"It's just that it’s kind of... awkward," Twilight said, staring past Rarity, past the everyday din and bustle of the cafe in its early afternoon rush. She didn't raise her voice past a near-whisper.
And while Twilight and Rarity were sitting down for what had seemed like a perfectly ordinary lunch get-together, there was more nervousness behind Twilight's eyes than Rarity had seen for a long time.
"If that's the case, dear," Rarity said, "why don't we go somewhere more... private for this discussion?"
"I can't," Twilight hissed in a low whisper.
Rarity was a bit taken aback, her mouth opening slightly, but she quickly regained her composure. "I understand completely, darling."
A lie, but a necessary one, at least at this point. "So," Rarity continued, "what seems to be troubling you?"
Twilight looked up towards the sky, her eyes not focused on anything in particular. It was a familiar expression; she was sorting through an array of possible options. No doubt wondering, at this point, how to explain her situation to Rarity.
"I wouldn't be bothering you about this if it weren't completely necessary," Twilight started.
"Naturally," Rarity said, with a practiced smile.
"And you're so good at... figuring this kind of thing out."
A slight falter in that practiced smile. Twilight was, despite a great deal of progress, still prone to the occasional social mishap, and addressing them usually called for a great deal of finesse and only somewhat less patience. "I'm listening, darling," Rarity said.
"What I'm wondering," Twilight said, deliberately, as if she had chosen these words beforehand, "is how exactly you tell someone you're not interested in them."
Rarity's mouth opened in a wide O, and quietly gasped. "Is this Caramel again, Twilight? I thought for sure he had gotten the hint, but perhaps--"
"No, it's not that," Twilight said, looking suddenly very tired. "It's sort of..."
There was a bright flash next to Rarity, a pop, a stench of ozone, and Twilight Sparkle stood next to her. But Twilight was still on the other side of the table, wasn't she? Yes, she was.
The not-Twilight, then, looked at Rarity and smiled nervously, then turned towards her opposite number. "Oh, hi Twilight!" the copy said brightly. "Listen, you’re not interested in having sex with me in the next few minutes, are you?"
Twilight lowered her head onto the table, face against the wood.
The copy looked mildly disappointed, a slight frown on her face. "Oh well, guess that's a no. It was nice seeing you, Rarity!"
Another flash, another pop, a fresh acrid scent, and the other Twilight was gone.
Rarity didn't say anything for a second, just looked at her friend across the little table. "I think you had better tell me the whole story."
Twilight groaned. "Yup."
“In private.”
Twilight sighed. “I guess so.”
"It started out as an investigation into the nature of causality," Twilight said, looking nervously around at the white-painted walls of Rarity's boutique, flinching when her gaze chanced across a mirror.
Rarity raised a hoof cautiously. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the concept..."
"Oh," Twilight said. "Okay. I've told you about when I was experimenting with time travel, right?"
Rarity smiled helplessly. "Only the broadest strokes, I'm afraid... and you were in no condition to give me a proper explanation."
Twilight mulled that over for a moment. "Fair enough," she said. "A version of myself from the future appeared, trying to warn me about something, and I decided that future Twilight must have been here to prevent some terrible disaster, and then I spent the next week or so freaking out.”
“Ah, that,” Rarity said. “I do have some vivid impressions of that particular episode.”
“And then to make sure past-Twilight had a headstart on trying to figure out what was going to happen, so that I would be able to stop it, I went back in time to tell her about all this, but it turned out that visit was the one that caused me to worry about everything in the first place.”
There was a pause that hung listlessly in the air, as if it had nothing better to do.
Twilight blinked. “Sorry, did that make sense?"
"More or less," Rarity said cautiously. "Well, that does sound like an experience. What does this have to do with... causality?"
"My time travel visit caused itself," Twilight said, eyes wide and serious. "The implications are spooky."
"Metaphysics were never my strong suit, dear," Rarity said. "Perhaps you could go through them with me?"
"Well, for one," Twilight said, leaning back comfortably in her chair, in her element for once, "it does beg the question of what exactly happened before the time travel."
"I'm afraid I don't follow."
"Okay, what if I had never gone back in time to warn myself?"
"I’m still not quite sure I follow you.”
"Well,” Twilight said, in a voice straining against tact, “if I had never done gone back in time to warn myself, I would have never gone back in time in the first place."
"I do understand that," Rarity said, raising an eyebrow. "You are not dealing with an unsubtle mind here."
Twilight's mouth opened. "Oh."
"Think nothing of it, darling. So you're wondering how the time travel caused itself, yes?"
"Exactly," Twilight said with a smile.
"Ah. Causality. Causes. A sensible enough word," Rarity said.
There was the familiar flash and pop of a teleportation in front of Twilight, as subtle as a rhinoceros.
"Hey there, Twi," a Twilight said. "There any chance you’re interested in a little—"
"No!" Twilight yelled.
The other Twilight popped out of existence, the smile on her face slipping away.
Rarity chuckled, a light cheerful noise. Twilight glared at her.
It took a second for Rarity to notice, but she stifled herself and met Twilight's glare with an apologetic half-smile. "I'm sorry, darling, but it is rather amusing from my own perspective."
Twilight sighed. "I started working on an altered spell that would give me more time after casting it. I figured I could run some experiments me and Spike designed and nail down this causality thing."
"I take it that's when this—" She waved vaguely. “Started.”
"Yep."
"This does sound troublesome," Rarity said, frowning.
"You don't know half of it."
"Undoubtedly. But, Twilight dear... why do you suppose your counterparts have such an, ah, interest in you?"
Twilight groaned. "I have no idea. It would help if I could pin down when they're from—you know, how far in the future. But they never stick around long enough for me to ask them!"
Rarity tapped her hoof on the table a couple of times. "Hmm. I do wonder... Twilight, why does there seem to be more than one of your counterparts?"
Twilight blinked. "Oh, right."
Rarity gave her an expectant look.
"I'm not entirely sure."
"Ah. That would make things far too convenient, wouldn't it?"
“Guess so,” Twilight said, and slumped onto the table.
Rarity frowned, reached over, and embraced her. “I’m sure we can sort this out, Twilight.”
It hadn’t been a lie at the time — truly, it hadn’t. Rarity had been sure she could sort it out. Eventually.
A day had passed and that faith was now flagging. Rarity sighed and stopped pacing across the (quite deserted) floor of the boutique. She had already sorted all the fabrics by material and color, named every one of the mannequins, and come up with an inspired, if probably impracticable plan to bribe the Weather Team into bringing winter a few months early. A girl has to protect her bottom line, she mused.
Well, she would come up with something, eventually. Surely.
An idea came to her — fully formed, as if it had been laid gently across her mind by the Muses themselves. She smiled.
The name came out as what could be called, uncharitably, a whine. "Macintosh?"
"I had supposed ," Rarity responded, "that you would want someone you'd already met before and liked."
"I'm not sure that 'liked' is the right word--"
"Were, um, impressed by, perhaps?"
“That’s not really the sort of thing that tends to correspond to successful long-term re...”
Rarity glared.
“What would be really impressive is if I could get him to say more than two words at any one...”
Redoubled glaring.
Twilight stared back. "It's not that I dislike him! It's just that—"
"It," Rarity said heavily, in a tone that was about one part reassurance to two parts exasperated menace, "will be fine, and you two will enjoy yourselves. In the meantime, if any of your erstwhile selves appears, you will make it clear that you are taken."
"How clear?"
"Use your imagination. And common sense, naturally. Needs must, my dear."
Twilight groaned. "Is there any chance he could just watch me reshelve books?"
"Twilight, really, does that sound like a plausible date to..." Rarity tapped her chin. "Hm. I don't suppose you could at least try to engage with him in the process?"
"So we're dropping the dinner date followed by a walk in the park?"
“Twilight, darling... are you quite sure you can’t manage to have a real date?”
Rarity hadn’t seen such an expression since she had mentioned the phrase “sugar-free cake” to Pinkie Pie.
“Can we please?” Twilight said quietly.
Rarity sighed. "If we must. You are aware that he will still bring you flowers, yes? I may even advise him to try to kiss you at some point."
In retrospect, perhaps Rarity should have confirmed that Macintosh was interested before talking to Twilight.
It's not as if it was an unreasonable assumption, though. Twilight was not, perhaps, classically beautiful (although the notion slithered frantically away as soon as it came, unwelcome, to Rarity's mind) but she certainly had her own sort of enthusiastic bookish charm that was rather appealing, and on more than a purely aesthetic level.
Plus, there was the issue of the castle to consider. Curves and batting eyelashes were all very well and good—very well and good, as far as Rarity was concerned—but it is a truth universally acknowledged that there is nothing sexier than a mare with real estate.
And yet, one can't argue with tastes, I suppose, Rarity thought, trying (and failing) to resist the temptation to stare down the stallion. "Macintosh, what exactly do you mean when you say 'I don't know'?"
"I'm not sure it needs explainin'," he responded, leaning on the plow.
Rarity sighed. It was one of those hazy, listless summer days that somehow managed to produce an inordinate amount of glare despite lacking any actual sunlight, and standing out in the middle of a field had never been Rarity's idea of a good time. "Twilight would appreciate your company tomorrow evening. This seems to me like a fairly straightforward proposition."
Macintosh just looked at her.
"It's a date," she said.
He shook his head. "Nope. It's a fake date."
"Well," Rarity said, producing something that was close enough to a giggle for her purposes, "fake date or no, you will at least be alone with a rather attractive librarian..."
The look again.
"What I mean to say," Rarity said, "is that, um—"
"I got it."
Rarity paused for a moment. "How to put this... you do like mares, yes?"
"Sure. My sister's one."
And now it was Rarity's turn to stare back.
"Joke."
"Ah."
“Yup.”
A moment of silence passed, mainly for Rarity to recompose herself.
"Please?" she asked.
“No can do.”
Rarity pouted, and it was only mostly a calculated gesture. “I would dearly appreciate it.”
“I’m not doin’ it,” Mac said.
Rarity approached Mac, just a little too close for comfort—his comfort, mostly, although it was really a bit too close for either of them; she had to look up at Mac at a downright precipitous angle, and Mac seemed faintly alarmed. Well, no matter. “Is there an ‘unless’?” she asked. “There’s always an unless, you know.”
“Not much of one,” Mac intoned. “Unless she’s gonna talk to me herself.”
“She’s trying to sleep,” Spike explained, his arms crossed. “I can’t let you in.”
Rarity sighed. “It’s three in the afternoon, Spike, darling. You’re not serious?”
She could afford to wait, of course. The boutique was going through its usual summertime lull, which left her with a great deal of time to stare at the ceiling and contemplate life. So getting out and about was hardly a chore, but...
“Dead,” Spike said.
Clearly she hadn’t been paying enough attention. “Hm?”
“I’m dead serious,” Spike sighed. “Look, Twilight’s gonna go crazy if she doesn’t get some sleep.”
“Oh. Shall I come back tomorrow?”
“Don’t bother.” The voice was practically sepulchral, and much the same could be said about its owner. Twilight’s eyes were sunken, her mane in utter disarray, and she looked as if she might fall onto the floor at the slightest touch. “I never could sleep during the day.”
“Oh dear,” Rarity said, very quietly.
Twilight blinked. “I feel worse than I look. Or, umm... which is the...” She stared down at the polished floor for a moment. “Okay, no, I look exactly as bad as I feel.”
“You’re quite sure you shouldn’t be sleeping?”
Twilight’s jaw opened slightly. “Oh, I don’t think that that’s necess... um...”
“Twilight. Bed. Now,” Spike said, and directed a scaly finger towards the bedroom. “So what’s up?”
“I suppose Twilight hasn’t been in quite the proper state of mind to explain that."
Spike shook his head.
"So," Rarity said, drawing out the word with a bit of a lilt. She didn't elaborate.
"I know Mac is involved. Somehow."
“Well, not exactly.”
Spike gave her an expectant sort of look.
Rarity grimaced. “I suppose you’re already familiar with the other Twilights’, ah... motivations.”
“Yeah,” Spike said, rolling his eyes.
“How to put this...” Rarity said, pacing. “They haven’t... done anything to her, have they?”
Spike’s face went blank for a moment, then he started suddenly. “What? Oh. No. No no no. Nothing like that. She’s still pretty spooked, though.”
“With reason.”
Spike nodded. “So what’s your plan?”
“As it happens, I was hoping to discuss that with Twilight—”
“—which you can’t do until she’s gotten some sleep.”
“Of course, darling. I was hoping to convince our guests that Twilight is unavailable by having her and Mr Apple go on a date or two.”
“And this is going to make them stop because...”
“And I suppose you have a better plan?” Rarity demanded.
“I assumed you were going to have him beat them up or something.”
“I said a better plan, which requires that it at least be possible. I cannot so much as imagine him laying a hoof on Twilight...” Rarity frowned. “Which I suppose is the problem, come to think of it. I can’t persuade him to go on a date with her.”
Spike pondered that for a second, stroking his chin. “Well, Mac’s a complicated guy.”
Rarity stared.
“Hidden depths. Or something,” Spike explained, shrugging. “Look, if you want to get this figured out, you should go talk to Applejack about it.”
The Apple residence’s kitchen was the sort of place that the phrase “rustic charm” had been invented for. Not in its euphemistic sense, mind you—the half-contained sneering that, well, you could hardly expect anything better out here in the sticks. No, it was tidy (to a point), clean, and though the aesthetic (surely this room alone accounted for an actual majority of the apple-themed decorations in the country) grated on Rarity, she was willing to accept that as a genuine difference of taste.
Especially considering the circumstances.
“Can I get ya a drink or anythin’?” Applejack asked. “Apple juice? Cider? Hard cider?”
“Water would be lovely, thank you,” Rarity said.
Applejack directed a stare at her for a moment, then relented. “Your loss.” She turned to the sink and began filling a glass. “So, I hear you’re lookin’ to talk to me about Mac.”
“How did you hear this?” Rarity asked.
“Spike dropped by.”
“But he didn’t tell you what it was about?”
“Oh, that he did.”
“So...” Rarity said.
“You’re not the only one who knows ‘bout Twilight’s predicament,” Applejack said. “She talked to me first, I think.”
“Oh,” Rarity said. “I suppose your advice...”
“I told her to not pay them any mind, figured they’d get the hint and leave off propositionin’ her,” Applejack said. “Guess not.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Yup. So now you’re anglin’ to get my brother involved in this, and I’d like to know why exactly that is.”
Rarity fidgeted. “Right. So...”
Applejack looked at her expectantly.
“I thought that perhaps if Twilight’s... counterparts... noticed that she was already involved with somebody, they might, well, lose interest.”
“And so you decided to get Mac to go on a fake date with her.”
Rarity sighed. “Fake date indeed. He told you all about this already, didn’t he?”
“Enough of it,” Applejack said. “Oh. Your water.” She turned off the faucet and handed the glass to Rarity.
“Thank you,” Rarity said.
“Don’t mention it.” It had the force of a command. Neither one said anything. Rarity sipped at her water. Applejack studiously avoided looking at her. After a minute, Rarity set down the glass.
“What you gotta understand...” Applejack said. “Mac...” She hesitated.
“I’m told he’s a ‘complicated guy’.”
Applejack nodded. “Well, sure. But I don’t know that this is so complicated. Mac never did date much.”
“That’s difficult to imagine,” Rarity said.
“You just aren’t thinkin’ it through. Anyway, the thing with Cheerilee—”
Rarity pulled a face.
“Right. Nothin’ against her, but it shook him up good. So he’s a little, uh, sensitive to anything like this that looks like it might not be for real. And this business—look, Rarity, I’m sure as I am of anythin’ that he feels bad ‘bout it, but this might be askin’ too much. That’s all this is.”
“So you want me to drop the plan,” Rarity said.
Applejack pondered that for a moment. “Mac’s a grown stallion, an’ he can make his own decisions. If you can talk him into it, I ain’t gonna say a thing. Anyhow, he likes Twilight just fine. If he wants to help, he wants to help. Nothin’ more to it.”
It had taken well over an hour to find Mac, an hour of tramping through the orchards and flirting despairingly with the idea of simply bellowing his name in the hopes that he’d hear, and what’s more, respond to her.
She had made her way to the far northwestern corner of the property, where the earth tilted up into the first modest foothills of the Unicorn Range. It wasn’t precisely neglected, but this far from the farmstead, the orchard had grown a little ragged — seedlings sprouting up without rhyme or reason, a couple dead branches to every tree, overripe apples lying on the ground. She stepped on one, and swore loudly — then took a rueful glance around the grove. It was late in the afternoon: the sunlight was already reddening and the trees casting long shadows across the leaf-strewn ground.
There was a rustling noise somewhere to Rarity’s left. Her head snapped in that direction. “Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice more than a little on edge. “Is that you, Mac?”
“Eeyup.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Rarity said.
Mac stepped out from behind a tree. “Miss Rarity,” he said, nodding slightly. “Out a little far, ain’t ya?”
“I could say the same to you.”
“I like it out here. Can’t imagine you feel the same.”
There was no disputing the point. “Not as such, no,” Rarity said, and sighed.
Mac pondered that for a moment. “I’d hate for you to have wasted a trip...”
Rarity raised a hoof. “Actually, I was hoping I could convince you to—”
“Fake date. Got it. Answer’s still nope.” And with that, he turned around and marched back into the shadows. After a moment, Rarity pursed her lips and pursued.
Mac walked in what looked like a straight line to his destination, as if the trees could simply be expected to get out of his way, whereas Rarity could have sworn that every errant root was trying to trip her. “I suppose you come here with some frequency, then?” she asked.
“Enough.”
“Ah.”
Mac stopped walking, suddenly.
“Are we there already?”
“Nope, lost.” Mac heaved a sigh. “‘’spect we’ll be dead by mornin’.”
“I see.”
Mac traced a shape in the air with a hoof. “Food for the apples. Circle of life.”
“A philosopher.”
Mac ignored her, and started walking again. Rarity sighed, and followed.
“It’s not fake, you know.”
Mac stirred. “Huh?”
“The date. It’s not fake.”
“Are you tellin’ me that Twilight does...” Mac casted around for the right words. “Well, that she does like me?” He pulled a face, briefly.
He thinks he sounds like a colt, Rarity thought, with a pang of sympathy. “I suppose you’re asking whether she has any particular romantic interest in you. No, not as far as I know.”
“Well then,” Mac said.
“Nonetheless, the date is real,” Rarity insisted.
“Way I see it, Miss Rarity, date ain’t real unless that goes both ways. Far as I can see, it don’t go either way.”
“But I never said it was a real date, merely that it was real.” Rarity said, sidling up next to him. “Everything is a real something, you know.”
“And what is this somethin’?” Mac asked.
“It would be a real act of kindness for a friend who needs your help,” Rarity said.
Mac picked up his pace, avoiding Rarity’s gaze. “Come on, let’s get ya back to town while there’s light out.”
“That’s not an answer,” Rarity said.
Mac sighed. “Answer’s yes.”
