Three days.
Rarity hadn't slept in three days.
Three days of coffee, take-out containers and screaming.
That's how long it took Sweetie Belle to finally call for help.
"--And she hasn't opened the door to her Inspiration Room since," the freshman concluded, having tried to catch the others up to what had been going on.
Applejack nodded grimly. "So she didn't say who this mystery client was?" Arms crossed, she radiated both concern and being already fed up with the drama. Not an unusual response to Rarity's antics.
Sweetie's nod in response was much more rapid. "Yeah, though I think I recognized the voice when they were on speakerphone before. It sounded like Vignette Valencia."
There was a growl from around waist-level. Sunset looked up from her work. "Great. So it's possible Vignette found another artifact or we didn't completely clean her last time, and she's infected Rarity with Equestrian magic." Her eyes turned back to the doorknob.
An apple-heavy fist banged on the door. "Ya hear that, Rarity? We're just concerned is all. Now open up! If ya don't before Sunset finishes picking this lock, Ah ain't--" Almost on cue, there was a click and the latch released.
Leaving a fretting Sweetie behind, the two Rainbooms entered. It had been decided to go gentle at the start with just the two of them - this wasn't the first time Rarity had driven herself too hard, and a full group confrontation might just make things worse. Or encourage her to be even more over-dramatic.
The Inspiration Room was a crime scene. Every surface that wasn't polluted by empty latte cups and takeout boxes was infected by a mess of materials. Not just fabric of all sorts but metal and cardboard and plastic and rubber and a few things that were less identifiable. Four separate mannequins had been overwhelmed by the chaos. One had been overwhelmed by garbage. All of them were likely bound for Rarity's Closet of Shame once this was all over.
And in the middle of it all was Rarity. Gently vibrating from the amount of caffeine in her, red glasses holding back weary eyeballs and heavy bags, and hands still working as she desperately tried to re-thread a needle.
Door closing behind them (mostly - Sweetie Belle kept it open a crack so she could peek through), Sunset and Applejack carefully stepped through the chaos to opposite sides of their friend. One hesitated - the other didn't.
"Rarity," Applejack drawled. No response. "RARITY," she tried louder. Again, nothing. This time, the farmgirl reached out to grab a pale shoulder. "RARITY!"
The puppet's strings were cut, and Rarity slumped into Applejack's arms with a cry of despair.
Without hesitation, Applejack pulled Rarity close. She held her friend tight, letting the fashionista weep on a flannel-insulated shoulder.
"GARBAGE!" Rarity's wail exploded out in frustration. "It's all ga-a-a-arba-a-a-a-ge!"
"Shh. It's alright, sugarcube." Gently, Applejack stroked Rarity's hair. "It's alright. Ah'm sure you just need to take a breath an' you'll find it ain't that bad."
Rarity's head popped up like a mascara-stained gopher. "No darling, I mean it's literally garbage."
From off to the side, Sunset spoke up. "She's not joking, Applejack." She was leaning in close to one of the mannequins, trying to get a better look at the work. "There's some markings on the inside of the fabric on this one. I think it's--"
"Repurposed from old grocery bags, yes." Rarity cut in - right before breaking down again. "It's all tra-a-a-a-a-ash!"
Applejack rolled her eyes. "Get ahold of yerself, Rares, or I swear to sugar I'll let go of ya."
The threat was enough, it seemed. Rarity clamped her mouth shut and tried to maintain some measure of composure. Teary eyes looked to her friends - friends who were obviously demanding an explanation of what had happened. "Vignette called me," she began, "With a few new pieces she wanted. I--I think she feels bad about what happened and she's trying to make it up to me in her own way." Rarity paused to dab her ruined makeup with a handkerchief that appeared from nowhere. "The theme is that she wanted something made entirely from recycled materials - she's convinced that she's going to make that a new hot trend. It needs to be up to my usual standards, but conspicuously identifiable as reused as well."
Sunset ran her hands over the one dress while giving it a critical eye. "I don't see what the problem is, I guess. All of these look pretty good to me."
Instantly, Rarity scoffed. "They're hideous. But the greater problem is that they aren't what Vignette wants. At least, not anymore." Letting out a deep sigh, she withdrew deeper into Applejack's arms. "Because she's trying to create a trend, she's been rather demanding. And by demanding I mean she can't make up her mind! First she wants to have all of the brand logos on the original materials visible, then she calls me back two hours later to say that won't do. Then I get a text that she's changed her mind and needs a pants suit rather than a dress. Then she switches from wanting heels to flats and wants to use this hideous recycled rubber!"
"...So she's demanding," Sunset summarized.
Rarity threw her hands into the air. "Demanding?! She's impossible! I swear that woman has a sixth sense for knowing when I'm exactly halfway through something so she can call and request changes that make me start over. I've been at this for days and all I have to show for it is nearly a dozen half-completed pieces of clothing and an ugly pair of shoes."
Strong apple-scented arms squeezed Rarity in a hug. "Maybe you should take a break. Y'know, get yer head clear. Some sleep wouldn't kill ya, now would it?"
Sunset broke away from the mess of the dress. "AJ's right. You aren't at your best right now, even if Vignette's demands were reasonable." She picked up the aforementioned flats from the table and held them out to Rarity. They were, in a word, abominations. A horrible mess of recycled rubber that looked like someone had made Crocs for a car. "I mean, look at these. You're better than this, Rarity. You need rest."
With a mixture of disgust and care, Rarity took the terrible shoes into her hands. Worn, tired eyes looked down at them. "I wish I could, darlings. But I think this one may have beaten me." She sagged, letting out a sigh of defeat. "If I rested, yes, I might be able to get the pants to work or find the proper material for the dress. But these?" She waggled the shoes in the air. "Sleep doesn't help if the soles are still tires."
Author's Note
The prompt for this competition was "Sleep doesn't help if it's your soul that's tired."
I could have written a serious, somber story about being psychologically worn down and depression. One full of drama and angst and deep thoughts.
You're getting a feghoot off the prompt instead.
noregrets
(I may write a more proper entry later, depending on inspiration.)
