Haute Couture

The electronic bell above the door played cunty indietronica as Rarity walked into Sass by Saddlés. Sassy stood behind the counter, talking a younger customer through the merits of each different color of oversized cargo jorts. She noticed Rarity, gave her a professional scowl, and walked over to her.

“Rarity, dearest, it’s so good to see you.” She kissed Rarity’s right cheek, then her left. “Sorry about the face. It’s part of the uniform. Showing emotion is out again. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well, it’s not out, it’s more that being mean is a throwback to early 1000’s post-NMM anxiety as a response to the decline of the New Sincerity movement and emotional maximalism—” she stopped herself. “Not important. I’m here about your latest line.”

“You’d like a pair of reverse-ethically sourced jorts? I didn’t take you for the type, if we’re being honest.”

“No.” Rarity waved the charred tag in Sassy’s face. “I’m here about Seasonal Fashion.”

“Oh!” Sassy’s face broke out into a smile, which she quickly squashed. “I am absolutely over the moon in love with Seasonal Fashion. I am Narcissus, and Seasonal Fashion is my reflection.”

She motioned Rarity to follow her deeper into the store, where Seasonal Fashion dominated the shelf space. As Rarity scanned the rows of tops and jumpsuits and casual dresses, a molten-hot iron ball of rage formed in the pit of her stomach. As she moved from one display rack to the next, the rage moved up her esophagus, burning all the way up. When she finally finished circling the display area, it was practically touching her molars.

“Do you have any thoughts on the line?” Sassy asked.

“Yes.” Rarity spat out the lump, spewing sparks. “It’s mine.”

The friendly scowl melted off Sassy’s face, replaced by the calculating look of a tiger sizing up its next meal. She ran a hoof over the nearest outfit, a snatched romper with an open back and rips in all the right places. “Legally speaking, that statement is not actionable.”

“Legally speaking, I definitely won’t light your shop on fire and dance in the ashes. Oh, wait! You already programmed all your clothes to do that anyway!”

“It’s not a computer chip, dear. It’s a time-delay fuse. It activates when we take the security magnet off.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“Yes, I fear I am. It’s Seasonal Fashion, Rarity. Emphasis on seasonal. What could possibly be more ephemeral? Fashion celebrates life and form, but my line takes on higher meaning. I am doing nothing less than invoking the specter of death. I’m saying, Look hot while ye may. For tomorrow the bells may toll for thee.” Then she pointed to the mechanical bell above the door. “That bell, specifically.”

Rarity walked over to Sassy and slapped her.

Sassy stumbled backwards and knocked over a display rack. “Be careful,” Rarity said. “Those are literal ticking time bombs.”

Sassy struggled to pick herself up. Her lips trembled. “You... don’t approve of my vision?”

“Your vision is going to bleed me dry!”

“But you’re not doing anything remotely similar to Seasonal Fashion.”

“I do seasonal fashion every year!”

“That’s seasonal fashion. I—”

“Stop. Don’t finish that sentence or so help me I will strike you again. The only thing that’s unique about your line is the bombs you sewed in the stiching.” Her eyes scanned the racks. “You’ve been busy. I see Coco Pommel’s summer lineup, and a shitty half-baked clone of Monochrome’s Enchanted Librarian, and Janx Spanx’s Sexier Third Wheel... goodness gracious, who haven't you ripped off?”

“You know what they say, Rarity. Great artists steal. Plus I’ve been over this with my lawyers. My line is derivative. It’s not theft.”

“I’m not saying that what you’re doing is illegal. Not even the bomb parts. I think.”

“Then what are you angry about?”

Rarity jabbed a hoof in Sassy’s face. “It’s a good idea, and I didn’t think of it first.”