“Enjoy the dress, darling!” Rarity chimed as Golden Sound walked out of Carousel Boutique with a bounce in her step and new dress in hoof.
Another customer served, even if Rarity would sooner eat her mane at Golden’s choice of dress.
“Honestly, a black dress on a yellow coat and blue mane? It’s hideous!”
But, so the adage went: the customer was always right. Curbing eclectic enthusiasm and cultured tastes in favor of putting the customer front and centre was a lesson Rarity learned the hard way after a few commissions walked even though their requests were monstrosities in the face of fashion. They didn’t care that it was Rarity’s self-imposed duty to ensure they knew it.
That didn’t stop her when no one was listening.
“Really, who wears a solid black dress — let alone one so dreary — to a foal’s birthday party? Celestia, basic style might as well be rocket science to some ponies...”
That was her only commission due for the day. At least it was better than the pony who requested that silly dress that bisected Equestria in rows over whether it was blue and black or white and gold. Regardless, it was only mid-morning and she had all day to burn.
Perhaps crack open a new, shattering design? Always the chance Canterlot would lap it up and reap her sweet business. Maybe continue with the suave Detective Gumfoot’s mystery in Luxury Lexicon’s Turnabout Tales? He was on the cusp of outing the culprit.
Or even continue her own little mystery novel?
Just a pet project. A little step into the lake of literature; long enough to swirl mystery and fast enough to stir emotion. A twisting tale of a detective, a disappearance, a conspiracy to spiral around it — and a dash of romance. Romance always complemented mystery.
“Oh, yes, and Detective Polaris was just about to rescue his dear Serenata! Ooh, I’ve waited a month to write this—”
The doorbell sounded.
“...to write this scene.”
Fate. Timely as it always was, for better or worse.
“What is it now? It’s Saturday! Almost no one ever comes around to order a commission on Saturday, and Golden was the only one due to pick one up!” She approached the door with a scrunched muzzle and twisted it open. “Sweetie, if you walk in covered in tree sap again, I will ground you. Now, what did you do this time, you adorable little miscrea—”
“Miss Rarity, I hope?”
Rarity stopped. She looked at the pony before her — certainly not Sweetie Belle. A stallion; a warm white coat, windswept navy mane, a pair of dashing wings and a confident smile with a hint of shining teeth. He was handsome. Rarity would grant him that.
He was also oddly familiar.
“Yes, you would be correct. And who would you be? I’m sure I recognize you from somewhere, but I just can’t quite place my hoof on it...”
“Well, I sure recognize you. It’s not easy to forget a mare who—”
“Atata! I’m thinking! Just give me a moment, I’m sure I’ll get it! I learned at least something from all those mystery novels!” He shut up with a chuckle as Rarity rubbed a hoof on her forehead.
Where was it? He was clearly a flier; the toned body, swept mane and strong wings betrayed that. Moreso, Rarity was sure she had seen him in some of Rainbow Dash’s magazines, despite her valiant efforts to hide them.
Rainbow Dash?
“Aha!” she proclaimed with a smile and perked ears. “Soarin, isn’t it? Oh, you have no idea how many Wonderbolts magazines Rainbow Dash has stashed away! I knew I’d seen you somewhere!”
“Yep, you got me. That, and you uh… knocked me out at the Young Flier’s Competition way back when. It’s hard to forget a mare with butterfly wings clocking you in the head...”
Rarity paled.
“That was you? Oh, darling, I apologize! Come in, come in!” She ushered him inside and to a twin-seated table. “Tea?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m just here on business.”
“Nonsense! What’s business without its pleasantries? In fact, what brings you by? It isn’t everyday a high-ranking Wonderbolt drops by little old Ponyville,” Rarity remarked as she prepared two cups of tea.
“Well, there’s an awkward little story behind it.” He blushed and rubbed his mane with a hoof. “But I’m here for a dress and Rainbow Dash told me you were the best around.”
Rarity raised a brow and laughed.
“Awkward story? It’s a mare, isn’t it? Don’t think I missed that blush.”
He stared at her, confusion soon turning to amusement.
“You’re sharp. Dash was right about that.”
“Rainbow Dash called me sharp? Never thought I’d live to see modesty from her. Now, if only I were there to catch it...” She blew over her tea and brought the two cups to the table as she sat herself on the opposite chair. Soarin met eyes with hers, curiosity in their greens.
“How did you do that? I’ve never seen anyone make tea that fast, and everything’s fast at the Wonderbolts.”
Rarity winked and tapped her horn.
“Call it my own brand of magic, dear.” She took a gentle sip. “Now spill. I’m sure you’re here for a suit of some sort, and art is never born without context.”
“Alright,” Soarin said with a grin and a clap of his hooves. “Might as well give you something to chew on. It started after our penultimate airshow in Vanhoover. The show went off without a hitch, and soon the lucky few with VIP backstage passes rolled around.”
He sipped his tea.
“Most of them were the usual superfans. Innocent kids meeting their heroes and a few fanfillies and colts obsessing over us. ‘Course, with the latter two, we just smile, give them a photo, sign a poster and send them off with an apple in their mouths.”
Rarity chuckled.
“Oh, I know the type. Trust me, darling, you wouldn’t believe some of the mares in Canterlot whenever I visit my boutique over there. They’re just the same with Canterlot’s own style of class thrown into the mix.”
Soarin smiled, leaning back and staring into the ceiling.
“One of them was different. A bit forward, she approached me with a nice smile, asked for a picture, and — here’s the kicker — smooched me on the cheek.”
Rarity raised a brow and leaned forward.
“Risqué. What was her name?”
Soarin blinked as he lowered his head to face Rarity again, a clumsy grin etched onto his face.
“I… didn’t catch it then.”
“You never asked her name? Darling, if you want to snag the mare, that’s Rule Number One!”
“Hey, I’m not completely hopeless! She just took a photo and left! But, she came around again at our last show of the season in Cloudsdale and I got it that time!”
“Well? Do tell.”
“High Echelon. This time we actually got around to talking. You know, we shared interests and all that jazz. Now here’s the juicy tidbit: she’s coming to the Wonderbolts post-season extravaganza in Canterlot in three weeks.”
That was all Rarity needed.
“And you, you little devil — you want a suit to make her swoon, don’t you?”
Soarin’s ears perked and he sat up straight, his confident smirk from the door back for a second round.
“Hit the nail right on the head with a sledgehammer. You said it, not me.”
“But of course, I should ask you: what makes a suit?”
Soarin’s face contorted at the question. Rarity wanted to roll her eyes at the sight; she was trying to nudge fashion philosophy to a Wonderbolt. It was too ambiguous a question for him.
“The designer?”
“No, no, darling — you. All the artistry in the world is useless without a solid pony to flaunt it. A fetching suit will set the line, but the pony inside reels the catch. I ask this to every mare who comes here: what’s in a dress?”
“...Rainbow Dash also told me you have a flare for the dramatic.”
“Please, darling, you act as if it’s a surprise. You’ve talked to me for a few minutes — shouldn’t it be apparent?”
“Well, you certainly made it clear with that and ‘your own brand of magic’.”
The two stared for a brief second, a sure smile on Soarin and a subtle smile on Rarity.
“...So, I did.” Rarity tapped a hoof on the table. “Well, now that it’s settled, I’ll need a fitting for you. Ignore whatever bloated lies I’m sure Rainbow Dash fed you about my fitting sessions being ‘a nightmare where you’re a pincushion in a demented filly’s dollhouse’ — I assure you, it’s nothing of the sort. She’s just uncooperative. And extremely boorish.”
“Heh,” Soarin chuckled. “I’ve heard that one before. Meeting you now for a few minutes, there might just be a hint of truth to it.”
Rarity scowled, if strapped atop a hearty laugh, and shoved her companion in the shoulder.
“Don’t start. Do you want the mare or not?”
“Alright, alright, I’ll bite. Oh! Before I go, I’ve got a little proposition I think you’ll like.”
“Apart from the chance to make a snazzy suit, dear?”
He rolled his eyes as he stood up from the chair, slicking his mane back with a hoof.
“Yeah, of course. Why don’t you come, too? You’re a businessmare, right? I’m second-in-command at the Wonderbolts; I can drop you a free ticket. Why miss an opportunity like this? You tailor my suit, and I give you a great place to sell yourself.”
Rarity stood up after him. It was a good deal. Though Ponyville was forever her home, Canterlot was Equestria’s goldmine for fashion and little Ponyville simply didn’t compare. A chance to spread her name, forge connections, attract customers — and tease Rainbow Dash.
She held out a hoof.
“You’ve got a deal.”
His hoof met hers.
“Pleasure doing business, Rarity.”
With that, he walked towards the door with his head high, a glimmer in his eyes and the same smile he walked in with.
“Well, Rarity,” he began, one hoof out the door. “Just let me dash to grab a pie for lunch and I’ll drop by again for a fitting.”
“Oh!” Rarity jumped. “Before you leave, there’s a little project I’m working on. I’d like to know what you think.” She floated over a copy of the first manuscript of her novel, the pages fluttering as they glided over.
“You want me to read your… novel?”
“Only a draft, dear. I’m doing a second draft right now, but I’d love to gather a spectrum of opinions on it. Do tell me what you think of it!”
“So you’re a fashion artist, a businessmare and a novelist? Talk about a jack of all trades.”
Rarity blushed. “Please, darling, you flatter me. ”
“Hey, don’t play down your talents. Show them to others. You might just end up more of a rarity than you think.”
With that, he winked and shut the door behind him. Quiet enveloped the boutique, only the sounds of a distant clock and Rarity’s thoughts filling the room.
He was a good stallion, if less on the theatrical side than Rarity. A little artistic freedom, a flare of cultured style only Rarity could produce, and that mare would fall into his hooves.
With a little luck, at least.
She turned back to the table with a sigh, her eyes falling to the two cups.
Neither had been drained of more than a sip.
“You know what I was told as a colt? Sometimes, life will toss you a nettle branch. Sometimes, it’ll gift you a pot of honey. If you never take the chance, how will you ever know which it is?”
That was Detective Polaris’s advice.
A little excerpt from Rarity’s novel. Granted, his stakes were far higher than the Wonderbolts post-season extravaganza, but it fit in all walks of life.
The night of the extravaganza had arrived, and with it a plethora of Wonderbolts fliers, command, sponsors, fans — and the usual Canterlot crème de la crème. Which of them High Echelon was among, Rarity hadn’t a clue.
“You do look dashing, Soarin.”
It was a fine suit — and all it took was a little squabbling in fitting and two scrapped designs. A silky black base to counter his white coat, a fleeting hint of the dark purple interior fabric folded against his neck and just a subtle highlight or two to trail the sides. A pair of shining, golden-lined steel cufflinks at his hooves completed the ensemble.
Fancy enough to impress and demure enough to avoid the pitfall of arrogance.
“Man, Rainbow was right about you. Did you put your own brand of magic in this, too?” he said with a smirk as they walked through the grand, arching entrance to Canterlot’s great hall.
“That goes into everything I make, darling.”
The two strolled into the hall, memories of Rarity’s disastrous first Gala flooding back. Golden chandeliers lined the ceiling in rows and the floor glimmered with a polished shine. Sponsors, representatives of business conglomerates, fans of all types lucky enough to snag tickets and Canterlot’s upper class dotted the hall.
“Well, thanks for the suit, but I’m off to snatch up some pies! They always have the best here, just for me!”
Rarity laughed with a shake of her head as he jogged away to join a group of Wonderbolts, Rainbow Dash near them. Dressed lightly and with the absolute bare minimum of makeup, the only indication she was a Wonderbolt lay with her badge. She stood at a catering table, mixing an assortment of drinks into a single abomination. Yet to talk to her fellow Wonderbolts, she was alone and open.
“Rainbow, darling!”
She turned, confusion clear on her face.
“Rarity? The heck are you doing here? I thought you didn’t like these Wonderbolt post-season parties!”
“Oh, don’t mind me. After you sent Soarin my way, he invited me along to this party and I can’t say no to that, can I? I mean, come on, it couldn’t go any worse than the Gala, right?”
Rainbow glared as she picked up her concoction.
“Don’t jinx it, Rares...”
“Stop worrying, all will be just fine! I accepted the invitation on the pretense I could attract customers, but let’s say I’ve got an ulterior motive...”
“Rarity, what did you do? I thought Soarin only dropped by to order a suit!” Rarity rolled her eyes and laid a hoof on Rainbow’s shoulder, a sliver of mischief hiding in her eyes.
“Rainbow, dear, you know it’s never that simple. We got to talking, and—”
Rainbow cut her off with a giggle and a snort.
“Talking? You flirted with him, didn’t you?”
“Rainbow!” She slapped the chuckling pegasus’ shoulder. “Of course I didn’t! I have dignity!”
“Ohoh, are you here ‘cause you like Soarin? Is that your ‘ulterior motive’?”
Rarity’s teeth ground at the words, though she was hard-pressed to suppress a laugh at the idea. He was a lovely stallion, but he was meeting another mare. As Turnabout Tales had taught her, getting involved could lead to nasty results.
Rarity was absolutely certain she had the sense to leave it.
“Don’t be ridiculous! Besides, he’s after another mare! I’m just… here to make sure it goes to plan.”
“...Seriously? Why am I even surprised, knowing you? Alright, who is this mare?”
“Well, I only know her name: High Echelon.”
Rainbow recoiled at the name, a dark scowl replacing her smirk as a wing twitched in annoyance.
“Her? Trust me, she’s the last mare Soarin wants to get with. You have any idea how rude she was to some of us?”
Rarity’s muzzle scrunched at the words. That was nothing like Soarin’s side of the park.
“Whatever do you mean? She was all roses by Soarin’s account!”
Rainbow groaned and swung Rarity around to face the other Wonderbolts. Her eyes quickly narrowed down to Soarin, his suit crisp, a glass of punch in his hoof — and a mare standing before him.
“You mean her? That’s High Echelon. I don’t know if she was all nice with Soarin, but she sure as heck wasn’t with us.”
Rarity left Rainbow without a word. Her eyes narrowed at the mare, filling with suspicion and digging for clues. She was a unicorn — odd for a Wonderbolts backstage VIP pass holder — sporting a stylish dress as she talked with Soarin. Rarity slinked like a cat towards the pair.
When had a little detective work ever hurt anyone?
“...You own a business? Never struck me as the type to do it with how soft-spoken you are, you know?”
Rarity snuck up behind the pair, hiding herself among the smorgasbord of ponies with an ear poking into their words. High Echelon had her mane styled in a fashion typical of pegasi rather than unicorns, and her dress held accents almost as if they were designed to accommodate wings. Her horn held little decoration or anything to let it stand out — something in contrast to most unicorns at the extravaganza. Moreso, whereas Soarin often waved to his fellow Wonderbolts and to fans passing by, High Echelon never once gave a greeting.
“What can I say, Soarin? Appearances can be deceiving.”
It didn’t add up. Rarity just needed a way to edge herself into the conversation.
She flicked an eye over Soarin’s suit, looking for anything subtle to open an avenue. One sleeve was marginally higher than the other, and one cufflink was slightly tilted off centre. Good enough.
“Soarin, dear!” Rarity interjected with a friendly smile as she trotted up to the pair. For a fleeting second, she was certain High Echelon tossed her a malicious wince before quickly covering it up with her smile — and looking into the brief spark of suspicion hidden in Soarin’s eyes, she knew he caught it too. “Your suit!”
He turned to her, brow raised in confusion. “What? What’s wrong with it?”
“Oh, one sleeve’s rolled a tad higher than the other and your cufflink is a little off. Minor details, darling!” she said as her magic straightened out the minuscule faults.
“I’m sorry, who is this?” High Echelon asked, an accusatory hoof pointed at Rarity as she fiddled with the clothing. Rarity paid her no mind; she wasn’t here to argue with her. Only to fish out any truth to Rainbow’s words.
“Oh, this? This is my friend Rarity! Designed and hoof-crafted my suit, she did! She’s amazing, isn’t she?”
High Echelon winced again, discomfort staying a fraction longer than the first time. The smile that came after had lost a little of its allure and Rarity swore it masked a drop of ill will.
“...Indeed.”
Rarity, on the other hand, found herself grinning at the compliment. “All done!” she said with a tap on Soarin’s chest. “Oh, and you!” She jumped to face High Echelon, a chipper smile plastered onto her face and hoof held out. “You must be this handsome stallion’s lucky mare!” She didn’t meet Rarity’s offer for a shake. “You know, you really have a very interesting dress — almost as if it were designed for a pegasus.”
Her eyebrow twitched.
“You should drop by my boutique some day; you clearly have a unique taste.”
Soarin just watched as sudden annoyance flared over High Echelon’s face.
“...It’d be a joy. Now please, I was talking with Soarin.”
Rarity glanced over at Soarin, their eyes meeting for a split second. She could almost see a seed of doubt planted within.
“...Of course, dear,” Rarity said, retracting her hoof. She stole one last look at Soarin as he did to her; a brief, mutual understanding passed with no words. “I only interrupted to fix Soarin’s suit, nothing more.”
She watched the pair walk off towards the other Wonderbolts, Soarin greeting them with open hooves and High Echelon silent to them all. She had the hallmark of an act — one poorly concealed to Rarity.
Perhaps Rainbow Dash was right.
The evening passed and soon turned to night.
A part of Rarity had mostly forgotten the original reason she came here, settling instead to inspect High Echelon from afar. True to Rainbow’s words, she reeked of suspicion. Her attitude took hairpins if Soarin dared greet another mare, even a fellow Wonderbolt. She rarely spoke to other ponies, and tersely when she did.
Another part of Rarity inexplicably cared for Soarin, as if it wanted to warn him. The more she glanced at Echelon, the more she clicked with the sour side of Canterlot’s upper class. The majority were pleasant and reasonable, but an unlucky few were the worst type of parroting zealot that spoiled public opinion of the rest; crude to those less fortunate and respectful only to those the same or greater.
The more Rarity gathered, the more High Echelon fell into the dangerous latter.
She pondered the idea as she walked over to the punch table for the third time that night. It wasn’t her place to care. However it ended should have been nothing to concern over. So why did she worry so much?
It was as if she were after Soarin herself.
She turned around to the crowd of conversing ponies behind her, head turned to the glimmering ceiling with a sigh.
That was a slippery slope. She had only known him for a few weeks, even if he had become a friend in that time. But, she had to admit, he was charming. Humble with his status, among other things. She could see how Rainbow Dash built a friendship with him.
She faced her head back to the ponies milling about. An orchestra played into the night, ordered music resonating off the walls and escaping through the towering, open windows. A harmony of brass and string; violins, horns and other instruments. They all meshed in practised sync. A metaphor of peace, of familiarity.
Her eyes spied the pair of Soarin and High Echelon again — and this time, neither held the smiles they did just two hours ago. It was as if they had deteriorated with the coming night, blowing away with the evening’s last light. They didn’t stand side-by-side, Soarin walking ahead. His walk had lost its lively bounce, and one suit sleeve was rolled up again.
That trick would work only once, and ‘her own brand of magic’ was of little use. Rarity sighed again, her head raising up once more as she sipped her drink. Something had spoiled any motivation to sell her business. She leaned back against the drinks table, hindlegs crossed with one splayed forward as she let the orchestra wash over her and the gentle wind drape her.
She had only five seconds to bask in it before something slammed into her outstretched leg.
Rarity yelped as she slipped back, her drink spilling over her face and washing over her eyes. Blindness overtook her as she fell backwards onto the drinks table, her back slamming onto its edge. The table flipped over, its contents spilling to the floor in a shattering of glass and a punch bowl dropping onto Rarity’s head.
She fell to the ground on her flank, the bowl falling off her head. Her mane was soaked with a powerful odour of fruit. Forehooves wiped her eyes as she sputtered out whatever drink had spilled down her airway.
“Ugh, you filth!” a voice called, ripe with indignation and anger. It was High Echelon, her soft tone long gone. “Look what you’ve done, ruining my dress!”
The music had lost its order. It shifted tones to chaos; a discordant harmony had invaded with a quickened pace, harsher instruments and an unforgiving undertone.
Rarity rose to her hooves, liquid dripping from her ruined mane and dress. Her eyes opened. Sudden, calm conviction stared at High Echelon.
“Your clumsiness spilled your drink on me! You held that blasted leg out on purpose, didn’t you, you whelp?”
Rarity paid no mind at first, her ears still attuned to the orchestra.
Echelon had slipped her act. In a fit of rage, her inner self had come to the light. One look at Soarin confirmed it. His face twisted into disgust, posture primed to aggression as he walked to Rarity’s side.
“...I’m sorry, darling?” Rarity said, calmer eyes meeting with Echelon’s enraged stare.
“You… You ruined it!” She stamped a hoof into the floor, drops of drink splashing onto her leg.
“Ruined what, exactly?” Soarin cut in. His mouth was curled into a snarl with a glimmer of teeth. “Something’s different with you. What happened to all the niceties?”
Echelon’s burning gaze stuttered.
“As if you would understand!”
“Really? You think I never saw how you don’t smile or even wave at anyone else when they say hi? You think I never saw how you talked to Rarity?”
Rarity’s face twisted into a tiny smile. She took a slow step towards Echelon. Ponies had gathered at the spectacle. The orchestra played on. Ordered harmony was breaking through its chaos; a rise from the ashes of the discord.
“I knew there was something off about you. Don’t think I never noticed your rude behaviour beyond Soarin, dear. It’s almost as if you want to single him out.”
“Don’t make me laugh!” Echelon retorted.
Rarity took another step.
“It’s as if you… want him for a means to an end.”
“I...” Echelon shot her stare to the ponies around her. Rarity could see the hesitation creeping across her face. “Oh, what’s the point?” Echelon flailed a hoof in the air with a snarl to match Soarin’s. “The cat’s out of the bag. May as well let it run. Alright, I put on an act!” Soarin’s glare turned to ice. “I did everything to get close to you, Soarin! I was sweet to you. I styled my mane like a pegasus. I even wore the dress of a pegasus! Do you have any idea how beneficial it would be to my business? Just the mere idea of an affiliation with the co-captain of the Wonderbolts!”
Soarin stood still. The music played on.
“...I gave you a chance. I let your slip with Rarity slide. I hoped it was just a one-off, that she only caught you off-guard. But now? You think I care about whether or not you’re a pegasus? You only even tried so you could boost your business?”
“Didn’t I tell you?” Malice had overtaken her face, a teethed growl rumbling. “Appearances can be deceiving. And you!” She pointed a hoof straight at Rarity. “Why do you care so much? You ruined it all with your meddling! He never would have known without you!”
The music shifted again, the original melody rising atop in a triumphant battle against the dissonant instruments.
“Au contraire, darling, you ruined it. Any relation with that dynamic is destined to fall. Soarin’s smarter than you think. One trip too many, and your cover would crumble like dust in the wind.”
“Oh, really? I bet you’re just as bad. Why would you interrupt us back there with your silly excuse of fixing his suit? It’s as if you just want to sow chaos! You don’t really care for him at all!”
That struck a nerve in Rarity. It struck one too deep, and Rarity had an uncomfortable suspicion she knew exactly why.
Sudden rage built up like the chaos did into the melody. Her eyes narrowed, an impulse to prove Echelon wrong bubbling within like fire. Something vivid, something to show she cared. Almost involuntarily, she turned towards Soarin and walked towards him with power, the music in her ears drowning all else.
She turned to the suddenly befuddled stallion, raised her head to his — and kissed him. Her lips were tainted with the taste of fruit punch and the music rang on into her ears, the original instruments of order dominant once again.
For one slowed, eternal second, everything else faded. Echelon was a distant memory, the gathered ponies irrelevant. There was only Soarin — and the music. She almost dared to slither her tongue into his...
Rarity pulled away. Crashing realization of what she had done hit her like a train. She backed away from Soarin, the stallion frozen in shock and staring straight into her. She could feel her heart beating, the violins playing in tune with it.
She didn’t dare wait for Soarin’s response. Turning tail, she ran from the hall, the orchestra’s melody of victory playing on as she left.
In the end, which was it?
The nettle branch or the honey?
Rarity sat on the meadows outside the great hall. The music still played, the melody much calmer. Punch still dripped from her ruined mane.
Her emotions had dropped like a stone in a pond the moment she left the doors. Awkwardness was guaranteed at her next meeting with Soarin. His friendship would remain; he didn’t seem irrational enough to dismiss it over something like this.
Perhaps something else could have come from this. It was her own character’s advice: if you never took the chance, how would you ever know?
“I suppose we never will...”
She stood to her hooves. The gentle breeze washed between her still drying legs, across her barrel. The stars were out, a little dimmed by Canterlot’s web of lights in the distance. Trees rustled with the far-away music.
Rarity sighed. Going back inside would be too problematic with High Echelon, her current appearance and her little display with Soarin. It was time to head home. Detective Polaris and his tales awaited.
She put a hoof forward—
“Hey.”
—and stopped.
A familiar voice. She turned — and sure enough — there stood Soarin. Moonlight silhouetted his body, a shadow cast over one half of his face.
“...Your sleeve’s still riding a tad high, Soarin.”
He just laughed. It was warm; a deep and inviting chuckle.
“You don’t need to worry about that.” He took a slow walk towards her. “After all, a wise pony once told me the pony inside makes the outfit, not the suit.”
Rarity giggled. “Tell that to High Echelon, dear.”
“Don’t worry about her, either. I gave her a chance. You want a little advice of my own? How someone acts around others is a much truer show of their character than how they act around you.”
Rarity stared into his eyes. He was standing just in front of her now and his green eyes dragged her in. She saw a sparkle of calm catharsis and a jitter of anticipation.
“...There’s more to you than meets the eye, Soarin.”
“Trust me, I’m not as stupid as I might look. I’m well aware of the brainless jock stereotype, even if I love pies a little too much.”
Rarity never noticed herself drifting closer to him.
“It’s good to know you’re more than just fast...”
He stared back at her. Their muzzles were inches away.
“You know...” Soarin began. His voice had taken a deeper, softer tone. “That same wise pony once told me this, too: sometimes, life will toss you a nettle branch. Sometimes, it’ll gift you a pot of honey. If you never take the chance, how will you ever know which it is?”
Rarity blushed. She could feel his breath on her muzzle, the orchestra’s soft tone wafting through her ears. “You read my draft?”
“Of course. And, as much as you might not believe it, I’d be lying to say I didn’t enjoy that kiss back there.”
“I...”
“I guess I’m telling you I want to take the chance. I want to know if it’s the nettle branch or the honey at the door. I’m willing to take that risk. If it’s the nettle branch, I’ll be happy to say I’m a better stallion for its sting. So, let me ask you: how would you like to go on a date, Rarity? Just you and I.”
Rarity paused. He enjoyed her little slip back in the hall? He had already read her draft? Moreso, how could she say no to such a polite offer?
Rarity was a mare of dignity. If he took the risk, so would she.
She moved forward, their lips locking in a second kiss.
“It’d be a pleasure.”
Author's Note
I wrote this in the span of about two days. It's been a long time since I've written anything. It's also the first thing I've written on this site, and the contest seemed a good enough way to get started.
This was written more as an experiment, and I'd rather more knowledgeable writers offer feedback.
Whatever you thought, I hope it was a pleasant read.
