Fabulosity in Fact

by Crowley

Rating: mature
Tags: Sex, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance, Original Character, Second Person, Rarity
Length: 12162

You're a celebrity. Rarity tries to restore your faith in fashion after you lose it in Canterlot.

After your famous magazine articles nearly destroy somepony's life, you leave Canterlot to hide your shame, effectively ending your fashion career. You decide to lie low in the nearby town of Ponyville, where very few people read the Canterlot Columns, apart for one striking young clothing designer named Rarity. When she recognises you, she makes it her mission to show you once and for all that, if applied correctly, fashion can be used to help ponies, and not harm them.

Published 2012-10-27 02:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-10-27 02:00:01 UTC

Part 1

You love these kind of parties.

Not for the soothing music that the four-pony orchestra plays over the bantering of the wealthy guests. Not for the delectable hors d’oeuvres that are carried around the room by dutiful waiters, or the huge, luxurious, multi-layered cake that towers over everypony. Not even for Celestia’s sunset that will shortly be gracing the Equestrian horizon, complete with the small town of Ponyville far in the distance.

No, you love these kind of parties for one simple fact; they never seem to start properly until you trot in through the door.

Heads turn. Ponies of all genders give a friendly smile at your arrival. A few stallions offer a nonchalant hoofshake as you greet them. A lot of mares give you a flirtatious flutter of their eyelids as you pass by. And why not? You’re in charge of the most important fashion magazine in Canterlot! An ordinary pony might not recognise you, since you’re not a celebrity who shows up in the media circus, and your name might not be the most talked-about, but all of the posh ponies know exactly who you are. And it’s the posh life that matters.

Accepting the martini from a passing waiter, you levitate it up to your lips with a simple glimmer of your horn’s magic. Your eyes scan the crowd, looking for the famous pony you’re supposed to meet here.

C’mon, Fancypants, you’re bigger than most other stallions! How could you be so hard to find in this crowd!?

Your pocket-watch tells you that he’s probably just running late. Your brain tells you to look for something to do in the meantime. Your loins tell you to pass the time the usual way.

Hmm, now what shall you have tonight? A silky unicorn? A keen pegasus perhaps? Or maybe you have a taste for a frisky earthie; there’s plenty of all three at this party, and you’re not prejudicial over any of them.

Eventually, you find a pretty, shapely mare (you can’t recall her race, but honestly, it isn’t the wings, nor horn, you’d be looking at) nursing a drink of her own. She catches your wandering glance, and returns with a half-lidded smile. She certainly knows who you are. You exchange warm words with her, not that you’d need to in order to land yourself a lady, before she suggests continuing the conversation ‘somewhere quiet’.

Five minutes later, her dress is on the floor of an empty room, and her body is being thrust vigorously against a wall as she wails your name at the top of her lungs. Darn, you didn’t ask for her name in return, and it’d be just plain awkward to ask for it while both of your bodies are hurtling towards the brink of sexual climax. Oh well, you’ll… you’ll get it right… next ti- aaahh~!

That felt good. You’ve had many similar experiences in your lifetime, but, you know, each time is a welcome feeling. Judging by the giddy look of your friend, you’d say she liked it too. After cleaning up and helping her with re-equipping her dress, you say your goodbyes (for now), with the hope of meeting her again, before going your separate ways.

What? This is the norm for these sort of parties! Canterlot ponies may appear to be generally posh and refined, but you’re all savages in your own sexual way. Just ask the other two loudly fornicating party-goers in the room next door to yours!

Anyway, you make your way back into the main party hall, where you promptly lift another martini from a waiter’s platter and scan the room for- ah, there he is now.

“Fancypants!” you call out when you finally see him, “There you are!”

“Hah, and I thought I was the late one, old chap.” he lets you pull up a chair at the same table as him, “Where were you?”

“Something… came up.” you say semi-truthfully, “I came as quickly as I could, though.” Also true, if you mangle the context.

“Knowing you, I’ll bet you did, you sly dog,” Fancy retorts, more than familiar with the games you like to play with fine mares, “But less talk of backsides, more talk of business. Namely, your fashion magazine.”

“The Canterlot Columns? Of course,” you smile, “Thanks again for the interview a few months ago, many ponies are still eager to read that issue. We’re still getting backlogged orders for it.”

“Um, that’s not exactly what I mean by talk of business,” Fancypants adopts a rather serious tone, eyeing you through his monocle, “I’m here to deliver a warning, chap.”

“What?” the sinking feeling in your gut tells you that tonight’s celebrations may be cut short for you. Just when you wanted to enjoy yourself. “What sort of warning? Why are you telling me this?”

“I look out for my friends and acquaintances,” Fancypants says simply, “and you’re a friend of mine, so it’s only fair.” he slips a newspaper article over onto the table. When you pick it up, you instantly recognise what kind of newspaper it is. And you instantly recognise the face on the front cover of it - your own.

“Posh Ponies Periodical?” you read the name of your rival publication aloud, before delving into what they’ve written about you. You hate the Posh Ponies Periodical with a passion. Not just because they’re your rivals in the world of celebrity publications, but because they like to pretend they’re a real newspaper when they aren’t. As such, most stories are blown entirely out of proportion with little truth, and because it looks and feels like a newspaper to the average reader, they accept every word of it as fact. Even the slander.

The most worrying words that struck you from this particular headline headlines was ‘Young Pony Hospitalised, Canterlot Columns to Blame”.

Your jaw drops as you read the section to yourself.

Young filly... tried to starve herself... fraudulent magazine... magically altered... eventually collapsed... rushed to hospital for emergency treatment... deeply disturbed...

You can’t read any more. You get the gist of it.

“I… I had no idea..! Why wasn’t I told about..? It can’t be my fault if somepony… This is gonna destroy my reputation, isn’t it?” you ask your fancy friend.

“I’m afraid so, old chap.” he replies.

“When’s this issue getting an official release?”

“First thing tomorrow, every news stand in Canterlot.” your insides sink as Fancypants gives you the bad news, “But I had an insider who brought me this issue early. I only thought it would be fair if I warned you about it first, lest you discover a nasty shock tomorrow morning.”

You can already see your future crumbling before your eyes. Nevertheless, you thank your friend for his help, “I‘m glad you warned me about this, Fancy.”

“Don’t mention it, fellow, but what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know!” you’ve never been in this predicament before; you’ve always been too careful in the celebrity world to wind up like this. “I need to look at the situation steadily. I just need to find a way to calm down first, maybe with the help of a silky unicorn, or a keen pegasus, perhaps even a fris-”

“For goodness’ sake, you relieved your stallionhood not five minutes ago!”

“Oh yeah.” you knock back the rest of your martini in a single gulp, and take a deep breath, “I know what I have to do now. I have to get out of here before the manure hits. I’ll get home and pack some bags. Do they sell Canterlot papers in Ponyville? No? I’ll go to Ponyville. Keep my head down until this disaster blows over.”

“Good idea.” Fancypants nods curtly, “I’ll try to help any way I can here in Canterlot. Take care of yourself, old friend.”

“I will.” you say, “And thanks for the warning. I’d hate to have read about this for the first time at my breakfast table.”

You turn to leave the party, with the intention of packing your bags and taking the first train to Ponyville. Then something very strange occurs.

An attractive mare, white-coated and pink-haired in appearance, falls from the sky screaming and lands face first into the giant, multi-layered cake that breaks her fall, coating every nearby patron in icing and turning every head in the room. The four-pony orchestra screeches to a halt. The whole room is filled with bits of cake and excessive tutting.

“That’s peculiar,” you say aloud, “Usually the exotic dancers come out of the cake.” And then, upon closer inspection, “Isn’t that your girlfriend, Fancy?”

With a reaction that would be considered perfect, Fancypants’ monocle pops off of his face and lands in his drink, “Just… just go already!”

“Okay, okay!”

Part 2

It’s dark by the time the train pulls into Ponyville station. The ride was quiet enough, with only a few passengers taking the train with you at such an hour. As you step onto the platform, you consult the station’s map to find the nearest hotel.

Ooh, the Hay n’ Stay. A pleasant enough hotel, and you’re not exactly going to run out of money any time soon, so you can stay for as long as you need.

Within ten minutes, you’re checking in for the night. A bland, average room, with function over form being the driving force behind it. Plain bed, plain bathroom, plain walls, plai- oh my Luna, it has tea and coffee making facilities! This room is perfect!

You pop the kettle on while you unpack your things. There isn’t much to unpack, since you only brought along a bag or three… Wait, where’s the third bag? The one with your best clothes in!? You can’t walk around Ponyville naked! How would the townsfolk react!?

Your hoof slaps your head out of exasperation when you realise you left it on the train! The whole rush to pack your bags and leave Canterlot had left you absent-minded. It seems you’ll have to splash out on some new clothes while you’re here.

Whatever. You have tea and coffee making facilities. Everything’s gonna be alright.

*******

The mid-morning sun wakes you up to your new life (or rather, holiday until the news fiasco blows over), and you make for the nearest clothing shop in town. That is, the only clothing shop in town. You forgot how small Ponyville is.

As you head towards the Carousel Boutique, a shop that looked like a cross between a carousel ride and… a boutique, you turn your head towards the city of Canterlot in the distance, miles above the ground, standing proudly from the top of its mountain. Your name must be on the tip of everypony’s tongue right now. And not in the good way.

With a sigh, you push open the door and enter the shop. Maybe garbing yourself in some of the latest fashions would cheer you up.

The whole boutique is adorned with ribbons, mirrors and mannequins, each of them wearing a dress or suit. Some mannequins in the centre of the room wore highly fashionable garments designed to bring attention to customers, while a few in the corner seemed to be there for the sake of experimentation for the owner.

The owner in question is in her own little world, fixated on a mannequin in the corner, trying out various fabrics and cloths on it. A mare in the zone, as you’d recognise, especially since she still hasn’t perceived you yet.

Of course, you aren’t complaining; she hasn’t noticed your presence because she’s facing away from you, and you’re quite alright with that.

When you feel you’ve admired the scenery enough, you give a gentle cough to let her know you’re there. She whips around, her expression changing from surprised to welcoming.

“Oh, a customer!” she exclaims in her refined accent. Her azure eyes, hidden behind her stylish red-rimmed glasses, light up as she greets you, “And such a strapping gentlecolt too!”

She’s flirtatious! Brilliant!

“Nice to meet you, Miss, erm…”

“Rarity. Miss Rarity.”

“A lovely name,” you smile, “I was wondering if you had any clothes my size, Miss Rarity. You see, I just came from Canterlot, and I realised I’d left most of my clothes on the train coming here. Call it an idiot moment.”

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself, darling,” the white unicorn chimes, “These things happen to the best of us. So, you said you came from Canterlot, Mister, uh…”

You tell her your name. She hesitates for a moment, as if trying to remember something she’d previously forgotten.

“I think… I know you from somewhere.” she says slowly, “Your name certainly rings a bell. Have we met before?”

Your mind flicks through all of your previous encounters with white unicorns (which, in Canterlot, is surprisingly ample). Nope, you don’t remember any Rarity. Not in business nor pleasure.

“It’ll come to me soon enough, don’t you worry,” she brushes off her suspicions, “In the meantime, I have a selection of suits for you to try on, maybe even a few casual clothes for when you’re out and about in Ponyville. Hah, I’d wager seeing all of us ponies wandering around without attire must have been a culture shock to you, sir.”

Since she’s just drawn attention to that fact, you can’t help but… assess her features. “Don’t worry, Miss Rarity, it’s a very welcome culture shock.”

“How cheeky,” she giggles, “With an attitude like that, you must be getting yourself into all sorts of… trouble… back in Canterlot…” she trails off, her mind raising red flags in her head as it occurs to her exactly who you are. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Before you can say a word, she vanishes into another room, leaving you wondering exactly what she’s- oh no.

Your eyes catch a pile of magazines stacked in the corner of the shop, intended for customers to read while they wait to fill in their orders. Some of those magazines were your own works. The Canterlot Columns. Others were the Posh Ponies Periodical.

Rarity must get those magazines on order from Canterlot. But if she has them on order, that means she’s read…

“I knew I recognised you from somewhere.” her voice breaking the awkward silence makes you jump out of your coat. You turn around to find her with the latest copy of Posh Ponies Periodical floating in her blue magic aura. “This… this is you, isn’t it?”

She knows.

“Well, it’s been fun meeting you, but I really must be off now, ta-ta!”

With that final, parting phrase, you turn on your hooves and gallop out of the shop, ignoring her cries of “Wait!” and “Come back!”. You can’t stay here. You need to take another train. Somewhere further than Ponyville.

Part 3

You idiot.

Of all the shops in all of Ponyville, of all the towns in all of Equestria, you just had to walk into the only place where you’d be recognised, and talk to the one pony who‘d recognise you in a heartbeat. Suddenly, losing a third of your luggage on the train doesn’t seem so unlucky by comparison.

Within minutes, you’re back in your hotel room, readying for departure. If that boutique girl knows about you, it’s only a matter of time before she tells her friends, and they tell their friends, and before you know it, the whole town would be in hysterics. Small towns are just like that! You have to leave now.

Just as you open the hotel room door to leave, you bump straight into-

“Argh! Miss Rarity!”

The beautiful mare stands firmly in the doorway, blocking your exit. Her eyes seem pleading, betrayed, without her red glasses, which she had chosen to leave behind. Maybe it’s because you’re a crime against honest fashion.

There’s nowhere left to run, aside from jumping out of the window. Sadly, you’re not a pegasus. Instead, you sigh, and resign yourself to your fate.

“Well?” you say weakly, with a hint of impatience, “Let me have it.”

Rarity blinks inquiringly, “Let you have what?”

Oh no, you’re going to have to say it out loud, aren’t you?

“Let me have it!” you repeat clearly, “You read that article on me, didn’t you? Box my ears, tell me how much of a greedy, rich monster I am! Look at me! I’m famous for faking fashion magazines with magically edited photos, I nearly caused a school filly to starve herself to death as a result - and who knows how many other young minds I’ve corrupted that way - and most of all, I’m rich because of it all! I gave fashion a bad name! I’m evil! At least the Mare in the Moon didn‘t try to turn a profit from eternal night, geez!”

When she doesn’t respond immediately to your outburst, you continue, “You’ve been reading my columns, haven’t you, Miss Rarity? I saw several issues in your boutique. How does it feel to know that most of it teaches other ponies to lie about their appearance? To paint their face sexy colours and call it ‘makeup’, all the while following the same old styles like sheep - no offence to sheep - and calling it ’trendy’? I must have ruined everything for you. You designers, the few ponies who actually try when it comes to fashion. So let me have it. Hoof me in the face or something, Celestia knows I deserve it. Or just do… whatever it is that you planned to do when you recognised me back there.”

The silence that follows your rant is… painfully tense. Rarity’s face doesn’t show anger, or even mild annoyance. It’s as if she’s merely contemplating your words. Finally, she takes a deep sigh.

“I didn’t plan to hoof you in the face, dear,” she says calmly, “I planned to help you.”

“What? And what could you possibly do to help me?”

“When I was reading the news article this morning,” she explains, “the one about your magazine and the filly, I couldn’t help but notice how some of the words they used seemed… insulting rather than neutral. I’m quite familiar with how the world of fashion works, it may surprise you to know. You think I wouldn’t recognise a case of Tall Poppy Syndrome when I see one?”

You knew what she meant, since the term is quite popular in the fashion world. But you don’t think you’d be legible for it.

“Tall Poppy Syndrome is when the newspapers twist the words and smear the reputation of a nice, popular pony for the sake of newspaper sales.” you retort, “I’m pretty sure I’m not a nice pony. Making the headlines for faking photographs and corrupting young minds isn’t exactly something you need to twist the words of to know it’s bad.”

“But you didn’t know you were doing bad at the time, did you?” she fires back, “You were just trying to make your magazines look nicer. Like giving a house a fresh coat of paint, or planting flowers in a garden. You didn’t want to hurt anypony.”

“I didn’t want to, but I did,” you sigh, “And the manure’s hit the fan now. Can you do me a favour, Miss Rarity?”

“Just… Rarity will do.”

“Okay, Rarity. If you really want to help that much, please don’t tell anypony I’m here in Ponyville, okay? The last thing I want is to draw more attention to myself.”

“And in return, you’ll let me help you?” she asks hopefully.

“If you really think you can, I’m not stopping you.”

For a moment, you could almost see a glimmer of glee when Rarity’s face lights up at the prospect of helping a celebrity. A split second later, she snaps herself back into her usual sophisticated manner.

“Thank you kindly for reconsidering,” she says with a curt nod, “I’ve got an arrangement with a friend at the local spa this afternoon, if you’d like to meet us there, we can discuss matters regarding your predicament. See you there.”

With a smirk and a wink, she turns to leave your hotel room, as courteous as can be. As soon as she walks out of the building, however, you look out of your window to find her skipping down the street with enthusiasm.

You just hope you haven’t made a stupid mistake in staying here.

Part 4

It’s funny how nopony who isn’t a fashion enthusiast could recognise you in Ponyville. Maybe if you declared your name to the world, they’d know who you are, and swarm you with requests to take your picture. Or maybe they’d pelt you with fruit, depending on how well word gets around. Either way, simply showing your face has no effect. Must just be the close-knit community with their own lives and problems.

Not even the well-groomed pink pony behind the counter knew who you were when you walked into the spa. The place smelled of the familiar oils and creams and lotions that you’d spent your life around. It’s a good job that some things can catch on from the upper class here, unlike the presence of clothing, which you decided to forgo for the sake of the spa. Considering the beauty of certain ponies here, combined with the fact that most of the townsfolk are naked, it’s a wonder there isn’t a non-stop orgy somewhere in town.

Actually, that could be something to keep an eye out for. You never know.

Anyway, you ask the spa worker if there’s a Miss Rarity present. She points you toward the herbal bath room.

Cautiously trotting trough to said bath room, you notice how empty it is. Not a soul. Not even Rarity, nor the friend that she mentioned. A giant tub sits in the centre of the room, surrounded by various chairs for leaning back and relaxing in. You suppose you’ll just have to pass this time relaxing in-

Without a warning, bubbles begin to ripple within the tub itself. A second later, a white mare breaks the surface with a swift, audible gasp, followed by a relaxing sigh. She slowly brushes her dripping, mulberry-purple mane out from her eyes, before she flicks her gaze towards you.

“Nothing quite like a dip in the hot tub to make you feel serene and vibrant, don’t you agree?” she says, her mane just slightly hanging over the edge of the tub, allowing droplets to patter on the ground.

“Nothing quite like sharing it with a beautiful mare like yourself, Miss Rarity,” you reply.

“For you, it’s just Rarity, darling,” she reminds you. As you climb the steps to enter the tub yourself, you notice a flush of pink beneath her cheeks.

“Of course.”

You dip your first hoof into the water. The powerful heat causes you to flinch at first, but only for a moment, until you’re ready to dip another hoof in. You continue this exercise, slowly lowering yourself into the hot tub as much as your body will allow. Rarity’s seductive eyes are on you the whole time.

“I must apologise for my friend’s absence,” Rarity explains once you’d settled down, letting the heat envelope your whole body, “She had an animal-related emergency to tend to, something about a broken beak. She’s quite the animal carer, you see.”

“Like a veterinarian?”

“Not quite, but rather similar,” she sighs once again, leaning a little further back in the water, “But enough about that, there’s something I’ve always wanted to tell you since reading that article. Shortly before we actually met, in fact.”

“I suppose it’s lucky that I happened to drop by at the right time,” you muse, “or are you a believer of fate?”

“Hard to say, really,” she scans the ceiling of the spa absent-mindedly, counting the tiles, “but one thing’s for certain; you’re not a bad pony. You’re not bad, no matter what the rest of the media says.”

“And what makes you say that?” you shuffle closer to her, causing the water to stir.

“Because I know you’re just searching for beauty,” her answer was simple. Simple, yet genius. “I know you’re just trying to get ponies to look their very best. To appear their very best to others. And most of all, to feel their very best. The only mistake you did was altering those photos magically.”

“And you think there’s a difference between that and, say, wearing makeup or false eyelashes?”

She nods matter-of-factly, “When I use makeup and accessories on myself and other ponies, I’m using them to highlight and draw attention to beauty that‘s already present. I’m working with - and not despite - our own imperfections, rather than just magicking them away at a horn‘s thought. And once a pony sees the true beauty she can achieve, it gives her confidence like nothing else. Because that’s what fashion is to me; it’s not how impossibly attractive a famous model can look, or who should buy what dress and when in the year. It’s about the ponies I come across every day, and giving them confidence and happiness. That, I believe, is the true meaning of fashion.”

It felt like a clear enough explanation. Clear enough, perhaps, for you to take to heart. Her own philosophy when it comes to fashion is heart-warming, to say the least, but she’s bound to be hiding more gems of wisdom behind those brilliant eyes of hers. Gems of wisdom that you need to hear. Gems of wisdom that the whole of Equestria needs to hear.

And you know just how to do that. That is, if you’re still allowed to make magazines anymore.

“This is going to sound strange,” you ponder aloud, “But how would you like to be in the Canterlot Columns?”

What you just said may have been some sort of paralysis incantation; Rarity’s whole body freezes at the offer, despite being mostly submerged in the steaming waters of the hot tub.

“Did you just offer me the chance to be in your own paper?” Rarity says one word at a time, as if saying a single syllable incorrectly would cause the world to tumble down.

“Yes. Yes I did. All I need is for you to tell me more about your side of fashion. The honest side of it, the side that helps ponies, rather than… what my magazine usually does.”

“Oh! Oh! Oh my goodness! Of course I will!” she pants with glee when it dawns on her, clapping her hooves in excitement, “I could actually get my own little article! My own article about my work in the Canterlot Columns! It couldn’t possibly get any better than this!”

“Unless you end up being on the front page or something like that,” you say casually, “By the way, how would you like to be on the front page?”

And that’s about the time Rarity faints. With a gasp and a swoon, her eyes roll up into her head, and she simply plops beneath the tub’s surface, leaving a flurry of bubbles where she fainted. Luckily, you’re there to pull her up again, and keep her head above water until she regains coherence.

“My… my article… front page… ugh…” she mumbles for a minute or two, before she finally reaches out with her hooves and gives you an unexpected, but not unwelcome, embrace. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

She gives you a peck on the cheek as a sign of thanks for your generosity. And then another. As she leans in for a third peck, you cheekily turn your head to face her, and catch her kiss with your own lips.

It’s a brief, but lovely moment. The kiss holds for a few seconds, before she pulls away with a shy, dismissive giggle. Her face is absolutely red.

She tries to stutter a laid-back apology for her unintentional intimacy. You lean forward and cut her off with another, longer, kiss. She doesn’t object to it.

In fact, she plays along with it.

With your lips still connected to hers, she pushes you back against the side of the hot tub. From there, she climbs over you, her body pressing up to your own amidst the hot water as you sense the tip of her tongue testing your lips, about to-

“No funny business in the herbal baths!” a mare's thick Stalliongrad accent calls out. You both look towards the source to find one of the spa workers standing by the door. “Other ponies have gotta use that tub after you, y’know!”

Darn. Caught red-hoofed.

You both grumble a half-hearted assurance that it wouldn’t happen again, and spend the rest of the time in the tub discussing each other’s fashion ideas and philosophies, all the while being as close to each other as the spa rules would allow.

When you and Rarity are finally ready to leave, the spa attendant escorts you from the herbal bath room. Her twin sister and her friend (boyfriend?) are passing the time in the waiting room. You and Rarity quietly slip by.

“Thanks for agreeing to be in my magazine,” you mutter to her, “but I fear we’ll have to act fast - I may not have a magazine to run by the end of the month, if the damage is as bad as I think.”

“In that case, we‘d better get started,” she replies, “When’s the best time for you to return to Canterlot?”

“And get lynched for the incident with that little filly?”

“Oh, you aren’t going to get lynched by Canterlot ponies,” Rarity assures you.

“Maybe not, but there’ll be so many disapproving gazes, perhaps even disagreeable mutterings!”

“Then blow them away with your next issue. Clear the situation, rather than just keep running away from it. It’ll only get worse if you leave it like a pile of dirty dishes.”

You let out a sigh of resignation. She’s right.

“If that‘s what you believe, pack your bags.” you tell her as you open the spa door, letting her though, “We’re leaving for Canterlot tomorrow.”

Aaand she’s swooning again.

Part 5

You wake up the next morning on a lavish, and surprisingly comfortable, red sofa that Rarity had the generosity to offer you in place of the decidedly average bed in your rented hotel room.

You would have turned down her offer to sleep for the night, but after a day of exchanging personal stories and going through which clothes to take to Canterlot (and which fabrics and gems to take in order to make clothes while she’s there) she offers you to stay for the night. For coffee, if you catch her drift.

Apparently she likes Affogato Café Mocha. Not exactly the kind of coffee you were expecting, but what the heck.

“You’re quite the puzzle,” you tell Rarity as you both team up to prepare breakfast - you took care of the food while she set out the cutlery and condiments perfectly, “When we were in the spa together, you certainly didn’t object to my… advances. But your jest with offering me coffee last night? You really didn’t want our coffee to be, you know, in the bedroom? Even now, I wonder how your mind works.”

She chuckles softly, yet craftily, “I know how yours works, however. I know how most mares would love to throw themselves at you. I’d like to be the exception in that aspect. Don’t forget, you may have only known me for a few days at most. I’ve known you for years.”

“You’ve been reading my magazines for years, Rarity, not my mind.”

“But whose mind was behind them?”

“Mine,” you say, “Oh. Touché. But if you don’t want me like that, why did you go along with it at the spa?”

“I was enjoying it.” she smirks cheekily, “And you never know, I might enjoy myself while we’re in Canterlot as well. If you’re a good stallion.”

That’s an incentive if you ever heard one.

*******

Rarity sure loves first-class trains. Maybe it’s the extra room for her countless bags (most of them full to the brim with fabrics or gems), or the attendant walking up and down the aisle with a trolley of sweet snacks. Or perhaps it’s the quiet, soothing atmosphere, where she can doodle dress ideas into her notepad in peace.

“I’ve been thinking about how you want me to show the greater aspect of highlighted natural beauty,” she says, admiring the view as the train climbs higher and higher up Canterlot’s mountain, “and I’ve been thinking about more and more ideas for dresses that will aid in that regard as a result.”

“How is it coming along?” you ask.

“Not bad.” she gives a small smile, “I’m trying to aim for a dress that not only makes a pony look natural but also… ahem… attractive.”

“So… you’re trying to make naturally sexy dresses?”

“Well, I, er, yes! Naturally attractive. The only issue I’m having, which is often the case with dresses of this type, is trying to make the outfit sexy without the wearer looking like a-”

“Tart?”

“Thank you,” Rarity kindly accepts the passing train attendant’s offer, and levitates the sweet, sticky snack off the trolley, taking a few nibbles as she continues, “Anyway, as I was saying, hopefully my dresses for the article will show natural beauty in the works, but will be just subtle enough so the pony wearing it won’t be dressed up like a-”

“French Fancy?”

“Ooh, I’ll have one,” you say, taking the small iced sponge cake from the attendant who is still hanging around for some reason. You take a bite out of it, and try to finish Rarity’s train of thought, “So you’re going for really simple dresses that highlight how beautiful the ponies are themselves. I think that’s a great idea! The mares would feel secure and happy with themselves, and the stallions would sure love the view as well. You should make a dress like that for yourself too, Rarity, for the sake of my-”

“Cocktail Nuts?”

You eventually shoo the attendant away.

“…for the sake of my magazine,” you finish, “You’re going to be on the front page, don’t forget.”

“Believe me, I didn’t forget that,” she grins, flipping the pages of her notepad to a specific doodle, “Take a look at this; sleek, blue velvet that not only highlights my eyes, but also shows off the curves of my… figure.”

She spent the rest of the trip showing you different ideas for all kinds of dresses. Some she had designed with inspiration from her friends, others with different places, situations and seasons in mind.

Going by what she’s shown you so far, you believe your next issue is going to be the best one you’ve had in a long time.

“Oh, that reminds me,” you ask Rarity as you pull into Canterlot station, “If you need a place to sleep instead of a hotel, you’re welcome to stay at my place. I have a good few guest rooms in my manor, but I’m just as willing to… share my own bed if you like.”

“That’s alright, darling,” she hums as she picks up her many bags (with uncanny ease), “I know a friend who has a room spare for me.”

*******

“Nonono, this must be some sort of joke,” you shake your head once again in disbelief, “Tell me this is some old Ponyville joke or something.”

Rarity doesn’t seem to care for your astonishment; she’s too busy unpacking, “What is some Ponyville joke, dear?”

“Well… this!” you gesture, waving your fore hooves around the huge guest room that Rarity was staying in, “Do you know where we are? Do you have any idea where you’re staying?”

“Canterlot Royal Palace?”

“Yeah!” you exclaim, “How did you manage to..? But the guards just let us trot straight through..! I run and own a famous magazine company, and I’m not even allowed into the Royal Palace without an invitation!”

Rarity giggles softly, “Oh, let’s just say I have a few important friends here.”

“Sure, sure you do,” you feel a little dizzy from Rarity’s sudden transition from Small-town-Ponyville lass to Friends-with-Canterlot’s-Royalty lady, “And I suppose you share a nice tea with Princess Celestia herself from time to time!”

“Only once or twice.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” she dismisses, “Anyway, the best part of this room is all for the space, where I can work on my soon-to-be masterpieces. You probably wouldn’t want mannequins, fabrics and gems cluttering up your manor, so this guest room should suffice perfectly in that regard. But most of all,” she turns to face you, the corners of her mouth rising a little, “No distractions. The dresses may be simple to make - I could easily create the dresses flawlessly within a few days - but I’ll need my utmost concentration for it. No fancy parties. No formal get-togethers. Nothing. That almost ruined me last time I was here on business.”

“I don’t really plan on showing my face in public until my next issue sets me straight again,” you tell her, “Which is a good thing, really; that means if you need help with anything, I’m free to lend a hoof.”

“Funny you should say that,” she quips, giving you an alluring gaze, “Because if you’re free now, I could certainly use a handsome assistant to help with my dress-making…”

Curse you and your libido. How could you possibly say no to such a lovely face!? Not that you were planning to say no anyway…

Part 6

The next three days blur into each other as you help Rarity with her project, assisting her as she rushes non-stop between cutting fabrics, sewing and her finalising by day, and spending quiet nights with her over the planning board by night, discussing what to add to each dress, and how best to wear them.

“Don’t worry, I know a model for every size, style and occasion,” you insist, “You’ll get the right mares for the right dresses.”

“So, about these models…” Rarity asks nonchalantly. You already know what the question is.

“No, I haven’t slept with all of them.” you cut in, “Only some of them. Well, about half. The ones that came on to me first.” When you see her raised eyebrow, you clarify, “I may hit on mares during parties, but when I’m working, it’s just business unless they ask otherwise.”

“Do you see me as just business?” she asks in a neutral tone. You can tell there’s got to be something that she’s hiding behind that. You think long and hard before answering.

“I see you as… a good friend. You offered your help when I needed it, and for that I‘d be happy to do whatever you like.”

“Would you… would you be inclined to…” Rarity struggles to find the right way to word it, her hesitating half-smile betraying her nervousness, “…consider me more than business?”

You suppose that’s your cue.

You calmly trot a few steps closer to her, exercising your prominent, well-practiced celebrity charm to lull her into an amorous state. You can feel her slow, heated breath on your face.

“If you wanted me to,” you reply with a passionate whisper, “it would be my greatest pleasure.”

Before she can protest, you give her a soft, teasing brush of your lips against hers. Almost upon reflex, she kisses back.

The warming touch of her lips lasts for all of thirty seconds. By the end of it, she shudders. Not because she is cold; in fact, it’s the opposite.

“Bedroom,” The first word she gasps once the kiss finally breaks. You can see the primal desire burning behind her sapphire eyes, “Bedroom, now.”

She only has to ask once.

Seconds later, she throws herself onto the comfortable guest bed, and lies down expectantly for you. She doesn’t have to wait for long - you’re already climbing onto the bed yourself clambering over her lean, yet generously curvy figure.

Another kiss on her lips. Her body pushes itself against yours in response, and you can feel her every fevered caress, her every moan vibrating though her body.

“Mhmm… mmm… yes…” she slowly drifts into her own trace of bliss as you lie one kiss after another on her, some on her lips, some on her tender neck, “Yes… y- no. Wait. No! What am I doing? Stop!”

Her hoof pushes you back. On her command, you drop everything.

“What’s wrong, Rarity?”

Her hooves are raised up to her head in uncertainty. She sees the dreaded choice that lies before her, even if you can’t.

“We… we can’t go through with this,” she says in a tone that suggested she was hurting herself on the inside, “No distractions. Last time I got distracted while making dresses in Canterlot, it was a total disaster. Not this time.”

She looks between you, comfortably sitting ready on the bed, and the near-finished dresses, so close to perfection. With a forced grunt of suppressed disappointment, she stomps her hooves and turns back to you.

“First things first.” she says, “We finish the dresses, release the magazine, restore your reputation, then - and only then - we fornicate like sexually ravenous beasts! Deal?”

“Deal,” you say, nodding towards the near-completed dresses, “Now let’s get these out of the way.”

Darn. So close to scoring with her. But you suppose that’s what you should expect; some ponies are drama queens, and it’s better to agree with them than convince them otherwise. Oh well, maybe later.

*******

Darkness falls around Canterlot as the Princesses exchange shifts for another day. The moon starts to rise in the sun’s stead, and the night slowly ushers the last of the daylight away. You and Rarity have made record timing with the creation of these dresses, and they’re nearly complete. Until…

“No!” Rarity cries out in despair, “No, no, no, oh nooo!”

“What is it?” you ask, concerned for her - wait, where did she get that sofa from?

“This is terrible!” she sobs as dramatically as you’ve ever seen, “I was just about to finish the final dress! So close to completion! So close to perfection! And then I run out of the fabric I need! And the gems! The gems were going to be its main feature, but I don’t have them! Nor do I have the fabrics needed to put the finishing touches on it! All of this trouble and it's for naught! Of all the things that could happen, this is the w-!”

“Whoa, whoa,” you try to calm her down before the sinks further into her own melodrama, “We can just buy more, I know a ton of shops that’ll sell that kind of stuff.”

“But... but it’s night!” she protests, “The shops won’t be open, and I need this to be finished before tomorrow!”

“Don’t worry,” you grin, “This is Canterlot - the city doesn’t sleep as much as you’d think. I know a bunch of shops that are still going to be open at this time.”

“R-really?”

“We’ll have to hurry, but yes,” you think back to some stores that might just be open at this hour, “There’s a gem store near the north side of Canterlot, and a fabric shop in the south-west. We can reach them both on time, but only if we split up.”

Rarity takes a deep breath to dispel her nerves, and restore her confidence. “In that case, I’ll get to the gem shop; I know the way to it. You get to the fabric store, get us some scarlet satin - that’s all I need.”

She reaches for her saddlebag. You get yours too.

“We’ll meet in the Canterlot town square after we’ve got what we need - both shops stem from there - and we’ll head back here together.”

Rarity agrees with your plan. By the look in her eyes, you can tell that she might just make it after all. Now, get to it!

Part 7

That was far easier than you’d thought.

You’d made it to The Smart Ass, the famous fabric-and-clothing store run by the most refined and respected donkey in Canterlot, without a hitch. They even had a surplus of scarlet satin, so it was so cheap, you were able to fill your saddlebag to the brim with it. That’ll impress Rarity.

Trotting silently through the dark streets, you can’t help but notice how deserted it is. Probably just yet another social gathering going on. Whenever there’s a social gathering of any kind, all of the upper-class seem obliged to get there. You wonder if they’re still talking about you at those events. You wonder if they’re all insulting you over your fall-from-grace.

You’ll change that. With Rarity’s help, you’re going to show Canterlot, no, Equestria that you’re a good stallion. That you’re not vain and foolish, and that you can ensure beauty comes from reality, and not some doctored photos.

The town square is just around this next corner. Hopefully Rarity should be waiting for you, but if she isn’t, she shouldn’t be much longer-

THUD!

It all happens so fast. Your senses sharply scramble in pain as something collides with the side of your head. Was it an aggressive hoof? It felt like a brick.

You try desperately not to stumble over in shock, but before you can regain your senses, your attacker pins you up against the nearby wall.

“Give me the bag and nopony gets hurt!”

Oh sweet Celestia, you’re being mugged!

The attacker speaks in a gritty, lower-Canterlot growl. An unkempt unicorn, as haggard as his speech. Just as he tries to wrench you saddlebag from your back (The satin for Rarity’s dress! No!), you do the only thing you can think of. You swing at him.

THUMP!

You punch him square in the face. He doesn’t recoil. He doesn’t even wince. He just give you a funny look, before returning the favour with a punch of his own.

His hoof strikes hard between your eyes, the white-hot flash of pain causing you to yelp pitifully. You slide a little further down the wall as you lose your balance once again.

The attacker tries to take your saddlebag again. Not on your watch. Despite the sting of pain on your face, you hold tightly onto the bag, and inside it, Rarity’s vital materials. Your mugger even expresses surprise when you continue to defy him.

“You just have to play persistent, don’t you?” he snarls, ““Just let it go and I’ll leave, it’s not hard to-”

CRACK!

His snide is cut short by the thick sound of his skull being bashed in from behind.

A moment later, the mugger’s eyes roll into the back of his head, and he collapses helplessly onto the pavement. You look up, only to find…

“Rarity!?”

Your eyes weren’t deceiving you; standing over the unconscious mugger is the dainty white unicorn herself, wielding her saddlebag - full to the brim with hard, heavy, jagged gems - as a weapon. You can’t tell whether she looks terrified or furious.

“Are you alright, dear?” she asks, “Wait… no, you’re bleeding!”

You raise your hoof to your numb snout, only to find that it was true.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” you dismiss, choosing to better focus your attention on the motionless mugger on the ground, “Call for a royal guard or something, there should be one nearby…”

Within two minutes, a couple of white-coated, gold-armoured pegasi arrive on the scene, complete with a transport chariot, at Rarity’s beckoning.

“Is that who I think it is?” a wide-eyed guard’s jaw drops on arrival.

“Yes, yes, it’s me,” might as well get the star-struck guard back to his senses, “I own the Canterlot Columns, counted among the upper-class’ elite-”

“Not you!” he snaps, “Him! That’s the Canterlot Scoundrel!”

Ouch. Never been outshined by a knocked-out scruff before.

“He’s a notorious thief!” the guard exclaims, “how in Tartarus did you catch him?”

“I didn’t. She did.” you nod towards Rarity.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have been able to strike him if you weren’t distracting him, darling,” she, rather uncharacteristically, shies away, “We’d best chalk this up to a team effort.”

“In that case,” the other guard says as he helps his partner load the unconscious criminal onto the chariot, “you two will be splitting the reward for his capture. That’s two thousand bits each.”

“Two thousand-!?”

Rarity’s jaw drops considerably more than yours. You’re well off enough yourself, what with owning a magazine column, but considering how much two thousand bits was worth, you can’t help but raise an eyebrow to it.

“We’ve been trying to catch him for a while.” the guard nods, “We’ll have the bits delivered to you as soon as he’s behind bars.”

And moments later, the guards take off with their criminal in tow, leaving a bemused you and an utterly light-headed Rarity.

“Two… two thousand bits… all the things I could purchase with that…”

She seems happy about tonight’s turnout. Who’d have thought going out to get some dress-making supplies would end up like- oh wait!

“Rarity, the dresses!” you pick up your saddlebag, and hoist it back around you, “You said you were nearly done with them!”

The mention of her task is enough to snap her out of her bits-induced daydream, “Ah! Of course! Let’s get going, we can still get them finished before tomorrow morning!”

*******

The saddlebags fall to the floor the moment you both step into Rarity’s Canterlot Palace apartment. You breathe a deep sigh a weariness; you didn’t notice how much the night had taken out of you before now.

“Just leave the fabrics and gems right there,” Rarity tells you, “I’ll take it from here, you just go and clean yourself up - there’s still some dried blood on you.”

Sounds good to you. You could use a nice, cleansing shower right now.

“Wait,” she says, just as you open the bathroom door. You turn around. “I hope you don’t think of me as rude for asking, but… you know those bits that we’ve been promised?”

“Yes?”

“What do you intend to do with your share?”

You mull the question over for a moment. Being as famous as your are, you don’t need the money for yourself. However…

“I’m going to donate it all,” you say bluntly, “It’ll go towards that young filly’s family, you know the one who landed in hospital because of my magazine? It’s the least I’d do to make amends for that. What about you?”

“Me? Oh, I’ll probably just split it all between my friends in… Ponyville.” her expression dampens on that note. When she thinks back to her old friends.

“Do you miss Ponyville?” you ask.

“Of course I do,” she replies, “I may be a Canterlot pony at heart, but I would never abandon my friends for the whole of Equestria. You don’t suppose… you could return to Ponyville with me?”

You shake your head. “I’ll have a magazine company to run. A life to attend to.”

Then it hits you. One day soon, Rarity will be leaving Canterlot. One day soon, it will be goodbye.

“I… I should just clean myself up.” you break the silence like a hoof on brittle glass. Without another word, you trot through to the bathroom and shut the door, leaving Rarity to finish her dress.

Part 8 [Mature]

The soap and water of the shower soothes your aches and pains as it washes away the dry, cracked blood from the attack down the drain, and out of mind. When you feel you’re clean enough, you just stand there, with nothing but the rush of water hitting you and running down the luxury bath.

You don’t know how long you pass the time there. You just stand there and think. You wonder what would’ve happened if you hadn’t walked into the Carousel Boutique that day. Would it still have worked out for you? Would you have learned the true ideology behind fashion, or learned the true extent of your social power as a celebrity to others? Probably not.

She’s been a blessing since you saw her. And she’s leaving soon. She has her own life, as you have yours. Sure, she could visit, but…

Sigh… a pony like Rarity comes along once in a blue moon. You could have any mare with just a wink and a pick-up line, maybe buy them a drink at the very most. But Rarity? No, you’d be hard-pressed to get somepony quite like her. And she’s going to be on a train and out of your grasp soon.

Maybe that just makes you want her even more.

Knock-knock.

Speak of the she-devil.

“It’s open!” you call out. The one-of-a-kind unicorn herself pushes the door open. There she stands for a moment or two, admiring the soap-covered view you’re presenting her with, before she slams the door shut with a swift rear-hoof.

“My work here is done,” she grins, “I think you’ll find those dresses suitable for your employed models.”

“So it’s over?” you ask. It’s a strange thought - you’re happy that she managed to complete her task in only a few days, but saddened by the idea of her moving on with her life.

“My work is, certainly,” she coos, “But my leisure time has only just begun.” To your surprise, she places her fore-hooves over the side of the bath, before hoisting herself into it entirely, joining the cramped, yet cosy space with you.

“You see, I’ve been thinking about the conversation we had,” she coos, stroking your chest delicately as her mulberry mane dampens and falls past her face, complete with the rapid water droplets that trickle down her every feature, “If I’m going back to Ponyville soon, we should make the most of the time we have together right now.”

The warmth of the shower does nothing to stop the shivers of excitement in response to what she says next; “And I think we’ll make the most of our time with a nice. Hot. Steamy. Shower.”

You figure you might as well make her feel… comfortable.

Taking the soap from the side, you lather up your fore-hooves before sliding them sensually up and down Rarity’s velvety soft coat. Your tender caressing is responded by a gentle sigh from her as she embraces you, pulling you that much closer to her glistening, wet body.

Your hooves start to drift a little lower. Her deep, scented breathing can be felt dangerously close to your face. When her own hooves begin to tenderly massage you in return, her body pushed against yours in the most wonderful way, your pounding, primal urges push you that much further onward in the form of a hot, passionate kiss.

You shiver as you take in her taste with your lips, and grasp her smooth, shapely figure with your fore-hooves. She feels as perfect and sexy as you imagined. A soft, muffled giggle vibrates from her, without breaking contact with your lips. You wonder what she’s planning, at least for a moment, until she stops her sensual massage and instead focuses her attention on-

You audibly gasp, detaching your kiss, when one of Rarity’s dripping hooves reach the tender area between your legs, and holds your clearly noticeable - and excited - manhood. Her other one reaches out of the nearby soap, with which she lathers herself from hoof to fetlock.

Before you can even think of what to ask her, you’re hit with a rush of arousal as her slippery, soap-sudded hooves rhythmically slide up and down, up and down your smooth shaft. You aren’t one for lying down in a shower, but in this case you’re happy to lie down, giving her easier access to your whole body. She leans over closer, her hooves feverishly working faster and faster as you take in the pleasure, and the sensation of warm shower flowing over the both of you.

Just as you start to feel the wonderful, mounting pressure in your tip, you pull yourself upwards to Rarity’s level. Your hooves have her sleek, round hips firmly in your grasp. With a sense of dizzy pleasure reaching its highest, you feel obliged to excite her in return, exploring that little bit lower until you reach her tender entrance.

Imagine your sense of bliss when you discover that it’s already wide, quivering in anticipation. Dripping, be it from the water trickling down her perfect body, or her own produce. And ready for far more pleasure than mere hooves can give. No sooner do you touch her marehood, before she falls toward you with an unexpected moan of pleasure, stealing another kiss from your lips.

You try to hold yourself back from the approaching climax, but the whole situation - the water caressing your every inch, the mare’s eager massaging of your shaft, the welcome kiss that accompanies her blissful moan, the desire to be inside her, and her desire to let you in - it’s almost too much. Almost.

Despite your best efforts to hold off, a jolt of sexual thrill runs though you, and you let loose a solitary rush of relief. A few droplets of your own fluid trickle forth, mingling with the shower’s stream before disappearing down the drain. Luckily, you have far more left in you than that.

“Bedroom,” your sexually ravenous partner tells you. Not asks you; tells you. “Bedroom, now.”

Last time she demanded that, she had a certain task she had to finish. This time, however, it’s just you, her and the whole night ahead.

The time it took to turn the shower off and scrub yourselves dry felt closer to seconds than minutes. Once you’re both dry enough - no time to dry your manes or tails thoroughly, not while you’re as keen to reach the bedroom as you are - you open the bathroom door to find…

“Whoa.”

The multiple mannequins that were once dotted around the room are now brushed to the side. The lights are dimmed, accompanied only by the warm glow of candles that stand on the various drawers and shelves.

But best of all, the bed beckons you from the centre of the room.

“You were in there for a while before I joined you,” she quickly explains, “not only did I finish the dresses, but I also had time to set up some candles and turn down the lights.”

You say nothing. You only give her a thankful nuzzle, safe in the knowledge that she’s willing to pull out all the stops for you, before leading her to the awaiting bed. You both fall onto it as one, making sure Rarity is under you. Her hind legs part invitingly as you crawl over her, demanding your utmost attention.

With a hoof of yours lifting her head, you kiss her yet again, while your body slowly descends over hers. Your hips brush together, teasing what is to come. Keeping yourself as steady as your trembling nerves will allow, you bring your pulsating tip to her wet, blossoming flower, and slowly push yourself inside, the sensation taking your breath away as you enter.

Rarity squirms from the feeling, as if she’s trying to push herself deeper onto you. All you can do is help; with a calm thrust, you push yourself all the way inside her, until your hips collide with hers. Her pleasurable gasp, followed by a sigh that drips with arousal, is all she responds with.

You like that sound.

You decide to give her another thrust, revelling in her pleasure. And another thrust. And another. Each time getting faster and faster, each time causing Rarity to react - a satisfying twitch, an aroused gasp, a held-back moan - until you both fall into the rhythmic, sexual dance you know and love, pounding away at the rate of your loud, rapid pulse.

It isn’t long before Rarity’s face begins to glow redder and redder; she has long since given up attempting to hide her laboured moaning. By this point, in fact, they are more like the sharp, rising yells of her approaching climax. As for yourself, you are keeping well enough under control - the fun you had back in the shower had prepared you for this in advance - but the warm, wet sensation from each thrust sends one spasm of pleasure after another through you.

A sudden convulsion from the gorgeous mare. Her hooves suddenly reach out and grab you, squeezing you, giving her something to hold on to. She lets out a shuddering cry of relief as she reaches the tip of her climax. A moment later, you feel a rush of hot, slippery fluid flow over your shaft, lubricating it as you quicken your pace, falling into the throes of your own sexual desire.

Sweat rolls down every inch of Rarity’s perfect body, her ragged breathing still taking second fiddle to her moaning as she continues to derive pleasure, despite reaching past her zenith. Your tip is starting to beg for release, the severe temptation of discharging held back simply because you want it to last longer. You want it to build up more.

Yet another spasm of pleasure jolts though you, this time through your entire body. With a final few thrusts, you feel yourself finally breaking as your own produce rushes at full force towards orgasm. No way to stop it.

Finally, you let yourself loose. Burying your shaft deep inside her, you hold yourself still as you feel the wonderful, relieving gush that spurts from you, and mingles with her own fluids of sexual release. Each passing second gives you a climactic shiver as you feel your lust spurting, draining from it.

And then it’s over. There’s nothing but you, Rarity and the warm, sexual afterglow as you dismount her, rolling to the side of her in exhaustion, catching your breath. You hadn’t realised how tired you were during the activity itself; must’ve been too much fun to notice.

Rarity’s delicate eyes flutter shut, be it from the aftermath of pleasure, or the result of fatigue. Either way, she silently nuzzles you, resting her beautiful, weary head on your shoulder. Over time, your eyelids become heavy too. You shut your eyes to the world, letting the gentle sigh of Rarity’s breath become the only sound you hear. The only sound that lulls you into slumber.

Part 9

“All aboard for the last train to Ponyville!”

The orange hum of the sunset paints the sky as the sun begins to set over Canterlot. You stand by Rarity at the platform, preparing yourself to do the hardest thing you’ve done in a long time.

Say goodbye.

“We did it.”

That was all you could say at first. Something to close the book on your little adventure. Something to seal all of the loose ends. You redeemed yourself, not only by turning over a new leaf with your magazine and letting Rarity design (and star) in your latest issue, but by helping out those less fortunate too; a certain filly’s family was overjoyed at your donation earlier today.

Somehow, you feel clean now. Like you’re back on top form, even after falling as low as you did. Maybe it’s because you know each new issue you’ll make from now on is going to do good to the world. Yeah.

“Is there truly nothing I can say to make you stay longer?” you ask. You already know the answer. But it’s courteous to try, at least.

She shakes her head, a flicker of her horn floating her bags onto the train one by one, “I’ve got a life in Ponyville, you know that. I have my friends, I have my family, my parents, my little sister - heavens forbid they’d be able to stand looking after my cat for more than a few days - my boutique to run…”

“Your own life to lead.” you finish for her, “I know.”

After Rarity places the final bag on the train - the very same bag secreting two thousand bits for her and her friends - she turns back to you.

“Is there truly nothing I can say to make you come to Ponyville with me?” she asks. She already knows the answer.

You shake your head, “I’ve got a life in Canterlot. I have a company to keep in check, I have my friends, my co-workers - heavens forbid they’d be able to stand running my magazine for more than a few days…”

You’re cut off by Rarity’s gentle giggling. She found it funny, even cute, to know how different, yet how alike, two lives can be. From out of nowhere, she lifts a hoof and give you a comforting farewell hug. You return the affection, and peck her tenderly on the cheek.

“Oh, that’s not a kiss, darling…”

A moment later, her warm lips press up against yours. Your hoof wraps around her head steadily, completing the embrace, as your last kiss with her holds true. You and Rarity. So alike. So different.

“Doors closing! Everypony on the train!”

Your kiss breaks much sooner than you’d want it to. Time and tide waits for no pony, you suppose. You give her a confident nod, telling her to go ahead and get on the train. That it’s going to be alright.

“Look me up next time you’re in Canterlot!” you call out as she sets hoof on her returning journey, “If you need anything, anything at all, let me know!”

“Likewise if you ever find yourself in Ponyville,” she calls back, “You know where to find me!”

A hiss from the steam engine. A parting whistle from the train staff. A moment later, the train starts to chug along, carrying the mare who saved your life back to her home.

You don’t leave the station until the train has long since departed beyond the Canterlot mountains, and out of sight.

Farewell, Miss Rarity. Farewell, and thank you for everything.

*******

It’s morning by the time the train finally pulls into Ponyville. Rarity’s sleep was undisturbed, especially considering her sleeping was in a first-class cabin.

The only bad thing about it was how lonely she had been.

“It’s not so bad,” she’d mutter to herself, “I helped somepony who needed it, regardless of his status as a celebrity and one day, I’m going to go back.”

Gathering her luggage for departure, she thinks back to her old boutique, and the magazines that she’d amassed over the years. Even the ones including… him.

“Of course, I’m not going to need a ticket to Canterlot to see him again.”

A warm sight greets her when she steps of the train. Five of her best friends were waiting patiently for her arrival, and five of her best friends were glad to see her safe return. Twilight Sparkle was the first one to ‘officially’ welcome her back, along with, of all things, a box of chocolates from…

“D’aw, you shouldn’t have!” Rarity coos at her scaly friend, “Oh, little Spikey-Wikey!” she even delivers a quick nuzzle of appreciation to her red-faced dragon friend. Such a young, innocent, yet mature and responsible fellow.

The others are quick to follow; Applejack gives her a respectful nod and an invitation to Sweet Apple Acres for a party now that “the gang’s all here”, Rainbow Dash hoofs out a free high-five to her returning friend, and Fluttershy delights in the fact that she has a partner for the spa once again.

But wait… out of the five that are here; Twilight, Spike, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy… surely there’s somepony who’s missing-?

POOF!

“Surpriiise! Welcome back Rarity! Wooo!”

If Rarity didn’t recognise Pinkie Pie’s sudden materialisation from seemingly nowhere, the hurricane of confetti and overall cheer sure confirmed it. Now the gang’s all here.

“Come on, girls,” the dazzling white unicorn smiles, “let’s go home. I’ve got a certain something I’d like to share with you all…”

This is Rarity, of the small town of Ponyville. And these are her best friends. No matter what the glitz and glamour of being with a Canterlot celebrity would have brought, she wouldn’t trade her life here for the world.

*******

You love these kind of parties.

It’s almost like nothing has changed. There are far more ponies giving you pleasant greetings than scornful remarks. But even now, you wonder if they’d ever scorn you to your face. That’s the thing with a city that’s fuelled by gossip; it’s always done behind the subject’s back. Heck, if this town was full ponies wearing unidentifiable masks, it wouldn’t change much; they already guise themselves in so many metaphorical masks to begin with.

Maybe that’s why Miss Rarity was such a breath of fresh air for you, despite being so similar to a Canterlot upper-class mare. You often wonder what she’s doing right now, a full week after you said your bittersweet farewells.

You also wonder why Fancypants is late to the party, yet again. That, and what you should do to pass the time. Best idea? Get a martini from the bar and wait it out.

“Hello there.”

You turn to see a rather pretty face. Refined gray coat. Subtle black mane and tail, gracefully formal, but without any accessories attached, as far as you’re aware. Light purple eyes, complimenting the treble clef that adorns her sophisticated rump. Classiest earth pony you’ve ever seen.

“Greetings,” you reply with the usual suave demeanour, “Great party, don’t you agree?” You’re about to offer her a dance, before you remember that the music stopped ten minutes ago, letting the party-goers mingle with idle chatter. Your mind adds two and two together.

“I loved your performance earlier,” you say, “It really made the evening.”

“And I loved your recent exploits,” she blushes, humbled to hear your compliment, “I read all about what you did. Catching a wanted criminal and giving the money away to a needing family? What generosity!”

Wow, people actually know about that? You were expecting your magazine - the latest hit, complete with a certain beautiful white unicorn on the cover - to be the main redeemer of your popularity, but if other newspapers and magazines are talking about yours and Rarity’s efforts to catch the local villain…

“Where did you read about that?” you ask.

“Posh Ponies Periodical,” she grins, “I know it’s not the best paper in Canterlot - that would be yours - but it’s caused quite the stir! You’re a hero!”

A hero? For standing around, getting mugged and having a dainty Ponyville lady knock out the criminal for you? That’s newspapers for you; they rarely get the whole story straight.

“Oh, it was nothing,” you dismiss. No, really, it was nothing on your part.

“All the same,” the earth pony gives you a suggestive, half-lidded look, “I’d love to talk about it. Perhaps we should continue this conversation… in private?”

Hoo boy, you know what that means. You’re about to pounce on the opportunity - literally or not, your choice - until you recall a certain somepony you value quite highly.

Looking off into Celestia’s sunset, you spy the small town of Ponyville on the horizon. You think about… her. About what she’s doing now. Her own life to lead and all of that jazz. Maybe you shouldn’t just leap at the first chance you get. After all, why waste an encounter with meaningless sex when there's the potential for so much more beneath it?

“How about…” you say slowly, “How about I buy you a drink first? Take it nice and slow. We have the whole night ahead of us after all, Miss..?”

“Octavia,” she smiles, “Octavia Melody. And might I say, you are quite the gentlecolt for wanting more than a quick… roll in the hay, so to speak. I truly wish there were more ponies like you in Canterlot.”

You chuckle. Despite having it all these past few years, you feel you’ve never gained as much as the day you trotted into Rarity's life, and how she helped you in ways you never even thought possible. Now it’s your turn to spread your own ideals to the world. Only this time, it’s not just through a fashion magazine. This time, it’s from the heart.

“You know something, Octavia?” you breathe a happy, untroubled sigh, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

(Spoiler; you now have a fetish for hot tubs, showers and fabulosity! Also, unexpected yet bittersweet open endings. But do you ever hook up with your new friend, and set off on your own merry life, carrying your experiences with you forever? Or do you simply treasure her friendship, waiting for the return of that special unicorn from Ponyville? I don't have that answer. It's your story, readers, after all.) - Crowley