The Block Party

by shortskirtsandexplosions

Rating: teen
Tags: Random, DJ P0N-3, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Rarity, Other
Length: 7154

Weeks after Rarity undergoes a complete meltdown, Princess Luna suggests she join a club called the "Block Party." It's not a very fun party.

Weeks after Rarity undergoes a complete meltdown, Princess Luna suggests she join a club called the "Block Party."

It's not a very fun party.

Published 2016-12-11 08:10:02 UTC
Last updated 2016-12-11 08:10:02 UTC

Constance

The stars rolled back before Rarity. With a cosmic flash of multi-colored light, a granite structure floated forward, piercing the interstellar mists.

She only wished she was impressed by it all.

Utilizing remarkable grace, the delicate unicorn calmly floated down towards her target, aiming for a round balcony bathed in the purple haze of galactic swirls overhead. Rarity landed softly, serenaded by the tranquil ringing of bells. Her dainty nostrils tickled with a myriad of enticing fragrances, but they had little to no effect on her sighing lungs.

She trotted forward, entering what appeared to be a large round chamber nestled at the top of some indeterminately large spire. Here, the walls were bathed with magical tapestries—their designs changing in every blink. One second, the banners illustrated armored stallions fending off dragons. In the next glance, Rarity saw beautiful damsels dancing together in flowery gardens.

Peering about, Rarity also spotted spacious bookshelves—their tomes floating completely off the shelves and hovering over the round chamber with avian grace. The fashionista's gaze followed the whimsical flight pattern, not so much out of interest but because there was very little else to do. Without realizing it, she had turned about three hundred and sixty degrees, and it was then that she discovered the other ponies who had gathered in that lofty chamber before her.

A friendly hoof waved. It was attached to a pale body with an even paler smile. The glint of purple shades matched the cosmic luminescence swirling outside, and the unicorn in question finished her gesture only to return to a random and deliciously unpredictable light show being projected before her horn.

Rarity peered at the mare for a while, her lips pursed as she paused in sincere contemplation for the first time since arriving in that otherworldly place. Of all the ponies she had expected to meet here, Vinyl Scratch was the last unicorn on her mind, and the confident smile that the light-projecting equine possessed made her presence all the more baffling. But—as it turned out—Rarity would find many more surprises. All she had to do was pivot about once more before she was struck by the presence of another inexplicable occupant of that domain:

"Well—hey there, Rarity! Welcome to the Block Party!" A rather plump stallion stuck his head out from behind a spontaneous table full of baking supplies. He pivoted a chef's cap on his crown and squinted. "It is Rarity, right? You're one of Princess Twilight's friends?"

"A-a-ahem..." Rarity smoothed her mane before trotting forward across the tile floor with as much grace as she could manage. "Donut Joe, I presume. It's been a while."

"Boy, has it!" He chuckled, proceeding to toss a random assortment of ingredients into an elaborate mixer. He licked his lips as he magically performed a dozen baking experiments per second between them. The air smelled of powdered sugar and cinnamon. "At least one train ride and a coronation ago!"

"I must say," Rarity murmured, her voice as dull as her eyes. "That's a rather... obtuse way of measuring time."

He tossed her a sly grin. "I think you'll soon find that time is super friggin' hard to keep in a place like this."

Rarity winced. "My apologies—"

"Uh uh uh!" Donut Joe waved a hoof. "First Rule of the Block Party: Do Not Apologize."

Rarity blinked. "There are rules to this place?"

"Eh... I dunno..." Donut Joe shrugged, glancing between abominable desserts coming to life at accelerated speed on either side of him. "Seems like a good enough rule to me, y'know? Leave all the regret and shame on the outside?"

A delicate cough escaped Rarity's lips. "I wouldn't know anything about that."

"Second Rule." He winked. "Don't lie to yourself."

Rarity didn't have a response to that. She took a moment to observe Donut Joe and his baking equipment. Everything had an immaculate, ethereal glow to it. It still wasn't enough to bring a skip to her heartbeat... so she vomited forth an obligatory comment instead:

"I have to say... I'm rather surprised to see you of all ponies here."

He merely nodded while kneading dough. "That's quite alright."

"It is?" Rarity actually exhaled with relief. "I'm glad to hear that."

"You'll find it's everypony's first reaction." He nodded in the direction of Vinyl Scratch. "Imagine how I felt when I saw her here."

"Mmmmm..." Rarity looked across the chamber, admiring Vinyl and her flickering light-show. "I suppose you can never truly know when a pony's struggling with inner turmoil."

"Is it really that bad for you?" Donut Joe suddenly inquired.

The look Rarity flashed him was a caustic one. "Shouldn't it be?"

Donut Joe's deadpan was somehow more intimidating than any frown.

Rarity's gaze instantly fell to the ancient tile, and she sighed. "I guess I'm simply projecting."

"Don't apologize," he said with a smirk.

She looked up. Her brow furrowed. "Dare I ask... when did it become so important for you that you had to take Princess Luna up on her offer?" A blink. "I mean... she did give you the same offer she gave me, yes?"

"Heh... yeah..." Donut Joe smirked. "Pretty darn flattering, eh? To be invited here by the Princess? I mean... it mustn't be that much of a thrill for you. Erm..." He instantly winced. "By that I-I mean because you and your friends know so many princesses! I didn't mean to imply that—"

"Don't apologize," she droned.

Donut Joe stared at her. He smiled. "Yes, well..." He gazed at the baking concoctions floating above him and the table. "It ain't fittin' dress gowns, but dessert catering is an art all on its own."

"I certainly am not denying that," Rarity said, shaking her head. "I just... never ventured to guess that you would be struggling with... with..." She could only wince.

"The muzzle and tongue are such finicky dance partners," Donut Joe rambled forth. "And there are only so many taste buds you can make applaud—if you catch my drift. So... you try to be extra creative... and you color outside the box. You decorate your treats all pretty-like... you theme your eatery... you make the whole dining experience something silly, whimsical, magical. But... at some point or another... you either run out of ingredients or you run out of flavors or you just... run out of running." He exhaled slowly, gazing at the starlight beyond the massive balcony windows of that place. "Every career is like a marathon, and steam is steam. You lose your momentum for just one second and... it's really dang hard to get the furnace burning just right again... y'know?"

"In theory, yes." Rarity pivoted a tray full of floral-shaped icing on the table between them. She tried to imagine embroidery on a trailing bridal gown, but she got lost in the baking powder dissipating in the air. "But... I'm suddenly realizing that it must be far harder for you, dear sir. In fashion, a season lasts a comfortably long time. By that, I mean that there is plenty of opportunity to catch onto a wave, as t'were. But in your business..." She looked up with doeful blue eyes. "...your audience lasts the duration of an impulsive appetite. I do not think that I can fathom such a small window... much less a countless bevy of them."

"And how long does a formal dance last?" he asked. "Or a honeymoon, for that matter?"

Rarity bit her tongue. There was no pain. Comets streaked by in the distance.

Donut Joe took a breath. "When was the last time you felt like you were making a difference?"

She whimpered: "A thousand waves ago... or so it feels."

He nodded gravely, looking at his hypothetical work as each floating experiment was born and terminated in a blink. "Well, like I said, time in here ain't what it's like on the outside. So... try and put all that behind you. That's what I do."

She looked up, ears folded. "Do you find that it works?"

"Yes. No." He shrugged. "Sometimes." His nostrils flared. "I keep looking for that... magical recipe... the one thing that will turn all my talents upside down and make my cafe some place super snazzy to eat at again." A faint smile crossed his muzzle, but was gone as soon as it was conjured. His breath trailed woefully after it. "Perhaps it's time that I re-evaluated exactly what I'm searchin' for."

"Well, at least you're searching, good sir," Rarity said with more than an ounce of sincerity.

"Mmmmm... good thing Luna gave us a ticket to this place, ya feel me?" He winked. "So we can search."

"Do you..." Rarity demurely toed the ancient tile floor. "Do you have any advice?"

"Talking to others help."

"Like what we're doing right now? You and me?"

"Pffft... branch out, girl!" He pointed across the chamber. "Give into the gab! I promise they won't bite!"

"Hmmmm?" Rarity—perplexed—turned around. She expected only to see Vinyl Scratch, and she didn't expect much conversation to flow from there. But—to her surprise—two other bodies had materialized. One was a middle-aged stallion sitting meditatively inside a halo of floating books. The other... was a filly with a curiously familiar complexion. Rarity trotted closer, narrowing her vision on the little pony seated before an equally tiny piano. The notes being plonked away were... discordant, to say the least, and yet they had a playful quality despite the disharmonic experimentation. "Countess Coloratura?" Rarity stammered, but soon corrected herself: "Erm... Rara, I presume?"

The filly looked up, and her teal eyes brightened above an even brighter smile. "Rarity! Applejack's friend!" She slapped a few more ivory keys, filling the chamber with bouncy bedlam. "Heehee... fancy meeting you here in the Block Party."

"This music you're composing is... is..." Rarity winced.

"Terrible, right?" Rara giggled.

"I'm sorry," Rarity breathed.

"Uh uh..." Rara banged away at the piano some more. "Didn't Mr. Joe over there tell you the first rule about this place?"

Rarity swallowed. "I had somehow thought he was only speaking in jest."

"It helps," Rara murmured, the first emotionless sound to break the off-tune percussion. But her deadpan was a brief thing. "It helps to be very... very silly in this place. Otherwise..." The filly looked up, winking. "...Princess Luna could just as easily thrown us into a dungeon instead. Hmmm?"

Rarity shuddered. "Part of me thinks a dungeon would be more useful."

"Now that's rather premature of you to say."

"Isn't it, though?"

Rara massacred several more keys before sticking her tongue out. "My my... so pessimistic. I'm surprised AJ hasn't lectured you by now."

"She doesn't have the same issues you and I do."

"Are you so sure of that?"

Rarity changed the subject. "Might I ask you something?"

Rara banged and banged the ivories. "If I can hear you. Heehee."

Rarity pointed. "Why so... juvenile?"

Coloratura took a long, contemplative breath. "I discovered my musical talents when I was a little filly. Way back at Camp Friendship was when I embraced who and what I was."

"So..." Rarity sat delicately before the tiny piano. "...by embracing who and what you were then... you feel that perhaps you can draw inspiration?"

"The Power of Nostalgia, I call it." Rara looked up with another wink as she continued plonking. "Courtesy of Princess Luna and this fantastic place, of course."

"Is it... working?"

Rara slammed five keys at once and looked up with a bittersweet smirk.

Rarity exhaled, nodding. "Well, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I had assumed that you had adequately... 'found yourself' after that whole debacle back in Ponyville."

"Time is upside down in this place," Rara mused, striking a few quiet chords. "You'll have to be a bit more specific."

"At the Helping Hooves Music Festival," Rarity explained. "When Applejack talked you out of marching to that dreadful Svengallop's tune—"

Rara giggled wildly.

Rarity's cheeks turned red as she folded her forelimbs and pouted. "You do not need a refresher course whatsoever!"

"I-I'm sorry, Rarity..." The laughing filly wiped one eye dry while smiling from cheek to cheek. "It's just that... I didn't come here to take anything seriously. The way I see it... all of that baggage can be left on the outside." Rara's smile took on a calm angle as she returned to the piano keys with sudden grace and harmony. "But—to answer your question—yes, I did 'find myself,' in a manner of speaking."

"Then why, might I ask, are you here now?" Rarity asked daringly.

"For the same reason that you're here even after making gowns for the Great Galloping Gala." Rara looked up from the piano. "Or designing the suits and dresses for Shining Armor's and Princess Mi Amore Cadenza's fabulous wedding."

Rarity hung her head with the weight of a million moons. "Those were... such delightfully wonderful occasions."

"Not as delightful as the opportunities you'll be seizing in the future, Rarity," the filly said. "I assure you."

Rarity sighed melodically. "Can you be so certain of that?"

"Rarity, look at me."

Limply, the fashionista complied.

Rara struck a gentle note and squinted. "I found myself... then I got lost... and then I found myself again." She smiled cutely. "Life is full of undulations, movements—like a ballad. The important thing is to have faith for the next wave that you'll catch."

Rarity opened her muzzle to reply—

"But you are here right now," a stallion's voice said. "The waters are placid."

The filly at the piano rolled her eyes. "You're a drop of sunshine as always, Mr. Splice."

"Mister... Splice...?" Rarity's muzzle hung open. She looked over to the halo of floating books—and the stallion seated meditatively within. "As in Comma Splice?"

"Meh." The middle-aged pegasus muttered without opening his baggy eyes. "What's in a name?"

"Why... everything!" Rarity scampered over to the flock of tomes, propelled by a queer burst of enthusiasm. "Your serialized tales of Shadows Spade have inspired me more times than I can possibly count! I am—to say the least—an incredibly huge fan of your literary work—!"

The stallion's jawline hardened noticeably.

Rarity's muzzle lingered in mid-sentence. She leaned back, holding a hoof over her chest. "Oh dear. I suppose you do not enjoy hearing that..."

"If I inspired you so much," he muttered, wings spread as he sat in place. "Then why are you here?"

"There he goes again," Rara giggled. "Treating this place like a grave."

"Isn't it, though?" Comma Splice muttered. "Nothing here is permanent, you could etch something into stone and still it would be lost in the darkness once we have all exited."

"You know how it works, Mr. Splice," Rara said. "This place exists for us. Princess Luna gifted it as such. Carved it out of the dreamscape and all that fluff."

Vinyl Scratch nodded from a distance. She continued to paint the air with random, flickering colors.

Rarity took a deep breath. "Let me guess." She gazed at the stallion in the middle of all the floating books. "He's been here the longest."

"It certainly feels like it," he muttered.

"Might I inquire..." She leaned in, looking at the pages. "...what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

"I... I..." Rarity tried studying the levitating books, only to see that the words on the pages were flickering through an endless sea of epileptic gibberish. "I haven't the faintest clue."

"Of course you wouldn't, this is a dreamscape after all." Comma Splice inhaled. "Logic has no meaning, thoughts are just as useless." Comma Splice exhaled. "The only structure is no structure, you just swim in it and hope to find a tasty morsel. Like a fish. Or an old tire. Whatever."

Rarity's ears rang from Rara's discordant notes. Vinyl Scratch's kaleidoscope flickered on one side of the chamber while sugar and baking powder drifted wildly from Donut Joe's table. "I think I'm starting to get it." She gestured at the indefinable texts floating between them. "Seeking inspiration from chaos... attempting to draw water from a stone..."

"If only it was that easy," Comma Splice muttered.

"I'm afraid I don't read you," Rarity said. She crossed her eyes, face-hoofed, and sighed. "Meaning... would you kindly care to explain, sir?"

"Like you, I was invited by Princess Luna to come here, that was a sure sign that I had lost it," Comma Splice said.

"Oh, here we go." Rara smiled.

"And I thought to myself..." At last, the stallion's eyes opened, and they were bloodshot. "...how about I make use of this place's facilities, as nebulous as they may be. So I began... surrounding myself with an overflow of thoughts and ideas and information..." His eyes reflected the flickering tomes encircling him. "Words words words words... and you know what I found?"

Rarity leaned forward. "What?"

"Every time I look at it all... I somehow find every sentence I have ever written... as well as every sentence I will ever write." He sighed. "In this place, I am the totality of my entire career... as well as the focus... and yet it is all the boring same." His lazy eyes wandered to Rara with a hint of venom. "So, yes, quite much like a grave."

"Then bloom flowers already, ya sad sack." She stuck her tongue out.

"I would ask you to do the same first, 'Countess.'"

"At least I try to do new things," Rara said, slapping the keys with head-splitting finesse. "But you? You're always spiraling into the same common tropes—and all of them miserable."

"She... does have a point," Rarity said, blushing a bit as she glanced at the stallion once more. "As much as I adore the adventurous mysteries of Shadow Spade, I must admit that the narrative tone got... dreadfully morose towards the point where you last left off in the series."

"I'm not depressed, my characters are."

"Did you ever think to try writing something comedic or romantic instead?" Rarity's voice took on an optimistic tone. "Maybe even a series of children's stories! Tales of treasure-hunting or faerie gardens! Wouldn't that be just divine?"

"I did try that," Comma Splice droned. "I vomited out a series of paltry middle school melodramas called 'The Pirate Princess Saga.'"

"Huh?" Rarity's eyes searched the cosmic nebulae beyond the balconies. She remembered a collection of books that her younger sister had subscribed to. "Blue Bayonet? That was you?"

"Mmmhmmm..." He nodded into the orbit of his wordless books. "And—just like ideas—I've run out of pseudonyms as well, we'll all run out of things to paint the dull spaces of this life with."

Rarity's jaw clenched. "If you have such a hopeless perspective, then why even bother to tempt fate in this dreamscape?"

"To get fat of course!" Donut Joe waltzed in, levitating a plate of powdered pastries. "And help me find my own mojo!" He grinned wide, lifting a dessert item past the circle of books. "Here ya go, Comma! Take a bite and tell me what you think!"

"Pass."

"Eh... go figure." Donut Joe snorted. "If you had a sweet tooth, you'd just slit your fetlocks with it."

"Ooh! Oooh!" Rara waved her tiny little hoof. "I'll have a bite!"

Vinyl Scratch gestured emphatically as well, smiling.

"Here ya go!" Donut Joe tossed the pastries out to both mares. He floated one towards Rarity as well. "Now... take your time... and be honest." He hugged the empty platter to his apron, biting on his bottom lip. "Do you think I put in too much coconut? I figured by surrounding the chocolate center with a more playful layer of fruit flavor... I could be tantalizing the mouth while still securing that whole—y'know—'sinful decadence' thing."

"You want decadence?" Comma Splice muttered. "Read a Bodice Ripper.:"

"Quiet, you!" Donut Joe frowned before swiveling to face the mares once again. "Well?"

"Mmmmmmmm..." Rara munched and munched on the dessert, powdering her foalish muzzle as she smiled. "Mrmmfff... I like the coconut part!"

"But the chocolate filling!" Donut Joe fidgeted. "Is... is it too sub-par?"

From a distance, Vinyl Scratch waved her hoof from side to side.

"I'm not sure 'sinful decadence' is an apt description," Rara said, wiping her muzzle clean and smiling across the piano. "But it's a start! Certainly made my taste buds hop around!"

"But they're not supposed to hop. They're supposed to... I dunno..." Donut Joe sighed, gazing at the tile floor. "...recline on a sofa and pur."

"There's a cultural myth that you swallow a total of four house spiders in a lifetime of sleep," Comma Splice muttered. He looked over. "Do you suppose those have any more or less flavor than your magical dream pastries?"

"Comma Splice..." Rara chided.

"Ohhhhhhh Countess..." Donut exhaled through a bittersweet smile. "He's right. All we're working with is ideas in this place. Besides..." He turned the dish around and around in his grip, gazing thoughtfully at the cosmic tide beyond. "Princess Luna said it herself when she gave the invitation: 'Ponies can only help themselves here.'"

"Certainly explains why Comma's been here for so long," Rara said. She and Vinyl giggled.

"Continue to amuse yourselves, if we truly wanted to be helped then we wouldn't have come here to begin with," the jaded stallion said.

"There's that 'nose to the grindstone' mentality again," Rara remarked. "You really, honestly think that pacing in the shadows and labyrinths of real life will bring you any closer to inspiration?"

"I don't need inspiration, just a swift kick in the ass."

Donut Joe chuckled at that. "Damn straight."

All the while, Rarity cradled the pastry in her hooves. She didn't devour the thing, but instead nibbled delicately along the edges, as if to preserve the treat in its entirety—although she knew that eventually it would vanish. "It used to come so easily, y'know."

The others looked at her.

"Ideas. Flashes of epiphany." She looked up, ears folded. "A flicker of sunlight was all it took to make a wedding veil. A waterfall became a sapphire-studded skirt." She waved a hoof. "I'd go on walks and look at the trees. The birds would sing to me and my mind would just... weave colorful silks out of the ether. Then... I'd come home and put my mind on the shelf and the magic would happen. I... can't explain how it all took place... only that it did. One blink, and it was hours later and I had an entire line of dresses standing before me." She gazed off, and a soft smile graced her snow-white muzzle. "You know... this one time in Manehattan... I was bereft of any material to work with. So—on the spot—I decided to make an entire fashion line out of common drapery, lampshades, and bedsheets found in the hotel room where I was checked in at. Somehow... I even won an award for such impulsive creativity."

"Hrmmmfff..." Comma Splice throated, "Now you're starting to sound like me."

"Oh, Celestia-forbid." Rarity rolled her eyes. "Nevertheless, would you care to explain?"

"I can't count how many times I paused in giving up just to give up..." The stallion looked over. "I'd sit my butt down and look at all of the past novels I had written... all of the adventures of Shadow Spade and all of the same old mysteries meandering down the same old paths. And—once upon a stormy night—all of that gave me pride... a sense of fulfillment." He swallowed hard. "But that feeling gets severely... diluted over time, just the way of all things I suppose."

"Yeah, well, I still remember the first time I opened my cafe with fondness!" Donut Joe exclaimed. "I used to serve princes and princesses from all across the world! Ponies would come to Canterlot and enjoy my recipes!" He winked. "Supposedly, I'm a household name in Saddle Arabia... er... or maybe that's a Tenthold-Name?"

"Yes, because judging ourselves by our past accomplishments is a sure-fire way to get inspired," Comma Splice murmured, rolling his eyes.

"I dunno. It can be healthy, sometimes," Rara said.

Donut Joe squinted over at her. "Didn't you go through a whole freaky pop singer phase?"

"Heeheehee..." The filly giggled, leaning against her piano. "We all go through phases. At least, that's how I like to look at it." She brushed her shiny dark mane back. "It's not so much that we... gain and lose inspiration—but rather we transform. I've never... ever wanted to repeat myself. I've wanted every album to be an evolution compared to the last... every concert a unique experience for everypony who attends."

"So... you're not seeking to recreate the past," Donut Joe said.

"I'm pretty sure she wouldn't want to," Comma said.

Rara could only nod. "I've made... a lot of mistakes." The filly swallowed tightly, gazing across the chamber. "My future work—whatever it'll be—won't ever outwash the past... but I don't think that's the point. I don't think..." Her words trailed off.

Rarity took up the slack. "Funny how shame and remorse is quick to cling to that which should have elevated us." She placed the pastry down, stale and uneaten. "That award that I told you that I won? For the 'hotel'-inspired line of fashion?" She sighed heavily. "The only reason I ever got those dresses made is because I had... practically enslaved my best friends to make them for me while we were on our vacation in Manehattan." She gnashed her teeth. "It was a selfish... and inconsiderate assembly line of heartless proportions and... even to this day..." She shuddered. "...I cannot bask in the joy of the acclaim that I had received for such a creation."

"We mustn't let our mistakes define us, Rarity," Rara said in a hopeful tone. She smiled. "You're better than that. Applejack's loyalty to you is a testament to it."

"I wish it were that simple. And I... I somehow know that I'm not alone in this." Rarity looked limply in Comma Splice's direction. "That feeling that... everything you ever believed in... everything you ever put your heart and soul into with such vigor and bravado... is really just so plain." She winced. "And assuming we ever get inspired again... just what guarantee do we have that we won't feel so jaded and unimpressed with our future accomplishments? I mean... with the law of diminishing returns manifesting itself in the abstract..." Rarity loss her concentration; she wasn't surprised.

"Ponies used to know me by the depressing, melodramatic narratives that I put to paper," Comma Splice said in an air of seriousness. "Truth is... I was simply attempting to explore my own philosophies in real time... to exorcise the ghosts that haunted me, inside and out. There eventually came a time when tickling existential quandaries just... had no more purpose in my storylines. The bottomless well had been dried, and I was sick of trying to be so poignant. But—then—what lies beyond the philosophical frontier? When you've questioned everything, and all answers have been assumed, what then is there to explore creatively? Comedic absurdity and pulp fiction helped me for a time, but even pointlessness rubs off... wears down... ceases carving a niche where you can hide your fleeting ambition... until you realize that the race had run its course ages ago, and the only pony you're fooling is yourself."

"Well, I dunno about all of that," Donut Joe muttered, gazing down at the tile floor. "But I kinda cursed myself the moment I got into the business. I mean..." He shrugged. "What's sweeter than sweet? Ponies want dessert—they get dessert. But you can only dance a tango with the taste buds so long until they get bored... and you get bored of trying." He swallowed. "Maybe if I had gotten a cutie mark in making curry... I'd have more room to dance. Heh..." He smirked. "There's always new patrons willing to put their muzzles through torture. Sometimes I wonder why I didn't try my hoof at something other than what I've been doing for the past fifteen years."

"Because you love what you do, Joe," Rara said. Then she turned to smile at Rarity. "It's important for me—at least—to grasp ahold of that one thing that made your heart flutter to begin with."

Rarity murmured, "Your love of singing at Camp Friendship."

The little filly giggled. "That's right."

"I... don't think nostalgia has the same effect on me, Rara," Rarity said.

"Well... maybe it's not a time," Rara replied. "Or even a place." She cocked her head to the side. "But a thing?"

Rarity said nothing, squirming.

Donut Joe smiled. "Maybe if you had your hoof at dressing somepony up, eh, Rarity?"

Vinyl Scratch nodded.

Rarity sighed. "I wouldn't even know where to begin." She looked around with tired eyes. "There certainly aren't any ponniquins here."

"Here..." Rara stood up. "Allow me." And—with a playful pirouette—the musician twirled about in a blur, growing several years with each spin. She came to a stop, staring gently at Rarity while her piano vanished. "Should I strike a pose?"

Vinyl whistled, then tossed her hoof. A ribbon of light flew across the chamber—coming to a levitating stop before the fashionista.

Rarity glanced at the aura of light, then at Rara. She licked her muzzle, leaning forward with tense breaths. Concentrating, she pushed both fetlocks forward, shoving the ribbons of light so that they wrapped around Coloratura, coalescing into a slinky gown.

"Dress her up in something black," Comma Splice droned.

"Shhh!" Donut Joe hissed, watching intently.

Rara stood calmly—and pleasantly—while Rarity did her work. In one blink, she wore a shimmering gown with a diamond-studded hem. In the next blink, she was draped in silken burgundy tresses. The purple haze of stars reflected off velvet and lace and crinoline as a myriad different gowns materialized and vanished with artistic grace.

But nothing remained permanent. The flux reigned absolutely.

Words.

"They're all quite lovely, Rarity," Rara remarked gently. "For what it's worth."

"As are all fleeting things," Rarity murmured, waving from one gown to another. "But a thought is just a thought. Material has to be more. It has to live and breathe... as we do... and everything just... dies too quickly for me to pick a place and stab it." At last, she gave up, leaning back. However, it was a smile that ended up gracing her muzzle, though it was also fleeting. "You are so very beautiful, Miss Coloratura."

"Thank you," she said with a curtsy. The materials dissolved in mid gesture.

"Grace and beauty..." Rarity's words trailed the vanishing silk, as did her eyes. "It used to be the focus of everything." She exhaled. "All I had to do was center myself on an idealized concept of magnificence and... the rest would just make itself. Fabulously so. But..." Her ears folded. "...an artist has to feel beautiful on the inside for anything to be potent... for any of the works to matter." She gulped. "And I lost that."

"Oh Rarity—"

"And the bittersweet thing is..." Rarity winced, her eyes turning glossy. "...back when I still had it... when I was at least constant... I wasn't truly happy." She sniffled, wiping a tear as it formed. "Well... I suppose I was... but such joy didn't last for very long... because I knew that after one m-masterpiece, another would be waiting on the horizon... a dreadfully nebulous silhouette just begging to be f-filled. And no matter how many dresses I made or how many awards I won or how m-many enthusiastic clients I had huddling up at the front door to my Boutique—excited to partake in my craftponyship—I knew that no matter how perfect I got... I could stand to be better. And what could possibly be better than perfect?" She whimpered, the tears flowing loosely now. "Life is just... an exercise in inevitable failure... woven in slow-motion... t-taunting you at every colored stitch and hem."

The other ponies said nothing. Vinyl Scratch's horn shimmered at a duller frequency.

Rarity stared across the chamber at her. "I... I-I know that Princess Luna invited us to this dreamscape so that we could all... mmmm... collectively challenge ourselves into pulling our hearts and minds out of this dreadfully deep rut that we're all stuck in. B-but I'm not entirely sure what I can accomplish here. I fear that all I'll be doing is a pronouncing a pathetic echo of the very same doldrums that I've been experiencing every waking day in the real world since the moment I lost the spark. So... then..." She gulped hard, calming slightly. "What precisely is the purpose of this place?"

Comma Splice answered with remarkable swiftness: "A looking-glass, and a necessarily honest one at that."

Rarity winced, but she had no strength to retort. She gazed into the heavens in search of something, even if she knew better.

Donut Joe and Rara stared at the tile floor. Vinyl kept her eyes on Rarity.

"I... uhm..." Rarity sniffed again, rubbing her cheek dry. "I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to absorb this entire conversation."

"It's okay, Rarity," Rara said.

"I just..." Rarity sighed. "I thought I might make something happen here. Instead... I'm just standing in place... rambling like a madmare."

"Anypony who thinks they'll fix themselves in a blink is an idiot," Comma Splice said. He arched an eyebrow. "And you're no idiot."

"A lot of us have been here far longer than we'd care to admit," Donut Joe said in a gentle tone. "And—like it or not—we'll probably be here longer."

"For what it's worth, we all understand what you're going through," Rara added. "And Luna does too. Why else would she have invited you?"

"You make a good point, I suppose." Rarity shuddered. She squirmed on her hooves. "I... I don't mean to come across as disheartening... b-but..." She brushed her mane aside, gazing around. "Is there a place here—somewhere in this dreamscape—where a pony might be able to meditate... on her lonesome?"

"You bet." Comma Splice nodded.

"Feel free to hang out on one of the balconies," Rara said, pointing across the chamber and into the starlight. "Enjoy all the 'alone time' that you need. Just remember..." She smiled. "We're here if ever you want to talk it out some more."

"Or if you'd like to taste more of my baked delights!" Donut Joe smiled plumply. "I'm gonna get it right one of these nights!"

Vinyl Scratch giggled.

"Mmmm..." Rarity bore a smile—if only a brief one. "You are too generous." It was true; so was her breath. Once it was given, she turned tail and trotted quietly—lonesomely—into the penumbra of the cosmos.

Soon, she was sitting in solitude, bathed in the light of a hundred million galaxies colliding with one another and making sparks—although Rarity was at a loss to grasp a single one of them. Gazing up at the anomalous expanse, Rarity supposed that she once would have called the phenomenon "beautiful" ... "enchanting," even. All she saw now was confusion, aimlessness, and it only matched the gray soup resting deep and flaccid within her mind: a very, very dull thing.

So it was that a series of simple hoofsteps shattered her thoughts—including all the ones that could never form. Rarity looked over to see Vinyl Scratch shuffling to a stop and sitting beside her. The fashionista couldn't help but snort.

"Y'know..." She chuckled in a soft breath. "...I didn't want to say a thing, because I wasn't quite certain if they knew or not. Even if they have been here for far longer than myself."

"You are a very perceptive young mare, Rarity," Vinyl said in a regal tone. "It is an exceptional trait. Most artistic."

Rarity ignored the compliment. "The moment I saw you—I knew it couldn't be... well... 'real.'" She breathed deeply. "She's far too lively, after all. Some ponies just never lose their spark." She gazed off. "Some ponies: you can just tell that they never stop being alive."

"I know a thing or two about perception, my little pony," the voice said. In Rarity's peripheral, the small pale shape grew into a large dark shape. Midnight blue hair billowed in the cosmic light. "You give others too much credit... and yourself too little."

"Mmmmm... the double-edged sword of generosity, yes?"

"Cling to excuses all you like."

Rarity looked up at the alicorn. "Donut Joe wasn't just blowing hot air." Her eyes narrowed. "Your invitation was indeed quite clear about this pocket of dreamscape: 'Ponies can only help themselves here.'"

"Not without a modicum of support," Princess Luna said. "The pressures of day-to-day life is ripe with distraction. This... club—so to speak—is meant to be an opportunity to focus."

"Perhaps..." Rarity exhaled in a gunburst. "An opportunity to focus on our failure." With a shudder, she brushed her mane back, avoiding Luna's gaze. "I'm so very sorry, Your Highness. Here you have constructed a most marvelous safe haven for artists such as myself... and all I can do is whine and complain."

Luna merely nodded. "If it so fits."

"But it fits all the time. That's the problem." Rarity bore a bitter smirk. "The same old shoe—it seems—for weeks... months now." She gulped, gazing up with a pained glint to her eyes. "We mortals must seem so ridiculous to you, Luna—silly little ponies with silly little hang-ups. We have friendship, luxury, and so... so much beauty all around us." Her nostrils flared. "What an absurd melodrama it is—that we must carve intellectual deserts for ourselves and mourn the loss of pointless, abstract things."

"You think that—as an immortal alicorn—I cannot relate to your personal drought?"

"Well, with all due respect, Your Majesty, I don't see how you can." Rarity's eyes narrowed. "The very essence of mortality is to be constant in all things, yes?"

"For a season, perhaps."

"A season?"

"You bemoan several months of having lost your inspiration for dress-making." Luna took a deep breath, her eyes resonating with starlight. "Try to imagine a thousand years bereft of warmth and good-will—the very priceless sensibilities that should be sparking in the heart of every pony."

Rarity could only wince. She gazed off at the cosmos beyond the balcony.

"Nihilism is a very detestable thing, and it has carved canyons and ravines far deeper—and darker—than I would ever wish for a gentle soul like you to experience, young one." She sat tall and proud. "You cannot be supremely mighty without taking a great fall—several plunges, actually." Her chin tilted upwards slightly. "Nor can you fathom to appreciate such might without having experienced the abyss in some faculty or another."

"Mmmmm..." Rarity brushed her hoof against the ground. "I'm... not lost, Luna." She swallowed. "Not really."

"Oh?"

"I'm just..." She clenched her jaw, weathering the sting. "Lazy." Her features drooped. "Maybe even afraid."

"Afraid that you will never reclaim your past spark?"

"No." Rarity grimaced. "Afraid that I will." She looked up at the Princess. "And that—once again—I'll be reacquainted with what comes with such necessary labors."

Luna merely looked at her. Waiting.

"I love my friends. I love trying on dresses." She hummed, smiling stupidly. "I love trying on dresses." She shivered slightly. "I love flattering my friends... making them feel twice as beautiful and majestic. I love having ponies recognize me... seeing my name and face in the paper... being invited to fashion shows and... fabulously glamorous events... but..." Rarity bit her bottom lip. "All of those things—however wonderful—are the bleak appendixes to a shadow... a shadow in which I must cast myself diligently if I'm ever to achieve such acclaim to begin with. And, in time, the labor of being alone in a workshop—making art happen by my solitary self—gets... taxing."

Luna nodded. "Then it appears to me that you're quite aware of what needs to be constant in your field."

"Knowing is one thing. Shouldering is another." Rarity breathed. "There is a reward to it all... but it's a very faint light at the end of a very long tunnel—a tunnel that only gets longer."

"It takes courage, in a way."

"But lately I feel like I've given up on that courage," Rarity said, gazing into the stars, filling her eyes with them. "Almost on purpose. And now the joy of success—and the pride that comes with it—isn't nearly as succulent as it used to be."

Silence.

At last, Luna leaned in. "And what if... you never stopped being creative, my little pony?"

Rarity's laugh was a haughty thing. "Your Majesty..." She waved at the balcony with a crooked hoof and an even crookeder smile. "Do you not see where we are?"

"And what if I told you that it is skin-deep?" Luna said. "And so are the denizens who inhabit this dreamly domain within?"

Rarity squinted at her, adrift in pallid curiosity. "Princess...?"

"Rarity..." Luna leaned in so close that they could both breathe the starlight as one. "...what if there was never an invitation to begin with?"

Rarity looked back. Her lips quivered as she sought the answer reflected in her own eyes. Beyond it all—encompassing—was starlight and cosmic swirls, chaotic and aimless and confusing... but strangely beautiful also. Graceful, even.

"It... it would be very lonely," Rarity said. "Very... very lonely indeed."

The other pony said nothing. Merely stared.

Rarity gazed once again at the endless stimuli, piercing the miasma to uncover the black slate beneath. "It is a dreadfully lonely thing... being creative. It has to be. That's the very nature of creation, I suppose. At some point—I don't know when—the euphoria of the result got eclipsed by the shadow of the struggle to get to that blissful point of illumination."

A soft pale hoof grasped Rarity's chin.

She looked up.

She looked down.

"We are all alone, darling. Each and every one of us. Such a monumental thing it is that we can create something... anything in the black gasp of it all. Such substance is something the universe never intended, and the cosmos would be shocked to bear witness if it had the faculty to grasp such mirth. A pity for nothing, and yet a triumph for us, even if that warmth is far from constant."

Rarity wanted to respond. But somehow, she knew that she already did. There was a flicker of light, like a spark, and that blackness gave way to a playful fuzziness. She reached up, removing the sleeping mask from her face. She was lying in bed, and dawn was barely breaking outside her window.

When she got up, it wasn't with a monumental leap of victory, for she knew better. With patient hooves, she took an early morning shower, then went downstairs to have an early morning breakfast. Sooner than she could keep track of it all, she was vibrant and awake and lucid.

So, she left the kitchen.

And she did things.

Author's Note

It turns out I did. Someday I will again

And thank you.