes met hers, rooting her in place. "I don't know, why does the famous Fleur de Lis bother to come to a life drawing class?" she shrugged, rolling her exposed shoulders. "Same reason, I'd guess. Expression, freedom, something to do just because you can, you feel me?"

"Actually, while I do enjoy creating art a great deal, I'm here to learn how to represent the equine form a little better. I feel it would be useful for my magazine."

"Like that?" Vinyl snickered, pointing to the charcoal depiction of her with the big eyes and the bigger ass.

Fleur rubbed at her neck as she looked at it, the embarrassment of discussing a nude portrait with a model she was for some reason extremely attracted to beginning to set in. Not to mention she was also a famous musician. "...I suppose not quite like that," she admitted, her eyes falling to her feet.

For a few moments, silence, and then: "I really like it, by the way. You give me some killer curves."

"I didn't need to," Fleur blurted, placing a hand straight over her mouth as Vinyl held back a laugh. How she had managed to say that, she didn't know. "You were very fun to draw, Miss Vinyl," she continued, unaware if she was digging the hole any deeper.

"Hey, you were fun to model for," Vinyl smirked, briefly looking her up and down.

Fleur wasn't sure where the urge to do so came from, but the next words felt almost alien to her, even as she spoke them. "Are you busy at all now, Miss Vinyl?"

"Just Vinyl is fine," she said, waving a hand. "And I could be, what's up?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to grab a coffee with me?" Fleur asked with an innocent smile. It was an innocent question, right?

"Hmm, not really thirsty right now..." Vinyl said, tapping her chin as she dashed Fleur's hopes. "Yeah, I think I'll pass if that's alright."

Well, that was a bust. Vinyl clearly didn't want to spend time with her, that or she thought that Fleur actually meant coffee, which seemed completely ludicrous. Fleur resigned herself to the obvious 'no', getting up to leave as she gave Vinyl a quick goodbye.

"Hold on," Vinyl said just before Fleur reached the door. "I've got an event tonight, so coffee time is a little short right now if you know what I mean."

"It's fine, you don't need to explain," Fleur smiled, still grateful that she had bothered.

"Hold on, let me finish. I might not be able to do it today, but how about next week after class?"

Fleur felt her heart rate beginning to grow more prominent. "You come here to model every week?"

"For the last four or five, yeah. I bet you've got a weird hobby too," Vinyl winked.

Okay, there was something amazing about her winks, that was a certainty from the blush Fleur could feel forming on her face. She needed to get out soon. "Yeah, next week sounds good," she answered, trying to sound as unaffected as possible.

"Great!" Vinyl grinned. "I'll see you then, then," she finished, her eyes lingering on Fleur for perhaps a little too long.

Turning, she began to walk out, a tinge of excitement in her belly.

"Wait!" shouted Vinyl, causing Fleur to spin on her heels. When she looked at Vinyl, she was facing the window, and Fleur could see that the back of her dress had an undone zipper trailing more than halfway down. "Can you do me up?" she asked, throwing her mane over her shoulder to keep it out of the way.

Fleur walked over to assist, trying her hardest not to brush her fingers against Vinyl's fur but ultimately failing. She was incredibly soft and fluffy, and Fleur relished the feeling as she pulled the zipper up her back, noticing that it occasionally found resistance and she had to pull it seriously hard in order to get it up.

"How would you have done that without me?" she commented once it was done, striding back to the door.

"Simple," Vinyl answered, sparking her horn and manipulating the zip into going up and down her back a few times as she slowly wiggled her hips, her tail swaying from side to side. "I just wanted an excuse for you to touch me, just like you wanted an excuse to get me alone." Turning, Vinyl held out a hand, waving at her. "See you next week," she snickered.

Fleur could feel the blood rushing to her head as she left without responding, heading straight out of the building and back down the street as thoughts of the experience flashed in her mind. When she had left the apartment this morning, it had been in search of a class to improve her art skills, and instead, she had found Vinyl the riddle. Vinyl the sexy, confusing riddle with a face and body that stirred emotions in Fleur that she barely understood.

It was definitely a fortunate occurrence, and if there was one thing Fleur knew for sure, it was that she would be coming back on time next week. She didn't want to miss a single second of Vinyl.