Talking Heads

by Dave Bryant

Rating: everyone
Tags: Equestria Girls, Sunset Shimmer, Slice of Life, Rarity (EqG), Drama, Original Character
Length: 13507

Sunset Shimmer responds to an invitation she can’t refuse, escorted by an uncomfortable Cookie Pusher. • A Twin Canterlots story

A Twin Canterlots story—last in Cook’s Tour; followed by Virga

“Cook, that’s the fanciest—and stuffiest—restaurant around here!” Sunset looked and sounded aghast. “What’ll I wear?”
  I let my eyebrows rise. “This from one of the girls who magic up spiffy new ensembles every few weeks?”
  By rights her glare should have reduced me to cinders. “That’s different and you know it. This isn’t even like a Rainbooms gig, where I can get away with something outrageous. Whatever it is must be pretty serious or you wouldn’t be so insistent—and evasive; don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
  When I simply shrugged, she sighed in resignation. “Fine. I’ll talk to Rarity and see what we can come up with on my pitiful budget.”

Takes place during winter break of senior year—middle of season 6.

Published 2019-07-02 17:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-07-09 20:12:01 UTC

Buildings and food

I eased my shiny black government-fleet sedan to a stop and shifted to park, but left the engine running. With consummate panache a twenty-something lacquey—resplendent in redingote over dress shirt, bow tie, slacks, and low boots, all black except the brilliant white of the shirt—stepped forward to the car’s front door opposite. My thumb hit the master lock release, and the young man’s white-gloved hand opened it, his other reaching, palm-up, to assist my passenger.

Sunset Shimmer hadn’t forgotten the spirit of her early instruction in manners and protocol at the School for Gifted Unicorns and Canterlot Palace, even if the particulars were different in this context. She met the offered hand with her own, though I could tell she put no weight on it as she rose from her seat. When the door beside me opened a moment later I turned back and glanced up; a much larger and more muscular fellow in the same livery as the younger attendant’s, albeit with fancier high-collared shirt and ascot, stepped back politely, giving me room to exit.

My brows rose in bemused recognition. The last time I’d seen Mister Brown—the only name I had for him—the Diplomatic Security Service special agent had conspired with me to set up controlled conditions for introducing myself to a certain group of teens on the back porch of a certain bookstore. Among other things he’d taken a temporary position there as stockboy and clerk, the better to play puppeteer and stage manager.

I quirked a brief smile before unfolding myself to my feet on the decorative pavers and placing my key and fob on his open palm. In lieu of passing the usual gratuity I gave him a small nod, which he returned with the barest movement during the brief pas de deux that ended with him sliding onto the driver seat and me walking around the car to join my companion and the patiently waiting attendant. As the car pulled away, bound for a discreetly secluded lot around back, I looked up idly at the archaic-seeming edifice that was our destination.

The porte-cochère surrounding us was magnificent, even if no horse-drawn coach ever had graced its shelter; porch-like roof, heavy pillars, and high arches provided welcome, if partial, protection against the evening’s light snowfall and stiff cold breeze. The façade from which it extended displayed the same gray ashlar stonework, along with neoclassical pillars and pediments, embattled parapets, and rigorous geometries. All hearkened to a bygone era when nobility and gentry ran their demesnes from great country homes scattered across a green and pleasant land. This building was no such thing, of course, being only a generation or so old and rather smaller than those mostly vanished mansions, but it had been designed quite consciously to play on the romance and formality of its chosen period, not to mention the grandeur—or perhaps grandiosity, depending on one’s viewpoint.

Sunset, I noticed, instead stared out toward the spectacular panorama of the valley below, framed by the entry of the porte, gem-like city lights obscured only a little by windblown flurries. It wasn’t hard to guess her thoughts. I was sure she would prefer to be down there with her cherished friends enjoying the winter break from school, or maybe even getting ready for a short visit home, on the other side of the magical portal through which she had come to this world. Her expression was set and her lips tight; only my diplomatic training prevented me from showing a similar countenance. Neither of us had spoken more than a few words, too apprehensive for conversation, since I had picked her up at curbside a good forty minutes ago. She was tense because she didn’t know what lay in store. I was tense because I did.

With a blink she refocused on me as I approached. I gestured with an extended hand toward the splendid doors double-glazed in a diagonal grid of lozenges, and we followed the attendant at last. A second set of identical doors later we stood in a sumptuous little vestibule facing a last pair of paneled leaves graced with elaborate bolections and other mouldings. Beside them the maîtresse d’hôtel, perfectly turned out in the same mode as Mister Brown, but with dinner jacket in place of overcoat, stood guard behind an oversize pseudo-lectern of fine satin-polished cherry. Immediately that worthy looked up from what no doubt was a large, sophisticated communication and control console in place of the bookrest, an essential tool in managing the front of the house.

“Mister Cookie Pusher and guest, to join an already seated party,” I murmured to her expectant mien. I ignored Sunset’s indrawn breath and returned the maîtresse d’s gracious smile of acknowledgement.

“Thank you, Sir. Before going in, would you care to leave your coats?” She waved a graceful hand toward the window to the side, behind which another functionary waited, summoned by the sound of quiet voices and possibly a flashing light keyed from the control panel. Not many places still maintained coat checks, but here it was of a piece with the antique and luxurious atmosphere.

“Sunset?” I favored my companion with a warmer smile. “Shall we?”

A quick bob of the head was all the reply she made or I needed, so we stepped over to divest ourselves. I slipped out of my dark winter-lined paletot and extended it over the small counter, one hand presenting the collar, the other arm supporting the waist, followed by my silk scarf and a folded bill of appropriate denomination, then faded back.

Sunset edged up before shrugging off her slate-blue greatcoat and surrendering it, then her colorful knitted scarf and mock-fur earmuffs. If her movements weren’t as polished, still they demonstrated how quick a study she was, since I was pretty sure she hadn’t practiced or even seen before the technique I’d had hammered into me during my Foreign Service classes in comportment. As she stepped away with a hint of relief at having concluded the business without embarrassing herself, I took the opportunity for a quick appraisal of the young mare-turned-woman no longer muffled and semi-anonymous in all-concealing winter outerwear.

Waves of red and yellow hair were bound up and pinned, yet allowed to cascade behind in a rooster-tail that swayed with her steps and suggested the equine tail she didn’t have here. The merest hint of make-up complemented her amber complexion and highlighted the vibrant aquamarine of her eyes. A cream-hued blouse was closed at the flounced collar with a bolo tie, the slide adapted to hold the magical artifact her whole circle insisted on calling a geode. Over it she wore an undecorated western bolero jacket of night-dark ruby, its narrow lapels faced in black. A familiar sun-and-moon emblem in red brass set off the narrow sash around her waist, topping slim, tapering slacks that matched the jacket and just cleared patent-leather elastic ankle boots.

Sunset’s friends, especially Rarity, had done her proud. Traditionally masculine and feminine sartorial elements mingled freely without clashing. Little touches here and there whispered of foreign, even otherworldly, origins, but only if one knew the signs. All in all the ensemble was audacious enough to express a youthful, adventurous spirit, yet sober enough to fit a semi-formal evening event.

I, of course, wore black tie.

The dining chamber across which we strolled, in tow of a junior hostess, was everything one might expect. Around and among the carved satin-white panels of the high ceiling, soffit fixtures and great chandeliers shed a soft, moderate light. Between crown moulding and chair rail stretched velveted wallpaper of champagne patterned with a subdued gold, interrupted only by a series of large windows along one side wall, heavy curtains drawn aside for the valley view. Lacquered wainscoting and baseboard covered the lower part of the walls. Deep wall-to-wall carpet matched the wallpaper—an unusual choice given the potential for spills, but it certainly contributed to the room’s opulence.

A score or so broad round tables draped in pristine ivory stood in staggered rows, spaced wide and surrounded by leather-upholstered chairs tufted with bright brass buttons. This early, few were occupied, though that likely would change as the evening progressed. Beyond them, against the wall opposite the main doors, lay a low dais on which a live string quartet performed, blanketing the room with a pleasant background of chamber music. I leaned over and whispered, “Maybe Miss Melody will be up there someday,” winning a momentary grin and nod from Sunset. Unobtrusively I gave her near shoulder an encouraging squeeze, and she took a deep, bracing breath.

Naturally we were escorted to the table farthest from both the doors and the windowed wall. The sole occupied place faced diagonally into the room, a second setting across from it. The third, between them, faced away from the quartet on their small stage. The hostess drew back the first of those unoccupied chairs and tilted her head toward it with a firmly spoken “Mademoiselle?”

Sunset hesitated, then settled onto the chair gingerly, upon which the hostess glided to the remaining chair and repeated her performance. “Sir?”

I too surrendered to the inevitable and sat, but said nothing. The hostess disappeared like the well-trained genie she was, leaving us alone with the already seated party, a stranger to Sunset—but not to me.

“Good evening, Ms. Shimmer,” said Permanent Undersecretary Pin Stripes. “And you too, Mister Cook. The time has come to talk of many things.”

Author's Note

I strongly suspect Sunset’s adopted home city is based, loosely or closely, on Vancouver, BC, where the animation house formerly known as Studio B is located—just look at the landforms, habitats, and wildlife, especially in “Legend of Everfree”. I’d bet the architecture of the town Rainbow Dash zips through, delivering invitations, is a dead giveaway. (Addendum: it looks like Vancouver’s transit buses are, or were, painted in a livery of white with red stripe, similar to the buses shown in Friendship Games. Also, given how the movie industry has mushroomed in Vancouver, the presence of a movie studio actually makes sense.)
  Turns out the word “lackey” originally simply meant a uniformed manservant, though I used an alternative, older spelling; the connotation of obsequiousness evolved later.

True stories

I let out an inconspicuous sigh. “Sunset, this is Permanent Undersecretary Pin Stripes.”

“Your boss,” Sunset guessed in a flat tone.

“Yes. My boss.” My lips twisted.

“Ms. Shimmer,” said boss put in, “Don’t blame Mister Cook for not telling you. Orders.”

“Your orders?” An undercurrent of accusation sharpened Sunset’s question.

“Yes.” Pin Stripes looked unmoved. “Thought you should know.”

After a moment Sunset’s face softened. “Okay, that’s fair. Sorry, Cook.”

I shrugged uncomfortably and glanced over at my superior, who had traveled across the country for this meeting.

Pin Stripes was a living legend in the Foreign Service. She’d started at the same pay grade I currently enjoyed and over the course of more years than I’d lived worked her way up to the position she held now—just three steps down from the top and as high as a career foreign service officer could go. Along the way she’d built up an awesome reputation for head-on, hard-nosed dealings with all the unpleasantness thrown her way, whether the usual intransigence of international relations or the added bonus of misogynistic dictators or systems.

I reported directly to her, not through any intermediaries, thanks to the sensitive nature of Sunset’s origins and accompanying magical shenanigans. I’d been read into the Eloptic Machine compartment the day I commissioned, and while I still felt the name was a bit too on the nose, I had to agree the whole affair merited classification as code-word material. How long it could hang on to “secret” status was an open question, however, given how spectacular some incidents had been or promised to be. Well, if the story broke it wouldn’t be the first time something was simultaneously a deep, dark secret and front-page headlines.

Now the undersecretary sat with perfect aplomb in a fine restaurant, her stout, rather blocky form sheathed in a conservative black gown with high neck and shirred shoulders—along with matching opera gloves, out of the ordinary for dinner, though I thought I knew why she wore them. No jewelry brightened it, not even the awards she was entitled to wear, at least in miniature.

Our hostess let the silence linger a beat before another liveried figure popped up at table-side. With elegantly efficient movements he caused a pair of bottles to manifest on the table, accompanied by a stemmed glass for each of us. One of the bottles was opened to commence the ritual so beloved of oenophiles, after which Pin Stripes approved the choice with a nod. Her glass and mine were half-filled with a white wine; from the label, it was at the high end of mid-range, plainly chosen for genuine quality over snob value by a sommelier who was not afraid to let the chips fall where they may.

The minion moved on to open the second bottle and fill Sunset’s glass with no less grave courtesy. The sparkling apple juice—sourced from Sweet Apple Acres, I was pleased to note—matched the wine’s color surprisingly well. It also was one of the family’s dryer offerings, which meant it also should match the flavor profile as well as any such beverage could, a necessary compromise since Sunset was not of legal drinking age. Last of all were deeper glasses filled from a silvered decanter with chilled but not iced water, each set closer to its diner than the other. Then, as before, we were left alone without even a puff of smoke.

Sunset eyed both bottle and glasses, dubious not about them, I suspected, but about the situation as a whole, and spoke up hesitantly. “Don’t we get . . . menus or something?”

“This is a table d’hôte restaurant,” I explained quietly. “The chef sets up a single menu for the meal, which is served to everyone. We should be starting it soon, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh. But—even at Canterlot Palace we got cards telling us what we were going to get,” she objected.

“It’s a surprise,” Pin Stripes answered. “Think you should like it, though.”

Sunset blinked at her, and I could sympathize. By now the girl had to be thoroughly confused. I decided it was time to stick my head in the lion’s mouth. “Ma’am, would this be a good time to start?”

The glance she shot me was straight-faced, but I suspected amusement lurked behind it. “Very well, let the grilling begin.” She turned back to Sunset. “Ms. Shimmer, why are you here?”

Much as I wanted to, there was no way in the world I could get away with rolling my eyes.

Sunset’s brow knotted. “I . . . don’t understand, Ma’am. Is that a philosophical question or, or what?”

“Why are you in this city, in this world?” The voice was patient but otherwise emotionless. “For six months, you had no choice. Now you do.”

“Oh!” The younger face cleared. “That’s, um, kinda complicated.”

“We have all evening,” Pin Stripes pointed out.

Sunset pondered, but before she could articulate her answer the soup arrived.

“This—this is early treasure!” Sunset regarded the gently steaming bowl in evident delight. “I haven’t had this in . . . years.” She ran down and raised her head again. “Not since I first came through the portal.”

“Thank Mister Cook,” Pin Stripes told her. “Reports aren’t just about gathering intelligence.”

I shrugged again. “There are lots of dishes in Equestria that would work just as well here.” Rather than continue the difficult conversation, I dipped my soup spoon into the rich tart broth bathing herbs and vegetables traditionally associated with late winter and early spring, just the sort of seasonal dish one would find in a land not yet able to preserve or ship mass quantities of foodstuffs.

At least Pin Stripes waited for us to start eating again before pressing on. “Complicated, you said.”

Sunset looked up hastily. “Uh, yeah. Yes Ma’am.” She took another spoonful before continuing. “The simplest answer is, I like it here. I really do love my friends, more than almost anypony—anybody else I know. And it’s a really interesting place.” She began to alternate bites and speech; we ate as well, and listened.

“It’s not perfect, but back home isn’t perfect either. I know a lot of people here write about how nasty and horrible things can be, and I guess they need to if those things are gonna get better, but there’s a lot of good stuff out there too.” Her other hand flew out in an animated gesture as she warmed to her thesis.

“There’s no magic—well, there wasn’t magic—” Embarrassment tinged the amendment. “—but the technology is amazing.” She burbled on for a minute or so about the digital wonders that simply didn’t exist in a world where steam power and electrical telegraphy were state of the art. They’d become a central part of her new life, right down to her own video-game streaming channel. Some of it clearly, to me at least, flew over Pin Stripes’ head and even mine occasionally, but the older woman nodded attentively at appropriate moments.

“And on top of that, Canterlot High is a good school,” Sunset concluded firmly. “Even if I went back home for good, there’s a lot I’ve learned here that would be just as helpful there.” Her voice wavered a bit, but she went on gamely. “Math and physics and stuff like that work pretty much the same in both worlds, and even language and history are more useful than you might think—y’know, basic principles? I’ve even written a few papers on that kinda thing.” Her final hurried assurance addressed the slight frown on Pin Stripes’ face. “Some assignments are set up for students to ‘compare and contrast’, or write about where they’re from. Since the teachers and other students at CHS already know about me, we figured it would be fine as long as they locked up the papers and kept quiet about it outside of school. Right?” She searched her inquisitor’s face anxiously.

“Like to see some of those papers,” Pin Stripes commented. “Can you give copies to Mister Cook?”

“S-sure!” Sunset looked both gratified and daunted. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Pin Stripes sat back from her now-empty bowl. “So. Want to stay for the long term, then. Have friends here, honestly like this city and this world, and from Mister Cook’s reports, plans for university. That about sum it up?”

“Well—mostly. I mean, since it’s my fault magic’s gotten loose here, I need to stay and help clean it up, too.”

Pin Stripes’ expression turned stern. “As well you should, young lady.”

Sunset ducked her head again, eyes downcast toward her mostly empty bowl, and made a mumbled apology—for everything in the universe, as far as I could tell.

I couldn’t blame either of them; Sunset did have a lot to live down, after all. But still. I cleared my throat. “Ms. Shimmer has been doing a fine job of it, along with her friends. It’s plain the Tree of Harmony feels the same way, to judge from the pendants they’ve been given.” I nodded to the one at the center of Sunset’s bolo slide, familiar roiling-sun emblem glinting on the red crystalline face. Both women looked over at me, Sunset in mild dismay at possibly injudicious mention of the Tree, Pin Stripes in covert appraisal of her subordinate.

We were allowed to finish the dregs of our delicious soup in relative peace, after which the bowls and spoons were collected quickly and silently—from the right, of course, starting with Sunset—and carried off. I sipped at the wine with the old trick of letting the glass linger but allowing only a small amount into my mouth. I was dead sure I wasn’t the only one using it. Sunset, from her expression, would rather have the wine than the apple juice, trapped as she was with someone who had the power to determine her fate.

So it was we awaited the next course . . . and the next question.

Author's Note

Only once in my life have I worn black tie—and that for a wedding, which etiquette experts decry, but it wasn’t my wedding, so it wasn’t my call. Never have I worn white tie, and I expect I never will. Moreover, only once have I eaten a multi-course meal within shouting distance of the level this establishment operates at. All of that means I’ve had to rely entirely on research and second-hand information, much of the latter provided by the estimable Baron Engel. He suggested the menu, based partly on meals in his Equestria dreamscape, including early treasure.
  The position filled by Pin Stripes is, in the US Department of State, Under Secretary of State for Political Affairs; in the United Kingdom the nearest equivalent, I believe, would be Permanent Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. I’ve elided the two with “permanent undersecretary”, leaving the full title unstated. In general, the modifier “permanent” seems to indicate a civil servant, rather than an elected or appointed official, fills the post.

Once in a lifetime

“I . . . guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Sunset muttered, half appreciative and half resigned, as broad shallow bowls appeared before us one after another. “Back of the pantry.” Tart apples, dried cranberries, raisins, sweet onions, all topped with orange vinaigrette, steamed as enthusiastically as the early treasure had. Another winter dish, the hot salad was named for its probably apocryphal origins as the odds and sods remaining in household stores as Winter Wrap-up approached, tossed and sautéed quickly. The chef had added his own touch, though, accompanying it with equally fresh warm olive loaf, crusty and fine, and high-grade olive oil for dipping. Before starting on either, though, Sunset bit her lip and gave Pin Stripes an apprehensive look.

The latter took that as her cue. “So. University. Major?”

Whatever Sunset was expecting, that didn’t seem to be it. “I—uh, art, I think. Performing with the Rainbooms is a blast, and I’ve really gotten into drawing and painting, even comics a little bit. Canterlot High has a good arts program—better than a lot of schools, they tell me, so I’m getting a decent grounding.” She tipped her head, even as she absently lifted her fork with a bite of the salad. “A lot of other kids are skipping traditional media and going straight into digital art, but I think that’s a mistake.” Her voice turned distinctly self-conscious. “Maybe I’m just biased because of where I’m from, though.”

I couldn’t resist butting in. “No, I think you’re right. Everything I’ve heard suggests learning traditional media builds a foundation for basic skills and outlook that’s hard to get otherwise. Do both at the same time, maybe, but don’t skimp on either one.” Exactly what meaning lay behind the look my boss gave me I couldn’t decipher, but I shut up and stuffed my pie hole with another bite.

“Mm. Studies show most high-school friendships fade away in a few years.” Pin Stripes’ tone was idle; her words were anything but. I wasn’t sure what studies she was talking about, assuming they actually existed, but then it wasn’t a subject I’d researched.

For the first time Sunset showed a glint of fire; her face hardened and an edge entered her words. “Not ours. I think that’s one reason Rainbow Dash started the Rainbooms. It’s just the kind of thing she would do. She’s loyal that way.” The hand not holding a fork stole up to touch her pendant. “Besides, we have these.”

“Ball and chain?” The clinical manner continued as Pin Stripes selected a slice of bread and touched its face to the pool of oil in the small plate on the left of her place.

Now there was a definite frown on the young face. “No! More like . . . a connection. A reminder. Okay, yeah, maybe we’ll need that extra help after we graduate from CHS, but I don’t think any of us have plans to skip off somewhere anyway.” Sunset’s flip of the hand carried a definite hint of Rarity’s mannered gestures in its wiggling fingers. “This isn’t a big city, but it’s big enough, and these days being where the action’s at isn’t as important as it used to be—or still is, in the other world. I did talk about the Internet, right?” A daring hint of sarcasm leaked through before she remembered her situation and closed her mouth with a snap.

Was there a hint of approval on the older face? I couldn’t be sure, but then, while I knew Pin Stripes better than Sunset did, that wasn’t to say I knew her well. “And after university?”

“I don’t know yet.” The simple statement was painfully honest. “Most of the others have pretty good ideas what they want to do, and I’ll bet Cook can give you chapter and verse on that if he hasn’t already—but I spent three years focused on the next time the portal opened, so I only started thinking about this a year ago.” She stole a glance at me, which I returned with a nod of acknowledgement. “I’ve been talking about it with the girls, and Princess Twi, and both Celestias and Lunas, and even Cook. I’m sure I can figure it out, if my friends help me with it.” After this little speech she looked down again, concentrating on the remains of her salad. For a moment all of us said nothing and continued eating.

“Family?” Pin Stripes wasn’t any quieter, but at least she no longer seemed to be prodding as hard.

“What?” Sunset sat up to favor her interrogator with a baffled expression. “How do you mean that?”

“You tell me.”

Sunset bought a moment to think by chewing on more bread, her face the picture of concentration. “My family? I . . . haven’t seen them lately. Maybe . . . I should talk to Princess Celestia about that.”

“Maybe you should.” A peculiar note flashed through the response. “Go on.”

“. . . Starting a family?” The aquamarine glare was back full force. “It’s a little early to be thinking about that, isn’t it? Besides, if there’s anything that isn’t your business, that’s it!”

“Says the former pony.”

Only our genteel surroundings seemed to keep Sunset in her seat. She leaned forward, put the heels of her palms against the table’s edge, and hissed through clenched teeth, “As long as I’m here, I’m as human as you are. If I drop-kicked you through the portal, you’d be a pony too. Probably. Maybe a griffin. A diamond dog would be too much to hope for.” She seemed on the verge of swearing like a sailor, and I sat up in alarm, setting my fork with a clatter in my empty bowl.

As I hoped, the sound broke the tension. Sunset shoved herself back in her seat and bit off her words. “Okay. If and when I find someone I like that much, maybe I will settle down. Maybe I’ll even be a mother. Maybe I’ll take my family through the portal to show them where I came from, where half their family comes from. I don’t know yet. I can’t know yet. I’ve tried to be good about this, but that question just isn’t fair.” Outright defiance shone in her scowl.

“You’re right; it isn’t.” If Sunset’s outburst bothered Pin Stripes, it didn’t show in her unruffled voice. “But you did answer it.”

“What?” Sunset repeated. “How?”

“Quite well,” came the enigmatic reply.

Again I quelled the urge to roll my eyes. “Sunset. It’s . . . a natural concern. You’re a foreign national, which can create complications all by itself. Add the whole interdimensional aspect, and of course people are going to wonder about the issues involved. How ‘equine’ are you here? How ‘human’ am I there?” I thought a moment. “You’ve met Raven. She’s quite an attractive young mare, isn’t she?”

Sunset’s open-mouthed double-take made me bite my lip against a crack of laughter. “R-raven Inkwell? Really?”

“Well, no. I mean, she’s pretty, and smart, and appealing, but—” I shrugged. “I know I explained ‘conflict of interest’ to you. And to paraphrase you, I like her, and I think she likes me, but not that much. I just wanted to point out how it can come up as a legitimate matter of interest.” That I also was a bit more interested in men—or stallions, depending—wasn’t germane, and I didn’t want to muddle an already complicated discussion.

“Fine. I’ll say this much. Except for Sci-Twi, none of us is involved with anyone right now, and I’ll be honest—I’m not sure if her thing with Timber will last or not, but I’m not telling either of them that.” The not-mare heaved a deep breath, letting it out through her nose; under the circumstances I couldn’t help imagining her equine nostrils flaring with a snort. “Ma’am, we’re busy. We have school and lives and all the other stuff people our age in this world have to deal with, plus a rock band and all those magical problems that keep coming up. I don’t think we have time for love lives. Maybe that’ll change later. I hope that’ll change later, for all our sakes. But not right now. Does that spell it out?”

“Clearly, thank you,” Pin Stripes told her politely.

Sunset squeezed her eyes shut and visibly forced herself to relax in her chair. “What next?” Resignation dominated again, but at least her mood was less tentative than it had been when this whole rigamarole started.

“Main course,” was the completely accurate and utterly unhelpful answer. Never had I been so close to insubordination as I was in that moment. Fortunately, having noticed our empty dishes and no-longer-confrontational body language, a waiter descended on us once again to clear away the remnants in preparation for the aforementioned next course.

Author's Note

Back of the pantry is another dish from Baron Engel’s Equestria dreamscape. Something often forgotten by grocery shoppers in the industrialized world is how recent and revolutionary supermarket offerings truly are. For all but the tiniest moment in human history, assuming one had enough to eat at all, the foods available were limited to what was in season locally, with almost no ability to obtain anything from farther afield. That began to change with the Industrial Revolution—steamships, railroads, ice houses and iceboxes, all foreshadowed the enormous, sophisticated logistical and storage systems we have today, capable of supplying and maintaining fresh produce flown from the other hemisphere within hours.
  Equestria rarely has to worry about shortfalls; thanks to earth magic, even the poorest habitants can afford, and can count on, adequate diets, which certainly can’t be said of our own world even today. At the same time, only in the last few decades have the ponies begun to develop the same technology and processes to bring out-of-season foodstuffs, in bulk, across the country. My assumption is that magic works well on an individual level, but does not generate economies of scale the way technology does. Hence, a pannier is small enough for a preservation spell, but (occasional magical prodigies aside) a warehouse is just too big for enchantment—and there is incentive for ponies to develop technology in the first place.

Stop making sense

I regarded the plates being placed before us with some curiosity, for it would seem the chef was tinkering rather freely with the usual procession. Soup and salad had arrived individually, and while, like Sunset, I hadn’t been briefed on the meal’s contents, I did know there would be no separate accompaniment following the current course. Though I heard no raised voices elsewhere in the room, there likely was some befuddlement and possibly even outrage at the meal’s scandalous informality, extending right down to the plated servings. On the other hand, the beautiful presentation continued the meal’s elegant simplicity.

No garnishes distracted from the generous cut of poached salmon centered on the squarish plate, arranged to make room for the rows of asparagus spears on either side, drizzled with flakes of slowly melting hard cheese. For our purposes it was an excellent choice. Even as a pony, Sunset certainly had eaten fish to get the protein and calories urgently required by a furnace-like metabolism resulting from a child’s rapid growth, a sapient creature’s large, complex brain, and magic powered by the body’s own reserves. Thus it was a safer bet than meat, while still being acceptable, though a bit eccentric, in the eyes of other patrons as the center of a four-course dinner. Indeed, her delight, if a bit dampened by the circumstances, was plain in the brief widening of her eyes and slight smile—partly, I suspected, because it wasn’t a direct copy of anything from her childhood home, or at least not an obvious one.

Pin Stripes had said nothing about the unusual arrangements despite the experience of more formal dinners than I could count easily. I gave her a covert sidelong look, which she returned blandly. If I had any doubts before she had a hand in the menu, they were laid to rest. Sunset, in turn, seemed blissfully unaware anything was out of the ordinary. But then, with Celestia setting the agenda for any meal, I doubted she ever forced her young students to suffer through the whole, for a foal, boring panoply of service and courses.

With the waitstaff’s departure, all three of us dug in with a will, albeit decorously enough to suit the staid setting. By now the dining room had livened up as more patrons arrived than departed. The quartet had gone on break, leaving their instruments in place for their return, but the low, pervasive rooba-rooba of conversation handily covered our sensitive discussion. For the moment, though, Sunset was given a respite.

I wondered briefly how many of the other tables similarly were occupied by powerful people with powerful topics. This restaurant, high-end or no, couldn’t have been picked out of a hat. Doubtless the management maintained all sorts of agreements, most of them informal, involving discretion and security arrangements as well as menu requests; Mister Brown almost certainly was merely one of a dozen or more individuals carrying concealed holsters and DSS badges, and those might not be the only armed people on duty here at the moment. In such a case, not all the agreements in question would be aboveboard, though one of them would be a tacit truce, if both sides of the law met here. Even in wartime enemy nations maintained lines of communication, however sketchy and roundabout; it would be the same here.

I blinked away the daydreaming when Pin Stripes at last spoke up once more. “No more ambitions on the throne, eh?”

Sunset closed her eyes wearily and sighed again. Her fork paused, but she didn’t bother to put it down. “No. Nothing like that, okay? I was a spoiled brat running away from an authority figure who wouldn’t give me what I wanted, if we’re gonna use psychobabble, and after that my plans were all I had to hold on to. I was lonely and mad and scared, even if I hadn’t figured that out, so I just did everything I could to wreck everything around me, and I was gonna do everything I could to wreck Celestia too.”

Aqua eyes reopened on a distant expression as she took a slow pensive bite of fish. “I know my temper is my biggest fault. When I get angry, I stop thinking. I guess a lot of people, and ponies, do, but for me it’s like a red haze. I’ll jump on really bad ideas and run with them.” Suddenly her focus shifted to Pin Stripes’ face. “You have to know all this already, unless Cook’s fallen down on the job, and I know he’s too good for that.”

Sunset was absolutely right; I’d reported on the whole subject in detail, but neither of us replied to the assertion. I didn’t need to, and Pin Stripes apparently didn’t want to. Instead she mused, “Mm. Just an ordinary high-school student, then.”

“Yeah, just an ordinary high-school student. With the most amazing friends anywhere, enchanted pendants that give us superpowers, a side job cleaning up magical messes, and the attention of really high-ranking people. Just one semester away from graduating summa cum laude, by the way, if nothing goes horribly wrong.” Sunset looked down at her plate, cutting a few more chunks of asparagus. “Here’s one lesson I learned a couple of months ago that I’m sure didn’t show up in Cook’s reports, because I didn’t tell him about it. When everything falls apart, when all your big plans burn to the ground, it doesn’t matter. It’s okay to build a new life, even if it’s not about conquering the world. Sure, it’s great to hear the cheers of the crowd—and I love that about being up on stage—but one friend saying something you need to hear, or something they need to tell you, is worth more than all the cheering in the universe.”

“Something you didn’t tell Mister Cook.” Now it was my turn to be pinned to my chair by a gimlet stare. I did my best to return the look impassively.

“It wasn’t his business, and it was confidential.” Sunset spoke sharply, perhaps to pull attention away from me. At least I liked to think so. “It was about the Dazzlings, and their privacy is just as important as anyone else’s. So are the rules to protect them and whoever’s working with them, even if those aren’t up in the stratosphere where you are. They taught us about the rule of law in civics class at CHS, and even Princess Celestia talked about the same kind of principle, even if she didn’t call it that. Did they teach you about it too, or did you skip that part?”

If drawing fire from me was Sunset’s intent, it looked like she succeeded. Pin Stripes examined her thoughtfully, lips pursed and brows elevated a little. “You’re angry.” I could imagine a certain bespectacled purple nerd-girl using just the same detached tone in announcing the results of an experiment.

“You bet I’m angry.” Sunset certainly looked angry, and I winced. We were just discussing how anger affected her, and I feared it would cause her to step over the line, but she had herself well enough in hand to pause for a few emphatic bites of fish. “And I think it’s on purpose.”

“Do tell.” Pin Stripes also continued eating, though her hooded eyes seemed far more intent than the cool manner she’d exhibited since our arrival.

“You have to be the one getting Cook’s reports, and you have to be the kind of person who’d read ’em all, or you wouldn’t be so high up. That means you know everything about me already, like I said before.” Sunset spoke rapidly as she laid out her deductions. “The kind of questions you’ve been asking aren’t just about fishing for more information. You’re trying to jab at me, see how I’ll react. Am I different than the way Cook’s been writing about me? Am I still a spoiled brat? Am I still dangerous, especially now that we all have these geodes? Come to think of it, that’s why you’re wearing gloves, isn’t it? So I can’t touch your arm and read your mind.”

“Really. What else?” The words sounded genuinely interested.

Sunset paused in finishing her serving and said more slowly, “I think I know why you’re doing it, too.”

“Oh?” This was a classic bureaucratic technique: give them enough rope to hang themselves, as the macabre old saying had it.

The amber complexion paled a little beneath the minimal cosmetics. “You’re here to decide if I should be sent back.”

Author's Note

Horses will gobble down meat if they can get it, especially if they are having a hard time obtaining enough vitamins or minerals. I have watched videos of equines stalking small creatures such as baby birds, or eating fish given by hand. It may not be good for real ones to eat too much meat, but given the anthropomorphized diet candy-colored magical ponies seem to enjoy, I’m perfectly willing to go with the notion that as sapient creatures they need such varied foods and regularly eat at least small amounts of meat as part of that.
  It’s easy to understand, EG being a franchise aimed at a teen demographic, why the scriptwriters bend over backward not to show most of the girls’ family members, especially parents. Still, at least once, I would love to see all the families, especially Sunset’s.

Remain in light

For what seemed an eternity the three of us sat en tableau. Sunset struggled for composure. Pin Stripes seemed inclined to let her. I was at a loss. The staff whisked away the old and conjured the new. Dessert proved to be a plate for each of us bearing slices of winter pear and assorted cheeses, from mild to sharp, surrounding a small bowl of tree nuts. Another wine came along for the ride, though the apple juice wasn’t changed out.

Even after the waitmimes disappeared, it was most of a minute before Sunset could speak again. “Ma’am, please. Please let me stay. I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life, even . . . even what I wanted when I first came here.” Her body and voice trembled, and her eyes glistened a little, but she managed to maintain a semblance of dignity and not to sniffle.

Pin Stripes leaned back as she eyed the young woman pleading, if not for her life, then at least for her lifestyle. When the undersecretary responded, her voice was gentler than I’d ever heard it. “Ms. Shimmer. Sunset. It may be hard for you to believe, but once upon a time, long before Mister Cook here was born, I was your age and even younger. After so long, it’s gotten a bit hazy, but I still remember what it was like.”

Ignoring Sunset’s bewilderment, she continued after a pause with an air of reminiscence. “Among other things, I loved to read adventure stories—for children, for teens, for adults. I always was precocious. Some of my favorites were about someone from the humdrum modern world being transported somehow to the distant past, or the far future, or another planet, or a parallel world, and all their thrilling exploits. What I never imagined then was that someday, the opposite would happen, for real.” She nodded toward the expatriate from just such an exotic place, living now in a perfectly ordinary neighborhood in a, well, no longer perfectly ordinary city.

“Stories like that, bringing someone here instead of sending someone there, are a little more common now, from what my grandchildren tell me.” For the first time Pin Stripes cracked a full, if crooked, smile, clearly enjoying Sunset’s astonishment. “Yes, my dear, I have a husband and grown children and grandchildren, all of whom I love very much. Some of the younger ones are just about the same age as you and your friends, and even those three little reprobates.”

She held up a hand when Sunset opened her mouth on a protest. “I know, they came clean and apologized, and all’s well now. My point is, I understand what children and teens go through—what they want, what they need, and what the difference is. You’re right; I do know as much about you as I do about any of my grandchildren, thanks to Cook’s reports. Still, however good reports are, they’re no substitute for getting a firsthand impression. I needed to meet you in order to do my job, which is very important if I’m to help keep safe all those other children and their families—to confirm in my own mind you are who Cook says you are.”

The undersecretary came back in all her intimidating majesty. “Make no mistake, though, Ms. Shimmer. That job also requires me to make difficult decisions every day about national security, international relations, and bureaucratic infighting, and not all of them offer any pleasant choices. Everyone and everything has a value, and sometimes it comes down to placing people, real people, on a figurative balance scale. It’s no fun at all, but it has to be done. I will be frank and say you, too, have such a value, and so do your friends. If the time comes to balance that against other urgent imperatives, however unlikely that may be, I will do it, because that is what my oath requires.”

She shot me a look, which Sunset followed reluctantly. “Keep in mind, the same goes for Mister Cook. It has to, if he is going to be the honorable man you’ve befriended. I’m sure he’ll do everything he legitimately can to safeguard the lot of you, but not a jot more, because he swore an oath too. That’s why we are commissioned officers, not just employees, of the government.” I knew my face was tight, but I had to nod in corroboration.

The hard expression melted away and the grandmother returned. “All that said, I also can tell you I’m convinced you’ve become a fine, upstanding young woman, and that you’re doing your best to repair the damages you’ve done, and others besides. And don’t forget, you are a resident, so my duty extends to you as much as it does to any other person living in this nation. Yes, it’s complicated by the fact you’re a foreign national, but you also are a teenage girl trying to make her way in life, with all sorts of extra burdens most others don’t have to deal with.”

Sunset frankly looked poleaxed, and took a while to get her vocal apparatus restarted. “You—you never were going to send me back, then?”

“It was a possibility,” Pin Stripes allowed. “But a remote one. Your logic was sound. Your conclusion was in error. Understandable—Mister Cook mentioned several times how worried you were about being allowed to stay—but be honest: you let that get in the way, didn’t you? Jumped to conclusions, exaggerated the likelihood?”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” Sunset was shamefaced. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. Cook warned me about being paranoid.”

“Don’t apologize.” Pin Stripes waved it away. “Anyone who lives with that kind of day-to-day pressure is bound to be affected by it. You’ve done a good job of keeping up your grades and juggling everything else at the same time. You’re allowed not to be perfect.”

“Th-thank you—”

“Don’t thank me either.” Pin Stripes took up a wedge of cheese and a slice of pear. “Same advice anyone with an ounce of sense would give you. Now, eat your dessert, young lady.”

Bemused, Sunset did as she was bade. I had a feeling it was pure reflex, following the demands of an adult in authority; I could imagine Princess Celestia giving her much the same order in much the same tone. I followed suit, and we munched away for a little while, until she spoke up again in a small voice. “Cook, when you first told me about this, I could see you didn’t like it any more’n I did. Why, if you knew I, uh, wasn’t going to be sent away?”

“Because I knew you were going to be put through the wringer,” I told her baldly, not even glancing at Pin Stripes—who didn’t raise an objection in any case. “It’s true I always have to keep in mind I’m a foreign service officer and a representative of my country, but . . .” I sighed. “. . . I do think of you as, um, something like a niece or a little sister.” I don’t blush easily, but I did then. I heard what sounded suspiciouly like a snort from the superior I determinedly avoided looking at.

Sunset blushed too and looked down. “Oh. That explains a lot, yeah. Okay.” Her head bounced up again. “What I mean is, that’s okay, Cook. I think we all see you as kind of an uncle. We’re gonna miss you when you get reassigned.” She glanced past me at the person who would be doing the reassigning. “He is gonna get reassigned someday, right?”

“Someday.” The voice sounded a touch regretful. “Policy. Leave someone in a post too long, he starts getting too attached to it and the folks he’s dealing with. Called ‘clientitis’; real problem for diplomats. Might be able to stretch it a little in this case, but he’ll have to move on before you graduate university. I’m sorry. Allowed to keep in touch, though.”

“Oh. Good.” Sunset’s expression mingled sadness and relief.

“Anything else?” Pin Stripes asked. “Golden opportunity; don’t let it go to waste.”

“Uh—only one other thing I can think of right now, and I’m not sure anyone can answer it,” Sunset answered after a moment of furious thought. “The portal’s at CHS, but after we graduate, we won’t be CHS students any more.”

“Sure we can figure out something.” Pin Stripes sounded confident. “But you’re right, something to think about, and we have been. Anyway, doubt the principals would have a problem with you visiting.”

“They care about you too, Sunset,” I pointed out. “Especially now that they know for sure you’re on your own here. The chance to see you once in a while and make sure you’re doing all right will ease their minds. In the longer term, I don’t know—but to be honest, that’s above my pay grade anyway.”

“Not mine.” Pin Stripes let a little more concern into her tone than she might have when the evening started. “Can say, though, we’re keeping an eye on Canterlot High. Good school, just as you said. And with the magic—well, analysts think we may get more applicants than average from CHS grads, few years from now.”

That was news to me, and very obviously to Sunset as well; she nearly inhaled her bite of pear. “What?” she demanded before I could.

“Heard right. ‘Friendship magic’ sounds a bit silly, but does seem to work—along with the good examples of you and your friends. Cliques still exist over there, but the kids seem a lot more willing than most to talk to, say, nerd crowd for help with a balky equalizer, or trade skills where they cross interests, like a rally or protest.”

“That . . . really?” Suddenly Sunset seemed much younger than her actual age; I could see her turning such a look of appeal on either Celestia for reassurance. “Because of us?”

“And Her Highness.” Pin Stripes didn’t exactly shrug as she assembled another pairing of pear and cheese, but she didn’t need to.

“That’s why Twilight bothered to go through all the motions when she first showed up,” I observed out loud for Sunset’s benefit. “Instead of grabbing the tiara and jumping back through the portal—which wouldn’t have let her help you, come to think of it, and could’ve ended up in a big back-and-forth mess until the portal closed again.”

Sunset’s eyes narrowed. “I dunno, Cook. That seems awfully . . . clever? Devious? I mean, I love her to pieces, but she’s pretty straightforward, and when she tries not to be, she can get tangled up in her own plans. Sci-Twi does the same thing.”

“She kind of did, didn’t she? You did your best to trip her up, after all, right?” I smiled when her nose scrunched up. “And she had a really tough time with the Dazzlings, overthinking everything. But she can’t help but try to help, and now, neither can you. That’s part of the friendship magic too, isn’t it? That urge to reach out, to connect, to lend a hand.”

By the time we finished Sunset seemed more relaxed than she’d been since I’d picked her up what seemed like a lifetime ago. She looked around curiously and asked, “Um—how does this work? The . . . bill and stuff, I mean.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I told her. She didn’t seem convinced, so I elaborated, “That’s what expense accounts are for, and this definitely qualifies. You are the guest here.”

She looked to Pin Stripes, brow furrowed, but the latter nodded confirmation, so she sat back again. “I guess I couldn’t afford a place like this anyway, could I?”

“Probably not,” the hostess agreed. “But as Mister Cook said, you are the guest. May not have another chance like this for a while. Business is done. Care to stay for coffee and a chat? Just a chat, a grandmother, an uncle, and you.”

Author's Note

Apparently a formal dinner is, or at least can be, a terribly complicated affair, but this one illustrates nicely the origin of the old expression “soup to nuts”, since it does indeed follow that formula, though rather loosely.

Bonus rarities and outtakes

“Rarity, it’s—uh . . .” Sunset trailed off and bit her lip as she stared at the open sketchbook balanced on both hands.

“Don’t hold back, darling.” Rarity folded her arms and raised her eyebrows.

“It’s great, really,” her friend hastened to assure her. “I’m just . . . not sure it sends the message I’m looking for.”

“Well, I was thinking to try adapting Equestrian diplomatic garb. However—” The fashionista gave Sunset a trenchant look over her bright red reading glasses, not so much suggesting as daring the other girl to finish the thought.

Sunset sighed. “Ponies don’t normally wear pants.”

“Ponies do not, in fact, normally wear pants—or much of anything else, for that matter.” Rarity waved toward the untidy piles of newspapers and magazines from Sunset’s collection, sent by Princess Twilight through the portal to keep the expatriate in touch with her homeland and to assuage the occasional bout of homesickness. “Why, your princesses prance around in nothing but a few scraps of metal and smiles.”

“There’s a bunch of things wrong with what you just said, but I get where you’re coming from.” Sunset closed the sketchbook and put it down on one of the mounds of borrowed newsprint. “Look, Rarity, I know you’d love to design and make something wonderful and traditional, but I don’t have that kind of budget and you don’t have that kind of time. I was hoping you could help me scrape up something I could afford that wouldn’t embarrass me—or, uh, Cook.” She shot me a sidelong glance, which I returned with artful innocence.

We stood in a side room of the boutique where Rarity worked part time and, in lieu of a higher wage, had access to the design and fabrication facilities available. The owner, Prim Hemline, offered the arrangement to any of her employees with aspirations to follow in her footsteps, a quid pro quo that benefited both her business and the young would-be designers she took under her wing, of whom Rarity definitely was a promising stand-out.

A long-suffering sigh greeted this burst of wet-blanket pragmatism. “Oh, very well. For your sake, Sunset, I shall put aside my efforts at originality in favor of practicality.” She paused to eye her subject, expression pensive, and we waited. “All right, then. Since something new is out of the question, we shall have to rely on the old. Fortunately I am acquainted with every thrift store in the city.”

Sunset cried out, “Thrift stores? What happened to not embarrassing me?”

“Tut tut!” Rarity wagged a finger. “There are thrift stores and thrift stores, darling. Not all are created equal—and I am perhaps overgeneralizing with that label. Would calling them ‘pre-owned clothing stores’ and ‘retro boutiques’ make you more comfortable?”

“If you’re sure,” Sunset allowed in a dubious tone.

“I am.” Rarity gave me an arch look. “Of course, if we are to meet this looming deadline of Mister Cook’s, he shall have to contribute to our success by providing his services as chauffeur.”

It was my turn to sigh, adding an eye-roll for good measure. “Fine, but you have to promise this won’t be a wild-goose chase.”

Sunset’s eyes were wide with consternation, but Rarity gave a cool flick of the fingers. “The day is still young, so I am certain we can fulfill Sunset’s commission before the close of business—if we start immediately. Black tie, you said, Cook?”

“That’s right.” I named the restaurant. I got the impression it was a place she hankered to go, and I hoped this wouldn’t inspire any jealousy. “This will be business, not pleasure, Rarity,” I added firmly. Definitely not pleasure, though I couldn’t say that out loud.

“Yes, yes.” She sounded distressingly distracted as she reached for her coat and faux-fur pillbox-style cap. “Shall we go?”

Thus began our peregrinations across the valley; in retrospect the whole trip took on a breakneck, breathless quality, remembered mostly in flashes. The two girls rode in back, which certainly made me feel like a chauffeur. Rarity gave rapid-fire directions, alternating with phone calls and text messages to her friends, mobilizing the whole group on errands to fetch and gather.

“You did inform Princess Twilight, darling, did you not?”

“Yeah, I wrote to her right after Cook first told me about it.”

“Very good. Do you mind if I send her a quick note? You can read over my shoulder if you like.”

“Uh—won’t it be hard to write in a moving car?”

“Pish-tosh. In a couple of blocks we’ll reach that dreadful intersection where the lights always seem to take an eternity to change. I can dash it off then.”

Hastily snapped photographs apparently began to arrive—accompanied by harried variations of “is this what you’re looking for?” Rarity insisted on reading aloud—inspiring the mistress of all she surveyed to chortle in approval or cluck in displeasure as she tapped out responses.

Our first stop turned out to be an outlet selling new and used western wear and, of all things, horse tack. Rarity climbed the organizational ladder to the shift manager and dickered in abbreviated phrases of sartorial jargon. She knew exactly what she wanted, but apparently it wasn’t anywhere on the floor. Several attempts to fob her off ensued; she shot down each with increasingly barbed clarifications. Too bright. Too feminine. Too masculine. Too decorated. (I winced; she absolutely was right. The fringes and embroidery were tacky even for a sawdust-floored bar, let alone a guidebook-starred establishment.)

“I want. A bolero. Without embroidery. Or fringes. Or anything else.” Rarity rubbed the sides of her head theatrically. “I will handle the fitting and finishing myself, thank you. Surely you have at least a few, well, blank versions in the back that haven’t been . . . customized yet.”

The manager, who plainly had not anticipated such exactitude and determination in a teenager, temporized. “I’d have to look.”

“I would be happy to accompany you,” Rarity insisted. “It would save ever so much time and trouble.”

Sunset finally spoke up. “Please. The faster we can do this, the sooner we can pay and be on our way.”

After some grumbling about company rules, the manager finally led us to some plain racks in the bare-concrete stockroom and dock, which Rarity fell upon eagerly. Her arms moved with the rhythmic steadiness of camshafts, sliding aside hanger after hanger. Mumbled imprecations occasionally strayed into distinctly unladylike territory, until she let out a cry of “ah-ha!”

After that she moved more slowly, giving each jacket a closer look. At last, with an air of triumph, she plucked one from the multitude and held it up. “This one.”

“That one?” the manager seemed to have some trouble getting out the words. “But—”

Rarity airily waved aside the incipient objection. “Yes, I see most of the dark ones are black or blue, and other colors tend to be brighter, but I assure you, this deep ruby is perfect for our purposes. Sunset, come here.” When the command was obeyed with alacrity, she held up the bolero against the other girl’s torso. “There, you see? It goes well with her hair and skin, but it is dark enough to carry sufficient formality.” Indeed, if the light had been much dimmer, the red tint would have disappeared entirely, leaving what would appear a rich, warm black.

Her other forefinger rose to tap an alabaster temple. “I have all my friends’ measurements memorized, and with a little work this will fit her like a glove.” The same forefinger fell again to tick a dangling tag, spinning it lazily. “And—why, look! Such an excellent price.”

The manager handled the check-out process personally, the better to hasten us out the door, I assumed. Once we were walking across the parking lot I remarked, “That was a lucky break.”

“Indeed it was.” Rarity’s voice was considerably more subdued than it had been. “I was beginning to entertain doubts, but this little gem saved the day at the last minute. There were only a few like it, and just one in the correct size. Looking at the tag, I noticed several stickers, one over another, and the final price really was quite good, which I was pleased to see for the sake of Sunset’s poor abused budget. I would guess it was a dye error or an experimental color that failed to sell in adequate numbers, and either way eventually was relegated to the back.”

“That was amazing, Rarity.” Sunset, by contrast, seemed buoyed. “How did you know?”

Rarity was silent for a moment before admitting, “I didn’t. I knew what I was looking for, because I have a very clear idea what I want to see you in for this, and that store seemed a likely place to find the style of jacket I had in mind. It was the color—or rather, the shade—I wasn’t sure I could find. If need be I would have settled for black, but it just wouldn’t be quite the same.”

I held my peace, but it did occur to me these girls seemed to enjoy an extraordinary amount of serendipity.

Despite the name “black tie”, the jacket is the actual centerpiece of semi-formal dress—at least for men and for the recent trend in similar women’s fashion—so it certainly made sense to ensure that was in hand before all else. Rarity had her priorities straight, even if we did end up needing to backtrack at some point.

Ordinarily I tried to follow the anti-surveillance driving techniques that had been drilled into me, but with Rarity directing us hither and yon, I figured our travels would seem effectively random to any hypothetical shadows. I did keep a conscientious eye on the traffic around us, though. It wasn’t likely, but then, as my instructors made very clear, too many people had made the sometimes literally fatal mistake of thinking just that . . . and being wrong.

One by one we met each of the others, bundled up and waiting at curbside or somewhere on a retail parking lot. Rarity picked up the items they’d collected and Sunset paid them back. Voluble but hurried thanks and hugs were exchanged before we were off again with barely a moment to breathe.

Rainbow Dash held out the small sack of black dress socks. “These are okay, right?”

“As long as they’re the right size, they’re fine, darling,” Rarity assured the other girl as she accepted the bag and peeked within.

“I made sure to get the exact size you put in your text message. I checked three times before I bought them! But they’re just—”

“Rainbow Dash, have you ever worn black tie? As in semi-formal dress—gown, tuxedo, that sort of thing?”

“Do school dances count?”

“No.” A dramatic sigh accompanied this. “Trust me, darling. There shouldn’t be any problem with the fit, and really most people should not even see them. You did exactly what we needed, and did it well, and you have our thanks.” The words could have sounded dismissive, but in Rarity’s inimitable style, they were anything but.

As we parted ways, Rainbow Dash returning to whatever routine we’d interrupted and the rest of us heading back to the car, I asked in an undertone, “You gave her the simplest job, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Cook, yes I did.” Rarity’s voice was equally low; she started to shake her head, then aborted the possibly still visible movement. “I love her dearly, but Rainbow Dash has, let us say, the fashion sense of a rock. However, I can give her cut and dried instructions and rest assured she will carry them out accurately. As an athlete she knows very well how important it can be for a widely separated team member to do exactly that, or a play simply will not come together properly. I don’t understand sports as well as she does, but even I know that sort of thing can cost a team the game, and we are playing to win.”

“One pair of boots, coming up!” Pinkie Pie bounced in place as she presented a rather sizable box. Printed on it was a photograph of the black patent-leather ankle boots contained within, sleek and sharp-toed, close-fitting with a slightly higher heel than I generally associated with the style. Elastic panels running down on each side made them easier to put on and take off.

“Where on earth did you find those?” Rarity stared at the box. She had the fingers of one gloved hand spread across her upper chest, just below her collarbones, in a classic gesture of astonishment.

“Well, you said you wanted dress shoes for Sunset, but she likes boots more, so I thought those would be better if I could find any that were dressy enough. And I did!”

“But—” Sunset was eyeing the box in alarm. “Pinkie, how much did they cost?”

“Only . . .” Pinkie dug around in her pockets, then thrust a crumpled receipt at her friends. “. . . this much! It was a real bargain ’cause the store’s going out of business. The owner’s retiring and nobody wanted to take it over. He seemed real happy and told me all about how he was going to travel all over the world and—”

“Thank you, Pinkie,” Rarity interrupted. I couldn’t blame her. Pinkie, like all her friends, was a sterling young lady, but she could keep up the chatter for hours if she wasn’t diverted. “I will be honest and say I had not even considered this, but you are absolutely correct that Sunset prefers boots, and these are very handsome.”

Inevitably we were covered in celebratory confetti.

Rarity positively squealed. “Oh, Fluttershy, I knew I could count on you! This blouse is amazing. However did you find it?”

“You did say you wanted something off-white that would look good with Sunset’s skin tone,” Fluttershy almost whispered. “I had to check three different vintage shops, and I actually had to talk to some of the clerks.”

“Your sacrifice is very much appreciated, darling.” Rarity elbowed the girl standing beside her. “Isn’t it, Sunset?”

“Uh—yeah! Yeah, Fluttershy, this is great. It’s really pretty, and it’ll go great with the rest.”

“Are you sure?” The question was all but inaudible.

“See for yourself, my dear!” Rarity dashed back to the car and returned with the jacket, hastily shuffling the two garments to approximate the effect, then holding them against Sunset. “There. What do you think?”

Fluttershy clasped her hands under her chin and nodded with a bashful smile. “It’s wonderful.”

“Thanks, Fluttershy. You’re a life-saver,” Sunset said with greater assurance as she handed over the appropriate cash. It hadn’t been cheap, but as long as they could keep the costs down elsewhere, her finances shouldn’t suffer too much. I’d offered to help, but more out of politeness than anything else; in general Sunset insisted on paying her own way as much as she could. She occasionally might accept assistance from her inner circle, but not from anyone else. Truth to tell, I had to approve of that independent spirit, as long as she didn’t carry it too far.

“Hocus-pocus!” Twilight Sparkle held up a velveted jewelry box in each hand. “Shirt studs.” One box was raised a little higher. “Cufflinks.” The first lowered and the other rose. “They aren’t fancy, but you said Sunset doesn’t want to sink a lot of money into this, right?”

“Precisely.” Rarity nodded as she reached for the cufflinks box. Twilight stood on tiptoe and craned her neck as the box opened to display the satin-finish weathered-brass links bedded therein. “These will do nicely, Twilight. I presume the studs match?”

Twilight nodded and held out the other box in both hands; Rarity took it without even looking inside. “Was it very difficult finding something suitable?”

“No, I just did some Web searching, then called around to a few stores in the area. I was looking for a design with a sun motif, but that didn’t seem to be as easy to find locally in the right price range, so instead I decided to keep it simple.”

“Yes, that probably was best, or at least safest.” Rarity gave the other girl a bracing nod of affirmation. “Sunset and her budget thank you.”

Sunset couldn’t help a spurt of laughter. “Yeah, Twi, thanks. They look fine, and it was the right call to go for something basic and affordable. Besides, Rarity has something up her sleeve for the whole sun thing, so we should be covered there.”

“Oh?” Twilight’s eyes lit with curiosity, but she pouted when Rarity shook a finger and tsked.

“This is for Sunset, darling, but perhaps we can persuade her to model the finished product sometime afterward.”

Last but not least, Applejack handed over a braided black bolo tie with simple aged-brass aiguillettes and slide, the latter set with a polished round cultured-stone cabochon. “Ain’t sure whatcha got in mind fer somethin’ like this, sugar cube, but Ah knew jus’ where ta find it. Nobody’s used it since m’ pa passed.”

“It’s fine, darling, and the price certainly is right. I can get the tools to separate the ornament from the setting and put Sunset’s geode in its place—temporarily, of course. That will take a little delicate surgery, but when the evening is over, it can return to its normal home on its chain, and the setting will be available for future use.”

The farm girl tipped her hat back with a thumb and peered at the slide, held up as Rarity twiddled a demonstrative finger at it. “That’ll be a right ticklish job, Rarity. You sure ’bout this? From yer text message, there ain’t a lotta time ta do that an’ ever’thing else, so if it don’t work out, there may not be a second chance.”

Rarity bit her lip briefly. “Then I shall have to be careful, that’s all. The geodes do seem to . . . adapt to whatever setting we ask of them, so perhaps it won’t be as difficult as one might expect.”

Sunset put in solemnly, “Thank you, AJ. It means a lot that you’re giving me something from your family.”

“Pshaw.” Applejack waved a dismissive hand. “Pa’d be pleased ta see it git some use. It’s almost new, but like a lotta other stuff it got put away ’cause nobody really wanted ta deal with it all. Now . . . now mebbe it’s time we went through some of Ma and Pa’s things and found good homes for ’em.”

On our way back from Sweet Apple Acres on the other side of the valley, Rarity suddenly blurted, “Outerwear! Sunset darling, all you have are that disreputable bomber jacket and hoodies. Those are hardly suitable wraps for this.” Another string of demands led us to a crammed little hole in the wall, presumably not one of those Fluttershy had investigated.

Rarity beelined for the coats, and within a few minutes discovered an antique military greatcoat of suitable size. Its slate blue, a legacy of its foreign naval-academy origins, wasn’t ideal for Sunset’s warmer colors, but the jaw-dropping price made up for that. As we approached the bored book-reading cashier with our prize, Rarity whispered, “Say nothing. Obviously neither the seller nor anyone in this establishment saw this for what it is. Otherwise there would be another zero at the end of the price.”

Outside, Rarity clutched the booty and vented a triumphant snicker. Sunset shook her head in amusement. “Are we gonna need anything to go with that?”

Rarity sobered and thought a moment. “Ideally, yes, but we have stretched your budget too far already. Your knit scarf and earmuffs will have to do, and I don’t want a cap to spoil the hairstyle I have in mind for you.”

When we got back to the car, a certain journal was buzzing and vibrating on the back seat. As soon as Sunset got herself inside and buckled, she snatched up the book and flipped through it until purplish light did odd things to her amber complexion. “Oh, hey! Twi was able to find what you were looking for, Rare! She just finished sketching it here, and she says she’ll send it with the next package of papers.”

When at last we returned to home base, Rarity all but fell onto one of the work stools and leaned against the wall, legs extended straight out and eyes closed. The back of a hand rose to her forehead. “My goodness that was quite a trip—but did I or did I not promise to provide everything needed?”

“Except,” I pointed out, “the trousers.”

Rarity’s eyes popped open and she sat bolt upright, then covered her face with both hands. “I knew there was something nagging at me!”

Sunset put her fists on her hips. “Who was it making a big deal that ponies don’t wear pants?”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” The voice startled everyone, and once again Rarity’s back straightened. Sunset and I pivoted to see Prim Hemline standing in the doorway with arms crossed. It struck me her trademark flamboyant pantsuit was not entirely unlike the outfit Rarity had spent the day assembling for Sunset. “Rarity, do you plan to be here long? If so, don’t forget to set the alarm before you go.” She eyed everyone dubiously, especially me. I smiled back winningly, but for some reason she seemed immune to my boyish charm.

“Yes Ma’am,” Rarity told her with automatic deference, but the young face still looked dramatically troubled.

“Is there a problem, Rarity?” The sharp features clouded, though with concern or irritation wasn’t clear.

“I—well, yes, but not with the shop.” Another sigh floated across the room. “I’ve—we’ve spent the day chasing all over town trying to put together an ensemble for Sunset here, but Mister Cook reminded me I missed an item, and time is running out!”

Dark elegant brows rose. “Details, Miss Rarity, details.”

Rarity blinked but dutifully explained the circumstances, emphasizing Sunset’s limited resources and the consequences thereof. After she ran down, Hemline stood for a moment, head tilted, and frowned thoughtfully. “All right, show me what you have.”

Our consultant shot to her feet and scurried around the room, laying out everything we’d collected in approved fashion on one of the worktables. Hemline examined the whole arrangement. “You do realize you are slightly underdressing the poor girl.”

“Yes, I know, but that can’t be helped if we are to minimize Sunset’s outlay,” Rarity told her in an only slightly unsteady tone. “And the time investment. I thought to balance unconventionality, playing on her audacious personality, with a trim, sober effect.”

“Hmph. And yes, I see you are missing the lower part of the set. You had in mind a tapered dress trouser, I take it, and not a long skirt?” I hid a grin, recognizing the fashion-industry quirk of using the singular where most would use the plurale tantum.

“Yes, although . . . now that I think on it, how shall I match the jacket color?” Again Rarity’s face sagged.

“Ah.” Without another word Hemline disappeared back through the door. All three of us looked at each other, but there was a distinct thud from elsewhere in the shop that didn’t sound like a door closing, so we waited uneasily. After a few more minutes—and noises—she returned with several hangers hooked on her forearm, each draped with a pair of dark red slacks. “Try one of these.”

We all stared. They were, if not a perfect match, then very close. Rarity darted forward, spread fingers curved like claws, and grabbed the hangers in a double handful. She gathered them in one hand and with swift, unerring movements contact-juggled them one at a time to the other hand. About midway through she stopped and lifted the remaining pairs for a closer look. “I think—yes, this should do.” Deftly she left the pair in question lying on the table, lower legs dangling over the edge, then bunched the others together and offered them back. “How—?”

“I recognized the dye lot.” A smile tugged at one side of Hemline’s mouth as she reclaimed the laden hangers. “Not a resounding success, but a piece of luck for you. I shall offer a discount, in view of Ms. Shimmer’s need and the fact these have been gathering a little dust, among other factors. There also is a bolt from the same lot, from which you can cut a piece, gratis, for . . . a sash, I think, rather than a full cummerbund.”

Sunset reserved her thanks until after confirming the final price was not a bank-breaker, but once she did, she was effusive enough. My brows knitted; I didn’t recall Rarity having mentioned her full name, which raised some interesting questions I might need to look into later.

The boutique’s owner departed after accepting the thanks—and the cash—with becoming dignity, leaving us to our own devices in the workroom. Rarity puttered about, humming cheerfully and hanging up our prizes in one of the open locker-like numbered compartments lining one wall. She hung one of the dummies with a medallion bearing a familiar trio of lozenges, used a marking pencil to put the locker number on the latter, then called over Sunset for measuring just to be sure. The dummy was adjusted to match, and Rarity stood back, checking it against Sunset standing beside it. “There we go. Obviously, darling, I shall have to call you in for final fitting, but I should be able to do most of the work without bothering you unduly.”

“Oh, Rarity, thank you so much.” Sunset stepped forward to squeeze the other girl in a grateful hug. “I don’t know what I woulda done without you. How much will the alterations cost?”

The embrace was returned with evident sincerity. “Oh, now, Sunset, there is no way I could charge a friend, especially in a situation like this! After all, one of the reasons we sought out existing garments is to reduce the time required, so I shan’t be run ragged by the work, I assure you.”

Sunset stepped back. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am.” Rarity’s face firmed in a resolute expression. “I promise, whatever that evening holds in store, you will be able to put your better foot forward for it.”

Author's Note

Once again, I am indebted to FanOfMostEverything for a brilliantly funny bit of extempore dialog. I had the idea for this bonus chapter already, but lacked a good opening. That comment fit the bill nicely, so I adapted it and took off from there.

I deliberately glossed over just what it was Princess Twi was tasked with obtaining—other than a couple of clues—but the reader should be able to figure it out through process of elimination by examining the description of Sunset’s outfit in the first chapter.

Western bolero jackets, I found, seem to be quite different from other boleros—but they are what I think of when I hear the term. I did eventually find just the cut I had in mind, and yes, it seems an awful lot of them are decorated to a fare-thee-well with tacky embroidery and/or fringes.

What Pinkie found are Chelsea boots, but because I follow the canon writers’ lead of avoiding real-world names, I couldn’t call them that.

The greatcoat is based on one worn by an acquaintance of Baron Engel’s, right down to the bargain price put on it by someone with no idea of its true value. My understanding is it began life as French naval-cadet issue.

Cummerbunds usually are fashioned from silk, if I recall correctly, but of course the dark-red material almost certainly isn’t that—hence Prim Hemline’s suggestion of a sash instead.