Canzone

by Merc the Jerk

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe, Romance, Comedy, Rarity, Sex, Human, Main 6, Applejack, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 7399

Jack and Rarity find and hold more common ground than either care to admit after they agree to attend the opera together.

Sometimes being old friends is rough.

Timing is everything in the relationship, especially when it starts to deepen. A thing Jack knows too well. But she wasn't one to give up, even if she wasn't the best at describing what she felt. So when she finally had a chance to come out regarding how she feels, she jumped for it, even if what she wanted to say isn't what Rarity wants to hear.

---
Specal thanks to my awesome editor Peregrine Caged, and my fantastic prereaders Bookplayer, Jake the Ginger, and Xl9. Be sure to look at their stuff, because my write-fu is far weaker than theirs.

Artwork by Fahu, go take a look!

Published 2014-06-27 04:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2014-06-27 04:30:01 UTC

Chapter 1

Rarity quirked one of her precisely groomed violet eyebrows towards the woman.

“I'm sorry, dear. I believe I misheard you,” she said.

Jack frowned, putting a finger caked with callouses through the belt-loop of her worn and broke-in jeans.

“I stutter?” Jack asked, glaring at Rarity. “I said 'I'm in.' 'Less I ain't good enough fer that spare ticket.”

“You said that, Jack. I just assumed that, er.” She gestured across the library to the group of people sitting down nearby watching the show, their six faces looking between Jack and Rarity as if it was a professional tennis match.

Rarity continued, “I just assumed that one of the others would be more interested in accompanying me.” With clockwork precision their friends chimed in.

“N-no,” Chylene muttered out from behind her pink bangs, glancing down at the hands in her lap, then over to the cup of tea she had resting on the nearby table. She reached over and took a self-conscious sip before putting it down again.

“Hell no,” Dash remarked before anyone else could comment. She crossed her arms over the blue track jacket she wore and leaned back. “Plays? I'll wait for the movie version, thanks.”

Diane spoke next. “Does The Merchant of Venice have pirates?”

Twila chimed in. “No, Pinkie.” She pushed up her glasses. “It does have some wonderful dialogue, however. In fact, I recall seeing it—“

The pink-haired woman held up a hand, the dozens of bracelets she wore clinking in a slipshod melody and silencing Twila.

“No pirates, no sale,” Pinkie seriously said, her childish face the embodiment of sternness.

Rarity gave an almost pleading glance to Twila; the librarian shook her head.

“I've seen it before. It'd be better for someone else.”

“I haven't seen it yet,” Spike, the youngest of the group, offered. He gave a bashful look towards Rarity. “M-maybe—“

Twila laughed, a forced chuckle. “Spiiiike,” she said, an equally forced smile on her face. “We have that thing with the stuff Friday, remember?”

“Her date was for Saturd—“

Twila laughed again, nudging his arm. “Don't you remember that thing we're doing Saturday? That thing we talked about as to why you can't go?”

Spike glanced to Rarity, who tilted her beautiful face in confusion, blinking. Behind her, Jack stood, her face too dark for a blush, but her hands clenched at her sides and looking obviously uncomfortable. Sighing, he looked at Twila.

“Oh!” he exclaimed in a false realization. “That thing. That thing with the stuff. I, uh, didn't know it'd be happening that fast. Since you told me about all of it last night,” he said with an irritated huff.

“Well,” Jack began, glancing at everyone, then at Rarity, “if yer still wantin' ta use that ticket, I reckon I might be yer best bet outta all of us.”

“I could look through my clientele list. I know Ms. Finish appreciates the opera quite a bit,” Rarity thought out loud, rubbing her chin. Jack flinched.

“Do I piss ya off so bad that ya can't even see me without the rest of the girls?”

“And Spike,” Spike said, mainly to himself.

Rarity shook her head. “No. It's not that, Jack.”

She threw her arms to the side. “Then what the hell could it be, 'cause that's what I'm seein' right now. It's like every time I wanna do somethin' with ya, ya got somethin' goin' on. Real convenient timin', that,” Jack growled out, her teeth grit and eyes so narrow they were barely slits

“Oh, yes, it's just a grand conspiracy!” Rarity said, rolling her eyes. “Perhaps I simply am busy. I do have a life outside of you girls. I swear, Jack, you're acting like a child.”

That struck a nerve. She clenched her fists tightly to her side.“I ain't a kid. Don't ya dare treat me like I am one. Where in the hell do ya get off?” Jack snapped. Rarity flinched at that.

“I didn't mean...” The tailor finally relented; she reached into her white purse and drew a ticket from it, handing it to Jack. “Meet me at the boutique at seven. Play starts at eight so that should—“ She looked over the farmer's clothes. “Do you still have the dress I made for you for the gala?”

Jack glanced to the side, rubbing the back of her head. “W-well...”

“Be honest.”

“I'm always honest,” Jack snapped. “An' naw. I sorta... outgrew it.”

“How did you outgrow it?!” Rarity exclaimed. “It's just been a year, what are you eating?”

“Ya callin' me fat?” Jack slapped her stomach. “Got me a six-pack right here. Yer dumb dress was tight at my chest back then, an' jus' 'bout choked me when I tried it on a coupla weeks back.”

“There's no way you grew—“ Rarity stopped herself with a conceding sigh. “We'll remeasure you. I have a general design and enough material. Come by at four.”

Rarity looked at the watch on her wrist. Her eyes widened in alarm. “And with that I'm off, darlings. Duty calls.”

She gave a curt wave and walked past the group, opening the library door to the pleasant afternoon light.

As soon as the door shut, Jack sank down a bit, her shoulders slumped and she let out a sigh she didn't know she was keeping.

“That coulda went better,” she admitted, taking a step over to rest in a nearby chair.

“No shit,” Dash replied, standing to stretch out a leg. Sparing a glance over to Jack, she added, “Coulda went worse too.”

“That's true,” Chylene agreed with a slow nod. “You're at least going with her.”

“Still though, a damn play?” Dash rubbed under her nose with a thumb, laughing. “You'll want to kill yourself by intermission, I'm calling it.” She shrugged. “But what choice do you have? Ain't like there are a ton of options in town for a rug-muncher.”

“Isabelle!” Twila barked out in shock, using the woman's given name in her indignation. “That's a horrible thing to say to your friend.”

“But it's true,” she countered, combing her multihued hair back with a brush of her hand. “Most are spoken for. The rest aren't even drunk one-night stand material. Must suck being in Jack's shoes.” Dash cocked a glance Jack's way. “Especially when you need to buy new ones. What size you wear in woman’s, gorilla?”

Pinkie giggled. “Silly-billy. Gorilla’s don't wear shoes.”

It took her a moment to think before Jack shrugged. “I dunno,” she admitted. “We buy our boots from a guy all at once, an' I think they're measured in a fella's style. I jus' get one a lil' a size or two smaller than Mac's.” Jack narrowed her brow at Dash. “An' I'll have ya know it ain't 'bout limited datin' options fer me here. It's 'bout tryin' with her specifically, ya hear?” Jack tapped a temple. “She's the gal I got my eyes set on.”

“Why?” Spike asked, a perfectly reasonable question that the rest of the girls seemed to skirt around for the past few weeks, ever since Jack had admitted it to them after a few too many drinks. The boy slowly turning to a man met Jack's stare. “I thought you hated upper-crust types.”

“I don't hate anyone,” Jack replied. “Even less so people I ain't met. If I did, I wouldn't of welcomed you an' Twi ta town back in the day. But I did.” She sighed. “I jus' am a lil' wary 'bout some-a those type of folk. Ya remember those shysters that tried ta pull the wool over the town's eyes with that snake oil.”

“Energy drink,” Pinkie corrected. “Snake oil wouldn't taste—“

“What ever it was, it didn't work, an' left more than a few sick,” she replied.

“But Rarity's different, huh?” Dash asked sarcastically. “She may piss you off every day of the week, craves attention, has a desire of perfection bordering on anal, and is a drama queen, but she's different.”

Jack narrowed her brow. “Jus' what ya gettin' at?”

“I know you,” Dash said, rising. “I know that sort of stuff annoys you, hayseed. And if that pisses you off, then why she tickle your fancy?”

“Isabelle,” Chylene muttered out, looking pleadingly at Dash.

“No, I'm not done,” Dash snapped, squaring off against Jack's eyes. The farmer rose to a stand as Dash sauntered over, and the room grew still, Dash staring up at Jack's eyes, her flat chest puffed out, Jack, her arms crossed over her chest and staring down.

Dash finished her thought. “If you're in it for just the ass, I'll slap your shit.”

Jack clenched her fist as tightly as she was her jaw. “Ya know me,” she spoke coolly, staring crossly at Dash. “But ya don't know me as well as Rare.”

Isabelle stared at Jack, waiting for the rest of the answer. On seeing her determination, Jack rolled her eyes.

“She's important ta me. Y'all are, but her...” She looked down at her clenched fist and loosened it. “No amount of fru-fru dresses, ridiculous standards, or fights'll change that fer me.” She counted on her fingers. “'Fore Spike an' Twi, 'fore you, 'fore Diane, Chylene, there was me an' Rare.”

Jack put a hand to her hip. “Granny said we were like two peas in a pod as kids. Now...”

“Now you're like tacos and a stomach virus!” Pinkie exclaimed. The others stared blankly in return; she shrugged. “You try coming up with a better one under pressure like that!” she retorted, crossing her arms in a huff.

“Well, not exactly, but might as well be,” Jack replied. “An' I wanna go back ta how it was when we were younger. Believe me when I say we used ta build mud pies together? Now, only mud she plays with is imported an' goes on her face.”

“To be fair,” Twila interjected, “I'm sure you did things like tea parties when she wished for them.”

Jack nodded reluctantly. “I did.” She shrugged. “Only fair.”

“Play house too?” Dash guessed with a grin. “I bet I know who the daddy was.”

The farmer mumbled something under her breath.

Dash raised a brow. “What?”

“I said 'Rarity was,'” Jack snapped out indignantly.

Dash snorted, barely keeping a laugh in. “Really? The dressmaker wore the pants?”

“Shut up.”

“Sure. Mrs. Belle.”

Dash grinned, hopping back as soon as the words left her mouth to avoid Jack's grab.

“I'mma break ya, twiggy,” Jack snapped, rising and chasing after the woman as she ran around tables and cleared chairs.

“Girls,” Twila addressed as she watched with concern as they nearly knocked over a pile of books on a table.

“Girls,” she said once more, her tone more agitated as they tipped over a chair. Twila grit her teeth, then cried out a hearty, “Girls!”

They froze, looking at her. Dash on the ground with a leg up, Jack with her stomach pressed into Dash's foot, her hand grasping Isabelle's shirt by the neck.

“Could you please not start that in the library? If I have to pick up another book, I swear to everything holy that I'll pick you two up next.”

“Sorry, sug,” Jack quickly apologized.

“My bad,” Dash agreed.

“Now...” Twila begin, stepping into the leader role. “Jack, we should be able to collectively get you ready for the date. I have a few books on the subject that should prove useful.”

“Hell with that,” Dash said. “The only good books are ones with adventure. That self-help crap is the pits. See, what you need to know about the date is that Rarity has sensitive ears.” She tapped her temple, leaning against Jack's broad shoulder. “Use that to your advantage.”

“Should I ask how ya know that?” Jack replied.

Isabelle shrugged. “You pick up tidbits when you hang out with Chylene.”

Chylene balked, hiding her face behind her pink hair. “... She said that at the spa once. And I told you that in confidence.”

“Hell yeah,” Dash agreed. “We're giving Jack confidence right now with it. Good work.”

“That's not what that means...” Chylene argued under her breath. Everyone ignored her.

Diane snapped her fingers. “Ooh! She likes chocolate pecan pie. I'll get you fixed up in no time, girl. You'll have her putty in your arms before you know it!”

“Isn't that what you said to me when I got a pie for her?” Spike interjected.

“You're too small, there's no way you could hold that much putty!” Pinkie exclaimed cheerfully.

Jack took a different approach, she smiled gently at the young boy. “We alright?”

“Yeah... just kind of surprised.” Spike cocked a thumb towards Twila. “Like I said, I found out about this whole thing last night. And mention her hair,” he added quickly. “She got it done Wednesday.”

Jack rose, moving to the boy. She squatted down and gave him a quick hug while he was in his chair.

“Thanks, sug,” Jack said. “I'm sorry ya...”

“Don't be,” he countered. “We both know she'd never give me the time of day. Compared to the other assholes she's—“

“Spike!” Twila admonished. “Language! If Ms. Cheerilee sends me one more letter from school, the house is going to become very unpleasant for you.”

“Hey, hey, easy, bookworm,” Dash retaliated. “Kid's just taking a line from Freud.”

“Sigmund?”

“Totally. You know, 'sometimes an asshole is just an asshole.'” Dash nodded sagely. “Kid knows how to call 'em.”

“Thanks. I think.” Spike rose, rubbing the back of his head and brushing past Jack. “I'm just gonna go upstairs. Got some homework.”

They watched him tromp up the stairs; Jack gave a small smile to Twila.

“Kid took it good.”

“It was a different story last night.” Twila frowned. “But... you know how he felt about her.”

“He's shapin' up ta be a hell of a guy.”

“Damn right,” Dash agreed. “Let him grow a couple more years and I might end up knocking at your door, Twila.”

“Raspberry pie,” Pinkie quickly said, flashing a bright, eager grin. “He'll be putty in your hands.”

“Oh my...” Chylene muttered out, putting her palms up to hide her reddening face.

000

Jack shuffled on her feet as she stood in front of the door at Rarity's boutique. She rubbed her mouth, trying to think of the right way to start the whole evening.

“Witty one-liner?” she asked herself out loud, quickly deciding against it.

“Nah. I ain't 'bout playin' those kinda games. Canned lines'd jus' be... they wouldn't be me.” She cupped her chin in her free hand, adjusting her grip on the small box of sweets she carried. “But, maybe...”

The door shot open and Rarity stood on the other side, an irritated frown on her face.

“But, maybe you could simply come in, instead of spending the evening talking to yourself.” She gave a curt huff of breath. “I swear, Jack Apple, where's the woman that would go somewhere without a second thought? This sort of planning and fretting doesn't suit you.”

Jack shrugged. “Well, she's on break right now. I'm tryin' ta make a good first impression.”

Rarity paused. “First impression, darling? I've known you for... well...” She tilted her head back in thought. “Going on twenty years now, I'd say.”

“Somewhere 'bouts,” she agreed. “An', nah, I'm talkin' 'bout seein' one-another in a...” She gave an implying nod of her head. “Ya know.”

“Know what?” she questioned, then leaned into the doorframe, gesturing the farmer inside. “And do hurry, I still need to work on your clothing for the evening.”

Jack stepped inside, glancing along the storefront. It wasn't her thing, the lacy, sensual underwear, the dozens of conflicting odors and scents wafting from a counter of small bottles near a register, and, behind dozens of accessories, bracelets, earrings, necklaces, sat dresses, some business oriented, practical, no-nonsense things, others bright, frilly, almost disgustingly girly. Rarity lead them through the fashionable jungle, and to a backdoor, which lead to her home proper.

“Now,” she began, taking Jack by the hand and upstairs. Rarity opened one of the doors on the second floor, revealing her room.

“Have a seat by the vanity,” Rarity instructed. Jack looked plainly at the mirror, the glee starting to overtake Rarity's voice worrying her.

“And my apologies for being distracted, what did you mean by 'first impressions' earlier?”

“Well,” Jack started, clearing off a spot on the woman's vanity and setting a small, bow-tied box on the polished mahogany.

“It'd be seein' one-another in a different light, wouldn't it?”

Rarity peaked over at Jack, pins in her mouth and several handfuls of cloth in her hands.

“Mmm?” she questioned with a small noise.

“It a date, ain't it?” Jack blurted out, her practical bluntness winning the war with her more polite nature.

“Is it?” Rarity asked innocently from the other room. There was a brief mechanical hum as she worked a sewing machine, before returning. “As far as I know, it was simply me taking an old friend out to see a performance.” She looked almost smugly at Jack. “Is that not what your intentions were?”

Jack grimaced. “W-well... reckon it would be odd, invitin' myself along fer a date, huh?” She reached forward after a beat, tapping the slim box she brought with her. “Brought ya some chocolate.”

She approached Jack and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear as she looked at the box. Undoing the lid, she blinked at what showed.

“Is that...?” Rarity trailed off.

“Chocolate pecan pie. Heard ya liked it.”

“Indeed.” Rarity paused, seeming to collect her thoughts before sighing. “Any other man or woman, and I would play along. You, however....”

Jack watched her own reflection in the mirror narrow her brow. “What 'bout me?”

Rarity moved behind Jack, prodding the farmer's blonde hair with her delicate fingers.

“Nothing offensive, I assure you. It's simply—tilt your head, thank you—“ She quickly instructed in a curt, sing-song voice, forming Jack's long hair and changing it with a speed and skill bordering on otherworldly. “—it's simply, don't you believe it'd be... awkward? We have history, oui?”

“Awkward? Havin' history is what'd make it not awkward, Rare.”

“What do you mean?” she cautiously asked as she undid a roll of measuring tape. “And strip.”

“What?”

“For the measurements, Jack. It would be hard to have a form-fitting dress when you're not in your form, yes?”

“Oh.”

Jack did as instructed, looking wryly at Rarity as she began to unbutton her plaid over-shirt.

“There's no need to be modest, dear. I've seen you bare before when we were younger, have I not? Besides, as beautiful as you are, this is strictly for business.”

Jack undid the last button on her shirt and tossed it aside, heat at her face as she pulled off her undershirt, showcasing her cream-colored bra. She reached down and unbuckled her pants.

“So... ya think I'm pretty, huh?” Jack asked.

“Well, of course,” Rarity acknowledged. She waited as Jack dropped her pants, revealing a pair of men's boxers. Rarity's jaw dropped in both surprise and disgust at the clothing. She let out a noise to protest, but shut her mouth promptly.

“You have a fantastic figure for a larger frame, despite your borderline fetish for the outdoors and...” Her eyebrow twitched as she looked once more at Jack's boxers. “Questionable clothing selection.”

“Larger frame?” Jack repeated, staring hard at the woman until she went behind her. “Swear, Rare, getting' real tired at the fat jokes.”

Rarity sighed heavily, practically stomping back to Jack's front. Rarity looked up at her face, then put a hand on top of her own violet curls. Pushing the the hand forward, it connected just shy of Jack's collarbone. Rarity then reached out, wrapping Jack's hard, iron forearm. She stretched her hand as wide as she could, trying to get her fingers around Jack's muscle, to no avail.

“Larger frame,” Rarity said, as if that explained everything. She returned to behind Jack. “I may chide you on occasion about your weight. However, I know it's muscle.” A sly grin. “Well, mostly muscle. I can think of a few choice spots on your body that are decidedly feminine.”

“Come on, now,” Jack muttered bashfully.

“There are a lot of people in Manhattan that... appreciate a more full-body now. There's been a health craze, if you will. People have started to notice muscle and thicker builds.”

“People, huh?” Jack said, looking anywhere but down as Rarity measured her bust-line.

“Yes, people,” she agreed, pulling the measuring tape back and letting a surprised hum as she read the numbers. “You have grown. I simply thought you were making excuses for why your dress didn't fit earlier.”

“I ain't the type ta make excuses.” Jack considered letting more of her fire out, but held back, keeping her reply short and not quite as bitter as some of their words over the past few weeks had been.

“I still stand by it being your meals. You are what you eat, after-all. And judging by first glance, you're part cow.”

Jack could hear the held-back laughter in Rarity's nearly mocking tone. If it were Dash making a joke like that, Jack would just tell her to go to hell, maybe a punch on the shoulder, if the girl had got her really well.

These little duels between her and Rarity, though, had to be played a little different...

“Well... it ain't so bad,” Jack said as Rarity measured the farmer's waist. “I mean, my body quirks are right there in the open clear as day. Ain't nobody perfectly happy with every part of themselves. I mean, at least I ain't missin' somethin', so I gotta get fakes.”

The tightness of the tape around her waist let Jack know she was on the right track. She grinned to herself, glad that she could push Rarity's buttons just as well as Rarity could push hers.

“Mine are perfectly real, thank you. I mean, gracious, Jack, mine own cup doesn't overflow in comparisons to yours. If anything, I'm the last person someone would think of in regards to fake bre—“

“I ain't talkin' those, girl. I'm talkin' yer fake eyelashes.” She then gave a small tilt of her head. “An' maybe the fake eyebrows too.”

“I thought we agreed never to discuss that again, darling,” Rarity said through clenched teeth, tightening the tape around Jack's stomach so much that the farmer looked down at the tailor's hands in surprise.

“Well, this ain't so much a discussion as it is me tellin' it like it is.” Jack laughed. “Shoot, I remember ya whinin' 'bout havin' no eyelashes fer weeks after that firework blew up in front-a ya.”

Rarity let the tape go limp around Jack's stomach. She held back, but finally laughed a little with her.

“In hindsight it's direct karma,” Rarity scoffed in her regal accent. “Considering how I was the one that... requested them from Macintosh.”

“Ya ruined him when ya had them puppy dog eyes goin'. Every time he gave ya a chore, ya could cute yer way out.” Jack grinned once more, the familiarity of the subject she was thinking about leaving her distracted from her mostly bare state. “My poor sis got here too late. Me an' Mac don't fall fer that sad face, since we both grew up with you around.” Jack smiled back wistfully. “You could knock all-a them out with a lil' look an' a smile. 'Specially me an' Pa.”

“Is that still true now, though?” Rarity asked, letting the tape drop off of Jack's hard stomach.

“Of course,” Jack instantly said, then paused, scratching her head. “Well, how we talkin'? If ya ever needed a real hand, ya know I'm always there. An' always will be. If yer talkin' 'bout holdin' all yer bags while yer shoppin', or yer jus' complain' ta hear yer damn voice, ya ain't getting' a scent, weepy face or not.”

Rarity looked down at the floor, thinking. Finally, she nodded. “I know you would,” she agreed. After a moment she spoke up once more. “Right now it feels like old times, doesn't it?”

“Eyup,” Jack said. Giving a small shrug, she added. “Lately... we've been fightin' a lot.”

“I'd prefer to think of it as banter laced with disagreements. Fighting would insinuate fisticuffs, and that's an activity I'd rather not engage you in.”

“Scared ya'd chip a nail?”

Rarity let out a dry chuckle. “Yes. We'll go with that as my reasoning, not that I have better chances keeping my wrist intact striking a brick wall.”

Jack wasn't sure if that was a complement, insult, or both, so she nodded wordlessly instead.

Rarity took a moment to measure her hips. Jack could swear that her hands lingered longer than needed for the job, and that her thumb briefly explored the contours of her side, resting tantalizing close to the elastic of her boxers. Before she could act or question it, however, Rarity had already withdraw her hands.

“Now, I must put my skill to the test. With any luck, you'll be presented with a dress that is magnifique!”

“Great,” Jack drawled out, dryer than she meant.

“Make yourself at home, dear,” Rarity said as she retreated back to the other room. A mechanical hum once more sprang to life and Jack was left to her own devices. She donned her pants and undershirt, then tossed her over-shirt onto a chair by the vanity, and took a look around the room.

It was a room Rarity used quite often, that much was obvious. Meticulous and precise, designed to be striking, yet not overwrought and gaudy, her bed sheets folded just so, a nightstand nearby with a pair of ruby red glasses and a book at the ready. Jack looked at the cover and rolled her eyes. It depicted a muscle-bound man in overalls and a too-tight shirt holding a swooning woman in a dress. In the background, fields of wheat covered the land. Farther back still, a barn burned, flames licking the roof and walls. She felt a small pain at the sight and swallowed.

Glancing away, she noticed a small photo album. Wanting to kill time, Jack decided to sit on the bed, making a small grunt of surprise when its soft mattress nearly swallowed her whole, and cracked the album open.

A couple pictures of Rarity's family, one group photo out of the bunch showcasing her younger sister sitting grumpily beside Rarity as the rest of the group smiled brightly at the camera. Another depicted Chylene in an elegant dress from her brief foray into the modeling industry, a few with Twila, her, and the rest of the girls over the years, Spike first resting at Twila’s lap, then rapidly growing to the young almost-man he was now.

Jack smiled, the memories saturating the pages filling her with nostalgia. She flipped farther still, past dozens of models and clothing images she couldn't give a crap about, only to pause as she got towards the end, recognizing herself in dozens of pictures. Here, Rarity and her playing in the mud when they were about seven or so, Jack wearing too-big overalls and giving an open-mouthed grin to the cameraman, a front tooth missing from...

She frowned, trying to think of what in the sam hill made her lose a tooth. Shrugging, she continued looking at the image, her eyes resting on Rarity.

The tailor herself was red in the face from laughing, her hands clutched at her stomach and her dress and leggings scuffed and stained with mud and grass. She had freckles back then, and a little dimple when she smiled. Both had faded as the years went by.

Jack flipped the page. This one was her on the tail end of her ninth birthday, standing in front of a mirror, wearing a messy, nearly falling-off dress. Dress might have even been an overstatement, the two pieces of cloth forming more of a sack than anything. Even then, she laughed, wearing an oversized hat and a necklace for adults, Rarity clapping excitedly in the background.

“I think I've improved on my dressmaking over the years,” the tailor said, directly beside her before Jack could react. The farmer would have normally let out a surprised yelp at her sudden appearance, but this time she simply nodded, swallowing to hold back her alarmed utterances.

Jack tapped at the picture.

“'Least I knew at a young age that a hat made the woman, huh?”

Rarity gave a pained smile, then returned her gaze to the album.

They turned the page, another of them at front and center playing, without a care in the world, Jack on the grass, holding her dog, then a puppy, desperately away from her mouth as it excitedly pounced on her.

“Would you believe I admired you quite a bit when we were children?” Her smile widened a hair. “You know exactly where you stood on issues, and were so, so open with your family. I was envious, with me being so much like our own Chylene in my childhood.” She gave a sidewise tilt of her head. “However, unlike her, I craved to be more open. I was not content with simply watching. I wanted to be less reserved. Be more like you.”

“Rare.”

Rarity brushed the conversation away with a wave of a hand.

“Never mind me, dear. I'm dwelling on the past and speaking foolishly.” She rose, gesturing to her sewing room. “But I digress. Let's see about making you perfect, darling.”

“Let's jus' get this over with,” Jack grumbled, rising and giving the album a gentle toss onto the bed, then doggedly following behind.

000

“Well,” Rarity panted out, dabbing at her brow with a handkerchief. “We finally got you presentable. It took more effort than house training a hyena, but you look ravishing.”

Jack sighed, crossing her bare arms and staring at the mirror at the silky red piece she wore.

“I'm showin' an' awful lot of skin,” Jack mused, rubbing an arm and glancing down at her full, obvious cleavage.

Rarity laughed. “Oh darling. I'm simply highlighting an asset of yours. There's no shame in that.”

“Skirt's pretty short too.”

“Now's not the time to be modest.”

“An' do ya really want me in heels? I mean, I'm already big without 'em.”

“And now, with them, you're larger than life.”

“... An' these earrings are stupid.”

That stopped Rarity. “Are you serious?” she asked. “I'll have you know those are modeled after ones princess Celestia herself wore during Twila's coronation?”

“An' do I look like a princess?” Jack pointed out. “They're too nice, I'mma drawin' the line here.”

“Well, with a little work, yes. I think you'd be even more beautiful than the princesses,” Rarity said with conviction. She gently pulled the earrings out, then leaned over the woman, applying dark makeup to her brown skin. Rarity smiled, giving a small brush of her thumb along the farmer's cheek.

“I've always liked your complexion, darling.” Rarity said. “Your whole family's. It's not quite as exotic as, say, Zecora's, but it's still quite a change from Camelot.”

“I ain't never really put much thought inta it,” Jack said, looking over the black eyeliner the tailor had applied.

“Well you should. I have no idea how you manage to look so pretty sometimes when you're out in the sun all day.”

“Come on, Rare. Ya can stop gushin' over me any time now,” the farmer said, embarrassed.

Rarity let a deep-throated chuckle out, but stopped her teasing. She paused to unroll a tube of lipstick and gave a liberal roll across the farmer's lips. The dark crimson Rarity applied made her lips seem larger and more sensual than her normally thin features allowed.

“See?” Rarity pointed to the mirror. Jack's reflection stared back. She shifted, still uncomfortable with the makeup and clothing, but bearing with it for the moment. “Even more beautiful than the princesses.” Rarity offered a haughty laugh. “Perhaps even a contender for myself, dear.”

“I at least got the eyebrows fer it,” Jack said with an agreeing nod, watching Rarity's face sour in the mirror. She grinned, looking for a moment like a child.

Rarity seemed to be working a retort, but instead gave a flick of her finger into the back of Jack's head.

“Ow,” Jack said, rubbing the spot.

“I'll go and get dressed myself and then we'll be off,” the tailor addressed, leaving the room.

Jack watched her go, still rubbing where she had been struck and smiling despite herself. It was a strange feeling. Right now felt like old times, back when their arguments were short, brief disagreements, rather than the hot, nearly hostile spats as of late. She didn't know what changed, but she hoped it kept just like this.

A buzz came from her pocket; Jack reached down and produced her cellphone. A text from Dash.

Yo, it started. You get a hold of that ass yet?

Jack rolled her eyes and thumbed out a reply.

Of course not. That's not how I plan on doing things with her.

Almost instantly, Dash replied back. Glancing upwards, silently asking anyone above if she was being punished, Jack looked down at the text.

It's not? More mouth-to-cnt ur style?

“Fer the love-a...” Jack trailed off, rubbing her temple.

No, Isabelle. We're just talking and getting ready for the show. Nothing like that.

Once more, the reply came in a heartbeat. If Jack had to guess, the woman was slacking off at work again, hiding in the crew lounge.

I kno. Ur not like that. Have fun and gl w her.

Jack smiled. There were times when Dash actually did show she cared like a normal person. She could be something else on occasion, but if you ever wanted someone to have your back rain or shine, it was that girl. Just before Jack could text back, one more message came from Dash.

I hear classy ladies lik weird in the sack. Try a fngr r 2 up her but when ur doing it.

“Ew. Fer God's sake, Dash,” Jack grumbled just as Rarity called out in a sing-song voice.

“Ready, darling! Let's go!”

000

Rarity brought the car out and around to the front of the store. Jack trotted out dutifully, opening the car door and sitting down, filling Rarity's rather compact seat. She spared a glare at Rarity, her head and shoulders hunched forward to avoid pressing into the roof.

Rarity held back an unladylike sort of laughter, yet still grinned foolishly at her.

“What?” Jack asked.

“There's a lever for your seat.”

“Oh. Right.” Jack pulled it, yelping in surprise as the seat threw her back hard enough to nearly give her whiplash. Rarity once more let a dumb grin plaster on her face.

“You have to be smarter than the seat, dear.”

“Well, ya get a car that actually fits people an' I wouldn't have ta mess with the thing,” Jack replied, leaning far enough that her head was at the backseat.

“It fits plenty of people,” Rarity easily argued. She brought a hand down to the radio as they began the slow drive across town, flipping it to a station graced with what seemed like hundreds of violins. “Just not oversized creatures like your family.”

“Well, in Mac's truck I ain't never had a problem like this. 'Cause it ain't a showoff foreign number like this thing,” she answered back, reaching to the radio and thumbing it over to another station, where the sounds of a steel guitar greeted them.

“And how many miles to the gallon does that clunker have?” Rarity countered, turning the station once more.

“Don't matter if we don't use it 'cept ta haul shit.” Jack turned the station once more, defiantly meeting Rarity's gaze as she did. “Ain't like it's a big town anyway.”

“No,” Rarity agreed, the earlier cheer drying up from her voice. “It isn't a big town at all.”

“Rare?” Jack narrowed her brow. “Ya alright?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Rarity replied, sighing.

They drove for a moment in quiet, Jack replaying the conversation in her head at every angle she could, still unsure where she went wrong.

Rarity pointed over to Jack's side of the road. “They still have our playground,” she marveled, pulling over and parking the car.

Jack raised a brow but played along, looking first at Rarity, then at the equipment. It was sturdy, though old. Chain-link swings, a see-saw with obvious chips in the wood, a teatherball pole missing the ball, and a rusty slide in a wide pile of gravel. Rarity turned off the ignition and opened the door, stepping out.

“What are ya...?” Jack started to ask, but instead shrugged, figuring it would at least make them late to the play.

Rarity marched to the edge of the gravelpit and frowned, taking off her heels and stepping into the pit of thin stones, wincing with every slow step across the terrain. Rolling her eyes, Jack kicked off her own shoes and hoisted Rarity up bridal style. The tailor gasped, but still seemed o pull herself close to Jack.

“Swings,” Rarity said. Jack did as instructed, placing her on one. An old nostalgic instinct brought her to behind Rarity and the farmer took to gently pushing her at the back, swinging Rarity.

“You were strong even back then,” the tailor commented, smiling wistfully. “You'd always be willing to push me, even as children.”

“Ya jus' looked so pitiful sometimes.” Jack watched Rarity swing forward, then gave her another push on the way back. “Felt obligated ta help ya.”

“Obligations make the world go round,” Rarity mused as Jack swung her. “We all have our role to play, do we not?”

“I reckon so, yeah.”

They became quiet as the sunset came, Jack pushing Rarity, Rarity staring at the horizon, her violet hair blowing slowly in the air.

“Sometimes it's hard, being like we are.” Rarity continued to stare as she spoke. “Our interactions have a second layer to them that the rest of our friends lack, wouldn't you agree?”

“Maybe,” Jack answered, pushing Rarity forward, feeling every press of her hands into the tailor's soft flesh. “Ain't like they really get us sometimes I don't think. Sure, we go fer the throat sometimes, but...”

The swing groaned as Rarity was lazially pushed. She sighed.

“But it hasn't been quite this bad between us in a long time,” she admitted. “Earlier was like old times, dear, but sometimes, when we're among the others? I'm... not like a friend should be.”

Jack said nothing, continuing to push Rarity gently. The tailor sighed.

“I've been terrible, Jack. And I'm sorry for that.”

“Ya ain't—“

“I have,” she cut off. “I've been avoiding you and being horrid lately.”

“That ain't it at all, sug,” Jack replied.

Rarity spared a small glance behind her. “And there you go making excuses for me once more.” She smiled. “When I have a bad attitude, you might scold me for it, but I've never heard you legitimately complain to someone about the things I say or do. And considering how I've treated you in return...” Her smile turned bitter. “It wasn't supposed to be you, you know.”

Jack gave a small tilt of her head, briefly stopping her push. “What ya mean?”

“I've waited... like the women in the stories I've read. I've waited for a proud and loyal prince to sweep me off my feet and whisk me away to a castle.” She turned her head, once more refusing to make eye contact with the farmer. “I've found myself growing attached to you as of late, Jack Apple. And that's why I might have seemed reluctant to be alone with you earlier. Because... because... you're...”

“Because I'm me,” Jack replied, irritated but in a way understanding.

“Because you're you.” Rarity sighed, looking down at her hands. “I don't know how much longer I can stay here, Jack.” She finally rose and turned to look at the woman. “As much as I care about you, I can't give up my dream, and this town isn't big enough for it, do you understand?”

Rarity brushed past the swing to reach and stroke Jack's cheek. “And I know asking you to leave... leave the farm behind is as wrong as a sin. I would never ask that of you. It runs too deep.”

“But why do ya have ta worry 'bout that, sug?” Jack finally asked, exasperated. “Why not jus' stay here?”

“Did you not—“

“It ain't big enough now, sure.” She put a hand on Rarity's shoulder. “But, ya know what? Give it time.”

“Darling, I've given it well over half my life working he—“

“An' I've already seen changes. An' ta think people believe I'm the dumb one of the group sometimes. Yer blind if ya can't see 'em.” Jack took to rubbing the woman's arm, holding a kind smile. “Yer making this town grow, sug. Every client that sticks his nose inta this backwoods place, every time they go back to their fancy shindigs an' say that a gal like you, a rose in a sea of sunflowers, makes the best damn dresses in the country, guess who's friends are showin' up an' puttin' more money inta the community?”

Jack nodded. “If it wasn't fer ya pumpin' money 'round here with yer clients, I don't think we'd be half as big. So... why do ya need ta leave?” Her face fell as she thought. She continued, lower in volume. “I ain't what ya'd call interestin', or rich, or handsome, or anythin' yer wantin' in yer Prince Charmin', I'm happy with a roof over my head that don't leak, ya know? But I know that out of anyone ya might rub elbows with, I'm the one with the best damn chance ta make you happy.” She took the plunge, stepping closer to wrap Rarity in a tight hug.

“Yer not what I should be fallin' fer either, sug. But that's where the cards we drew lay. An' know what?” She looked down at Rarity's face, an obvious blush adorning the shorter woman. “I wanna play 'em if you do too. Two blockheads are better than one here.”

“Jack...”

The farmer offered a crooked smile. “Say it with me: It'll turn out ok.”

“I don't think that—“

Jack's raised brow and small tilt of her head made Rarity stop mid-sentence, sighing. “Fine. 'It'll turn out ok.'”

“I'm here fer ya.”

“I'm here fer ya.” Rarity replied, enforcing her voice to match Jack's drawl.

She gave a flat look Rarity's way. “Ya can stop with the repeatin' now.”

Rarity smirked, moving a bit closer to Jack. “Ya can stop with the repeatin' now.”

“I love ya.”

“At least you have the courage to admit it, phad-nah.” She cupped Jack's cheeks in her palm and brought the farmer down for a deep kiss. Carrying a devious smile, she pressed her body into Jack's and rested her hands on top of the farmer's full backside. “Perhaps we can skip the play and retire to my abode for dinner and perhaps dessert.”

Jack swallowed, moving her own hand down to Rarity's ass, pretending she had half an idea on what to do.

“D-dessert, huh?” she stammered out, giving a wink she hoped was at least halfway coy and shifting her hand, positioning a finger at the ready. “I'd like that. I'd like that so much I'd want seconds.”

Rarity winced and paused as Jack pushed the finger inward, squinting her eyes at Jack in confusion and irritation.

“What in the heavens was that about?” she asked, stepping away and unbunching her skirt's back.

Jack seemed to blanch. “W-well, ya were talkin' 'bout dessert, so I jus' wanted ta... ya know... show I wouldn't mind eatin' what ya like. Even if it's a lil'...”

“I like the chocolate pecan pie you got me. That's what I meant. Not for you to get fresh with me.” Rarity threw her arms up. “We're going to have words when we return to my home about respecting a lady, Jack Apple.” Tilting her nose up, Rarity walked past Jack, muttering under her breath: “And to think you were almost romantic.”

Jack rubbed her temple, watching Rarity storm off. “Thanks again, Dash.”