The Head

She dearly wanted to sleep, needed the rest in order to gain some small degree of recovery -- and yet she couldn't seem to manage the feat.

The autumn chill of the evening schedule should have helped her cause. She'd even opened a window to let somewhat more of it in. Invite just a touch of cold, then place herself beneath layers of blankets. Thermal armor, offering both protection and comfort. And thus, doubly insulated from the world, she should have been able to drift into dream. Venturing into her nightscape, because whatever awaited in the realm of the unreal had to be better than what was currently lurking on the Boutique's sales floor.

But she couldn't sleep.

Opal had joined her on the bed, and Rarity usually didn't mind that: her cat was often a source of comfort, and the gentle vibrations produced by purring warmth could help to relieve stress at the end of a long day. But Opal wasn't purring. Most of the current vibrations were being produced by a semi-intermittent series of twitches. And to make matters worse, the feline had decided to curl up on one of the pillows. Placing herself in direct proximity to Rarity's head.

The unicorn tried to discourage that. She was almost never fully motionless in sleep, didn't always check the area before starting to move upon waking, and she hated the prospect of giving Opal an accidental horn poke. But the cat didn't want to leave. Any attempt to lower her onto the floor, or using soft blue to place her upon any other portion of the bed, simply found Opal coming back to the pillow. Doing so at the exact moment when the cat decided that Rarity was no longer paying attention. Over and over.

In a way, it was understandable. The Head was still in the shop, and claws really didn't do much against wood. Opal might have simply felt slightly more comfortable in direct proximity to an extra weapon.

It had been a rather strange day.

Rarity was an artist: one who could dream in light, cloth, and gem. But on a slightly-removed level, she was also a small business owner and she supposed that some of those dreams significantly overlapped those experienced by other tradesponies. For example, there was the one which had her shop crowded with so many customers that she couldn't possibly work out whom she was supposed to assist first. Not that it really mattered, because they were all shoving bits towards her with hooves and snouts and coronas which had precise aim on the overflowing portions of her till. And that fantasy had a rather natural followup: the one where she staggered towards the bank while flanked closely on left and right by two magnificently powerful earth pony stallions, both of whom made sure to maintain close -- almost intimate -- contact at all times. It was the only way of keeping her upright against the weight of money-laden saddlebags.

It was an old dream, perhaps a nearly universal one. And the recently-concluded day had seen a portion of it come true --

-- technically.

The shop had been crowded. She'd had about three hours of steadily-increasing pony presence, to the point where she could barely see across her own sales floor -- and yet somehow, she'd always retained a perfectly-clear view of what everypony had come to see.

Three hours. That had been the reasonable maximum. Those who'd been pushing their way through the heavy hoof-and-wing presence in the Boutique were expected to turn up for dinner on time, and Rarity wasn't sure their parents would understand the proffered excuse.

Three hours of constant traffic flow, and all of it had come to see The Head.

Just about every last pony had been an adolescent. A few adults had come in to see what the fuss was about, and two mares had each hauled older siblings across the line -- but to have reached the age of full voting rights seemed to disable whatever protections youths possessed against The Head, and anypony older who got close to it immediately cast their ballot for I Am Leaving Now, then declared a 1-0 victory and refused all recounts.

But with the students...

They got as close to it as they dared. They whispered to each other. Some of them laughed. Pictures had been taken, to the point where Rarity eventually swore that every last camera in Ponyville had passed through her shop -- and that very much included the possibility that The Head was giving Barnyard Bargains' photography department a rather strong sales day.

And then they left.

Because even with dozens of ponies passing through the Boutique, the vast majority had come to see The Head.

Nothing else.

It had infuriated Rarity, and she'd done her best to try and conceal that state. Hiding the anger had taken a little more effort. She'd never had a dress catch on like that, or seen so many citizens just about lining up to get a look at one of her creations. Why couldn't the surge of interest be attached to something she'd made?

...not that she wanted anypony to believe she'd created The Head.

They had all come in to see that -- thing...

I am not jealous.

(She also wasn't Honesty, but Rarity typically didn't see that as a problem. Besides, a lie told to oneself was clearly meant for calming and the protection of the artist's fragile ego. Falsehoods could be carefully woven in a noble cause, and on the day Applejack finally understood that...)

She'd thought about sticking The Head in the basement, putting out a picture of the absent dress, and then installing a few more locks on the basement door. (No more than a dozen, as anything over that number might have appeared unreasonable.) Place the focus back onto her -- the Boutique. Force the youths to once again regard the full contents of the shop.

But the thing was... when you had that many ponies coming in, then subtracting out a vast majority could still leave a pretty significant remainder.

The students had come, in pairs on up: Rarity presumed this was for mutual reinforcement. Giggling had resounded, over and over. Pictures had been taken. Repeatedly.

Why do they need so many pictures...?

But once that was done... some of the fillies had remembered that there was a Fall Formal approaching. And they were going to need a dress.

She hadn't collected anywhere near enough rental fees to require external support during the deposit trip. But she'd taken in more than she'd initially projected.

She'd also tried to talk a few fillies out of choosing the blue model. The colors had been all wrong for them.

...and are they picking that one because it's the style being used by the Head?

She didn't want the ponikin in her shop. It clashed. Rarity considered this state to be universal, especially as she was sure it didn't go well with the most local portion of the universe. But if it was actually assisting her rentals...

There is no school tomorrow, or on the day after that. She'd posted an adjustment to her hours accordingly, but didn't expect to see very much early-morning traffic: Head or no Head, most adolescents confronted with a day off would almost always choose to sleep in. But with more time available for the youths to shop...

The unicorn sighed to herself.

It must stay where it is.

Then she very carefully got out of bed. Opal jumped down from the pillow and followed her pony right up until the moment Rarity reached the top of the ramp, whereupon the cat figured out what the destination would be and stopped right there.

It didn't matter. Rarity wasn't going very far. Just down the slope to the point where she could see tiny, sightless, mad yellow eyes technically failing to look back at her -- and doing so from the expected position.

She couldn't sleep. And part of her insisted upon making sure The Head was staying exactly where it was.

The Boutique was open, and so Rarity had to stay on the sales floor. Remaining at the top of the ramp, peeking down from the residence level at all times, didn't quite give her a full view of the Boutique. The shop was decidedly round in structure and yet when it came to the possibility of shoplifters -- including those who just tooth-stripped a few gems off the dresses and then tried to falsely saunter out with their mouths tightly closed -- it still managed to claim a few hidden corners.

(She'd once come close to flavoring the gems, spraying them in the same bitter apple Fluttershy used to keep cottage residents from chewing crucial items. But some failed designs were dismantled for other purposes, and she didn't want to risk making Spike ill.)

She had no choice but to remain on the lower level, even when it kept her in close proximity to The Head and she was waiting on her first potential rental customer of the day. But she supposed it was giving her the chance to become accustomed to the thing's presence.

Surely the spontaneous little twitches would fully go away in another hour.

Perhaps two.

The weekend had to be enough to do it --

-- the Boutique's front door opened.

Most of the Bearers came with their own design challenges. With Fluttershy, Rarity always had to face the sheer scope of the incredible tail -- and the fact that on the rare occasions when the caretaker dressed up, she wanted the entirety of the fall to be fully concealed. Rainbow could mean coordinating with a lot of colors, and Applejack's outfits had to be reinforced against the possibility of the farmer spontaneously turning one into a working dress.

With Twilight, it was size. The librarian was small in stature: quite a few adolescents outmassed her, and that was after factoring the earth ponies out. She also didn't have much in the way of muscle tone. Using Twilight as a living easel for the art of the dress meant dealing with the fact that the available display space had lost a few square hoofwidths.

For Twilight to make a game attempt at frustratedly stomping into the Boutique could be an exercise in comedy, as the little mare barely possessed the mass for an effective stomp in the first place. To see her doing so while wearing saddlebags which were clearly overburdened with books of all sizes, with the fast-accruing weight of paper having its way with her spine and absolutely no earth pony models helping her along...

She was trying to stomp her way in, and adding a few tenth-bales in hardcovers did have a positive effect on the impact. Watching her struggle to get the next leg in line to raise, however, could take a while. And then there was the way her vertebrae were trying to enter a consensual relationship with the abdominal wall.

Rarity almost leapt out from behind her sales desk.

"Let me take some of that!" Her horn ignited, and soft blue projected forward: surrounding the overladen saddlebags, propping up the mass. "For Sun's sake, Twilight: if you're going to carry that much, then place some of it in a corona bubble!" Chiding a little, "It's simply common sense." Which was followed by a rather quick frown. "Actually... as New Release Day for the week was several days ago, why are you coming in with so many fresh recommendations for me right now? Did you happen to find a stable sale which was selling titles from a previously-unseen author?"

The little mare, now capable of moving somewhat faster, narrowed her eyes and continued the approach.

Rarity inspected her friend's expression, then helpfully added, "Recognizing that our tastes in literature are not the same, of course. But regardless. Show me the first covers? I can generally pick out the quality of the production by the number of sails rendered for the cover's mast --"

"-- show you the first covers," Twilight half-spat, and the poorly concealed anger almost made Rarity pull back. "Right. I can do that..."

The librarian came to a stop in front of Rarity, and furious purple eyes glared up at the designer.

"...Twilight?" seemed appropriate, if slightly desperate.

A narrow rib cage expanded from the force of a furious breath.

"The library's been open for a while," Twilight slowly said. "Weekend hours."

Rarity wondered if a nod would help. "Well, yes. Our working times hardly match. You started well before I did. Does Spike have custody right now, or --"

"-- I noticed a lot of secondary school students coming in," Twilight fiercely cut in. "I thought there was homework involved. A big research project where they were allowed to choose their own topic, because they were going everywhere. And none of them wanted help. If I went up to one, they would just tell me they could take care of everything themselves."

"Ponies of that age are often reluctant to accept aid," said the mare who personally felt herself to still be rather close to those years. "As having already decided one knows everything can make it difficult to take in new facts. I had a few issues with some of my rental customers yesterday --"

"-- and then," Twilight said as her tones dropped into the too-soft register of danger, "one of them didn't quite manage to reshelve a book all the way..."

Her horn ignited. Pinkish light poked at a soft blue saddlebag coating, which parted to let it through. The left lid was flipped back, and a tome went past Rarity's eyes before she could get a truly good look at it.

"Er," Rarity carefully tried. "Twilight..."

"Behind you," was nearly a whisper.

The hardcover landed on the desk with a !THUMP! which made the sales ledger jump, and Rarity turned to look at it. The act did her the courtesy of clearing her sight line from The Head --

-- until it did not.

The book's topic appeared to be a fictionalized military history, and Rarity would have normally assumed it was poorly written because the right cover of the cover showed a drove of yaks in full retreat. Yaks generally didn't do that. Any military unit of yaks found moving away from a battlefield could be safely presumed to have found something better to break in the opposite direction.

Except that they might have found something worth running from.

The left side of the cover showed an Equestrian unit on the advance. And the charge was being led by The Head.

The designer -- snickered.

"Rarity!"

It took a second to push most of her reaction down, and little bubbles of mirth kept drifting out of her throat to burst along the borders of words. "Oh, Twilight... can't you see how silly that is? Finally, something which can actually make a yak turn away from the prospect of gleeful destruction! That which anyone of sanity would reasonably fear! Did somepony paste this over the face of the general?" She squinted. "The alignment isn't exactly perfect, and of course they couldn't match the hues for the original neck --"

"-- this is what I've been able to track," Twilight softly said. "I know you had fillies and colts in here yesterday, taking pictures. From all sorts of angles, right? Because it's only got the one expression, but changing the approach can at least give you some different views. Some of those kids had their pictures speed-developed. And then they went to the print shop, and Mrs. Bradel --"

Another book emerged. The Head was at the front of a classroom, preparing to lecture the near-foals of Magic Kindergarten on how a corona worked.

"-- transferred all of it --"

The third showed a maternity ward. A proud new mother was about to be presented with her first foal and since she'd just given birth to The Head, it was safe to guess that she wasn't going to be proud for much longer.

The fourth...

"-- to stickers -- stop laughing!"

It took a special effort to force the current outburst back.

"Twilight," Rarity finally managed, "if you would simply attempt to perceive the humor in having it raise Sun --"

"-- it's defacing books," the librarian fiercely said. "Every book they can get their mouths on! Spike started going through the shelves just before I left, and he found more than two dozen before I cleared the front door! There's probably at least a hundred which were already ruined --"

Rarity was squinting again. "The sticker doesn't appear to be evenly placed," she noted. "The edges are starting to bubble up. A rather weak glue?"

Twilight paused.

"Well, yes," she reluctantly admitted. "Mrs. Bradel doesn't do a lot with stickers, and it all has to come from her central equipment. So it's not a strong binding, because that might gum up the press. It's mostly just a quick peel and wiping down the cover. Carefully."

Do not giggle. "Twilight, they are merely having a little fun," Rarity tried. "I realize some of the results are rather -- incongruous. And they are creating extra work for the library: I acknowledge that. But it's just about completely harmless --"

The fifth book emerged, and pinkish light held it directly in front of Rarity's horrified gaze.

She had her own tastes in literature, even if Twilight sometimes insisted that Rarity's primary interests should never have counted as literature at all. Rarity, if left to her own devices, went for the sort of story where a beautiful, somewhat-naive mare would wind up foalnapped by pirates. The pirates themselves would, for the most part, be utterly uncouth. The captain merely needed the love of a good mare to set him right -- at least, once she'd gotten close enough to see the gentlepony lurking underneath.

One of her regulars had described Rarity's preference as 'bodice-rippers' and the designer, confronted with the term, had naturally needed to ask a few questions. Somepony who didn't have female minotaurs as friends generally wound up requiring some very cautious inquiries before they could learn what a 'bodice' was.

She recognized the cover, because she always took a proper number of sails as a sign of good research and that helped her find favorites. She knew the author, and recognized the Mare In Distress: the sign of that last was having the dress strategically ripped over the mark, and most of the distress went to the fabric. Of course, the mare's portion was strictly temporary, because she was mere chapters away from learning that she was in love.

With The Head.

It almost aligned with the original art. There was a certain clash of hues, and also of reality.

She blinked. A number of personal fantasies flew from her eyelashes and landed in The Head's sightless pupils, where they were instantly crushed beyond all hope of repair.

"...oh," Rarity softly said.

"Do you get it now?" Twilight patiently, evenly demanded. "It's not even the only thing they've been trying! I didn't bring any of the others because -- well, because the books are in my custody and while I could pick up most of the rest, ponies would be asking questions. You haven't seen the rest of it, and I don't even think I found everything! And when I spotted one of the students outside, told her what she'd been doing was wrong -- she said I was too old to understand! I'm only a few years clear of the Gifted School!" And in tones of near-ultimate offense, "And I got through my post-graduate work early!"

Rarity took a breath. Then she internally examined the remnants of her shattered dreams and took two more, because she was clearly facing at least a week in which breathing was the most fun she could reasonably hope to have.

"Twilight?"

"I know this isn't your fault, you didn't ask them to do it and they all just latched onto the same idea, but it has to stop --"

"-- check it for magic."

The librarian's entire body hesitated. Breathing and pulse rate took a three-second timeout, then reluctantly returned and discovered the situation hadn't changed.

The "...I don't want to," emerged with an unintentional imitation rate of 85% Fluttershy.

Another blink. An entire fleet of nightscape sailing ships instantly sunk, with every impossible romance lost at sea. "You don't what?"

With faint abashment, "I don't want my corona touching it -- Rarity, please don't give me that look. You've got rupophobia. You don't jump into mud unless Sweetie's involved. If anypony should understand..."

That brought out a soft sigh. "I do, Twilight, and -- I apologize." Carefully, as notes of respect wove themselves into full sentences, "But I must repeat the request. As you said, they all latched onto the same idea. And adolescents talk, fads spread -- but there's a chance this is being produced by something else. Through a spell. A casting we haven't encountered before, and that would be a factor for which Ponyville will need you. And if so -- we have to know. Jumping into the mud, to protect them. So -- please?"

Twilight managed a slow inhale, and her bangs shifted across the minimal length of the nod.

"Go into the workroom."

Immediately, "I'm staying right here."

"Rarity," the Element Of Magic lectured Generosity, "some enchanted items have their own defenses. You know that. And a few set those defenses to go off when somepony's trying to analyze the castings, because that's a pretty good way to keep the problem from being solved. If this has workings on it, then I don't know what any reaction might do or -- if it could hurt you. I don't want you getting hurt. Distance might provide some protection. I probably can't get you to leave the Boutique, but -- go in the workroom. Please."

"And I," Rarity immediately countered, "have no desire to cower in relative safety while my friend is risking herself."

"I could teleport with you to the other side of town," was unexpectedly fierce. "Leave you there and return directly to the Boutique. By the time you galloped back --"

"-- you might be critically hurt, with nopony present to go for help." Almost savagely, "I possess only a fraction of your strength, Twilight. I am aware. But if the theoretical defenses are aimed at the analyzing party, then you would benefit from having somepony present to knock you out of the way."

The mares locked eyes and after a few seconds of silence, it was invisibly agreed to each let the other believe that somepony else had blinked.

"Stay behind me, then," Twilight finally said. "So I can try to counter any spells first. And you can push me from the back."

Rarity nodded, and the two mares arranged themselves a few crucial body lengths away from The Head.

"I think it's watching us," Twilight whispered.

"It cannot," Rarity insisted. "It can't think, Twilight. You're the one who's always told me that the creation of a true mind through magic is effectively impossible. This cannot be the exception."

"I still feel like it's watching us."

"Why are you whispering?"

"Because maybe it can hear us too -- all right, I know I'm being silly. The eyes are just wrong. I don't think they could even be right if they were a normal size. Something about those pupils --" Her head abruptly shook itself several times, fast and hard. "-- I'm stalling. Let's get this over with."

The librarian's corona carefully removed her saddlebags: that much less weight to shift in an emergency. All other glowing holds were released, and the full intensity of the pinkish light flowed forward. Surrounded The Head and, for that matter, the body and the dress. Twilight's corona hue really didn't work with any of it, and the 'yellow' readily decided to look that much worse.

The sparkling borders shifted, pushed here and there. Little fragments of light moved across blind wooden pupils, with no hopes of making it to the other side. Rarity watched, kept her own horn attentive for the feel of an abrupt thaumatic surge, got ready to charge --

-- slowly, carefully (and a little reluctantly), Twilight exhaled. The corona winked out.

"It's been sculpted," she said. "I'm familiar with how that spell feels, because I've sensed the results after you cast it. There was no carving involved in making this, Rarity. Everything about that -- face -- and body was created with magic. And then they secured it." The lecturing tones were starting to come back. "Usually, that makes an object impossible to lift with a corona unless the original caster is doing it. Everypony else gets to see their effort slide off. But this time... they were trying to make it proof against further change, and they succeeded."

"No alterations possible," Rarity considered.

"Well, you can't sculpt it," Twilight darkly clarified. "There's a lot of other ways to change it. Just for starters, I'm pretty sure I could turn this into a mound of splinters. I'd just have to squeeze. But when it comes to magical alteration of the current form -- you can't, not without breaking the securing spell first." She paused. "There's also some minor effects. Preventing stains, a bit of dust repulsion. I think somepony just wanted this to always look -- like it does right now." She winced. "For some reason."

The designer nodded. "I knew about the protection against being sculpted again," she admitted. "I tried to make it temporarily match the others in the shipment. My apologies for not having told you."

"It's all right."

Rather warily, "And -- the rest?"

"That's it."

Rarity blinked. The upper left arch of her false eyelashes made a break for it.

"That's it?"

"It was made into that shape," Twilight delivered her verdict, "and it maintains the shape. Rarity, that's all. It doesn't radiate emotional resonance, and I thought I was potentially going to find an obsession bomb. Make ponies spread the image around town. And it might have even been rigged to only do that to ponies who aren't adults. Having that casting solely go active when fillies and colts get close. That trigger can be buried, and it'll escape casual passive notice -- but not direct examination. I didn't feel any more workings, Rarity. It's -- not doing this."

Both mares thought about that for a while. The Head watched them do it or rather, it shouldn't have. Twilight had just confirmed that it was utterly incapable of that sort of action, and so Rarity found it rather irritating that the Head just went ahead and did that anyway. The supposed ponikin clearly had no respect for advanced thaumatological investigations.

"You said," Rarity finally ventured, "that the books aren't the only thing they've been trying."

"Hardly," had just a little bit of a snarl bound up in the frets.

"I expected them to sleep in," the designer admitted. "As those of that age often do on the weekends." As she sometimes wished she'd been able to, just a little more than she had -- but she'd opened the Boutique when she still technically should have been in school. "But a number of secondary school students are clearly out and about early, because they reached the library and -- whatever else they're doing. And since none of them have yet to enter the Boutique..."

Her own horn ignited, and a sideways projection of soft blue fetched a warm traveling cloak. She'd seen the weather schedule, and the cloak's hood also made it very slightly less likely that somepony would spot her.

"Show me," Rarity requested.

"The Boutique is supposed to be open right now," Twilight hastily pointed out. "You'll lose sales --"

"-- mostly rentals," the designer qualified. "And perhaps not. They have clearly found other things to do this morning, and might not reach me for some time. You've lived in Ponyville for a while now, Twilight. You know the streets, and you've seen things which I haven't. So -- show me around."

The first stop was going to be the cinema. Twilight had been rather insistent on that.

"The Coming Attractions posters," Rarity guessed.

"Yes."

"Aren't they kept behind glass?" the designer checked. "As some ponies have apparently taken to --" and hesitated, because it was a market she'd never quite been able to work out. "-- 'collecting' them. As Stiff Neck does with the films themselves, only with somewhat less -- anger."

"Yes," Twilight sighed as the front wall of the building came into view. "That's why the students have been putting the pictures on top of the glass. And since the place hasn't opened for the matinee yet..."

They both stopped in front of the row of posters.

"...oh," Rarity finally said.

"Coming Soon," Twilight summarized. "To everything. In everything."

"It almost seems to fit with that one on the far right," the designer considered. "Except for where it's visibly making everything worse. More -- nightmarish. Inescapable --"

"-- that's a horror movie."

"I stand by my judgment."

They mutually shifted down the row. Stared for a while.

"I was going to see this one," Rarity finally admitted. "Three weeks from now. And -- yes, there's Stalwart Stallion. Cast as the male lead again."

"Mostly cast," Twilight corrected. "Since somepony did a post-filming edit swap on his head."

They kept looking.

"Are we sure about that?" Rarity's false lightness inquired.

Twilight missed it. "What do you mean, 'are we sure'? You can see where the sticker was pasted --"

"-- I follow the industry rather more closely than you do," Rarity stated. "As so many who work in film wind up with a pressing need for fashion. Stalwart Stallion has been, shall we say, trying to keep up his looks. When the force attempting to drag them down is commonly known as 'time'. The rumors claim that he's tried out a number of experimental spells."

"And of course," Twilight's innate natural sarcasm chimed in, "since a rumor is an unfounded story which only a few ponies can be bothered to pass on, it just has to be true..."

Rarity ignored it. "There were also zebra potions. And one story claimed that he'd hired a yak to kick him in the face. Strategically."

"To -- kick him -- in the --"

"-- makeup hides the bruises and the swelling gets rid of wrinkles." Rarity's snout, as part of the overall expression of distaste, was currently overcompensating in the other direction. "But of course, he then encounters certain difficulties in maintaining a full range of expression. Without screaming. So I suppose in a way, he was heading in this direction from the start..."

They resumed their mutual trot. One of the town's public notice boards came into view.

"...yes," Rarity eventually said. "Rather easier to adjust the alignment when you don't have to work on top of glass. Are the miniature versions of the posters also considered collectible?"

"I wouldn't know," Twilight stated. "And I'd rather not let this get far enough to figure out what it does to the sales value of books."

They read a few of the notices.

"I see Alla Prima is having a gallery show next moon," Rarity noted.

"Looks like."

"I always appreciate how she places her own image into her announcements," the larger of the unicorns added. "An extra piece of art. Although judging from the bleed around the edge, somepony may have put the sticker over her face before the printing fully dried. Very well, Twilight: they are altering more than just books. Anywhere a pony's head might appear becomes a potential place for substitution. Is that all of it?"

The little mare slowly looked up at her.

"Rarity," Twilight carefully said, "where do pony heads usually appear?"

"Let me think," a desperately flailing sense of humor offered. "On pony necks?"

Papier-mâché.

Years had passed since her last attempt at that kind of crafting, because even her filly self had wanted to remain as clean as she could and the side effects of such craftwork included having dirt adhere for a few days. Also dust, scraps, and any small objects one might happen to touch. The glue got everywhere.

It had been years -- but Rarity still remembered how it was done. Strips of fine material -- normal paper, a little pulp, potentially even cloth if she ever decided to desecrate it that way -- coated with adhesive, carefully layered, then painted and allowed to dry. The results, if they had the chance to set properly, could wind up with the strength of stone.

Of course, you needed at least a day for the hardening to truly take, and two was better. So the adolescents racing down the streets while wearing half-solidified replicas of The Head were jarring the results with every hoofstep. The left fake ear on the smaller of the earth ponies was about one good speed burst from coming off entirely -- or one good collision. The latter seemed more likely, especially as the young crafter had duplicated exact proportions for The Head's eyes and was thus staring out at the world through pinpricks. Rarity had no idea how the filly could even tell where she was going.

The students galloped, made unexpected turns and jumps to put themselves in front of adults, and laughed. The ambushed mares and stallions typically responded by picking a random direction. One which led to Anywhere Other Than Here.

The taller of the youths spotted the two unicorns. Swerved, got ready to jump --

-- it was just possible to see a little bit of the true eyes through the tiny holes and given how the filly was squinting, rather more in the way of eyelids.

"It's you!" the student exclaimed as she stopped two body lengths away from Rarity. "You're the one who has it!"

...and when I want to be seen, nopony knows me. But if I desire to remain slightly anonymous... "Yes," Rarity made herself admit. The aftertaste immediately began to settle onto her tongue.

"You're so mean!" the youth laughed. "And if you weren't being mean, then your timing is horrible!"

"...I am?" didn't quite seem to work, and "...it is?" was no improvement.

"Don't you care about anypony younger than you?" the filly giggled. "We all needed to see this last moon! Do you know how many Nightmare Night costumes you cost us? Every class could have been disguised as this! The tribute offerings would never end!"

Rarity calculated exactly how much she would be willing to give in order to make it all go away, then kept the silent agreement within.

"I'll see you later!" the student told her. "I need more reference shots!" Paused. "And maybe a dress. I think there's this one colt who's getting ready to ask me to the Formal. Just as soon as he decides he's almost a stallion. Bye!"

They were making their way back to the Boutique. The jumpscare attempts had wrapped up after the fifth try, and none of them had actually worked. Rarity had to share a building with the real thing --

-- a tiny amount of fine liquid mist touched the fur of Rarity's forelegs, and immediately soaked in. She'd gotten a little too close to one of the town's larger fountains. She looked up, checking her proximity to the spray.

Then she kept looking.

"Ambitious," she finally said.

"I think," Twilight considered as she made her own evaluation, "the more appropriate term might be 'vandalism'."

"That's if it's permanent," Rarity countered. "I'm fairly certain that shell is going to come off. Although if they layered the papier-mâché strips on top of the original head, it might take a few solid kicks to dislodge. Possibly some lightning..."

"So the West Fountain," Twilight summarized, "now features a sculpture of The Head."

Rarity automatically checked the second center statue.

"Twice." Paused. "How many of the town's fountains have been modified?"

"Do you really want to know?"

The designer looked up again. The replicas had captured at least thirty percent of the original's qualities, which was a minimum of thirty-five percent too much.

"...no. Let's -- just go back. And we'll split up at DelMar Avenue. Spike is waiting for your return, and I need to reopen the shop."

There was but one window in the Boutique's structure which allowed an observer to potentially spot The Head. Under normal circumstances, doing so required moving around the building, and the observer's line of sight had to be at precisely the right angle.

That was for normalcy.

With the current conditions, it also required standing in line.

Rarity was typically only spotted when she didn't want to be. It took three increasingly-loud repetitions before the door-blocking circle of adolescents created enough of a gap to let the designer into her own home.