“Come on, Opalescence!” The feline gave an angry hiss and swiped its claws as purple magic enveloped its tail. Opal struggled for a moment, then hissed shortly and rolled her buggy eyes as the overbearing unicorn hovered her over to the basket. “We simply must not be late for our meeting with Twilight.”
Opal went into the basket with a hat, a few ribbons, and a bunch of scarves which were hurriedly tossed on top. The fluffy feline huffed and watched the white unicorn who rushed about the boutique in a fluster. “I simply cannot stress how imperative it is that we do not take more time than we have to.” Rarity spun in a quick circle, then stopped, forcing a grin. “We must hurry.”
Opal growled quietly as the basket was scooped up in the mare’s telekinetic grasp. Rarity always did seem to be in a hurry.
“We must get back to our work as soon as possible!”
“Meow,” Opal replied, rolling her eyes before letting them fall longingly on her plush bed in the corner. Rarity didn’t care, of course; she never cared. The basket was magically hefted into the air and towards the door they went, out into the street where the sun was shining and uncomfortably hot on Opal’s fluffy pelt.
This was the third time in two days Rarity was taking them out. Opal was by no means an easy going feline, but she’d learn to tolerate Rarity and her neurotic ways. But this, this new thing, it was going too far. Often, Opal would awake in the dead of night to mutters and the shambling of hooves, and there would be Rarity, flustered, mane a mess as she trotted frantically about the boutique, her sewing glasses perched crooked on her muzzle as she dug through shelves of fabric.
Opal had learned the words she had been speaking by now: “Not enough.” While the meaning itself was blurred to the feline, she’d put it together well enough. Rarity wanted something better. But better what?
Opal shrugged to herself from the depths of the basket; Rarity never made sense. Dresses, what was her whole fascination with dresses? Clothes were utter nonsense, and worst of all, Rarity persisted on dressing her up in the most bogus attire imaginable. It was only with great resilience did Opal finally stop pawing the bow from her hair.
But in the end, none of that mattered. Rarity was nice to her, provided Opal with a home, food, shelter, endearment. What else could a cat ask for? Putting up with the pony’s silly shenanigans was hardly a price to pay for the life of pampering given oh so dearly to her.
“Oh, um, yes, hello there!” Opal was jolted from her thoughts as Rarity’s voice impeded upon them. With a yawn, the feline poked her head above the basket. “I’m here to examine your um... wears.”
They were at a street vender, one of the many in the Ponyville marketplace. An older mare with a ratty brown coat and a mousy green mane sat within a booth draped with rolls of fabric and other decorations. Opal had to mewl silently to herself; it was pretty impressive. And there was definitely plenty of thread to claw up.
“Ah, Rarity!” the mousy mare exclaimed, “how nice to see you again!”
Rarity nodded absently, eyes scanning the wears. “Um, yes, is this all you have?” She turned her head to the vendor and cocked her head a little, arching a brow.
The vender seemed insulted. Opal could smell it on the mare from here, and instead went to focussing on a stallion trotting happily through the market with a caged canary. Opal licked her lips. “I-I... I’m sorry, Rarity, but this is my entire collection.” The vendor paused. “Uh, what exactly... would you be looking for?”
The canary spotted Opal’s eyes on it’s cage and cocked it’s feathery head at the feline.
“Something with a little more... zang,” Rarity said absently.
The vendor deadpanned. “Zang?”
Rarity’s head bobbed like it was on a spring. “Yes, Zang... um let’s see here, how do I explain this? Pizzaz, poof, fizzle.” She glared at her nose for a second. “Something new, I suppose.”
From the look the befuddled vendor gave Rarity, it didn’t register.
Rarity sighed and rolled her eyes. “You see, I simply must step up with my attire. Sure gems and fabric are all good, but it just doesn’t feel good enough! Shiny rocks and scissors can only take you so far. I need something new, something great, something that’ll get me noticed!”
The vendor maintained her bored and slightly irritated expression. “Rarity, I sell cloth,” she said flatly, folding her ears. “Unless you can make pizzaz out of cloth, then I don’t know what to tell you.”
Strange, Opal registered as the canary finally was whisked away in the crowd. Rarity seemed a little more flustered today; she could feel it in her fur. Whenever Rarity was unhappy her flesh would tingle unpleasantly and her whiskers would twitch. But ponies were always weird, and Rarity was probably having a weird day, which was more common that the average feline may think.
That night, Opal hardly slept. It would have been best to throw a boot at Rarity and tell her to shut it, but things didn’t work that way.
The dressmaker was, strangely, trying to make dresses. Of course, this was completely normal in the daytime, but in the dead of night? In the dark? How Rarity could even see the sewing machine as she operated the noisy piece of equipment was beyond understanding, but by the curses of pain and anger the mare made in the dark, she wasn’t having the greatest of success.
With an exasperated sigh, Opal left her basket in the corner of the nighttime Boutique and started towards the sound of the sewing machine. It was dark, but the wan light of the moon through the drawn curtains was enough to reflect within her eyes and make out the general silhouette of things. She weaved under a stallion ponnequin dressed in a dinner jacket and top hat, her coat bristling uncomfortably as its coattails brushed along her back, then weaved through the legs of still mare dressed in wedding attire.
The sewing machine was just ahead, the clear shape of a unicorn seated before her. Rarity muttered and whispered under her breath as she ran the machine in the darkness.
As silent as the night, Opal sprang up to the table and padded along it until she stood directly beside Rarity. Her tail waved slowly back and forth like seaweed in water as she watched the progress. Rarity’s hooves worked with finesse as she fed the machine two different colors of fabric that couldn’t be made out in the gloom.
She caught a whiff of the blood. Opal narrowed her eyes a little, examining Rarity more closely. The dressmaker’s right hoof was patched and cut, a thin trickle of blood running from one of the larger gashes. And even as Opal watched, Rarity guided her hoof a little too close to the stabbing needle. Thrice it came down on the white hoof, stitching a short line in the flesh until the needle bent and jammed the mechanism.
Rarity yelped and yanked her hoof away as she shut off the machine, a strand of thread following it from the machine’s feed. She hissed under her breath as her horn ignited and began to tug magically at the strand of silver thread stitched into her hoof. After a moment of teeth clenching and easing, the thread came out, now stained a full crimson from the blood that seeped from the shallow wound.
“Curses.” Rarity sighed as she examined the cut.
“Meow,” Opal said quietly, curiously.
Rarity froze like one of her ponnequins, then slowly turned her eyes to Opal. Confusion hovered in them for a second before she turned the rest of her head around and gave it a small shake. “Isn’t it a little late for you to be up, Opalescence?”
Opal mewled quietly, flicking both ears. She didn’t quite understand the words, but there was a soft, loving tone to them that she knew belonged to endearment.
Rarity laughed softly and rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. It’s late for me too. But I simply had to try out this new design.” Once again, her horn lit up, casting shadows across her eyes as she levitated the garment she had been working on.
It kind of looked like a really big rug, only sloppy stitching hung out in all sorts of places, giving Opal a very strong urge to claw out. She wasn’t quite sure what it was. It didn’t look like anything Rarity usually made and it was a lot bigger and more flat. Opal spotted one of her bows sewn into part of it and gave an internal snicker. One less bow Rarity could stick in her fur.
“Well, how’s it look?” Rarity levitated it gingerly back to the tabletop.
Opal purred deep in her throat and shrugged. Rarity liked to hear her make that noise at this part.
“Why thank you so much!” she exclaimed, reaching out with both hooves to wrap Opal into a hug. Opal’s purr changed to a quiet rumble as Rarity smeared her smooth, white fur with blood. It would take hours of licking to get that out. “I can’t wait until it’s finished.”
Opal pulled herself out of Rarity’s embrace, then immediately sat back and twisted her head around to start licking her coat down. Ponies smelled disgusting, especially pony blood.
With a soft sigh, Rarity propped her elbows on the tabletop and rested her chin in her hooves. “I’m tired,” she said through a yawn, looking out the window. “Sometimes I really must wonder where the day could have gone.” In less than a second, she deflated like a balloon speared by sharp kitty claws. “Sometimes work is truly exhausting... It’s hard, you know, keeping up with all the talent in Equestria.”
“Meow.”
Rarity smiled at Opal and yawned again. “You try to get some sleep.” She flicked her ears and smacked her lips a few times, eyes going droopy. “I’ll just stay up a little bit longer.”
Rarity fell asleep with the sewing machine on. Opal hissed quietly as she buried her head in her basket, trying to block out the sound.
Sweetie Belle was more fun than Rarity was. At least the little filly didn’t talk and treat Opal like a kitten. Sweetie Belle normally played with Opal when she wasn’t out with her friends, or vice versa. Then Rarity would come along and suggest a bath and everything would be ruined. Honestly, ponies were crazy. Any sort of a creature that got wet for fun was just plain stupid.
Today was a good day. It had been maybe ten or so naps since Rarity had woken her up in the middle of the night, and as Opal lay in in the windowsill of the Boutique, the sun washing across her back and warming the thick fur, she purred happily. Sweetie Belle’s friends were over, the orange one and the yellow one. And so far the three ponies were leaving her alone. They had spread out a piece of paper in the middle of the floor and were arguing quite raucously over something most likely pointless.
“Okay, well why don’t we try helpin’ Rarity again. Even if it doesn’t get us cutie marks it’s gonna get me out of hot water with my sis,” Apple Bloom said in compromise. “Ever since she caught us usin’ her apples to play badminton she’s been right bent at me.”
Sweetie Belle made a face and suddenly put a lot more effort looking into the mess of scribbles on the paper that was their cutie mark plan. “I really don’t think that’s a very good idea right now.”
Scootaloo rolled her eyes. “You just don’t want us messing up anything of your sister’s, huh?”
“No, no! It’s not that at all!” Sweetie Belle corrected hurriedly. “It’s just that she’s been kinda weird recently. I mean, yesterday she brought me breakfast in bed.”
“So?” Apple Bloom asked crossly. “I wish my sis would bring me breakfast in bed.”
“Apple Bloom.” Sweetie Belle gave her friend the flattest of looks. “It was four in the afternoon. She made me get in my bed so she could feed me eggs.”
The two other fillies both snickered and shamelessly tried to hide their laughter.
“What!?” Sweetie Belle exclaimed. “It’s not funny! I’m serious, she’s acting weird. She sewed a hat together with a shoe and called it a hoo.”
“A hoo?” Scootaloo squinted. “Really? That’s the best she could come up with?”
“Exactly! Isn’t that something to be worried about?”
Apple Bloom frowned. “I guess you do sorta have a point there, Sweets.”
Sweetie Belle seemed rather eager to get away from the topic. “Look, all I’m saying is that I think we should give her some time to get over... whatever she’s doing. Rarity always acts kinda weird, this is just a little weirder than normal.”
Rarity must have been on queue. The door swung open in the gentle glow of her horn and she trotted into the room, her mane and tail a little frizzy, but still styled quite nicely. “Hello there, you three.”
The fillies all shared equally guilty looks before Sweetie Belle cleared her throat to speak. “Hi, Rarity. What’s going on?”
Rarity sighed and flopped down between Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo, fully completing their circle. “Oh nothing much. I was just looking to see if I’d left any gems around somewhere. I didn’t think I’d used them all but I guess I just got a little bit ahead of myself.” Her eyes fell down to the parchment the Crusaders had spread out on the floor. Cocking her head, Rarity studied it.
“So, er, how’s the hoo going?” Scootaloo asked after a moment of silence. She got an elbow to her ribs from Sweetie Belle for her comment.
Rarity looked up, confusion blotting on her face for a moment until her eyes went alight with the thought. “Oh, it’s going great! You see, I wanted to create a multi-purpose form of attire, and what better than the two polar opposites of clothing? I honestly cannot believe I’m the first to attempt such an ambitious goal.”
“Maybe because it’s stupid,” Sweetie Belle grumbled, heard only by Opal.
“But I am making progress.” Rarity smiled and pushed to her hooves. “What I’m having trouble with is finding a material that both looks good and is suitable for the everyday wear and tear of being worn upon the hoof. It’s simply a matter of finding the perfect balance between style, practicality, and efficiency.
“Anyways.” Rarity backtrotted towards the door and yanked it open. “I just wanted to see how my favorite little sister and her friends were doing, but now I must get back to my work. Busy busy busy!” The door slammed behind her and from the hall came the sound of her voice chanting the same word until it faded off.
“You call that weird?!” Apple Bloom scolded once Rarity was out of earshot. “I thought you meant, like, Pinkie Pie-with-her-hair-all-straight weird. She’s just got a new idea is all.”
Scootaloo just stood and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She stretched, her back arching and her belly almost touching the floor. Her back popped and cracked with a meaty sound that sent a shiver through the other two crusaders. “Let’s go find something to do before I die of boredom.” She pranced on the tips of her hooves for a second, flaring her wings and buzzing them energetically.
Sweetie Belle seemed glad with the compromise. She nodded, then looked down to the paper they had laid out. “I got it. Let’s try to make that flying machine you mentioned, Scootaloo.”
The orange filly buzzed contentedly. “Sweet, yes! We’ll need some way to test it though.”
As if guided by some invisible force, all three of their heads turned to Opal.
Opal felt her hackles raise.
Opal had never tried flying, but after a quick assessment of the new sport, she would have prefered swimming and dress up, at the same time. Her dislike of flying may have been slightly biased due to the occasion, though, mainly due to the fact that the three fillies’ flying machine only flew for as long as it took to start falling... which wasn’t very far.
It was nighttime now. One unlucky flight had landed Opal in a tree, and there she had remained until the bothersome fillies had left. Standing up and stretching with a little purr, Opal clawed her way down the trunk and dropped to the ground in Ponyville square.
Rarity never let her out, especially at night, so this was all rather new. Opal prowled for hours, doing cat-like things around town until the moon was high in the sky. Eventually though, her warm bed came calling and her sense of smell and direction slowly carried her back to the Boutique.
The back, upstairs window had been left cracked, and climbing the nearby tree to get a paw in there, Opal was able to pull herself into Rarity’s bedroom. There was no light source apart from that of the moon, and strangely enough Rarity wasn’t in her bed, nor was it made.
The place seemed messier than normal. Rarity didn’t often allow Opal in her room, and for good reason; there was so much good fabric in the small room to claw at and rip. But as Opal stalked silently towards the door that lead out to the rest of the building, it was quite a chore not to step on tossed books or pens and quills, old sewing needles and scattered gems. The entire room smelled musty, like a mixture of dirt and day-old garbage. The desk table was a mess of crumpled up and half-finished sketches. The wastebasket beside it had completely overflown and was spilling its contents of crumpled papers across the floor.
From the closet door, came a long, slow creak. Opal froze like a statue, every hair along her spine standing straight up. The accordion shutter doors of the closet on the right of the room were mostly closed with exception of the two-inch opening the led off into darkness that even Opal’s eyes couldn’t penetrate.
As the saying goes, curiosity wins the cat new insight and possibly a nice, juicy meal. Opal found her paws carrying her ever so cautiously towards the closet. There was a soft creak from somewhere inside and the rustle of fabric. Opal tensed, waiting the sounds out before she began to move again, one paw in front of the other, growing ever closer.
The door to Rarity’s room burst open, casting a blinding swathe of yellow-white light across the messy floor. Opal jumped a good two feet into the air, flying backwards away from the closet. It was by misfortune that her right front paw came down on a fabric pin that had been leaning at an awkward angle up against a decorative stocking on the floor. The needle went deep into her pad and came out the top of her paw. Opal yowled and hissed, falling onto her back and flailing her hind legs in the as she squirmed in pain on the floor, screeching up a storm.
“Opal, what’s the matter!?” Rarity rushed up to the writhing feline, her eyes falling immediately upon the needle and trickle of blood from Opal’s paw. “Oooh dear. That truly is dreadful. Just hold still for me, dearie, okay?”
Although every feline instinct in her body cried for Opal to screech and hiss and bite at the needle in her paw, she let herself relax to Rarity’s calm voice. Rarity was always kind, and by the tone in the mare’s voice Opal knew she would help. “Meow.” Opal looked up at Rarity with wide eyes, really having to focus not to bite at her paw.
“There there, Opal,” Rarity cooed, petting Opal’s head softly. “Just let Mommy get that for you and everything will be fine.” Opal screeched as the needle was magically yanked out of her paw. She batted at Rarity, though had enough restraint to keep her claws sheathed.
“There we go.” Rarity levitated a small strip of cloth from the messy floor and wrapped it around the paw. “That looked like it hurt. You’re a very brave kitty!” Tying off the cloth, she swept Opal up into a hug. “You simply must be more careful.”
Despite the stinging in her paw, Opal mewled quietly and purred in Rarity’s grasp, listening to the mare’s slow, gentle heartbeat. So slow, so calm. Rarity seemed to be radiating tranquility like a starry night.
Opal let her eyes drift closed.
Days stretched into weeks, and although the thing in Rarity’s closet had been on the feline’s mind for the whole day after, Rarity had made sure to keep her room locked up tight. Opal was also sure to be a little more careful around needles. Even after the puncture wound had healed, it was still very uncomfortable to put any weight on the pad that had been speared.
Rarity had stopped her nighttime sewing, but was still being quite annoying. Often she would run around the Boutique in a frenzy, looking for a very specific color of gem or a certain shred of fabric. It often made Opal’s mid-afternoon nap very difficult, and the feline had since taken to sleeping right beside the front door where the noise traveled to the least.
This afternoon, her nap was interrupted by the jingle of the doorbell as a little orange pegasus entered. Opal passed the filly off as one of Sweetie Belle’s friends and attempted to sink back into her slumber.
“Sweetie Belle!” Scootaloo called, prancing to the middle of the room and looking around. Opal cringed. “Come on, let’s go!” The filly sat down and leaned up against Rarity’s sewing table, fluttering her wings. “Come on! You said you’d be ready, Sweetie Belle!” She tapped her hoof impatiently.
Opal made an indignant sound in her throat and stood up to fix her cold eyes on the orange filly.
Scootaloo stopped her taping and turned her head to Opal. “Hey, what’s up?” she asked, her tone layered with sarcasm.
“Meow.”
“I know, right. Sweetie Belle’s always slow.” Scootaloo snickered and rolled her eyes, grinning towards Opal. “Rarity probably won’t let her go until she’s all dressed up and has her mane perfectly brushed.” She grinned for a moment more, then slumped a little. “Lucky... I wish I had a sister that fussed over me.”
Opal cocked her head a Scootaloo. “Meow,” she said slowly, picking herself up and stretching leisurely. She still hadn’t entirely forgiven the filly for throwing her off the top tier of the jungle gym with nothing but a pair of cardboard wings tied to her back with a roll of string.
Both Scootaloo and Opal jumped as the door to the hallway slammed open under the hoof of a flustered-looking Rarity. Her mane had a few strands twigged out here and there and her coat looked sleep ruffled. She rushed to her sewing machine and started looking it over, muttering something about gemstones.
“Hey, Rarity!” Scootaloo said in a perky tone.
The mare froze. Her eyes darted up to Scootaloo over her sewing glasses, then down to the sewing machine for a second before finally settling back to the orange filly. “Oh, why hello there, uh... Scootaloo!” She smiled. “Are you here to buy a dress?”
Scootaloo blinked. “I’m looking for Sweetie Belle...” She gave Rarity a squinted look. “Is she around here?”
Rarity blinked with all the bafflement Scootaloo had. “Sweetie Belle...” She jumped a little and rolled her eyes. “Oh, of course, right, so sorry. I’m a little busy at the moment. Er... yes.” She continued to smile at Scootaloo, who’s eyebrows seemed to be trying to disappear into her purple mane. “Yes she is... uh, playing dress-up in my room.” Rarity rolled her eyes. “She simply insists upon trying on my attire. I’ve no idea why, considering none of it fits her.”
“Is Apple Bloom there too?” Scootaloo asked in a scathing tone.
Rarity nodded vigorously. “Yes, she came over about an hour ago. Would you like to join them? They’re having so much fun from what I can hear.”
“...Apple Bloom, playing dress up?” Scootaloo’s left eyebrow was completely out of sight, the right one scrunched down right over her eye.”
“I know.” Rarity chuckled under her breath. “I couldn’t believe it myself.” She perked, then started towards the stairs. “Come, come, let’s get you tucked in.”
Scootaloo followed.
Sweetie Belle was going away with Apple Bloom for a while. Opal caught words of it as the fillies left with the bigger orange mare. Thank the can opener, she would be gone. That squeaky voice was something terrible for afternoon naps.
Now if only Rarity would stop her interruptions. It had been ten or so naps since the last one. Hopefully that number would keep growing.
Rarity was up again tonight, and it was such a shame. She had seemed to be over her nightly foolishness, but now with the whirr of the sewing machine filling the dark boutique, Opal found herself lying in bed with a pillow clasped firmly over the top of her head. A pillow that also didn’t appear to be working.
After much growling and squirming, Opal let herself drift awake. The feline climbed to her paws and stretched each leg in turn. She padded carefully towards the sound. There was no moon tonight, though Rarity had set up a small desk lamp. The harsh white light killed Opal’s kittyvision and made the entire Boutique seem nothing more than a dark mass of black. The only thing that could be plainly made out was the fringes of light around Rarity. If Opal tried to look directly into the light her vision would wash out completely.
Rarity was smiling this time, though that didn’t mask the look of concentration on her face as her eyes bore down upon to wear she was sewing. Her mane wasn’t combed at all though, and hung around her neck in a blankety mess. She’d also managed to crack one lens on her sewing glasses. The thin line only traveled through the corner of the right eye, but it caught the light and glinted brightly in the mid-darkness.
Opal mewled quietly and hopped up beside Rarity. The mare continued to sew away, humming to herself and seemingly oblivious to the feline’s presence. “And that’s the art of the dress,” she sung in a off-tune, slightly breathless note. “We’re sewing Scootaloo’s dress.”
Opal tried to get a better view of what Rarity was working on, though she’d rather not strike Rarity’s attention. The mare smelt funny right now, which meant that she was in a weird mood. Standing right at the edge of the table, she crept towards Rarity, hoping to stay behind the mare’s peripherals.
Something about the frilly dress Rarity was sewing didn’t settle right for Opal. She assumed it was the way it smelled. Just like Rarity, the dress had a scent that reminded the feline of cheap catfood and pony fear scent. Ponies never did smell good, but fear always smelled the worse.
“Oh, why hello, Opal.”
Opal tensed and turned to meet Rarity’s emerald eyes. “Meow.”
“Come to visit, did we?” she asked warmly, patting Opal’s head with a forehoof. Opal responded with a flick of her ears. She licked her forepaw and started cleaning the top of her head. “Well, thank you very much for the company. I’ve been working very hard you know.”
Opal didn’t reply. She watched the dress being sewn, her eyes drifting across the dancing needle as it sewed a line of perfection. But the dress, whatever it was... It didn’t smell good. Something about it just wasn’t right. There were white feathers on it, small ones sewn here and there with circles and no clear order
“So,” Rarity said with proud breath. “What do you think so far?”
Were those wings on it? The dress was small, and probably could've fit Opal, much to the feline’s horror. But on either side, pseudo wings had been sewn across the spine that looked more like flaps of extra fabric than wings. Rarity wasn’t doing the frill like she normally did either. It wasn’t just on the edges, but lacing every which way before ending abruptly.
Opal couldn’t help it. Her hackles raised and she took a little step back, making a low, intimidated sound in her throat.
Even as Rarity’s hoof made a beeline for her, Opal still wasn’t quite sure of Rarity’s intentions. She barely got out half a mewl when that white, caring hoof met her body with force Opal had never known to come from Rarity. Screeching from surprise more than pain, Opal tumbled backwards, and for once her feline sense failed her. She landed on her head on the hard, wooden floor, then slid an extra few feet.
“What do you mean you don’t like it!?” Rarity bellowed, throwing the sewing machine off the table with a sweep of both forehooves. She levitated a dozen pairs of scissors and hurled them at the wall. One stuck, the others bounced off and showered to the floor in a deafening clatter. “I work my tail off so I can feed you!” Blue magic engulfed the entire spool rack and sent it tumbling to the floor. “And you don’t have any respect for it!”
Opal scrambled to her paws and backed away, ears folded flat, though she didn’t dare hiss. This wasn’t Rarity. Rarity would have never done... that... whatever that had just been. Opal’s muscles throbbed where Rarity’s hoof had met her body. The only thing she could compare was that one time Winona had bit down on her foreleg... but that had just been play.
“You ungrateful!” More scissors. “Fleabag!” Opal yowled and dived aside as the fowl dress was hurled at her. She hissed and scampered away. “Why don’t you like it!?”
Feline instincts were kicking in now, and flight overruled fight. The Boutique was one big circle. Every window was locked up tight and every door was closed. Opal ducked below tables and hopped skewed clutter as she looked for means of escape. Rarity continued to thrash the room, all sense of reason gone. Opal could smell Rarity throughout the entire Boutique, and it scared her. She’d only smelled that smell one time before, and that was on a squirrel that kept trying to attack birds in the front yard until it died. The scent was a warning to stay away. It was no good.
There was one door open.
Opal charged up the stairs to Rarity’s bedroom and ducked into the shadows of the open closet. The racks upon racks of clothes and scarves helped muffle the sounds of Rarity’s cries from the Boutique, but there was nothing that could fully drown it out.
Opal wrinkled her nose. It smelled good in here, like blood, like dead mouse.
Eyes still adjusting to the dark, she began to sniff around, poking around boots and stacks of shoeboxes. It was coming from the back. Still sniffing, she pawed a box aside and tossed an old dress out of the way. The smell wasn’t so good anymore. It smelled old and rotten and inedible.
It was a bird... well, sort of. It was dead. Opal would have batted it around for fun, but it was in a cage. Its white feathers were ruffled and falling from its skeletal frame in clumps. One wing was just completely gone. There was no blood, but the wing was gone, so was one of its feet. Opal turned away from it. Birds belonged outside, not in closets.
There were more of the little cages. There was a squirrel, which was alive but not moving. Opal didn’t stay long; there was no point in hunting an animal that wouldn’t move. There were two canaries in a cage, only one was eating the other. Some of the cages were empty, holding nothing but feathers or clumps of fur.
The real confusion set in she she spotted the hunched, orange shape in a cage a little larger than the rest. Light on her pads, she sneaked up to the cage and peered at the shivering thing inside.
Opal mewled quietly, pawing at the cage door. What was the loud orange one doing here?
Scootaloo looked up at Opal in confusion. She blinked, then her eyes widened a little and she rushed to the edge of the cage. “Opal, kitty!” she whispered, her entire body trembling. There were sores at the edges of her mouth and her ribs showed through her coat. Her purple mane was dirty and clumped up where she’d been leaning on the bars.
Opal took a step back. Scootaloo’s fear scent was disgusting. She’d have to lick for a whole afternoon just to get rid of it.
“Nononono, please! Don’t go.” Scootaloo put one hoof against the edge of the cage. “Opal, right? Opal please, c-can you understand me?” More shivering.
Opal mewled quietly.
“Can you get me out?” She shook the cage door softly, a little heart-shaped lock jangling back and forth.
Ponies did not belong in cages. Dogs belonged in cages. This wasn’t right at all. Still, while the tone of the filly’s voice was fearful, it was in no way threatening. Opal stepped forward. She blinked, then rubbed her face up against the thin bars, purring softly.
Scootaloo laughed bitterly, even if tears were running from her eyes. “Opal, please. Rarity, there’s something wrong with her!” Her wings buzzed meekly behind her as she stooped low. “She’s talking really nice, but she’s all wrong. She... she...” The filly stopped there. She clenched her teeth and swallowed, blinking tears from her eyes that trailed down her face and dripped to the closet floor. A wet, choking sound escaped her throat and she heaved a few times, shaking her head. “Why...?”
“Meow.” Opal rubbed her face up against the cage again and Scootaloo stroked her cheek through the bars.
“Opal, please, please tell me you can understand me!” She shook her cage a little, then pointed towards a white thing hanging half out of a box in the back. “Can you get me that please? pleasepleaseplease, oh please!” Her voice was starting to crack through the whisper, her nervous excitement showing.
Opal meowed again and padded slowly over to what Scootaloo had pointed at. It was a white stocking, an old one probably if Rarity put it back here. Rarity always put old things back here. Speaking of Rarity, Opal could still hear the mare making a ruckus in the next room... Her skin prickled.
With a bit of a tug, Opal pulled the stocking free from the box and dragged it back over to Scootaloo, who was smiling, laughing, crying, and almost bouncing up and down all at the same time.
Scootaloo tugged the length of fabric Opal’s grasp and laid it out on the cage floor. “This has to work,” she kept saying over and over. Opal smelled the strong tang of blood as Scootaloo chomped down on the end of her tongue, then plucked a feather from her wing and dabbed the end at it. She began to write on the stocking. Opal watched with interest as the orange filly made a quick scrawl. Scootaloo was trembling so much now that she was having trouble holding the feather, even dropping it a few times.
“C-c-come here,” she said after a moment, making a soft clicking sound with her tongue
Opal mewled and stepped forward, sniffing at the stocking. Scootaloo’s blood smelled pretty nice. The orange mare folded up the stocking, then reached forward and managed to get her hoof on Opal’s collar. Opal pulled for a second, but once again, Scootaloo’s motions weren’t threatening, just fearful.
The filly tucked the folded stocking up under Opal’s collar, creating a rather uncomfortable lump. “Now go on!” Scootaloo hissed. She held her forehooves to her body as she tremored. “G-g-go find a way out of here. P-please. Show that t-t-to somepony! Tell them I’m here! Please please please, please!”
Opal mewled and cocked her head, watching Scootaloo.
“Go!” Scootaloo snapped, waving her hooves.
Opal hissed and took a step back, hunkering down.
That’s when the overhead light flicked on, bathing the cluttered dressing room in dull, yellow light. “Here kitty kitty kitty,” Rarity purred sweetly.
Opal tensed. Rarity had that smell to her. It was the bad squirrel smell... the smell of death. “Heeeeeere kitty kitty kitty.”
Crawling along the floor, Opal weaved between boxes. Her little feline heart beat like a drum. She froze under a rack of dresses. Four white hooves paced slowly by, stopped, turned, then paced back. “Come on out, Opal. Mommy’s got your treats.” She paused, then stamped her hoof. “Opal! Come out this instant!”
Opal scrambled back. Her tail slapped up against a decorative vase of last year’s fashion and knocked it aside. The round pot hit the floor with a deep thunk and rolled out from under the dress rack.
“There you are!” Rarity declared blissfully. She stuck her hoof under the dress rack and began to search. Opal backed up against the wall, hissing. “Now come on, just come out, Opal! Stop making this difficult for Mommy!”
Opal could actually see Scootaloo in her cage. The little filly’s eyes were two giant orbs as she watched Opal. She kept mouthing the same word.
Please.
For what felt like the first time in her feline life, Opal unsheathed her claws. She drew her paw back, then slashed at the white hoof under the dress rack. Four, deep, jagged lines opened from Rarity’s knee right down to the fetlock.
Opal exploded out from under the dress rack as Rarity howled. “You dirty animal!” she screamed, charging after Opal. “What’s gotten into you, Opal!?”
Out in Rarity’s room, then sun was just starting to come up, soft light pouring in from the window above the bed. A soft breeze rustled the curtains, carrying with it cool, fresh air.
Opal scampered for the window. Up onto the bed she leapt, then to the pillow at the headrest. With a great bound, she launched herself up and got her paws in the windowsill. The cool breeze washed at her face and birds sang over the rustle of the leaves in the trees.
She bunched her haunches and jumped.
There was a terrible pain in her tail as something grabbed her. Screeching and yowling like death itself was on her tail, Opal thrashed. She dug her front claws into the windowsill as the pressure on her tail dragged her back into the death-smelling Boutique. But something stopped her. The nametag on Opal’s collar caught in window track and pulled painfully at her neck. Using the new leverage to help pull herself, Opal managed to gain an inch or two of ground, desperately at the windowsill.
A pair of hooves wrapped around her legs and Opal let out a screech of pain as the muscles in her neck stretched. With a snap, the stylish collar broke and slingshotted out with window. Opal screeched one last time, then the window slammed shut.
The wind picked up around Ponyville just as soon as the sun had cleared the horizon, bringing with it the chilly bite of Autumn. Leaves began to swirl and the trees shook. Though amongst the leaves, a single, white stocking blew down the streets of Ponyville, in the direction of the market.
