Hearing Rarity's exquisite voice humming in mid-work is reward enough for Flash Sentry's labors. That's nothing to say about the ornate architecture and florid decorations of the studio's lavish interior, which is lightly—and sometimes not so lightly—scented all over with calming lavender and sweet vanilla fragrances. Entering the place is much akin to discovering a flower shop—but in this case the flowers are larger, silkier, and typically worn on the bodies of lucky, lucky clients.
It is fortune enough—exquisite and delightful enough—to just step into that dainty domain, which Flashy does presently, trucking with him two heavy packages in his masculine arms. He's barely halfway into the dress shop—fumbling past shiny sequin gowns and slinky cocktail dresses—when he hears Rarity calling out to him, having no doubt registered the good samaritan in question by the mere sound of his sneaker-falls.
"Good to know you made it before closing, Flash, darling!" He sees her waving a hand while in the midst of hemming the train of a shiny yellow number. With a smile dedicated to her work—her alabaster face leaning in with her working glasses just centimeters from her perfecting fabric—she blindly gestures towards the corner. "Just put them over there. One at a time. There's a good beau."
Flash Sentry does as commanded, a thing the young man has gotten used to in these past few months. It started with doing Sunset Shimmer a few favors by helping move items into her new apartment. Then suddenly he was assisting Twilight Sparkle with moving new lab equipment around. Soon, Flash was carpooling Applejack's and Rarity's sisters to and from after school events—along with half of Rainbow Dash's soccer team. By the time he was passing out fliers for Fluttershy's animal shelter on a near-daily basis and delivering cakes for Pinkie Pie over the weekend, the girls had all gotten used to him being their habitual pack horse—not that they treated him terribly or nothing. And even if they did, there was a part of Flash—a very tranquil and contented part—that would have been just as fine with that as well.
Just as he is fine with this weight—this ache—that makes his knees wobble as he approaches his delicious destination, situated between a dressing dais and a two plush velvet ottomans that look incredibly comfy at this present moment
"Mfrnngh!" Flash grunts while dropping the two heavy packages down with a noticeable thud. He hadn't meant to make such a "macho" outburst, but the effort in releasing the weight had been simply too much for him to handle, and he currently sweats and pants in the relief of being free from it all.
This—of all things—draws Rarity to pivot away from her hard dress-work, and she's instantly gasping. "Good heavens!" She rises up, smooths out her pencil skirt, and clatters over to him on polished black heels. "You absolute lunatic! I hadn't intended you to bring in both sewing machines at once!"
"I just..." Flash pants. "...really dislike..." Flash wipes his brow. "...taking more than one trip to do things."
"Well, you won't have more than one spine in this life!" She pouts, nevertheless resting a soft hand on his shoulder. "Are you certain you're quite alright, Mr. Sentry?"
He smiles. For whatever reason, Rarity had long chosen an extreme formality as a term of endearment for whenever he shows up. "N-never better," he unceremoniously wheezes, drawing sympathy.
It works, although he didn't really need to try. She feels her fingers squeezing him as she adds a coy wink. "Any excuse for a young man to spend more time in my presence, hmmm?"
In response, Flash merely smiles into the ornate distance and breathes out: "I think I need to s-sit down."
"Oh, you poor thing! Sit down, you shall!" With the gentlest of tugs to his hoodie's sleeve, the fashionista leads him to a long velvet couch. There are no tear stains on the soft cushions—which means she hasn't fainted in a while. No doubt Rarity has had a stroke of good luck in accomplishing her projects that week. "Allow me to get you some water, Flash. It's the least I can do."
"Don't put yourself out," he says obligatorily, nevertheless slumping where he sits on the edge of the couch. His fingers flex and unflex, and his forearms shudder on the edge of both numbness and soreness. He'll no doubt be feeling the effects of his muscular showing-off the next morning—or the next week for that matter. As Rarity's heels clatter away, he finds his eyes drawn towards the center of Rarity's shop—to the pastel spectrum of fluffy and silky gowns hanging along rack after rack that border her main workstation. It's all organized chaos, but of the most glamorous kind. He couldn't come up with a better place to collapse even if he tried.
"I can't thank you enough for delivering those new machines to me today~~!" She songfully calls out from across the interior forest of frocks. "This particular model is quite precise, but they break down so easily!" There's the sound of trickling liquid from a water cooler. "At the rate at which clients are paying me, I can just barely make enough profit to buy better and more elaborate materials. It's a slow grind towards profit, and one day I'll surely be able to afford more long-lasting machines." She clatters back over, smiling with a half-full plastic cup in her womany grasp. "But until then... I'm afraid I'm going to have to rely on your strength and versatility over the coming year. Assuming you're still chivalrous enough to volunteer it."
He takes the cup from her, grinning kindly. "You don't even need to ask."
"Hmmmm..." She leans back with a warm, rosy smile. "Flash Sentry. Our Knight in Shining Armor."
He feels a slight tingle somewhere, but his body is too unworthy of a place to house it, much less define it. Instead, Flash cherishes in the mirth of the moment, toasting the cup into the air before taking a liberal sip. "Anything for Her Majesties of Magic."
"Ah! A most exquisite name for a team of harmonic do-gooders! If only Rainbow Dash hadn't already solidified us as the Rainbooms. Ungh! So tacky! Was it enough that we doomed our music band with that moniker for eternity???"
He finishes sipping and exhales. "What would you have preferred?"
"The Generous Geodesonas, of course!"
He winks. "Of course."
Rarity giggles.
Flash chuckles.
And then the place is silent for a toasty second.
"So, Flash..." Rarity swishes around, sashaying back towards her work station. "...since you've been such a kind, generous soul—would you like to be the first set of eyes to take a gander at my current progress?"
"Mmmm—" He hums into a second sip, then limps to his feet to join her. "I would be glad to."
"Now, please be gentle," she says, then facetiously adds: "In your appraisal, of course." A tiny, inward titter, followed by: "It's still a work in progress, and I have yet to add the accents to the train."
"Oh, I... uh..." Flash is distracted by several layers of pink and pinker on either side of him. Half and quarterly-finished gowns dot the heart of the Boutique—hanging off of stiff mannequin figurines. To any random stranger, they would look like complete dresses, but Flash knows better. There is a transcendent state beyond perfection that Rarity aims for, and on almost all occasions—she makes her mark. "I... I-I've no doubt that you'll... uh..." His eyes linger on a particularly flouncy snow-white number with lacy flared shoulders dotted with tiny star-shaped sequins that glitter in the studio light. "...that you'll pull through with flying colors."
"Or in this case, flowing silk!"
"Yes. That—" Flash looks ahead, and he nearly spills his drink to avoid bumping into Rarity. "Guh!"
"Careful, darling." Rarity's calm voice keeps him from apologizing profusely for the mess he ultimately does not make. "'Tisn't the season for bathing suits." A humorous smile, and she hoists up a length of the dress that she is currently working on. "Voila!"
Flash finds himself gazing at a golden-yellow number made out of interwoven silk and nylon tresses. There are several layers of skirts, ruffling outward like the petals of an enormous flower, but the hems are far from even. He spots numerous pins and needles placed strategically, demarcating where the final cuts will be made. At last, he spots the train that Rarity refers to, and he marvels at the crystal-studded bows forming an elaborate floral design in the back, perfect for adding weight and shine to the half-finished ensemble.
"It's..." He breathes in. "It's..." He attempts to breathe out, but suddenly fails.
"OoooOoooh!" She coos, smiling wildly with a glint to her working glasses. "You sound impressed! You don't think it's over done?"
"I mean, if it's what the client wants..."
"Flash..." Rarity pouts momentarily. "Do be honest with me. I shan't expect any less from you."
"It's beautiful, Rarity. It really is. Just..." He swishes the water in his cup a bit, looking at the partially-formed bodice and sleeves of the gown. "...call it personal taste, but—"
"Do go on, dear." She holds the dress up so that it's situated in front of her. "Perhaps a look from the front will make a better impression?"
She isn't wrong. From this angle, Flash can see how an upright posture of the wearer allows for the reflected light overhead to travel down the bust and the outer sides of the bodice in glittering trails. He now realizes that the whole design of the dress is aimed to make an observer follow the fabric down and further down until they catch sight of the jaw-dropping train.
"Oh. Wow." Flash takes another sip to cool something inside him upon digesting the sight. "You weren't kidding."
Rarity tilts her delicate nose up proudly. "I call it 'Golden Falls'."
"Heh... that's a pebble's throw away from something way... way worse-sounding."
She rolls her eyes, then smiles at him. "Well, if you must know, it complements the wearer's blonde hair perfectly!"
"I've no doubt."
"I want her to look like an ethereal goddess... as if her beautiful crown is the source of all the reflective majesty."
"Great work, Rarity."
"Oh—now you're just saying that!" she chirps in protest.
Flash smiles, squeezing the cup lightly in his grasp. "Of course I am. It's a real work of art in the making. Who could possibly doubt you?"
She sighs slightly, her smile a predictably tired one. "I can tell it's not particularly thrilling to you."
"Yeah, so? I'm not the client."
"'Tisn't the point. I am now immeasurably curious, Mr. Sentry." She lays the dress neatly down on the table and looks over at him. "If you could speak for her—how would you go about changing it?"
"How would I?"
"That's right."
Flash squirms slightly. He hasn't expected to be asked this question, and yet he has. "I... uhm..." He shrugs. "I would do it different, y'know...?"
"No. I do not know. Please elaborate."
"Rarity, you're the expert here—"
"Beauty is in the heart of everyone, Flash." She folds her arms with a smile, balancing her loose glasses in one hand as she eyes him. "Humor me. I am quite curious."
"Well..." He gazes at the dress, scratching his chin with a free hand. "...y'know... uh... that remake that Disney did? Of Beauty and the Beast?"
Rarity winks. "Starring the illustrious Dan Stevens and a subtly curved block of wood?"
"Right." Flash nods. "Good on the whole production team making a wonderful cinematic experience and all. But... but that movie's version of Belle's dress..."
"Hmmmm..." Rarity taps the edge of her glasses to her lips. "Left a lot to be desired, yes?"
"I just like..." Flash shrugs. "I-I dig the animated version more."
"Because it's more elegant? Extravagant?"
"It's... like... fluffier..."
Rarity chortles gaily. She leans on the back of her chair for support, catching her breath after that outburst. "Well, Mr. Sentry, I would have to agree. It most certainly is!"
"Totally!" Flash shrugs once more. "Fluffier and... swishier... and fwoofier..."
"All supremely important qualities to a gorgeous ballgown." Rarity winks. "Unequivocally."
"And like..." Flash cocks a hand to his hip while swirling the cup of water. "Why the heck do dresses not have shoulders anymore?"
"You... will have to elaborate on that, dear."
"Puffy shoulders, y'know!"
Rarity snorts—but somehow manages to maintain her composure. "Well, that is one way of putting it—"
"Like..." Flash wanders past several rack-hanging gowns, his arms lingering a few breathless inches from their colorful gossamer materials. "I get what most prom dresses and ballroom gowns are meant to do these days," he says with a sigh. "Off-shoulder cuts and sweetheart bodices are meant to accentuate the natural beauty of a woman and her upper arms..." He grits his teeth briefly. "But what's so wrong with embellishing the upper frame of the dress anymore? Sure, Queen Anne designs and illusion collars and cowl necklines are pretty—but it's almost as if everyone's afraid to cover more skin."
Rarity blinks at him. "You..." She tilts her head aside, tapping the frame of her glasses thoughtfully against her exposed teeth. "...seem to know an awful lot of dress terms, Mr. Sentry."
"And it's not like I'm a prude or nothing," Flash continues. "But everything looks so... thin and same-y." He swivels to face her. "Even with the skirts! These days it's all about narrow pleats or thin 'mermaid' looks or... or some asymmetrical number that barely flares out!" He smirks goofily, sincerely. "Whatever happened to fullness? Y'know... hooped ruffled skirts... frickin' bustles, even! I'm not saying that everyone should go back to the eighteenth century when it comes to design, but... there's something to be said about... about..."
"Relishing in old-fashioned opulence?"
"Sure! Like..." Flash shrugs. "Dressy occasions have lost their fairy-tale flair and... replaced it with tube and pencil skirts." He winces slightly. "Erm... no offense."
Rarity giggles lightly. "None taken." She smoothes out her outfit a bit, then crosses her arms. "From the sound of things, you are quite the fan of the 'princess' look, Mr. Sentry."
"Mmmmmm..." He hums into the cup of water, pretending to take a sip, if only to avoid her eyesight. "...yeah."
She taps her cheek in thought, gazing between the young man and her current job. "Y'know..." She scuffles over towards another bench, rummaging through a layer of folders and notebooks. "...just last month, I had an early request from a joint group of clients—all attempting to plan a 'princess wedding' at some local amusement park."
"Oh yeah...?"
"That's a major thing, of course," Rarity declares. "Grown women our age and even far older wanting to experience a portion of that 'fairy-tale flair,' as you put it, and on the most important, romantic days of their lives, no less."
"Just how do they pull that off?"
"Through this... a-hah! There they are!" She pulls out a series of wide blue sheets sketched over in charcoal pencil. "Behold! My initial sketches! I think you will find some of these—or perhaps all of them—more to your 'taste,' Mr. Sentry."
Curious, Flash walks over. Curious, Flash gazes down at the illustrations in question. Then, mesmerized, he exhales through pursed lips. "O-oh..."
Sheet after sheet, he sees sketches—designs—of very-close-to-being-realized gowns of sheer Victorian variety. The shoulder cuts aren't cut at all—but mostly pronounced, even exaggeratedly, and sewn in as a completely different structure from the rest of the dress, with long laced sleeves that run down the full extent of the imagined bearer's arms. There are separate layers of the gowns—most of them exposing inner sanctums of ruffled taffeta in a wide "V" slice at the front of the skirts. There is no doubt that—if a lady were to do a twirl in any single one of these things—it would fan out and occupy all colors of a pastel rainbow.
"Do you approve of the designs?" Rarity sing-songs.
"They're... uh..." Flash Sentry says, more like wheezes. He swallows a dry lump down his throat as his fingers knead at the edge of the rough, rough sketch paper. "...they're something, alright."
She stifles a chuckle, then reaches in to slide one sheet to the top. "You mentioned Disney before. Do you recall Ariel's pink dinner dress in the middle of the film? When she sits down and brushes her hair with a fork?"
"Well, of course." Flash nods. "Who doesn't remember that—?" Rarity slaps the sketch before his eyes, and he nearly bursts a gasket. "Guhhhhhhhhh—"
"Heehehe... how's that for 'puffy' shoulders."
He makes a sound between a chortle and a whimper. In any case, he's smiling. "Puffiness supreme." He glances over his shoulder. "And you're telling me that an adult commissioned this thing?"
"Well, I may have embellished a bit, but I swear I stayed within the parameters of their specifications," Rarity maintains. "Don't be surprised, Flash. Innocent beauty is forever."
"Yeah." He nods, his eyes glued on the baby-pink shade that was sketched in with colored pencil. "I guess you're right."
A slight pause, and Rarity clears her throat. "There's... there's some electronic game... a classic, I'm told. Involving an elusive 'Mario' character and his jumping on turtle shells—"
"Have you seriously never played Super Mario Brothers?"
"Oh hush!" She playfully swats his shoulder. "Repeatedly playing those blasted games could ruin my trained eye! Ahem. Allow me to get the point! There's a damsel in the game, from what I understand. 'Princess Toadstool,' I believe."
"They call her 'Peach' now, but sure."
"In any case..." Rarity proudly slid another sketch to the surface. "Look familiar to you? Hmmm?"
"Oh..." Flash has to cover his mouth with a free hand at this point. "Oh gosh."
Rarity giggles. "I'm guessing that's a 'yes.'" She fluffs her purple curls and proudly speaks on: "Sadly, I knew next-to-nothing about what the client was talking about. So I had to do some extensive research online... Google Image search and all that nonsense. Such an adorably childish character, this Peach Toadstool, but so very easy to exploit in all her marketably girlish fashion..."
Flash wants to listen to Rarity's words. It's only the gentlemanly thing to do. Unfortunately, however, the flow of blood in his body has other intentions, and now every nerve ove his body is firing into his eyes, using that prolonged moment to simply stare... and gawk at the elaborate floral patterns sketchfully stitched into the shoulders and bodice of the princessy-princess gown. Flash tries to imagine the beautiful absurdity of someone trying to be a bridesmaid in that... or actually getting married in that. And then his mind wonders what it must be like to simply cross the street in that... to sit on a windowseat and read a book in that... or simply sit at a tea table and talk gossip in that. To smile, to giggle, to cry, to exist in that. And before he knows it, his eyes have traveled all over the petticoated extremities of the concept four times over. It's not even real, and still it's drawn the breath out of him, so that he's reduced to teenage putty, leaning a dumb smile against the palm of one hand as he practically melts into the table and the sketches lying beneath him.
It takes a century for Flash Sentry to come back to reality. As he does so, he's vaguely aware of Rarity speaking to him... asking him something in a tender, empathetic voice. Blinking dazedly, he turns to look at her. "Hmmmm?"
"Flash...?" She repeats, her eyes warmly melting the endearing formality away, so that all that remains is platonic sincerity. Her voice is carried on the warm currents of his dreamy breaths at having stared at the sketches so intently and for so long. "I said... would you like me to make a dress for you?"
The half-empty cup of water lands with a splash between them.
She yelps slightly, leaping back from the moisture.
Flash Sentry is wincing—grimacing—looking and acting as if he had just thrown her a right punch. "I... I-I... uh..."
"Flash." She gulps. "Darling, do calm down." She throws on a delicate smile. "What I only meant was—!"
But it's too late. He's stumbling backwards, bumping into a few dresses and jolting as if they were cacti. "Gah! I just... I wasn't trying... I d-don't..." He seethes, rubbing at his forelimbs and gaping at the pretty contours of the Boutique closing in from all sides, threatening to crush him. "Sorry. I'm sorry, Rarity."
"But..." She reaches a gentle hand out. "...there's absolutely nothing to be sorry about—"
"I-I gotta go!" He scuffles about and practically scampers out the door, away from the colors, the fabric, and the softness of it all. There's a flicker of light, and he's gone.
This leaves Rarity alone—numb and confused and more than a little bit dismayed.
At last, the very next day and after much anxious searching, Rarity finds him...
Flash Sentry sits alone on the bleachers beside the Canterlot High School football field after last period.
But he isn't alone for long.
"There you are, Mr. Sentry," Rarity says, walking up while hugging her bag to her chest.
He looks up, his perpetual slump of gloom ultimately disturbed. His eyes widen, and it looks for a moment as if he's going to dash away. But the generous purpose that has bought Rarity there—seemingly—anchors him in place. Besides, he's too gentlemanly of a young man to ditch a lady twice. Rarity has bet on this, and although she evidently wins—the defeated look on his face as he slumps again only breaks her heart all the more.
"Rarity, I'm sorry," he exhales, eyes clenching shut. Lines along his face betray a lack of sleep, and he runs a nervous hand through his hair. "I ran out on you without saying a word. That was... super rude of me." He gulps. "Especially after you... you were so kind to—"
"There will be a time for apologies," Rarity says. She squats down next to the larger teenager, and yet her petite size somehow dwarfs his feeble posture. "As for now, I simply wish to know that you are alright." She clenched her teeth. "Fleeing the Boutique in melodramatic fashion is one thing, but ignoring my texts? And Sunset's as well?" A stern breath, but she then softens noticeably. "What if something truly terrible had happened to you? How would your friends be able to aid you in time?"
He doesn't say anything. He doesn't even move. Rarity's hunt has come to an anticlimactic end, and it wounds her.
"Mr. Sentry... Flash..." She bites her lip. "Has something truly terrible happened to you?"
He only fidgets, eyes stuck to the lower seats of the bleachers below them.
"If..." Rarity's voice lilts in noticeable worry, distress. She holds a shaky hand over her chest. "If I-I said or did something to trigger an awful memory in you—"
"You didn't do anything—" he mutters.
"I most certainly did! I... I crossed a boundary. One that I wasn't entirely certain existed, but nevertheless... here we are." She takes a breath, calmly placing her bag beside herself before scooting closer to him. "Flash..." She rests a hand on his shoulder. "...it pains me to think I've done something to hurt a dear friend of mine. Won't you please tell me what's amiss?"
His eyes darted halfway towards her.
"Yes—believe it or not—you are a close friend. I value your strength and sincerity. And—above all—your loyalty." She smiles sweetly. "I think about it every night and day, and still I cannot fathom what we girls did to deserve such a chivalrous soul as you to bless us on a regular basis. Now—please—let us take care of you. Tell me what is wrong so that we may right it!"
He opens his mouth... lingers... then says nothing.
With a brief huff, the fashionista folds her arms. "You know, if Rainbow were here, she'd have punched you several times by now."
"You're free to do the same, Rarity," he mutters.
"No." She shakes her head. "That is not my style. Besides, I hurt you enough as it is."
He groans, grasping his head in two hands. "You didn't hurt me—"
"I most certainly did! I pressed too hard without thinking! Why else would you have run out of the Boutique?"
He wrings his hands together, growing more uneasy.
She sees it. She speaks—gently. "It's when I offered to make you a dress, isn't it?"
He tenses up.
A soft smile. "My darling Flash, do you truly... honestly believe that you're the first and only man to step into my Boutique, secretly desiring the exquisite feeling of being enmeshed in something beautiful?"
His eyes look towards her, only for him to pretend that they didn't.
She sees that too. "It is true. I assure you. In fact, at least ten percent of my clients who order dresses aren't female," Rarity declares. She crosses her legs daintily and leans back, breathing more assuredly. "It's gotten to the point that I've felt compelled to... draw the truth out of my male window-shoppers, rather than just let their suppressed potential to inquire fester and stew into despondent oblivion." She clears her throat. "I... thought that I had gotten good at reading the body language of such a situation, and I saw it in you when we were talking about those designs I had made. The look in your face. The twinkle in your eye. It's none too different from the female clients who see their finished commission for the first time. And... and th-that's a tender-hearted joy that I absolutely hate to squander. But..." Her voice shakes with brief but genuine emotion. "...what I despise even more, Flash, is doing anything to hurt my friends or make them feel uncomfortable." She swallows delicately, then declares: "My offer still stands. That shall never change. But I must know—is there anything I can do to rectify what's been done? How can I help you to know that... that it's alright. It's perfectly fine to desire to dress beautifully."
He rubs his hands together, slowly rocking back and forth where he sits. Rarity's presence has transformed him from a slumped pile of sighs and into a jittery pantomime of passing a kidney stone. Nevertheless, the fashionista waits in silence, drawing the truth out of him with persistent, patient stillness. At long last, it springs forth.
"I... I don't talk about it much..." Flash practically whimpers, still avoiding her gaze. "By that I mean frickin' not at all." He gulps hard. "It... it's nothing but a stupid, weird complex."
"Let me be the judge of that, darling."
"Rarity..." He grumbles, frowning at nobody but himself. "It's not every woman's job to entertain the stupid, gross fetishes of a dude—"
"Flash, look at me."
Biting his lip, he slowly does so. His eyes are round and vulnerable—something she has half-suspected.
She keeps her sympathetic breaths straight. "You are my friend. And I wish to help you. You say that you've never talked about it before. Well, let me change that," she says. "Let me help you get it out into the open. So you will be free."
Flash Sentry gazes at her, this time unflinching. The shakes stop, and soon he's exhaling the truth like a deflating balloon, slow and quiet and tender in his tone.
"All my life... for as long as I can remember... I've been in love with girly... feminine things..."
Rarity simply nods.
"And I-I don't just mean girls... as in women. The opposite sex." He gulps, smiling for the first time since she arrives, but it's a plastic gesture. "Although you're all pr-pretty great too..." The smile fades, and he's wringing his hands again. "But... mmmm... stuff that's attached to girls. Like... things that society says should be attached to girls. And not boys. Dresses. Makeup. Accessorizing..."
"Indeed..."
"But—uh... not just the superficial stuff, but..." He sighs slowly—but lightly. His eyes travel up to the sky, twinkling slightly as he speaks: "The stereotypical emotions assigned to girls. Sensitivity... compassion... selflessness and steadfastness. I mean—sure—it's not indicative of all girls—"
"But girlishness," Rarity clarifies.
He swallows. "Right." He swallows again. "I... I don't particularly know where it all began." He glances at her again. "Playing house with girls in preschool? A sleepover my older sister was having that I happened to participate in—like—when I was super, super young?" He shrugs. "Whatever it is, it's a super positive memory. Like... something that has forever impacted me on a... nearly spiritual level."
Rarity smiles. "Well, that's certainly relieving to hear."
"And... and for years—even long before puberty—I just... just..." Flash fought the bumps in the road to confess it out loud: "...fantasized nonstop about playing dolls... but... for real. The big leagues. In real life. Dressing up like... mmmm... those beauties in princess movies. It's so simple and yet so complicated all the same. But—whenever I see someone or something pretty—I want to be that." His features deflate, and he's hugging himself at this point, gazing into some far off indefinable pinprick of purpose. "I want to feel soft... to be soft. To be encompassed in the essence of gentleness. To smell good. To talk with a honey'd voice and be precious and be rare and be cherished... be cherished just for who I am and how I could be packaged and... a-and knowing that it's not laziness and it's not opulence but... but some sincere extension of prettiness that I could somehow... just somehow possibly own."
She looks at him. She says nothing. She waits.
And, soon enough, Flash Sentry delivers: "Sunset Shimmer? Twilight Sparkle?" A shrug. "They were amazing experiences... well..." A brief eye-roll that summons the tiniest of chortles from his listener. "...for better or for worse... and while I enjoyed their company and I... still admire them in a certain capacity..." He rubs the back of his head, shuddering. "I... I-I think what I desired the most from them wasn't so much their femininity... but being close to their femininity... so that... so that I-I could feel what it was like to possess something close to it... not them, of course—but something that belonged to them... th-that could belong to me too. I... I just wanted to understand more. But I can never seem to understand... no matter how close I get. And... and even today..."
He looks at Rarity.
"I adore you... I adore each and every one of you girls. You're... you're just so amazing and spectacular and..." He lingers, then smiles tenderly, his voice taking a slight lilt. "...and so beautiful. And so strong. And so confident. Sometimes I worried over myself... because one day I would wake up and... and I-I would be in love with Fluttershy. But then that afternoon I would think I was in love with Applejack. And the next day you and the next day Pinkie Pie and the next afternoon Rainbow Dash and..."
A brief bout of silence, as Flash winces—as if having traipsed too far into this new undiscovered country. But Rarity's silent stalwart gaze gives him lease to finish:
"I wondered how I could possibly be in love with so many girls all the time. And then... it occurred to me... that maybe I was in love with all of you... and yet none of you. Thinking too hard on the matter—and, God forbid, confessing it would..." He grimaced, having crossed that very same threshhold. "...it would ruin something so wonderfully precious... so wonderfully precious as being your friend... being around all of you so often, every school day and every afternoon and every weekend... listening to you all talk... seeing you all do great and kind and magical things for those around you... smelling your perfume and complimenting your outfits and admiring the graceful ways you carried yourselves about and then... then... feeling this awful gnawing feeling whenever you all went off to enjoy a slumber party or some other deeply personal activity and knowing that... th-that I couldn't join you. All because..." He clenches his teeth. "...all because there's so much stupidity in the way... stupidity that just... just complicates everything."
His last statement has a breath of finality to it, which is what triggers Rarity into finally responding.
"That all sounds so very sweet, Flash," she states. "Especially coming from someone like you. You mean a lot to us... and it's awful to think you've felt left-out. Alienated, even."
"Yeah, well.." Flash rubs the back of his neck again. "Don't stress it. That's all my fault, not yours."
"It's not a question of 'faults,' darling." She gently clasps her hands together and leans forward, eyes gently coaxing something within his own gaze. "Flash, have you ever taken the time to consider whether or not you may in fact—"
"I'm not trans," he almost grunts.
She blinks, reeling slightly. "I am by no means a psychiatrist, dear. It was simply an inquiry—"
"Sorry... sorry." Flash facepalms, sighing hard. "That... that came across badly. I-I don't mean to imply that there'd be anything wrong with me being trans or genderfluid or whatever. But... but it's not any of that."
"Are you certain?"
He slides his hand slowly down, revealing a bitter smirk. "Is anyone certain?"
Rarity chuckles breathlessly. "I... could not pretend to account, personally."
"Me neither. Cuz I'm not trans. And I've got nothing on those who really are," Flash says. "I just think that actual trans people have a lot of challenging crud to go through and... and what I am simply isn't comparable, and I don't want to insult anyone by grouping myself with those who struggle with stuff I can't even comprehend."
"I don't truly think it's that incomprehensible to someone like you, Flash—"
"I'm just a natural-born dude and I recognize that," he carries on. "That's me; I'm certain of that. And... and it's that personal distinction that... th-that makes my obsession with definitively 'un-dude' stuff—like dresses and makeup and slumber parties—all the more... enrapturing." He sighs. "...biggest and boldest word I could think of."
She giggles lightly. "And quite a good word it is, indeed. So..." She crosses the other leg over and rests where she sits. "You identify as male."
"Yes ma'am."
"And... you're a male-identifying and male-coded soul who loves the idea of cross-dressing."
He fidgets noticeably. "... ... ...you make it sound so innocent."
She gives a light shrug. "I don't see why it can't be."
Two lazy eyes glare in her direction. "Have you seen the websites that crossdressers frequent on the Internet?"
"Is there a reason I should have?"
"Do you know who Jamie Farr is?"
"I'm afraid the name escapes me at this moment, darling."
"Doesn't matter. I was just trying to come up with a metaphoric archetype."
"An archetype of what?"
"Basically..." Flash gestures with two shaking hands. "...the only people I ever seem to have anything in common with are predominantly super furry basement neckbeards who share the cringiest of photos across niche Internet message boards. And—lemme tell you, Rarity..." He breaks through his nervous veneer with an even bitterer chuckle. "...that much hair and pink lace does not belong in the same digital room."
She tries her best not to grimace. "Your hyperbole... is certainly making its way into my mind."
"Reality sucks," Flash grumbles. "When the day comes that I'll finally gain the courage to act out my most sincere of personal fantasies, I'll be two hundred and twenty pounds and pot-bellied as all get out. Heh... try putting a ballgown on Shrek after rolling through a bathtub of Rogaine." He runs a hand over his face, sighing heavily. "I'll be the Drag Queen of Cringe. It's only fate."
"Flash..." Rarity rolls her eyes before tossing him a snide smile. "I do believe you have frolicked from whole-hearted confession into mental meltdown."
"Well..." He hugs himself, slouching away from her. "...what did you expect?"
"To be honest, a lot worse than what you're telling me now."
"What can be worse?" He mutters, clenching his eyes shut. "I'm helplessly imprisoned by my own obsession."
"Humor me for a moment, darling." Rarity folds her hands together, cocking her head towards him. "If you were—this very second—granted a visit from your Faerie Godmother..."
His eyes instantly fly open at that; she tries not to giggle.
"...and with a wave of her wand you were gifted the absolute most beautiful shimmering ballgown in the land..."
His lips pressed together. "...with puffy shoulders?"
"Yes!" She finally chuckles. "And a tiara to boot." Her eyes narrowed. "Imagine—this very moment—you were so lacily clad, with an invitation to the ball... to be with all the other pretty maidens whom you've admired from afar all your life..." She leans forward, resting her chin in her hands. "What would be the first thing that you would do?"
"Like... what do you mean?"
"As I said—humor me."
He's silent for a while, contemplating. Then, closing his eyes, Flash shudders to say: "I... I think I would cry..."
She listens.
"I would just... cry and cry... until the makeup ran down my face. And..." He gulps. "...then I would clean my face up... reapply the makeup... and just... cry some more..." A sniffle. "...and then I would lie down in a soft, plush bed somewhere in that very same gorgeous dress and... fall asleep thinking of each and every one of you... and h-how I could somehow thank you all for the greatest magical gift ever come morning."
"Well... I did suggest that there was a Faerie Godmother involved, but..." Rarity chortles again. "That's quite flattering nonetheless."
"Mmmm..." Flash nods, his closed eyes lining with moisture.
Rarity reaches over, touching his shoulder. "Flash..."
He opens his eyes, tearfully meeting her gaze.
"This beauty that you aspire to possess..." She reaches up and strokes his chin... then his cheek, collecting the tears as they form on the young man's yearning expression. "...it is not quite as elusive as you think. And—believe it or not—putting on a dress or makeup or tiara will not give you the satisfaction of achieving beauty that you think it will."
He shudders at that.
"Shhh-shhh... listen to me, darling." She strokes his cheek again. "Such catharsis must come from another place. This is true with each and every one of my clients when they put on my outfits for the first time. It's not the dress in and of itself that completes them. They themselves are the masterpiece. My artistry is simply a means—a vessel—of carrying their inner beauty to the surface. When they stand before a dressing mirror, it is something from within that is reflected back. Grace and confidence requires a certain degree of strength, conviction, and—most of all—transparency. Your so-called Jim Furrs of the Internet probably know this secret..."
Flash smiles ever so slightly, humored. He shudders as another tear leaks.
She brushes it dry with a nimble finger. "...which is likely why they effortlessly relish in sharing pictures of themselves. That insufferable 'cringe' you speak of is a frail, gossamer barrier once you've learned to embrace the fearlessness that comes with looking inward."
His lips quiver. "What... if I-I don't like what I see when I look?"
"Oh, but I think you will, darling." Rarity nods. "Especially if it's anything close to what my friends and I see." She lowers her hand to rub and squeeze his shoulder. "You are so... so very beautiful, Flash Sentry."
He hiccups on a sob, staring down at the bleachers.
She gently—but assertively—lifts his gaze again. "In all that you say and do. In your gentle restraint... in your quiet, loyal patience with the whole gaggle of us. How you love and cherish everything... but respect everything... knowing the scope of life's tender emotions and how to carefully keep the spectrum in check, even when you don't think you actually understand it. Why—if I had all the resources in the world to make a dress befitting what resonates inside of you, the gown's brilliance would blot out the sun."
He makes a sweet sound at that which forges the river—like a giggle.
She's also smiling. "And... and I know that it's hard, Flash," she coos. "From every friend and client and fear that I've ever encountered." A gulp. "It take an awful lot of courage getting to a place where you'll discover yourself. Embracing him—or her—is even harder... but also liberating. And—more than anything—I want to help you get to that place of peace and joy, for there are few acquaintances I know in this life who deserve it more."
"What..." He sniffles, staring at her. "...what if 'my place' in life is never getting to a place?"
"Mmmmm... designing a ball gown for chaos incarnate?" She winks. "Sounds like a most smashing challenge."
He laughs. He breathes. He tries to wipe his face dry with two cumbersome hoodie sleeves.
Rarity reaches into her bag and produces a delicate lace handkerchief. She hands it to him.
Flash pauses. He reaches for it... lingers slightly... then finally clasps the fabric. As she leans in for a gentle side-hug, he dabs his face dry and finds the strength to breathe straight.
"I... I don't know what I'd do if you hadn't shown up just now..."
"Ruined your handsome posterior sitting on these bleachers forever. That's what!"
He chuckles. "Even now, Rarity? You're flirty?"
"I can't help but flirt with the world, darling," she says, squeezing his shoulder again as he relaxes. "Sometimes—allure is the best way to bring an oyster out of its shell."
"Heh... yeah... I-I guess..."
"Even if there's some fumbling along the way." She nudges him. "But I stand by what I said yesterday in the Boutique."
"Hmmm?"
"My offer, Mr. Sentry..." Her mouth lingers open, and she repeats—more softly: "Miss Sentry."
She has his full attention now. Locked eyes and a thumping heartbeat.
"I would and will gladly design something beautiful for you—if you so desire." A wink. "The first one is free. The second time will cost you more than carrying heavy sewing machines, you strong thing you."
"I'll... uh..." Flash swallows. "I'll think about it."
"I hope that you do," Rarity sweetly says. "Because—and I do not mean this in mere jest—I truly, absolutely believe that you would look fabulous in a sea-blue ballgown, darling." She tilts her head to the side, sizing him up in her mind's eye. "Mmmmmm... with a lace seafoam trim and matching sleeves. Yes... most fabulous indeed."
"Mmm..." He nods stupidly into the distance. "...Flashbulous, even"
She blinks. Hard. A tiny, dainty snort, and she playfully hugs him, shaking all over with their combined laughter. "Are we seriously going to end this whole blessed thing on a Dad joke???"
And maybe we do.
Author's Note
