I can’t breathe. As the last wisps of air fade from my body, I’m not entirely sure just what it is that’s choking me: this new dress or Pinkie Pie. Based on previous experience, it’s probably Pinkie Pie.
Pinkie clings to my head like a starfish, screaming at the top of her lungs, “Oh, Maudie, this is so super-duper exciting!”
“It is,” I say, using the last of my oxygen. I begin to pass out.
But it’s at that moment that she lets go, freeing my throat and allowing air to flow once again. As Pinkie clatters onto the hardwood floor and spins cartwheels around the pedestal on which I stand, I take a few deep but quiet breaths. It’s only when spending time with my sister that I begin to appreciate the luxury of being able to breathe. If only Boulder could feel this joy.
The slightest pang of nausea rolls through my stomach, coating it like moss. Boulder isn’t here. He’s back in Pinkie’s room, spending time with Gummy. I have never been apart from him for this long; it’s been nearly a half-hour now. I hope he isn’t lonely. Perhaps I should step out and go to check on him—
“You look beautiful,” Pinkie says, stopping in front of me. Her smile is wider than a small mountain range.
Her grin wipes away any trace of restlessness in my bones. There are few things I love in this world more than my little sister, and even fewer than her never-ending smile. “Thank you,” I say. “I like this new dress.”
Perhaps because she can tell I’m not being entirely truthful, she tilts her head and gives me a new smile—one smaller, more intimate. “You really are pretty,” she insists. “I’m not kidding!”
I nod again, but as I look down at the gown draped across my frame, I don’t feel pretty. I feel warm. And slightly itchy. This new dress of mine is soft and wraps around my flanks in a way that is just short of becoming indecent. It is a bright yellow, accented with hints of red and orange—Pinkie told me I look like I’m on fire. In my opinion, I look more like a healthy sample of pascoite.
That thought is one of the few that make this experience bearable. I rarely wear dresses. I’m quite comfortable in the smock my mother sewed for me when I left home to pursue my rocktorate. I really do wish I could just head back to Sugarcube Corner, so that Pinkie and I might spend the day together.
But I keep my legs rigid. This isn’t right. I’m being ungrateful. I should feel thankful that Pinkie and her friends care so much about me that they would go out of their way to make me such an expensive-looking gown.
And yet, when I throw my gaze across the room to look at Rarity, a stinging heat flashes through my chest. Without me even meaning to, my mouth tightens into a glower, and for a few seconds I can’t control it. Thank the Goddesses above that Pinkie is looking away.
Rarity. For a mare with gems on her flank, the two of us do not get along nearly as well as I hoped we would. That isn’t to say that I dislike her, or anything of that sort, but she… bothers me. Yes, that’s a good word. Bothers me. She’s the entire reason that I’m standing here, out on display like a chunk of meteorite in a museum, sweating under the burning lights of her showroom.
After the Gala, when we were all heading home, Rarity had walked up to me and started talking to me about the dress I was wearing. Specifically, how much she disliked it. “Old,” she called it. “Frumpy.” “Gaudy.” She insisted that she make me a new one, and if Pinkie Pie hadn’t been standing right there, I would have walked away. I would have left her standing there, insults and all.
I liked that dress—I like that dress. It’s the same one Granny Pie wore when she became the first mare to earn her rocktorate from the University of San Palomino. Yes, it may be old. Yes, it may be gaudy, and frumpy, and everything else. But it’s my dress, and I like it.
Pinkie is across the room now, and I am praying that she stays there because I am upset. My breaths are coming in near-snorts, and the heat in my chest has become a fire. I close my eyes and imagine a cold slab of marble, pressing itself against my brain, cooling it down—but then I think of Fluttershy. I think of how Fluttershy was standing there the entire time, listening to Rarity run me down, and the heat spreads to my cheeks.
Out of all of Pinkie’s friends, I like Fluttershy the best. She’s quiet. She’s gentle. She loves nature and everything in it. She even cultivates her own Zen garden, and as I’ve learned, nobody who cultivates a Zen garden can be a bad pony. That’s simply a fact of life.
Fluttershy doesn’t like change; she’s like a rock in this way. Fluttershy is perfectly content to let things stay the way they are. She doesn’t go about reordering things or altering them. Rocks are the same way. Rocks take years, decades, centuries to change, and when they do, it’s because they have a good reason to.
I can appreciate looking nice, and even dressing up occasionally. I can appreciate wearing clothes to express yourself. But Rarity lives in the world of being “trendy”—the business of changing without reason. Perfectly good clothes fall in and out of style faster than most volcanoes have time to erupt. How are you supposed to express yourself through something that changes every day?
Rarity bothers me. She bothers me, and I don’t like being in her boutique, wearing her dresses. I should leave.
But it’s as I watch Pinkie standing side-by-side with Rarity, talking with her, even laughing with her, that my scowl loosens and my heart stops hurting so badly. Pinkie has always been a better judge of character than me. If she trusts Rarity, then I will too.
“Ugh,” Rarity groans, throwing a long bolt of green fabric over her head. “I simply cannot find what I’m looking for!”
“Well, what are you looking for?” Pinkie asks, looking over her shoulder. “Maybe I can help.”
“I’m looking for a certain shade of silk,” Rarity says. “A type of baby blue. It will complement Maud’s eyes.”
“That sounds awesome!” Pinkie says. She looks over to me, giggling. “Don’t worry, Maudie. Rarity is the prettiest mare in the world, and she’s the best in the world at making other ponies the prettiest in the world! But not as pretty as her, though. ‘Cuz she’s the prettiest.”
For the slightest of moments, I entertain the idea that my little sister may be romantically attracted to Rarity. The nausea returns.
“Aha!” Rarity cries, pulling out a yard of blue silk. She and Pinkie sprint over to my pedestal, and I stay still as Rarity holds the fabric up to my eyes. From where I stand, I must admit that despite how itchy the collar is, it looks rather nice; it shines like chalcanthite, and I can see it hypnotizing Pinkie already. Before Pinkie can start drooling, however, Rarity wraps the silk around my neck and ties the front into a delicate knot, like some sort of scarf.
“There we are!” Rarity says, nodding. She sighs contentedly. “Nothing like a nice ascot to tie up a wonderful ensemble, don’t you think?”
“It looks so good!” Pinkie says, jumping into the air. “What do you think, Maud?”
I blink. “It’s nice.”
“Oh em gee she totally loves it!” Pinkie screams, earning a smile from me. Pinkie always knows how to read me. Pinkie wraps both forelegs around Rarity’s barrel, pulling her into a hug. “Thank you, Rarity! You’re the best!”
Rarity doesn’t respond. The calm on her face is gone, replaced by a scrunched-up frown. She scans me up and down, all the while tapping her chin. “It is very nice, yes. But the more I look, the more I realize that something is still missing…”
Pinkie joins her at her side, taking on the same exact stance, right down to the rhythm of her chin taps. They stay like that for a minute, staring at me, me staring back at them, before Pinkie gasps and a lightbulb jumps out of her mane.
“I’ve got it!” she exclaims, throwing her hooves into the air. “Flowers!”
Rarity recoils. “Excuse me?”
“Bless you,” I say.
“Think about it!” Pinkie says, jumping up onto the stage and pointing at my dress. “We get a bunch of roses and lilies and daisies—I think Rose and Lily and Daisy are having a sale right now—and put them all over Maud’s dress! They’ll make it even more colorful, and Maud will look great!”
Even more color? Just the thought makes my eyes hurt. A part of me wants to refuse.
“No flowers,” Rarity snaps, making Pinkie flinch.
A familiar heat boils in my chest again.
“Flowers work best for dresses with natural undertones,” Rarity explains. “We aren’t going for natural here. Flowers would just look tacky.”
“Flowers aren’t tacky!” Pinkie shoots back. She seems taken aback by her own outburst, and her next few words come out as stammers. It’s only when she looks to me, as if she’s reading the thoughts in my mind telling her to keep going, that she turns back and says, “They’re pretty, and they smell really good, and they would make Maud look awesome!”
“No flowers,” Rarity says again, an air of piercing finality in her voice.
I almost want to ask for them now, just to spite Rarity. Just to bother her like she so bothers me. But I swallow my words and force them back down into the fire. Rarity is still Pinkie’s friend—I’m not going to antagonize her, no matter how much I may want to.
“Brooches!” Rarity yelps. She sprints away, out of the room. “I’ll be right back!” Her hoofsteps fade quickly, and Pinkie and I are left with nothing but silence.
Something is wrong.
I look to Pinkie and find her sitting at the edge of the stage, staring off into the distance. Her face is turned away from me, but I can hear her let out a heavy sigh. Pinkie doesn’t like being rejected; she likes disagreeing with her friends even less. The frustration flies from her coat like a sandstorm, nipping at me with thick, stinging whips.
This won’t do.
“I enjoyed your last rock candy necklace,” I say, daring to take a step off the pedestal.
Pinkie’s ears prick up, and she turns to me with furrowed brows. “You actually ate it?”
“No. But sometimes I like to take them out and just look at them. They remind me of home.” I walk toward her, close enough that I can smell the small bits of frosting that always seem to be stuck in her mane, no matter how much she brushes. “Your necklaces helped me get through the long nights in the San Palomino Caves. Whenever I think of you, I’m not lonely anymore.”
I watch as the brightness floods back into Pinkie's eyes. She grabs me and pulls me tight, burying her muzzle into my mane. “I love you, Maudie.”
“I love you, too.”
This will never change.
“How did I not think of this sooner?” Rarity asks, running back into the room. In her magical grasp lie two tiny brooches, one amber, and one silver. I let go of Pinkie just in time for Rarity to hold the amber up to my neck, only to switch it out for the silver a moment later. She does this a few times before growling into the air and throwing both brooches to the floor. “Aaugh! Nothing is working!”
“What do you mean?” Pinkie asks. “How can nothing work? Maud is a total cutie pie!”
“Maud is very pretty,” Rarity says, making me nauseous again. “But the shade of gray in her coat just throws everything off!” She puts on a smile and leans into me. “I don’t suppose you’d ever consider dying your coat a few shades lighter, would you?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” Rarity scowls and returns to her thinking pose. Pinkie joins her a second later. I can see the gears turning in Pinkie’s head, the random thoughts arranging themselves into actual ideas.
Yet even I am caught off-guard when Pinkie gasps, “Stickers!”
“Stickers?” Rarity and I repeat together.
“Yeah, stickers!” Pinkie says. “Loads and loads of pretty stickers! Maud would look so awesome! I have regular stickers, and shiny stickers, and scratch-and-sniff stickers…”
This isn’t a good idea—even I’ll admit that. I can only imagine myself walking down the street, smothered in all different sorts of stickers. What would Mother and Father think? What would Fluttershy say, if I were to see her? I would look so strange, especially if Pinkie used the glittery stickers she attaches to all of her postcards.
“No stickers either,” Rarity says, making Pinkie’s ears lie flat. “Maud is a mare, not a foal’s toy. Childish things like stickers have no place in high fashion!”
“Why not?” Pinkie asks. “That doesn’t—”
“Pinkie, please,” Rarity says. She touches a hoof to Pinkie’s shoulder and pushes her away from the stage. “Your sister’s dress is an important project. I need a moment to think seriously about this. No more silly suggestions.”
Pinkie opens her mouth to argue again, but no words come. Just a frown. She sighs and walks away, head down.
Rarity adjusts her glasses and starts fiddling with my dress, and I don’t say anything. The only things running up my throat are curses. Bad ones. Ones that would make even the toughest boulder crack. I want to grab her and throw her across the room, right into her pile of fabric. I want to leave, to go home and play Battlecloud with Pinkie Pie until she falls asleep in her bowl of popcorn, like she always does.
But Pinkie is across the room, sitting in the corner, afraid to say anything else. And I’m here, standing in front of Rarity, who is fussing over nothing—nothing.
These fanciful dresses are nothing. Rarity has made my sister feel upset about nothing.
I don’t like Rarity.
“Excuse me,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
Rarity flicks a glance up at me. “Yes, darling?”
“I have a request.”
“Doesn’t she look absolutely super-duper-luper amazing?” Pinkie asks, lemon cake crumbs flying from her mouth.
“Yes,” Rarity growls, head buried in her hooves. “Doesn’t she?”
Fluttershy takes a long, silent sip of her tea. “Um.”
If there is one thing Pinkie Pie has taught me over the years, it’s to never be ashamed of yourself. To not care about what others think of you. And yet, as I stand in the middle of an otherwise-empty Sugarcube Corner, my cheeks feel like they’ve been flooded with magma. Everypony is staring, watching my every move. Their eyes are stuck to me like… well, like stickers.
I suppose it makes sense, considering that I’m covered in them. There isn’t a single inch of my body that doesn’t have a massive sticker of a colorful flower plastered over it, as if I’m a walking bouquet. Petunias, marigolds, hydrangeas… I haven’t seen this many flowers since Pinkie managed to buy out a flower shop and fit all of her purchases in a single envelope.
To be quite honest, I’m not sure that I like this. The stickers are itchy against my coat, and they make my smock much more vivid than Boulder is used to. Pinkie insisted we use the glittery stickers, so small bits of plastic keep falling from my mane and into my eyes.
But the sight makes Pinkie laugh, so I can deal with it. Seeing her happy brings on a pleasure greater than any pain.
The grimace stretched across Rarity’s face isn’t bad, either.
Yet, no matter how either of them reacts, it’s Fluttershy’s icy blue gaze that crushes the wind from my lungs, as if I’ve been caught in an avalanche. She scans me up and down, taking dainty sips of her tea as she goes, with that placid smile draped across her face. She brings a tingling tickle to my chest, and yet for some reason she also makes me want to run away and hide in a cave for the rest of my life. I’m not sure how to process this feeling.
Fluttershy nods, and her smile grows into a beam. “The flowers are very pretty!”
Oh, my. Her words hit me hard. The magma in my face has cooled off into… something. A sort of peridotite, or maybe even obsidian. Something nice. It feels good. I hope the thumping in my chest doesn’t disturb Boulder.
“What do you think?” Pinkie asks me.
A clump of stinging glitter falls onto my face. It’s forgotten as Pinkie and Fluttershy grin at me.
“I like it,” I say, wiping the shining splotch from my cheek. “It’s nice.”
“I don’t understand any of this,” Rarity says. She had worked for hours, attaching each sticker individually. Each one had come with a groan. “How could you possibly like this dress? It’s so, so… unsightly!”
I turn to face Rarity. “I enjoy expressing myself through my wardrobe.”
"Of course you do." Rarity lids her eyes. “And just what are you expressing here?”
I don’t answer at first. I think about Pinkie’s laugh. I think about how I would do anything for her. And as I stand there, watching her devour a slice of lemon cake, not a care in the world, I think about how I would do anything to stay in this moment forever. I never want that smile to change.
Of course, this new outfit of mine is a change. But it’s one that’s been made for a reason: to make Pinkie happy. It’s an expression of myself—it’s an expression of my love for her. And what greater reasons are there than that?
It’s for all these reasons that I can only smile as I think of an answer to Rarity’s question. I adjust the massive golden chrysanthemum on my chest before taking a few steps toward her. I lean into her, forcing her to move back into her seat. Her eyes go wide as I murmur a few calm words.
“I dislike being ‘trendy.’”
And this, too, will never change.
Author's Note
Thanks to Pascoite for helping with all the geology similes and metaphors. Who better to ask about rocks than a rock, eh?
