Chapters

Part I
Part II
Part III

Part I
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Roaring Twenties

Part I

When Rarity catches her reflection in the glass, she decides she’ll simply pretend she meant to look like she woke up at six in the morning and refused to get out of bed until eight.

At least she wears it well.

“Ah, I see you’ve noticed my display shelf.” He gestures to them and smiles fondly. “Yes, some of these date back to the days when I was a young and inexperienced fisherman’s son.”

Rarity smiles at her manager a little too widely – cheerful and charismatic and eager to callously cutaway any weak link at the drop of a hat for pocket change; all the things you want in a manager, naturally – and shuts down the urge to mention the most recent date on the shelf is ten years ago. “How lovely.”

“Yes, lovely indeed. Now – “ he sits back in his chair and nods to Rarity to do the same “ – yes, Rarity, how have you been?”

“Oh, quite well, actually,” Rarity says easily, as she would have if she wasn’t just retweeting every post remotely about wanting to throw herself out of an office window.

“Good, good. Well, we really do appreciate you here. You and your – “ he takes a long sip of coffee and indiscreetly reads off his computer screen – “General Administration Internship with us.”

Which is the official name, but Rarity affectionately calls it House-Keeping for Hell.

“But there is something I wanted to bring up with you in regards to our social media.”

At first, Rarity is hopeful that her talents may finally have been recognised and they may be upgrading her to a tasteful PR position – then she remembers there is no hope when being an intern, so she immediately assumes the worst.

Which is probably the company finding all the discourteous and perhaps worrying-of-her-mental-state-in-some-light posts she’s shared that are hardly complimenting of the company, or any company by nature.

“Oh, I wouldn’t put too much stock in such things,” she titters, waving her hand in a circle, “as you know, it’s an utterly completely unreliable broadcast of…such things.”

He frowns at her in such a plain way it isn’t even a change in expression. “Oh, we do take into consideration these things. Change with the times, as it were.”

“As it were indeed,” Rarity echoes. She’s so getting fired, she thinks, and she certainly and suddenly cares a lot more about the job than she did a few minutes ago.

Maybe he didn’t find her backup account, and he’s just noticed all her public photos of her being twenty and single and thinks she could stand to be given a chance at moving up in life.

Or maybe she shouldn’t be using the corporate Wi-Fi to complain about the corporate Wi-Fi.

Rarity just wants to throw herself out of a window and into her bed. Is that too much to ask?

“Can you confirm you know a person by the name of Sweetie Belle?” he asks her.

“Yes?” is Rarity’s automatic response. She certainly knows Sweetie Belle, and the company would too if they had found her throwaway account and its second most common object of criticism. “She’s my sister, that is.”

Her manager nods. “Ah, yes, well, that would explain a few things. You see – “ with more difficulty than necessary, he swivels his computer screen to her “ – recently, our Head of Social has found a number of comments submitted under some of our, ah, posts. Such as – where is it? Yes, here.”

He points her to a comment by a Sweetie Belle indeed, reading: ‘Wow nice pic u noe who’s nice rarity give her a promotion!!1!’

Rarity clicks her tongue, and unceremoniously follows with, “Uhh, well. That.”

“Yes, indeed. And such as…”

With a difficulty that is a struggle for Rarity to watch, the manager navigates through a number of company posts and shows Rarity a variety of comments made by Sweetie Belle, all in the same vein – from ‘hey is a girl named rarity working there? cuz she’s amaze balls give her a raise lol’, to, more creatively, ‘I’m a huge Sponsor and I hope my tax dollers are going to hard workers like that one girl named rarity’.

Rarity wants to rot away in her seat like her childhood dreams. She’s sure Sweetie’s heart is in the right place – she tells her manager as much, laughingly – but, like most of the things Sweetie has done her whole life, it’s biting Rarity in the arse.

“It seems you are quite popular,” the manager jokes as he shrinks the web browser instead of closing it.

Well that’s just an unfair way to word it, because Rarity’s always thought she was going to be truly popular; something just never got to working itself out right. She giggles anyway, because, well, there isn’t much else she can do when she’s embarrassed and bothered by it.

Her manager seems amused, at least. He takes a hearty sip from the thermos on his desk. “Yes, she does seem like the spirited type – I can see where she gets it from.”

He takes his time explaining to Rarity that, while it is charming, Sweetie’s actions cannot be allowed to continue on the basis that it is simply not professional or fair to the rest of the staff, and she understands, of course, doesn’t she?

She does, probably. There’s a lesson to be learned here, that much she gathers.

Except Rarity’s not in school anymore, and she certainly didn’t graduate three times just to feel like she’s sitting in the principal’s office for something her sister harmlessly did, because –

Well, that’s a narrative that goes nowhere helpful. She’s not a student, even if she complains like one.

Besides, should Rarity really be all that bothered by what her manager says if half of it is just a reiteration of “Yes, well”? Its silly is what it is. Mildly pestering, but no matter.

By the time she’s politely dismissed and is making her way out of his office, Rarity’s mostly just disappointed that Sweetie is using her full name online. She can’t tell who’s less technically inclined: her manager or her sister.

Honestly, it’s hardly even eleven and she’s already felt like she’s gone through the five stages of grief today. And in place of counselling – oh, if she can be respectfully berated on company time, she can post her feelings on it as well.

“I’m so broke,” Rarity sighs lowly, lifting her cup to her lips.

“Yeah,” Rainbow sighs as well, “which is why you pay ten bucks for a cup of coffee.”

Rarity lowers her drink – she paid good money for this, she won’t take a sip if it’s going to be ruined by Rainbow’s sarcasm. “Hey. I require reward and enjoyment in my life despite – in spite – of the way it brings me down.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. And – well, you’re drinking it too, dear kettle.”

Rainbow looks over her coffee at Rarity, then takes a long draught. Rarity levels her with a stare as the background music of the café plays a disingenuously happy tune.

Finally, Rainbow puts her cup down. “Ah, you got me. Same way you got me hooked onto this crap.”

“Oh, you know me: convincing, like a siren.”

“I don’t need you to tell me I wanna smash my head into a bunch of rocks,” Rainbow scoffs.

“Moi aucci.” Rarity takes a sip of her coffee – she can be sad and addicted. “Do you know what they had me do yesterday? Wash dishes! The sign in the kitchen says people are supposed to wash any dish they use, so why must I clean up after adults who can’t read signs?”

Rainbow’s phone buzzes, and she picks it up as she says, “Now you know how I feel when you can’t read signs and I have to clean up after you, heh.”

“I am not so uncouth.”

“No, but you’re single,” Rainbow says, typing away absently. “Remember Thunder Lane?”

Rarity lifts her nose and lets out a choked ugh. “Firstly, that’s not even related, why would you bring that up – but since we’re on the topic: he acted so interested! Those weren’t signs, they were neon lights in a dark room.”

Rainbow puts her phone down and shrugs in a casual way that makes Rarity feel almost jealous. “Man, whatever. Just don’t do it with any of your work buddies, ‘cause I can’t help you there. Well, I can. I just don’t wanna.”

“As if.” Rarity props her elbow on the table and leans her face into it. She wonders if she feels stiff or just tired. “Everyone is either too old or already has a girlfriend.”

“Man, it’s like people have it figured out by that age, huh?”

Smug for someone who’s never shot their shot, but instead Rarity says, “Oh, shut up. Where am I supposed to meet potential? I’ve had the same friends since high school.”

“No. You have less,” Rainbow tells her helpfully.

And she has a point, but it’s a two-sided arrow; it’s why it’s only the two of them are sitting in the same café they’ve frequented for years.

Rarity isn’t complaining – not anymore, not about that, at least. The others eventually got busy when they moved out to chase a dream college or job or person – which is in no way a bad thing whatsoever – whereas Rainbow slept through and missed the memo, and Rarity put down her head to focus on a self-imposed workload, and by the time she lifted it back up, she realised the moment passed.

And yet she still doesn’t have enough money. But of course.

Rarity pushes at Rainbow’s hand from across the table. “Kettle, kettle.”

“Hey, I was talking to Applejack just the other day!”

“The other day a year ago?”

“No – like, the other day I sent her a meme. But she didn’t understand and she, like, went off or whatever.” Rainbow frowns, and the way she shrugs makes her look shorter somehow. “Meh. Not my fault she’s not up with the times.”

Rarity is about to comment on how only she understands Rainbow’s sense of humour – if only because she’s been exposed to it to radioactively dangerous degrees – but then remembers somethings and taps the table like she’s trying to get its attention. “Do you know what happened at work the other day?!”

“The dudes made you wash dishes and got themselves babes?”

“Not that! My manager called me into his office – “

“Ooh.”

“ – and he showed me the company’s social media pages – “

“Oh, boring.”

“ – and it is just filled with comments by Sweetie about how great I am – which is true, but also not appropriate work comments!”

Rainbow slouches in her chair and throws a hand casually. “What are you even supposed to comment on a company’s post?”

“I do not know, but I do know my own sister shouldn’t be actively embarrassing me on it!”

“But, like,” Rainbow shrugs, “she’s pimping you out. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

There was devil-may-care, and then there was Dash-may-dare. “Not on my company’s social media page!”

“Ugh, you’re so picky.” Rainbow picks up her phone again and swipes through it in pure muscle-memory. “Why didn’t you just say you don’t know her? There are loads of Sweeties out there and at least one of them, like, follow recruiter companies and support intern chicks, prob’ly.”

Rarity lets out a breath and twirls a curl between her fingers; maybe a haircut would do her some good. “Sweetie isn’t that common of a name. I only had one in all my years of college.”

“Seriously? I knew like twenty. But hey – aren’t you supposed to be more attentive or whatever with people who are named Sweetie? ‘Cause, like, you have a sister with the name so it pops out more or somethin’ to you?”

“Umm,” Rarity starts. She’s studied this, she thinks – for once something she learned can come in handy. “I think you are referring to your own name. It’s called, erm…”

“No. Yeah, no, like…”

Rarity snaps her fingers. “Cocktail Party Effect!”

Rainbow snaps back at her. “Yeah! No – wait. That’s your own name. But there’s another one that makes something seem more common after pay attention to it once.”

“No,” Rarity says, because at least she can have this one, right?

True to her wont, Rainbow shrugs. “Eh, maybe. Sure. I ain’t a psych major.”

“You don’t even know what major you are.”

“I’m a major deal.”

“A major pain.”

“A major minor.”

“That’s illegal.”

Rainbow shrugs again – its basically exercise for her shoulders at this point – and downs the rest of her coffee. She sighs contentedly, and after a pause says: “I knew like three Raritys in second year.”

“Really?” She wants to believe it’s a rare name because, well, its in the name. It’s the sort of thing that could be ruined by too many bad people – like a gold rush, at least in the way Rarity understands those work.

Rainbow continues, “Yeah. Like, remember my one second cousin’s friend’s crazy ex-sister-in-law I told you about? The one who would write poems out of Sapphire Shores lyrics and act like they were her own and weren’t, like, already super well-known and all.”

“Oh,” Rarity hums, disappointed. Forget too many people; one bad egg ruins the market. Maybe she can blame still being single on that.

“I know, weird person. She was also the weird kid in school and ate grass, but she’s like, a crazy rich makeup…maker? And only twenty-two.” Rainbow nods to herself. “Her name was, uhh – oh yeah! Sierra Rarity.”

Great, thinks Rarity bitterly, she’s richer and has a better name – or not, if Rarity embraces the minimalism of her name. “Too many syllables. Its so ninety-thirties tacky.”

“Well at least she’s not as poor and depressed as the dirty thirties.”

Rarity flicks her hand and knocks over Rainbow’s empty cup. “I hate you.”

“Yup,” Rainbow agrees smugly. “Just like you hate your job – and still you’ll never leave us.”

Rarity glares at his every non-dish-washing move venomously.

When Soarin turns around – she only knows his name in passing. it could be something else entirely for all she knows – he nods at her and says something, probably ‘hey’ but doesn’t bother to say it wholly, as he takes a sip from his cup.

Rarity does the exact same, except hers is more graceful, of course.

…well, at least she’s not leaving spoons in the sink.

Someone else walks in – tall and lanky with bangs that would have complimented his face so much if he only knew basic hair maintenance – greets Soarin and start small talk as if Rarity isn’t secretly glaring at them.

Maybe she and Soarin could have been friends, under different circumstances: he seems personable and approachable in a way Rarity hardly sees anymore, and she imagines that if they became work-friends, more people would sort of just drift and render the friend-making process a great deal easier.

Or, that’s how she imagines these things happen. She doesn’t quite have the experience to infer from. Work-experience-wise, she’s always been self-employed, the town’s personal teenage tailor; outside of that, it was easy to make friends when you had a few around you. Maybe it gave of the impression that she was amiable and not needy.

Easy come, easy go, she supposes. Easier to be with people than it is to keep up.

Easier to walk away from something that reminds you of a feeling you can’t quite or won’t quite recognise than to silently judge people for making her job harder.

Rarity can reward herself with window shopping, at least. And Rainbow Dash can have enough resistance to make it feel like she isn’t indulging too much.

“This cup looks like Fluttershy,” Rainbow says, picking up a butterfly-stamped mug.

Rarity doesn’t see it – Fluttershy is more of a bunny type – but offers to buy it anyway, maybe ship it out to her city out East.

After a moment, Rainbow simply says, “Nah,” and carries on.

Rarity doesn’t press it – “Suit yourself, sweetheart.” – but she does snap a photo of the mug and sends it over to Fluttershy. “We’re thinking of you,” she adds in the caption. “Hope to see you soon!”

Oh, doesn’t she know it.

As Rainbow has said: sewing and designing clothes is a pioneer’s sport. It was a comment that Rarity’s loudly had to convince her friends otherwise, but it held one truth that she doesn’t see the merit in admitting aloud: it isn’t cardio.

So why does it feel so tiring to do?

Rather, now it does – or, maybe before she had more energy. Rarity’s growing old, isn’t she? Some days, she can’t even leave the radio on without feeling fed up with the noise.

But then, when she can’t find anything she wants to listen to and turns the music off, the silence creeps at her with a tension that waits to be broken.

It’s a headache, mostly, she presumes. On those days, she’ll maybe wait for Rainbow to call or for Sweetie Belle to come in and, well, do what Sweetie does. Rarity will even offer to help in the kitchen if it gets her out of her room.

But honestly, doesn’t the same apply to work? Some days, work is so wearying – not physically challenging, but mindfully exhausting – that when she comes back home and has 5 hours before she usually drops in bed for 3 hours awake until she falls asleep, she’s not sure how the day passes her when she’s done nothing at all.

“Thanks,” Rainbow says as she takes the mug out of Rarity’s hand by its body. “Ah crap, hot.”

“Hot hot chocolate,” Rarity hums as she sidles up beside Rainbow Dash and pulls the blanket over her legs. “Who’d have thought.”

Rainbow kicks her lightly, and Rarity seriously reconsiders sharing a blanket with her and her cold cold feet. Though she lets it slide considering its Rainbow’s laptop their watching Rarity’s choice of movie on.

“Subtitles or nah?” Rainbow asks, then follows up with her own, “Nah.”

“I want subtitles.”

“I want beer. Use your ears.”

“You got hot chocolate. Read, hun.”

Rainbow tosses her head up. “Ugh, fine.” She hits the trackpad with more attitude than necessary. “Can’t believe we’re spending New Year’s watching High School Musical 2 – again.”

Well, it could be worse; they could be spending it alone again, the same way they spent it three years ago. “You know, if you play Light the Skies by Countess Coloratura at eleven-fifty-five and twelve seconds on New Year’s Eve, the first ‘Light ‘em up-up-up’ will play exactly at midnight.”

“Yeah? You know, they say if you play that at eleven-fifty-nine and twelve seconds on New Year’s Eve, you can hear me chuck your phone out the window at exactly midnight.”

Rarity nudges Rainbow with her shoulder. “Oh, lighten up, darling. Remember that summer we were in the car– ”

“Yeah,” Rainbow groans, though not rudely, “and that song was played on every radio channel every ten minutes. And AJ made us listen to the whole thing it every time ‘cause they’re, like, childhood friends and neither have any taste in music.”

It was probably one of the best road trips they went on as a group – and, the more Rarity thinks of it, which she wants to do less now, the more she thinks it might probably have been the last group road trip they had gone on, and at the time they were none the wiser. But of course.

“I bet AJ doesn’t even keep up with her.”

“Oh, hush now. You always talk about Applejack around me.” Rarity curls up against Rainbow Dash and rests her head on her shoulder. “Let’s watch our movie now.”

“If we’re gonna have a movie, it ain’t gon’ be a sequel,” Rainbow mutters as she hits the spacebar.

If Rarity’s honest, the movie is far too bright and loud for the lights-out room, and the only reason they watched it last year was because neither of them ever had and were bored out of their minds.

Though, that could be why Rarity keeps losing focus on the movie – her eyes fall on oddly shaped objects that she doesn’t recognise in the dark, or on the mug in her hands that she can’t remember whether it was Applejack or Pinkie Pie whom gifted it to her.

Sometimes, she looks over at Rainbow Dash, who is looking over at her phone a lot for someone who has no one to talk to.

Suddenly, light spills out of the thrown-open door and Sweetie’s voice screams out: “Rarity! Mom asks if you guys want more hot chocolate and if you do then to come down and get some because she thinks I’m going to spill and get one for Rainbow Dash too!”

“Oh my God, Sweetie!” Rarity lifts her head and shouts back. “Go away!”

Sweetie Belle stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “Well Mom asks if you want hot chocolate!”

“No. Now go– ”

“What movie are you watching? Can I watch too?!”

Rarity stands as much as she can without leaving her comfortable space – which means she just turns her head a bit more. “No, go downstairs!”

“No fair!” Sweetie stomps her foot and huffs. “Apple Bloom is spending New Year’s with her family and Scootaloo bailed because Apple Bloom bailed and I don’t wanna spend New Year’s with Mom and Dad!”

“Well they don’t want to spend it with you, either!”

“Rarity!”

“Sweetie Belle!”

“Oh, hey Sweetie Belle,” Rainbow says suddenly, and Rarity can see clearly in her mind’s eye the way Rainbow must have just looked up from her phone and started paying attention without really paying any attention whatsoever. “Come on in, the blanket’s warm.”

“Yay!” Sweetie takes the invitation without so much as blinking, shutting the door and jumping right in beside Rarity.

As Rainbow and Rarity scoot over to make more room, Rarity gives Rainbow the most sardonic look she can muster. Rainbow shrugs as she puts the laptop on Rarity’s lap.

“Chin up, Rares.” Then, when Rarity continues to look unamused, Rainbow adds, “C’mon, Sweetie’s chill. ‘Sides, New Year’s alone sucks balls.”

“It does!” Sweetie agrees from Rarity’s other side.

Rarity wants to reproach them both on the language, but her feet are cozy under the blanket and Sweetie is pressing herself to Rarity’s side, and the glow of the laptop screen against Rainbow’s face is catching that laidback expression of hers that makes Rarity want to feel that easygoing.

So instead, Rarity wraps an arm around Sweetie Belle and leans into Rainbow Dash, hits the spacebar to start the movie, and watches without really watching.

Less than a minute later Rainbow perks up with a, “Hey, do we have any more hot chocolate?”

“Oh yeah!” Sweetie chirps, then throws the blanket off all of them and bounds out of the room. Her booming footsteps make it all the way downstairs and across the floor before they come all the way back to Rarity’s door. “I forgot, Mom says you have to carry the hot chocolate.”

“Ugh.”

Rarity gets up – all coziness was lost when the blanket was – and as she’s squinting her way to the hallway she hears Sweetie say, “Hey, can we turn off the subtitles? It’s just High School Musical.”

After two trips – Sweetie also forgot she wants hot chocolate, too – and finally settling down, they play the movie but, as appears to be the pattern, never really watch it: Sweetie starts singing, and Rainbow comments on how she sounds a lot like Rarity, which is absolutely wrong because Rarity is a contralto and Sweetie Belle is a teenager.

It quickly devolves into an evening of singing competitions that has no real structure, much like Rarity’s work life.

They eventually get carried away and start singing whatever comes to mind and mouth, so that at exactly midnight they’re screaming poorly remembered Dazzling songs, fully harmonised and entirely off-key.

Author's Note

Chin up, Rares.

(Also, wishing y'all well)

Part II
View Online

Roaring Twenties

Part II

Rarity shuffles through her cart and thinks that one day the entire sky could fall in and swallow half the world and its contents, and there’d still be half-blank paper notices that could be summarised in a sentence to hand out.

She knocks on the wall of Soarin’s cubicle, and he takes off his earphones as he turns around. Its almost comforting to know he’s not the kind of heathen who works in silence.

“Hi, Rarity,” he says more with a nod than with words.

Rarity tries to match it by wordlessly handing the large envelope addressed to him, but she’s a proponent of dialogue-driven communication. “This is for you.”

He raises his brow just slightly, and it emphasises his wrinkles. “Is this a sales report or…?”

“I don’t know. I’m simply the messenger, darling.” And she winces internally, hard, because calling strangers darling at fifteen was cute and classy at eighteen, but accusable-of-harassment at twenty-something.

Thankfully Soarin’ doesn’t seem too harassed. “’Kay. Did you process the call tag I approved?”

Rarity blinks.

“For the warranty replacement of the contest winner? Fancy Pants says said I don’t need him to sign off because the contest falls under the Social Media area, so there shouldn’t be an issue.”

While Rarity loves a cup of office gossip, she’s not getting a good enough benefits package to be the subject of it. “I’m sorry, I don’t– I think you have the wrong person.” When Soarin makes a face, she hurriedly adds, “Oh, did you want me to send a message? I’m simply the messenger, haha, after all, darl…darling.”

He points at her with his thumb. “You are Rarity, right– ”

“Yes.”

“– Rarity Beloved– oh, yeah so– “

“No!” Although, she hopes she is, technically. To someone. Hopefully? “Just. Rarity.”

He leans into he palm. “Ooh…so you’re not Rarity from Sales? Hmm. Makes sense. You never seemed like a priss.”

She’s sure she has to a lot of people. They’ve told her as much. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, then stands and holds his hand out. “Sorry about that! Thought you were her. Could we start again? I’m Soarin, head of Social Media.”

Rarity takes his hand. “Rarity – just Rarity. Head of General Administration Internship,” she adds cheekily, and it gets a chuckle from him.

“You know Just Rarity, I’m glad you corrected me when you did. We’ve been seeing some posts about you pop up lately, and I was about to confront Rarity B. about it. That would’ve been unfortunate.”

Rarity resists the urge to wince. “Posts?”

Soarin appears unperturbed enough to lean on his desk. “Yeah, a couple mentions, some comments – all nice things, of course. We’d delete anything if it got too bad…eventually, at least, maybe after an unplanned delay in no way correlating on the personnel and how fast they complete their tasks.”

While he’s a bit too willing to share his disinclination to others, he’s at least got more personality than the mugs Rarity’s been washing. And hey, who knows – maybe this Rarity B. is a real B. It wouldn’t be the worst Rarity out there.

“But that’s neither here nor there,” he trails off with a shrug. “Point is: I’ve heard good things about you. Keep up the good, erm…" he fans himself with the envelope Rarity so diligently handed to him, “…work.”

“Yes, well, do let me know if the comments of me continue – and I’ll look into it.” Or look it right in the green baby eyes.

“Sure.” Soarin nods. “Nice talking to you.”

“You as well,” Rarity says with a smile. As she waves and leaves, she it isn’t until she’s absently handing the next notice out – honestly, do these really need to be in envelopes? There’s a PA system, Rarity’s been called on it enough times to know – that she realises that how easy that was.

She spoke to someone at work that she wasn’t ordered to speak with, and it went well. And she’s left with the feeling that their on the precipice of being – not exactly friends, but comrades? Work pals. Networking, at the very least.

And she hardly had to try. The opportunity came to her, and the conversation came easily to her.

It’s late the next day, when she and Dash are mailing out the small ice cream/frozen yoghurt/anything really if you’re Pinkie Pie/sorbet machine for Pinkie’s birthday, that she convinces herself instead that nothing’s really changed and she overthought the whole moment.

“Uuuuugh.”

As she lets out the ungodly noise, Rarity shuts her door, and if it just so happens to be almost hit Sweetie’s face, well – accidents happen.

Muffled but still with that Sweetie Belle flair – translation: a pubescent squeak that’s no longer cute, hardly ever was – comes, “Why don’t you guys ever go out anywhere! You’re such hermits.”

“Leave us alone,” Rarity retorts. She can afford to sound prissy sometimes, she’s an older sister.

“But if Scootaloo knows Rainbow Dash is here that she’s never gonna shut up about it!”

Rarity rolls her eyes and sarcastically calls back, “I wonder how that feels.”

“You can hang out at my place dude,” Rainbow offers from the floor where she’s sprawled, literally doing nothing but making the situation worse.

“But that’s even worse!” Sweetie says, and Rarity wonders if that’s the only thing they’ll agree about all year. “’Cause then Scootaloo will like, scream and die right on your floor and we’ll never get to recording our video!”

Rarity once fancied herself a self-made vlogger or content creator. At some point, though, she realised that it would take the same path as all the things she’s ever wanted to do: a boring, scenic-of-only-dust stroll to death.

“Oh.” Rainbow offers oh-so helpfully. “Sorry, man. Just, like, tell her I – pfft, I dunno, fell asleep at school or somethin’.”

“Didn’t you graduate?”

Rainbow rolls over. “Man, I dunno! Did I? I can’t tell.”

There’s a pause before Sweetie’s receding mumble says, “Is that what they mean by don’t do drugs and stay in school?”

Rarity thinks she should say something, but sighs and walks towards Rainbow, then pokes her with a toe. “You are the worst role model for her. And Scootaloo for that matter.”

Rainbow turns over again so that her stomach is on the carpet. “Sis, that ain’t my job. And do you really wanna tell me about role models or do you wanna go hug your sister instead.”

“We have a healthy balance of hating each other’s guts and willingness to give each other our organs.” Some days, Rarity can’t tell if she would die for Sweetie or because of her. “That’s simply sisterhood for you, sis.”

“Eh.” Rainbow shrugs in a way that’s barely a movement of her shoulders. “You’d know better than meeeeeee.”

Rarity sits on the floor, leans against her bedframe, and goes back to what they were doing before Sweetie so rudely interrupted them: thinking of something to do.

It’s a predicament she finds herself in fairly often; she’s always busy with nothing to do, and she’s got nothing to do to keep her busy. There must be a psyche term for it, and if not maybe Rarity could coin it. Then her degree could finally amount to something.

“You wanna watch the house shopping channel?” Rainbow pipes lazily. She has her chin against the carpet and her phone held in front of her. “And then you could get all inspired for a whole minute and we rearrange your room again.”

“Why don’t we just look at houses to buy?” Rarity offers, mostly sarcastic, but she keeps it rolling. “Or even an apartment to rent. We could have our own little place and redesign it however we feel like.”

It would be nice. They could design the kitchen with a monthly theme, and they could play music as loud as they wanted, and Sweetie Belle could finally find something else to whine about because heaven knows she’s not going to act like she misses Rarity. Hey, they could even invite friends over–

“Yeah-heh.” Rainbow doesn’t even look her way and Rarity can still see that obnoxious grin she makes when she thinks she’s being funny. “We have so many options with your CEO salary. Like under a rock, or in the subway if you wanna move out of town – but that scenery will cost a bit more, y’know?”

Rarity stretches her foot out and nudges Rainbow’s form again. “Oh, you’re such a comedian, I can see why you make so much more money than I. At least I can still dream.” Sort of. Spontaneously, before she remembers she’s not a magical defender of the Earth anymore.

“On the side. When I’m not performing at your fashion show.”

“Honey, if I knew Victoria’s Secret I’d hardly share it with you.”

“Honey, if you knew any secret it wouldn’t be a secret for two seconds.”

“What can I say? I’m generous that way.”

“Pffft, that’s a funny way to say traitor.” Rainbow rolls in Rarity’s direction and lies on her back, chin peppered red. “Show some loyalty, man.”

This time, Rarity opts to use Rainbow as a foot stool, using the heel of one foot to poke her doughy stomach. “If we had a lease with both our names on it, I’d consider it.”

“That’s still sharing, man.”

“Oh, generosity, loyalty. They’re just the right and left shoe of a pair,” Rarity sighs.

Rainbow chuckles, and Rarity feels her feet move with it. “Dude, that ain’t profound. I worked at your old shoe place for a few months, and like, most people have one foot bigger than the other. And they’d always complain – like, if you want fitted shoes, maybe don’t come to half-bankrupt discount shoe store!”

Honestly, Rarity got Rainbow that job back then so they could talk about shoes and Rarity could get discounts without working much for it – and because Rainbow could use the help and would never ask for it.

But it mostly gave way to reason to complain, which really shouldn’t surprise Rarity; she’s got a full-time position and she still spends half of those hours nit-picking it online.

Rarity wants to bring up the house again because she’s imagining a shoe closet ordered by ascending heel height, but the doubt that’s no longer appeased by lingering at the back of her mind circles to the forefront: lack of money, lack of inspiration, and lack of anything in the town really except for an easy exit, apparently.

So instead she says, “Do you recall that coworker of yours, the one who got fired because of you?” and lets Rainbow rant about how wrong Rarity is, and how much more wrong Lightning Dust was for whatever else happened.

It’s a good distraction that leads way to them reminiscing bad coworkers and group members and everything in between. It even gives Rarity a chance to mention Soarin and the other Rarity, and it’s nice to finally talk about a good thing happening at work.

Rainbow ends up sleeping over that evening, much to Sweetie’s displeasure until Rarity caves and the three of them end up acting in whatever silly sketch Sweetie has planned.

A good distraction indeed.

It was such a silly proposition, really, that Rarity can’t get it off her mind.

To own a home of her own – that’s the end goal, isn’t it? The proof that she’s made it. Even in a hamlet where nothing changes except for the price of gas.

And its entirely unreasonable for her to be thinking of, truly. Rainbow hit the nail on the head: its expensive, and she’s hardly in the position to pay off her student debts for a degree she lost the passion for long ago, let alone a down payment.

Rarity doesn’t pretend to know much, but she does know a pipe dream when it dances in her mind; she’s entertained many of them over the years, and has gotten better at pulling the curtain on them.

So she goes about her days: carrying out meagre tasks at work with the odd conversation with Soarin or someone else, because that’s easy now; hitting the café with Rainbow Dash, and, if she’s feeling lively, window shopping at a mall they’ve memorised; trying to have more than very little patience for Sweetie’s new found interest in asking Rarity’s opinion of hair dye.

But it’s like there’s something for her mind to come home to; a quiet anticipation that gets her mind thinking. She could pick up a second job, she’s done it before. If she splits the cost of rent with Rainbow – and, hell, if Sweetie chooses a college in the south where prices are lower, they could all work something out…

Rarity’s felt this way before; she knows how it ends. But hope is just a love for chance – and, as far as love goes, well: Rarity’s always been a romantic, after all.

Rarity was just minding her own business. Why must the world be so adamant on doing her dirty like this?

“What the hell…” Rainbow mutters. She looks askance, then back at Rarity. “Play it again.”

They both laugh nervously as they lean over the table and share Rarity’s earphones. They can barely make it through the first twenty seconds without bursting into laughter.

“Yo, why’s my voice that high?” Rainbow squeaks – still not as pitchy as she was in their recording of Better Than Ever though.

“Oh my God,” Rarity mumbles for the tenth time that hour. She covers her face with her hands. “This is hardly even a song…”

“I can’t believe – oh man, you get a whole new accent when you sing.”

Rarity slams the table a few times. “Rainbow, that’s Applejack! I never got any leading lines back then!”

“What?” Rainbow plays the song back from the first verse again, much to Rarity’s dismay. “…oh, hey. Guess you didn’t. Oops. Should’a put AJ on back up.”

Rarity could handle Rainbow’s bitterness later. “How did this even happen? Why does this exist in the public domain.”

“Well y’know back when – geez, I swear I wrote better lyrics than this – back when the band was kicking off, I wanted to put our music on Spotify, and I went through that whole process of getting, like, a distributing team?” Rainbow shakes her head and sighs. “Man, I don’t know. I remember I submitted some of our demo recordings to be put on the app’s official playlists, but I guess when they say they’re ‘keeping it for future consideration’, they mean for frickin’ years.”

Rarity wishes her applications to all those magazine editorial positions magically came back to haunt her. “I might die of embarrassment.”

“I feel ya. Tha– can you stop playing that now?” Rarity changes it to whatever is next in the playlist; something not with her barely present adolescent voice in it. “Thanks. Man, that was even before Sunset joined.”

All Rarity can say is an eleventh, “Oh my God…”

She just wanted to enjoy cup of coffee in the company of someone else who wouldn’t actually talk to her if she asked as much. But the past had to catch up to them, there in their humble abode of a café.

Why can’t good surprises ever happen anymore?

Rainbow seems equally mortified, closing her hands over her nose and mouth. She only opens them when she starts to say, “You know what? Young me would’a been over the moon about this. Like, balls-to-the-wall happy.”

Honestly? Rarity would have too, even if she weren’t in the song; except she’s no longer the high school kid who sang that song, and can’t even properly reconcile it as the same person.

Sometimes – honestly? Every time – when something takes her back to autumn afterschool or Christmas parties at Pinkie’s or the magic that weaved through her blood and beckoned to her command, she resolves it down to a movie she watched and got a little too personally attached to.

“Like,” Rainbow continues after another few moments, “I obsessed over getting those songs out for months. But then the graduation came closer and everyone had other things on their minds, and I figured I’d pick this up later. But when no one else was really involved anymore…” she shrugs in place of ending the sentence.

Rarity could carry that thought into a tangent that goes down the beaten path of boredom and stops at the sign that shows the measly population of their town. But maybe, as ignominious as it was to find the works of her younger self at the mercy of the public, Rarity decides that, where hope is the Achille’s Heel of the hopeful, she’s a hopeless romantic.

“Well, your hard work paid off. Now you have something to put on you resume: PR Agent for an Indie band.” She waves jazz hands in front of her to sell the name.

Rainbow snorts out of her nose. “Bad-at-math rock band.”

“Barn-slash-garage rock.”

“Juicebox pop.”

“Whatever-Countless-Coloratura-is-but-better band.”

“Hah.” Rainbow leans back, crosses her arms, and smirks cocksure at Rarity. “I should’a given you the lead vocals. We could’ve been hardcore metal if I knew how much you screamed at Sweetie before.”

Rarity flips her hair, and lets it feel good to do so. “Oh honey, I suppose you missed out on a great thing.”

“Yeah.” She pauses; then, almost as an afterthought, adds, “But I came around in the end.”

Rarity gives her a smile that doesn’t do justice to the bittersweet feeling she’s feeling. “I’m glad you did. Otherwise I would’ve been equally in error.”

Some evenings, dinner at home is peaceful. Uneventful, except for the sheer inconsistency of their mother’s cooking; it simply can’t decide if it wants to be home style or hardly edible.

Other evenings, dinner is rambunctious and headache inducing, but fun all the same because Rarity and Sweetie Belle happen to recall they share some interests they’re both incredibly passionate about.

This evening, however, Rarity zones out when Sweetie Belle is complaining about the lack of choice of college in the town – been there, done that – and while passively thinking about work, remembers—

“Sweetie – are you still posting comments on my company’s Instagram page?”

There’s a flicker of an expression of a deer in the headlights, but it’s replaced by Sweetie crossing her arms. “Were you even listening to me? You should be helping me with this – some big sis you are.”

Its probably the most transparent way Rarity’s ever seen someone try to get out of trouble; seriously, maybe she should be teaching Sweetie a few things about how to be a teenager.

“Oh, I didn’t get any help when applying– ”

“You had Mom and Dad!” Sweetie accuses.

As their mother slips more beans on both their plates despite Sweetie’s horse whinny and Rarity’s polite dirty look, she says, “No dear…Rarity did all her applications herself. You know how she gets,” she adds in a low voice and a wink Rarity can fully hear.

Rarity opts to ignore that given there’s a more important subject at hand. “Sweetie Belle, stop avoiding the question. Are you posting on my company’s page?”

“I don’t even have Instagram!”

Before Rarity can even roll her eyes at the worst lie she’s ever heard, their father pipes up. “Posting what?”

“Nothing!”

He turns to their mother. “Honey, what are they talking about?”

“The Twitter, dear.”

“Oh. Sweetie pop, don’t Twitter about your sister.”

“I’m not!”

“Tell me the truth this instant!” Rarity snaps. She has a spoon full of green beans in her hand, she’s not afraid to use it – not because she’s a barbarian, but because, well, her mom could stand to learn to either cook them well or not at all.

“No!”

“Sweetie, dear,” their mother says calmly. “Listen to your sister.”

“But – “

“Sweetie.”

Under the glare of her mother, Sweetie makes a sour face as she blurts out, “Okay, fine, it is me! But not just me, Rainbow Dash is helping me!”

“What?” All that talk of loyalty just for this? “Why would she?”

“I, I can’t tell you – and you can’t tell her I told you, ‘kay?” Sweetie points an accusing finger at Rarity, which is painted with a suspiciously familiar nail polish. “She told me not to tell but you cheated so you can’t say anything, okay?!”

“Oh, like hell I won’t say anything,” Rarity says. She’s a woman of words who hardly has the chance to use them.

Sweetie’s hand lowers just a bit and her expression pinches. “Wait…does that mean you will or won’t?”

“I most definitely will, how could – “

“You can’t! Mom!”

“Rarity,” their mother says, looking at Rarity over the reading glasses she uses to miss the entire point of a conversation, “a promise is a promise.”

“But – “

“Rarity.”

There’s no winning in this house, Rarity decides as she glares at Sweetie’s smug face and continues with her dinner.

Their father looks up from the newspaper he keeps on his lap out of sight of their mother, who is obviously too busy getting democracy all wrong anyway. “Rarity, you need to set a good example for your sister. She looks up to you.”

“No I don’t I’m taller than her.”

“No she doesn’t she’s a grown te– you are not taller than me!”

If one thing doesn’t change, it’s the fact that Sweetie can ignite a fire in any situation. And while that’s usually literal, it also means that Rarity finds herself in another argument with her that their parents settle in the most mildly flippant way possible.

In the moment, it makes Rarity want to hit her head against the wall their father is measuring her height against. But at night, well after their mother says Sweetie standing on her toes counts as height because it’s still part of her body just like legs and spine, Rarity is almost happy in a way that makes her sad for reasons she can’t put a finger on except that at least she won’t have to miss this, too.

“Rarity!”

Rarity walks on without losing stride, pointedly ignoring whoever was calling.

“Rarity, over here!”

She continues to walk with the air of someone who has deniability if testified in court – or at work as to why she wouldn’t answer as soon as she stepped out of the building.

Though nothing seems more persistent than that which you hate, and Rarity is ready to stuff that hatred down and passively-aggressively tell off whoever is tapping on her shoulder.

When she turns around, however, that plan dissipates into surprise – then, worry. But pleasant surprise, mostly.

“Sunset? Twilight?”

“Hey!” Sunset says, pulling her hand back and smiling widely with defined cheekbones that Rarity has never noticed before. “Something on your mind, huh? You’re almost as zoned out as Twilight gets during exam time.”

Twilight waves, quick and short. “Hi! Oh, and surprise!”

“Surprise, indeed!” Rarity parrots and moves in to hug each of them. “And what a lovely surprise it is!”

“Yeah, we both had the week off and – “ Sunset tosses a quick look at Twilight “ – we kinda realised we really wanted to see you and the ol’ town again.”

“It was a bit peculiar,” Twilight says, and Rarity’s mind knows before she does that Twilight’s about to get into a Theorising Mood. “That we both missed you at the same time and thought to visit. But I believe it may be a combined factor of how long its been since we last met up, and how much we miss home, per say.”

“Or maybe magical mayhem is about to strike again,” Sunset remarks, then winks. “I’m going to go on and apologise ahead of time for that, just in case.”

It’s always hard to test who’s the smartest in the room when both Sunset and Twilight are there, Rarity thinks faintly.

“Well, whatever forces brought you here, I am glad for it.” And she truly is – but she can’t put a finger on why she still feels a bit uneasy.

They move the conversation as well as themselves along from there: Rarity offers to walk around the town and show them how little has changed, but Sunset suggests they sit somewhere – “Work’s a pain, you must be tired!”

So, in what Rarity feels is meeting both ends, she takes them to her and Dash’s favourite coffee shop.

“Drinks on me tonight, girls,” Rarity tells them as they sit at a table – its not the couple’s table by the window that she and Rainbow Dash always take, but it does offer the best view of the café.

They begin to protest, but Rarity won’t have it. They’re in her home, technically. And it’ll be nice to spend money on friends – not nice for her loans or wallet, but nice for her, and its been a while since she’s done things that’s nice just for her.

“Well, I guess you’ll have some extra cash after the payout from being on the cover of Times magazine soon,” Sunset says, nodding to Rarity.

Oh God, compliments. Rarity used to love these; now, she can’t remember what she’s supposed to do with them. “Oh, darling. Only after Twilight has won her Nobel Prize.”

Twilight perks up and fiddles with her glasses – a wont of hers that Rarity’s realising she’s missed more than any little gesture should be missed. “Oh! Well, maybe, but I’m not even working in my field yet. I can’t until I do my licensing exams and – erm…”

A dark look passes quickly over Twilight’s face. Sunset rubs her shoulder and looks at Rarity. “Long story – we’ll get into that later, though. But seriously, we were worried you’d be way busy with work and didn’t wanna bother you, but we messaged Sweetie Belle and she said you’re usually free on evenings.”

“She also complained about the same vein,” Twilight adds, “and says you need a boyfriend to go to who isn’t Rainbow Dash.”

At that, Rarity can’t help but burst out laughing, and the other two join in. She tries to defend herself – “It’s not like that, Sweetie needs to mind her own business, and why is she even concerned for my private life?” – but she can barely string the sentence together.

After at least a full minute, they collectively collect themselves and, with a lingering giggle, Rarity says, “I’m sure you would have gotten more accurate and less biased information had you messaged me.”

“That would’ve ruined the surprise.”

“And you hardly update any of your social media anymore,” Twilight mentions matter-of-factly. “So we both just thought you had your hands full – we wouldn’t want to be the bad sort of surprise.”

Most of the time Rarity forgets she has any accounts aside from the throwaways she and Rainbow Dash use to share increasingly downbeat posts, and she supposes it wouldn’t be helpful to mention it now.

Besides – “Girls, please. Seeing you will always be the best of surprises – like an early Spring, or a flash sale.”

“Ugh,” Sunset groans, and it’s her turn to grimace. “Don’t remind me. I worked retail for half a year up where I live now, and I am not going back.”

Twilight tilts her head. “Wait is this – Oh, corduroy guy?!”

“Yeah.”

“Oh? Do tell!” After all, Rarity is an expert in corduroy if there ever was.

Sunset sighs and launches into a story about bad management and worse customers, with Twilight adding some comments that leads Rarity to believe that she’s heard the story as many times as Sunset’s told it.

At some point, one of the servers comes up to them, which worries Rarity because this isn’t that bougie of a café – were they being too loud? Was it rude to sit without ordering your drinks? Did they realise that the internet usually gets busy when Rarity comes and they’re choosing now to confront her about it?

“The regular, Rarity?” asks the lady – girl, Rarity is almost sure. She just wears make up like a lady. “And is DJ coming too?”

“DJ?” Sunset asks, and Twilight mirrors her look of intrigue. “So there is a boyfriend?”

“It’s Rainbow Dash, DJ’s just a silly pet name I made…” Rarity tries to explain, but Sunset and Twilight squint and grin. “Not like that! Girls! There’s a story behind it!”

Except they don’t let Rarity explain herself without a lot of resistance, and the server isn’t helping when she uses phrases like, “always just the two of them” and, “sitting at the romantic table” and even, “have been dating for the past two years and we’ve made an Instagram account about you two, follow it at DJ and the Rare”.

So Rarity resorts to calling Rainbow Dash – three times, because no one picks up their phones and what even is a ringtone – and demanding she come over and set the record straight.

“What do you mean Sunset and Twi are visiting?”

“Um, just that,” Rarity says. “They’re visiting and where are you?”

“Tell her we’ve been texting her but she didn’t answer so we thought she was on those random vacation she takes sometimes,” Sunset whispers as she’s following Twilight to the counter to order drinks. But she winks in a way that reminds Rarity who the most popular girl in school used to be.

Rarity passes on Sunset’s message – using the word vacation and not “jokes you tell that no one understands is a gross exaggeration or downright sarcastic” – and Rainbow just says, “I’m not coming.”

“Why?”

“I’m busy.”

“Lies. You’re a hermit.”

There’s a pause. “A busy one.”

Maybe she’s feeling the same anxiety Rarity is – was, actually? Because whatever ball her nerves had tied themselves in is now untangled and, dare she say it lest she jinx it, excited.

She was probably worried things would go wrong as they tend to. And now Rarity’s glad Sunset and Twilight caught her point blank so she couldn’t back out like how Rainbow seems to be.

Well, Rarity is nothing if not persistent. “Rainbow Dash, stop scrolling, get your arse out of that ratty gaming chair and parked here or face my unbridled spite for the next three months.”

“Oh, like you’re gonna text me back after three days instead of two?”

“Rainbow.”

Another pause, in which Rarity can visualise the phrase hook line and sinker.

“…Fine. You at our café?”

“Always.”

When Rarity ends the call, she sits and waits for her friends to return and thinks that it was so very silly that both she and Rainbow Dash have such hesitance to hang out with the friends they missed so dearly.

Quite funny, that.

Quite funny still is when Rainbow marches through the door with her poor posture and finds the three of them almost too immediately, and she cackles and musses her hair and goes in first for the hug, as if she wasn’t an entire grump on the phone earlier.

“Took you long enough,” Sunset chuckles as she fist bumps Dash’s shoulder.

“You changed your hair!” Twilight blurts right after.

“What? Oh, this?” Rainbow pulls at a strand. “Nah, it changed itself. More blues an’ purples, and then these random yellow ones everywhere.”

“Huh. I have read that hair can make drastic changes over time on its own,” Twilight remarks, mostly to herself. She looks back up at Rainbow. “You wear it well!”

Rainbow blinks and makes a choking sound – Rarity chipperly adds, “I told you so!”, because she did tell her so – and, in place of a comment, grabs Twilight around the shoulders and nuggies her head.

By the time Rainbow gets her drink from a chattier than usual barista and sits with the rest, the sun is entirely gone with the short winter day.

Before the seasonal depression can get to her, Rarity claps her hands. “Let’s do something!”

“I just got my coffee.”

Rarity tsks. “I meant, let’s go out somewhere!”

“I just got here.”

With no less cheer, Rarity throws her arms out and happens to hit Rainbow in the process. “The scenery here must be getting a bit boresome for city girls such as yourself!”

“No,” Twilight sighs.

“Mhmm-what she said,” Sunset hums. Twilight turns to her, betrayed, and Sunset looks almost apologetic when she smiles and shrugs. “Sorry Twi, can’t lie here. You know I was born in the capital city of magic – I need excitement, it’s in my blood.”

Twilight leans forward into her hands. “Don’t I know it.”

Rarity’s always thought she herself was a city girl at heart, even if her body’s always been in the boonies.

“We can go bowling,” Rarity suggests. She looks to Rainbow Dash and ignores how she’s on her phone again. “There’ll be pizza and neon lights.”

Rainbow scrunches her nose. “Isn’t bowling closed on weekdays?”

“Oh, right.” Well, bowling is sweaty anyways. And the shoes – ugh.

“We can go to the mall,” Twilight says after a moment.

Rarity and her purse and internal coffee addiction are almost thankful when she has to say, “The mall closes at 6 now – seasonal hours. By the time we get there it’ll be nearly too late.”

“Oh.”

Rainbow starts drumming on the table as they sit in a pondering silence. There’s almost a collective hum of thinking, and maybe a tumbleweed floating by. Cliché? Yes. Untrue? Hardly.

Sunset snaps and bolts upright – and Rarity recognises that as her Good Idea stance. “Oh! It’s a little early, but remember that karaoke bar that opened up before we graduated? We’re old enough to go now!”

Rarity can’t tell if Twilight is excited or worried when holds her coffee cup and mutters, “Alcohol?”; she herself turns to Rainbow and half-asks, “Karaoke bar...?”

Rainbow mirrors her puzzlement. “Karaoke…you mean the one off of– ” she tips her head in no real direction “ –just by Sugarcube Corner?”

“Maybe…”

“Around, uh…”

It hits Rarity almost like a door. “Oh! Rainbow, they’re talking about the Automatic Doors joint.”

“OH! Automatic Doors Joint, yo! I remember that place.”

Sunset and Twilight now sit as the puzzled ones, so Rarity explains: “It was the only place here that had automatic doors – excluding accessibility buttons and such, of course, but.”

Sunset squints. “Really? Like, are you joking or seriously keeping tab?”

“Not hard to,” Rainbow gripes sarcastically.

Twilight looks at the café door and then back. “Huh. I suppose we never really noticed. But if it is true – wow. I didn’t realise not pushing every door could be a luxury.”

“I mean, I guess it was weird for me to have to move doors with my hands and not magic when I first got here, but I just assumed that was culture shock.” Sunset nods, almost impressed. Rarity is equally impressed at how effortlessly she can talk about the good old days of magic. “Like Twilight said: wow.”

Rainbow grins as she picks up her phone. “Yeah, it was a pretty big deal back then. Too bad it’s gone.”

“Yes, quite the tourist attraction. It closed due to lack of business,” Rarity clarifies, although she imagines it’s obvious; she couldn’t count the number of stores on her hands that came and went in that fashion.

“Aw, that’s too bad,” Sunset sighs, looking thoroughly disappointed – which is poignant given she’s thus far only shown almost emotions. “You’d think a place like that would get loads of people. No competition and all.”

Twilight doesn’t agree but busies herself with drinking from an empty cup.

“Well, I suppose. But on the other hand,” and Rarity feels much like Twilight when using that phrase, “most of the people old enough to go would’ve left by that time –”

“Flown the coop, yo.”

“– and the ones who stayed simply wouldn’t, enjoy it? They and their parents, people get stuck in their ways and just don’t find these, these…”

“New fangled things, yo.”

“…much fun, you know?”

Twilight and Sunset outwardly agree, but Rarity gets the feeling they just don’t quite understand. And for people of their calibre in intelligence, it’s a little worrying that it made perfect sense to Rarity and apparently Rainbow Dash.

Who in that dip of the conversation decides to ask, “Yo Twi, you still researching that nerd thing?”

It is at the same time the most vague, misdirected, awkward and unannounced question that Rarity has ever had the misfortune of being on either side of, but it leads Twilight to explain her Masters degree in detail, which leads to Rainbow Dash changing the topic to herself almost as fast.

It gets the tumbleweed rolling, at least. Rarity doesn’t realise how many stories she has to tell until she’s politely battling with the other three to share them, and they probably have the most exciting conversation the town has heard since Demon Sunset.

Which Rainbow Dash brings up, of course.

“First of all: I will cut you. Second: I was seriously ambitious though.”

“Were?” Twilight exclaims.

Rarity sagely adds, “I don’t believe ambitious is the word you’d want to use, darling.”

Sunset holds her hands out and almost spills her third coffee. “C’mon, you have to admit that it was at least avant-garde.”

Twilight tilts her head. “Well…”

With a handful of cookie, Rainbow points at Twilight. “Hey, you weren’t even there!”

“Well technically I was! Twilight Sparkle was present for that event, and I am Twilight Sparkle.” Twilight fires back. “So thereby the strong emotional connection– “

“Horse crap!”

“ –and given what we’ve experienced thus far– “

“Hey, Rarity, remember that dress we talked about earlier? Do you think we should get the measurements today?”

“Oh, at your leisure, dear. Is there a rush or?”

“ –entirely in the realm of possibility that consciousness is primary in the universe– “

“Horse. Crap!”

“Not much, Fluttershy’s engagement party isn’t for another few weeks but– “

“Engagement party – Rainbow Dash, shut up! – what party, Sunset?”

“Fluttershy’s engagement party,” Sunset says again, and it seems to be the only words in the entire town being spoken at that moment. “It’s in Spring, so we’ve got a while. I just don’t know if we have time today or if we’ll get a chance later.”

She’ll realise later that it’s a habit of hers to turn to Rainbow Dash, but right then it’s Rarity’s first instinct. “Engagement?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I guess,” Rainbow says with so much disinterest it’s an emotion in itself. She picks up her phone idly with one hand and rolls cookie crumbs in the other. “Guess I forgot to tell you. She announced it, like, a few weeks ago. You were, uh, social media detoxing again or whatever.”

It ended up only being disconnecting from her main accounts for two weeks, but now all the bright photos of Fluttershy where there were almost none at all a few weeks prior start to make sense.

“Oh – oh my God, I didn’t even – she’ll think I ignored her!” Rarity cries with horror and searches her purse for her phone.

“Hey, we’ll tell her,” Sunset assures. Twilight nods beside her. “She’s coming over our way next week, so you guys can come visit!”

“I have work,” Rainbow mutters at the exact same time as Rarity thought it.

“Well – “

“Well, we – we can see if we can get a few days off?” Rarity offers. She’ll probably be able to, and she probably won’t do it, but she doesn’t have to be a bad sport about it. “I’d love to see her again. Oh, bless her soul.”

“Yeah. Remember the time she and I wore matching leather jackets? I saw the photos the other day…”

The conversation picks itself up but strolls tiredly into the night before Sunset and Twilight take a taxi – that took over twenty minutes to catch, to their exasperation and surprise – to the train station with promise of visiting again.

The town seems so much quieter as soon as the car rolls away. Rarity huffily has Rainbow Dash walk her home, and while she wants to feel happy and only a little sad that it's passed, she’s stuck on the tail end of that thought.

When she invites Rainbow in – “Darling, it’s late, and I can’t sleep after all that coffee, but maybe that’s the buyer’s remorse.” – Rainbow declines with as much class as a dropout before sulking away.

Honestly, Rarity feels like doing the same, but she wonders if its for entirely different reasons.

Author's Note

"Automatic Doors Joint, yo!"

Next up: tomorrow.

Part III
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Roaring Twenties

Part III

“Actually, it’s been kinda rough lately,” he says, and from the tone of his that implies he’s about to let her know just how rough it has been lately, Rarity regrets reactively asking him how he was.

“Oh,” she says sympathetically, because she’s many things but not rude – well, admittedly she’s had the occasional, necessary rude bout. But not now because, well. He’s had it rough.

“Yeah, I told my girlfriend we probably needed some space, and I’m pretty sure she heard me but she texted me today asking if we’re still on for dinner…” he trails off as he pulls out his phone and shows Rarity the exact text.

Part of Rarity thrives on being privy to these things. Another part is just surprised that asking “how are you” suddenly gives her such privileged access to the inside.

“And I don’t know what she means. ‘Cause, she was talking about moving in, and I just felt like she was moving to fast, and I do really like her, but. I dunno. What do you think?”

Rarity thinks his girlfriend should be prepared to wash dishes. “Hmm. Well, I think you should at least have dinner. Maybe she just wants to talk about it?”

“Yeah, but…I dunno. I guess. You think?”

“It doesn’t hurt to talk,” Rarity says. Hypocrite, she thinks.

None the wiser, he nods. “Yeah, probably. Hah, guess you are, ‘a great listener and should get a raise L-O-L’. Er, Soarin’s words. Well, him saying someone else’s words—you get it, I bet.” He lifts his cup before walking away. “Good talk!”

As Rarity returns to her task of sorting different size paperclips, of which there are literally hundreds, she wonders again what forces have cursed her with great interpersonal skills but absolute lack of boyfriend.

A week, fine. Two? Pushing it – actually, one was pushing it but Rarity is polite, sort of.

Three weeks, and Rarity puts her foot down and makes a statement – verbally and fashionably.

“Ow! What’d’you do that for?”

“Can you please get over it?” Rarity moans; she’s a little fed up and doesn’t feel much like being gentle about it, considering Rainbow’s been refusing to even participate in Rarity’s more fun getaways, such as grocery shopping because suddenly she;s realising all the benefits of vegan milk.

Rainbow kicks Rarity’s foot off hers with the other one, then decides to pull her legs up and lie down on Rarity’s bed. “I’m fine.”

At least she’s not lying to Rarity, even if she’s lying to herself. It makes Rarity feel less jaded. “I understand if you’re feeling upset– “

“I’m chill,” Rainbow bites back, entirely not-chill.

Well, she tried to be patient. “Darling, I understand. I wish I was a bit more involved with Fluttershy’s life up to this point, and heaven knows I would have adored to have been there for the proposal, but it’s not too late to– “

“Man, it doesn’t bother me. Like, I don’t care about that stuff like you do.”

Rarity raises her eyebrows. “But you’re giving mixed signals here, dear.”

Rainbow looks at her derisively. “Thought we talked about how bad you are with signs.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“I don’t wanna talk about the subject.”

Rarity shrugs her shoulders, though feels she’s not giving enough of an air of indifference so she tosses her hair over it. “Okay. Sure. Absolutely, darling. Though I imagine there aren’t many people other than I that you would talk about it with.”

“It’s, she – it’s old news, dude.” Rainbow rolls over on her side so that Rarity can’t see her face; but her quiet and bitter tone paints the image of it. “She’s kinda young to be getting married, that’s all.”

Without a sound, Rarity puts her charcoal pen down and shuts her sketchbook. “Engaged. They could be waiting a few years before an actual wedding.”

“Whatever. Maybe. She’s rushing though, prob’ly has a baby coming or somethin’.”

“No,” Rarity hums, trying to add a bit of a laugh to it. “She’s not like – well, I can’t say for certain, but I doubt it’s like that. You know Fluttershy.”

“Sure,” is all Rainbow Dash says.

“I’m sorry,” is all Rarity says, just as simple. Pity she couldn’t come up with more, though; she used to be so elegant with words.

Enough time passes in silence for Rarity to turn back to her desk, open her book back to the dress she was planning out, and think it’s also a pity that she’s not as creative as she remembers being.

Following the sound of rustling, Rainbow yawns. “I’m not. I’m happy for her. Yeah.”

Rarity turns back around; Rainbow is pushed up on her elbow and rubbing her eyes.

“I am too.” Rarity smiles. “Do you know how hard it is to find a beau that would settle down in this day and age?”

Rainbow’s hand stays hovered over her eye as she looks at Rarity, then askance. Then, probably deciding against sulking more, she scoffs. “Hah. You live in, like, a nineteenth century backwater city. The only thing people do around here is settle down.”

At her own expense, Rarity scoffs as well. “Pfft. I think they’re all just convinced you and I are a thing.”

“Ugh.” Rainbow drops her head. “I can do so much better than you.”

“You certainly have an odd way of proving it.”

“I’m gonna sleep.”

“On my bed. Which, of course, brings me back to my previous point.”

Rainbow waves a hand idly. “Whatever.” And while Rarity think that’s the end of that conversation, a few seconds later Rainbow tiredly adds, “I don’t really get it at all, so. I’m not trying to fight you, I just. I dunno. Just got pissed, y’know? Sorry. And thanks.”

Rarity hums and turns around.

Of course she can relate. She loved, absolutely loved seeing Sunset and Twilight again. And it was natural and so easy for them to fall into the step of conversation; no sense of jealousy or distance that she was afraid grew in the years of distance. Just old friends.

But at the end of the day, five years is a lot of distance. A distance that is hardly made easier by video calls and texts and visits that become fewer and farther between the longer they try to keep it up.

Its made even farther when everyone is occupied with what’s ahead of them, while Rarity stands behind, lingers, and ignores the feeling of someone’s hand always ready on the door leading out of her life.

It’s a small town, but it hadn’t felt so empty until a few days ago.

“I really miss them,” Rarity sighs out in a breath that rattles her throat.

“I miss ‘em, too,” Rainbow echoes blearily. She pauses just long enough for Rarity to think she won’t follow up at all. “But. Y’know? I think they miss you more. More than me, prob’ly.”

Rarity has half a mind to say something immediately, tell her that that’s certainly false and of course their friends miss them dearly and equally. But she catches herself – simply says, “Not true, darling.” – and waits, because she knows that, were it her, she wouldn’t want to have gathered up the courage to finally speak just to hit a wall.

She does, after another baited pause. “’Cause, like, you still sorta keep up with ‘em. You talk to them each at least once a month, right? And…you don’t have beef with AJ, or even Sunset who I thought you’d totally chew out just ‘cause she’s your mean girl rival or whatever. But when she and Twi came over, you made it seem like they never left.” This time, she stops to take a breath that escapes like a yawn. “I, I dunno, man. I feel like – if people miss you, they think of you. Kind of a package deal, right?”

Well that couldn’t be it. It’s because Rarity is a personality more than a person, which makes it easy to keep up with; it’s because Rarity, well, she –

She doesn’t know, honestly. If she had that much figured out, maybe she wouldn’t feel a little worse about herself at the end of the week because she just can’t pin down what it is she’s missing.

…but where she once believed it was her friends pining after, its not so easy to convince herself of right now. Because, while she does ache for their presence when she lets herself think too long, seeing Rainbow Dash like this – beaten down by a force she can’t stubbornly fight back – she realises her heart is not hung up over not being the afterthought.

She’s not missing someone, she’s missing out on something.

It’s a statement that ricochets in the back of Rarity’s mind; one she wants to unfold and think over until it means nothing again so it won’t bother her, but none too eager too.

Timely as ever, Rainbow doesn’t give her the chance. “Sorry, Rares. Didn’t mean to emotionally puke on you like that. Not cool of me.”

“Oh, darling, so long as I don’t have to get my hands dirty, I don’t mind helping you clean up.” It’s only a little ironic because a few years ago Rainbow did puke on her, and that was a disaster. For Rainbow Dash, of course; Rarity made sure. “I’m here if you ever want a little tête-à-tête. Just let me know if I need to bring a garbage bin. And a hazmat suit.”

“You should bring them for when we go to the engagement party,” Rainbow says, and stutters on the end of the sentence like it’s a bit too large for her mouth. “I’ll be an astronaut, and you can be trash.”

Rarity’s just glad Rainbow is the one who brings it up – and technically decides that yes, they are going, apprehensions be damned – because she wants to go just as much as she doesn’t, and walking that tightrope is stressful.

But that doesn’t mean she’s going to take an insult lying down. Or from someone lying down, that is. “Rainbow, darling. You don’t need to go to Jupiter to get stupider.”

Well, she tried. She didn’t major astronomy, she can get a pass this time.

“Hah, been waiting to tell that one since you were ten?”

“Honey I am a ten.”

“Yeah, a ten-hut.” Rainbow blinks. “Fine, I couldn’t think of anything. You win.”

Small victories, Rarity thinks. Some days you carry yourself with small victories.

Rarity stops by Sugarcube Corner one day after work.

She considers ordering her old favourite – cappuccino with whip; yes, she was once that person – but when walks in she isn’t immediately hit with the familiar whiff of carrot cake and instead sees someone behind the counter she doesn’t recognise.

When Rarity casually asks the barista about Mr. and Mrs. Cake, she says, “Who?”

Casually as she can, Rarity laughs it off and heads back home. A few days later at dinner, she asks her parents about the Cakes.

“Oh, they moved out east,” Rarity’s dad answers. He tries to explain whereabouts east, but to Rarity it’s all the same anyways.

“They sold Sugarcube Corner?” Sweetie pipes up. “I thought they just worked mornings when I’m at school.”

From the sink where she’s washing dishes, Rarity’s mom explains. “No, Sweetie, they still own it, but have someone else managing it. They just moved out to the city for the twins.” She tuts. “Bless their souls, but I think they got it backwards: ‘round here its much safer for kids.”

“Better soil and air for the brain,” their dad adds, “and less Instatweeting.”

The parents continue on that idea, but Rarity’s too consumed by a sinking feeling to complain to herself about it.

With an innocent obliviousness she may never grow out of, bless her soul, Sweetie sighs into her hand. “Aww, I’m gonna miss the twins. And the Cakes!”

“Oh, dear, don’t worry. They visit often! You won’t even notice they’re gone.”

Oh, Rarity’s heard that one before.

“Rarity! Are you busy?”

Never, really. “I’m always busy, Sweetie.”

Sweetie marches right up to the desk that Rarity is sat at. “Good: I need help.”

“Sweetie, honey, I hate to say it, but you would be better off consulting with Rainbow Dash about bright hair.”

“Not that! I already decided I’m going to bleach it.” As she says it, Rarity can’t help but think it’s the worst idea she’s had yet; the girl’s almost as pale as Rarity herself. “I want to learn to play the piano but it’s too big and my hands can’t reach all the keys properly.”

“Oh.” Rarity’s pleasantly surprised. Then, she thinks to doubt it, because surprises aren’t pleasant when you’re twenty-ish.

Still, Sweetie’s still young, so maybe that balances it out. “I remember when I started playing piano – granted, I was younger when I did, but in any case: it’s the same way for everyone who starts, darling. And I understand it’s not what you want to hear me say, but it’s always best to – “

“ – practice every day,” Sweetie drones over as Rarity says it. “I know, I know. I just though you had – I don’t know. Something else?”

“Well…play songs you like. You’ll enjoy practice more, and that will give you more motivation.” Rarity pauses. She herself took up piano because of all the romance and Jane Austin it inherently held. “Why this, all of a sudden?”

Sweetie makes a face, and for a moment Rarity’s bracing herself for a loud defensive answer. She’s surprised pleasantly (suspiciously) again when Sweetie sighs and sways her body. “Well, I’ll have to make new friends when I go to college – not that I’m going to stop talking to Scoots or Apple Bloom! I’m a better friend than you. But, we’re going to different schools so I’ll need to make new friends, too, and…I just thought piano would help.”

Her heart is in the right place. And Rarity’s not yet cynical enough or Rainbow Dash enough to tell Sweetie that friends fall apart when they’re not forced to see each other, so she cooes, “Aww, that’s cute, darling.”

Sweetie immediately stomps her foot. “No it’s not! I can’t go to college and talk about the stuff me and the others talk about, they’re gonna think I’m a kid, or something like that.”

Rarity smiles sympathetically. “Oh, Sweetie. Believe me, most people don’t have anything figured out in college. You’ve nothing to worry your pretty little head over.”

“Well, what about you?” Sweetie pulls a sour expression. “You were always dramatic in high school even though you acted all grown up and stuff, but then you went to college and now you drink coffee and have a job and talk less to people. How am I supposed to be that mature?”

“Its not, they – “ It’s a compliment, but Rarity isn’t about to let Sweetie believe that “ – you’re actually quite perceptive, actually. Why, remember—”

“No I’m not,” Sweetie cuts in, but in a mumble. She looks at her feet. “I wouldn’t fight with you all the time if I was.”

“Oh, Sweetie…” Rarity stands and takes both of Sweetie Belle’s hands in hers, and really just notices how close in height they are when she doesn’t need to crane her neck to look at her downcast eyes. “If I were mature, or a half-decent sister, then we wouldn’t argue as much – I should be a lot more patient than I am.”

Sweetie still doesn’t look at Rarity when she mumbles, “I think you’re a good sister. You still talk to me all the time, even if we’re arguing. Even Apple Bloom says she barely gets to talk to her sister anymore.”

Oh, wonderful; now Rarity has to passively ignore more complaints about Applejack. This must be what customer service is like. “Different strokes, dear. I still live in the same home as you.”

“But Rainbow Dash goes home and her parents—“

Rarity squeezes Sweetie’s hands gently. “You can’t think of everyone else’s situation and expect to find the answer to yours.”

The words echo in her own head, but Sweetie looks up at her before Rarity can think it over too much. “Okay, but even—okay. Fine. But still. I think…being grown up is hard.”

Rarity sucks in her cheek and hums as she thinks of something to say. Because, honestly? Even as the big sister, she hasn’t figured much out herself.

…she can say as much, can’t she? It doesn’t do much to repeat it to herself, after all. “Honestly, darling. I’ve hardly a clue how to do it myself.” Though she realises that that’s not much help, so the big sister in her steps up to add, “But in my personal opinion, I think…I think we’re meant to always be figuring it out, so to speak. Because we’re always growing.”

Rarity hasn’t flexed her spontaneity muscle for a while – second only to Pinkie Pie – so she understands it when Sweetie scrunches her face in thought and slowly says, “But then, how do we know we’re growing right? Or if we really are growing and not, um, un-growing?”

“Well.” Rarity takes a moment. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I suppose I have to do a bit more growing up to figure it out.” Understatement of the year.

Sweetie Belle lets out a long, “Huuhhhh…?” as she wrestles with that.

Rarity can’t help but laugh. “Oh my, that’s exactly how I always feel about it.”

In normal Sweetie Belle fashion, she pulls her hands away and crosses them. “Well now I have to figure it out faster than you! Ugh!”

She really needs be loud about everything, mustn’t she? Just like Rarity herself must be melodramatic. “Oh, all this mine sister is, or else shall be.”

Poor Sweetie Belle; she’s only looked confused since she walked into the room. “Is that Shakespeare – what does that even mean? And didn’t you study psychology?”

“Darling, in the words of Rainbow Dash: I don’t know.”

“Seriously? What do you know?!”

Rarity drops her voice. “I know I’m proud of you. And that you’ll make a brilliant grown-up.”

“Y-yeah? Yeah, well — I’m proud of you too,” Sweetie admits, loud and begrudging. “That’s why I keep writing those comments, so everybody knows you’re, well, inspiring and crud…”

“Oh,” Rarity sighs and hugs Sweetie, who returns the it tightly. After a few moments of hair tickling her face, Rarity pulls away and says, “Remind me to take you with me the next time I need to refill on conditioner. If I know one thing, it’s when hair needs taking care of.”

“Sure!” Sweetie starts, then switches over to a piqued, “—fine.” Then, back again to an excited, “Can I go to the coffee shop with you and Dash?”

“No.” Absolutely out of the question. That would be sacrilegious.

“Fine, I get it. The place you guys met and fell in love, blah blah.” Sweetie waggles her fingers. “Well, if you ever need boyfriend, at least you can go to Fluttershy for help.”

“Wh—” Rarity’s speechless for a second, because frankly there’s no lie there. “Well at least I’ve had boyfriendsss.”

“All the boys at my school suck!”

“We went to the same school, Sweetie Belle!”

While she wouldn’t consider them friends, she’s definitely happy that, whatever sort of work relationship she and Soarin has, it’s one where they can openly criticise the smallest inconveniences.

“Ugh, no coffee again!” Soarin gripes, already popping off the machine’s filter basket. “See? Every time.”

“Only on mornings you’re in before me,” Rarity scoffs. She has half a mind to offer to help, but then she decides their not that close until Soarin offers to wash the dishes once.

A younger her would romanticise the idea of a person helping her with domestic chores. Now, she adds it to the mental what-if list of work she’d split with Rainbow and Sweetie were they to own a house together.

Soarin gives her a funny look with little regard to the fact that he’s cutting packaging with scissors blindly. “I always get in before you.”

“Well then, maybe you finish the coffee before I come for it.”

“No, I always change it. I’m a team player, unlike some Raritys.” He dumps the old coffee grounds out and empties the ones out of the package into the filter paper. “What time do you come in?”

“Eight, sharp.” At least, she would be, if the bus would come on time – which it has very little reason not to, given it has a total of maybe three stops across the whole town.

Soarin places the filter basket back in place and hits a switch on the coffee machine. “Wha—they have the interns come in that early? Geez, the newsletter delivery can wait an hour, I think.”

“Or go digital,” Rarity offers. It feels good to say out loud instead of through someone else’s tweet. “’Change with the times’ my arse.”

“Hah! Exactly.”

The conversation lulls a bit, giving way to the gentle whirring sounds of boiling and brewing. It gives Rarity space to watch the other employees walk in, hear the coffee machine, and immediately walk back out.

“For such bad coffee, it sure takes its time to brew,” Rarity comments. People watching at an office she hates is hardly worth her unspent time.

“Yeah. I wish a good coffee place would open up nearby.”

She could mention her coffee place, but of course that’s hers and Rainbow’s, and introducing someone to it would put her at risk of actually having to invite them the next time she goes.

Sweetie Belle can take a hard no as an answer; Rarity’s none too keen on giving Soarin reasons to associate her with Rarity B.

Not that she believes he’d be so quick put her on the same shelf; she’s just starting to understand that everyone has their poor habits to compensate proper outlets. Rarity complains anonymously online; Rainbow ignores everything she doesn’t believe she can change; Sweetie Belle blames Rarity.

And if it took befriending Soarin over bad business policies for her to see what his hang up is, who knows what even the CEO’s do to cope with the everyday. They could be even worse than her, which is a silly, laughable, encouraging thought indeed.

“By the way,” Soarin starts. “I don’t know what you’re doing lately, but there have been some more comments floating up on the company’s Social Media pages. We even got an email with a list of your accomplishments?” He ends that with a questioning but humoured look. “All the way from the north side, too. Anyway, I’ve been forwarding them off to your head so, hey, watch out for that.”

Oh, dear, Rarity thinks. She also mutters as much because she’s busy planning how to bust Rainbow’s parade to think of a better response.

The machine’s sudden stop leaves a palpable quiet in its place. Soarin goes to fill his cup up. “Wait, I didn’t mean it menacingly. I mean – maybe you’ll be promoted to Intern Master, or whatever is the next position.”

“Any other department?” Rarity asks bracingly.

“Nah. Once an intern, always an intern.”

Well, she shot her shot. She can take solace in at least having some good Rarity recognition.

“Anyways,” Soarin says as he tips his chin and cup towards her, “keep handing out those papers the way you do, I guess.”

While Rarity wants to mention she hasn’t much of a choice, she surprises herself by saying, “Good talk!”

Later that day, when Rarity’s is looking over address stickers for company letter stationary, that she starts to wonder how Rainbow in a letter all the way from the north city.

Looking through her old yearbook for no particular reason except that she’s tired of scrolling through her phone today, Rarity finds a photo of – some party, though the specific event escapes her.

It must have been a special one, because the dresses they’re wearing haunt Rarity like ghosts.

Her mind is blown thinking how much time she was able to dedicate to those – made them from scratch, specially selected the fabric – so much so that she spends the next half hour getting lost in her old sketches until she finally finds the original design prints for the gowns.

It takes another fifteen minutes for her to find the dress itself – hers, at least. She wonders if the other still have theirs. If she recalls correctly, Rainbow donated hers before getting an entire earful, but the others.

She ponders on it, but ultimately declines to ask them, or even post a photo of her dress. The mystery, the chase, is fun. The truth isn’t always.

But it would be a shame to do nothing now that its on her mind. So she removes the unfolded laundry that’s piled up on her mannequins – that only sometimes frighten her in the middle of the night; you’d think by now she’d be used to seeing the faceless statues, but alas – and carefully spreads her dress over it.

She may have forgotten the details, but – she thinks with a smirk as she finds a way to pin the dress oeuvre on the wall behind the mannequin – she remembers the determination, and the goal it led to.

It’s after dinner when they’re collectively leaving most of the cleaning to Rarity – which is unfair given she just came back from doing the exact same thing except for money – that Rarity sighs, exasperated, and comments, “Sweetie Belle, you never clean the salt shaker, it’s gross.”

“You know what’s gross? Complaining!” Sweetie snaps back. Then, cheerily, “But I still love you!”

Considering the whiplash she’s experiencing, Rarity doesn’t press on, but is distinctly reminded of Pinkie Pie. She further reserves the right to withhold a response of, ‘I love you, too’.

Frankly, Rarity only complains half as much—

Oh, well; that thought wouldn’t have been accurate, finished or not.

Maybe, if the music is going to face her, its about time she faced the music.

If she’s honest, she’s always been the nitpicking type. She’s had to be: fashion is an art that is only allowed to be beautiful – and that itself is decided by the scrutiny of others.

But at some point, that bled into the rest of her life–

Maybe? As Rarity ascends the stairs to the same room with slight rearrangements, Rarity begins to wonder if its simply what she branded it as before: a poor coping mechanism. What for, exactly, well.

Oh, it’s silly isn’t it? But obvious, if she lets herself sit down and think about it.

She begrudgingly does, curling up on her bed. It’s that early spring weather with the light evening air that’s easy to breathe as it drifts in through the open window.

The sort of weather that, in her last year of high school, she and Sunset would go late night biking in and stop by the only food joint in town that stayed open past ten.

And that’s just it, Rarity thinks, sighing. That’s the crux of the issue: that there are things she should be doing right now, but isn’t.

And it hasn’t got to do with her friends; she keeps up with them, if less than she would’ve liked to, and she’s realising quick it’s not a challenge for her to get out there and meet people.

But then what? She and Soarin have spent the entirety of their familiarity with each other criticizing the company. She circles back to the same problem.

“Rarity, you nitty little girl,” Rarity hums to herself. She really shouldn’t have waited this long to face the facts: she complains because she’s unsatisfied.

Not a ground-breaking discovery by any means – it wouldn’t take a degree in psychology to figure that out.

She feels unfulfilled – she was a magic-harnessing demon slayer in high school. She fought demons. In her down time, she made entire clothing lines, accessories and everything.

Now, she stands in stagnant waters that don’t ebb and flow; she’s common. Normal. Unglamorous, to her mild horror.

Rarity wants to blame the town. It’s the thing that’s swallowed her in its rigid roads and ways. But she was once a hero of the town – frankly, the bar is set so low she should have stepped over it by now.

At the end of the day, she might have let life pass her by quietly. She wanted to grow up, much in the same fashion as Sweetie – perhaps they’re sisters after all! – but when her love for life and the image of adulthood didn’t align naturally, she made excuses and let go small parts of herself until whatever was left fit on a paper résumé.

And maybe, in seeing that her friends were able to reach new heights and still stay the people she has always loved, she chose to vent instead of take action.

That dissatisfaction – a gnawing hunger that expected her roaring twenties to be thriving and spent finding herself – has led Rarity to a dreary routine of coffee, corporate internet, and complaining.

Well. No more.

She may be rushing into things, but spontaneity is her trigger and hope is her drive. She picks up her phone, calls Rainbow – three times, because that’s what it takes to get her to pick up – and demands they bike until past midnight.

A few minutes she calls back to change plans, because her father has informed her that Sweetie Belle owns the bike now, and Sweetie Belle informed her that the bike was in pieces when she received it, and now its just in more.

Ah, friction. Well, change is difficult like that. But Rarity will take it one step at a time.

“Naw, they change their hours,” Rainbow says later, when she and Rarity meet up a short walk from their homes. “They’re closed right now.”

“Oh.” Well, no one said this was going to be easy. One step at a time, short as they may be.

They continue on the sidewalk aimlessly. After the first turn, Rainbow asks, “Did you drag me out here because you were craving fries?”

Rarity wonders how much she say, and decides she could save the heart spill for a different time. “I just wanted to do something. Feels like we’re always doing the same two things every day, is all.”

Rainbow hums. Rarity’s a little distracted because the girl takes strides like it’s a sport. “Y’know, the weather’s pretty chill.” She grins in her brash way. “Wanna hit the old playground and see who can jump off the swings the highest.”

Rarity smiles, puts her hand on Rainbow’s shoulder gently, then pushes her down suddenly and sprints ahead, shouting, “Race you!”

Of course, even with the head start, Rarity expects to lose. But that’s fine; at the very least, she’s moving.

It’s a start – and it seems she has a friend to start with.

Three months later, Rarity can hardly say much has changed. Life goes as it normally does, because deeply engraved ruts are a bit difficult to climb out of, but she does have the spur-of-the-moment episode now ang again, and indulges it to her heart’s content.

But two months after that, around the time that Fluttershy has postponed her engagement party to, Rarity and Rainbow Dash are farther than thev’re ever been. Literally speaking, at least.

Sitting on the bumper beside Rarity, Rainbow rapidly taps her phone against her thigh. “Man, we have the worst luck.”

Rarity leans back on her hands and looks skyward. “I like to think there’s a reason for everything.”

“Yeah. And the reason for this is our bad luck.”

“There must be a lesson to be learned here.”

“Yeah, prob’ly. The lesson that we have a lot of bad luck.”

Rarity tosses Rainbow a sardonic glance. “Oh, darling. Try to look on the bright side.”

Rainbow matches Rarity’s look, then turns it on her phone as she wakes it up. “Fine. On the bright side, we met another, more successful Rarity. Who smashed our car because we have such bad luck, but look on the bright side, darling.”

Rarity squints. “What?”

“Yeah.” Rainbow shows Rarity her phone; on the screen is the photo of a driver’s license. “See? Rarity Bunny. Driving a somethin'-thousand dollar car right into ours.”

Rarity stares at the picture, then back at the car still firmly smashed in the trunk of Rainbow’s knock-off Cadillac. In the front seat screaming into her phone is an older woman in large shades and a banshee’s set of teeth.

Sighing, Rarity looks back at the drearily empty street in front of them. “Well, I suppose it’s as they say: this town wasn’t big enough for the two of us.”

“This place’s even smaller than ours,” Rainbow scoffs. “What’s a rich-ass woman like her doin’ here anyways.”

“Crushing dreams like cars.”

“Hah.”

They sit there idly, waiting for a tow truck. It’s midday and there aren’t any cars on the road as far as Rarity can see, which at least means they aren’t blocking traffic. Just a car wreck the occasional dog-walker can’t help but look at. Probably the most exciting they’ve seen all month.

“Hey, check it.”

Rarity blinks, not realising she had zoned out, and looks down at Rainbow’s phone. It takes her a moment to recognise herself in the strobe lights that aren’t enough exposure for the photo. “Oh – “

“ – automatic doors!” Rainbow finishes with her. They laugh as Rainbow zooms into herself, wearing goofy smile and pointing at the doors, then pans over Rarity mid-tiptoe with a finger over her lips. “Can’t believe we got away with that. Most exciting thing we did at seventeen.”

Rarity shakes her head but smiles. “We peaked too early. Ahead of our time.”

“Hella.” Rainbow stuffs her phone in her pocket, then falls back on the bumper with her hands behind her head. “I was looking for it the other day, and when I saw it, it got me thinking about what you said a while ago.”

Can’t she think about the things Rarity says when she’s saying them? “Honey, I’ve said many things and half the time even I’m not listening anymore.”

“I mean, yeah. But remember when you said we should buy a house and whatever?”

“Yes,” Rarity says. It’s probably the most honest she’s been all year, and she’s been trying.

“Well that’s a dumb idea. But you know what isn’t?” She hardly waits for Rarity’s input; just pauses long enough for Rarity to give her a withered glare. “Us opening a place with automatic doors.”

“What sort of place?”

Rainbow gives a stilted shrug. “Just a place with automatic doors.”

Rarity stares at her with a look dryer than her savings account. “No wonder you think my ideas are dumb. They’re too sensible for you to comprehend.”

Rainbow lightly kicks Rarity’s ankle. “Dude, I’m just saying. Like, it’s way more – what, fiscally? – responsible or whatever to open a shop or hangout place. Plus…automatic doors!”

Well, it would be, except – “We’ve seen how that sort of endeavor ends in our little hamlet.”

Rainbow shrugs again, but her voice betrays a small amount of determination that’s been absent since the days of high school soccer tournaments. “Yeah, we’ve seen all the ways it could go wrong, so we know better. And you have, like, “practical” business experience ‘n stuff. Or so I’ve read on Instagram.”

Rarity shifts her weight to one arm and uses the other to poke Rainbow’s arm, and decides to act none the wiser. She hasn’t chewed Rainbow out for that yet, it can wait another day. “Well, I’d love to, but – “

“That’s all we need.” Rainbow pushes herself up just a bit, her forearms on the bumper. “C’mon, think about it – actually, don’t think about it! Let’s just do something big for once – but also, like, possible. And fun. And, different.”

She shifts again; now, Rarity lies down, leaning on her side and facing Rainbow, watching her carefully, because hope has always been the most dangerous thing for people with bad luck. “There’s a lot involved with this sort of thing.”

“Yeah. So? We’ll take it one step at a time. It’ll be long term.” Rainbow’s gaze hardens. “It’s something we can work towards. Y’know…like, together.”

It’s just a spark in her eyes, but Rarity can almost see its future as a wildfire. And maybe that’s enough to light the end of the tunnel.

Rarity reaches for it, and brushes some red strands out of Dash’s eyes. “Well, that’s certainly one way to keep us trapped in that old town.”

“Eh, I don’t think we can leave.” Rainbow smirks. “See what happened when we tried this time?”

A long time goal. Something to aim for. Not the house she’s been idly dreaming about for the sake of occupying her mind – a compromise to ground her, keep her steady on her feet.

Or, as Rarity has lacked lately: a friend with a crazy plan that just might work.

“We can get Sweetie to work for us,” Rarity offers in jest; in doing so, she vaguely realises that Rainbow’s use of humour to handle a situation has rubbed off on her, and she has to admit she’s far better at it out of the two of them.

“Sure, and we can invite all our friends to the grand opening. Half of them won’t even come, I bet.”

“You mean Applejack?”

Rainbow scrunches her nose. “Dude, if she comes, I won’t.”

“But we’ll have coffee there!”

“I’ll just get some from our coffee place.”

“Where do you think I’m getting the coffee from?”

“Wh-Then what -- ?” She chokes on the question and chuckles instead. “Man, I could really go for some coffee right now. This is all your fault.”

“But of course.”

So they fall into easy banter there on the hood of Rainbow’s crumpled car, in their small little world that’s just far enough from everything else to ignore it when it’s easy too.

And while there’s a long road ahead of them and a hundred things they need to do – first thing being the hassle that is insurance claims – Rarity’s not complaining.

She’s hoping.

Author's Note

“I’ll be an astronaut, and you can be trash.”

Half-way through writing this, I realised I might have just rewritten the script of Fight Club but for post-modern twenty year-olds.

What can I say? The battle against dissatisfaction is timeless, I guess.