It could be argued that Rainbow really didn't see her unplanned, spontaneous, and decidedly hasty decision to visit the Boutique as retreat. Dropping in on Rarity during the first week following Hearth's Warming was a perfectly natural activity, especially on the morning after the weather coordinator had finished wrapping up delivery for the first truly heavy snowfall of the season. Rainbow generally perceived that degree of flake management as something approaching high art: a tendency which was only matched by her yearly ability to forget that most ground-based ponies just saw it as something they had to plow.
A mare who got to see any potential accumulation mostly merge into her home's structure, where it did little more than reinforce the roof and force her to consider dusting off the frozen fountains... well, that mare wasn't going to be particularly acquainted with concepts like 'near-freezing melt water soaking into my fur while my hooves feel like they're about to split, my shoulders are getting sore from hauling this thing, and I think I'm getting a cold.' The town recognized that and, upon finding the first truly heavy snowfall of the season blocking the lower half of their doors, felt a collective need to familiarize her with the basic ideas.
So there was absolutely no way that Rainbow's abrupt visit to the Boutique could be considered as retreat. She was just dropping in on a friend: one who, quite frankly, had to be checked on following the holiday. The fact that the Boutique itself came with shielding walls and a bonus ceiling could be considered as an incidental extra, plus anypony who tried to kick snow into the shop generally wound up triggering a selection of sewing needles coming the other way.
"Hey!" Rainbow announced herself as she kicked the door closed behind her with what wasn't indecent haste, because recognizing indecency required some base recognition of what proper behavior would have been. "Good thing I caught you in!" (Which was when she remembered that the Boutique was operating on normal winter hours, making it rather difficult to catch Rarity anywhere else.) "I mean, it's good that you're here by yourself, because that means we can really talk! Without having to worry about having any customers listening in. Because customers gossip. And so does just about everypony else. You've always said so --"
A belated recognition that customers were more or less essential to operating a retail business slowly worked its way through a half-frozen mind. Rainbow immediately blamed the multiple layers of snow which were still stuck to her mane.
"-- but maybe you'll get some later, right? After we're done. So how are things?"
Two minor things happened at that point: her wings began to move in a heat-shifting pattern, because it was essential to melt the rest of the snow before she risked stepping off the moisture-absorbing welcome mat and dripping on the dresses. And she also took her first true look around the Boutique, because instinct had recognized that its owner had solitary custody of the building -- but not what that pony was actually doing with the time. And a mare who interrupted Rarity in the middle of a crucial sketch or stitch had a good chance to immediately leave, potentially while being followed by blue-glowing, high-speed, and extremely pointy company.
So it was only then that she truly saw the boxes. Closed ones, with the cardboard bulging somewhat at the sides, sat next to half-empty racks. Open specimens were scattered next to more crowded ones. Half of the display pieces had been removed from the windows, just about everything which typically hung from the ceiling was gone, and a single weary sweater-clad white unicorn whose mane was devoid of curls had just wearily looked up at her. That motion did nothing to interrupt what the shop owner's field was doing, and the energy contained to slowly, carefully fold the encased dress before putting it away.
Rainbow saw all of it as her own magic reached out for the Boutique's warmth, intending to pull some of it in from unoccupied corners for the benefit of a pegasus who could normally dodge one kicked piece of hardened snow, two was fine and five was a challenge, but twenty was just unfair. And the next second was the one where she realized there was very little heat to use.
The air inside the Boutique was warmer than that outside. But it wasn't by much and Rarity, forever concerned with how good she looked instead of how cool, was roaming around the near-frosty interior...
...in a sweater.
There had been a time when that level of detail would have escaped Rainbow's attention, along with more recent ones when it just wouldn't have registered as anything truly important. But all of the Bearers had changed, and... they were friends.
"Things," Rarity quietly replied as the glowing dress carefully draped a protective fringe across three small rubies before completing the next fold, "are... 'things'."
Rainbow blinked.
"Yes," the most eloquent of them decided as blue eyes half-closed. "That would seem to suffice. Things are things. Thank you for dropping by, Rainbow. Please make certain you are free of snow and excess moisture before --" and wearily squinted until full focus returned, which happened to be the moment when a particularly large dollop slid off Rainbow's left ear to plop onto the mat. "-- oh. An... unappreciative audience, I imagine."
The unicorn sighed.
"I can empathize," she softly declared. "Stay there, Rainbow. I shall fetch you a towel. It is essential that we dry you quickly. I can... turn up the heat for a little while, or you might simply use the drier in my bathroom." Three more decibels faded out of existence. "However, I would ask that after you finish with my wonder, please replenish its charge. Only that portion which you used, of course..."
Rarity trotted away, unheeding of Rainbow's stare. The pale grey towel floated in about a minute later.
"Here you go," the unicorn declared as a truly excessive thread count began to rub Rainbow down. "Once you are dry enough to move through the shop --"
"-- what were you doing? When I came in?" Rainbow thought it had been fairly subtle. "Because, you know, I don't want to interrupt anything important." And that was even better.
"Putting some things away," Rarity failed to explain, coming a little closer. "I generally don't do this with pegasi, so you will have to direct me when I reach the wings. The last thing I would ever wish to do is cause harm to so much as a single feather --"
"-- putting," Rainbow carefully interrupted (with immediate pride that it had been careful), "a lot of things away."
The mostly-unstyled mane had an odd way of moving when its owner tilted her head like that. Nothing flounced.
"Well, yes," Rarity admitted as the towel carefully worked its way across the back of Rainbow's neck. "Putting away the last of what had been intended as my holiday stock. Hearth's Warming is behind us, and so there is no longer any need for certain pieces to remain upon the sales floor. Additionally, some of those items were on the racks for the second time: my returns period was..."
The white head recentered. Dipped.
"...unusually heavy this year. And the latest trade magazines just arrived, and..."
It was a smile, at least on technicality. The lips had moved, and there was a certain wryness lurking about the corners.
"...it seems... that a great deal of what I have for sale is now on the outs. The editors have declared it so. Not my work directly, of course, as that would mean acknowledging that such exists." The blue eyes were almost completely closed now. "But the general trend I had been hoping to use. So I am putting those items away, because no mare who reads those issues or hears about their declarations would purchase them now: a status which describes nearly all of my customer base. However..."
The smile widened, just enough to see. But there was still no joy in it.
"...there is a chance for that trend to come around again, or for the whole look to be declared vintage. So rather than recovering a few gems and adornments from worked fabric and scrapping the rest, I have chosen storage. In the event that there is a day when the collective whims of mastheads declare they are worthy again. Spread your wings, please? And this is where I will need you to direct me --"
"-- how long does that take?"
"Drying to the point where you can head up the ramp? Under your instruction, no more than --"
A little more softly, "-- no. I meant the worthy stuff. For something to be back in fashion again. Or vintage."
The unicorn pondered that. "The shortest amount of time for a trend to potentially reach the high point of a recurring cycle? Generally eight years. Twelve is more common. And vintage would require at least a generation: youth fondly remembering what their parents had worn can do it. Directions, Rainbow. I am taking no chances with your wings."
She paid close attention to everything after that. Just how empty some of the racks were, along with taking a count of the boxes. Going up the ramp to the living area allowed her to peek at Rarity's pantry: this was followed by checking the stock of grooming supplies and, with exacting precision, bringing the wonder up to a full charge. Getting into the closet where old sales ledgers and sketchbooks were kept took but a second. And then she went back to the sales level, where Rarity steadfastly refused to let her help because the dresses had to be folded in certain patterns to prevent gems from damaging cloth, the designer included an instruction sheet with every purchase and while she had confidence in Rainbow's ability to follow them, no offense intended, dear, but you do have a certain tendency to improvise...
Rainbow stayed as long as she could. Listening, doing her best just to be there. And thinking.
She waited until she was almost out the door before launching the first stage. As with just about every stunt, timing was everything.
"I'm probably gonna get targeted again," declared a mare whose memory was carefully editing out innumerable summer soakings directed at those who had waited two seasons to retaliate. "For no reason."
She glanced back just in time to see Rarity's lips quirk. "Quite possibly. Try to gain altitude quickly --"
"-- and it'll go right into my fur. I have to leave my wings exposed just to work --" and because having them covered was purest abomination "-- but I'm showing too much fur, especially for winter..."
She thought it was an artful pause.
"I could use a snowsuit," she pretended to decide. "With a hood. Something waterproof. With maximum coverage, everywhere but the wings. I know you've made Fluttershy's jackets..."
Eventually, the designer nodded. "Yes. But those were meant as gifts --"
"-- I'm paying," Rainbow declared. "Because I really need this, Rarity. As soon as possible. Unless you've got orders lined up, because I kind of remember what happens when anypony asks you to do too much at once --"
The blue eyes completely closed. "-- no orders. Not right now."
"And you've got all my measurements!" Rainbow encouraged. "You can make one that protects me, but doesn't slow me down too much."
Still without looking at her, "It's... not my usual category..."
Just a little bit insistent, "You've done the jackets. Fluttershy's warm. So's Spike: you made his too. Isn't that what counts? That it works?"
Silence. The kind Rainbow had to force herself to wait through, without deliberately breaking it. Something which wasn't easy, but... they had all changed.
"...very well," Rarity conceded. "It does seem necessary for your protection. Shall we discuss the hues?"
Normally, she would have headed for home, or at least a restaurant. Anywhere she could get food. But Rainbow had just placed an order, so eating out had to be put off for a little while. She was also a pony who saw cooking for herself as a last resort and besides, if you were going to drop in on another friend, there were few better bonding experiences than sharing a meal.
There were ways in which all of the Bearers could be seen as rather extraordinary ponies, and Rainbow was completely prepared to agree with all of the ones which applied to her. But in others, they were just like so many others among the population. For starters, they were all mares. And any partial gathering of mares was always going to talk about the ones who weren't there.
"Rarity's in trouble," Rainbow softly announced -- then glanced at the door which led back to the main library. She'd deliberately waited for Spike to take custody of the front desk before telling Twilight: upsetting the little dragon wouldn't help anything and besides, stalling had just given him the chance to cook for them. She was pretty sure he enjoyed doing that, because he cooked for Twilight all the time and that meant cooking for more than one mare had to be extra fun.
Twilight immediately focused on her, purple gaze half-lancing across the kitchen table. "What kind of trouble?"
Rainbow summed it up.
"-- and I checked the last sales ledger: it was right on top. It was a lot of red ink, and you know that's how she writes down anything which comes back. Plus there's all the trend stuff, the boxes... and the heat was turned down, Twilight. I couldn't get into the basement to charge that back up for her, and you know it's got to be bad if she's stretching out the heat. Her loan payments --"
The librarian shook her head: something which did nothing to dispel her own expression of concern. "She always has enough for three payments in her bank account. She never lets herself dip below that."
"I don't know how much more she has," Rainbow countered. "Her grooming supplies are low. Since when does Rarity hold back on curling cream? And the pantry... Twilight, you know what time of year it is. Hearth's Warming is over. The next couple of holidays aren't really good for her sales: maybe somepony dresses up for an extra-fancy date around Hearts & Hooves, but that's about it. And when it comes to the high society stuff -- the only major party on the calendar is the Druthers, that's two whole moons off, and nearly all of that sales traffic stays in --"
She stopped. Blinked a few times, rustled her wings until the imposed airs dropped away.
"-- does it ever bother you?"
"That she's in trouble?" With open insult, "Of course it bothers me, Rainbow! I'm not who I was --"
"No!" Rainbow reared off the bench just enough to momentarily spread her forehooves into a gesture of outrage. "That she talks about this sort of stuff so much, even when she's the only one who's interested, that you just kind of wind up with it stuck in your head? When you don't really care, when nopony of sanity would ever care..."
A small, slender mare, with any potential answering expression weighed down under the mass of acquired (and unwanted) Wonderbolts stats, rather eloquently shrugged.
"She's not going to ask for help," Twilight quietly pointed out as her left forehoof nudged the soup mug away: she no longer felt hungry. "She's as bad as Applejack there, or as bad as Applejack used to be. I know she has the loan payments, because she always does. But winter's her slow season to start with. She has to coast on what she got from Hearth's Warming for a few moons. She needs to buy supplies to make her next line, because she can only find the gems..."
"Which I just dumped a load of snow on," Rainbow groaned. "And you know she'll feed Opal before she feeds herself."
"It's not that bad." But the tones were less than certain.
"You didn't see the ledger."
"Did you see a total?"
"I didn't have to. Not with that much red."
They were both quiet for a while.
"So what are we going to do?" Twilight asked. "If we just try to give her money --" and years of experience gave credibility to the vocal shift "-- 'I'm fine, dear: look to yourself! And don't you think Spike could use new blankets? If you're going to be spending...' You know what's going to happen there, Rainbow. She'll complain about a poorly-balanced salad for three days, but she's the last one to whinny when she's actually hurt."
"We're going to give her money," Rainbow firmly declared. "Through sales. I already started."
It brought about the smallest of smiles, briefly flirting across the narrow jaw. "Between birthdays and holidays, I think I already own more dresses than anypony needs. But it's for Rarity. The hard part is going to be coming up with the excuse --"
"-- don't even bother," the pegasus grinned.
"What do you mean? She'll know I don't have anything to attend, so unless we can invent --"
"- she's not busy right now," Rainbow cut in. "We have to be careful about not overloading her, but this is the time when we could try requests. Think about it, Twilight -- what do you need?"
The librarian thought about it.
"You're grinning."
"I know. Meet me outside the Boutique in an hour and I'll tell you if it worked. Don't let her see you."
"More slowly, dear," Rarity carefully said. "A what?"
"A spellsuit!"
"...yes," the designer tried. "And... that is...?"
"Oh!" Twilight laughed a little, smiled, and kept all of her focus upon the blue eyes. "That's right: your school wouldn't have used them. They're for researchers, Rarity. It's basically -- well, I guess you could call it armor."
"Armor," the white mare slowly considered, and did so until, well out of sight, the curl-free tail twitched. "Twilight, we seem to have an intersection with the absence of shoe sales in the Boutique, for the same reason: lack of the necessary forge."
The librarian giggled. "It's cloth armor!"
As replies went, the "...really?" took a while.
Twilight quickly nodded. "Because when something goes wrong with spell research, being bounced around inside metal isn't going to help. Especially on the landing. And things can happen to metal when -- anyway, it's multiple layers of cloth. Extra padding, plus it serves as ablative armor. That way, anything which happens has to work through layers before it gets to the caster. There's enchantments to help reinforce it, and I can take care of those. What I can't do is weave the cloth, and I can't buy them from the manufacturer any more."
"Whyever not? Twilight, I appreciate that you thought of me for this, but this is not my normal line of work, you are asking me to make something to help protect you --"
"-- I trust you," the smaller mare smiled. "I know you can do it."
"-- and while I certainly recognize that your stature can cause problems in ordering normal items, they were clearly managing to accommodate you before. Did they somehow decide to narrow the range of sizes being offered --"
Wings flared.
"...oh," Rarity softly finished. "Oh. Yes. Unicorn Petite would be available. Alicorn Small would require a custom order."
Twilight sighed. "I think you can guess how cramped mine have been. And if I just order the next size, everywhere else will be too loose. You know what I would need, Rarity, better than anypony in the world. And I'm just tired of having them shoved into my sides, when I'm still trying to get used to them being there at all. You'll see how the layering works, because I'll show you one of the pieces I already have. But when it comes to making a new one -- you're the pony I trust." Purple wings awkwardly refolded. "Please?"
"She's going to do it!" The whisper was a rather enthusiastic one, which was why Twilight had checked all of the sight lines to the Boutique before unleashing the words. "And I told her I needed four. To start, because sometimes research can go through them pretty fast." She carefully examined the previous sentence. "But the ablative layers mean the research gets stopped before it reaches the fur."
Rainbow's hover was now a rather self-satisfied specimen, which got added to the prior state of being somewhat snow-covered: a few other ponies had spotted her waiting for Twilight and used the opportunity to express their appreciation. "All right!" the pegasus happily hissed. "Two down! Now we just have to figure out a distraction which gets me into the basement, and see what else we can line up for her!"
The librarian's enthusiasm began to melt, and did so faster than the coating over Rainbow's mane. "There's only so much. Six of us, Rainbow: Spike already has his winter layers for the season, unless we damage some on purpose. Fluttershy -- we can't ask her to spend, not in her own slow season --"
"-- six of us," Rainbow grinned. "So?"
Eventually, "...I don't get it."
The grin was now more of a smirk.
"Weather coordinator, remember?" The cyan forehoof merrily tapped against Twilight's right temple. "I've got a team. And maybe it's time to show up a little early for the next pre-dawn briefing." And immediately reconsidered. "It's probably fine if I just show up on time. Not that I don't do that. I show up on my time. I'll just show up on theirs. Whenever that is. Anyway, team. There's got to be somepony on it who needs something!"
It was probably the most comprehensive selection of hair bows ever to be gathered upon a single desk. There wasn't a full rainbow of hues, because too many colors in that grouping would have clashed with the owner's mane and fur. But for what did suit her... there was arguably just about everything present, and it was easy to see where the gaps could be filled in.
The collection was fairly comprehensive. It was also worn, occasionally stained with natural mane oils, had rips and frays across several specimens, and multiple examples were displaying stress lines.
"Like these," the pegasus declared. "Only prettier. Easier to clean. And more durable."
Rarity looked at the collection again, with special attention paid to those stress lines. It was the sort of damage which typically resulted when a mare who had trained herself to put them on alone, by hoof, lost patience with the elaborate procedure required to get them out again.
"...I..." the designer began, and there was a moment when it seemed as if that lone syllable would be all there was.
With the usual open irritation, "You what? This is just fabric, right? I'm asking you for fabric that's shaped. Matched to me. Isn't that what this so-called shop is supposed to do? Compared to the pointless stuff you usually make, this should be easy!"
Some of the details from that outburst had been temporarily missed. "This... it isn't my usual line of work..."
Challenging now, "So you're saying you can't do it?"
"...no. I could. And there are improvements which could be rendered. But there are others who --"
The pegasus took off, hovered just off the floor on the other side of the Boutique's sales desk. There was just enough altitude to let her stare down, and the next words stabbed forth as a spear of rage.
"Remember Carnie?"
Rarity's eyes briefly closed.
"...your tortoiseshell. Yes. I regret that I was unable to do more. But she was too sick, and... I have had dreams about that, with Opal. That my cat, as with yours..." Almost inaudible now, "I did everything I could to help her eat, I rubbed her throat until she had to swallow, but... have we even truly spoken to each other since then, until this moment? I never got to tell you. And I know how hollow the words must seem after all this time, to say that I am sorry for your loss..."
"You remember her," the mare shot back, and four hooves slammed back onto the Boutique's floor.
The unicorn, unable to make eye contact, simply nodded.
"So do I," Flitter stated. "Replace all of these. Fill in the missing colors. Try some new fabrics: I want something that doesn't irritate my scalp. A couple of gems on two or three of them are fine. But no peridot. And let me know if there's been any advancements in better slip-on knots."
The one who best understood the flow of gossip had no means to directly tap the current river, and the susurrus it produced was only registered as the final push of thin waves coming up the frozen shore to lap against her hooves.
They would always talk about the one who wasn't there and in this case, that talk had spread outside of her immediate circle. One friend had told those whom she supervised (usually at one-remove or, depending on the number of obstacles between any team member and her current napping place, up to a straightline fifty), and those ponies had felt free to pass on the word.
The Boutique's owner understood gossip to be something like an illness. You caught it from somepony nearby, it was rather easy to turn into a carrier, and when the sickness had spread to a certain point, everypony infected might begin searching for the source: the theory was apparently along the lines of 'take out the original and cure all.' And in terms of the disease's vector, all could be considered as normal: the weather team heard a request, a number of those ponies spoke to friends of their own, who mentioned things to their friends, family members got involved, the sentence glanced at the train and thought about buying a ticket to the capital...
That was typical. But there were also unusual aspects. It was always passed along quietly, always with discretion -- and with a surprising degree of retention for the original wording. Gossip tended to distort as it moved to a new set of ears, because so many ponies would make changes which favored what they would have wanted to hear. But in this case... the core of the message was always retained. And as for where it was going...
The target didn't understand what was going on, not initially. It was a little harder, when you couldn't hear the murmur, when everypony was trying to keep you from realizing what was happening. But even when she couldn't listen to the river, she could still feel what she told herself were the chillest of waters.
And it would have been impossible to miss the rather unusual debris which was now washing up on her shore.
"It's my favorite," emerged with what could be considered as a rather artistic sigh: it had certainly been practiced enough, and had full confidence in its ability to reach the invisible back row. "You know how it is. You just -- hang onto things. You keep using them, even when you know how easy it is to get a new one. That you could, and probably even should. But when it's your favorite..." The red pegasus sighed again: an example worthy of any theater's Princess Box. "Can you? Please?"
The unicorn looked at the features on the other side of the sales desk. A face unseen in years, and the shock of spotting it coming through her doors had brought far too much back.
"I... don't do this any more." It was almost a whisper. "Only for my own goods, those and no others. This..."
"You used to," the customer gently encouraged. "I was the first. Remember?"
The smile was a weak one. "I had just started. The Boutique had only been open for a little while, and I needed all the bits I could get. And at that, you underpaid. In fact --"
Her words, however, were getting stronger.
"-- you lied to me. Repeatedly --"
"-- acted," the customer peacefully countered. "I was acting. Pinkie needed to get you out of the Boutique so she could set up your surprise welcome-home party, so she turned to an actor. Somepony who could play the part of a kid who'd just damaged Mom's dress and had to get it fixed before she came back, with the dress still at home. My first paying role, Rarity. But I was home for the holidays, and -- this went on the road with me. I sleep under it on most of the trains. I don't know how to sleep with anything else. And I underpaid you the first time, because that was part of the stall to keep you away from the shop. So..."
The stallion smiled.
"...if there's anypony in the world I want fixing this," Vaude Ville declared with the confidence of a stallion whose acting had become a little more professional, "it's you. Trust me, if I used costumes in my act, they'd be on the desk right now. But today, it's my favorite blanket. Plus I owe you some bits from the last round. So. Just like old times?" He glanced down at the desk. "Except for where I actually brought the blanket with me."
The next stallion should have been fully comfortable with silence and when it was his own, he generally did fairly well. He seldom felt comfortable speaking with those who weren't part of his direct family, and although the unicorn had been semi-adopted by his sister through the bonds of mutual labor... well, there was already too much to explain at the next reunion.
He wasn't all that good at talking to most of those who didn't share his blood, and so just being around this particular mare could be discomforting. It was the nervousness found in any large object which had just realized a babble of conversational antimatter was looking for something to discuss. But in this case, the opposing charge was... silent.
Completely silent.
This created a certain amount of pressure for him to talk, and the majority of it was coming from behind his tail.
"Um," the big stallion tried, and it didn't help. The mare just -- looked at him. A calm, steady blue gaze with absolutely no twitching around the edges. He knew that the twitching was supposed to be the sign that things were getting bad, and it wasn't there. But...
She kept looking at him.
The usual two verbal options were closely examined and found to be unsuitable for the occasion. One indicated agreement, the other denial, and neither was the least bit helpful for escape.
He pushed, and the whole dam gave way at once.
"It's funny, how you don't think about it." There was valiance in Macintosh's attempt, on a level which should have brought him an instant squireship in the Order Of Small Talk. "Ah mean, the yoke's wood and metal. Holds up. But a yoke's no good on its own, right? Can't haul unless you're attached to whatever y'wanted to pull. And that's gotta be flexible. So -- fabric. Heavy straps. Ah guess you'd know how much weight that can take, right?"
Not a single fake eyelash moved.
"...yeah." He made the mistake of glancing behind him, and everything behind him looked right back. "Yeah. But they wear down after a while. And it ain't easy to find straps like that, so..."
She was breathing. Her rib cage moved in and out, steadily maintaining life. And that was all.
"...if'fin you wanted to, you know, add some decorative touches... wouldn't say no to some embroidered apples..." It was a broken dam, and it was also one which didn't have all that much water behind it. "...because -- if anypony in town has needles which could embroider hauling straps, it's... it's..."
Her nostrils flared, and the short-cut orange tail wilted.
"Pickitupinthreedaysrightthankyoubye!"
She waited until the door had stopped echoing in its frame, and then slowly surveyed the rest of those who were waiting in the line.
"Next," the designer tonelessly said, and another pony stepped forward.
The older mare was somewhat late to the proceedings.
She wanted to blame that on her profession. A job where she was supposed to be occupying the heart of the town's flow in many ways often found her just outside it. This was, in part, because she spent too much time in the office for truly picking up on what was said beyond its walls. A great deal of the remainder came because some ponies would try to make gossip detour around Town Hall, just in case the topic turned out to be illegal.
So she was late -- but in this case, that had just let others get started before her, and seeing the results warmed her. It was at the point where she didn't really mind the wait, even outside in the cold and snow. She was dressed warmly enough, there were plenty of ponies to speak with (which, of course, meant they were telling her about things which would just result in more work later, but that was the job), and her right saddlebag was occupied.
She looked at the fifteen ponies who were between her and the doors, did some quick math based on standard body length and estimated how many were within the actual Boutique: the sum made her smile.
In many ways, it was a beautiful day, and she passed a little of it in conversation with those she tried to protect. The cold of winter didn't really matter, not when you were surrounded by warm hearts.
The line was steadily shifting. More ponies came in behind her, and she eventually began to marvel at that number. But the door was getting closer, she just had two more ponies between herself and the interior, then it was one, and then --
-- she carefully closed the door behind her, so as not to let too much of the warmth out. There was an immediately-perceived need to protect those degrees: even with the number of ponies radiating body heat within the space, it seemed to be oddly cold in the Boutique.
The owner was behind her sales desk. There were two sales ledgers forming a mini-stack on the right corner, and the older mare was briefly surprised that they hadn't slipped off. It was chill within the building, and the unicorn's white coat seemed to be radiating ice.
"I know it's a little unusual," Aqueduct smiled from the customer side. "But if anypony needs to wear pants, it's a plumber, right? But they're just so hard to find, especially for mares. And no matter what the traditional look is, I'd really rather have a pair which came all the way up to my spine." The earth pony giggled. "I'm just glad he and I moved in together, because it gives me somepony to help me put them on! So I thought -- you know, you have my measurements from when I wanted something special for the first date, you'll know how to cut four-legged pants for a mare which don't make her look stupid..."
"Pants," the shop owner repeated, and did so in a voice which had no accent at all. The older mare, who was considering the available budget, initially missed that part.
"Three pairs," Aqueduct nodded, and an oddly-liquid blue coat did strange things to the light. "I can even do the waterproofing myself at home, if you're low on the treatment drenching. It's the fit and style that I'm most worried about, and who's better at that than you?"
"Fit," the unicorn tonelessly echoed. "Style."
"No rush," the plumber smiled. "Two weeks or so is fine. So how much is that going to be?"
The older mare counted the ponies between herself and that sales desk, considered the number who were waiting outside. The total smoothly slotted into her heart and created a moment where she truly loved who she was, what she did and the honor of getting to do it here.
"Next," the shop owner said, and another stallion, with saddlebags awkwardly bulging at his sides, stepped forward.
"Hi," Thunderlane said. "So. I'm kind of glad Aqueduct was ahead of me." He managed a laugh. "Don't tell her coltfriend. He'll just take that the wrong way. Anyway, she kind of broke the ice on pants, right?"
The unicorn was silent.
"So I've got these," Thunderlane persisted: this was followed by a moment of rummaging, and then a load of dark blue fabric was placed onto the desk. "Weird, right? I mean, they were in style for what, five minutes? But I still wear them at home, because it's too embarrassing to have them out in public. But they're just comfortable. It's just that -- they've got this weird flare around the ends. Extra material. Half of the back goes under my hooves. I can rest on my couch in them, but getting up... well..."
She wasn't saying anything at all.
She's not talking.
That was when it reached the older mare. The Boutique's owner was silent. Her eyes were completely stable, and there wasn't a false lash out of place. But there were no words...
"...I was thinking that if you just cut them down a little, redid the cuff so it's more in line with my fetlocks?"
There was just enough of a forward head tilt to potentially qualify as a nod.
Something's wrong. Something is --
The stallion's bundle was added to a growing pile of fabric off to the left of the desk. An middle-aged earth pony mare stepped forward and dropped hers upon the wood.
The unicorn looked at it, and did so without blinking until the newest customer decided some level of explanation for the formless mass seemed to be required.
"That's my favorite scrubbing rag --"
Eye twitches: everypony knew about those. The progressive loss of styling from mane and tail, although the current situation had made that less than reliable. But the general consensus was that as long as the mare was vocalizing, even screams of hysteria and angry demands made of the universe itself to just let her think... then all might ultimately be well. Talking, to herself, to Sun and Moon, was how the mare sorted everything out.
There were eye twitches: that was one level. Fraying of the hair and a disruption of her coat: another. But now there was something else, which had been previously hidden in the shadows of the depths. There was silence, and as the unicorn looked down at the thing on her desk, it was all there was.
Until the moment it was not.
Her horn ignited, and there was a split-second where that could have been seen as no more than taking custody of the newest arrival. But then that corona swelled beyond the partial level, went to a full single in an instant before surging to a double, the base of the light losing hue as the unicorn reared up, slammed forehooves upon her desk so that the vibrations toppled the ledgers, and the light built and climbed as the core grew all the closer to the white of incandescent rage.
"GET OUT! ALL OF YOU, EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU, GET OUT! GET OUT AND NEVER COME BACK!"
There were many ways in which ponies could react when confronted by that level of emotion and for all but one, the reaction would be the same. The older mare threw her entire body to the left (because the contents of the right saddlebag had to be protected) and did so just in time, because the sight of a unicorn who was putting almost everything she had into the corona of coruscating spikes was something which nopony else within the shop could stand to be near. She was too angry to approach, her ribs were heaving, the tail had completely come apart and a single moment of accidental sharp contact with the blazing horn would hurt her on a physical level to match a deeper wound, something only one pony there now thought she understood.
It meant the rest broke. They turned, they galloped for the door, there was a momentary jam at the lone exit, and then the scent of their fear streamed through cold winter air. Those outside, who had only heard part of the scream, breathed in that fear, and then all they knew was that others were running and so there had to be something they needed to run from.
The corona winked out. And then there were only two sounds: the repeated, increasingly-distant noise produced by a thin frozen topcoat of snow cracking under pony hooves, and a unicorn who had collapsed halfway across her desk sobbing into chill wood.
The older mare slowly, carefully got up from the floor, winced at the soreness produced by the impact. She verified that the right saddlebag was fully intact, went to the door and closed it so as to retain what little heat remained. And then she took a step forward.
"We're lucky," the mayor observed. "Aren't we?"
"...get out..." just barely made its way between the sobs.
"Ponies, I mean," Marigold clarified. "I've thought about it sometimes. How most of us are just lucky, compared to the other species. Oh, there are more artists than there are art buyers, I'm sure. Actors working in restaurants because the roles won't open up. But for the most part... when we find our marks -- "
The white head didn't lift. "...shut the bloody buck up..."
"-- it means we can spend our lives doing what we love most." The older mare slowly shook her head, even knowing the other could not see it. "Usually. My own profession... it's an example for those who don't always find what they seek. More politicians than there are postings. Sometimes, a pony without a political mark runs because they just want to make a difference, and they win. Or it's charisma which unites enough voters, but they don't know how to run the office once they have it, and..." Marigold sighed. "I seem to recall your once discussing somepony whose mother basically purchased her a fashion house. Stormy Day, wasn't that the name? She pays others to create, and then she buys their silence about who the true designer was. And in the other nations -- what is it like, when all you have is faith in your own skill, and nothing to show the world what it is? I've tried to imagine what that must feel like, and..."
Marigold shivered.
"...it's cold."
She took two more steps forward. The unicorn didn't move.
"This isn't what I do," the white mare whispered. "I'm supposed to make -- my dreams... I bring my dreams into the real and others judge, some of them accept, some reject, others return and mock, a dress which they saw as only suitable for a night has a receipt and... they want me to create for them, but the terms... their own visions, when I can't..."
The mayor waited.
"...I can only dream for myself," just barely emerged. "How do I have a dream for another? How can anypony tell me what to dream? I have only dreamed of what others could be, on my own, but they told me those dreams were wrong and... the first fashion show for my friends, those abominations which I was forced to create, and I thought they had all learned... but they bring me pants and blankets and straps, straps..."
"You make jackets for Spike and Ms. Phylia," Marigold evenly said. "With the former, pants have gotten involved. I was here in the first moons of the Boutique, when you did offer repair services because you were trying to survive and it was a few more bits of income. For that matter, you kept the old grooming stations through the first year of Twilight's tenure. Just in case." Another step. "Dresses are the focus of your talent. And I'm sure you've had commissions from your favorite regulars, who trust that you can create what they desire. But you're still one of the best seamstresses in Ponyville, because that's what making dresses requires. Hats have always been your weak point, but... you're capable, Ms. Belle. Everything which everypony hired you for, you're capable of doing. Most of those tasks are things you've done for friends, although I'm guessing this is the first time straps have become involved. So..."
She took a breath, felt the weight in the right saddlebag shift.
"...you've always been adept at gossip. Even when it's trying to work its way around you. When did you figure out that ponies were being sent to your door?" There was no answer, and so she took a guess. "After the -- third stallion customer? When it's so rare to see them in your shop at all? Or was it simply Flitter's presence within the Boutique?"
It was a different kind of silence.
"I'll save you some trouble," Marigold offered. "The story going around Ponyville is that you had an especially hard returns season after the holiday. That you have the money to hold onto the Boutique, and not much more. For my part..." The shiver was mostly voluntary. "...I consider this level of deliberate chill to be something of a clue. That is what ponies have been talking about, Ms. Belle. That times are hard, and... there are only so many dresses anypony needs."
"...never," the unicorn whispered, "say anything that filthy again."
The earth pony smiled.
"It's rather true for stallions."
The only response was miserable sniffling, and Marigold came a little closer.
"It's strange," the mayor decided. "How the ponies in this town think of you. All of you, the Bearers as a group." And because she could not let the chance to be sincere go by, "There are ways in which you're just about more trouble than you're worth. Ms. Phylia's supposed friend generates chaos, but the rest of you are a magnet pulling it in. Disruptive, damaging, rather hard on the disaster relief budget, and prone to occasionally rearrange the scenery. It's not easy to live in Ponyville. It's harder to try and keep ponies living in it, especially with some degree of comfort. Which falls to me, too much of the time."
The purple mane was splayed limply across the desk. Twin stains of wet wood slowly spread out from beneath the fall.
"It can make them angry with all of you," Marigold added. "Frustrated. And..."
Two more steps.
"...have you ever wondered," she softly asked, "how hard it is, as a normal pony, living a normal life in what is no longer a normal world... to spend every day among those without whom there would be no world at all?"
The sniffling stopped.
"How do you even say 'Thank you?' for that?" Marigold gently queried. "Is once enough? What level of gratitude would be required? Do the words even exist to summarize it, giving thanks for the chance to breathe? They become frustrated with you, and somewhere underneath all of that frustration is the knowledge that they only exist to feel it because of you. And they don't say how grateful they are, because... how could they? How often? How, Ms. Belle? How does one say thanks for that?"
The horn seemed to twitch.
"I don't think anypony can," the older mare decided. "Not with the words we have. But when the opportunity comes to pay a portion of a lifelong debt... Ms. Belle, they heard you were in trouble. And what does it say, that the herd began to come together for you? Scrounging for any and every excuse, if finding one would mean waiting in line to see you?"
The last step, and Marigold timed her smile to match the rate at which the white head finally lifted.
"I don't think this is about ponies asking you to work outside the narrowest definition of your mark," she softly decided, "Not entirely, not for anything beyond what might be the smallest percentage represented by the attempt to aid through the repair of a scrubbing rag. But it amazes me, Rarity, especially with a mare who schedules her cat for a grooming whenever Ms. Phylia is in fiscal trouble and even tries to make sure that there is a round of turtle -- tortoise? -- tortoise waxing.... that Generosity is so bad with charity."
Slowly, the unicorn pulled back, until all four hooves were on the floor again.
"I don't want their pity." There was still no accent.
"It's called help," Marigold primly corrected. "So..."
Her head went back towards the right saddlebag, and gentle rummaging ensued until the little cloth pony was deposited on the desk.
"This was my daughter's," the older mare quietly stated. "Saved, because the age when she became too old to play with her favorite toy was also the age when I thought about who else might one day wish to. She asked me about this doll, just a few weeks ago, because... there's also the age when you start to think about having foals of your own. I told her that I still had it, but..."
More searching.
"That's the original catalog page," Marigold offered as the designer stared at the images. "I understand that it's impossible to find the complete accessory set, even through collectors, because half of what you see listed as Coming Soon was never actually made. So. Restoration of Missy's stitching. A full recreation of her original outfit, plus duplication of everything you see here. And of course, at least one original dress, to which you may add the gem chips of your desire. I have the model here for you, and you are free to take her measurements. Please take good care of her while she resides with you, make sure all Want It-Need It castings are worked well away from her vicinity, and tell your cat to keep her claws to herself. Send the invoice to my home, not Town Hall, as this is strictly a personal matter. And as there is a good chance that there may be more ponies on the way, including the ones who recover from their burst of fear, those still trying to figure out how they might help you as they search through their closets, and a few Boutique regulars whom your friends may try to contact on your behalf... go to the library, quickly. Use the dictionary, so your Element won't crack. And if that leaves you with any time... try to figure out what you should be doing next."
There was a sign posted outside the Boutique, to the left of the door.
Carousel Boutique Wishes To Offer Ponyville
The Following Seasonal Winter Services
Repairs
Limited Commissions
Some Non-Dress Work
(No Shoes Or Sandals)
All Apologies Are Free
It had been rendered in the designer's usual elegant calligraphy. But the needs of the moment dictated, and so it was also a version which was writ so large that nearly everypony chatting in the long outer portion of the line could read it with no trouble at all.
