Author's Note

Resume: Applejack and Rarity host an internet video about camping essentials as they prepare for an overnight music festival.

“Camping Must-Haves”

Applejack and Rarity sitting in the latter’s bedroom at home. Rarity reaches out to straighten the camera a bit—this is an online video in the making—and leans back in her chair once she has it to her liking. Applejack is wearing a white shirt with a green collar with rolled up sleeves, a blue denim skirt held by a brown belt with a red apple-shaped buckle and brown boots, she's not wearing her hat and even her blonde hair isn't tied to a low ponytail, Rarity already is naked now that her farvorite clothes and shoes are gone.

“Hello, Internet darlings! It’s your music festival muses, Rarity and Applejack here,” Applejack flips a salute. “presenting our camping must-haves.”

On these last three words, she touches her thumbs and forefingers together to form a triangle, then pulls them apart. A tent, heart, and pair of exclamation points appear between the splayed digits, then vanish in a sudden cut to the two with slightly altered postures.

“Now you’re gonna be out in the hot sun all day long.” Applejack picks up a spray bottle from the floor. “So be sure to bring plenty of sunscreen.”

“Of course, your SPF won’t be complete without a chapeau.” Rarity said.

Sun protection factor, that is. The end of this line is delivered as a voice over when the camera cuts to her standing near the window and showing off a sun hat she has donned. In a trice, she is bounding back across the room with a rolled blanket under one arm and a parasol in the other hand, to Applejack’s considerable surprise.

Rarity deploying both items. “And it should match your parasol and your blanket, of course.” She darts o.s.

“But you don’t really need all that.” Applejack said.

“And maybe a scarf.” Rarity said from o.s.

One is flung into view from her direction to tangle around the blond head; Applejack snatches it away and shoots her a dirty look.

“I can think of two must-haves for makin’ an outhouse feel like an in-house.” Applejack shows two fingers.

Close-up of two rolls of toilet paper and three bottles of green gel.

“Bring your own TP and plenty of hand sanitizer.”

A pale finger hooks the camera and drags it around to face Rarity, who shows off two bottled products in quick succession.

“Be sure to include one or two all-natural moisturizers.” Rarity voices over.

Cut to her, pointing out a few other beauty items stacked on a side table.

“It never hurts to have a whole set.” She puts them on the floor by Applejack’s supplies.

“You can’t go three days without ’em?” Applejack irks.

“Oh, I’ll fit them in, darling. I’ll just tuck them in next to the cushioned seat cover, air-freshening candle set, and four-panel privacy screen.” Rarity hust back and forth, adding items to the pile.

This last is unfolded to present an image of Opal, prompting Applejack to voice an irritated sigh and pivot herself and the camera away from her friend.

“And finally,” She rummags under chair, hefting a rolled sleeping bag. “you’ll need a sleepin’ bag for a few hours of shut-eye.” Rarity leans into view, in extreme close-up.

“Plus pillows!” She singsongs.

Cut to her sitting on the couch naked over by one wall; she shows off each type as it is mentioned incluing her gorgeous naked body and bare feet as a bonus.

“Travel pillows, body pillows, accent pillows, throw pillows, bolster pillows,” Cut to Opal making herself comfortable on one. “hypo-allergenic pillows…” Back to Applejack, now supremely fed up and no longer holding the sleeping bag.

“And where are you plannin’ to put all them pillows?” Applejack asked.

She is not a bit prepared to hear her opposite number grunting with exertion and dragging the room’s four-poster canopy bed inch by inch across the floor.

Rarity responds between grunts. “Just…” After a few more heaves, she stops to catch her breath.

“Excuse me! What happened to bringin’ only our must-haves?” Applejack said irritated.

“This is a one-of-a-kind bespoke four-poster bed.” Rarity grabs one of its posts, sliding pitifully down. “I absolutely must have it!”

Applejack manages to limit her exasperation to a pinch at the bridge of her nose.

“Campin’s about makin’ do with what you got. It’s about breakin’ off a stick to roast marshmallows, or rustlin’ up pine needles for deodorant!” Applejack pivots away, pulling camera along.

Rarity stands on up the end of this tirade, then moves up to sit next to her and drape an bare arm across the white shirt rolled up shoulders.

“But, darling, we’re not camping.” Rarity said.

“Huh?” Applejack gets confussed what Rarity is talking about.

Now the naked fashionista’s fingers spin the camera to put them out of view and point out the window. Parked on the lawn is a motor home of some magnitude—white walls, purple roof, blue/gold trim.

“We’re glamping!” She said from o.s.

A portmanteau of “glamour” and “camping,” that is. One side panel flips up; tree stumps fall out to create a circle of seats and a flattop grill table lands in their center. Skewers are next to fall, leaning against the edges so that the marshmallows spitted on their upper ends are in a perfect position to start toasting when the grill switches itself on. The vehicle’s horn plays a merry tune as multicolored lights play over the bodywork, after which Rarity whips the camera back to herself and Applejack. There follows a long silence, during which the farmer’s startled air shifts to one of smiling acceptance.

“Well, I think I’m gonna like glaimpin’.” Applejack said happily.

Rarity winks, the aperture shaped as a lozenge-cut gem and centered on her face.