From a little ways down the narrow corridor that led from the backstage area to the dressing rooms, there came the distant sounds of complaining. Quite vociferous complaining at that, though fortunately most of the bad language was muted by the sounds of the staff putting the finishing touches to the stage proper. “Rarity,” said the model in a distressed tone, “I really don’t think this thing-” there came a strangled wheeze followed by strained creaking “-is gonna fit me.”
Pacing back and forth, her hooves clomping so hard on the floorboards that she feared she might wear a hole through them, Rarity was acutely aware of the fact that she was trying her best to mask her nervousness whilst at the same time demonstrating that same nervousness for all to see. The crew and technicians busying themselves with stringing up lights, making sure the catwalk was level and free of impediments, and tending to security matters didn’t much care. Their jobs depended on making sure that the show ran smoothly and nopony tried to harass the models, not the mental well-being of those behind the scenes.
No, it was her fellow fashion-designers that she had to be wary of; Rarity knew, much like sharks, they would pounce on and devour her if they scented one drop of blood coming from her. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Such was the cut-throat nature of the business, there was nothing like trashing one of your competitors in the press to gain an advantage. Not that Rarity herself would ever stoop to such levels.
She preferred to let her work speak for itself, but unfortunately right now it wasn’t the work that was doing much of the talking. Rarity loved getting feedback from her models and working with their suggestions in ideal circumstances. Sadly, this wasn’t one of those times. “Darling, I’m sure it’s just fine,” she finally said, biting her lower lip softly, then quickly hiding the gesture when she attracted a few quizzical glances. Those adjustments I made to the dress are the best I can do to accommodate you at short notice, so I’m afraid you’re just going to have to grin and bear it. There was no need to shout that down the hallway, though. “Remember, it isn’t art unless you’re suffering.”
“Then, I’m the most artistic thing in Canterlot right now,” Applejack said, her distinctive twang echoing down the halls to arrive at Rarity’s ears. “I’d much rather be dealing with a swarm of parasprites right now.”
This was followed by another, much louder grunt, and Rarity couldn’t help but have visions of Applejack popping like a balloon as she was forced into the dress and boots that were at least a size too small for her; she’d had to make the alterations in a hurry based on her memory of Applejack’s dimensions, and judging by how much she was struggling to get into the outfit, Rarity got the feeling that she may have missed a decimal place somewhere. The attendants were doing their best to squeeze her into it, and Rarity was sorely tempted to go back there and offer a hoof. Or at least moral support. If I go back there, the others will know that there are problems, though. I can’t look weak in front of them. Her nightmare scenario – the dress tearing on the runway – looked ever more likely and she stifled a scowl as her compatriots shot her patronising smiles.
As usual, Rarity was able to count on Applejack’s complaints being a tad more prosaic and down-to-earth. “These galoshes you’ve got me wearing are so impractical. Just how in tarnation d’you expect anypony to walk more than two feet in them before keeling over? I feel like I’ve got cinder blocks on my hooves.”
Opening her muzzle to say something, Rarity finally elected against it; in Ponyville, amongst their mutual friends, Applejack and Rarity were famed for their long-running battles over what was functional versus what was fashionable. Very rarely would they ever see eye-to-eye over these issues, so pretty much the only way they could be in the same room together without arguing was to simply not bring them up at all. “So long as you remember to put one leg in front of the other, I’m sure you’ll manage just fine, dear,” said Rarity, glancing in the direction of the clock. The competition was due to start soon. “Not that I wish to hurry you or anything, but it’s almost time.”
No response bar another laboured exhalation.
With showtime a mere matter of minutes away, Rarity still had to give the ensemble its final evaluation. That was usually nothing more than a formality, but with so many problems to deal with at once, she was very close to – and the very thought made even her bones shudder – pulling out. “Oh, Fluttershy,” Rarity said, sighing softly, “why did you have to go and get the feather flu now when I need you the most?”
“Did you say something Rarity?”
“No, Applejack, it’s nothing.”
There was a moment of silence, then, “All right, I’m ready for you … to see me, I guess. Don’t you dare laugh, though, or I’m getting the first train back home.”
“You have my word as a lady,” Rarity replied, making a cross gesture over her breast with a hoof even though Applejack couldn’t see it. She fished her glasses out of her saddle-bags with her magic and, whilst settling them into place on her nose, mentally prepared for the worst.
It took several seconds for her to identify the pony who’d awkwardly, stiffly, shuffled into the backstage area as Applejack. The dress had originally been designed with Fluttershy’s more lithe frame in mind – pegasi were the models of choice for many designers due to their naturally very slender physiques – but it still managed to hug the contours of Applejack’s farm-hardened body to great effect. If anything, the sheer material served to accentuate her taut, muscular form. Rarity shook her head to clear it, realising belatedly that she’d been staring, mouth agape. She hoped that the sudden flush rising up from her alabaster chest would pass unnoticed by the others. Especially the object of her gawking.
Fortunately for Rarity, Applejack was far too engrossed in feeling embarrassed for herself to worry about anypony else’s discomfort. “Celestia,” she said in a low voice, “I must look like a prize fool to you.”
“Why would you think that, darling?” asked Rarity in surprise. Had Applejack even seen herself in a mirror? She was … a vision. “You’re absolutely perfect.”
This time, it was Applejack’s turn to blush and the fetching shade of red suited her orange complexion. She looked down at the floor. “Aw, you don’t mean that, sugarcube.”
Smiling, Rarity said, “You’d know if I was lying, wouldn’t you?”
“Just because I’m the Element of Honesty doesn’t mean I’m a living lie detector,” Applejack said with a roll of her eyes.
“I know. I didn’t mean that, though.”
Eventually, Applejack said, “Yeah, that’s true.” For all that they were capable of being antagonistic toward each other, they were still friends, and Applejack could usually tell when they were concealing the truth from her.
Rarity looked again, just to confirm to herself that she wasn’t dreaming or imagining things; the blue and green shades of the dress, originally designed to complement the yellow tones of Fluttershy’s coat, contrasted sharply against Applejack’s own orange colouration allowing both to come to life and flourish. The transparent, light pink petticoat framed the trio of red apples depicted on her flank, and they stood out boldly, perhaps even provocatively, against the thin material. Finally, the shining silver diamante jewels woven into the ensemble sparkled even in the dull lighting of the backstage area. That said, they were nothing in comparison to the dazzling gems that were Applejack’s emerald-hued eyes. They were half-lidded out of nervousness. “Be a hundred percent honest now, Rarity: how do I actually look?”
For the briefest of moments, Equestrian speech deserted Rarity entirely. Poets wouldn’t have had an easy time describing her. Fluttershy would have been beautiful, but Applejack was majestic. “Um.”
Watching the play of emotions across Rarity’s face, a look of unease crept onto Applejack’s own as her own worst fears seemed to be confirmed. Rarity was trying to be generous, trying to be polite, trying to find a kind way of saying that she looked hideous. Her ears flattened against the side of her head and she screwed her eyes up tightly. She let out a small sigh that snapped Rarity out of her trance. “I knew it! I’m sorry, but I think we can both agree that I am not the right pony for this-” she gestured vaguely in the direction of the main stage and the waiting catwalk with a hoof “-whole thing. I don’t want to let you down in front of all your fashionista friends, Rarity, so maybe I should just-”
“-Darling no!” Rarity pressed a hoof to Applejack’s muzzle to silence her. Her tone was just a tad more high-pitched than she would’ve liked, but frankly, right now, she just didn’t care what anypony else thought of her unladylike mannerisms. She was not going to let her best friend walk away from this feeling like a failure when it was the furthest thing from the truth. “Applejack, I know the circumstances are less than ideal, but you look absolutely radiant. Divine, even-”
“-But-”
“-Yes, you do. Let me finish, please!” Softening her voice somewhat, she continued, “Don’t misunderstand me when I say I would love to have asked somepony else. It’s only because I know this isn’t your usual kind of shindig, though. I don’t like seeing you nervous or embarrassed because you’re the most confident pony I know, and I wouldn’t put you on the spot like this if there had been any other alternative whatsoever. I want you to know how incredibly grateful I am that you agreed to do this for me.” Gently, she leaned in to press the tip of her horn against Applejack’s forehead. Amongst unicorns, touching horns was a sign of intimacy, and she hoped that she would understand and welcome the gesture. “You’re going to do a wonderful job out there, I just know it.”
“Be careful,” Applejack said in a playful tone, relaxing under Rarity’s touch, “your horn almost smudged my make-up.”
Rarity backed up a little, caught the mischievous look on Applejack’s face and burst out laughing. The make-up had been skilfully, subtly applied; not to hide flaws, but to reveal elegance. Some light shading on the lips, a touch of colour above the eyes, the merest hint on the cheeks.
Smiling a small but genuine smile, Applejack hugged Rarity. From somewhere, she found new reserves of confidence and her spirits revived somewhat. Rarity believed in her and that was all that mattered. If the journalists, judges and hoity-toity folk who made it their habit to attend these sorts of shows didn’t like her, they could go and sit on a tree branch as far as she was concerned. All that counted was what her friend thought of her. “Thanks for the pep-talk. I needed it.”
All you need to remember is that you’re beautiful within as well as without. Rarity stopped herself from saying that out loud, though. “You’re quite welcome,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair out of Applejack’s mesmerising eyes.
Waiting in the wings to be ushered on, Applejack – her usual Stetson stashed away somewhere in the dressing room – favoured Rarity with a mock-salute rather than a tip of her hat. Rarity, in a burst of inspiration, approached her and untied the red band that kept her long, thick blonde ponytail in place. Her hair was now allowed to flow loosely down her back, adding as it did so a distinct touch of wildness to the otherwise elegant ensemble. Applejack shot her a questioning look.
“Who says beauty always has to be about being prim and proper?” Rarity said with a grin.
A giddy warmth suffused her being as Applejack was at last motioned forth by an usher to take her place on the stage; the big performance would be starting any moment now, and Rarity opened her mouth to wish her luck. Remembering the old adage, however, she settled instead for favouring her with an optimistic smile. As she watched her trot off, admiring the way in which the dress clung to and emphasised her curves, Rarity wrapped the band around one of her forelegs for safe-keeping, figuring that everything would be just fine after all.
Those remaining butterflies playing merry havoc in her stomach were just the last of her pre-show nerves working themselves out, weren’t they?
