::deleted scene:: Chapter 4 Rarity's Luck
::This was originally Chapter 4 but it just brought the narrative to a dead stop and there was no proper showcase of Rarity's abilities. For those reading the story in it's entirety, chronologically the actual events take place in-between Chapters 6 and 7::
Chapter 4
Rarity’s Luck
Rarity Tabitha von Baguette
Chantalot City – Chantalot 3rd District, Senator’s Office
“And so it is with great honor...” Rarity stood in front of an ornate full-body mirror, her notes floating in front of her as she telekinetically swapped outfits back and forth. “That I bestow the Mystika Philanthropist of the Month awards to Gregory Pomp...” A sleek red dress hung in the air in front of her shoulders. “Frederick Vanglery...” Then the purple ball gown took its place. Then the red one again. It wasn’t that she couldn’t decide what to wear, it was just all that was keeping her from burning her office down. “...and Clausticus Ves-,” Rarity furrowed her brow and her eyes grew narrow as an intimidating six syllable name reared its ugly head in the middle of the page. Rarity cleared her throat and continued the attempt. “Vestiki-Vusti-Vestikerploppin…”
“Vestikirpokitits, Senator,” corrected Octavia Stewart, Rarity’s chief of staff. Even before Octavia opened her mouth, Rarity’s glacial blue eyes went from pretending to charm an entire room, into complete and utter defeat and the dresses also sank in mid-air sympathetically.
“Who names these people?!” Rarity yelled as she telekinetically flung her notes over the dressing scrim, landing in front of Octavia’s stylish pinstripe pumps.
“People in other realms who will get very offended if you say them wrong,” said Octavia as she bent over in her fitted black dress to pick up the scattered parchment. Her lavender eyes rolled as Rarity huffed dramatically.
Rarity threw another gown over the dressing scrim. “I wonder if every time they make another ten million bits, they add another syllable.” She said, getting her general racism out privately so it wouldn’t explode from behind her smile at the benefit.
“My running theory is they make them extra long to torture you.” Octavia slid the speech she’d written underneath the scrim.
“Mission quite accomplished.” Rarity said as she levitated the speech back up to eye-level while simultaneously weaving her hair into a bun.
“The top then.” Octavia instructed, but Rarity was fixated on draping an organza wrap around the shoulders of her lavender dress.
“This top? Really? I think the royal blue goes very nicely with the lavender, although I suppose a deep purple would add a nice depth contrast...” Rarity half-muttered to herself, obviously avoiding the question.
Octavia didn’t bite and instead began to straighten up Rarity’s mahogany desk. “The top of the speech, Senator. For the sixth time.” Octavia added with frustration as she brushed the ebony bangs of her hair out of her eyes.
Rarity mirrored the irritation as she flung both garments to the side, “Do I really pay you to make me suffer?”
“You didn’t get to run for office because I put a knife in your back. You could always go back to being the famous enchanter of Magiville. There’s something very classy about being a stylish merchant of death.”
“Come now Octavia, saying I should abandon this noble work and go back into the enchanting business would be as effective as me telling you to go back to your days at the symphony.” As Octavia was a jack of all trades, her time spent schmoozing with her high class employers and her ability to work a room, not to mention her fabulous sense of style, caught Rarity’s eye and she was first on her list when Rarity required an assistant.
“Then stop paying me triple what I was getting.” Octavia half-joked with a smile, white teeth parting her exotic dark skin. She wasn’t kidding about the salary bump though.
“You don’t miss the limelight at all?” Rarity enquired as the concept was completely foreign to her.
“The Masquerade fills my applause quota just fine,” said Octavia referring to her part-time job playing the fiddle in a bar band.
“From the velvet cushions of the Chantalot halls to the smoky, ale stained stage. Your definition of distinguished eludes me, Octavia,” entertained Rarity as she agreeing to disagree with her colleague.
“I’m sure Pinkie and Sweetie Bell would be ecstatic for you to see their show,” Octavia offered to sweeten the deal. Rarity’s sister, Sweetie Bell was studying as a bard and one of her assignments was to play at local bars to learn first-hand how to work a crowd. With all of her sister’s poise and the adorableness of her youth, she was simply irresistible. While Rarity’s absent minded friend Pinkie Pie, god knows how, was part owner of the bar and her increasingly random routines were the main attraction. One night she actually managed to convince the bar with her trickster mage magic that she was everywhere simultaneously. That was a good night.
“Where my friends and my sister choose to spend their time is respectable. However, as long as I keep sweeping their sanitation ordinances under the proverbial rug in favor of your weekly "gigs," I'm afraid me and my health will have to stick to the wine cabinet,” Rarity half joked, when the truth was the stress of her new job had caused more trips to the wine cabinet than she had ever in her life.
“C'mon boss. Someone who looks like you will feel really special at last call,” Octavia didn’t hard sell this offer only to enjoy Rarity’s company as much as she wanted her boss to be more fluent in the language of the people she was defending.
“Octavia, the essence and musk of a tavern at last call can be re-purposed to reconstruct a lonely, drunk, stupid, overly hormonal man,” Rarity offered completely serious.
“You forgot to mention the back hair,” Octavia chuckled a bit, knowing Rarity didn’t mean to make a joke.
“And that's just from the smell. With all the rest they could make him a large dog,” Rarity continued.
“You'd give an Emerald Setter to the man you made out of bar trash?” Octavia entertained further to see how far she could take this rare hypothetical situation.
“Lonely men like big dogs. Might make him more responsible. Girls like it when men are responsible,” Rarity justified.
“You take this Avatar of Generosity thing way too seriously, Senator.” Octavia concluded, mentally tucking away this amusing anecdote to tell Pinkie and Sweetie later.
“If I’m theoretically going to make one more direction-less bachelor, I might as well keep him from blowing beer breath in the faces of high class ladies such as yourself,” said Rarity, trying to save her employee’s dignity.
“Sometimes I like a little beer breath,” said Octavia assuring Rarity that poise had nothing to do with sexual preference.
“I'll stick to my dilettante’s wine wafts,” countered Rarity, solidifying their different taste in men as well as spirits.
“One hundred bit a bottle, wine wafts?” Asked Octavia.
“NO!! Anything under two twenty isn't worth gracing the glass!” Rarity’s eyes grew wide as she was obviously appalled.
“I take back what I said before. You’re definitely not paying me enough,” Octavia chided.
“Just say the word, and the man I find you won't think twice about buying you three,” Rarity offering both an olive branch as well as a sexual life raft.
“So I can listen to him brag about how many lords he has ready to clean his feet with their tongues?” Octavia continued to debate, hoping her boss would drop the subject. Rarity took this instead as a clear sign that Octavia needed to be saved from her own poor taste.
“That’s quite the hyperbole, but weathering a successful man’s boasting about his accomplishments is better than being clubbed over the head and thrown over the shoulder of the champion of the arm muscle tournament or whatever they're called,” said Rarity, solidifying Octavia’s claim that she desperately needed to see how the rest of the world operated.
“I like muscles,” Octavia said half grinning.
“Since when?” Rarity said, cocking her eyebrow.
“Since the night with the blacksmith’s kid. I’m quite a fan.” Octavia smirked, reminiscing.
“How quickly one time, in one night, can change one’s mind,” Rarity mused.
“It was actually the fourth time in the morning that did me in,” Octavia added in an attempt to make Rarity as uncomfortable as possible.
“You're missing the point entirely,” said Rarity, almost about to give up.
“Ok. I’ll make you a deal. You come see one show, I’ll go see one snob,” Octavia entertained.
“I'm seeing a snob this Friday,” Rarity lied, knowing she could find a man if she desperately needed an alibi.
“I'm sure we'll bother each other again next week then, but for tonight, if you don’t learn this speech we’ll both be back to our old jobs next year,” Octavia desperately hoped the casual conversation would be the necessary break Rarity needed to bring her back on task.
Rarity instead levitated a trashy romance novel in front of her and proceeded to flip through the pages. “Ugh. PLEASE, can’t we just find rich people on the streets and seduce them out of their donations?” Rarity entertained based on the scenario in her novel.
“That’s prostitution,” reminded Octavia.
“Language, Octavia! I meant with magic,” clarified Rarity, realizing her statement out of context.
“That’s called sorcery and it would result in your immediate unemployment. As much as I miss the glamour of the orchestra, I’d miss eating more,” Octavia said, snatching the smut out of Rarity’s face.
“Everyone assumes politics is nothing but glamour,” sighed Rarity. Still off in her delusions.
“Somehow I doubt everyone assumes your assumptions, Senator,” chided Octavia as Rarity ignored her sarcasm in favor of throwing her head over the back of her cushy chair to gaze on the ceiling.
“No one warns you that it’s just EXTRA glamor and smiles to hide the fact that on the inside you’re slowly being beaten to death by boredom,” Rarity said voicing her thoughts on the matter probably aloud for the first time.
“Their boring money still feeds your orphans. Check the mail for any last minute donations so we don’t forget them tonight,” Octavia added.
Her humanitarian projects were the one shining light that Rarity loved about the job. The St. Germaine Orphanage was originally an abandoned inn that Rarity had restored thanks to the contributions of generous donors. This was the only thing that kept her eyes on the speech. So in favor of her noble duties, Rarity grudgingly sifted through the dregs of official political post. Amongst the stack of responsibility however, one letter caught her eye. “Octavia what’s this?” Rarity inquired as she held up the wrinkled parchment.
“Oh. Derpy delivered a letter when Twilight Sparkle and Apple Jack showed up after lunch. I ate the muffin she left too,” Octavia said absent mindedly, reviewing the already booked schedule for tomorrow.
“WHAT?!” Rarity shouted as she jumped up out of her chair.
“I know,” Octavia replied, un-phased. “Free muffins with every delivery. I can’t believe she has the time to make them all,” pondered Octavia, unaware that Derpy the mail-mage was in fact a muffin-mancer capable of summoning fantastic pastries of all shapes and flavors at will.
“They’re already here and you didn’t tell me?!”
“Apologies Senator, but between the benefit and the bills at dusk court this evening you surely don’t have the time to entertain anyon-“ Octavia was quickly cut off by Rarity leaping out from behind her desk, nearly tripping over the floor lamp directly behind her and running towards the exit, nearly tripping in her heels.
“Take the rest of the day off,” Rarity said over her shoulder.
“It’s four-thirty...” Octavia said bitterly not knowing if Rarity heard her or not.
“Ciao!” Rarity called from behind the freshly slammed solid door.
…
Rarity took the stairs one at a time, her blue high heels quickly moving heel, toe, heel, toe as the tight lavender dress only allowed for minimal leg movement. She was irritated that Octavia had given her no time to receive her friends. Twilight and Apple Jack would surely save her from the deadly boredom of the benefit, then afterwards they could go out and catch up on the past.
All of them had become so busy with their newfound responsibilities as representatives to the realm, she couldn’t even remember if it was months or years since she last saw them. Even though she didn’t have an entire evening planned, she relished the fact that she might be able to get out of a good portion of the mandatory engagements she had tomorrow in favor of “Important Virtuous Six Business.” As they were the only six in the realm, who would question them.
Finally reaching the senate office lobby, she almost jumped with glee seeing Twilight’s familiar staff, Lena leaning up against the coat rack. Scanning the room for her friend, she saw what looked like Twilight’s little frame curled up on one of the couches in the lobby. “Poor thing,” Rarity thought. “Probably didn’t sleep on the wagon at all,” remembering Twilight’s prone to motion sickness.
Rarity glided across the soft and ornate rug over to her friend and tapped her on the shoulder to quietly rouse her. Twilight’s shoulder twitched and Rarity’s hand shot back in alarm as Twilight clutched her shoulder in pain. Rarity took a step back and watched her friend roll over slowly, still clutching her shoulder with one hand and cradling her small dragon close to her stomach in the other. Spike wasn’t even phased by Twilight’s sudden shift in position. Rarity’s eyes grew wide and her hand involuntarily shot up to her mouth in horror as she saw her friend’s clothes fraying at the edges, her bangs seemingly charred and uneven, with a large welt on the tan skin of her left cheek.
Twilight’s lashes lazily fluttered open slowly revealing her dry, almost bloodshot deep purple eyes.
Rarity squatted down and took the untarnished side of Twilight’s face in her hand. “Twilight. Is it as bad as it looks?” She asked.
Twilight looked to Rarity nearly past her exhaustion. “I’m fine Rarity, thank you,” Twilight said, still visibly in pain. She eased herself into a sitting position on the couch as Rarity placed a pillow behind Twilight’s back for comfort.
“Twilight, I can send Octavia for a blanket. It’s really no trouble,” Rarity offered. As it was the evening, the lobby of the Senator’s Offices was open so Rarity knew that Twilight could stay as long as she needed without being bothered.
“No thank you, Rarity,” Twilight forced a smile, patting a still sleeping Spike on her stomach. “If I get any more comfortable, I’ll sleep through the night. I just need to catch my breath.”
“Twilight, don’t take this personally, but you look like you were run over by a wagon. Twice. You need to rest, dear.”
Twilight shook her head. “There’s no time. Did you read the letter?”
“I skimmed through it before flying down the stairs hoping to spend exorbitant amounts of money on frivolous things. I’m so silly. If I had known how serious it was...”
“I know Rarity. It’s been way too long.”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for Twilight. I can get you anything you need.”
“That’s actually what we’re counting on. We need you to pull some strings and get us in to see the Princess’ for Dusk Court. Tonight.”
“It's already been taken care of. But...the preliminaries didn't go...well. At all.“
"We'll handle the rest of them later. Just give me five minutes."
“Twilight dear. Is it as bad as you said in the first letter?"
"Most definitely as bad as I said. Probably worse."
"So it's one of those...things?”
“A thing?”
“Yes Twilight a…” Rarity tapped the top of Twilight’s long purple horn on her circlet “thing.”
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Rarity,” Twilight rubbed her eyes being careful not to graze her damaged cheek.
“Another one of those things that we usually end up telling stories about and can’t tell the rest of the realm because it’ll cause mass hysteria things?” Rarity growled in a whisper.
“Yes. One of those things.”
“A little thing or a big thing?”
“Probably the biggest.”
“How big is big?” Rarity asked stroking Twilight’s streaked hair behind her ear, half not wanting to know the answer.
“We’re being hunted,” Twilight answered almost deliriously.
