Applejack banged on the door to Carousel Boutique.

“Rarity? Rarity!” She banged some more. “Rarity! You open that door right now, missy, or so help me I’ll—”

“Applejack?” Rarity said, coming round the side of the building. “What’s the matter? Why are you making a... hey!” Rarity found herself forcefully turned around and pushed all the way to the back of the building. Various fabrics ruffled in the breeze, hanging from three clotheslines fastened from the boutique to the sole tree nearby.

“Well, I never!” she huffed indignantly.

“Don’t start with me, missy. Ya’ll have a lot to answer for.”

Rarity opened her mouth, a scathing retort on the tip of her tongue. The look on Applejack’s face made her think twice.

“Rares.” Applejack leaned in, looking as serious as Rarity had ever seen her. “Just what in tarnation happened yesterday?”

“Y-yesterday? Well, ah, not much, honestly.” She sighed mournfully. “That is to say, I tried to entertain dear Anonymous here in the shop. Unfortunately we were, er,” Her face soured. “Interrupted.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what else happened?”

Rarity’s eye twitched. “N-nothing important, really. Just, ah, tinkered with some potential designs for my autumn lineup. Y-yes. Yes. That’s all that happened. That and Sweetie Belle’s little sleepover.” Regaining some of her composure, she continued. “And I must say, Applejack, I don’t much care for this boorish treatment.”

“And I don’t care for your sister tellin’ little Applebloom things she’s too young t’ know.”

Rarity blanched. “W-what’s that, now?”

Applejack’s mouth opened, but words wouldn’t come. She closed her eyes, covering her face with a hoof. Her chest heaved as she drew a deep breath, sighing.

“I walked in on her.”

“Pardon?” Rarity said meekly.

“Applebloom,” Applejack said, her voice dead. “She had a carrot. Big one.” She lowered her hoof, staring at Rarity dead on. “Doing things she shouldn’t.”

Rarity flushed a burning red. Humiliation and anger warred for dominion within her. She spared a brief, murderous glare at the boutique.

“Way Applebloom tells it—well, way she said Sweetie Belle told it first—that kind of, ah, deep throatin’ an’ stuff?” Rarity's blush, if possible, deepened; turning near purple. “It’s the kind of things grown-ups get up to. Figured the three of them could get their Cutie Marks that way.”

“Wha-what?”

“Cutie Marks. ‘Grown-up' Cutie Marks.”

“B-but... tha... there’s no such thing!”

“No. Kiddin’.”

Rarity bit her lip. She bit so hard she nearly drew blood. A small, high-pitched whine of despair left her lips. Everything spilled out in a rush. She gave Applejack a brief account of what transpired at the boutique, stopping at the moment Sweetie Belle walked in on them, so as to preserve a sliver of her dignity.

“She wasn’t supposed to tell,” she said desperately. “Sweetie Belle was supposed to keep it secret!”

“Well, she didn’t,” Applejack said unsympathetically. “And ‘cause o’ that, I had to explain to Applebloom how stallions don’t normally,” her muzzle scrunched up. “Pee in mares’ mouths.”

As a general rule, ponies did not normally die from embarrassment alone. Rarity bemoaned this. At least then her suffering would end.

“I, um,” she gulped. Her throat felt dry. “I don’t know what to say.”

Applejack sighed. “Yer not makin’ it easy, you know. Staying mad at you.”

“Applejack, darling,” Rarity implored. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else I can say except—”

Applejack waved a hoof. “Aw, shucks. T’wasn’t your fault. Not really. ‘S just,” she pursed her lips. “Not the easiest conversation, you know? To have with your sister.”

Rarity laughed; a hollow, mirthless sound. “Oh, I do. Trust me, I do.”

Not much needed to be said, now that the mares understood each other. Applejack bid her farewell. Rarity watched her friend trot off into the distance. She levitated a laundry basket nearby, bringing it closer. Next she used her magic to skillfully grasp the fabrics from the clotheslines and fold them into neat, ordered bundles, piling them atop the basket. She entered her house from the back door that led to the kitchen, her hooves echoing softly among the tiled floor. Upon entering the threshold to the living room, Rarity levitated the basket over to two more of its kind, where the freshly dried fabrics waited to be sorted and put away.

Rarity closed her eyes, her face a mask of solemn serenity. She inhaled deeply through her nose, lips parting as she let the breath out. She stood unnaturally still for several heartbeats. Statue-like. Alas, her facade dropped, and when Rarity’s eyes opened, they were full to the brim with searing, apoplectic fury. Her teeth were bared, her tranquil face twisting to a wrathful visage of pure, undiluted rage.

“SWEETIE BELLE!”

Author's Note

This one's not really important to the plot or story at large so I figured I'd give it its own little chapter.