Valuable Time, or Dolce Far Niente
“O! beware, my lord, of jealousy;
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on.” – Othello, Act III, Scene III
Not for the first time that day, Rarity was haunted by the ghost of unfinished works. Dresses floated about her mind, each one rebuking her with its mere imaginary existence, until she felt as laden as a pack mule with lacy crates.
Carousel Boutique was a bomb site of ribbons, gown pieces, and sewing machines chattering away. On the table next to her, a list of orders threatened to topple. She hurried from mannequin to mannequin, trying not to confuse her Manehattan Midnight Blue with her Canterlot Crimson Gown, and wondering where the sequins and feather boas had gone at a time like this, because Sapphire Shores wanted her showstopper by Monday.
Once more, she wondered if calling in her friends would get the coat-hangers filled faster, but ultimately cringed at the idea. Summer was no kinder on them than it was on her. Between Applejack’s and Pinkie Pie’s “Bramley Crumble Baking Competition”, Twilight’s and Spike’s diplomatic dinner with the griffons, and Fluttershy’s trip or other with whatever society she’d joined to go see some rare, exotic creature the name of which escaped her… well, there was no way she’d dump her fabrics on any of them right now. Needless to say, they’d never dream of doing the same to her. It was only fair.
“Oh, fiddle,” she murmured at the clock over the door. “What was I thinking? Right before the Gala Season, of all times…”
The cities were hotbeds of fashion fever right now. Her Canterlot Carousel sent new orders daily, asking for bigger and more elaborate costumes. Her Rarity For You sent requests and queries, some of which she’d had to point out were physically impossible to follow through. Doubtless her employees knew as much when they sent them – Coco’s letters in particular always ended with repeated apologies – but then Manehattanites were not the sort of customers to take “no” for an answer.
Meanwhile, Carousel Boutique itself was a bug light for swarms of Ponyvillians. She could see the ponies as though they were right in front of her: Lyra and Bon Bon giggling and saying how it was their first time going to the Grand Galloping Gala together; Doctor “Doc” Time Turner insisting she repair all twelve of his vintage jackets, from the plaid to the plain; Filthy Rich beaming proudly while his daughter outlined the new wardrobe she wanted to take to Trottingham this year. Every time she zapped and disposed of a new request, another one buzzed through the door barely an hour later.
So it was with yet another sinking of her already-drowning heart that she heard the tinkle of the bell.
“Just a minute!” she cooed down the stairs, and then she fought to disentangle a Pommel dress from a Sassy dinner jacket.
After five minutes of placing this, that, and the other onto benches and desktops and mannequins, she finally smoothed down the wild curls creeping into her mane and descended the stairs.
Please don’t let it be another patch-job request. I’ve already got two dozen on the waiting list, or at least I think so. Now if only I could actually find the waiting list…
“Hey, Rarity,” said the mare behind the counter. “You got a sec?”
Before the question even finished, Rarity’s keen gaze took in the ruffled hairs of the multicoloured mane, the complete lack of worry lines or crow’s feet on the face, the casual asymmetry of the limbs tilting towards the right as though she were pressing up against a wall. Both wings folded against the flanks with the poised carelessness a biped might slip into when leaning against a post to look “cool”. That smile alone was barely a curve between two cheeks. Both eyes were half-lidded in the manner of one who has found enlightenment and seems vaguely amused that no one else has figured out the answer yet.
All this rushed through her mind in a second, and then Rarity straightened her stooping back.
“Oh.” She blinked at the mare. “Rainbow Dash?”
“Who else?” Rainbow Dash smirked at her before slipping into a mild frown of serious intent. “Listen, can I ask you a favour? It’s kind of important, and no one else is in town at the mo.”
Memory flicked a card. “I thought you were training with the Wonderbolts? In Canterlot, remember? For the Derby?”
She winced at the way Rainbow went “Pfft”; a fleck of spit arced through the air between them. “Where ya been, Rarity? I did the whole thing last month. Like that could keep me down for long, ha! And since Spitfire doesn’t need me again till the Summer Sun Celebration, I got weeks to cool down. That’s why I’m here.”
Rainbow Dash has free time? Rainbow Dash!? Wonderbolt prodigy and champion of the skies? But I thought she’d stop sleeping on clouds all day once she got into the elite flyer’s club! I thought they trained from sunrise to sunset to keep in shape! What kind of carefree, irresponsible –
However, pragmatism cut the thought off. Rarity had been sewing dresses since she was old enough to levitate a needle for more than two seconds. From her mother onwards, she’d been quick to spot a potential help when it walked into the room. Even – she tried not to breathe too deeply – when it smelled of dried sweat and boiling sunscreen lotions.
“Rainbow Dash,” she said in what she hoped was a perfectly innocuous tone, “am I correct in thinking you are therefore available for some extra work at the present time?”
Rainbow Dash gaped at her. “Extra work? Right now? It’s the middle of summer. I got plans to keep.”
“But of course, of course. I was merely contemplating aloud whether or not you could spare a few moments to –”
“Rarity, this could be the biggest thing since I joined the Wonderbolts. I really could do with some help.”
Rarity scanned her face for any sign of a flicker of irony or for a twitch of suppressed mirth. One itching powder plot too many had left her wary of pranks from the pegasus.
“Oh my,” she said, her own workroom temporarily forgotten. “If there’s anything I could do to help, then certainly I’ll do what I can.”
“Great! I mean, I wouldn’t bother you if I didn’t think it was a really big deal. I actually wanted to ask Twilight, but you know, the griffon thing…”
Twilight was your first choice? What? So I’m what? I’m second place, am I? Rarity shook the cinder of indignation out of her head.
“What’s the matter?” she said, wondering if flying costumes were involved, or a history of fashions; she could manage those, but still… “Is it something to do with the Wonderbolts? I can’t imagine what I could do if that’s the case.”
“Nuh uh. Bigger. Way bigger.” Rainbow Dash took a deep breath. “You like books and stuff, right?”
Rarity glanced about the shop. No one else was there to confirm she was witnessing this. Instead, she inserted a hoof into her ear and rubbed it vigorously, squeaking as she did so.
“Books?” she said.
“Yeah.”
Rarity frowned. She was in a dress shop. She made dresses. Any books she had were about dresses. Perhaps this was about uniforms throughout history. Yes, that sounded likely.
“Well,” she began, “I could certainly recommend Beret’s Aerial Accoutrements, should you need anything detailed and up-to-date. Or, if you’d prefer something more historical, there’s Lord Medallion’s Dazzle and Destroy. My copy covers quite a range of Wonderbolt designs, which I think you’d find fascinating.”
“I meant story books. You know, like Daring Do. Made-up stuff.”
Rarity’s frown deepened. Upstairs, the clock ticked and tocked. In the silence, she could practically hear the dresses silently rebuking her for negligence.
“I’m not aware of any fictional Wonderbolt stories,” she said, trying not to let a bite of impatience taint the words – and failing – “Rainbow Dash, this is work-related, isn’t it?”
“Oh yeah. Absolutely. One hundred percent.” Rainbow nodded eagerly, flapping her fringe as she did so. “I’m writing a novel. I’ve been working on it forever, but I want a real one to… uh, check it against. You know, make sure it looks like a real novel should look. Only Twilight read my first draft, and she covered the thing in red ink. Total garbage. Uh… She didn’t say it like that, but I could tell that’s what she meant. She said the Daring Do books were OK, but not the best ones if you wanted style and so on. So I wanted to do it right this time. And you know, style’s totally your style, and all. So you got any books? I only need one. I’ll bring it back soon as I’m done with it.”
In this silence, Rarity could hear the dresses shouting at her. Five patch-jobs lay untouched where moments before, she could have stitched and sent them on their merry way. And more ponies would come in within the hour. Her hackles burned just thinking about it.
As gracefully as she dared, Rarity strode into the adjoining room, went straight for the bookshelf, and snatched up the first title her telekinetic spell bumped against. Her face was carefully blank as she returned into the room with the good-natured mare Rainbow and the time-wasting scoundrel Dash. Rarity dumped the pink book onto the counter with the minimum of ceremony.
Part of her recoiled at the romance novel she was handing over, but the rest of her bared its teeth and ignored it.
“That, I believe, should do it,” she said, and she was surprised flames didn’t come billowing out of her mouth as she said it.
Relief melted on Rainbow’s face. “You’re a life-saver, Rarity. If you like, I’ll let you read the story once I’m done.”
“Delighted to hear it,” said Rarity through clenched teeth. Just get out, get out, get out. Don’t make me say anything I’ll regret later. Just let me get back to work. You know, actual work. That mythical creature you never seem to find.
Rainbow Dash saluted. “Thanks a million! Chow for now!”
A whoosh, a tinkle of the bell, a bang of the door, and the mare was gone. Dead time revived itself. Rarity about-turned and marched up the stairs, dresses swarming into her brain once more, and she wishing fervently her mind wouldn’t use such language so.
Outside, the orange haze of the sky slowly melted into the glittery darkness of night. Had Rarity glanced through the window, her inner poet might have bloomed under the light and the shower of inspiration.
Dresses lay folded in the corner. She’d had enough of dresses. Never had she repeated the words “croup, dock, haunch, shoulders, hip” under her breath ad nauseum, but now she had a sore throat and a tendency to retch at the mere memory of the words.
I swear it was never this bad. Even when Canterlot Carousel opened, the orders never came this thick and fast. She bent over the papers and scribbled. I thought all those years of sewing and selling would’ve… braced me for it.
But oh no. I finally live the dream, and it turns out the Land of Nod comes with extra paperwork. Not like some ponies. Not like some free-riders who get weeks to muck about with silly little stories all day.
At once, she stopped scribbling. She stared down at the letter.
To her sighing despair, she’d discovered an hour ago that her rare sapphire collection was a dozen short. A glance at the receipt to her right confirmed she’d made the correct order: thirty six, right there on the page. Typical incompetent service. The deliveries had been getting sloppy lately.
Just like a certain inconsiderate, short-sighted, lazy, unhelpful pegasus –
“No,” she said curtly. “I’m not going down that road again.”
The burning embers lurked within her chest, but this time they were far away, as though she were staring at a distant campfire. No pony deserved that kind of roasting. Flames did not belong in the hearth of the Graceful Rarity. A Canterlot pony – no, any refined pony, regardless of where she came from – should be ashamed to succumb to such a base emotion.
Although she was still staring at the letter, the words were now swimming into focus. “As busy as I imagine the mail system must be under these sunny skies, I daresay summer sunshine does not impinge upon a pony’s mathematical skills…” No, that was too sarcastic. Had she really meant to send it like that? She scratched it out and summoned a fresh sheet from the desk drawer.
Years ago, under the sunny skies of another lifetime, she’d watched bright-eyed and cooing while Rainbow Dash sliced and spiralled through the sky, attacking its endless blueness with her own burst and dash of colour and hues. Screaming air under tortured strain… the thud through the ground when Rainbow landed a little too clumsily… the musk of hot fur and hot, panting breath…
Rarity smiled and wrote: “I understand this is a busy season for the mail service, and I certainly wish not to impugn any one pony for what is after all a harmless mistake. With that in mind, I would like only to point out that the item I received was incomplete by twelve gemstones exactly, and if they can be sent within a few days, I would be very grateful.”
Much more magnanimous. A bit loquacious, but I suppose it helps the style somewhat.
If I can do that for the postal service, then certainly I can give Rainbow Dash the benefit of the doubt? To be fair, I have no idea how strenuous the flying life can be for a pegasus pony. Surely, she’s worked hard to join the Wonderbolts. Perhaps harder than I ever managed. She certainly seems to explode with energy when the starting flag’s waved or the judges are watching her. She could burn in a second the sort of energy I’d burn through in a month…
To her surprise, laughter tickled her ears.
Rarity turned to the window. Two voices were laughing. One of them said something, and then there was a sound like boooooiing… boooooiing… boooooiing…
Frowning, she got up and walked until she was right in front of the pane. Vaguely, she noticed in her reflection the dark rim around her eyes and the veins along her eyeballs.
Far beyond the pathway leading to her home, two ponies galloped across the grassy hill. A dark dot bounced from one head to another, each time going boooooiing before shooting across to the next player. Now she was paying attention, she saw one pony was but a foal compared with the other. Both had wings, which flapped with excitement. Their voices counted up the bounces: at one point, she swore she heard “three hundred and ninety four”.
Her eyes narrowed.
Rainbow Dash bounced the ball over to Scootaloo and shouted: “Three hundred and ninety five! Twenty more, and the record’s in the bag!”
Scootaloo laughed and almost lunged at the ball in turn, stumbling on her legs.
Rarity stared at the two of them for a while, trying to wrap her mind around the enormity. Playing games!? Playing games!? When I have to get an early night’s beauty sleep tonight? And what have I got to look forward to? More orders to tackle! Ugh! Ugh!
Despite the voice of reason urging her not to be stupid, she drew the curtains so hard she almost yanked the rail off the wall. The laughter and the boooooiing followed her past her desk and through the door and up the stairway to the bedroom. She ground her teeth every step of the way.
Dawn painted the skies above Ponyville’s thatched rooftops. Rarity, still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, opened the front door and yawned until her jaw ached.
You’re being ridiculous, she thought sternly. There’s no law against playing games in summer. You’ll have your opportunity once all the orders stop pouring in. Sweetie Belle mentioned she’d like a sleepover during the summer holidays.
Yet the fire burned on inside her chest.
More to give herself something else to immolate, she levitated the basket and skimmed over the roll of parchment. Carrots, lentils, broccoli, corn-on-the-cob, eggs, mushrooms, some garnish, yadda yadda yadda… A shake of the basket elicited the tinkle of coins. Yes, I think that’s everything present and correct. That’ll keep me going for a week, I should hope. Of course, we wouldn’t have to worry about it all if some pony hadn’t forgotten to write up the list yesterday…
Rarity gave a hollow laugh at the thought. Perhaps this was just stress after all. She hadn’t thought this scathingly – or this stupidly – in months.
The lock clicked behind her. For a few seconds, she stood and listened to the dawn chorus. It was all the luxury she was going to get until sundown.
Finally, Rarity trotted along the path towards the marketplace. As she went, the birdsong dwindled to silence. Only one sound remained. A distinctly unbirdlike sound: deep enough to run through the earth and her legs, and harsh as a chainsaw hitting an iron fence repeatedly.
A figure lay on the grass, all four limbs spread wide. The deep, harsh sound rose and fell with her chest. Snores.
Rarity raised an eyebrow. Hardly any ponies slept in the open these days. It just wasn’t done. It was uncouth. In any case, most Ponyvillians had run screaming from night monsters one time too many to trust themselves in the outdoors after dark. She went over to inspect them.
Rainbow Dash’s mouth gaped and closed, gaped and closed, gaped and closed. A bluebottle zipped past her ear, landed briefly on her snout, and at the next snore zipped off again and disappeared. Around her, the grass washed and flowed under the fickle breeze.
Either she was having a sleep-in, or she was getting away with staying up late and waking up late. Rarity fought not to grind her teeth again. How does she get away with it? Don’t athletes have to do some training at some point? She can’t just be coasting on her talents. That’s not how the world works.
The basket weighed heavily upon her straining horn’s magic. That’s not how it should work.
Yet as she examined the sleeping pegasus, her gaze alighted upon a block of white next to an outstretched leg. One pencil lay to its left, the lead reduced to a stub.
Rarity noticed writing on it. She glanced around, but the hill was free of other ponies and no one seemed to be on the streets nearby. She leaned forwards and squinted.
Then she turned away.
“No,” she snapped. “I am not some snooping filly. I am a lady, and ladies do not pry.”
Rainbow Dash’s snores bored into her head. She winced at the scrawled words, and then checked that no one was around.
“Although… she did say I could take a gander at her work later. No harm in seeing how she’s progressing, is there? I mean, that’s practically an invitation. And who would just leave it lying in the open? It’s in the public eye there…”
The coins in the basket jingled. Breathing a little more heavily than was her wont, she lowered it to the ground.
“Oh, Rarity,” she moaned. “You utter filly.” Horn simmering, she summoned the pages and skimmed over the first one.
Then she skimmed through a few more, blinking stupidly.
No. This wasn’t a fluke. She went back to the first page, a representative of the whole:
“And, then Intrepid Explorer exclaimed, ‘Lo, there is the castle, of my fodder. Forsooth, he will, grow wroth.’ And then his aprentis [N.B. spelled right?] lifted a rock and charged, into battle. And then, he raised his sword, cause that was when the big, diamond dogs leapt out of the ground; like jack-in-the-box puppies. And then; the first one hit him, cause he was the leader; and ~~Basset Hound~~ Rotweiler diamond dog leaders wont to be the first in every fight. That; was when Intrepid Explorer cut off, his head, [N.B. or knocked him out?] and he said, ‘Ow! No‼‼! My gemstone of power! ‼‼ This cannot bee! ‼‼ Iam defeated! ‼‼ That’s impossible! ‼‼ O long, have I awaited this day; cause the prophecy said it [N.B. check prophecy, pg 26], and then, Intrepid explorer [N.B. AJ know d dog pst ctrl????] the battle. Then WHAM‼‼! The apprentess woke up and saw, in pain, it was all a ~~roos~~ ~~rues~~ ~~ruse~~ trickery sandwiches check pg 36] dog not defeated after all‼‼! ‘Alas Behold he was faking his most greivous woond‼‼!’”
Very slowly, Rarity lowered the pages. Below her gaze, Rainbow Dash snored on.
Of course, this must just be the first draft, and she’s going to check it and rewrite it and improve it. No one’s seriously going to take this as a finished story.
Although… she could do with dropping the archaisms… perhaps I gave her the wrong book to check it against…
“Intrepid Explorer”… now why do I think “Daring Do” when I hear that name?
Skewing her lips, Rarity eased the papers back onto the flattened grass. Off-hoofedly, she adjusted the angle of the pencil.
Grimly, she sighed down at Rainbow Dash’s endless gape and close, gape and close, gape and close. She couldn’t help but notice how thick the wad of papers had been.
I really, really don’t want to judge, she thought desperately.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time she’d seen pages like that, though in the past various ponies had thrust them into her face or gone on and on about how many genres they’d managed to pack in, and how awesome the fight scene was on page one hundred and six.
Despite herself, she strode away from the brutal snoring and felt the balm of relief settle over her. Rainbow Dash is spending her summer… on something like that? She really thinks that’s a big deal?
She blushed at the mere thought of it. And she’s going to ask me to read it. And I’ll just bet she’ll be hovering over my shoulder and beaming and waiting for the praise for that… that thing. What on earth am I supposed to say? How could she even think of inflicting that on anyone? Much less me…?
Rarity tried to shake the thoughts out of her head, but they buzzed around her like flies on rotten fruit. In the end, she simply let them buzz while she focused her mind on carrots and broccoli.
A few seconds later, she hurried back to pick up her basket, and then strode away again.
With a slam of the door, she strode past the window and did not dare to look out of it.
In her kitchen, saucepans boiled over and water sizzled where it dribbled onto the cooker’s flame. Rarity twisted the dial on the timer and placed it on the sideboard, twirled the knife, sliced a few carrots in barely a couple of blinks, and then levitated the pieces over the third saucepan and dropped them in with a splash.
The sky beyond the window was blue, but already a greenish tinge stained the horizon as it reached for the descending sun. She could imagine a hundred ponies all over town watching it from their windows. A sigh escaped her.
No. Stop looking at the window. It’ll only upset you.
Hastily, she went upstairs and checked the workroom. Dresses and costumes trembled on the worktop like two columns of fabric brushing the ceiling. There were mannequins with no sleeves or with parting seams or with half the skin-tight suit covered in sequins and feathers. And still the orders pile looked several inches too thick.
I’m never going to get all this done in a week, she thought. I’d have to start giving up meals. So while I have the opportunity…
Five minutes later, Rarity was back downstairs, placing the abacus onto the dining table and summoning sheets and charts to her side. Delicately, she placed her glasses over her muzzle and peered through them.
She glanced at the window, then growled and forced her gaze back down to the beads. They began sliding along the abacus, clicking against each other.
“Now, that’s fifty for the gemstones, twenty seven for the new order of silks, take off one hundred and twenty nine for Diamond Tiara’s ensemble… No, keep it simple. Outgoings first, income second. So that’s…” She checked a page. “Huh. I could’ve sworn it was less than that. Oh, well. One hundred and five for the rare gilded thread, eighty seven for the plaid fabric, cross out the order of starch because they still owe me for that soiled last batch and he said I could have the next ones free of charge…”
While she worked, she looked up a few times to check the timer. Good. Plenty of time.
Once more, she checked the page. A couple of beads slid along as she corrected her mistake.
She wiped her forehead, glanced at the window, and harrumphed before levitating another page before her face for inspection.
Beads clicked. Water boiled. The timer ticked on.
Then, she got up, sighed, went over to the window, and looked out.
I knew it. I just knew it.
Rainbow Dash stretched along her deckchair upon the hill. Even here behind the glass, Rarity could hear the satisfied groan as the stretching muscles relaxed. It was no surprise to her that the mare was wearing sunglasses even during this cool and dimming evening; she’d never been one for sensible eyewear. Beside the deckchair, Scootaloo was curled up on a cloud a few feet off the ground, snoring into her hooves.
Rarity had checked on the two of them earlier; this wasn’t the first time she’d gone to the forbidden window today. Every single time, Rainbow had been on the deckchair, once simply basking in the sunshine, twice sipping a drink from a cup through a bendy straw, three times nodding while Scootaloo shuffled some pages and chatted away to her, and every time silently mocking Rarity’s own crumpled, aching face with her easy existence.
This time, Rainbow eased the pages from under Scootaloo’s hooves and leafed through a few pages of what could only be – Rarity cringed at her own sarcastic mindset – her literary magnum opus. From what she could tell, the pegasus was smiling at it.
Rarity sat back down. She didn’t touch the abacus.
That poor girl, she thought sadly. She really thinks that’s solid gold? The instant she shows that… monstrosity to someone else… well, someone other than Scootaloo, I should think… oh dear…
Rarity’s cheeks burned at the mere thought.
And that’s going to be me, isn’t it? I’m going to have to tell her. I’m going to have to look her in the eye and tell her. I’m going to have to see hours and hours of pointless endeavour and frivolous work and heartfelt waste, and I’m going to have to call it what it is and tell her.
Oh, aren’t I being punished enough? I’ll be lucky if I don’t forget at least one order in all this mess. Why oh why did I ever insist Sassy run everything by me before doing anything? Why can’t Coco Pommel grit her teeth and tell Plaid Stripes she’s going too far and too far-out again? Why did this have to happen right now, of all times, right when everyone else is –
Silence! I am not going to be that kind of pony. Stop going on about it. You knew this was going to happen when you opened that shop in Manehattan. You even knew it was possible the moment you cut the ribbon for Canterlot Carousel. Of course the orders are going to pile up. We shall overcome them all. We shall just have to paw our hooves and charge in, trumpets sounding, banner flying, or my name isn’t Rarity the Unicorn!
Once more, she got up and peeked through the window. Outside, Rainbow Dash switched pages and continued reading.
Rarity placed a hoof on her forehead. Then she placed both hooves together and offered an unheard plea to no one in particular. The flames inside her chest died down a little.
She returned to the table. The abacus kept her occupied for a minute, and then the thoughts crept back in like spies after the cops had left through the front door.
Anyway, it’s not as if I’ll have time to read it. I could always say that; it’s not strictly speaking a lie. Or else I could promise to read it, honest-to-Celestia promise, and then let it wait for a few days. It’s not as if we have to specify a deadline. Whatever happens, I’ll need time to think of an appropriately gentle reply. Nothing too simpering or dishonest, of course. Perhaps a gentle nudge towards more editorial effort, or the hallowed “this has promise, but…” reply. Then again, Rainbow Dash is the blunt and rough-and-tumble type, and she already has Scootaloo heaping positives all over her, so maybe it would be wise not to sugar-coat it…
Inside her chest, the flames roared at this suggestion. Much as she refused to acknowledge them, they roared their assent anyway.
Yes, let her have the verbal “one-two” in the face. If she wants to fritter away her “sweat” and “blood” on dead-end doggerel like that, then I say she gets what’s coming to her. If she’d rather spend time on that than on helping me around the boutique, then why on earth should she expect any sympathy from me? Whatever the case, writing a novel is so overrated. Silly made-up stories, of no use whatsoever to anyone…
Guilt sprinkled over the flames. Her memory conjured up the bookshelf full of pink titles, several evenings spent lounging on the sofa with The Romantic Adventures of Fireseed and Lifeshower levitating before her… and a drawer, not touched since foalhood, full of amateurish scribbles and curly writing.
Yesyesyes, she thought frantically, but the point is: uh…
The point is… The point… The, uh…
Rarity frowned at the abacus, vaguely wondering why she’d gotten it out in the first place.
Seconds later, the timer’s beeping rammed into her head and she realized with a yelp the vegetables were boiling over.
Dresses, dresses, dresses flew about her. Dresses, destined for mares who would no sooner wear and compare them than forget all about them, before eating crystallized pineapples and talking of who was going to get engaged or rejected this season.
Rarity paused in the act of sorting them, leaving them floating and sparkling in midair. Lips twisting, she summoned the pot of ice cream and spooned two chunks into her mouth. Duty done, she resumed sorting.
A few minutes later, she summoned the second pot and spooned more chunks in. She hadn’t even checked her mane in the mirror this morning. Her head throbbed with facts and figures.
The orders pile had grown another inch. Bells tinkled. The voices of yet more ponies prattled on in her head. The tail of her workload stretched further into the future.
Under the closed curtains – the glare of the sun was too much – under the dull glow of the lamps – she’d switched them all on to cover the entire workroom – and under the sweat of too many stitching and drawing designs – her display wall was papered over with nothing but sketches upon sketches – she ignored the rumble of her stomach and strode from sewing machine to paperwork to squadron of mannequins. Coat-hangers jingled when she placed another six dresses in the queue. They were supposed to have come for that stuff an hour ago. Soon, she was reduced to folding the next batch neatly, each costume at the foot of each mannequin. Another pot of ice cream drifted over to keep her going with its sweet, sweet nectar… chocolaty life force… cushions for her melting brain…
Dumb fops, she thought. Or at least the words popped easily into her brain. No matter how feebly the rest of her shushed them and rolled its eyes, the words just came uninvited like the ache in her hooves. Wasting their time in ridiculous gowns… wouldn’t matter if they just wore little black dresses; those are simple to make. But nooooo… decorative piles of nothingness a Hearth’s Warming tree would find over-the-top, and every single one unique and rare and about as likely to last the season as a mayfly in a trout lake.
Her eye was twitching again. Maybe another pot of ice cream would cool it down?
The tick and the tock rapped smartly against her skull. Every time she looked up, she could’ve sworn an hour should’ve passed and was annoyed to find it was only twenty minutes.
Think of the money… think of the reputation… think of the clientele… that’s it…
I should be the one swanning about in glorious silks and crushed velvet. Yet as soon as this is all done, guess what’ll happen? I’ll be too tired to make my own ensemble. The muse will have deserted me, and why wouldn’t it? I’ve as good as killed it already. No artist’s soul could survive this onslaught…
Downstairs, the bell tinkled. The door slammed back.
Rarity let out the feeblest of whimpers.
She placed that dress over there and this jacket just here, sternly told herself not to forget the lapels needed folding properly, and then shivered and went downstairs. Something in her chest collapsed and moaned at the ground.
Rainbow Dash stood behind the counter again, sunglasses still on her muzzle. At least she had the sense to take them off when Rarity entered.
Muscles creaked and skin cracked around Rarity’s vague smile. Of course. Oh dear. She’s not really… she’s not going to ask me to… to read it already, is she? I can’t face her like this. I’ll explode.
“Rainbow Daaaash!” she said as gracefully as she could. “I-I wasn’t expecting to see you so, so soon. Um. Is there anything I can do for you? Anything that doesn’t take too long, perhaps?”
Rainbow Dash cocked her head, one eyebrow lowered like a faulty blind. “Er… is this a bad time?”
“Hm? Oh no, no. What makes you say that?”
“Well, your mane looks kinda messy, for a start. Or is that a new hairdo? Some weird fashion? Casual style?” She shrugged both forelegs and wings. “Beats me. I don’t have a clue about that sort of thing.”
“Really?”
“Nah. So… it’s a new do, isn’t it? ‘Radical Curls’, or something?”
“What do you want, Rainbow Dash?” Rarity bit her lip, realizing how curt she’d been. More softly, she added, “I mean, I don’t wish to be forward, but this isn’t the best of times, you understand.”
Look at her, not having to worry a bit about how frumpy her mane looks, how obviously windswept the fur along her flanks has become. Two minutes with a dandy brush is all it’d need, and she can’t even be bothered to do that much.
“Yeah…” said Rainbow Dash, who rubbed her neck and didn’t quite meet Rarity’s eye. “You know that book I borrowed off you?”
Oh for Pete’s sake. “YYYYYessss…?”
“I mean, I’m not ungrateful or anything really, and I guess it’s all right, but… well, I dunno if all that soppy romance stuff is really the thing I need right now, and if it’s no biggie, well…”
Rainbow Dash is blushing. Why? What’s she got to be embarrassed by – wait!
She has got something to be embarrassed by: that wretched word-storm she committed on those poor innocent pages. She’s finally seen the light! She knows it’s never going to pass muster. Oh, thank my stars. I’ve been spared! One curse among many has been lifted! I can think clearly again!
“It’s quite all right, my dear,” said Rarity, voice overflowing with warmth. “I know literature isn’t every pony’s cup of Cinnamon Chai’s refined jasmine tea.”
Rainbow Dash stopped rubbing her neck and started staring at her. “Huh?”
“Truth be told, I wasn’t quite sure, even when I was giving it to you, that The Count of Cavalrytown was the best exemplar for a critical comparison. Far too many archaisms for a pony with modern sensibilities like yourself. Nevertheless, it’s a… shame it didn’t work out for you.” To her surprise, she managed to say that last sentence with a straight face.
By now, Rainbow Dash was reduced to blinking and gaping. “Huh? What are you talking about?”
Oh Rainbow Dash, you are slow at times. “Your writing career, of course. I mean, it’s always fascinating to see another soul experiment with a new medium of beauty and self-expression, especially one such as yourself. I-I mean,” she added hastily, “not that an athlete can’t also dabble in artistry. All the same, it’s not something I’d usually associate with… well, somepony like you, I’ll admit. That’s why the result could have been so… so fascinating to peruse. I guess I just didn’t know what to expect. That’s all. That’s all I’m saying.”
Oh my, thought Rarity irritably. Very subtle, Rarity. “Fascinating” is le mot juste.
Dare I tell her? Dare I confess that I’ve seen her work at its most un-presentable? What on earth would she think of me? I can’t even make up my own mind whether I’ve committed a shameful crime or a potential act of mercy.
“Oh,” said Rainbow, and she cleared her throat. “Yeah. That. Well, you know.”
Bull’s-eye! Direct hit! In the common tongue, “nailed it”! A lady’s instincts are sharper than a serpent’s tooth indeed.
Poor Rainbow Dash, though…
Gently, she reached across and patted Rainbow on the shoulder. “I don’t wish to be curt, but I suppose I’ve said what needed to be said. You’re not upset, are you? I wouldn’t want to place too much stress on the point, when all’s said and done.”
“Uh, yeah. Uh… can I be honest with you for a sec?”
The boutique shimmered back into focus. Rarity took a step backwards.
“I suppose so,” she said. Something jumped up and down in her mind, shouting for attention, but she could barely make out the words. “In truth, I, uh, have been wondering myself… on that front, I mean…”
“OK, I wasn’t really writing anything.”
Rarity froze in mid-reassurance, mouth hanging open, teeth almost meeting.
“Beg pardon?” she said.
Rainbow suddenly looked as though she’d been dragged backwards through a thorn bush. Apart from her general devil-may-care standard of personal grooming, at least: winces crossed her face, her eyes narrowed with aches and stings, and she rubbed across her flanks and along her neck and jaw line as though removing spiny leaves.
“I’m out of my depth,” she said, each word seemingly forced out of her. “It was about a week ago, I think. Scootaloo said she was writing this big story she wanted to publish. You know, ‘cause of the Daring Do series. And I said OK, I’d have a look, and I thought, well, it’s Daring Do. I know that series like the back of my hoof. I can tell if she’s up there in quality and all. But then, I dunno. She came back a couple of days ago with the thing all finished, and…”
While Rainbow Dash fumbled her way through what sounded like her idea of a rehearsed speech, Rarity’s mind went into freefall. As though she’d missed a step on the stairs, gravity seized her and tore her away from everything else, which seemed both so far away and so empty, just part of the wide open sky of nothingness and the wide open ground of details upon details upon endless details…
You mean, those horrible scrawlings were…?
“I just can’t tell. I mean, duh, she wrote a load of notes over it, and I guess I should’ve told her to finish it. But she wanted to know if it had potential, and I didn’t have a clue. I thought, 'I need someone who knows this stuff'.”
“That’s why you wanted the book?” Rarity’s free-falling mind passed by the words and then continued their descent.
“Yeah. And…” Here, she leaned in close, glanced around the boutique, and whispered behind a conspiratorial hoof, “I’m not gonna lie. I think what she’s written is going to be bad. Like really, really bad.”
Rarity kept her face blank, which wasn’t hard as her mind hadn’t landed yet. “I see.”
“How am I supposed to tell her, though? If I say what I really think, I’ll just bet she’s gonna hate me for it. And we’ve been having such a good time this week. How would that look if I turned around and said, ‘Oh, by the way, about that novel, don’t quit your day job’?”
“Why didn’t you just say it was her work when you took the book out? It’s not as if I’d have been any less forthcoming.”
Rainbow leaned back and fixed her with a glare. “Hey, I wasn’t lying. I am working on my own story. I was gonna write one and then do a swap with her. I thought she might get the hint that way. Only…”
The ground began to resolve under her freefalling mind. She was getting closer, she knew it. “Only what?”
A tight smile strained across her face. “I… have to be honest. I don’t think I’m really gonna be any better than her. I mean, I just do it for fun. It’s not like I have a chance of getting anything published.”
“Oh, Rainbow Dash, no,” Rarity said at once, and the world finally struck her a body blow. Her own foalhood scrawls rose out of the drawer of her memory and encircled her, mocking her and flapping at her head and laughing all around her.
None of us had a chance of getting published. How could I dare to look down my nose at those papers while she snored on? I’d been just as eager, long ago, when I was still sitting at school desks. At least the needle replaced the pen in my case, and the spirit lived on.
And to think I was sneering at it. Scootaloo had been pouring her heart and soul all over it for days. How much of the week would she have had to cut off to feed this monster? A whole novel in less than a week? Add in the time bouncing balls and sitting on clouds, I’m surprised she got any sleep at all.
Even now, the slight glare of the sunlight through the boutique windows made her cringe. The workload upstairs nudged her shoulder pointedly. She could still feel herself sweating under the flame roaring for attention. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so busy, she might not have tried flaring up so often every time she saw the two of them out on that grassy hill.
Rarity’s back sagged.
“I mean,” said Rainbow Dash, trying to sound calm, “I know you’re busy and everything, but everyone else is out of town or busy on the farm. You know all about, well, high art and stuff.”
I know you’re busy, she says. And I was this close to snapping at her…
“I could come back later, if you want,” said Rainbow, backing towards the door. “You really don’t look so good –”
But what am I, if not the Graceful Rarity?
The thought rushed up her neck and engulfed her brain. Every ache and spark of hatred over the last few hours dissolved within its all-encompassing heft and power.
She scowled. “Nonsense. This is a considerable matter. If it bothers you that much, then I’ll see what I can do for poor Scootaloo.”
Having barely taken three steps, Rainbow Dash paused in mid-stride. “You sure?”
“One hundred percent.” Rarity smiled, and real warmth rushed through her face. “In fact, I think I can personally devote some time towards it.”
“How? Aren’t you swamped with orders and stuff? You hardly ever come out of the shop these days.”
“Pah! Dark skies must give way to the light someday. I’m content to wait. In the meantime, you could help by stalling for me.”
“Stalling? What, you mean… do all that stuff I said?”
“Precisely. Oh, don’t look so alarmed.”
Rainbow Dash cleared her face at once. “I’m not ‘alarmed’. I know how to give a helpful nudge here and there. Well, when I’m showing her some neat aerial tricks, at least.”
“Exactly. This is the same principle. Give her a helpful nudge here, a little advice there, the obvious stuff to tide her over. I can peruse the final result in… let me see… there’s the Canterlot orders, the Manehattan parade next week, then it’s the end of Gala season… I believe the weekend after the Summer Sun Celebration is the best-case scenario.”
Sparkles twinkled in Rainbow Dash’s stare, but the rest of her face remained set in stone. “And then you’ll take over, right?”
Surprisingly, the warmth and sense of inner growth pushed out every ill thought that had taken shelter in the crevices of her mind. This was a light at the end of what had been a dank, drab tunnel. The last time she’d felt like this, it had been during the last fashion show, when she’d seen her latest creations strut before the flashing cameras and had shaken hooves with the staff at Cosmare magazine… what a day! What a star amid the void!
Rarity sighed and smiled. “You have nothing to worry about, Rainbow Dash. Young Scootaloo may well have a talent buried under all those mistakes. If so, it is therefore my duty as a connoisseur of the arts to give it life.”
Relief sagged on Rainbow’s face, down her shoulders, and along her spine. “Great! I mean, great,” she added more stoically. “I’ll see what I can do. Thanks for the help, Rarity. But… you know after the Summer Sun Celebration… I might not be around to help out…?”
Already the dresses were crowding back into Rarity’s consciousness, only this time they were silent and made no movement that might draw unwanted attention. This afternoon is going to go smoothly, now that I have purpose again!
She realized at once what would be happening after the Summer Sun Celebration. It was weeks away, true, but it took a load off her mind already.
“Oh, fear not,” she said, smiling. “I daresay I’ll manage solo. All for a good cause, after all!”
Valuable Time, or Dolce Far Niente
For the first time in weeks, cumulus stumps of clouds dotted the skies in a conspicuous chequered pattern. A slight breeze ruffled the very tops of the trees, and grass whispered of better times to come. The occasional housefly and bumblebee zipped across the scene as though in a hurry not to spoil it. Down in Ponyville, the vague hum of a thousand murmuring mouths was muffled by the rows and rows of cottages. At one point, a tourist cart driver beeped his harsh horn, but for the most part the order of the day was an atmosphere like a stifling but plush idyllic pillow.
Overhead, Rainbow Dash ploughed through a cloud, flipped over, and was a streak of colour zigzagging through more clouds.
Rarity sat and watched her from the edge of the deckchair. Beside her, levitating and turning slowly in midair, the timer ticked on.
“Five…” she muttered, “four… three… t –”
Hooves thudded onto the grass with a crunch before her. The glowing dial stopped.
“Two!” she said brightly. “Two seconds below the record!”
Rainbow Dash was a slick with fur attached. Her chest heaved like an industrial pump, each breath was a saw slicing through her throat, and her splayed wings drooped as though weighed down by a ton of sweat. Patiently, Rarity waited for her to get her breath back, and then idly timed it on the timer.
“Two… seconds…” gasped Rainbow Dash, “is… not… good… enough…”
“Oh, Rainbow Dash,” said Rarity with a smile. “Of course it is! Why, the nearest contender to Captain Crosswinds’ record is still about ten seconds behind him. You have nothing to worry about.”
Sighing, Rarity leaned back and stretched, adjusting the large pink shades on her face and the tilt of her summer hat. She wasn’t sure about the canary yellow smock she’d brought along this time, but perhaps there was a certain “country girl” charm to it once you got used to it…
One fruit punch drink rose and shook in midair, rattling the ice and lemon slice against the bendy straw. “Would you like a break? Drink plenty of liquids in this heat, or your skin is going to bake.”
“No… thanks…” said Rainbow, drawing herself up. “The Wonderbolts… are counting… on me… I never…” Coughs and splutters overwhelmed her lungs for a moment. “Leave… ‘em… hangin’…”
She shot back into the air and was instantly lost to the haze. Rarity shook her head.
“To call her stubborn as a mule would be an unkindness to mules,” she muttered, but soon she lay back and closed her eyes and submerged herself once again into the summer dream. Waves of the sun’s heat faced her over and over. Among the distant washing of oak leaves along the river of wind, she heard the chatter of blackbirds and robins.
From her left came the scratching of pencil on paper. She opened one eye lazily.
“How are you getting on, Scootaloo?” she said, smiling as a strong gust briefly massaged her muzzle.
A voice spoke around an obstruction, and then spat. The pencil thumped on the papers.
“I don’t get this book you gave me,” came the voice of Scootaloo. “I mean, the quest for the Dark Heart, I get that part, it’s awesome. But why’s there all this stuff in the first half about some Baron and some griffon ambassador and their days in Flight Camp and Canterlot? What’s so important about that?”
Ah, thought Rarity. And here I was, thinking that was the closest I had to a Daring Do narrative.
“You see, that establishes character and motivation,” she said to the sky. “That’s what a good story does, Scootaloo. It’s all very well writing a dramatic escape through a diamond mine or a brave battle atop the crumbling ruins of Tenebria, but the effort’s all for nought if you don’t have compelling characters to root for.” On an inspiration, she added: “Like a favourite sports team.”
To her consternation, Scootaloo went silent after that. With Sweetie Belle, there would usually be a “huh” if she wasn’t sure, an “OK” if she’d nailed it, or an “ugh!” if she still didn’t have a clue and hated herself for it. Now, there was just the concentrated silence. She guessed the filly was reading.
After several minutes of watching Rainbow Dash push a new batch of clouds into position, Rarity heard Scootaloo say: “There’s an awful lot of it.”
“But of course,” she said cheerfully. “Ponies are very complicated. There are probably millions of angles from which to approach them: their home upbringing, the manners they were taught in school, how early and how often they had artistic experiences, historical interest, the triumphs and setbacks of their love-lives… Never underestimate the drive of a stallion scorned.”
Scootaloo sighed. “Really? Do I have to do all that?”
Rarity sat up at last. Scootaloo was sitting on the grass with just too much unhealthy stoop in her little spine. Papers lay scattered around her like rays from a particularly disorganized sun – it was a wonder she ever found any of her pages quickly – and she’d picked up her pencil between her teeth and was writing now with the neck moving instead of jaws and lips.
At once, Rarity ignored these errors and said, “It’s not a chore, Scootaloo. Writing should be a labour of love, as with any artistic assay.”
Scootaloo spat out the pencil again. “Yeah, but I’ve read every Daring Do book and a ton of other ones too. I thought it was going to be simple.”
“But that’s what makes it so satisfying when you succeed! Anyway, I’ve sat on enough chairs, but I wouldn’t dream of trying to build one.”
“URRGH!” Scootaloo hit her forehead repeatedly. “Come on! This shouldn’t be so hard!”
“Uh… perhaps you need a break.” Rarity levitated the fruit punch drink. “Care for a drink?”
“No, thanks. I’ll crack this if it takes all day, I swear it.”
Like Rainbow, like Scoots, Rarity thought grimly. She lowered the drink.
Whooshing sounds dive-bombed them. Scootaloo stared up, her head following Rainbow’s zigzag until she seemed to be nodding furiously.
“You should read Rainbow Dash’s work,” she muttered at the blur above. “She’s awesome. Like a real A. K. Yearling. Bet it’s because she’s actually met A. K. Yearling. She told me! I bet they traded tips, or shook hooves, or something like that. She’s got her secret talent from somewhere.”
I somehow doubt that, thought Rarity. There’s an assumption of talent there that needs verifying, first.
However, she recognized Scootaloo’s tone at once. It was a mainstay in Canterlot gatherings that she’d noticed over the years. There was a slight gritting of teeth every other word, a lowering of the voice as though to charge into a shout, and a stress upon certain syllables as though accusing them of tax fraud.
“Well, she’s had a lot more time to spend on writing stories,” she said as reasonably as she could make her voice while her back demanded she lie down again. “And remember, she didn’t even start caring about books until she was almost thrice your age. In relative terms, you have a considerable head start.”
My, I’m thirsty. It is a splendid sunny day, is it not? And I swear my hooves still ache.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t help me now,” said Scootaloo while Rarity sneaked a sip of her drink. She kept her gaze locked onto Rainbow Dash, who was adjusting the positions of the next set of clouds. “Aren’t you supposed to be timing her?”
Oops. “Er… I’m sure she hasn’t cracked it yet. That last one didn’t seem very fast. Uh… she’ll master it next time.”
Scootaloo’s stray hoof flicked idly at the edge of a piece of paper. “She’s so good at everything…”
Rarity’s lip twitched. The look of despondence on the filly’s face was like seeing some poor soul doused in a bucket of lukewarm water. They always think they can do it so fast.
“Rainbow Dash is good at flying,” she said, forcing herself to stay sitting upright; she was painfully aware of how long she’d spent not sunbathing as she’d pictured it. “And that’s because she worked to get where she is now. Every pony has,” she said, carefully ignoring a list of certain Canterlot names in her memory.
“But I wanna be good now! Rainbow Dash talked me through the first draft, and I could tell she thought it stunk.” Scootaloo kicked at the paper. “What’s the point if you have to strain so much to get it right?”
“No, no, no, Scootaloo. It’s not a strain. It’s a… challenge.”
Scootaloo finally looked away from Rainbow Dash, though since it was only to glare at Rarity, it wasn’t much of an improvement. “That’s much better?”
“Of course,” said Rarity, and even now the dresses of weeks floated unbidden into her imagination. “A challenge is just the right balance between being heart-achingly difficult and being mind-numbingly easy. I won’t lie; it requires a degree of patience and commitment. It’s hard to reach, but when you get there –” She kissed a hoof with a loud “mwah!” – “you are in the realm of perfection!”
“Perfection, huh? Is that like ‘the zone’ Rainbow Dash keeps talking about?”
“Eh.” Rarity waved a hoof. “I’m going to say a tentative ‘yes’, pending further details.”
“But don’t you need talent for that?”
“Well, yes, but there’s more to it than that. Talent is but a box of textiles: fine in its own way, but a box of textiles does not a costume make.”
Scootaloo stared at her. “Huh?”
“I meant that the only way you can find a talent for dressmaking is by completing a dress.”
Scootaloo continued to stare at her.
“It’s a metaphor, darling! It means you won’t know how good your writing is until you pen something. You don’t even have to write a novel. The literary world is far more flexible than that. There are poems and novellas and anthologies and so on. Dozens and dozens of forms and styles.”
“Right. So, have you ever written any?” The question slid out like a sword from a scabbard.
“Uh…” Don’t think about the drawer, don’t think about the drawer… “I used to dabble in the halcyon days of my youth. A little. Here and there. Nothing spectacular. Besides, I found my talent in another –”
“Was it any good?” Scootaloo smirked at her.
Darn the mind of foals. “I am not in a position to say. Quite apart from the conflict of interest, I haven’t read the items in question in years. Juvenilia tends not to hold up well, I find. N-Not that I was particularly bad or anything. If I was bad. Which remains unsettled. I hope.”
She leaned back and gazed up at the white and blue checkerboard of the sky, more to avoid the way Scootaloo was smiling at her than anything else.
“Anyway,” she said as calmly as she could, “there’s nothing to be ashamed of if you’re not quite… uh… up there with the likes of… with the likes of… Rainbow Dash, I suppose.”
“Uh huh.” The tone was despondent again.
I’m really missing out on some excellent sunbathing, you know. As gently as she could, she said, “I’ll tell you what. Let me look it over when you’re ready, and then I’ll help you achieve what you want to achieve.”
“You mean point out where I’m going wrong?”
“Yes.” Her brain caught up with her mouth. “No! No, nothing so negative, of course! Just… a few suggestions here for your consideration, a little nudge there, the odd prod in the right direction. Like…” She watched Rainbow Dash fly into position to start. “Like dusting yourself off and flying back into the sky.”
She glanced across. Pride was hardening Scootaloo’s face, but she fancied she detected, for a second, a flicker of relief in each eye.
“One artist to another.” Rarity winked.
“If you say so, I guess.” But Scootaloo did puff up the feathers on her wings, and Rarity fancied someone was going to brag about being called an “artist” later.
Ah, well. If she has the gift, better to share the soil than strangle the bud. Even if she can’t do worse than a certain unicorn in her youth…
Scootaloo looked back up. “She’s starting her next try.”
“Ohyesright!” Rarity scrambled for the timer.
“GO, RAINBOW DASH!” Scootaloo boomed, and even the trees quivered under her enthusiasm.
Rarity counted under her breath until the whooshing and the streaking stopped. She hit the timer.
This time, Rainbow Dash hovered at the finish for over a minute. When she finally came back down to earth, she dropped and circled alternately on her way down, and then stumbled under the momentum before skidding to a halt.
After several pants, she staggered up to them and said, “How… did… I do?”
The timer rose up before Rarity. “Three seconds this time. Above the record.”
A frown flickered across Scootaloo’s face – Rarity almost didn’t believe she’d seen it – but then threw her forelimbs up and splayed her stubs-for-wings. “That was amazing, Rainbow Dash! How are you not Captain of the Wonderbolts already!?”
Even through the panting, Rainbow grinned at her. “I… ask… that… question… all the… allthetime…”
“I bet it’s just a matter of time,” said Scootaloo breezily. “Sooner or later, they’ll get it. You just gotta keep going on being awesome.”
Yes, exercise a degree of patience and commitment, I expect.
Rarity shushed the treasonous thought and said, “And now, Rainbow Dash, I insist you take a break before you collapse. Tis a fine summer’s day, after all. Why not enjoy doing nothing for a while? Dolce far niente, and all that, hm?”
