Week 2: The Creative Process with Rainbow P. Dash and Rarity Belle
Manehattan was simply grand. And it was in this magnificent metropolis that I learned, while there are ponies that will take advantage of your generosity, you should never, ever let that cause you to abandon your generous spirit. Nothing feels worse than taking advantage of the giving nature of your friends.
-Rarity Belle
With that last flourish of her quill, the ivory unicorn completes her entry in the collective diary, imparting on the pages what wisdom the last few days has brought her. She pauses, an azure tendril of magic plucking up the minute parcel that she had been given, a mortified apology on behalf of her newfound archnemesis’s former assistant. She regards it apprehensively, recalling the serpent that had spat venom all across her insides as she accepted the gift. Grateful as Coco Pommel surely is to have found gainful, prestigious employment so soon after her hasty departure of the thieving weasel that calls itself Suri Polomare, Rarity admits in the deepest, most petty recesses of her soul that it was not a selfless act. It was an excuse to fly away to Ponyville, to escape her responsibility without failing her contact. Coco was merely the convenient engine enabling her departure, the gift accepted out of politeness, when honestly the thought of turning up her nose in scorn did occur to her. Ultimately she didn’t, of course. Rarity is better than that.
But now she has to consider her words in earnest. Coco’s crime was silence, perhaps not as severe as the blatant plagiarism of her surperior, but an injustice still. And as sweetly as she phrased it, Rarity recognizes that the younger mare had abandoned her mentor once it was clear Suri was a sinking ship, while the alabaster unicorn is only rising higher. There is evidence enough to suggest the earth pony is but another social lamprey, hoping to leech of her burgeoning success. And as much as she has just appraised the importance of generosity, there is the other lesson, the warning of giving too freely, the one gift Suri was kind enough to impart on Rarity. She thinks about that as her magic neatly undoes the wrapping of the parcel.
Inside is a spool of thread. Sturdy yet thin, and possessed of a fractal sheen. It seems to ripple with colors as she scrutinizes it, proudly displaying every hue on the rainbow. It’s a trick she recognizes, the thread being specifically designed to reflect each color within the spectrum as they catch the light (though this particular spool seems to undulate with color even when at rest, even though she knows the science behind it).
And Rarity smiles.
She turns, and patiently trots over to her cabinet, setting it in a row with six other threads, one purple, orange, yellow, pink, cyan and white. The latest edition in a family of prospective designs, because that is what a rainbow symbolizes in Equestria: family. And the Rarity that her family knows is a generous mare. Generous enough to allow anypony the benefit of the doubt. Though Coco does not know it, with all that distance between them, she has earned more than forgiveness; she’s earned a friend.
Rarity decides to write her in the near future, mail a few of her thoughts in regard to costumes. It was promised to be a hefty job after all, even for the unicorn, and there’s no reason anypony should have to tackle it alone. Already her mind is electric with ideas, designs which leave her giddy to see realized.
Her field is reaching out for a stick of charcoal and her spectacles, a gleeful hum percolating in her breast, when suddenly a knock echoes through the house. Rarity’s ears perk, a befuddled frown setting her muzzle to wrinkling. Key to the running of a business is an open door policy, well practiced by her friends and family. So who would be knocking?
Her answer comes in the form of a familiar spectrum of color flashing by the window, a few cyan feathers trailing in the wake of the pegasus’s swift departure. Realization strikes her with all the ferocity of a lightning bolt and Rarity’s heart sinks with a vocalized sigh.
“Celestia grant me strength,” she mutters, trudging the worn path to her front door.
When the unicorn returns to the studio, her horn is once more glimmering azure, a shoddily wrapped parcel clasped in the grip of her field. Her latest package is set upon the desk and, sure enough, there is the final nail in the coffin that now encapsulates her hopes for a pleasant evening: a scrap of parchment upon which lies scrawled that most dreadful of calls to action:
To Prism
From Quick ‘n Colorful
It isn’t that Rainbow is a bad writer. Far from it, the pegasus has a grasp of the written word that eludes most, if not all ponies bereft of a cutie mark pertaining to the art of storytelling. One can expect as much considering she devours fiction with as much fervor as Spike does gemstones. It’s just the content that makes Rarity shudder. Rainbow Dash has been known to pen entire tomes devoted to the wishful dream of uniting herself and that fictitious idol of hers, Daring Do, in the adventure to end all adventures, until she thinks of something even more ridiculous in scale a week later. Little better is her original fiction, characters surfacing all for the point of servicing the protagonist’s vainglorious romp in self-celebration, often gratuitously, inelegantly, and simply nonsensically.
( “But Star Shine and Fractal Rush were trying to kill each other a moment ago, Rainbow! Why are they… bucking apples now?”
“Rarity, it’s the heat of the moment! There they are, blades locked, conveying all their burning hate for one another, when they realize they’re perfectly matched. Two sides of the same coin. Their passions get the best of them, and boom! Two wicked hot mares bumping uglies!”
“But that makes no sense! What about her previously established romance with Rosy Cake? She’s being unfaithful with her archenemy!”
“Eh, that just adds some high drama. Worst comes to worse, Shine and Rosy can just put a harem together with Fractal, Pumpkinseed, Flittercry, and Single-rarity, er- Singularity.” )
To say nothing of the so poorly veiled allusions to their own personages, as appeared in such gems as The Fractal Ballad.
And should the worst come to pass and Rarity confess that there were (Princesses forbid) flaws in Rainbow Dash’s immaculately constructed works, then she was known to handle it with as much grace and tact as any other insult on her life: by parking a stormcloud above the offender’s house until it collapsed from flooding.
(It was fortunate Twilight had arrived in time to prevent an actual structural failure of the boutique, but the draining alone had cost a fortune).
So, one can understand why the unicorn approaches this latest manuscript with more than a small measure of apprehension. On the one hoof, there’s the prospective water damage if she reviews it fairly. On the other one is the sacrifice of her artistic integrity and the sabotage of her dear friend as a writer by endorsing the thing enough that it should ever see the light of day.
Then again, there’s the chance it might actually be good.
When she finally stops laughing, Rarity reminds herself that it isn’t ladylike to snort.
Still, she did just finish singing paens to the virtues of generosity. Regardless of how it reads, it would be a disservice to Rainbow to disregard the work. So she bucks up, undoes the wrapping with a thread of magic and beholds…
“ ‘Resurgence of the Vampony Queen: a Musical’.”
Rarity’s mouth falls agape.
“What?” she whispers.
She turns to the second page and then the third and the fourth and on, finding stage directions, dialogue prompts, suggestions for pyrotechnics, on and on for two hundred and forty pages, not one of which containing even a page of traditional novel structure. Because, of course, it is not a novel; it is a play. A two-hundred and forty page per minute (interspaced with ten songs, twelve aerial duels, and three “tasteful” romance scenes) stage play.
“Oh no,” says the unicorn, her voice crawling with horror.
***
“Okay, Fluttershy!” Rainbow Dash cries, leaning back in the canvas chair pilfered from Applejack’s picnic supplies, “Remember: haughtiness, a thirst for pony blood, and an absolute assurance that there is no possible way you can ever be defeated!”
From her spot in the center of the barn, the butter yellow wilts, nervously chewing on her bottom lip and crumpling the pages clutched in her hoof as she attempts to look even remotely menacing. The best she can manage is bordering on the verge of tears. It isn’t a look helped by the sharp whistle that pierces the air, originating from the marmalade owner of the structure reclining against the far wall.
“Come on, Flutters!” crows Applejack, “Show us vampony hunters who we’re dealin’ with!”
“Um,” mumbles the pegasus, “Okay.”
“You know your line?” Dash asks.
“Y-yes?”
“Then let’s hear it!”
“Uh… y-you foolish mortals will n-never triumph over me, f-for I am Baroness B-Bloodberry, rightful master of the n-night.”
A few moments pass, silent but for the wind rushing along the trees.
“Do the laugh!” Dash snaps at her, prompting Fluttershy to start and squeak.
“Oh! U-um… Mwa-ha-ha-ha?”
The cyan Pegasus deflates in her chair, an aggrieved sigh escaping her.
“ ‘Packed wall to wall’, huh, Dash?” chuckles a thoroughly amused Applejack, crossing over to gently reassure the trembling would-be villainess with an affectionate ruffle of her candy floss mane.
“You want the venue rights or not?” growls Rainbow.
“Is, uh, is anypony going to see me doing this, Dashie?” Fluttershy breathes, quaking where she stands.
“Not with that performance they’re not! If you’re going to play the Baroness, then you need to be terrifying! Forceful! The embodiment of purest evil to ever darken the skies of Equestria! So do the line again and this time make me wet myself in fear!”
“Not in th’ barn!” Applejack warns her sharply, “ ‘sides, wouldn’t somepony ‘sides Fluttershy be a better fit for th’ villain?”
“Yes, wouldn’t they?” agrees Fluttershy, recoiling as Rainbow glares at her.
“Keep working on your laugh,” the self-proclaimed Director barks, a single buffet of her wings propelling her right up to the pair. “And no, nopony else will do. Baroness Bloodberry is sexy evil! Total supermodel with a domination complex. Fluttershy was a supermodel so, logically, she should play the Baroness.”
Applejack rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but Flutters as th’ root o’ all evil on top o’ sultry vampiress? The butterflies on her rear kinda pierce th’ suspension o’ disbelief. I’d have an easier time believin’ Pinkie Pie’d given up sweets. Y’know who you should get t’play Bloodsucker Bossy Britches? You should have- Rarity!”
Rainbow frowns. “Rarity? Well, yeah, I thought of it, but have you ever tried telling her what to? Everything is just whine, complain, ‘oh Daaaaarling, wouldn’t this look simply smaaaaashing instead of-‘ ”
“Ahem.”
The pegasus freezes upon the sound of a tiny cough at her flank. She whirls, meeting the unicorn’s mien of lidded indignation. Suddenly the manure-eating grin splitting the farmer’s face makes a lot more sense.
“Oh uh, hey, Rares,” Rainbow stammers, forcing what she believes is a disarming smile, “I just want you to know that I find headstrong personalities really admirable, and that it’s plain to everypony that you’re actual leadership material.”
“Flattery is most unbecoming of you, Rainbow Dash,” the fashionista sniffs, the saddlebag hanging at her side shimmering as the brick of paper sufficing for a script is withdrawn.
“Just so ya know, RD,” Applejack snickers behind her, “I was gonna say Trixie, not Rarity.”
“Go buck an apple tree, AJ,” Dash hisses back, “So, Rarity! What’d you think? Pretty rad idea, huh?”
“That depends on whether or not you’re going to flood my house again if I try to critique this with any measure of artistic truth,” the unicorn informs her.
“Come on that was Daring Do. Nopony disparages the Do.”
“Then, I am going to be perfectly frank: Rainbow Dash, you cannot publish this.”
“Well, yeah, first drafts are always lousy, and I’m sure I got the format for a stage play wrong, but I figure we just put our heads together editing and-”
“No, you misunderstand me. You cannot go through with this play. Period.”
The pegasus blanches. “What?” she squawks, “Why the hoof not?”
“Because, you don’t even like musicals.”
“Exactly! I mean, Hinny in the Hills was great, but it was missing, like, five explosions, a duel between the hero and her rival, and at least two sex scenes. So I decided I’d do my own play. One about Vamponies.”
“Hinny in the Hills is a journey of discovering one’s identity as a unique individual in a world that continuously praises conformity! The fact that it doesn’t have any of those things is what makes it a classic!”
“Oh come on, that’s bias! Besides, that’s exactly what I’m doing right here; how come every play’s got to be about stuffy aristocrats complaining about how much it sucks to be rich?”
“Gotta admit, Rares,” Applejack contributes, “Hinny did start t’drag a bit midway through th’ second act.”
“What’s wrong with injecting the stage with a little high-octane excitement?” Rainbow presses.
Rarity makes a sound, caught somewhere between a snort and a snarl. “Where to begin? For starters, it’s three-and-a-half hours long, which would put even the most drab of nobleponies to sleep. And that’s assuming anypony even attends this; Rainbow, the theatre is the voice of high art, attracting an upper crust of ponykind all expecting treatises on the ongoing struggle to attain purpose and validate one’s existence in an increasingly hostile world. You have penned two hundred-and-forty pages of ponies sitting around, talking about absolutely nothing relevant to the plot, interspaced with scenes of explosive ultraviolence or gratuitous sexual intercourse.”
“Oh come on, the audience will never actually see anything!”
“At the same time it’s simultaneously offensive to both the bat pony community as well as ponies afflicted with vampirism, both of whom you relegate to the position of witless underlings to be dispatched in hordes for the sake of the spectacle alone. The pteroquine suffer enough discrimination as it is without you debasing their nocturnal culture, to say nothing of clinical vampirism.”
“It is a serious disease! I’m endorsing efforts to fight it in the script!”
“By calling for anypony suffering from it be decapitated and staked through the heart! Don’t you think that’s a little insensitive? Especially considering recent events concerning certain friends of ours?”
A sharp nod is directed towards the other pegasus, who ducks behind her script in embarrassment.
“Fluttershy wasn’t a vampony, she was a bat,” Dash reminds her, “Besides, she’s totally cool with it.”
“And exactly how did you convince her? How did you even write this? We only saw Hinny yesterday!”
Rainbow Dash blinks, starting at Rarity like she’s gone insane. “Rares, I can clear the whole sky of overcast in ten seconds flat. You really think it’ll take me any time to pen a first draft?”
“YES! You can’t even sit still for ten seconds! And this has ten songs in it, complete with sheet music! As somepony who can’t find sense in our day-to-day lyricism, how could you possibly write ten songs?”
“Hiya, Rarity!” giggles Pinkie Pie as she suddenly bounces past, “Did you know I got a job as a composer? Because I totally didn’t until Dashie said I was writing all the music for her brand spankin new play about vamponies!”
And suddenly the world makes sense
“It’s a collaborative effort,” Rainbow clarifies, turning her attention to the arrival of Applejack’s brother and the piano he’s wheeling in, “Set it up right over there, big guy.”
“Eeyup,” agrees Big McIntosh.
“Oh, you cannot be serious,” Rarity groans at Applejack, “You’re both encouraging this nonsense?”
“Both?” Applejack repeats with a grin, eyes flicking to a spot behind her friend.
And a shrill sound, a clarion call known to signal the destruction of one’s patience and sanity, erupts at the unicorn’s heels, fraying her mane and tail and nearly shocking her heart to inactivity.
“CUTIE MARK CRUSADER ACTRESSES, YAAAAAAY!”
She whirls in time to see Applebloom and her cohorts, her sister among the trio, cantering over to Rainbow Dash, who grants them all a script.
“Now I know this is going end in disaster,” Rarity drawls, “Probably a fiery one.”
“Rarity, don’cha think you’re bein’ a little critical o’ Dash?” Applejack suggests.
“No I do not! I am trying to preserve her repute and integrity as a writer by ensuring this horror never sees the light of day. The mere mention of the title would get her laughed out of every producer’s office in Equestria!”
“ ‘Resurgence o’ th’ Vampony Queen’? Dunno, sounds like a real hootenanny t’me!”
“You realize ‘Vampony’ isn’t a real word, no? There are Vampire Ponies, the same as there are Vampire Bats.”
Applejack sighs.
“Why are you egging her on like this?” Rarity continues, “Don’t you have… I don’t know, seeds to till or trees to water?”
“Ya’ till th’ earth, not th’ seeds, an’ waterin’ th’ orchard’s th’ weather patrol’s job. And we’re midway ‘twixt plantin’ an’ applebuckin’ season, so there’s less t’do ‘round here. ‘sides, Rainbow an’ me got a licensin’ agreement; all matinee shows will be done here in th’ barn, an’ sixty percent o’ th’ proceeds go t’ Sweet Apple Acres! Why, we could make profit ‘fore th’ first harvest this year!”
Rarity gapes, then drops her face into a hoof in exasperation. “To even imagine this abhorrent thing turning a profit… Big McIntosh! Darling!”
The scarlet workhorse looks up from the piano, now situated properly beside a wide-eyed Fluttershy and saddled with a giggling Pinkie Pie, as Rarity trots over towards them all.
“You’re a contemplative fellow, regardless of what Applejack says,” the unicorn presses, Big Mac arching a brow in the direction of the elder of his sisters.
“Oh, sell me down th’ river why don’cha?” Applejack hisses.
“Surely you can see the overwhelming potential for disaster that this… frivolity will bring about!”
Big Mac puts a hoof to his chin. He scrunches up his face tight as the likeliest scenario plays out in his head. Then he speaks.
“Nope.”
“How much did she pay you?” interrogates Rarity, “I’ll double it!”
“Pay nothing!” Rainbow Dash cries, flitting over to them all, “I offered him the role of Buck Bronco!”
“Buck Bronco,” Rarity deadpans.
“Yes,” says Rainbow proudly.
“The ‘daring’ archaeologist who spends the majority of the third act trying in vain to resist the temptations of the increasingly ‘affectionate’ Baroness Bloodberry.”
“I am one-hundred percent okay with this,” says the yellow pegasus, still riveted on Applejack’s brother.
“And that explains how you roped Fluttershy into this nonsense,” Rarity sighs.
“Rares, this play is going forward,” Dash explains, “Whether you want it to or not. All I need you to do is tell me where the script needs improvement, and I’ll do the rest myself. But my backer’s going to be here any second and I would really appreciate you not bashing every little thing about it, just because it offends your sensibilities.”
“At this point the only thing that could save this effort is an application of fire- Wait. BACKER? You found somepony half-witted enough to fund this ridiculous thing?”
“Yeah, because it’s awesome!”
And that’s when Twilight Sparkle trots into the barn.
“Hey guys!” she chirps, “We all ready?”
“Oh Pale Horse take me,” Rarity gasps, “Twilight, don’t tell me she has royal funding! PLEASE tell me she doesn’t have royal funding!”
“Oh no,” Twilight clarifies, “The Tiara isn’t actually able to financially endorse any work of fiction since 8:63, after Princess Celestia accidentally funded an organized coup disguising itself as a play; she told me it was the most fun she’s ever had at the theatre.”
“Wow,” says Rainbow as Rarity breathes a sigh of relief, “Now that’s a moneymaker just waiting for a stage adaptation. Maybe we should try that after Resurgence wraps.”
“Princess Celestia would probably find it hilarious. Anyway, Rarity, I’m just here to facilitate the conference call.”
The unicorn freezes. “ ‘Conference call’?”
“Well, yeah. He wants to see what Rainbow’s got to show and Manehattan isn’t exactly a taxi ride away.”
“Manehat- YOU’RE TAKING THIS THING TO BRIDLEWAY?”
“Well, duh,” says Dash, “Fire it up, Sparkles!”
As their Princess’s alicorn winks into pink life, Rarity dances frantically on the tips of her hooves, a practically incoherent plea rushing over the opening floodgates of her lips. “Girls please you can’t possibly know what these ponies are like if they catch even a whiff of something they view as inane they’ll tear your reputation to shreds and I know I sound harsh but I just don’t want you all to be embarrassed in front of FANCY PANTS?”
There are several ponies Rarity expects to pop out of Twilight’s horn. Sapphire Shores, the Flim Flam brothers, perhaps Spike’s half-senile obscenely wealthy long-lost grandsire. She does not, in any of her wildest dreams, ever anticipate one of the famously outspoken members of the Canterlot nobility to coalesce from the aetheric presence filling the room, regarding them all with a sly grin and inquisitive eyebrow.
“Salutations, friends!” he says warmly, voice slightly tinny through the haze of Twilight’s spell, “And to you in particular, Lady Rarity. I’d like to apologize for finding myself unable to praise your smashing success at Fashion Week in person, and extend my most heartfelt congratulations for the well deserved award of victory.”
“You’re most kind, Sir,” she says weakly, still failing to wrap her mind around what is happening here, “But, ah, let me see if I understand this: you’re the one funding Rainbow Dash’s… musical?”
“Indeed! She and I have been in contact for quite some time; raving fan of The Fractal Ballad, I’m proud to say, though I’ll admit I was hesitant when she first wrote me about this project. Certainly an intriguing idea, and a boldly ambitious one, but not everypony’s literary skills translate to the stage so elegantly.”
“Buck you too, Fancy,” Rainbow snorts good naturedly, Rarity fighting off the conniptions that threaten in the wake of the pegasus’s lack of tact.
“But then your name was dropped, milady, as her longtime editor, and I knew then that I had a real gem on my hooves. Considering your high minded repute for challenging social norms, boldly going where few artists ever dare to tread, I know now this is more than simple high-octane excitement for the stage; this production represents the metafictional journey of discovering one’s identity as a unique individual in a world that continuously praises conformity!”
Rarity’s pupils contract to the size of pinheads, a twitch nagging at the underside of her eyelid.
“It’s a good thing too,” he continues unabashedly, “As I’ve been meaning to dip my hooves into Bridleway for some time now. Too much of the same show complaining about how awful it is to be rich, if you ask me, and my partner agrees.”
“Partner?” asks Rarity hoarsely.
“Oh yes. You just recommended a new costume designer to him. ‘Coco Pommel’ I believe her name is. Old sport is simply raving about her, and you as well, madam. Says you have a keen eye for unsung talent.”
“She was hired yesterday,” chokes the fashionista.
“And made a rousing impression is quite a short time! Sweet girl, that one. Asked me to thank you for allowing her the opportunity, and is looking forward to collaborating with you on Resurgence.”
And now Rarity is beyond words, half-sounds just babbling freely over her tongue.
“Speechless with graciousness,” Fancy Pants notes, “How very admirable. But I’ve wasted enough of your time. Ms. Dash? I do trust preparations are moving right along?”
“We’ve got a good chunk of he roles cast,” she informs him, sweeping back a hoof to indicate her assembled players, “But Canterlot wasn’t built in a day, Fancy.”
“Quite right, madam, quite right. What about the script?”
“SCRIPT?” Rarity screeches, pursing her lips as all pairs of eyes round on her.
“Yes,” Fancy Pants elaborates, “The script. Ms. Dash informed me through our last correspondence that you would be handling the revisions of this project, and it remains one of the last hurdles before we can pull the trigger and launch this thing into action.”
A silence falls over them all, waiting expectantly for her reply. Rarity squeaks, struggling for words. Images flash before her. Dash and Fancy Pants garbed in barrels, the laughing stock of the theatre world. The lot of them all fleeing to Mexicolt, colonies of offended bat and vampire ponies hot of their tails with torches and pitchforks, above them all the wrath of the Lunar Princess, Ponyville left gray and hostile as Pinkie Pie abandoned the bakery to become a world-class and tragically dour composer.
And then there is the image of Coco Pommel, shyly accepting her new job designing costumes for Resurgence of the Vampony Queen: a Musical.
Rarity doesn’t smile, exactly. It is more accurate to say her face splits into a rictus that passes as a horrific caricature of a smile. It is the sort of smile immediately preceding the untimely and messy demise of one such a grin is fixed upon. Everypony recoils, even Fancy Pants, there by holographic projection and quite safe in his Manehattan penthouse.
“Yes,” hisses Rarity through her teeth, “Editing. That is a thing I am doing. I’ll mail it to you when I’m done.”
“Er,” stammers the noblepony, “Sm-smashing. I, uh, look forward to it.”
“Uh-huh!”
“Then… I’ll let you all get to it. Good show, all.”
On that note, he winks out of existence, leaving the rest of the Ponyvillians to apprehensively regard their unicorn.
“Hayseeds, Rares,” Applejack mutters, “Y’gonna be okay?”
“Right,” says Dash, “Well, you all heard the stallion! Let’s get-”
Rarity’s horn flashes like a diamond, and every scrap of paper penned by Rainbow Dash simultaneously bursts into flame. The Crusaders squeal in fright, emulated by Fluttershy who leaps into a quick Big Mac’s forelegs. She blushes.
“Uh, thanks.”
“Eeyup.”
Applejack, Twilight and Pinkie all pounce, getting to stamping out the flames, even as their director rounds on her editor.
“Are you insane?” she shrieks, “It took me a half hour to write those! Now we don’t have-”
As an azure grasp of magic seizes on Rainbow’s throat, dragging her face-to-face with the unicorn, everypony thinks for a moment that Rarity has, in fact, lost it. They all freeze, for fear of setting her off.
“And it is going to take you many more half-hours before we are finished,” seethes the ivory designer before dragging her in the direction of the doorway.
“Where are we going?” chokes Rainbow, scrabbling for purchase.
“To my workshop!”
“Why?”
“Because we are going to rewrite your play. We are going to rewrite it again and again, as long as it takes, until it is completely and infallibly perfect. And then, when it cannot possibly be improved upon and we hold in our hooves as tantamount to sacred text as scripture, we are going to rewrite it AGAIN! BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT IT IS GOING TO TAKE TO CREATE THE GREATEST MUSICAL ABOUT VAMPONIES THAT EQUESTRIA HAS EVER SEEN, RAINBOW! PROFESSIONALISM! DASH!”
Perhaps it is unladylike to drag one’s friend roughly over the fields and through Town Square to one’s workplace, but Rarity is allowing herself this moment to be uncivilized. It’s how she’s processing this potentially apocalyptic moment. This moment she suspects will be ever remembered as the point when her career began its downward spiral into a cautionary tale. Because as much as she has just announced her intention to create the perfect stage play, she believes, in the darkest and most hopeless recesses of her soul, that she has just doomed them all to mockery and societal exile for the rest of their lives. But she’s going to do it anyway, because Rarity is generous. Generous enough to give anypony and anything the benefit of the doubt.
Besides, there’s the chance it might actually be good.
Author's Note
If Rainbow can write terrible fanfiction, why can't she write terrible musicals?
