Cheerielee's School for Peculiar Girls

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I am resting on my bed, my back leisurely prone on the clear membrane that is my side of the bed.

“Mirm-I-Anne, I believe we have a class and I do not wish to be late!” she exclaims, as she is bursting into the room.

“Oh, yeah; Rarity is a sticker for punctuality, but I do love her classes!” I respond.

“She is indeed!” she points out.

“Let us be off!” I respond, as I am pushing myself up from the bed.

She grins at me, and I raise to my feet and follow her out of our room. My sister is such a sweet girl, I never knew I would ever see one such as her.

“Thankfully, I do not need to worry about a key, or locking the door to the room; none who is not supposed to be in the room, could possibly enter!” I ponder.

We just follow the hall, to the door behind which the class is to be held. Rarity is the teacher, for this particular class. Or, is it a peculiar class? It is confusing, but maybe both words are equally fitting in this case.

I feel the glistering black stone tiles under my feet, as I enter the room. Incidentally, the walls are covered with a chess pattern of black and mirror tiles. Curious light, dancing in the room, like frisky elves, flying in the breeze in the early spring.

Soon, I run into the sparkling feel of the mermaid pool, inhabited by Origami Mermaids of various types.

“Sorry, Mirm; but we do not have time to watch or play, we do have a class now!” my sister points out.

“Sorry, Mare-Ella” You are right, but they are just so fascinating, to watch!” I respond.

“Maybe we could watch them, after class? To your defence, they sing beautifully!” she responds.

While I can make out no individual words, or even make any sense of the sounds they make; the effect, of what one could only refer to as song is mesmerizing to breathtaking, indeed.

What I hear, is no mere sound of paper rustling and bustling in the air of a breeze. It is, as if they were indeed singing; in the style of the Sirens, calling mariners to a watery and premature death.

“Could Diane have recreated the true magic of the Sirens, even if unintentionally, on her part?” I ponder, as I follow my sister to the next door.

I dare not giving voice to the suspicion of what could have been before me, lest it is or becomes true out of my spoken words.

Seeing Diane crafting the likes of these, before my very eyes; strikes are and wonder into the heart and soul of even a peculiar girl, like me. The book does not lessen the impact, it is merely applying the light onto the image before my very eyes.

As opposed to Diane’s class; Rarity’s class is individual. There are no other girls in the room, and none is forthcoming any time soon.

“Welcome to my class, girls; I am Rarity, and I am hosting this class.

I am instantly taken aback, by her pristine, pure, silicon white coat of fur. Her blue eyes are fixing on me and my sister. Of course, she was addressing the two of us, alone. She desire a more private, intimate setting; for what she has in mind, for the two of us.

“Greetings, Rarity!” we respond, in chorus.

From the setting of your class; this feels more like a business meeting, or a private audience in the purpose of offering a fashionable ensemble?” I add.

“In a sense, you are a business! Though, I guess the offered ensemble is closer to what you are looking for!” she points out, in response.

“Since it is you, who are offering; I take it, this will be something very personal and individual, for a pair of peculiar girls like us!” I suggest.

“This is Cheerilee’s school for peculiar girls, so you are bound to be special!” Rarity points out.

“Cheerilee’s school is a very special place to be, and if you are caring for the details of what we wear; then it is bound to be spectacular, and peculiar on the side!” I offer.

“How could I possibly live with myself, if I permitted you two girls to walk out wearing anything less than fabulous?” she exclaims.

“For you, it just has to be peculiar; or, it would simply not work”” she adds, almost like an afterthought.

“That is why you are here, helping us to dress up our very best!” Mare suggests.

“Yes, and in order for you to dress up; you need to slip out of what you wear now, behind the screen!” she points out.

“Oh, yeah!” I ponder, as I walk over to one of the screens.

My sister, Mare hides behind the other one, on the left.

As I undress; I can see the vaguest of outlines of her body, on the other side of the screen. Naturally, she could see me, in the same perspective. I leave my top and skirt on a hanger, with the panties on the second hanger.

“Curious, what is she going to offer me, to wear?” I ponder.

Once I am once more completely nude, I notice her hoof pushing a pair of tights through the screen. Of course, there is also a new top.

“Brand new, as if she had just made them for me!” I ponder.

“What if they were actually this new?” I realize.

These garments; both the tights, and the top are crafted from the same material as all the other garments she had crafted for us. She seems to make a deal, out of keeping the style as close as possible; while still making each and every garment intimately individual. How much effort had she been putting into this? Of course, I may never know.

I lift my right foot, slipping it into the top of the tights she had just offered me. I push the foot down, progressively further and further down; until the foot reaches the end and I feel the end of the smooth rubber, hitting the tips of my toes.

I pull up the top of the tights to my knee as I place the foot down, firmly on the floor; lifting my left foot and slipping it into the top of the tights. I feel the material contract around my skin and eagerly slide all the way. It is almost, as if I could not have stopped it; once I had slipped the foot in, pulling the top of the tights up. I find myself pulling the tights up over my thighs, hips and over my waist, before I feel the snug material stretch and pull back.

I set down my left foot, before I give the tights a few tentative tugs; feeling the material find its place, as tight as it may be. Only then, the sensation of the rubber fades away, to the point I can’t say I am even feeling it.

I pick up the top, slipping it down over my head and pulling my arms through. Just as the tights; the top is tight and slips on as if on its very own accord.

I look down, only to see my feet; as if I had been stark naked, each and every detail enhanced, all according to the design of Miss Rarity.

“Step right out, so I can see how you look!” she promptly exclaims.

Of course, she had seen just enough of us; to know when we had finished dressing up, without actually seeing any details of us.

“How does it feel?” she then inquires.

“Surprisingly tight, at first! Now, I just feel a bit light!” I respond, and my sister echoes my response a mere moment later.

“Good! It is intentional!” she explains.

“Intentional? How could a pair of tights make me feel lighter, than before?” I ponder.

“Buoyancy!” Rarity explains, as if she had known what I had been thinking.

“Explain, please!” my sister responds.

“You did see the Mermaid Origami, in the pool outside? These are mermaid tights and tops, you are wearing!” she points out.

“Yes, we could not help but noticing the mermaid Origami in the pool outside your classroom!” I respond.

“I take it, you heard them sing!” Rarity points out.

“Yes, we did!” my sister responds.

“You could hear them sing, but not what they are saying? Peculiar? You are peculiar, and you are Mermaids!” Rarity offers.

“Could I have a pair of matching gloves, just to see how it would feel?” I inquire.

“These leafy green gloves, should be just right for you!” Rarity points out, as she is levitating the gloves towards me.

I stretch out my hands and the gloves slide right on. I feel the initial tightness spreading from my hands and all the way up my arms. As the gloves reach my shoulders, the gloves are coating my skin perfectly.

“There, how does that feel?” she inquires.

“Perfect, as if this could have been me all along!” I respond.

“Now, my dear mermaids; if you would focus, swim around the room, please!” Rarity is instructing us.

Before I even knew it, my legs are fusing into a beautiful Mermaid’s tail. My gloves changes into what looks like a Pony’s hooves, just that they had been modified for an under-water Pony.

“I am; a Hipocampus!” I just realize, without knowing where the name even came from.

Swimming around the room is easy, even if there is technically no water in the room. Maybe, not this is part of being Peculiar. I am peculiar, and this is who and what I am.

It never entered my mind; that I could have problems, opening the door to our room, now as I have hooves in place of my hands. Then again, this proved to be no problem. No problem, at all.

“Thank you, Rarity!” I exclaim.

“You are quite welcome, my dear; it was a pleasure, on my part!” she responds.

On second though, I believe her; she is Rarity, and the most generous person I have ever seen. Had it been any other, I would have doubted the sincerity.

On my way out, I place my right fore-hoof on the plaque, opening the door, as if I had had the hands I had been born with. The process works, just as it had before. What had I been worrying about, this is for peculiar girls. Just like me.

As I swim out, the room is quiet, but as I close the door; the voices are back in full force. They are indeed, singing. I can hear them, I hear what they say. I just can not put a finger on what they say, so I can’t explain.

Origami are Japanese in origin, maybe this is why I can never quite grasp enough to explain?