Rarity and Celestia Have Tea
RARITY AND CELESTIA HAVE TEA
Rarity only barely fought back the urge to skip down the hallways of Canterlot Castle on her way to the small private study to which she’d been summoned. Not only would such an outburst be an unspeakable breach of decorum, but it would be just her luck to misplace a hoof mid-pirouette and go crashing into one of the priceless antiques that lined the walls. It wouldn’t do to arrive to an audience before a princess with shards of an ancient vase littering one’s mane.
Sometimes she had to stop and reflect on the fact that just a few years ago she wouldn’t have dreamed that one day she would need to specify which Princess with whom she happened to share a close personal relationship she might fail to impress. When such a notion had occurred to her for the first time, alone in the boutique’s workroom, she’d collapsed into what she felt was an exceptionally refined and proper fifteen-minute giggling fit. There was no time for that now though. Being slightly late to such a generous invitation would be nearly as great a faux pas as the destruction of an irreplaceable artefact, perhaps even greater.
Nopony who knew her would be surprised that she reached the doorway to Celestia’s chambers precisely when she meant to, despite the late notice and the fact she’d had to frantically search through three closets, each full to bulging with dresses and gowns to find the perfect outfit for such a momentous occasion. She simply hadn’t a thing to wear! But of course, she’d pulled together an ensemble as best she could and had every intention of making it work.
“Come in,” said Celestia’s voice an instant before Rarity’s hoof hit the door. How did she do that? With a wry smile, Rarity twisted the knob and opened the door to step into the quiet little chamber. Other ponies were surprised at how simply it was decorated, but Rarity knew better. In the time since she’d first met the Princess, she’d learned that even the simple quilt that adorned the bed, the faded throw pillows on the couch, the beat-up old desk, all of them had deeply personal stories and second meanings behind them. Perhaps when you’d lived as long as the Princess had, it was inevitable that you’d find commonalities in details that spanned centuries just by reflex. “Rarity. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Celestia,” said Rarity. She had to suppress the little twinge in her mind at dropping her proper title, but Celestia insisted on such informalities in private. At least Rarity had been able to take the hint fairly quickly after only a few embarassing grovelling sessions; Celestia still hadn’t managed to beat the idea into Twilight’s mind despite over a decade of trying to do so.
“Join me outside?” asked Celestia. It was a non-question, and the princess didn’t await an answer before she rose up from her seat and walked over to the far side of the room, to the door that led outside.
The little balcony Rarity followed her out to was a sanctuary within a sanctuary. The wafting scent of blooming wildflowers struck her, a pleasant bonus to the concealing foliage that grew around them on the nearby trees. She was just glad it wasn’t her who had to prune back the thicket to keep the vines from creeping through the wrought-iron fence at the balcony’s edge, or perhaps the Princess and the plants had reached some sort of mutual understanding. “This is such a wonderful spot. If I had a place like this attached to my bedroom I might not ever leave it.”
Celestia smiled as she walked over to the little table, where a tray with a porcelain teapot was set out with all the other paraphernalia for a perfect cuppa. “Responsibility does have a few perks once in awhile.” She sat down on the far side of the table and motioned for Rarity to take the other seat by a delicate cup and saucer of the finest china. Celestia’s, by contrast, was a stained mug bearing the symbol of Luna’s cutie mark and the words ‘BEST PRINCESS’ printed on the side. “A gift. From my sister, naturally,” said Celestia when she caught sight of Rarity’s quizzical expression. The two sat enjoying the silence, interrupted only by birdsong, as Celestia’s horn glowed and the teapot began to heat up. “So how are you finding Canterlot? You and Twilight have been here for... a week now, I believe?”
“Oh, it’s been marvelous. Thanks so much for asking. It was kind of you to suggest that Twilight extend the invitation. Although I’m afraid between my meetings out in the city and hers here in the palace I’ve barely seen her at all since we arrived,” said Rarity.
“No, nor have I,” said Celestia. It took a very sensitive and refined ear to pick up the little tiny hints of concern that had slipped into her voice. “How does she seem to you these days?”
“Stressed out. Obsessing over every last detail. Burying herself in the topic with a certain manic excitement that one is uncertain how she manages to hold for the finer points of traffic regulation and garbage pickup schedules,” said Rarity. “So perfectly normal, for Twilight.”
Celestia had to chuckle at that. “True. She’s finding her way, I suppose. Being a princess is an experience that’s quite unlike any other, I’ve found.”
“If it’s not too forward, Prin... er... Celestia,” said Rarity, only just catching herself about to switch back to a more formal mode of address, “if you pulled her aside and... I don’t know how better to put it than this... taught her what she was supposed to do as a princess? How she was to know what was the right course of action in all the difficult choices she has to make? I’m sure she’d be quite receptive to the advice.”
“Yes. Yes she would,” said Celestia. The teapot began to whistle between them. “Rarity, let me ask you something. How much do you know about tea?”
Rarity didn’t even blink at the non sequitur. The princess had a way of changing the topic without changing the subject. “I enjoy it as much as the next mare, I suppose, but I’ve never taken an exceptional interest in it as a topic of study.”
“The thing I find most fascinating about it, I’d say, is that every pot you make is a little bit different.” The princess tore open a little packet full of loose green, brown, and black leaves, and a burst of odor overpowered everything else. “I know the taste of each of the components in this particular blend, certainly. I even know roughly what proportion of each has gone into this sample. Where they’ve come from. How they grew. Whether they were tended to carefully or left to fend for themselves. But I can never know everything precisely, and every so often I find that a specific mix has surprising nuances that I never expected. Every new batch is the chance to discover something new and exciting, for better or worse.”
“I... think I understand,” said Rarity, unsure she really did but gamely trying to keep up.
“Do you? Well that makes you a quicker study than myself. It took me a long time to figure that out.” Celestia looked skyward and closed her eyes, letting the sunbeams cascade over her face. “A very long time indeed. Do you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I hadn’t found the right one of these,” said Celestia. She levitated a small, sparkling ball of crystalline mesh on a chain. It sparkled in the afternoon light as it lazily turned in her grip. After permitting Rarity to examine it for a moment, she gently opened it and began to pour the loose tea into it. “It’s an infuser, and I’ve tried a great many of them over the years. All sorts of metal alloys, sometimes woods, once or twice even ones made of blown glass. Each one left an imprint on the tea brewed with it. An aftertaste. Those little quirks and nuances were drowned out.”
“What sort of taste does this one have, that makes it so special?” asked Rarity.
“Ah, this one is special indeed. It took me a long time, but I finally found an infuser that adds no taste at all. A special weave of the gentlest filaments of crystal. It would be ridiculously expensive, had I not created it on my own, but for someone who brews as much tea as I do it would be worth every bit. A good infuser doesn’t strive to impose its own tastes on the tea, but rather to be absent as much as possible so it can develop on its own.”
Rarity watched her lower the tea ball into the boiling water and pondered that for a moment. “And what is this particular pot going to develop into?”
Celestia smiled. “That’s another wonderful mystery about tea. While you can guess, you can never be totally sure what it’s going to become beforehoof. It’s only when you throw it into hot water that its true strength and character is revealed. How many meetings did Twilight take with the noble court today?”
This transition back to the other thread of the conversation threw Rarity a bit more than she’d have liked to admit. “Six this morning, I believe, and several more this afternoon.”
“Yes, something like that. My finance ministers approached me in a bit of a tizzy yesterday, concerned about the budgetary impact of some of the proposals she’d requested they study. Not that she’d approved them, you understand. In fact since I allowed her to go over the kingdom’s expenses with a fine-toothed comb she’s found some very clever ways to improve and streamline things. But some of the proposals were ones that really don’t deserve consideration.”
“How, well, out there are we talking about exactly?” asked Rarity.
“That depends. What would your feelings be regarding a fifty foot tall golden fountain in Prince Blueblood’s honor?” Despite the warmth of the afternoon, Rarity felt a chill run down her spine and shuddered. “That’s what I thought. But he asked for the proposal to be studied and, well, when has Twilight met a question she felt could not be resolved by studying it?”
“Surely she’ll turn him down, though,” said Rarity. The alternative was too awful to seriously contemplate.
“Oh, I’m certain of it. After she’s consulted three artists, gotten cost estimations, drawn up an architectural survey, and written a seventy-page rebuttal that addresses the question from every possible angle. After all, she wouldn’t want to offend him.”
Rarity sighed. “Not the most effective use of her time.”
“My thoughts precisely. I believe our tea is ready.” She lifted the pot and poured a generous helping into each of their cups, blew away some of the rising steam from the surface, and took a tiny sip of hers. “What do you think?”
After she’d waited another minute for it to cool enough that she wouldn’t burn her tongue too badly, Rarity tried a bit of her own. It was good... mostly. The aftertaste wasn’t entirely pleasant. “Perfect!” she proclaimed, but her enthusiasm waned as she met Celestia’s level gaze. “A few things about it are a tad odd. And it’s a bit strong.”
“It’s a rare cup of tea that comes out entirely perfect,” said Celestia. “I won’t apologize for its strength; I like my tea as strong as possible. But there are a few things we can add to soften some of the rougher edges. Sugar?”
“Please,” answered Rarity. She looked on as Celestia took three angular, stark-white cubes from the little sugar bowl and dropped them into her cup. She watched them melt away until they were inseparable from the tea itself. Lifting it up to her lips, she tried another hesitant sip. “Much better.”
“I’m so glad to hear it,” said Celestia. They sat there quietly for a moment, enjoying the silence in one another’s company until Celestia broke it. “I’d like to bounce a few thoughts off of you, if you don’t mind listening.”
“Not at all, please do.”
“Twilight, for all that she grew up here in Canterlot, is not exactly what one would call a society mare. She hasn’t ever taken an interest in the politics or intrigue of the court, and I’ve never pushed her to. Until now.” She looked away for a moment before returning her attention to Rarity. “Right now she wants to be all things to all ponies, which I believe speaks volumes about her strength of character but is not sustainable. Somepony needs to teach her how to turn a pony away without making them feel pushed aside. How to make allies rather than just friends, and how not to make enemies unnecessarily.”
“Somepony, you say?” echoed Rarity.
“Somepony,” confirmed Celestia. “A pony she knows she can trust. A pony with an aptitude for high society and social niceties. A pony who can be open and generous with her time, should she need advice. Somepony.”
“Sounds like you have a particular mare in mind already,” said Rarity, with a grin of her own. “I do seem to be spending an awful lot of time around Canterlot these days. Not that I’m eager to give up my presence in Ponyville, you understand.”
“Of course, and I wouldn’t ask you to. You and Twilight are friends, and friends are a rare thing for princesses. That is not a dynamic I want to see changed. I just wondered if you might give her a few nudges in the right direction here and there. Perhaps accompany her to a few of the many events she’s already been roped into attending? For moral support, more than anything.”
“Moral support. And if I happened to drop a few suggestions on how to flatter a Duke or sway a Countess...”
Celestia chuckled. “I think we understand one another, then. Thank you, Rarity. Equestria... no, I find myself in your debt yet again.”
With a scoff, Rarity waved off the suggestion. “In debt to me for asking me to spend time with a good friend? Don’t be silly. It’s my pleasure.” She took another sip. “This really is very wonderful tea, you know.”
“Some of the best I’ve ever had the privilege to brew,” agreed Celestia.
They fell into quiet again, simply enjoying one another’s company as the afternoon wore away. All too soon, though, the pot was empty and both mares went back to work.
THE MARE BEHIND THE MARE
It seemed like such a good idea at the time.
“Princess Twilight, I humbly beg that you reconsider,” says the Duke of Trottingham, dressed up in a finely tailored suit. Posh. Timeless. Well cared for, despite the fact that the stitching around the pockets dates it rather severely. At least twenty years old. A suit with history behind it. The crest bears his family coat of arms, two pegasi with crossed spears and wreathed in the laurels of victory. Everything about that suit tells me that this is a stallion who’s proud of his lineage and not afraid to show it.
I glance over at Twilight, up there on her throne. She isn’t looking at the Duke, and that’s her first mistake. Her attention is focused on a dusty old tome suspended in her magic, one she has undoubtedly already read cover to cover. It’s an unintended and innocent snub, the dear simply wants to make sure she’s getting her facts precisely correct. As if that would matter in the least. She’s a voracious reader; well, I suppose it’s fair to say that we both are.
I simply prefer reading ponies to reading books.
I clear my throat with a gentle yet pointed cough, loud enough to be noticed without drawing attention. I’m far enough from the throne that although I remain faithfully by her side I am not seen to be by her side. Twilight registers the little signal we’ve arranged between us and looks up, noticing the Duke waiting for an answer. His wings twitch with poorly concealed irritation. Well, poorly concealed from me. Princess Twilight Sparkle either doesn’t notice or doesn’t allow her noticing to be noticed. Based on the last three days, I’m inclined to suspect the former. “I’m not really sure I understand your objection, Duke Tempest. The new evidence scholars have uncovered in the journals of Sergeant Thunderclap suggest that your great-grandfather, in point of fact, did not lead the Charge of the Flight Brigade he was famous for. Our parks department just wants to update the plaque under his statue to reflect that.”
“My great-grandfather served this kingdom faithfully for thirty years. Now you want to besmirch his honor?”
Twilight blinks a few times. My heart goes out to her, because I know that the sort of disrespect he’s implying (rather rudely, if I do say so myself) is the furthest thing from her mind. “Of course not, Duke. He accomplished many great things in service to Equestria. I don’t want to diminish his legacy, just correct a simple misunderstanding.”
“Well, the Charge of the Flight Brigade is by far what he’s best known for. I see no reason to change the plaque even if it isn’t strictly correct.”
Twilight’s eyes go a little wider, and I groan inwardly. This will be getting worse before it gets better. “But then it’ll be wrong,” says Twilight, as if nothing could be more terrifying. Perhaps to her that’s precisely the case. “What’s next? Museum exhibits that proclaim that up is down? That black is white? That pi is equal to three? You’re talking about sheer madness!”
“And you are talking about tearing down the stallion whose leadership was instrumental in repelling the worst diamond dog incursion in the last five hundred years!” The Duke’s temper is beginning to flare, and even Twilight’s picked up on the tension. I lean over to Plumed Quill, the creamy beige earth pony mare who is both Twilight’s assistant and my partner in crime for the duration of this little endeavor.
“Abort?” I whisper to her.
“I think that’s wise, Lady Rarity,” comes her hushed reply. Before Twilight can speak up again and the situation can escalate further, Plumed Quill steps forward and positions herself between Princess and Duke. “I’m afraid the Princess has a meeting with representatives of the Treasury, so we’ll have to cut this short.”
The Duke takes an aggressive step forward, but Plume is unyielding. The guards in their rather fetching gold and bronze armor may protect Twilight’s life, but Plumed Quill has guardianship over something arguably even more important: her time. “This matter has not yet been resolved to my satisfaction.”
I can see Twilight shift nervously in her seat, up there on the throne that’s built for much bigger ponies than she. She wants to give in to his demand, which is exactly the wrong thing to do. But that’s just Twilight to a T; there is a problem before her and the idea of leaving it unresolved galls her. I know it does. She just wants ponies to be happy, even if she has to undermine her own assistant and make herself look weak in order to do so. That’s why I only feel somewhat bad when I clear my throat and speak up. “Princess,” I mutter, as quietly as one can while still enunciating each syllable with exactly the necessary degree of emphasis, “you wouldn’t want to be tardy for your meeting, would you?”
Perhaps a little more than somewhat bad, but one does what one must.
Twilight’s twitch is too obvious, and I wince. She’s like a blind sparrow amongst hawks and eagles, and watching her flail about trying to keep her composure turns my stomach. We’ll have to find time to review the importance of maintaining one’s placid facade once more, somehow. “No, of course not. Duke Tempest, I’ll...” I silently will her to put her hoof down and declare her decision to be final, but it’s not to be, “...consider your objections and we’ll address this again once I’ve done some more research into the matter.”
With that the Duke, momentarily placated if not actually satisfied with the outcome, gives a bow that’s a few hairs shallower than the one he gave her when he entered. The small procession of guards and advisors that’s accompanying Twilight everywhere these days clumps up around her, with me following along on the periphery as we trot through the halls towards her office. I’m struck once again by her ability to hold three different conversations on wildly divergent topics all at the same time as her staff peppers her with facts, figures, and questions, This is the princess that Celestia knew she could be, here in her element soaking up information like a sponge on matters from military deployments to art grants to grammar school curriculums and thinking five steps ahead as naturally as most ponies breathe. Frustrating as a few of her mannerisms can be, it would be a lie of the highest order to claim I wasn’t proud to be her friend.
We reach her office, her last bastion of sanctuary against the insanity that swirls around the poor thing 24/7 these days. “Thank you all. Plumed Quill, will you let me know when the representative from the Treasury gets here? I’ll be going over the details of a proposal I want to discuss with him.”
“Of course, Princess.” Plumed Quill bows and the crowd disperses, leaving Twilight to walk into her office by herself. Nodding to the guards, I slip in after her.
Twilight is digging through a mountain of scrolls that covers the spot that, in theory, holds a desk somewhere under it all. Magic wraps around one particular foothill and the paperwork flows by her, each one being evaluated at a glance before flying off into one of the many filing cabinets adorning the walls. “Twilight?”
At the sound of my voice, she jolts and a scroll ends up being filed in a vase amidst a dozen chrysanthemums. “Rarity? Sorry, I didn’t realize you were still there.” She smiles at me but I can see the extra makeup she’s put on to hide the bags under her eyes. That had been an early suggestion: Never let those around you see weakness. Not until you commanded their respect, at least.
“Perhaps you should get a little rest, darling. Is there any way I can be helpful?”
She scoffs. “Feel like growing a pair of wings, dying your coat lavender, and being my decoy until I’m at least four hours away from here?”
Well, I do look absolutely smashing with wings. And alicorn wings are probably a good deal more heatproof than the ones I bore during the... incident... but seeing the gauntlet poor Twilight’s been run through did a great deal to stamp out whatever itty bitty teensy tiny speck of jealousy I might once have felt over her ascension to full-fledged Princess.
I think we both know in our heart of hearts that I’d pull off the royal wardrobe with a bit more flair, however.
“I’m afraid not, darling,” I say as I lift a brush and mirror from her end table and touch up her ever-so-slightly frazzled mane a tad. “Your treasury official would probably ask me to multiply 238 by 179 or somesuch, and the jig would be up before you even cleared the city limits.”
“I know, I know. I can’t run away from a responsibility like this. Celestia wouldn’t have made me a princess if it weren’t for my own good and the rest of ponykind’s, would she? I just didn’t realize it was going to be this hard,” she says as she rests her chin in the paperwork and relaxes under my ministrations. “Also, for the record, 42,602.”
Of course she’d know that. I idly wonder if she memorized it ages ago, or it just clicked in her mind during the tenth of a second she had to think about her reply. Which one would be more impressive? Perhaps the most impressive bit is that either explanation is entirely plausible. “Well, I think you’re doing a fine job. Everypony does.”
“I know at least one who doesn’t,” she mutters. I tilt the mirror so she won’t be able to see me grimace in the reflection. Twilight needs the one pony I know she’s referring to to believe in her. If she does, nopony else matters. If she doesn’t, no amount of support will be enough to prop her up.
A mare has to believe in herself.
“Why don’t you tell me about the meeting coming up with Treasury,” I suggest. Bury her in enough work and she’ll be able to ignore her own lack of confidence, at least for the time being. A short term solution at best.
“Well,” she begins, and sits up a little straighter as she collects herself. Magic nothing; facts and figures are Twilight’s true element. “You’re familiar with the tenth-bit coin, I assume?”
How could I not be? “I have a jar full of the things somewhere at home. Really must run that over to the bank and exchange it for more useful denomination once I’m back in Ponyville.”
“YES!” I can’t say I was anticipating the degree of enthusiasm with which she slams her hoof down. Granted, striking the pile of scrolls rather than the hard surface of the desk muffles the effect a tad, but still. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Nopony likes those things, and from an economic and commercial perspective they’re worse than useless. Do you know how much they cost to mint?”
“I can’t say I do.”
“A third of a bit! We put a third of a bit in and get a tenth of one out. That’s just... I can’t even... UGH! And don’t even get me started on the waste! Tons upon tons of zinc and copper go into those things. It could go to, y’know, anything else and have a more positive impact on Equestria.” Her righteous fury disappears as quickly as it came on, and she slumps down once more. Lower than before if I don’t miss my guess, and I so rarely do. “Treasury’s humoring me. They’re sending somepony over to tell me that there’s too many ponies who like the coins, or too much political opposition, or... whatever. They won’t change it. They’re just going to keep on throwing good money after bad.” She sighs. “That’s this entire thing in a nutshell, isn’t it? Who’s worth more: the new Princess, or a tenth-bit coin? Apparently the coin.”
I’m getting the sense that this may, just may, be about more than currency. “Well they’re absolutely wrong, then. You just... you have to find your moment.”
Her ears perk up a bit, and one of her eyebrows makes a break for the ceiling. “My moment?”
“Precisely!” I do hope my enthusiasm does a presentable job at disguising the fact that I have little to no idea what I’m trying to say. Perhaps I can find inspiration in the total lack of the thing I’m searching for, what a neat trick that would be. “Even if right now you sometimes feel that you’re, well, ‘faking it’ sounds like such a deceptive thing. But I promise you, there will be a moment. A moment when the stars align and the pieces fall into place. A moment when all your preparation and the hours of work and study I know you’ve poured into this pay off and you’ll know, truly know, that you belong upon that throne. Does that make sense?”
Twilight’s outwardly skeptical look is a fine match for the feelings I’m concealing myself, but she’s not the only pony adept at faking. Not by a long shot, I’d dare say. “That sounds nice, and I hope you’re right, but...” she trails off, far from convinced. There’s nothing I can say to her at this juncture to change that. “Look, you don’t have to hang around here if you don’t want to. You have that interview, right?”
I do indeed have business elsewhere, luckily not far from here. My dresses won’t sell themselves, regardless of their obvious quality, and Twilight’s press secretary was kind enough to arrange for me to speak to a reporter from the Canterlot Record regarding my new line. Not that I would ever take advantage of Twilight’s friendship for material gain, naturally, but connections to royalty come with certain perks. Still, I’m not going to let her shoo me away quite that easily and I raise an eyebrow. “You’ll be fine taking the upcoming meeting yourself, then? Do try to keep it on topic. I trust I won’t return in an hour to find you chatting away about organic chemistry like you were during that ‘quick briefing’ with Dotted Line last week.”
She huffs, acting all indignant to cover the guilty look flashing across her face. “That was a one time thing. The new journal article had just come out the day before, and I had to talk about it with somepony.”
“Well he has plenty of other responsibilities, and no time to spend business hours on such things. He was simply too polite to say so to your face. Really, Twilight, you must be more considerate of others’ time and anticipate their needs. It’s a very important part of your new role.”
Perhaps that came off a bit more critical than I meant it to. It’s a fine line to walk between coddling and berating, and one I may have strayed from just a touch every so often. Twilight’s ears droop. “Sorry. I’m trying my hardest, but it’s just...” she sighs and gamely collects herself to begin to prepare for the meeting at hoof. “I’ll do better. Like you said, just need to find my moment, right?”
That’s the spirit. I bid her farewell and hope against hope that my ‘moment’ idea ends up doing more good than harm. At least it lifted her spirits. Progressing through the halls of the palace I begin to mentally rehearse what I plan to say about my new line. I’ve spoken to Spun Yarn before, and she’s a joy to talk to. A former seamstress herself before she began working as a writer, she’s an insightful and curious mare with a good head on her shoulders and a hoof on the pulse of Canterlot’s fashion scene. I couldn’t ask for a better mare to present my new dresses to the world.
Unfortunately, when I reach the press office at precisely the time we’d discussed she’s nowhere to be seen. Instead, an earth pony stallion with a notepad for a cutie mark seated towards the corner gives a belabored sigh and rises to his hooves. His sneer is openly contemptuous towards me and really quite rude. “Are you Rarity?”
“I am, yes!” Unlike some ponies, just because I dislike an individual doesn’t mean I’d do them the disservice of treating them poorly. An attitude that’s clearly not shared by this stallion as he rolls his eyes. “Is Spun Yarn running late? I thought she’d be the one interviewing me.”
“She’s not coming. Daughter came down with the flu. My name’s Copy Paste.” He gives my outstretched hoof a rather perfunctory bump and pulls out a notepad to match the one on his flank. “Look, let’s just get this over with so I can get back to covering some real news and not just a bunch of ponies playing dress up.”
It’s a supreme effort to hold back a half-dozen biting retorts that bubble up in the face of such an openly dismissive attitude. Hopefully, the next hour won’t be that bad.
Fifteen minutes into our chat, and it’s rapidly becoming apparent that it wasn’t as bad as I feared. Unfortunately, that’s only because it’s much, much worse.
Copy Paste’s attitude, far from improving, deteriorates as it becomes increasingly obvious he has no mind for fashion and doesn’t care to. What few notes he does take as I speak are undoubtedly the wrong things to focus upon, and I’ll be reading an unimaginative and by-the-numbers writeup of this conversation in tomorrow’s paper. If the article even runs at all.
I can discuss dress forms and color theory in my sleep, especially with a conversational partner who doesn’t know any better, so my mind begins to wander. I wonder how Twilight’s meeting is going? From the sound of things it’s likely as big a disappointment as this one. My thoughts linger on what I told her about ‘her moment.’ What was I thinking? Opportunities don’t just magically present themselves to us just because we want them to. We must make them ourselves.
Or, failing that, make them for one another.
I pause mid-sentence, not that Copy Paste notices or cares. No doubt thinking about the ‘real news’ he’ll be going on to cover later today. Perhaps...
Hmm... now there’s an idea. A grand scheme, though of course I would never do anything so base and coarse that the word ‘scheme’ would be appropriate. It would just be a... suggestion. Strictly speaking, it wouldn’t even be a lie, and Copy Paste would probably thank me for it. Let’s see if I can get away with it.
“...and of course the whole skirt is reinforced so as to keep its shape while the wearer moves about the dance floor,” I tell a blatantly disinterested Copy Paste. “Originally I was going to use copper wiring for the effect, but I had to scrap that idea. What with all the recent goings on, it just didn’t seem appropriate.” I make my eyes go a bit wide and cover my mouth with a hoof. Come on, he must be noticing this. If this pause were any more pregnant there would be discreet inquiries made about the subject of paternity. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up. I’m not at liberty to talk about it.”
Copy Paste’s ears perk up, proving that at least he isn’t entirely unfit for the profession he’s chosen. “Can’t talk about copper wires? Why not?”
“I really can’t say,” I say through an obviously fake and uncomfortable smile. “What sort of friend would I be if I betrayed another’s trust? And of one of the Princesses, no less.”
“Are you saying that Princess Twilight Sparkle has ordered you not to discuss something? Something involving copper?”
I feign shock at the very idea. “Why, of course not! Besides, I don’t even understand what I overheard. I can assure you that she’s consulting with the very best advisors and experts in the field and she’s taking the unfolding events very, very seriously. A great deal of it goes over my head, I’m afraid. All this talk of shortages and declining production output doesn’t mean very much to a simple dressmaker like myself.” I even throw in a little ‘tee hee’ giggle to punctuate that, which may be a tad overdoing it, but oh well. Copy Paste’s quill is scribbling furiously on his notepad now, the seed firmly in place. “But you don’t care about a silly thing like that, do you? Oh, I simply must tell you all about the inspiration for the new swimsuit I’m designing for a client. It’s just the funniest story...”
Twilight is running late for our lunch appointment the following day. I amuse myself in the palace while I wait, the very picture of the patient guest. I have a hunch she’s having something of a rough morning. When she finally arrives in the dining hall nearly a half-hour later than I was expecting her, she looks like she’s running on a great deal of caffeine, her hooves tapping frantically on the surface of the table as she joins me.
“Busy day?” I ask her as I take a small forkful of watercress on my fork and bite down on it. It is, of course, exquisite. I really must find time to slip back into the kitchens and offer the chefs my compliments in person.
“You have no idea,” mumbles Twilight, somewhat incorrectly. “It’s the weirdest thing. The price of copper futures spiked eight percent in overnight trading, and nopony seems to know why. I just had a meeting with my economic advisor, have you met him?”
“Tulip Bulb, yes?” I remember the pony in question quite clearly. As nervous a bundle of energy as Twilight herself at the moment, white feathers of his wings perpetually stained with ink.
“Right. He says if something isn’t done the price could double by the end of the month. Double!”
“Well, we certainly can’t have that,” I say. I must admit that I have no idea if the price of copper doubling would be a good or bad thing, but it’s clearly an outcome Twilight doesn’t want to see happen.
Twilight seems to notice the food in front of her for the first time since she walked in, and immediately scoops up a huge mouthful. She catches the look I’m giving her and at least has the decency to look a bit sheepish. “Thorry,” she says through a mouthful of food. “Thkipped breakfetht.” She swallows her food before going on. “What do you think I should do? There are all these rumors going around about shortages, and I have to put out a statement that they aren’t true.”
“Oh,” I say. Twilight’s eyes are locked on my face studying my reaction, so it takes only the slightest hint of a frown to get her to pick up on it. “That’s... an interesting approach.”
“You don’t think I should? Why not?” she asks.
“Well, of course I’m not saying that,” I lie, “I just think you should be careful how you phrase it. Do you know for sure that there isn’t a shortage?”
Twilight ponders that for a moment. “Well, I’ve been looking through the data, but it’s a couple years out of date. There’s no evidence of any shortage, though, at least none that I can find.”
“Well,” I point out as I take a sip from my water glass. I pause to savor it, leaving Twilight hanging in anticipation for me to go on, “it really wouldn’t do for you to come out and say there’s no shortage only for it to turn out that there is one. Think of what ponies would accuse you of. It would look like a cover up.”
“But... but I’m not covering anything up!” she protests, as if I’m levying any accusations at her. She really is high strung today.
“Well, of course you’re not, dear, but think of how it might look. From the outside, I mean. But I do agree that you must say something. It would be easier to put out a conservative statement and then expand on it later rather than overstep and have to walk it back, would it not?”
“I guess...” says Twilight, not sounding completely convinced.
“For example, why don’t you phrase it something like... hmmm...” As if I don’t already know exactly the words to use. “The most recent data does not conclusively prove that any shortages that may exist are anything more than a transitory and localized decline in output. Emergency rationing measures have not been implemented for the time being.”
“Emergency rationing?” asks Twilight, somewhat skeptical, “I don’t think there are any rumors of rationing going around.”
“Even better, then. Nip that sort of thing in the bud before it can even get started.” The timing of the approaching waiter couldn’t be any more perfect, and I raise my voice just enough to be sure he can hear us without needing to blatantly eavesdrop. “Wouldn’t want ponies to get the wrong idea about this whole shortage business. Can you imagine if the rumors turn out to be true? We’d have to start melting things down just to keep the nation going. Why, not even the pots and pans in the kitchen would be safe. Quite the foreboding prospect isn’t it?” The waiter nearly stumbles for a fraction of a step, before turning away from our table and trotting back towards the kitchen with a bit of extra spring in each step.
“I’m sure it wouldn’t get that bad,” says Twilight, oblivious to the waiter’s departure. “But you don’t think if I do make a statement it shouldn’t be a little more definitive?”
“You can always clarify later,” I point out. “I’m sure everypony will understand what you mean.”
She sighs, and polishes off the last of the salad in front of her. “Listen, Rarity, I’m really sorry I have to eat and run, but...”
“Don’t you worry about a thing, dear, I completely understand how busy you are,” I say, offering her a comforting pat on the back as I dab a napkin to my lips with my magic. “In fact, in just a little while I’m meeting Princess Celestia for afternoon tea. I’m sure she’d be happy to have you join us.”
Twilight looks like she’d love nothing more, but soon enough the reality of the situation intrudes. “I wish I could, but I have too much going on already. Do you think you could ask her if she thinks I’m doing the right thing, though?”
“I’m sure she’s quite confident in your judgement,” I reply. Twilight still seems unconvinced.
“You two have tea a lot,” she says, “what do you two talk about, anyway?”
I give the most casual shrug I can manage. “Oh, we just chit chat about this and that. She’s such a wonderful conversationalist, as I’m sure you’re well aware. It’s never hard to come up with something to talk about.”
She ponders that for a moment, but then some new concern about an encounter or meeting in the immediate future claims her focus instead and pushes it aside. “Say hi to her for me, okay?” With that she gets up from the table and, on impulse, snatches a piece of bread from the basket at the center of the table for the road. With a quick wave goodbye she departs for her next meeting leaving me to finish the rest of my meal on my own. The plate is still half full when I decide that I’m satisfied for the time being. Princess Celestia has the most delicious little cookies that accompany her afternoon tea.
I’ll have time to indulge in quite a few of them. The two of us have a great deal to discuss.
Three days later the throne room is absolutely jam-packed with petitioners and nobles with Princess Celestia seated up on her dais in the eye of the hurricane brewing around her. The copper shortage is the only topic on everypony’s lips, along with the rumor that it’s gotten so bad that Princess Luna herself might have to offer up her antique bed frame to be melted down as a show of solidarity. Most of the other ponies are here today in the hope of getting some answers.
Me? I’m just here because I enjoy watching an artist at work.
“Deep Depths, thank you for coming on such short notice,” says Celestia. Her voice cuts through the bustle and brings silence in its wake, all eyes on the black earth pony stallion standing before the throne. He’s powerfully built, a not-unexpected outcome of a lifetime of work in a mining town. He’s somewhat out of place among the daintier, more refined nobility, but is doing an admirable job of disguising his discomfort. “I hear you’re quite busy these days, so I appreciate you taking the time to answer our summons.”
“Yer, uh, yer welcome, Princess,” he mutters. This is not a pony who enjoys the spotlight, if I’m reading his body language correctly. “Very busy, ma’am, had a big surge of orders come in these last few days. Workin’ around the clock trying to fill ‘em, but just can’t keep up.”
“Indeed,” says Celestia, her face the very image of a serious ruler making serious decisions. “I wanted to ask you if—”
“Princess Celestia!” A new voice from the throne room’s entrance interrupts her. The crowd turns to look at the soldier who’s barged into the conversation, all serious and austere and looking like he’s just come back from flying for miles. “General Flanking Maneuver informed us that we were to report to you immediately. Top priority.”
Celestia’s expression turns grim. “What did the scouts find?”
“Well...” he hesitates before going on, “we swept the coordinates in the Badlands you gave us, but we didn’t find anything. Just rocks and sand.”
The assembled crowd turns back to the Princess, expecting relief. But her expression only grows darker. “You’re absolutely certain of that?”
“I saw it with my own eyes. There’s nothing there.”
“So it would appear,” Celestia mutters, just loud enough for a few choice ponies to overhear. “Captain, I want patrols flown over that area daily. You can base your activities out of Saltlick Plateau.” She turns back to Deep Depths, and smiles. “I’m sure your town can handle a few soldiers for the next couple of weeks. And it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a military presence in the area just in case.
“In case of what, Princess?” asks the miner. He doesn’t seem sure he wants an answer.
“Nothing you need to worry about, my little pony. As you’ve just heard, there are absolutely no invasion forces in the area. Dragon or otherwise.”
“D...dragons?” he stammers, beginning to tremble. “We get a couple flyin’ over the town when they’re migratin’ but they never cause any trouble.”
“Of course not,” says Celestia, “they’re a very tolerant people, and we’ve been on excellent terms with them for centuries. The rumors of an upstart political faction making threats against our border towns are completely baseless. Probably.”
The stallion lets out a nervous chuckle. “Well, good thing there aren’t any nearby, then.”
Celestia just stares at him, long enough that the entire room is starting to feel a little uncomfortable. “Right,” she eventually says. “That’s an excellent point. I really can’t emphasize it enough. There definitely is not an imminent risk to your town. Which is good, since the copper from your mines is one of the many resources we would need if we were to repel some kind of hypothetical draconic invasion force.” The muttering around the room grows more intense. “Tell me, though. If, hypothetically, there were the chance of such an invasion, which I’m not suggesting that there is, how long would it take to reinforce the town sufficiently that it would be able to withstand being besieged by around a score of fully-grown fire breathing dragons?”
“I... I...” poor Deep Depths is looking completely lost and right on the verge of a panic attack. “That’s not really my area of expertise...”
“Do you think it could be done before next Thursday?” asks Celestia, just enough desperation in her voice to be convincing, “it would be really great if it could be done before next Thursday. I mean, hypothetically.”
“Well, my guess would be probably not that fast.”
“I see,” says Celestia, shaking her head. “Deep Depths, thank you for your time. Captain Hawk? Please send word to General Flanking Maneuver that he needs to assemble the war council with all available haste. Not because of the dragons, of course. It’s about something else. Completely unrelated.” She gets up from her throne, eyes wide with thinly veiled panic. “Court dismissed. Would somepony let Ambassador Jade Fang know that I need to meet with him immediately? But right now I should... I should just...” she abruptly turns and walks off through a door behind the throne, and the muttering of the crowd builds in intensity.
As I walk away from the crowd, I have the sneaking suspicion I know what the price of copper will be doing tomorrow.
“Let me pass! I demand to speak to Princess Sparkle this instant!”
The commotion at the entrance to the throne room where Count Runic Medallion is being challenged by Twilight’s honor guard causes her to look up from the spreadsheet she’d been quietly discussing with Plumed Quill, strategizing while I wait not so far away. The Count pushes his way inside, not that it’s a very impressive thing when the floor is open for anypony who wants an audience at the moment, but I can appreciate a good dramatic entrance as much as anypony. “Can I help you?” asks Twilight.
The Count shoves a letter into her face and outright snarls at her. “It’s unacceptable, Princess. I have here in my magic a letter signed by over three hundred and fifty members of the courts, parliament, and high-ranking officials in every part of the government demanding that you take immediate action to resolve this crisis!”
Twilight sighs. “You’re going to have to be more specific about which crisis you’re talking about. It’s been one of those weeks.”
“Why, the unfolding copper shortage, of course! It simply cannot be allowed to continue.”
“Actually, Count, the more I look into that the more it seems like there’s not actually any detectable drop in mine output. In fact it looks a lot like we’ve actually increased our—”
“LIES!” he bellows. “You can manipulate the numbers to say whatever you like, but the fact remains that there’s nearly a month long backlog of orders, not to mention that the prices are unsustainably high. That cost is trickling down and hitting craftponies and small businesses right in their pocketbooks. Do you think that’s acceptable? As if the looming threat of a dragon invasion wasn’t bad enough on its own.”
“About that,” says Twilight, passing the sheet of parchment she was reading from a moment ago to another assistant so she can give this conversation her undivided attention, “I was talking to Ambassador Jade Fang just last night and—”
“Ah ha!” He points an accusing hoof right in her face. The dear has the patience of a saint. If it were me I would never tolerate being spoken to that way, but Twilight is mostly just befuddled by it. “So you admit that there have been talks?”
“...Yes? I guess so? It wasn’t really a secret meeting, Princess Celestia has been introducing me to all sorts of delegates these days. We mostly ended up talking about classical architecture.”
He scoffs. “Oh really? And during these talks about ‘architecture’ did he or did he not demand tribute from our nation?”
“We did talk about a possible trade agreement, if that’s what you’re referring to.”
“Shameless, threatening us like that,” he says and shakes his head. “You’re our Princess? Then start acting like it. This is rapidly deteriorating into a true emergency, and we expect action and answers to address it. So I’m asking you right now, Princess: What’s your plan to deal with this?”
Twilight, stunned and put on the spot, stares back at him. This is it; her moment. I can hold the door open for her, but she must choose to walk through it on her own. Then the corner of her mouth twitches into the hint of a cryptic and enigmatic smile. I’ve seen a smile like that before. It’s one that suits a Princess quite well. “Well, Count, if you’re going to force my hoof I guess I don’t have much of a choice. Tell me; how much do you know about the process by which we mint tenth-bit coins?”
“Oh, stop it Rarity. Really, I’m serious.”
The two of us are alone once more in Twilight’s office, which is looking a bit more organized and put-together these days. Its contents are slowly making the transition and settling into the proper places they belong. As is its primary occupant, who right now is blushing furiously but wearing a happy, confident grin.
“It goes on to say...” I glance down at the newspaper op-ed that’s the source of her embarrassment. I suppose Copy Paste found some news worth reporting after all “...that since the sale of the refined copper that had previously been meant for coin creation, prices have stabilized and begun to return to the old levels. Not to mention that the higher sale price will mean a nice profit for the Crown.”
“Which I already have fifteen proposals for ways to spend pouring into my inbox,” grumbles Twilight.
Undeterred by her interjection, I skim further down past a few paragraphs of glowing praise until one sentence catches my eye. “Listen to this. ‘Palace insiders credit Princess Twilight Sparkle for the successful negotiation of the recent trade pact with the Dragon Empire. Amidst a sea of, frankly, rather bizarre rumors about invasions by an invisible army, sources say that a lifetime of experience in raising a cultural ambassador as a ward of the state gave her an edge in the form of insight into dragon psychology.’ I wonder what Spike would say to that, hmm?”
“Oh, geeze, does it really say that? Where do they find the ponies giving them these quotes?” Twilight chuckles and takes the paper from me. She’s trying to hide her unbridled joy as she reads further, but I don’t begrudge her a moment of private gloating. She’s certainly earned it. When she finishes with it she looks back up at me, a bit wistful. “I can’t believe you’re going back to Ponyville tomorrow. Sorry I’ve been such a lousy host, I feel like I’ve barely had time to catch my breath, let alone spend any quality time together.”
“Oh, it’s not as bad as that. I’ve kept myself well enough amused anyway. And it was quite the privilege getting to see you in action.”
“If you say so,” she replies. “You were right, you know. About finding my moment. That was honestly the first time I’ve felt like this all hasn’t been some terrible mix up. I feel like I should thank you.”
“I can’t imagine why, I hardly did anything,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hoof. The truth can stay as my little secret.
“Well, now that I have things are going to be different around here.” She grins and leans in closer. “Want to hear a secret?” As if she even has to ask. Of course I nod at the prospect of some juicy palace gossip. “Now that the coin situation’s been resolved, we can move onto more important business. Like changing the colors of everypony’s roof.”
That... wasn’t exactly what I’d been expecting to hear.
Twilight, however, misinterprets my stunned silence. “Won’t that be great? See, it turns out that darker roofs absorb more of the sun’s heat during the middle of the day, especially in the summer months. In fact, the difference in energy required to maintain a pleasant temperature inside with a dark roof can be as much as four percent greater. Four percent! Isn’t that amazing? And don’t even get me started on metal roofs, those are even worse! But of course a lot of the old manors that the nobility live in are just huge drains of magical energy and the owners don’t like the idea of changing them. But there are some really promising new building materials that I think might just...”
She keeps going, talking a mile a minute about her exciting new initiative, unknowingly listing off reason after reason certain very influential ponies won’t be making her proposal anything like feasible to pass. But the look of unbridled excitement on her face as she does so isn’t something I’d ever dream of taking away from her. Not ever.
Perhaps I should look into extending my visit for just a few more days.
