Thread and...

by knut124345

Rating: everyone
Tags: Human, Drama, Rarity, Equestria Girls, Slice of Life
Length: 2624

Rarity makes a dress with big ambitions.

Alone in her house, Rarity sits by herself in front of her desk and tries to make dress with big ideas and numerous details.

Published 2017-03-12 18:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-03-12 18:00:01 UTC

Thread and...

The needle pushed into her fingertip. Her skin was just at the point of breaking. Rarity scratched her finger with the narrow tip of the needle.

She grumbled with her mouth closed and pushed the needle into her needle pillow. Right next to the needle a little bit thicker then itself. Her hand rested on the collection of needles. The dull, rounded backs of the needles held her fingers just above the desk, though her nails scratched against the dry wood.

Between her arms, a blurry, rough sketch was drawn on piece of paper. It was a beautiful drawing. The patterns may have been a little overdone and the lines needed strengthening but the curves were elegantly turned and the edges were sharp.

“Just a little bit of improvement.” Rarity picked up a pencil and an eraser. She touched the lines gently, just enough to give the lines she wanted to keep a darker, stronger shade and remove the ones she wanted gone. Carefully, just enough to blur the bits that were not needed.

She blew a puff of air on the paper and brushed it with her hand. She examined the sketch with her blue eyes. A few thoughts went through her head and her fingers rested against her temple. Rarity put the drawing down and tapped her finger on the desk. Her lip nudged itself between her teeth and she bit down.

Rarity sighed. “I need some coffee.” She rose by pushing the chair away with her legs.

The coffee steamed as she poured it into her mug. Golden brown bubbles floated around on the surface and drifted slowly around. She put a spoon into the almost black coffee and stirred it slowly. The smell rising from the mug was strong and bitter.

She envisioned what the dress would look like. All of the fabric and threads coming together. The stiches carefully hidden beneath the folded material. The fabric elegantly curving around the body. The patterns spreading across the whole thing. It was a series of azure butterflies linked together by the vines of crimson red roses. Every one of the butterflies’ wings crafted with jet black string marking the edges and patterns of their wings. The azure fabric between them sparkling with little silvery shards. The flowers filled with a warm crimson colored, the edges of the pettals marked by the same black string like the butterflies. The wines were emerald green, their edges only marked by a brighter shade of green. They twirled around like strings of smoke across the night blue fabric.

In her mind, it was beautiful.

Rarity scratched herself behind the ear. She put the mug to her lips, blew the coffee a little bit before taking a sip. A sharp, slow breath passed through her nose. She sighed when releasing it.

The sketch on her desk was crude in comparison to what was in her mind. She stared at it and put her hand on it. Her fingers scratching the paper.

Her tongue pushed itself between her lips and pulled her upper lip into her mouth. Her teeth pushed against the smooth side of her lip.

Rarity rolled out some dark blue fabric and cut a straight line down from the top. She flattened it out over desk and took a white pencil from her desk drawer. With one hand on the material and one holding the pencil she started making little white lines on the fabric. Every short line curved slightly, making them form longer curves as each of them turned just slightly with every little step.

A few minutes later, the pattern had formed a rectangle with soft, curved corners. Rarity pressed out the fabric out over the desk. She flattened the wrinkles with a sweep of her hands. With experienced fingers, Rarity lifted the edge fabric and started cutting with a narrow pair of scissors. It took her three cuts before she reached the edge of the white edge. The final cut just touched the center of one of the dashes.

She put the scissor aside and turned the fabric so that the dashed line was lined in front of her. There was a cold feeling in her arms. Her fingers rolled into a fist, her nails pressed into the skin of her palm.

Rarity bit her lip. She put her hand on the scissor and her fingers wrapped around it. The tips of her index finger and her thumb slid through the holes and she pushed them apart. The metal gave of a sharp sound as the edges parted. She put the fabric between the blades and cut into it. The edges cut into the dashed white lines, parting them right at the center. Before every cut, Rarity pushed the fabric towards her.

As she approached the corner, Rarity stopped to review the cut so far. Leading up to the white lines, the cut was uneven, rough. But along the dashed white lines, the cut was smooth, clean and even. Not a single cut was out of line or stuck out.

The corner that was coming up looked more like a sharp turn on road then a corner. It was far from the first time Rarity had cut around corners like this. In fact, she had done far more times then she cared to count. But her hand hanged still with the fabric leaning over her arm.

Rarity took a breath through her teeth and the scissor was still.

“Dammit.” Rarity grunted. She turned and stared at her coffee. Smoke still rose from it. Rarity pulled the scissor out and put it on the cut fabric. She took the mug and took a mouthful of the coffee.

“How many times have I done this before?” Rarity asked. Her memory reached back as she looked over the dresses in front her desk. A small fraction of Rarity’s collected body of work. She could remember making each one of them. The feeling of the fabric on her fingers, the sound of the scissor snipping and the sensation of looking at finished piece. Nothing made her tingle with delight more than seeing a finished piece hanging on a mannequin, waiting to be worn. And nothing made her grumble more than seeing a piece staying on the mannequin. Gathering dust and never being worn.

A dress shouldn’t be treated like that. Rarity thought. A dress once finished should be worn. Something an old tailor once told her.

“But when is a dress finished?” Rarity rubbed her temple and took another mouthful of coffee. She gave of a small chuckle to herself. “When there is nothing left to remove.” Another thing the old tailor told her.

Rarity took the scissor and cut through the fabric with careful, small cuts. The blades just barely cutting into the material before Rarity released, moved and started cutting again. Each cut being only a few millimeters long.

About halfway around the corner, Rarity took a pause. She finished of her coffee and leaned back in her chair. She stared into the mug to make sure that there was nothing left and turned the fabric, making sure the line was facing her.

With the scissor in her hand she started cutting again. She made the same short little cuts, making sure that the corner had a smooth, soft curve to it. A few moments later, Rarity had rounded the corner and started cutting in a straight line. These cuts were considerably longer and far simpler. Though there was still thought and technique used every time the blades closed.

When she reached the next corner, Rarity stopped again. She put a thumb under her lip and stared at the fabric. Her forehead tickled as she drummed her fingers on the desk.

“That´s too ambitious.” Rarity shock her head. “I don´t have time.” Her mouth opened and she chewed on the tip of her thump. “But what if I…” Her hand lowered but her mouth stayed open. “Maybe… Yes.”

Rarity opened her desk drawer and started rumpling about with threads and marking pencils. She took out a thick, white pencil and started drawing a pattern across the fabric. This would be the basis of the pattern she was going to put on the dress. But it was a little bit different from what she first envisioned. It would still be an embroiled series of butterflies but now every segment of the wings would have a different shade of their colors. The closer they got to the butterflies body the darker they would get. To the point where the edges of the wings would be downright pale and almost transparent, giving the wings gradual shades of color.

“Yes.” Rarity found herself grinning as she drew the design across the fabric. The idea she had of would be downright stunning. Every little detail would come together to form a greater pattern of butterflies flying through the soft spring wind.

Rarity found herself giggling with anticipation of making it reality. Her hand darted across the fabric, marking out the lines for the wings and bodies of the butterflies. Curved, dashing lines would mark the outliners of the wind.

Eventually she stopped to look at what she had drawn. The marking where rough and the outlines crossed and blurred each other at several points. Not something that Rarity made a not out of. This always happened when she made outliners for patterns. They were supposed to be rough, so she could go back with the needle and correct them.

Rarity sighed. “Back to cutting.” She picked up the scissors again and returned to where she left the fabric. The corner took a little longer then she would have liked but she wanted it to have a smooth curve and no rough outliners. That always took time regardless of how she did it.

Rounding the corner, Rarity picked up the pace. Cutting the straight line was much simpler and easier and within just a few moments, she had the whole piece of fabric done and started working on the pattern.

After a quick digging around in her drawer, Rarity had the size of needle she wanted and a thick white thread to start filling out the patterns of the wind. She gave the thread a quick lick and carefully pushed threaded it through the needle. Out of habit she tied the thread around the needle to make sure that it didn´t come if when she started pushing it through the fabric.

With steady, experienced hands, Rarity pushed the head of the needle through the fabric. Only letting the tip barely come through before she pushed it through again on the other side. Once through she pulled the needle up the length of her arm and gave it a good few centimeters before pushing it through the fabric again.

When the lines started curving and turning, the jumps between the white dashes grew shorter. She had to make adjustments in order to compensate for the turning of the lines and smoothening them out.

As they steadied out, Rarity let the thread make larger, longer jumps. The craft may have been simple at the surface but it was something that took Rarity at least three years to get a handle on. Knowing how long a jump should be, how short they should be, when to turn and how much to match the pattern. When she started, the patterns she made were skittish, uneven and made harsh turns the moment they tried to follow a curve.

Rarity chuckled. She remembered how frustrated she got the first time she tried to make a pattern. How come it looked so much worse than the one on the dress? How come the tailor made it look so easy?

“Experience.” Rarity said as she pulled out the thread. It was only the length of her hand now. “And skill. The two most important things in dress making, and they both take years to get.” She pulled the thread through the final hole in the pattern. With a quick snap of her scissor, the thread was cut and she tied up the end in small knot.

Rarity flattened the fabric and looked over the result.

She was satisfied. It was much smother and brighter then what she drew, even if it turned stiffly when she looked closer. It was something she had grown to accept. When you make a pattern with thread it is always a set of straight lines, only made soft by distance and numbers.

A sigh blew between her lips as, Rarity leaned back into her chair. She put her hands behind her head and let the fingers interlock with each other. Her eyes closed and Rarity slowly leaned into her hands.

The butterflies she was going to make next presented a whole new set of problems. Every little wing would be a at least twenty, or maybe thirty stitches to make. And Rarity had drawn ten butterflies along the whirling winds.

“At least four hundred.” Rarity mumbled. “At most six hundred.”

She released her fingers and leaned forward, putting her hands in front of her and breathing slowly through her nose. The moist, warm air drifted slowly across her fingers.

“Its gonna take me… a long time.” Rarity sighed. She took the thread, thinner needle than before and started on the first wing. It was a large one, separated from the rest of them. She picked it because it would be far simpler than the rest of them.

The jumps were small on this one. Every time she pushed the thread through it, she could only pull the thread to the end and push it down again less than a millimeter away from the previous point. Every time she pulled the thread out, there was a small release of tension. Every time she pushed the needle into the fabric, she felt her heart leaping, just a little bit before it punched through on the other side.

The edge of the wing took her at least fifteen minutes. By the end her fingertips were red and sore. The needle had accidently stung her index finger and a small drop of blood had formed on the tip of her finger.

Rarity managed to keep the blood of the fabric by rubbing her fingers together and pressing some paper against it. The wound was hardly deep or large, due to it being caused by a needle. But it still stung.

“Dammit.” Rarity said while replacing the paper she had used to stop the bleeding. She put the finger into her mouth and sucked on it. The taste of blood spread from the tip of her tongue and reached out to her cheeks. It was a warm and salty taste.

Rarity´s lips smacked as she pulled her finger back. The blood spread out over her finger, little red strings formed between the depressions of her fingerprint. Her thump rubbed slowly against her the tip of her finger. Using her nail, Rarity managed to find the wound caused by her needle and folded the skin back. A new, shining drop of blood formed in the wound. It grew and crawled swiftly upwards. Rarity caught the blood with a fresh piece of paper and looked down at the fabric.

The lunar blue fabric was spread out over desk. A set of three white threads curved across it and a half-finished butterfly, only the outliners of the wings were done. The rest were just blurry white sketches.

Rarity leaned forward, she rubbed the bridge between her eyes with her bleeding finger. A few flakes of dry blood ended up on her on her nose.

“This isn´t working.” Rarity grunted.

A smile started growing her face. “Lesson learned.”