Frazzle Rock reached into her purse and touched her invitation to make sure it was still there. She clutched her saddlepurse to her belly as the cable car lurched upwards, higher and higher into the city of Canterlot. She watched, upturned purple nose pressed to the glass, as the lights of each terrace of the city fell away below her. She’d lived in Canterlot for five years, but the city still amazed her. The ancient unicorns had carved it out of the side of a mountain, where it would be safe from attack and close to their crystal mines. When they had run out of space, they had blasted another terrace and built more. If you stood on the wall of the outer city, you could look straight down and see the Canter river splashing over thousands of feet of mountainside to crash into Saddle Lake below.
Yuppers. Those unicorns were pretty amazing.
At work, Maud had asked her if she was going to Buckowski’s. They went every night of the drinking weekend, Thursday to Saturday. When Frazzle had explained what her plans were for the evening were, Maud had given her a full quarter-inch of raised eyebrow.
“You’re going to a fashion boutique,” said Maud. It was funny how the dryness of Maud’s tone could cover such a full range of emotions. In this case, wry, sarcastic disbelief.
“Rarity is having a client get-together,” said Frazzle, spinning around in her rolly office chair to avoid making direct eye contact with Maud.
“And?” said Maud.
“I’m a client. I bought a dress from her. I got an invitation,” said Frazzle, picking an imaginary piece of lint off her sweater.
“Okay. Parties with strangers aren’t usually your thing, though.” said Maud. “Are you going to buy another dress?”
“Maybe,” said Frazzle, turning back towards her desk to hide her blush. She shuffled some paperwork. “Do you have the arrest forms for the Shady Shale case?”
Maud rolled her chair over to her filing cabinet and fished out a thick folder. “Well, I hope you have a good time,” she said, handing Frazzle the file.
Frazzle didn’t dare tell her why she was really going to this party. Even Maud might laugh out loud.
Back in the present moment, Frazzle looked at her reflection in the cable car window. Frizzy orange mane in a clumsy bun that might pass for an updo on hasty inspection. Dull purple coat. Gigantic buck teeth. A neck like a purple pipe cleaner. Thick red-rimmed glasses — she didn’t have a nicer pair. And speaking of not having anything nicer, she was wearing the same teal off-the-shoulder dress that Rarity had made for her. Was it bad taste to wear a designer’s own dress to her party? Was it a compliment? It didn’t matter. It was Frazzle’s only dress. She pulled her ragged blue overcoat closed over it. At least she’d had time to get it dry-cleaned.
“Disembark for High Street and Platinum Plaza,” said the magical voice of the cable car.
Frazzle tossed her purse over her back, got out of her seat, and hesitated. Passengers jostled her as they walked past her towards the door. She didn’t have to get off here. She could stay on, head back home, and forget about this whole silly adventure. Maybe she could still even make it out to Buckowski’s. It was still early. Maud wouldn’t say anything to their other friends. Maud was good at not saying things. If you needed something not said, Maud was one of the top four or five ponies in Equestria for that.
“This train is for Palace Circle and all upbound stops,” said the carriage. The doors started to close.
Frazzle bolted, her slight frame darting between standing ponies, and leapt out the door, teal silk fluttering out behind her. The door closed behind her, and she felt a tug as the train pulled away. She squeaked with alarm and yanked the skirts of her dress out from between the carriage doors. She scooped them up in her forelegs, frantically examining them for signs of damage. No tearing, but… oh no! A smudge! A small black smudge at the very edge!
This could ruin everything. She felt wobbly. She felt tears well up in the corners of her eyes.
No. She bit her lower lip. She was not going to cry. It was not a disaster. “Keep it together, Frazzle,” she whispered. “The fancy ponies aren’t gonna look at your butt.”
The thought made her giggle.
“You okay, lady?” said a burly teamster type, pausing next to her with genuine concern in his eyes.
“I think so?” said Frazzle, blinking up at him. “Oh my Faust, Rarity might look at my butt!” A grin spread across her face.
“Um, okay,” said the teamster, backing away from her. “Good luck with that.”
Frazzle floated out of the station on a cloud of lust and flowery dreams. Rarity might look at her butt! Not that there was much to see, in Frazzle’s case. And not that Rarity didn’t have her pick of plots. And not that there was any indication she liked mare plots. The tabloids did make their implications, especially given how tight-knit the Element Bearers were. But everypony remembered Rarity trying to get into Blueblood’s britches a few years ago.
She walked until Canterlot Boutique was in sight. Platinum Plaza was so brightly lit that it might as well have been daytime. Hundreds, maybe thousands of ponies milled around her, out enjoying a relatively warm autumn evening and the many pleasures of Canterlot’s nightlife. She swallowed. Her throat was dry. She fished out the wristwatch she’d stuffed into her purse. The party had started about half an hour ago. Frazzle wasn’t sure exactly what ‘fashionably late’ meant, but forty-five minutes was as good as half an hour, wasn’t it? She didn't have to go right in.
Across the plaza, she heard the sound of many voices singing. Members of the crowd around her began to shift, as if getting the urge to dance. Oh no. A musical number was starting.
Growing up on a farm outside Whinnyappolis, Frazzle had been taught that she might be caught up in a musical number or two in her lifetime. It was the sort of thing that sometimes happened in Equestria, a way the universe had of releasing excess magical energy. She shouldn’t expect to be more than a backup dancer, and she shouldn’t worry about losing time — reality would sort itself out with a more plausible version of events, and whatever song she had been in would soon be nothing but a fading memory.
But in Canterlot, with such a concentration of powerful ponies working magic, musical numbers were a weekly, sometimes daily event. Frazzle couldn’t remember exactly how many she’d been caught up in, but every one had been a ridiculous experience.
Well. Except for that one time.
Anyway, that settled it — she turned and hurried down a side street ahead of the onrushing wave of music and dance, until she came to a small café that seemed to be outside the area of effect. She managed to grab an outdoor table and ordered a cup of tea and three chocolate croissants from the waitress. She pulled a joint and a lighter out of her purse. That was another thing she liked about Canterlot — none of the ponies around her gave her a second glance as she lit up. And the Night Guard certainly didn’t care; you just had to not get caught with the stuff in the daytime.
Frazzle inhaled, held the smoke in her lungs for a few moments, and blew it out in a curling, spiraling mist. Her tea and her croissants appeared in front of her. As she leaned down to lap at her tea, she heard laughter nearby. Feeling a little paranoid, she glanced towards the sound to see a pair of mares curled around each other at a shadowed table in a corner. Whispering, smiling, kissing, with hooves out of sight beneath the table.
Frazzle looked away, and took another sip of tea.
When she’d been pulled off the street into that song in Rarity’s shop, she’d barely realized what was happening before it was over. It had taken the universe almost a week to sort out the continuity. After all, she could hardly have a Rarity original in her closet that Rarity had never made. So she’d found herself up in Platinum Plaza, wanting something nice to wear for her presentation at the ’05 International Geological Summit. And of course, she'd heard of Rarity's Canterlot Boutique!
“I’ll be right with you, darling,” said Rarity, her head down, rifling around for something behind the counter.
“Okay,” said Frazzle, looking at the dresses on display and thinking grimly about how much this was going to cost. She paused at a dress inspired by the princess of the night. Furs stood up all down her back. Maybe something like that?
“Sorry to keep you waiting, darling. Can I help you with something?”
Frazzle turned around. The photos of Rarity in the newspaper did not do her justice. In print, she was a pretty unicorn, thin in the chest and wide in the hips, hair too styled, makeup impeccable, but somehow too much at the same time. In person, though, she glowed. Well, okay, that was just the light from the windows reflecting off her white fur, but her poise! Her grace! Her elegance!
“Darling?” She looked at Frazzle over the tops of her red horn-rimmed glasses. Just like Frazzle’s! Her mane was up in a bun with two pencils poked through it at a perfect ninety-degree angle. Not a hair out of place.
“I would like to purchase a dress,” said Frazzle. Flecks of spit flew out from her lips as she hit the sibilants.
“Well, I only do custom work,” said Rarity, either ignoring or not noticing the spit, “but if you’re interested in that, you’ve come to the right place.”
Frazzle nodded. “That is what I was hoping for.”
“Well, why don’t we sit down and talk about what you’d like. Would you care for a cup of tea?”
Then they went into Rarity’s work room and made love on her sewing table for hours.
No, wait, that last part hadn’t happened. What time was it, anyway? Frazzle fished around her purse for her watch. Oh. Was it that late? Her tea was cold. She stubbed out what was left of her blunt in the ashtray, stuffed her last croissant into her mouth, left an appropriate-seeming pile of bits on the table, and hurried back towards Platinum Plaza. It was was safe; the musical number was over. She climbed the boutique's stairs, showed the bouncer her invitation, and stepped inside.
Oh dear. This was worse than she’d feared. On a rational level, she was aware that it was a modest get-together of a couple of dozen mares of moderate-to-extravagant means, drinking wine and chatting to the sounds of a super mellow DJ-PON3 remix of an old Sapphire Shores hit. Unfortunately, on another level her social anxiety had kicked in. She hated these ponies and she hated this song. She wanted to run away. She knew what this was about — Rarity was going to ply her guests with wine and hors d’oeuvres, trot out models in her latest designs, and get them all to order dresses from her. That greedy cow.
Then Frazzle saw her, floating like a perfect, fluffy white marshmallow in a sea of mediocre hot chocolate. She was wearing a frilly purple dress that made her look like some kind of mysterious sea princess. Her mane was lustrous. She flitted from pony to pony, smiling, saying something light and friendly to each of them. She heard her addressing them by name. Oh no. She was getting closer. She glanced up, and met Frazzle’s eyes with a smile of warm recognition. Rarity remembered her!
Frazzle couldn’t deal. She ducked behind a mannequin, chest heaving.
“Would you care for a hors d’oeuvre?” said an acorn-brown stallion wearing cuffs and a collar.
“Yes, thank you,” said Frazzle. She took the entire tray out of his hooves and bolted for the little fillies’ room.
———
Frazzle sat on the closed toilet seat, stall door locked, stuffing tiny quiches into her face. What was she going to do? She had another joint in her bag, but that wasn’t a good idea. When she was a little stressed, that calmed her down, but when she was this freaked out, it usually only made her worse. Alcohol would would be an even worse idea — Frazzle did not hold her liquor well, as any of the Buckowski’s crowd could tell you. The tiny quiches she was shoving in her face by the hooffull helped a little, but they were running out fast. In fact… yeah. That was it. She’d barely tasted them. She still felt hungry.
She had started licking the tray when she realized there was another mare in the room. She froze. Whoever it was was humming to herself. Frazzle peeked through the crack of the stall door. At first she thought the plump pink mare in the black in the back dress and fishnets was freshening her makeup, but no, she was making faces in the mirror. Frazzle’s eyes drifted down the back of the mare’s dress. The short, fluffy skirts left a tantalizing curve of thick pink rump bare. Every once in a while, she’d lean over the sink, showing more of her body to Frazzle’s hungry eyes. It was rude to stare, but what this mare didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, would it? Frazzle licked her lips as the mare’s skirt got hung up on the counter, baring her bubble-round croup and part of her cutie mark. A blue balloon with a yellow string.
Frazzle gasped. Oh no! It was Pinkie Pie. Of course it was Pinkie Pie. What had she been thinking?
Pinkie Pie’s ears perked up, and she looked over her shoulder.
“Help you with something, Mister?” she asked, her eyes narrowing mockingly.
“I’m not a mister,” said Frazzle, her voice shaking.
“Oh, okay,” said Pinkie. She hopped down from the counter and onto all fours, and walked towards Frazzle’s stall. “For some reason that makes me feel better, even though it’s just as rude to stare if you’re a girl? At least you’re in the right bathroom. Though I think it’s silly we have different bathrooms anyway. I mean, we all walk around naked most of the time, so what’s the big deal? It’s like, putting on clothes is really sexy, because suddenly you’re hiding stuff and ponies wonder what’s so great about your body, that you feel like you have to hide it? So having different bathrooms is sexy, too, because the opposite-sex restroom is a place you’re not supposed to go, and I don’t know about you but the second somepony tells me I can’t do something, it’s the thing I most want to do in the whole wide world, and speaking of which, hey, I can’t see you very well. Why don’t you come out here?” By the time Pinkie was done, her eye was pressed to the door crack, staring at Frazzle.
“I can’t. You’re thtanding with your face up against the door.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.”
Frazzle slunk out, clutching the hors d’oeuvre tray to her chest like a breastplate. Pinkie narrowed her eyes at her. “Waaait a minute. You seem familiar. What’s your name?”
“Um, Frazzle Rock?” said Frazzle, trying to hold as still as possible while she judged the distance to the bathroom door.
Pinkie gasped. “Not the Frazzle Rock who’s a junior agent at the Canterlot Geological Survey? The one who works in a converted closet behind the machine shop in the basement with Maud Gertrude Pie?”
Frazzle nodded.
“Oh my gosh you work with my sister!” squealed Pinkie, throwing her forelegs around Frazzle and squeezing her so hard she couldn’t breathe. When she let Frazzle go, the hors d’oeuvre tray was bent. Frazzle quietly set it down behind her.
“Maud’s your thister?” She’d never mentioned being related to a national hero. The possibility had never even occurred to Frazzle — ‘Pie’ was a pretty common last name and they didn’t… you know… act very much the same.
“Uh huh! She raves about you! She even shows me photos! Mostly from that bar you go to?” Pinkie thumped Frazzle on the shoulder. “Oh, you are so funny when you’re drunk!”
Oh no. Not those photos. Frazzle swore internally. Maud was showing those to her family?
“Anyway, any friend of Maud’s a friend of mine! In fact anypony I meet is a friend of mine, but especially friends of Maud’s. Do you want to go somewhere that isn’t the bathroom? I mean, it’s a nice bathroom, but… oh. Wait. Hold on. I remembered why I came here. Just a second.”
Pinkie Pie vanished into a restroom stall. Frazzle was halfway out the mares’ room door when a thought occurred to her. Socializing in the bathroom was awkward. Socializing with your friend’s relatives was awkward. Socializing with Pinkie Pie was, amazingly awkward. But they had a personal connection. And Pinkie Pie knew Rarity. Frazzle closed the door and went to the sink to wash her hooves. She had to wash them for rather a long time — Pinkie Pie apparently had a lot of business to take care of. She was a groaner. Frazzle’s frogs were starting to get wrinkled, and she was about to give the whole thing up as a lost cause when Pinkie pronked out of the stall.
“Well, I feel better! Can’t remember eating bean sprouts recently, though. I mean, who even likes those? Okay, I did have lunch at a Kirin noodle place on Tuesday, and they always put bean sprouts on the side, but I think it’s for garnish? Because nopony would actually eat those; they taste like bland dirt, but I guess I must’ve gotten a few by accident, because…”
“Tho, how about this party?” said Frazzle, trying to change the subject.
“It’s not really my scene,” said Pinkie, washing her hooves and then wiping dry on her skirt. Frazzle followed her out of the rest room. “I mean, the client is always right, I hear? But I’d have used more streamers, if Rarity would have let me.’”
“It’s not really my scene, either,” said Frazzle, scanning the room for more tiny quiches, but that server she’d stollen her first tray from had apparently spread the word, and they were all keeping out of hoof’s reach.
“What is your scene?” asked Pinkie, slipping two quiches from a nearby tray and passing one to Frazzle. She seemed a little more staid, out here in public, as though she was able to rein in the crazy when she needed to. Either that or she was just taking a breather.
“Buckowski’s. Science fiction conventions. Libraries. Mine shafts.”
“Oh, Twilight likes science fiction! I prefer puppet shows. Hi, Rarity.”
“Pinkie Pie, dearest!” Rarity’s coat sparkled like a forest of tiny gypsum crystals. This was too much. She wasn’t ready. Frazzle’s tiny quiche turned to ash in her mouth. She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry.
Pinkie Pie and Rarity kissed each other on the cheek. Pinkie Pie used tongue. Rarity dabbed at her cheek with a hankie and turned to Frazzle. “And Ms. Rock. How are you enjoying the party?”
“Mghm mmmgh mm mmm mm!” said Frazzle.
“Oh, I’m so glad,” said Rarity, one corner of her mouth twitching up. “Would you care for a glass of wine?”
Frazzle nodded. Damn her low weight and insane metabolism. The quiche was turning into concrete in her mouth.
“Yeah, Frazzle’s cool,” said Pinkie. “She works with Maud! Isn’t that an insane, completely implausible coincidence?”
“It is a small world,” said Rarity. “Pinkie, is the green room ready? I feel I will be needing a break before the fashion show.”
Pinkie Pie saluted. “Ready and waiting. I’ll go back and make sure Toola and Trender are ready to be raging bitches at your request!”
Frazzle realized her wine glass was empty. She felt warm, and a little wobbly. At least the quiche was out of her mouth.
“Thank you, Pinkie. And you, Miss Rock, darling. It was a pleasure to see you again.” Rarity brushed the point of Frazzle’s shoulder with her hoof before she turned away. Frazzle almost fainted. She looked for somewhere to put her wine glass, but no place presented itself.
“Who are Toola and Trender?” said Frazzle to Pinkie.
Pinkie gasped. “You mean you don’t know!”
Frazzle blinked. “No. I don’t. Should I?”
Pinkie rolled her eyes and said, “Oh, they’re only the most important people in Rarity’s distorted view of reality.” She leaned in to whisper to Frazzle. “I didn’t know who they were either! Toola paints scary pictures, and Trender’s a travel writer? I don’t get what the big deal is.”
Gears turned in Frazzle’s head. She was almost in. She could do this… “Oh, I’d love to meet them.”
Pinkie laughed. “You so would not! You don’t even care.”
Frazzle slumped. “Yuppers. You’re right, I totally don’t.”
Pinkie tilted her head and stared at Frazzle suspiciously. “So why are you asking to meet them, then? What’s your angle, buckaroo?” Pinkie gasped. “Wait! Frazzle? Are you in love with me?”
Frazzle blinked. “No? I mean… I’m not… I…” She looked around, but nopony was paying attention to them. In fact most of the ponies here seemed to be doing their best to ignore Pinkie Pie, craning their heads to get her out of their field of vision if need be. “Wait, are you in love with me?”
Pinkie narrowed her eyes. “That depends. Can I crush your heart, or do you need me to let you down easy?”
“What? No, I…”
Pinkie clapped her hooves. “I know! We could go on a date, and I could be late, and then chew with my mouth open at dinner and then talk all through the show and then when I tell you I don’t think it’s going to work out you can be like ‘oh, I really dodged a bullet there!’”
“No!” hissed Frazzle. “I’m not in love with you!”
Pinkie frowned. ”Okay, then why are you being such a weirdo?”
Frazzle slumped. “I’m in love with Rarity. It’s stupid. I should just go home, right?”
Pinkie’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes went wide. She began to inhale, her breath dragging wisps of Frazzle’s mane towards her mouth. In a panic, Frazzle popped the empty wineglass into her gaping maw.
“No!” she whispered, “It’s a secret!”
“Mghm mmm? Mmm?” said Pinkie Pie.
Frazzle got behind Pinkie Pie and began pushing her towards the back of the room. “You have someplace to be, don’t you? Where is the green room, anyway?”
“Mgh mmommr mmm!” said Pinkie Pie.
———
Frazzle had been in here before — Rarity’s tidy little work room in the back of the boutique. The work table, sewing machines and mannequins had been pushed to the side and covered with an indigo drapery, and four cushions and an ice bucket full of bottles of wine, cider, and sparkling water were in the middle of the floor. On one of the cushions was a light pink mare, almost as thin and small as Frazzle herself, with a ragged, pastel rainbow mane. On another was a brown unicorn stallion, pretty and slim, with a floppy yellow mane. Toola Roola and Trenderhoof, apparently. Neither of them seemed surprised to see Pinkie pushed through the door by a stranger with an empty wine glass jammed into her mouth.
“Oh, and who is this?” flounced Trenderhoof, looking Frazzle over. He was surrounded by at least half a dozen empty bottles of cider, and had started in on a bottle of wine, and was lisping nearly as badly as Frazzle.
“Rarity has a bedroom upstairs if you two want to do your foreign object play thing in private,” said Toola, before leaning down to lap at a glass of sparkling water with a lemon on the rim.
Pinkie Pie sat on her haunches and waved her forehooves in the air. “Mth mmm mmmn mn mnmny!” Frazzle, afraid Pinkie was going to break the glass and hurt herself, reached over and popped it out of Pinkie’s mouth.
“This is Frazzle Rock, and she’s in love with Rarity!” screamed Pinkie. Frazzle winced, and regretted taking out that wine glass. Toola and Trender looked at each other.
“Isn’t that just the most precious thing!” said Trender, pressing his hooves to his cheeks.
“Oh, Frazzle, honey,” said Toola. “You have no idea how much crazy there is under that suave, sophisticated exterior. Daddy issues. Mommy issues. Little sister issues. It never ends.”
Frazzle turned for the door. “Okay. Sorry to waste your time.”
“No!” said Pinkie, dragging Frazzle back, and setting her onto one of the cushions. “Stay! Don’t listen to these losers! You’re perfect for Rarity.”
“Pinkie’s very nice,” said Toola.
Pinkie snorted, lying down on her belly next to Frazzle. “I’m saving myself for marriage, thank you.” Frazzle looked at the empty cushion next to them. Pinkie must be saving it for Rarity. Frazzle’s throat felt dry again.
“You might want to consider that, Frazzle. Pinkie would make good wife,” said Toola.
“Don’t discourage her!” said Trender. “I think it’s sweet! Her innocence and bravery are so refreshing!”
Frazzle buried her face in the cushion, and threw her hooves over her head. “I know it’s stupid!” she said. “I just came here… because it’s a fantasy, I guess? To be near her? It’s not like I can just walk up to her and ask her on a date. I’m her client. That would be tho unprofessional! And anyway she might say no, and I don’t think I could take that.”
Toola bit her lower lip, guilt flickering behind her eyes. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I can be such a bitch sometimes.”
“You can say that again,” said Trender. Toola plucked the lemon off of her glass and threw it in Trender’s face.
“Oh, Faust, right in my eye! Ow! Ow! Owie!”
“Anyway,” said Toola, “there might be reasons why I might not be excited to hear about someone being in love with Rarity, and maybe if certain ponies would refrain from rubbing my nose in it I’d be less of a bitch about it?” Halfway through that sentence, she’d turned to glare at Pinkie, who just rolled her eyes and blew a fluff of mane off of her forehead.
“Oh my gosh,” said Frazzle. “I’m so sorry!”
Toola shrugged. “Old news. I should be over it by now. Still… you have a better chance with her than you’d think. You look a lot like I did seven or eight years ago. And with better hair, to boot.”
Frazzle rolled her eyes to look up at her frizzy mane in confusion.
“Rarity knows what it’s like to have her… thing. Her heart broken,” said Trender. “She’ll be gentle with you. Also the end of my snout is numb. Toola, have I had too much to drink again?”
The door behind her clicked, and began to open. Frazzle’s heart stopped.
———
Minutes ago, Rarity had been trying to disengage herself from the party for a little breather.
“Why that’s wonderful, Senator Mountebank!” she said. “That sounds like an excellent law! It must be so hard for those coal company executives to put bread on the table. And tacking it onto that appropriations bill like that! So cunning.” The senator, not detecting Rarity’s sarcasm, smiled and began to speak again, but Rarity was too quick for her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I do have a few things to get ready for the fashion show! Toodle-oo!”
And she slipped behind a floor display and headed for the workroom. Coal exploration in the Everfree! Well! She’d just pass that little tidbit of intelligence along to Fluttershy, who would pass it along to her activist contacts, and that would put an end to that. She might lose a client, if the senator put two and two together, but Rarity wasn’t missing any meals herself, was she? In fact, if the bathroom scale was any indication, she could stand to miss a few more. She didn’t always approve of Fluttershy’s very liberal political views — business was business, after all — but there were lines one simply did not cross.
Rarity made it across the rest of the shop floor, evading any other attempts at conversation. She let her professional smile slip as she gripped the door handle. Relationships with clients, she reflected as she opened the door, were a kind of performance. One must seem interested in them without becoming over-entangled in their lives. One must be polite without compromising one’s values. And most of all, one must never cross the line between client and…
Oh mother of whores, there was a client in the green room. Rarity made a mental note to hang Pinkie Pie up by her teats after the party and slammed the professional smile back onto her face.
“Oh, Frazzle! What a pleasant surprise.” She tried to make it sound sincere. Did it sound sincere? It was so hard to tell from inside your own head!
The little dear mumbled something and looked at the floor. So probably she’d failed. Rarity sat down on her cushion, and took her time pouring herself a glass of wine.
She glanced around at her friends. Forced innocent smiles. They were up to something. Something involving the little purple mare, no doubt. Rarity did not approve. The little mare was wonderful, of course. Ski-jump snout, astonishing red-gold curls (Rarity’s mnemonic for her name was easy enough, but not really a fair or accurate description of her glorious mane), delicious overbite, legs that went on for miles. Not very attentive to self-care — in fact to be honest she was a mess — but she cleaned up well. She was, in summation, a sweet young thing. Ladies did not go racing off after sweet young things. It was terribly inappropriate. Rarity sipped her wine. Everypony else was staring at her — except Frazzle, of course who was still looking at the floor.
“So. The weather was lovely today, was it not?” The weather had not been lovely. This was Canterlot; the weather was cold and lip-crackingly dry ten months out of twelve.
“So, Rarity, did you know Frazzle here works with Maud?” said Pinkie.
Rarity sighed. “Yes, you already told me that.”
“She’s my partner,” said Frazzle. “Not my life partner. Just… investigation partner.”
Interesting that she felt she had to specify that. That settled it. Her friends were trying to set her up. She had no time for this. “Well, if you all will excuse me, I do have a great deal to attend to.”
“No,” said Pinkie firmly. “You have not relaxed enough. You specifically brought us back here so you can unwind and put on a good face your your clients. As an expert in relaxing, I can tell that you have not relaxed at all yet. So we’re going to play ‘never have I ever’.”
“Pinkie, please, I…”
“Never have I ever!”
“I don’t think this is appropriate with a client in the…”
“Never have I ever! Forehooves in the air! All of you.”
Rarity sighed, and raised her hooves with everypony else.
“Okay,” said Pinkie, “The rules are: we take turns asking questions, and if you’ve done that thing you put one hoof down. Last pony with a hoof in the air wins.”
“I’ve played this before. When I was thirteen,” said Frazzle.
“So if I say, I don’t know, something everypony’s done, like ‘never have I ever eaten a frozen corn dog while it was still frozen’, then we’d all put one hoof down.” Pinkie lowered a hoof. Nopony else did.
“I’m sorry, Pinkie, but what exactly is a ‘corn dog’?” said Rarity.
Pinkie narrowed her eyes. “Apparently I am playing with a pack of lying liars. Pinkie Promise to tell the truth. Now!.”
Rarity, Toola, and Trender rolled their eyes as one, and said “Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye”, with a flurry of hoof gestures. Frazzle followed along like she was trying to keep up with an unfamiliar religious service.
“So. To begin properly,” said Pinkie, raising her head high with a dignity that did not befit the situation, “never have I ever eaten actual grass off the ground like our paleo-pony ancestors did except once to see what it was like.” Nopony lowered their hooves. “It was gross. I threw up.”
Rarity arched an eyebrow imperiously. “It seems that one is violating the spirit of the rules, with such exceptions,” she said.
Pinkie shrugged. “I have to be careful. There aren’t a lot of things I haven’t tried. Your turn, Trender.”
“Never have I ever been held at gunpoint,” said Trender. Toola lowered one hoof. Then Trender facehoofed. “Wait. I’ve had that happen to me, too. Pinkie, I’m too drunk for this.”
“Theriously?” asked Frazzle.
“Non-fiction writing isn’t pretty, sweetheart. If you wanna get the good stuff, you’ve got to take some risks,” slurred Trender. He tried to take a swig of wine with his freed hoof, and wound up sloshing it on his jersey. “Oh son of a…”
“Okay, my turn?” said Toola. “Never have I ever… oh, buck, I don’t know, eaten a hog’s anus.”
“That’a… a disturbingly specific question,” said Frazzle.
“While it was still attached to the hog or not?” asked Trender, dabbing at his jersey with a stray fabric sample.
“Whichever,” said Toola.
Trender lowered his other hoof. “International cuisine. This game goes pretty quick, doesn’t it?”
Pinkie lowered one of hers, too. “Corn dogs,” she said. “Never read the ingredients.”
Toola blinked. “Okay. I really didn’t expect anypony’s hoof to go down for that. Rarity.”
Rarity snorted. “Fine. Never have I ever tried to needlessly interfere in a friend’s personal life while I was supposed to be helping her with a business event. Pinkie.”
Pinkie kept her hoof up. “Emphasis on needlessly. You have to be careful how you word these things. Rarity.”
“It’s your turn, Frazzle,” hissed Pinkie loudly out of the side of her mouth.
Frazzle ducked her head. “Um… never have I ever… um… fallen asleep in the theatre?”
Toola lowered a hoof. “Oh, my Faust, my college girlfriend used to work with this searingly tedious performance artist. You have no idea.”
Rarity groaned. “Oh, I do. She’s right. I didn’t fall asleep, though.”
Toola nodded. “You’ve always been able to put on a good face, Rarity. Anyway, I’m out.”
“Good job, Fraz!” said Pinkie, thumping her in the shoulder. “Can I call you Fraz? I’m going to call you Fraz. Anyway. Never have I ever had a crush on a professional acquaintance.”
“Pinkie!” gasped Rarity.
“Remember you made a Pinkie promise!”
Frazzle seemed to have stopped breathing.
“This is most inappropriate, and if that is indeed what this is about, then it is none of your business!” She leapt to her hooves.
“Technically you just lowered your hoof,” said Pinkie.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have a party to run. I expected that you of all ponies would appreciate that, but apparently not! Good day!” And with that Rarity stormed out and slammed the door behind her. Seconds later, after running around frantically to confirm that there was, indeed, only one exit, Frazzle followed her, bawling.
Toola blinked. “Was that what you were going for Pinkie? Because if so, well played.”
———
Frazzle was in the bathroom stall again, crying and wiping her nose with toilet tissue.
“Well,” she said to herself. “That didn’t go well.” Then she laughed, and then she started crying again, and then she sneezed. “I will never let Maud’s sisters help me with anything ever again. Ever.” Just to be safe from further assistance of any kind, she had jammed a chair up under the door knob. Mares were pounding on the door, but Frazzle ignored them. They could use the stallions’ room if they needed to. She needed to think. When she was pretty sure she was done crying, she left the stall, kicked a hoofstool provided for shorter ponies over to the sink, and stood where she could look in the mirrors.
“Listen, Sprout,” she said to herself in the mirror in a fake-deep voice, “you’ve got a choice. Either you go out there and do what you came here to do, or you go home.”
“But I already tried, Daddy,” she said in her normal voice. “I already tried and she just left!”
“You didn’t try shit,” said Daddy Frazzle. “You let a crazy pony try and set you up. What were you thinking? Now you go out there and you offer to buy that mare a drink. And if she says no, then just move on, ’cause it means there’s somepony better out there for you.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” said Normal Frazzle, running her hoof down the mirror. “But I’m scared.”
“What are you two doing in there!” shouted one of the ponies banging on the door. Frazzle sighed, got off her step-stool, removed the chair from under the doorknob, and went back to the sink to watch the tears and snot off her face. Fancy mares glared at her as they occupied the stalls.
The fashion show was over, not that Frazzle cared. Though she supposed that if she did wind up in a relationship with Rarity, this might be the last of her fashion shows she was allowed to miss. A sobering thought, but she’d burn that bridge when she got to it. The party had thinned out a little — everypony who was just here for the show had moved on. It was barely eleven. Still plenty of time to make Buckowski’s. Rarity was talking to ponies again, but with a pad and pen discreetly held in her magic, taking orders.
Strong feelings filled Frazzle’s heart. Rage at first — Rarity could be a bitch, couldn’t she? And yet… who wasn’t sometimes? She realized she really was in love with Rarity, or at least her idea of Rarity. A new song started up on the PA system — a remix of that song about playing cards from Coluratura’s first album. She began to get caught up on the music, her hoof began to tap, and before she realized what was happening, she was singing.
She’s what I think I really ought to be.
How she’s so perfect, oh, it’s really lost on me! (I want her)
To think she’d ever love some reedy little nerd,
To even think of it is totally absurd!
Never, never should I ever talk to somepony like you!
Frazzle blinked. A musical number? Now? What was this nonsense? None of the fancy ponies at the party seemed to take it amiss; in fact, they seemed to be forming up into some kind of dance routine.
Rarity appeared from behind a line of dancers led by Toola Roola and Senator Mountebank. With a toss of her head and a wave of her hoof, she launched into her verse.
You know that I’m what everypony wants to be,
A paragon of wealth, the queen of fabulosity!
I have both ways, I get exactly what I want,
I do my art in back and I get money in the front.
Never, never would I ever talk to somepony like you.
At this point the dance routine had swept up Frazzle, and placed them side by side for a moment.
“I don’t know what this is all about, but I just want to buy you a cup of coffee or something. Please?”
Rarity scooped Frazzle up, spun her in a half circle, and set her down, exchanging places with her. “Darling, I’m flattered, but I’m afraid that would be terribly unprofessional of me. So sorry!”
“I’m a client. It’s not like I’m your boss, or even a co-worker. If I don’t commission anything else from you, I’m not a client any more, am I?”
A line of dancing wait-stallions — far more than Frazzle remembered being employed at this event — separated her from Rarity, and she felt the urge to express her feelings in song again. They weren’t happy feelings.
I’m strong and saucy, I’m an independent mare,
And I think social climbing is an absolute nightmare.
Maybe I should give up, I should to turn my own attention
To all the other fish beneath the ocean’s surface tension!
Never, never need I ever talk to somepony like you!
Rarity, however, seemed to be having second thoughts. Those stallions from earlier lifted her over Frazzle’s head, set her near the front of the shop, and began disporting themselves behind her, blocking Frazzle’s view. She heard Rarity began to sing again.
She’s so slim, so tight, so very, very pretty,
Though when she talks to me she’s often rather spitty.
Her social skills are weak, but I think that I can deal.
Her outfits stand for nothing, but I can make her kneel!
A little scandal would be good for my career,
That Rarity still loves the young’s what ponies want to hear.
Tongues will wag and gossips sure will have lots of fun,
When they learn I’m thirty-three and she is twenty-one!
Well. Frazzle thought that was rather more information than she needed, but she’d have to accept whatever helped her case, no matter how creepy.
The dance swept them together again. Pinkie Pie had a verse here, for some reason, giving Frazzle a chance to talk. Frazzle took a deep breath. “I’m not asking much here. Just one quick coffee date. If it doesn’t work out, we can just move on.”
Rarity opened her mouth to respond, then looked away. “Oh, it’s been so long since I had a lover, darling. And in the past it hasn’t worked out well. You could say I’m already married to my work.”
Frazzle nodded, willing herself not to cry. “I understand. I love my job too. I won’t ask again.”
Frazzle began to walk away. Suddenly she felt the brush of silk against her side, and felt a foreleg wrapping around hers. She looked up, and Rarity met her eyes.
To locate hidden gems has always been my purpose,
I shape them and I polish them, bring beauty to the surface.
I’ve looked inside you with my art, and there beheld a tender heart.
I long to show you all the things my wisdom can impart.
They were being carried out of the Canterlot Boutique and across Platinum Plaza, wafted on a sea of helping hooves toward an unknown destination. Frazzle’s heart leapt, and she took her turn to sing.
When I was just a filly, Daddy told to me,
A tale of how joy in life could be won by bravery.
Though he’s been gone years, I’ve learned it pays to face my fears,
For Rarity is kind and wise beyond the powers of her peers.
The hooves set them down at the café Frazzle had stopped at earlier. Rarity and Frazzle’s hooves came together frog to frog as the waitress set steaming cups in front of them.
Never, never have I ever met somepony like you!
And the music was gone. Already the memory was fading, and being replaced by the memory of her clumsily inviting Rarity for a cup of coffee after the party. She’d been refused, and gone to get her coat. But Rarity had stopped her at the door, and asked her to please wait.
“And so,” said Rarity, “here we are.”
“I don’t like the songs,” said Frazzle wrinkling up her nose. “They’re kind of embarrassing.”
“But that’s how we met, don’t you remember?” said Rarity.
Frazzle smiled and blushed. “I remember. I guess they have their uses.”
And they sat talking until almost dawn.
