Luna Doesn't Actually Appear in This Fic
Twilight had just taken the first forkful of waffle when Rarity, ten minutes late for breakfast, barged through the door in a badly disheveled bathrobe. Her mane, far from its usual chic curls, still looked matted and tangled from a bad night's sleep. Her sleeping mask still hung by its elastic from one ear.
"Oh, girls, girls!" Rarity wailed. "I'm so sorry I was late, but I just had this horrible-" She laid a foreleg across her brow in dramatic fashion and moaned, "-HORRIBLE dream!"
Applejack swallowed a bite of waffle and applesauce and said, "Lemme guess. It was th' worst nightmare ever, wasn't it?"
"No, no, no," Rarity said, shaking her head. "It was not the 'worst nightmare ever.' No. It was the..." She reared up on hind legs, switching forelegs to press against her brow, and declaimed, "WORST! POSSIBLE! NIGHTMARE! EVER!!" She flung herself backwards on a chaise-lounge which hadn't been there a moment before. After a moment she lifted her head and added, in a normal tone of voice, "The emphasis is so important, you understand."
"Yeeeeeap," Applejack drawled.
"Oooh! I speak Big Macinese!" Pinkie Pie piped up. "That means, 'I'm not touching that one with a ten foot pole!'"
"Okay, so you had a bad dream," Rainbow Dash said, folding her hooves. "Luna doesn't show up to every bad dream. She's only one pony. But if it was really bad she would, so whatever you had can't be that bad."
"Oh, how mistaken you are, Rainbow Dash," Rarity replied. "Imagine seeing something so lovely, so exquisite, so perfect, that you simply must have it... only to have it taken away from you, in such a manner as to bring all your hopes and dreams crashing down!"
"You know," Pinkie Pie added, "the way you feel every time you pass a mirror!"
"Hey! I am NOT that bad!" Rainbow Dash snapped. She looked around the other five mares and repeated, "Really! I am NOT that bad!"
None of the others would make eye contact with her.
"Okay," Rainbow Dash said, backing down a little, "I'm not that bad anymore. Can we get back to Rarity here?"
"Yes, now," Twilight Sparkle said, "what kind of dream was it? Do you remember it?"
"I remember every single dreadful detail!" Rarity gasped.
"Then tell us all about it!"
"No!" Rarity shook her head, eyes closed. "The horror of the dream... it's unspeakable! I can't possibly bring myself to talk about it!"
"Hm..." Pinkie Pie hmmmed. "Could you maybe describe it in a totally spontaneous and unrehearsed musical number that just happens for no reason because that's just how things work around here?"
Rarity considered this, after spending a moment to mentally strip the proposal of about fifty percent of its Pinkieness. "That could work," she admitted.
"Cool! Lemme get it started!" Pinkie pointed to the gray earth mare in the corner. "Hit it, Octy!"
Octavia shrugged and put the bow to her cello.
"Um, when did Octavia get here?" Twilight asked.
"Oh, I asked her to come over because I thought we might like some soft music with our Spiffy Wiffly Waffly Breakfast and for no other reason whatever!" Pinkie Pie said, showing more tooth than most ponies were normally equipped with.
Octavia shrugged, drew the bow, and began playing quick arpeggios in a disturbing minor key.
Rarity hesitated, listening to the music, and eventually said, "It was a dream about sheep-"
"Oooh, I know!" Pinkie Pie giggled, and began singing to Octavia's playing:
Sheep dreams are made of these
Who am I to disagree
I've carded the wool and I've sheared the fleece
And everybody's hungry for mutton-
"No, no, no," Rarity said. "This was a dreadful dream, but not this kind of dreadful. Sorry, Octavia," she added as the cellist came to a stop. "But... well... I think instead of a fast cello solo, this tale would be better suited to a slow, lonesome electric guitar solo."
Octavia nodded, then whistled. A castle window opened, and the cello and bow floated out in an aura of light blue. As the classical instrument went out the window, a guitar and amplifier floated in, landing next to Octavia. She took the guitar into her hooves, plucked the strings to check the tuning, and nodded to herself.
Then she began playing a plaintive melody, each note singing out as if they pulled on the listener's very soul.
"That's better," Rarity said, and nodding her head, she added, "As I said, this was a dream about sheep. And fashion. I dreamt I was at a fashion show, and at first it seemed most wonderful..."
From nowhere a drumbeat backed up Octavia's guitar playing, and Rarity sang:
On a high fashion runway, chic scarf on my hair
Top-end fashionistas gathered round everywhere
On the stage in the distance I saw a glimmering light
My eyes grew wide and my heartbeat quickened at the show for tonight
Eight sheep stood on the runway, a ram ringing a bell
And none of them were wearing clothes, so I couldn’t guess what they could sell
Then they lit up the footlights, then they showed us their wares
On the spools and in the bundles were the things made from their hairs
They were there to show their woolen media
Such a lovely piece made of fresh-cut fleece
Everypony wanted to go for woolen media
Wintertime is near, get your flannels here
The thread was carefully twisted, the yarn had clean-cut ends (and they said)
“Place your orders now and be the envy of your friends!”
How they danced on the runway, eight female sheep
All shades of the rainbow colored more than skin deep
I called to the ram and said, “Please show me your line!” (and he said)
“We haven’t carried anything so coarse since the fibers grew so fine!”
And still the ponies were crowding around the stage
Crushed me up against the brassy railing in their fashion rage
They were there to buy their woolen media
Such a lovely piece made of fresh-cut fleece
Fighting to touch just a piece of woolen media
From the wool they spin, knit a cardigan
Fabric I was wanting, a nice serge would be nice (but she said)
“None of us can handle a loom or any such device,”
And in the lead sheep’s hooves I saw a horrid piece-
Though she stabbed it with her purling hooks she just couldn’t knit the fleece!
Last thing I remember I was trotting ‘cross the floor
I had such plans for woolen clothes I needed fabric for
“Alas!” said the ram, “this order we cannot receive-
Ewes can trick out any twine you like, but ewes can never weave!”
Author's Note
I love feghoots.
But I just couldn't think of any pun to build a story off of... until the last couplet just popped into my head about an hour and a half ago.
Incidentally, the stunned silence which followed Rarity's horrible revelation was the perfect length for three minutes of hard-core seventies shredding by Octavia, and of course she took full advantage of it.
