The Uninvited Guest

     Which was precisely the problem for Fenimore Grubb.

     Fenimore was a Green Grarrl who lived in a modest Neohome on the outskirts of Neopia Central. His small house sat three streets down from the Money Tree and just close enough to the Bakery that he woke up every morning to the sweet smell of jelly doughnuts he could never quite afford. He worked at the Neopian Bank, in a cramped cubicle near the back vault. He spent his days counting Neopoints from nine to five, stamping paper forms with red ink, and occasionally getting yelled at by a Skeith who insisted his interest had been calculated wrong. It had not been calculated wrong, of course. The Skeith just could not do basic arithmetic. Fenimore’s green claws were perpetually stained with red ink, and his back constantly ached from hunching over a desk built for a much smaller Neopet.

     Fenimore was, by every account, a perfectly ordinary citizen. Except for one thing. He loved chocolate more than any Grarrl had ever loved anything.

     Not just eating it, mind you, though he did plenty of that. He loved everything about it. He kept a scrap-book of rare chocolate wrappers going back four years. He had once walked all the way to the Ice Caves just because he heard a rumor that the Snowager occasionally hoarded a Chocolate Negg in its pile. He never got close enough to check the pile, on account of the whole sleeping ice worm issue, but the dedication was there. He had entered the Chocolate Ball raffle every single year since it started, and every single year, his name was not drawn from the box.

     This year, he decided, would be different.

     It started, as these things often do, with a very bad idea whispered by a very good friend.

     "You want to what?" said Bartlesby.

     Bartlesby was Fenimore's Petpet, a small, stubbornly loyal Baby Blu with an alarming amount of opinions for something with such short legs.

     "I want to go to the Chocolate Ball," Fenimore said. He paced in front of his stone fireplace, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug. "Not the raffle. Not next year's raffle. This year. Tonight's ball."

     "You don't have an invitation."

     "I know that, Bartlesby."

     "You don't have fancy clothes, either. Your best jacket has a hole in the elbow from when you fell off Kevin's Whinny last summer."

     "I am aware of the hole, Bartlesby."

     The Baby Blu flopped dramatically onto the rug, covering his eyes with his short blue paws.

     "Then how, exactly, do you plan on getting past the guards? I hear this year they hired a Grundo checking names off a list, and a Techo doing retinal scans with some sort of Faerie-blessed monocle."

     This part, Fenimore had to admit, he had not entirely worked out. But he had a plan of sorts. The plan began with a shop on Chocolate Street run by a Cybunny named Mireille. She specialized in the sort of item that fell into the category of probably shouldn't be legal, but technically is.

     Mireille's shop had no wooden sign. It did not need one. Everyone in Neopia Central who needed something unusual knew exactly where to find it. The store was tucked between a Techo tailor and a shuttered candle shop that had been closed since the Month of Storing, for reasons nobody quite remembered. The inside of the shop smelled like old dust, dried herbs, and ozone.

     "A costume," Fenimore said. He emptied a velvet pouch onto the scarred wooden counter. Silver and gold coins clinked together, rolling slightly before he caught them with his large claws. "Something that would let me blend in. At a very fancy party. Full of very fancy Neopets."

     It was exactly four thousand Neopoints. Fenimore had skipped his morning jelly doughnut for eight months to save this up.

     Mireille studied him with the calm, unreadable expression Cybunnies were famous for. She swept the coins into a drawer without counting them. She disappeared into the back of her shop and returned several minutes later with a folded bundle of dark fabric.

     "A Chocolate Cloak," she said. She set it on the counter. "Enchanted. Anyone wearing it appears, to onlookers, to be made entirely of chocolate. Very fashionable this time of year, as you might imagine. I sell three or four a week leading up to the fifteenth."

     Fenimore blinked. "Wait. So other Neopets do this? Sneak in?"

     "I did not say that," Mireille said smoothly. "I said I sell cloaks. What Neopets choose to do while wearing chocolate-colored fabric is entirely their own business."

     He bought it. Of course he bought it.

     The Chocolate Factory on the night of the ball was unlike anything Fenimore had ever seen. He had seen quite a lot in his life, including the inside of the Money Tree once when he climbed it on a dare and got stuck in the branches for three hours.

     The whole building had been transformed. Great chocolate fountains bubbled in every corner. Thick brown rivers cascaded over tiered dishes taller than a Draik. The crystal chandeliers dripped with what looked suspiciously like warm caramel. Every single guest, every Zafara, every Kougra, every dignified old Eyrie with a monocle, was dressed in their very best. They sparkled under warm lights that smelled strongly of pure cocoa.

     Fenimore pulled the cloak tighter around his broad shoulders. He slipped into the room behind a cluster of chattering Faeries who were arguing loudly about whether the chocolate fountain on the left was structurally superior to the one on the right. Nobody looked twice at him. Why would they? He looked, by all appearances, exactly like a very tall, slightly lumpy chunk of chocolate wandering through a party entirely dedicated to chocolate. If anything, he blended in a little too well. Twice, he had to sidestep hungry-looking guests who eyed his arm with pure intent.

     He made his way toward the long buffet table. His heart hammered with a mix of excitement and guilt. He grabbed a small porcelain plate. He loaded it with a chocolate-dipped Neggcorn, three chocolate wafers shaped like tiny Meepits, and a truffle so large it barely fit in his green claw. He tried to balance a slice of Double Chocolate Cake on the edge of the plate, but the cake kept sliding around on the smooth ceramic.

     He had just taken his first bite of the truffle. It was glorious, rich, and better than anything he had ever tasted from the Bakery.

     "You are new." A voice said right behind him.

     Fenimore froze. He turned slowly to find a Chocolate Eyrie regarding him with sharp golden eyes.

     "New?" Fenimore repeated. His voice came out a full octave higher than he intended.

     "To the Ball," the Eyrie said. "I know everyone who comes every year. I do not know you." She tilted her head, studying his face. "You also have crumbs on your chin. I do not believe chocolate is supposed to get crumbs on itself."

     There was a horrible, silent moment where Fenimore considered several options. None of them were good. Running was one option. Explaining that he was, in fact, made of chocolate and the crumbs were simply a natural feature of his species was another, and possibly worse.

     "I am," he started, stammering slightly.

     "Relax," the Eyrie said. To his sheer surprise, she smiled. "I am not going to call the Grundo. Half this room got in on a dare, a bribe, or a very creative use of a Cloak from Mireille's shop. You are not the only chocolate-colored lump who was not on the guest list tonight."

     Fenimore let out a breath so relieved he nearly dropped his giant truffle.

     "You mean this happens every year?"

     "Every single year," the Eyrie said. She settled onto the edge of the buffet table like she owned the place. Given that this was the Chocolate Factory, she more or less did. "My name is Amara. I live here, actually. I grew up climbing these very fountains as a baby."

     "Fenimore," he said. "I work at the Bank. I count Neopoints for a living, which is exactly as thrilling as it sounds."

     "Well, Fenimore who counts Neopoints, since you have already broken the one unbreakable rule of the Ball, you might as well enjoy the rest of it properly." She hopped off the table. "Come on. There is a room upstairs where they keep the good stuff. The limited chocolate. The kind they only make one batch of a year. If you are going to risk getting thrown out by a Techo with a magic monocle, you may as well do it with a rare dessert in each hand."

     What followed was, in Fenimore's own words later, the single best two hours of his entire life. And he had once won second place in the local Beauty Contest.

     He danced with a Kacheek in a shimmering gold dress. He danced badly. He stepped on his own cloak twice, and the Kacheek laughed so hard at his clumsy footwork that she had to excuse herself to catch her breath.

     He met a Blue Grarrl even larger than himself who turned out to be a distant cousin twice removed. The cousin was wearing a tight tuxedo that looked dangerously close to bursting at the seams. The two of them spent a solid thirty minutes standing in a corner, balancing delicate porcelain dessert plates on their large claws, comparing notes on which Bakery items were the most underrated. Fenimore argued passionately for the Jelly Chia Pop. His cousin shook his head, insisting that the Tiger Squash Pastry held the true crown of Neopian baking. Fenimore accidentally knocked over a stack of paper napkins while gesturing wildly to defend his stance. His cousin just laughed and handed him a Mint Chocolate Kacheek to calm him down.

     He watched, wide-eyed, as a trio of Faeries performed an aerial dance above the central chocolate fountain. They wove between the brown streams without a single sticky drop landing on their delicate wings. He even caught a glimpse of the Chocolate Factory owner himself, deep in conversation with a Kadoatie wearing a tiny paper crown. Fenimore was too nervous to get any closer to the owner.

     Through it all, Amara stuck by his side. She snuck him into the upstairs VIP room exactly as promised. Fenimore stared at the spread in pure wonder. There were glowing bowls of Chokato Fondue bubbling gently over small blue flames. Next to them sat plates piled high with Dark Chocolate Maractite Coins, complete with the intricate sea patterns carved directly into the cocoa.

     Amara handed him a Thornberry Truffle. Fenimore bit into it. The tart, tangy center cut right through the rich, dark chocolate shell. He closed his eyes, chewing slowly. He made a slight mess as a drop of purple filling fell onto his enchanted cloak. Amara just snickered and tossed him a silk napkin. She introduced him to the room as her new friend from the Bank. Nobody questioned it, because apparently half the guests at the party had equally strange and vague introductions.

     It was nearly midnight when Fenimore finally noticed the Techo with the monocle. The guard was making his way slowly around the room, checking guests one by one against a long parchment scroll of names.

     "That is my cue," Fenimore said. He set down his seventh, or possibly eighth, truffle on a side table.

     "Probably wise," Amara agreed. She studied him for a moment. "You know, you did not need the cloak, in the end. You could have just asked me."

     "Asked you what?"

     "For an invitation. Next year." She grinned, revealing a row of small, neat teeth. "I do live here, Fenimore. I think I can manage getting one Grarrl who counts Neopoints onto a guest list."

     Fenimore, for possibly the first time in his ordinary life, was completely speechless.

     He slipped out through the side door just as the Techo's scroll was reaching the letter G. He ducked behind a chocolate-coated hedge and pulled off the enchanted cloak the moment he was safely outside. The night air was cold against his warm green cheeks. Somewhere behind him, the party carried on without him, music and laughter spilling out into the quiet street.

     Bartlesby was waiting on the front step of the Neohome when Fenimore finally trudged up the path. Fenimore was half-asleep, thoroughly stuffed with rare chocolate, and grinning like he had won the Neopian Lottery.

     "Well?" the Baby Blu demanded, tapping his short foot against the wood. "Did you get caught?"

     "Almost," Fenimore admitted. He flopped down onto the wooden porch beside his Petpet. "But I made a friend. A real one. She said she would get me an actual invitation next year."

     Bartlesby stared at him for a long moment.

     "You went to all that trouble. The cloak, the sneaking, nearly getting caught by a monocle Techo. And the best part of your night was making a friend?"

     Fenimore considered this seriously. He licked a smear of dark chocolate from his thumb.

     "Well," he said, "that, and the truffles. Definitely also the truffles."

     Fenimore Grubb still works at the Neopian Bank counting coins. But he has, according to reliable sources, an official invitation to this year's Chocolate Ball sitting proudly on his mantelpiece. It remains sealed, as always, with a little wax cocoa bean.

     The End.