The woman in the dining car was singing about a love long lost. Rarity watched her with the same mild interest she’d had for the past two nights as she folded the lettuce on her plate using her fork.
She was beautiful, of course, and looked as natural as one could, sitting at a microphone at the end of the car, playing her guitar as she set a serene mood for the passengers eating. The many-coloured streaks in her hair weren’t loud, or garish, but soft. They gave her a nearly otherworldly feeling, even though as Rarity looked around, she saw a dozen other people with two-toned hair. The fellow blowing cautiously on his soup had a lovely combination of ocean green and white, but despite that and his lovely dining suit, he still lacked that same presence that the musician radiated.
Sighing, Rarity turned her head the other way, catching her reflection on the window in front of the dark blur otherwise referred to as the Fillydelphian Plains. The face that met her was, objectively, rather pretty. Thin but shapely lips curled in a wry smile, and striking sapphire eyes--slightly baggy, due to sleeping on a moving train for two nights--blinked slowly. Her cheekbones were defined, but not harsh. Her nose wasn’t sharp, nor excessively blunt for her profile. It was small, but noticeable. If someone were to comment, it would likely be in the vein of “cute”, not “lizard-person”. All of it was framed by expertly curled purple hair, cascading purposefully but not obnoxiously down to her shoulders, leaving half of her forehead covered and allowing her to easily adopt a thin veneer of coquettish mystery at will.
But none of that could even compare to the woman with the guitar. She had a face that Rarity could only describe as timeless. Smooth, pale skin contrasted beautifully with her intense eyes and multicoloured pastel hair. Her jaw was clearly-cut, though it didn’t seem sharp or intimidating, and it gave off the impression of authority.
Unlike Rarity herself, who was wearing a comfortable but presentable blouse and quality trousers, the performer sported a cozy-looking open sweater and dark jeans. As her song ended, she stood up and set down the guitar, allowing Rarity to see the faded logo of a band that had broken up a decade ago on her clean but well-worn t-shirt as she drank from a glass she’d set nearby.
As everyone clapped politely, Rarity put another forkful of salad in her mouth. Idly, she noted that in three nights of performances, not once had they heard the same song again. She shook her head, watching as the other woman sat down again, and this time, cleared her throat to speak.
“Thank you all so much for putting up with little old me for the past three nights,” she said, “only another two until we get to the Vanhoover Mountain Range, if memory serves.”
This declaration was met with appreciative murmurs. As lovely as the train had been, it was still a little much for most travelers. Rarity was stunned by the small, kind smile the woman returned to the crowd. It didn’t move her face at all; there were no definite wrinkles that she could see, really, but the woman’s violet eyes radiated warmth and gratefulness.
Rarity huffed and ate some more salad.
The dining car settled down to a few hushed conversations once more as the woman eased into another melody--her fourth of the night, by Rarity’s count. This one was a little more raw; where the other songs had been soft and relaxing, though definitely melancholy, the latest performance made full use of the room’s acoustics. Reverberating chords struck harshly against Rarity’s ears, and the singer’s voice took on a raw, gravelly quality.
As much as someone with such a melodic voice could sound gravelly, of course.
The song was stilted, staggering in its rhythm, but always with a sense of purpose. It was… driven, if you will.
Rarity closed her eyes and let the music fade into the background. Unbidden, the colours of blue and silver-grey wove behind her eyelids, surging and falling with the strumming filling her ears. The recently-familiar pang of loneliness struck her chest again, and Rarity was forced to set her fork down and rest her head in her hand. Everything felt tight, just that little bit off. The same thoughts drove into her head once more, as they had since she’d rushed from her home with a single suitcase, overcome with the desire for distance from her lover.
Was she too attached? Did she put too much emphasis on her appearance? Not enough? Surely she’d been overly focused on work, right? Maybe the way that people tended to see her as a relentless social-climber had finally gotten in between them?
No.
She knew it wasn’t any of that.
“All the world’s a stage,” they’d laughed together. At some point… it had become her justification.
How ironic, that she’d been lectured about how she held her own image by the woman she spent a year coaxing away from her stage persona.
She could always come back. Rarity knew that. But then… She didn’t know what to do. It was all too much, and everything she’d ever read suggested that she take some time to think it over.
So entrenched in her thoughts was Rarity that she didn’t even notice when the remnants of her salad were taken away from the table and replaced with the tiramisu she’d ordered at the beginning of the night. By now, the music had turned to hushed singing and long, slow chords. The tiramisu was good, but clearly frozen for the trip.
For the next two songs, Rarity mechanically ate her tiramisu, then nursed her glass of water, lost in thought until the music stopped and the woman spoke again.
“Thanks so much, everyone. I hope you all enjoyed your dinners. You’ve been a lovely audience!” she said. “Now, I’ve got to eat too, so I wish all of you a good night and restful sleep!”
With that, the woman crouched to store her guitar in its case, leaving it resting in the corner as she had the previous nights. Rarity stood up to leave, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin one final time, as she heard that rich, captivating voice call out one more time.
“And would the woman in the blouse with those lovely purple curls stick around? I very much want to talk to her!”
...oh.
As much out of confusion as curiosity, Rarity froze. She scanned the room, confirming that she was indeed the only one who fit the description. Everybody else was staring her way, whether in sympathy or jealousy, but none made a sound.
The woman at the microphone clapped her hands. “Excellent!” she exclaimed.
It took about ten more minutes for everyone else to leave the dining car. Rarity had already sat down at her table again, and was in the process of intently studying the pattern of fibers on the tablecloth when soft footsteps startled her from her diversion.
She was wearing trainers. This woman that exuded such relaxed grace and warmth was wearing white leather running shoes with thin black stripes, adorned at the side with a crescent moon.
“You’re wearing trainers,” Rarity blurted out.
The woman nodded, chuckling. “They’re very comfortable,” she said, “so I always make a point of wearing them when I travel.” She nodded again, seemingly pleased with her own personal philosophy.
A pause. Then, “I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself.” The woman scratched the back of her head sheepishly. “I’m Celestia. It’s a pleasure to meet you!”
“Rarity, and likewise.” The two shook hands, and Rarity couldn’t help but notice that besides the firm calluses that doubtless came with years of musical performance, her hand was incredibly soft.
Of course, there were still more pressing matters. “You, ah, wanted to speak with me for something?” Rarity ventured.
“Ah! Yes!” Celestia (even her name was serene!) snapped her fingers a few times. “You looked rather troubled, during my set. You’d enjoyed your full meal the last few days, but tonight you seemed… distant.”
Just as the younger woman (for how could Celestia possibly be younger than her? That would just be too unfair, Rarity thought) raised a finger to ask exactly how and why the performer had been keeping such a close eye on her, Celestia raised her finger in return.
“I’ve been playing music for people for a long time, Rarity. I know how to read a room, and… let’s be honest. This is not a terribly busy train,” she explained.
Understanding dawned in Rarity’s eyes. “Right, of course.” Her eyes narrowed. “Have I really seemed that out of sorts? I can’t imagine that I was more eye-catching than the fellow with the cravat that made him look like a parrot.”
Celestia laughed, and Rarity’s mouth hung open ever so slightly at the sound. “Yes, but that got old after the first night, for me. I was much more interested in the young woman who dressed like she was enjoying her outfit, rather than the people who did it for the sake of seeming ‘proper’.”
“So you decided to call me out for a chat in front of the rest of the train, then?” Rarity’s awe was quickly being overshadowed by her curiosity at Celestia’s methods.
“Well, I suppose so,” Celestia said, “and I’m sorry for that. I’ve gotten perhaps a little too impatient with some social niceties these last years.” She stretched her arm out to the sides and arched her back, not unlike a cat.
“If you suppose so, then I suppose I’ll forgive you. I wasn’t particularly impacted by it,” Rarity admitted, “and it was certainly a change of pace from… other worries.”
“Oh?”
Rarity hesitated. Was she about to spill her worries on some mystery woman she found on a train? She thought of home for a second, thought of the books she loved to read for the thrill of such strange and wondrous things that happened to the characters. Pulling her half-glass of water to her lips for a moment, she took a deep breath.
“I suppose I’m here to… get away from some things,” she began.
To her surprise, Celestia smiled, relaxing slightly against the table. “I can understand that, in a way.”
“Well, it’s… It was about my girlfriend, originally. We met as she was passing through my town, and found that we were rather aggravated by each other,” Rarity said, her eyes misting slightly at the fond recollections of a small, hand-crafted stage-wagon that she’d eventually come to appreciate for its imperfections and its sheer practicality. “We had a bit of a spat in the market. She’s, ah… something of a performer, and I have a flair for the dramatic, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.
“In the end, one of the merchants told us to move our argument away from where other people were trying to buy perfectly good produce, and we ended up walking to my home, quite by accident,” she chuckled. “It may be that I was used to going straight back after visiting the market, but even so, I was so excited for the chance to be proven right that I invited her inside for tea!”
The two women tittered, and Celestia raised her head. “What was it that you argued about?”
“Hmm… I do believe that it was something to do with the way she presented her act and all but started a fight with the audience, trying to prove that she was more skilled than any of them.” Rarity sipped from her glass. “I can’t recall the details, mind, but I do know that I ended up rather aggressively yelling at her about how she was clearly a talented stage magician and she needed not aggravate her audience,” she sighed, “and just like that she got all shy. We talked for a little longer, and she left for the next city on her tour.”
“It sounds like you ended on amicable terms. I presume that wasn’t the last you saw of this magician?” Celestia was holding her own glass of water, too. Rarity didn’t remember her having gotten up for it, but wrote it off as having been too lost in her own memories.
The younger woman nodded. “She started passing through Ponyville more often, yes. She came again the next year, then the next month, and then the next, and again until about two and a half years ago I asked her if she wouldn’t mind staying a little longer, to get to know each other better.”
“Ponyville, huh?” Celestia leaned forward. “I hear a lot of interesting folk stay in that town, actually. I’ve rarely had the pleasure of visiting, I’m afraid.”
Rarity waved her hand breezily. “I don’t know if we’re all that, to be honest. Then again, most people who choose to live in the shadow of Canterlot rather than the city proper are likely of an unusual persuasion,” she admitted, “I never left for the sake of my little sister, myself, but it sounds terribly exciting to live in the oldest city in the country!” Her grin sharpened, “the legends speak of an ancient immortal queen, you know. They say that she passed her mantle on to us mortals and disappeared, and nobody knows where or why.”
The movement of Celestia’s face was subtle, but Rarity caught it. Her eyebrows raised ever so slightly, and her jaw moved in a way that reminded her of her sister, Sweetie Belle, when she tried to suppress a humorous snort. In but a second, the surprise was gone, and in its place was keen, genuine interest. “Forgive me for derailing your earlier story, but can I ask a little more about this ‘immortal queen’ you mentioned?”
“Well, that’s just it, actually,” Rarity shrugged, “nobody knows that much. The story simply goes that she lost something important to her and entered into a deep sadness. Then, she gave her crown to the court and left.”
“That sounds awfully strange for an immortal being to do, doesn’t it? Celestia quirked her brow and waved at Rarity, asking for her to elaborate.
“I’m not sure about that,” the woman responded. “I imagine that sometimes one needs space from whatever situation causes them grief, and even more for an immortal being. Having to live with yourself forever? I’d try to forget about whatever happened as quickly as I could, personally.”
Celestia frowned, and it seemed to Rarity as if this was the first remark of hers that had rattled the performer. They stayed in silence for a tense amount of time as both of them thought. Nearly a minute later, Celestia spoke.
“Would an immortal want to forget, though? If it was something that dear to them, I’d think it more in-character to devote themselves to preserving that memory.”
That was new. Rarity pouted at the table, considering it. “I feel like that depends entirely on the being in question, doesn’t it?” She tapped her fingers against her glass repeatedly. “There’s also the general belief that immortals would be rather set in their ways, though.”
At this, Celestia looked decidedly sad, and Rarity was equally fascinated and concerned for the woman who’d gone out of her way for her. When her companion didn’t speak, Rarity continued the conversation. “That seems to have struck you rather hard. Is something the matter?”
“I’ve been around a while, and I like to think that I’ve grown and changed because of my experiences. I pity anyone that must go through so many things in an eternal lifetime but never become better for it,” Celestia said, matter-of-fact.
“That was quite the poetic delivery. I don’t suppose you’ve written it into a song?” Rarity tried to lighten the mood.
Celestia laughed and shook her head. “I prefer to learn the songs of others and give them the attention they deserve. Maybe someday I’ll write my own, but… no. That’s just my perspective. When you travel alone as much as I do, you pick up a few little quirks along the way.”
“Well then perhaps I’d best head back to Ponyville before I start spouting prophecy, I suppose,” Rarity giggled at Celestia’s expression.
The two sat in silence again, sipping water and looking out through the train’s windows. The moon was out, and half-full. Its soft blue-white light combined with the soft red lighting of the train carriage to give Rarity the distinct feeling of not being entirely in her own world anymore, her ears filled with the soft white noise of the train hurtling down the tracks, blurring the world around her. Eventually she looked at Celestia again, only to see her lost in her own contemplation of the moon.
“It’s a rather lovely night out, isn’t it?” Rarity tried.
Giving a start, Celestia refocused on the train. “Ah, yes. I was simply admiring the moon. It’s long been my favourite thing in the sky.”
“Ah, of course,” Rarity said, “the inspiration of musicians and artists everywhere, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Celestia started humming under her breath, and to Rarity it sounded like an ethereal lullaby. In fact, that reminded her…
“I should probably be heading to bed, if I want to be alert tomorrow,” she began.
Celestia looked up, wide-eyed. Quickly replacing her surprise with an easygoing grin, she held up her hand. “Please, stay a while longer? I’ve not had such pleasant company in a while. Besides, I’ve wanted to share my little nightly tradition with someone for a while.”
“What’s that?”
Celestia squinted at the moon, as if trying to figure something out. “Give it a couple of minutes, and you’ll see. Why don’t I play something in the meantime, to make it worth your while?”
At the prospect of hearing what Celestia might play with a far more personal audience, Rarity nodded enthusiastically, shifting in her seat to lean back. “If you put it like that, of course I’ll keep you company!”
Rarity watched as Celestia went and grabbed her guitar, slinging it over her shoulder and walking back to the table. Wordlessly, she smiled and started to play. Rather than the modern songs she’d played earlier, this was something that Rarity couldn’t quite place. The musician’s fingers were plucking at strings one after the other, filling the train car with a melodious sound approaching the fullness of a piano. Sudden, furious chords broke the hypnotic pattern, interrupting it for but a second before working their way into the song. Both of Celestia’s hands were moving quickly, and with immense precision. A series of single notes brought everything to an abrupt halt, before small, hesitant trills filled the silence.
Rarity, lost in the music as she was, started to visualize a castle. Ruins, actually. Recent ones. Ominous chords and swelling notes brought forth the image of a lone woman running through the wrecks of the place, the very air humming with a magical energy.
Then, suddenly the melody that had started the song came back in, and in a few brief seconds Rarity saw a crown falling. Falling, and landing on a stage. Then the stage changed, and changed, and changed until she saw thousands of taverns, train cars and town squares, all illuminated by the grace of the moon, and all empty, with a twist of regret and sadness permeating their atmosphere.
The guitar was playing a little softer, now. The dark notes filling Rarity’s mind were swirling like clouds, somehow merging together into a full moon, emerging from the horizon behind the mountain city of Canterlot. The moon rose, and just as it stood over the peak of the mountain, everything flashed a soft but cold shade of gold.
As the music faded away, Rarity blinked the images from her mind, focusing on the woman playing in front of her. The woman who was, coincidentally, glowing in that very same shade of her vision.
“Wh… what was that?” she gasped.
Celestia grinned sheepishly. “That was why I travel, why I devote myself to sharing the music of Equestria. I’m sorry, I’ve rarely played that song in front of others, so I forget the effects that it can have on the magically sensitive.”
Rarity blinked.
“I, ah…” Celestia vaguely waved her hand. “I play to preserve the memory of my sister. Were it not for my actions, she’d be here with me today.”
At this, Rarity opened her mouth and stretched her hand forward, but she was interrupted as the other woman continued speaking.
“She loved the night, and treated the sky as a work of art. So I try to share that sensation with as many people as I can. It’s also had the benefit of showing me just how much is worth admiring in the world.” She chuckled. “That kind of mindset would have saved me a great deal of grief.”
A knock on the compartment door made both women turn to look at it, Celestia waving merrily at the person who opened it.
A young woman, Rarity judged them to be about the same age, stepped inside, her hands full with a tray bearing a teapot and a selection of small pastries. Her red-and-yellow hair was loosely pulled into a ponytail, and Rarity noted that her aquamarine eyes hid sparks of mischief.
“Who’s this?” she asked Celestia, gesturing at the newcomer. When the only response she received was a shrug, she squinted at Celestia.
The girl set her tray down on their table and smoothed out her dark red and gold uniform, which identified her as a member of train staff. “I’m Sunset, part of the general service staff. In this case, I’m delivering Miss Celestia’s nightly tea and desserts.” She bowed slightly, grinning at Rarity.
Celestia grinned widely. “Thank you! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sunset,” she said, “I’m sorry, Rarity. I saw that she had the food I’d ordered and simply couldn’t help myself.”
At this, Rarity only continued to squint, and Sunset audibly tried to stifle a laugh. Celestia harrumphed. “If it’s any consolation, I tend to enthusiastically greet anyone bringing me desserts like that. Just ask the rest of the staff!”
Rarity cleared her throat politely. “Thank you very much, then, Miss Sunset,” she said. Holding up her left hand, she dug into her purse with her right, pulling out a few coins. “For your exemplary service, darling.” She put them in Sunset’s hand, delighting in the way the temporary waitress lit up with a smile.
“Oh! Thank you, miss!” She started backing up. “I’ll be back in about an hour to collect the tray. There’s no need to wait for me, though. I can open this car myself”
With that, Sunset left the two alone again. Celestia smiled warmly as she watched the door close. Rarity eyed the pastries and quickly took a small profiterole from a carefully-arranged pyramid on one of the plates. She waved it lightly at Celestia, prompting her to continue her own recount from earlier.
“Yes, yes,” Celestia nodded, “if I may be fully honest with you?”
Rarity was quick to nod, mumbling an affirmative around the profiterole now in her mouth.
“I am that immortal being you mentioned earlier.”
“What?” Rarity spluttered, hastily covering her mouth with a napkin.
The… well, Rarity supposed she could call her an ex-Queen, burst out laughing. “It’s true. I handed off my crown to the nobility after I lost my sister, and while I knew she would fade into myth in time, I wanted to keep her spirit in the people of Equestria.”
Celestia’s eyes flashed gold, and a bite of millefeuille tart floated towards her mouth. Rarity swallowed. “I guess that explains the rather captivating visuals that accompanied your song, then.” She blanched. “Oh, my! And here I was, complaining to you about my love life! I’m so sorry, dear, that was most immature of me.”
“Well, it is because of your concerns I told you about this, but not because I found them trivial,” Celestia said. “I know too well how tempting it is to distance yourself from your problems, you see.”
“But I just… I am the problem! Or at least, that’s what Trixie said!” Rarity raised her voice, clenching her hands on the table’s edge. “I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean!”
Another flash of gold, and this time Celestia took a sip of tea. “You said that you’d helped her become a more considerate person, and then you deflected the conversation to my, ah, legend.”
“Eheh… yes.” Rarity winced. “I did, didn’t I?”
“I think that means there’s something you don’t want to face about the situation,” Celestia said, “and here you are running from your problems.”
“Well, I didn’t want to force Trixie away; she’s only just made a proper home of Ponyville,” Rarity reasoned. She sighed and poked at another profiterole.
“The same town that you stay in for your sister’s sake?” Celestia asked.
“Well, yes, but she should be fine. After all, Trixie’s lookin--oh.”
“Oh?” Another sip of tea.
Rarity sighed. “I suppose if I didn’t even think once about trusting Trixie to stay and keep an eye on my sister, it’s awfully foolish of me to make such a big deal of this.” She huffed, flicking a stray curl back over her shoulder.
Her tablemate laughed softly. “I’d hope so, yes. I suppose you’ll be taking the train back to Ponyville once we arrive in Vanhoover?”
Rarity nodded, blushing in embarrassment at what had clearly been an incredibly dramatic move, even for her own standards.
“Then it appears that I’ll finally have good company for an entire trip!” Celestia clapped her hands.
“You’re heading back? So soon?”
The woman stretched her back, stifling a yawn. “Well, seeing as I’ve hiked the mountain range recently, I think I’ve had my fill of Vanhoover for another few years. Besides, I was planning on getting to know Sunset a little more.” She smiled. “I feel like she could be much more than a waitress on a rail line.”
“I see. In that case, I don’t suppose you’d know where in Vanhoover I could quickly find a pair of trainers like yours? It’ll be an awfully long trip back,” Rarity fluttered her eyelashes.
The two of them laughed freely as Celestia tried to hold her composure long enough to nod sagely, and once they calmed down they stayed and talked long into the night, inviting a waitress to their table as the moon climbed ever higher into the midnight sky.
Author's Note
The song that Celestia plays for Rarity there is heavily inspired by this song here:
Biiiiiiig thanks to Mel for the story idea! It's a little warped from the original discussion, but this was ultimately a lot easier to write than my intended Rarity/Trixie train heist story.
That's still probably happening. Maybe.
Thank you for reading, and I hope everyone enjoys the Monorail!
I appreciate any and all feedback, but if you find a typo please let me know by PM!
