Up in the Clouds, Down to Earth

There are few lives as glamorous as that of the fashionista.

Oh, sure, there are celebrities with their legions of fans, and royalty with servants and finery, and all sorts of ponies living all sorts of luxury. But who makes that luxury? Who really understands beauty, how to form it and shape it, how to make it look its best on every kind of body there is?

Rarity snorts quietly as she thinks all this, alone in her shop. She knows she must look a mess, her mane mussed up and her glasses sitting just shy of crooked, but there is a special kind of glamor in that, too. After all, who else but the fashionista would so selflessly sacrifice their own time and beauty, that others may look their most elegant?

Why, it's almost heroic. Forget almost, it is quite heroic, if Rarity were pushed to comment. Always on a deadline, always pushing until late hours, giving so generously of her own life and talents, sewing until her hooves are sore, just to complete her latest in a long line of masterpieces.

One could be forgiven for assuming she was some kind of heroine, slaving away, chasing her dreams, always staying just one step ahead until she is finally noticed and lifted out of her life of mediocrity, until –

Until her Prince finally walks in that door.

She snorts again, much more louder this time, and with an entirely different tone. Okay, maybe she was being a bit...

Melodramatic?

Of course not. But Princes aren't exactly in this season, not anymore. Not with her, anyway. She's a jaded, weary mare now, one who's seen the world and come away a bit wiser. A bit more... discerning. No, no more tawdry filly's fantasies torn from the pages of the many romance novels she has tucked away upstairs, not for our Rarity.

No, our Rarity was a mare of the world now. She had pressed her boundaries a bit, tested her desires, and found the world to be a slightly more complex place than she had thought before. A certain purple unicorn had helped with that, certainly, but now...

She pauses, for reasons she can't begin to give voice to, letting the sewing machine in front of her roll to a stop. The Boutique is empty – it's almost closing time anyway, and for once it seems that her sister and all of her friends are occupied elsewhere. She's so happy to have the time to herself, to really get some work done in her huge, empty, quiet Boutique.

She sighs loudly, startling herself.

It's so quiet.

She kicks the sewing machine back into gear, welcoming the whirring of its gears, concentrating on nothing else but the fabric in front of her.

Who needs Princes, anyway?

Indeed. Most of the time it's not even a prince, in the books anyway. Most of the time it's...

A local farm stud, rough and tumble and thick with noble muscles, always the strong silent type, always a charming gentlecolt in the ways that really matter.

Always a soft spoken earth pony, with boyish freckles and striking green eyes?

She smirks and rolls her blue eyes.

Yes, alright, he's handsome. Comically so.

She shakes her head, still smirking.

Imagine – the prim fashionista and the down-to-earth farm pony. Could it be more cliche?

No, Rarity has a more discerning eye. Immune is she to the basic charms of a messy, rusty mane and a body of tight, thick muscles – she demands class, sophistication, a higher grade of male for her fantasies.

No, he's going to make a perfect special somepony for someone who really deserves it. Someone like...

There's a knock at the door.

"Come in!" she calls out automatically, not looking up. "We're still open, but just barely!"

The door opens, ringing the bell above it. Rarity looks up just in time, perfectly composed for her perfectly scripted welcome.

"Welcome to Carousel Boutique, where every garment is –"

She stops dead, her jaw dropping shamelessly.

Big Mac is standing in the open doorway, framed perfectly by the fading light of dusk outside. He's standing tall and proud, just barely smiling, his hair mussed up just enough – he could be one of the cheesy paintings on the cover of every book she's ever read, every mare's dream come true.

"Evenin'," he says, looking her right in the eye.

"Oh... oh my..." she says, barely above her breath. "Macintosh! Good evening!" she says, scrambling to remember her manners.

"I ain't interrupting, am I?"

No, but I DO look a mess. Oh, why did he have to drop in like this?

"Oh goodness no, come in!" She drops whatever insignificant thing she was doing and ushers him inside, giving her mane a hasty check with a hoof. "Don't tell me you're here for a fitting?"

"Don't?" He cocks a playful eyebrow.

"Oh! I just..." She laughs nervously, far more than she meant to. "I just didn't think you were the type. No offense, of course."

"Heh, 'fraid yer right. Not really my style."

"A shame. I'd love to measure you up for a tie at least. Maybe a vest – something to bring out those arms of yours," she says instantly, not really thinking, not thinking about her words or the way she's eyeing him over. Measuring him up, of course.

As a potential customer, of course.

"My arms?" Mac says, giving himself a suspicious once-over.

"Oh, of course! Arms and chest, naturally – you have such a good build, Macintosh. Very classically handsome." She balks the moment she's said it, clicking her teeth together in a wincing grin.

He smiles at her, a boyish, open smile. "Well shucks, Miss Rarity. Someone fine as you says so, I just might believe it."

"Aha!" she giggles loudly, catching herself before she gushes too openly at him. "Listen to me, treating you like a customer. So sorry, it's a habit sometimes."

"No need for apologies," he says, still smiling so damn handsomely.

"Whatever brings you by, then?"

"Well, uh... just wanted to see you. Had a bit of somethin' I wanted to ask you, if you've got a minute."

Her heart picks up, lifting her off her hooves. "...Ask me?"

"Sure," he says, still looking at her, just enough. Keeping his green eyes just for her. "Had a fine time last night. Feels like I hadn't seen you in a while."

"Oh, I know! It does feel like we never talk. That was lovely," she says effortlessly. But something in that sentence...

Last night?

Last night!

"Fluttershy had fun as well!" she blurts out.

He had been about to say something else. He squints at her, all kinds of tripped up.

"My friend, Fluttershy!" Rarity says, holding a desperate grin. "She wanted me to tell you, uh... how much fun she had! Yes, fun. Talking. With you."

Mac stares at her, silently mouthing the nonsense words. "If you say so."

"She just, uh..."

Think think think!

"I know she's your friend and all," Mac says, only barely registering in Rarity's ears. "But I came here 'cause I had you on my mind."

That pulls her out of her thoughts.

"Excuse me?" she says.

"Can't get you outta my head since last night," he says, chuckling just nervously enough. "I was wonderin' if..."

Her heart stops, just full-out stops, savoring every tiny syllable of every word, not daring to believe that he's about to say what he's obviously about to say.

His mouth moves, but she hears nothing.

"I'm – I'm sorry, what was that?" she says

"You and me," he says simply. "Thought I might take you out for dinner or somesuch, if you'd like."

To her credit, her jaw drops only a little.

"You and... me?" she gasps breathlessly.

"Uh... yeah."

"Moi?"

"...Yeah?"

"I..." She squeaks a little, very quietly, feeling her eyes grow huge and starry. "I don't know what to say," she lies.

YES, yes please by Celestia's mane YES, take me away from all this you dish of hunky stallion!

"You'd make me mighty happy if you said yes," he says quietly, stepping in closer to her and bowing his head a little.

"Oh, Macintosh! I..."

I can't.

What? Why not?!

I CAN'T.

She gets furious with herself in an instant, almost stomping her hooves. Why ever not? She turns her head to hide her glare, wondering what could possibly be a valid reason to not let herself be whisked away in romance and passion and love, worshipped and adored and finally, finally loved, finally –

Her eyes settle on the dress she was sewing, still lying on the table. A pale yellow thing, with pink accents – and made all the better by advice from a friend, one with freaky knowledge of sewing.

Her face falls flat.

I am the worst friend in all of Equestria.

"...I don't know, Macintosh," she says, turning back to him with carefully feigned indecision.

"Oh." He barely falters, but he does, for just an instant – she sees it flicker in his eyes, a heartbreaking and heart-broken flash of disappointment. "What, is there somepony else?"

She snorts out loud, embarrassing beyond all measure.

Oh, if you only knew.

"No, Macintosh, it's just..."

Someone else. Someone else!

Someone else what?

That's it! Someone ELSE!

"Look, uh... it's alright, I just thought –" he begins.

"No, no!" She snaps up, waving a hoof at him, still puzzling out her own thoughts. "It sounds lovely, Macintosh, it really does!" she says, surprising herself by how much she means it. "I would love to, it's just – I just..." She bites her lip, squirming on her hooves a little.

He says nothing – waiting on her words, maybe, but not hanging on them, either.

Oh, could you at least look more worried, you big lovely idiot? I swear if I actually went out with you would just listen to me talk for hours, just like –

Aha!

"How about I bring a friend?" she says triumphantly.

"What, you mean like a..."

"Yes! Yes, that's it!" Rarity says, as if Mac wasn't standing right there. "I'll bring a friend, and you bring a friend, and we can all... go out! Together!

"...Like a double date?"

"As a group!" Rarity corrects him. "Would that be alright?"

Mac seems to think it over, long and slow, but his growing smile says his answer for him. "Sure," he says, unnecessarily. "Sounds alright. How's Friday?" he asks, smooth and confident.

"Friday? Friday..." Rarity does some quick scheduling gymnastics in her head.

Will Fluttershy be free? Oh, of COURSE she'll be free, what am I saying?

"Perfect. I'll close up here at the usual time and... pick us up around eight?"

"Sounds good." He nods, then turns it into a bow, just enough to make her think he's going to take her hoof and kiss it or something delightfully old-fashioned like that. Her breath catches in her chest, and she all but fans herself with a hoof.

He turns to go, being sure to take his time with it. She has to tear her eyes away from his perfectly-sculpted rump as he goes, pointedly staring at the wall.

"'Til then!" she hears him say.

"Ta!" she calls out, far more flirtily than she intended.

And then the door closes behind him.

Rarity lets out a deep, anxious breath. This is fine. Everything is fine, this is a perfect plan. Everything is going to go fine.

She goes back to her sewing machine, anxious to have her hooves busy. So what if he asked her out, instead of Fluttershy? He just didn't know what he was missing. Why, a few minutes on a date together and he'll be aching to trade seats, no question.

Of course. Why would he waste his time with you, when Fluttershy is around being so much more pretty?

Oh, but that's nonsense. He asked her out. Rarity! He wanted her, and her alone, no matter how lovely Fluttershy might be. Why, the very thought –

She shakes her head. No, no, none of that. There is a plan, and it is a good one.

Quite right. Back to work.

She pedals the sewing machine, revving it up quickly. This is fine. So what if he has the most piercing eyes she's ever seen, cool and green and...?

She closes her eyes. She guides the cloth with her hooves, focusing on her work. She certainly wouldn't be distracted by a solid, toned earth stallion body – she's seen plenty of fine male specimens, fitted many of them for clothes. What's another thick, masculine chest, or a strong chin, or a set of well-muscled arms to be taken up in every night?

Boring. Typical. Dime a dozen.

Exactly. No, Rarity deserves more – somepony who sees her beauty, inner and outer, who appreciates her, who looks past others no matter how enticing and reaches out and takes her hoof. Somepony who wants her.

And Macintosh... Oh, Macintosh!

She slowly sinks her hoof on the pedal, her eyes following the needle plunging in and out of the fabric, diving in again and again and again.

Oh, yes... he IS a fine young gentlecolt, isn't he?

She nods to herself, her eyes slipping down to half-lids. Her hooves tense against the dress, the needle singing along at a blurry pace as her tail lashes in the air.

So very polite, and quiet, and oh... oh so strong...

She grins, biting her tongue a little. She stomps her rear hoof on the pedal, wondering why the needle isn't just slamming into the cloth already, just mounting it and taking it and –

...What?

She blinks, taking her hoof off the pedal. The needle spins down to a stop almost instantly, and the dress... well, the dress. The dress is ruined, a wavering line of wayward stitches drifting off across what was pristine, planned-out fabric.

Rarity sits there, aghast, staring at it. She feels a few drops of sweat – sweat – leak down her temple.

"Oh no," she says quietly. "Oh, no. No, no, no..."

She braces her hooves on the table. No, this is... everything's fine – there is a plan. And it is a good one.

She nods, reassuring herself.

It is a very good plan.

For Fluttershy.