The sewing machine hummed and clattered sporadically as skilled hooves turned and fed panels of the most exquisite material underneath its presser foot to emerge joined together as bigger pieces of dresses in various stages of their creation.
To the untrained eye, the piles of material could have been dismissed as little more than an untidy mess, but to the creative mind visualising how every single piece would fit together, they were expressions of the many facets of her boundless originality.
The white mare uttered a gentle “tsk, tsk” as she raised a freshly sewn seam to the poor light available in her workroom today. The sewing was perfect, but her ability to see and fully appreciate the fall of the material was compromised because dark rainclouds stood between the sun and Carousel Boutique. There was nothing for it, she would just have to get up and turn the lights on.
Alighting from her chair with careful stiffness, she stretched her back gratefully to help relieve the aches that had been building up during the last few hours of intensive activity. Next, she lifted her red rimmed glasses and folded them carefully next to her beloved sewing machine, only then rubbing her tired eyes and emitting an appreciative little groan. The session had been demanding, and she flipped the lightswitch, turning to survey critically her handiwork under the unforgiving glare of bright artificial light, nodding her approval of what lay before her. Yes, it had all been worth it.
A distant tinkle sounded from through in the main showroom, a sound that always brought a cheerful smile to her beautiful face with the prospect of happy new customers eager to be shown around the range of fabulous dresses that would be on display, whatever the season.
“Coming!” she trilled as she remembered her glasses and trotted out to see what lucky mare or stallion she could help out today.
"Welcome to Carousel Boutique where every garment is chic, unique and magnifique. How may I be of assistance?” she said tossing her mane expertly over her shoulder as she made a grand entrance from between some carefully placed mannequins.
She was beautiful and was quite prepared to flaunt it when the occasion arose, and it certainly never hurt when impressing customers. In fact, she knew that many of her repeat customers came in precisely because they knew they would receive her unbridled attention and were prepared to pay the price of a new dress just for that privilege.
Since she was a pony as skilled in sales as in her creativity, she had developed a sixth sense that guided her to size up a customer at first glance, enabling her to adjust her pitch as the demeanour of the new arrival suggested. Some were businesslike, others just wanted to get her take on the latest fashions, while others responded best to gentle flirting; those were the ones she liked best. Her hypnotic blue eyes, immaculate white fur and charming patter coupled with her devilishly refined seduction technique would always win the day.
Sometimes, her seduction skills lingered beyond merely being a mechanism for making a sale, but continued to their logical conclusion as the mood took her; she was a highly spirited young mare after all.
Rarity hadn’t yet worked out in her own mind what kind of mood she was in today, still having her head full of unsated creativity and kept an open mind as she prepared to greet her latest caller. What greeted her eyes was not the usual client, waiting to be charmed into buying one of her lavish dresses, but a grave looking bespectacled stallion who had just finished shaking his umbrella by the door and now appeared to be completely out of place, standing in the boutique with an attaché case in his hoof. She mentally recalibrated her approach, waiting to see which persona she should adopt with him.
“Miss Rarity?” the dun coloured middle aged unicorn enquired.
“Why, yes” she replied, with that dazzling smile that worked so successfully on stallions and mares alike “Is it a suit for yourself, my good Sir, or perhaps a dress for that special somepony?”
“Neither, I’m afraid. I am Dr Stable from the Ponyville Hospital” said the stallion producing an identity card “Do you have somewhere we can talk in private please?”
“Yes of course” she replied, trotting past him towards the door, mind in a flurry. Only when she faced the OPEN sign and reversed it so that it read CLOSED and knew he couldn’t see her face did she allow her professional smile to slip momentarily, biting her lip while she quickly tried to work out what he could be doing calling on her.
She turned back to face him, quickly raising her smile once more before he could notice any difference in her deportment.
“Is there anywhere we can take a seat?” he asked.
“My consultation desk” she said, gesturing to a doorway “It’s just through here if you would like to follow me? Sorry it’s in a bit of a mess, I think of it as my inspiration room.”
They took seats opposite each other and he withdrew a photograph from his attaché case to show her.
“Please would you tell me if you recognise this stallion?” he asked.
“Darling” she cooed, batting her eyelids “I do get to see a lot of handsome stallions in my line of …”
“Please, Miss Rarity” he interrupted “I regret to say that I am here on business rather than pleasure; would you just look at the picture and tell me if you know this stallion please.”
Feeling a little deflated, she focused the image on the picture through her glasses.
“Hmmm” she hummed pensively, “He’s certainly handsome. Could you give me a clue please?”
“Awards ceremony. Three weeks ago. Manehattan” he prompted.
“Oh yes, I think I may remember now. Isn’t he a fashion writer, as I recall?”
“Were you … intimate with him?” he enquired showing no embarrassment at the sensitive question he just asked.
“Really” she admonished coquettishly “A Lady never reveals her secrets.”
“Please, Miss Rarity” he pressed her for an answer.
Something about his demeanour suggested strongly that now was not the time for games and she suddenly started to feel a little uncomfortable and more than a little exposed.
“Did you say you were from the hospital?” she enquired a little nervously, absent-mindedly rubbing her throat with a forehoof, sensing something to be wrong.
“Yes Miss Rarity. Believe me, I wouldn’t be asking you such personal questions unless there was a very good reason.”
“I ... I may have been with him” she said, trying to recall the evening “But it’s all a bit of a blur. I know there was this famous fashion designer from Canterlot I met later in the evening, and, well, we … er …”
“I understand, Miss Rarity, but please, I must push you on this particular stallion.”
Her face turned crimson against her immaculately brushed white fur and she found it difficult to look Dr Stable in the eye. He in turn felt her embarrassment, but was far more experienced at hiding it than she was; it wasn’t the first time it had been necessary for him to pursue such a line of enquiry.
“I think it’s probably best for you to come with me to the hospital where we can run a few tests ...”
“What kind of tests?” she asked with trepidation.
“We take a sample of your blood and a few swabs, that's all. It would also be very helpful if you could remember anypony else you have been intimate with since that time and what precautions you used; we will be looking for a complete list with dates please.”
Her natural buoyancy punctured, she nodded meekly.
“I … I don’t suppose you would care to tell me why you are so keen for me to do these tests, would you?” she asked, feeling a lump rise in her throat.
“This stallion recently attended a clinic in Manehattan where he was diagnosed with a disease; a particularly unpleasant disease that is spread by intimate contact. He gave your name as a partner.”
"You couldn't be mistaken, could you?" she asked, giggling nervously as she tried desperately to clutch at any chance of a reprieve.
"He gave your name and a surprisingly accurate description; it's unlikely."
“How serious is this disease, Doctor?” she asked, summoning all her courage but already fearing the worst.
“It’s one that we don’t have a cure for yet, I’m afraid.”
Rarity stared back at him poleaxed, her fear showing in her eyes. He had seen that look on almost every pony he had notified in the course of this work, and he hated it; the sudden realisation that somepony’s dreams would now likely never reach fruition – the promise destined to lie unfulfilled. This disease did not discriminate between those with talent or beauty and those without.
“I don’t suppose you’ve brought a cab in this foul weather have you?” she asked, bravely trying to pull together the last few shreds of her dignity.
“Sorry. I can try and hail one if you care to wait” he said, taking pity on her.
She shook her head and donned a fashionable purple raincoat with shaking hooves before fitting the matching rainhat and picking up her umbrella. She opened the door and saw ponies scurrying around, threading their way around newly formed puddles that splashed with the fall of new raindrops and surveyed the depressingly leaden sky.
The friendly sound of the bell on its spring tinkled cheerfully, oblivious to her plight. She looked up, watching it bounce around happily and suddenly burst into tears, turning for comfort to the doctor who was already reaching out to support her.
“Of all the worst things that could ever happen …” she sobbed pitifully.
