The Deep Cold

"It's beautiful..."

My breath steamed outwards as I shuddered, carrying the words with them. I looked down to the right, where Lorencio was vibrating slightly, crackling with the lightning that infused his wool. The black sheep turned his head to me and smiled.

"Yeah," he said. "I never really got over it. Soak it in for a while, before I have to spoil your fun."

"D-darling." I chuckled, my teeth chattering some. "It's beautiful, not 'fun.' I haven't had an ounce of fun since we got in here."

I looked back out, over the ledge. The tunnel opened up to a vast and cavernous expanse, stretching out further than my light could reach. Pillars of surreal ice-crystal loomed in the darkness, glittering in amethyst purples and milky reds. The column nearest to us was massive—I could see its pale surface illuminated, white-blue given a purple hue by my light, expanding far, far across—at least as thick as a pair of houses standing side by side. I couldn't see the bottom of the pillar, or even the cavern, so far it dropped off into darkness, and the ceiling similarly eluded me. All I saw of either were little glimmers, sparkles of objects more lustrous than others, giving the column the impression of extending infinitely into two voids full of stars.

Far in the distance, I saw a clearing, where the sun had cracked through the top of the cavern and lit up a ledge brilliantly, a platform in the far-off darkness. It wobbled and rippled as I shifted from one side to another, and I realized that I was seeing it through a thin sheet of ice. Despite my knowing that it was likely as cold and bleak there as anywhere else in the Deep Cold, it somehow look like a snapshot of what a heaven might look like. Surreal, sparkling, wavering, floating brilliantly and burning in a cold void.

"My first trip with anyone is always to here," Lorencio grumbled around one of the straps on his legs in his gruff Ewetalian accent, pulling a flare out with his teeth. He tore it open and it blasted out brilliantly, briefly blinding me before he dropped it over the ledge. He continued, mouth more clear. "It shows you what the Deep Cold is about. It's brilliant. Even beautiful. Stunning."

I watched the flare tumble down, a brief thud announcing its arrival on the ground. I judged the distance silently. It was perhaps forty meters away, or fifty? Next to the flare, though, there was something off-white near the crystalline blue. I squinted.

"Are... are those bones?"

Lorencio grunted. "The Deep Cold is a beautiful, but so is fire. Fire isn't like the Cold, though. Think about it for a little."

I mulled over it for several seconds, but Lorencio didn't give me long to think.

"You ever heard of the old corpses that archaeologists pull out of the ice? The mammoths? Perfectly preserved, 'cause of the cold. Bones shouldn't exist in the Deep Cold, Rarity. Yet, here they are." Lorencio's eyes bored into my peripheral vision. "Fire is indiscriminate. If you run foul of it, it burns everything you touch. Run foul of the Cold, and it takes you to pieces, and discards the bits it doesn't want. The fancy scientists, the ivory towers, they don't believe it. They haven't seen it, though."

"The Deep Cold is beautiful in the same way a dragon is. It inspires awe. Its strength is vast. But it's hungry. And it thinks."

I meet Lorencio's gaze. His eyes are wide. Serious, and composed, but somewhere deep inside there was a hint of panic. A barely-controlled screaming fear that was begging to run wild.

"Everyone. Everyone who goes into the Deep Cold needs to see this. Needs to understand this. Do you get it?"

I nod.

He hesitates, then nods back at me. "Good. Come on, let's go."

I began to follow the black-woolen ram up a series of steps, back up the tunnel we came from.

"Wait." Lorencio stopped abruptly. "There's something else you need to see."

I joined him as he returned to the ledge, and brought my vision back towards the cavern floor with him.

The flare was gone, and a prickling sensation crawled through my bones as I realized that we were being watched.

My breath rippled out across the surface of my drink. The Melting Pot was a fondue restaurant, of a sort. It had a little bit of everything, though, and the real reason to go was its hot chocolate. I ordered mine dark and thick, tinged with cinnamon and other obscure spices. For my meal, I had ordered a simple platter of cheeses and bread. It was all comforting, and warm. I particularly enjoyed the brie—it was a travesty, in my eyes, that some ponies insisted on serving it chilled. Yet to do so completely negated its wonderful softness. It was a cupboard-cheese, not an icebox cheese.

"I'm sorry, but I saw you outside, and, uh, I really have to ask." A young pegasus mare's voice guided me out of my reverie. Her coat was off-pink, and her mane a red-pink like the inside of a pomegranate. "Are you Rarity?"

"The last time I checked, darling." I gesture at the seat on the other side of the booth.

"Oh, wow." She chuckles and begins to sit. "My editor would flay me if he knew I was talking to you without a notepad. My name's News Flash, and I'm a reporter for the Canterlot Enquirer."

"I've already declined an interview from the Enquirer, darling." I raised an eyebrow, frowning slightly.

News Flash put her head in her hooves, and groaned.

"Yeah, I know. I told my editor that we shouldn't be so aggressive, and also that he should go boil his hooves in vinegar. Still, he's making me ask." She sighed, raised her head, and continued in a sing-song, self-mocking tone. "'Hello, Miss Rarity. Could you provide the Enquirer with an exclusive interview?' Ugh. Sorry."

"I'm afraid that I must refuse your invitation, Miss News Flash." I swapped my frown for a smile. Honest and pleasant reporters were hard enough to come by on the best of days. It didn't make any sense to discourage them further by being upset at what they were ordered to investigate. I briefly entertained the idea of buying out the Enquirer. I could do it, easily. I would only have to sell one Frost Diamond, and I would have plenty left over. Plenty of stones, plenty of money. I let the fancy leave my head—megalomania is not becoming of a lady. I decided I would buy something else for her.

"I could, however, buy you a lunch." I saw a glimmer of light in News Flash's eyes, the sort that only the promise of free food could bring. "I truly must recommend the ravioli parmesan. It is a little light, but a personal favorite of mine."

"I... please. I skipped breakfast to make the train to Ponyville. I mean... I could pay. But I'd love to eat with you."

"Don't bother, darling. I've got plenty of bits to throw around." I signaled to the griffon waitress as she passed by.

After a good deal of small talk, several stories about the hectic adventures of an ace reporter, a nickname, and many, many refills of my hot chocolate, I took note of the time—half past one.

"I'm sorry, but I really should be going. I have an engagement to make, and I mustn't be late. Later, perhaps, Miss News Flash?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to keep you." News Flash twisted nimbly out of the booth, stretching slightly as she landed. "I'll, uh, head off."

"Goodbye, Miss Flash." I stood slowly, and laid the cost of the meal and a generous tip on the table. Tipping waiters and waitresses, I reflected, was somewhat of a tricky practice. One one hoof, it was clear that sometimes a waiter or waitress could add or detract from a restaurant-goer's experience, and so it made sense to tip them for their "performance," much like a performer. On the other, that workers relied on fickle (and often cruel) customers for a great part of their pay was an ethical violation, especially considering that most waiters worked long hours with potentially very little rest.

I nearly ran head into News Flash as I left The Melting Pot. Had she been waiting for me?

"Hey, Rarity." She had a serious expression on her face. "I know I'm going to sound scuzzy for saying this, but... maybe you really should consider that interview. The gossip rags are probably going to make something nasty out of your media silence. Better to feed them something, if only a little something, so that they don't run with it. Right?"

"I'll consider it." I crinkled my smile as wide as I could, then started my way towards the Boutique. I had to fetch my surprise for Twilight.

On the way, I decided that tipping should only be expected of waiters at very expensive restaurants, where the presentation and performance was required, and that lower-brow establishments should pay their workers more, and still allow tips. It made the most sense.