The Polished Apple and the Pearl of Wisdom
“Where shall we have lunch?” At heart, the mark of sophistication – or lack of – is just as much in the asking of the question as in the answering.
A mere “Lunch?” presumes too much familiarity. “Fancy a snack?” dives far too far down into the outright depths of presumptuous casualness, which makes one’s reputation a social casualty. Whereas “Where shall we dine this fine summer noon?” reminds one of the natural pleasures of life at the same time one drops a perfectly refined word, and “My dear, it would be a delight to share a luncheon with you, at the place of your choice” combines the maximum of guest-generous gentility with the supremely crafted wording that also doesn’t confine a location to a crude question at all, but leaves open the possibility of correcting a guest’s choice should said recipient make a blunder. Only the truly skilled politeness connoisseur, however, is able to deliver it convincingly, making it a mere curiosity of interpony discourse, at least to many novices.
All of this was lost on Apple Bloom, who just answered, “Hay Burger! Hay Burger!”
“You wouldn’t prefer the Haute Cuisine? The fine waitering, the high-quality selection, the al fresco dining environs?”
“Hay Burger! Hay Burger!”
At which point, Rarity gave up. No point building glass towers of words when all Apple Bloom had was a conversational sledgehammer.
So they ate at the local Hay Burger.
It was even a burger-shaped shop. Once you got to gimmicky architecture, there was no hope.
Rarity ordered her usual.
So did Apple Bloom, though she blushed a bit when Rarity asked her if she really did normally eat a Giga-Chomp Cheeseburger with Xtra Xtra Large Hay Fries and a Six-Dip Bucket.
Whenever someone she knew passed their table, Rarity murmured, “It’s just her treat, not my choice.”
At least Rarity’s Beancurd Platter had been easy enough to arrange with fries spread out like flower petals around it. Presentation was what Rarity readily supplied, after all.
Up to a point. Flower petal fries wasn’t much of an improvement over the fries themselves.
She slumped over the dish.
Opposite, the squishy crunching noises told her that a big appetite ran in the Apple family. Perhaps it was bigger when they were younger, though. Applejack might have eaten like a pig faced with truffles, but she was a butterfly sipping nectar compared with Apple Bloom, whose diet might be compared to that of a blue whale, only less graceful.
Rarity winced. Some salsa splattered near her plate. A blob of mustard had nearly landed on her mane.
“You don’t think…?” Rarity began.
Apple Bloom turned up a face, somewhere behind six sauces and three mushy cheeses.
“Id gud,” she announced happily. A few breadcrumbs scattered over the table.
Rarity knew better than to press the point. Besides, she wasn’t in the mood.
“I hope you are enjoying… that?” she said.
“Mm hm! Dangsh!” Apple Bloom beamed at her as though proud to have gotten the words out, and then swallowed, belched in what might have been an adorably quaint way if the belch didn’t roll a stench of garlic and mozzarella over the table, and began digging again.
At least Rarity sipped her own mango milkshake with some semblance of dignity. Just because the food was uncouth, didn’t mean she had to be.
To be fair, Sweetie Belle had been guilty of the same crime. Rarity had come here with her little sister a few times, and eventually got her to sip and take dainty little bites through a steady application of “lead by example”. Apple Bloom so far hadn’t noticed, but perhaps, after sixteen visits, she might show the slightest sign of being able to learn how to eat without going ballistic.
Besides, Rarity wasn’t in the mood.
A few nearby customers stopped to watch. Some had trouble looking away again. Apple Bloom could be so uncouth she’d elevate mere slobbering table manners to something approaching an ironic art. It was impossible not to watch. She had what Sir Tear Parchment might have described as “charisn’tma”. Her manners were so repulsive that she drew ponies towards her through sheer horrified fascination.
Eventually, Rarity hit upon the idea that Apple Bloom might slow down if she had to stop to talk.
“So, Apple Bloom,” Rarity began. “Do you ever consider… the higher pleasures?”
Apple Bloom’s eyes lit up. “You mean dessert too? Sure!”
“Oh, no no no. I meant… beyond food and farming and things. Social matters, perhaps? Those that concern the great minds of ponydom? I ask merely for information,” she added hurriedly.
“Well, sure.” Apple Bloom swallowed a lump that could have been scooped out and used as a demolition ball. “Like what?”
“Oh, say… friends and acquaintances?”
“Sure! We got all sorts goin’ on at school! Like, did you know Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo wanna throw a play together? Not to brag or nothin’, but that was kinda my idea. See, Ah like dancin’, and dancin’ and actin’ ain’t so different. One just uses more fancy talk and less kickin’.”
Rarity tried to express any interest in this desecration of higher culture. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in the mood.
“Isn’t that… nice?” she said, uncertainly. Sweetie Belle being involved in a play meant Rarity would have to get back to Apple Bloom re: the “nice” part.
“Yeah! And that ain’t all. See, Ah asked Sunny Daze and Peachy Pie about it, on account of how they’re all about lit stuff, but Applejack said Ah oughtn’t, cos Peachy Pie’s goin’ through a life-changin’ thing lately, and she needs more stressin’ like a prize pig needs a pogo stick.”
“What a colourful way of saying it,” said Rarity, cringing when Apple Bloom wasn’t looking.
Irony didn’t mean much to Apple Bloom. She was literal-minded. She thought it meant “that thing that ain’t sarcasm that Twilight goes on about, and a lot of stuff about it not bein’ lyin’, Ah dunno, Ah don’t get it really”.
“Yeah, Ah mean, Ah didn’t think of it like that. Poor Peachy Pie. Her mom’s gettin’ hitched, you know. On account of feelin’ lonely on her own.”
Another day, Rarity would have pricked her ears up at this. Ponies “gettin’ hitched” was, if not her bread and butter, then certainly a perfectly delicious crumpet with Daisy Jo’s quality dairy produce melting through it for the ultimate in supremely textured treats.
This time, she wasn’t in the mood.
“One did hear,” was all she’d concede. “Sounds delightfully romantic, don’t you agree? Two soulmates united at last.”
Apple Bloom gave her a patented Applejack eyebrow. Just the right rising speed, just the right poise and doubtful squiggle on the brow. She’d be a champion skeptic.
“Applejack says it’s a lot of work,” said Apple Bloom. “Makin’ a relationship work. Ah bet it’s harder than muckin’ out the cowshed. Least you need nothin’ but a bucket and a shovel for that.”
“Hm, I can imagine,” said Rarity, trying desperately not to.
She’d say something about how worldly and wise Apple Bloom sounded, but the odds were the little foal had just nicked her wisdom off her big sister anyway. Rarity certainly felt like nicking off someone. The way times were going, she couldn’t muster much blame for plagiarists at present, just as a starving vagrant – having lost all titles and wealth – can’t quite look harshly upon stealing from fruit stalls.
Instead, she shrugged again. “You don’t want to go to the engagement party? I didn’t think an Apple pony would miss such a momentous occasion.”
Apple Bloom’s shrug was much less restrained. It was like watching her shoulders eat the air above.
“Eh, been to one hoedown, been to ‘em all. They’re fun and all, and it’s always nice to see kin again, but Ah think Ah’ll wait till the weddin’. See, that makes more sense to me.”
“Oh yes. A wedding is such a magical mo–”
“Cos that’s when it makes the most sense to invite all your kin from all over Equestria so they ain’t been bothered so much. Engagement’s nice, but ‘tain’t the same thing at all, if you ask me.”
If anything, Rarity found the relentless pragmatism a drain. She wasn’t exactly sloshing with joy anyway.
“Nothing else?” she tried.
If only Apple Bloom had picked up more from Applejack. At least dear, fair Applejack had had it hammered into her head that Rarity was trying her utmost to get someone to ask her how her day had been by now, whilst still being self-controlled enough to not burst out and wail about it. Rarity had gotten complaints about the wailing lately.
But dropping hints in front of Apple Bloom was like slipping pearls into dogfood to see if Winona the dog noticed.
“Yeah!” Apple Bloom licked her plate. “Rainbow Dash and Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle were thinkin’ of goin’ to the Wonderbolts show in Fillydelphia next week. Ah mean, Rainbow’s in it anyway, but we’re gonna be guests. She’s got a heck of a show for us. Sweetie Belle was gonna ask you, and Ah was gonna ask Applejack if we could go together.”
Rarity watched her to see if she’d noticed the slipup. Nope. Well, that was nice. Now Rarity had Sweetie Belle’s persistent pleading to look forward to, on top of one of her plays too. That was very blooming nice.
That said, she supposed it was better to get a portion of the shock out of the way now, rather than all in one go later.
“All done?” Rarity said politely. It was academic, since Apple Bloom’s plate looked like a murder victim from some of the more tasteless Shadow Spade novels.
“Nah. Dessert?”
Rarity winced. “How about we delay that particular course as a treat? Back at the Carousel Boutique? I have plenty of cakes need eating up.”
Under the multicoloured make-up of meal remains, Apple Bloom’s face stretched like a clown’s painted smile.
Rarity paid the bill. The waiter held out the little tray hopefully. A tip. As usual.
Rarity paid the tip.
“Er…” murmured the waiter, looking down. “Thanks?”
“Nice meal,” said Rarity.
“Er… are you all right, Miss Rarity?”
“Fine, thanks.”
“Er… only this isn’t as much as you –”
“Jolly good.”
“Er… right.”
A slice of guilt hung tantalizingly in front of Rarity, insisting she go above and beyond duty, as she normally would. Sadly, she’d lost her moral appetite.
At the end of the day, Rarity was really, incredibly, brutally not in the mood.
She just wasn’t feeling as generous as usual. On the walk back, Apple Bloom’s mouth ran around just as much as her legs did in her youthful enthusiasm, but Rarity’s ears flickered in and out like a badly tuned radio. She missed bits. If anything, the distant dot and smoke of a busy pegasus in the air – so very, very far away – caught what little attention could make it out of her self-indulgent head alive.
“Uh huh…” she murmured. “Uh huh… Indeed… Uh huh…”
“HEY!”
Rarity snorted awake. It was one reason she never wanted to hear herself awaken in the mornings. Sweetie Belle swore she snored like a log being slowly sawed in half, but beauty sleep was –
“HEY! RARITY!” shouted Apple Bloom again.
Gloomy or not, Rarity looked down and immediately dived into the lake of fire that was Apple Bloom’s annoyance. It was certainly easy to see the red in her eyes, and in bits around her mouth.
“I’m terribly sorry…” said Rarity.
“Ah’m talkin’ to you, you know that? Oh, but if Ah’m borin’ you, just say so!” she added, and her tone of voice upped her age straight to her sarcastic teenage years too soon.
Rarity shook the mood off her head. She might as well have tried shaking off her elegantly curled mane.
“Apologies, Apple Bloom. My mind was wandering.”
Apple Bloom’s lake of fire became a soothing bonfire waterfall, washing and flickering but definitely uplifted and fuelled by something grounded.
“Anythin’ Ah can do?” she said.
Ah yes, that was the typical Apple pony. See a problem, jump in and solve it. Rarity had the same problem talking to Applejack, and still hadn’t solved it there either.
How to make such a practical pony understand?
To be fair, at least Apple Bloom could pick worse role models to copy than Applejack.
“Merely an occupational hazard, Apple Bloom,” said Rarity generously. It was about as generous as she felt like getting that moment.
“Trouble with sellin’ dresses?”
“No, nothing quite so simple, I’m afraid. Please, my dear. I’d really rather not talk about it –”
“Well, if you’re sure, then Ah s’pose it’s only right to –”
“It all began five days ago!” announced Rarity, who’d been mildly peeved Apple Bloom hadn’t spotted that subtle social hint either. “I was designing the dress dear Twilight would wear at her meeting with Princess Celestia Herself! Of course, she complained it was just a regular meeting, but what does she know about the delicate subtleties and supremely complex decorum of our fair old Canterlot citadel?”
“Uh, you do know she lived there all her l–?”
“Honestly! To strut in front of Her Highness naked! Without a single vestment or accessory! So Bohemian! So passé! So last week! My dear Apple Bloom, imagine the stir she could cause instead, just to step into the palace with a far, far, far more elegant ensemble at her beck and call… or, really, any ensemble. The talk! The admiration! The boost in sales for commissioned costumes!”
“Ain’t that a li’l self–”
“And she would have looked nice too,” added Rarity as an afterthought. She sighed under the weight of her woes, adding extra for Apple Bloom’s sake. “If only I had been in the mood.”
“Couldn’t you have just done it?”
Rarity looked down at Apple Bloom’s companionate eyes. Oh dear. How to make such an innocent understand?
“Puh-lease, my sweet, simple naïf. This isn’t some farm chore, I fear. This is the ancient enemy of every inveterate artist. The scourge of divinity. The soiling of good taste. I speak of none but the dreaded inspiration block!”
Any respectable audience would have gasped at that. Why, a sensible passing pegasus would have stopped to make a lightning-cloud rumble, the winds howl ominously, and the light dim under the gathering, thunderous dark.
Only this was a rather nice summer’s day walking through Ponyville – and a long one, because Rarity’s home and the Hay Burger must never, ever be seen in the same neighbourhood – with a little Apple pony who could no more gasp dramatically at the right moment than notice when a steaming great hint was being dropped on her thick earth pony skull.
“What’s an inspiration block?” said Apple Bloom.
“The occupational hazard,” said Rarity through gritted teeth, “of an artist.”
“What, do you stand on it, or…?”
Rarity sighed harder and louder, for the benefit of the extra-dense. “I was feeling down,” she enunciated in small words, “so I couldn’t do anything. It’s a mind thing.”
Apple Bloom scurried every now and then to keep up, because Rarity’s strides quickened so badly she could put a cantering Rainbow Dash to shame.
When Apple Bloom next spoke – somewhat breathlessly – she sounded as if she were coming from far away and carrying something very heavy and valuable, like a cart of apples. “You havin’ trouble?”
“Persistent and aggravating trouble, I fear.”
Another hauling of a heavy thought: “With your cutie mark?”
Rarity blinked repeatedly down at her, nearly dislodging a fake eyelash. It took a while to batten down the idea.
“Beg pardon?” she said.
Frowning in unnatural cogitation, Apple Bloom slowed down and drew level with Rarity’s – for want of a better word – derriere.
“Sounds like a cutie mark thing,” explained Apple Bloom, instant expert all of a sudden. “See? You got three diamonds here.”
“And?”
“And, so that means if you’re not feelin’ like makin’ dresses cos some sorta insp’ration block’s gettin’ to you, then you ain’t thinkin’ like your cutie mark says you should.”
If anything, Rarity sped up along the grassy street to her home. One thing worse than losing her lifelong obsession was getting someone else’s for free.
“The problem is not my cutie mark, Apple Bloom, I’m quite sure.”
“Uh huh.” Making it worse was that Apple Bloom inspected the cutie mark like a plumber repairing a burst drainpipe. “Three gemstones… dressmakin’… so it’s like symbolism, like…”
“I don’t think that’s going to help,” said Rarity primly. “Apple Bloom, I hesitate to say this, but: Ladies do not stare intently at other ladies’ posteriors, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, sorry.” Apple Bloom hurried to keep up, though the reddening on her cheeks had nothing to do with effort, or with the leftover ketchup.
Carousel Boutique – hence Rarity’s doily-dainty domicile – hove into view as they followed the curve of the road.
“Only what does your cutie mark mean?” said Apple Bloom.
“Gems for beauty. Hidden gem. You’re a gem. And other gem-based idioms. I think it’s quite straightforward.”
“Then why three? Is it like… one for the pony givin’ the beauty, one for the pony receivin’ it, and one for a watchin’ pony so’s the beauty is shared, like?”
Despite her funk, Rarity played with that one in her head for a while, rolling it back and forth. Ever since her schooldays, she’d never really given it much thought.
Although Apple Bloom’s words did chime a bell. Hadn’t that been how she’d gotten her cutie mark in the first place? Not just when she found her gemstones. Not even when she’d given them to her theatrical classmates to make their costumes so spectacular. No, it had been when the audience, the schoolteacher, everyone had gemstones sparkling in their eyes…
The memory dropped a lot of fuzzy dust as she pulled it out of the attic of her mind. That was when a lot of other long-forgotten thoughts toppled over like stacked boxes.
My goodness, she thought, has it really been so long since I’ve relived that glorious moment?
“What an interesting idea.” She rewarded Apple Bloom’s curious wide eyes with the full force of her attention. “You know any more like that?”
Apologetically, Apple Bloom tugged at the corners of her mouth in a sort of mini-shrug. “Ah was just guessin’. Or maybe it’s three cos it’s like three magic wishes and you’re a sort of genie. Genius. Genie. Get it?”
The dull silence and Rarity’s dull eyes told her no.
“Or maybe it’s just beauty for all three pony tribes?” Apple Bloom’s face ripened again. “Sorry. Just wild guessin’.”
“On the contrary, I consider it a most wise and mature interpretation. Brava, in fact.”
Apple Bloom’s ripening cheeks were turned away awkwardly.
They stopped as Rarity opened the front door, then Rarity stood to one side to allow her guest first entry. “I say, you appear to be getting warm. Such a hot summer, don’t you agree?”
“No…” Apple Bloom shuffled where she stood, still not taking the hint. “Ah’m just a li’l… embarrassed. Ah just thought Ah’d stop you lookin’ as glum as a puddle.”
Despairing for the literal-minded bluntness of a farming gal out of her natural habitat, Rarity said, “You first, my dear. Perhaps we can educate you yet on the subject of euphemism and the general principles of tact and delicacy.”
“Delicacy as in you got tiny li’l cakes?” Apple Bloom sounded disappointed.
Well, at least Apple Bloom’s stomach was honest.
Tutting under her breath, Rarity followed the hapless little foal inside. Sometimes, being in the wrong mood was no fun at all.
Apple Bloom always felt self-conscious whenever she walked into Carousel Boutique. Back on Sweet Apple Acres, she was used to big buildings, but only Carousel Boutique was grand. Just having a lot of storage space was nothing – nothing – compared to a place that overflowed with magnificence, and that proclaimed at the top of its ceiling that you were committing a faux pas simply for walking into this cathedral of class.
She’d been fine when they’d been out and about. Larger Ponyville was a thatch-roofed town, as much a part of her life as the orchards of her family farm. In a sense, it was a natural extension of the farm.
Whereas Rarity’s home had taken a piece of Canterlot from elsewhere and staked a claim on it.
Apple Bloom became horribly aware of the sauce sticking to her mouth.
“Uh,” she said, rubbing a hoof against the side of her lip.
She saw Rarity turn up her own lip. Only for a twitch, but a giveaway twitch nonetheless.
“Oh yes,” said Rarity as if only mildly inconvenienced, and she even sounded convincing. “You might want to wash your face before we enjoy our delectables. You’ve got something on your lip. Just a smidgeon.”
“Just a smidgeon,” repeated Apple Bloom. “Right.”
No worries there, she thought: any more embarrassment and my cheeks might cook it off.
“Er…”
“Bathroom’s upstairs on the left,” said Rarity without looking round. She had wandered over to her shop floor, examining the dresses as if they were a polite but not terribly good private collection of paintings.
Definitely odd. Usually, Rarity went for her dresses like Apple Bloom went for a buffet. There was no hunger in her eyes today, though.
Apple Bloom wondered if she should mention this, but her cutie mark interest had to push against the rising red interest in not making an utter fool of herself anymore.
She went upstairs and flowed through the bathroom as if waltzing through a dream. Even Rarity’s mere bathroom looked like a palatial ballroom in its infancy. She had to check there wasn’t a chandelier overhead.
While she ran the faucet full blast, she heard Rarity thump upstairs.
“You often dine at the… Hay Burger?”
Apple Bloom spluttered and gurgled against the waters. She’d washed her face before, plenty of times at Applejack’s, mostly after cleaning the prize pig Piggington –
“Are you all right?”
Apple Bloom stopped spluttering and gurgling. “Fine, just washin’,” she said, her voice echoing slightly against all the opulence.
“Well, don’t leave a mess.”
“Uh, OK.” It honestly never occurred to Apple Bloom; she hastily grabbed a towel – a towel! off a rack! with ‘hers’ and ‘hers’ and ‘only hers’ on them all – and wiped the more obvious stains off the sides, floor, and walls. “And yeah, Ah been there a few times. Burgers is good.”
“The burgers are good.”
Apple Bloom’s smile emerged from the sink. “You go there too?”
“No, I was just correcting your grammar.”
Apple Bloom’s smile sank back into the sink. “Oh. OK.”
“Darling, it’s hardly me, is it?”
A jab at Apple Bloom’s heart. “No… Ah s’pose not.”
“Are you quite all right?”
Apple Bloom cursed her groan: she’d let it slip out without thinking. “Peachy.”
When she stepped out of the bathroom, she almost walked into Rarity, who didn’t seem remotely abashed to be nearly knocked back down the stairs again.
“Honestly, you’re as bad as Sweetie Belle.” Rarity tutted. “Charging around like a minotaur in a china shop.”
Another jab at Apple Bloom’s heart. “Ah am?”
“Yes, and after that unfortunate incident in Raspberry Vinaigrette’s ‘All the Tea and China’ Shop last year, I can tell you those minotaurs take no prisoners.”
“Right…” Yet a third jab. Apple Bloom’s heart was starting to bruise.
What had she been thinking? The Hay Burger? That was somewhere Applejack would be happy to take her. Rainbow Dash, even. But from the way Applejack had told it, she’d got the impression Rarity had mellowed out a bit. Or to put it in Applejack’s words: “Don’t worry, she ain’t as prissy as you think. Fact is, she’s gettin’ better about that. Just don’t spit in your hoof if you promise her something.”
She should have picked the Haute Cuisine. They served fries too. They just didn’t dump them on you any old how. The place had good food and class.
Both of them stood awkwardly on the stairs, both using the same words to talk in two completely separate languages.
It was dawning on Apple Bloom – dawning slowly, mind, as if Princess Celestia had struggled to get up and was still feeling groggy – that Rarity was a whole other world unto herself.
Then Rarity threw on an elegant little smile. “Tell you what!” she trilled. “How about we try on some dresses?”
Apple Bloom’s mind stumbled. “Dresses?”
“Of course! Sweetie Belle and I indulge in the fashion all the time. It always ‘cheers her up a treat’, as Applejack would say. So what say you?”
“What?” Apple Bloom’s mind swung due Rarity. At least dresses made sense to her.
“Come on! Up to my studio. Perhaps you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
Now, Rarity’s studio was where the grandiloquence of the shop downstairs met the inevitable mechanics of actually running a business. Dress fragments lay in a state of pre-magnificence.
Rarity had tried something with the shelving units, model pony mannequins, and the sewing machine that Applejack had once called “fang shooey, or some hooey like that”. All that meant was that they stood awkwardly at random points in the room and forced her to work harder to find the spools and swatches needed to make a start.
Some completed dresses sat off to one side.
Merely to look at them must have cost Apple Bloom a fortune. She suddenly felt very poor.
“Isn’t this nice?” said Rarity, picking out a few. “We’re going to be fabulous!”
Apple Bloom considered a mere hair bow flashy. She gaped as Rarity offered so much sparkle, glitter, gleam, and gloss that anything “flashy” would get lost in it.
“Er…” Apple Bloom’s face reached self-immolation levels of hot embarrassment. “Here?”
“Downstairs, my dear. To the changing rooms. Ooh, this is so exciting, isn’t it? I’ve always wanted to try on some of these. This one I call ‘Blown Away’. Rather ‘southern belle’, if I may make so bold, which would suit you quite nicely.”
Following Rarity’s voice, Apple Bloom had to struggle to keep up. Rarity seemed to have stolen away with any confidence she had left.
Even when Apple Bloom had been shoved – amid all the cheery excitement – into her own cubicle, Rarity was still talking.
“I had considered wearing mine to one of Sir Fancy Pants’ garden parties – he’s organizing his own now, you know – he’s always had a soft spot for the ‘charmingly rustic’.” Rarity spoke as though certain words were rather daring for a high society lady to utter, but delicious as dark chocolate to say.
All Apple Bloom knew was that “rustic” made her think of iron fencing and dirty buckets.
“Naturally, Dame Fleur-de-Lis will be attending – one rather suspects those two will be an item someday, and what an item they’d be indeed – though I hear she’s been ill lately. Caught something dreadfully contagious while modelling abroad. Well, what can one expect, I said, when you’re modelling swimsuits in the Frozen North?”
The words twinkled around her like the snowfall of stars. Apple Bloom had to admire them. Even if she was too cold to move.
“Bless Fancy Pants, he is a doting chap. I don’t mind telling you I’ve often hinted – tactfully, you understand – it’d be an honour to design the wedding garments, but they’re rather old-fashioned. Don’t wish to rush, you might say.”
Eventually, Apple Bloom figured she ought to do something other than stand there being stunned. Eventually again, she did something.
She picked up the dress, stared at it as if completely forgetting what the next bit was, and then remembered how the sleeves worked.
“One despairs, one really does,” said Rarity from her own cubicle. “First Twilight and her insistence on an informal no-clothes policy, then Applejack defying any ornate wedding dresses for Candy Apples and Perfect Pie just because ‘they wanted something simple’ – puh, as if I couldn’t do things to simplicity that’d make ornate complexity green with envy! – and now even Canterlot elites are turning down my services! Me! What is this anti-dress insanity gripping everyone? Am I not good enough for them!? Ah! AH! Oh, the equininity! The non-existent equininity! Have these ponies no heart!?”
Apple Bloom stared at her reflection.
The cubicle – more like a horse’s stall filtered through the same pink palace as the rest of the boutique – had a mirror in it. The mirror had a reflection in it. The reflection had a pony in it.
Apple Bloom realized what she was looking at. That dress, by Celestia that dress…
If Apple Bloom had much of a vocabulary that wasn’t mostly “rustic”, she might have had some idea of what she was looking at. The broad sweep of the skirt hiding her rear legs, thanks to the generous size of the hoop skirt underneath, as if the rest of her was controlling her own private sphere of influence. The figure-hugging chest and sleeves, like the stems of a tulip roguishly held upside-down. The puffed sleeves around her shoulders, suggesting she was in a permanent state of coquettish shrug. The low neckline, which along with the apron-like cream colour of the front half of her skirt, reminded her of the mountainous country’s famous dirndl, something she’d only seen whenever Uncle Apple Strudel visited with his wife. And the undergarment tight along her collar and neck, in defiance of the liberalness of the low neckline, decorated with nothing but whiteness to donate to the cause a purity and brightness befitting the true southern belle.
What Apple Bloom saw was the dress, which was Rarity through-and-through if Rarity ever took up country living. And then she saw herself.
She didn’t belong in this dress. As soon as her two front hooves and head poked out of it, they looked instantly wrong. Her hooves were blobs on the end. Her mane was lumpy and dull red like a worn-out carpet. Her hair bow was a sad pair of wings stuck on a drowned pegasus. To say nothing of her face…
As if in a dull dream, she noticed the speck of mayonnaise still stuck to her face. Just under her eye.
After a while, Rarity’s voice managed to drill into Apple Bloom’s private nightmare.
“…of course, I have considered the Manehattan market, but is it enough? Perhaps I could open shops in Las Pegasus or Tall Tale: open up the western seaboard as well. Or further afield: the Griffon Kingdom could benefit from pegasus designs, I’ve always thought, and as for the Dragon Lands, who knows? A little upmarket upscaling, perhaps…”
This was Rarity’s world. Oh, Apple Bloom and her kin might have Sweet Apple Acres, and even most of Ponyville, but beyond that? Beyond that, it was just a speck of green by comparison. Canterlot, Equestrian cities, lands far beyond… Rarity regarded them all as if they were dots on a war map. Where did that leave the little green blotch where Apple Bloom lived her whole life?
And lots of ponies, more to the point. The Fancy Pants’ and Princess Celestia’s of the world. Lots of other species, even. Rarity had a whole world to explore, and which would admire her every step of the way. Her cutie mark was a diamond, and diamonds cut through everything.
Apple Bloom…?
She’d never felt so cosmically small.
“Ta da!” shouted Rarity outside the cubicle.
A silence, then.
“Apple Bloom?” Rarity knocked on the cubicle door. “Aren’t you coming out, dear?”
Mutely, Apple Bloom shook her head. Then she remembered she was alone in here, safe for the moment.
“Ah’m fine here,” she said, and was alarmed by how much wobble had snuck into her voice.
When Rarity next spoke, her voice was as careful as any would be upon hearing the alarms go off. “Is everything all right, dear?”
“Ah’m fine.” Too close to a lie. “Here. Ah’m fine here.”
“Don’t you want to come out? Don’t worry, I’m sure you look lovely.”
Apple Bloom’s gaze wandered, as though horrified and fascinated, to the mayonnaise stain.
“Er…” she said.
“Would you like me to come in?”
“No! No. No, uh, thanks. Ah’m fine. In here.”
Yeah, right, she thought viciously.
It was Diamond Tiara all over again. She’d been painfully aware, every time she went into school, that she lived a relatively humble life. A nice big farm, and a nice big town to wander around in, sure, but her family didn’t have any pretensions to, say, Canterlot and its ivory towers. They’d been proud of the fact. So had she.
Then you got ponies like Diamond Tiara, who did have such pretensions. Unlike Rarity, though, she wasn’t shy about reminding ponies of the fact that they lived in an inferior world to hers. Especially Apple Bloom, whose idea of a lavish gift was giving her teacher an apple every day.
Diamond Tiara’s idea of an apple gift would cost thousands of bits. And be gold-plated. She lived in a mansion, which in some indescribable way was much bigger than the reach of its hedge and massive iron gate would suggest. They didn’t just own lots of land. That wouldn’t have been much competition against Sweet Apple Acres, on its own. But they owned dreams. Dreams which made farmer ponies look like ticks on a prize ewe.
Diamond Tiara wasn’t so bad these days, but Apple Bloom had a few scars below the surface. She’d bandaged over them with the all-purpose word “fine”, but this dress ripped it off. Rarity did it. She didn’t mean to. She was like this shop. Not merely big. Grand.
Apple Bloom was horribly aware that she would never live it down if she embarrassed herself any further. Put one hoof wrong…
“If there’s anything wrong,” said Rarity. “Perhaps I can be of assistance?”
“Nothing’s wrong!” Alarms went off again in Apple Bloom’s head. A lie, right there! What would Applejack say? “The dress is fine!”
“The dress is fine?” repeated Rarity. Trust her to spot a detail like that.
“Ah… Ah just…”
“Come on, dear. You can’t stay in there forever.”
Apple Bloom knew that. What annoyed her was that she couldn’t figure out what else to do.
“Are you thinking about that mayonnaise stain, by any chance? I did notice.”
A sharp jab, this time, and Apple Bloom’s heart pumped faster in shock.
“Well, while I’m at it, I must admit your… appetite in the Hay Burger was quite something to behold. Is that what’s bothering you, Apple Bloom?”
“Er…” Apple Bloom couldn’t figure out anything imaginative to say too. Letting her and Rarity down, she admitted, “A li’l bit.”
“Oh, honestly, is that all, dear? I have met Applejack, you know. Do you honestly believe I think any less of her just because of a little thing like that?”
“Er…”
“Come on out, you. I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“Er…” Giving up, Apple Bloom stepped out. Best to get it over with. Not that she could resist the sudden command in Rarity’s voice. It’d be like resisting gravity.
The cubicle doors swung shut behind her. Rarity looked her up and down; she was wearing nothing but her work glasses. Presumably, she’d just hopped in and out of her own dress like trying a hot bath.
She held out a hoof. “Spit,” she commanded.
“Er…” said Apple Bloom.
“You heard me. Spit on my hoof. I’d use a handkerchief, but promptness is priority here.”
Too stunned to resist anyway, Apple Bloom gobbed. It splattered a bit on Rarity’s hoof.
“Cheek,” she commanded.
“What?”
“Raise your cheek. The one with the mayonnaise stain on it.”
Dazedly, Apple Bloom did so. Rarity rubbed it, slightly sticky with saliva. Firm, definitely, but not as firm as Applejack had been. Didn’t take as long, either.
“There we are.” Rarity stepped back and looked her up and down with evident satisfaction. “Perfect.”
Apple Bloom tried to hunch up small.
“No, no, no, don’t try and hide it. Stand tall! Stand proud! You’re an Apple to the core, are you not? Then act like one!”
Smiling weakly in case this was some sophisticated joke, Apple Bloom straightened up and wondered how to look proud beyond that. Maybe if she pulled an angry, determined face…?
“No, no, stop scowling. Look poised. Confident. Not like you’re about to beat someone up. I mean as if you know the world inside-out, and it’d better watch out.”
“Er…”
“Like this.” Rarity demonstrated. It wasn’t much different from her usual expression, though Apple Bloom would rather eat her own leg than say so. “Now you try it.”
Relax a brow here, lower her eyelids a touch there… “How’s that?”
Rarity giggled on high-rise glee. “Splendid! Applejack herself couldn’t have done better, and I’ve tried training her on that front, believe me.”
Better than Applejack, huh? “You think so?” said Apple Bloom, voice peeking out with whiskers twitching.
“Oho, I know so. And when I speak of appearances, I know what I’m talking about. Come, my li’l southern belle. Let us have cake.”
As soon as they moved upstairs, however, Rarity hurried over to the kitchen sink and washed her hooves like her life depended on it.
Well, that did it. All that fuss over a little spit, now that was a Rarity she was familiar with. Apple Bloom grinned when she wasn’t looking and found a chair, shuffling awkwardly in her efforts to sit up to the table properly, or how Rarity might think “properly” should look.
The chair yowled. Apple Bloom yelped and hopped away from it. She’d thought it’d been a cushion.
“Don’t mind Opalescence,” said Rarity from the sink. “She’s napping.”
The small white ball of disdain regarded Apple Bloom with barely concealed non-interest, then the yellow eye was sheathed and Opalescence curled up into a ball again.
Not a cat pony herself, Apple Bloom chose a seat opposite, as far away as possible. Sweetie Belle had lost most of her mane once trying to be nice to Opal the cat, and Apple Bloom suddenly liked her mane as it was, lumps and all.
Rarity returned to the table, bearing a tray, enough colourful cakes to make a rainbow jealous, and hooves dripping on the floor slightly.
“Yes, I’m afraid dear Opal can be a smidgeon testy at this time of day.” A hiss of the chair forced Rarity to retreat and set up base camp next to Apple Bloom.
At the sight, Apple Bloom had to suppress a giggle.
“Help yourself, my little southern belle. If the fancy takes you, eat as much as you like, or indeed dare.”
Apple Bloom stopped giggling sharpish. “Ah only –”
“Ah, fuff, fuff,” tutted Rarity, waving a hoof irritably. “Generosity knows no judgement. Ignore me and tuck in to your heart’s content.”
As a compromise, Apple Bloom selected a couple of cakes. One black forest gateau slice and one carrot cake slice. They weren’t as thin as she’d been expecting – the way Applejack went on about Rarity’s portions, she’d expected crumb-sized servings instead – but she found herself eyeing up a couple more slices, just in case.
“Extra thick cream?” Rarity offered an amused-looking silver cow creamer. “The ‘extra’ being properly spelled this time.”
“Hey, thanks!”
“Just say when.” While the cream poured, Rarity simultaneously levitated a hot chocolate over to Apple Bloom, stirred her own mug of tea, and offered two dining forks in mid-air complete with the sharpened side to help cut up the cakes.
She had a lot of power simmering away, for a unicorn. If she ever wanted to unleash it on work… maybe in her own way, she had more power than Applejack… and not just in the crude butt-kicking sense…
Apple Bloom opened her mouth wide to take the first bite –
“Ah ah ah!” admonished Rarity. Her magical waving emphasized the fork levitating nearby. “You’re a lady here, my dear. Some concessions must be made to decorum.”
Helplessly, Apple Bloom looked from her own clumsy hooves to the fork. “How in the hay am Ah s’posed to…?”
Helpfully, Rarity conjured a little bracelet to attach the fork to, then attached the bracelet to –
“Right hoof, please,” she said.
Apple Bloom obliged.
Now she had an easy way to fork food into her mouth with a mere flick of her wrist.
“Thanks?” she said, somewhat bemused.
Rarity winked. “Just think of me as your dear Auntie Rarity.”
Some things about Apple Bloom never changed, southern belle dress or not. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to call you a sister, then?”
“Sister Rarity?” Rarity giggled. “How devoted.” She paused to think, then giggled harder. “So would that be in-law, or out-law, given your cowpony types?”
Apple Bloom had no idea what she meant, so she ignored it and ate more cake.
After a while, she wanted to do something more neighbourly than eat cake in front of a host. She resisted picking a third slice.
“Do you reckon,” she said, trying to sound more polite than her drawl allowed, “you’ll get your dress-makin’ confidence back?”
“Oh, eventually, I dare say.”
“Ain’t there nothin’ – Ah mean, isn’t there somethin’ Ah – Ah mean, isn’t there something I can do?”
Rarity’s mouth cringed with pity. “I think the phrase ‘be your honest self’ applies here. Relax, Apple Bloom, please do. I’m not going to bite if you speak as you normally would. And it’s sweet of you, but I think you’ve helped me enough.”
“Ah have?”
“Merely hearing your well-intentioned sympathies is like rain to parched earth.”
Apple Bloom stared blankly at her.
“I feel better knowing you care,” translated Rarity. Then she sighed, nursing her mug. “Alas, the inspiration block is not a problem easily fixed. One can only wait it out.”
Judging from her face, she looked like she’d been asked to go to war. Without putting on her specially tailored “Lady of War” gown first.
That was what tipped nervous, self-conscious Apple Bloom right into affronted, self-determined Apple Bloom.
Sure, the “southern belle” dress had as much relation to a real southern gal like Apple Bloom or Applejack… as Rarity’s boutique had to the rest of Ponyville. Sure, Apple Bloom couldn’t make it work in her own mind any better than she could stop herself leaping on a burger with her champion chompers. And sure, not everything had to do with the pictures on a pony’s flank. Cutie marks weren’t everything, though she had trouble a bit with that.
What mattered was this: it felt like a cutie mark problem to her. Nothing else mattered once she had that.
Shuffling uncomfortable against the stiff hoop skirt, Apple Bloom hopped up and shot her gaze around like a trigger-happy gunslinger.
“Well, Ah ain’t never been not too patient enough to be impatient.” She ran the sentence through her head again, shrugged, and ploughed on. Confidence: that was the thing. “Ah say you see a problem, you gotta stand up to it.”
“Er –” began Rarity, who was probably still untangling the grammar.
“It’s like bullies,” said Apple Bloom on a wave of insight. “If you don’t do something about ‘em, they ain’t gonna change.”
“Er… are you looking for something?”
“Yeah.” Apple Bloom thought quickly. “Where’s your sketchbook?”
“I beg your pardon?” Rarity’s chair scraped back. “Apple Bloom, what on earth has gotten into –?”
“Don’t you see? You gotta try everything! Sooner or later, you’ll find your insp’ration block again! Ah mean lose it! Ah mean, let’s go!”
Rarity headed her off at the doorway, gasping a bit from the uncouth speed involved. She gave Apple Bloom a look of worry slamming down over spreading wonder.
“Look, look, look, I apologize for putting the idea into your head,” she burbled. “Now look, I can see you’re flustered. Why don’t we all just sit down again and have a cup of really hot cocoa?”
But Apple Bloom wasn’t giving up without a final fight at the OK Corral, or at least the Merely Alright Corral. She gave a glower Applejack would back away from.
“Ah ain’t flustered! Ah’m fixin’ to fix your cutie m– Ah’m fixin’ to fix your problem! You need insp’ration.”
“Inspiration. Four syllables.”
“And Ah always say, ‘If you need something, it ain’t gonna come to you. You gotta go look for it.’”
Fascinated despite herself, Rarity asked, “Since when have you always said that?”
Yet the fighting spirit in Apple Bloom, bold as brass on a wrongly designed spur, was vying for haunting grounds against the other spirits in Apple Bloom. Most of them had spent long, long months – they felt like years – despairing over her own cutie mark. They weren’t keen to rush out for another fruitless quest.
Then, like optical illusions, they shifted focus, as if the back of a mask had become another front. She knew what it was like to lose your way.
She answered, “Actually, Ah made that up just now.”
“Oh.” Rarity’s slight drop in height looked somewhat disappointed. “Sounds like something Applejack would say. Or Rainbow, come to that, minus the countryisms.” She puffed up her cheeks and blew at the stylish curl of her mane. “Go sit down, there’s a dear.”
She made for the exit. Well, she wasn’t getting away that easily.
“Where are you goin’?” Apple Bloom stamped her hoof for emphasis, planting a defiant flag.
“Where do you think? I’m fetching my sketchbook, naturally.”
Apple Bloom watched until Rarity’s tail vanished out the door. Her brain soon caught up with her ears and reined her in. She went back and sat down, hopping out immediately as soon as she realized she nearly sat on Opal. The yowl had a creeping resentfulness in it.
Rarity soon returned. Papers and sketchbooks piled up on one side, away from the tea tray.
“All right…” Rarity plucked one sheet and planted a pencil on top of it, then stationed the lot before her, ready to charge. Her work glasses landed on her muzzle. “Observe, I am following your suggestion. It’s noble of you, Apple Bloom, but with all due respect, I’m an experienced seamstress. You, with the greatest of respect, are not. What do you know that could confer upon me any new insights?”
A corner of Apple Bloom’s mind gaped at the rest of her, thoroughly flabbergasted. Yet the rest of her charged forwards. So, fancy-schmancy talk was it?
Ooh, she had the Apple fighting spirit possessing her, all right.
“Ah know ballroom dancin’,” she boasted.
Rarity lowered her glasses to scan her diminutive assistant’s – or would-be-assistant’s – face. If the local teacher Cheerilee had worn glasses, and had received a dog-eared, foxed, and even severely dragoned piece of homework, she might have given Apple Bloom that look.
“Ah, yes,” she said, thoughtfully. “I believe Applejack mentioned something. That would be a sight to see.”
While Apple Bloom shuffled on the seat, Opal’s miaows sounded slightly too much like cat chuckling.
“Well…” she admitted, “Ah ain’t… great at it, mind… see, in a way, it’s a bit like doin’ kung fu…” She caught Rarity’s unmoved look. “It ain’t much like doin’ kung fu, ain’t it?”
“Hm. Not an analogy I’d have considered, myself.” Still, Rarity tapped her lips with the tip of the pencil. “Hm… an eastern influence, however… a certain belligerent attitude… choreography and coordination… I suppose there’s something there to think about.”
“And you should see the kicks Ah can do!”
“Kicks? For the foxtrot? The salsa? The tango?”
“Waltz!”
Rarity rolled her eyes. “Your ticket to the higher classes, undoubtedly.”
Her dismal understanding of irony notwithstanding, Apple Bloom knew sarcasm when she heard it. Her eyes became gunslits.
“And Ah can speak Fancy,” she volunteered.
“It’s called French,” corrected Rarity primly. “After the country of origin.”
“Country of what now?”
“Come, come! You’ve never heard of Frankoponi? It’s one of the most romantic cities of the neighbouring countries of… Never mind. So you know French, do you?”
“Just a li’l bit. See, one time, Ah tried gettin’ a magic cutie mark, you know, magically.”
“Hard to do it any other way, I suppose.”
“You bet! Even harder to do it by magic, turns out. But Ah did learn a li’l French durin’ it. Spell backfire. Then Ah got a li’l interested, you know, casual-like.”
“I see. Care to demonstrate?”
Apple Bloom shuffled awkwardly. Boasting was all very well, though in the end it helped to have some buck to back it up.
“Ah’m a li’l rusty…”
Rarity flashed a smile like peeking through the blinds. “Surprise me.”
“Erm… Parlay voo Equestrianne, madam-moiselle? Savey voo oo on poo finday on pomme deter?”
Rarity’s smile flashed again. “My word, you’re practically a native.”
“Really?”
“Oui, vraiment! En effet, on pourrait croire que vous ne simuliez pas du tout cela.” (Translation: “Yes, really! Indeed, one could believe that you are not faking this at all.”)
“Er… No, thanks. The cake’s enough,” Apple Bloom hazarded.
Settling back on her chair, Rarity sighed at the ceiling. If Apple Bloom didn’t know any better, she’d swear Rarity was actually enjoying this, settling in like a duchess at court. Swanking, but graciously.
“Perhaps,” declared Her Grace, “it’s time I taught you a little thing called ‘socially acceptable honesty’.”
“Sorry,” said Apple Bloom, giving up. She didn’t want Applejack to learn about this. “Ah don’t know what came over me. You’re right. Ah’m really, really bad at this… bein’ hoity-toity thing, ain’t Ah?”
Sharp as a rapier, Rarity held up a hoof. “Ah, ah, ah. Your finer social graces are a little rough, but improvable.”
“That ain’t true!”
“Isn’t it?”
“Ah’m crummy, ain’t Ah?”
Wincing, Rarity waved her correcting hoof for emphasis. “And your finer social graces are a little rough, but improvable.”
“But that ain’t –”
“Apple Bloom, Apple Bloom. Honestly, between you and Applejack, one would be driven to despair.” She prodded the table with the tip of her pencil, tapping in rhythm to her speech. “Euphemism, tact, delicacy. Honesty is not just a matter of blurting out what’s true, my overzealous neophyte! To be truly honest, you have to pick out what’s important too. Very important in high society.”
Slightly miffed by the patronizing tones, Apple Bloom scowled up at her. “Like how?”
“Like your dancing. Sure, in one ‘honest’ sense, it’s ‘crummy’. In another, far more high-minded and diplomatic sense, it is somewhat lagging behind your full potential, but only requires the right nurturing and guidance. I can say with all honesty that what I’ve learned of your abilities certainly gets me thinking.”
Yet Apple Bloom had spent most of her life trained at the honesty dojo of Master Apple Jack. Strict discipline and stern voices whenever the matter turned to missing snacks from the cupboards had all but pummelled the subtlety out of her.
“That don’t sound right,” she said. “Don’t sound honest.”
“Unlike pretending you could speak French, you mean?”
Rarity’s checkmate grin caught Apple Bloom mid-choke. It took a while for Apple Bloom to close her own mouth.
“Ah just…”
“But is it not honest that your talent and ability are, collectively, improvable?” Kindly, Rarity reached across and whispered behind her own hoof, “If you wanted a willing and experienced tutor, that is.”
Apple Bloom swallowed. Never would Applejack offer to teach her anything like “speakin’ in Fancy”. She wondered why, for a brief and surprising moment. Hadn’t Applejack picked up education and stuff when she’d gone to Manehattan long ago? Seemed like Applejack knew a lot about Manehattan.
Though not everything, she’d bet. A certain kind of “honesty”, perhaps?
At least “improvable” sounded like she could do something about it. But the idea that you could turn the truth around like a gemstone until you found a facet you liked… that wasn’t an Applejack idea. Truth was truth, she’d say. There weren’t versions of it.
Perhaps there weren’t versions of living an Apple pony life, though. Stuck on an emerald farm and a tiny town against the entire selection box of the world’s jewels.
Apple Bloom gazed up at Rarity with newfound respect.
Rarity winked. “Oh, French is just the start. There’s a big, wide world out there, my dear. Why, I could spend a lifetime teaching you the breadth and width and depth of fashion alone… and believe me, I’ve picked up more than that on my travels.”
Better yet, Apple Bloom saw the twinkle in Rarity’s eyes. The twinkle of inspiration.
She’d found a bit of buried sapphire. Now, the important thing, she knew, was to start digging and prepare for heavy lifting.
She tried rolling up her sleeves, but on her tight dress, she gave up quickly and just leaned forwards, like a countess at Her Grace’s round table.
“So maybe,” she said breathlessly against the tight-chested cloth, “maybe we can find you some artistic insp’ration –” Catching Rarity’s eye, she hastily changed it to: “Inspiration?”
“That’ll do it! See? Improvable? There’s more than one way to get better.”
Apple Bloom tried to look sophisticated. Calm. Classy. Wow, she could really give this thing a go.
Anyway, she had lots of cake. Rarity hadn’t said she couldn’t stop being herself, had she?
Chewing over a chocolate carrot cake slice, Apple Bloom peered closer as Rarity began her sketching.
“Ah,” sighed Rarity. “Let us consider the wedding dress. Finest of all finery. Train to the stars. There is an art to the matrimonial munificence that is the bride’s gift to the groom –”
“Why the long train?” Apple Bloom pointed.
Rarity stopped scribbling. “What, what, long train, what, sorry?”
“Why’s this bit –” Apple Bloom pointed harder, jabbing the page “– stretched out so far back? Somepony could trip over it.”
“Oh, you’ve got to have a long train for a bridal gown.”
“Why?”
Rarity’s mouth opened and shut for a while, then she caught Apple Bloom’s checkmate leer and shrugged. “I honestly haven’t the foggiest.”
Such a thing for a dressmaker to confess reddened Rarity’s countenance. Perhaps it was just unthinking tradition, then? Well, Apple Bloom fancied thinking about it now, and maybe sending it back if she didn’t like the delivery.
“Oh, no,” countered Rarity urgently. “Look, practicality’s all well and good, but a wedding should be a time of fairy tales, of romance, of dreams come true –”
“– and hard work, and lots of things being organized right, and bein’ ready if stuff goes wrong,” insisted Apple Bloom.
Skewing her lips, Rarity cast her critical eye over the page. “Hm, true. Mucky, daily work indeed to keep a marriage going. I suppose I should wonder why the wedding ought to be any different. Hm, perhaps there’s a way to reflect that, but… tactfully. Beautifully. See? Validating and improving at the same time.”
“Ah think,” said Apple Bloom, “Ah honestly really like this new kind of honesty.”
“Ha! Perhaps we’ll make a fashionista out of you yet! Oho, yes! The look on Applejack’s face would be exquisite!” Rarity’s horn glowed brighter. “Hold that thought, my southern belle. Here, let’s see how far you can dig for your own private gemstone…”
A pencil popped out of mid-air. Surprised, Apple Bloom made a grab for it, knocked it up into the air, flailed for a bit, and then snagged it between her teeth. Side-on. She had to turn it round to fit properly.
“Yeh shthink?” she said through her mouthful.
“Go on. Design a dress. You might surprise yourself.”
“Shure!” Apple Bloom winced, then spat out her pencil. “Ah mean, sure.”
“All right. See, your basic wedding dress is traditionally white, so keep that in mind if you decide to add frills and ornamentation and so on, because they won’t be colour-coded…”
So, as two minds turned the truth round and round to try and get it to fit on their respective pages, Apple Bloom stopped between stuffing her face and apologizing for the crumbs on the floor to inspect Rarity’s face.
Utterly engrossed in her work. Shining happy with newfound purpose, dug up from the dull earth and held up to the light brilliantly.
Three ponies, she’d speculated. One to give generously – Rarity – one to receive – whoever wore the dress…
No, better! Apple Bloom turned the truth around and spotted something that delighted her to her core.
Three ponies. One to give generously, one to receive – Apple Bloom herself, as a sort of apprentice and friend, maybe – and one bystander to watch and appreciate the whole thing. Also Apple Bloom!
She watched herself, and she liked what she saw. Even the dress grew comfortable, after a while.
“What shall we do together next?” she asked.
At heart, the mark of sophistication – or so she’d gathered it, from a long afternoon swapping sketchbooks and wiping off cake crumbs without Rarity once losing momentum – was just as much in the answering of the question as in the asking.
Rarity’s answer, of course, was: “Keep going! We’re on a roll, here!”
And as self-appointed but sophisticated helper of ponies, however long she had to stick by their side, Apple Bloom certainly wasn’t going to let these good times stop.
