An Unconventional Arrangement

Patchwork nervously pulled at his tie, contemplating about knocking on the door again. To pass the time, he looked down at the newspaper clenched in his hand. The front page spoke of the even now raising unemployment rates, the decline of the Equestrian economy, and several riots that have occurred all over the country in the past few weeks.

Tirek’s attack didn’t come without long term consequences for the people of Equestria.

Businesses were destroyed, both long standing and budding. As soon as the centaur was back in Tartarus, the Princesses diverted a large amount of governmental income to the repairs of homes and businesses, which, while kind, may have not been the wisest decision.

An unwise decision that caused a pretty devastating recession.

Patchwork didn’t understand any of it, no matter how the press tried to explain it to him through their newspapers. All he knew was that the attack essentially ruined him. His home had been blown to smithereens, his business had been turned into a crater, his chosen bank had been melted into liquid concrete, and, to top it all off, he now had virtually no prospects of getting a job. Meaning no income, no food, no housing, and absolutely nothing to his name.

His business had been a repair shop by the name of Patchworks, a little one man affair ran in Seaddle that he had poured several years of dedicated work into. All of which was now for naught.

He resorted to using his remaining funds, which were rather meager, to travel the country in pursuit of finding work. And wouldn’t you know it, every job offer that he found was either outside of his expertise, or the ones that were within it were undergoing repairs. At the best, he’d hold a job for half a day, get fired for either being inadequate or for somebody else who’d work for less, then go traveling again, his funds steadily running dry.

This time he had been on the outskirts of a small town by the name of Ponyville when he found an issue of The Equestrian Daily floating around on the wind. Always an avid reader of the post, Patchwork picked it up, and was pleasantly surprised that this copy had been printed only a week before. Resisting the urge to read the Business section, he flipped through it until he found the Classified section.

It was all the same hat, pretty much nothing that appealed to a man whose special talent was repairing, but one job offer caught his eye.

HELP WANTED

WANTED HANDYMAN, experience with sewing preferred. 4-5 hours work. Deadline 9/21/1004. Speak to Rarity at Carousel Boutique...

The rest proceeded to tell the location of the Boutique, but never the pay. Coincidentally, the day he read it was on the twentieth, giving him one day to prepare for an interview. He took a carriage to Ponyville, paid for a single night at the cheapest motel in the area, took a shower, and donned his shoddy business attire.

Duly noting the smoking hole of a tree house along the way, Patchwork had walked up to the boutique and knocked seven times.

Knock-knock, knocknocknock, knock-knock.

He raised his fist to knock again when the door was opened by a woman that, to put it lightly, caught him off guard.

He had met many beautiful women in his twenty-odd years of life, but this woman was something else.

She stood a good head under him, forcing him to look down at her. Her hair was immaculately curled, a royal purple in color, and fell to her hips. Her figure was that of a thin hourglass. She was wearing simple semi-formal attire: a white button down tucked into a form hugging black skirt that stopped just above the knee, a tragedy, seeing as it covered her slender thighs and lovely hips. Patchwork couldn’t help but notice her ample breasts, as the top two buttons of her shirt were undone. He forced himself to look her in the face, and wasn’t disappointed by any stretch of the imagination.

Her full red lips, her small adorable nose, her pale skin, and most beautiful of all, her large blue eyes, all came together to form the face of an angel.

She was the closest thing to perfection he’d ever seen.

“Welcome to Carousel Boutique!” she said, oblivious that his attention was entirely focused on something else. “Where every garment is chic, unique, and magnifique.”

Patchwork stared at her blankly, transfixed by her beauty. At the same time, she was taking in his fit body, albeit being a bit more subtle about it.

“...Sir?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowing and her head tilting. “Are you alright?”

Patchwork finally noticed that he was being addressed, and shook his head briefly to clear his thoughts.

“Oh, um, yes, I’m quite alright,” he stated hastily, nervous to be in the woman’s presence. “How are you?” he added as an afterthought.

The woman smiled briefly at his awkward politeness.

“I’m grand, thank you very much for asking,” she said gratefully. “Oh, look at me, forgetting my manners. I’m Rarity, owner of this little shop.” She stuck out a dainty hand.

Patchwork took her hand in his own and shook slightly, reveling in it’s silky soft texture.

“I’m Workpatch,” he said nervously, then shook his head. “Um, I mean, Patchwork. M-My name is Patchwork. Pleased to meet you.” He mentally cursed himself at his ineptitude, and felt heat rise to his cheeks out of embarrassment.

To his relief, Rarity giggled demurely, gently taking her hand back from his.

“The feeling is mutual, Mr. Patchwork,” she said graciously. She shivered slightly as a wind blew into the boutique. “Oh, do come inside, Mr. Patchwork. It’s freezing out there.”

Patchwork smiled and nodded, following her into the boutique.

The room was a large one, containing many racks of clothing, body length mirrors, and mannequins. Dark red curtains separated the main room for what he presumed to be dressing rooms, and several small lilac rugs dotted floor, a smooth floor that had an alternating pattern of lavender and white. Close to the door was a large circular pedestal with three large mirrors suspended around one third of it. Across the room was an elaborate staircase; one that lead upwards to her residence, no doubt.

“Now,” she began, turning around to face him as they reached the center of the room. “How can I help you?”

Patchwork held up the newspaper to her and pointed out the ad.

“I’m here for the job offer,” he explained. Rarity took the paper from his hands and sifted over it. Her eyes eventually lit up in recognition, and she looked up at Patchwork with bright eyes.

“Oh, how lovely!” she exclaimed, taking his hand in hers. “I was beginning to fear that no one would show up. You’re fine with starting right away, correct?”

Patchwork looked at her quizzically, a bit out of sorts from both her holding his hand, and her words.

“B-But what about an interview?” he asked. Rarity rolled her eyes.

“Dear, today’s the deadline on the job offer. You showed up. You have the job. But, if you’re that insistent on and interview…” Rarity poked her tongue out of her mouth thoughtfully and looked around. Her eyes fell on a few stools in the corner of the room, and she let go of Patchwork’s hand to go grab them. Pulling them up to him, she sat down and gestured for him to do the same. He did so hesitantly, not seeing where this was going.

“Now, Mr. Patchwork…” Rarity said with mock seriousness.

“Yes, Ms. Rarity?” Patchwork responded. Rarity clicked her tongue and shook her head.

“Please, call me Rarity,” she requested. “Calling me ‘miss’ makes me feel...old.” She shuddered, as if it was a crime against nature to feel old.

“Only if you just call me Patchwork,” Patchwork said, smiling at her behavior. Rarity smiled in turn.

“Of course. Now, Patchwork, what is your special talent, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all,” Patchwork began, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m a repairman. Anything that needs fixing, I’m your guy.”

“What about sewing?” Rarity inquired, folding her hands on her lap.

“I’m...not the greatest at making anything with a sewing machine,” Patchwork admitted. “But I’ve used them before for fixing tears in fabric, canvas, drapes, that sort of thing.”

“Mmhm...and what sort of pay would you require for services like this?” Rarity asked.

Patchwork thought to himself for a moment.

“Anything you can spare, really,” he finally said. He wasn’t going to ask for even minimum wage; he didn’t want someone else coming along who would work for less.

“Oh, nonsense,” Rarity dismissed, shaking her head. “How does...twenty bits an hour sound?”

Patchwork’s jaw dropped.

“Tw...Twenty bits an hour?” he asked, his eyes wide. “Nonononono, that’s far too much. I can’t accept that kind of money.”

“You can and you will,” Rarity said with a soft smile. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, darling. Generosity is my middle name.”

“B-But I-” Patchwork began to protest, but Rarity cut him off.

“Moving on, where is your residence?” Rarity asked, completely ignoring his attempt at lowering his pay.

“...I rented a motel for today,” Patchwork said, not meeting her eyes. “I can’t afford permanent housing in this town.”

“You won’t have to,” Rarity said. “You can stay here.”

“What?” Patchwork asked, not believing his ears. Rarity laughed at his disbelief and got up from her stool, crossing the distance between her and Patchwork.

“So, to summarize: your job is to handle all repairs for damaged garments that get sent in. I will then pay you twenty bits per hour of your service, and you may stay here, if you wish.”

“How-”

“There’s a guest bedroom upstairs. You’re free to stay as long as you’re my employee.”

Patchwork stared at her, not believing his luck, nor her capacity for generosity.

“So...I’m hired?” he finally said. Rarity laughed and held out a hand. He took it in his own and let her pull him to his feet.

“Naturally,” Rarity said. “Now, I’ve got a pile of dresses over there in the corner that need repairing, but before that, would you mind picking up that fabric for me?”

She pointed to a small roll of yellow silk lying on the floor a few feet from them. Patchwork happily complied to her request, walking to the roll and bending over to pick it up. Turning around, he noticed that Rarity’s body was tilted to the side, and that her eyes were cast down. Her pale cheeks slowly grew pink.

“Uh, Rarity?” Patchwork asked. Rarity glanced up at his face and shook her head, then straightened up.

“Mmm...Yes, thank you Patchwork.” She took the roll from his hand and walked to the staircase, swaying her hips as she did so. “Now, come along, and bring the dresses. I’ll show you where you’ll be working.”

Patchwork raised an eyebrow, confused at her odd behavior, but it was pushed down by happiness. Nothing could crush his high.

The rest of midday passed without incident. Rarity showed him the sewing machine, how it operated, and let him work. But Patchwork noticed that she was acting a bit...flirtatious. He would always catch her looking at him, she would constantly bend down to pick things up that she dropped ‘on accident’, and she would always make her movements alluring.

All in all, Patchwork didn’t know how to feel, so he decided to focus on earning those bits she promised.

After a few hours, Rarity yawned adorably and stood from her desk, on which she had been sketching a new dress.

“I think it’s time to retire, Patchwork,” she said, walking out of the room. “Oh, the guest room hasn’t been prepared yet. Do you mind using the couch, just for tonight?”

Patchwork smiled at her and nodded. He had no doubts that the couch would be preferable to the motel's raggedy bed.

“Goodnight, Rarity,” he said. Rarity smiled and exited, retiring to her room.